Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He had always thought pain would tell the truth. That when his body finally stopped pretending, when the bandages slipped and the adrenaline cooled, something honest would remain-- an exact accounting of who he was and what he’d earned.

Tonight, pain was a crooked ledger.

It fluttered his lids open and closed like a shutter, indifferent to whatever resolutions he tried to keep. The hoodie had taken on the color of the dark around him, and the blood seeping through the fabric smelled metallic and mundane, like a badly kept promise.

The clock on his phone read 3:48 a.m. The numbers felt conspiratorial; not late enough to be respectable, not early enough to be merciful. He told himself it was too soon to go home in the sense that there was a city between him and a clean bed, but that was a polite lie. There was nowhere else to go. “Home” had shrunk to a roof and a couch and a sleeping, snoring father who might as well have been a wall.

His mother worked so much she had become a rumor in their corridor: warm in photographs he rarely saw, rarely present in the living rooms she once owned. He liked to pretend she existed in the filtered light of those family photos; truthfully, she lived in rotating shifts and in the infrequent phone calls he caught only when he happened to wake up somewhere that wasn’t the street.

There was a peculiar, small cruelty in being alive and invisible at once. A quirkless boy moving through a world that expected him to announce his worth with flames or fangs or flight. In a place where people were ranked by the sparks in their hands, being the boy with nothing felt like a social sin.

He carried it like a scent, the helplessness. He had cultivated the habit of apologizing for his body: apologizing when doors closed without his name on the brass plate, apologizing when his mother’s eyes reddened after a twelve-hour shift and she found him at a table empty but for his guilt. He apologized when he failed to dodge, when a fight left bruises that read like chapter headings across his arms.

He climbed the fire escape and thought about the assignment waiting on the kitchen table: an essay whose paper would ask him to make sense of some theme the teacher thought worth repeating.

He couldn’t think in the terms the classroom wanted. His thoughts turned to systems instead; how society drew its maps of worth and forced everyone to navigate with one hand tied behind their backs. It was easy to teach history as a sequence of kings, treaties, and dates. It was another thing to trace the quiet violence that let people sleep while others failed to be seen.

One does not learn to name structural cruelty until one is the person sleeping with a knife-scarred hoodie in a stairwell.

The stairwell smelled of rust and old cigarette smoke. It had a dampness that felt like the city breathing, tired. He propped himself against the brick and let his knee quiver with the effort of standing, small tremors, primitive currency.

The blade-arm had been efficient; the man who used it didn’t waste theatrics. He had a businesslike approach to violence, and that unnerved the boy more than the wound. The man belonged to a different moral calculus. He had clients. People like that stayed warm and fed and organized, and they didn’t ask permission to take pieces of someone else. The underground, the result of a power based hierarchy-- the word moved along the street like a rumor the boy had chased for two weeks only to discover he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

Blood trailed darkly, outlining his ribs like a map he could not read. He forced himself to the window, pried it open, and clambered inside with the practiced grace of someone who had learned to value coming home as a survival skill.

The apartment smelled the way absent people’s dwellings do: dust, old coffee, the lingering scent of someone who used to vaporize laughter into the upholstery. His father was passed out on the couch, a bottle fallen prone at his elbow. The cheap television made a dead blue stare on the wall.

For all his disinterest, the father provided the functional essentials of a household: a bed that didn’t collapse and a couch that held him in its stubborn shapes. He was a man who had turned love into mechanical motions: pay the electricity, forget to call, irritate and be irritated. He couldn’t count on him for tenderness, only for a kind of predictable neglect.

“Dammit,” he hissed as he fell onto the floor inside his room. The impact sent a new chorus of pain through his stomach. He moved carefully, as though gentleness could reverse a blade’s decisions. He had to get the wound cleaned. Infection, his mind whispered, a pragmatic worry layered on top of hurt and shame. His hands worked with automatic efficiency, reaching for the small first-aid kit he kept hidden, the one thing about himself he managed to control.

He didn’t want to be visible.

He wanted whatever pride remained to breathe quietly between cotton and skin.

The mirror over the sink betrayed him. Pale, freckled, a dark halo where tired eyes had been stamped. Green hair, messy and damp from rooftop rain; dark circles that could be measured by geologists. He watched his reflection like a forensic report: bruise hues in concentric eggshell purples and bruised greens; a body catalogued by other people’s violence. 

His fingers traced throughout his face and felt the thinness of skin, as if his surface had grown solvent and everything that should have been held in place might dissolve.

“Disgusting,” he muttered to the glass, “I look disgusting.”

The word carried weight that wasn’t his alone. It was the city’s verdict, the echo of teachers who adjusted their voices when they saw him limping to class, the cheap cruelty of childhood friends who had become hands that could fell him. He had learned to inventory the ways another person’s glance could wound. Every sneer was a small, repeated lashing.

The pills waited in the drawer with the crusted lint and old photographs he never distributed. An orange plastic bottle. He took two without thinking about dosage or consequence. It was a ritual more than a strategy: anesthetize, sleep, wake up, carry on.

Sometimes medication mimicked mercy; it dulled the edges and made the world easier to navigate for a few hours. In the morning, he would count the cost. For now, the mission was to survive the next bell.

This had become his strange religion… rescuing strangers from petty crimes in the dark and returning home with the taste of alcohol and smoke that lingered on the walls on his tongue. He stitched wounds in his chest like confessions. The city had given him meaning in a way school never could. Slicing through the night, chasing rumors, punching in the dark: it felt like practice, a way of proving he wasn’t entirely worthless.

For a while he told himself he did it for others. He lied even to himself. He did it to feel heat when life had grown gray.

Sleep came without the grace of dreams. He lay in bed and watched the ceiling, feeling the internal clock of panic and exhaustion battle with the pills.

Three hours, he promised himself. Three hours would be more than enough. It was a lie he had been telling since the night his world had turned.

It had been a year since the thing the day everything became ash. The image of his mother holding him, her arms squeezing like a vice that could both break and hold him, replayed like a film strip. Her apologies were soundless by the time they arrived in his head. She spoke the way people speak to ruins: with apologies that meant nothing and gestures that needed a pulse to be alive. She spoke on behalf of a man she saw as a punishment to her dear son.

Morning arrived like an interrogation. The light in the window felt accusatory. He moved through the small rituals of waking like someone following a manual written in a language he barely understood: pull on clothes, check bandages, apply a new strip where the old had loosened.

He listened for his father’s snoring to shift. It didn’t. The city around them throbbed awake in predictable rhythms, and he tried to slip into the day without asking too many questions of himself.

The math classroom was a place where systems were taught as the sum of individual competence.

The board was a field of neat numerals, but his mind had turned to a different kind of variable: the social arithmetic of attention. Being noticed was a currency, and he had been bankrupt for years. A teacher’s scolding snapped him back to geometry and formulas, but the words felt like a foreign language; his ears tuned them out and tracked the pattern of his heartbeat instead.

Fear had a predictable cadence. Shame bore the same inflection his father used when he wanted him to be small.

When the bell cut through the lesson, it felt less like liberation than prelude. He wanted to be invisible, but the world had a way of refusing that charity. As he gathered his things slowly, every movement calibrated not to draw notice, a shove sent him back into the classroom.

The motion was small, the kind of action that felt ceremonial in its cruelty. His skin tightened and his breath shallowed. The blond who called himself a friend wore a predator’s smile. He moved toward him with a hunger that was performative; violence to him was a show and an economy. He needed witnesses to validate his appetite.

“Kacchan--” the name slipped from memory to habit. Katsuki had always been the kind who greeted the world with a fist. He claimed kinship with thunder and used it to speak for others.

He told himself to keep his mouth shut. If he got a scar from the fight, it would only be another unavoidable notation on a life already marked; a line on his body that recorded what the world made him pay.

They pinned him down with a ferocity that felt routine. The boys who helped learned cruelty as a group ritual; it’s easier to punch when someone else is holding your hands. He tasted metal and fear and the sewer stench of the school’s hidden corners. He could feel his chest bleeding where the bandage no longer held. Atrocities take the shape of repetition and habit.

When the blond got on top of him, when the dementia of being younger and meaner took the bully’s face, he learned the shape of someone who believed himself superior.

“Noticed ya limpin’ this morning, Izuku.” Katsuki taunted, kicking despite the bandage. Izuku tried to understand the logic behind it, what did pain mean to someone who manufactured pleasure from others’ misfortune? In moments like that, philosophy felt obscene.

Theories were useless.

There was only the raw, elemental desire to survive and the humiliating comprehension that the people around him would make sport of his suffering.

Katsuki’s reaction was strange and complicated. He loved to be monstrous, but he lived by a code that occasionally surprised. He noticed the blood on the floor and temporarily -like a crack in a mask- broke character. There was something human beneath his cruelty, a fissure the others exploited quickly.

Katsuki stepped off with a sneer and offered what passed for mercy in a man like him: the opportunity to be entertained by the boy’s humiliation in private. “Grab ‘im, let’s go to the toilets,” Katsuki said, voice a grinding stone, “Idiot’s face’s a mess, I'm sure he’d appreciate the help. Right, Deku?”

The humiliation of a forced, quiet beating in the bathroom felt more intimate than any public spectacle. Intimacy, in their hands, was a tool to break someone more completely.

It was strange to map the contours of a bully’s logic and find an anatomy that almost made sense. 

Almost. 

They were actors, people who rehearsed harassment into a predictable script. Violence became boring because it was ritualized. A person who beat another didn’t always feel triumph; sometimes they felt the relief of belonging. The violent created their own club where admission was the ability to disregard another’s pain.

That was where Izuku had learned to observe more than respond: violence was often the cheapest currency, and those who wielded it were doing the work of denying themselves something deeper.

They dragged him to the toilets and held him under the cold sink, forcing his head into the water until color and breath blurred. The washing away of blood felt like a perverse baptism. He came up choking on something that wasn’t repentance all the while they laughed at the mixture of his fear and his silence.

It didn’t look like surrender to them; they preferred to call it… education. The lesson they imparted was that he was less than-- then they showed him the ledger where they had written that verdict and expected him to read it until he accepted it.

After the water, after the pain, a strange dissociation took hold. He flipped a switch inside and someone else’s mind took over for a while because the body had to do basic survival: wash, dress, move.

"Bakugou, class is going to start soon, we better get going." Katsuki scoffed and walked over to Izuku, "Thanks for the entertainment, you quirkless fuck." And with that, he walked off, his lackeys behind him, they left Izuku soaking with dirty water and bleeding on the restroom floor. 

"So much for not fighting back..." he muttered weakly before he got up, his knees shaking as his body ached. His eyes trailed to the other corner, they found his bag strewn open, like evidence that someone had already turned his life into an anecdote. His phone, soaked and sick, glimmered on the tiled floor.

"Stupid jerks."

The humiliation was a physical thing now; the damage was recorded and stored in a device he could not afford to lose.

He changed clothes in the mirror, the gakuran smelling of sewer and shame. The sensation of being coated in other people’s decisions-- their kicks, their laughter, never fully left.

One becomes a palimpsest: overwritten each day by the assumptions and aggressions of others. That’s what being quirkless in a world of marvels did to him. He was expected to perform worth with the visible; he was expected to be extraordinary or to be silent. He chose, every time, to be noisy in ways the city could not penalize: he pursued criminals at night, stitched strangers’ wounds with makeshift bandages, fed his hunger on the possibility of doing something that mattered.

Sometimes, in those small fights under streetlights, when a petty criminal tried to take a woman’s purse or when a dealer marked territory with fear, he felt something like ethical clarity. They were all animals under a clock. People rustled for survival the way some people rustled for prestige.

In those adrenaline hours, he did not think of himself as quirkless. He thought of his actions as proof that a person could matter without spectacle, that dignity was not a badge earned by genetic lottery.

That belief was fragile. It could be a brittle moral architecture that cracked under the pressure of morning school corridors and parents who forgot to come home. His mother’s apologies formed a rhythm he could not keep.

‘I’m sorry.’ she had said the day the world tilted and left a hole where his faith had lived. Apologies are a currency that doesn’t pay bills or mend flesh. They are warm, ephemeral, then gone. He couldn’t ask her to shoulder his darkness. She already carried too much.

In class the teacher’s voice tried to rebuild normalcy the way architects rebuild ruins with scaffolding and hope. “Pay attention,” he scolded, hammering numbers into the board as if arithmetic could explain the moral economy of violence. Attention is a finite resource. The more one is counted as less, the less attention the world affords. He learned to conserve it, to ration his presence. When shame gnawed at the edges of his ability to think, he rationed his breaths into small, even pulls and recited the rules he needed to survive the day.

