a/n: wattpad is so weird,,,, okay so scrap metal is supposed to be fallout. and it is!! but i published both at once as a double update, right, and ig because i selected scrap metal first n then fallout, it gave yall a notif like scrap metal was before fallout???? i thought it'd notify yall in the order of chapters??? (at 3am on 12/12 i just found out that it??? prolly reset ALL of my em-dashes to small en-dashes??????? i think the reason was that i changed my font on mobile and it did that but like,,, Whyyyyyyyy)

anyway i hope you enjoy reading !!! and happy new years on the est side

===

Tommy wakes up in his house at ass 'o' clock in the morning, and the first thing he thinks is that mining for random shit all night is tiring because his limbs feel numb, sore, and tingly. That isn't too new; he's far used to waking up with aching limbs and exhaustion still weighing on his shoulders. It just fucking sucks.

The next thing he feels is his instinct gut, which has been bothering him every since the fucking Sports Festival, is acting up again. So, naturally, Tommy does not panic because he is a Big Man who can handle this shit, instead scouring his memories for what the fuck is up today. The only thing important it can dreg up is that Iida's been acting weird and that today is the day that his class is going to their fucking internships.

Which Tommy isn't allowed to go to.

...He stares up at his ceiling for a long, long time.

===

5:03

<> Cancel the fuckin inernships

<> *Internships

<> Whatever the fuck

<> Oh? Why so?

<> Something isnt fuckign right today

<> I'm being genuine right now

<> Something isnt fucking right, nd it;s on a USJ scale

<> Are you absolutely positive?

<> WOULDNT BE FUCKIN TELLIN YOU THIS IF I WASNT NOW WOULD I

Tommy erases that before he sends it. He takes a breath, focuses on the ways his eyes strain due to the light coming from his communicator's screen, and types again.

<> YES I am fucking positive

<> If you cant, least tell Iida sone bullshit excuse to not go

A little icon pops up to show Nedzu typing. It doesn't disappear until minutes after Tommy sends his last message.

<> Unfortunately, the internships cannot be delayed. With the USJ incident and the catastrophe that was the Sports Festival, the Hero Course's education, specifically Class 1-A's, has already been pushed back repeatedly. Despite U.A.'s—and therefore my—reputation, I do not think I can convince the Board of Education to give your students more days off. They cannot and will not believe your gut instinct; even most of the staff here would not believe you.

Nedzu himself scarcely does, then. It's reasonable. He barely has reason to. Tommy is just a ragtag vigilante they'd caught—it's a miracle he's trusted at all. The only person who might truly believe him is Aizawa, and even then the underground hero bases most of his decisions on logic. Tommy hopes that though his instincts may not be as honed, Aizawa trusts them as much as Tommy does his own.

<> However, it is possible to warn the heroes taking interns to be extra alert, as well as transfer Iida to another agency either of his own will or forcibly. This does come with the drawback of him potentially not learning what is essential in his internship, as if the only heroes available do not have Quirks related to speed, which is highly likely, then Iida may not have much use being there. Unless he finds something to learn, of course, like he might have found in Manual.

<> Regardless, I am most certain that we do not have a chance of transferring Iida forcibly unless/until something devastating happens. Once again, you are basing this decision based off of a gut feeling.

Tommy purses his lips, fingers trembling. He thinks of Midnight's fall and Toshinori's awful teaching and Izuku's mistrust of his own mentor and the aftermath of the USJ, and remembers Aizawa's promise. He wants to believe in it again, in whatever heroes Aizawa has seen, in what All Might represents, in the dream Izuku aspires to be (and in what L'Manburg once was—) even if they've all lost reason.

<> Okay

<> Xtra heroes re fine

<> Make sure theyre enough, alright?

<> Alright. Thank you for informing me.

Tommy doesn't respond. Communicator face-down and tossed haphazardly on his ruffled bed, he's already sprung up and begun rifling through his chests, slipping his eye-patch on and gathering whatever he needs.

===

"Today's fuckin' shit," Tommy blurts out.

Aizawa, who had just got out of his car to get Tommy since he doesn't have his own for the sake of the world, raises a brow at him. Now that Tommy thinks about it, he doesn't really know where they're going. With the Sports Festival aftermath, no one's really told him how the internships would work.

