Bound by Memory
Posted: Fri Jul 02, 2021 3:04 am
He was cold.
Chilly autumn air seeped into the room through the cracked panes of hazy, ill-fitting windows. The walls were just as powerless against the draft, paper-thin, and painted a crumbling and cracked yellow. Bare cement floors completed the frigid trifecta, unbearable without the added insulation of the threadbare blankets and flat pillows that passed for a nest or the shitty old couch that had been left here when the home was abandoned. The place creaked and groaned at the slightest breeze, and any particularly robust gust knocked drifts of dust down from the ceiling in little spirals. The particles tended to contaminate the air in little flurries, making anyone unlucky enough to breathe it in choke and sputter.
The decrepit old house was nearly in the wilderness, on the outskirts of some city no one bothered to learn the name of. It wasn’t like they would be here long enough for it to matter, anyway. In a few months, the pack would be on the move again, hunting for another broken-down house or empty building to camp out in until they inevitably had to leave it in turn, just as it was starting to feel like home.
It was a necessary precaution when you were the most wanted criminals in Japan.
The League of Villains had been in hiding for a handful of years now, staying out of sight and under the radar. Their crimes these days mostly consisted of shoplifting and petty thievery, nothing that drew too much attention. There was still an occasional murder here and there, usually when an unfortunate hero would stumble across them, but between their various quirks covering up a death or two wasn’t much of a challenge. The disappearance of even minor heroes tended to bring people sniffing around eventually though, so they were always prepared to bolt if the neighborhood got too hot. The less attention around them, the better.
Shigaraki scowled softly into the cheap fast-food Twice and Toga had managed to bring in. All this running and hiding. It was for their own good, to keep his pack safe and out of Tartarus… But it was still irritating, making him long for what was long lost.
The bar had been in a good location, close to transit, and right outside most Hero patrols. It had been obtained as a neutral location, a place to meet with prospective allies or negotiate deals without revealing Sensei and his home base, as it were. The first time Sensei had taken him to it was to introduce his new caregiver, who had manned the place and lived in a small apartment above the building.
Kurogiri...
It wasn’t a sentiment Tomura would reveal out loud, but he missed the nomu. The steady presence at his side had been grounding, the absence of it jarring. Perhaps that would come as a bit of a shock to anyone that had seen how he treated the misty man- for so long he’d seen him as a tool, his personal ticket to fast travel. It wasn’t until he was forced to work with the other members of the League that he began to think... differently, of his caretaker. Like a person. Like… an ally. He’d been with Tomura’s since he was a child, and hadn’t stopped caring for him no matter what slander or abuse Tomura had thrown at him. It was probably best that his mist seemed immune to decay, as he’d more than once slipped up and touched the man- whether on purpose or accident. He’d been a child, upset that his Sensei only talked to him through the screen and rare visits, lashing out at his appointed caregiver.
All the while, Kurogiri had spoken to him kindly, offering advice and care when it was needed. Holding him back when his common sense left him. Reminding him of his purpose, the legacy he carried.
Nausea rolled through Tomura, a familiar sensation. Usually he could push through it, but this time it was enough to make him give up on eating more than the bite he had. He curled the mostly-uneaten burger back up in its greasy wrapper and tossed it into the bag.
“I’m going out…”
The familiar, comforting banter of his pack lulled at the quiet words, all eyes on his lanky form as he stood. Shigaraki had never been the bulkiest alpha, even when Kurogiri had been around to force him to eat more regular, healthy meals. Years surviving on junk food, snacks, and energy drinks hadn’t exactly done him any favors in regards to his figure, and neither did his signature dark, baggy clothing, ripped and torn with frequent wear. His pants and shirts were old and worn, but still wearable… Even if they didn’t keep the cold out as much as he would have liked.
His pack had more pressing needs than their Alpha’s clothes anyway.
Toga seemed the most intent upon him, fangs sinking into a snack bread as her yellow eyes tracked him across the room. The tang of iron in the air betrayed her interest.
“Where’re you going Tomura?”
Shigaraki found he had no answer for her, shrugging. Once upon a time, he would have found the other alpha’s informality irritating, but now… She was a part of his accidental pack of downtrodden misfits. He could forgive her familiarity, along with her needling and hyperactive nature.
“Do you want someone to tag along?”
That he had an answer for, shaking his head while adjusting his coat.
“No… I need some time on my own. Two people draw more attention, anyway.”
Himeko pouted but didn't push it as she might have once. It was just another indication of just how oddly close they’d all become. Each member of the League had their limits and painful secrets still, after all.
“Fine… Be careful.”
A nod sufficed in answer.