‘Noticed ya limpin’ this morning.’ Katsuki’s voice had said earlier, and it echoed in Izuku’s head in a different register. Katsuki had a way of phrasing cruelty as curiosity, which made it worse.

The memory of fingers in his hair, a whisper close to his ear, lingered with the shape of threats disguised as banter. He wanted to disappear then. He still did sometimes. There was a perverse logic to wishing for erasure: if the world didn’t have him in its ledger, it couldn’t punish him.

And yet, paradoxically, the same boy who shoved him into a sink and called it sport was someone who occasionally offered bruised, complicated humanity. Katsuki saw him as lesser but not nonexistent. There was a moment when the bully looked down at the stain on the tile and his expression changed for a split second. Those fleeting inconsistencies kept the green-haired boy anchored to the fragile hope that people were not wholly monstrous.

They were only human, with very uneven distributions of empathy.

By the time he left the restrooms, the bell had rung and the corridor had thinned. His clothes stuck to him with the dampness of humiliation. He walked home like a man walking a narrow edge: attentive to the sound of his own steps, aware that every movement could be misread, every pause interpreted as weakness. The city hummed with indifference. A street vendor shouted about lunch specials. A bus hissed past. Life carried on like a magnificent machine that had no need for small, inconvenient beings.

The way back home was refreshing; his mind wandered to his essay about the architecture of neglect.  About how values were assigned in a city that glorified spectacle and punished ordinary usefulness; about how people like his mother made sacrifices that cost them sleep and selfhood, and how those sacrifices got papered over by stability while the emotional pieces fell out. 

He thought about how violence as a language of belonging, and bullying as group maintenance, about the addictive clarity of night fights: how in those hours one could believe pain had substance, had a reason, and did not feel like an arbitrary punishment.

For once he tried to treat his own experience as data rather than confession.

If one looks at abuse through the lens of economics, patterns emerge: those with power extract value from those without it; those with performance-based worth reserve compassion for those who can reciprocate. It becomes a system with incentives and penalties, not unlike a market that decides who is valuable and who is not.

That realization did not make things less painful; it made them legible.

Legibility, he discovered, is an antiseptic. It made him less frantic. If he could name the machinery, he could perhaps find its seams. If he could see the screws that held the bully’s mask together, maybe he could pry it off.

Maybe he could stop apologizing for existing.

Maybe he could stop turning his injuries into rituals of identity and begin to treat them as things that could be healed, or at least understood.

It was not a heroic ledger. There were no capes, no perfect solutions. Just one life managed, day by day, in a world arranged to make some lives economical and others disposable. That was the truth he lived with. Pain had a calculus of its own: it made him honest about what broke him and about what he would, stubbornly, keep trying to fix.

When he finally reached his apartment, the city’s hum had shifted from background noise to a chorus he had learned to listen to. There were men who designed violence into a business; there were boys who mistook violence for identity. There were institutions that counted value in powers and performances.

And yet Izuku a quirkless, bruised, exhausted kid, kept performing a different kind of resistance.

It was quieter and less marketable. It left no trophies. But it left traces: a patched wound, a rescued stranger, an essay that named the machinery. Sometimes the worth of a life was not in the fireworks it produced but in the stubbornness of its continuance. He was not orchestral. He was a single string, knotted and tuned to play on.

His keys smelled when he pulled them out of his bag, his side ached with the turn to reach back; he watched himself unlock the door with his bruised hands while his mind lingered on his next outing. The images of him taking charge, the feelings of the rush that jumping over rooftops brought, the adrenaline. 

It feels fucking right, a small tug stretched his lips at the thought. I can work on my essay later; I just need to have some fun tonight. 

The door parted slowly with a silent click, and he allowed his dirty bag to slip off of his shoulders at long last. He would enjoy the quiet until his dad showed up--

“Oh, Izuku?” A voice came from inside the apartment, “Is that you, sweetie?”

You have got to be kidding me.

Chapter Text

The door parted slowly with a silent click, and he allowed his dirty bag to slip off of his shoulders at long last. He would enjoy the quiet until his dad showed up--

“Oh, Izuku?” A voice came from inside the apartment, “Is that you, sweetie?”

You have got to be kidding me.

Izuku’s stomach twisted, frustration raw against his ribs. Not disrespect, no- he loved her, he did- but of all days, of all moments, she had to be home now? Just my luck, dammit.

“Honey, what are you doing here so early--? My God, what happened sweetie? You're all covered up in bruises, did something happen in school?” Her hands were on him before he could think, soft fingers brushing across the purple wreck of his cheek. Worry dripping from her voice like it always did.

“It’s nothing, mom, really, I’m fine. Just... I just got into a fight and I was really tired, I couldn’t sleep well last night, too... I shouldn’t have gone to school, I-I’m sorry--”

His words tumbled fast, desperate, until her gasp cut him off.

“Izuku, honey, you’re burning up... I think you have a fever. I told you to wear a scarf and a proper jacket, you walk to school after all, you wash up and go to bed, I’ll make you some hot chicken soup, okay?”

Wow. That was… easier than expected. He blinked, numbed, body walking itself to his room. Door closed, locked. His back slid down the wood until the floor caught him. Hand pressed to his side. The pain burned steady, hot and throbbing, spreading like fire under his ribs.

“Please... dammit, just make it stop throbbing…” His voice broke. A part of him hissed he deserved this, that the agony was payment owed. Another begged, desperate-- just one moment of silence in his body, please.

He dragged himself upright, slow, bed waiting. The mirror faced him across the room, cruel. His fingers ripped at the ruined uniform, peeling fabric away from skin. Bandages, soaked and crusted, came last. They fell to the floor with a wet slap, crimson faded to brown.

That was going to scar.

The thought punched him harder than the pain. His throat closed. He gagged, stumbled toward the bathroom, bare skin forgotten. Knees hit the tiles, cold stabbing his bones. His stomach lurched and he vomited, the sour burn ripping up his throat. Food first, then acid. The sound filled the small space, pathetic, raw.

The handle moved. He didn’t register until he saw her slipper through the crack.

No. No. No!

Strength surged from nowhere. He shoved the door shut with his shoulder.

“Izuku! Honey, it’s me… can I come in? Are you sic--?”

“Yeah-! Yeah, um…” The world was blinding. Tiles too white. Hair dripping with toilet water stink. He gagged again, swallowed it down. Then it hit him, bare chest. No shirt. His stomach dropped. She can’t see me like this. 

“I’m okay, though, no worries, mom. Just gimme a minute, Imma be out in a few,” his voice staggered, half-slurred. Another wave hit before he finished, and this one dragged up bile, brown and bitter.

“Are you sure, honey? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? I’ve got time--”

“N-No! No, it’s fine, mom. I’ll be fine…” He clung to the bowl, gasping. “Could you put some painkillers by my bed? And a glass of water…”

“Sure, sweetie. Let me know if you need me, okay?” Her steps retreated. And Izuku sagged forward, forehead against arms, chest heaving. Gathering the courage to stand felt like climbing a cliff barefoot.

Later. Cold water needled his skin in the shower, wound screaming, but at least it drowned out the stink of vomit and blood. Painkillers dulled the edge. Soup warmed the hollow in his stomach, her care seeping through in the way it always did. Sheets pulled around him, comfort creeping in.

Safe. For a second, almost safe.

Then the slam of doors shook the house.

Hisashi.

“Izuku! You damn brat, get your ass here!”

The sound crawled down his spine, nails against bone. His body reacted before his head did; slow, deliberate, each step cautious. Too cautious. His side tore open with every movement, the thin stitch of flesh and bandage unraveling. A mistake. His father’s patience never lasted this long.

The door didn’t wait for his hand. It burst open, slamming back against the wall, and Hisashi filled the doorway with fire lodged behind his teeth.

“Sorry, dad I--” he tried but the floor cut him off, skull cracking against wood, vision bursting into white heat.

“I fucking call you over, it’s been five minutes and you haven’t even left this stupid room. Are you trying to get on my nerves?!”

A kick. Pain. His legs folded under the kick.

“I got a call from school today, they said you ran off.”

Another kick, ribs shrieking.

“I let a useless piece of shit like you go to school--”

Fist. Cheekbone. Skin already swollen split further.

“--and this is how you repay me?!”

Izuku’s eyes swam. The room doubled, spun, split into layers. Somewhere through the haze, he caught the glimmer; the magma glow curling around his father’s throat like a second pulse. Fire waiting, fire humming.

“Playing sick? Making your mother waste her day off on you? Pathetic. You weren’t even home last night when I told you to stay put. You were grounded, or do you need a reminder of that too?”

Punch. The heat flared bright, blinding. Instinct bent his arms up, shielding his face with flesh already bruised. It didn’t help. A boot slammed into his stomach, ripped the air out of him, rolled him onto his bad side. The wound shrieked, flesh splitting wider, infection whispering louder. Fatal, maybe. He clung to that thought like rope. Fatal. I hope it’s fatal.

“You’ll learn to listen,” Hisashi muttered. His flame sparked, cigarette lit in his lips. Smoke filled the room, sour and sharp, curling over his words. “Eventually.”

He left with the flicker of static from the TV.

Silence broke under the soft thud of knees. Inko’s hands, trembling, were in his hair, her thumb brushing the blood from his mouth like it could erase it.

“I’m so sorry, baby… I should’ve never-- never left you alone with him.” Her voice cracked, guilt spilling raw, heavier than the blood dripping down his chin. Izuku forced his eyes to her. She was unraveling. This was all his fault. She thought it was. He couldn’t let her carry that.

“Mom… it’s okay,” his voice dragged out thin, splintered, “I’ll be fine… it’s not your fault, don’t… don’t cry.”

Even weak, he made it steady enough. Steady enough to reach her.

Then-- The door slammed again.

“You.” Hisashi’s voice, sharp as glass. “Leave him the hell alone. He should learn how to take a punch like a man.”

Inko froze. “Hisashi, please. Let me-- let me help my baby…”

“Shut the hell up, Inko.” Hisashi threatened, “I’ve had enough of you two.” The sound of skin splitting against skin cracked through the room. Inko reeled back, hand to her face. Izuku lurched up, his body screaming open but adrenaline deafened it. Protect her. Protect her. She doesn’t deserve this, but you do.

Hisashi leaned in, smoke thick between them. “Brat! I don’t want to see you in this house for a week. Find somewhere else to rot or I’ll end up killing one of you.”

Izuku’s feet rooted. His mind screamed at him to move. Nothing obeyed. His father’s hand hooked his hoodie collar, dragged him across the floor like trash. The front door spat him out, his body landing on the cold step.

Fine. This is fine. If he was out, his mom was safe.

That was enough.

Hisashi wouldn’t kill him. Not yet. Not when he was still a tool.

The memory dug in its teeth. The day Hisashi came back.

He remembered the sound of the lock, the door opening. He expected his mother. Instead-- smoke. Fire. That scent. His stomach knotted tight. His lungs collapsed on themselves. And there he was. The man who should’ve stayed gone, the one Izuku prayed out of existence. Standing in their home like it belonged to him. Brushing past as if air itself shifted around him.

“Hey, mom..?” The word snagged in his throat.

Hisashi sat in the living room, one leg crossed, cigarette sparking between fingers, smoke wrapping him in a crown of ash. His eyes burned straight through Izuku.

“The hell you want?”

“I… Does mom know you’re back--?”

“No.”

Final. A wall. Nothing more.

And that was it. He was back.

Now, there was more food on the table. A roof overhead. A mother who still cared, still touched him gently after the bruises. That should’ve been enough. It had to be enough. Enough to keep him grateful. Enough to make him believe, convince himself, that his father loved him in some crooked, invisible way.

A miracle, really. That he was alive at all.

Locked out now, bruises burning, skin pulling tight over swelling, he whispered the lie into the night. Whispered it until it tasted real. I’ll be just fine. Again and again, like prayer. I’ll be just fine.

Like survival.

Like hope.

Izuku didn’t feel hopeful. 

Okay so, maybe, Izuku wasn’t fine.

Maybe “fine” had always been an arrangement of words he said to survive. 

He shook his head, not the time, he lectured himself and went down the stairs like someone learning to breathe again; slow, mechanical, each movement an argument with tendon and bone. Pain threaded through him in a pattern he knew too well: a familiar map of bruises, a new, hot contour where a wound refused to be private.

He tried to catalog it, the way people do when the world is trying to fold them into something smaller: a gray shirt smelling faintly of blood and sweat, a bag with a few crumpled bills and the clean edge of a school uniform, a single spare outfit that would sit useless in the dark until dawn. Lists steadied him. Lists were proof that he still existed in the world of things that could be counted.

