Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Once you get used to the new support items I want you to try, you’ll be so much stronger! What do you say, my boy?”

Izuku sat in silence. 

Here was the Number One Hero; All Might, sitting in front of him in his own tiny, little office at UA, telling him he needed more support items. 

He already has three. Surely he doesn’t need any more… right?

“I’m so sorry All Might, but uh– why do I need more support items? I already have three…”

“Oh, there’s no need to be sorry, my boy! But see, for a quirkless like yourself, only having three support items means you are limiting yourself tremendously on the field! It’s simply not enough to be as strong as everyone around you, I’m sure you can understand.” He said with his usual toothy grin.

A quirkless. 

…Seriously? 

“Sure… but I have three. Most of my classmates only have one, if that. Why do you want me to get more of them so badly? I don’t need seven support items, ” he stressed.

“Young Midoriya. I say this with all the kindness I can muster, but my patience is starting to wear thin. You are quirkless. You know this! Why would you want to limit yourself to your weakness when you could be great like the rest of your class!”

Weak. 

And All Might still had the nerve to sit there and smile while insulting him.

“Okay… yeah, I understand. I’ll, uh… I’m going to get my lunch now. Thanks.”

“Of course! Enjoy your lunch young Midoriya! Make sure to let me know what you think about the gear, and don’t you forget!”

“I won’t.”

Izuku is going to forget all about the gear on purpose. He doesn’t want, nor need more support items. 

Let alone seven.  

He walked out of the room trying his darned hardest to hold back the tears threatening to fall. A Quirkless? Weak? What was he- some kind of circus freak? 

He made it into UA. 

Quirkless. 

That's something to be proud of in a school filled with incredibly powerful and heroic quirks. 

The rest of the students got in using these powerful, flashy quirks– yet he tried it with nothing but raw strength and a certain type of desperation to prove to himself that he could be a hero, to prove All Might wrong after that fateful day with the sludge villain.

And he did.

He made it into the top hero school in Japan with over ten points to spare, landing him a seat in Class 1-A.

He shook his head and started walking toward the cafeteria, stuck in his own mind as he came up with a few plans to try and show everyone he was not as weak as he seemed. Walking out of Functional Heroics was awkward enough today without All Might cornering him, asking to talk. 

Hearing his classmates say he’d only get others killed without a quirk, and that he was better off as a sidekick? 

That hurt.

Those words cut deeper than any knife he had ever brought to his skin, with such proof sitting in small white and purple scars littering his arms, ribs, and thighs. They dug in and in until he was hissing with the pain of feeling inferior to everyone, which, in a sense– he was. 

He was the only prey in a school full of predators. At the very bottom of the food chain of every quirked student and teacher in the school.

To everyone, he was nothing.

He never asked for this. 

Never wanted it, but here he was.

Quirkless, and alone.

Walking past the teacher's lounge, he paused before coming to a complete stop, putting his back against the wall and listening through the crack in the door.

He knew the teachers liked to gossip about the kids– he would hear them subtly talk about which students they thought had crushes on each other, the usual teacher gossip that generally takes place during lunch hours– while he sat against the wall, listening.

Izuku liked listening in to it, to feel included in some stupid little secret that none of the students knew about while his teachers were none the wiser about Izuku’s knowledge.

“That kid won’t make it past the five-year mark.”

“Come on Vlad, give the boy some slack, he’s working really hard!”

Ah yes. The five-year mark. Izuku’s favourite controversial topic.

It’s a known statistic that most of the new rookie heroes only last five years in the field. Whether they die from being too reckless, a fluke, a villain attack, suicide, or even just pure accidents– over 50% of beginner pro heroes die within their first five years on the job.

Izuku has heard about a few of these rookies. 

They die tragically, are greatly missed for around a month and then they become a simple memory used to further a conversation.

Many seasoned pros like to talk about the rookies, guessing which ones will die and which ones will survive with a sick sort of pleasure and excitement. 

It made Izuku furious hearing them talk about their deaths being inevitable. 

Why not try harder to teach them to be great?

This time though, the five-year conversation went a bit differently.

“I don’t care that he’s working hard– just like everyone else, might I add! He’s going to get killed on the job or get others killed, and I think it’s pointless teaching a quirkless kid something he’s inevitably going to die for.”

They were talking about him.

“You don’t know that for sure, Vlad.”

“He’s got three support items, Nemuri! Only a select few of my students have them, and if they do, they have one . That’s it.”

“Vlad, the kid’s got no quirk. How else is he supposed to catch up to the rest of them? Raw strength? Come on now.”

“He shouldn’t Snipe, that’s the thing! He should just quit now before it’s too late.”

“Come on man, you’re being so harsh! Sure, he’s quirkless, but that doesn’t mean– anything, really, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Yamada, if you want to watch a student of yours die, go for it. I personally wouldn’t waste my time and effort in teaching someone so weak.”

Izuku had heard enough. 

He roughly pushed himself off the wall and strolled past the door, whistling away as if nothing was wrong with the world, while also making his presence known.

He made eye contact with Vlad King and waved, a small, yet fake smile on his face.

He wanted to make Vlad King feel a little guilty. Sue him. There’s no harm in making someone feel guilty for insulting him, let alone a teacher!

Vaguely he could hear the teachers begin to argue, debating on whether Izuku had heard them or not. 

But that didn’t matter.

He was used to being called weak, day in and day out.

Even his mother called him weak! 

“The day a weakling like you manages to get into the hero course is the day we go our separate ways, Izuku.”

Needless to say, Izuku and his mother don’t talk anymore. 

He was still living in her house, but he was left to his own devices at all times. They never spoke, and Inko never cooked for him or helped him with anything. More often than not, he’d bought food for the house solely for himself as she ate at the hospital where she worked, two towns over.

He preferred it over all the yelling and screaming.

Shaking his head, he started to walk faster, past the cafeteria doors and out the front gates. His appetite was ruined and he didn’t want to be at UA for another second longer.

He was so tired of trying to convince everyone that he wasn’t weak, or something that would only get in the way. He hated hearing everyone talk bad about him behind his back, having kids whisper in the halls, debating whether he was going to die before going pro.

The villain attacks weren’t helping those rumors either.

He’d always end up the most injured from throwing himself into fights.

Izuku called it purpose, and Aizawa Sensei called it ‘suicidal recklessness.’ 

Semantics.

He knew his homeroom teacher was only looking out for him– Aizawa Sensei was the only one who didn’t give him pitied looks, treating him like everyone else, though only have one teacher on his side meant nothing.

He wasn’t actually filled with ‘purpose’, or whatever excuse he managed to spit out.

The reality was; Izuku was desperate.

Desperate to prove himself. 

He held a truly unfathomable amount of desperation to prove that he was strong, that he was worthy of the title ‘hero’, and most of all, not a sidekick that would kill someone else and himself due to his weakness.

To prove he was so much more than just ‘a quirkless.’

As much as he hated to admit it, UA wasn’t going to provide Izuku with the means to prove himself.

And that was fine.

He’d do it his own way.

Chapter Text

“Has anyone seen Midoriya since lunch?” Aizawa asked the class. 

He was annoyed, to say the least. Not a single student was listening to him at all or was even pretending to care when he mentioned Midoriya suddenly going missing. 

Weird. 

And downright rude, as well.

“No Sir, none of us have. I noticed Midoriya was not present before you arrived and took it upon myself to ask the class if they had seen him.” 

“Yeah! We’ve all received nothing but radio silence from him… it’s weird. He’s usually such a people pleaser…”

“Who cares? He’s weak, and him leaving early isn’t doing him any favours.”

“Maybe he’s finally quit?”

“Oh, now that would be a bloody miracle!”

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated out of his mind. Though, he did note that a certain explosive blond was uncharacteristically silent.

These kids were going to be the death of him.

“How many of you have actually messaged Midoriya since lunch began?”

The silence was telling. It echoed through the room; the type of silence that was deafening and filled space with purpose.

“How about when lunch ended and you all noticed he wasn’t here?”

More silence.

“None of you have? Right… and you wonder why he hasn't reached out to you? Really? With the way you lot have all treated him as of late, I’m surprised he hasn't blocked all of your numbers yet.”

“Sensei! How could you say such a thing to your stude–”

“Thank you, Iida, that is enough… I guess we will have to just– start without him, for now.” 

Aizawa turned around and let out a sigh. Today was going to be a very long day.

“Now, can anyone tell me what happens when you–”

Izuku panted as he ran across the hall and slid into the kitchen, hastily slamming open drawers as quickly as possible, looking for what he needed. 

Technically, he was supposed to be in school about halfway through his Hero Ethics class, but instead, he was at home, packing his life away.

He’d already ditched his uniform and left it in a heap on the floor of his room, changing into a dark green pair of cargo pants and a black tee with a black hoodie over top. He left his shoes on though; the red ones.

The tell-tale mark of a quirkless freak.

He would change them and swap them out for another pair, but the brand that makes shoes for quirkless people doesn’t make any other colour at a price he or his mother could afford, so he was stuck with this ugly red colour.

He’ll paint them at some point. He was positive his class wouldn’t miss them, anywho.

Izuku couldn’t help but feel like a coward running away from his problems, for ignoring everyone and leaving no note. 

But the desperation was so strong he could no longer resist. 

It was eating at him like a virus, consuming his mind and his heart while weighing him down, merciless in its warpath as he tried and tried to prove he was more than a bag of flesh ready to be used as a human sacrifice in the next villain versus hero match.

Running his hand through his already too-long hair, he found what he was looking for.

The blade.

He picked it up with shaking hands and stored it in the little compartment on the inside of his waistband- something he had sewed into them as a means to hide the fact from his mother, back when she still remotely cared.

He didn’t feel guilty about leaving her.

As time would prove, she wouldn’t even notice, having never spoken to her son in three months, all while he was living and breathing under her roof. It got to the point she began to forget he was even there, ignoring all questions about him from her coworkers while stating, “Oh, I haven’t seen him around much. You know how teenagers are, always hanging out with their friends!”

Friends? What a joke.

With his bag fully packed— the contents consisting of a mask, two knives, a change of clothes, and all the money he could manage to find— he set off.

Leaving home felt like a massive breath of fresh air.

It filled his lungs to the brim, itching to burst through his chest with exhilarating energy. He laughed out loud, ignoring the looks from passersby on the street, and began to walk faster and faster until eventually, he was running– no, sprinting– through the streets with a rare smile on his face.

He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he care. All he knew was that he was desperate to be away, be free of the people who only gave him hate and grief. Nothing more and nothing less.

He was free, and he rebelled in the ecstatic feeling, hyperactively running through the crowds on the street, whooping and cheering as he went, ignoring the weird looks coming from people passing by.

Soon enough, as the day turned to night, Izuku’s excited energy began to fade into anger. It wasn’t like he flipped a switch. It was a slow, brooding change in emotions that bubbled up over time as the reality of what he was doing began to hit.

He was furious, to tell the truth.

UA was the poster child of hero schools, constantly churning out top heroes that all of Japan knows and loves. He didn’t want it to be like all his other schools, but letting that tiny sliver of hope into his mind ended up being his greatest downfall.

He was naive. 

And they took advantage of that. 

They were using him as a means to garner sympathy and pity points from the public to make them seem like good people, when behind closed doors he was verbally assaulted on a daily basis by students he had never even seen before in the halls, the teachers turning a blind eye while they gossiped about his soon-to-be death in the teacher's lounge.

It was sick and twisted, but he was naive and hopeful.

He was hopeful enough that he even made friends! By conveniently leaving out the quirkless part until necessary…

Being outed as quirkless was the worst day of his life.

Being alone again, having that desperate hope for change and a longing for a normal high school life ripped from him hurt more than he ever could have imagined.

It tore him apart from the inside out, ripping at his heart and pulling at his mind until he was left in an emotionless state, faking every smile and laugh that he could manage.

The very day after he was revealed to be quirkless and every day since, Izuku wore long sleeves under his school T-shirt, never taking off his blazer unless he was dripping with sweat.

Nobody noticed.

Izuku walked into an alleyway and eyed up the building next to him, and began to climb. 

A small thud could be heard echoing across the block as he dropped his bag in the middle of the roof, and slowly made his way to the edge.

No one would miss him if he jumped.

Nor, would anyone he knew actually care.

He’s heard people ask each other in the halls why he hasn’t killed himself yet…

He’s had his own mother tell him that the day he dies will be a day to celebrate, as she will no longer have a quirkless freak to call ‘her son.’

He’d inched further towards the edge now. He was spiralling quickly, idolising the death everyone told him he deserved.

If he jumped from this height, he’d be dead in an instant. It would almost be painless. Not the quickest way to die, but his only current option.

So why not? Come on Izuku, don’t be a pussy. You can do it, just do it, come on! 

Jump.

You know you deserve it so just do it already, do it now–  

NO!

Izuku heaved and pulled himself upright, roughly stumbling back from the edge and falling to the floor. 

He couldn’t do it , he had something to prove!

Killing himself by jumping off a building would not help him, who cares how badly he wanted it?

It would only solidify the fact that everyone else was right.

That he was weak, a coward, a quirkless freak.

He wanted to be strong.  

To burst into the world with a ferocious energy felt so strongly that people could not help but stop and stare in awe at his strength, his willingness, and his capability to prove that they are safe.

Izuku sniffed, shuffling over to his bag, and laid his head down upon it.

Though as the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes then multiplied, the soft, steady fall of tears became gut-wrenching sobs. So much so that Izuku sat up and heaved in as much oxygen as he could, choking on his own spit and tears.

He felt broken.

He was falling apart at the seams, his unhealthy desperation to prove himself with the never-ending need for validation barely making a dent in the cracks spreading throughout his heart.

Izuku screamed a heartbreaking sob that echoed through the town for a moment too long, harshly breaking the midnight silence of the once-peaceful town of Musutafu.

As he sat there and cried, he realised he was sitting on the same roof where All Might broke his heart all those months ago, crushing his dreams with a few simple sentences.

“No, my boy. A quirkless person cannot become a hero. It is dangerous, and they will only get themselves and others killed on the job. It’s not logical… I’m sorry.”

To say All Might was shocked to see a still very quirkless Izuku looking dazed but happy in the class he was about to teach was the understatement of the century.

From that moment on, All Might had taken every chance he could get to belittle him, most likely to get him to quit while he still had the chance.

That’s what everyone wanted him to do anyway.

And sure, he had just dropped out of UA, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be a hero. He would, and the greatest one at that. 

He’d only be doing it in a less-than-legal way.

Vigilantism.

Chapter Text

Izuku stumbled clumsily back from the roof he was currently standing on, breaths shaky and inconsistent.

Even with the quickest glance, he could tell it was a long way down, and he also knew that if he fell he would most certainly die, Or, at the very least be permanently injured and then die from the injuries that he would inevitably have.

Not an ideal situation to be in, really.

Learning parkour was dangerous, especially trying to learn it on his own. 

But it was also necessary for his vigilante persona. 

He planned to stay on the rooftops, only coming down to deal with villains that needed to be dealt with, helping out civilians and checking if they were okay, before going back to the skies to continue his patrol.

He’d also decided to train with his mask on, purely to get used to the feeling of it and become accustomed to the lack of airflow he got with it on. It was tough, but he’d started wearing it all day every day since he began his training a week ago, just to make sure he isn’t recognized when out and about.

He’d rather not walk into his mother– or God forbid, a teacher– while trying to steal food from a grocery store.

The unglamorous life of a teenager who ran away from his previous life was making itself known to Izuku in all of its dirty glory. 

From not having any money and needing to steal to survive, to sleeping in open spaces on roofs, he felt exposed and wrong. 

Villainous, even. 

He’d already taken food and replacement masks a couple of days ago, and by tomorrow he would have to go out for more.

No one seemed to notice the slightly dirty kid walking in and out of the stores– or if they did, they ignored him completely.

People don’t like talking to the homeless, he found.

A week and a half had passed since Izuku had become a runaway, and not once did he see a missing person advertisement or poster for him.

It seemed to him that no one knew where he was, and no one cared.

And why would they? 

He was only a quirkless, after all.

“Still no sign of him?”

“No, ‘Zashi, there’s still no sign of him and I’ve been looking everywhere . He hasn’t been reported missing which is concerning in of itself–”

“Wait– why haven’t you then?”

“Why haven’t I what?”

Yamada looked at his husband with loving exasperation.

“... Reported him missing, Shou.”

“Because I don’t know if he’s sick or not, or even missing at all! For all we know, he could have the flu or something and he’s just feeling like death at home,” Aizawa frets.

Stress was the most common feeling Aizawa had felt this past week and a half.

Paired with frustration at the lack of feeling or compassion coming from Izuku’s classmates. 

One of his students hadn’t shown up to school since he disappeared that one lunchtime– and none of his students had messaged him, been messaged by him, or seemed to care that he was gone.

“Have you called his mother?”

“I’ve tried , but she works at a hospital two towns over and does double shifts almost frequently. There’s just no way to get in touch with her when she’s either driving, working, or sleeping.”

“You aren’t going to stop until you find out what’s happened to him, are you?” 

“Fuck no. He’s only fourteen, ‘Zashi! The world treats quirkless people like shit and clearly, he knows it by experiencing it first-hand. All of UA has treated him so dirty since the news broke– I’m not surprised he’s stopped showing up, but he’s just a kid.”

“He’s still one of your kids, you mean.”

“Yeah, and at the rate the rest of 1-A is going, he’ll be the last one left.”

Izuku groaned as the last waves of the crash echoed through the streets.

The gap between buildings was clearly larger than he thought it was since he was currently sitting on the floor of an alleyway nursing bruised ribs. 

Falling from fifteen stories high with an array of fire escapes breaking his fall wasn’t a fun feeling.

“Jesus Christ, that fucking hurt.” He moaned aloud, checking for further injuries.

‘Well, luck is clearly on my side right now because I somehow managed to not break a single bone!’ He thought gleefully.

The glee was short-lived. As he stood, his knees protested the action, causing him to buckle slightly. He hissed in pain, nursing his bruised ribs as he began to walk out of the alley. 

He wasn’t going to risk falling through yet another gap and actually breaking any bones, so he made the executive and logical decision to walk to the building with his stuff on the roof and climb up like a feral rat.

Look at him taking Aizawa Sensei’s logic to heart. 

The man clearly had a soft spot for him– it was especially noticeable after the villain attacks. He was gentler with him, kinder, and seemingly more understanding towards him than the rest of the class.

If only they could see him now. Pushing himself past his limits, pouring his heart and soul into a task that has no extra benefit for him other than the satisfaction of being able to help. 

Alone. 

Izuku still held resentment toward his former classmates for the way they treated him as soon as he was outed as quirkless. 

He was ignored not even a day after they all found out, treated like shit in the halls as the news spread like wildfire throughout the school. The whole class began going extra hard on him during spars in hopes he would quit.

“You should quit now while you have the chance. A quirkless freak like you won’t make it as a hero.”

“Why haven’t you jumped yet? I wouldn’t want to be alive if I were you, so why don’t you do everyone a favour, hm?”

The words hurt, but Izuku had a fire burning large and true in his heart, and while his classmates refused to acknowledge the desperation he possessed to help, protect and save the people of Japan, he did not. 

It pushed him forward and he clung to it like a saving grace, the only rope left tying him to his sanity and worth. This churning, desperate need was only growing as the days turned to nights and as the nights became weeks. 

It raged through his body, leaking through the tears in his eyes and the fresh cuts in his arms, falling to the floor in pathetically small droplets that were nowhere near indicative of the sheer volume this desperation had to hold.

The desperation to be somebody to anyone was the only thing that kept him going.

As Izuku finally made it back to his rooftop, he started to think about his vigilante persona. 

Again. 

It was a new beginning for him, and being anything but ‘that quirkless kid’ felt so refreshing.

The idea of being someone the heroes would take seriously in any way, shape, or form was so foreign to him that he couldn’t even begin to imagine it. It made him so happy he was dizzy with excitement, flopping down onto his back with a sheepish grin.

He looked to the sky and watched the clouds roll over, thankful it wasn’t going to rain like it had the night before. 

Exercising in the sun had definitely dried his clothes and hair, and while he was thankful for the sort-of shower the rain had given him, nothing he did had stopped the bone-chilling cold he felt that morning as he woke up drenched, his clothes sticking to every surface of his skin.

Soon enough, he was going to need a place with proper shelter and not just an open space like the very rooftop he had stayed on for a week, but that was tomorrow’s problem.

He was surviving better than he had hoped, regaining even a sliver of the happiness he had once had before his life was turned upside down.

He went to bed with a smile, planning a rest day. A day to finally take a breath from all the work he was putting in, to just walk around town for a couple of hours.

Who knew simply walking around town could lead to the biggest change of his life?

Izuku didn’t, but he would soon find out.

Chapter Text

Izuku huffed as he packed his bag slowly, placing it behind a little nook he had discovered the previous night.

It was the perfect place to hide his belongings from security workers to heroes alike — especially when he wasn’t there to monitor his stuff. 

He had two things on his to-do list today; steal more masks, and go to a bakery for some day-old food.

Not much, but to him, it was everything.

His way of living alone and free.

Void of the burden that UA placed upon him.

That’s not to say being on the streets was easy, by any means.

He had to walk with his head down and avoid eye contact with anyone and everyone at all times to seem as inconspicuous as possible, while also trying to be as intimidating as possible all at the same time so muggers and pedophiles wouldn’t attack him on the streets.

Izuku vividly remembers the time a man– who was seemingly in his late forties– wanted something sinister from Izuku, and it scared him shitless. He left the alleyway with bloodied knuckles and a piece of newfound knowledge regarding the darkest sides of the underground.

From that day on, he kept a knife sewn to the inside of his sleeve in a small pouch, stored in a place easily accessible for self-defense and quick getaways.

It's proven useful when he’s had to defend himself from being mugged or beaten up randomly in the streets.

Seeing a small, supposedly useless kid holding a knife to your throat with the deadliest glare on his face is something that scares attackers away, and a sick part of Izuku found so much joy in seeing the terror on their faces.

Izuku clutched the knife close to him as he walked down the streets.

The store that sold the masks he used was only a couple of minutes away from his rooftop, so he set off in that direction and hoped there would be a bakery on the way back if he took a different route than usual.

He hated stealing masks, but he’d finally learnt how to be more careful with them when landing after jumps and wasn’t ripping them anymore, though he only had one left.

Just in case, he’d steal some more.

The walk to the store was easy. No one looked at him as he weaved in and out of crowds, going unnoticed by the general public. 

Walking into the store was overwhelming.

He was still not used to being under such bright lights and surrounded by so much noise every day– especially in closed spaces in stores like this one. The lights reached his eyes harshly, and with the constant chatter around, paired with the sounds of trolleys and carts that sped past, his eardrums felt ready to burst.

It was a dollar shop, after all, so it made sense the store was like this. All the lights were cheap and they crammed as many shelves as possible into such a small space.

As soon as the bell above him rang to indicate he had entered the store, he ducked around the corner, making sure the cash lady never saw him walking in. 

Walking through the aisles quickly, he scanned the shelves, looking for the masks.

‘Where are they?’ They must have recently changed the layout of this place, he couldn’t find the wretched things anywhere!

‘Where have they put them? Come on why now– there!’

He booked it for the masks and grabbed three of them, putting one in his hoodie pocket, one in the back pocket of his pants and the other on top of the mask he was already wearing.

By doing that, he could pretend he was a sickly child if caught. 

Nobody would want to go near him if they thought that.

Slowly, he started walking through other aisles, before making his way back out the door.

No one noticed he was there.

That was something he learnt at a young age.

He got abused for being quirkless by… everyone, really. Even being called ‘Null’– a slur used against the quirkless; the dirtiest and cruelest.

But the most hurtful thing was going unnoticed in day-to-day life when he was used to having parents and kids talk to him when they passed him on the street.

If he needed directions? 

Don’t bother asking. It was impossible. 

The entirety of Musutafu knew that the small, green-haired boy was quirkless, and immediately acted as if he didn’t exist. 

For fucks sake, he could’ve been lost in the middle of a busy street, crying something fierce and screaming for his mother, and no one would pay him any mind.

To interact with the quirkless was a one-way lane to damaging your social life forever, and no one wanted that.

Izuku took a right turn, officially starting a different route home than usual. He was looking for a bakery– any kind would do, honestly, as long as they didn’t kick out the homeless and had day-old bread he could get for cheap.