Shigaraki’s worn red shoes slapped the concrete as he made his way over to the thin, rotting door that led outside… Only to be stopped by Spinner, announced by the scent of wet earth and something floral. In one scaled hand he held a well-used brush, the other holding various plain hair accessories. Red eyes met pink, dry lips pulling into a scowl even as Shigaraki lowered his gaze and removed Father, giving the omega permission to do as he liked.
Tomura’s hair had grown quite long, mostly due to his disinterest in cutting his hair or letting Toga or Spinner attempt to do it for him. Even if their skills were leveling up, those first few dozen homemade league haircuts had been rough, to say the least.
Spinner was quick, taming down the pale blue tresses and pulling them back behind Tomura’s head in a messy bun. Shigaraki wasn’t exactly a fan of the style… But he had to admit it was practical. His hair color was an obvious identifier, and the less of it that poked out of his hood, the better… Especially as he hadn’t had any interest in dying it, unlike some members of the pack.
Speaking of, the scent of burnt flesh and smoke announced Dabi entering from a side room, where he’d been doing… Whatever it was he did. Likely writing down revenge plots and scribbling names in some ratty old burn book, if Tomura had to guess. The beta sauntered over to the now-vacated couch, plopping himself on it nonchalantly.
“You’ll need these.”
A box of something was tossed to Shigaraki, decades of control letting him catch it in two fingers, eyes narrowed at Dabi’s cocky grin… Then at the box itself. Scent blockers, the patch kind and a little half-used bottle of the spray kind. Another necessary, if annoying, precaution. When he’d attacked the USJ all those years ago he’d already presented as an alpha and hadn’t bothered hiding his scent during the fight. No doubt that would be among his descriptors as well, right next to his eye color and hair color.
With a resigned sigh, the alpha stuck patches to the majority of his scent glands- on either side of his neck, under his jaw, and over his wrists- and gave himself a few spritzes of spray, careful not to use only as much as he’d need. Scent blockers were hard to come by in their situation, and Dabi needed them more than him. The stuff did its job though, his rain-and-ozone scent fading from the air, the alpha grimacing at the weird neutral stink of it. A quick toss and the box smacked against Dabi’s thigh, the beta letting out a derisive snort.
“Smells better in here already.”
A soft growl came in answer, though it was half-hearted- more in annoyance than any real sort of threat. He and Dabi had their differences and didn’t get along super well, but they were packmates all the same.
Hair pinned up and scent covered, Shigaraki was sure he finally had the consent of his pack- and almost made it a step before being interrupted in his progress once more, this time by Twice, who offered out a black cloth face mask and sunglasses.
Right…
The alpha let out a long breath, taking the items and carefully placing Father in the beta’s waiting hand. Already he felt unmoored without the comforting, sickening weight over his face… Something Twice understood, holding Father with all the care one would hold a glass figurine with.
“We’ll watch over your family, don’t worry. Ew those things are fucking gross!”
The cloth mask would have to do for now. As much as he wanted to carry at least Father with him, Shigaraki knew better. Maybe more than anything else, he was recognized by the hands he wore-having one on him was asking to have the pro heroes called.
“You may be needing this, as well.” Mr. Compress stepped up in his usual flashy fashion, holding out a marble with a flourish. The sphere passed between each of his fingers, until the index finger where it became… A roll of bills, in a clip. “For wherever your excursion takes you.” The way he said that- The beta knew him and how his walks tended to meander further and further the longer they went. This amount would easily cover bus tickets or a rail pass to get him wherever he needed, and back again.
He took the money, making sure to tuck it into a secure pocket.
“Anything else?”
Shigaraki rasped out in annoyance, though it was largely faked. He’d grown up without any of this, without the attention and care of a pack… Sure, he’d had Sensei and Kurogiri but it hadn’t been a pack, really. Not like this.
Sensei had discouraged him from treating them like a pack anyway. He’d discouraged the behaviors, forced his mind and body to move past such things. Sometimes when he smelled an omega’s heat, he could still feel the sharp buzz of electricity or the searing heat of hot metal on his skin…
When no one spoke, Tomura finally got out the door, pausing once outside to put his hood up. Alpha instinct should have demanded he rub his scent against the doorframe, claim this place and the people inside as his, under his protection… But Tomura felt nothing. Leaving his scent on anything was as good as setting off fireworks at their location, anyway.
The alpha most assuredly didn’t look back at the building as he walked away in some need to reassure himself that his pack would be safe without him. His League was capable. They hadn’t been caught before, it would take nothing short of a miracle to catch them now, even as tired and worn down as they were.
