deercountry | Hey, teacher, leave them kids alone

[Paul doesn't know what he's said, but he hears what Johnny does, and it wrenches a stutter into his next sob. It's pathetic, like the way he tries to pull himself up on the cot to sit and only half-makes it before he tips, unbalanced, back against Johnny.

He doesn't deserve this. He can't let it go. He's heartsick, hemorrhagic, and it's the first time since the ship the world has held steady around him, huddled in the shelter of his sensei's arms.

He doesn't try to stop. They're quiet tears, the kind that won't wake anyone as long as he stays where he is. The first wave is the worst of it, juddering like a ship bucking its steerer, before it breaks into torn little tremors.]

Sensei. [He chokes, when he can.] Sensei, I fucked up.

[An image arcs across Paul's mind with absolute clarity, his memory as flawless as it always is: distantly, a corona of ice blossoming around God's holy skull, the rise of buzzing wings, the no longer unfamiliar punch of bullets.]

It was worth a shot.

[It's not a joke, even if it has the wry, salt-rimed bite of one.]

I didn't do any better.

[The bite was noticeable-- a frosted rime made the words brittle as they fell upon his awareness. Oscar would have looked away if he could. Instead he turned inward in his search for answers.]

It wasn't if no one took the opening, Paul.

[His words were flat and brittle as well, like an old tool that had been forgotten just behind the shed for a season. There was no aggression, nor bite. A touch was enough to make his wall crumble to dust.]

Ruby and Ozpin were on their way. I was buying time for them. Did... did they get out okay?

He bares his teeth. Fresh tears fall from his eyes. He always gets too emotional when he wants to protect someone dear to him.

"Plenty can hurt you. It has. What's stopping you from being hurt by someone who can manipulate life and death at a distance without warning? I can't let that happen."

He can't force him to come with him. That would undermine all the work Midoriya has put into reminding Kaworu of his own agency. It might also provoke another pitched fight. There's been too much death already.

"I wanted to protect you from this. Remember? What I said before we went to rescue Anon-san, about how you don't have to be what you were raised for. You can make a new life. We can make a kinder world. Teacher went against that."

[Ortus fumbles only slightly when Gideon tosses herself whole-heartedly into an embrace, and perhaps it is that her embarrassment is contagious, or that it is simply the state of Ninth House children to always have the faint cringe of wounded beasts to them at any offered hand. He knows not.

He knows that he has wanted this since he was younger than she was, when he would sometimes lie awake in the still hours before the bells called him to his training and attempt to convince himself that he had dreamed of a terrible mistake. That he would walk into a room, and someone would smile at him in rueful apology for their too long and inexplicable absence, and the holes in the heart of the world would be stitched shut.

She is only ever so slightly shorter than he is, and much sturdier. He holds her like a babe burbling around a mouthful of her own fingers in the cradle of his arms.]

I am a foolish man. [He says, softly, with tears seeping into the black around his eyes.] I should have had no doubt that even the sea would fall before you.

[ Kainé wasn't invited here. She was never a part of most of these people's lives, and none in any substantial degree. Once, that would have been enough for Kainé to not get involved, remain aloof and alone, out in the cold. It would be so easy to just find some broken down shack on the edge of town, to freeze her heart and bear the scorn and revulsion of Trench's citizens as she wasted away in silence. It's so easy to pretend that Anna's betrayal, her foolish storm of vengeance, destroyed the last gasp of her willingness to connect.

But she'd been a part of that cursed voyage, not a passenger but inextricably involved all the same. And somehow the thought of all these people, abandoned and betrayed by that man... it's something worth protecting. No, this new home where, against all expectations, she had found comrades, tenderness, and love, isn't something she's prepared to give up on quite yet, or rather, the thought of losing it entirely hurts more than the balm of isolation could soothe.

She sleeps in a tent outside. She comes in the first morning, eyes sweeping the dingy warehouse from the door frame, and steps in as though she owns the place. ]

Where the fuck's the kitchen? And where do I bathe?

[There's a soft flinch at Johnny's name. Only a few days ago, he would have twisted his face into as sneer at the thought of anyone being associated with someone like that, making a comment about how he doubted Johnny had friends.

Now, Kaworu realizes that maybe Johnny was right about him. That he's weak and a coward. That there's nothing to see in him but something half-full and discarded.]

You don't know me, so why does it make you glad?