The first bakery he traveled to for old goods was one around a town over from where he currently slept, strategically chosen to be far away out of sheer embarrassment more than anything.

He was terrified of being noticed by someone, or recognized by people for once in his life, as well as being publicly shamed in a store full of people.

He’d gotten used to asking for old food by now, but he knew there would always be a lingering embarrassment while doing so.

He felt so far away from the person he used to be; using his dad's previously working credit card to buy the most expensive hero merch he could out of spite, and getting the food he thought looked good, not just the food that was the cheapest.

He looked around finally, confident that he was far away enough that he wouldn’t be bothered much. 

He’d ended up in a side street, parallel to the main street he had just walked through, in both location and style. 

It was dark and damp, covered in filth, mud, and other substances he didn’t wish to find out.

He could already see two homeless people begging for money on the corner of the road.

It was a sad sight to see, but with a wave of realization, he knew he would be in the same boat soon enough.

He was running out of money, and quickly. 

He only had enough left to pay for maybe two more bakery runs– if that.

Embarrassment and resentment filled his heart and soul as he walked straight past the fellow homeless, guilt etched onto his features as he smiled at them, a look of understanding plastered all over their dirty faces.

He supposed he looked the same as them.

Dirty.

His red shoes were slowly but surely turning brown, brand-new holes in the sides making themselves known.

There were grass and mud stains on all of his clothes, and blood on the ones he had left on the roof.

Sure, he didn’t regret running away for a second, but learning the harsh reality of homelessness was like a punch to the face with an already broken jaw.

It hurt, but the chronic desperation that swallowed him whole would always win, no matter where he went.

“Hey, sir! Excuse me!”

Izuku was startled out of his thoughts as he spotted a man running toward him.

Subtly, he clutched the knife tighter in his sleeve.

He was slightly on guard now. The last time a middle-aged man ran up to him, he ended up with split knuckles and the discovery that he was strong enough to punch out a person's tooth.

“Uh– hello?”

“Sorry to bother you there young man, but I have a question for you.”

‘…Weird.’

“A question? Sure, what is it?”

“You’re quirkless, right?”

‘Oh shit.’ 

This was his worst nightmare. Literally the worst day of his life. He put so much energy into making sure this wouldn’t happen, how could this random man know he was-

“Apologies for being so confrontational about it, but I noticed your shoes. They’re specifically branded for quirkless people, right? So I just assumed… you were…”

Oh.

Of fucking course his shoes would give him away. The one tell-tale mark of a quirkless person was their shoes and he was so stupid to not have spray painted them black already.

Izuku shook his head, trying his darned hardest to hide the anxiety he felt crawling up every orifice of his body.

“So what? Got a problem with that?” He growled.

Another thing he had learned was that if he was angry, people tended to leave him alone.

“So, it’s true then? You are quirkless?”

“What does it matter to you ? I don’t even know you!” He snapped back, pissed off out of his mind.

He just wanted bagels. Was that too much of a task for the universe to grant him?

Apparently so.

“You are!”

Izuku stayed silent, glaring at the man.

Suddenly, the man's aura changed to something sinister, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“Perfect.” 

Izuku stilled, clutching the knife in his sleeve tighter as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Something about his tone was… off, to say the least.

It creeped Izuku the fuck out.

He felt his anxiety skyrocket as the man sneered and reached his hand toward his back pocket. 

He was frozen with fear.

“Don’t… don’t fucking touch me,” Izuku snarled, clumsily stepping back from the man.

“Don’t worry! This will only hurt a little!” He purred.

Before Izuku could even react, a sharp, ferocious burning pain seared through his neck to his back.

It was agonizing, the sensation of pure fire making its way through Izuku’s veins down his entire body. His muscles spasmed painfully as he moaned; it was too much to bear.

He slumped forward as the pain grew, landing on the man's chest.

He was losing consciousness, and fast. 

Surely there was something, anything Izuku could do to fight this off, to stop this stranger from hurting him?

But as luck would have it, there was nothing he could do, barely conscious and paralyzed, falling forward right on the man's chest.

As Izuku’s eyes fluttered closed and his memory became foggy, he distantly heard the man talking on what he could only assume was his phone. 

He sounded… proud? 

“Hey, boss? Yeah, you won’t believe me– but I found a quirkless.”

Chapter Text

“A quirkless and a vigilante? Good fucking job Takashira!”

Izuku woke up dazed and bleary, wincing at the sudden lights all around him.

He could vaguely make out two bodies in his tired state, seemingly wearing dirtied, previously white lab coats if the stains and general filth had anything to say.

He hoped it was only ketchup. 

Izuku took their apparent distraction to his advantage and looked around.

Dead rats in nearly every corner, suspicious brown stains on the floor, and mold covering pretty much every circumference of the building. He could see at least three separate rooms adjacent to the one he was currently splayed out on the floor in, and he didn’t doubt for a second there was probably more.

Maybe even a creepy basement, however cliche that is.

He groaned as his vision started to clear.

The pain was truly setting in now, a hot burning pain coursing through his veins with a passion; the hairs on his neck stood upright.

“How old is this kid? Twelve?”

“I’m fourteen , asshole,” Izuku growled out.

“Oh, would you look at that! Our little crime-fighter is finally awake.”

Izuku was aggressively picked up and thrown back into a chair. He cried out as his arms were pulled behind him and tied, his shoulder dislocating.

Fucking hell, how strong was this guy?

“What’s your name, boy?”

Izuku stayed silent.

Yeah, he had a fucking name for his vigilante persona– who doesn’t? He was never going to tell them his real name, and he sure as shit didn’t want to tell him his persona’s name either.

He simply refused to give it out.

Four agonizing seconds passed before Izuku was sideways on the floor, bleeding out of his nose.

“I said, tell me your FUCKING NAME!” The man roared.

“And what if I don’t?” He asked boldly, growling. “I don’t fucking know you!”

The man snarled and began to kick Izuku everywhere he could manage to kick, even sitting him back upright to punch him across the face once more as Takashira watched.

“How about now?”

“God, take me out to dinner first before roughing me up, why don’t ya? Did your mother never teach you manners?” Izuku sassed.

“You little shit!”

Another blow to the face.

This guy clearly had mummy issues, though Izuku wasn’t one to talk– not with the way he was raised.

The man looked down at Izuku’s bloodied body, before asking his name once more, his anger levels rising even more as Izuku continued to stay silent.

“Tell–” Punch. 

“Me–” Another punch.

“Your–” This time a kick.

“ Fucking– ” Another kick.

“ NAME!– ” Izuku and the chair were picked up and tossed across the room.

He cried out as he slammed into the wall painfully, ribs hitting the edges of the chair with enough force they cracked and broke.

Did this guy take steroids or something?

But, Izuku had enough common sense and experience by now to know what the ‘ketchup’ stains on the men's coats really were.

Izuku gritted his teeth, yet still stayed silent.

His vision swam as he lifted his head up, his hair dripping blood as it fell into his eyes.

Glaring at the two men, he spat on the floor.

“Fuck you.”

“Now, now, that’s no way to talk to your hosts! What if I tell you my name first, how does that sound?”

Izuku glared at the nameless man and cocked his head, egging him on.

“ My name is Ikari, and the one behind me is Takashira. Judging by our fancy wee lab coats, I’m sure you’ve gathered that we are scientists by now.”

Izuku hadn’t. He was more focused on the fact he was being beaten up, thank you.

“Our hope with you is that we can find out just how far the quirkless body can be pushed until it breaks. And we will find out. Through whatever means necessary. You, my child, are our test subject. All we need to know… is your goddamn NAME!” Ikari cried out.

“FUCK YOU, YOU GODDAMNED PSYCHOPATHS –” Izuku cried out again as he was kicked in the chest, once again sent flying into the wall behind him.

“You’re making this much harder for yourself, little vigilante!”

Izuku stilled.

How did they know? He’d never been out in the field yet, there was no way they already knew, right? 

Ikari had to be bluffing.

“Oh, what’s this? Hit a nerve, have we?”

Izuku growled out at the two scientists before hissing in pain.

Yes. They hit a fucking nerve.

“Yes… we discovered your little– hobby, shall we say– when this wonderfully looked-after knife fell from your sleeve. Nifty little thing, isn’t it? Having a weapon? Well unfortunately for you, the two of us simply cannot allow you to be armed, so it’s not yours anymore.” Ikari purred.

Izuku frantically tried to feel for the knife in his sleeve only to discover Ikari was right, they had found the knife. He began to breathe heavier, attempting to reach for his waistband when–

“Oh, are you looking for the blade? Yeah, we took that too.”

Goddammit.

“Now, are you going to tell me your name?”

Izuku sharpened his gaze at the man looking down at him. He was shaking, bloodied, bruised, and in no position to fight.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Takashira! Bring me the taser.”

What?

As soon as Takashira had walked over Ikari snatched something from the former's hand.

Before he knew it, Izuku was screaming.

His muscles were on fire as the static rushed through his body in powerful waves, causing Izuku to cry out in agony.

He’d never felt pain like this before.

Sure, he’d broken bones before, who hasn’t? But this was on a whole other level. The white-hot pain blinded him as minutes passed; Izuku was still screaming. His throat was scratchy as the yells became hoarse and tired and his limbs spasmed and stiffened.

He continued to cry out, when–

“HIRO!”

The pain finally stopped.

Izuku heaved and gasped as oxygen returned to his lungs. 

He had fallen out of his binds and was splayed out on the floor, sweaty, shaking, and covered in blood. Roughly, he was pulled up by his hair to be face-to-face with the scientist before him.

“What was that, little one?”

“My name…” Izuku growled, “…is Hiro.”

“Oh, we’ve got ourselves a pyromaniac, I see!”

“Yeah, and I managed to get kidnapped by a random dude and a little bitch with fucking anger issues–” Izuku was lifted up by the neck.

Unable to breathe, he struggled and kicked anywhere he could until Ikari released his hold, and Izuku felt his lungs fill with air.

“Just for that, I’m going to begin.” He grabbed a tool from his pocket after throwing him into a chair.

Ikari looked over at him with a sinister smile, holding a tool up to Izuku’s face.

He grabbed his chin and pulled his face forward roughly, to inspect his– teeth?

“Stay still, my child. This will only hurt a little!” He purred.

Distracted by the feeling of Deja Vu, it took Izuku a moment too long to realize what Ikari was about to do, and by then it was far too late. 

Ikari had wrenched open his jaw and was painstakingly beginning to pull two of his teeth with pliers.

It was then he realized; they took his mask.

Izuku screamed bloody murder, trying his damned hardest to move away from him, kicking and punching to no avail. 

Ikari had only gripped his face harder and started pulling his teeth down slower, before grabbing a sort of file and beginning to shave them down.

Takashira had his arm around Izuku’s neck to keep him from moving even more.

Izuku kept kicking and screaming, blood beginning to drool down his chin as the sensation of his teeth being filed sent him into sensory overdrive.

He felt every drill and every grind in the deepest crevices of his bones, the rumbling taking hold as the teen's body wracked with sobs as the sound ground out loud and clear in his ears.

His mouth began to feel like sandpaper as the fine dust of his teeth began falling on his tongue, mixing with blood and spit to become a thick, gritty consistency.

It took everything in Izuku to not vomit right then and there.

In hindsight, he wished he did.

Half an hour had never felt longer.

It was like time had taken a pause, the world momentarily stopping as Izuku’s was filled with unbearable pain. All he could see was an array of colours, making him turn blind as he squirmed, screamed, and sobbed.

His entire body was shaking uncontrollably as he fell in and out of consciousness, waking up to a fresh wave of pain that only intensified every time he blacked out.

“Like your new look?” Ikari held up a mirror.

It was finally over. 

Looking in the handheld mirror Ikari had offered, he saw that two of his teeth had been pulled down and sharpened into points, giving Izuku’s teeth the appearance of fangs.

“Fuck you, you goddamned BITCH!” He screamed, landing a kick directly into Ikari’s shins.

Izuku was thrown to the floor once more, groaning as pain flared through his body once again.

Ikari growled as he turned around. 

“Takashira! Take the subject to dungeon five, would you? Phase one is complete.”

“Right away Boss.”

Izuku’s vision swam as he was tossed over Takashira’s shoulders and taken downstairs to the dungeons.

So he was right about the creepy basement.

He hated that he was right.

The building was clearly an abandoned warehouse of sorts, poorly renovated to include the so-called dungeons that Izuku would now be calling his.

It was more like a row of prison cells, lined up one by one with steel barred doors.

He tried his hardest to remember what pathways to take to get out, but the amount of twists and turns to get there did not stick in Izuku’s pain-filled mind.

As he was thrown into the cell and locked in, he began to hyperventilate. 

Concrete all around, no windows, and no lights. 

Only the steel bars separated the hallway and his own personal room– cell. 

It was a cell.

Izuku threw himself into the bars and screamed in agony, filled with an indescribable rage that took over his senses for just a moment.

Over and over again he threw himself into those bars, making as much racket as possible to clue them in on his already obvious anger. He kept it up for a long while, a burst of energy used to scream and curse at the scientists upstairs until his voice was hoarse, to which he fell to the floor and sobbed until he couldn’t move, or make a sound.

He was meant to be strong.

It was the only thing he had to keep him going, the need to be strong and great and everything a hero was.

Now? He felt like the weakest link.

The unfathomable determination that previously took hold of his entire life had changed from being great, a hero, an inspiration – into something more desperate.

The desperation of Hiro.

Survive.

Chapter Text

Everything hurt.

He felt like he’d been hit by multiple trucks one after the other, and his shoulder was on fire, the burning traveling from the middle of his neck through his entire shoulder down to the top of his elbow.

Oh right, it was still dislocated.

While Izuku could manage to see all four corners of the room and then himself through the dim lights in the hallway, the room was still dark enough that he was disoriented and confused.

When did he pass out?

How long had he even been here? A day, a week?

What time of day was it? 

What day was it?

He had to get out of here.

Sitting up hurt every bone in his body; Izuku shook with the effort. 

His shoulder burst with more heat and agony; he hissed at the effort to move his entire arm.

Slowly but surely, Izuku– now upright, gripped the side of his shoulder, tenderly rubbing the bone where he knew the dislocation was, wondering if he could find an easy way to pop it back into place.

With a bit of effort and even more pain, the answer was yes.

He grunted as he found the spot, took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and went for it.

Izuku cried out as he heard his shoulder snap back into place, pain rocketing through his entire body as every bruise, scrape, and broken bone was jostled with the force of hitting the wall behind him.

He let out a shaky breath, nursing his ribs.

They hadn’t even fully healed from the fall from the roof! 

He was certain his ribs were definitely broken now.

Gods, it felt like an eternity ago; sleeping on a roof out in the open– training his mind, body, and soul into becoming the best he could possibly be. The past felt so far away right now– stuck in the dungeons, broken and bloody.

Izuku licked his lips tenderly.

They were swollen and bloody from his new set of teeth. He wasn’t used to having longer teeth, let alone sharp ones, and he was already paying the price. Little holes where he would bite his lips, holes and wounds in his tongue from hitting his chin on the floor more times than he could count where the fangs would puncture.

Izuku tried to stand, yet collapsed on the floor before even making it to his knees.

He was so weak!

He hated this feeling, hated feeling weak and helpless while his former classmates were out there doing God knows what while Ikari and Takashira were upstairs probably discussing his further torture over a coffee.

He was still on the floor as he curled up into a ball, wincing at the agony this movement caused. He couldn’t move, sit, stand, or even sit still without feeling indescribable amounts of pain, so what was the point?

He already had a high pain tolerance after dealing with childhood bullies every day– this was only a few steps above that.

Okay, a lot above that, but he digressed.

As the time kept ticking, Izuku fell victim to his spiraling depressive thoughts.

He wished he jumped that day.

This would never have happened if he simply wasn’t alive to be here for it.

He wanted nothing more than to be unconscious, broken, but most of all?

He wanted to be dead.

He craved his blade, his saving grace, and the only mechanism that helped him cope with the wild thoughts of suicide and harm.

Izuku’s eyes flitted from the corners of the room to the cell door frantically, breathing becoming quick and laboured as the panic set in. 

He knew nothing about the situation he found himself in, playing the waiting game until either Ikari or Takashira came down into the dungeons for God knows what. 

He felt his soul breaking, his hopes and dreams crashing down until they were a pathetic pile that he could feel in the pits of his stomach.

He was getting dizzy– he couldn’t breathe.

He was gasping for air at this point, ribs contracting painfully against his lungs as he willed his body to work as he fell deeper and deeper into the darkest pits of his mind.

Subconsciously scratching his arms, he bolted upright on the floor, crying out as his ribs were jostled and the bruises were bashed.

Harder and harder he was scratching now, sinking deep into a state of panic as his emotions were clouded with frantic desperation, paranoia, and rage. 

His skin began to flake and stick under his nails while the scratches became deeper, and the wounds moist with pinpricks of blood, weep, and filth. The stinging pains in Izuku’s arms had him momentarily distracted from the fiery agony throughout every inch of his body as the itch became angry and rough.

As the wounds got deeper his anger built, up and up it climbed as a true but small flow of blood, and even more weep licked his fingertips; skin and dirt sticking under his nails still.

Why was he here?

Why did Ikari and Takashira want to discover his breaking point?

And what did Ikari mean before by ‘any means necessary?’

Izuku cried out, fed up. He started throwing himself into the bars of the cell; the clanging of the metal rolled through the hallway in waves as he roared. His anger was bursting out of him now, changing the aura around him from depressed and sick to angry and alive.

He had never felt angrier.

There’s something in life called an energy surge; where a person gets an indescribable amount of energy before their ultimate demise. 

Well, this was Izuku’s.

Anger. 

Built up from all fourteen years of his life while he was abused, bullied, and neglected by every person, child, and authority figure that he could ever hope to exist– without ever muttering a single complaint.

Jumping to his feet he screamed something fierce– agony, sorrow, and rage filling his bones and fuelling his body as he punched wall after wall, splitting every knuckle as blood dripped to the floor in tiny droplets. 

His voice cracked as he cried, screaming out for what felt like hours as he shook and sobbed until finally, he collapsed back to the floor. 

He delved further into the pits of depression, holding his throat and crying out. His tears fell onto his hands, mixing in with the dirt and blood until he could no longer tell where the blood was coming from.

He was useless.

He held onto his throat with both hands and squeezed.

His eyes bulged painfully as his face flushed red with the lack of oxygen and blood flow.

He choked as his eyes became heavy and his hands weak, until finally, he slumped sideways, falling unconscious on the floor once again.

Ikari and Takashira listened as agonized screams and yells were heard from below. Every crash, every bang, every sob and yell– they heard it all.

“We’re breaking him,” Ikari exclaimed gleefully.

Takashira grinned, giving Ikari a feral look as he jotted something down in a notebook, shaking with anticipation and excitement.

“Phase Two, complete.”

Chapter Text

Izuku was abruptly woken up by the banging of his cell doors.

He blearily turned around, his head pounding and body aching.

Ikari.

“Hello, little Hiro. How was your sleep?”

Izuku growled. 

What did this fucker want?

“Oh, stop with the dramatics already! I’m sure you missed me deep down,” Ikari simpered.

“I missed you the same amount I missed my dad– that is, not at all,” Izuku hissed, spitting at Ikari’s shoes.

Ikari’s smile flickered and fell like a faulty light, before he snatched Izuku up by the collar, pulling his face hard against the bars between them.

“You really are a cheeky little shit, aren’t you Hiro?”

Izuku smirked.

“It’s one of my greatest attributes, I must say. Why? I thought you’d appreciate a sense of humour in this fucking hell-hole, you rotten piece of shit!”

Ikari hissed, pushing Izuku back and slamming his head forward into the bars — hard. Izuku cried out as he felt his head split in two and blood started to trickle down his face into his eyes.

“You’re going to lose the sarcasm and the jokes soon enough, you fucking brat,” Ikari hissed in his face.

“Mm, I’m really excited to prove you wrong now,” Izuku smirked. “Motherfucker,” he added with a cheeky smile.

Wordlessly, Ikari glared at him, opening the doors and pulling Izuku forward– fast enough to make the dizzy and injured teenager trip and stumble. Takashira was standing in the corner to Izuku’s left, while Ikari stood to his right, hands still curled around the collar of his shirt.

Takashira smiled at him, though the light never reached his eyes.

What on earth were they planning? He didn’t want to know, but he guessed he’d find out soon enough.

Ikari kept quiet as he began to walk, dragging Izuku along with him as he stumbled frantically, trying to gain his footing.

“Boss, what room are we heading towards?” Takashira asked.

“Room Five,” Ikari replied shortly.

Izuku saw Takashira nod out of his peripheral vision, stalking his every move as the scientist moved forward and away, out of his line of sight.

Ikari walked faster.

Izuku fell with an undignified yelp, yet Ikari continued walking.

He was dragged by his knees up the stairs, getting grazes and bruises with every step they took up. His cargo pants were ripped now, the frayed edges from the newly acquired holes in his knees getting damp with blood through every crash and bang, sending shockwave after shockwave of pain through his body.

Forgetting that he now had razor-sharp fangs, Izuku bit his lip, hissing at the feeling of his teeth sinking into the flesh, putting holes in his mouth deep enough to draw blood.

He shivered as the blood dribbled down his chin, falling on the floor, and leaving a small, scattered trail in his wake.

He lurched forward as Ikari tugged on Izuku’s collar, throwing the boy into a room and slamming the door shut.

Izuku had to cover his eyes at the sheer brightness of the room. 

All the walls were painted white, there were metal rolling shelves covered in cheap-looking medical equipment that harshly reflected the numerous LED lights above him.

“Hiro, get up on the bed.”

“What fucking bed, I can’t see, asshole!” Izuku hissed, turning to where he thought Ikari was standing, giving him his best death glare.

“Aw, your pouting makes you look even younger! Now that’s just adorable!” Ikari grinned as Izuku glared harder. 

Takashira had walked over during this time, starting to take off Izuku’s hoodie and shirt. 

“Hey! Get off me you fucking pedophile!” he protested, kicking and screaming as Takashira picked him up and put him on the bed. Ikari wrapped his hand around Izuku’s throat and pushed him onto the bed while Takashira tied his wrists and ankles down.

“Takashira and I are beginning our research today. You will behave, Hiro, or this will not go well for you. Now, Takashira, we can begin!” 

Ikari and Takashira spent the next while placing these– stickers? Around Izuku’s head, chest, and arms.

“Hey! Hey! What are you psychopaths doing? ” Izuku stressed.

“Now, now Hiro, didn’t I just tell you to behave?” Ikari purred. “Turn those listening ears on for me, would you?”

Izuku hissed at the two scientists, thrashing around in the bed he was tied up to. His eyes were wide and his heart was beating too fast for comfort.

He was about to have a panic attack.

He could barely breathe right, stressing out over the strange wires and stickers being placed all over his chest and head, sweat beginning to drip down the side of his face in beads.

Ikari and Takashira slowly placed more things onto Izuku’s head and chest with deliberate precision– Izuku thought they were taking their sweet ass time.

“If you don’t tell me what the fuck you two are doing I swear to God I’m going to–”

“Now, Takashira!” Ikari cried happily.

“ What are you fuckers DOING TO ME! TELL ME–”

Takashira flipped a switch and Izuku fell silent for just a moment, his throat unwillingly closing as the pain set in. His body was thrashing around uncontrollably on the bed, back arching in a desperate attempt to move away from the burning, stabbing pains he felt all over his body as he kicked his feet down into the bed, flailing.

This pain was nothing compared to the other day.

He thought he was truly on fire for a moment, being boiled alive from the inside out as his body thrashed and flailed in unsuccessful attempts to get away from the non-stop agony.

A scream erupted from Izuku’s previously clenched closed mouth, full of sorrow, rage, and agony, loud and shrill enough to chill the bone.

On and on it went. 

His head felt like it was being ripped apart as he continued to scream and shake, his throat turning to sandpaper and cracking as the pain went on, vision bombarded by bright lights and colours as electricity erupted all around the room. Every muscle in his body strained against the current as sweat stuck to every inch of skin on his body, hairs sticking upright.

His face stung and stabbed as the tears fell, electrified by the currents currently flowing through his body.