It was quiet out, a chilly, sleepy afternoon on the outskirts of town. Occasionally cars would honk or dogs would bark, but for the most part, Tomura was accompanied only by the sound of his worn shoes crunching on gravel. The soles were thin enough that the alpha could feel every edge and lump, making him grimace beneath his face covering.
Tomura hadn’t been sure where he was going, at first, but… thinking about Kurogiri had him all nostalgic. It wasn’t a great idea. Surely they would have the bar under surveillance if they hadn’t demolished it as some sort of monument to villains. Maybe it had just changed hands, becoming a normal, boring bar. Either way, it wasn’t a place the Leader of the League of Villains should go without also planning for a trip to Tartarus.
He kept telling himself that as he bought the ticket, and as he boarded the train headed to Yokohama.
This was stupid.
The soft cotton mask hid the alpha’s scowl as he plopped down into a seat next to the window, leaning against it and peering at the landscape from behind his tinted lenses.
A few other people stepped on the train after him, mostly betas, though one alpha stepped aboard carrying that confident swagger of someone with their knot too far up their own ass. They metaphorically stank of alpha insecurity, and literally stank of pheromones, blasting the train car with them like some newly-presented teen. That sort of behavior was just begging for another alpha to get offended and fight them.
Tomura didn’t rise to it.
Sensei had spent a lot of time conditioning him to overcome the instincts of his secondary gender. Sure, alphas were leaders, were strong… But they had their weaknesses. First, to each other, and second, to omegas. An alphas need to fight and stake out territory was a weakness easily exploited by other alphas, and even some betas. An alpha’s reaction to omega scents and sounds was just as much a drawback. Sensei had known that, and in response had seen fit to mold Tomura into an alpha without those instincts. After all, he was his dear successor, and he didn’t want anything to hold him back.
And so Tomura walked the world as if scent blind… Which had never been an issue, until he’d started to accumulate companions, and found himself unable to interact with them fully. It had taken time for him to start bridging that communication gap, to respond to his pack’s instinctive noises and scents with his own.
It was still a work in progress, after all these years. He wasn’t sure he would ever grasp it completely.
The train lurched into motion, and the scentless alpha had other pressing matters to deal with.
A life spent traveling from location to location via Kurogiri’s quirk had left him… Less than comfortable in moving vehicles. The sound of the wheels on the track pounded into his skull, creating a constant thrum of irritation under his skin. It took more effort than he liked to keep his hands down, to not tear into the skin of his throat and reopen old wounds. He didn’t have anything else for his hands to _do,_ making the urge even worse. Usually, if he had to ride in a vehicle, he would distract himself with a phone or handheld, but he had neither in the League’s current state. All he could do was stare out the window and try to will down the need to either tear his skin or climb out of the train car.
After a couple of hours, the train was finally pulling into the station at Yokohama.
Shigaraki was the first person off, motion sickness easing as he sucked in lungfuls of the crisp evening air. It had been _years_ since he was last here, but… Tomura couldn’t help but be struck by how familiar everything still was. The path was almost muscle memory, even all these years later. The streets were just as dirty, just as grimy, and swirled with potent mixes of all sorts of scents. People were ejected from bars and pachinko parlors with the same relish they had been in his youth.
The darkness enveloped him like an old companion when he stepped into one of the many alleyways in this district. The alpha had always preferred using such paths to get around. Stepping around the garbage and occasional homeless people was kind of familiar, and he didn’t mind it terribly.
What he _did_ mind was the sight that assaulted him at the exit of one of the alleys.
That.
They didn’t.
Hatred swept through Tomura, the dark figure cutting across the road in a singular purpose.
He knew this location, knew it by _heart..._ This was where the Nomu Factory had been. This… This was ground zero, the location of the so-called Kamino Incident. This was where Sensei had saved him and offered him his hand one last time. This was where he’d been sent away, unable to help, unable to save the only person that had ever cared for him before his pack.
And they had erected a fucking _All Might_ statue here.
He wanted to obliterate it, to reach out with ten fingers and turn the whole thing into dust. He wanted to watch cracks spread and split up that ‘handsome’ face until the statue’s expression was twisted into something pained and fearful.
He wanted to scratch.
Within the hoodie’s pocket, sharp, jagged nails bit into his palms, having to settle with drawing blood there instead of at his neck. The scent blockers had to stay on, and fresh blood could attract unwanted attention.
Without a word or backward glance, the figure left, slipping back into his labyrinth of alleys once more. Seeing that, his resolve could only strengthen, his hatred sharpen... Sure, his League was stagnant now but he’d find a way. He’d get his pack back together, and finally end the so-called Pillar of Hope.
He’d decay it all down to atoms.