Still, the thoughts kept slipping like coins from a pocket. If I disappeared, would it matter? Who would look for me? The question was less an argument and more a slow, corrosive drip. He knew how the world treated the expendable, the quirkless filth, the way eyes slid off, the way people treated absence as an administrative inconvenience

 It should have felt like cold logic, but beneath the ache and the brittle calm, something quieter and more raw-- shame, perhaps, or a very human craving to be seen-- kept surfacing.

He made it into the front yard of the anonymous apartment block he’d been shoved out of. He did not bother to look at it properly; the building had the dull geometry of every small catastrophe he’d learned to ignore. But he knew by the habit of eyes that someone watched. He always knew when Inko watched; it was the way her presence folded around the doorway, soft and worried. He let the knowledge sink in like a small, hot stone.

At least she was safe, he thought, and let himself be glad for the selfish comfort of that.

His legs, traitors that they were, gave out before his brain had a say. He hit the ground hard, the kind of fall that stitches soundlessly into the body. Pain exploded in a dozen petty directions. He tried to lift his head and failed; the world narrowed to the urgent, sharp economy of breath. Then a voice; a jagged, familiar piece of the landscape, snapped him into a new kind of panic.

“Oi you, watch where the hell you're going--!” They paused. It took Izuku a second to realize they were sucking in a heavy breath, “Deku...?”

Katsuki’s voice, shit. The surprise was not the sound but the shape of it: scalding, impatient, too near. He could feel panic farming his chest like a steady, useless throb.

He did not want anyone to see him like this.

The term ‘like this’ had the circumference of everything he hated about himself;  ragged, messy, visibly bruised, a living ledger of defeat. He prayed, absurdly, for distance. For being invisible.

“First you run away from school, and now this? On a school night? Tch, fucking idiot, what the hell happened anyway? Got beaten up even after all-out fun, you're fucking pitiful.”

He had no breath for answers. The words that burned him most were the ones that wrapped around his shame and held it tight. He wanted Katsuki to go; he wanted to be alone with his own shame, to fold it into him without an audience. And yet, someone touched his shoulder. A hand he’d been trained to flinch from settled, warm, alarmed.

“Answer me, you nerd, what happened? I know for sure we didn't do this and you went home as well, judging by your clothes... why aren't you home with your mom?”

Katsuki’s voice, rough and present, was the kind of intrusion that made honesty inevitable. Izuku thought this was some sort of joke the universe was playing on him. Then again, Katsuki wasn’t the same person outside of school, where no prying eyes looked upto him to lead and destroy and make things anew. Sometimes that shift in his attitude made Izuku think he was going crazy with delusions.

Suddenly, he was lifted, unresisting. The movement was clumsy and exact at once-- the way someone who had never been asked to care learned to carry it like a burden and pretend it was nothing.

He tried to lie, “I’m f-fine--” and the sound of it was a threadbare thing. The blond cut him off with a bluntness that had a grudging tenderness beneath it.

“Like hell you are, idiot. I'm gonna figure out the fuck is wrong with you, I'm taking you home.”

His weight hung on Katsuki’s shoulder and, impossibly, he allowed himself to be carried. The world slid into blur, a smear of cold air and streetlamps, then a sharper, more intrusive focus when fingers snapped inches from his face and pulled him back into the light. The bed frame groaned under him as Katsuki set him down. He felt like an object rediscovered, the edge of his existence recognized again by someone who refused to look away.

Katsuki’s face went pale when he saw the state of him. The shirt came off in an impatient heap, and the room smelled of sweat and cheap detergent and a sharper tang, blood. The bandages had come loose. Bruises spread in a cartography of previous carelessness, and there, on the left side of his stomach, a fresh wound bled through gauze like a small, furious protest.

“Explain, now.”

Izuku folded inward. “It’s nothing.”

“Deku don’t bullshit me,” Katsuki said. It was a tone that had once been used for insults and dares and high school cruelty. Now it had the weight of someone trying to maintain a grip on another human being. 

The strange, impossible thing about the moment was that it did not feel like the old cycle of beatings and apologies. It felt like someone trying, clumsily, to be useful.

There was a room in him that closed when anyone came near. He kept it locked because the keys were sharp: humility, pity, eyes that would catalog him as broken. He’d been pushed to his limit so many times already that the idea of being seen like this made his skin crawl. It was easier to wish for oblivion than to ask for help. Easier to be alone than to face the potential of being a burden.

“Why did you even bring me in here? First, you beat the shit out of me and-- and this...? What are you playing at!?” Izuku snapped, and Katsuki’s answer came without heat at first, because there was no script for tenderness in him.

“If I didn't drag you in here, your dead ass would've been dog food!”

The words were crude. They were also, somehow, the most honest syllables he’d heard in a long time.

 Izuku’s anger flared, a raw, ragged thing. He had no stamina for fights except the ones that happened inside his head. He tilted toward escape, toward the old reliable place he called his place, a hideout; a tiny patch of privacy where he could stitch himself together again. The thought of Katsuki watching him be weak made his stomach retch.

You deserve this, Izuku, a voice he’d never invited told him from the back of his skull. You did let that guy get away, the thought was not a memory but an accusation; faster and more venomous than any external blow. He tried to push it down the way you try to press a bruise back into skin.

It never stayed.

When he tried to stand, the world did a small, exquisite tumble. Katsuki caught him by the arm and sat him back down like a boy who had learned how to do what needed to be done without ceremony. For all his roughness, Katsuki had grown in gradient, from tormentor to something else, and the change didn’t sit easily in either of them.

“Tell me what the fuck happened. Nerd, I'm serious. I have known you for long enough to see this isn't normal for you.”

His answer was the automatic, brittle shield: “You wouldn't believe me even if I told you the truth.” He felt small speaking it. It sounded like a plea.

You wouldn't believe me, they said, and it was true in the way that truth sometimes is: a confession disguised as self-protection. He’d been taught not to trust that others would shoulder his reality. The world had folds for people like him, thin, uncared-for corners, where you could be invisible enough to stop hurting anyone else.

In that logic, the pain was a currency he had to spend alone.

"Deku? Nerd, you good?" Katsuki asked but Izuku was in no condition to give out a straight answer to him. You deserve this Izuku. He told himself. "I-I just-- I need to be... I need to be alone, Kacchan." You deserve to be hurt.'To be in pain. Stop being a crybaby and get over it.

"I'm not moving an inch, Deku." Katsuki stated firmly as Izuku began gasping for air. His heart was gunning and he hated it. Right now? In front of Katsuki? 

How humiliating.

It wouldn't be the first time this happened but it never happened in front of people before. But… fuck… He remembered the nights when he passed out from exhaustion. The crying that followed after the random panic attacks always wore him out. Is that where this situation was going...? Realization hit and it made Izuku's heart skip a beat, the oxygen not reaching as it should.

Katsuki watched as small bits of salty tears started rolling down the greenette's cheeks, not breathing as he should be. Izuku looked broken, almost completely shattered. For a slight moment, Katsuki didn't know what to think. He had never thought he would see his old childhood friend as he is right now. 

"Deku...?" 

"I-I said leave me al-- alone!" Izuku yelled as he pushed away Katsuki's hand. He couldn't let him see. He couldn't let Katsuki in after all the shit that he had done. He just couldn't. 

"Oi! Breathe you idiot! Calm down, I told you I'm not fucking leaving!" 

"If-- If its so easy then you do it! God! I-I can't do this right now...! My head hurts... everything hurts- can't breathe... why is it so hard to breathe?!" Izuku thought out loud, gripping his hair with both hands harshly, digging his nails into his scalp. The world felt like it was going to collapse all over him. 

"Fuckin' listen to me Deku. You are breathing. You're talking right now, aren't you?" Katsuki asked Izuku, holding the smaller boy's chin, forcing Izuku to look at him in the eyes, "It burns, Kacchan! Everything hurts s-so much I--" 

"It's because you're all beaten up…" The blond's eyes trailed down to Izuku’s body, the wound he had on his side was bleeding through the loose bandages. That's when he recalled what had happened when he was beating him up today. "Hey, hey! Why don't you tell me what the fuck happened to your torso, nerd?" He asked, hoping to get some answers, he also thought it would distract Izuku from himself. 

"Its nothing-!" Izuku denied once again. No one could know. It was all he had left. Nothing else. He couldn’t, he can’t!

"Yeah?" Katsuki cooed, utter disbelief in his tone.

"Yes..!"  Izuku protested, almost yelling this time. 

"Deku. Look at me ya fuckin' nerd. You don't have to tell me whatever it is that's bothering you. Got that?" Katsuki spoke rather more calmly than before and caught Izuku's attention. 

"But you do need to calm the fuck down. Try breathing with me." He instructs as he puts Izuku's hand onto his chest, "In and out, okay? You can at least do that, can't you?" 

The way Izuku flinched didn't go unnoticed by the other when he grabbed his wrist and placed it over his chest to show him how to breathe regularly again. 

But the blond’s hands on his chest, demonstrating breathing, grounding him to the steady beat of another’s pulse, were not distant. They were importunate: in and out, in and out. He mimicked the motion because he had to; because the world insisted on continuing even when you wanted to pause it. The gesture was almost intimate in its ordinariness.

He gagged when he tried to take a deep breath. The reflex was ugly and humiliating. Katsuki’s reaction was instant, functional: a trashcan scooped, a hand holding back bangs, the room rearranged into emergency. The sick kept coming, brown and coarse and then nothing, leaving the air with an odd, clean silence like the aftermath of a storm.

“Water,” Katsuki said, like a person issuing a command. He brought it to him and held the glass until Izuku drank. The cold water was a small, cutting reprieve. It grounded him: liquid, weight, the pull of something ordinary through the body.

When his breathing evened out, he felt a cavernous fatigue spread. The world lightened and weighed him all at once. He shouldered the sharp sting of embarrassment as if it were another wound. He tried to stand again, because pride is a small, relentless motor and he wanted to prove to himself that he could still. 

Then the darkness took him, and this time he let it.

He remembered, in shards, the pounding on the floor, the taste of steel, the way his body had moved like a puppet with strings cut. Memory, in trauma, is never a clean timeline. It is a smear of images, an overlay of sensations: the white heat of a skull cracking, his father’s voice like an animal; the sensation of being too small in a space that demanded large things; the shrug that was meant to dismiss the possibility of pain. Those images crowded the edge of his awareness as he slipped under.

Katsuki watched him fall asleep. He didn’t understand all the pieces. He probably never would. There were parts of Izuku that were other people’s pain and parts that were private failures. Katsuki didn’t ask for permission to care. He appropriated it anyway, like someone stealing a blanket in a storm and warming themselves with it as if they had a right.

When Izuku’s breathing slowed into an even, fragile rhythm, Katsuki muttered under his breath: “Fucking great.” It was a curse and a benediction, a compact between two people who had been hardened by the same stupid world but in different directions.

There was no soft speech, no apologies for the nights when violence had been the loudest grammar in their lives. Just the small, practical things that made a situation survivable: a glass of water, a hand steadying a hip, someone refusing to walk away.

Katsuki watched with relief as Izuku slept in the messy light of his room; the gray of expensive curtains, the hum of a distant wind, the small, unavoidable reality of a person who stayed when others left. Sleep, when he found it, was not quiet. But Katsuki didn’t know that.  

The blond stood up, eyes hesitant to leave the other as he dragged his hand through his hair, frustrated. His concern was coated with the relief of getting Izuku to calm down, but the scene kept repeating in his mind. A sigh escaped his lips, and he grabbed the empty glass of water; he glanced over to Izuku one last time before leaving the room. 

“Just fucking great…” 

Chapter Text

The early morning light crept through the cracks in the curtains, offering warmth and comfort to the room. Izuku snuggled closer to the soft pillow supporting his head, curling in on himself with a sweet feeling bubbling in his chest. 

At least that was until his elbow hit the cruel wound on his side, sending a shiver of electricity down his spine. His brows furred with the unwelcome pain, and he brought his hands to push against his closed eyelids with a groan. 

A hiss escaped his bruised lips as he sat up, and the color drained from his already pale face once he opened his eyes. Memories flooded his head, fragments of the previous day flashed in short pieces, enough for him to catch up and--

“Kacchan’s room--” He muttered, too frantic, yet his throat felt raw, making his voice come out weaker than it should’ve been, “I’m in Kacchan’s room-- Shit!” 

His eyes searched the room; passing through the trash can by the bed, the mess of books on the wooden desk, the two backpacks by the door, there it is!-- The clothes hanging behind that same door, leading to the Bakugous’ whole house. Fuck. Fuck! I need to get out of here. 

Izuku’s back straightened with purpose, he cracked his neck, relief washing over him; he wasn’t used to feather-filled soft pillows. He made a list in his head, standing up was the first objective, followed by--

He shivered when he saw his exposed chest, the scars, the bruises, the burns-- where the hell is my shirt? Izuku held onto the edge of the bed and slowly tried to stand on his feet. Everything hurt and ached; constant throbbing was what he got for being a useless brat. 

