#beatings

It was a mad impulse that had Jason driving the knife down into Fox's leg. Fox arched and let out a pained little whine that soothed the beast in Jason even as he froze with shock and regret. He pulled out the knife, leaving Fox breathing heavily. When Hood tried to pull back Fox grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back.

"I know you're not done, that's not enough for you. Keep going." He nearly snarled, his eyes more green then usual.

He wasn't wrong but Jason didn't want to hurt him, but being handed handled like that triggered Jason's fight reflex again. He cut Fox's arm making him yelp, but not let go. Jason pressed the knife into Fox's shoulder until he let go.

The smell of blood was filling his nose and his vision was tinged green around the edges. Fox collapsed back against the desk and Jason cut the young man's stomach with barely enough presence of mind to not go to deep. Each cut drew small sounds of pain from Fox but none loud enough to be heard from outside Jason’s office and all healed in moments leaving only a bit of blood on Fox's clothes and Jason's knife.

Finally the green retreated from Jason's vision and Fox was no longer just flesh capable of feeling and bleeding and became his loyal employee again. Sprawled on the desk, clothes and hair mussed, eyes half lidded and breathing heavily. He looked beautiful, and under different circumstances it would have been so... erotic, but now Jason just felt like a complete monster.

"Fox, I'm so sorry," Hood practically groaned, offering Fox his hand. Fox took it but didn't get up yet. "I'm so sorry, I should have,"

"No," Fox murmured giving Hood a small reassuring smile. "I told you to. You feel better don't you?"

Jason froze, because yes he did. "Is there anything I can do to... help?"

"Kiss it better," Fox said with a crooked little smile, he seemed almost high. Jason choked and Fox laughed. "No, just stay, hold me if you don't mind. I'll be fine in a minute."

Jason nodded and pulled Fox into his arms, holding him, hesitating for a moment before combing his fingers through Fox's hair. They were quiet as Fox's breath evened out again.

"I didn't know you were a meta," Jason murmured and Fox twitched, tensing for q moment and then relaxing again.

"I was trafficked when I was pretty young, I've kept it on the down low as much as I can since then. I don't want anyone to know, but I trust you Boss," Fox said giving him a little smile. Oh man that sweet trust made his heart flutter in a way he really Shouldn't be feeling for a man he's just basically tortured.

"I won't tell anyone, and I won't take advantage of it." Jason promised softly, Fox was a good worker and Jason wasn't going to lose him.

"Alright," Fox said, giving him another smile and pushing himself back. "But if this happens again and you need to hurt someone, call me okay? I make a good punching bag," he said with a bitter little curl to his lips.

"I'm... really not sure I want to do that," Jason said worriedly and Fox shrugged.

"Alright then I'll just break in here again next time. Now get back to work Boss," he joked as he walked over to the door and unlocked it to leave.

"Wait if it was still locked how did you get in here?!" Hood demanded suddenly.

"Byeee," Fox cackled as he dashed out the door leaving Jason confused, but not as upset as he would have been had it been anyone else who'd managed that. Fox could probably be trusted with keys at this point, even if he apparently didn't need them.

--------

Jason managed to control himself properly for another month but then things went wrong again. Not another misplaced hunt but a confrontation with Bruce about how Everyone deserves to live and other bullshit! It had him furious with no easy outlet and pacing in his office again. He has passed Fox on his way here, hesitated, then continued. He would Not ask.

He didn't need to, it was less then ten minutes before he turned again and Fox was there. He was sympathetic and worried, last time he'd been there for the last time, this time he didn't know why Red Hood was angry, though that didn't stop him from approaching, he kept his posture low, submissive but unafraid and for some reason Jason completely Hated it.

He grabbed Fox by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall forcing his breath out in a wheeze. Fox covered Hoods closed hands with his own, staring back at him with a serious expression.

"Stop this! You're worth more then being a punching bag, I don't care if you've been through worse it doesn't make it okay for me to hurt you," he snarled in Fox's face practically lifting him off the ground.

"That's sweet, Boss," Fox wheezed, unable to breath properly with Jason bearing down on him. "But you need this, and I'm not leaving till your calm. If you think you can calm down by talking about your feelings we can go with that," he said with a sharp and crooked smile. He knew Hood well enough to know that wasn't enough.

"You self sacrificing piece of shit," Jason nearly yelled, pulling Fox forward and slamming him against the wall again before punching Fox in the face. Fox let him, barely flinched away and didn't fight back as Jason hit him. Bruises bloomed and faded on Fox's skin almost instantly and the stupid man didn't even shield his face. His nose crunched and his head snapped back against the wall, he let out a slight gurgle, the blood on gloves and Jason recoiled in shock at his own actions.

He let go and Fox slid down the wall till he was sitting, he set his nose with a grimace and shook his head. He held up his hand and coughed up a bit of blood that must have flown down the back of his throat. "You done Boss?" He asked with another soft cough.