Hatred and nausea intertwined in his stomach and tied it into knots, a feeling he was pretty used to whenever he thought of All-Might… The man who’d stolen his Sensei and his home all in one go.
Speaking of…
Tomura stepped out of another alley, right onto a surprisingly busy street. Red eyes looked up, landing on what had once been his safe haven. The place where he and his League had plotted and planned, before they’d even really gotten along, much less been a pack.
The alpha felt his fangs bare behind the cloth mask.
Even here. Even here they’d-
The bar was in the same state he’d seen it last, a gaping, All-Might sized hole in one wall. Inside he could barely make out the old familiar furniture, knocked over and tossed about from the hero’s raid. The screen inside that had once allowed Sensei to share his opinions with them now flickered with what appeared to be footage of the raid. There were signs all over the building.
‘Come Tour the Infamous League of Villains Hideout!’
‘The Setting of the Heroic Raid to Rescue the UA Student Now Known as the Omega Pro Hero DynaMight!’
‘For a Small Fee, Get Your Picture Taken in Front of the Last Wall Smashed By All-Might!’
They’d… They’d turned it into some sort of tourist trap!
Kurogiri’s home, their bar… Was some sort of museum, into another All-Might shrine for all those stupid idealists that wandered the planet eyes averted from all the filth caked at their feet. They’d taken it and turned it into a mockery, a quick way to make a few yen.
They’d taken it from him.
They’d taken it all.
He’d lost everything that night, his home, his Sensei, the nomu, his funds. That raid had ultimately cost them everything, forcing them to bend under that Yakuza brat’s whims to survive, even after he’d killed Magne. It had taken every bit of resolve he had not to dust Overhaul right there… But he had to, for his League, his pack.
Luckily playing the long game had ended up working out better than he hoped.
Still.
Every hunger pain, every cold night and every hot day his pack had to deal with was thanks to this moment. It was the cause of all their nightmares, of their paranoia whenever a new hideout creaked or groaned with age. It was the trauma that his whole pack shared but here they were, treating it like some sort of national holiday! Like it wasn’t why Spinner didn’t sleep near outdoor walls. Like it wasn’t why Twice used to wake up clutching his head and rocking.
The sudden sharp scent of ozone and blood jarred the alpha back to his thoughts, quickly fixing the scent blocking patch at his neck after almost tearing it off. There was fresh blood under his nails… All he could do was try and wipe it off inside the hoodie’s pocket.
Hate twisted and coiled within him… He was done. There was nothing in this town left for him to see, nothing the alpha could call home. His reminiscing had just served to remind him all that he’d lost- that they’d lost- and it was all nourishment for the bitter seed within him.
As the alpha turned to leave- to slink back into the shadows and take the first train back to his pack- something caught his eye. A shock of blonde hair jutting out in all directions, as if the hero’s demeanor wasn’t enough to suggest his explosive quirk.
No. What RNG fuckery was this??
Katsuki Bakugou… The very omega the signs in front of them were touting. The Pro Hero Dynamight.
The student he’d captured and held and tried to convince to join his League. The whole reason All-Might had destroyed his Bar, captured his Sensei, and driven his League out of town…
The memory was so clear to him, even all these years later. His whole League assembled in one place, trying to convince him their side was worth joining. Dabi telling Twice to untie him, after he’d told Dabi to do it.
The kid attacking knocking Father from his face.
But oddly enough, the thing he remembered the clearest was the scent of firewood, of smoke, and something sweeter. Something distinctly omegan.
He’d told his League to stay back once he’d realized the kid was in pre-heat… They weren’t like him, still in tune with their instincts and scents. They didn’t need the kid to become a martyr, they needed him to understand, to see who they were and what they wanted and agree. Surely no pain would hurt the heroes more than one of their hopefuls turning against them. When that hadn’t ended up working, Shigaraki had called on Sensei for help… The boy’s quirk would have been just as useful in a nomu.
But the heroes snatched that away like they had everything else.
What were the odds that they would both be in this place again, after all these years? It was so reminiscent of running into a different UA brat at the mall, though the alpha doubted Bakugou would have any answers for his current situation.
Still… It would be a shame to pass this up. What were the odds he would run into him again?
The alpha wove through the crowded street with ease, getting close enough to notice the omega’s Red Riot hoodie, and the spiked collar. All the tabloids said Red Riot and Dynamight were mated, so wearing his hoodie like that was hardly a disguise even with the mask and tinted shades. He’d have to remember to tell Toga, the shapeshifter would get a kick out of the Hero’s failed attempt at going incognito.
Getting behind the omega was all too easy- as was wrapping four fingers around the collar he wore, fingers slipping between spikes and studs. The villain leaned in close, a smile splitting his dry lips.
