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If there was one thing Izuku remembered from the tales his mother used to tell him as a child, it was this: do not, under any circumstances, anger a human being.
Humans may look small, squishy, and overall harmless, but a cornered one quickly became one of the most feared beings in the galaxy. They were quick witted, could endure longer than any other predators on their home world Earth to the point of becoming the Apex Predator there, can lose limbs without dying, and enjoyed substances that would easily kill most other species. And they loved to eat all kinds of prey, not unlike the predators of his home planet.
Of course, Izuku was skeptical. They seemed so… fragile, how could they be so scary?
Now aboard the ship Beyond, all these things and more came into stark clarity. Beyond only had one human on board. Aizawa, the ship’s mechanic, was as stern and foreboding as a creature across the stars. Even though he’s only been on the ship for a few days, he knows no one in their right mind would ever try and get on his bad side. The man had lost a leg, an eye, had seemingly gone several days without food, could walk silently into rooms despite his obvious muscular frame, and somehow could level a person with a stare so cutting it felt physical from across a room. It makes sense that their mechanic is human as well, because he somehow can stand both incredibly hot and cold environments without pain and is capable of fixing absolutely anything they need.
Aizawa could easily kill him, is all he’s saying.
“Okay,” Izuku breathed, slightly panicked as he looked at the screws at his feet. “Okay, this is fine. This is great.” His antennae flicked anxiously around the temperature regulating machine in the lab. Heat radiated from the open section a panel had exploded out from, but no alarms were ringing and no lights were flashing. Nothing was that broken!
Izuku hurriedly grabbed the metal panel and pressed it hard against the exposed spot before he could be burned. It balanced for a moment, and he allowed himself to take a shaky sigh of relief. Then, the screws surrounding the panel squealed as pressure arose before shooting out like tiny bullets. Izuku screamed, diving under the nearest table.
His heart raced in the silence as he waited for the machine to explode. One second. Two…
He peeked from behind the table. The machine was flashing an angry red now, lights strobing from behind the exposed wires. Air was coming out even faster now with a high pitched whistle. It made an awful grinding noise before stopping, then starting again. Izuku nervously glanced over his shoulder towards the exit. Maybe it would fix itself?
The communication screen on his wrist buzzed and flashed.
MAINTENANCE REQUEST REQUIRED.
ASSIGNED MECHANIC: AIZAWA SHOUTA.
Sorry, Mom. Izuku thought solemnly. I guess I have to die now.
After a few hours of pacing a hole in his floor, Izuku had a plan.
According to the very lackluster knowledge he has on humans, he knows that they sleep a lot. Izuku himself doesn’t really “sleep,” his double eyelids allow him to stay half conscious in his resting periods. Humans, however, are apparently fully unconscious and fairly vulnerable during this time. He found an older humanology book and read about how humans would protect one another by rotating sleeping time to ensure no person was left unguarded.
Thus, Izuku had roughly five hours during Aizawa’s sleep cycle when he would be completely unaware of what was happening around him. He could sneak into the mechanic’s room, take the large manual from his shelf, and fix it without the threat of death over his head.
Izuku breathed deeply and repeated these sentiments as he floated down the anti-gravity hall to the rooms. His antennae swiveled rapidly, trying to take in any noise or vibration that he could. He could not fuck this up.
The room opened gently as he swiped his card into the key. Izuku held his breath as the door lifted. Gravity took hold of his body once again when he crossed the threshold, his padded feet landing softly on the hard tile floor.
Aizawa’s room was sparsely decorated and more closely resembled an office to anything else. A bookshelf and a desk with papers and tools scattered across it took the center stage. Above the desk, printed photos were taped to the wall, showcasing a little girl with a horn parting her stark white hair and a man with a bigger, yellow horn. His bed was shoved in the furthest corner of the room. Izuku, terrifyingly, could not tell if Aizawa was underneath the mass of blankets settled on top of the bed.
Izuku tiptoed toward the bookshelf. The floor gave the slightest creak, sounding like a laser in the silence. He straightened, hearts pounding in his stomach. The blanket mound didn’t move. He exhaled shakily. Right, humans couldn’t hear while powered down.