An eternity passed. The pain stopped and Izuku heaved, turning his head in the nick of time before vomiting all over the floor and the bed frame, much to the disgust of Takashira, who was unfortunately in the way.

He’d need some new shoes.

Izuku was sweating all over as he cried, moaning from the lingering pain while his arms and legs twitched from the remaining currents. 

Blood dripped from his ears, his eyes and face wet with what he hoped was merely tears and sweat.

“Good boy, that’s it…” Ikari muttered. 

Izuku moaned; he was in agony .

“Well done Hiro…” Ikari mumbled some more, momentarily distracted from the panting boy before him by turning around.

Izuku winced as he felt a prick in his arm, his world tipping upside down as he miserably turned his head to see Ikari draw two small vials of blood. 

“Up the ante, please Takashira,” Ikari announced. 

“Yes, Boss.”

“No,” Izuku whimpered, already moving around in desperation.

“No, please stop– STOP!” He cried out with a sob, the pain starting up once again, this time much worse than before.

It was as if his brain had exploded while the world erupted into even harsher lights, splitting his every limb into a thousand separate pieces.

He screamed, shouted, and cried, thrashing and writhing around once more as his body went in and out of consciousness between his agonising torture.

He was burning up, sweating even more as the streams of blood from his ears poured out thicker while he cried, feeling inches away from death every time he unwillingly regained his consciousness– and the torture continued.

His eardrums thumped through his head as he heard every wave of static, frantically crashing on the bed as his muscles clench and his limbs move of their own accord. His head felt five times bigger, eyes threatening to bulge out of his head as the pressure became too much, it was too much–

“That’s enough, Takashira.”

Izuku laid still, gasping for a singular breath that turned to chokes as his body twitched and writhed from the aftermath of electrocution.

Izuku bit down a cry as Ikari took even more blood, once again turning around while Izuku swallowed down his sickness, shuddering at the feeling and taste of acid. It was like someone sanded away the inner linings of his throat using the roughest grit they could possibly find.

“Yes, I have exactly what I need! This is great!” Ikari exclaimed, while Takashira excitedly walked over to where Ikari was standing, rapidly writing down their discoveries.

Izuku was untied, though he stayed still. It hurt to move, fiery pain rushing through every bone in his body if he so much as twitched. Ikari looked at the teen and smiled, gently grabbing his chin and making the teen reach his eyes.

“You don’t see it now, but this is great, Hiro! You– You’re something great!”

Izuku was… great?

No, that can’t be right.

He was just tortured for what could have easily been hours, electrocuted, and tested on for their own sick discoveries.

But, by God, that was something he’d dreamt about being told.

That he was great, worth something to anyone who deemed him so.

He appeared to have relished in the feeling for a moment as Takashira threw the boy over his shoulder with a satisfied smirk, roughly leaving him on the floor of his cell once more. 

He hated to admit it, but these guys were good.

They could see through his witty comments and sarcasm– minorly. Izuku knew they were manipulating him– well, attempting to. They didn’t actually think he was great, awesome, cool, or anything of the sort. Izuku saw the wicked look in Ikari’s eyes as Izuku relaxed upon hearing his praise.

Ikari thought he was finally getting to him. 

What he didn’t know, was that Izuku took the praise as a cue, that his torture was finally over, he’d be left alone and would be able to finally sleep off the pain from everything he had been through.

What Izuku didn’t know was that Ikari had a plan.

They wanted to make Izuku split apart and break.

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t know how long he’d been in Ikari’s warehouse.

The two scientists had taken him to be re-electrocuted and tested on at least twice now, though each encounter was becoming hazier and hazier as the torture took its toll.

He’d been in the cellar for a while now, and he still had no idea how long it had been, or how long he was going to stay there. He hadn’t been ‘blessed’ with Ikari’s or Takashira’s presence as of late, meaning Izuku’s body finally had the chance to heal at least a little while he got some much-needed beauty sleep.

They’d been giving him food periodically, and Izuku had quickly learnt to eat anything and everything the scientists had given him, unless he wanted a beating for being ‘an ungrateful brat,’ as Ikari would growl at him.

Though he was thankful for the chance to heal his body a little, he loathed being stuck with his thoughts — something Ikari and Takashira definitely knew about.

Izuku’s arms were covered in scabs and scratches, his entire body was bruised and covered in shallow cuts from throwing himself into the walls and cellar doors in fits of rage and terror while his throat grew rough from the constant screaming and cursing.

He was tired, to say the least.

The isolation was getting to him and he wanted nothing more than to cease to exist, to be a cold, lifeless body on the floor while maggots squirmed and wriggled through the holes in his body.

He’s lucky that his infections haven’t gone that far yet, honestly. The cuts on his knees and arms were surrounded by rings of red, irritated skin, and with a single touch, they would open up and ooze a gross-looking and almost chunky liquid that made Izuku retch.

He just wanted to sleep for a minimum of ninety-four hours. 

There was also the fact that Izuku was starving. They hadn’t been giving him as much food recently– and Izuku was savouring every bite, though even then it wouldn’t last long at all. Five minutes, if he was lucky. 

He was beginning to see his ribs now, his wrists looking extra boney as the weight left his body with the amount of energy, stress and sweat excreting from him at any given time. He still had muscles though, considering he had managed to put a few dents in the cellar doors. He was just lean, his muscles being purely functional rather than giving him a body-builder physique.

It was good. It meant Ikari and his little lackey would underestimate him.

As Izuku finally succumbed to the constant feeling of exhaustion, he felt his eyelids start to droop, and his head fell backwards with a small thump as it hit the wall.

As soon as he was almost unconscious, the noise and the pain started.

White noise, programmed to a certain pitch made to cause agonising pain and in the most serious of cases, deafness, rang throughout Izuku’s cellar. It was loud, blasting and vibrating through each corner of the room as soon as it began, louder where the speaker sat to Izuku’s right.

He reacted violently, crying out in pain and surprise as he threw himself forward into the cellar door, smashing his hands over his ears as he desperately tried to block out the noise. 

He tried to stand, white noise filling his ears, vibrating through his body as he stumbled backwards into the wall, slamming his head hard into the concrete behind him as he sobbed, pressing his hands harder into his ears and skull.

The noise stopped.

Izuku was left panting as he slid to the floor, tears streaming down his face, moaning in pain as he tentatively removed his hands from his head. His right ear had small dots of blood on them, the ringing resonating through his brain as the silence became deafening.

He choked on a sob as he harshly exhaled, hearing Ikari walk down the hallway, reaching Izuku with a manic look in his eyes paired with a feral grin.

“Hello, little Hiro…” Ikari smirked, looking the breathless teenager up and down with sick satisfaction. The boy was a wreck, to put it lightly, eyes blown wide with sweat rolling down his face, small dots of blood left to dry in his ears.

“Fuck off you bastard,” Izuku growled, hissing at the scientist before him.

“That’s no way to talk to your host! Did your parents never teach you how to behave?” Ikari sweetly asked, grinning sharply.

“Did yours? Or did they give up on disciplining you once they realised you’re a worthless bitch?” Izuku snarked while walking forward, fists clenching angrily.

God really wanted to test him today, apparently.

Ikari reached forward through the cellar doors and found Izuku’s hair, slamming his head into the doors separating the two. The teen cried out at the sudden movements, the crash sending a sharp pain throughout his entire body as his head pounded from the previous torture.

“Listen hear you fucking brat! I demand respect, and you will give it to me, do you understand? You are nothing but a worthless, genetic freak, a pawn in our game, and the subject of our experiments. You will behave, or so help me God, we will fucking rip you apart. ”

“Ooh, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, wait– she never loved you enough to even look at you, did she Ikari?” Izuku sassed, a wild grin spreading across his dirtied face.

Ikari’s jaw opened and then closed with an audible click. He stood still, and held up two fingers to the ceiling, just out of Izuku’s line of sight.

His grin immediately fell from his face as he realised what was happening.

“No… No, come on PLEASE–”

The white noise was louder this time, and Izuku screeched out an agonised wail as the sound got louder and louder, his jaw began to clench as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain and his hands smashed against his ears once more.

The noise continues to get louder as his eardrums are thumping in his head. Izuku opens his eyes as he cries, his back now completely against the end wall once more– when had he moved?

Ikari was watching him, eyeing him up and down as he took in Izuku’s reactions and tolerances. Izuku caught the scientist's eye, and snarled viciously, throwing himself into the bars, directly in front of Ikari and screaming a thread of curses at the man, who merely chuckled.

“You’re very violent, aren’t you Hiro?” Ikari questioned, his head cocking to the side innocently.

“FUCK YOU!” Izuku cried out, throwing himself into the bars once more.

And again.

And again.

“OKAY! OKAY JESUS CHRIST I’M SORRY –”

Ikari gestured for Takashira to turn the noise off. 

As it slowly became quiet, Ikari took out his earbuds– when had he put those in? Izuku hadn’t noticed it in the panic of being tortured.

“Every time you try to sleep, you will be woken up by the same white noise, Hiro. I suggest you stay awake, or this will happen again. And trust me when I say this, it’s very enjoyable watching you squirm… bye now!” 

Ikari walked out.

Izuku slumped to the floor and sobbed uncontrollably. His breathing hitched and he choked on his own spit, desperately trying to massage the migraine that was beginning to form away, but luck was not on his side.

The silence left behind was deafening, filled with agony. His ears were ringing loudly, and even though it had died down a little in the time he sat there and cried, his hearing was still to return to normal. His right ear wasn’t returning to its full original state, while his left ear seemed almost perfectly fine now, minus the throbbing.

It made Izuku feel uneven, broken, and weak.

He sighed, sitting up against the wall.

It was going to be a long day.

“Shouta, that's enough! You need to sleep!” Yamada stressed.

He was no longer in his hero costume, but rather wearing his husband's hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He looked towards Aizawa in concern, who was still in his hero costume himself, slumped over a laptop at the kitchen table.

“I’m fine,” Aizawa countered.

“No, you’re not.”

“‘Zashi–”

“No, I’m not going to watch you ruin yourself like this!” Yamada argued. The blond walked over to the kitchen table, promptly shut his laptop and placed it on a top shelf in the living room, which Aizawa couldn’t reach.

“Hey!” The latter grumbled, annoyed.

“Nope, you need sleep,” Yamada stated, dragging his husband out of his seat, upstairs and finally into bed.

Aizawa was quiet, not wanting to say anything as his mind was running at a million miles an hour.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Midoriya! The boy had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth one day, and no one knew where he went. His students were starting to act as if he never existed, apart from Bakugou, which came as a shock– to everyone, really.

The explosive teenager was more subdued than usual, and every time Midoriya was mentioned he would tense up, refusing to say a word about the green-haired teen. Bakugou would go as far as to defend Midoriya as well, which almost everyone thought was strange, because wasn’t he Midoriya’s most prominent tormentor?

It seemed there was something there under all the anger after all– Aizawa just didn’t know what.

“Shou’, it’s been two months. Even if you start a case now, nothing is going to be done, and you know it.” 

Aizawa grumbled, confirming that he did indeed know that. Quirk discrimination was rampant in society, and quirkless discrimination was the worst of the worst.

“I know– I mean when I put in a missing persons report I had Tsukauchi call me saying it wasn’t going to go through– even though he’s a hero student. They saw the word quirkless and stopped caring about him at all! His mother still hasn’t answered my calls or asked where he was when he didn’t come home from school, which is a child abuse case waiting to happen, or at minimum, child neglect if I’m honest–”

“Love, you’re rambling. I agree with you, but you’re rambling.” Yamada sighed. “It’s been too long since to do anything, now love.”

“I know that.” Aizawa moaned. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it!”

“I know. But still, two months? Shouta, I know you don’t want to hear this, but he’s quirkless– nothing wrong with it, don’t get me wrong… but there’s a very high chance that right now– he isn’t even alive.”

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t get much sleep over the course of… fuck, he didn’t even know how long since the white noise was implemented into their torture scheme.

Whatever reason that was for, it was working. 

Very well.

He could tell he was losing it as the clock ticked on. He’d been rash and impulsive the day of his kidnapping, and while that died down, the final tethers to his calm state of mind were snapping one by one.

He knew he wasn’t going to be saved, by this point. He’d been here too long, and oh Lord had Izuku’s heart absolutely shattered when he finally let go of his hopes of being rescued.

He could see the glint in Ikari’s eyes as Izuku slowly became more and more unhinged, as his reactions to the torture and trauma he was being put through on a near daily basis– he thinks, became even more desperate.

He wanted to be a hero, to save people with a sense of finality and knowing, to be strong for others and make them feel safe.

How could he have let himself become so weak?

Izuku’s breath hitched as he fell into a state of panic, his eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open any longer.

He cried out as the pain started once more– he’d lost count of how many times he had been tortured this way and it was impossible to know how long he had been here, either.

He slammed his head into the back wall, groaning in frustration as Ikari– or Takashira, he didn’t really know who was controlling the speakers, turned the frequency up, the noise becoming shriller and louder, like nails on a chalkboard.

Izuku moaned and stood, staggering around the room as he tried to find the sweet spot in his cell where the noise was the quietest, slamming his entire body with a cry of rage when the noise only got louder.

“FUCK YOU IKARI! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME YOU MOTHERFUCKER! COME FACE ME LIKE A MAN YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!” Izuku cried out.

“YOU LIKE TORTURING KIDS, HUH? COME AND GET ME THEN! JUST MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!”

Upstairs, Ikari and Takashira shared a laugh. 

They’d stop the noise soon– not for good, but they’d give him a break.

Besides, Hiro was breaking. 

It was time for something new.

Aizawa was about to lose his shit at his class.

They were talking about Midoriya again– nothing nice, either. 

What a surprise.

“I don’t miss him, do you?”

“Ha! Of course not!”

“It’s not like he really did anything for us, or even with us, actually.”

“He’s probably jumped off a building by now–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!” Bakugou screamed, popping his quirk twice before Aizawa managed to cancel it out using his own.

“That’s enough– all of you ,” he growled, glaring at the entire class with his quirk still activated.

“ All of us? Come on, teach! Bakugou was the one who started yelling profanities at us–”

“And I’ll do it again, motherfucker!”

“Bakugou, enough. In fact, you can come and see me after class.” Aizawa said, as calmly as possible.

He was seriously about to lose his cool. These kids were being incredibly ignorant, especially when they’d insinuated a classmate of theirs had probably killed themselves . 

“I am disgusted by all of your behaviour– no you all get to zip it! The adult is talking,” he cut into the outbursts threatening to leave the teenagers’ mouths.

He took a deep breath, resting his hands on the desk.

“None of you have heard from Midoriya in the past two and a half months, correct?”

All of the students shook their heads.

“So, none of you know where he is?” Aizawa asked, a hint of a plea leaking into his voice, but he didn’t care. He was desperate for any answers towards where the kid could be, his reputation be damned.

“I mean, if he was missing, wouldn’t there have been a missing persons notice out by now?” Jirou asked.

The class all voiced their agreement until a certain explosive blond shook his head and chuckled, daring to speak.

“Wow, earphones. You all clearly know nothing about how shitty the world is, I’m almost jealous of you extras!” Bakugou laughed, lacking humour.

“What do you mean, Bakugou? We all know about the world and I can assure you, it’s not as bad as you think!” Iida cried out, chopping his arms as he went.

“Oh yeah?” Bakugou challenged, turning towards him. “Did you know that when a quirkless person is reported missing, the police department destroys the report? Did you know that a person is diagnosed as quirkless, like they’re sick, or have a lifelong disease? Have you seen the mortality rate for quirkless people? Have you?” Bakugou raged, seething. 

He was face to face with Iida now, chuckling humourlessly as Iida stuttered out a pathetic ‘no.’

“It’s over 75%. For all quirkless people. According to statistics, Midoriya is one of the very few quirkless teenagers who hasn’t killed himself– that is, if he’s even fucking alive! Have you guys never thought to ask yourselves– ‘Hey, what if while we are shit-talking a missing classmate of ours, he could be dead in a ditch somewhere and nobody would give a flying fuck, all because he has no quirk?”

The class was deathly silent as Bakugou seethed.

“You’re all fucking pathetic,” he finally spat, grabbing his bags and leaving the classroom, slamming the door as hard as he could on the way out.

Aizawa watched him go. There was no point in following him when he clearly needed to be alone and sit by himself for a while– God knows Aizawa himself wanted to do just that– but no. He had a class to teach.

“Sensei! Why didn’t you say anything?” Uraraka cried out, rushing over to Iida who was now deathly pale– like the rest of the class.

“Because Bakugou was telling the truth. I myself reported Midoriya missing, and Detective Tsukauchi– you all met him– had to call me frantically apologising because the report would never go through. It had been destroyed.”

He let the class sit with the fact for a moment before Jirou spoke again.

“But, he’s most likely alive… right? He’s probably at home sulking right now–”

Aizawa had finally snapped.

“ ENOUGH! ”

The class startled, shocked into silence.

“He’s been missing for around two-and-a-half months, maybe longer, maybe less. The point is- forty-eight hours after a person goes missing, the police stop looking for that person and start looking for a body. That is, of course, if the police decide that the individual is actually worth their time and resources.”

The class had become even paler as the reality of the situation started to sink in.

“There is a less than 10% chance that Midoriya is alive, especially after taking into account the sheer amount of suicides reported throughout quirkless kids, not to mention the even higher rate of unreported suicides, because society doesn’t deem those without quirks useful. ”

Every single student looked like they had just seen a thousand ghosts kill their firstborn children.

“Your homework tonight is to write me an essay about quirk discrimination, and how it can affect the victim’s mental and physical health, as well as all the negative connotations that come with discrimination. Now get out of my face, class is dismissed.”

Aizawa sighed as he watched the class leave, and after a few minutes, Bakugou entered.

“Bakugou, I’m surprised you came back,” Aizawa stated, carefully putting very little surprise into his tone, though he knew the teen would see through his mask.

“Yeah yeah, you wanted to see me?”

Oh, yeah. He did.

“Yeah… I wanted to ask you about Midoriya, actually.” He said carefully.

“Why the fuck do you care?” Bakugou was immediately on the defensive, ready to lash out again if Aizawa even dared to say something shitty.

“Because I was– am– his teacher, and you care about him too, don’t even try and lie to me about it either.”

Bakugou closed his mouth that had opened for a retort.

“So what if I do?” He hissed.

“You two had a very… different relationship. In fact, I’ve had multiple teachers come up to me about your change in behaviour towards him, so I wanted to ask what was going on?”

“Nothing has changed, it’s always been… something like this. I’ve… Okay– the two of us grew up in the same neighbourhood, the same schools, the whole fucking lot. We were always together– our parents were friends and we would hang out when they did. And I hate that it took him literally going missing to figure this out– but our upbringings were different– like on the total opposite sides of the spectrum.”

“How so?”

“He’s quirkless. We all know it- that's not the point. the point is... He was beaten and abused and put down if he even took a breath facing the wrong way, whereas I could do whatever the fuck I liked to people- to him- and get away with it. If Aldera hadn’t kept my record clean, I wouldn’t be allowed into any high school in the country, let alone this one . Actually, how did Dek– Midoriya , even get in? I’m pretty sure all of the marks on my records for bullying and shit were put onto his records.” Bakugou said.

“Honestly, it was probably a publicity stunt on Nedzu’s behalf. But we can come back to that later– you were a bully?”

“I don’t think… bully , is the right word for it…” Bakugou said, eyes facing down.

“Then what would you call yourself?”

“An abuser.” 

Bakugou hadn’t even stuttered, which was what shocked Aizawa to his core. But before he could get another word in, the teen was speaking once more.

“It started in middle school when the teachers started really encouraging me to be a hero while putting De– Midoriya down. I’d beat him up, constantly use my quirk on him, it was me who came up with that awful fucking nickname! Mister Aizawa– I told him to ‘ jump off a roof and pray for a quirk in his next life–’ but somehow, he always forgave me! He always knew the adults around me were grooming me to be a hero even though I only just figured that out myself– hell, I didn’t even realise I could’ve gone into other careers with my quirk! I was a bully– an abuser and he still found a million different reasons to forgive me!” Bakugou was openly crying now, slumped down against the wall beside his desk.

He’d started pacing during his rant, slowly losing his mask before it cracked in two and fell to the floor in shattered pieces, just like his broken heart.

“All this time, I was convincing myself that I’d been doing what I was doing because I hated him… but it was because I’d been brainwashed into actually believing them. I was so bad that none of the other kids would even think about touching him because they were all scared of me and he would always forgive me, even though I don’t fucking deserve it!”

Aizawa was in shock. It made sense, an unfortunate amount of sense, but it explained the looks the two of them would give each other when they thought nobody was looking.

“You’ve been trying to tell him you’re sorry wordlessly, haven’t you? I’ve seen you glancing at him when you think no one is watching, you’re trying to say sorry, aren’t you?” Aizawa asked.

“... Yeah? How’d you know?”

“Because Midoriya looked at you similarly, I watched you two do it almost every day. From what I could see… he was trying to tell you it was okay, kid.”

Chapter Text

Izuku was once again being dragged up the stairs by his knees, but he was too tired to fight it.

He was shirtless– again, and Takashira had already forced the boy into a pair of almost skin-tight shorts, meaning Izuku’s beloved vigilante outfit was long gone by now.

“Room Three, this time, Takashira!” Ikari exclaimed happily, the two sharing matching feral grins as Takashira basically sprinted toward their next location.

He could stand, he could fight and push back now that he had finally gotten some sleep, but he was just so fucking tired.

He didn’t see the point in fighting right now– what would come of it? He’d be thrown into a wall, thrown on the floor, who knows at this point? It just wasn’t worth it.

Izuku was thrown into a darker room this time. It wasn’t painted at all, made of concrete and brick with little holes through the walls. It was a concrete box, in short.

“Now, Hiro. Today we have decided to try something new , isn’t that wonderful!” Ikari simpered with a smile, grinning at Izuku’s shaking body on the floor.

“Do you want me to be excited about being tortured? I may be a little fucked in the head, but I’m not that far gone yet,” Izuku sassed.

Ikari chuckled and Izuku hissed, baring his teeth at the scientist before him, which only made the man laugh harder.

“Oh… you’re too good, Hiro. We are going to have so much fun today! You’re incredibly… fiery, shall we say?”

“We decided to let you sleep after that incredibly long week you just had. One whole week without sleep was tough, but now that you’re all rested up we can start the next phase! Isn’t it great? ”

… He’d been awake for a week ? How long has he been here then?

Ikari let out another laugh as Izuku growled once more, walking out the door. Izuku heard three– no, five– bolts locking it shut.

“So you’ve locked me in yet another dingy little prison cell? Man, I am really getting special treatment here, aren’t I?” Izuku called out, standing up and walking around.

With a cry he lunged himself at the locked doors, causing the locks on the flip side to rattle and shake. One, two– seven more times he did this, wincing after every crash as the bruises on his shoulder were further aggravated.

“What is the point of all this? I’m a fucking kid for crying out loud! What’s the goddamn point in torturing the only quirkless kid you could find? My kind is literally going extinct! There is no reason for these tests anymore!” He raged, waving his hands around in anger.

He sniffed, and his eyes blew wide.

Why could he smell smoke? 

What the fuck was happening right now?

Izuku whipped his head around to see what was happening, his eyes watering as the smoke stung his eyes. It was coming from the holes in the walls– what were they doing now?

“Oh yeah, get me to inhale smoke, that’s going to do so much! ” He called out, sarcasm lacing every word.

He sniffed and coughed as he walked around the room, wiping the tears away from his eyes. There was soot covering his hands now… had they started a fire behind the walls? 

What the fuck?

A roar started, the noise coming from behind the walls. It grew in volume very quickly, going from something easily tolerable to almost deafening, causing Izuku to cover his ears harshly and crouch down on the floor.

With a gust of wind and a deafening bang, the room filled with heat, causing Izuku to take a deep breath out of shock– which was a huge mistake. He immediately felt burning through his throat and lungs, causing him to sputter and choke.

It took a couple of seconds for the pain to truly kick in, but when it did? 

He was in agony .

He screamed as the fire licked his skin with an intensity like no other, the dancing flames casting a beautiful glow all around him as it covered his skin like a blanket too warm. He cried out as he melted into the touch of the flame, the toxic embrace trapping him into a world of torment and terror.

With every scream and every cry, his throat burnt more and more.

