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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia, Hades (Video Game 2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shouto, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Tokoyami Fumikage, Yaoyorozu Momo Additional Tags: Temporary Character Death, Friends to Lovers, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Prince Todoroki Shouto, Alternate Universe - Mythology, POV Midoriya Izuku, Pining, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Series: Part 2 of Shouto, Prince of the Underworld, Part 2 of Grae’s TDDK Week 2020 Summary:

Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t — from Izuku’s POV.

You can read it without the main fic, but it will make more sense in context. — “H-How’d it go, Prince Shouto? Welcome back to the House!” Izuku smiles encouragingly.

“How do you think it went?” The Prince shoots a glare his way — okay, fair, it’s clear how that might have been an insensitive question. The harsh expression softens just a bit, and he sighs. “And I’ve told you before: just Shouto. I have no interest in being Prince anything.”

“Ah, I see it says you d-died to some spikes this time.” Izuku swallows. He can do it. He can give some helpful advice. “Have you tried, um, not standing on the trap when the spikes come out?”

“Right.” Shouto rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Izuku. Instead of standing on spikes, don’t. I’ll remember that.”

Shit. Why can’t he ever manage to put the right words together? Don’t stand on spikes, ugh— he’s not an idiot, but he sure sounds like one sometimes. It never seems to be an issue aside from when he’s around Shouto.

“You’re welcome!” he calls after the retreating back of the prince. Even if that ‘Thanks, Izuku’ hadn’t been entirely sincere, he’ll respond…aspirationally.

[damaless]

Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Twenty: Mercy

Izuku flinches as a blow across the face sends Shouto sprawling. Endeavor staggers after him, raising his spear.

Move. Get up! Move!

Shouto rolls out of the way an instant before the spearpoint shatters the tile where his head had been. His eyes widen, no doubt envisioning the fractured chunks of stone as what they could have been if he had moved any slower.

He comes up with blood pouring down the side of his face, and Izuku’s stomach churns. Head wounds bleed a lot regardless of their severity, but it’s impossible to tell whether this one is just a cut over his brow or damage to his skull.

Izuku wraps his arms around himself. It’s been an ugly, brutal fight. Not hopeless, no — but Shouto and Endeavor have each gotten in a few successful attacks against the other. His chest hurts at the thought of how much pain Shouto must be in. Is he dizzy? Struggling to think clearly?

Blood is seeping through his robes at the ribs from a wound he’d sustained a little while ago. Has he lost enough to start making him feel weak? For his limbs to feel sluggish? Izuku clamps a hand over his mouth as a fresh wave of tears floods his eyes.

Endeavor has been wounded badly, as well, thankfully, with a wide gash in his thigh visibly affecting his ability to maneuver. That wound had probably saved Shouto’s life just now.

“Foolish boy, you know nothing of what it takes to do what I do!” With his eyes wide, pupils shrunk down to pinpoints, and lip curled in a perpetual snarl, Endeavor looks furious.

“I’ll figure it out.” Shouto — between moments of intense concentration — just looks sad.

Shouto’s foot bumps stone as Endeavor manages to push him back against the steps up to the throne, and he nearly stumbles.

Izuku’s heart stops.

The image of Shouto falling back against the steps and Endeavor taking the opportunity to drive his spear through his chest is too clear, too vivid, too real.

But he doesn’t fall. He manages to maintain his footing, miraculously. Still, Izuku doesn’t release the breath he’s been holding until a well-timed sword thrust forces Endeavor to shift his good leg back to keep himself upright while dodging.

An expression flits across Shouto’s face — his eyes widen, just a fraction, before flicking down to Endeavor’s back leg and narrowing thoughtfully.

Izuku’s heart beats faster — his mouth feels dry, his breathing shallow. Shouto has a plan.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Twenty-One: Aftermath

“How about you go get some rest, Lady Rei?” A voice is asking, gentle and hushed. “I’ll stay with him.”

There’s nothing more important than opening his eyes and seeing the speaker, but his eyelids aren’t cooperating.

“Just Rei, please, dear.” Another voice, speaking just as softly. “I’ll be back soon, alright?”

A weight shifts against his leg, moving away from beside him. Footsteps moving away.

“And Izuku—” The footsteps pause. “Please, come get me if he awakens before I return.”

I’m here. I’m listening.

His mouth won’t form the words, his breath won’t voice the sounds.

The footsteps start again, growing distant.

“Shouto…?” The first voice — Izuku — the one that fills him with the need to wake up and declare that he’s alright, please don’t cry—

“It feels like—” A gentle touch to his brow, to his cheek. “Are you awake? You’re frowning…”

He wants to grit his teeth, sigh in frustration, clench his fists in the blankets— ah, that last one worked, after what felt like an eternity.

And then there’s warm skin, strong fingers instead of blankets, and soothing circles being rubbed into the back of his hand.

“You are awake,” Izuku murmurs, and Shouto squeezes a confirmation. “I thought so, but these are unusual circumstances, so…” He trails off.

“I should get your mother,” Izuku says, and his hand starts to slip away.

No, no— stay, please.

He succeeds in latching onto Izuku’s hand more tightly, and Izuku stops pulling away.

“Alright,” he says, soft, almost a whisper. “I won’t leave you.”

The blankets are pulled back for a moment, and a warm presence slots in beside him, arms coming around him.

“You’ll be okay,” Izuku says, and Shouto feels a kiss pressed against his temple as his consciousness starts to slip. “I’m here.”

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Sixteen: Green Eyes. Green Hair. Bright Smile

“Shouto,” Izuku gasps, reaching for him.

“Izuku,” he breathes, pulling him against his chest. “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry.”

Izuku’s arms come around him, face pressed against Shouto’s neck, tremors running through his whole body.

“You came back,” Izuku murmurs. “I could hardly believe it when I heard.”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” Shouto whispers. “Are you okay?”

Izuku nods. “Yeah, just exhausted.”

Shouto closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Izuku’s. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“It wasn’t all me.” Izuku pulls back, nodding towards Aizawa. “I had some help.”

“I’m not just talking about what you did here.” Shouto brushes Izuku’s cheek with his thumb. “My mother told me you used your powers on Endeavor to allow her to escape. I guess you were too young to remember.”

“So you found her? How is she?” Izuku’s wide-eyed, hopeful face tugs at something in Shouto’s chest — he just cares so much.

Shouto nods, and he can’t help but smile. “I did, thanks to you. You were right. I just needed a good night’s sleep.”

“I tried,” Izuku says, returning his smile through tears. It’s the most wonderful sight in the world. “Even while you were gone, I tried to make sure you could always sleep when you wanted to.”

Shouto stares. Izuku had been—? The level of precision and control, the sheer effort— he must be incredibly powerful, much more than Shouto had realized.

He needs to tell him how he feels, just in case—

“Shouto! Shouto!”

He growls and tears his eyes away from Izuku, looking towards the source of the interruption.

Oh. Momo has been calling his name. Repeatedly. In a rush, his mind catches up on the ongoing commotion from the rest of their prisoners. For a while, his world had shrunk down to just Izuku.

“I don’t want to leave your side,” Shouto says, softly, taking his hand loosely in his own.

Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t think I can even stand right now,” he says, stroking his thumb across the skin of Shouto’s knuckles. “Go talk to her. I’ll be right here.”

Shouto nods, reluctantly letting Izuku’s fingers slip from his. He stands and crosses the room to Momo.

“I swear, Shouto,” she says, eyes wide. “I was going to turn against them and help you. Katsuki, too.”

Shouto frowns. Katsuki had never seemed to hold any fondness for him. And it’s hard to believe Momo would start disobeying orders now, but she’s never been one to lie and manipulate.

Shouto crouches down next to her. “Why would you start defying Endeavor now, after all this time?”

Momo sighs. “It’s clear he’s lost his grip on the Underworld. He’s an ineffectual leader.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow.

Momo continues. “When a ruler demands obedience entirely on the basis of fear and threats of violence, it all falls apart when someone demonstrates that they can be defeated.”

He gestures around the room. “Seems like he still has quite a few lackeys willing to obey his commands.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “He called for many more than this. Most wouldn’t come — they said that if he’s so weak that he needs their protection, he doesn’t deserve their loyalty.”

“And what do you think?” He narrows his eyes.

“I think—” She looks past him, eyes flicking around. “I think you’ve demonstrated that you’re capable of inspiring genuine loyalty. That you’re willing to cooperate with the Olympians, and they with you — your father hasn’t spoken to any of them in eons, did you know that?”

Shouto inclines his head.

She takes a breath. “I think tormenting souls to the point of their becoming mindless wraiths is pointless — counterproductive, even. And I’m tired of following orders under the threat of torture.”

She locks eyes with him. “I think you should take the throne.”

Ochako, beside him, barks a laugh. “I like her.”

Shouto smiles faintly. Momo has always had a penchant for cutting right to the heart of the matter. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

***

Shouto peers up the narrow, impossibly steep slope up to the House from Tartarus. It had never been designed to function as an entrance from this side.

“We could just leave, Shouto, go live somewhere on the surface.” Izuku, a little wobbly, but mostly recovered, shifts from foot to foot beside him. “You don’t have to face him again.”

Shouto turns and takes both of Izuku’s hands in his. “I can’t live in constant fear of him finding and hurting my loved ones.”

He trails his eyes up from their joined hands to meet Izuku’s gaze.

Izuku’s eyes go wide. “Your loved ones?” There’s a tremor in his voice. “O-Oh, you mean your mother.”

“My mother, my friends…” Shouto takes a shaky breath. “You.”

“Me?” Izuku says it almost inaudibly, practically just mouthing the word.

“I didn’t come back for the sake of confronting Endeavor again — I’m just doing that out of necessity.” Shouto glares up towards the House, before turning his much softer gaze back on Izuku. “I came back for you.”

A tear slides down Izuku’s cheek, and Shouto brings a hand up to Izuku’s cheek, wiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

Izuku closes his eyes, turning his face in towards Shouto’s touch, and Shouto’s heart beats a little faster. “I mean, I had hoped—? With what you were— how you were acting with me, back there. But it’s really, really nice to hear it out loud.”

He brings his other hand up to Izuku’s jaw, tracing his skin lightly with his fingertips, and swallows. “Izuku—”

Some murmuring from some distance away catches his attention, followed by a loud ‘Shh!’ He flicks his eyes to the side — Ochako is holding her hand over Denki’s mouth. The rest of them are pointedly trying to look anywhere other than at him and Izuku.

And then Izuku’s hand is at the back of his neck, and his breath catches. Green eyes. Green hair. Bright smile.

“I love you too, Shouto,” Izuku says, simply.

They’re so close, now, inches apart. He could die — legitimately die, if it comes down to a fight with his father.

And there’s no way he’s going to risk that happening before doing this.

He pulls Izuku those last few inches in towards him — or maybe Izuku pulls him, or maybe both.

His eyes fall closed, Izuku’s lips meet his, and the sense of everything being right with the world is almost overwhelming. He can have this — really have this, forever — if he can just succeed one more time.

He tilts his head, pressing closer, and Izuku’s fingers slide into his hair — even the whooping from their audience won’t distract him from this.

Izuku pulls back, slightly, hand still at the back of Shouto’s neck. “Just one more victory, right?”

Shouto nods, breathing hard. But— he’s not ready yet, for this to possibly be the last of it. He lets his forehead rest against Izuku’s, for a moment, before leaning over to drop his face to the crook of Izuku’s neck and slide his arms around his waist.

“I love you, Izuku,” he whispers. “And I’m terrified I’m going to fail and lose everything.”

The motion of Izuku shaking his head jostles him slightly. “Shouto, I don’t think you can fail,” Izuku says, voice quiet, fingers combing soothingly through Shouto’s hair. “I have a feeling you were born for this.”

Shouto squeezes his eyes shut. It would be nice if Izuku were right, but it’s not so easy to share his confidence.

“Just in case, though…” He lifts his head and turns to look at his friends again, bringing his hands to Izuku’s waist. “Tsu, can you come here?”