He reached the shelf, scanning the titles quickly. Engine Care, Tool Maintenance, Navigation, Temperature Systems. “There,” Izuku whispered. But the manual was on the highest shelf and Izuku was cursed with being vertically challenged. He stretched on his toes, fingertips brushing the spine.
It wouldn’t come free no matter how much he wiggled it. Very carefully, he pushed it to the side and watched in utter horror as it slipped from his hands to the solid floor. The crash was possibly the loudest thing he had ever heard.
Izuku froze.
Nothing.
His shoulders sagged and he retrieved the book with trembling fingers. The book wouldn’t lie, he didn’t know why he was being so cautious. There was nothing to worry about—
“Why are you in my room?”
Very, very slowly, Izuku turned around toward the sleepy voice in the corner. Aizawa sat up from his blanket coffin, long black hair stuck out in every direction. That glare pointed in his direction made Izuku yip and send the book crashing to the floor a second time. “Aizawa! Sir! I promise, I, this is totally normal and not weird at all and please don’t fire me or actually if you want to fire me I would totally understand—! I just want to say goodbye to my mom—”
“Stop, what?”
Izuku’s jaw clamped with an audible click.
Aizawa rubbed a hand over his face. Probably activating some sharp teeth muscles or whatever humans did before tearing their meals apart. “Look, kid, if you needed something you could have just sent me a message or waited for me to get up. Were you so bored you needed,” Aizawa squinted hard at the ground as though his night vision wasn’t activating in the dim light yet, “A… manual. For temperature? Is your room too cold or something?”
Izuku swallowed dry. “Um… I…” Maybe he could still run if he lunged out the door.
That plan quickly evaporated as Aizawa stood up from his bed with a terrifying grunt of aggression. Every muscle in Izuku’s body locked as the man came near. “Let’s go take a look, yeah?”
Izuku didn’t budge even as Aizawa’s hand nudged his shoulder. He was aware he was trembling, his antennae vibrating above his eyes. “Pleasedon’teatmesir.”
“Please don’t what— please don’t eat you? What the fuck?”
Embarrassingly, tears started to blur his vision. “I broke the panel in the lab and I think that it may be unfixable.”
Aizawa blinked and shook his head rapidly. “You know what, I am too tired to understand if this is a cultural difference or a need for psychological interference. So, you broke the temperature regulator and instead of waiting for the maintenance request, you decided to break into my room?”
Izuku kept his gaze at the floor, baffled by his luck so far. “It was unlocked. And… I thought I could fix it before you woke up?”
“Alright.” Aizawa sighed. “Show me. And know I am not going to hurt you if you ever need help with something. Shit happens, my job is to fix it.”
“Okay,” Izuku said weakly.
He led them back to the lab. Izuku spent the entire way wondering what terrifying and awe inspiring feat of human engineering he would witness. Perhaps Aizawa would take the machine apart with his bare hands, or reach through fire to fix it.
Aizawa crouched in front of the machine, peered into the exposed panel for all of three seconds, and reached inside. A click echoed through the room before the whistling came to a stop. The lights gave one final blink before fading to the usual pale green.
“That’ll do,” Aizawa stood and stretched out his back. “The connector wiggled loose, but it was an easy fix. Good as new.” He turned to Izuku, who was standing flabbergasted in the center of the lab. “Next time, just tell me something is broken.”
“Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir.”
Aizawa sighed again, something he seemed to do a lot. “I’m serious. I know you’re new to the ship, but we’re a team here. I don’t know where you came from before and I’m not telling you to trust me right now. Just listen when I say we want you to feel safe here, too. For now, let’s head to the rooms and we can talk about this in the day cycle.” He yawned into his hand and limped toward the door. “Get some rest, kid.”
Izuku watched him disappear down the corridor before looking back at the regulator. The machine hummed happily as though it had never been broken at all. Maybe his mother had been slightly wrong, but humans were still terrifying for different reasons.