#jester! reader

Kirishima was closest, his chair pulled right up to the bed, his elbows on his knees and his eyes red-rimmed. Kaminari was pacing near the window, his fingers sparking with nervous electricity. Ashido was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the wall, her face blotchy from crying. Sero and Jiro were sharing a chair that wasn't meant for two people, their shoulders pressed together. Ojiro stood near the door, his tail wrapped around his own ankle. Hagakure's gloves floated near the foot of the bed, twisting together. Sato held a container of homemade cookies that had gone uneaten. Koda had a small bird perched on his shoulder, its head tucked under its wing. Shoji's multiple arms were folded, his expression unreadable but his posture protective. Aoyama was actually quiet, his sparkle dimmed, his hand resting on his chest. Tokoyami stood in the corner, Dark Shadow peeking over his shoulder with uncharacteristic silence. And Bakugo was by the window, his back to everyone, his shoulders rigid, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Midoriya was the first to notice she was awake.

"Jester-san!" He lurched forward, nearly knocking over his chair, his notebook clattering to the floor. "You're awake! How do you feel? Do you need water? The doctor said your internal injuries are healing but you shouldn't move too much, and your energy levels are still depleted, and—"

"Green Bean," she rasped, and her voice came out like sandpaper. "Breathe."

He breathed. Shakily. His eyes were wet.

"You're all here," she said, looking around the room. "Why are you all here?"

"Because you almost died, you absolute menace!" Ashido burst out, scrambling to her feet. "We saw everything! The broadcast! You were fighting All For One! You threw up blood on national television!"

"I threw up blood behind a collapsed wall. I don't think the cameras caught that part."

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"

Uraraka, who'd been sitting on the other side of the bed, reached out and took the Jester's bandaged hand. Her grip was gentle but firm, her round face streaked with tears. "We were so scared. We didn't know if you were alive. The broadcast cut out after All Might's final punch, and we just sat there in the common room, watching the static, not knowing if you were coming back."

"We couldn't sleep," Tsuyu added, her voice quieter than usual. "We've been taking turns sitting with you, kero. The doctors said you needed rest, but we didn't want you to wake up alone."

The Jester looked at her. Then at Uraraka. Then at the room full of her classmates, her students, her idiots who'd formed a protection squad without her consent.

"I wasn't alone," she said. "Midoriya was there. Todoroki was there. Kirishima, Iida, Yaoyorozu. They got Bakugo out. That was the point."

"The point was for all of you to come back," Iida said, his voice cracking despite his rigid posture. "And you nearly didn't."

"I'm here now."

"Barely!"

"Barely counts."

Bakugo moved. It was the first time he'd moved since she woke up, a sharp turn away from the window, his red eyes blazing. "You're an idiot."

"Hello to you too, Explosion Boy."

"Don't 'Explosion Boy' me. You threw yourself at All For One. You stood in front of the most powerful villain in history and you didn't run. You didn't hide. You just stood there and let him hit you."

"I had a Shield up."

"It SHATTERED."

"It held long enough."

He crossed the room in three strides, and for a terrifying moment, she thought he was going to hit her. But he stopped at the edge of the bed, his hands still in his pockets, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping.

"You saved my life," he said, and the words came out like they were being dragged from him with pliers. "You and Deku and Kirishima and the others. You came for me. You almost died for me. And I don't—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "I don't know how to—"

"You don't have to say it," she said quietly.

"I'm SAYING it. Shut up and let me SAY it." He took a breath. His hands came out of his pockets, and they were shaking. Bakugo's hands were shaking. "Thank you. For coming. For fighting. For being the stupidest, most reckless, most infuriating person I've ever met. If you ever do something like that again, I'll kill you myself."

"That seems counterproductive."

"I DON'T CARE."

But his voice cracked on the last word, and Kirishima was suddenly there, his hand on Bakugo's shoulder, his own eyes wet. "He's been worried sick. We all have. You're our classmate, Jester. You're our friend. You're not allowed to almost die. That's an order."

"You're not the boss of me."

"I'm making myself the boss of you. Temporary boss. Emergency boss."

"That's not how bosses work."

"MANLY BOSS."

The room dissolved. Ashido started crying again. Kaminari made a joke about the Jester being too stubborn to die, and his voice wobbled. Jiro told him to shut up, and her voice wobbled too. Sero threw an arm around both of them. Ojiro's tail uncurled from his ankle and wrapped around Hagakure's floating gloves. Sato finally put down the cookies. Koda's bird woke up and chirped. Shoji unfolded his arms. Aoyama sparkled, just a little, his hand still on his heart. Tokoyami stepped out of the corner, Dark Shadow murmuring something too soft to hear.