She nods, disentangling herself from Ochako and jogging over to them.

“Please, Tsu,” he says, looking into her large, attentive eyes. “If it looks like I’m losing, I need you to break away and help Izuku get to the surface, away from Endeavor — to Olympus.”

Tsu nods, reaching for Izuku. “Of course, Shouto. I’ll keep him safe.”

Izuku makes a noise of protest. “I don’t want to leave, Shouto.” His hands at Shouto’s shoulders tighten into fists. “We don’t know that failing means you die forever… What if you end up trapped again, and I could help you, somehow?”

Shouto smiles, aiming for reassuring. “Then you can be the one to borrow All Might’s power and battle your way through Hell to come save me.”

Izuku chuckles and drops his gaze to the floor. “You make it sound so simple.”

Shouto sighs. “If you’re so confident that I’m fated to win, then it shouldn’t matter, right?” He pulls Izuku close again. “I’ll just go up there and defeat him one more time, and then give him the choice between relinquishing all of his powers to me or facing the same treatment as All For One.”

Izuku shudders. “You really think you can bring yourself to do that?”

Shouto twists his mouth. “I hope it doesn’t come down to that. But it’s only fair, right? Endeavor was a part of making that happen.”

Tsu clears her throat, expression grim. “All Might sometimes talks about being disturbed by what they had to do, even to this day. You don’t want that on your conscience, Shouto.”

He clenches his jaw. “Then let’s hope he’ll listen to reason.”

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Eighteen: A Brief Reprieve

(Note: this isn’t the whole chapter. It gets a little NSFW — non-explicit, though — and that part is just on Ao3)

Izuku finds himself enfolded in Shouto’s arms, and he needs to just… pick one emotion. Because this is just too many to deal with.

(Relief, first crashing over him when he’d opened his eyes and seen that Shouto had really come back, and now lingering, making him cling so tightly that he’d be self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that Shouto is clinging just as tightly to him.)

His breathing is unsteady, he knows. It’s only a matter of time before the tears start.

(Anger, frustration, powerlessness. Everyone has already given excellent reasons for Shouto to reject Endeavor’s terms, but Izuku is all too familiar what it looks like when Shouto has come to a decision. Knows that he’s stubborn — so, so stubborn, he could just scream… but that’s what makes him a force of nature, unstoppable once he’s set his mind to do something, no matter how impossible.)

He blinks back against the inevitable sting in his eyes and his fists tighten, gripping fabric. Shouto presses closer — he’s shaking. He’s been shaking, ever since the confrontation with Endeavor.

(Fierce protectiveness, surging through his veins. Just like when he had ‘misplaced’ the Ledger of the Dead, he’d do pretty much anything now to get some portion of Endeavor’s rage away from Shouto and onto himself. Feeling Shouto flinch — imperceptibly, to the eye, but he’d felt it — when Endeavor had stepped closer, he’d had to stop himself from jumping out in front of Shouto and baring his teeth. That would have been pointless and stupid, but he’s always been a little stupid where Shouto is involved.)

Shouto’s face drops against Izuku’s shoulder, lips grazing skin, and all the air escapes his lungs. If they could stay in this moment forever, never have to face the next day, if he could just… keep him here, safe. Keep him, keep him, keep him…

(Love. Overwhelming, all-consuming love. He’s loved Shouto as long as he can remember, though he’d never even considered voicing it until Shouto had started trying to escape. And by then… it had seemed selfish, to say anything when Shouto was so close to succeeding. An unwanted distraction. But now, he’s here — beautifully, miraculously here — making Izuku’s heart race, filled to bursting with too much, too much, too much—)

“Izuku,” Shouto says, the slightest break in his voice — anyone else would have been unable to pick up on it, probably — and that’s all it takes to collapse the whole storm of emotions into just the one.

Izuku slides a hand to the back of Shouto’s neck and into his hair, and the effect is immediate — Shouto sags against him, tense muscles going slack. When Shouto had first started letting Izuku support him through the trauma of dying repeatedly, it was like Izuku was actually useful, suddenly, doing something that mattered, after a decade — two? three? — of going through the motions in a haze.

“Are you going to try to talk me out of it?” Shouto mumbles against his neck.

Izuku shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I know better than to try to do that.”

Shouto exhales a long, slow breath, lifting his head and pressing his lips to Izuku’s temple. “It’s just— if doing this guarantees that my mother, you, all the others, will be safe, regardless of whether I win or lose…”

“I know,” he says, quietly, stroking a thumb down along the slope of Shouto’s shoulder.

“I mean— I know we would probably win, fighting as a team, but if there’s even a chance—” Shouto’s voice sounds level, on the surface, but the signs of how rattled he’s feeling are clear, to Izuku. Little variations in intonation. Not quite enough breath to get through the entire thought. The tension in his jaw.

He brushes his fingertips along that jaw, smoothing out that tension, and nudges Shouto towards the bed. “I know,” he repeats.

“—I can’t take that risk.” Shouto’s body complies with Izuku’s direction, and he drops to a seated position at the edge of the bed, peering up at him. “I don’t know exactly what he would do, but it would be terrible, I’m sure—”

“Shouto.” Izuku presses in close, still standing, until Shouto’s forehead comes to rest against his chest and hands come up to encircle his waist.

Izuku loops his arms loosely around Shouto’s head. As if this were enough to protect him from everything that’s coming.

Shouto takes a shuddering breath, but doesn’t speak again. He’s listening.

“I understand,” Izuku continues. “It’s terrifying, of course, but I know— I just want to be here for you.” No need to hash it out. Focus on maximizing his odds, now.

“Do you think the Fates will come?” Shouto asks, tilting his face up and meeting Izuku’s eyes.

Izuku nods. “I’m sure they will. There’s a momentous feeling about all this, you know? As if they were always going to get involved, no matter what.”

Shouto nods, his cheek rubbing against the front of Izuku’s robes.

“Do you want to sleep?” Izuku tilts his head. He’s not really asking to get an answer — he’d already know it — but it will at least bring Shouto’s exhaustion to the forefront of his awareness, and hopefully he will agree to sleep soon, even if he’s not quite ready yet.

Shouto shakes his head — as expected — but looks back up at Izuku, eyes soft. “Lie down with me?”

Izuku’s heart jumps into his throat. Yes, please, that’s everything I’ve ever wanted. “Of course,” he says. Calm. Stay calm.

Shouto leans back, catching Izuku’s hand and tugging gently. Izuku follows. Of course, he follows.

They crawl under the covers and face each other, limbs tangling together, all wrapped up in one another in this bed with way too many pillows — this bed, where Izuku has cried, alone, letting himself feel the full extent of what it meant to miss Shouto, believing he’d never see him again.

There’s something about simply pressing together and striving to occupy the smallest amount of space they can, collectively. With Shouto’s head tucked under Izuku’s chin, his hand running a slow pattern up and down Izuku’s side, Izuku’s fingers tracing through Shouto’s hair — there’s a closeness, an intimacy, even without either of them having moved to push things further.

Shouto pulls back slightly, eyes locking onto his, so close, and everything feels hazy.

(Like a dream, but he’d know it if it were.)

Then Shouto’s hands are sliding along his jaw, cupping his face, fingers grazing his neck, tangling in his hair, like he can’t make up his mind where to put them. Shouto’s face tells a story of inner turmoil, brows drawn up and together, lips parted slightly, gaze darting around Izuku’s face — indecision, hesitation, yearning.

Beautiful.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Seventeen: Fight Or Flight Reflex

Tokoyami and Inko are waiting at the top. An impossibly steep slope isn’t so impossible with Tsu’s ability to climb almost anything and Ochako’s ability to make things weightless.

“Where’s Endeavor?” Shouto asks. First things first.

Instead of answering, Inko reaches up and pulls him and Izuku into a hug.

“I’m so glad you boys are alright,” she says, voice shaky with emotion.

“He’s waiting for you in the throne room,” Tokoyami says, quietly. “He says he has a proposition for you.”

Shouto glances around, uncertain. After all of that, everything they’ve had to go through to get here, now his father is willing to talk?

“Okay,” he says, and it’s an effort to keep his voice steady. “Let’s go see what he has to say for himself.”

***

“Shouto,” his father booms from across the room, as soon as he comes into view. “I thought I told you you could never return.”

Shouto narrows his eyes. “It’s not like this is a surprise. You’ve been sending your minions up against me throughout my entire return trip — you obviously knew I was coming.”

His father stands suddenly, and it takes every ounce of Shouto’s will not to flinch away from him. He manages to stand strong — barely. His friends remain silent, at his back, as he had instructed.

“Never mind all that.” The thud of heavy feet on the marble floor echoes throughout the room as his father steps toward him.

Izuku’s steady hand at his back is the only thing allowing him to keep his composure. He resists the urge to step back. His father’s eyes flicker between them, and Shouto has the sudden urge to go after him right this second, just to get his eyes off Izuku.

“What is it you want?” His father’s teeth are bared in a sneer. The shadows cast across his face by his features jump around unsettlingly as the ever-present flames framing his jaw flicker and dance. “Why do you dare to face me again now?”

Shouto takes a breath, trying to get his heart rate under control. Izuku’s hand rubs at his lower back. Focus on that, not on Father’s cheap intimidation tactics.

“I’ve come to demand that you step down as Lord of the Underworld.” He lifts his chin, squares his shoulders. He can’t let his friends see how weak he is, how cowardly he must be to be this terrified.

He doesn’t manage to suppress the flinch that results from his father’s sudden, cruel laugh. Izuku’s hand slides to his waist, whole arm providing support around his back.

“And what? You’ll take over for me? You wouldn’t last a day!” More horrible laughter.

“I’ve lasted this long,” he retorts, and his voice doesn’t break, thankfully. “What makes you so sure I would fall?”

His muscles twitch as his father levels a fiery glare at him — his body reacting to a hundred memories of pain and death. He forces himself to stand his ground.

“What happens when all your Olympian friends return to the surface and leave you here, alone?”

Not alone, he wants to say, but his father is continuing.

“You’re weak, Shouto. The Furies won’t respect your rule unless you can prove you’re strong in the only way that matters — when you’re on your own.”

He swallows. “I defeated you alone, once.”

His father throws his head back and laughs. It’s an awful sound. “Only with the stolen power of a half dozen gods of Olympus. You’d be hopeless, relying on just yourself.”

Shit. He shouldn’t have let this conversation get to this point. Everything his father says now will just undermine his future authority if he defeats him with anything other than purely his own strength.

“Tokoyami said you had a proposition for me,” he says, folding his arms. Hiding his trembling. “Get to the point.”

“Fine, boy. You never did manage to learn patience.” His father takes another step forward — almost in range of a spear thrust now — and it’s everything he can do not to give in to one of the conflicting urges to put more distance between them or to step in front of Izuku.

“Relinquish your borrowed powers, and fight me in single combat. In exchange, regardless of the outcome, I will leave your friends untouched. If they try to help you… I make no such assurances.”

Single combat, without additional powers… that certainly puts him in the most dangerous possible position, but if it means everyone else will be safe…

“I need to think about it,” Shouto says, and he can’t quite eliminate the waver in his voice. Fuck.

His father nods and turns to retake his position on the throne, waving dismissively. “You have one day to decide.”

One day, or else what? He can’t bring himself to give voice to the question.

The relief of finally being able to give in and step away is so great he almost collapses against Izuku the moment they’re out of sight of the throne room. He closes his eyes, counting out each breath, until his heart finally stops racing.

How is he supposed to be able to fight him if he can barely manage to stand in his presence?

***

“No,” Izuku says, forcefully. “Don’t let him convince you that this is the way you have to do it, whatever he claims.” His hands close into fists and he frowns. “Endeavor’s weakness is his inability to inspire anyone to fight by his side. Challenging you to single combat is just a way for him to get out of having to face the consequences of his greatest failing.”

Shouto blinks at him. They’re gathered just outside his room. Everyone’s been waiting for him to speak, but the words just haven’t come. But Izuku can read him too well, evidently — he can tell he’s been thinking of accepting his father’s terms.