One lost flare of anger shot through Jason and he kicked Fox in the side making him yelp and fall back against the wall again. "Okay, now I'm done," Jason sighed, slumping back against the wall and sliding down to sit next to Fox who was looking at him a little warily now, even as he leaned closer. Jason sighed and lifted his arm, hating himself and loving it as Fox brightened and ducked under his arm, leaning against his chest.

"What upset you?" Fox asked softly.

Jason twitched he knew Fox meant well so, after a moment, he answered. "It's a long story, but the short version is family bullshit. Something really bad happened to me a few years ago, and my dad just... let it happen, didn't avenge me, nothing. He's still dragging his feet and acting like I'm a villain for wanting some justice," he sighed, moving like he was going to run a hand through his hair only to remember he was still wearing his helmet.

"I get that, it's part of the reason I never went back to my family after everything that had happened to me," Fox agreed softly.

"You know I go after traffickers all the time. If the people who hurt you are still out there..." he trailed off, the suggestion hanging in the air.

"Trust me," Fox said with a humorless laugh, "that's not something you can help me with."

"If you can trust me with it, I'd like to help you," Jason said, brushing Fox's bangs out of his face.

"I trust you with everything Hood, but I don't trust the world at all, not with me, or with you really. But... my real name is Danny, I left it behind a long time ago, but that's my name." Fox, no Danny, said softly. Proof of his trust.

"Thanks Danny, just between us huh?" Jason agreed, wishing he could trust Danny with his name in turn, but he wasn’t rest to.

"It feels good to be called that again," Danny murmured nuzzling into Jason's armored chest as if there was no where else he'd rather be.

---------

Danny just kept coming back, and Jason shouldn't have been shocked when the fifth time ended in them fucking. It was a much more pleasant way to work out Jason's anger and after that he was much more willing to call Danny for help. Even to meet Jason at one of his safe houses, this time wearing a domino mask instead of his full helmet.

When Danny arrived at the safe house he immediately kicked off his shoes and darted into Jason's arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. "We match," he said with a grin, tugging on the little lock of white hair in Jason's bangs. Jason laughed and nodded, tugging Danny towards the bedroom.

"Yep, it was one of the first things I noticed about you. It made me wonder if..." he trailed off.

"If," Danny prompted softly.

"Easier to talk about after, once I'm calm," Jason said, shoving Danny down on the bed. Thankfully Danny liked it rough, or it probably wouldn’t have worked.

A couple hours later they lay in bed together, Danny absently tracing a few of the scars on Jason’s chest. Danny still had his shirt on and Jason hadn't argued, if Jason was keeping his mask on Danny could keep his shirt on. "So, it made you wonder if...?" Danny prompted and Jason winced, he sort of hoped Danny would forget.

"It made me wonder if you died too," Jason said softly and nearly jumped at the way Danny flinched and then gave a nearly full body shudder. He sat up and stared down at Jason with wide eyes.

"I did," Danny said softly and Jason froze.

"What?" He croaked softly.

"I did, I died when I was 14. I was electrocuted," he pulled up one sleeve of his shirt to show the branching scar.

"I was 15, got murdered," Jason said, feeling a familiar burning pain, he wondered if Danny felt it to.

Danny shuddered and lay down against Jason's chest again. "I thought you might be like me too, I felt it when we first met, but the way you act and... some other stuff, I sort of talked myself out of it." Danny said and Jason nodded.

They were quiet for a long time, but there was tension in Danny's back that said he wasn't done. "It wasn't actually traffickers that hurt me," Danny said softly. "It was the government. A branch called the Ghost Investigation Ward, a exception was carved out of the meta protection act for people like me, like us. The government wanted to find out how I came back, how powerful I was, everything. They did a lot of awful shit.

"I destroyed that base when I escaped but I know there could have been more so I ran. Changed my name with every new town and never stayed anywhere more then a few months, until I met you." He looked up at Jason with such utter trust and adoration Jason's breath caught in his throat.

"You made me feel safe, and wanted. I always wanted to help people and you gave me a way I could and still be safe, and keep you safe in case you were like me. I don't have much of a life, still hiding like this, but I have more of one then I thought I would and Red Hood, you know I'd do anything for you right?"

"You've proved that many times over," Jason murmured caressing Danny's jaw. "And it's Jason, my name is Jason."

"Jason," Danny murmured reverently.

"So, how does dismantling a government organization as a first proper date," Jason asked and Danny laughed. It wasn’t bitter, or dry, it was a true, loud, joyful laugh and it was the most beautiful thing Jason has ever heard.

Part 2

Landon grunted as his head was suddenly yanked off the ground, a rough hand tangling into his hair and jerking upwards harshly.

"Ngh—"

"Farstep ain't here to save you now, is he, Stretch?" The goon holding his hair leered, his hot breath sending foul-smelling vapour into his face.