Tommy gets back on track. "The bloody internships," Tommy says, because that should clear up everything. "They're shit." His fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt. It's not his usual red and white t-shirt, but one of the things that he'd gotten on the mall spree: a teal sweater, of sorts, with "Club Sunday" on it. He's worn this and the other shit he got only a few times since then.

The underground hero's eyes go sharp in understanding. "Nedzu messaged me," he states, a frown marring his face as he looks away. There's always something ruining Aizawa's face all the time, now, more than before; a crease to his brows, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, the harsher downturn of his lips. He's gained ten years of his life in these past few weeks—in this entire year—and it's a wonder his hair isn't turning gray yet. He needs a break so badly, it's not funny anymore.

Aizawa sighs suddenly, dragging a hand down his face. He turns to his car, gets in the driver's seat, and after Tommy locks the door to his house, he follows and sits in the shotgun. When the hero starts backing out, he mumbles, "Put your seat belt on. Manual's sidekicks will be following Iida and Manual as they do patrols and the like. Heroes around Manual's agency have been told to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Anything else?"

Tommy swallows, the reality of the amount of trust he holds weighing his hands down. "It's—that's good, I think," he says, his fingers reluctantly clasping the seat belt around him. The polyester practically burns on his chest, a kind of shackle he still isn't used to. It makes his skin writhe. "Can't do much. Gonna give him some ambrosia to him. I don't know what else."

Aizawa nods, eyes still on the road. Tommy doesn't have anything else to add, so he instead looks out of the car window next to him. Buildings and people blur into a mesh of colours like everything would on a fast minecart. He doesn't feel any awe like the first few times he's been in this thing—really, he just feels jealous. They're all just smears of colours. Colours don't have to worry about death-prone kids or fucked-up adults or trauma instincts that tell them "hey, everything will go wrong today, and in this server there's barely anything you can bloody fucking do about it."

Tommy huffs quietly, briefly checking his inventory. He's brought all the golden apple slices he's got, about fifty or so. Twenty of the seventy-ish he had went into making ambrosia, which he has like twelve small vials of. It's... not a lot, if shit like this keeps happening.

With Tommy's dogshit luck, shit like this will keep happening.

Tommy closes his inventory, saddled with the truth that once he runs out, all he can do is wait for it all to happen, fight however he can, and pray his class can survive it like he will.

===

"Eh?" Izuku blinks at Tommy in surprise. "You're here?"

Tommy staggers back and mocks a gasp, entirely offended. "What, like I can't? Like you don't want me to be?"

Immediately, Izuku sputters. "No no no, that's not—! I-I was just—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. One of them seems to be holding a suitcase of sorts with a bright neon-green number on it, number eighteen. Probably holds whatever he brought from home or some shit.

Laughing, Tommy lightly knocks his friend's forehead back with his fist. "Just joking, dude." He gets a muffled huff in response.

Currently, half of the class is standing at the entrance of U.A., all of them a little early for the ride to their internships. Aizawa's gonna take the entire class to the train station (which are just stops for weird snake-cars that run on rails and fit more than a small family, which is a minor comfort in everything Tommy still has no fucking clue about in this world) they're supposed to be at with a large ass bus, which should, according to him, be a thirty to forty minute trip. Even then, they're waiting for the rest of the class to get here. There's plenty of time for Tommy to do what he needs to.

Mood suddenly sullied by that thought, Tommy sighs. Izuku uncovers his face a little, his eyes peering through the gaps of his fingers as he watches the blond open seemingly nothing in the air. However, when Tommy brings out a tiny container of ambrosia, Izuku's hands slip entirely off his face, revealing his abruptly terrified face.

"Oh," he says, taking it. The miracle liquid sits in Izuku's calloused palm, something people in this server would probably die for, and yet all he seems to do is just... stare at it. He looks up, then, his eyes wide. "Th-This..."