Izuku takes his hands. “If you take the throne, we’ll all be better off. Use every tool at your disposal to make it happen.”

“He’s right,” Momo says, from behind. “Endeavor knows you’ll likely prevail against him with allies supporting you, and he’s trying to play to your doubts to make you give up your advantage. The incentive he’s offering is weak — if you can force him to abdicate, he will be powerless to hurt anyone.”

“He can’t be trusted to keep his promises, anyway.” Iida says, stepping forward. “He has lied, tricked, threatened, and abused in order to gain allies in his struggle against you. There’s no reason to believe he would cease such behavior now.”

Shouto turns his head as Inko, at his side, inhales sharply. She catches his eye, frowning slightly — not angry… contemplative.

“We’ve come this far with you, Shouto,” Ochako says, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s see this through together.”

Tsu stands beside her, and gives a decisive nod of agreement.

Tokoyami clears his throat. “I will fight by your side, Shouto. No more contests or games — in open support of your claim to the throne.”

Even Katsuki gives a curt nod — Shouto had let him free after Kirishima had thrown in his lot with Momo and vouched for him. “Let’s kick his ass,” he says, harshly. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, anyway — with what the Furies will and won’t respect.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow. Sounds like resentment has been building for a while. He wouldn’t have predicted it would have gone this way, when he’d first met Katsuki, but evidently Kirishima had had the right idea.

Aizawa comes to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. A familiar gesture. A centering one. Yamada is just to the other side of him, a constant presence now that they’ve been reunited.

“It’s because of you that we’re together again, kid,” Aizawa says, and Shouto turns to face him. “And we’ll fight with everything we have to keep it that way. Remember your training — you can do this.”

He takes a shaky breath in, and exhales slowly, nodding. “I’ll think about everything you’ve all said. We have a day before anything happens. Let’s all try to get some rest.”

Izuku squeezes his hand, and Shouto tries to flash him a determined smile.

Doubt spreads uncomfortably through his veins. Ochako is right — they’ve come this far with him — but is it really right to ask any more of them? He knows firsthand how brutally painful death at his father’s hands can be.

For the moment, the others have turned their attention amongst themselves, and Inko touches his elbow, nodding towards his room and stepping through the doorway.

He follows her in, Izuku at his heels.

His room is almost exactly as he’d left it, though the bed has clearly been slept in — Izuku flushes and glances away, and Shouto squeezes his hand. The thought of Izuku, heartbroken and despondent because of him — it’s painful to dwell on. He swallows hard.

“There is one way you could trust his word,” Inko says, almost whispering. “A way to make his promises truly binding.”

Shouto nods for her to continue. Izuku’s grip on his hand tightens. He’s frowning.

“No, Mom,” he says. “Shouto doesn’t need to do this alone.”

“Oh, Izuku,” she says, the smile on her face contradicted by the sadness apparent in her eyes. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. All those years ago, I managed to talk Endeavor down from his rage over you putting him to sleep — a childish accident, I told him, and he accepted it, eventually. But if you go up against him directly now, I’m afraid that he may dredge up all of that old anger and more.”

Shouto’s stomach clenches. Images of Izuku suffering at his father’s hands flash to mind, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as if that could shut his mind’s eye as well.

“There’s no way he can win against all of us, though.” There’s a pleading note in Izuku’s voice, and he turns to face him. “Okay, Shouto?”

It’s nearly impossible to deny him anything, with those large, beseeching eyes boring into Shouto’s soul. Nearly. He pulls his gaze off Izuku and looks to Inko.

“How can I make his promises binding?”

Izuku is probably right; they would most likely win if they face him as a group. But can he be absolutely certain?

No.

Which means there’s a chance he could fail, and others would suffer because of him. Izuku would suffer. His mother might suffer, if Endeavor somehow manages to get to her on Olympus.

Inko closes her eyes and sighs. “We could summon the Fates. When All Might and the others put him in charge of the Underworld, Endeavor insisted that he have complete independence. The Fates are the reason that All Might can’t come down here and sort this out himself. It was a binding agreement.”

“The Fates,” he echoes, slowly. “And how do we summon them?”

Inko shrugs. “If you want them here, and they’re meant to come, they will.”

Hm. It sounds almost too simple.

Inko looks from him to Izuku, and glances at their linked hands, a soft smile on her face. “Just consider it, Shouto. I need to go get everyone else settled. Rest well, you two.”

His heartbeat is loud in his ears — he’s only vaguely aware of Inko’s footsteps and his friends’ voices becoming more muffled as they travel farther down the hall.

His eyes meet Izuku’s. It’s just the two of them, now.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter Ten: Reunited

“Mother,” Shouto whispers.

She turns, lifting a hand to pull aside the veil of long, white hair obscuring her face.

She looks… like him. Well, not the part of him that shares his father’s infernal complexion, but his nose, his cheekbones, the shape of her eyes.

“Oh, my Shouto,” she says, softly. “It’s really you.”

Her voice— his breath catches, his heart stutters.

She holds out a hand, beckoning him closer, and he stumbles to his knees at her feet.

His mother folds her arms around him, and he’s a tiny child again, head in his mother’s lap. Memories that had been locked away by the passage of time come back to him, summoned by the familiarity of her voice, her scent, her fingers in his hair.

Glimpses of the past: sitting in her lap, tucked close against her, his little fingers playing with her soft, beautiful hair; her murmuring stories in his ear about the gods of Olympus; and— and his devastation at her disappearance.

“I’m so sorry, Shouto.” Her hands brush against his face — wiping away tears. “I’ve always regretted leaving you there. With him.”

He sobs.

After all this time. After every horror, all the suffering he endured. She’s here. He’s finally, finally found her.

“I hope…” Her voice is thick with emotion. “I hope you know it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I have always loved you, Shouto.”

He takes a ragged breath and looks up at her face, streaked with tears. “Then why…?” He trails off. Why did you abandon me?

She shakes her head, expression heartbroken. “I don’t think I could ever fully explain. My mind was broken — I wasn’t myself.”

His stomach turns, and he clenches his jaw. What had his father done to her?

She brushes his hair away from his face with her fingers. “I understand if you can’t forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it.”

He stares. He has firsthand experience with the insane measures one could be driven to in order to get away from his father. There’s no way she could have escaped with a small child in tow if her ordeal had been even a fraction as challenging as his had been. How could he hold it against her, if she’d felt that she truly could not stay a moment longer? But…

“Why didn't you tell the Olympians? They could have helped you, or figured something to do to get me out, too.”

She sighs. “At first, I couldn't speak to anyone at all. I…” She looks away. “I don't want to go into detail about that.”

He nods, waiting.

She shifts her gaze back to him, eyes sad. “And then, I didn't know who I could trust. I was terrified someone would tell him where I had been hiding, and he'd find me and bring me back down there.”

He stands up and takes her hands, helping her to her feet. “Come back to Olympus with me. All Might will keep you safe; you can trust him, really.”

Her eyes widen and fill with tears. “So— so you…?”

He pulls her close. The top of her head barely reaches his chin. He’s not a little boy, unable to understand where his mother had gone — not anymore.

“Yes, I forgive you. Of course I do.”

***

They walk out of the temple together. His mother approaches Thirteen and exchanges some quiet words with them.

Ochako comes to stand at his side. “Seems like it went well?”

Shouto nods, smiling softly at his mother. “Yeah. Better than I’d hoped — she’s going to come back with us to Olympus.”

“That’s wonderful, Shouto.”

Shouto frowns slightly. “I’m a little worried. I don’t know how well she’ll do around All Might,” Shouto says, quietly. “I know he’d never hurt her, but his voice and build are similar enough to my father’s… I still don't know exactly what she went through, but I know it was bad.”

Ochako puts a hand on his arm. “She’s welcome to stay with me and Tsu until something more permanent is sorted out.”

Shouto looks at her. “You’d do that for us?”

“Yeah, of course. Anyone would.” She raises an eyebrow. “Okay, not anyone. But you get what I’m saying.”

He shakes his head. These people and their easy kindness — it surprises him every time. In the Underworld, there had been kindness, but most often it was constrained to actions that fit within the bounds of his father's directives.

Aizawa, assigned to train Shouto in basic combat after his father had gotten sick of the poor results under his own brutal, ineffective tutelage, had taught him the exact skills that had turned out to be essential to defeating his father. Tokoyami, assisting him during his escape attempts under the thin veneer of competition. Katsuki, choosing a torture method for Kirishima that he knew couldn't really hurt him.

Inko… Inko had been an exception. She had cared for him after his mother had left. She had contacted the Olympians on his behalf, and had given him her shawl, which, if nothing else, had kept him alive long enough for Ochako and Tsu to find him. Yes, she'd lied to him for most of his life about his mother's existence, but she had done everything possible to make amends since the truth had come out.

And Izuku. He'd always been kind to Shouto. Even when Shouto had been a complete ass to him in response. He'd helped him escape, despite Shouto possibly being his only friend. He— Izuku—

Ochako’s hand on his arm squeezes briefly. “What's wrong?”

Shouto blinks. “Huh?”

“You looked heartbroken, just now.” She tilts her head. “I thought you'd be happy about finding your mother.”

“I am,” he replies, softly. “I am happy.”

Thirteen and his mother come back out of the sanctuary with a small pack — apparently they'd gone to collect her few belongings at some point, and he hadn’t noticed.

Thirteen is hard to read, with their shrouded features, but there is an air of contrition in their posture, now. “I apologize for trying to keep you out. No men have been allowed here in a very long time.”

“I understand,” he says. Doubtless, there had been a good reason for that.

“As soon as I mentioned your name, Rei told me to stand down,” Thirteen explains.

His mother puts a hand on their shoulder. “You were protecting me. Shouto can forgive that, I think.”

Shouto nods. “And I appreciate it. Really.”

His mother embraces Thirteen, and then steps away, turning to Ochako.

“I'm ready to leave this place.”

***

The change is subtle, at first. But when Shouto looks back along the route they've been following on their return trip to Olympus, the difference is obvious. And incredible.

The snow has melted for a moderate distance to either side of their path, and flowers are blooming in the now-lush, green grass.

He slows down and cranes his neck, looking skyward. The trees overhead are blossoming, the leaves actually growing right before his eyes. Warm, golden sun rays filter down through the foliage, when moments ago the branches had been bare and colorless. Birdsong surrounds them. It’s… peaceful.

Ochako and his mother are smiling and laughing together just ahead of him. Is her localized effect on the seasons tied to her emotional state? What does that suggest about the Sanctuary of Thirteen being in a state of permanent winter presumably ever since she took up residence there?

Either way, she seems… happy, for the moment. If nothing else, at least she can have a life again, on Olympus. If her concerns were well-founded, and someone tells his father about her location… well. Shouto had killed him once. He can do it again.

He might have been a small child when she’d last faced whatever horrors his father had inflicted on her, but that’s not the case anymore — he won’t let anything happen to her.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter One: The Gates of Elysium

Shouto drops to his knees on the hard, rocky ground, spitting blood. It sizzles and evaporates — it’s impossible for any moisture to stay liquid for long in Asphodel with the waves of heat emanating from the ever-present river of lava.

He coughs again, and more blood spatters the ground. A collapsed lung, maybe. Whatever. He pushes to his feet and kicks at the giant hydra skull, the only thing that remains of the many-headed monster that has prevented him from achieving his goal all this time.

Until now. That fucking hydra is finally dead, and he's closer than ever before to escaping this literal hellhole and getting out from under his father's thumb at last.

And— and finding out what really happened to his mother.

He limps over to the floating platform that will carry him on to… Elysium? Or maybe that had been yet another lie.

He winces in pain as the platform comes to a halt with a lurch, and stumbles past the threshold. The lack of ash and embers in the air is an immediate improvement. Good riddance to the perpetual smell of sulfur, as well. It’s nice to be able to inhale without the air itself burning the insides of his nostrils and windpipe, even if at least one broken rib is poking farther into his collapsed lung with every careful, shallow breath he takes.