His tears boiled on his skin as the flames washed over him in waves. He could feel his muscles start to shrink little by little, his skin becoming tight and tearing at the joints as he screams and cries, throwing himself into the walls and the doors in desperate attempts to escape the heat.

He couldn’t breathe.

There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to let him breathe at all. He was inhaling smoke and soot as he choked and cried, droplets of blood forming on the inside of his mouth as he bit down on his cheeks, pain coursing through his body in all-too-familiar torrents.

He cried out in rage and agony still, punching, kicking, and throwing himself into the doors as boiling tears streamed down his face. 

As quickly as it started, it ended. The fire ceased and the only noise left was Izuku’s cries, and the soft whispers of wind as smoke continued to billow out of each and every hole in the wall. 

He stood weakly, not wanting to touch the ground as every burn was raw and painful, every touch sending shockwaves of pain through his body. He could see a spiral of burnt flesh, the smell of his skin cells being burnt to a crisp making him turn around and vomit as he choked.

He leaned against the wall, panting hard, sucking in deep breaths as cool air replaced the soot and smoke previously billowing into the room.

“Well well well… how’d you like the flame, my little pyromaniac?” Ikari simpered. Izuku didn’t know when he got here, he didn’t hear the locks being opened or the door either, when did Ikari get here? Where was Takashira?

“GET FUCKED!” Izuku screamed. He staggered away from the scientist as he hissed, pain flaring across the side of his face, chest, arms, and legs. There were lights being turned on above him now, displaying Izuku’s injuries in harsh white lights.

He was red and swelling, the burnt flesh spiraling across his chest to his shoulders and arms, his legs almost completely burnt. His face was stinging, making Izuku well too aware of the burns there too. He looked down at his injuries, gagging at the sight as blisters began to form around the edges of his burns, black dots from where his skin had simply died due to the heat from the flames.

Ikari laughed and held out his hand, wanting Izuku to take it.

Izuku, on the other hand, growled at the man before him, lunging at him with a cry full of rage that no fourteen-year-old boy should possess in his lifetime, putting his hands around Ikari’s throat.

Takashira took this moment to burst into the room, tasing Izuku as soon as he laid eyes on the feral teenager in front of him. 

Izuku’s muscles stiffened and clenched as he stuttered and choked, falling to the floor and writhing around. Ikari heaved, dusting himself off as the leftover soot from Izuku’s hands now coated his neck and chest.

“You really want to test me? Right now? We could leave and burn you again, how does that sound? Hm?” 

“NO!” Izuku screamed. “NO PLEASE DON’T! I DON’T– I’LL DO ANYTHING!” Izuku cried out, desperately pleading with the scientist before him.

“Anything?” Ikari questioned, almost seductively.

‘YES!” Izuku cried again. He was desperate to never go through that pain ever again.

“Takashira?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Bring him upstairs and tie him to a chair. I think it’s time we… revisit a previous day’s work, what do you think?”

“Absolutely Boss, I’ll get the room ready,” Takashira said with a smile, turning around and briskly walking out the door.

Ikari turned to Izuku, who was shaken to his core. He was groaning with the amount of pain he was in, writhing on the floor as he tried to find an ounce of energy to stand with.

Ikari chuckled to himself.

Oh, how Hiro looked so… pathetic.

Ikari hoisted Izuku up by his neck, hand wrapped tightly around his throat.

“We are going to remind you exactly who you are to us. You’re a tool, something for us to test and experiment with– a freak. You aren’t human, not anymore. Our results have been great, you have made them great, but do not believe for a second that you are of any worth to the two of us. Got it?” Ikari growled, glaring at the teen he was holding.

“Damn…” Izuku managed to choke. “Your girlfriends must… have loathed you…” 

Ikari growled and threw the injured teen into the wall, kicking him over and over as soon as he fell to the floor. Izuku grunted with every kick, crying out as he heard and felt his rib snap under the pressure of Ikari’s boots. 

He turned to his back, and Ikari took the opportunity to stand on Izuku’s head, pushing his burnt face to the floor.

“You fucking brat. If you behave, we’ll cut the beating short, but the way you’re going… we’ll double it. ”

With that, Ikari picked Izuku up once more and started dragging him towards the room Izuku first came to consciousness in.

Deja vu, much?

Chapter Text

“TELL ME ABOUT UA!” Ikari cried, slamming his fist into Izuku’s jaw for the fifth time that night. He’d heard it crack at least once now, so that was fantastic.

Oh yeah, they found out he went to UA. How? Simple. He’s a dumbass, and let slip that Nedzu was a terrible principal, and they figured it out from there.

“What you two want is secrets. The only secrets I know are stupid things about those fucking teachers! Do you want an example, or should I keep my mouth shut?” He asked.

Ikari’s hand wrapped around his neck.

“Spit it out now or so help me God–”

“Jeez alright! Well… oh! They make seating charts based on which kids they think like each other, and they shit-talk students with each other in the teacher's lounge– I once heard two of them argue over a cup of coffee once!” Izuku cheered, grinning up at Ikari and Takashira proudly, hiding the agony he was in near expertly.

Ikari groaned in frustration, letting Izuku go as he ripped at his hair and paced around the room. Takashira was holding in his laughter in the corner while Ikari raged, and Izuku sent him a smirk.

“What do you know about the security there? The teachers' lives? Anything– anything useful!” Ikari asked. He was shaking with anger now, and Izuku gagged as a bit of drool escaped the corner of his mouth.

“Now tell me why you believe UA would tell a student anything like that?” Izuku asked, shrinking back as Ikari stalked forward. “I was a student– fuck you, actually, I’m a drop-out! Why the fuck would I know anything about that goddamned school?” He asked, incredulous.

Ikari screamed, frustrated out of his mind, and punched Izuku in the face again, hard enough to topple the chair Izuku was sitting in and send him falling ungracefully to the floor. 

“What made UA so bad that you had to drop out?” Takashira asked from across the room.

Ikari whipped his head toward his… lab partner? So fast that Izuku swore it should’ve snapped in two. 

“Yes, YES! Takashira you’re a genius– Hiro!” Ikari fretted. “Tell me right now why you left UA! We might just reward you if you answer!”

…Tempting.

“Oh? And what’s this reward that I get?” He asked innocently. “I want to know if you’re worth it. ” He growled.

Ikari picked the boy up off the floor, sitting him upright and patting his shoulders, causing the teen to hiss as the scientist aggravated his wounds.

“We cut the beating short. All you have to do is–”

“Sit here and look pretty?”

“BEHAVE!” Ikari roared, kicking Izuku square in the chest.

Izuku cried out as he felt another one of his ribs crack, his back and chest immediately beginning to swell even more as the pain ricocheted through his body.

“YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD!” Izuku cried out, faking a tear.

“Oh, you’re such a fucking BRAT!” Ikari cried, punching Izuku in the nose, breaking it. 

“Oh, grow up you fucking man-child! ”

“TELL ME WHY YOU LEFT UA!”

“I WILL! ” Izuku cried, silencing the room. 

“Yes, yes! Tell me!” Ikari begged.

“If–” Izuku started. “And only if– you tell me your quirks. The both of you.”

A hard bargain. Izuku knew virtually nothing about these guys, apart from their names, and the fact they were psychotic scientists. He wanted to know more.

“Boss?” Takashira asked, after about five minutes of Ikari silently pacing.

“Fine… yes we must. Alright! We will tell you our quirks… Takashira, you first.”

Izuku couldn’t believe his luck! They fell for his trap– he played them like a fucking fiddle! They were cracking, more than Izuku was… his sarcasm was truly coming in handy, it made them weak, unsure what to do as every attempt at causing him to split failed.

“My quirk… is weak. Useless, in fact. I can change my eye colour at will.” Takashira said with eyes pointed to the floor.

“And my quirk is called ‘Lighter’. I can light any material I want to on fire!” Ikari told Izuku with a feral grin. “I can also extinguish it whenever I please… that part is very useful…”

Izuku paused, looking at the feral scientist before him.

“Why the fuck didn’t you become a hero, you absolute idiot?” he questioned.

“W– what?” Ikari stuttered, taken aback.

“If you can light any material on fire– and extinguish it at will – without needing any outside influence, you could easily set a villain's clothes or weapons on fire to distract them, and then extinguish the flame as soon as you capture them! You could easily learn how to control the range where the fire is going as well as the temperature of the flame – if you actually learn to put effort into something for once in your sorry life.”

“Nobody has ever told me I could be a hero before…” He muttered.

“I’m a firm believer in ‘the quirk doesn’t make the hero.’” Izuku said confidently.

“Oh really?” Ikari said, looking Izuku dead on.

“Yeah. And the two of you? You are the most villainous people I have ever fucking met.”

Ikari lost it.

He ran at Izuku with a vengeance, punching and kicking wherever he could as Izuku cried out, flinching as Takashira moved out of his line of sight.

Ikari kept beating him, getting his ribs, face, chest, legs, arms– everywhere. Izuku was sobbing on the floor as the ties around his wrist cut deeply into his burnt wrists, rubbing off the little amount of skin he had left and drawing blood, spreading it across the make-shift cuffs.

Ikari was handed a knife, and the beating stopped in favour of him grabbing Izuku’s face, and holding the knife up for the teenager to see.

“We told you what you wanted… Now you tell us what we want! WHY DID YOU LEAVE UA!” Ikari cried, grabbing Izuku’s face tighter and shaking it.

“TAKE A WILD GUESS MOTHERFUCKER!” He cried, before screaming as the knife pressed into his forehead, traveling down his face and through his left eye. 

Izuku kicked and screamed as the blade made contact with the underside of his eye, pulling at the skin and slicing it open. Blood poured out of the wound, giving the illusion he was crying tears of blood.

“TELL ME!” Ikari screamed.

“They were just like middle school,” Izuku whispered bitterly, the pain throughout his body and mind not letting him speak any louder as the pain from his new wounds and aging burns wreaked havoc on his mind.

“Come again, little Hiro?”

“I said, they were Just like MIDDLE SCHOOL! FULL OF BIGOTS AND KIDS TELLING ME TO KILL MYSELF!” Izuku screamed, tears gushing down his face. “ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW?” He cried, sobbing at the painful memories of classmates he thought were his friends telling him to overdose, and teachers calling him weak and useless.

“Takashira, do it,” Ikari whispered.

“You want to break me?” Izuku growled, hissing as a needle was pricked into his neck. “Good luck! Because I’ve been… broken… all my… life…” Izuku’s voice went from strong and confident, to a weak whimper and then a whisper, until he passed out on his seat, his head slumping forward as the wound in his eye left blood dripping on the floor.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Ikari and Takashira were silent.

They were trying to make the boy break… but how can you break something that’s already broken?

Chapter Text

Aizawa prefers to zone out of all conversations in the staff room. From Hizashi’s general loudness to Nemuri’s flirtatious demeanour, he hates being there and avoids it whenever possible. Most of the other teachers are… okay if he had to judge, but he’d rather be asleep than chatting with all of his coworkers.

Until today.

“I’m sure the boy is fine. What harm would come of a quirkless anyway? They don’t do much in society– he’ll be left to his own devices, I’m sure!”

The room goes silent as All Might– No, Yagi– finishes speaking. All eyes turn to Aizawa, a deathly glare fixed on his face aimed right at the blond buffoon in front of him.

“... What?”  

“Oh, Young Aizawa! I didn’t realise you were here… ha, you’re usually so quiet!” Yagi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, flinching as Aizawa shifted his weight to face directly toward the Number One Hero.

Yagi chose the worst time to be a bigot, and Aizawa was going to milk it for as long as possible. 

He stayed silent, choosing to look the blond man in the eyes as he stretched the silence past a comfortable point, enjoying the sight of the hero squirming in his seat; clearly uncomfortable.

“You’re such an ignorant dumbass, Yagi.” Aizawa may have sounded calm, but he was anything but. Everyone around him inched their way away from him as they felt the pure rage simmering off of him in ripples; a volcano ready to explode.

“Aizawa! I assure you–”

“No, no. I know I’m right. You think Midoriya will simply be… left alone? ” He growled.

“Well, a quirkless usually isn’t going to contribute much in–”

The nerve of this dumb motherfucker.

“ Enough with the quirkism already!” Aizawa all but shouted, cutting the man off. “He won’t be left alone– he’ll be targeted you fucking twat! It’s been three-and-a-half months! There's an almost 100% chance that my student is dead in a ditch somewhere, and you think he’s fine?”  

“Young Aizawa–”

“Stop calling me young, save it for the students,” he scoffed.

“Right. Aizawa, then.” Yagi took a shaking breath. 

Most of the teachers had moved towards their own separate sports in the room, giving Aizawa and Yagi as much space as possible. They were ignoring Yagi in favour of watching the underground hero glaring at Mr. Number One himself.

Yamada smirked at the sight. He was so going to buy his husband another cat for the quality entertainment this was providing.

“Midoriya’s weak. He’s replaceable– nobody will ever notice him on the streets! He’s useless in society and–” Aizawa cut off the man’s rambling with a sharp crack, punching him as hard as he could across the face.

Blood spurted out of the blond’s now broken nose as he coughed, deflating into his skinny form and choking on blood. 

Aizawa wiped the blood off his knuckles in disgust.

“You… God you should be fucking ashamed of yourself. Talking about a student– a HUMAN BEING like that?” Aizawa was seething, seeing red as the man before him began to shake in fear. 

“How on earth did you become a hero?”

“Shou’, let’s–” Yamada cut in, now worried.

He was still getting that cat, though.

“No, ‘Zashi. I’m sick and tired of everyone treating the poor boy like he’s a screwed-up bit of rubbish on the sidewalk! He used to sit outside the staffroom every day at lunch so students would be too scared to harass him– he heard everything you all said about him too.”

The silence that followed could not have been louder if they tried. 

Every teacher bowed their heads in shame, Hizashi looking at his husband with understanding, concern, and a little awe.

“In fact, you should all be fucking ashamed of yourselves! You call yourselves heroes? Really? Get your quirkism in check and maybe then you’ll be worthy of the title.” 

Aizawa swiftly turned and left, a slam of the door being heard before arguments started, the teachers going for each other's throats blaming him and her and this and that– it didn’t matter to him at all.

What actually mattered was that his– the kid was back home, safe.

He sighed, walking straight into a student as he numbly walked away from the teacher's lounge door.

‘Sorry, kid– Bakugou?”

“Hey,” the teen replied gruffly, looking down.

“... How much of that did you hear?” Aizawa asked. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hoping to God that Bakugou replies with–

“All of it.”

… Anything but that.

“Shit… I’m–”

“Aizawa Sensei?”

The hero whips his head up enough to look the teenager in the eyes, mentally aware of the fact that Bakugou is almost taller than him now.

“Yeah? What do you need, Bakugou?”

“Thank you, for sticking up for him… no one has ever done that before.”

And if that didn’t just tug at Aizawa’s heartstrings in the most painful directions. He could feel his heart shattering for the kid– for both of them– as Bakugou looked at the man with a sincere, but small smile.

“Of course, kid.”

“Yeah… I just wanted to say thanks anyways… God, I really hope he’s okay,” Bakugou whispered at the end, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah, me too, kid. Me too.”

Izuku was not okay.

He was confused and disoriented, having woken up in his cellar with every limb throbbing– yet he was covered in bandages.

Still shirtless, but the point still stood.

His arms, chest, and legs were neatly wrapped with medical gauze, weep and blood seeping through the bandages.

He remembered being injected with… something that made him pass out, after throwing insults toward Ikari and Takashira when they were ‘questioning him.’ 

They didn’t do a very good job at it, to be fair. Ikari lost his marbles quicker than Izuku did– but that made him dangerous. He’s still dangerous now. Who knows how long the man will be able to keep a level head? 

Izuku wasn’t overly willing to find out, either.

While Izuku was beginning to fray at the edges and his sense of self was starting to crack, Ikari was splitting into two, breaking into so many pieces he became unhinged and unpredictable.

Putting bandages over his burns? Weird as fuck.

Giving him what he now knows are fire-proof pants? Hey, at least Izuku was given some modesty as he was literally burnt alive. 

How he didn’t die was a very good question though. The lack of oxygen, the number of chemicals in the air, the soot and the sheer heat of the flames should have killed him, yet here he was, standing and walking around in his cell, alive.

Back and forth he went, thinking over every event that transpired while trapped in this building, and what he knew.

He knew their names and their quirks. That’s enough information for the police to identify more about their persons– if they got a tip-off, that is. And Izuku wasn’t dumb. He knew that there was an almost one-hundred-percent chance he wasn’t making it out of there alive.

He needed a plan.

Lay low.

Don’t let Takashira and Ikari know what he was thinking.

Deflect all the questions he could– if they started asking again.

Do what they asked him to– with a fair bit of complaining– so they didn’t see through the facade.

Act broken.

Well, that last one would be easy, because he already was.

Broken, that is.

All those years when he had been abused, manipulated, bullied, and put down were pushing him closer and closer to the edge as the slurs and derogatory names stuck in his head like a virus, spreading throughout his body and weakening him.

Ikari and Takashira may have broken him physically, but he was not broken mentally… yet. He still had some kicks left, but how long was that going to last? 

It was only a matter of time before everything that happened to him came crashing down with an unbearable force, pushing him so far underground that he would have too little strength to climb back out again.

He could feel himself starting to fall, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Chapter Text

“Oh little Hiro!” Ikari purred, happily walking down the hallway towards his cellar.

Izuku bit back a groan. He didn’t want to have to put up with these fuckers right now! Every limb was stinging and throbbing– he was in the middle of finding out what was injured permanently and what wasn’t!

After another round of white noise the previous time he tried to sleep, his right ear kept ringing, even after it had gone quiet once more. 

It never stopped, and it never fully healed. 

He most likely had a form of tinnitus, or he was going deaf in one ear. Neither of these were pleasant theories, but they were the most likely. 

His shoulder was dislocated more often than not now, constantly aching with chronic pains that never seemed to go away.

And– oh yeah! 

His left eye was permanently blurry, filled with an imaginary tear that made it difficult to see. 

There used to be puddles on the floor in his cellar after Ikari threw his only glass of water on the floor when Izuku decided to be a ‘cheeky little bitch’, and he saw that the once emerald-green eye had become a light, dull, grey-green colour, devoid of any light.

“Come on Hiro! It’s time to play!” Ikari cried from outside his cellar. “Let’s go have some fun!”

Izuku growled, throwing himself into the bars with a string of curses aimed towards the crazy bitch before him.

“Oh… you’re breaking, aren’t you? This is just adorable!”

Ikari opened the doors right as Izuku was running into it, causing the boy to fall ungraciously on his side, where Ikari stomped on his head, keeping him down.

“Room Five again, Takashira!”

Fuck.

Oh FUCK!

Izuku remembered Room Five all too well, the electrocution and blood tests, the jerks and the tears– all of it.

He thought that was over!

“No… no no NO!” The teen cried as he was dragged through the hallways on his back.

“Why yes, my little vigilante. We have more tests to run… and questions we want to be answered. You are the key to us getting what we want!” Ikari smiled at the teenager on the floor now, before picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

“NO! NO– PLEASE!”

Izuku kicked, punched, screamed and yelled as he was brought up the stairs and thrown into Room Five, forced onto the bed and tied down once more.

“Why… why are you doing this?” He cried out, teeth clenching in anticipation, fangs digging into well-worn lips.

“We want answers, kid, how many times do I have to say that?  You somehow still haven’t broken, and I want to know exactly why and how .”

Izuku’s breath began to pick up in pace, his heartbeat quickening as Takashira placed the stickers all over his body. His eyes flitted between the two men in the room, trying to see what the both of them were doing, to no avail– he was clueless. All he knew was that he was about to be electrocuted.

He’d discovered the second time that these sent the electricity from the machine to his body, and he’d geek out over the mechanics of it all if it wasn’t used as a fucking torture device. No less on him.

“Takashira, put it at the highest intensity, please.”

“But Boss! That could kill him! We… we can’t get conclusive answers if the boy is dead.” Takashira stressed. 

Was he… helping Izuku?

Izuku frowned, confused at what the scientist was doing.

“I want answers just as much as you do Boss… but he’s useless if he’s fucking dead! It would be a waste of material if he died on us now! We’ve come so far, come on Boss.”

Never mind. He just wants answers.

And here was Izuku thinking he was going to be nice to him!

“Yes… Yes, you’re right. Put it low enough that Hiro here won’t die, but high enough that we get new answers… who knows? Maybe we will finally be able to see some more… permanent side effects.” Ikari said with a grin, turning around.

Izuku saw Takashira nod and gulped.

“No.. no STOP IT! STOP PLEASE–”

Izuku’s pleas and cries were cut off as Takashira turned on the machine, pain beginning to flare through Izuku’s every limb.

His back arched as the boy writhed, crying out as the pain grew and grew in intensity. His body tingled as he twitched, sweat rolling down his face as his muscles tensed; Izuku jerked around in the bed.

This lasted for what felt like hours, but in reality, was only around fifteen minutes. Izuku’s throat was scratchy and dry, his voice hoarse from the effort of screaming out his curses and agony.

“Give me your arm Hiro… yes, that’s it, thank you, my boy!” 

Izuku was fleetingly reminded of All Might, and he flinched at the memory.

His hands were twitching still, even as he was carried into what he’s dubbed ‘the beating room’, which was most likely just the main entrance. He was tied up again, tighter than the first two times, the rope digging into his bandages and rubbing uncomfortably.

“Now, young Hiro–” 

Izuku was once again reminded of All Might, and he once again flinched.

“We know your vigilante name, your quirk status, your age– fourteen is quite young, no? However! We don’t know who you are. ” Ikari paused.

He got right in Izuku’s face, breathing in deeply. Izuku cringed, leaning away from the man in disgust.

“What. Is. Your. Name? ” Ikari growled. 

Izuku scoffed.

“You seriously think I’m going to tell you my name? Is my alias not enough for your greedy ass?”

Izuku was knocked backwards as Ikari punched him across the face. Blood poured from his nose and Izuku winced. He was going to have to reset that later, again. His nose would be permanently crooked at this rate.

“Don’t play games with me, boy. We gave you our names–”

“And who’s fault was that? It certainly wasn’t mine, so that leaves… Oh! You!” Izuku smirked playfully at the man in front of him, watching as the blood rushed to Ikari’s face in anger. 

“TELL ME YOUR FUCKING NAME!” Ikari cried, kicking Izuku as hard as he could in his chest, cracking yet another rib. Izuku let out a cry as his head crashed onto the floor, blinding him as stars blurred his vision.

“NEVER!” 

With an angry cry, Ikari picked the teenager up by his neck– still attached to the chair– and threw him into the wall. The chair splintered and broke, falling onto the floor, and cracked in half. Ikari was desperate, pulling on strings now as he tried to get Izuku to answer him.

“WHAT–” Izuku was slammed backwards into the wall.

“IS–” Again.

“YOUR–” Back into the wall Izuku goes!

“FUCKING–” Izuku felt his head crack with this one, he could feel the back of his skull split open and the blood start to roll down the back of his neck.

“ NAME!” Ikari threw him into the wall and finally let go. 

Izuku slid down to the floor with a deep inhale, raspy from the lack of oxygen as Ikari’s hands were around his neck. He bit back a sob as his head body pounded and throbbed, every part of his body flaring with pain from the remnants of his previous torture.

“ Go fuck yourself!” Izuku spat.

“I hope you remember my quirk, little vigilante! It’s time you learnt exactly how it works!” Ikari sneered with a feral grin.

Izuku’s eyes blew wide, because oh shit this could not be happening!

Ikari sauntered forward, laughing as Izuku scrambled on the floor in a desperate attempt to escape the fiery scientist.

As soon as Ikari put his hand down on Izuku’s shoulder, the boy froze, before groaning out in pain as his chest and arms burst into flames. They licked his limbs with seductive beauty, eager to cover more ground as his groans turned into guttural screams of pain and agony.

“STOP! PLEASE MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!” 

“THEN TELL ME YOUR NAME!” Ikari was hysterically laughing now, eyes manic and wide as he gleefully watched the bandages burn off the boy's chest and arms, the charred remains falling to the floor in a graceful manner.

“ FUCK YOU!”

“Keep it up! I can do this until you take your final breath.” Ikari growled.