“Feeling Nostalgic, Katsuki Bakugou?”
Chilly autumn air seeped into the room through the cracked panes of hazy, ill-fitting windows. The walls were just as powerless against the draft, paper-thin, and painted a crumbling and cracked yellow. Bare cement floors completed the frigid trifecta, unbearable without the added insulation of the threadbare blankets and flat pillows that passed for a nest or the shitty old couch that had been left here when the home was abandoned. The place creaked and groaned at the slightest breeze, and any particularly robust gust knocked drifts of dust down from the ceiling in little spirals. The particles tended to contaminate the air in little flurries, making anyone unlucky enough to breathe it in choke and sputter.
The decrepit old house was nearly in the wilderness, on the outskirts of some city no one bothered to learn the name of. It wasn’t like they would be here long enough for it to matter, anyway. In a few months, the pack would be on the move again, hunting for another broken-down house or empty building to camp out in until they inevitably had to leave it in turn, just as it was starting to feel like home.
It was a necessary precaution when you were the most wanted criminals in Japan.
The League of Villains had been in hiding for a handful of years now, staying out of sight and under the radar. Their crimes these days mostly consisted of shoplifting and petty thievery, nothing that drew too much attention. There was still an occasional murder here and there, usually when an unfortunate hero would stumble across them, but between their various quirks covering up a death or two wasn’t much of a challenge. The disappearance of even minor heroes tended to bring people sniffing around eventually though, so they were always prepared to bolt if the neighborhood got too hot. The less attention around them, the better.
Shigaraki scowled softly into the cheap fast-food Twice and Toga had managed to bring in. All this running and hiding. It was for their own good, to keep his pack safe and out of Tartarus… But it was still irritating, making him long for what was long lost.
The bar had been in a good location, close to transit, and right outside most Hero patrols. It had been obtained as a neutral location, a place to meet with prospective allies or negotiate deals without revealing Sensei and his home base, as it were. The first time Sensei had taken him to it was to introduce his new caregiver, who had manned the place and lived in a small apartment above the building.
Kurogiri...
It wasn’t a sentiment Tomura would reveal out loud, but he missed the nomu. The steady presence at his side had been grounding, the absence of it jarring. Perhaps that would come as a bit of a shock to anyone that had seen how he treated the misty man- for so long he’d seen him as a tool, his personal ticket to fast travel. It wasn’t until he was forced to work with the other members of the League that he began to think... differently, of his caretaker. Like a person. Like… an ally. He’d been with Tomura’s since he was a child, and hadn’t stopped caring for him no matter what slander or abuse Tomura had thrown at him. It was probably best that his mist seemed immune to decay, as he’d more than once slipped up and touched the man- whether on purpose or accident. He’d been a child, upset that his Sensei only talked to him through the screen and rare visits, lashing out at his appointed caregiver.
All the while, Kurogiri had spoken to him kindly, offering advice and care when it was needed. Holding him back when his common sense left him. Reminding him of his purpose, the legacy he carried.
Nausea rolled through Tomura, a familiar sensation. Usually he could push through it, but this time it was enough to make him give up on eating more than the bite he had. He curled the mostly-uneaten burger back up in its greasy wrapper and tossed it into the bag.
“I’m going out…”
The familiar, comforting banter of his pack lulled at the quiet words, all eyes on his lanky form as he stood. Shigaraki had never been the bulkiest alpha, even when Kurogiri had been around to force him to eat more regular, healthy meals. Years surviving on junk food, snacks, and energy drinks hadn’t exactly done him any favors in regards to his figure, and neither did his signature dark, baggy clothing, ripped and torn with frequent wear. His pants and shirts were old and worn, but still wearable… Even if they didn’t keep the cold out as much as he would have liked.
His pack had more pressing needs than their Alpha’s clothes anyway.
Toga seemed the most intent upon him, fangs sinking into a snack bread as her yellow eyes tracked him across the room. The tang of iron in the air betrayed her interest.
“Where’re you going Tomura?”
Shigaraki found he had no answer for her, shrugging. Once upon a time, he would have found the other alpha’s informality irritating, but now… She was a part of his accidental pack of downtrodden misfits. He could forgive her familiarity, along with her needling and hyperactive nature.
“Do you want someone to tag along?”
That he had an answer for, shaking his head while adjusting his coat.
“No… I need some time on my own. Two people draw more attention, anyway.”
Himeko pouted but didn't push it as she might have once. It was just another indication of just how oddly close they’d all become. Each member of the League had their limits and painful secrets still, after all.
“Fine… Be careful.”
A nod sufficed in answer.