His father’s disembodied voice resounds through the chamber. “Shouto! You think you’ve accomplished something, do you?”

Yes, yes he does.

“Killing my hydra was pointless, just as your pathetic escape attempts are pointless. Give up already, and come back to the House where you belong!”

He summons every ounce of sarcasm he can muster. “Alright, Endeavor. You’ve convinced me; Just give me a moment to catch my breath in Elysium and then I’ll get started crawling back through the rivers of lava and the prison maze full of horrors I just fought my way through.”

His father’s roar of frustration makes it worth the stab of pain that had accompanied every word he’d spoken.

If he’s honest… it doesn’t seem like he can go on much longer. He clenches his fists and grits his teeth. He’s in bad shape, but there’s still the fountain. Maybe… maybe it will be enough.

He gulps down as much water as he can stand to drink, and the relief is immediate. It flows through his body, the cool liquid spreading through his torso and limbs, patching up most of his obvious wounds.

He takes a deep breath — or tries to, anyway. Agony rips a scream from his throat and brings him back down to his knees. Whatever injury that had resulted from the hydra knocking him down and repeatedly smashing one of its heads into his chest — even the power of the fountain hadn’t been able to repair it.

Regardless — he has no choice but to go on.

He steps carefully through the gates of Elysium, and stares.

Flowers. Grass. Cool, soothing mist. Well-built cobblestone pathways that aren’t lined with spikes ready to pop out at any moment.

And— and— and—

An arrow through his heart.

His vision goes dark around the edges, but he catches a glimpse of shining, golden armor — a Champion of Elysium. A fallen hero. A hero who has just crushed his hope of escaping — this time, anyway.

And then — darkness.

***

“Ugh.” Shouto pulls himself out of the pool of blood, crawling up the last few steps into the House of Endeavor. He presses his hand over his heart as the phantom sensation of the arrow embedding itself in his chest jolts through him. Smooth, unbroken skin. He takes a deep, painless breath. He's whole again, but every death makes its mark on his psyche.

“Wow, you’re back!” Izuku greets him with a brilliant smile, as he always does. Shouto gives him a flat look. His perpetual cheeriness is grating, at times. Especially when he's just been killed. Which is every time.

Izuku is tasked with greeting every soul who enters the House of Endeavor. Doesn't seem like a responsibility particularly relevant to the God of Sleep, but he’s always seemed dedicated enough to the job. Shouto has seen a lot of him lately, ever since he started trying to escape.

“You made it all the way to Elysium this time!” Izuku says, his eyes taking on a starstruck gleam before he glances down at his records. “It looks like one of the famed Exalted Strongbows got you right in the chest! That’s rough. Did you know that the shades that occupy Elysium are the souls of the greatest champions the world has ever seen? They are wholly dedicated to testing their strength against each other in unending combat. No wonder they managed to take you down!”

“Is that so.” Shouto grits his teeth.

“You know,” Izuku taps his finger against his lips, completely oblivious to Shouto’s mounting frustration. He continues, “I bet if you could keep out of the way of their arrows, you might have a chance against the Strongbows.”

Shouto blinks slowly. “So, your advice to me is: instead of getting hit, don't.”

Izuku smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. “Uh, yeah, basically!”

“Very helpful, thanks.” Shouto says, flatly.

He moves on, clenching his jaw as Izuku calls after him, “You're welcome, Shouto! Anytime!”

He's not looking forward to having to walk past the throne room. Yet another opportunity for his father to ridicule and admonish him for trying to escape his ‘responsibilities’. He wants no part of anything this House is involved in.

Instead of going straight to his room, he turns down another hallway in search of his mentor.

“Hey, kid,” Aizawa says, his toneless voice somehow still making to convey some degree of warmth. “Didn't go so well, I take it?”

“I made it farther than I've ever gone before. Killed the hydra, this time,” Shouto says, defeat creeping into his voice.

“Why so discouraged, then?” Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him.

“Because none of it mattered!” Shouto says, digging his nails into his palms. “I died within seconds of setting foot in Elysium.”

Aizawa heaves a sigh. “The shades of Elysium are no joke. But it wasn't long ago that you felt that you'd never be able to handle the enemies you encountered within Asphodel. It may take a thousand deaths, but you'll learn how to handle Elysium as well.”

“I know,” Shouto mutters. “But what's next? What will Endeavor put in my path to stop me from finding out what's beyond Elysium?”

“Only he knows what you'll have to face — and he's not sharing.” A ghost of a smirk briefly possesses Aizawa’s lips. “That would make your life a lot easier, though, wouldn't it?”

Shouto laughs in spite of himself. “Yeah, I'll just go ask him. Maybe he's in a charitable mood.” He turns to go.

“Hey.”

Shouto looks back and tilts his head.

“If you ever run into…” Aizawa trails off. “Ah, nevermind. Good luck out there. Remember your training.”

“Run into what?”

Aizawa waves dismissively. “Nothing. Another time, maybe.”

Shouto narrows his eyes. Odd.

He takes a deep breath and crosses in front of his father's throne, doing his best to block out the jibes shouted his way. He glances sideways at Inko, who looks away guiltily. He shouldn’t hold it against her, lying to him all this time about his mother. His father hadn’t given her much of a choice in it. When she meets his eyes again, he smiles — just barely, but enough that the relief in her eyes is obvious.

He passes through his room without further hesitation, to where his collection of weapons is stored. Maybe the sword, this time.

He sets his eyes on the path towards Tartarus. Tartarus, to Asphodel, to Elysium, to whatever lies beyond.

He has to keep trying. Sword in hand, he takes a steadying breath.

Again.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter Nine: The Gravity of the Situation

They’re making good time, and could probably reach their destination if they traveled through the night, but when darkness falls, Shouto hesitates and slows to a halt.

“Can we stop for the night?” There’s a slight quaver in his voice, and he cringes.

Ochako stops just ahead and turns to face him. “Really? I mean, we have the supplies to make camp, but I would’ve thought you’d want to power through, get there as soon as possible.”

He chews his lip. “It’s just… I don’t know what will happen if we find her there. What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

She stares for a moment. “That’s— Yeah, okay,” she nods and drops her stuff on the ground. “We’ll stop for the night. You clearly need a fireside heart-to-heart.”

They set up camp, and settle down in side by side sleeping rolls. Shouto stares up into the sky; the clouds of the past few days have cleared, and the stars shine brightly. The night sky is breathtaking — more beautiful than he’d ever imagined. And Inko is such an unassuming goddess, somehow; most others would never stop boasting about an association with something so exquisite.

Ochako clears her throat. “So…”

Ugh. When had he become so dependent on being able to dump his burdens onto others? He snorts. If anyone could lighten the weight on his shoulders, it would be the Goddess of Gravity herself.

“What’s funny?”

A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Just thinking that you’re a good choice for helping someone carry their emotional baggage.”

Silence.

And then she bursts out laughing, and he almost jumps out of his sleeping roll.

“Was that a gravity joke?”

“Maybe.” He bites his lip, trying not to laugh, and failing. After — he’s not sure how long he’d been trying to get out — so much time spent under intense pressure, now that the end is in sight, the tension has to break somehow.

She rolls onto her side, face serious. “Shouto, are you resorting to jokes to avoid discussing… heavier topics?” Her straight face cracks by the end of her voicing the question.

He drops an arm over his face.

“But really,” she says, her voice growing genuinely serious. “If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“I just…” He sighs heavily. “She must have left when I was so young. If she couldn’t love me then… why would now be any better?”

“Shouto… she’s your mother.” She says that like it’s an immutable fact that parents love their children. But…

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says, bitterness making his voice sharp. “Endeavor— My father was my father. Maybe it’s me; maybe I’m the problem.”

“No, definitely not,” Ochako says, firmly. “Inko was a bit like a mother to you, wasn’t she? In some ways, anyway? And obviously she loves you.”

Shouto frowns. “Not really like a mother, it’s not like I was treated like part of her family, but I understand what you mean. Why do you say she obviously loves me?”

“Well, she asked us to help you, didn’t she? That means something.”

What…? “She— what? She asked you?”

“Yeah,” she says, slowly. “She got in touch with Hawks sometime when he was down there — sent All Might a message. Told him about you, that you wanted out, that Endeavor was keeping you there against your will.”

He stares at her.

“You really didn’t know?” Her voice is gentle.

He shakes his head, and looks back up at the incredible night sky. Tears gather in his eyes, and he presses his lips together, trying to stop the quivering.

It almost makes it all worse. If his mother turns out to not want him, then he’d left the person who held the kind of love for him that he’d been searching for. And even if she does… it’s still bittersweet.

“No,” he says, softly. “I didn’t know.”

Ochako exhales audibly. “That’s a lot.”

“Yep.”

They lie there in silence, until Ochako speaks up again.

“Maybe you can get Hawks to bring her a message? To thank her?”

“No.” Shouto clenches his fists. “Endeavor could discover it, and then—“ he cuts off that train of thought. “She’s put herself in enough danger for me already.”

“What… Shouto, what would he do?” Ochako asks, softly. “I mean, she's the Mother of Night — what could he do?”

He can't bring himself to answer. His father might not be able to do much to Inko herself, but he has other ways to punish her.

Green hair, green eyes, a bright smile.

He can't let that happen.

“I'm going to sleep.” He rolls over, facing away from her. “Goodnight, Ochako.”

“...Goodnight, Shouto.”

***

“This is the place?” Shouto whispers, peering out from behind a tree. A figure stands at the entrance of the temple, face shrouded by a deep cowl. They're holding a spear at their side. The light of the mid-morning sun glints off its tip.

Ochako nods and gestures at the figure. “That's Thirteen.”

“They look like a sentinel.” He scans the nearby terrain. He'd brought his sword, but had hoped he wouldn't need to use it.

“It does look like they're guarding this place. And there was that warning… I wish I could remember more.” She furrows her brow. “Why don't we just try explaining ourselves before we make any assumptions.”

He takes a breath, and nods at her. They step out from behind the tree.

“Hello,” he calls. “I'm looking for—”

“You are not welcome here!” Thirteen shouts, shifting to a combat stance and lifting their spear. “Leave now, or I will have to take action against you.”

He holds his hands up in front of himself, and takes a small step forward. “I don't want to fight, I just—”

Thirteen throws the spear… way off target, if he’s the target.

And then he’s on the ground, face full of snow.

Ochako is down with him, having dove at him to knock him flat. And the tree directly behind them has a spear embedded in its trunk, at least a foot deep.

“What— where did—?”

“Fuck!” Ochako’s eyes are wide, looking at… a pinprick of nothingness hovering in the air between them and Thirteen. The light itself distorts around it, and the spear flies back into their hand. What?

“How—?” Shouto stares, baffled.

“Maybe that physics lesson would have been a good idea,” she mutters, not making any sense.

Thirteen throws the spear again, up into the air. The nothingness moves too.

“Roll!” Ochako shouts, and Shouto obeys just in time for the spear to slam tip-first into the ground where he’d been laying an instant earlier. He scrambles to his feet, heart pounding. He still has no idea what will happen if he dies.

Thirteen somehow pulls the spear back again. “No man may enter here!” They ready their stance for another throw.

“He’s just trying to find his mother!” Ochako steps in front of him.

Thirteen lowers the spear a fraction. “Ochako, you should know that you're not an obstacle to me.”

“We’ll go! Okay? But please — his name is Shouto. He’s looking for his mother, Rei,” Ochako calls, putting her hands out in front of herself. “Go ask if she wants to see him, if she’s there. We’ll wait at a distance.”

She takes a step back, and Shouto follows her cue, backing away as well.

Thirteen nods once before turning and disappearing inside the temple.

***

Out of sight of the temple, Shouto sits on a fallen log, bouncing his leg.

“They nodded,” he says, worrying at his lip. “Does that mean she’s really in there?”

Ochako drops onto the log beside him and stretches her legs out. “Maybe? What we said must have meant something, or I imagine they’d have kept attacking.”