His curls bobbed side to side when he shook his head to get that annoying voice of his father’s out of his head. Izuku cursed his father’s excellent parenting internally.

Focus, he told himself, get the bag, get out. His legs felt wobbly, maybe my shirt--

Just as he was about to reach his ridiculously vibrant backpack sitting against Katsuki’s, the door clicked open. Izuku held his breath, hand frozen midair.

“Leaving so soon?” Izuku flinched at the firm tone, stepping back with a gulp as Katsuki walked inside, arms crossed over his chest, “Where ya headed, nerd?”

“Ah… Mornin’?” 

His next flinch was automatic, a twitch more than movement. Katsuki stepped forward, all rough certainty, probably intending to drag him back to bed-- except he stopped. Izuku’s stomach twisted. He pressed himself against the wall, skin buzzing, every nerve screaming that if someone touched him he’d shatter.

Last night had happened, hadn’t it? So maybe, maybe Katsuki wouldn’t hit him..? Still, his body didn’t trust the idea.

“Why did you bring me here, Kacchan?” The words slipped out fast, sharper than he meant. He hated the way his chest felt tight with irritation, but there was something bitterly unfamiliar in it too; anger, maybe.

Anger at being saved, anger at needing it.

Katsuki’s glare didn’t flicker. “I’m gonna be number one. And if I can’t save a fucking stray, then what am I even doing, huh? Now the real question: why were you bleeding on the streets in the middle of the fucking night?”

He closed the space between them with each word, heavy steps, no gaps to breathe in. Izuku’s lips trembled. He forced stillness onto his face, terror curling in his gut, daring Katsuki not to see it.

“W-Well--”

“Katsuki, you brat! I’ve been calling you for breakfast. What is takin’ so long? You’re gonna be late for school-!”

Mitsuki’s voice cut the air like glass. She stopped short at the sight of Izuku and rushed forward, hands reaching, shoving Katsuki aside as though her son didn’t exist. Her eyes widened with recognition, horror, guilt, relief all at once. She dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Izuku… what happened to your face?! Who did this? You brat! You better talk if you know anything—!”

Izuku’s body locked, his lungs refusing air as her gaze swept him. Bruises. Cuts. The pale skin that made them bloom darker. Her eyes snagged on the burns. Old ones, ugly ones, scars he knew he should’ve kept hidden.

His pulse thundered. Don’t. Don’t say anything.

But it was already too late.

Mitsuki knew.

Mitsuki knew and Izuku could tell by the look of pity behind her eyes. 

“Wait… these burns on your neck… was it Hisashi? How long has he been back?! I’m gonna rip his throat out!”

The name cracked against his ribs like a whip. Izuku flinched hard, throat working as he swallowed down bile. She knew. She fucking knew. And if she knew -if anyone knew- then Hisashi would find out. And Hisashi would kill him. 

Katsuki’s voice was sharp behind them, full of something darker than he ever put into his insults. “Hisashi? …That bastard’s been back? All this time-- Deku had bruises since elementary. Shit…”

Izuku’s chest stuttered. No, no, no. He had to shut it down. “I-It’s not like that… he is back, but he wouldn’t do this, Auntie Mitsuki. He’s different now.” His own voice sounded foreign, like it belonged to someone braver, calmer. He shoved the panic down hard, kept going.

“I just ran into some guys from the neighborhood who I don’t get along with and um… this is so embarrassing… they just beat me up real bad and Kacchan found me. I should probably go now, my mom must be worried sick…”

The lies spilled like second nature, smooth, practiced, sharp-edged and blood-slick. He’d trade his own truth away as many times as he had to if it kept his mom alive. But Mitsuki’s hand came down soft, grounding, warm on his knee, and it almost broke him.

“At least stay for breakfast, yeah? For old times’ sake, Izuku.”

Her smile was tender, red eyes soft with care he hadn’t seen in years. He nodded, because what else could he do? He followed them down to the kitchen. He hated the relief that came with Katsuki falling silent. Hated the weight of those eyes burning holes into his back the whole way down.

He found himself in the kitchen next, against his better judgment. 

“You barely ate, honey…” Mitsuki’s smile was sad, almost apologetic.

“I, um, don’t usually eat breakfast, sorry.” He set the chopsticks down, polite, careful. “I really appreciate it, Auntie Mitsuki. But I should go now, my mom is probably worried sick even though I called, you know how she is.” He laughed. It came out wrong.

Hollow.

He didn’t need to look at Katsuki to feel the disbelief radiating off him. He knew Katsuki didn’t buy a single word of it.

“Alright then, I won’t insist. But you should stop by more often! Feels like it’s been ages since I last saw you.” She tried to lighten the air, to fill the empty space with warmth. Izuku thought about how much easier it would’ve been if Masaru had been there, a gentle backup to her sharp concern.

When Izuku grabbed his backpack and Katsuki stood by the door as he put his shoes on, he could feel the blond wanted to say something; it was written all over his face. But there were no other lectures, no more curious questions asked.

“I’ll see you in class, better show up.” That was all Katsuki said.

Izuku gripped the straps of his backpack tighter, and stared at his loose shoelaces, only giving Katsuki a silent nod before he stood up and walked out the door while Katsuki watched him until he was out of sight, and he shut the door with a sigh behind him. 

Izuku didn’t show up to class, and for the rest of the day, he spent minutes followed by hours at the beach. Running and sitting and more running. He was exhausted by the time he picked out gadgets he could use through the piles of trash over the cooling sand. 

And when he deemed it safe to go home, he snuck into his room through the fire escape as always. Thankfully, the window was still open, he knew it was his mom’s doing, and he was grateful. 

His bag was tossed aside, the metal rubbed and shuffled inside his bag with the impact; he paid no mind as he reached for his wardrobe and lifted a box under his winter clothes. There hid the money he put to the side, the money he earned through his analysis, sold in the night market. 

Conflicted was the word Izuku would use when it came to selling information to the highest bidder. He never sold to villains; there was no telling what they’d do with such knowledge. If there was anything he was proud of in his worthless existence, it was his skills in analysis. 

With a sigh, he stashed away the money in a different bag. He forced himself together and pushed to his feet next. 

He didn’t want to risk getting caught by his dad, so he geared up and left through the same way he came inside. His first stop would be his hideout. 

Late. No-- early. Too early for work, too late for his body. Sleep was non-negotiable if he wanted to drag himself through homework later. Fighting wasn’t an option anymore, not with how torn apart he felt inside.

He hissed sharply when his feet slipped and he landed on top of a-- thank fuck-- closed trashed cart. His mind told him to lie down for a minute, to catch his breath, but he had other plans. 

Izuku slipped back up a fire escape, onto the roof opposite the one he’d fallen from. His muscles sagged with every step. He just wanted home. His room. His mom. The comfort of All Might videos glowing on a cracked laptop screen, comics scattered across the floor…

You’re not a kid anymore, Izuku.
You don’t get to want that. You get her out. You put him away. That’s all.

He sat down, breath hitching, chest burning like he’d just sprinted. What the hell? His body buckled again and he dropped down to check, but the second his boots hit the ground, something yanked at his ankle.

“What the--” The word tore out of him before he was hauled upside down, body swinging in mid-air. The world inverted, head pounding. “Ahg!!”

His instincts clicked in. “For the record, I haven’t broken any laws!” He barked the defense before he even saw his captor.

The figure in front of him was unreadable, faceless except for those red eyes, muted behind wornout yellow goggles.

“Do I look like a hero to you, kid?”

Izuku bent, muscles crunching against the bind at his ankles, trying to claw it loose. A blade hissed past his face, close enough that strands of his hair fluttered down. The knife lodged in the wall. His throat tightened. Too close.

The voice was calm, cold: “Not sure if you know how this works, but if you’re restrained, it means I don’t want you to move. So, stay put. Hands where I can see them.”

Every nerve screamed at him to fight, but exhaustion dragged at him. He couldn’t hold the weight anymore.

“Who are you?” His voice rasped behind the mask. He didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t expect anything. “And what do you want from me?”

“I ask, you answer. First, who are you?”

So that was the game. He tugged his facemask tighter, goggles glinting green against the dim light. No names. Not Midoriya. Not anything that traced back. Silence was safer.

But those goggles. That weapon. Something clicked in his head, memories aligning. A smirk tugged under the mask.

“You’re the guy they call Eraser…”

The man’s jaw tightened. That told Izuku enough. This wasn’t a random thug. This was a relic.

And yet, nothing in his body shifted. No quirk nullified, no strange pull in his veins. Eraser’s eyes narrowed, and in the next second, he blinked. The glow vanished. The weight holding Izuku up vanished too. He hit the ground rolling, Swiss knife snapping into his palm, stance ready.

“I don’t know what you want with me, Eraser, but we’re on the same side, you and I.”

The older man didn’t buy it. He’d seen the brat-- slipping into the police station, snagging a file marked Trigger just two nights ago. He hadn’t guessed right away how meticulous that act had been: weeks of observation, memorized schedules, catalogued filing systems. That wasn’t luck.

And the kid had no quirk.

“What? Surprised I recognized you?”

Cocky brat.

Izuku stepped back, weighing angles. Dead-end rooftop. Years of combat experience against him. Rumors said Eraser had ditched heroics for his own rules, and even without quirks, the man’s body language screamed martial discipline. Close combat was suicide. He needed space. A way out.

“How’d you know what file to get?”

The question clipped through Izuku’s haze. His pulse lurched. Other people know about Trigger? Impossible. It wasn’t public. Not yet.

“Why would I tell you? If you wanted it so bad then maybe you should’ve watched closer.”

His vision blurred, nerves sparking with warning. No. Not now. Not here. He had to escape before his body betrayed him again.

“I’m not going to explain myself to a kid in a mask who thinks he’s a hero. You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

It shouldn’t sting. Words from a stranger shouldn’t sink teeth in. But Izuku knew he wasn’t a hero-- never could be. And still. Hearing it out loud cracked something raw.

Heat rose in his throat, frustration boiling. His eyes tracked details: right-hand dominant. Left leg twitching-- injury. Target identified. A sly smile tugged on his lips behind the mask.

Izuku ducked low, snagging the knife from the wall as Eraser shifted into stance, scarf taut and ready. He launched, kicking against brick for leverage, sprinting headlong before sliding out of the bind’s range, rolling hard, flanking left.

Too fast, too reckless. Eraser’s scarf lashed out, snaring Izuku’s wrist.

But the grip wasn’t full force. Izuku twisted, pulling, using the man’s own momentum; scarves tangling, wrapping around Eraser’s own ankle. A sharp yank, a slash, and the older vigilante hit ground with a thud.

“Sorry, Eraser, maybe next time!” Izuku shouted over his shoulder, sprinting into the dark. The rush hit him like a drug. Blood roared in his ears, sweat streaked beneath his mask. For the first time in hours- he felt alive.

A few blocks down, he cut into a side street; good instinct, because the cry for help reached him there.

Two men, one knife, one woman cornered.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. Shoulder slammed the armed one back, his body recovering balance like second nature. Kick to the gut sent the other sprawling. The woman’s bag hit the pavement.

“What the--!?” the thug stammered, but Izuku’s boot-knife was already drawn, blade glinting at his throat.

“Back off asshole. Don’t make me use this.” His voice came low, measured, shielding the woman behind him.

The guy froze, hands up. Close enough for Izuku to study. Horns. Feathers at his wrists. Mutation quirk, but nothing active. Pupils blown wide. High as hell.

Distraction. Kick to the gut, follow-up to the skull. Out cold, Izuku turned, tugging down his mask just enough to flash the woman a reassuring smile. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

She stammered, shaking. “Y-Yeah… Um, yes, I think so, thank you…”

“Happy to help.” His smile hurt, but he kept it alive. “Do you mind if I use your phone?”

She handed it over with trembling fingers. He dialed, rattled off the report quick—knife, two suspects, likely drugged. Hung up before they got his name. Scooped up the dropped blade. Two knives in one night.

Must be my lucky day.

“Thank you for letting me use your phone,” he said, handing it back. “You should probably wait for the cops to show up.”

Plastic cuffs snapped tight around the men’s wrists. His mask slid back into place. He motioned the woman toward the sidewalk, waited until she was safe, and bolted.

Climbed the nearest pipe, launched back onto rooftops. Sirens wailed behind him, fading with distance.

He never saw the look left on the woman’s face.

The days slipped by quicker than he’d expected. School barely registered-- everyone was too wrapped up in the upcoming exams to notice him much. Katsuki was still at the top, naturally, but that didn’t stop those constant stares Izuku felt burning into his back. Not a word exchanged. Just those eyes, sharp, insistent, watching him whenever they landed.