Ikari spread the flames, now crawling up his neck to the side of his face, hungry heat savouring every inch of skin on the surface it covered. Izuku cried as his tears and sweat mixed with fire, reaching a boiling temperature as the liquid sizzled on his skin.

“MIDORIYA!” Izuku cried.

With a click of Ikari’s fingers, the pain stopped. Izuku heaved, swallowing the bile that threatened to spill.

“My name… is… Izuku Midoriya…”

Izuku’s vision swam around in circles. He was red, raw and bleeding, the bandages having burnt into his skin and his skin then burnt away. Black spots of charred flesh and exposed muscle danced around the edges of spiralled wounds.

Ikari and Takashira were both shocked into silence, clearly surprised the boy actually gave them his name.

As Izuku fell into unconsciousness, all he could think about was that the real shock would come sooner, rather than later.

Chapter Text

Izuku groaned in frustration as his hands twitched.

He’d woken up from the sound of the white noise once more, only this time his right ear was completely unaffected, while his left got the brunt of the pain, sending shock waves through his head that had him crashing into the walls in shock. 

He was officially deaf in one ear.

Joy.

He looked at his hands, vision still blurry in his eye though marginally better than what it was before. It was healing, thank God, but he didn’t think it would get much better from here. 

As for his hands, they were still twitching, pale and long as they moved against Izuku’s will.

He had once again woken up still shirtless and covered in bandages. It was like Ikari wanted to play nice, to trick Izuku into thinking he would be treated properly and with love while they experimented on him for their own sick pleasure. 

He despised it.

He hated the way his lack of hearing on his right made him feel lopsided and uneven, the way his eye was permanently blurry, and the way his hands would not stop twitching!

Izuku slammed his hands into the wall in frustration, groaning when a small shockwave of pain flared up his wrists. His hands continued to twitch, mocking him.

Nerve damage then. 

Izuku paced, up and down, and up and down he wandered as the silence became too much to handle. If Ikari and Takashira kept this up, he was going to die. It was funny, how easily that conclusion sat with him in his mind. 

He’d grown up idolizing death to the point the sheer idea of dying didn’t faze him anymore. It was familiar, something he could cling to in the darkest of times, an idea to fall back on if his life turned to shit.

He was at peace with the idea of dying, but he wanted to prove them wrong. To show Takashira and Ikari that he would not break, he would survive the torture they inflicted on him at their pleasure and be free from the pain they caused.

He left the warm embrace of death behind and focused on the present.

They hadn’t fed him in what felt like forever, his stomach constantly rumbling as it yearned for the food he would never receive. He had become skin, bones, and muscle. There was very little fat left on his body now, all burnt off via sweat, starvation, and his ability to fight. 

Izuku needed a plan, and now. 

He’d think of something… right?

Make them think they broke him… catch them by surprise.

They had always seemed to love surprises.

“Takashira?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“How much longer do you think it will be until the boy breaks?” 

Ikari was curious. They were getting somewhere, he knew it. If the boy stayed strong, he would never have told them his name… yes, he was breaking. Ikari could see the frayed edges with his very eyes, beautiful shreds of happiness and hope long gone, leaving behind an empty space of agony and despair.

‘I… I really don’t know. He seems to be getting weaker… but that boy? He has a strength I would never have imagined from him.” Takashira replied.

“You may be right, but surely you can see it! He’s falling apart at the seams, Takashira! He flinches at our very presence, using sarcasm and cheek to trick us into thinking he is strong– a hero! We are breaking him, Takashira, can’t you see?”

Takashira was silent. Ikari was right, to a certain degree. 

Yes, the boy was falling apart at the edges, but his ‘edge’ was a mask. Hiro showed incredible strength, he was alive, after all. Their past subjects had barely lasted two weeks– if that. This boy had lasted much longer and still kept up his front, his witty personality filled to the brim with sarcasm and insults used as a defense mechanism.

“I… I think he’s desperate, to tell you the truth.” He said instead.

“Interesting… Well? Go on. I want to hear your thoughts.”

Takashira took a shaky breath.

“He’s… he’s desperate to prove something, I think. His sarcasm has only gotten heavier and he’s learnt to go with whatever we say– though he does complain about it too much for my liking.”

“What are you implying, Takashira?” Ikari asked in a low voice. He didn’t like where this was going, not one bit.

“Well– I… He’s not going to break Boss, at least not yet, nor how you think he will. You believe he will become submissive and weak, no?” With a nod of confirmation from Ikari, Takashira continued.

“He will break. But when he does? That boy will be strong, fierce, and uncontrollable– feral even. He’s got the muscle, the strength, and the mind games perfected. All the boy needs is the cherry on top to really push him off the edge, and when he finally falls?”

Takashira took another shaky breath.

“Well… we’ll be fucked.”

Aizawa’s patrol was a quiet one.

He kept an eye out for Midoriya– just like he did every night.

His patrol route had grown in size since the boy first went missing all those weeks ago, consequently meaning the tired hero left one hour earlier for patrol, and returned one hour later.

He sighed, sitting on a roof for his well-earned break.

He hated to admit it, but he missed the kid. He had never missed a student before, nor had he ever held quite the soft spot like he had Midoriya. He was a ray of sunshine in his classroom, with happy smiles and a cheerful attitude, it didn’t matter if it was fake or not– Aizawa could see straight through that boy's mask whether Midoriya knew it or not.

He had the most potential out of all of them, the most drive and he held the highest amount of desperate determination the man had ever seen in a teenager before. It was exhilarating to watch, Aizawa could rarely look away when the boy trained alone. He had been improving faster than all of the first-year hero students combined. 

Hell, the boy could probably win a quirkless spar with the second years and barely break a sweat!

Aizawa smiled at the memories.

He thought about his class now, how Bakugou was protective of the missing teen against a class full of bigots– though they were getting better now.

It took a long time, but most of his students had the sense knocked into them one way or another.

It took many quirkless sparring lessons, in which Bakugou took to like a fish to water– surprising everyone– for the class to realise exactly how wrong their beliefs were. Soon enough, the class slowly began to realise exactly how strong Midoriya was, and though the prejudiced ideals were still on the tips of their tongues, they could just barely identify exactly how strong he really was.

It would be a long and hard road to take to really knock the ignorance out of those stubborn teenagers, but he would do it anyway.

For his kid.

Chapter Text

Izuku was holding his breath, wringing his hands together in nervous anticipation as his eyes flitted from wall to wall in manic desperation.

He knew there were cameras hidden in the walls somewhere; Ikari wouldn’t have left him unattended in a poorly locked room without having anything to watch him with! He’d found them ages ago, both cameras sitting in the far corner, facing toward opposite sides of the cell. The red, blinking light taunted him as the teenager paced from corner to corner, walking around and around as he desperately tried to burn off the excess energy and adrenaline. 

Every so often he would look straight into the lens and smile, a big, toothy smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Or he would just stare at it for as long as he felt like it, not blinking. That was always the best one, and judging by Takashira’s hesitance around him after he pulled this trick, Izuku would say it worked very well.

He continued to pace as he tried to swallow his fear. He felt like he would throw up out of anxiety any minute now, the twitching in his hands worsening as he willed himself to be cool, calm, and collected.

Back, and forth.

Back, and forth.

Back, and forth.

He’d finalized his plan as he was refused sleep, his delusional mind frantically coming up with the most intricate plan he’d ever managed to formulate.

He was going to escape today.

Ikari and Takashira had left him alone for a long while now, not letting him sleep for the entire time. They had decided that he didn’t need as much water anymore, instead choosing to throw buckets of water over his slim form, soaking the bloody bandages around his body. 

They gave him half a cup every so often if only to laugh in his face when his voice continued to scratch.

He shook his head and laughed, looking into the cameras and grinning.

Ikari thought he was about to break? The man could not be more wrong! He’s been broken for a while– ever since he was diagnosed quirkless, in fact– and the torture he went through had only sent him teetering over the edge after the first few electrocutions. 

He’d been looking for ways out ever since he got here, subtly looking through every hallway and open door when they changed his location for their ‘experiments’, memorizing the number of turns he took and which ways to go as they brought him into the main room to be beaten.

It was about time, too.

He’d been here for God knows how long without a proper plan of escape, but now that he had one that he would actually follow through and complete even if it killed him?

He would be free once more.

That is… if he survived.

The plan was dark, gory, and gruesome. If a hero found out what he had to do to escape… Ugh, he didn’t even want to know. It would happen eventually, he was sure of it, but that was a future Izuku problem.

The present Izuku problem was to get out of there alive.

Izuku sensed Ikari and Takashira walking through the halls, having memorized their foot patterns based on their weights and movements.

He grinned, putting his plan into motion.

As soon as they came into view, he locked eyes with them, throwing himself into the steel bars and shaking them roughly. Over and over again he threw himself into those bars, cursing at the two scientists all the while.

“Oh… Izuku! You look rather distressed, I must say.”

“ Do not fucking call me that again, ” Izuku growled. “My name– to you assholes– is HIRO!”

With the scream of his alias, he threw himself into the bars again and hissed at the two men before him. He was struggling to hold in his laughter, that much was certain.

It wasn’t hard to act that crazy… the only faked parts were the over-exaggerated movements as he threw himself into the bars.

The rest? That was all him.

“I told you, Takashira. We are breaking him!”

“Yes, Boss…” Takashira whispered. He looked to Izuku now, a sort of hopelessness in his eyes as he glanced toward Ikari, and then Izuku once more, before his eyes dropped to the floor in shame.

Izuku snorted– if you were going to be ashamed of your actions, don’t torture people!

Ikari opened the doors and grabbed Izuku by his hair.

“Come on, boy! We are going to have so much fun today… I’m thinking we up the ante of electricity… and wait until you pass out! That way, you won’t have to deal with as much of the aftermath, and we get the answers we want! How does that sound, Izuku?” He purred.

“DON’T CALL ME IZUKU!” He screamed, punching Ikari right across the face. He laughed as Ikari stumbled back, falling into Takashira’s arms.

“Aw, look! You have your knight in shining armour ready to catch you! Man, that is just too cute!”

Ikari growled; “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

“I know, it would keep me awake at night if you fuckers actually let me sleep!” Izuku grinned.

Takashira gulped– he was seeing right through Izuku’s cocky facade, able to tell the teenager was planning something.

“What’s the matter, Takashira? Are you scared of little ol’ me?”

“N– No. Of course not.” He replied. Izuku chuckled, amused.

“God, you really are a terrible liar.”

Ikari grabbed Izuku’s hair once more, throwing his face into the wall three times, pulling him back to look Ikari in the eyes.

“You… you are coming with me. And I will be showing you NO MERCY!”

Izuku nodded, eyes going wide. 

He was genuinely nervous now– what if his plan failed? He’d be begging to be killed… 

No. 

The plan would work, it had to. There was no other option left to try.

Izuku let himself be dragged upstairs, memorising the route he went. They passed the main room, and he saw it– the way out. 

The door was opened only a crack and Izuku saw a long hallway, with another door at the end of it. Through the window, he saw a lounge room that looked normal, and a front door that looked normal, everything about that one room seemed completely normal to him.

He had his way out.

Two lefts.

A right.

Another left.

They made it to Room Five– the electrocution room.

He’d have to take two rights, a left and another right to make it to the main room, and from there he’d be playing the guessing game.

“Takashira, get the boy ready, please.”

Izuku was let go and Ikari turned around. 

Luck was working in Izuku’s favour, because Takashira left the room, muttering his apologies, saying he had broken a needle. As soon as the scientist had left the room Izuku saw it.

A knife.

 It looked clean, newly sharpened and strong. 

It was perfect.

He inched towards the table it sat on– thankfully close to the bed– and grabbed it, gripping it in his hand and holding it down by his thigh. 

He was shaking uncontrollably, anticipation and adrenaline coursing through his body like rapid waves, and Izuku willed himself to stop shaking and took a deep breath.

Now was his only chance.

He had to.

He was a broken, traumatized boy who wanted nothing more than to sit on a rooftop with a drink and maybe a cigarette if he felt like picking up that habit again.

But most importantly, he would be alone and free. Broken out of the chains these monsters had wrapped him in, he would be free to sing and dance and run for however long he wanted to. It was simple, in the end.

He wanted to be free.

And Izuku would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Izuku took a deep breath, shaking out his hands and tapping his feet on the cold floor of the room.

He was ready.

He clutched the knife he had found harder, and silently moved towards Ikari, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He only had to stall for a second, as Ikari then turned around.

“Now, Izuku. We will–” Ikari looked up and gasped.

Izuku was glaring at him with a ferocious look in his eyes paired with the deadliest expression of anger. He was intimidating, so much so that Ikari hadn’t noticed the knife until it was far too late.

With a cry full of rage, Izuku plunged his arm down with all the strength he could manage to wrangle out of his exhaustion-ridden body.

Izuku barely even flinched as the knife went through Ikari’s skull, grinding against the bone and cracking it as blood exploded out of the wound, spraying Izuku’s face and arm with sickly red as he felt Ikari’s brain be sliced open, the squelch loud and clear.

Ikari screamed in agony as Izuku joined him in his cries, the teenager’s voice full of sorrow and fury as he pulled the knife out of the man’s head, and back in again. 

And again.

And again.

Izuku was covered in the splatters of Ikari’s blood, panting heavily as the man slumped to the floor writhing and moaning, blood pooling out of his head and staining the floor as the man slowly died, while Izuku breathed.

Ikari turned on his back and looked in the blood-covered teenager in the eyes.

“I– Izuku…”

Izuku flinched, rage filling his body once more as he crouched to the floor, his face now directly over Ikari’s.

“Izuku… Izuku please!" Ikari moaned, his final words echoing through the room, a shudder going down Izuku's spine.

More blood flew into Izuku’s face, covering his entire body with small droplets of crimson as Izuku slit the scientist’s throat, making sure the man had actually died.

“ I told you not to call me that, ” Izuku growled.

He was covered in the sickly shade of crimson, his hair sticking to his forehead and his bandages soggy, shaking uncontrollably and gripping the knife in his blood-soaked hand like it was a lifeline. 

He needed to leave, now.

Without thinking for another second, the boy burst out the door and made a run for it. He was lost, taking a wrong turn somewhere along the lines, but he kept on running. He was dazed and confused, running wherever in manic desperation he could as he tried to find the main room. 

Running into a corridor with a dead end, Izuku saw red from the corner of his eyes.

His shoes! 

He ran and put them on, panting as he fumbled with the laces before ultimately giving up, choosing to run as far away as possible. He was unaware that he was leaving a trail of Ikari’s blood behind him that was dripping out of his hair slowly, and he shuddered. He was further unaware of a man behind him, slowly moving around him and moving into another room, taking a shortcut to where Izuku needed to go.

Ikari’s blood was rolling down his face and arms as he ran, staining his skin red– a temporary reminder of his sins.

He threw the next door open, running head-first into a body. 

Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him around and into their chest as he screamed and sobbed, kicking and clawing at the arms that were dragging him backward.

“Stop fucking struggling, you stupid boy!”

It was Takashira.

“What have you done? ” The scientist gasped in shock, freezing for a moment before his movements became stronger, more controlled.

The scientist had noticed the boy was covered in blood, believing it to be his own until he caught a glimpse of something shiny… the knife.

“LET GO OF ME YOU FUCKING PERVERT!” Izuku screamed, still kicking. “LET ME GO! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Takashira’s grip only tightened as he wrestled with the teenager, trying to get the knife out of his grip.

Izuku was hyperventilating, kicking and screaming as he desperately tried to free himself of the man’s grasp. His arms weren’t long enough to do any damage, his legs putting in the effort to stay planted on the floor as the man had his arms around Izuku’s chest, dragging him backward.

Surely there was something he could do?

…The realisation came to Izuku in a way that made him feel so incredibly idiotic.

The teenager fought harder as his plan formed in his mind, crying out as the man dislocated his shoulder once more, acting out as he felt the bone misplace, but there was no pain.

He wanted to trick Takashira… this had to work.

Izuku took a breath and bit the man's arm with as much force as he could muster. Takashira cried out in pain as Izuku’s sharpened teeth sunk into the flesh and muscles on the man's arm.

Izuku felt it happen, he felt the flesh get caught in his teeth and rip to shreds as the man wrangled his arm out of the teenager's toothy grasp. Izuku had to spit, large chunks of flesh falling to the floor as Takashira cried out, holding his arm tightly to stop the bleeding, his knuckles turning white.

Izuku whipped his entire body around and lunged, screaming with anger like no other as he pushed the scientist to the ground with as much force as possible, and plunged the knife into Takashira’s chest, before slitting his throat.

Izuku– once again– didn’t even flinch.

He didn’t flinch as he felt the knife go through the man’s skin. He didn’t flinch at the thought of Ikari lying on the ground hopeless. He didn’t flinch when blood spewed onto his face, hands and arms once more, coating him in red one last time.

He was numb, covered in the blood of his captors as they bled out on the ground, staining everything in shiny, dark red.

The red was everywhere and on every thing. It covered Izuku, seeping into his bandages and dripping off his hair and skin, rolling down his chin as he spat the rest of Takashira’s flesh onto the floor.

It covered the walls, small splatters painting a gruesome picture of a desperate boy who just wanted to be free.

It covered the floors where the two men lay separately, pooling under them as their wounds became too great for their bodies to handle.

Izuku laughed, running his hand through his bloody hair as tears of exhaustion fell down his face in uncontrolled torrents.

He gripped the knife to stop himself from shaking and took a breath.

They were dead.

They were never going to touch him again!

He made it, he was free!

Izuku gasped, a surge of adrenaline racing through his body, and ran.

His mind became blank and his eyes glazed over as he ran through the building in a dazed state. He took a random shirt off the first bench he passed and continued to run.

He found the door he was looking for and ran through it, using his dislocated shoulder to bust his way out of there and continue to run, consequently pushing the bone back into place. He heard voices following him, shouting at each other to catch him as he continued to sprint.

“HE’S ESCAPING!”

“QUICK! HE’S GETTING AWAY!”

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Izuku cried.

“GET HIM!”

“HURRY UP AND GRAB HIM ALREADY!”

“FUCKING HELL JUST GRAB HIM!”

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Izuku turned and cut the body behind him with his knife, punching the next person to approach him right across the face.

He cut, bit, kicked, and punched as many people as he needed to until he managed to find it– the door! It was right there in front of him, taunting him. 

Just a few more seconds, a few more steps, and he was done! 

He would be free!

Izuku burst through that door with newfound adrenaline, fuelled by fury, guilt, and desperation.

He winced as the moonlight coated his face in its beams, drowning him in a mesmerizing light he had not seen for so long. 

He kept running.

Weaving in and out of alleyways and streets, running further than his body had ever gone before. He could barely breathe now, his lungs feeling like they had shrunk as he panicked and cried. 

He kept going for what felt like hours until he found a clearing of trees, trees that were leading him to a lake that shone under the sparkle of the moonlight. 

Izuku dove into the water head first.

It sent his body into shock, the icy water stopping his breathing for a moment as he frantically scrubbed every part of his body clean with the loose shirt in his hands. His bandages slipped off his body and floated away into the night as the water turned red and black, filth, grime, and blood coursing through its veins.

Izuku heaved, turning around and crawling back to shore, collapsing onto the grass with a groan, landing harshly on his– once again– dislocated shoulder, pushing it back into place once more. 

He didn’t know when he dislocated it for the second time that night. He only knew it happened while he was running, dazed and frantic as he pushed his body harder than ever before, leaving Ikari’s warehouse far, far away.

Salty tears rolled down his face as the grass pricked at his skin, but he was too tired to move.

The world was spinning and his eyelids were heavy as the adrenaline wore off and the bone-deep tiredness came crashing down upon him.

As his eyes came to a close, he smiled.

He’d actually made it out…. and he was alive.

He was free at last.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up to birds chirping all around him and the morning sun bathing him in its beams. He winced under the intensity of it all, the bright warm light cascading down upon him as he struggled to sit up on the shore, relaxing lapses of waves whispering to him in the early hours of the morning.

He was alone. 

He wasn’t in the cells or any of the torture rooms, and he hadn’t been dreaming. He was actually alone!

He chuckled in awe as he looked around, astounded by the abundance of colour he never realised he missed, the greens and yellows of bushes seemingly smiling at him as he laughed.

He had escaped.

Takashira and Ikari would never hurt him again.

He stood, put on the now dry and warm shirt he had stolen in his escape, and gingerly picked up the freshly cleaned knife, and finally walked away from the clearing. 

He inspected his arms as he reached what he recognised to be the city of Musutafu, turning through alleyway after alleyway as he made his way to the city centre.

They were… healing. The once pink and fresh burns were now a dark-toned pink– almost purple– colour, swirling up his arms like a beautiful tragedy. 

His hands twitched minutely, and he was still deaf in his right ear, though thankfully the painful and constant ringing had finally ceased majorly, a barely noticeable ring residing there.

His vision on the left was still blurry, an unshed, invisible tear hindering his vision as he walked. 

These injuries were permanent, he knew this. They would never be healed fully, even if he somehow managed to end up back in Recovery Girl’s office. Her quirk would do nothing to his injuries and he was all too aware of it.

They were too old, too healed for her to fix.

He was permanently broken.

Izuku was hyper-aware of his surroundings at all times, using his practice through middle school to become seemingly smaller than he truly was, weaving in and out of people as the busy city centre came into view, staying invisible as he blended in with his surroundings.

He walked aimlessly, getting lost in his thoughts as he tried his hardest to familiarise himself with the timeline he found himself in.

How long had he been gone?

He knew he’d been gone for more than a week– they’d kept him up for longer than one, that he knew– so how many weeks had it been? 

He didn’t know, and that terrified him. 

He was tightly wringing his hands together as he walked, using all of the willpower he had left to regulate his breathing, desperately trying not to fall into a spiral of depression so soon after escaping.

He had to be strong, at least until he found out what the fucking date was.

He kept walking, quickening his pace until he saw a newspaper stand up ahead, showcasing the day’s paper. He kept his head down and blended in with the crowd, walking past and grabbing one off of the closest shelf, remaining unnoticed.

Izuku left the city centre then.

He sped towards the alleyways once more, twisting and turning expertly through crowds and crowds of people as he made his way towards a random rooftop he would soon call his.

He opened up the newspaper as he walked through the dingy alleyways, still hyper-aware of his surroundings and gripping the knife in his hand. 

How no one had noticed a teenager carrying a rather large knife, he had no clue.

He wasn’t going to complain though.

He flipped through the pages as he found an article with a large enough font for him to read. And there it was. The day's date.

What he read immediately sent Izuku spiralling, for two reasons.

The date read; November 23rd, 2XXX. 

Izuku had left school around two months in during the first week of June, and he had been kidnapped around two to three weeks later, during the final week of June.

He had been gone for five whole months.  

Five. 

Not only had he been kidnapped, tortured and abused, injured beyond repair and traumatised for life– he had turned fifteen.

He had been tortured on his birthday.

Like the final straw that broke the camel's back, Izuku spiralled further than he ever had before in his life.

Screwing up the newspaper and throwing it as hard as possible into the nearest bin, he started running.

No small shred of willpower left could stop him from falling deep into a state of panic so strong he forgot how to breathe, splitting his brain in two as negative emotions spiralled through him, controlling his every move.

So, Izuku did what he did best.

He ran.

He sprinted through the streets like his life depended on it, weaving in and out of alleyways until the sun started to fall, drowning the boy in golden orange hues as he clambered on top of a rooftop, jumping over and over alleyway after alleyway as he tried to escape from the harsh reality he’d found himself in. 

He was running for hours, making his way further away from the centre and toward the outskirts of the city where he had once had a home, his legs numb with the effort of his non-stop sprint through the city of Musutafu.

He collapsed eventually, the sun truly setting now. 

He’d been running without stopping, drowning in the overwhelming sensation of panic as he struggled to breathe. 

He was scratching his arms as his breath hitched uncontrollably, hands twitching as his nails tore up the still-healing burns on his arms, causing the edges to lift, flake off and bleed, small dots of blood lining the physical proof of a tragedy that was Izuku’s very existence.

His vision blurred and spun as he fell to his back, staring at the clouds that moved too fast for his liking as his breath hitched, his heart racing as his lips were beginning to turn blue.

He was dizzy, still unable to breathe as the reality of the past five months hit him like a thousand trucks.

Has anyone missed him?

