Cowardice and Spite

Subject 27-D8, The Shadow

All studies on this subject are to be approved by Doctor Kedves. This subject is classified as Contained and Agreeable, meaning janitorial staff and other low ranking staff members are allowed access if necessary.

Subject Description

       Subject 27-D8 appears as a young man in his twenties. He has impressive bags under his eyes, very pale skin. He is around 5’4 in height, though could be taller as he has a notable slouch. Subject has dark hair that he likes to keep dyed purple and becomes highly distraught when separated from his purple and black hoodie. Said hoodie is never to be taken from the subject.

       Subject 27-D8’s capabilities surround shadows. From what has been observed he holds the ability to manipulate shadows. While this is generally in harmless ways, changing shapes and size of shadows, etc., it has at least on one occasion been noted that the shadows almost seemed to solidify. This would then suggest the shadows could at some point be weaponized. It is also theorized Subject 27-D8 may be able to travel via shadows, but this has yet to be confirmed.

Subject Background (Light)

       Subject 27-D8 was brought in alongside his much more dangerous counterpart, subject 48-A16. They both seem to have abilities surrounding shadows, and it is theorized that the two may have some kind of connection. Neither have given any hints to a shared past, thus skewing our theories about the same point of receiving their abilities. It is still unknown as to whether they were born this way or if some kind of event caused a change.

       Subject 27-D8 was extremely dependent on 48-A16 and as a result was kept in close contact with his counterpart. The subjects were both originally under the care of Doctor Sauer, but have been separated since an uncharacteristic outburst from 27-D8 during one of their “hangouts.” We still have not discovered what caused the two to fall out so violently, but the next thing we knew 27-D8 was demanding never to see 48-A16 ever again. We have yet to decide if he regrets the decision he made in a moment of anger or not. 48-A16 seems highly resentful.

       Subject 27-D8 has become highly docile during his time at the facility and Doctor Kedves has made significant progress with the subject. This has made his classification go from 11 to 8 as it seems much more certain he will not attempt an escape or attempt to harm others at the moment. He is still a risk, thus remaining above the lower ranges.

Doctor’s Observations

Subject 27-D8 shows signs of high anxiety and possible depression. Medication may become necessary, psychiatric opinion necessary.

Subject 27-D8 prefers sushi over tacos.

Subject 27-D8 seems to have semi-heightened strength in moments of panic, as during a recent panic attack during a containment error he managed to shove his bed clear across his room to block his door.

Subject 27-D8’s trust in me has grown and as a result I have learned his name, which is [REDACTED].

Subject 27-D8 enjoys “emo” music.

Subject 27-D8 still exhibits discomfort and anger when Subject 48-A16 is mentioned. Further study needed to see if this could be a potential to trigger his abilities into action.

Subject 27-D8 refuses to harm others. Status needs updating to Contained and Agreeable. Could still be potentially dangerous, but seems scared of the idea of hurting someone. Unlikely to be a risk unless pushed/threatened.

Subject 27-D8 likes my [REDACTED]! I used my new recipe for them. Highly favorable reaction, should [REDACTED] for him later. Future [REDACTED], remember this note!

There is something deep within him, something he ignores and hides away. Something long forgotten, abandoned, left behind in a broken little cabin in snow-filled woods. The twisted remains of a past never forgotten, the barely-there hope for the chance of a return to normalcy.

There is a need to protect within him.

Protect from the man, the monster, that had once been his-- no, their-- friend. The thing that took so much and yet still yearned for more, more blood, more hurt, more story. The beast that wrote reality into something horrible, something tragic and twisted.

The man who ruined his friends, all because things hadn’t quite gone the way he wanted them to.

Dark breathes shallowly as his back aches sharply. It’s a stabbing pain, one that comes in waves of worse and bearable. He grits his teeth, makes his way to the safety of his office. He does not hide, he is not a coward, but there is a bubbling feeling growing inside of him that he doesn’t understand. His aura flares, blue overtakes red and then it fades back to it’s usual 3d outline appearance.

Is it anxiety?