He sighs heavily. Sitting here just waiting when everything points to his mother being practically within reach is excruciating. But the idea of being on the wrong end of Thirteen’s spear again is enough of a deterrent to keep him in place.

“How does that spear work?” he asks. A distraction would be nice.

Ochako chuckles. “It’s just a regular spear. Thirteen is able to warp the fabric of spacetime itself in localized regions to create the desired trajectory for it.” She frowns. “Pulling it back to their hand is new, though. Not sure how that works.”

Right. Because the other part had been totally clear.

“Ochako,” Thirteen’s voice comes from behind, eliciting a startled yelp from her. “I would be happy to elaborate on that technique after I have escorted Shouto into the temple.” A shift in stance, and they're addressing him. “You cannot bring your sword.”

He stands. Ochako nods at him, and he hands over his blade for her safekeeping.

The three of them cover the short distance back to the temple. Ochako stops at the entrance, reaching to give his hand a brief squeeze.

“Good luck,” she whispers.

Thirteen leads him through winding corridors and up narrow staircases. Natural patterns in the marble of the walls dance into ephemeral life in the flickering torchlight and Shouto’s heartbeat is deafening in his ears.

Eventually, Thirteen stops just before a doorway and pulls aside the drape hanging across the threshold. He squints against sudden bright light flooding through the gap.

A slight woman sits in a chair across the small room, her long, white hair illuminated by the sunlight pouring through the window she sits beside.

And he knows. His search is over. He's found his mother, finally.

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Instead of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter Three: The Bull of Minos

He finds Momo in the lounge, talking to Hagakure, who vanishes with a yelp the moment she notices him. Off to clean another room.

“You're causing a lot of trouble for everyone, Shouto.” Momo downs the rest of her drink.

“I hope he wasn't too hard on you,” Shouto says. Guilt creeps its fingers into the edges of his consciousness. “I'm sorry, but you know that I have to do this.”

Momo sighs and turns to face him. “I don’t know that. You don’t even know where she is. Or if she’s even alive.”

Shouto shakes his head. “If she had died, she would have shown up here at the House again. She’s not here, so she has to be out there somewhere, in the living world.”

“Shouto…” Momo starts, gently. “You didn’t even know she existed until you happened to eavesdrop on the wrong conversation. She must have left when you were a small child. How do you know she’ll want to see you at all?”

He looks toward the exit. He has nothing, if she doesn’t want him either. “She has to.”

He’ll try again.

***

Tokoyami catches up with him part of the way through Asphodel. There’s no mistaking the unnatural darkness and eerie chill that roll through any place the God of Death deigns to visit. It should be soothing, given the oppressive heat that makes every step Shouto takes through Asphodel nearly unbearable. But he shivers, instead, dread sinking its claws deep into his chest.

If Tokoyami has come after him at his father’s behest, this attempt will be short-lived. He’d thought he was safe from him, given that mortals are dying constantly and Tokoyami rarely has a spare moment. Maybe Hawks is picking up the slack for him; they do work together occasionally, as two of the very few entities that are allowed to come and go between the living world and the domain of Endeavor.

“Shouto.” Tokoyami’s voice is as deep and toneless as ever. “You’ve been moving fast. It took me a while to catch up to you. And you didn’t even say goodbye.”

Shouto sets his shoulders. “I’m sorry for how I left things, but don't you have better things to do than chase after me?” He sighs. “Whatever. Let's get this over with.”

Tokoyami scoffs. “I'm not here for that, Shouto.” He looks away.

“Then what—?”

“Let's see who can kill more of these Inferno-bombers, shall we?” Tokoyami cuts him off, slamming his scythe into the ground, creating a vortex of darkness — certain death for any foes foolish enough to wander into it.

He's here to help?

Tokoyami racks up kills unfathomably quickly. Shouto tries to keep up, at first, but can't help but occasionally stop and stare in wonder at the incredible display of ruthless efficiency.

When all the enemies are dead, there’s a hint of a smirk on Tokoyami’s face.

“That wasn’t even close, Shouto. You’d better brush up on your skills if we’re going to do this again.”

He almost misses it, in Tokoyami’s deadpan delivery.

“Again? You’re planning to help me on a regular basis? Why?” Shouto frowns slightly.

“Who says I’m helping you at all? I’m just testing my skills against yours.” He wraps the darkness around himself, preparing to leave.

“... Right.” Shouto nods, no less perplexed.

“Until next time.”

Tokoyami vanishes, and Shouto staggers at the sudden return of the stifling heat in the air.

***

He encounters the Strongbows again as soon as he sets foot in Elysium.

Instead of getting hit, don't.

He dodges out of the way of an almost certainly lethal barrage of arrows. Once he gets into close range of the enemy, he's able to prevent them from taking any more shots, and makes quick work of them.

He chuckles. He'll need to thank Izuku again for his oh-so-useful advice.

The next chamber is strangely quiet, aside from the unnerving muttering coming from just beyond the bridge ahead of him.

A man with long golden hair, dressed like a champion, is seated on a bench. His weapon lays unused beside him.

“You're not going to fight me?” Shouto asks, approaching cautiously.

The man shrugs. His reply is quiet. “Feel free to tell anyone you meet that we battled and you defeated me. It’s all the same to me.”

Shouto frowns. “I thought all the shades of Elysium are supposed to be obsessed with proving their superiority in combat.”

The stranger sighs. “Not this one.”

He looks miserable. Isn't Elysium supposed to be a paradise for its resident souls? All of the greatest warriors, honing their skills against each other for all time.

This one is an enigma.

“Well, thanks for not trying to kill me.” Shouto starts to move on, but stops, turning his face to look at the stranger out of the corner of his eye. Maybe someone at the House knows something about him. “What's your name, sir?”

The man doesn't look up when he answers, nearly in a whisper. “They used to call me Yamada Hizashi.”

***

He dies again, facing down Iida, the Bull of Minos. Some details must have been embellished over time, because he hadn't looked like a bull at all. He'd certainly been able to charge like one, though. Even with the power of the ocean imbued into his spear by Selkie, he'd barely been able to lay a single blow on Iida before finding himself crushed against a pillar.

Izuku gasps when he looks at the record. “You faced down the Bull of Minos himself, Iida Tenya?” he asks, incredulous. “Was Aoyama Yuuga there with him, too?”

Shouto frowns. “Why would be have been there? Aren't they enemies? Isn't Aoyama the one that sent Iida into the afterlife in the first place?”

“Oh! I'm glad you asked. You see, they were enemies in life, but in death…”

Oh, great. He should have known better than to ask Izuku about the history of a fallen hero.

The explanation is still ongoing, five minutes later. “And that's why Iida believes he owes a debt of gratitude to Aoyama, and is always there to fight at his side, when he's needed. It's very romantic, if you ask me.”

“Right.” Shouto exhales. He hadn't asked, but whatever.

He starts to move on, but Izuku catches his arm.

“Um, Shouto…”

Shouto sighs. “Yes?”

“Do you think, maybe, if you ever encounter Iida again, you could, you know, ask him for an autograph? For me? And then you can give it to me when you die again and end up back here.”

Shouto stares at him.

“N-N-Not that you'll die again, necessarily! But just in case!”

“No.” Shouto glares. It's just great knowing how little faith Izuku has in his chance of ever achieving his objective. An autograph, really? From the guy who just smashed him to death against a marble pillar. Ugh.

He tries not to visibly stomp his way over to Aizawa, and ignores his father's taunts over successfully foiling another of his escape attempts.

He'd considered asking Izuku if he knew anything about Yamada Hizashi, but definitely not after all that. Maybe Aizawa knows something. He'd been one of the greatest champions to ever exist in the living world, before he'd ended up in Father's service here in the House.

He's a little calmer by the time he reaches the wing of the House where Aizawa is posted.

“Hey, kid.” Aizawa’s greeting is the same as always. “You were gone a long time. Thought maybe that you'd made it out.”

“Unfortunately not.” Shouto grimaces.

Aizawa puts a hand on his shoulder, and Shouto blinks at him. “Just keep trying. You only have to succeed once.”

Shouto nods, looking down at his feet. It's hard not to get discouraged by losing over and over again, but Aizawa is right. If enough factors ever happen to align in his favor, that will be the end of it. As long as he maintains his resolve, there's always a chance that he'll succeed. Maybe Kirishima has had the right idea all along, with his prayers for luck.

But he's seen what a loss of resolve looks like, in Elysium. And that's what he'd come to ask about.

“Hey, have you, by any chance, heard of a shade called Yamada Hizashi? I found him in Elysium, and he was…” he trails off when Aizawa’s hand slips off his shoulder, and he looks up at him. His expression is stricken.

Aizawa swallows. “So you found him, then,” he says, slowly. “I wasn't sure if he was still out there somewhere.” He falls silent, and the look on his face… his mind is somewhere else entirely.

When he doesn't say anything further after a few moments, Shouto clears his throat. This is awkward. “Well, uh—”

“If you see him again,” Aizawa says, cutting him off, “can you tell him…” He looks away.

Shouto waits. What tragic tale has he wandered into?

Aizawa turns back to him, jaw set. “Tell him I still love him, and that I miss him always.”

Shouto blinks. So they'd known each other in life. But why would they have been separated after death? Aizawa is known for his heroism even among the gods, and if Yamada is in Elysium, he must have been a great warrior as well.

“Sir, why—?”

Aizawa grips his shoulder again, cutting him off. “Please — leave it at that. No more questions.”

Shouto just nods. What can he possibly say to that? It’s not like Aizawa to open up about anything that had happened during his life on the surface. Prying is unlikely to get him to say anything more.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Thirteen: Team Shouto

“There's someone I need to see again, too.” Yamada slings his bow across his back.

Shouto lets out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re— you want to come with us?”

“Indeed,” Yamada says, lifting his chin. “I’ve sat around wallowing for long enough. This looks to be as good a chance as any for me to actually do something about this miserable situation.”

Shouto looks towards the rest of the group.

Kyouka inclines her head. “Good different, then.”

Mina nods. “The more, the merrier!”

‘Merry’ isn’t a word Shouto would have used to describe Yamada based on their previous interactions, but his demeanor has completely shifted, now.

Maybe he’d only been subdued out of a sense of helplessness — resolving himself to take action seems to have energized him. The man Shouto had caught a glimpse of before, when he’d first mentioned Aizawa to him, has come out in full force.

“And you can conjure pools of acid?” he’s asking Mina, who gives a brief demonstration. He nods, and moves on, taking stock of them all.

He returns to Shouto. “You’ve got an impressive little group here,” he says. “Let’s see how they fare in battle! Lead the way, Shouto!”

***

Nemean Chariots can’t really grind an opponent into dust beneath their wheels when they’ve been rendered weightless. Half of the chariots hang in the air above their heads, giant, deadly wheels spinning ineffectively as Yamada picks them off one by one with his bow. All Ochako had needed to do was get close enough to touch each one. The other half have mostly been dissolved after running into Mina’s acid pools.

“I can’t believe you fought through all this alone,” Mezou says as they take a moment to breathe.

Shouto leans against a wall. “It’s not like I had any other choice.” He laughs mirthlessly. “It’s not anything impressive; I failed hundreds of times before I ever managed to face Endeavor at the surface.”

Mezou shakes his head. “You had a choice — you could have given up entirely. A lesser person would have. Or you could have come out of it hardened and cruel.”

Denki joins them, resting an elbow on Shouto’s shoulder. “Yeah, don’t sell yourself short. You’re an inspiration! It’s amazing that you weren’t an asshole to begin with, your dad being who he is.”

Denki jostles him, grinning pointedly until Shouto smiles, just slightly.

“That’s better,” he says, and walks off to insert himself into whatever Kyouka, Mina, and Hitoshi are conversing about.

“He’s right, you know,” Mezou says, quietly — it’s amazing that someone with such a large physical presence can be so soft-spoken. “None of us would be here if we didn’t believe in you, no matter how nonchalant about it some of them seemed back on Olympus.”