Pain in existence is inevitable. What difference does it make it comes from him or someone else? He's been kind to me before. At least I know there's more than pain if I stay.

[His voice is flat, quiet, as though he needs to be soft to keep everything together.]

I think I am only what I was raised to be. Everything here in this house was just an attempt at being something I'm not. Playing human like we played house. If I leave this place... then I'll have to admit that part of me also wasn't real. Just like the rest of it.

[Johnny was very detached from the side of him that might want to mock Kaworu. All of the kids who had shown up at the dojo had been through something far worse than he had ever experienced as a kid, and he was aware of how messed up just that had made him.

So instead he wanted to try and help them get up and dust themselves off after this mess.]

Yeah. Well- Maybe you screwed up by waiting so long. But that shit doesn't matter. As long as you own up to it there's always a chance you can make things right.

What if nothing goes back to being right? What am I supposed to do?

[He drops his head between his knees. Despite everything, he hadn't felt much like crying. And in the moments he wanted to, the tears never came, leaving him unfulfilled and desperate for relief.

Now he feels prickling, still alien, at the edges of his eyes and suddenly he's ashamed of it.]

Perhaps you were right about me.

[Johnny feels himself getting ripped up from the inside out seeing, hearing, feeling Paul like this. If there was anything in the world he could do to take this child's pain away he would. But he knows he can't- He knows well enough from the mistakes he's made they're something Paul is probably going to have to live with for he rest of his life.

But... At the very least he wont have to face them alone.

Johnny doesn't let go. He just keeps on holding onto Paul as tight as he can. When he speaks up again his voice is hoarse and quiet like a whisper.]

I know...

But we're going to figure this out. Okay?

[Johnny was an emotionally stunted fuck up on the best of days. But he was absolutely trying his best for the kids he had taken under his wing. Mostly because they had also been teaching him so much, about what was actually important to focus on, what actually mattered.

...And now that he knew that he wasn't going to let them get dragged down by what had just happened.

He's a little surprised by how honest that answer is but he steps up and gives her a light punch in the arm to show some support.]

No one's expecting you to be at a hundred percent right now. Jus take it easy.

But trust me, you're going to love this shit.

"It is real, all of it. Everything you tried so hard for. The kindness you showed others, including me. When you do stuff you don't have to, when I wouldn't like you any less if you didn't. When you promised to protect us without hesitation. When you kissed my tears away. What was going through your mind then, huh?! You've already changed."

It’s not yelling, but his voice is emphatic. Tears stream from his eyes in rivers as his ruined eyes widen. He sticks his hand out, palm up.

"I'm not leaving you."

.. okay.

[ There's a pause before that and after Johnny is done talking. Like Daniel at least has to consider this for a moment here - if not just because the plan is coming from Johnny, and the other's judgement can be.. well, a little bit murky at times. Maybe more than just a little bit murky.

On the other hand, Daniel does like to think that Johnny knows the difference between someone who is truly terrible to children and someone Johnny just doesn't like on a personal level. At least the one Daniel knew back home, from a little bit later down the line than the Johnny sitting right next to him now.

And if there's really kids in trouble, then who would he be to say no to this plan? The blonde seems serious enough about it, from what Daniel can see. It's rare to see Johnny this much on edge. It seems to be such a genuine emotion. ]

You think this guy is going to give us trouble when we show up?

[ That's the next step. Now Daniel has fully agreed to working along with this, he wants to be prepared for what they'll find when they stop there. ]

[Paul's fingers twitch mid-air at Oscar's disappointment at the missed opportunity, and the question that follows it with the weight of stayed judgment.]

They're all right.

[Paul shifts further down the truck bed, surreptitiously. It's not as though he doesn't have reason to desire distance, or as if anyone wants him too close to them in spite of that.]

What is this?

[The way Oscar is behaving (assuming this is as it seems) isn't like someone shocked by their circumstances. ]

It was only just recently, but it feels forever ago. He remembers hands twined, wet from summer's condensation on their cups, laughing at the color dying each other's tongues. On Rose DaSilva's advice, Midoriya taken them roller skating, a subconscious effort to make up for Kaworu's dismal, bleak childhood without love, and to teach a curious Paul more about Midoriya's world. He'd planned on kite flying next, a summer pastime from home that might be possible in good weather. A storm hit instead.

"No, I've never been. Didn't get the chance." Now he may never. "I'm from Musutafu*, Shizuoka Prefecture. A few hours from Tokyo by shinkansen." Bullet train. He would have taught Paul these words along with some of the other places he'd been: Nagano, Kanagawa, Yokohama, Hosu*.