Shigaraki’s worn red shoes slapped the concrete as he made his way over to the thin, rotting door that led outside… Only to be stopped by Spinner, announced by the scent of wet earth and something floral. In one scaled hand he held a well-used brush, the other holding various plain hair accessories. Red eyes met pink, dry lips pulling into a scowl even as Shigaraki lowered his gaze and removed Father, giving the omega permission to do as he liked.
Tomura’s hair had grown quite long, mostly due to his disinterest in cutting his hair or letting Toga or Spinner attempt to do it for him. Even if their skills were leveling up, those first few dozen homemade league haircuts had been rough, to say the least.
Spinner was quick, taming down the pale blue tresses and pulling them back behind Tomura’s head in a messy bun. Shigaraki wasn’t exactly a fan of the style… But he had to admit it was practical. His hair color was an obvious identifier, and the less of it that poked out of his hood, the better… Especially as he hadn’t had any interest in dying it, unlike some members of the pack.
Speaking of, the scent of burnt flesh and smoke announced Dabi entering from a side room, where he’d been doing… Whatever it was he did. Likely writing down revenge plots and scribbling names in some ratty old burn book, if Tomura had to guess. The beta sauntered over to the now-vacated couch, plopping himself on it nonchalantly.
“You’ll need these.”
A box of something was tossed to Shigaraki, decades of control letting him catch it in two fingers, eyes narrowed at Dabi’s cocky grin… Then at the box itself. Scent blockers, the patch kind and a little half-used bottle of the spray kind. Another necessary, if annoying, precaution. When he’d attacked the USJ all those years ago he’d already presented as an alpha and hadn’t bothered hiding his scent during the fight. No doubt that would be among his descriptors as well, right next to his eye color and hair color.
With a resigned sigh, the alpha stuck patches to the majority of his scent glands- on either side of his neck, under his jaw, and over his wrists- and gave himself a few spritzes of spray, careful not to use only as much as he’d need. Scent blockers were hard to come by in their situation, and Dabi needed them more than him. The stuff did its job though, his rain-and-ozone scent fading from the air, the alpha grimacing at the weird neutral stink of it. A quick toss and the box smacked against Dabi’s thigh, the beta letting out a derisive snort.
“Smells better in here already.”
A soft growl came in answer, though it was half-hearted- more in annoyance than any real sort of threat. He and Dabi had their differences and didn’t get along super well, but they were packmates all the same.
Hair pinned up and scent covered, Shigaraki was sure he finally had the consent of his pack- and almost made it a step before being interrupted in his progress once more, this time by Twice, who offered out a black cloth face mask and sunglasses.
Right…
The alpha let out a long breath, taking the items and carefully placing Father in the beta’s waiting hand. Already he felt unmoored without the comforting, sickening weight over his face… Something Twice understood, holding Father with all the care one would hold a glass figurine with.
“We’ll watch over your family, don’t worry. Ew those things are fucking gross!”
The cloth mask would have to do for now. As much as he wanted to carry at least Father with him, Shigaraki knew better. Maybe more than anything else, he was recognized by the hands he wore-having one on him was asking to have the pro heroes called.
“You may be needing this, as well.” Mr. Compress stepped up in his usual flashy fashion, holding out a marble with a flourish. The sphere passed between each of his fingers, until the index finger where it became… A roll of bills, in a clip. “For wherever your excursion takes you.” The way he said that- The beta knew him and how his walks tended to meander further and further the longer they went. This amount would easily cover bus tickets or a rail pass to get him wherever he needed, and back again.
He took the money, making sure to tuck it into a secure pocket.
“Anything else?”
Shigaraki rasped out in annoyance, though it was largely faked. He’d grown up without any of this, without the attention and care of a pack… Sure, he’d had Sensei and Kurogiri but it hadn’t been a pack, really. Not like this.
Sensei had discouraged him from treating them like a pack anyway. He’d discouraged the behaviors, forced his mind and body to move past such things. Sometimes when he smelled an omega’s heat, he could still feel the sharp buzz of electricity or the searing heat of hot metal on his skin…
When no one spoke, Tomura finally got out the door, pausing once outside to put his hood up. Alpha instinct should have demanded he rub his scent against the doorframe, claim this place and the people inside as his, under his protection… But Tomura felt nothing. Leaving his scent on anything was as good as setting off fireworks at their location, anyway.
The alpha most assuredly didn’t look back at the building as he walked away in some need to reassure himself that his pack would be safe without him. His League was capable. They hadn’t been caught before, it would take nothing short of a miracle to catch them now, even as tired and worn down as they were.
It was quiet out, a chilly, sleepy afternoon on the outskirts of town. Occasionally cars would honk or dogs would bark, but for the most part, Tomura was accompanied only by the sound of his worn shoes crunching on gravel. The soles were thin enough that the alpha could feel every edge and lump, making him grimace beneath his face covering.