Tommy nods, lowering his voice. "Yeah. Aizawa told me your internship would be near Iida's?" The man said it was, a long moment after their first conversation today had ended, but Tommy doesn't have a full layout of all the internships and agencies because researching that shit would've been boring. "Was gonna give one or two of these to him, but..." He takes a glance around the area again, and sure enough, Iida... isn't here. Yet. Pretty odd for someone like him, but Tommy'll get him once the trip starts. "Yeah. Just in case. Need armor or some shit too, or?"

Izuku brings the glass container close, soon pocketing it in his pants. He fidgets with his tie in thought. "No, I... I don't... think... so?"

"Sounding mighty dubious there," Tommy snorts.

"W-Well! It's just...!" Izuku purses his lips. "Your armor's good, but it's also just metal. The stuff made in the Support Department, like my costume—" He raises his suitcase, and oh, never mind then,* "—they're made of like, special fabrics and metals and stuff. Y'know, metal alloys, nylon fabrics... customized things? L-Like, they can have heat resistance and be waterproof and stuff! And they can be tougher than iron!"

Heat resistance... Tommy tilts his head. Is there like, shit that does that automatically? No enchantments or Quirk bullshit? Genuinely? If so, that's... very fucking over-powered, especially if he could make an enchanting table or something. Then again, he has little lapis, and enchantment tables also require ancient Galactic books. Dungeons probably exist here, though, so he could prolly find the books and all.

...But if that's true, why has Tommy not encountered one yet? He's spent many nights down in his mineshafts just mindlessly digging. He has several chests just filled with raw ores, and would have double that of cobble had he not thrown most of that in a lava pool. Maybe he's not at the right Y level? No, no, he's been mining at eleven for a while now, surely he should've encountered one.

Do people here even know Galactic? This server has Quirks that can pull off enchantments just fine, and their materials can just... naturally be enchanted, like from the get-go. Plus, it's a lot more advanced and shit than most other servers. When servers are generated, they're usually dominated by English and Galactic, yet Galactic was specifically a language made by the deities for players to make enhancements on their shit 'cause they imparted a little of their power or some shit in them. It's possible that this place just... has no need for any of that anymore.

...Hm. Has he ever gotten an EXP point from mining?

Tommy thinks about it, trudging through hazy, tired memory after hazy, tired memory. And in all of them, he hadn't seen a single one. He'd been so used to them he never realized they were gone. Albeit, Tommy has a little over half a stack of EXP bottles from his... death, but if he has those, then that doesn't even explain why he isn't getting them naturally.

Did the fucking admin disable natural EXP gain? Or EXP in general? If he opens an EXP potion, will it all dissolve into the air or some shit? And if dungeons really don't exist, he thinks, emotions whirling in his chest, then he can't risk opening any of the bottles. Either they're too valuable, or they're fucking useless.

Fuck. This is all another thing Tommy can't use to his advantage. Just to check, he discreetly opens his inventory, glancing all over it—where is the EXP bar?

"—mmy? Tommy!"

Tommy snaps out of it, making a noise of surprise that wasn't and couldn't be classified as a yelp because he's so much bigger than that. In his not-panic, he ends up batting at the air where his inventory is to close it instead of flicking his wrist. Izuku recoils, also pulling away the hand he was waving in front of Tommy. "If I knew how much you disliked that," he mumbles, "I wouldn't have said anything. Sorry."

Tommy's eye widens in surprise. "What? No, no—I, uh, that was just different shit!" He hastily says. "Was just thinking about shit! 'S nothing, Big Man! 'M not hurt or anythin'!"

Izuku brightens a little, smiling shyly. "That's good," he breathes, adjusting the grip on his suitcase. "Still, I'm s—"

He gets no warning when Tommy bonks his head. "Shut the fuck up. Nothing to apologize for."

"Right," Izuku chuckles weakly, clutching the spot where the blond hit him. "Sor—" He covers his mouth for a moment, laughing when Tommy huffs. "A-Anyway! While you zoned out, the rest of the class came in! I think." Discreetly, he gestures in a specific direction, still holding the ambrosia. When Tommy glances over, Iida is there, resolutely looking ahead. "Are you going to...?"

Threading his fingers through his hair again, Tommy sighs tiredly. "Yeah, yeah, I am," he grumbles, and in one smooth hand motion, he has another vial of the gold liquid in his hand. However, he does pause, his head turning back to Izuku briefly. "...You have any idea what Iida's thinking? Or what's up?"