The roof became his only refuge. Lunches spent under the open sky, books in his lap, or a stale sandwich if he had one left. His money was disappearing fast, so he’d been going back to the beach, scavenging for anything half-decent he could repurpose and sell.

Physically, at least, he felt better. The vomiting had stopped on Sunday night. He’d spent that whole day inside, finishing homework because fighting through nausea wasn’t an option anymore.

Monday, he sneaked into the locker room after classes to shower. 

Tuesday, he scraped together enough to buy his mom a box of mochi instead of lunch. He didn’t even have the appetite, and at least she’d smile when she found it. She wasn’t there when he stopped by her work, so he left a note. “I’m okay. Staying with a friend.” A lie, obviously. His mom knew better; Izuku didn’t have friends. He had tormentors. But telling her the truth was out of the question.

By Wednesday, he was training again, panting, skin damp, frustration buzzing through his chest.

“Why can’t I pull that move already!? Ugh--!”

The videos of Mirko’s famous kicks he had analysed after his homework was done were proving to be more of a challenge than he’d anticipated.

The sound ripped from him as he dropped to his knees, gasping, lungs begging for air. The sun was bleeding down toward the horizon, but he couldn’t stop. He had to figure this out. Nobody was going to teach him, not really. He’d been his own mentor for as long as he could remember. He knew how to take a punch—he was good at it, actually, but his size was a problem. Patrols kept reminding him of that fact.

So focused, he forgot about time.

He forgot about Hisashi’s curfew.

Then Friday night’s memories slammed back into him. Right. He’d been kicked out for a week.

“I should call mom… fuck.”

He checked his cracked screen. One notification blinked. ‘Essay due Friday.’ Oh yeah. That dumb reminder he’d set.

“Why do I even bother with homework..?”

The walk back felt… almost peaceful. The city looked softer under the fading light, clouds like brushed milk against a sky painted orange, pink, and purple melting into blue. He bent forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath. Six pm, already. That essay wasn’t going to write itself. What do I want for my future to hold. Ugh. It was like the teacher wanted him to suffer. Just another reminder from the universe: Fuck you, in particular, Midoriya Izuku.

With a long sigh, he straightened, broke into a run. The wind caught his curls, pushed him forward toward his hiding place.

The sun was nearly gone, its last gleam spilling over the sea. The beach stretched out before him; trashed, wrecked, but his. Months he’d been working on cleaning it, and it didn’t look anywhere near clean. It kept his mind steady though. Plus, he could sell whatever wasn’t too broken.

That was where he’d dragged the punching bag he found weeks ago. Heavy, but worth it. Good cardio, good stress relief. Once, he even pictured Katsuki’s face while throwing punches. His knuckle split open after a missed swing, blood pooling fast. Gloves were a luxury he couldn’t afford- not when food, water, and bandages mattered more.

When he got back, he faced the scattered notes he’d scribbled on the Yakuza crew handing out Trigger samples. Dead end after dead end. They left nothing behind. If he wanted answers, he’d have to look closer.

Closer meant dangerous, esspecially if he wanted to take his exams. Darkness slipped in before he realized it, and with it came the reckless thought: just one more investigation.

That was two hours ago. 

And tt nearly got him killed.

The knife’s edge kissed too close. Tears welled when the thug’s blade tore through already-bruised flesh on his arm, slicing deep. He cried out, the mask muffling him, saving his face from exposure. Blood poured, his arm hanging useless at his side.

Somehow, he managed to run off. Somehow, his feet carried him back to the rusty apartment building he dared call home.

Chapter Text

He stumbled left and right through the streets in the midnight cold. Izuku found an odd sense of comfort in the place, the first time he'd run away.

Away from school, away from home, away from Hisashi and anything and everything that brought him misery as he held his wounded arm. In the abandoned area no one came around. A pained smile made its way to his busted lips. It was familiar. The more he walked, the slower and heavier his steps became as the building he'd stayed in that fateful night came into view. 

A three-storey building with cracking paint a dull color, falling off the rough edges were the bricks. He stepped inside. The first floor had a barely functional gym that seemed to be the worst of all, followed by the second with a torn couch in what the boy assumed to be a living room and then there was the top floor. 

Needles that held rust, torn up curtains letting in the moonlight, dirty and stained tiles in the kitchen and the bathroom with a messed up, mouldy bathtub in it. He walked around to find another room with a wall that--

It smelled. 

It was bad. 

But Izuku slid down the wall marked with years and lines that went higher as the dates grew further and choked on his own sobs that night.

He didn’t have to hold back that day so he cried. As loud as he could while screaming and thrashing his feet with all his strength. His tears mixed with his spit and snoot. He didn't care that one time because he didn't need to. He'd cried for hours, not remembering a single thing the next morning when he woke up in an awkward position, his neck aching being a cherry on top of all that beating he had taken the day prior. 

Izuku shook his head, collecting his mind together. He needed to fix his arm and a bottle of water would be good.

He sucked in a breath as he walked inside, the smell of mould and abandonment felt familiar but he didn’t like it this time. It felt more like a punishment than an escape.

Making his way to the gym and he collapsed once he stood in front of the stash of first aid supplies he’d managed to get his hands on these last few months and dug up the things he needed. 

Most of the time, he wouldn’t be aware of the dryness in his mouth but now, it was bad. So, before taking off his shirt, he reached for the plastic water bottles under the covered windows.

Izuku’s hands were trembling and popping open the cap was much more difficult than he’d anticipated. Once it was done, he chugged on the water without care as it ran down his chin to his blood-stained shirt and turned to dirt after landing on the dirty tiles. 

“I hate cleaning up…” He muttered as he put the bottle down, took his shirt off and washed his hands with the little water left at the bottom. Then got to work. 

The lack of light made it hard, so he turned on his flashlight. He wasn’t sure how beatings and cuts hurt less than cleaning the wounds. Hissing occasionally and clenching his teeth as he used a needle to stitch up the gash splitting his skin was the worst, he supposed. 

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes melded into hours as he sat miserably on the couch upstairs. He passed out at some point but once he woke up, it was the afternoon. 

Looking at his phone with the battery barely holding on, “It’s Friday,” he muttered, then slipped off the couch, landing on his wounded arm. “Ugh! Shit--!” Izuku hissed, clutching the stitches that had taken far too long to close. He prayed he hadn’t torn them open again.

He tried to stand, but his legs buckled almost instantly. “How am I supposed to stand up, let alone go to school?! Fuck... I shouldn’t have gone out last night…” His voice cracked. He hated unsolved puzzles, and that drug had been one he chased for three whole months.

But running at night was his escape. Fighting villains was his way of pretending he mattered. And getting hurt… getting hurt was the punishment he thought he deserved, but didn’t know how to give himself.

Izuku exhaled, a brittle sound. “No one would notice if I’m gone for a day,” he chuckled dryly. “Or forever, for that matter…”

So he stayed on the floor. Afternoon light dragged across the room. School would be over soon anyway. He’d just have to drag himself up, fix his face into something passable, and show up for dinner like nothing happened. 

Speaking of dinner-- when was the last time he’d eaten? Yesterday? No-- yeah. A bag of chips yesterday morning before school. That was it.

A notification popped up, snapping him out of his haze. Kacchan?! Two things hit him at once: one, he didn’t even have Katsuki’s number; two, why the hell would he text him?

His phone was at five percent, screen dimmed, but he unlocked it anyway. The message read, “You good?” That was all. But Izuku knew what it really meant. Katsuki wasn’t asking if he was okay. He was asking if he was still alive.

“I’m fine,” he texted back and shut the screen off with a sigh.

He needed some way-- any way-- to forget the last two weeks. His mind ran on fumes. The pity from his old bully, the pressure of exams, and the little voice in the back of his skull reminding him to go home, to make sure Hisashi kept his hands to himself.

And-- God, this unbearable ache in his arm.

He knew what people did to cope. Smoking was the safest, then drinking. Drugs were too expensive. After that...

Izuku was terrified to even touch alcohol. Because he knew. If it had happened before, it could happen again.

Addiction ran on his father’s side. A drunk uncle dead in a car crash. A grandfather who couldn’t find his way home from bars. An aunt he’d never met because of an overdose in her early twenties.

Smoking reminded him of his dad, even if it promised relief in one breath. That was reason enough to stay away.

He drew in a sharp breath at the next option. Online forums said people punched themselves, burned their skin, cut themselves, bit, pinched, scratched, starved. He realized he already punched himself sometimes; just to make his brain shut up. Already scratched at his own skin during panic attacks when no one was around.

Alone. Izuku was always alone. It was like a pin dropping in a windowless room when the question hit him: why not just do it again?

He’d done it before. Two years ago. He’d been twelve, scared even to hold a blade.

“What do I have to lose anyway..? My body’s full of scars already,” he muttered. It had become a debate inside his head now. “I know how to clean wounds and stitch myself up… and it helps, right? At least it did back then…”

He was exhausted from cleaning up after himself. “What’s one tiny scratch compared to a gash made with a knife… Fuck..!” He pressed his palms to his eyes and growled, frustration cracking his voice. “I need it.”

Before he knew it, his shirt was tossed aside and he held a clean knife on his right hand while he stared at his exposed left arm.  

“I have done it before and I quit… I can do it again if it gets too bad…”

Slice--

Katsuki left his goons behind who’d gone to the arcade after school was out. He turned on his phone and saw Izuku’s text. And the feeling he had in his chest made him unclench his fist. 

He didn’t know why but it made him feel reassured to get a reply, even if it was hours later than he’d sent that text. He knew the nerd wasn’t fine but he was at least well enough to let him know he was alive. 

He sighed as he opened his contacts, “What the hell am I even doing? Fucking Deku…” And called Izuku. It rang for a while and there wasn’t an answer. But he called again, “This fucking nerd thinks he can ignore me?!” He called again, stopping in his tracks as he waited for Izuku to pick up. 

“Yes?” 

“How hard is it to answer your fucking phone, you damn nerd?!” 

“I was-- Um, I was busy, sorry,” His voice cracked, Katsuki knew he had been crying, that’s how Izuku had sounded when he was in his room but this time it was worse, whatever Izuku was busy with wasn’t the thing he was trying to hide last week.

“If you called to make sure I’m alive then you have your answer, I-I have to go, I’m sorry--”

“I have your math homework.” He needed to change the subject, he needed to keep the nerd on the phone for a little longer, “I’m headed to your apartment, I’ll bring it over.” Katsuki could hear Izuku’s heavy breathing through the phone now, he sighed loudly, “The fuck is wrong with you--”

“I… I can pick it up from your house, you don’t need to bring it to me.” Not suspicious at all, this idiot… “I don’t have any battery left, I’ll come over in a few hours--” and the line was cut off. The blonde scoffed and headed home. He would get to the bottom of this. 

Eventually. 

Tossing aside his now dead phone, he sat on the couch and rampaged through the first aid supplies. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” No bandages. Did I use it all last night?

“Plasters then.” Then his arm began itching, clenching his teeth, he let his eyes wander down.  

“I shouldn’t have done this. What was I thinking?!” It hurt. But… It was a different type of hurt, it wasn’t even close to what he’d done two years ago, and those memories were hiding under his sweatpants; he wouldn’t dare do anything to his arms back then. 

Izuku looked down at his arm, slowly lifting the wet piece of tissue over his-- over the wounds. There was a lot of blood, and he was feeling dizzy. It wasn’t the blood loss, I’m sure of it, the red makes me dizzy, and I’m tired.

“Yeah- I’m… I’m fine! This is nothing..!” 

So he pulled more tissues and pressed harder on his arm, if he got the bleeding to stop then put on the plasters, he could head out. “I’ll just go home and shower, dad wouldn’t be drunk at this hour, I’m sure. And mom is working a night shift so she shouldn’t be home. Then I can just go over to--”

He sighed again. The mere thought of Katsuki irritated him, the image of the blond made his skin crawl because now, all he saw behind the anger was pity.

“What if he asks questions? What was I thinking, telling Kacchan I’d get the homework from his house?! Ugh!!” 

After he was done, he grabbed his backpack and slipped his broken phone into his pocket. The screen was a reminder of that other vigilante who had caught him like prey just to get him to talk. He could worry about that later, he had his mask on. Eraser couldn’t find out who he was. All the man knew was of Izuku’s existence. 

With one last look at the building that had become his second home, headed to his apartment. And once he made it in through the front door, he was greeted with a slap on his already bruised cheek instantly.

“I said a damn week! You think I was fucking around, you useless brat?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why the hell is he home?!

“I-I--” He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t move, and he felt powerless at the sight of his father as he wrapped his hand to press over the cuts on his left arm. All he could do was study the man with his eyes.

Hisashi was sober. 