Shouto closes his eyes, sighing heavily. His time on Olympus is foggy; he’d been operating automatically, failing to process everything he’d been through, trying to come to terms with what he’d gained — what he’d lost. But regardless of how thoroughly he’d thrown himself into helping the others with their responsibilities, striving to fill an Izuku-shaped hole with new connections, new purpose — he can’t possibly deserve this much faith from them.

He opens his eyes. “We should keep moving.”

***

Shouto drops low and forms a wall out of the ground as Aoyama’s spear soars past him.

Ugh. Had it been too much to ask that their absence up until now had meant that they’d found something more productive to do than get in his way?

“Do we really need to do this?” Shouto calls. “What did Endeavor come up with this time? Now I’m a monster who needs to be kept out of the Underworld?”

“Monster?” Hitoshi whispers, crouched beside him.

Shouto shrugs. No time for a long-winded explanation of his father’s methods of roping in assistant jail keepers.

“Come out, you cowardly snake!” Aoyama’s voice seethes with animosity. “I see you’ve manipulated a few little godlings into aiding you!”

Is it really necessary to be so insulting? It’s not like Shouto’s ever done anything against him personally, other than killing him repeatedly — but Aoyama’s attitude had been around before all that, even.

Shouto frowns, looking around at his friends. Would they doubt his honesty at this point? Could they be led to believe that he had manipulated them?

“Hey, Shouto,” Hanta says, putting a hand on his arm. “You didn’t even ask us to come. We know you didn’t manipulate anybody.”

The rest nod their agreement, faces earnest — even Hitoshi and Kyouka.

“Even if you’d tried, we’re not idiots,” Hitoshi adds with a smirk.

Is he really that transparent? He twists his mouth. He hasn’t lied to any of them, no — but he has he done anything to deserve all this trust and loyalty?

Yamada steps forward. “Would you say that I am a gullible fool, Yuuga?”

Aoyama’s over-dramatic gasp is audible even from behind a barrier across the room. “Yamada Hizashi? What are you doing in the company of this contemptible scoundrel?”

“That is enough, Yuuga.” Iida’s voice rings out for the first time since their arrival. “Up until now, I have fulfilled my duty as a combatant at your side without voicing any of my doubts of Endeavor’s claims. But Shouto has fought with honor every single time, and here he stands with the clear support of Olympus. And Yamada Hizashi is championing his cause, as well.”

“What are you suggesting, Tenya?” Aoyama asks, incredulity raising the pitch of his voice at least an octave.

Their voices drop in volume, and Shouto peers around the edge of his barricade. Iida has pulled Aoyama to the side and is gesturing sharply towards their group.

Shouto nudges Kyouka. “Can you make out what they are saying?”

She nods, and closes her eyes. After a moment, she starts to speak. “The big one with the axe—”

“Iida Tenya,” Shouto provides.

“—is systematically debunking every claim your father has made against you. The shiny one—”

“Aoyama Yuuga.”

“—seems skeptical, but he’s listening.”

Shouto exhales slowly. Maybe this won’t come down to a fight after all. As a group, they would almost certainly be able to prevail against the two of them, but likely not without casualties. Iida’s axe is almost instantly lethal, and he’s fast. Aoyama’s spear can’t be ignored, either.

Kyouka opens her eyes and raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you really keep letting him go after you’d nearly defeated him, knowing that meant you’d have to face him again with his little friend?”

Shouto glances down and away. “He yielded. And it’s not like I ever actually wanted to fight him.” He’d always hoped that one day, Iida would stop wanting to fight him, too.

“You’re too good for your own good, Shouto,” Kyouka says, shaking her head. She pats his hand gently.

“Mm,” he replies, noncommittal. It’s hard to agree, knowing how badly he’d treated Izuku — inadvertently, but still. He’d taken years to make it to the surface after learning of his mother’s existence — additional years in which she’d continued to suffer, as a result of his inadequacy. And now, making everyone help him—

“They’re coming over here,” Kyouka whispers, interrupting his self-flagellation session.

Shouto tenses, readying himself to jump out from behind his wall. He grips his sword and calling his mother’s frost to his fingertips. If he can slow Iida down, maybe—

“We’ve decided to join you in your quest, Shouto,” Iida announces, and Shouto blinks.

They want to join him? Not just let him past without a fight?

He stands up, narrowing his eyes. “How do I know I can trust him?” He jerks his chin at Aoyama while maintaining eye contact with Iida.

Iida nudges Aoyama, who stumbles forward from the force of it.

Aoyama scuffs at the ground with his foot. “I apologize, Shouto. I was operating under some false conceptions about you, but still — it was excessive for me to make it so… personal.”

Ochako and Tsu come to stand at either side of him, arms folded. Aoyama’s eyes widen, and he shrinks under the intensity of their glares.

“We’ll keep an eye on him for you, Shouto,” Ochako says.

Tsu nods. “If he reaches for his spear without good reason, he’s done.”

Aoyama visibly swallows.

Shouto nods. “More the merrier,” he says, voice flat. He glances at Mina, and she grins.

She inserts herself between Iida and Aoyama, slapping them each on the back. “Welcome to team Shouto!”

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Nineteen: The Fates

Sitting up and clutching the blankets to his chest, Izuku nudges Shouto’s leg with his foot. Waking someone up before they’re ready is awful, but the unexpected presence of a child is an acceptable reason for a premature awakening.

“Mm?” A crease appears between Shouto’s brows, and his arm wraps tighter around Izuku’s middle.

The little girl is still standing there, hands at her sides, expression neutral. She could be mistaken for a statue if it weren’t for the occasional blink. She’s adorable, really, setting aside the unnerving nature of her sudden appearance.

“Wake up, love,” he whispers, bringing his hand across to cup Shouto’s sleep-softened face. “You have a visitor.”

His heart aches — for so long, it had seemed an impossible dream, being able to wake up together with Shouto, and now that it’s finally his reality, the threat of it being taken away is a suffocating weight on his chest.

Shouto inhales, stirring at last. “Huh? ‘Zuku?” he rasps, still groggy. He tilts his face up, eyelashes tickling at Izuku’s ribs as he blinks himself fully awake. “A visitor?”

He evidently catches sight of the little girl, because he sits up quickly, back stiff, eyes widening. “Who—?”

“Hello, Prince Shouto,” the girl says, quietly, and Shouto’s eyebrows lift a fraction higher.

Izuku lets his gaze linger on Shouto’s face, mapping out the lines of his expression. It must be a long time since he’s heard that title — he’d asked the members of the House to stop using it ages ago, and Endeavor would never show him enough respect to call him by it anyway.

“We’ll wait for you in the hall,” she continues. “Please don’t take too long.”

She turns and leaves.

Izuku frowns. “We?” Who could she…?

He stiffens with realization. “The Fates.” Shouto whispers it along with him.

Shouto throws the blankets aside and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. The line of his back is rigid, and Izuku shifts closer, reaching out a tentative hand. It shouldn’t feel so intimidating, after last night, but the idea of Shouto potentially flinching away freezes him in place.

But then Shouto sighs shakily and the fear of rejection dissipates. Izuku slips his arms around him, and they rest there, chest to back, cheek to shoulder, until Shouto takes another deep breath.

“We’d better get dressed,” Shouto says, quietly. “She said not to take too long.”

Izuku tightens his arms around him. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Maybe there’s still a chance he’ll change his mind and let them all help him to finish this once and for all…

But Shouto nods resolutely, and it’s obvious that he’s set in this course of action. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, willing his stomach to settle.

“I do wish that I could at least use my mother’s power when I fight him,” Shouto says, quietly. “It would be fitting, for her to be a part of this. And being able to harness the power of Winter could really help level the playing field, I think.”

It would. He hums his agreement.

Shouto gives Izuku’s arms around him one more squeeze, and lifts one of Izuku’s hands to his lips, interlacing their fingers. “We should get going,” he says, breath brushing over the back of Izuku’s hand.

“Okay,” he says. If Shouto is decided, he’ll support him however he can. “Let’s go.”

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter Eight: A Promising Lead

“Shouto! I’m glad to see you’re awake!” All Might’s voice booms. Much louder in person than over a nebulous psychic connection.

Shout winces.

All Might’s smile stays fixed in place but the rest of his face changes, apologetic. “Sorry, my boy,” he continues, more subdued. “You've been through an ordeal. I'll tone it down.”

Shouto’s not sure he could handle that kind of volume even on a good day, but alright.

“I'm told you saved me, on the mountain,” Shouto says, looking at his hands resting on the blankets in his lap.

All Might shakes his head. “I came when called, but it's these two who deserve all the credit. And Recovery Girl, of course.”

Tsu had come back into the room and he hadn't even noticed her — All Might's presence is overwhelming.

He looks back and forth between Tsu and Ochako. “Then, thank you. I don't know how I can ever repay you.”

“There's no need for that,” Ochako says, waving her hands in front of her. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Not anyone,” Shouto mutters.

“Anyone here on Olympus,” All Might adds, gaze growing steely for a moment before returning to warm kindness. “You don't have to worry about anything like that anymore. You're home now, where you belong.” He sits on the bed, and the whole mattress bends to accommodate his mass.

Guilt gnaws at him. He had never told them his real reason for wanting to leave the Underworld. Now is the moment of truth.

“Actually,” he starts, quietly. He swallows, looking up at All Might and meeting his gaze. “I didn't just— Coming to Olympus wasn't the only— There's something else I need to do here in the living world.” Ugh. So articulate. Pure eloquence. He should be an orator.

He flicks his eyes away from All Might. He can't stand to watch that warmth bleed away. Finally, somewhere he could be welcome, could live as something other than an abused pawn, and he's fucking it up within minutes of meeting these people. He clenches the blankets in his fists.

“What do you need to do? How can we help?”

…What?

He looks around, at All Might, Ochako, Tsu. All Might had spoken, but they all look back at him with soft concern and hard determination on their faces. A strange juxtaposition.

“You're not angry that I didn't tell you before?” His grip relaxes. “You want to help? You don't even know what it is, yet.”

Tsu takes one of his hands. Ochako puts a hand on his shoulder. All Might pats his knee.

“My boy, you had other priorities besides explaining yourself at length in the limited time we had available to speak.” All Might's eyes glint again. “You are a god, and you were being kept prisoner against your will for no good reason. That's why we helped you.”

Shouto’s eyes burn. He blinks rapidly, but the tears come anyway.

“I would have come down there myself and gotten you out, but there are aspects of the agreement between Endeavor and me that cannot be broken.”

Come down… fighting all the way in and all the way out again? Possible for All Might himself, perhaps, but for anyone else… that would be a monumental task.

He takes a steadying breath and looks to the three of them again.

“I need to find my mother.”

***

All Might and the rest of the Olympians make efficient use of the limited information he’d been able to give them. Her name is Rei, and he knows basically nothing else.

Still, it’s enough. It’s common knowledge — to everyone except him, apparently — that Rei is the Goddess of Seasons, and that she had disappeared under mysterious circumstances a long time ago.

No one had known that she’d gone to the Underworld, or that she’d had a child with Endeavor. No one had known she’d returned to the surface, either.

Usually, if one of the gods disappears, it’s by choice. The seasons had kept on turning, so no one had tried very hard to look for her.

Until now.

Tsu is the one to find the essential piece of the puzzle.

She circles a small area on the map. “My creatures tell me there is a region that they have been unable to inhabit — it’s been in perpetual winter for as long as they or their ancestors can remember.”

Shouto stares. He would never have been able to discover that on his own, not anytime soon, at least. Since it is winter right now, an area like that wouldn't have stood out as different in any way.

All Might nods. “A promising lead! If something is wrong with the turning of the seasons, Rei might have something to do with it.”

Ochako leans forward, examining the map closely with narrowed eyes. “I know that area, or something in it, at least,” she says. “The Sanctuary of Thirteen, the Personification of Relativity.”

“Personification of what?” Shouto asks. Tokoyami and Izuku are technically the Personifications of Death and Sleep, respectively — that much is a familiar concept — but… Relativity?

She shakes her head, laughing. “That would take way too long to explain.”