And the Jester, propped up on seventeen pillows in a hospital room that was too small for the number of people inside it, felt something in her chest crack open. Not her ribs. Something deeper. Something she'd been holding closed for two lifetimes.

"You're all insufferable," she said. "Every single one of you."

"Guilty," Tsuyu said.

"Completely," Uraraka agreed.

"And you're not getting rid of us," Midoriya added, his smile watery but bright.

She looked at them. Her classmates. Her idiots. Her home. And under the bandages and the exhaustion and the fading bruises, she smiled. A real smile. Bare of paint, bare of performance, bare of everything except the truth.

"I know," she said. "I'm not trying to anymore."

The teachers came later.

Aizawa arrived first, because of course he did. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, his eyes sweeping over the Jester's bandaged form, her dim but recovering cards, her classmates scattered around the room like a protective barrier. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

"You're alive," he said.

"Disappointed?"

"Exhausted. There's a difference." He walked to the bed, and the students parted for him without being asked. "The doctors say you'll recover fully. Whatever your power is, it's resilient. Your body is adapting faster than they expected."

"I've been training."

"I noticed." He paused. "You used your cards on live television. The whole country saw. The whole world saw. Nezu has been fielding calls from every hero agency, news network, and government official in Japan. You're not a secret anymore."

"I know."

"Are you ready for that?"

She looked at her bandaged hands. At the cards on the bedside table, still dim but pulsing with slow, steady light. At her classmates, who hadn't left her side.

"No," she said. "But I don't think I have a choice."

"That's the correct answer." He turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Nezu wants to see you when you're discharged. He has questions. I have questions. But they can wait until you're healed." His eyes flicked back to her, tired and sharp and almost kind. "Good work, Jester."

He was gone before she could respond.

Present Mic came next, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he stood in the doorway. "Hey, little listener. You look terrible."

"Thank you. I try."

"You were incredible out there. Absolutely incredible. I've never seen anything like those cards. What even are they?"

"Long story."

"I've got time."

"Not that long. Maybe that long." She paused. "I'll tell you someday. When I understand it better myself."

He nodded, his grin softer than usual. "I'll hold you to that. Get some rest, yeah? You've earned it."

Midnight swept in like a storm, her costume immaculate despite the late hour, her eyes red-rimmed. "You foolish, brilliant, impossible child. I saw the broadcast. I saw you face that monster. I have never been more terrified in my life."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just don't do it again."

"I can't promise that."

"I know." She pressed a kiss to the Jester's forehead, right on the diamond. "You're a hero, Jester. Whether you like it or not."

"I'm starting to accept it."

"Good."

And then Nezu.

He arrived alone, his small form silhouetted in the doorway, his bright eyes gleaming with something that was half curiosity and half genuine warmth. He was carrying a chess set.

"I thought you might be bored," he said, setting the board on the bedside table. "Hospital rooms are dreadfully dull."

"I'm surrounded by twenty classmates who won't stop fussing over me. I'm not bored. I'm overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed is a form of boredom. It's the boredom of too much input rather than too little." He climbed onto the visitor's chair, his paws folding neatly in his lap. "Your cards are fascinating. I've been analyzing the footage. They don't operate on any quirk factor I've ever encountered. They're something else entirely. Something that shouldn't exist in this world."

"But they do."

"Yes. They do." His whiskers twitched. "You're not from this world, are you?"

The room went very quiet. Her classmates, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop, stopped pretending.

"No," she said. "I'm not."

"I suspected as much. Your knowledge of future events, your familiarity with quirks you'd never encountered, your constant references to 'the script.' You knew what was going to happen before it happened. You've been trying to change things without being noticed."

"Yes."

"Are you from the future? Another dimension? A parallel timeline?"

"Another world. One where this—" she gestured at the room, at her classmates, at the cards, "—was a story. A story I loved. A story I never thought I'd be part of."

Nezu was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled, his small face crinkling with genuine delight. "How fascinating. How utterly, magnificently fascinating. You've been carrying the weight of foreknowledge, magical powers, and existential displacement, and you still chose to become a hero."

"I didn't choose to become a hero. I chose to protect my idiots."

"That's the same thing."