Did anyone still miss him?

What about his teachers?

His mother?

Did anyone even notice?

Izuku was somewhat aware of the tears pouring down his face, though he made no effort towards stopping them from falling onto the concrete roof underneath him. He sobbed, his throat raw and painful as he let out a scream that broke the sounds of silence in the quiet evening through the outskirts of Musutafu.

He clutched his chest as he heaved and cried, desperately trying to regain his breathing as he rolled around on the roof, groaning as his body protested every small move he made.

He was in agony, mentally and physically.

His wounds were barely healing, his torture still fresh in his mind.

He could still feel the grinding down of his teeth, every strand of electricity that pulsed through his veins, the fires that burnt through his very flesh and the smell that followed.

The sounds of the knife pushing through the skin, bone and flesh of Ikari’s head, the sounds of Takashira’s arm being bitten and ripped apart.

The feeling of slitting the scientists’ throats, the sticky crimson that dried in his hair and all over his face and body as he ran through those halls into the streets of freedom at last.

He remembered it all.

The universe truly would not help him now.

It would not help him lift his head above the water he was helplessly drowning in.

He was drowning now, helpless in his body as he rolled around, struggling to regain his breath as sharp pains rolled through his bones, every shuddering breath sending Izuku’s chest into overdrive.

The currents of his sorrows and panic swallowed him whole and pushed him under their waves, never letting him take a single breath or even a break from the tsunami of tragedies that had plagued his day-to-day life from the moment he had turned four years old.

His world span as his lungs shrunk, shrivelling in his chest as his lips turned blue, the lack of oxygen took its toll on Izuku’s frail, broken body.

He felt like a little kid again, desperately wanting someone to hold him close and tell him that everything would be okay, this was all a dream and he would wake up soon.

He was alone.

And he had never felt more lonely.

Izuku sat up and pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly, his breathing slowing down and the colour returning to his lips as he dwelled in the beams of the night, staring at the stars as though he had never been outside before.

He reminisced about his months at UA, the teachers and the students and all the shitty things that had happened to him.

He had trusted adults before… but not again.

He couldn’t.

There wasn’t a single missing person report out for him– not that it would matter, anyway. The police wouldn’t do much for a quirkless kid, he knew that.

His teachers had barely tolerated his very existence, save for Aizawa Sensei, and his classmates loathed him for taking away a spot in the hero course, while his mother … oh Gods, his mother.

She was more than likely blissfully unaware of the fact he went missing, still spouting the lies of him being around his friends at any given time should a coworker ask, deflecting every question about him with practised ease.

He hated it.

Hated that she so easily hid the neglect and abuse she had put him through, the way she could deflect any questions made about him, making herself out to be the perfect picture of a loving, overworked mother to a quirkless tragedy.

But he couldn’t trust anyone. Not anymore.

Hero, civilian, vigilante, villain or even the police. 

He wouldn’t trust anyone.

He needed to survive , and that meant being on guard, all the time.

Sure, he was free.

But at what cost?

Chapter Text

Izuku hadn’t meant to start smoking again.

Really! He hadn’t!

He’d quit during his last year of middle school when he really started training for UA’s entrance exams. He wanted his lungs to be in perfect working condition for high school… as well as the fact he didn’t want to be expelled when they found out.

So, he quit.

He went through some horrible withdrawals for the first few months, and it took all of his willpower at the time to not fight back against his bullies at all.

He wished he punched at least one of them once, though.

But now he had picked up the habit again.

It wasn’t really his fault.

At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. He had made the conscious decision to go into a corner store with his stolen money and buy a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

His healing throat was still scratchy, the gravelly tone to it, therefore, making him sound older, so he thankfully wasn’t ID’d, considering he didn’t actually have an ID anymore. Though it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Most corner stores saw the word ‘quirkless’ on his ID and gave them to him anyways. 

Probably to speed up the dying process.

He sat on the roof with a lit cigarette in his mouth, a shoplifted notebook and a pen to go with it poised on his lap. 

He was writing down plans for his vigilantism as Hiro. 

He had already decided not to speak at all while patrolling, mainly for safety reasons. 

Because his vocal chords had been harmed by breathing in the fire in… that room… his voice had a rough edge to it– and a fairly distinctive one at that. 

If he were to speak while he was not under his alias, he’d be freely giving himself away.

That wasn’t going to happen.

He’d decided to tie up criminals using zip ties. They were hard to break and easy to get, as well as easy to steal from a convenience store or a hardware store. He’d leave sticky notes on the villains’ heads signed with his vigilante alias; Hiro, and a small note explaining what they did. 

Left out in the open, Izuku was sure an underground hero would find them eventually.

If not, a limelight hero would find them in the morning. He didn’t really care how they were found, actually, as long as they were taken care of and off the streets.

His plan of attack would be his knife. He only had the one he’d stolen from Ikari, but he was planning on getting another one very shortly, as well as supplies to make edits to the hilts of the knives. 

Leather, steel, and super glue were at the top of his shopping list– after food, of course.

Adding steel or some other form of metal to the bottom of the handle would mean it would be weighted in Izuku’s favour, easier to carry and heavy enough that it wouldn’t fly out of his grasp accidentally. 

If and when he became strong enough, and once he had studied self-defence moves well enough, he’d soon be able to knock out villains and criminals with it as well. It was an effective, and safer way to take villains down without cutting them open all the time.

The leather was to add an extra layer of grip to the knives, using super glue to put it all together.

He could also use it to make a holster for his knives on each arm, meaning he would need some form of sewing supplies to stitch everything together.

He really needed to go shopping, didn’t he?

As Izuku took a final puff of his cigarette, throwing the butt over the edge of the roof, he smiled to himself.

His plan was coming into motion.

He’d written pages and pages of plans for his persona to use and follow, though all of these tips and tricks he would train with and use would coincidentally be useful for heroics.

Though it really wasn’t much of a coincidence.

Izuku still held onto the hope of being a legal hero, with a licence to show police officers instead of running away from them. He’d had this dream since he could learn how to walk and talk, and it wasn’t going away any time soon. 

He shook his head, turning the notebook to the first page.

If he was going to pull this off, to break out of the chains Ikari and Takashira had wrapped around his mind, he would need to train hard and focus.

He needed to be ready for everything.

Bakugou panted as he threw Kirishima to the floor, holding him down for as long as he could muster, waiting for the two words that would seal his fate in the match.

“I yield,” the redhead angrily muttered, and Bakugou grinned, letting the boy go.

“Good work Bakugou. Go get a drink and come back to me for your criticism. Kaminari and Iida, you two are up! Get in the ring boys. Kirishima, come to speak with me please,” Aizawa called out.

Kirishima grumbled, sending a glare in Bakukgou’s direction as he staggered towards their teacher.

After Bakugou had screamed at the entire class in Midoriya’s defence, most of the people he was beginning to consider his friends had ditched him, leaving him alone. 

He didn’t care. Their bigoted beliefs were going to be their downfalls in the world of heroics, and Bakugou would not let them get in his way.

Bakugou tuned out everyone as he went to take a drink as instructed, letting his mind wander. It had been just over five months since a certain green-haired teenager had left UA, and he’d be lying to himself if he wasn’t fully aware of the harsh truth– his childhood best friend was most likely not alive. And if he was, he wouldn’t be doing well at all.

That didn’t stop him from constantly hoping he would be okay though. Bakugou owed the teen an apology, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if Midoriya was dead.

He sighed and started to watch the spar that had started. He could point out the flaws in both of their styles from a mile away, but that wasn’t his job to point out. 

All Might had been demoted to teachers assistant a month back, with Aizawa taking the class properly after the latter had been exposed for his quirkist behaviour towards Midoriya, as well as their new addition to the class, Shinsou, who was finally replacing Mineta.

Bakugou was glad that the grape-headed fucker was gone for good.

The greasy git would have made a terrible hero, even without his many perverted actions throughout the year.

Begrudgingly, Bakugou knew Shinsou would make a good hero. Whether he went the underground route or the limelight route, or even twilight; a mix of both, the kid would make a good hero. He had the potential, Bakugou mused, smirking at the resemblance of his teacher’s logic.

Aizawa’s lessons were rubbing off on him, it seemed.

“Bakugou! Come here, please.” Aizawa called for him.

He huffed, rolling his eyes, but made his way to his teacher anyways.

Call him a teacher's pet, but he never questioned the authority that Aizawa held. He was the good kind of teacher; strict but kind, always making sure students had what they needed while in his classroom.

That made him good in Bakugou’s eyes at least, especially in comparison to his previous teachers throughout middle school.

“Your tactics were almost perfect, and you took your opponent down efficiently. But… your mind seemed to be elsewhere for the majority of the spar. So, what’s going on?”

Bakugou internally cursed. Of course, the hero would have noticed, he’s trained for this type of shit after all. And he wouldn’t be his teacher without holding even a sliver of concern for his students.

“Just… thinking.”

“Oh really? Didn’t know you could do that so easily, kid,” Aizawa said with a smirk, clearly teasing.

“Oh shut it you hobo. I was thinking, not building a damn time machine,” Bakugou snarked back, a matching smirk on his face as he watched Kaminari be bested by Iida, and the next match called.

“What were you thinking about?”

“...Midoriya, actually,” Bakugou sighed.

“I thought so. You can’t keep him at the front of your mind like this kid– no, don’t interrupt. I don’t mean you should forget about him, that would be stupid. But, you need to push the thought of him to the back of your mind. You’re getting distracted easily, and I am fully aware that you are worried– I am too! But it’s not healthy. If he’s fine, he’s fine. If he’s not… we can deal with that later.” 

Aizawa was looking at Bakugou intently now, observing his facial expressions and movements intensely.

“I… Yeah, okay. I know you’re right, but that doesn’t really help me much. Pushing him to the back of my mind is much easier said than done, you know,” Bakugou snarled.

“I am aware. It took me around a year to do the same after…” Aizawa took a sharp breath. “After losing my best friend on an internship. But, you can’t let his absence control you like this. Let his absence and the grief you feel motivate you instead.”

Aizawa left Bakugou alone after that, no doubt letting him mull over his teacher’s words. The blond teenager stood still, thinking deeply about the wisdom bestowed upon him, as dramatic as that sounded.

It was a good idea. He’d been so enraged at his classmates’ words and actions towards Midoriya’s absence that Bakugou had started spending almost all of his free time in the school gyms whenever he could, especially after the school had moved into the dorm system.

Yeah, he could use this grief as motivation.

If he could use his anger towards his classmates as a motive to be better, he could do the same with the overwhelming grief he was experiencing on an almost everyday basis.

It would probably help clear his mind too, or at least help the anxiety that had formed due to the villain attacks and his brief kidnapping.

Though his classmates resented him for backing Midoriya, they at least had the heart to get him out of the league’s grasp against all of the teacher’s wishes.

Bakugou looked towards his teacher, who was now looking back at him with an unreadable expression. Bakugou nodded his thanks, sure that Aizawa would understand exactly what he meant,  and went to the back of the gym to work on his in-air fight style, using the taller targets and dummies on the ground to his advantage.

His classmates were sitting around, watching the fights. 

Bakugou could hear the pointers Aizawa was giving each student from where he was working and didn’t feel the need to watch each and every spar. 

He needed to be better.

For him.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Izuku had escaped Ikari and Takashira’s hold.

A week since he had murdered two men, and injured many more.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t hold any guilt over that fact. 

Of course he did, those were human lives he took!

Sure, they were by no means innocent, and it was the only way Izuku would have ever managed to escape, but survivor’s guilt was a bitch, and he despised it.

They died a gruesome death, one that Izuku caused.

He could still picture the exact shade of red that soaked the floors of the electrocution room and the gruesome pictures that painted the walls in tragic displays of crimson reds, the images of the scientists dead on the floor as Izuku stood before them, dripping with their blood.

He could still picture the feeling of his legs going numb as he ran through the streets after he murdered two men and maimed many more in his successful, though terrifyingly bloody escape.

He felt guilty, yes, but he didn’t regret it at all. 

He didn’t think he ever would.

They were despicable people, using a child for their sick plans to get answers on a topic that wouldn’t even matter a few years down the line. 

Izuku made sure that they would never hurt another child again.

Still, he vowed to never take another life through Hiro, and instead of thinking about the deaths he caused, he started throwing himself into his vigilante work with a newfound passion.

The desperate need to prove that he was good came back with a ferocious vengeance. 

He wanted to be someone people could rely on to be safe with, someone to protect the roughest parts of the edge of Musutafu that most heroes did not bother with at all, save for a few underground heroes.

The edge was severely understaffed, and Izuku vowed to help, needing something to prove. 

Why not choose the roughest area to patrol?

Crime rates around the edge were higher than in any other part of Musutafu, and Izuku wanted to change that. He was going to patrol the worst districts of the edge every night he could, to protect and save , just like he had always wanted.

He trained and trained until his body felt like it would break.

He frequented the lake he found when he escaped that night, using it to clean off the dirt and blood from re-opened and new wounds alike, as well as using it to relax his muscles and escape from the hustle and bustle of the city when he felt especially overwhelmed.

It was his safe place.

The soft waves of the water and the rustles of the leaves calmed his anxieties as the lake smiled at him through the lapsing of its soft ripples, the trees and bushes whispering their comforts to him as he breathed deeply, in and out, in and out.

Oftentimes Izuku would lapse into a peaceful sleep there, less likely to be plagued by nightmares and memories as the waves and trees spoke their kindness to him, understanding of the horrors he faced and re-lived every single night.

He was thankful to have found such a place. It was the perfect safe haven for the teenager to wind down and relax, relieving his stresses and anxieties in the calm, cool air.

He was sitting there now, adding the thick plates of steel to the underside of his knives.

He’d managed to steal the leather, zip ties, and an extra knife, using the money he had pickpocketed through the week to buy food, cigarettes, sticky notes, and sewing equipment, as well as a few extra clothes for himself and more masks.

He still wanted his identity hidden, after all.

Oh! He had also stolen black spray paint and coloured his once bright red shoes.

He was finally free of those god-awful shoes that showed everyone he was quirkless from a mile away.

Izuku began wrapping the leather tightly around the hilts of the knives, adding superglue wherever it was necessary, testing out the grip once he was finally finished with them.

He was happy with it, actually, pleasantly surprised at how he managed to pull it off. The undersides of the knives were rock solid, hard enough to knock someone out if he used the right amount of force– and in the right spot. 

Adding the leather worked extremely well for his grip on them too. They looked like brand new knives, and he was glad to not be reminded of Ikari while looking at his original knife anymore.

He put them aside with a content sigh, letting his thoughts wander as he sewed the holsters for his weapons.

He would be going out as Hiro for the first time tomorrow, and he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t nervous.

He knew what kind of crime happened late at night when the majority of the hero population was sound asleep. From dark, gruesome, and cruel crimes to petty theft and muggings, Izuku knew it all. He had witnessed a few before being kidnapped, usually trying to talk people out of it, even if it meant getting punched in the face on more than one occasion.

Putting aside the danger he knew he was putting himself in, there was another thing that was making him nervous.

Eraserhead.

He patrolled in a similar route to the one Izuku had planned out for himself, and he was a bit anxious about the man finding out his identity. He knew he would tell him eventually, but… he didn’t want it to happen right away.

This was another reason why he would be wearing a mask, as well as refusing to speak until the man showed him he was trustworthy.

Sure, the hero had been the only teacher at UA to show that he somewhat cared about him, but Izuku had no idea if it was out of pity, or if the man was genuine.

Either way, Izuku’s trust was a hard-earned thing– especially now– and Eraserhead needed to show him that he was worthy of that trust before he would speak to him, let alone reveal his identity to him when the time comes.

Izuku didn’t know when that would happen, however.

It could be weeks, months, or years.

However long it took didn’t matter.

Trust was a fickle thing in Izuku’s world. He had grown up not trusting anybody since the age of four or five, learning to be quiet and keep to himself so he could steer himself away from a world of hurt– not that it always worked.

Ikari and Takashira had made that mistrust so much worse.

Putting his trust issues and anxieties aside, Izuku was excited.

He’d been restless all week after becoming accustomed to fighting back nearly every day. Yes, his body needed the time to heal, but it drove Izuku up the wall, sitting around for a week straight while his bones and muscles finally got marginally better.

He was ready to be out in the world, fighting for others instead of just himself, ready to have a purpose in the world that would surely be the one thing keeping him alive in his desperate state of mind.

He was ready for the thrill of it all, to experience the explosive adrenaline that came with saving a life that would not be his own, to have people begin to put their faith in him . 

Excitement rushed through his body. He was addicted to the feeling of adrenaline, vibrating where he sat as he prepared himself for the night he would face tomorrow, hopping across rooftops through his patrol.

He was ready for it all.

He was ready to experience what it took to be a hero.

Chapter Text

Aizawa was finishing his patrol when he landed on a rooftop to catch his breath and relax. 

It was a slow night, with barely any crimes occurring other than the odd mugging or attempted robbery. 

All in all, a pretty standard night for the underground hero.

He took a breath and looked around, making sure no crimes were being committed around him before he could take off and go back to bed, next to his loving husband.

Just as he was about to leave, something in the distance caught his eye.

…A teenager perched on the edge of a roof about a block over, watching the flow of traffic on the roads below. 

Aizawa sighed, beginning to make his way over to the teen.

If the kid was suicidal, he’d have to be careful. He didn’t want to spook them, nor did he want to make the situation worse.

As he got closer, the kid’s features came into view, and Aizawa immediately recognised the spiky blond hair sticking out from under his hood.

“Bakugou,” He said, landing on the roof. “Care to tell me why you’re sitting on the edge of a very high building at…” Aizawa looked at his watch, “Three in the morning?”

“No,” the teen replied, defensive.

“Kid…”

“I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, sighing. “I just… like the view, I guess.”

Aizawa blinked. “You like… the view.” He deadpanned, aiming a look he knew the teenager could feel to the back of his head.

With a sigh, the teen turned around. His eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were slightly puffy– it was evident the boy had been crying, though for how long and how long ago, Aizawa didn’t know.

As Bakugou stayed silent, Aizawa sighed, opting to move toward the kid and sit down next to him, two pairs of legs now hanging over the edge.

“Why are you here, kid?”

“Why do you even care? It’s not like I’m hurting anyone,” Bakugou argued, scowling. He refused to look his teacher in the eye, and Aizawa didn’t ask him to, nor did he mind.

“You may not be hurting others, but you are hurting your sleep schedule. Besides, how did you even get out of UA?”

“Climbed out my window.”

“Of course you did. And I bet Nedzu knows about it too, he’s too smart not to.”

“That fucking rat is always snooping in everyone’s business then?” Bakugou asked, not caring that he sounded extremely bitter.

Aizawa’s eyes widened as he studied the teenager next to him in shock.

“What do you have against Nedzu of all… people? I’m going to say people for the sake of my sanity.” Bakugou chuckled at that, and Aizawa let a small smile slip into his features.

“He has the power to get an investigation started on Midoriya, but he didn’t. I guess I’m salty, is all. I know the survival rate for quirkless kids, and I am fully aware that he probably isn’t even alive right now, but… I guess I’m still holding onto the hope that he’s alive, at the very least.”

Aizawa hummed to let Bakugou know he had heard him, mulling over the teenager’s words.

He was right.

The rat did have the power to form an investigation, and he ignored it. Aizawa had actually brought this fact up to the principal himself, though was blown off with excuses about the commission and hero society, saying that his mother would have put something out if the boy was truly in danger. 

Aizawa told Bakugou this, and the blond’s reaction went exactly as expected.

“Self-absorbed prick. He really did use Midoriya as a pity case then?”

“Yeah,” Aizawa said sadly. “Yeah, he did.”

The two lapsed into silence once again, and though it wasn’t necessarily awkward, it was strange to be so familiar with each other.

“How have you been, kid? I know your classmates haven’t been exactly… kind, to you as of late…”

Bakugou scoffed.

“I don’t need them. If I had known how far their bigotry actually went, I never would’ve been friends with them in the first place. A couple of shitty comments are normal, I heard worse coming from teachers at my old school… but hearing them say Midoriya would’ve been better off dead is crossing the line.”

“I agree, they have crossed the line. Multiple times, in fact. But what do you mean by ‘you heard worse at your old school?’” Aizawa questioned.

“Aldera Middle School is literally the worst middle school in the entirety of Musutafu. They don’t follow through with their anti-bullying policies, they put the powerful kids on pedestals– which was usually me– and the weaker ones get thrown into the deep end. I’m pretty sure I heard teachers actively encouraging the bullying towards Midoriya more than once,” Bakugou ranted. He wasn’t done though, the words spilling out of his mouth in ferocious torrents.

“I remember this one time in science… God, how did we all think that was normal? We watched the teacher pull Midoriya to the front of the class where he showed us the extra pinky-toe joint in his foot and started preaching about all the ways that quirkless people were worthless in society and a whole bunch of other bullshit, while Midoriya just… stood there, taking it.”

Aizawa was shocked. A middle school that fucking bad? Jesus Christ, no wonder why the two of them had so many issues regarding authority and self-worth, their environments growing up were fucking horrible.

“Yeah, that school is getting investigated.” 

“What?” Bakugou yelped, looking at Aizawa in shock.

“...You just told me that the teachers were actively involved in the discrimination and bullying targeted at students, and you think I’m going to let that slide? Hell no, that’s Child Endangerment! Is there anything else about that school you think I should know?”

“Yeah, the teachers and principal let us use our quirks during breaks… and turned the other way when kids used their quirks on other kids to hurt them. It happened more often than I would like to admit…”

Aizawa took a deep breath to stop himself from ripping his hair out in a fit of rage.

“Oh, Tsukauchi is going to love this. He enjoys taking down shitty schools, I swear it’s one of the only things that brings him any sense of joy these days that isn’t a cup of coffee.”

Bakugou snorted, and Aizawa smiled once more.

“So kid. Why are you actually up here? Sure, the view is great, but there’s something deeper going on,” Aizawa pressed. He knew he was playing a risky game, pressing Bakugou more and more as the clock ticked on, but he wanted to know why his student was sitting on the edge of a roof in the middle of the fucking night.

“I already told you I wasn’t going to jump, what more do you want from me? I like the view, okay! I…” Bakugou sighed, running his hands through his hair, hood gracefully falling onto his shoulders in the wind.

“Heights are comforting, I guess. I used to climb trees as a kid to get away from all the people around me, and the habit stuck. If I’m stressed out or depressed or anything like that, I sit on a roof for the night. Which is why I’m here right now…”

“You’ve been here all night?”

“Yes, Sensei, all night. I may go to bed at exactly eight o’clock every night, but that doesn’t mean I sleep . I’m just lucky enough I don’t get extremely prominent eye-bags, unlike a certain teacher of mine.” He snarked, smirking.

“Oh you little shit, that was a low blow, I hope you know that,” Aizawa snarked back, causing the teenager to laugh quietly.

“Yeah, whatever old man. I’m just telling the truth. Besides, I never said I was talking about you, did I?”

“...You could not have been more obvious if you tried,” Aizawa glared at the boy teasingly as Bakugou laughed.

They fell silent once more, and Bakugou fell onto his back and looked up into the night sky, staring at the sky.

He watched the stars, how they glistened under the moonlight and shone through the thinnest of clouds that floated by.

He felt at peace, something that was foreign to him as of late. 

He stayed there for some time, watching the stars. 

It was nice. He was able to forget about his responsibilities momentarily, to forget about the shit he faced at school and to purely be at peace with the world, even just for a night.

“Come on kid, let’s get back to school. It’s almost five in the morning, and you have classes in like, three hours. I don’t care if you sleep or not, but we are going back now,” Aizawa said softly.

Bakugou nodded and stood, looking over the edge to where the fire escape was– the one he used to get up on the roof in the first place.

“I’m using the fire escape down there… I just thought I’d tell you so I don’t give you a heart attack.”

“Thanks, kid. Is that how you got up here?”

“Yeah? How else would I have managed to get up here? Flying? I refuse to break the law using my quirk to get up here when I can just as easily climb,” He sassed, before turning around and clambering down the wall, landing on the floor in a solid five seconds, Aizawa landing beside him just moments later.

“Out of curiosity, how long does it take for you to get up there?” The teacher asked.

“I don’t know… ten seconds, maybe less? Why?”

“That’s impressive… Have you ever thought about learning parkour?”