Tomura hadn’t been sure where he was going, at first, but… thinking about Kurogiri had him all nostalgic. It wasn’t a great idea. Surely they would have the bar under surveillance if they hadn’t demolished it as some sort of monument to villains. Maybe it had just changed hands, becoming a normal, boring bar. Either way, it wasn’t a place the Leader of the League of Villains should go without also planning for a trip to Tartarus.
He kept telling himself that as he bought the ticket, and as he boarded the train headed to Yokohama.
This was stupid.
The soft cotton mask hid the alpha’s scowl as he plopped down into a seat next to the window, leaning against it and peering at the landscape from behind his tinted lenses.
A few other people stepped on the train after him, mostly betas, though one alpha stepped aboard carrying that confident swagger of someone with their knot too far up their own ass. They metaphorically stank of alpha insecurity, and literally stank of pheromones, blasting the train car with them like some newly-presented teen. That sort of behavior was just begging for another alpha to get offended and fight them.
Tomura didn’t rise to it.
Sensei had spent a lot of time conditioning him to overcome the instincts of his secondary gender. Sure, alphas were leaders, were strong… But they had their weaknesses. First, to each other, and second, to omegas. An alphas need to fight and stake out territory was a weakness easily exploited by other alphas, and even some betas. An alpha’s reaction to omega scents and sounds was just as much a drawback. Sensei had known that, and in response had seen fit to mold Tomura into an alpha without those instincts. After all, he was his dear successor, and he didn’t want anything to hold him back.
And so Tomura walked the world as if scent blind… Which had never been an issue, until he’d started to accumulate companions, and found himself unable to interact with them fully. It had taken time for him to start bridging that communication gap, to respond to his pack’s instinctive noises and scents with his own.
It was still a work in progress, after all these years. He wasn’t sure he would ever grasp it completely.
The train lurched into motion, and the scentless alpha had other pressing matters to deal with.
A life spent traveling from location to location via Kurogiri’s quirk had left him… Less than comfortable in moving vehicles. The sound of the wheels on the track pounded into his skull, creating a constant thrum of irritation under his skin. It took more effort than he liked to keep his hands down, to not tear into the skin of his throat and reopen old wounds. He didn’t have anything else for his hands to _do,_ making the urge even worse. Usually, if he had to ride in a vehicle, he would distract himself with a phone or handheld, but he had neither in the League’s current state. All he could do was stare out the window and try to will down the need to either tear his skin or climb out of the train car.
After a couple of hours, the train was finally pulling into the station at Yokohama.
Shigaraki was the first person off, motion sickness easing as he sucked in lungfuls of the crisp evening air. It had been _years_ since he was last here, but… Tomura couldn’t help but be struck by how familiar everything still was. The path was almost muscle memory, even all these years later. The streets were just as dirty, just as grimy, and swirled with potent mixes of all sorts of scents. People were ejected from bars and pachinko parlors with the same relish they had been in his youth.
The darkness enveloped him like an old companion when he stepped into one of the many alleyways in this district. The alpha had always preferred using such paths to get around. Stepping around the garbage and occasional homeless people was kind of familiar, and he didn’t mind it terribly.
What he _did_ mind was the sight that assaulted him at the exit of one of the alleys.
That.
They didn’t.
Hatred swept through Tomura, the dark figure cutting across the road in a singular purpose.
He knew this location, knew it by _heart..._ This was where the Nomu Factory had been. This… This was ground zero, the location of the so-called Kamino Incident. This was where Sensei had saved him and offered him his hand one last time. This was where he’d been sent away, unable to help, unable to save the only person that had ever cared for him before his pack.
And they had erected a fucking _All Might_ statue here.
He wanted to obliterate it, to reach out with ten fingers and turn the whole thing into dust. He wanted to watch cracks spread and split up that ‘handsome’ face until the statue’s expression was twisted into something pained and fearful.
He wanted to scratch.
Within the hoodie’s pocket, sharp, jagged nails bit into his palms, having to settle with drawing blood there instead of at his neck. The scent blockers had to stay on, and fresh blood could attract unwanted attention.
Without a word or backward glance, the figure left, slipping back into his labyrinth of alleys once more. Seeing that, his resolve could only strengthen, his hatred sharpen... Sure, his League was stagnant now but he’d find a way. He’d get his pack back together, and finally end the so-called Pillar of Hope.
He’d decay it all down to atoms.
Hatred and nausea intertwined in his stomach and tied it into knots, a feeling he was pretty used to whenever he thought of All-Might… The man who’d stolen his Sensei and his home all in one go.
