Fractured Wings

The night was quiet that made you feel like you were the only person left in the world. The moon hung low in the sky, casting in a pale silver light over the empty streets of Deika City. I stood in the shadow of an abandoned building, it's windows shattered and it's walls covered in graffiti. 

This place had become my refuge over the past few days—a spot where the MLA's cameras didn't reach, where I could think without feeling like I was being watched. It was rare to find a place like this in a city so tightly controlled, but I'd scoured every corner until I found it. 

I leaned against the wall, my hands in my pockets. I was just about to zone out and rest but I noticed a new figure approaching from the other end of the street. Almost. My instincts kicked in, and I straightened, my eyes narrowing as I watched the man. 

He was short, his frame hunched under a long black cloak, the hood pulled low over his face. His movements were strange—jerky and erratic, like he was trying to appear harmless but couldn't quite pull it off. My guard went up immediately. This wasn't a part of town where people just wandered around at night, especially not someone who looked like they were trying too hard to blend in. 

I stayed still, watching him as he shuffled closer. He was muttering something under his breath, his head tilted slightly as if he were talking to himself. Weird. Definitely weird. I tensed, ready to move if he got too close. And then, without warning, he did. 

The old man lunged at me, his speed catching me completely off guard. One moment he was shuffling awkwardly, and the next he was a blur, his small frame barrelling toward me like a bullet. I barely had time to react, throwing myself to the side as he shot past me, his hood flying back to reveal a shock of white hair. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, his back to me, and for a moment, neither of us moved. 

"Not bad," the old man said, his voice raspy but full of energy. "I'd have been disappointed if you'd let an old man like me hit you." 

I straightened, my heart still pounding, and turned to face him. He was grinning, his sharp eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He looked... familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. His face was lined with age, but there was a sharpness to his features, a kind of intensity that made it clear he wasn't just some random old guy. 

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, my voice low and wary. My hands were still in my pockets, but I was ready to summon my paper at a moment's notice. 

The old man chuckled, brushing a hand through his wild white hair. "Name's Gran Torino," he said, his tone casual, like we were just two strangers meeting on the street. "And before you ask, no, I'm not here to fight you. Well, not unless you give me a reason to." 

Gran Torino. I knew him—or at least, I knew of him. He was a hero, one of the older generation, but he hadn't been active in years. At least, not that I'd heard. And yet, here he was, standing in front of me like he'd just stepped out of retirement. 

"You're working with the commission." I said, more a statement than a question. 

He nodded, his grin widening. "Got it in one. I'm as close to them as Hawks, for now. And before you start doubting me, let me stop you right there. You're still registered as an S-rank villain, and I know you've got every reason to be suspicious. But trust me, kid, I'm not here to screw you over." 

I didn't respond immediately, my mind racing. He was right—I didn't trust him. But if he was working with the commission, and if he'd managed to find me here, then maybe he was the real deal. Still, I wasn't going to let my guard down. 

"Prove it," I said, my tone flat. 

Gran Torino raised an eyebrow, his grin never wavering. "Fair enough. How about I tell you: there was a special team assembled to capture you, but it's been almost completely disbanded. The commission's decided that you're more useful where you are. Happy?" 

I frowned, considering his words. It made sense. The commission, like any organization would be pragmatic, and if they thought I could help them take down the MLA or the League, they'd be willing to overlook my past. For now at least. 

"Alright," I said finally. "I'll play along. But if you're lying to me..." 

"Yeah, yeah, you'll turn me into origami or something." The old man said, that's not even something I'm capable of, unless the person is dead. "Now, how about you tell me what you've got? I'm not here just for a friendly chat." 

I hesitated for a moment, then decided to take the risk. "The League, I'll start off with someone named Dabi. Some strong fire user, and I'm pretty sure half his strength is cause they turned him into a half Nomu. I don't know how strong he was before that. I'm guessing the experiment has been going on for some time now." 

Gran Torino's expression Sobered, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Dabi, huh? I'll make sure the commission knows. Anything else?" 

I nodded. "Bakugou Katsuki. I've got a tracker on one of the League's members so I know a location that has been a constant where Bakugou may be. Somewhere in Kyushu, near Fukuoka. That's where most of the core members most likely are." 

Gran Torino's eyes lit up at that, and he let out a low whistle. "Now that's useful. The Commission just got an email from Nezu a few hours ago about Bakugou. They've been scrambling to figure out where he is. This'll give them a starting point." 

I threw him over a piece of paper which would unravel to the location. Gran Torino nodded, his expression serious. 

"Don't worry, kid. We'll handle it. And you—keep doing what you're doing. Every few days, I'll be scouring the city for spots like this to find you. If you've got more intel, I'll be here." 

With that, he turned and started walking away, his movements still jerky and erratic. I watched him go, my mind racing. I didn't know if I could trust him completely, but for now, he was the best chance I had. And that would be enough. 