“I mean… sure, I’ve thought about it. Again, why?” Bakugou asked, getting impatient. He started walking in the direction of UA, making his teacher catch up to him in typical teenage fashion.

“Because I think you would make a great underground hero.”

“ What! No way, my quirk is suited for limelight heroics!” Bakugou insisted, looking at Aizawa like the man had finally gone crazy.

“If you’re worried about the sound your quirk gives off, you can get your gauntlets edited to have mufflers in them, which will basically silence your quirk in its entirety. You have the drive and the skills to be able to be great in the underground. Just… give it a thought, yeah?”

“Yeah… okay.”

With that, the two silently walked back to UA, side by side.

Chapter Text

Izuku was positively thriving.

He’d never felt more alive, sprinting across the rooftops as quietly as possible in the dead of the night. He’d added… something… to the soles of his shoes– he genuinely didn’t know what it was, just that it would make his footsteps muffled– and he could sprint almost silently now.

It was weird at first, but he got used to it fairly quickly and was thankful for the silence it brought.

He was wearing black cargo pants paired with a black t-shirt– all brand new– with his leather holsters resting comfortably around his arms, holding his knives snugly in place as he ran. His mask was merely an added bonus to his outfit, adding an extra layer of mystery, as well as helping his identity remain as hidden as possible.

Izuku was aware that his physical appearance had changed drastically since leaving UA and being kidnapped.

His eyes were two different colours, he was covered from head-to-toe in scars and burns, and his hair was shaggy and thin, reaching his chin as it fell in front of his face. He’d grown into his facial features more– not that anyone could tell with his mask on– and his shoulders had broadened dramatically, making him seem bigger than he actually was.

He was also much taller now, finally having a growth spurt that caused him to grow to around five-foot-eight, rather than his previous five-foot-nothing. He had more prominent muscles too, though he was built leaner than anything.

The amount of food he could eat on a daily basis was much higher than Ikari and Takashira ever granted him– even at the beginning of his time in captivity– and he was immensely thankful for the local bakery giving him free old bread and muffins.

Izuku owed that man his life, truly.

He squatted on a rooftop, watching two women in the alleyway below. 

They were planning something that was clear. Maybe a drug deal, or a weapons deal? Whatever it was, Izuku was watching them intensely.

Both were whispering to each other, looking fairly anxious as they kept glancing at the alleyway entrance frantically.

A man walked through the clearing, and Izuku was on edge immediately.

He didn’t have an obvious quirk, unlike one of the women who had snakes for hair. Most likely an emitter quirk or a mental one, like the other lady in the alley.

The women straightened their back and began to talk to the man calmly, though it quickly escalated into a full-blown argument. He knew it would turn hostile sooner rather than later, and needed to be prepared.

His chance to strike came quickly as the man pulled a gun from his pocket, aiming it at the two women before him.

Izuku tensed and leapt from the roof elegantly.

He landed a kick to the man’s arm before landing, causing the gun to go flying down the street as the women screamed in fear, before running out of the alleyway in different directions.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” 

Izuku stayed silent as promised, grabbing the man’s arm and wrangling it behind his back, though he was quickly sent flying as the former’s leg swooped under Izuku’s feet, sending him crashing to the floor.

“You think you’re some hero, huh? You’re just a weak little bitch !”

Izuku grunted, but used his new position to kick the man in the chest with both feet and with all of his strength he jumped back to his feet, and started to charge the man as he stumbled.

“Get the fuck away from me, you fucking freak!” He cried out, furious.

Izuku chuckled and shook his head, and using the wall as leverage he jumped onto the man’s back and tackled him to the ground, wrenching his arms behind him as Izuku tied a zip-tie around his wrists.

He laughed as the man struggled, cursing him out constantly as he wriggled around on the floor, making a fool out of himself.

Izuku smirked– he didn't even need his knives!

Using the end of his shirt, he picked up the gun, dragged the man to the alleyway clearing, and dumped it in the criminal’s lap.

Taking his pen and sticky notes from his pocket, he wrote his first note to the Musutafu police; his official debut as Hiro.

‘Pulled a gun on two women. Most likely a deal of some kind. Has either a mental quirk or a minor emitter quirk, though it wasn’t used all night. There were two women who scattered, leaving in different directions. One woman had snakes for hair as a quirk, the other with no obvious quirk, though she did have purple hair.

–Hiro.’

Satisfied, Izuku smiled, cockily saluted the tied-up man in front of him, and ran back into the alley, climbing up the roof and heading back towards the lake.

As the adrenaline wore off, Izuku became far too aware of a dull pain in his shoulder, and he fleetingly realised that when he’d been thrown to the floor, he’d dislocated it… again.

With a groan, Izuku reset the bone and continued on his way.

He’d need to get a brace of some sort– or make one– so this didn’t happen as often. It would limit his abilities as Hiro, which was an issue that Izuku couldn’t bear to face.

He needed to be the best he could possibly be.

Izuku reached the lake not too long later and gathered his things.

He’d noticed the previous night that there were campgrounds scattered around the grounds of the lake, meaning he was in full view of civilization.

He’d rather not have an impromptu visit from the police, thank you very much.

Making his way back towards the city edge, he sighed, nursing his still aching shoulder as he walked.

He needed a cigarette, and maybe some sleep.

Definitely sleep, actually.

Finding a rooftop far enough away from his patrol route, he set his belongings down, pulling out his notebook with his list of things to do and get for life as Hiro, adding ‘shoulder brace’ to the rather long list.

He took a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, taking a long, relaxing drag, blowing the smoke into the wind, wistfully watching the ashes fall to the streets below him as his legs dangled off the edge.

He’d sleep soon, he told himself.

He needed time to wind down and think about the night he just had. It was successful, sure. But there were so many things he could do to be better.

To be great.

(page break)

Aizawa was jumping across rooftops like he did every night when he saw it– a man, angrily sitting on the floor next to the clearing of an alleyway.

He jumped down, gripping his capture weapon instinctively as he approached the man, unaware of the predicament he was in.

Upon seeing the man, he immediately whipped his phone out, dialling the number for Tsukauchi Naomasa.

“Eraserhead? You don’t usually call me at this time of night… what’s happened?” The detective asked, hesitant.

“Yeah, we have a new vigilante on the loose, apparently. I’ve just found their first… catch? Arrest? Doesn't matter- They’re calling themselves ‘Hiro’.” Aizawa said, positively exhausted.

He hated dealing with the new vigilantes and being unaware of their intentions. There was a very fine line between vigilantism and villainy, one that many vigilantes tended to cross easily.

“How do you know that? Is the vigilante with you?”

“No, no, they aren’t. But they’ve left a sticky note on the guy’s head, explaining what happened. I think that’ll be a constant, honestly.”

“Alright, I’m on my way. Try and get the person they caught to talk.”

“Sure thing.”

With that, the two hung up, and Aizawa focused on the man before him.

He looked almost embarrassed to have been caught and tied up.

“Did the vigilante who captured you have an obvious quirk?” Aizawa asked.

“No.”

…Right. He’s being difficult. 

Great. 

“What about their voice? Could you tell what gender they were?”

“The fucker didn’t speak.”

Oh? 

The mystery vigilante was smart, then... That was going to make Aizawa’s job so much harder.

“Anything that made them stand out?”

The villain had relaxed, Aizawa’s voice calming the man down from his angered panic attack.

“Nah, not really. Wore all black, and had these things around their arms that held something in them– probably weapons– but they did look like they were covered in scars. Mainly burns. He was fucking skinny too… stronger than me, though,” he mumbled at the end, embarrassed.

Now that was useful information.

Apparently, this villain had a tendency to ramble.

At least he wasn't being difficult anymore.

Aizawa nodded as the police showed up, watching as the man was arrested and taken into custody, telling Tsukauchi everything he had learnt.

It came as no surprise to him when Tsukauchi asked to keep a look-out on their new vigilante, to which Aizawa reluctantly agreed, though with the warning that they would not be arrested unless they committed any crimes, to which Tsukauchi nodded, used to the lectures the hero gave him.

Aizawa tended to like working with vigilantes.

They were new blood and gave him an outside perspective on situations that he wouldn’t have thought of before. If they didn’t commit any crimes, he didn’t care what they did.

As long as they didn’t turn to villainy under Aizawa’s watchful eye, he had no problem with them.

Hopefully, Hiro was one of the good ones.

Chapter Text

Hiro’s debut became well known throughout the police force very quickly, especially after learning just how easily they had taken the criminal– now known as Akihiko– down.

He was defeated in less than three minutes by a vigilante shorter, skinnier, and previously thought to be weaker than him.

Aizawa was almost embarrassed for the man.

Almost.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t hold in a laugh as Akihiko shamefully admitted this particular fact. Actually, half of the police officers in the room had audibly laughed upon hearing the news, causing the man to blush deep red with shame.

The questioning that followed Akihiko’s capture didn’t take very long. Hiro had given the police just enough information to find the two women involved. They confessed to taking part in an illegal weapons deal almost instantly, much to Akihiko’s utter dismay.

“So, Aizawa. What do you think of our new vigilante?” Tsukauchi had asked him later that night, both of the men no longer on duty.

“They’re smart. Akihiko mentioned they never said a word to him, wore all black– including a mask, apparently– and they didn’t use their quirk. They clearly don’t want to be caught… but they’re actually pretty good, by the looks of it.”

Aizawa rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, downing the last of his coffee as Tsukauchi replied.

“They do seem to be rather strong, surprisingly. I mean, Akihiko is quite muscular, and they took him down in less than three minutes… that’s pretty impressive, considering he mentioned they weren’t exactly on the muscular side.” Tsukauchi noted, Aizawa humming in agreement.

“Yeah. I wonder how long it will take for those around the edge to notice him. Akihiko was his first catch– at the edge, no less– and it won’t be his only one. I think Hiro is planning to patrol the edge, which is where crime rates are at their peak. What do you reckon, detective? ” Aizawa snarked, smirking.

“Oh my God, do not call me ‘detective’ when I’m not on duty, you’re making me exhausted already… but I do agree with you. They’re most likely going for the areas where heroes rarely patrol.” Tsukauchi mused while the hero before him chuckled at his antics.

“Yeah… I’m going to have to change my patrol route, aren’t I?” Aizawa groaned, looking desperately at the detective in front of him.

“Sorry, but yes. You did agree to see what their plans are, as well as how they operate on the field, and you can’t really do that without actually meeting them .” Tsukauchi laughed at the face the hero made, sipping his coffee to hide the smirk Aizawa knew was there.

“Oh my God, what am I going to tell Hizashi? He loves learning about the new vigilantes I deal with… I swear to God if he asks if we can adopt this one again I will actually end up in jail for the most gruesome murder you’ve ever seen,” Aizawa groaned as Tsukauchi laughed.

“He’s not that bad! I mean… okay, he is that bad. But I doubt he’s going to ask you more questions than usual, Aizawa.,” Tsukauchi reassured.

“I guess we will have to wait and find out.” 

Aizawa sighed once more, bidding his goodbyes.

As much as the underground hero hated to admit it, Hiro seemed to be the most intelligent vigilante he would most likely ever come across, as well as being strong, passionate, and driven. They seemed to have a knack for figuring out exactly where crime was at its peak and targeting those areas with the intention to help everyone there.

Aizawa hoped Hiro wouldn’t turn to villainy, however. 

He had seen far too many vigilantes cross the line while Aizawa worked with them, which truthfully, broke his heart. He was aware that most vigilantes had issues and he tried to help them as best as he could, though the ones who became villains were usually those who refused said help, preferring to brood in their misery until their minds began to crumble and shatter.

Hiro didn’t seem like the kind of person to do that, however. 

He had efficiently taken down his opponent, kept his own fingerprints off the weapon on the scene– Aizawa knew he was smart– and didn’t maim his opponent at all, or use extravagant amounts of force.

The little sticky note he had left greatly helped the police too, which Aizawa desperately hoped would be a regular thing, because it meant he didn’t have to do so much work on finding out what had happened, as well as shortening the workload for Tsukauchi too.

Walking home, Aizawa groaned as he thought about what he would say to his husband about the situation.

His husband would have questions… and Aizawa was too tired to answer him.

That would have to be a future-Aizawa problem.

Izuku desperately tried to control his breathing as he snuck around the building and began to sprint away.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the hero’s entire conversation! He was just making sure that the villain was dealt with accordingly, which he was pleased to find that he was.

But finding out that the entire Musutafu police force knew about him was too much to handle. And that Eraserhead was going to change his patrol route to try and talk to him, maybe even to catch him?

That had not helped the anxiety he felt crawling up his back.

It was bad enough that the hero knew he would be patrolling the edges of Musutafu, but seriously, changing his patrol route? That would cause so many issues later on in his vigilante career.

Izuku was panicking, to be frank.

He couldn’t get caught! Not this early, at least! He’d only managed to patrol once, there was no way he would let himself be caught. 

He continued to run blindly in the direction of his rooftop, tears falling down his face as he struggled to breathe. His breath hitched as he sobbed, although he continued running, weaving in and out of the maze that was Musutafu’s edge.

He clambered up to his roof, collapsing onto the solid ground with shuddering breaths, shaking uncontrollably as he lay unmoving aside from his hands, still twitching from the nerve damage Ikari and Takashira had caused.

Izuku knew he was being pretty dramatic, but he didn’t trust anyone anymore. And the information that a hero was after him stressed him out to no end, making him hyperventilate as he thought of all the situations that could arise upon being captured.

No. He wasn’t going to get caught! He’d been working so hard, focusing on his stealth while training as well as his stamina and general strength, somehow managing to evade the watchful eyes of heroes and police while he stole food and supplies on a near daily basis, pick-pocketing people daily on top of that.

He’d manage. He always did.

If he could escape captivity after being tortured for five months, he could evade a pro-hero.

He’d rather deal with Eraserhead than those psychopaths again.

Not that he would have to anyway. Ikari and Takashira were dead.

They weren’t a problem anymore.

He was safe and sound, far away from their controlling hands.

As his breathing became controlled once more and the shaking came to a stop, he wiped his eyes and turned to his back, watching the stars sadly as they twinkled gleefully in the night sky. 

He was lucky it was a warmer night, as he hadn’t managed to steal a hoodie for himself to sleep in yet. 

Or a blanket. He’d probably need one of those.

Izuku cleared his throat and turned around to his side, using his arm as a pillow and finally closed his eyes. He’d need to sleep if he wanted to get that hoodie tomorrow.

As much as he would rather steal it from the shop itself, he knew that it would be hard to hide the fact he was stealing, opting to pick-pocket until he got enough money for a cheap hoodie and a blanket.

He’d visit the bakery too. He missed the baker there… the man– Waitoru– always gave him free food.

Izuku didn’t care that it was a day old. Free food was free food.

As the stars continued to shine in the sky, the moonlight drowned Izuku’s body as he fell into a restless slumber.

Chapter Text

Bakugou awoke in his dorm room with a sharp breath, jolting upright in his bed as he gasped for air.

He was sweaty and hot, shaking uncontrollably as he wrung his hands through his hair in the darkness of his room.

He hated waking up from nightmares.

They were usually about his kidnapping, ending in either him being killed by the league, one of his classmates, Aizawa Sensei, or… Midoriya.

This time, it was Aizawa Sensei after he had joined the fight throughout the duration of his rescue.

He shuddered as he remembered the nightmare, how Shigaraki had decayed his teacher’s face until there was nothing but a headless body remaining, blood dripping from the hole in his neck as he fell to the floor, lifeless.

It was one of the more gruesome nightmares that he’d had in a while.

He stood on shaky legs and went to the bathroom, checking the clock as he quietly walked out of his room.

Four AM. 

Great. It was pretty much the middle of the fucking night and far too early to be awake.

Splashing water on his face, he regulated his breathing, gripping his hands on the sink until his knuckles turned white, looking in the mirror for the first time in a few days.

He was starting to get eye bags– as much as he adamantly protested he never got them. The sleep deprivation was beginning to catch up to him now, especially after going almost two consecutive weeks without a full night's sleep.

Making his way downstairs, he sighed, preparing himself for another long day ahead of him. He could never go back to sleep after nightmares, usually being too anxious to fall asleep in fear of reliving yet another death at the hands of The League.

As quietly as possible, he walked into the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine so he wouldn’t act like a zombie in all of his classes.

“Bakugou?” A quiet voice sounded from the couch.

He whipped his head around to see his homeroom and English teachers sitting on the couch together, cups of coffee in both of their hands.

“Hi,” he whispered, going back to his now-finished cup of coffee.

“Why are you awake, listener? It’s four in the morning, I hope you’re aware.” Yamada asked the boy, concern lacing his every word.

“Couldn’t sleep. Is that a problem?” Bakugou asked, defensive.

“No, no, it’s not an issue, kid. Why can’t you sleep?” That question came from Aizawa, and Bakugou sighed, making his way over to the couch next to his teachers, giving up on the idea of being back in bed.

“I haven’t been sleeping properly for a couple of weeks now, because of… you know,” he admitted quietly, refusing to look his teachers in the eye.

“Nightmares?” Aizawa asked, and Bakugou nodded his confirmations, taking a sip of coffee.

“What are they about, usually? Don’t feel pressured to answer though, okay?” Yamada asked, his attention fully focused on the tired teenager before him.

“No, it’s okay. Uh, they're usually about The League… no surprises there,” he laughed without a trace of humour, sinking further into his seat in shame.

He hated feeling so weak, especially showcasing it to two of his favourite teachers.

“What a shocker,” Aizawa responded dryly, causing the teen to chuckle. “What happens in them though? I know there’s more to them than you’re letting on, I can read you like an open book, kid.” He asked, uncharacteristically soft.

“Shigaraki ends up killing either me, you guys, the classmates who came for me or… Midoriya. They always end up with somebody dying though.” He said, getting quieter and quieter as he continued to talk.

The adults in the room nodded and Bakugou looked up, shocked to see that neither man showed any trace of pity in their features.

“And who died tonight? If you want to share, that is.” 

“You did,” Bakugou replied.

“...Me?” Aizawa asked, a bit shocked. “When you said ‘you guys’ I kind of assumed you meant the pro heroes involved… not your teachers, least of all me. ” He said, trying to keep his volume in check.

“Well, yeah , but it makes sense for it to be you. I talk to you the most out of anyone in this school. Plus there was the time you found me on the rooftop at like, three in the morning, and all we did was talk and look at the stars,” Bakugou said, a bit confused as to why his teacher was so surprised.

“Shou! You found him where and when and didn’t tell me? ” Yamada whisper-yelled, causing Bakugou to laugh out of surprise.

“I was just enjoying the view, Yamada Sensei. I like heights, and I couldn’t sleep.” He reassured, though the hero still rubbed his heart dramatically, causing his husband to roll his eyes.

“Uh… Mr. Aizawa? I have a question for you… if you want to answer it…” Bakugou started hesitantly, unsure of what the man would say.

He was dying to know, though, so he’d ask anyway.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer my question right afterward,” the hero proposed, to which the teenager agreed.

“Are you and Yamada married?” He blurted out.

Yamada froze while Aizawa choked on his coffee, and Bakugou smirked.

“I forget how socially intelligent you are under your brashness, kid.”

“Thanks, it’s a talent of mine,” he smirked, amused.

“Yes, we are married. Can I ask my question now?”

“You just did, but I’ll give you another one.”

Bakugou swore he heard his teacher mutter the words ‘fucking brat’ under his breath, and he held in a laugh.

“Call it morbid curiosity… but how did I die in this nightmare of yours?” He asked.

“Shouta!” Yamada exclaimed.

“What? I said it was morbid curiosity, you can’t sue me for it!”

“Jesus, are you two always this dramatic?”

“No,” Aizawa said, while Yamada said, “Yes.”

“To answer your question, Shigaraki disintegrated your face until you were nothing but a headless corpse, and I woke up after you hit the floor,” Bakugou said, carefully aware of the horror on both his teachers’ faces.

“That’s…”

“Gruesome? Yeah, that was the worst one I’ve had so far. Usually, it’s someone getting shot or burnt, or I wake up before they– or I– actually die.”

“I don’t know if I should be touched that I’m important enough that you’ve had nightmares where I’m the main character, or if I should be offended that I’m dying in them,” he said, while Yamada dropped his mouth open in shock and Bakugou spluttered in surprise.

“ Main character? Aizawa, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?” Bakugou asked, incredulous, causing Yamada to almost fall out of his seat laughing.

“So many things, kid,” he deadpanned, and that was the final straw for Bakugou, who started laughing uncontrollably while his teacher sulked on the couch in front of him.

By now, it was nearing five thirty, and some of his classmates were waking up for school that morning. Namely, Iida and Kirishima.

“Good morning, teachers! And… Bakugou?”

“Shitty hair,” Bakugou replied gruffly, shooting a look to his teacher to keep his mouth shut, making Yamada snort.

“Good morning, Kirishima. Don’t worry about me staying, I’m leaving to get ready for classes now myself,” Aizawa said, sighing. He really did not want to teach today.

“Aizawa, did you even sleep?” Bakugou asked abruptly.

“Bakugou! It is rude to talk to our teacher in such a manner! He is our sensei, not a friend!” Iida scolded him, while Bakugou merely scoffed and rolled his eyes, glaring at Yamada, who was desperately holding in his laughter.

Traitor. 

“Oh, fuck off glasses, it’s not that big of a deal. Also–” he turned to look at his homeroom teacher, a teasing look on his face. “Your silence is saying a lot right now. You genuinely didn’t sleep?” 

“...No, I didn’t.”

“You are a train wreck,” Bakugou deadpanned, ignoring the gasps coming from his classmates who were awake, Yaoyorozu having joined the previous two. Yamada squawked out a laugh, hissing when Aizawa slapped his shoulder.

“And you’re a little shit, what’s your point?” Aizawa sassed back, smirking at the teenager, ignoring the extra gasps at the sound of their teacher swearing at his student.

“No point, just letting you know. See you in class, teach!” He grinned, walking upstairs to get changed, while his teacher simply rolled his eyes and left the room, his husband following him out in peals of laughter.

Iida was wondering what had gotten into his classmate lately.

He supposed it was fine.

He could reprimand him later if need be.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Izuku had started patrolling the edge, and he was loving it.  

Nothing brought him more happiness than patrolling the city and saving people every night, regardless of the fact that nobody actually knew who he was.

Rumours about a new vigilante called ‘Hiro’ spread through the edge like wildfire, and it wasn’t long before Izuku had innocent civilians waving at him during patrols, to which he shyly waved back before focusing on the task at hand.

He was capturing at least three petty criminals per night, sometimes even a classified, low-rank villain. 

Those fights were always the most exhilarating for Izuku. He was able to let loose and go absolutely fucking feral, finally finding an outlet for the grief and rage that itched to burst out of his skin at any given time.

While he would never truly get over the torture Ikari and Takashira put him through, he was able to push it to the back of his mind much easier than before. It had been around a month since he had escaped, the December weather getting colder and colder as each day passed by in a flash.

Izuku had managed to find a long-sleeve compression shirt to wear for patrols, one that didn’t interfere with the leather holsters that his knives sat comfortably in. It protected him somewhat from the bitter winds of winter, but he warmed up as he exercised, so the cold wasn’t an ongoing issue.

Izuku was currently running across a power line, maintaining his balance as he tailed a runaway villain duo. Izuku actually knew these two, known as the Mazinger Brothers in the underground. 

They both had similar quirks, mirroring each other. One’s right fist was able to swing at very high speeds, while the other one's left fist swung at high speeds.

All in all, they could be beaten easily as long as he could dodge them fast enough. 

They were running from an attempted break-in at a karate club about a block over from where they were now. The owner recognised them after they smashed through the windows of the building, and promptly called the police, causing the brothers to make a run for it. 

It had been five minutes, and they still had no idea that Izuku was following them.

As they turned the corner, they ran into a dead end and cursed, and Izuku took his chance to strike. 

He swung off the power lines with ease, throwing himself into the backs of the pair and rolling off their fallen bodies gracefully. 

“What the fuck man!”

“Watch it motherfucker!”

Izuku smirked as they got up, pulling a knife out of the holster on his arm and holding it behind his back.

“You’re going to regret that, kid!” One of them cried.

“You think you can catch us? Think again!” The other shouted, teasing Izuku.

Izuku stood and acted casual, using the knife to pick at his nails.