Izuku purses his lips. He shakes his head no, downcast once more. "He's... he's been distant with us, too. Me and Uraraka."

Ah. Fucking hell.

Tommy huffs. He mutters a small "thanks" that Izuku responds to with a minute bow before heading towards the presumable target for all the fucking danger in the world.

Moving closer, he can truly respect how much Iida's trying to hide. Hell, had Tommy not been used to searching for body language and emotions, he'd have thought Iida was oddly fine for someone who lost their brother. (Brief flickers of memories flash across his eyes of Wilbur and Techno and Tubbo but he does not, cannot, will not think about them, not now. [Then when?]).

(...Soon. Whenever Tommy won't be a pussy about it.)

Iida holds himself well. His head is high, shoulders relaxed, a hand loosely gripping his suitcase. That's where all the flaws start popping up, though. Tommy can see the tenseness of his jaw, the forced, too-low slope of his shoulders, and the way his fingers twitch. The way he faces no one is particularly telling, too.

"Oi," Tommy calls out, brusque as usual. Iida doesn't turn, probably thinking that Tommy's talking to someone else, so he adds, "Iida." That get's a reaction: a pause too long before the student turns, a smile plastered on his face.

"Yes, Si—Tommy?" It's near disgusting how fake it all is. Tommy can't resist scrunching his face up in the face of it all, the way Iida's smile looks so easy but doesn't reach his eyes, and how forcefully relaxed his posture is, and—ugh. Regardless, he does smother that look away and shove the vial of ambrosia to him, letting Iida blink confusedly at it for a few seconds.

"Take it." Tommy practically demands, pushing the vial out a little further. Iida takes a moment longer before he does, carefully grasping the glass and lifting it near him to observe it. He doesn't get a chance to ask anything, though, because Tommy explains, "These're am—a really strong healing thing. You can drink it, smear it over injuries, whatever. One for you, distribute the other vial to your mentors. Don't fuckin' waste it, alright? Tell that to those you're working with. And don't let anyone else keep any remains—any of it unused goes back to me." Prime, he's starting to have doubts. If whoever Iida's working with decides to spread ambrosia around to villains, and then they analyze it...

Faintly, Iida nods. "Thank you, sir," he manages, pocketing the vial and bowing. "I'll be sure to use it wisely." Tommy feels his face contort into a grimace. No matter how many times he says that he prefers "Tommy," Iida always refers to him as sir occasionally. The slip-up in the beginning is progress to not doing that, and Tommy's still working on it.

Iida turns away then, most likely thinking this conversation was over. Tommy, however, shifts on his feet, gnawing at his lip, thinking.

Oh, fuck it—

"Are you okay?"

That gets a near-instantaneous reaction. Iida startles, tension lining his shoulders, but Tommy has to kudos him for not whipping around in a panic or out of shock. He instead turns his head smoothly, just enough so that Tommy can still see a smile on his face, but there's a little falter in his eyes. "Of course I am," he blatantly lies, something sharper threatening to come out of the surface if Tommy prods further.

Clearly, that's all he's willing to disclose. Tommy sighs, knowing this is a lost cause, and takes a step back. "Just making sure." He placates, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And one more thing: don't fuckin' do anything reckless or mindless or whatever." With those last eloquent words, Tommy walks back to Izuku, who stares at Iida with some type of sadness in his eyes after the blond mouths "no use" to him.

And soon after that, the class leaves. Oh sure, Tommy gets a significant amount of waves and goodbyes and all that jazz—especially as they begin loading into the bus, what with Koda's desperate signing and Ashido plastering herself against the windows—but it doesn't exactly hit him until the thing actually starts moving that yeah, shit's changing. His students are leaving, and his instincts are screaming, and his mind is whirring with panic, but Tommy can do nothing more than watch them just... get farther and farther away until they're nothing more than a dot in the distance. The only comfort that soothes his mind is that the heroes and teachers are at least taking more precautions than they did in the USJ attack.

It's agonizing. Tommy bites the inside of his cheek, lets his fingers dig into his arms, and makes himself turn around and walk back into U.A.'s claustrophobic walls.

===