The young superhero grimaced in pain as the goon roughly shook him by the grip in his hair.

"What, nothin' to say? That's a right shame. I'd hoped we'd get more beggin' outta youse."

"I guess he's askin' for more, then!" Another goon gleefully exclaimed.

Landon's head was dropped to the ground with a heavy thunk, and before his vision could clear, a steel-toed boot came flying towards his chest.

Landon let out a strangled gasp of pain as the tip of the boot connected with his chest, sending him sliding across the freezer floor and leaving the wind knocked out of him. He struggled to gasp for air, each movement sending more flares of pain spiking across his body. His uniform, which was in tatters thanks to the brutal beating, was now half torn off his injured body, barely hanging onto his trembling frame.

The men laughed louder as he was exposed, the countless bruises an ugly color against his brown skin.

"You're a bit skinny, aren't ya!" They mocked, prowling forward. They surrounded him once more, more brutal blows raining down on the teenager's body with ruthless efficiency. His brittle skin cracked and split with horrible crunching noises, and the skin on his chest slit open, blood gushing from the wound. Landon lurched, tremors wracking his body, only able to let out a gasping sob of pain.

"Wouldja look at that. The brat's breakable after all!" one man jeered. Landon whimpered as someone pressed the heel of their shoe into his temple, pinning his head against the ground and causing his cheek to scrape against the freezer floor.

"How adorable." A few more boots stepped into view of Landon's eyesight, and before he could brace himself, one came flying towards his face. A choked cry tore from his throat as his nose snapped. Another sharp kick followed, knocking out a few of his teeth and causing his mouth to bleed. Landon was in too much pain to spit them out.

"Ugh. Now you've gotten my shoes dirty," the man who broke his nose tsked. He narrowed his eyes down at the bloodied superhero.

"Apologize."

Landon finally managed to choke out the blood and piece of teeth.

"Wh….huh…?"

"I said…" the man said slowly, pushing his bloodied shoe into Landon's cheek.

"Apologize."

Landon swallowed. Despite the fact that his head was spinning, and that he was shaking like a leaf, he still wanted to preserve some of his dignity. He stayed silent.

The pressure on his head released, only to be replaced by a foot on top of his neck. It pressed down, slowly applying more and more force on his airway, until it was fully blocked. His eyes widened and bulged. He let out a choked noise, frantically struggling, legs kicking out uselessly as he jerked and thrashed and tried desperately to breathe. But his struggles only caused the man to step down even harder, and Landon's mouth hung open breathlessly, tears sprouting in his eyes as his lips moved soundlessly like a fish.

Just as his vision began to go black, the pressure relented. Landon gasped for air, coughing and gasping. But before he could recover, the boot returned to his temple and shoved his head sideways onto the floor once more.

"Try again."

Landon squeezed his eyes shut, barely choking back sobs. Finally, he whispered, "'m sorry."

"There's a good boy." The boot was removed from his head at last, replaced with a few condescending hair ruffles. Landon let out a quiet whimper of protest.

"I think that's enough for now," another voice decided with a chuckle, delivering a final, light kick to Landon's rear. The boy yelped.

"We have other things we need to do. I'm sure Farstep would love to see this footage."

They… they were recording? Landon felt his face heat up slightly in shame and mortification, but they continued speaking as if he weren't even there.

"Yeah, you're right. But we still gotta make the video."

Landon was unceremoniously yanked off the floor by his hair and likely dislocated arm. He cried out in pain as they manhandled him into a wooden chair. It felt as if it were nailed to the ground. Then they locked a shackle around his ankle with a clattering of chains, the other end attached to the leg of the chair, and strapped his torso to the backrest using a belt.

He felt someone grab his head, and he opened his eyes just as they shoved a filthy rag into his mouth.

"Mmh—!"

A few layers of duct tape was smoothed over his lips before he could try to spit it out. He struggled against his new restraints vainly, movements weak, pained and stiff. His struggles ceased, and he groaned piteously.

A phone was suddenly shoved into his face. He flinched, gray eyes wide and filled with fear, anger, and shame as the man recording him began to speak.

"Farstep. You have twenty-four hours to come for your little protégé before we sell him to Doctor Hemato. Give yourself up, and the little blueberry will go free. But if you don't, well..."

Landon let out a startled cry as he was slapped sharply across the face, just hard enough that the brittle skin on his cheekbones tore open, blood trickling sluggishly out. He stared up at the man who had slapped him with wide eyes.

The men around him chuckled. "Well, you get the picture."

Another man, carrying a bucket, grinned nastily at Landon as he advanced. He promptly doused him in ice cold water, and the rubber superhero let out a muffled shriek, jerking violently in the chair as the cold soaked into his skin. The men guffawed as Landon tremblingly shook his hair out of his eyes, staring up at them with a miserable expression.