He hasn’t felt like this, felt this human, in so long. The feeling claws at him, burns lungs and strangles his heart. The world spins, an all too familiar laugh sounds out like a tolling bell in the back of his head.

In a way, he feels like he’s drowning.

The cabin fills with ice-cold water. Celine floats out of sight. Damien tries to reach for her, the ice fills his lungs as he tries to scream, to breathe. Damien--

“Darling?” There he is, as always. Never uses a door because things like that aren’t relevant, not to him. Never to him. He’s wrong, just like the house was, that cursed manor that stole everything from-- from-- “Darling. Where are you, right now?” “Where am I?” It comes out as a cruel, incredulous laugh as he forces his head to lift from its odd angle. He glares, hysterical, at a pink mustache and uncomprehending eyes.

Damn him. Damn them. Damn them all. But who were they?

“I know where I am, you cotton candied--” “We both know that’s not what I meant, so don’t be rude about it, old friend.”

The air leaves his lungs, he feels very suddenly as though someone has struck him. Old friend? Old friend? No, no this was wrong. Where was he? “I’m here in my office, now see yourself-” “I’m not leaving you like this. Why don’t you just take a deep breath? I’ve had an attack like this before, nasty things. I’m going to come closer, Dames.”

Dames?

He hits the floor and suddenly things change. The office is filled with a soft orange-yellow glow, not the harsh white of the sun pouring in from the windows. There is no pink. Red greets his eyes instead, red against yellow, and a wide pair of brown eyes stares at him from behind ridiculous glasses that William has never--

William? “Will?” “Are you with me, Dames?” “I- but- we- I wasn’t- I shouldn’t be-” He can’t breathe, can’t make sense of anything. The fading echos of someone calling out to Dark, not Damien, run through his head in a vicious loop until he’s not sure what’s real anymore.

Mark will betray you.

Celine’s voice, soft and sad and so, so far away.

Sometimes he made himself live with that loneliness. Sometimes he let the years pass by with nothing but the wheezing of his TARDIS, no humans or otherwise present to make his chest ache. No one there to remind him he didn’t need to be alone. 

“Doctor?” The voice, so soft and hesitant, makes him smile. Despite the dark place his thoughts have drifted to, he smiles. “Hello, Rory.” “But how-?” Rory looks like a surprised fish, and if he were any less sorrowful and any more thrilled he might have laughed. As it were, he can only continue to smile at Rory. Judging from the concern that blooms like honeysuckles in Rory’s eyes, the smile mustn’t look very happy. Oops. 

“I’m a time lord. I do what I want.” “But this- you can’t be- not that I’m not happy to see you, of course I am it’s just-“ “Rory.” The Doctor keeps his tone gentle, always gentle around Rory. Because Rory has seen too much, because Rory the Roman deserves a little gentleness after everything he’s been dragged through on the Doctor’s account. “May I come in?”

Rory gapes at him for a moment more before nodding his head and letting out a series of stutters that collects in the Doctor’s mind to form, “Yes, yes of course, please do.” Then, Rory calls for Amy. There’s a long pause before her voice, irritated but not overly hostile, calls back. “What is it?”

“Get down here! Now! Preferably!” The Doctor wants to laugh, to cry, to something, at the familiarity of it all. Of the warmth creeping through him, at the fact he can’t seem to stop smiling. His cheeks are getting sore. 

Rory hasn’t stopped staring. 

The two men sit in silence as Amy makes her way to them, and they continue their silence as she enters the room with a gasp. “Doctor?” “Pond,” the word is said with all of the warmth, all of the love, he has left within him. Embers of a fire that has been dampened time and time again, the broken pieces of his heart crying out. “I’ve missed you.”

Amy sobs, does what he can’t, and then she’s in his arms. She’s in his arms and Rory seems unsure, standing to the side with eyes that shine suspiciously bright. He’s going to cry, too, then. The Doctor reaches out, tugs him in because his hearts ache and his eyes are wet. Because he’s home. It took him so long to realize what his home was, and he felt like the biggest idiot to ever exist when it hit him. 

Gallifrey was forever his home land, his origin, but it wasn’t his true home anymore. No, his true home was in the arms of those that loved him. 