“Okay, well, can we go there and investigate?”

She frowns. “I think I remember some sort of warning against trespassing in that temple, but it was so long ago that I don't remember the details.”

“We have to at least try. Please,” he says. His mother might really be there. Why else would the seasons in that one place behave differently than elsewhere else? In a matter of days, his search has gone from seemingly impossible to tantalizingly close to complete.

“Ochako and Shouto, the two of you should go,” All Might says. “Your familiarity with Thirteen could prove useful, Ochako.”

She nods, turning to Shouto. “We'll head out tomorrow morning.”

He nods mutely. This could really be it. He could actually find her. All because of the willingness of others to drop everything and help him. And to have someone coming along with him — it's more than he ever could have hoped for.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter Six: A Good Night's Rest

Being killed by his father never gets easier. He comes back shaken to the core every time. The only bright side is that he inevitably arrives back at the House before his father, so he can openly accept comfort from Izuku.

Once, victory had seemed to be within his grasp. He'd fought with everything— everything he had; he'd been blessed with the power of All Might, Selkie, and Recovery Girl, and he had managed to drive his father to his knees. It had seemed like— he had seemed to be on the brink of death.

But then his father had stood back up. More powerful than ever. Attacked Shouto with renewed vigor. Until Shouto had nothing left.

He’d floated there in the pool, tears streaming down the sides of his face and mingling with the blood, until Izuku had waded in and pulled him out.

“Maybe he can’t be beaten,” he’d whispered into Izuku’s shoulder.

Since then, demoralizing thoughts have swirled in his mind incessantly. Relentlessly.

Maybe his goal is simply impossible. But his mother had escaped, somehow — maybe his father hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill her.

Maybe he had… loved her.

But she’d still left. Left Shouto, too, before he had even been old enough to remember her. Maybe Momo had it right — maybe his mother hadn’t… wouldn’t love him, even if he did manage to find her.

Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.

And when the Olympians find out that his reason for escaping isn’t really just to join their ranks, maybe they won't want him, either.

“You know, I have a lot of experience talking to people who have just died,” Izuku says, carefully, after Shouto’s most recent resurrection.

“Uh-huh,” Shouto says, raising an eyebrow.

“And I can't imagine it's good for someone to die over and over again like you've been doing.” Izuku twists his mouth, brows drawn together in sympathy.

Shouto sighs. “Are you telling me to give up?”

Izuku shrugs. “I know better than to try that. But you could take a break, at least? Get yourself, I don't know, more centered, or something.” He puts a tentative hand on Shouto’s knee. “Seems like your nerves have been little bit frayed, lately.”

Shouto rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, know any good spots to relax around here? Maybe a spa?”

Izuku sighs. “You could try sleeping, for once. How long has it been?”

Of course Izuku would suggest sleeping.

Shouto busies himself picking at the skin around his fingernails. “I'm not sure. I don't remember. It's not like I need to, anyway.”

Izuku nudges him under the chin, capturing his gaze. “Have you slept at all since you learned of your mother's existence?”

“Does losing consciousness due to death count?” Shouto blinks slowly. His eyelids are just so heavy. Everything seems so distant, suddenly. He yawns. Izuku’s eyes are so green.

“No,” Izuku murmurs, at the edge of Shouto’s awareness. “That doesn't count.”

***

Shouto inhales sharply, opening his eyes to darkness. He's tangled up in something. Had he died again? No — he's not immersed in blood. He's… comfortable? He's in his bed. He's tangled in his blankets.

“Please don't kill me, Shouto,” Izuku says, in the darkness. “I mean, I know I would just come back, but still, I'd rather not go through all that.”

Shouto sits up and squints, pushing his blankets down to his waist and willing his eyes to adjust. “Izuku?” Sleep has made his voice raspy. “Why would I want to kill you?”

“You were just so tired. You really needed to sleep.” Izuku takes on a vague shape in the dark room, and Shouto reaches out in his direction.

“You used your powers on me?” Shouto makes contact, and Izuku grasps his hand gently, squeezing a confirmation.

Something about having Izuku here with him in the dark is making his heart race. He tamps down the impulse to tug on Izuku’s hand, pull him closer, lie back down with him. He shakes his head to clear the fog — he must still be disoriented from sleep.

“Shouto…” Izuku starts, after a few moments. “If— if you decided to stay, maybe…” He trails off, falling silent again.

Maybe what? Shouto blinks. Izuku sighs heavily.

“I'll bet you can beat him now, after a good night’s rest,” Izuku says, too cheerily, and apparently abandoning his previous thought. Something's off.

“Good night's rest… It's always night, here. How long was I out, really?” Shouto frowns. “Is Endeavor back? What if he finds out you're in my room? It's not safe for you here, Izuku.”

“I have a— a good feeling about the next time you try,” Izuku says, voice wavering. He— sniffles? “Remember: instead of getting hit, don't.”

He releases Shouto’s hand. “Goodbye, Shouto.”

“Wait, Izuku—” Shouto stops. The room is empty, now. The vague shape of Izuku is gone. His sudden absence is painful, hollow.

He's nowhere to be found in the House, either.

***

Instead of getting hit, don't.

Instead of getting hit, don't.

Instead of getting hit, don't.

He makes it all the way to his father again. He borrows the powers of the gods. He brings him to his knees, again.

His father stands up. Shouto could scream in frustration. Instead, he doesn't. He takes a breath, refocuses.

And then next time he brings him down, he doesn't get back up.

“If you… leave,” his father wheezes, “you can… never… return.” Coughing wracks his father's hulking body, wet with the blood in his lungs.

Shouto strikes the final blow with all the fury of a thousand deaths.

He won. He won! He actually did it; took down the Lord of the Underworld!

All it had taken was a little bit of sleep. He can't wait to tell Izuku that he'd… been… right.

Oh. Right.

His chest hurts.

His mother. He'll find his mother. He has to. That's why he did all this in the first place.

***

The living world is so big. The land sprawls out — rivers, plains, mountains, ocean — with no end in sight. And it's so bright — it's hard to keep his eyes open against the relentless assault of the sun. How can the Olympians stand it? How can the mortals stand it?

He doesn't… he doesn't have any idea where to start searching for his mother.

A mountain, looming huge even in the distance, catches his eye — Olympus. It must be. All Might and all the other gods had said he would be welcome there, but if he tells them his true purpose, will they be willing to help? Would it turn them against him entirely? They are already inherently suspicious of the ‘denizens’ of the Underworld; they may not take it well if they interpret his lie by omission to be equivalent to active deception.

But with no clear goal in mind, wandering the land is unlikely to be fruitful. The mountain, with its overwhelming domination of his field of view, makes an appealing target. He'll have to take his chances with the Olympians.

He just needs to wait until he's healed enough to make the journey — he hadn't made it out of the fight with his father unscathed. Far from it.

In the meantime, he finds a suitable little cave — dark enough to feel like home, and lights a fire. His flames aren't as powerful as his father's, but they'll do for something as simple as this. The flickering of the firelight against the walls is much more comfortable on the eyes than the flaming monstrosity in the sky.

He leans his sword against the wall of the cave and huddles close to the fire, shivering. He hadn't exactly been able to bring along an abundance of supplies. There's weather on the surface, and it's cold. Really, really cold. He's lost a lot of blood.

Can he die of starvation? Hypothermia? Infection? What would happen if he did?

His father had said he could never return — had he meant that literally, as in his dying will no longer result in returning to the House? Or is he just no longer welcome there? Would he end up in Erebus, awaiting judgement like a mortal soul?

Is he mortal now? No — his father couldn't change the fundamental nature of his being, no matter how much he might want to… could he?

If he dies… will Tokoyami come for him? Or would he just… cease to exist? He shudders.

He should try to get some sleep. He lays down on the cold, rocky floor of the cave, and closes his eyes, wrapping Inko’s shawl around himself.

The ache in his chest returns. Sleep finds him immediately.

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Eleven: Someone Meaningful

Ochako and Tsu take his mother in, as promised, and she remains with them even after her skittishness around All Might fades as she becomes more familiar with him.

Shouto visits frequently, but turns down repeated offers to move in. They are already giving up their personal space for his mother; they don’t need things becoming even more cramped.

All Might insists that his guest room — the room Shouto had first woken up in on Olympus — is Shouto’s for as long as he’d like to stay. It's a far cry from his father's insistence that Shouto himself had been just another possession to be kept and used.

He tries to keep busy. He visits his mother, helps the other gods with their routine tasks, makes himself available to whoever wants to talk with him.

…Makes himself available to whoever wants to do more than talk with him — a common pastime among the younger gods on Olympus, apparently.

But it's nothing meaningful — and he always, always returns to his room to sleep alone.

Sometimes, on the edge of unconsciousness after returning to his bed, or upon waking, still foggy from sleep, he imagines someone else there with him. Just — there; it doesn’t have to be more than that. Someone meaningful.

Green eyes, green hair. Bright smile.

His daydreams are interrupted one morning by a soft knock on his door frame.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Mother?”

“Just came to check on you, Shouto,” she says, gently. “It’s been a few days.”

It has? “It has?”

She nods, and sits down on the bed. “Have you been here this whole time?”

He blinks. He’d thought he’d been to visit her yesterday, but if that hadn’t been yesterday, then… “I guess so.”

She smiles, but her eyes have a melancholy look about them. “You left someone behind, didn’t you? This is how I was when I first came to the surface. Honestly… this is how I was most of the time, until you came to get me from the temple.”

He swallows. He can’t — talk about this, with her. Can he? Won’t it sound like he regrets going in search of her?

“Not everyone down there is… like him, I know. I remember,” she says, hands folded in her lap. “I never would have escaped without Inko's help.”

“Oh?” he asks, weakly. His debt of gratitude to Inko is becoming insurmountable.

“She had her little one, Izuku, put… him—” her knuckles are white, gripping the fabric of her dress in her lap “—to sleep. She said she’d pass it off as an innocent mistake. I just— I hope nothing terrible happened to him because of me.”

“He’s okay,” Shouto says, quietly. “Izuku, I mean. He’s still there, so… that explanation must have been good enough.”

Izuku had probably never been let within arms reach of his father since then, though. And it explains his posting as a greeter of the newly dead — close enough to keep an eye on, far enough away to keep his powers from ever again being used inappropriately.

Her shoulders sag in obvious relief. This has been weighing on her, apparently. “At the time, I told myself that he wouldn’t— wouldn’t go so far as to harm a child, but later, once I was out… I couldn’t forgive myself for letting someone so young take that risk on my behalf. I was selfish— a coward.”

“Mother…” Shouto starts, reaching out to take her hands. “Please don’t say those things about yourself. You were in an impossible situation.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know Izuku.” He swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “And that’s exactly the kind of risk he would choose to take, even now.” He can’t help but smile, just slightly. “He's something special.”

Her eyes meet his, widening slightly. “It’s him, isn’t it? The one you left behind.”

Shouto looks away. It’s ridiculous, moping around like this over someone who— nothing had even— they hadn’t been—

His mother touches his cheek, and he looks back at her. “Shouto, you’re heartsick about this — it’s obvious. I don’t know how you left things with him, but if you’re hurting, you’re hurting. Telling yourself you shouldn’t won’t do any good when it comes to love.”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. She’s right — he does love him, as absurd as that is. He’s put himself in the exact same situation as Aizawa and Yamada. He’d spent time contemplating what could be worse than spending eternity apart from one’s love, and come up with nothing. And now that is his reality.

Her arms come around his shoulders, and he leans against her. He made his choice. He’ll just have to suffer the consequences.

***

The mortals are in the midst of some war or other — Shouto hasn't been paying close attention to the details — someone's wife or daughter is problematically in love with an enemy king or prince, or some such trifling issue.

Apparently, one side has done something to win Recovery Girl’s favor, because she gets word of the fighting having escalated, and asks for Shouto to come along to help.

There have been a lot of requests for him to come along and provide some sort of nebulous ‘help’, lately. His mother’s doing, perhaps — a coordinated effort to get his mind off his troubles.