The man recording grinned.

"Tick tock, Farstep. The popsicle's waiting~"

The video ended, and Landon glared at the man sullenly, wincing as he condescendingly patted his bruised cheek.

"There we go. Nice and cooperative now, aren't we? You're much more fun like this instead of when you're interfering with our work."

Another man cut his arms free, yanking them out in front of him and pulling off his gloves, ignoring as the young superhero tried to pull away.

"Can't have your little fingies staying warm, can we—" he stopped, as his eyes fell upon Landon's finger prosthetics. The man couldn't help laughing as he gripped them both tighter, holding both of Landon's hands up to see them better.

"Well, looks like you don't have anythin' to keep warm there, do ya?" He mocked. Landon glared sullenly, turning away. The man poked them with a snicker before letting go, allowing Landon's hands to fall into his lap.

"I hope you enjoy your stay, Elastomer," the man who had recorded him teased, waving with only his fingers as he sauntered towards the door. "Have fun waiting for your daddy!"

Landon's eyes went wide with panic. They were going to leave him in there. He struggled desperately, fear sending his brain into overdrive, his thrashing becoming frantic as the realization of what was about to happen finally began to sink in.

"Mmph!! MMPH!"

His cries were abruptly cut off as someone slammed something hard across the side of his head.

The men grinned with cruel amusement as the young superhero slumped in the chair, knocked out cold, both figuratively and very literally. They filed out of the freezer, chortling to themselves and pleased, the lock clicking as the door shut.

...

The first thing Landon noticed, once he finally awoke, was the cold. Tingling across his fingers, his toes, and other extremities. His body, slumped like a ragdoll against the chair. His breaths shaky, and his exhales escaping his nose in a smoke-like vapor. His head felt muddled, and it took him a few moments to remember what had happened. But once he did, his head snapped back up, the skin of his neck creaking painfully. He let out a muffled whimper as he cast his eyes around the empty freezer.

He sat there for a few silent minutes, attempting to will himself into not crying. He had to stay focused, like Farstep—like Jonathan would. Figure a way out instead of—of wasting his time breaking down. But, despite his best efforts, warm tears spilled down his cheeks anyway. If only he had been more careful. If only he were more like Jonathan, then maybe...

His silent tears soon became muffled sobs, the cloth and tape making it difficult to be heard in the small, lonely freezer. His shoulders wracked with them, pain radiating across his entire body as the force of his sobs pulled at his injuries, at his stiffened skin. And, on top of his guilt at being captured, that awful, claustrophobic, familiar fear of being trapped began to return.

No. He had to get out, before Jonathan actually gave himself up to Dr. Hemato. He couldn't allow this to happen. Wouldn't.

Yes, he would get out. He'd just needed to cry first.

Composing himself, he reached up with weakly trembling hands to pull the tape off his mouth.

Except… his fingers only brushed uselessly against the side of his face.

He blinked in bleary confusion as he stared down at his hands. He could see past the straps keeping his prosthetic fingers attached to his hands, that the remaining nubs of his fingers—which were what controlled the prosthetics—were a dark, blackish purple, lined with frost. And they weren't moving.

They weren't moving.

Worse, the water that had earlier been poured over his body had frozen the hinges of the prosthetics. No matter how hard he tried, they refused to move.

"Mm—"

No, no, no.

He frantically tried to force his fingers to move, arms trembling from the strain and cold. He tried to peel the tape of his face again. And again, and again, but the metal prosthetics only brushed uselessly over his face with each attempt. He couldn't stop the tears that were welling up again, rolling down his face, alongside the build up of mini icicles on his chin. And he couldn't stop the muffled whimpers of panic from tearing themselves out of his throat.

Please. Not again, please.

But no matter how hard he tried, his fingers did not move.

Desperate, he tried to take the prosthetics off entirely. But without the aid of his fingers, they remained attached to his hands. He couldn't even move his arms quickly enough to try to break the prosthetics off entirely. His arms were so frozen by now that he could hardly move them at all.

No. All he could do was stare in quiet, helpless terror as his trembling hands stayed otherwise still.

The panic attack followed quickly after. The overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia—of being trapped in his own body, frozen and immobile despite his mind screaming to be let out, to move, to be released, to do anything—crashed into him full-force. And that horribly familiar feeling, along with those horrible, horrible memories, came slamming down on his panicked, vulnerable mind all at once.

His breaths, strained through his nostrils, inhaled and exhaled rapidly, more tears streaming down his face from sheer, desperate panic. His entire body strained against itself, sobs and gasps and whimpers muffled against the duct tape as it yanked slightly against his skin. He began to fully hyperventilate, the sounds of creaking and cracking rising from his skin.

But any movement he managed only sent more cracks across his flesh, and he could only witness, helplessly, as his own body was reduced to obeying the laws of an inanimate object.