It is miraculous that he and Daniel come from a similar time. Midoriya felt the chances of being from the same geographical location were higher.

"Are you also from California like Lawrence-sensei? I know a Pro Hero who once worked there."

*ooc: a bunch of places in MHA are just adapted from Star Wars names lmao

[A certain exhausted weariness bled through with the question despite Oscar's best efforts to withhold then. It wasn't the exhausting of someone who had died, however; it was the weary resignation of someone ordered to push a boulder uphill for eternity. ]

Sorry. I expected this to happen if I died. You remember my story about body hopping wizards?

I wasn't exaggerating.

This happened to Ozpin when he died in the dream. Both times. It resolved itself in a day.

He's not my teacher, Paul. He's my...

I guess you could use the word 'predecessor'.

Then why did you leave me...?!

[The question comes out strangled, like he's barely containing a howl of pain inside of him. A howl like the wind on the shore when he awakened after being submerged into the darkest depths. And a bone chilling cold that burned into the depths of his bones when he realized that he was completely alone on that beach.

Alone except for Teacher.]

Teacher was still there. You'd left. I didn't know if you'd be back.

["If" not "when".]

Edited 2022-07-15 21:46 (UTC)

[ .. talk about an entrance early in the morning, huh. But Daniel's stay in Trench so far has been - if nothing else - an extremely intense lesson in how to get used to really wild things really quickly, so he's just enduring the fact that this girl slept outside and is now wandering in with her demands, not even thinking about something like language.

He'll let her. Maybe she's still upset about everything that happened. All the other kids sure seem to be, even if this girl seems a bit older than most of them at the same time. ]

Are you looking for breakfast? I made some for everyone to share.

[ If not just so no one else has to bear trying to deal with the state of things in this warehouse... Johnny Lawrence is clearly not an interior designer.

But Daniel is right about breakfast. There is quite a tower of pancakes right there, with toppings and all for people to put on to their choosing. ]

.. I don't think we've been introduced yet. [ Not that Kainé can't have breakfast without that.

He's just trying to keep up with the names of all these ~~kidnapped~~ helped kids. ]

[ There's a point, when nearly everything is loaded up, when nearly everyone is loaded up, but not quite yet — that someone else from the house is waiting for Ortus.

Augustine has made no attempts to keep anyone from moving out of the house. (Well, one — but he hasn't actually tried, after all.) Augustine himself has only been gone from the house very briefly, once, to the Archives, to recover a single specific book — and no matter that he looks like absolute shit, the longer he spends in the house, in close proximity to him. Lyctors — necromancers, but given that Palamedes Sextus has long made his opinion of this house and its master plain — aren't meant to spend time in close proximity to Heralds. ]

It's good that you're getting them out.

[ He gives Ortus a nod, respectful — with a touch of a wry smile at one corner of his mouth. There's nothing mocking here, no matter who might be looking: just someone who's spent most of the last twenty-four hours constantly on the edge of flinching at every buzzing, rattling, clicking noise in the house.

There's a crate in his arms; it is, predictably enough, made of thin-lacquer bone, given that Ortus has already calmly repurposed every box that was already extant throughout the house, to move everyone's things out. There's not all that much in it. The bottom layer is carefully-nestled jams, made by Paul and whoever else was willing to help him, last month. There are a few notebooks — simple things, unwarded; chapbooks, hymnals, anatomical atlases, from throughout the Age of Man. And there's a small box under them, too, still sealed up with tape, covered in dust, the word ORRERY just barely visible through the grime — a sticky note attached to it has Augustine's handwriting questioning birthday? without specifying whose. He isn't even aware this is in here; Alfred added it when he was still sorting through the prayer books. The orrery inside isn't assembled, of course, but the neatly-labeled instructional book ought to make it very easy to get things in working order. ]

Good you're getting out, too, I imagine.

[ He's not used to this. (He's not used to any of this.) ]

Thanks, I suppose.

[ He shoves the crate at Ortus. Look, just take it. Make good use of what's inside. Everything is so very well labeled as to its purpose. ]

He crumples at the waist a little. Being stabbed feels like being punched, at first. Then the pain of sliced nerves comes a moment later, and one realizes too late the extent of the damage.

