Chapter Text
There is something extraordinary about space, something Midoriya Izuku has never truly been able to put into words.
He’s loved the stars since before he knew what they were called, and- more often than not- he could be found gazing at the night sky in wonder and awe. “He gets it from his father.” He’s heard it a thousand times.
He doesn’t remember much about his father, but what he can recall is always depicted in vivid detail when he closes his eyes. In one such memory, he and his father were sitting on the roof, having climbed out through a window in the middle of the night. It was dark, and they leaned back on their palms to stare at the night sky, only a few stars visible past the city lights. It was a little chilly, and Izuku remembers curling underneath his father’s heavy arm. “There’s a reason we love the stars so much, y’know,” his father had said, leaning down to whisper in Izuku’s ear. Izuku had looked up curiously, a tilt of his head urging his father to continue. His father turned to face Izuku, now inspecting his face intently, one large palm cupping Izuku’s cheek. “There’s stardust in our skin, Nahn, that’s why we have these freckles. The stars call to us because they want us to come home.”
Izuku’s father talked about “home” a lot. Either in relation to Izuku’s mother, or to the mysteries of the universe, he was always talking about home. In the end, he had to pick one. His mother has told Izuku the story a million times, savoring each word of her own tale. When Izuku was born, his father gave up the stars to be with his family. He gave up the dangers of an exploration for the dangers of a blazing fire. Sometimes, at night, when he’s alone with his thoughts in the darkness of his room, Izuku would wonder why he couldn’t have just settled down. Why he didn’t try harder to fight the addiction of an adrenaline rush. Maybe, if he had, they would have at least had a body to bury.
Izuku was never sure if he believed that, at least not wholeheartedly. His mother certainly did. He could see it in her eyes when she caught him looking at the sky. When he stared at a ship model for a moment too long. She always looked at him with those sad, sad eyes, and he would wonder. He wondered if it was because of his father’s memory or Izuku’s future. Fear is powerful. Dangerous. She allowed it to consume them both. Despite always encouraging Izuku to follow his dreams, her unease became a crushing vice, never releasing its hold. Casting upon him like an ever-reaching shadow.
But Izuku had never been good at playing it safe, and even a mother’s wise words of warning could not stop him from chasing the stars. And without any real support, he was left to carve his own path. Instead of playing with friends, he was in his room studying, scouring the internet and pouring over textbooks. For years, he spent his time locked indoors. Hoping for just the chance to make it into Kuiper High, one of the top space cadet preparatory academies in Japan. Then, from there, it was onto Rosette University, which is named after a famous nebula and has one of the best space cadet programs in the entire world.
It would have set him up for a life of exploring past the boundaries of the Solar System. It would have guaranteed a straight shot at following in his father’s footsteps. But he never made it to Rosette University. In fact, he never even finished his first year at Kuiper High. So, as his brain begins to register his surroundings, he wonders how he got himself into this mess in the first place.
The first thing he registers as he wakes up is his throbbing head. It beats harshly, a drum behind his eyes. The second thing he registers is the ground below him. It is hard and rough, scratching at his skin as he shifts. A moment after the realization that he is- very clearly- not in his bed is when the panic begins to set in. Despite the pounding in his head that attempts to lull him back to sleep, he shoots upright into a sitting position, snapping his eyes open. He immediately regrets it, though, squeezing his eyes shut again and bringing his hands up to rub at his face in an attempt to block out the harsh lights assaulting his vision.
Slowly this time, Izuku opens his eyes, desperate for a glimpse of his surroundings. The sight that greets him is not a comforting one, and the unfamiliar environment does nothing to quell the panic rising in his chest.
He is in a cell, that much is obvious. Thick bars made of some kind of metal stretch from the ceiling to the floor on all sides, and nothing decorates the barren space but a strange looking container full of what he assumes is water. The door to the cage- because that is where he is, he’s been caged up like an animal- is directly in front of him, towering over him and reaching all the way to the ceiling. A rim of the same type of metal surrounds the door and covers the hinges, protecting them from tampering. Damn it.
Izuku climbs to his feet, taking it slow as his vision blurs from the movement. He looks around, trying to get a sense of what is beyond the bars. There are adjacent cages to the left and right, though the one to the right draws his attention. He is not alone. He backs up toward the left side of his cage, as the only occupied cell is now in front of him. He narrows his eyes, trying to see the inhabitants despite the blurriness that he has not yet managed to escape. There are seven creatures in the cell, though their races vary greatly.
Izuku knows aliens are real; Earth has encountered them before. It’s what prompted the second Great Space Race, so he knows that these creatures, whoever and whatever they are, aren’t just strange animals. Even so, seeing an alien in person for the first time is terrifying. Terrifying, yet somehow simultaneously fascinating. Alien races no longer venture past the Kuiper belt unless it’s to meet with the Ambassadors, the people chosen to establish and maintain contact.