Eventually, his struggles ceased. His sobs teetered into helpless silence, and even hyperventilating took too much energy. All he could do now was… sit. Breaths shaky through his nose, uniform tattered and torn around his still frame, bruises exposed and blood freezing on his skin. His body remained curled up against the chair, arms sticking slightly and awkwardly out in front of him, the sight almost comical as his muscles slowly froze in that stiffened up position—like a bug's corpse in rigor mortis. His tears crusted around his eyes, making it difficult to even blink, while the rest dangled off his broken nose and chin in tiny icicles.

Only his mind, clouded by increasing delirium and exhaustion, and his eyes—glazed over and miserably resigned as they stared at the door—showed any signs of life. All he could do now was wait, a frozen block of useless flesh, and pray that either Jonathan would come to save him, or that his mentor would be reasonable and decide not to risk saving him at all. After all, Landon knew that he deserved whatever happened to him next. It was what he deserved for allowing himself to be caught.

Slowly, Landon closed his eyes. Jonathan would be so disappointed him.

———

This fic was based on the AMAZING drawing above by @kninewarrior-whump! THANK YOU SO MUCH DUDE THIS WAS INSANELY FUN TO WRITE!! This took a ridiculous amount of time to finish lmao. But I can't WAIT to art trade with you again!!!

Tag list: @thelazywitchphotographer @sootheandsavage

"Is that her?"

In the small living room stood her Uncle Kenzou, along with three men Hitomi had never seen before. One man was sharply dressed, gazing at her appraisingly over the top of his sunglasses with cold, calculating eyes. The two men with him were large and intimidating and seemed to defer to him. Their presence in the small apartment was painfully out of place and it immediately set her on edge.

Her uncle wore a nervous, appeasing grin. He wrung his hands anxiously, looking between her and the man with the sunglasses, "y-yes! That's my Hitomi! I think you'll find her very, ah- well behaved. Very obedient."

"What's going on?" Hitomi asked, all sorts of alarm bells ringing in her head. Kenzou wasn't a good man and he definitely wasn't a smart one. He often found himself getting into trouble with rough sorts, and she had a feeling he was in trouble right now.

She had a feeling she was probably in trouble, too.

Kenzou laughed tightly, trying and failing to appear composed as he made his way over to her. He gripped Hitomi's shoulders tightly and tried to move her to the center of the room, but she planted her feet, refusing to budge from where she stood at the entrance. His grip on her tightened.

"Listen-" he began in a hiss before stopping himself and glancing at the man in the sunglasses. He lowered his voice, "Hitomi. That man over there is my...my friend, Naoki. You're going to do your uncle a favor and go with him, okay? Just be a good girl and do whatever he asks of you." He spoke to her as if she were a naive child, as if she couldn’t at all see how suspicious this situation was.

"What are you talking about?" she glanced tensely between her uncle and the strange, intimidating men he was trying to foist her off on and narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?" she whispered accusingly.

"Hey, don't you dare take that tone with me, brat," he whispered back, there was the usual disdain he had for her in his gaze, but there was also a frantic desperation under it. Sweat pooled at his temple, "I just owe 'em a little more money than I can’t pay back right now,” it must have been a lot of money going by how nervous he was. Damn him, “but when I told 'em about your quirk, they were willing to-"

"No," Hitomi said, sudden and firm, feeling disgust and outrage well up in her chest in equal parts. She couldn't believe it. Kenzou was trying to- to sell her, her and her quirk, in order to pay off his own debts. She knew he was pathetic, a slimeball, a bastard, but they were flesh and blood. Maybe she was just foolish, thinking that family meant anything to him. Maybe she really was the naive kid her treated her as, thinking that he wouldn't try to use her like this one day, that he'd so easily put her in the hands of complete strangers.

"Kenzou," the sunglasses man, Naoki, spoke up, and his voice was just as chilling as his gaze. Hitomi watched her uncle shrivel where he stood and understood just how dangerous this guy really was. "I thought you said your darling niece was up for the job."

"S-She is!" Kenzou insisted, again trying to nudge Hitomi forward, "I p-promise you! She's just- j-just a little shy-"

"I'm not going with them!" Hitomi said, her heart pounding in her chest. She shoved her uncle's hands off of her, disgusted to even be in contact with him.

She wasn't leaving this apartment with these villains- because that's what they were, weren't they? Criminals his uncle had gotten mixed up in that wanted to make use of her quirk in exchange for wiping his debts. She was working so damn hard to become a hero it felt like she was fighting fate itself. Who was he to decide he could ruin that for her? She wasn't his tool and she sure as hell wasn't theirs.

"I think you're confused, little girl," Naoki spoke again, gesturing with his hand to his two associates who began to advance on her, "you don't have much of a choice in the matter. All you get to decide is if you walk out of here with us or if we drag you out."

Hitomi chose neither.