“How are you here?” Amy asks, her face buried against his chest. “How is this possible?” “I’ve never been good at following the rules, have I? Especially not when it comes to you two.” Rory looks surprised to be included, and the Doctor squeezes him closer just to spite that surprise. Rory was a part of this, whatever this was. Whatever this was going to be. Rory was a part of it, too, and the Doctor didn’t intend to let him forget that. 

Judging from the death grip Amy had on Rory’s hand, she didn’t either. 

“What does this mean?” Amy meets his gaze now, eyes red and tear filled. Her nose is running and her skin is blotchy, and really it’s not the most attractive she’s ever been, but she is beautiful. “It means, Pond, that it’s time for some coffee and snacks.”

She laughs, and so does Rory, and the Doctor doesn’t think he’s ever heard a sound more beautiful. 

-

“Doctor?” Rory’s voice pipes up from behind him, and he glances away from his book to the man leaned in the doorway. “Yes, Rory?” “When… when are you leaving?” Rory sounds as awkward as ever, unsure of what path he’s meant to be taking when it comes to conversation. “What do you mean?” “I just. It’s not that I want you to go. Of course I don’t, it’s lovely having you here and all. It’s just. Well. You’re… you. You get bored. And it’s already been, what? A week? So, I was just wondering when you planned to leave, and when you do go if you’d mind-“

“Rory,” his voice doesn’t waver, which is a pleasant surprise. “Rory I’m not leaving. If that’s alright.” Rory blinks, mouth open, uncomprehending. The Doctor lets out a soft breath at the familiar expression, thinks back to the first time he saw that mute shock. He had missed all of this, though he could do without the awkward mornings. Those never had gotten easier to navigate. 

“Of course it’s alright, you dolt.” And there’s Amy, snow still melting in her hair, eyes as sharp as daggers. “We’ve kept an empty room for you for… how long?” “Years,” Rory whispers, sounding absolutely mystified. “Years.” Amy agrees, eyes focused solely on the Doctor. “So don’t even think of leaving, understand?”

“I won’t even consider it.” He’s not sure she understands how much he means those words. She’ll understand eventually, though. He knows she will. She’s always been smart. 

-

Six months. Six months of learning how to function as a human being on earth. He gets a job, thinks of Craig as he suggests the best toys for parents to place under the Christmas tree. Wonders how his friend is, wonders about a lot of things, and then he’s spiraling. He’s learned how to deal with spiraling, he’s learned a lot of things. 

Clara would be proud. He’s adjusting. He’s learning. He’s coping. 

“Amy? Have you seen my glasses?” “The ones you don’t need?” She sounds exasperated, but amused. He gives her his best sheepish but cheeky grin, unable to stop the nervous fluttering of his hands. His hands never sit still when he wants them to, but he’s found he doesn’t mind it. Lovely way to work off excess energy. 

“Yes, those.” “They’re in the bathroom on the medicine cabinet. For some reason. I saw them up there when I was dropping off your laundry.” “Ah, lovely. Thank you!” He makes sure to make his voice just a bit sing-songy because it always makes her smile when he does. Something about his dorky charms. 

“Oh, Doctor? Rory and I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Work.” The Doctor almost winces at that, but instead he just gives a wobbly smile. Amy looks sympathetic, and he really rather hates that. “You two are so busy. I feel like I should get another job.”

Amy laughs despite herself at that, shaking her head vehemently. “No, no you don’t need another job. You’d go insane.” “Still! You two are so busy all the time. Absolutely no time for me!” He absolutely does not whine his words out as he flops onto the couch, staring up at her flushed cheeks and wide smile. Beautiful. 

“You’re like a cat, sometimes.” She muses this as she runs a hand through his hair, watching it flop down over the edge of the sofa. The Doctor grins at her, unable to find the right response to that. She continues to fiddle with his hair until her hand comes to rest on his chest and her eyes return to her book. 

The Doctor stays there for as long as his back and legs will allow, basking in the comfort that is his Pond. 

-

“Rory! There you- oh.” “Lost a patient.” 