The one standing closest to him is akin to a panther, though they are larger and have three tails. Another long appendage wraps around their neck. It is pale gray and pointed on one end, probably some kind of weapon. Something he’ll need to keep an eye on. This creature seems to be some kind of protector; they stand in front of the others, using their tails to obscure his view of the majority of their bodies. They watch him warily with eyes that hold a promise of violence. Izuku tenses his muscles, but with the bars of the cage separating them, he knows that the feline can’t reach him.
He forces his gaze away from the panther-like alien, inspecting the other creatures in the cell. To the left of the panther, a large bird-like creature stands in a tensed position, wings spread wide and the hand-like appendages on the ends spread out into a claw. Instead of a beak, like Izuku would expect from an avian race, they have a cat-like muzzle and vertical split eyes. Wrapped over their hips and hanging between their legs are layers upon layers of what look like light weight golden chains, probably the race’s equivalent of clothing. Unlike the panther, who stands in a defensive pose, this creature looks ready to attack at any moment. He isn’t sure how they would get to him through the bars, but the clear confidence in their own abilities does nothing to help his anxiety.
Standing directly behind the panther are four- no, five- other creatures, huddled into the corner with the biggest three standing in front of the smaller ones. Two of them are lizard-like, but are clearly different species. One looks humanoid, with small red and orange scales instead of skin. Larger, sharper scales run from their forehead down to their shoulders, almost mocking human hair. They wear a dark red, nearly black, fitted garment with a turtleneck and some material of flexible armor over their shoulders, strapped across their body. Their pants are a little baggy and made out of thick bands woven through each other. The other is split down the middle, so cleanly that two races could have been cut in half and sewn back together. One side is a deep, dark red, while the other side is snow white, scales on both sides that look to be barely as long as Izuku’s thumb. This one wears a garment on their lower body, the color resembling a tawny orange, that is, again, akin to pants. The legs of the garment are very loose and baggy at the top, but, at what must be the knees, they become tight and fitted.
A clicking noise draws his attention to the right of the half and half creature. His breath catches in his throat for a moment when his eyes land on the bug-like alien. Izuku cringes at the sight of them. They stand taller than Izuku, probably over six feet, yet their height is in between the two lizard-like ones. They are humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but their knees are backwards, like a praying mantis, with protrusions on the back of their legs. Two big, black eyes glare at him from either side of their head and short pincers, the cause of the clicking noise, twitch around their mouth. Izuku nearly shivers at the sight of them, but logic prevents himself from showing any weakness. He tears his eyes away to look at the two small creatures he can see behind the bug alien’s legs.
The creature to the left draws his attention first. They, strangely enough, closely resemble the visuals of the Oriri’vry from First Contact, the first alien race to venture past the Kuiper Belt and make contact with humans. They didn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen, Nahn, he remembers his father telling him. I couldn’t get a good look, but the drawings have never captured their beauty. Having finally seen one in person, he couldn't agree more.
He takes a moment to scan them, noting that while, yes, the drawings were close, there was something off about them. The Oriri’vry has four arms, unlike the two arms from the drawings, with two torsos to match, though the upper set of arms is much shorter than the first, with the arms stacked close together. Along the top of their arms and down their sides is a peach color, which fades into a pale blue towards their abdomen. On the lower half of their body they wear dark blue, wide-legged, loose fitting pants, which have a cutout for their long, thin, sleek tail. He can’t see their legs below the garment, but the appendages look like they bend forwards, then backwards, similar to the structure of deer legs.
The final alien, he notes with amusement, reminds him of a jack rabbit. Instead of ears, they have two long antennas on their heads, and a steady stream of electricity flows between them, occasionally crackling as a spark comes loose from the stream. They have thick gold and black fur covering their whole body, and claws on the end of their paws that look sharp enough to cut the air itself. They, too, are bipedal, with two short, stubby legs supporting them and two appendages resembling arms twitching at their sides. While the other aliens stand still, seemingly in apprehension, this one jumps from paw to paw. With every time they make contact with the ground, the electricity above their head brightens and dims respectively.
He studies the group nervously, straightening his posture. He can feel their eyes on him. Searching. Scanning. Trying to find weaknesses. He feels like prey, like he’s been put under a magnifying glass, but he knows that isn’t true. He doesn’t know much about space, but he does know that humans are new. Though he doesn’t know what, he has advantages that these creatures do not have, and they are scared of him for it. Their body language, protective, defensive, or fearful, is proof enough.
However, any kind of scared, cornered creature can be dangerous. Very dangerous.
His best and safest way out of this will be to make himself less of a threat. Show them that he means no harm, so they don’t have to attack. Then, and only then, will they back down. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.
Izuku takes a slow, deep breath and steps backwards, forcing his body to relax against the bars of the empty cell behind him. He doesn’t know what actions will set them off, so he treats them like wild animals and slowly eases himself to the floor, attempting to make himself seem smaller. He wants to take his eyes off them, show that his attention is not solely on them, but he can’t. As much as he knows it will help, he can’t willingly look away, knowing they could attack the second his back is turned.