"I didn't leave you," he sobs quietly, hands cradling the air as if to hold his gutted flesh in (or to hold one angel close). He recites and paraphrases, "'When outnumbered, until more help comes, make a line. A safe zone. Put the wounded there. Guard it with your life.'”

He's without the cloak he swaddled Kaworu in after he was returned from Beast form. It's probably somewhere in this house. He feels cold even though it's summer. Reciting his notes usually reassures him. It doesn't.

"'The walking wounded are low priority because they can move.' I got Sauveterre-san and Paul-kun off the battlefield so I could protect you. I held the line. You were my top priority. You were safe. And then you were gone..."

His voice fades weakly. He bows his head and squeezes his eyes. Tears drop onto the floor and are lost forever. He may have followed his training, but all that matters to him is results. Those reflect on him. It's a harsh standard he doesn't hold others to. A hero is supposed to save everyone. He failed to save Kaworu, and this eclipses everything he did before that moment, even giving of his own blood to return Kaworu's will and sense of self.

"I wasn't in sight. I failed to reassure you. I'm sorry."

[There are few people as light on their feet as Paul is, and he knows this house, its warped floorboards and its resonances. He drifts through it in the silence of a ghost. He lingers in the hallway with all of one's presence, listening to Izuku and Kaworu speak to one another.

He is the last person on this world they could possibly want to see right now. He has to remind himself of that with every wrenching word, his hands nerveless fists at his side for aching to reach out to them. If he had any decency, he would have waited at the base of the stairs, like he said that he would.

But if he did, none of them would be here.]

He wasn't there for you because of me.

[Paul stands in the doorway. Where both of them bear the stigmata of corruption, Paul barely appears different than he did when he left this room on the morning of the voyage, except for the violet shadows under his eyes and the slanted bow of his shoulders.]

He didn't leave you. [His voice is dull, his eyes flat.] I took him away.

[The last teacher who promised Paul that they would figure things out together had the same clumsiness of care that Johnny does, as if he had forgotten (if he ever knew) how to comfort anyone else. He'd understood what it was like to have fucked up, too.

So perhaps Paul should know better. Perhaps he should stop wanting this. Cut out the part of him that finds safety here, that clings to that assurance like a rope tossed to a drowning man. Cauterize the wound it would leave with purpose and with fury, until there was nothing left but black inside his eyes.]

Okay.

[Paul echoes back, throat raw. He sits up enough to drag one of his hands back to scrub at his damp face with a sleeve folded over his hand, teenage embarrassment finding an unexpected gap to slip back through.

He corrects himself, quietly:] Yes, sensei.

[Kaworu's hand raises unconsciously, drawn towards one of the first people he was drawn towards and who willingly came closer.

His first friend. Then something more.

But he can't cross the distance between them. Even as part of him wants to run to Paul, taking Izuku's hand and dragging him along. He could be angry, he could be so angry at him, but if they were together, it would be alright.]

It's okay if it was... I don't want you hurt but...

[He drops his hand, it collapses against his side.]

I'm wanted. Here.

[It's not true. Part of him knows that. But it's easier to live a lie where he never has to consider waking up so alone.]

He tenses subtly between quieting breaths. It's not as though he needs to protect Kaworu from Paul at the moment, but perhaps the image of Paul--a reminder of the person who hurt him on that ship.

"He wants--Teacher uses people like tools. Everyone on the ship..." He trails off because the subject of Teacher is less important than Midoriya's primary motivation.

Midoriya sinks to sit in the middle of the room uninvited, bulky Iron Soles tucked under him as best they can, chin tilted up towards the person sitting in the window.

"I can't make you leave, so I'm not leaving until you do. Anyone hurting you has to go through me, and I can warn you. I can warn everyone who would fight alongside me in an instant, and that is not a fight Teacher wants."

Probably. He doesn't know if John would allow him to stay. He doesn't care. John could rip the bones out of Midoriya's body and he would still sense the danger coming. He'd warn everyone via Omen in the battle-quick way he learned with the Leviathan ground forces.

It's his nuclear option. He doesn't know what else to do to protect Kaworu, who has killed and is slated to kill again under the tutelage of someone who regards lives as pawns. There is more than one way to be lost. As long as Kaworu is under this roof, he is someone who needs saving, and Midoriya will not rest until that is done.

Hey, teacher, leave them kids alone

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The wall was too high, as you can see (Open)

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you! yes, you, behind the bikesheds! stand still, laddy!

cw: metaphorical description of being gutted

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mha manga spoilers