She looked at her classmates. At Midoriya, who was crying again. At Bakugo, who was pretending not to be moved. At Uraraka and Tsuyu and Kirishima and all the rest, who were looking at her with expressions that held no judgment, only acceptance.

"Maybe it is," she said.

Nezu opened the chess set. "When you're discharged, we'll talk more. About your world, your knowledge, your cards. But for now..." He moved a pawn. "Let's play."

She moved a pawn of her own. "You're going to lose."

"I'm counting on it."

Across the city, in a dimly lit bar that smelled like stale alcohol and older regrets, the League of Villains watched the broadcast on a cracked television screen. The footage was grainy, interrupted by static, but the images were unmistakable. All Might, skeletal and broken, standing over All For One's defeated form. And the Jester, bleeding and defiant, her cards scattered around her like fallen stars.

Shigaraki hadn't moved in ten minutes.

His fingers were twitching, all five of them, the ones that didn't wear the hands of his family. His lips were cracked. His eyes, visible through the gaps in Father's fingers, were fixed on the screen with an intensity that bordered on religious.

"She knew," he said. His voice was a rasp, dry and scratching. "At the USJ, she knew my name. My grandmother's name. She knew about Sensei. She knew everything. And now she has powers that aren't quirks. Powers that hurt Sensei. Powers that made him pause."

"She didn't hurt Sensei," Spinner said cautiously. "All Might did. She just... delayed him."

"She DELAYED him. She stood in front of All For One and she delayed him. Do you understand what that means?" Shigaraki's fingers twitched faster. "She's not a side character. She's not a joke. She's a player. A real player. And she's been hiding it this whole time."

Across the room, Dabi leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his scarred face unreadable. He'd known. He'd known since that night in the warehouse, when he'd watched her catch a glowing card in her bare hands and tuck it away like a secret. He'd kept that secret. Not for her. Not exactly. But because it was interesting, and so little in this world was interesting anymore.

Now the whole world knew. And the Jester, wherever she was, was probably drowning in the consequences.

He smiled. Just barely. Just enough.

"She's tougher than she looks," he said.

"What do you know about it?" Shigaraki snapped.

"More than you." Dabi pushed off the wall and walked toward the door. "I'm getting air."

He didn't wait for a response. He stepped out into the cold night, his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes fixed on the distant glow of the city. Somewhere out there, the Jester was in a hospital bed, surrounded by people who loved her, recovering from wounds she'd earned protecting them.

She was nothing like him. And yet, when he'd seen her on that broadcast, bleeding and defiant and impossibly bright, he'd recognized something. The exhaustion. The weight. The way she carried her power like a burden instead of a gift.

He didn't know what that meant. He didn't want to know. But he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Inside the bar, Toga was pressing her face against the television screen.

"She's so beautiful," she breathed. Her fingers traced the static outline of the Jester's form. "She was bleeding. Did you see the blood? It was so red. So pretty. I want to taste it again. I want to be her. I want to know what it feels like to be that bright and that broken at the same time."

"Toga, get away from the screen," Mr. Compress said tiredly. "You're leaving fingerprints."

"I don't care. She's perfect. She's chaos. She's everything I want to be." Toga spun away from the television, her grin stretched wide. "I'm going to meet her again. Someday. And when I do, I'm going to ask her how she does it. How she smiles like that when she's falling apart. How she makes everyone love her even when she's scary. I want to know everything."

"You're obsessed," Twice said. Then, in a different voice: "It's kind of hot!"

"Shut up, both of you," Shigaraki snarled. But his eyes were still on the screen. Still on the Jester. "She's mine. When the time comes, she's mine. Not Toga's. Not Dabi's. Mine. I'm going to find out everything she knows. Every secret. Every future. And then I'm going to make her watch as I destroy it all."

No one argued. But in the corner, Spinner exchanged a glance with Mr. Compress. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them needed to.

The Jester had faced All For One and survived. She'd delayed the most powerful villain in history with nothing but cards and courage and sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness. Shigaraki could scheme all he wanted. But the Jester wasn't going to be easy to break.

She wasn't going to break at all.

The Pro Heroes watched from their agencies, their homes, their patrol routes. The broadcast was mandatory viewing. The fall of All Might was mandatory viewing. The rise of a quirkless student with powers that defied explanation was mandatory viewing.

Endeavor watched in his office, his flames flickering with barely contained frustration. The Jester. The same girl who'd forfeited against his son at the Sports Festival. The same girl who'd punched Stain in the face. The same girl who'd now stood against All For One and lived.