His father slapped the door, a loud bang ran through the apartment and Izuku shut his eyes, shoulders sinking in further and tears ready to fall, he started apologizing, “I’m s-sorry,” the man didn’t say anything, just looked down at him with a quirked brow. 

“Fucking, ugh…” he scoffed and turned around, “Fine, Inko has been bitching too much, you can stay. Get me a few beers after you clean up, you fucking reek.”

“Sure, da--”

“Don’t make me regret letting you back in the house.” 

Izuku let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once his father disappeared into the living room. He heard the news on TV about a burning building but before he could hear the rest, he ran to his room and closed the door. 

Why am I home again..? 

“Right, right. Shower and clothes and-- And Kacchan, the math homework, yeah…” He ran his hand through his hair, “Shower, change and go get the homework from Kacchan.” 

He sorted his thoughts quietly as he tried to regulate his breathing. He felt so small whenever he was next to his father, he felt so useless and worthless and pathetic when he was next to Hisashi. 

And he hated it.

Not now.

“Maybe I can cook dinner when I get back, mom is gonna be home tonight…” he cracked a smile at the thought but his attention was forced down with the red trailing down his arm. 

“I’m such an idiot…”

Chapter Text

Izuku stood in front of the Bakugous’ house, his hands were trembling as he rang the doorbell. This is a bad idea, why did he even take my homework from the math teacher? Then again, no one would have told me if I’d asked and--

The door buzzed, and he saw Katsuki opening the front door, standing there but holding nothing. Fuck, did he lie to get me here? But why? His steps felt heavy, his arm itched, and everything was just so loud as he walked. “‘Bout time, you damn nerd. What the hell took you so long?”

What’s it to you, he wanted to say but his lips were fixed in a tight line and now he was eye to eye with Katsuki, I shouldn’t have come here. The blond stepped aside and looked down to see Izuku in those -stupid- dirty red shoes and sighed. 

“The fuck you just standing there for? Inside, now.” Demanding much, Kacchan? Izuku undid his laces, took off his shoes and walked inside; the sound of the front door closing made him jump, his shoulders tensed and suddenly, Katsuki’s warm hand had a firm grip over his chin, Izuku held him by his wrist, I can’t take it anymore--!

Katsuki turned his face to see his left cheek, and it finally dinged in Izuku’s head. “What happened to your damn face?” He had a red handprint, almost encircling his entire cheek. His eyes glued to the floor in an instant, embarrassment and shame took over, and he couldn’t answer, his hand let go of Katsuki’s wrist. 

“Fine, don’t talk. But I’m gonna figure out what’s going on with you,” he put his hands in his pockets and started walking to the staircase, not bothering to call the greenette as the boy just stood there. In under a minute, he was back with papers. 

“Here’s the homework.”  

So he didn’t lie… Katsuki gestured for him to take it but pulled his hand away the second Izuku reached for them, “Where were you today?”

“Home! Where else would I be?” Izuku answered, frustrated. He just wanted to get this over with, “You haven’t been home for a week. We leave for school around the same time I see your ass leave your apartment when I put on my damn shoes. And I haven’t seen you there since Friday.” 

Izuku gulped, “And I know for a fact that no one messed with you this week because I know sure as hell I didn’t and you’ve been showing up with more bruises-”

He jumped to reach for the papers, whatever means to avoid the conversation but Katsuki grabbed his upper arm where he was injured last night and made him yelp. “Fuck! Let go of my arm! Just give me the papers, why do you even care?!” 

Katsuki stared at his sleeve, there were bits of red forming and he could’ve sworn he felt bandages so he let go and threw the papers aside and grasped Izuku’s collar, “The fuck makes you think you can yell at me, know your damn place, moron! And just to be clear, I don’t give a flying fuck about you!” 

Izuku could feel his hot breath against his face, Katsuki was straight up screaming at his face and it pissed him off, as if on instinct, he grabbed the blond’s collar and headbutted him, when he felt Katsuki’s grasp loosen, he pushed him off and ducked before he got a right hook bruising his face any further. 

Predictable. 

“You damn rat!” Katsuki was holding his nose, Izuku saw blood dripping down the floor through the other’s fingers as he snatched the papers and made a run for the door while the blond was distracted but just as he reached for the handle, he was pulled back by his hood, the move chocking him. 

“Oh I ain’t done with you yet, Deku.” 

“Get-- Get your hands off of me or I swear to god-”

When he turned to see Katsuki’s face, his nose busted up and his fangs showing with narrow eyes, Izuku kicked his leg and hit his ankle, knocking him down to his knees and making him let go of his hood “Or what, if you could fight back this whole time then why just take the shit we give you in school, huh?!”

“None of your damn business!” Izuku yelled, reaching for the door handle once again but he didn’t dare leave his six wide open as he pulled it down. Katsuki was about to stand up again but Izuku spoke how he always did when he played hero. 

“Stay down.” It was sharp, piercing even followed by a cold “And… Thank you for the homework.”

Izuku turned his head and put his shoes on before shutting the door and leaving Katsuki behind. The blond wiped the blood gushing from his nose off with his wrist, looking at the mess on his top and the floor. 

What the fuck had just happened?

When Izuku made it to the store, he looked through the variety of beers, his vision was clouding occasionally but he shook his head, making his curls bounce left and right as he just grabbed the six-pack he recognised through the coloring of the cans and walked through the aisles until he made it to the cash register. 

The cashier was always the same at this hour, he knew Izuku. And he also knew the beers he bought weren’t for him, Izuku had begged the guy the first time Izuku ran errands for his dad. 

“Hey there, kid.” The cashier greeted him, an apologetic smile plastered on his face, “Need cigarettes as well?” Izuku thought for a second, his dad hadn’t asked for cigarettes but he did see the empty pack the man threw on the coffee table, maybe he would go easy on him if he bought it. 

So, Izuku nodded. He’d been given a couple hundred yen extra by his father, he counted his money as the guy took out the pack of cigarettes Izuku’s father always bought whenever the man came around and scanned everything. Once Izuku paid, he thanked the cashier and waved a goodbye before he walked out. 

Right as he was about to snatch his keys from his pocket, the elevator door opened to reveal his mom. “Izuku?!” His mom smiled as she rushed over and hugged his shoulders, “Baby, I’ve been so worried! Are you alright?”

Her eyes trailed to the plastic bag in her son’s hand, “Did he let you back in..?” Izuku just gave her a nod and broke the hug, “Did you get my note?” He asked, smiling to conceal the throbbing pain on his arm, thankfully, his mom hadn’t noticed because of the dark. 

“Yes honey, thank you for the mochi but you didn’t have to. Wish I could’ve seen you though…”

“I’m here now Mom and I’m okay, don’t worry,” the nagging voice in the back of his head wanted him to ask her if Hisashi had hit her again but there weren’t any bruises on her face and she seemed okay, then again… 

“Mom..?” Inko looked at him, waiting for him to continue, “He hasn’t hurt you while I was gone, right?” The question should’ve been expected but she just looked away. Izuku’s voice sounded so small, yet it was different. He’d grown so much and she hadn’t realised until he shielded her from her husband when he said he would hurt her. 

“No, honey, you worry about yourself. Now let’s go inside, I need to cook dinner. Is there anything you want?” She asked as she took her shoes off and watched Izuku turn his keys, “Not really…” 

When they walked inside, Izuku stopped talking altogether as he went to the living room, his dad was still watching the news, lying on the sofa. Once he took notice of Izuku, he gestured for him to come over and he did.

“You got the one I always have, right?” Izuku nodded, then took the pack of cigarettes out of the bag, “I… I noticed you ran out of cigarettes so I-”

“Cheeky brat,” the man chuckled and eyed the lighter on the coffee table, Izuku understood almost immediately, handing him the lighter and the pack together, “Go put the beers in the fridge and come back here.” 

Now this, Izuku didn’t understand but did what he was told nonetheless. When he was in the kitchen, his mom was already there and had started cleaning the rice, “I’m making katsudon, your favourite!” she smiled, “Oh, there should be some pork in the back of the fridge, could you put it on the counter, honey?” 

And he did. He went back to the living room just like his dad had told him. When he stepped inside, Hisashi was sitting up this time. The man patted the empty spot beside him, eyes fixed on the TV. Izuku hesitated, confused, but sat down anyway. His chest felt tight, heavy.

Hisashi pulled out two cigarettes, handing one over without even looking at him. Izuku stared at it between his trembling fingers, unsure, before his dad stuck the other between his lips and lit it. Smoke curled upward, blurring the ceiling lights. Then the lighter was suddenly in front of Izuku’s face, close enough to make him flinch.

“You inhale when the tip is lit,” Hisashi muttered, pulling back his own cigarette to demonstrate. “Like this, then blow it out.”

Izuku wasn’t sure why his father was doing this, why he was suddenly… including him. Still, he pressed the spongey end against his lips and inhaled as shown.

The burn hit instantly. He coughed hard, chest seizing as if his lungs were rejecting the poison. His throat screamed, tears pricking his eyes. He thought-- did Dad’s throat burn like this too? With his quirk, could it even?

A dry laugh snapped him out of it. Hisashi wasn’t even looking at him, just leaning back with one leg crossed, exhaling smoke like it was nothing. Izuku forced himself to try again. This time he didn’t cough, but the fire inside still hurt. He watched the ash cling dangerously to the edge of his father’s cigarette. Hisashi noticed too, tapping it into the ashtray at the sofa’s edge before setting it down between them.

When Izuku leaned forward to do the same, his father cracked a small, amused smile. It was fleeting, but it carved into Izuku’s chest. His dad never looked at him like that. Usually it was disdain, coldness-- hatred, even. But this expression… this was different.

Almost proud.

“Looks like you can do something right,” Hisashi said. “Finish that, don’t let my money go to waste and go help your mother cook dinner, I’m fucking starving.”

“O-Okay…” Izuku whispered.

The TV buzzed in the background. He wasn’t really watching, just letting his eyes skim the news ticker racing along the bottom: “--nd another fire thought to be arson has occurred in south Musutafu, the police are on the case with Tsukauchi of the force as the lead detective has made a statement to the press saying--”

Izuku inhaled longer this time, holding it in before letting the smoke seep out slowly. His fingers hovered over the ashtray, tapping the end just like Hisashi had. Before he realized it, the cigarette burned down to nothing. He pressed out the last ember, half-expecting his father to say something else. But there was only silence.

Taking that as his cue, he stood. The smell clung to him like guilt.

In the kitchen, his mom didn’t look at him. Still, Izuku knew she could smell it. His voice was small, almost ashamed as he lowered his head. “Da-- Dad told me to help you with dinner.”

Inko sighed, her shoulders heavy. “Wash the vegetables and cut them.”

Her words stung more than her tone. It wasn’t like he wanted this. His dad told him to, so he did; what else was he supposed to do?

And then she spoke again, as if peeling open the thoughts he couldn’t say aloud: “Don’t start smoking. That’s how your father started. I don’t want you reeking of cigarettes every time I’m standing next to you, not my baby.”

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I won’t.” The words fell like a plea. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t put me in the same box as him.

Because I’m nothing like that monster.

But part of him, a quiet corner that terrified him, wondered why-- for just a moment-- his father’s smile had felt like something he wanted to earn.

Izuku needed a break from the Trigger case. His brain was overworked, overclocked-- he needed something else to focus on before he lost himself completely. The arsons he’d seen in the subtexts earlier seemed like the perfect distraction.

After dinner, he finished his math homework, revised a few chapters for Monday’s biology exam, then pulled up every article he could find. Reports, photos, interviews. Serial arsons, no suspect, no leads.

Notebook open, pen tapping in restless rhythm, he studied the grainy crime scene photos the media had released. Scorched walls, skeletal remains of homes, a faint smear of something on stone that might’ve been intentional-- if you looked hard enough. He searched for patterns, marks, anything the police overlooked. He didn’t expect a name. But something in his chest demanded answers.

Later, when the sound of his parents’ bedroom door clicked shut and the glow under his own door faded, Izuku moved. Quiet. Calculated. His window was already open. His boots were buried in the back of his closet. The city air outside felt sharp and heavy.

He pulled the first aid kit from under his bed, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. Time to deal with the wound from last night. Katsuki’s grip had been merciless; it still throbbed. As he peeled away the dressing, sticky fabric tugging at raw flesh, he hissed through his teeth. “Should’ve changed it the second I got home…” The smell of dried blood filled his nose.

He muttered under his breath, “I should probably be careful but…” and ripped the bandages off in one motion. Pain tore through him, head thrown back, breath caught.

Fresh blood welled again, stubborn. He cleaned it fast, wrapped it tighter, shoved the kit back under, and laced his boots. The fire escape groaned faintly as he climbed out, but the night swallowed the sound whole.