This time, ‘helping’ means sorting between the only-mostly-dead and the all-the-way-dead lying on the battlefield. Recovery Girl is barely visible in the distance, slowly working her way over to his location.

Despite it being midday, twilight descends suddenly in the area, accompanied by an unnatural chill. Shouto turns, slowly.

Running into Tokoyami was inevitable, in these circumstances — something he would have realized if he'd bothered to spend two seconds thinking about it.

The god of death strikes an imposing figure on the battlefield, shrouded in darkness, scythe looming tall at his side.

“Shouto,” Tokoyami says, voice ringing out in the eerie stillness. “You look well.”

Shouto shrugs, reticent — Tokoyami had helped him, and would be unlikely to betray him by passing along sensitive information to his father, but it's best to err on the side of caution.

��It's good to see you, Tokoyami,” Shouto says, and it is, even if it’s also somewhat awkward. “How are… things? How is everyone?”

“The inexorable passage of time marches ever onwards, with or without your presence in the Underworld, Shouto,” Tokoyami says, sweeping his scythe to create a soul-collecting circle. “Things are fine.”

Shouto nods. “That's good.”

“Your father was livid, of course, when you made it out. Threw quite the tantrum.” Tokoyami’s voice is as steady as ever, but a hint of amusement makes it through.

Well, that was to be expected. As long as he hadn't taken it out on anyone else.

“Aizawa can't do much to show it, but from what I've seen… he's proud of you, for succeeding at last,” Tokoyami continues. “Momo just seems relieved to be back to her normal assignment.”

“Not disappointed that she doesn't get to spend all her time trying to kill me anymore?” Shouto laughs darkly.

Tokoyami shakes his head. “You know she was only working under strict orders, Shouto.”

Shouto nods, looking away. It's just hard not to take it personally, the umpteenth time one is ruthlessly attacked by someone who was once a friend.

“I suppose life has gone on as usual for everyone else,” he says, looking back at him and attempting a grin.

Tokoyami sighs. “Maybe you should know, Shouto…” he trails off, glancing down.

Dread fills his chest, and his heart rate picks up. “Know what?”

“Izuku isn't himself,” Tokoyami says, quietly. “I haven't seen much of him — this war has kept me well-occupied — but every moment I've been around him, he's been radiating pure despair.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Izuku is suffering… because of him? He swallows, licks his lips. “What— um. What’s he so upset about?”

Tokoyami shrugs, eyeing him sideways. “He's not talking. But one time… your father was away, taking care of some urgent matter, and he sent me to the House to supervise in his stead. When I arrived, Izuku wasn't at his post — I had to go looking for him.”

“Oh?” Shouto asks, faintly. “Did you find him?”

“I did.” He nods. “He was asleep. In your room, Shouto.”

He stares.

… It'll break my heart… Would break my heart… Hypothetically…

How long had Izuku known? How long had Shouto been in the dark about his feelings?

Recovery Girl's voice cuts through the words echoing in his mind. “Shouto, dear, I'm all finished here!”

His eyes dart around until they land on her. Her gaze shifts to his side, and she smiles warmly. “Tokoyami, how nice to see you.”

“I should get on with this,” Tokoyami says, nodding at her and gesturing at the rest of the battlefield. He turns back to Shouto. “I hope it was worth it.”

It's ambiguous, but not. Was getting away from his father and finding his mother worth the pain he'd caused?

Thoughts swirl in his head on the way back to Olympus. Living as a possession of his father's hadn't been an existence he could have continued. And his mother had been in that temple for an age, depressed and suffering, until he'd found her and voiced his forgiveness. And she's so happy now — she has a life again, people who care about her. He can't bring himself to regret that.

And he'd been willing to accept his own suffering as a result of his actions. But… how can he make that choice for Izuku? Izuku, who had done everything possible to help him escape, despite knowing what that would mean for himself.

They arrive back at Olympus. The battlefield hadn't been far.

His mother takes him by the arms. “What's wrong? You look devastated.”

Ochako and Tsu approach as well, faces full of concern.

Shouto looks at each one of them in turn, and then back to his mother. His churning thoughts have settled on a conclusion.

“I have to go back,” he says. “I have to go get him.”

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Instead Of Getting Hit, Don't

Chapter Seven: The Face of the Mountain

The cave is spinning. No — his head is spinning. The ground is solid and unmoving beneath him, to the touch. But his equilibrium is off.

He sits up carefully and takes stock of himself. Dizzy. Hungry. Shivering. On top of it all, his injuries are not visibly better than they'd been before he’d slept.

The mottled bruising on his torso from the numerous times he'd thrown himself out of the way of a brutal attack and landed hard on the ground is a dark purple, stark against his pale skin. He wouldn't be surprised if several ribs are broken, with how much it hurts to breathe. The side of his face is covered in dried blood from a — thankfully, shallow — gash on the side of his head. The deeper, more concerning wound in his side is still slowly oozing blood. Not good. Not good at all.

He pulls the shawl as tight as he can stand around his ribs and ties it in place. It has to serve the dual purpose of stabilizing his ribs and stemming the flow of blood.

New plan. Get to Olympus as soon as possible. He might not make it there at all, otherwise.

***

The climb up the mountain starts out deceptively easy. The base of the mountain is forested, but not too densely. Finding a path through the trees is not too hard, even with the complications of his injuries.

The trees become more and more sparse the higher he goes, but the path becomes steeper, as well. He straps his sword to his back, leaving both hands free. Nothing has attacked him so far — a wholly unfamiliar sort of journey. Eventually, there are sections he needs to scramble up, but finding handholds is not too difficult. Thankfully, the layer of snow is thin enough that it hasn't stuck to the steeper sections of his route.

He has to stop frequently; his injured ribs prevent him from breathing deeply, and shallow breaths don't provide enough oxygen for this degree of exertion.

Once the trees are few and far between, they provide very little shelter from the elements. The snow on the ground is deeper, and the sun reflects off of it, bright and uncomfortable in his eyes. He shivers. Maybe it's just the cold, but the chills running through his body seem like they might be indicative of something worse.

He loosens the shawl and winces, forcing himself to look. He sucks air through his teeth sharply at the sight.

It’s not bleeding anymore, at least, but the wound in his side is red and angry — does that mean it's infected? He had become accustomed to dying frequently; he hadn’t been surviving long enough to risk something like this happening. Maybe the environment of the Underworld isn't conducive to this sort of thing to begin with. He only knows of infection as a concept because of how often mortals die at its hands.

He ties the shawl back in place and carries on. What else is there to do but try to keep going?

He scrambles up another steep section and comes face to face with a sheer rock face. How had he not noticed this as he'd approached? There's no way he can climb something like that. He'll have to start angling his way up the mountain, which will significantly slow his progress.

But it's getting dark, and the wind is starting to howl. He needs to find better shelter, and fast. He scrambles along the side of the mountain, angling his path as steeply as he dares. There has to be a niche in the rock somewhere.

Desperation grows in his gut as time slips away from him. The mountain is growing darker and colder by the minute. And he's not even close to reaching the peak; he's barely started.

“All Might!” he calls. It can't hurt to try — other than how it literally hurts to shout. “Recovery Girl! Midnight! I need— please, I can't make it on my own!”

Nothing. No one.

“Mother!” His hoarse cry sounds panicked. Embarrassing.

And that's ridiculous, anyway. How would she know she was the mother being called, even if she could hear him? It's not like she would recognize his voice.

He finds the slightest of indentations in the rock. Will it be enough? There's no guarantee of a better spot if he keeps going, and the terrain is getting increasingly treacherous to traverse in the dark of night. And the night had fallen so quickly.

He'd thought he had somewhat of an ally in Inko. But… he can't really have expected her to delay the night itself for his sake. She might not even know yet that he's on the surface. But if his father had come out of the pool of blood, everyone would know.

…Izuku would know.

Hot tears on his cheeks. He’s going to die here. It was all for nothing.

He slides down to the ground and shelters in his pathetic excuse for a nook, pulling his knees to his chest.

His eyes slide closed, and Shouto slips into sleep’s soft embrace.

***

He dreams of shouted voices and bright light.

“He’s here!”

“Quickly!”

Being wrapped up in massive arms and lifted, carried. Father?

***

Voices again — whispered, this time.

“Will he be okay?”

“You got him here in time. Barely.”

Sweet liquid at his lips, down his throat. He swallows automatically.

“When will he wake up?”

Wake up? That sounds terrible. Sleep is safe, familiar.

Beautiful darkness enfolds him within its arms again.

***

He blinks awake, slowly. Where…?

Several things make themselves known to him simultaneously and fight for priority:

He’s not dead. He’s not on the mountainside. And he’s not alone.

He finds smooth, unmarred skin where the wound in his side had been. He's in a comfortable bed within a clean, well-furnished room. And there's a green-haired woman dozing in a chair a few feet away.

She’s unlikely to be a threat, considering that she could have killed him at any point before now, while he slept.

He sits up and clears his throat.

The woman startles out of her nap and stares at him.

“You woke up,” she says. Matter-of-fact.

“Apparently.” Shouto leans to the side, trying to get line of sight through the doorway. “Where am I?” How long was I asleep? Who are you? How did I get here?

There's no point to barraging her with questions; she can only answer one at a time, anyway.

“We found you about a week ago and brought you here, to the summit of Mount Olympus.” She smiles warmly. “You're Shouto, right? You can call me Tsu.”

He nods. “I suppose I have you to thank for my survival, then.”

“Me and Ochako, yeah. And a few others. It was a team effort, really.” Just like his escape had been, then. Tsu continues, “She and I discovered you while patrolling the mountain, and we summoned All Might for help. He carried you here, and Recovery Girl tended to your injuries.”

It's foggy, but he vaguely recalls dreaming that his father had been there. He cringes. Is he that desperate to believe that his father could actually care about what happens to him.

“We were getting really worried about you, Shouto.” Tsu tilts her head. “Recovery Girl fixed up everything that was wrong with you physically, but you still wouldn't wake up.”

“I must have needed the sleep,” Shouto murmurs.

“Do you want anything?” Tsu gestures at the doorway. “All Might will want to see you now that you're awake, but I can bring food and water, too, if you like.”

His stomach growls loudly. Tsu smiles. “Guess that answers that.”

“Uh, yes. Please.” Shouto swallows. All Might, coming to see him. “Thank you, Tsu.”

“You're welcome, Shouto.”

She leaves, and he's alone again.

Murmured voices drift through the doorway. Tsu and another person — not All Might or any of the other Olympians who had given him their power to help him escape, at least based on his lack of familiarity of the voice.

Another woman pokes her head in the doorway, smiling brightly. His heart squeezes painfully, reminded of another cheerful smile.

“So glad to see you're awake, Shouto!” She steps into the room. “I'm Ochako. It's really nice to meet you!”

“Hi, Ochako.” He blinks. “I hadn't realized there were so many gods on Olympus. I only interacted with a few on my way out.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, Tsu and I are just minor goddesses, not important enough to waste your time with our powers.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head.

“Tsu is the goddess of small bodies of water — ponds, streams, and such — and the creatures who live in them. Frogs, turtles, stuff like that.”

Shouto just nods. Any power could have been useful in one way or another, but it hadn't been up to him to discern.

“And I'm the goddess of gravity,” Ochako adds.

“Gravity?” He raises his eyebrows.

“You know, ‘what goes up must come down’ — that's me.” She smiles and rubs the back of her head.

“I know what it is, that just seems like a pretty important thing to be responsible for. And you say you're a minor deity?”

She shrugs. “Guess so. Maybe because the mortals don’t really understand the concept yet, so they don’t worship me.”

Huh. Is that how it works?

Further speculation is cut off when an enormous man enters the room. He’s huge. He has to duck to come through the doorway, which isn’t small to begin with. His shoulders barely fit, width-wise. He’s smiling broadly, teeth gleaming, and his shining golden hair looks imbued with the power of the sun itself.

There’s no question of his identity.

“All Might,” Shouto breathes.

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