***

The park was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the world was holding it's breath. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the grass painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Midoriya Izuku sat on a bench, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his head bowed. He hadn't been able to bring himself to look at the sky, not when it felt like the weight of it might crush him. 

He hated this. His chest was aching, his thought's were spiralling in an endless loop of regret and self-loathing. He hated the way he couldn't stop replaying everything in his mind. He'd seen All Might diverting a plane away from the school and he thought that he could help, make a difference. But instead, he'd gotten hurt. Badly. He'd worried his classmates, his teachers, even All Might. And for what? 

He hadn't saved anyone. He didn't stop anything. All he'd done, was add to the chaos. 

His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He'd been so stupid. So reckless. He'd tried to take on something far beyond his capabilities, something even All Might had been struggling with. And what had it cost him? Almost everything. 

If he'd died then... if he'd died, what would have happened to One For All? It would have just disappeared with him. Would All Might's legacy, his dream, have died because of his recklessness? The thought made him feel sick. 

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. He wasn't even allowed to go far from his house now. The police were watching him, just like they were watching all the other hero students. They held more priority and an added likelihood of being attacked. It made sense, the League had made it clear they weren't above targeting kids, and after what had happened to Bakugou... Midoriya's chest tightened at the thought. 

Bakugou. His 'childhood friend,' his... whatever they were now. They hadn't been close in years, not really. They'd barely been on speaking terms, and Midoriya was fine with that, he hated the way Bakugou treated him when they were younger, it made him feel so low, sometimes lesser than human. 

But it didn't change the fact that Bakugou was out there somewhere, alone and in danger, and Midoriya hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it. 

He hadn't even been awake when it happened. He'd been lying in a hospital bed, or a make-shift one, unconscious and useless, while Bakugou was taken. And now... now he didn't even know if Bakugou was still alive. The thought made him sick. 

Bakugou was stubborn and strong-willed. There was literally no chance that he would choose villainy, no way he would give in to demands. But that also meant he would fight back. And if he fought back... Midoriya didn't want to think about what the League might do to him. 

He hadn't been in the class group chat since he'd woken up. He couldn't bring himself to face them, not after everything that had happened. He didn't want to see their messages, their worries, their plans to move forward, if they weren't all feeling miserable. 

He didn't feel like he deserved to be a part of that anymore. Not when he'd let them down so badly. The only thing he was grateful for was that Tokoyami had been saved. At least one good thing had come out of that nightmare. 

"Young Midoriya." 

The voice startled him, and he looked up to see All Might standing beside the bench, his gaunt frame silhouetted against the setting sun. Midoriya's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. All Might looked... tired. More than usual. But there was a softness in his eyes, a warmth that made Midoriya's chest ache in a different way. 

"All Might," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

All Might sat down beside him, the bench creaking slightly under his weight. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, All Might broke it. 

"I'm glad you're alive." he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I know you've been beating yourself up over what happened, but I need you to understand something. I don't regret choosing you. Not for one second. I trust you with my power, Young Midoriya. Completely." 

Midoriya's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, to argue, but All Might held up a hand, stopping him before he could speak. 

"No, listen to me," All Might said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You have a heroic spirit, Young Midoriya. A spirit that reminds me so much of my master, Nana Shimura. She was... she was something else. Brave, selfless, always putting others before herself. There was one time, when we were on patrol together..." 

He paused, his gaze distant, as if he were reliving the memory. "We came across a villain who had taken a civilian hostage. The situation was dire, and the villain was powerful. My master... she didn't hesitate. She put herself in harms way, made a move that was reckless and dangerous, but it saved their lives. I was terrified for her, but I also... I admired her so much in that moment. She was everything a hero should be." 

All Might's voice wavered slightly, and he looked down at his hands. "I'll tell you more about her another time. But the point is, Young Midoriya, you have that same spirit. That same drive to save others, no matter the cost. And I'm proud of you for it. Don't ever doubt that." 

Midoriya felt a prick at the corners of his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away, his throat tight. He wanted to believe All Might's words, wanted to believe that he was worthy of that trust. But it was hard. So hard. 

"All Might," he said finally. "I.. I don't know if I can live up to that. I keep messing up, keep putting everyone in danger. And now Bakugou... I wasn't even there to help him. I don't even know if he's..." 

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. All Might placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. 

"We're going to find him," All Might said, his voice steady. "In fact, we may already have a lead. The Commission received some information about his possible location. We're mobilizing a rescue mission as we speak." 

Midoriya's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "You... you found him? Where is he? is he...?" 

All Might nodded, his expression serious. "You know very well I can't tell you that. But know this. We will bring Young Bakugou home. I promise you that." 

Midoriya's heart raced, a thousand thoughts and emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to ask where he was, he wanted to know... because he wanted to be there. He wanted to beg his idol to be part of it. He just wanted to know if he was alive. 

But he stayed quiet. He knew this wasn't his time. All he could do was trust All Might and the others to bring Bakugou back. 

"Thank you," he said. 