Grabbing her uncle by the arm, she harshly shoved him into the two men approaching her. They collided, letting out noises of surprise as they stumbled back. She used the moment of confusion to bolt out the front door and sprint back out the way she came.

As she ran down the corridor towards the stairwell, she heard the panicked shouts of her uncle to come back and- more alarmingly- the pounding footsteps in hot pursuit of her. Hitomi didn't dare look back, but she already knew they weren't as far behind her as she would have hoped, and she wasn't outpacing them by much. Her body was still exhausted from training, and it would soon tire out completely.

They were going to catch up.

Hitomi burst into the stairwell, her heart racing. She slammed the door behind her but it was only a momentary obstacle to her pursuers. She began her hurried descent down the stairs, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her.

Desperation took hold of her and her hand reached into the pocket of her school blazer, taking out her phone. She somehow managed to unlock it and pull up her most recent calls while still traversing the stairs.

She pressed the topmost contact and prayed.

They picked up on the first ring, "Aizawa speaking-"

"I need help!" she cried out breathlessly, rounding a landing and starting down the next set of steps, "they're going to take me-"

"Kid? What's-?"

She was slammed into from behind.

Hitomi screamed as she fell down the stairs and onto the landing below. She landed hard, her phone flying from her hand, and the pain momentarily left her stunned.

She had enough time to register two burly shadows looming over her before a foot made contact with her head and everything went black.

---

"Here's what's going to happen."

They'd taken Hitomi to their hideout, an abandoned building in an area she didn't recognize. It held even more members of this villainous crew. She was gagged, beaten, and then taken to an empty room. There, she was chained to the wall by a collar they'd secured with a padlock around her neck. She was sat on the floor up against the wall, wrists bound behind her back, as the group's leader, Naoki, crouched before her and told her how things were going to work from now on.

Naoki grabbed Hitomi by the face, his nails digging into her cheeks, and peered into her eyes with an almost bored expression. "You're going to use your quirk to help us out for a while. If you don't want to cooperate, we'll find another use for that pretty mouth of yours," those words made her nearly sick with fear. "Either way, we're gonna get some value out of you, your uncle owes us quite a lot."

He let her go, and then walked out of the room. The door was shut, and Hitomi found herself in darkness, hurting and scared.

Alone.

Hitomi closed her eyes as she fought back the black wave of despair that threatened to overwhelm her. What was she going to do? What could she do? Her body was at its limit. She didn't know where the hell she was or how many people were out there just waiting for her to try something. There were no windows in this room and she was chained to the goddamn wall.

She drew in a shaking breath through her nose. She tried to will herself not to panic, not to break down.

'Keep a level head,' Aizawa would tell her in this situation.

Aizawa… She wondered what Aizawa must have thought, getting that phone call from her. Was he even able to make sense of her few, frenzied words? Did she dare hope that he was looking for her? That he even cared that she was in trouble at all? Surely she wasn't very high up on his priority list.

Villains still came after his students all the time. He probably already had his hands full making sure they were safe at all times. Sure, he took some time out of his schedule to train her, but she couldn't expect him to waste any further time or resources on her.

She was just a third-rate Gen Ed student who hadn't made the cut. One that even her own family thought was expendable.

No one would be coming to save her.

Hitomi swallowed against the lump in her throat. It's fine. It was fine. She willed away all the dark thoughts, pushing them into a box and shoving them into the back of her head. If she could depend on no one, she'd depend on herself.

She wasn't going to be coerced into becoming a villain, and she sure as hell wasn't going to remain at the mercy of this gang.

She shifted her body, moving her bound wrists under her legs and to her front. She removed her gag.

She'd save herself or die trying.

---

"You got further than I thought you would."

Hitomi spat out a mouthful of blood, dragging herself to her feet. She'd managed to get herself out of the room she'd been put in, prying the chain free from the wall. The collar was still locked in place, however, the remainder of the chain dangling from her throat. She made use of it, wrapping the chain around her knuckles to enforce her punches as she fought off a couple of villains that tried to stop her.

She'd taken out three men, including the two who had first caught her at her uncle's apartment, but only with the aid of her quirk, and not without taking plenty of hits herself.

She hadn't made it very far, in the end.

She was truly out of energy, and the villains knew her tricks. It was a pain in the ass getting a response out of any of them. It left her confident in assuming that her bastard uncle gave them a rundown of her quirk's limitations. She was soon beaten down yet again, and now faced Naoki and the remainder of his crew, and there were too many of them. They stood between her and the building's entrance, the door to the outside practically mocking her.

It looked like ‘die trying’ would be the end result of her desperate escape attempt.

"I'll admit your resistance was cute at first, I like a girl that struggles," Naoki removed his sunglasses, his irises starting to glow. "But now, you're almost more trouble than your worth," he gestured to his men.

"Break her arms and legs. We only need her voice intact, anyways."