The words come out in a tired croak, and as the Doctor takes in the sight of tired eyes and slouched posture, his hearts crack just a bit. He moves forward before he can think why, arms reaching out as Rory leans willingly into his embrace. The Doctor has never been the best at these things, but he wraps his arms around Rory as tightly as he can and makes sure to tuck Rory’s face against his shoulder. That’s a comforting position, right?

Of course. The movies do it. He hasn’t had to do this in such a long time. 

“It’s alright now, Rory. You did all you could. It’s alright.” “You're terrible at this.” “Hush. I know.”

Rory’s laugh is feeble, but it’s a laugh. The Doctor laughs with him, just a little, because he can’t help it. Rory goes from holding him to gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline, shaking for a moment as he bites back a sob. The doctor hears the way his breathing hitches, hears him swallow the sound like a pill. 

“I’m sorry, Rory. You can’t save everyone.” “I know-“ “But you can stay strong for the ones you do save. It’s not going to get easier, but you will at least know how to cope with it.”

Rory looks at him and something clicks. The Doctor sees the light of understanding, the flickering ghosts that haunt this beautiful man. “You made dinner.” The sudden observation is startling, but the Doctor nods his head and motions to the table. “I’m still a bit rusty with it, but-“

“Doctor, it’s going to be amazing.” Rory’s eyes are still dripping tears, but he seems determined to ignore it so the Doctor decides to ignore it as well. For now. Until Amy gets home.

Until Amy gets home, the Doctor will hold Rory’s hand and pretend death is just something in children’s dark fairytales. 

-

“Doctor.”

He has lived with the Ponds for two years, now. Two wonderful, confusing, happy, terrifying years. Two years of an itch he can’t scratch no matter how much he runs, no matter how many bird houses he puts together, no matter how many children he helps find the perfect toy. 

The tone Amy uses sends a spike of fear through him, ice crawling up his spine. 

“Pond?” And there’s Rory at her side, both looking so serious. So severe. It scares him. It scares him so badly. “We need to talk.” “What about?” “We love you,” it’s Rory who says it. Rory who looks so nervous, like something fragile is in his hands and one wrong breath will break it. The Doctor wonders, distantly, if he’s that fragile thing. 

“I love you both, too.” He sounds confused. He knows he does. 

Amy bites her lip. 

“That’s just it, Doctor. We love you.” He’s not sure he understands. For a little while, he finds himself frozen like a popsicle before them. Just staring, mute and uncomprehending. Of course the Ponds love him, they’ve always made that clear. And he’s always done what he can to make it clear he loves them. So then why is this important?

Then his mind reaches back. A bit further than Amelia Pond and Clara Oswald. Back, back, back. To blonde hair and glassy hazel eyes.

“I love you.”

Rose. Ah. So that’s what all of this was about. 

“Oh.” He says intelligently. 

Amy barks out a laugh, Rory nervously chuckling along. “Yes, Doctor. Oh. We love love you. Now what do you have to say?” Her smile is almost bitter, eyes hardening as though she’s expecting-

“Oh, Amy.” He doesn’t mean to sound so sad when he says it, but really. After everything, for these two bumbling idiots to think he really wouldn’t love them back is the saddest thing he’s heard in quite a while. “Of course I love you.”

Amy laughs again but this time it’s with relieved tears in her eyes. Rory has gone quiet. The Doctor feels like strangling him. “I love both of you so much I quite literally defied the laws of everything to be here. Really, was there any doubt?”

He moves first. A few steps and he’s got them both in his arms, pulling them as close as he possibly can to make sure they know. To make sure they hear how fast his hearts are beating for them. Rory nuzzles closer and Amy stubbornly wriggles about until she can steal a kiss. 

The Doctor lets himself fall in love, hard and fast and without regret. He’s going to be happy. 

-

“Doctor Pond,” he breathes it like a prayer, eyes watching himself in the mirror as he carefully fixes his bow tie. 

He’s going to be married, today.

They’ve waited a handful of years for this. He’s had a ring for a whole two years now, he’s held the title of fiancé for a whole two years. It feels absurd, and yet the fact that he’s finally getting married is… surreal. 