All Might smiled, a small and genuine smile, and squeezed Midoriya's shoulder. "We will. And when we do, I want you to be ready. This isn't the end, Young Midoriya. It's just the beginning." 

With that, All Might stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the bench. He gave Midoriya one last nod before turning and walking away, his steps quick and purposeful. Midoriya watched him go, his chest aching with a mix of hope and fear. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going to let All Might down again. 

*** 

The arts and crafts room was bright and colourful, filled with the sounds of children laughing and the occasional clatter of supplies. It was a spring holiday, and the local community center had organized a special class for kids and their parents. 

The room smelled of glue, paint, and the faint sweetness of drying paper mache. At one of the tables near the back, six-year old Bakugou Katsuki sat hunched over his project, his small hands carefully smoothing out the layers of wet newspaper on his doll. His brow was furrowed with concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he worked. He didn't look up, not even when Midoriya Izuku plopped down in the seat beside him, chattering away like he always did. 

"Kacchan, look at what Hana made! It's a dragon! Isn't it cool? And Taro is making a robot! I think I'm gonna make a hero, but I'm not sure which one yet. Maybe All Might? Or maybe someone else? What do you think Kacchan?" 

Bakugou didn't respond, his focus entirely on his doll. He didn't care about Hana's dragon or Taro's robot. He didn't care about Izuku's endless questions. He just wanted to finish his project in peace. But Izuku, as usual, didn't seem to notice—or maybe he just didn't care—that Bakugou wasn't interested in talking. 

"Kacchan, what are you making? Is it a hero too? It looks really good! Can I see it?" 

Bakugou's hands stilled, and he shot Izuku a glare. "Shut up, Deku! I'm trying to work!" 

Izuku flinched but didn't back down. "Sorry, Kacchan! I just think it's really cool! You're so good at this stuff." 

Bakugou huffed and turned back to his doll, muttering under his breath. He didn't need Izuku's praise. He didn't need anyone's praise. He just wanted to be left alone. 

Across the room, their parents were chatting with the other adults, their voices a low hum beneath the noise of the kids. Mitsuki Bakugou was laughing loudly at something Inko Midoriya had said, her sharp voice carrying over the din. Bakugou glanced over at them briefly, his scowl deepening. He hated when his mom got like that, all loud and embarrassing. He turned back to his doll, determined to ignore everything else. 

But Izuku, as always, had other plans. He kept talking, his voice a constant buzz in Bakugou's ear. Bakugou tried to tune him out, but it was hard. Izuku was like a mosquito, always there, always annoying. Eventually, Bakugou couldn't take it anymore. 

"Deku, I said shut up!" he snapped, slamming his hands down on the table. The jar of paint next to his doll wobbled precariously, but Bakugou didn't notice. "Why do you always have to be so annoying?" 

Izuku blinked, his big green eyes wide with surprise. "I'm sorry, Kacchan! I didn't mean to—" 

Before he could finish, one of the other kids—a boy with a mop of brown hair—ran past their table, laughing as he chased after a girl. In his rush, he bumped into Izuku, who stumbled forward, his arm knocking into the jar of paint. 

Time seemed to slow as the jar tipped over, spilling bright red paint all over Bakugou's doll. The wet paper mache collapsed under the weight, and the jar rolled off the table, shattering on the floor. 

Bakugou stared at the ruined mess in front of him, his chest tightening. His doll—his perfect almost finished doll—was gone. Destroyed. And it was all Izuku's fault. 

"Deku!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anger. He jumped to his feet, his small hands clenched into fists. "Look what you did! You ruined it! You ruined everything!" 

Izuku's face crumpled, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry Kacchan! I didn't mean to! It was an accident!" 

But Bakugou wasn't listening. His chest heaved, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He felt like the walls were closing in, like the room was too loud, too bright, too much. He wanted to scream, to hit something, to make Izuku pay for ruining his project. But before he could do anything, his mother was there, her hand gripping his shoulder firmly. 

"Katsuki!" she said, her voice sharp but not unkind. "That's enough. Calm down." 

Bakugou tried to pull away, his face red with anger. "But he—" 

"I said calm down," Mitsuki repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "It was an accident. Now, instead of throwing a fit, why don't you start over? And this time, work with Izuku." 

Bakugou's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? No way! I don't wanna work with him!" 

Mitsuki raised an eyebrow, her expression stern. "Katsuki." 

Bakugou glared at her, but he knew better than to argue. With a huff, he sat back down, crossing his arms over his chest. Izuku, still sniffling, sat down beside him. 

"I'm really sorry Kacchan," Izuku said quietly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'll help you make a new one, okay?" 

Bakugou didn't respond, but he didn't push Izuku away either. Reluctantly, they started working together, their small hands moving in tandem as they built a new doll. Bakugou didn't remember much about what they made, only that it was something silly, something that made Izuku laugh. 

And when their mother's called them over to take a picture, Bakugou didn't smile, but Izuku did, his grin wide and bright as he held up their creation. 

He let out a sigh. He was tired.