As soon as that horrifying order left his lips, the front door was broken down and a dark figure burst into the building like a hound from hell, gunning straight for Naoki. No one had time to react or even flinch before Naoki was slammed into from behind, his face smashed into the ground with such force that it cracked the floor beneath him.

There was a beat of silence where nobody moved. Naoki lay still, knocked unconscious in that one move by the figure still perched on his back.

It was only when the literal dust had settled and the air crept back into the room that Hitomi realized she recognized this new arrival.

"S-Sensei…"

Aizawa straightened to his full height atop Naoki's back, his hair and capture weapon whipping around him in an angry vortex. His hands were clenched into fists, his jaw tight, and behind his goggles, his eyes glowed dangerously.

Anyone else would have been scared shitless by the sight of him, but Hitomi only felt dizzying relief.

Aizawa was here.

She was going to be okay now.

The remainder of the crew finally got over their shock and sprung into action.

"Fuck- Boss!"

"Get him!"

"We still need the brainwasher girl! Someone take her!"

"You won't touch her," with that vicious declaration, Aizawa was already in motion, two more men knocked out before Hitomi could even blink. She had never seen him fight before, not against actual villains, and she wondered if he was always this magnificent, this brutally efficient.

She wondered if in her frightened, vulnerable state she just imagined the protective fury in his voice.

She didn't have time to ponder any of this, though, as the last dregs of her strength chose that moment to finally drain away. Her legs gave out beneath her, her body falling sideways.

Hitomi's last memory before her vision faded was her mentor shouting her name.

---

The next time Hitomi woke up, it was in an annoyingly bright hospital room with Aizawa sitting at her bedside. She immediately locked eyes with him because he was already staring down at her face. She watched the moment he realized she was awake, how he instantly looked so alert, and so relieved.

"Kid," he sat forward, his hand finding her wrist. The weight of his calloused palm against her skin was warm and comforting. "How are you feeling?"

"You're here…" she croaked instead of answering him, just looking at his face. He had bruising and scratches on him that weren’t there the last time she had seen him. He must have gotten them when he saved her.

His eyes softened and he gently squeezed her wrist, "yeah, I'm here."

"You came…"

"You called."

Oh.

Was it really that simple to him?

Her lower lip wobbled and her eyes welled up with tears at his answer. Such a plain, honest answer. There was so much left to process and so much left to heal, but in that moment, that's exactly what she needed to hear.

"Thank you."

So that was the part he'd play today. It was hurt he had to inflict, betrayal he had to fake. It bought them time, and that’s all that mattered—all he had to do was delay, press pause and give them a chance.

He followed Decker through a few corridors until a pair of open double doors came into view. He could hear raised voices from within and he stiffened as Decker pulled him close, an arm slung around his neck.

“Take a look.”

Guided to the doorway he peered through the gloom into the dull interior. Inside held a boxing ring, some punching bags, and a swathe of empty space. There were two figures and he recognised one of them as Sasha, her gait was spry, quick on her feet, sparring off with someone bulkier but slower. He glanced about and saw another set of figures off to one side of the large room. Two stood casually, and the third looked to be struggling. In fact the position looked painful even from his own distant vantage point. It didn’t take long to realise it was Archer, with his hands chained high over his head and his body straining at the elevation of the cuffs he was raised onto his toes and his torso stretched taut.

“You’re hurting them,” he said.

“Training, as crude as it may be. Watch.”

There was shouting, mumbled curses. Sasha and her opponent circled one another. Zach watched her duck and weave, sidestep punches that were thrown her way.

“Come on, we told you the rules, fight!” someone yelled from the sidelines.

Sasha whipped her head back and forth and narrowly avoided a lunge. She pivoted and struck instinctively and Zach lurched as one of the guards beside Archer swung a fist into the soft, exposed plane of Archer’s stomach. Sasha yelled, turning towards the sound of the impact and the grunt from Archer and a kick knocked her knees out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.

The second figure beside Archer swung a cane that landed across his taut shoulders with a thwack that Zach heard even from his distance at the door.

“If she plays properly and lands a hit, your buddy only gets a few fists. If she fails to win, he takes a strike from the cane. If she refuses to participate, there’s a whip that might change her mind,” Decker explained, pulling Zach closer like they were conspiring.

Zach gulped. “Effective.”

“Exactly.” Decker beamed and put him at arm’s length, straightened his shirt collar.

Zach’s gaze was drawn into the room again as Sasha circled the ring, looking for an opening. Archer swung back and forth, his chest heaving for breath. “He won’t last long, like that.”

“He’ll last long enough,” Decker said, his shoulders shrugged. Of course Decker didn’t care. Not about the risk of injury, not about any of it.