He feels like he’s floating. 

“Doctor? Are you ready?” Clara’s little voice tears him from his thoughts, and he gives her the brightest grin he can. He’s still not sure how she found her way here, but she did. She’s going to walk him down the aisle, and that thought makes him lightheaded. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Clara laughs in that special little way of here, the one that reminds him of Christmas bells. 

Her arm waits patiently for his own to loop around it, and once it’s there she gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to go fine.” “Of course it is. I’m not nervous. Why would I be? Are-“ “Doctor.” She’s scolding him with a smile, a knowing gleam in her eyes. He huffs, and definitely not like a petulant child. “Fine. I’m nervous. It’s my big day! Of course I am.”

Clara laughs again, resting her head against his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. You’ve known them your whole life. Sort of. Just pretend they’re the only ones here.” The Doctor does his best to follow her advice as the music starts, but the nerves return when they start moving. His hearts race, he’s fairly certain he’s sweating. 

It all fades when he sees Amy and Rory waiting for him. The sun glows around them, and he’d call them angels if it didn’t bring up so many bad memories to do so. Instead, he calls them ethereal. 

Amy smiles and Rory is already crying. The Doctor just grins. 

At his side, Shinsou huffs out a quiet laugh. Aizawa had concerned asking him why he was sitting here with him instead of messing around with the others, but ended up just letting the kid do what he wanted. If he wanted to sit with Aizawa and watch, then so be it. Who was Aizawa to judge when he did the same thing when he was younger? 

“Mister Aizawa!” Kirishima’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, calls his attention to the red-haired student who is now daring to show his face despite the danger of being struck by a snowball. “You should help us!” 

Bakugo protests, though Aizawa notes it isn’t loud enough to be heard properly which implies he really wouldn’t mind. Aizawa stands with a shrug, trailing over at his usual slow pace while Kirishima’s sharky grin widens. “Why not?” 

“Mister Aizawa.” The severe voice of Todoroki draws the teacher’s attention to Midoriya and Tokoyami’s snow fort, which is suspiciously All Might shaped (how they managed that in the heat of a battle, he’ll never know). “I would like to apologize in advance for what’s about to happen.”

If Aizawa was anyone else, he might have laughed. Instead, he gives his best grin, the one that had terrified them all back when they were still new. Now they were all too familiar with it to find it as anything but funny. “Same to you, Todoroki. I won’t be going easy on you even if this isn’t training.” It doesn’t quite get a smile, instead it earns what almost seems to be a smirk. Aizawa is proud of how far Todoroki has come since first starting at UA. He actually feels like a kid now, rather than an adult stuck in a high school class. 

The snowball fight that ensues is chaotic. People join sides until only a few remain on the outskirts, watching their teacher and peers throw balls of snow across the field at one another. Asui stays back, only because the cold has made her drowsy, and Kouda is busy watching alongside the birds. Aoyama soon joins Asui on the sidelines when he decides his good looks are at risk of being harmed, but everyone knows he’s really just not one for games like this. And that’s fine because he cheers people on as they play, and if the occasional snowball seems to fly in from where he sits on the sidelines no one says anything. 

 Sero cackles as Bakugo is taken out by a particularly large snowball from Iida, only to get struck in the face himself. Shinsou joins them at Kaminari’s insistence, and immediately pegs Uraraka in the face. Aizawa takes particular delight in watching Midoriya’s reaction to hitting his teacher, eyes going wide with fear until Aizawa is launching snow back in retaliation. The kid remembers that this is a game Aizawa agreed to participate in after that, and the fear is washed away as quickly as it appeared.

Shouji is a force to be reckoned with, using every arm and then some to lob snowballs across the field at his enemies. Uraraka and Iida work together to make and float over as many snowballs as possible, though this trick stops surprising people around the third time they pull it off.

Momo has made a snowball launcher that she and Jirou work together to keep full and firing, both laughing delightedly the entire time. Sato and Kirishima work together like clockwork, Sato making near-perfect snowballs while Kirishima either lobs them or hands them off to Bakugo.  Hagakure and Ojiro are another duo from hell, Ojiro using his tail as a guard while Hagakure throws snowballs with surprisingly scary accuracy. 