She wasn't a rival. She was a variable. And Endeavor didn't like variables.

But his son was on that rescue team. His son had worked with her, trusted her, followed her lead. And when the broadcast showed Todoroki Shoto pulling Bakugo out of the warehouse, his face set with determination, Endeavor felt something he couldn't quite name.

It might have been pride. It might have been envy. It might have been the realization that his son was becoming a hero without him.

He turned off the television and went back to work.

Hawks watched from his agency balcony, his wings spread wide against the night sky, his sharp eyes tracking every detail of the broadcast. The Jester. He'd sent her an internship offer. She'd chosen Nezu instead, which was fair. Nezu was terrifying. But watching her now, watching her throw glowing cards at All For One like she had nothing to lose, he felt a pang of something like regret.

He should have fought harder for her. He should have insisted.

"Next time," he murmured to no one. "Next time, I'm getting that kid on my team. She's going to be something incredible."

Best Jeanist, still recovering from his own injuries, watched from his hospital bed. The Jester. The girl with the bells and the painted grin and the terrifying tactical mind. He'd seen her at the Sports Festival. He'd dismissed her as a novelty, a clever quirkless student who'd gotten lucky.

He'd been wrong. So very wrong.

"Remarkable," he said quietly. "Absolutely remarkable."

And in Tartarus, in the deepest cell, in the darkest silence, All For One watched the broadcast on a monitor he shouldn't have been able to access. His body was broken. His empire was crumbling. But his mind was still sharp, still hungry, still reaching.

The Jester. Her power wasn't a quirk. He'd felt it when he struck her, a resonance that didn't belong to this world, a frequency that sang in a key he'd never heard before. She was something new. Something impossible. Something that could either destroy everything he'd built or become its greatest asset.

"Interesting," he murmured, and his voice was a whisper in the dark. "Very interesting."

He began to plan.

The Jester was discharged three days later. Her body was still healing, her cards were still recovering, but she could walk, and that was enough. She returned to the Heights Alliance dorms on a Tuesday afternoon, flanked by her classmates like an honor guard, her bells newly polished and chiming with every step. Her makeup was fresh, her diamond sharp, her tear drop perfect. She looked like herself again. Mostly. There were still shadows under her eyes, still a tightness around her grin. But she was upright. She was present. She was home.

The common room had been decorated. A banner, clearly hand-painted, stretched across the ceiling: WELCOME BACK, JESTER. Underneath, in smaller, messier letters: WE MISSED YOU. PLEASE DON'T ALMOST DIE AGAIN.

"Who wrote the second part?" she asked.

"Everyone," Tsuyu said. "Collectively. Kero."

The party was small but warm. Sato had baked a cake. Kaminari had somehow procured strawberry milk. Midoriya had written her a letter that was seventeen pages long and kept trying to give it to her before losing his nerve. Bakugo sat in the corner and didn't say anything, but he'd made mapo tofu, and it was sitting on the food table with a sticky note that said EAT IT OR ELSE in aggressive handwriting.

She ate it. It was good. She told him so. He told her to shut up. His ears were red.

As the afternoon faded into evening, the Jester found herself on the roof. It was the same roof where she'd talked to Midoriya before the Sports Festival, the same roof where she'd sat with Shinso in companionable silence, the same roof where she'd stared at the stars and wished she could go home. But home wasn't a place anymore. Home was the common room full of idiots who'd decorated a banner for her. Home was the mapo tofu and the strawberry milk and the seventeen-page letter she still hadn't read. Home was the cards in her pocket and the bells on her zipper and the grin she didn't have to fake anymore.

The door opened behind her. Footsteps, light and hesitant. Midoriya.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said, sitting down beside her. "You always come to the roof when you're thinking."

"Old habits."

"Are you okay?"

She considered the question. Her body ached. Her cards were dim. The world was watching her, waiting for her next move. The League of Villains was still out there. All For One was in prison, but his shadow lingered. And somewhere in the darkness, a small girl with a horn and terrified eyes was still waiting to be saved.

But she was surrounded by people who loved her. She had a power she was finally learning to accept. And for the first time in two lifetimes, she wasn't alone.

"No," she said. "But I'm getting there."

Midoriya nodded. He didn't push. He just sat with her, his shoulder brushing hers, his presence steady and warm. And together, they watched the sun set over U.A.

Tomorrow, the Provisional License Exam would loom. The Shie Hassaikai would rise. Eri would need her. But tonight, the Jester was home.