The sounds of the fighting and noises of pain kept coming and a cold sweat began to trickle down the back of his shirt. But this was good, they were keeping Decker occupied and entertained, and he could work with that. He let the numbness wash over him again, seep into the cracks of guilt and shore them up. And when Decker slapped him on the back and announced they were going to say hello, Zach strode through the doors on sure and steady feet. Sasha didn’t notice their arrival but Archer did, his pale face turning at the sound of footsteps. His eyes went wide and the blood running down his split lip was licked away with a nervous flick of the tongue.

“As you can see, we’re making good use of their time.” Decker’s projected voice echoed, like he was giving a tour, making a show of it.

Zach thrust his hands--shaking, just a little--into his pockets. He had to look casual, detached. “And how is it progressing?”

“See for yourself.”

Decker spun towards him with a smile, calculating eyes following Zach’s every movement. There was cotton in his mouth, sticking up his throat, but he swallowed and made a show of prowling the edge of the ring. There were a few more moments before Sasha clocked his presence and when she did her focus slipped. Her opponent took the chance to hit her hard, right across the jaw. It was a close call that Zach didn’t flinch when it happened. He only sighed and wrinkled his nose.

He bit the side of his tongue as the cane cracked down to his right, and Archer yelled through gritted teeth. Carefully, Zach tilted his head, as though assessing. It put Archer in his line of sight and he counted a beat to make sure there was still breath rising and falling in Archer’s chest.

“She can’t let her guard down like that,” he said, addressing Decker. “Or they’ll eat her alive.”

“It’s hard to think like this,” Sasha spat at him.

“Then don’t think.” He looked up at her with a steady gaze. “React. Be ready, know your role.”

There were seconds when his heart pounded in his chest, thrumming in his ears, as he wondered if he was being too bold. Would Decker pick up on it? Would Sasha? What was he trying to say, really, other than to be ready for anything? To play along for now. She blinked, and then growled at him before turning back to the fight.

He watched for a few more moments, making appreciative sounds at her light-footed movements and she dodged and wove and got a few quick jabs in. Dull, thudding, awful sounds of fists hitting flesh resounded from Archer’s predicament. Sasha backed off again, buying as much time in the ring as she could without causing pain for Archer in one way or another. The small part of Zach’s brain that wasn’t focused on staying alert and aloof wanted to hug her, and then a smaller, heartbreaking door cracked open and he realised he probably wouldn’t ever get that chance. Or wouldn’t be allowed to, even if they made it out unscathed.

Decker jerked a head and Zach followed. Dog on a lead. Puppet on a string. He walked on legs he couldn’t feel and circled his best friend hanging, nearly limp, from chained wrists. “Z--ach, talk to me,” Archer’s voice was hoarse when he spoke. Zach gave him a cursory once-over. His eyes flicked away before he could catalogue the full force of bruised flesh and blood. “Look at me damn it!”

“Why?” Zach asked, his jaw working side to side. I don’t care, I cannot care, I have to make this seem believable.

“Because it’s me!” The creak-creak-creak of the chain holding Archer up punctuated every word. “I need you to tell me what’s going on, please.”

The last word was so very quiet. So desperate. He almost couldn’t take it. His mouth was unfathomably dry. Decker watched like a hawk, twice as quick and just as ruthless and this was the moment that would make or break it.

He turned, shoulders back and relaxed and his face as smooth and worry-free as he could make it. “And what could I say to you? What could I persuade you with to take me at my word?” He met Archer’s eyes and held them. Steady. Unmoving. “You already know everything, don’t you? There’s nothing else to say.”

He blinked. Archer gaped, mouth a gash and a grimace across a swollen, sore face. Believe me, believe in who I am. Hold onto it. Please please please. Archer swallowed thickly, croaked something Zach couldn’t hear before a cane came down hard across his shoulder blades and he keened.

Zach turned sharply, one brief second where he could close his eyes and not be here. Sasha stood, fuming, hands clenched on the ropes of the ring, watching their exchange.

“You piece of fucking filth, all of you!” she yelled. “Can’t take us in a fair fight, so you have to do this?”

“D-don’t,” Archer said, resigned. “Not worth it.”

Was it Zach’s imagination or did Archer sound lighter, somehow? There wasn’t time to analyse it, whether it was relief and understanding or just breathless strain. The world swung into movement again as Decker lead him to the side, kept him in what-looked-like conspiratorial conversation for a while, as the game of pitching Sasha’s willingness against Archer’s pain continued.

There wasn't a chance to say anything else, or to steal a glance, to show he cared and was here, that there was a plan that might save them. He became hyper aware as he walked shoulder to shoulder out of the room that time wasn’t on their side. He didn’t have forever, there weren’t endless hours to play this song and dance and win. There was only now, the tracker in his heel, the deal with Bryson to be the pawn and the bait, and hope that back-up was already coming. And if it wasn’t, and it didn’t, he’d live with the guilt of this for the rest of his very short days.

Either way, there was never going to be enough time.