When the time to head in comes along, everyone is cold and tired, but they’re all smiling. Momo offers to make everyone hot chocolate while Kirishima and Sato loudly insist on making cookies. Uraraka offers to help, and soon the group of four are busy in the kitchen. Aizawa finds himself warming up just at the sight of his students being so happy, making sure they all plan to change out of their wet clothes before he turns to leave. A soft tug on his sleeve stops him, makes him turn back to face Kaminari, Jirou, and Shinsou. 

“Stay?” They ask. 

Save people, fight villains, try not to die. Repeat. This is the life a hero lives until one day they wake up and realize they ache too much, move too slow, to continue. Then, they disappear. Without a second glance, without a word. They vanish into the background of society, another face, another name, to be left as a legend in books. It’s a sad existence, if he really thinks it over, but he can’t be bitter about it. He knew what he was getting into when he first stepped foot into the heroics class, or at least he says he did. He claims to have known all along what the life of a hero really looked like, but people who had known him all that time ago knew better. 

Shouta Aizawa had never had a true dream, in life. 

He lived day to day, dragged his feet as he made his way from set goal to set goal. He didn’t dream of things, he didn’t aspire for things. Aizawa set goals and he made his way to each and every one, no matter what that meant. 

Teach the students, even if that means nights without sleep between grading papers and going on patrol. Protect the students, even if that means risking everything. Save people, even if that means letting them break him down whenever he makes a mistake that they can see. 

It’s tiring, and Aizawa was exhausted to begin with. Unlike people like Hizashi or Nemuri, he didn’t start with energy to spare. Aizawa is a man with nothing, pulling himself apart to try and give something to the world. Pieces of himself left behind, pieces of what he was and what he might have someday become. 

The wind stirs again, a soft gust against his back as his eyes trail slowly to the dorm buildings he can just see on the moonlit horizon. His heart aches for a moment, just a moment, as he watches those buildings. His students are there, resting up before another day of hard work. He wishes, sometimes, that he could tell them. Wishes he could look them in the eyes with a tired smile and say “I’m so proud of you.” They mean the world to him, his students, and yet he’s not sure they’re aware of it. He doesn’t think they know the sacrifices he’s more than willing to make for them, the things that he would give without a second thought, just to give them another day on the earth. 

Aizawa has never been an emotional man, though. Things like that are beyond him, no matter how much he wishes for them. He hasn’t ever been able to express things the way he wants to, hasn’t ever been able to face his feelings because if he does that he’s not sure he’ll be able to continue on the way he does. If he faces his feelings, he may very well break under the weight of them all. 

So, he hides.

His phone finally breaks the silence, a soft buzzing in its place on his belt. He considers ignoring it, but then it buzzes again and he finds himself pulling it out to answer. 

“Hello?” “Shouta! I was worried! Your patrol ended, like, an hour ago and I hadn’t heard anything! You alright?” 

Hizashi has always been a light in his life. Ever since highschool, the loud-mouthed hero had been one of his closest friends. Aizawa had no light of his own, so he often found himself seeking out people who gave off light like the stars. Hizashi, Oboro, Emi, Toshinori. These people who could all smile when he couldn’t, who learned to laugh where he learned to grimace. These were the people he sought out. 

“Shouta?” “I’m fine, ‘Zashi. Just got a bit caught up is all. I’ll be back soon.”

There’s a long pause after that. Aizawa can hear Hizashi’s soft breathing and the distant tinkling sound that tells him one of the cats is wandering nearby. His lips twitch up at that. 

“Are you okay, Sho? I know the anniversary of-” “I’m fine, ‘Zashi. Just a little tired. I’ll be home soon, alright?” “Alright, Sho.” Hizashi relents only because he, of all people, understands Aizawa well enough to know when not to push. “I’ll see you when you get back. I love you.” “Love you, too.” Shouta’s voice comes out at barely a whisper, just loud enough for the phone to catch the phrase before he hangs up. 

The life of a hero is a cruel one, a sad one.