While he would normally try to downplay his anxiety, knowing that it is not as bad or scary as his brain makes it seem, he can’t do that this time. In front of him stand seven very real aliens, only one of which is vaguely familiar to him. He has no idea what their behaviors are and if they really do see him as a threat. The drawings of the Oriri’vry were off, so who’s to say that everything else he learned is correct? He’s not willing to take that risk. So, while he relaxes his body and steadies his breathing, making himself smaller, he refuses to look away from the group.
His eyes dart between the creatures, snagging on the smallest of movements. Everytime his eyes linger for more than a moment on any of the creatures crowded in the corner, the bird and cat aliens become more and more irritated. He tries to keep from staring, but when a small spark jumps from the rabbit’s antenna, he can’t help but look. A loud Squawk! from the bird draws his attention. They step forward, further in front of the others, their wings flaring out even more. His breath catches in his throat, and, panicked, Izuku tries to recall every little bit of Common he can remember from online searches, which, admittedly, isn’t a lot.
“No fight! No fight!” The words feel awkward to say, the sounds unlike Japanese or English, the only two languages he’s fluent in. They come out sounding thicker, deeper, and too elongated compared to the few available recordings of Common accessible to the public. Nonetheless, they seem to do the job. The bird stops, staring at him in what could be shock, their wings lowering slightly from their threatening pose.
The bird opens their cat-like muzzle, letting out a series of noises. They are clearly trying to speak to Izuku, but all he can catch are the words “fight” and what he now remembers to be “want.”
“Wait, no! I don’t want-” He cuts himself off mid sentence, switching from Japanese to Common. As he realizes that the aliens all simultaneously took a step back at his volume, he lowers his voice to a near whisper. “ No want fight.” The words Izuku speaks compared to how they sounded when the bird spoke almost sound like two entirely different languages. He repeats himself one more time, desperately trying to make sure his message gets across. “No want fight.”
There is a stillness in the cells as no one speaks or moves, and all Izuku can hear is the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He’s tense in his mock relaxed position, waiting for the aliens to make a move.
Finally, the bird speaks again. “No fight,” they say, before slowly lowering their wings, relaxing out of their attack pose. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t release the tension in his muscles until the bird backs away, using one of their wings to pull the cat back with them. It’s a slow process, but, eventually, all of the aliens are huddled into the corner, and the bird is the first one to settle into a seated position.
When none of the others show any intentions of moving, the bird whispers something, tone coming off harsh and clipped. After another moment, the others begin to shuffle, sitting down one by one. The cat is the last one to sit down, reluctantly, when the bird mutters something short and sharp to them. The cat’s tails are still twisting angrily in the air as they lay down, head cushioned on their crossed paws. And, as much as Izuku wants the group to ignore him, it’s his turn now.
Taking a deep, relaxing breath, Izuku closes his eyes and slowly lays down, only opening his eyes again to stare up at the metal ceiling of the cell. He tries to shut off the urge to spin back around every time he hears the smallest of noises. After several nerve-wracking seconds, Izuku is rewarded with the sound of quiet whispering from behind him. He can’t understand a word they are saying, but, even if they are talking about him, they are calmer now.
For a moment, Izuku just listens to the conversation, the sounds of Common flowing so melodically when spoken fluently, the words flowing together, each sound complementing the rest. On Earth, people often say that Italian is the most beautiful language, but Izuku would have to disagree. Common sounds so beautiful to him, lulling him into a half-asleep state.
Izuku is still listening to the others when, abruptly, the lights shut off, plunging the cells into darkness. Izuku bolts upright, blinking quickly in an attempt to make his pupils dilate faster. When the room finally comes into focus, he scans the area. Nothing has changed. No one new is here and he can’t find any immediate threats, though, when he turns to the occupants of the cell on the other side of the bars, he finds them all staring at him again. Nothing happens for a long moment, letting Izuku focus on his breathing, slowing it down from the sudden fast pace it elevated to.
He furrowed his eyebrows, pondering the possible reasons for the shut off. Maybe this was how they simulated day and night on ships? On the ADSA, the Anchor of Deep Space Affairs Space Station, they simulated Earth hours by slowly dimming and brightening the lights, not shutting them off abruptly. Yet, he can’t think of anything else it could be, as, still, no one has entered and the aliens do not seem to be concerned or even surprised. Izuku settles down, placing his back to the bars.
Izuku curls himself into a tight ball, bringing his knees to his chest, fighting the urge to cry. He’s who knows how far away from home, alone, with creatures he can’t communicate with, locked in some cage. He squeezes his eyes closed, remembering something his father told him once. Something that has never felt more true than in this moment, as he tries to fall asleep on the cold metal floor.
“In a universe this big, it’s only natural to feel small.”