It was an intimidation tactic he had started using to shock his opponents, while consequently causing them to underestimate him. He smirked as the Mazinger brothers charged, left and right arms respectively raised, aimed at his head.

As soon as they swung, he ducked, their fists colliding with each other and letting out a sickening crack, telling Izuku they had just broken each other’s knuckles. 

They cried out in sync, rage filling their bodies as they charged at Izuku recklessly. He’d never taken on two villains before, and he immediately realised how out of practice he truly was at being under-armed, fighting double the amount of people than himself.

He ducked, kicked, sliced, and punched, groaning as one landed a quirk-induced punch straight to his gut, causing him to go flying into the wall behind him. 

He rolled his eyes at the familiar feeling of his shoulder sliding out of place once more.

He stood on shaky legs and sighed, running at the two at a faster pace than before. The Mazinger brothers smirked ferally, charging him.

“DUCK!” 

Izuku ducked, not thinking about the unfamiliar voice looking out for him. The pair charged at him with their fists raised once more, only this time, they punched each other in the head, knocking themselves out.

Izuku swiftly tied the brothers up– attached to each other– and wrote his note, dragging the two into the clearing.

Only, there was someone in his way.

“You must be Hiro,” the voice said. 

Izuku looked up and sighed. He knew he would run into Eraserhead eventually, but he didn’t want it to be so soon into his vigilante escapades.              

“Oh shit, your shoulder…” The hero reached for his dislocated shoulder and Izuku growled, baring his fanged teeth at the hero before him, taking pride in the way he flinched. As Aizawa took a step forward, Izuku took a step back, defensively. 

He looked the man in the eyes and easily popped it back into place, smirking under his mask as the man flinched once more.

“Did that… not hurt?”

Izuku shook his head no.

“So it’s true then, you really don’t talk,” he mused, carefully watching Izuku’s every move.

Izuku didn’t dignify the hero with any form of a response, merely handing him the villain pair and turning around, climbing up the building, and running away, knowing the hero couldn’t follow him until the brothers were taken into custody.

It was another twenty minutes until Eraserhead found him again.

“Do you understand sign language?” He asked instead of greeting him.

Izuku, once again, shook his head, signaling that he did not, in fact, know sign language.

“Okay… fuck that makes life difficult. Okay, that’s fine, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Izuku didn’t want to. He thought his silence made that incredibly clear.

He glared at Eraserhead, who simply sighed.

“I’m not going to arrest you, okay? You didn’t use your quirk, and for all I know, you acted in self-defence. And I have a feeling you aren’t going to contradict me, either,” Aizawa stated, clearly amused at the situation.

Izuku shot the hero a look, clearly saying; ‘well, no shit Sherlock,’ before turning around and walking away. He glared as the hero tried to follow him. Thankfully, Eraserhead understood that was his cue to leave and took off, leaving Izuku alone again once more.

Thank God.

That could have gone so much worse than it did.

Izuku let go of the breath he never realised he was holding, and started to make his way home. Well, he called it home, but in reality, it was a random rooftop that he deemed his own. He’d managed to find a compartment on the rooftop that opened and closed, so he’d hide all of his stuff in there when he was out and about.

Opening the compartment, he grabbed a cigarette and lit it calmly, taking a long drag as he grabbed his blanket and put on his hoodie, far too aware of the cold winds that were making themselves known.

He had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw Eraserhead while patrolling. But, one thing that the hero didn’t know apart from his identity, was just how stubborn Izuku could be when he really wanted to be.

The man wanted to talk to him, to watch how he operates. That was fine.

That didn’t mean Izuku actually had to like it.

He liked Aizawa. He was one of the good teachers at UA– as well as Yamada– but he saw Aizawa more often. The man had a soft spot for him, Izuku could tell. He’d spent the past fifteen years of his life learning to read people's emotions through their body language, no matter how masked it was.

He wasn’t overly thrilled at the situation he found himself in, but there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway.

Puffing out the last breath of smoke, Izuku watched the thin, grey cloud swirl through the air with mesmerizing grace, wistfully dreaming about a time when he could be accepted, and loved.

A boy can only dream, after all.

Chapter Text

It took about a week of not patrolling, but he’d done it.

He’d finally gathered enough money to buy a simple shoulder brace, and stolen the parts to reinforce it to benefit his vigilante career, putting the whole thing together beautifully.

Izuku had used the spare leather from his holsters to make the brace tighter and had also sewed his knife holster onto the brace itself, consequently making the entire contraption easier to wear and take off.

Using a stretchy, yet sturdy fabric, he’d sewn in a sling of sorts to the brace, so it now wrapped around his chest as well as just above his elbow, giving his shoulder the extra stability it needed to stay in place while patrolling.

He was happy with it, that was for sure. It went over his t-shirt when he was out and about so he could access the knife, and it was also much more comfortable for the teenage vigilante to wear on patrols.

Though when he wasn’t under his alias, he tended to wear the hoodie over it, to not alarm anyone with the very large knife resting on his upper arm.

The only downside was that villains started noticing it.

They would constantly aim for his shoulder– or his arm– upon seeing the brace, though on the off chance a villain actually managed to dislocate his shoulder for the hundredth time, he would simply click it back into place while glaring at them, not even flinching as they stared at the boy in vague amounts of horror.

Thankfully, he was back to patrolling tonight, once again staking out villains on rooftops as he looked into the alleys below him.

It wasn’t long until he heard a high-pitched scream and started to run, leaping over gap after gap until he found the source of the noise that had echoed through the edges of Musutafu in the dead of the night; a teenage girl, cornered by an older man. 

An older man who was clearly drunk, and definitely a pedophile.

Izuku saw red.

He used the power line above him to swing down to the ground, both his feet landing on the perpetrator's chest as he kicked him to the floor, landing roughly as the man grunted, crying out in shock and pain. 

Izuku wasted no time in knocking the man out with the back of his knife, tying him up with ease, and writing an incredibly biased note for the police to find.

‘He’s drunk, and a paedophile. The girl he cornered looks to be around fifteen. Do what you will, I couldn’t care less what happens to this fucker.

-Hiro.’

The woman cried out her thanks, calling the police to collect the man, before asking something of Izuku, something he would always agree to, no matter the circumstances.

“Can you stay? At least until… he gets taken care of? I... I don’t want to be alone with him here… please?”

Izuku nodded, sympathy radiating off of him in waves as he sat down next to the girl, carefully staying far enough away that he wouldn’t make her uncomfortable, or that he himself would accidentally be touched by her.

He heard sirens after about ten minutes, and the girl stood shakily and nodded, walking to the officers to give her statement. Izuku was climbing up the building to the roof when he heard Eraserhead shout after him, causing the teen to roll his eyes.

“HIRO!”

He turned, giving the man an exhausted look as he motioned for the hero to continue speaking.

“Meet me on the rooftop two blocks from here, the west building!” Eraserhead shouted at him before he swiftly turned around and walked away, not even bothering to wait for an answer from Hiro.

Izuku rolled his eyes and left, heading toward the west building two blocks away.

Call him suicidal and reckless, but he wanted to know what Eraserhead wanted with him. Izuku didn’t think the man would arrest him, he had said that he wouldn’t, and Aizawa-sensei had never gone back on his word.

Eraserhead, however, was a different story, one that Izuku knew too little about.

He needed to know what the deal was.

He sat on the edge of the west building and waited, lighting up a cigarette to pass the time. 

When he was patrolling and taking a smoke break simultaneously, the bottom of his mask was lifted enough that his mouth was no longer covered, but the mask still hid enough of his identity so that he still couldn’t be recognised.

It was a bit unorthodox– and looked downright stupid– but it worked.

His thoughts swirled in sync with the ash and smoke that drifted through the air.

He was exhausted after not sleeping for two days, nightmares plaguing every dream he dreamt whenever he closed his tired eyes.

He’d have to sleep tonight, otherwise, he’d be a danger to the civilians living on the edge, unable to save them like he vowed to do so long ago.

“Hiro… I didn’t think you’d come, to be honest.” 

A gruff voice sounded behind him, indicating the presence of one underground hero.

Eraserhead was here.

Izuku shrugged, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke, watching as the ash fell to the ground beneath him.

“You smoke?” Eraserhead asked, bewildered, and Izuku turned to look at him while shooting him an exasperated look.

The man merely nodded, blinked twice, and wordlessly sat down next to the teenager. 

Izuku was incredibly uncomfortable, to say the least. He refused to look at the man, he didn’t talk to anyone nor did he know sign language– their means of communication was coming out to be next to nothing.

Eraserhead wordlessly put something in his lap and Izuku viciously startled, almost sending the item flying over the edge of the building.

…Sushi.

The man had brought him fucking sushi.

Izuku looked at it skeptically, inspecting every side of the container to see if it had been tampered with in any way.

“It’s not poisoned, kid. It’s still completely sealed, I bought it after arresting the pedophile you caught half an hour ago.”

Izuku shot him a withering look which caused the man to laugh.

“Nice note, by the way. You made Tsukauchi laugh. That’s hard to do, you know,” the hero continued, and Izuku smiled under his mask, shrugging in response.

Izuku continued to inspect the container of sushi, much to Eraserheads exasperation. 

He was allowed to be cautious, goddamnit! He was homeless for crying out loud! The only way he’d managed to stay alive for so long was by being constantly on edge, wary of his surroundings at every moment and never letting his guard down.

Izuku didn’t care that this man used to be his teacher. Times had changed, and he wasn’t going to let down his guard because of something as simple as that.

“Just eat the damn sushi kid,” Eraserhead sighed, and Izuku rolled his eyes, though he did start eating it.

He was starving, how could he not?

The man then brought out his own container of sushi and started to eat with him. The quietness of the whole situation was comforting to Izuku. He was surprised to find that he was minorly enjoying the man’s company after being alone for so long. 

As Izuku finished his sushi, he slipped his mask back down, looking up to the sky as he stood.

“Come back here every night you patrol. I’ll have something for you to eat with me, okay? If I’m not here, check under the loose floorboard in the corner. I’ll make sure you eat, okay?” 

Izuku’s head whipped towards the hero so fast his neck audibly clicked, and he rubbed the ache away in embarrassment. The hero was looking at him intently, and Izuku could do nothing but nod, before running away from the hero still sitting at the edge.

He was confused, to say the least.

Why would Eraserhead spend his money on food for a vigilante who had never spoken to anyone? The man didn’t know anything about him– Izuku doubted they even knew his gender with how long his hair was getting– and he still wanted to waste his money on someone like him.

A lawbreaker.

A stranger.

And unbeknownst to him, a literal child.

A homeless one, at that.

Izuku couldn’t find sense in it at all, though he most definitely would not be putting the hero’s efforts to waste. 

He landed on his own rooftop with a huff, flopping down onto his blanket, exhausted.

He couldn’t understand why Eraserhead was doing this for him, though as his tired eyes began to droop, Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke with a strangled scream, his raspy voice echoing through the edge of Musutafu in the early hours of the morning.

He was sweaty and shaking as tears rolled down his face at the reminder of his captivity, the five months he spent in agonising pain, being tortured and abused for the sake of answers.

He could still feel the aftershocks of electrocution coursing through his body as his mind forced him to relive the trauma, the twitches in his hands becoming extremely prominent as a shaky hand run through his hair as he breathed.

In, and out.

In, and out.

He stood and stretched, pacing around the rooftop as he kept his breathing in check, drying the tears off his dirt-streaked face. 

In, and out.

In, and out.

He was sobbing fully now, clutching his chest with one arm and scratching it with the other as he let his emotions loose, losing the war with his own mind as the flashbacks took place, one after the other.

Ikari shouting his name.

Ikari beating him to a pulp.

Ikari and Takashira electrocuting him.

Ikari and Takashira burning him.

Ikari and Takashira’s dead bodies, the blood seeping into the floorboards.

Ikari croaking out his name.

Ikari’s horrified expression, permanently etched onto his face as he died.

Takashira’s pain-filled shouts.

Ikari.

Takashira.

Ikari.

Takashira.

Ikari–

He couldn’t breathe.

His throat had closed over and his lips were turning blue, eyes blown wide as he choked on his breaths, whining pitifully as he willed his lungs to work.

Gasping far too long later, he collapsed to the floor, his entire body shaking as he let out a gut-wrenching scream, slicing through the quiet morning with razor-sharp emotions and sorrow, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths.

In, and out.

In, and out.

Izuku desperately wanted to patrol, he was itching for an escape from the thoughts as he spiraled, the dam holding in the sheer amount of rage and sorrow finally breaking as emotion flowed out of his body in waves as he finally breathed in a calming rhythm.

Deciding to train, he put the shoulder brace on and started running, heading for the lake he knew too well, opting to swim for a few hours.

Swimming calmed him down, he had found.

Using it as a means to strengthen his shoulders, he’d found that the rhythmic movements had helped relieve his anxiety and stress, forcing him to focus on his breathing rather than the flurry of thoughts that raced through his head frequently.

Ripping off his shirt as he ran towards the lake, he dived into the water in a rush, swimming as far and fast as he could manage.

He swam for an hour, only stopping to catch his breath after being underwater for too long.

He cleaned himself while at the lake, the water turning brown as the dirt and dried blood that covered his skin floating away in the mild currents of the water.

His wet hair fell just past his shoulders now, and he used one of his knives to cut it much shorter, styling it very badly in the rough shape of a mullet, his new look framing his face and falling just below his jawline.

He trudged back to the roof with unfamiliar calmness, though there was something else simmering just below his skin, threatening to burst out as he continued to live another day.

Rage. 

Izuku had displayed plenty of rage while in Ikari’s hold, the two scientists constantly enraging him as he was tortured, abused, and starved as they experimented on him near-daily.

The majority of that rage had dissipated as soon as he had escaped their hold on him, replaced with mass amounts of depression, anxiety, and guilt. 

But now?

It was coming back in full force, the trauma finally being processed as he went through the five stages of grief, his mind settling on anger for the time being.

Izuku was certain it would continue to be this way for a while.

He would be a ticking time bomb, ready to snap back at anyone and everyone… once he got his voice back.

And he would get his voice back, he was sure of it.

It would just take some time.

Aizawa was standing next to his class as they sat by the front gates, ready for their parents to pick them up for the holidays.

They had two months off school and would be returning as second-years of UA High School.

Aizawa was incredibly proud of them.

They had been through villain attack after villain attack, each and every one of them surviving attempts on their livelihoods better than many pro heroes.

All except for one.

He couldn’t help but feel like he failed.

Midoriya should be with his class, leaving merely to come back as a second-year student in high school.

Aizawa had lost count of how long he had been missing, not wishing to focus on the amount of time the teenager had been missing in fear of spiraling further than he had before.

He smiled openly as his class left with their parents, one by one.

Only Bakugou was left, which was no longer a surprise to him. The relationship between the two was strange, to say the least.

They were teacher and student, though both of them held a higher level of trust than all of Aizawa’s other students ever had before, the familiarity between the two being somewhat foreign to the underground hero.

“Midoriya should be here. It’s not fair that he isn’t…” Bakugou said quietly, his voice filled with grief.

“I know, kid. He should be here, but as much as we can hope for his wellbeing, there isn’t anything we can do and you know it.”

Bakugou nodded, wiping a stray tear that had fallen down his face.

They sat in silence for a while, before striking up a casual conversation while they waited for Bakugou’s mother to arrive.

“What are your holiday plans kid? Anything fun?”

“Tch, no. I’m sleeping for as long as I’m fucking allowed to every day and will be trying not to bend over and perish.”

“And you called Hizashi and I dramatic. Really?” Aizawa mused, smirking at the teenager next to him.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“You two are dramatic. I’m just not as open about my dramatic tendencies. You, however… well, that sleeping bag speaks for itself,” Bakugou smirked, laughing uncontrollably at the betrayed look on his teacher's face.

“My sleeping bag is comfortable as well as practical , you brat. You should try it sometime, it’ll change your life.”

“Yeah, I’ll get one when Hell freezes over.”

“Little shit.”

“Fucking hobo.”

“BAKUGOU KATSUKI!”

Teacher and student winced in sync at the arrival of Mitsuki Bakugou.

“You apologise to your teacher right this instant!” She seethed, taking the bag out of his hands roughly.

“I am incredibly sorry for my foul actions, Aizawa-sensei. It won’t happen again,” he said with a wink, having turned his back on his mother to apologise, a smirk easily falling onto his lips as he spoke.

“Whatever kid, just get going. I’ll see you in April,” Aizawa said with a smile, turning around as Mitsuki continued to rant and rave at her son.

April would arrive all too soon, he would later find, but for now, a certain vigilante would be taking up the majority of his time.

Chapter Text

Izuku was losing this fight.

He had no idea what this guy’s quirk was, only that it was touch activated, but he was big and burly while Izuku was small and lean.

He was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. 

He’d bitten off more than he could chew and now he was choking on it.

Dodging a punch to the face, he threw a kick at the man’s chest, using all of the force he could muster, though the man only stumbled and laughed.

“Is that all you’ve got? Come on little one, aren’t you supposed to be a hero? ”

Izuku growled, launching at the man with his knife in hand, hitting him hard on his temple in an attempt to knock him out cold, which of course, didn’t work. The man laughed at Izuku's attempt, and finally slapped him across the face, his quirk activated.

Izuku’s eyes immediately glazed over as he was thrown roughly into the pits of a flashback.

He was burning.

He couldn’t think or breathe as the feeling of being burnt alive swarmed his every thought, reminders of Ikari’s torture playing on a loop through his mind as he screamed in agony. 

He threw himself into a wall, cursing and crying out as the pain became too much to bear. 

His world was spinning, he couldn’t focus on the simple task to take even a single step forward, let alone breathe.

In the midst of his panic, he ripped off his mask.

White hot pain coursed through his body as he recognised the feeling of the flame licking his skin in seductive attraction, burning through his mind as his screams were sounding above the villain's laughter as he ran from the scene.

An arm grabbed him from behind, holding him down across his chest firmly and securely. 

Izuku reacted on instinct.

He bit down on the arm and pulled, flesh ripping off as he pushed himself away from his attacker, believing it to be Takashira once more.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” He cried out as the pain continued, his body acting of his own accord as he staggered through the alleyway, clutching his chest as he tried to will the pain and the memories away.

A hand grabbed his shoulder again.

“NO! STAY AWAY!”

Izuku flipped the man over his shoulder with all the force he could muster under the intense pain of fire, growling as the body hit the floor with a grunt.

Izuku ran.

He could hardly tell where he was going, only that he wanted to get away.

He couldn’t breathe.

Sprinting through the alleyways Izuku ran from wall to wall, finding his way around the edge as the fire started to die out, leaving Izuku with the aches of torture throbbing in his bones.

He was spiraling, wiping at his arms and defensive of the smallest movements, shadows and bugs alike making him jump out of his skin, his hands twitching under the stress of it all.

He could see a blurry figure following him, both of them now occupying a rooftop.

When had he climbed up a fucking building?

“No… no, NO! STAY AWAY FROM ME!” He screamed, curling into himself as the body stepped closer.

“Hi.. –on, it’s me…. –serhea–” 

The man’s words were jumbled, Izuku couldn’t understand him at all. The only thing Izuku knew at that moment was danger.

“No, please no! Stay away!” He whimpered, nails grazing up and down his arms as he stepped back, almost going off the edge of the building before catching himself, and throwing himself to the side.

“...ro! Hi– HIRO!”

Izuku whipped his head up.

He was reminded of Ikari, though… that wasn’t right.

Ikari was dead.

Takashira was dead.

This… 

“Eraserhead?” Izuku croaked, his vision finally clearing as he took a gasping breath.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it, deep breaths now, with me, okay?” The hero fretted, showing Izuku how he was breathing, indicating to the teenager to follow along.

Breathe in, hold, and out.

Breathe in, hold, and out.

They did this for what felt like an eternity before Izuku finally collapsed to the floor, sobs wracking his body as he turned to sit upright on the roof, twitching hands running through his hair harshly.

“Can I touch you?” 

“ Don’t you fucking dare. ” Izuku growled, inching away from the hero.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’m going to sit here in front of you so you can still see me, and I want you to keep following my breathing, alright?”

Izuku nodded as he cried, his eyes glued to the man's chest.

Breathe in, hold, and out.

Breathe in, hold, and out.

Finally, Izuku managed to calm down.

“You with me Hiro?” Eraserhead asked, concern lacing his every word, the feeling dripping off of him in rapid torrents.

Izuku nodded, scrunching his body as small as it could go, and hugged his knees, still trembling as the last remnants of the flashback coursed through his mind for its final loop.

They sat in silence while Izuku nursed the bruises he had acquired from throwing himself into walls, and looked towards the hero.

Specifically, his arm.

“Shit! Did… did I do that?” He asked timidly, though he already knew what the answer was.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I don’t actually mind that much,” Eraserhead assured him, before speaking again. 

“Oh! Here, you ripped this off your face, kid,” the hero handed Izuku a mask, and the vigilante’s eyes widened before snatching out of the hero’s hand, and putting the mask back on securely.

Hopefully, the man didn’t recognise Hiro as his former student.

The one that went missing.

“Hiro…”

“Don’t,” the boy croaked, “please, I– I can’t…” Izuku stuttered, mixing his words with each other as his panic came rushing back.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it.”

“Thanks…”

They sat in silence. 

Eraserhead said something, though Izuku didn’t actually hear him, due to the man being on his right.

“Move to my left side, I’m deaf in my right ear,” Izuku whispered. 

He watched as Eraserhead nodded and moved to his left, sitting down once more. Izuku turned to face him closer to the front, purely so he could see the hero better.

“I asked you why you’re talking, I didn’t think you’d keep doing it after you came to,” the hero said, glancing at the trembling boy, the latter's eyes glued to the sky.

“No point,” Izuku replied. “You know what I sound like now, so why would I hide it?”

Eraserhead nodded, though Izuku spoke again.

“The villain's quirk made me feel like I was being burnt alive… just– just so you know.” His voice trembled as he spoke, and he looked at the hero now. 

“As you can see, I don’t have good memories of fire.”

“No, I can’t imagine that you do… you won’t tell me what happened even if I ask, right?” Eraserhead questioned, and Izuku laughed.

“No, I won’t. I don’t trust you.”

“Then how do I gain your trust?”

Izuku stilled, slowly turning to the hero sitting next to him.

“...What?” He said dumbly, eyes blown wide.

“How do I gain your trust?” The man repeated earnestly.

“I… I don’t know… I’ve never really trusted anyone in my life… I guess I just don’t know how,”  Izuku whispered, looking down.

“Okay. That’s alright. I’m still going to try though, I hope you’re aware. I’m awfully stubborn when I want to be,” the hero warned with a smirk, which Izuku returned.

“Yeah, so am I,” and with that, the boy took off, leaving Eraserhead sitting on the rooftop.

It was a while before Izuku realised how he’d been found so quickly.

Through his panic, he’d run to the roof of the west building, two blocks over.

Their roof.

Maybe… maybe Izuku trusted the man more than he thought.

Chapter Text

Izuku stood on the edge of the building, waiting.

He was being impatient, sure. But this was bothering him immensely.

Eraserhead was late… 

He was never late! What was he doing?

The stars were dull tonight. They didn’t twinkle like they used to, the tiny beams of light synonym to Izuku’s hope; dulled and dampened under the pollution of the city air.

He breathed, hands twitching unceremoniously at his side, a constant reminder of his broken past.

The price he paid for freedom; a broken heart and broken trust.

The west building was tall… too tall. Fifteen stories high with nothing below to cushion his fall upon the event he fell– or if he jumped.

He wasn’t like that though, at least not anymore.

His attempt to end his life in the cell had failed, so why would jumping work?

While he had thought about ending his life more times than he could count, there wasn’t any point anymore. He had made a name for himself in the past couple of months as Hiro, why would he throw that away?

He was finally turning out to be something great.

People on the edge trusted him, they put their faith and trust in his hands and he would do anything he could to follow through.

Izuku wiped his hands, nails coated in blood from the turned-up wounds on his arms where he had unknowingly torn them, his anxiety over Eraserhead’s absence getting the better of him.

He’d told him he’d be here.

Where was he?

He waited for another five minutes, debating if he should just leave or not when quiet footsteps sounded behind him.

“Eraserhead.” He stated shortly, not bothering to turn around. “You’re late. ”