The streets were quiet, hollow in that way only two a.m. could make them. Streetlamps flickered, light broken into jagged patches on the concrete. Izuku fished his phone out, cracked screen catching dull reflections of neon signs. I should get this fixed, he thought, though it was already scribbled somewhere in the mess of his mental notes. He checked the marked locations.

And froze.

That feeling, the hairs on his arms rising, a chill running down his spine. Someone. Watching.

He dimmed his screen, tilted it just enough to catch the glassy reflection of the shop windows lining the street. Nothing. His chest tightened. He glanced left at the dark panes of a shuttered store-- still nothing. Too clean. Too quiet.

He kept moving, pretending not to notice, every step measured. When he spotted a rusted ladder bolted against the side of a warehouse, he didn’t hesitate. He climbed, two rungs at a time, until the roof welcomed him with open shadow. Goggles on, lungs steadying, he sprinted across the gaps between buildings, each leap more desperate to leave that gnawing presence behind.

The fifth arson site wasn’t far. Just a couple more blocks.

He ran. Wind against his face, knife-- Eraser’s knife-- gripped in one hand. The paranoia clung to him, gnawed at the edges of his focus. He didn’t stop until the scorched building loomed ahead, swallowed in caution tape and silence.

The air smelled faintly of ash even now. Neon-yellow tape fluttered limply in the breeze, brittle plastic scratching against broken stone. He scanned for cameras. None. Good. He ducked under and stepped into the hollow shell.

Walls blackened to bone. Charred beams hung at awkward angles, reaching out like claws. The outlines-- two silhouettes, frozen in ash against a wall-- made bile rise in his throat. People. Reduced to shadows.

His mind raced. “A bomb..? No. Too quiet. Someone would’ve heard. Maybe the roof collapsing… The report said it started right before sunrise.” He muttered to himself, piecing threads that only barely connected.

The marble staircase sagged under his boots as he climbed. Second floor. Moonlight poured through the fractured roof, casting jagged silver lines across the wreckage. He crouched, flashlight on, pushing the beam under the rubble.

A red marking bled against the wall, half-hidden by collapsed stone. His pulse quickened. Not natural. Someone left this. He crawled closer, careful not to disturb the precarious beams. A desk held the weight of what little roof remained intact above him, just enough clearance for him to snake through.

Something metallic glinted in the dark. He slid forward, snatched it, snapped a photo of the half-buried marking. Only once he had the object in hand did he realize what it was.

“Dog tags?” His whisper was a blade in the silence. He squinted at the scratched metal, crawling out before the rubble decided to give in.

Outside, under the artificial glow of a streetlamp, he held them up. Old, but clean. A name carved away, numbers scorched until they were unreadable. Erased. Deliberate.

Izuku checked the time. Just shy of two a.m. His muscles screamed at him to go home. But there was still another site marked in his notes. And he had time.

Plenty of time.

Chapter Text

It was just another afternoon after school. His body ached from the night before, and the lack of sleep didn’t help, but Izuku pushed forward anyway. He had to investigate. Even if his body hated him for it, his mind was set-- and oddly enough, he was in a good mood.

The wind flipped through the pages of his notebook as he took a different route home, stopping near the bridge. If he could find another mark like the one carved into the burnt building, maybe he’d prove it wasn’t random. Maybe it meant something.

Another gust. His notebook slipped from his grip. As he reached for it, something wet wrapped around his arm. A strange slime. He tugged, but it didn’t budge. His lungs seized when it crawled up and over him, sealing off his mouth, his nose. The sour taste invaded his throat as the slime swallowed him whole, lifting his feet from the ground.

Tears welled as he clawed uselessly at the muck, nails sliding off its surface. His vision blurred. His chest burned. I’m gonna die…

His body thrashed, but his mind whispered something darker. Would it be so bad… to just stop fighting?

The thought slid in like poison, and suddenly the panic dulled. His arms went slack. His mind felt distant, detached, peaceful.

Selfish, he thought dimly. To let go like this. To stop. But by then, it was too late.

Izuku let the darkness have him.

When he came to, irritation prickled at his cheek-- light, steady taps. His eyes cracked open.

“You’re awake!”

He shot upright at the voice, heart hammering, the last thing he remembered dissolving in a rush of disbelief when he saw him.

“All Might…”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Mi-Midoriya Izuku, sir! I-- oh man, I can’t believe it’s you!” His gaze flicked down to his notebook lying beside him, All Might’s signature scrawled across the page.

The hero grinned, broad and blinding. “Yes, yes. Always a pleasure to meet a fan, Midoriya! You seem to be doing alright! Now, I must go--”

He turned, and Izuku’s chest dropped.

“W-Wait! All Might, please!” His voice broke, breath uneven, the taste of sludge still clinging to the back of his throat. He knelt, desperate. I have to know.

The hero hesitated, shoulders stiffening before he sighed and turned back. “Alright, young man. Ask away. But make it quick, haha!” He tried to cover a cough with laughter, bottles clinking in his grip as he held up the restrained villain.

Izuku stood shakily, clutching his throat. His idol, right here. The number one hero. Flesh and blood.

“Can I be a hero?” His voice cracked. Then, firmer, “Even without a quirk?”

The question froze All Might in place. For a second, he was a boy again, dressed in a uniform just like Izuku’s, spitting words about injustice at a hero in the wreckage of another villain’s rampage.

Izuku’s eyes shone with something raw. “I just want to help people, like you do, All Might. I know it sounds stupid but… I want to smile and reassure them like you do. It’s always been my dream.”

The silence stretched. It hurt.

All Might’s mouth opened, but nothing came. How could he crush that hope? And yet… the world was cruel. Quirks ruled everything. He’d lived it, seen it, fought it.

“There are many ways to help others, even without a quirk, Young Midoriya.” His gaze softened, taking in the boy’s burned shoulder, the scuffed uniform. “Don’t stop working hard, but… know where you stand in society.”

Damn it. That wasn’t what he meant to say.

“Oh…” Izuku muttered, his smile tight, painful. He dropped his eyes. “Thank you. I don’t want to keep you, y-you said you had to go. I’ll be fine.”

All Might wanted to say something else. Anything. Maybe even walk him home. But Izuku had already shouldered his bag.

“Oh, and… thanks for the autograph, All Might.” He forced a grin before turning away, leaving the hero in his doubt.

When Izuku finally got home, the quiet pressed in. The pack of cigarettes sat abandoned on the coffee table. He stared. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t.

But his arm ached, his chest still burned, and right now, the thought of smoke filling his lungs seemed like the second-best option.

Neither parent was home. The house felt hollow. He sat on the couch, lit the cigarette, flipped on the news.

The smoke curled into his lungs.

“What the hell am I even doing…”

The exams spread through the next three weeks were spent sleepless and more and more bruises painted his face since his dad had lost his part-time job at a construction site, the only times he was sober were the weekends and he’d grown to have his son company him while he smoked. 

Izuku was just glad he had distractions to keep him busy from… from All Might’s little… speech… And Katsuki’s punches got harder, words harsher; his mom not talking to him because of the smoking but Izuku snapped last night and hurt himself again before leaving to go out after a bottle of wine was broken on his head by his dad, followed by a solid beating. 

He shook his head as he left the night market that changed locations every night. Content with his new discovery.

He held the pieces of metal that could bend like rope, fire resistant. Just the thing he needed, not only that but he tracked the guy who sold it to him and found that a purchase was made with him and the person behind the arsons. The metal rope was just an excuse to see his target and confirm the guy’s identity. 

Izuku sighed as he heard whispers and saw people pointing at him from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t anything new, sure but he knew that they knew. They all knew he was the vigilante no one knew anything about. Izuku didn’t even bother coming up with a name because then the police would have something other than witness descriptions of him. 

This whole place made him sick. Anyone who wasn’t a hero or was a part of the justice system was allowed inside. The only reason these people let vigilantes like him was because they had an unspoken agreement not to rat one another out. 

Izuku even sold analyses on a few corrupt heroes more than a couple of times to other vigilantes who came around and worked with the police, it was also a good cover for his quirklessness.

They all assumed he had an analysis quirk or a mental type, which wasn’t the case of course but hey, whatever makes unnecessary confrontation avoidable, right? 

As he made it outside through the tunnel he used to get down, he wrapped the rope in a circle and attached it to his belt. Oh, and he may or may not have gotten the rope by exchanging information on certain things… 

Izuku stayed the night at his hideout and sat on the couch; a cigarette in one hand and the other holding a pen, his analysis notebook displayed on the armrest. He could go out later, now, he had better things to do. 

He was finally ready to make a list of the deals who sold Trigger-- they weren’t selling though, just handing it out. It had been more than just a few months, these guys don’t have an actual chemist to work on the drug.

From what he could gather, Trigger was a type of drug that gave a sudden boost to the quirk of the person using it, simultaneously weakening their sense of reason, in other words; their quirks acted out while they took a step back from controlling their actions.

The first time he came across it, he had almost gotten his spine torn in half by a guy with a quirk that let him turn air into wind and shape it at will. 

The same guy who lost control and killed everyone in a cafe, in the late evening; Izuku was nearby when he heard screams and rushed there, finally able to corner him in an ally then, after he was blown against the streetlamp sideways, the drug wore off. 

Izuku didn’t consider himself lucky on the field, he had more disadvantages than advantages. But that evening, he thought he might actually have a guardian angel watching over him because oh my fuck the timing was flawless. 

He’d fled the scene before anyone could see him, but he managed to grab the broken piece of the container holding the drug that rolled out of the guy’s pocket just as sirens started to sound louder

Of course, he restrained the guy before leaving with plastic zipping handcuffs, they even sold those in supermarkets!! And they proved to be efficient time and time again sooo, no harm done!

“Ach!” He yelped, pen flying out of his palm as a piece of ash fell on his arm. It burnt worse than his father’s fire for some reason, “I really have to stop spacing out.” He mumbled, and stop doing this shit. 

Hours passed by, and he’d left for one last look around town after bawling his eyes out and tearing his skin while he punched the old punching bag for an hour.

He just needed some fresh air and he got his sleeve right over his cuts ripped by the broken pieces of wood on the staircase while leaving his hideout. He ignored the blood and the throbbing on his arm as he finally found himself sitting on a rooftop.

Eraser had been watching the kid for weeks now. The pattern was obvious, too obvious. Burnt buildings, one after another, the same trail followed with obsessive consistency. He should’ve been more careful.

Still, the vigilante wasn’t reckless. He hid his face well, even when the mask came off. Those ridiculous green-tinted goggles stayed on, always. At first Eraser thought they were night-vision, but lately he wondered if it was just to keep distance; a shield between the boy and the world.

But none of that mattered right now. What mattered was the damn file.

When he finally caught sight of the kid perched on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, Eraser approached silently from behind. No mistakes this time. No slipping through his grasp. He flicked his capture weapon forward.

The boy flinched-- but didn’t move. Didn’t fight. Didn’t even try. That alone put Eraser on edge. The first encounter had been a struggle. This… this was something else.

“Not running tonight, kid?” His voice came out low, testing.

He stepped closer. Only then did he hear it; the shaky inhales, the uneven little hiccups. Crying.

Eraser sat down beside him, keeping the bindings in place. He wasn’t going to risk a trick. Not with this one.

“What do you want?” The boy’s voice was thin, almost broken. Nothing like the persistent vigilante making a name in the underworld these past months. Rumors painted him as sharp, calculating, dangerous. But the sound beside him was small. Fragile.

Like a kid.

“Why are you crying?” Eraser asked flatly, but his eyes caught details the dark couldn’t hide. Gloves missing. Uniform torn. Hands raw, stained with blood. Knuckles white with tension, clenching and unclenching as though the motion was the only thing keeping him grounded.

The boy didn’t answer. Just turned his head away. Goggles still on, streaked with salt. Eraser wanted to curse. Take them off. They can’t be comfortable when you’re crying, stupid child.

He sighed, loosening the binds. “I need the file. The one we talked about. You’re done with it, right? If you hand it over, I’ll return it myself.”

The sniffing had stopped, but silence pressed heavy between them. Eraser watched the boy’s bloody fingers drag absently over his sleeve before pulling his knees to his chest, curling in on himself.

“Are you gonna give it to me or not--?”

“I wanna make a deal.”

Eraser raised a brow. The voice was steadier now, sharper; like a blade wiped clean. A complete swap of character that was borderline worrisome.

“I need someone,” the boy continued. “He won’t give me information willingly. I can’t move him on my own. I need him restrained, brought to a location. Then I’ll give you the file.”

“So you want me to kidnap a man for you?” Eraser muttered, unimpressed.

Izuku nodded once.

“I won’t hand someone over just to be tortured,” he cut in before the kid could argue. “Tell me why. Then maybe.”