Speaking of…
Tomura stepped out of another alley, right onto a surprisingly busy street. Red eyes looked up, landing on what had once been his safe haven. The place where he and his League had plotted and planned, before they’d even really gotten along, much less been a pack.
The alpha felt his fangs bare behind the cloth mask.
Even here. Even here they’d-
The bar was in the same state he’d seen it last, a gaping, All-Might sized hole in one wall. Inside he could barely make out the old familiar furniture, knocked over and tossed about from the hero’s raid. The screen inside that had once allowed Sensei to share his opinions with them now flickered with what appeared to be footage of the raid. There were signs all over the building.
‘Come Tour the Infamous League of Villains Hideout!’
‘The Setting of the Heroic Raid to Rescue the UA Student Now Known as the Omega Pro Hero DynaMight!’
‘For a Small Fee, Get Your Picture Taken in Front of the Last Wall Smashed By All-Might!’
They’d… They’d turned it into some sort of tourist trap!
Kurogiri’s home, their bar… Was some sort of museum, into another All-Might shrine for all those stupid idealists that wandered the planet eyes averted from all the filth caked at their feet. They’d taken it and turned it into a mockery, a quick way to make a few yen.
They’d taken it from him.
They’d taken it all.
He’d lost everything that night, his home, his Sensei, the nomu, his funds. That raid had ultimately cost them everything, forcing them to bend under that Yakuza brat’s whims to survive, even after he’d killed Magne. It had taken every bit of resolve he had not to dust Overhaul right there… But he had to, for his League, his pack.
Luckily playing the long game had ended up working out better than he hoped.
Still.
Every hunger pain, every cold night and every hot day his pack had to deal with was thanks to this moment. It was the cause of all their nightmares, of their paranoia whenever a new hideout creaked or groaned with age. It was the trauma that his whole pack shared but here they were, treating it like some sort of national holiday! Like it wasn’t why Spinner didn’t sleep near outdoor walls. Like it wasn’t why Twice used to wake up clutching his head and rocking.
The sudden sharp scent of ozone and blood jarred the alpha back to his thoughts, quickly fixing the scent blocking patch at his neck after almost tearing it off. There was fresh blood under his nails… All he could do was try and wipe it off inside the hoodie’s pocket.
Hate twisted and coiled within him… He was done. There was nothing in this town left for him to see, nothing the alpha could call home. His reminiscing had just served to remind him all that he’d lost- that they’d lost- and it was all nourishment for the bitter seed within him.
As the alpha turned to leave- to slink back into the shadows and take the first train back to his pack- something caught his eye. A shock of blonde hair jutting out in all directions, as if the hero’s demeanor wasn’t enough to suggest his explosive quirk.
No. What RNG fuckery was this??
Katsuki Bakugou… The very omega the signs in front of them were touting. The Pro Hero Dynamight.
The student he’d captured and held and tried to convince to join his League. The whole reason All-Might had destroyed his Bar, captured his Sensei, and driven his League out of town…
The memory was so clear to him, even all these years later. His whole League assembled in one place, trying to convince him their side was worth joining. Dabi telling Twice to untie him, after he’d told Dabi to do it.
The kid attacking knocking Father from his face.
But oddly enough, the thing he remembered the clearest was the scent of firewood, of smoke, and something sweeter. Something distinctly omegan.
He’d told his League to stay back once he’d realized the kid was in pre-heat… They weren’t like him, still in tune with their instincts and scents. They didn’t need the kid to become a martyr, they needed him to understand, to see who they were and what they wanted and agree. Surely no pain would hurt the heroes more than one of their hopefuls turning against them. When that hadn’t ended up working, Shigaraki had called on Sensei for help… The boy’s quirk would have been just as useful in a nomu.
But the heroes snatched that away like they had everything else.
What were the odds that they would both be in this place again, after all these years? It was so reminiscent of running into a different UA brat at the mall, though the alpha doubted Bakugou would have any answers for his current situation.
Still… It would be a shame to pass this up. What were the odds he would run into him again?
The alpha wove through the crowded street with ease, getting close enough to notice the omega’s Red Riot hoodie, and the spiked collar. All the tabloids said Red Riot and Dynamight were mated, so wearing his hoodie like that was hardly a disguise even with the mask and tinted shades. He’d have to remember to tell Toga, the shapeshifter would get a kick out of the Hero’s failed attempt at going incognito.
Getting behind the omega was all too easy- as was wrapping four fingers around the collar he wore, fingers slipping between spikes and studs. The villain leaned in close, a smile splitting his dry lips.
“Feeling Nostalgic, Katsuki Bakugou?”