The vigilante hesitated, staring at his knees. For a moment Eraser thought he’d clam up completely. But then, with a sigh that sounded older than his years, he spoke.

“I’ve been tracking the arsons. All of them. I couldn’t find a name, nothing concrete. But this guy… he runs a weapon business in the night market. Handmade stuff. I found traces of his material in the last fire. He supplied whoever’s behind it. He has to know a name. Or something.”

Eraser studied him. The raw dump of detail. The conviction running right alongside exhaustion. The boy had been crying minutes ago; now he was rattling off evidence from memory like a seasoned investigator.

“Alright. Fine.” He stood. The kid mirrored him instantly. “But once I deliver him, I want that file tonight.”

The boy nodded and held out his hand. Blood smeared across his palm, but Eraser had gloves. He shook it anyway. The deal was set.

They walked the streets in silence, Izuku giving clipped descriptions of their target. Eraser didn’t talk much, and the boy didn’t seem to mind. He looked grateful, even, for the quiet.

Twenty minutes out from the market, Eraser broke it.

“So, what? You planning to torture this guy for answers?”

Izuku rolled his eyes. “Well, you’re not hauling him to me so I can buy him a happy meal.”

Eraser almost laughed at the dry delivery. Almost. “You know they call you Kurai, right? Dark. Doesn’t fit. Don’t think you’re not gloomy enough for it.”

Izuku gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “You think I don’t know kanji? Rude! My vigilante name is beautiful. Unlike yours. ‘Eraser’? Not even Japanese. Just… an object. At least it fits your quirk.”

He kept mumbling, oblivious. Eraser fell silent. He didn’t argue. Didn’t correct. Because the first time he heard the name, he’d thought the same thing.

“Hey, Eraser!” Izuku piped up suddenly. “How does your capture weapon work?”

“It’s complicated.” He let the words hang before turning it back. “I have a question for you, Kurai. What happened to your arm? And why were you crying on that rooftop?”

The boy froze mid-step. The smile slipped. A dry laugh escaped instead, hollow.

“My… ah… a kid at school told me to take a swan dive off the roof a few weeks ago.” He exhaled sharply. “I was just… thinking, I guess. Didn’t have time until now. Y’know how it is...”

Eraser’s jaw tightened. He wished he knew how to respond. The kid’s curls hid his face, but the air around him said enough. He wasn’t smiling.

“You’re quirkless, aren’t you?” Eraser asked quietly. “The other kids-- they bully you for it?”

Izuku stopped dead. Eyes wide behind the goggles. His breathing hitched. Shit. Why did I say anything? What the hell am I thinking? Stupid. Stupid.

“I knew the first time I cornered you,” Eraser explained. “My quirk gives me a signal when I shut someone’s power down. It didn’t happen with you.”

“And it didn’t today either. Great.” Izuku’s voice was sharp, bitter. He started walking again. “Don’t bring it up with anyone. I don’t want to talk about it. Just… let’s get this over with.”

“Right,” Eraser muttered, falling into step beside him.

He didn’t press again. But he watched. Always watched.

Chapter Text

“Alright, enough of this.”

Izuku’s voice cut through the damp air like a dull knife, heavy with fatigue rather than menace. His hand shoved the chair with a sharp jolt, wood scraping against concrete before tipping. The blond man hit the floor, his smug grin vanishing in the fall. Izuku’s hand latched onto the back of his neck, knuckles white, the gesture far too steady for someone who claimed he hated doing this. He dragged the man forward until his face hovered above the metal tank.

The water inside was still, clear, reflecting the dim bulb overhead. Cold, waiting.

“Oi, oi! What the hell?! Let go of me you fucking brat--!”

“You asked for this,” Izuku muttered, almost polite in his apology. “I apologise in advance.”

With one sharp push, the man’s head broke the water’s surface. The sound was grotesque; muffled thrashing, bubbles erupting as he kicked and flailed with limbs that already looked too weak to fight back. Ten seconds. Izuku counted them like he was back in class, ticking each number off carefully in his mind. When he finally yanked the man back up, the blond gasped, coughing up water and curses.

“Are you going to talk yet? I’ve got places to be.”

“Go to he-- hell!”

Izuku clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. His patience was paper-thin tonight, and the man’s answer scraped against it. “Y’know, this could be easier for you. But looks like to me you’re asking for it.”

Before the man’s lungs could refill, Izuku shoved his head back down. The water splashed violently, droplets staining Izuku’s sleeves, soaking into his skin until he felt the sting of cold. He wasn’t used to this. Not really. He wasn’t the type who set up rooms, prepared tanks, and staged interrogations. He was the type who dove headfirst into fights, let adrenaline lead. But he had learned from watching others-- from brokers especially-- that information was a weapon too. And weapons, sometimes, required blood to be sharpened.

Why was it so hard to get people to talk? He wasn’t asking for much. Just a name, a face, a lead. All he wanted was a conversation, a thread to follow. Instead, people fought him every step, as if silence could save them from the fire crawling through this city.

He pulled the man back up again. Water streamed down his face and onto the cracked floor. His breaths were ragged, each gasp louder than the last. Izuku tightened his grip, fingers buried in wet hair, dragging the man close enough that the cold tank still kissed his skin.

“Are you sure you want another turn?” Izuku asked, his voice low, too calm for what he was doing. “Just talk and let’s get this over with.”

The man’s silence stretched. He could almost hear the gears turning in his head, weighing fear against loyalty, or maybe pride. Izuku’s hand clenched tighter.

“Make this easier for yourself. You have a pregnant wife to get back to, do you not?”

The words hit like a bullet. The blond froze, body trembling. Izuku felt the shift, the panic spike, and knew he had him.

“O-Okay! Okay! I-I’ll talk, just stop, please!”

Relief should’ve come with that answer, but it didn’t. Izuku’s stomach still twisted. He hated this-- hated every second of being the hand that forced people down into helplessness. He had sworn to himself, over and over, that he would never kill. Heavens no.

That wasn’t him.

But violence wasn’t so black and white. This wasn’t killing. This was compromise. Necessary, he told himself. If he could prevent one building from turning to ash, if he could keep one family from burning alive, wasn’t this worth it? One man’s dignity traded for dozens of lives. The math was simple. It had to be.

But it didn’t make him feel any less sick.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and asked again. “If you don’t know the name, that’s fine. But if you do… Who is he? What does he look like?”

The blond blinked water out of his eyes, shaking, teeth chattering. “H-He? The person you’re after is a woman! She has long black hair, it’s usually tied up, and wears a gas mask. Never seen her face before. She m-might be hiding a scar or just her identity… she’s tall, above average for a Japanese chick, and-- and that’s all I know, I swear! I only supplied her because she threatened me! Please, let me go now, I’ll do anything, I-I’ll call you if she comes in contact with me again!”

That… sounded real. Convincing. Enough.

Izuku loosened his grip and finally stepped back.

The night air clung to his lungs like tar as Izuku walked, leaving that building behind. His feet dragged him toward the one place that never judged him: the beach.

The air was damp with salt, the faint crash of waves constant in the background. It was where he trained, where he forced his body to keep going when everything else told him to collapse. Tonight, though, his body felt heavier. His hands trembled as he spotted a bench and lowered himself onto it.

He needed a cigarette.

He didn’t even know why it was his first thought, but he wanted one regardless. 

His fingers brushed the battered pack in his pocket, pulling it out with muscle memory. When his head fell back against the upper rim of the bench, the sky greeted him.

A full moon, bold and unyielding, surrounded by stars trying to steal its light. He wished, fleetingly, that he could reach them. Touch something pure. Just for a second.

His smile broke when he felt the stickiness on his skin. His hands. Blood.

God. He had tortured someone. Actually tortured someone.

He slid the cigarette between his fingers anyway, lighter sparking, flame flaring in the night. The roll touched his bruised lips, smoke filling his chest with a burn that nearly blinded him.

“Fuck…” The word cracked on his tongue.

It was supposed to help. It always was. It never did. But the ritual was ingrained now, the only echo of his father he still carried, pathetic as it was. Smoking was the one act Hisashi hadn’t ruined for him, because when Izuku was small, it was the only time the man didn’t look at him like he was garbage.

Now it was just another wound. Another form of self-harm dressed up as rebellion. He knew that. He wasn’t stupid. He’d read the articles, the medical warnings. He was burning himself from the inside out, slow and steady. Sick. He had been sick for a while now.

And no one noticed.

Not his mother, who loved him but worked herself raw to keep them alive. Not his father, who--

The memory slammed into him before he could shove it away.

He was back in junior high. His room smelled faintly of detergent, clean for once, his clothes folded neatly on the chair. He had come home from school, changed into a plain t-shirt, but hadn’t gotten around to sweatpants yet. Only boxers. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t supposed to matter.

The door hit the wall with a crack that made his chest seize.

“Oi! Brat! Where’s my fucking pack?!”

Hisashi’s voice. Thick with alcohol, cigarette smoke clinging to his shirt like a second skin. He should’ve been asleep. Izuku had checked. The man had been passed out on the couch, and Izuku had prayed he’d stay that way. But the sound of the front door must’ve stirred him, roused the beast.

Izuku’s heart hammered. His legs. His cuts. He hadn’t put the sweatpants on yet.

Shit.

The man’s eyes dropped almost instantly, drunken focus zeroing in. “What the hell--” His words broke on a hiccup as he stumbled closer. “--happened to your fucking legs?”

Izuku froze, breath stuttering. His mind spun useless excuses before one tumbled out. “Just fell…”

“Fell my ass, brat!” Hisashi growled, but his own balance betrayed him. He dropped heavily onto Izuku’s bed, head in his hands. “Ah shit, my head’s pounding.”

Izuku backed up, trembling. His hands darted for the sweatpants on the floor, fumbling them on as fast as he could. Maybe, maybe if he got them up in time--

“I’ll… get your beer right away, dad.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it. Dad. Dangerous. A title Hisashi usually rejected with violence. But tonight, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even register it. Lucky.

The first time Izuku had been punished for saying it, he was seven. Too young to understand why love was wrong. His father’s business had collapsed then, his pride shattered. A man who had come crawling back to the house in shame had decided that being a father wasn’t worth claiming anymore.

Izuku’s chest tightened at the memory.

“W-Would you, um, like me to get you to the living room?” he asked, voice shaking. Hisashi groaned.

“Yeah. And um… I don’t have any money.”

“I’ll get you some. Inko keeps a stash in the second drawer of that goddamn nightstand. God, I hate the color of it.”

Izuku blinked. Shocked. He… was talking to him. Really talking. Not yelling. Not ignoring. Just words. A twisted gift.

“Sure, Dad.”

Looks like he forgot about my legs already, Izuku thought bitterly.

The next day, Inko found the missing money. At first, she scolded him. Then she saw his face, his limp, the bruise blooming across his ribs. She pieced it together. She apologized. Made him something sweet that night. He hadn’t eaten half of it, his stomach too battered by Katsuki’s kicks and Hisashi’s fists to accept kindness.

Izuku sighed now, dragging himself back to the present.

Just why? Who does that?

A figure appeared in the distance, large coat swaying with each step, blond hair unmistakable even under the dim glow. Izuku’s chest tightened. He knew that frame. Knew it too well.

Not now.

“Hey there, young man. Isn’t it too late for you to be outside right now?”

Did he really have to put up with this? Now of all times?

Izuku shoved his face into his knees, leg shaking uncontrollably. Maybe if he ignored him, he’d go away. But Toshinori Yagi didn’t take hints. He sat beside him, weight sinking the bench slightly, and placed a hand on Izuku’s back.

The touch made Izuku flinch violently. He shoved it off. Too late-- Yagi caught a glimpse of his face. The bruises. The blood. “I don’t remember letting you sit next to me, sir,” Izuku spat, crushing the cigarette under his heel.

“Aggressive, aren’t you…” Yagi’s voice trailed, shock bleeding into it as recognition struck. “How did you-- oh shit.”

Izuku stood abruptly, ready to leave, but the man’s hand closed around his wrist. Pain shot up his arm, sharp and raw. He hissed, flinching harder.

“You’re that kid. The quirkless one I met after I saved you,” Yagi said, uneasy. “What-- how did you get those on your face?”

“None of your goddamn business, All Might.” Bitterness coated his voice.

Yagi tugged him back down onto the bench, and Izuku’s sleeve slipped, revealing the edge of bandages. He yanked it down fast, but the damage was done. He stopped resisting, lighting another cigarette with trembling hands, offering one to the man who declined.

“You know, you shouldn’t be doing that.”

“And I shouldn’t be outside at this hour either. But here I am, aren’t I?”

“Yagi. Toshinori Yagi.”

“I’m aware.”

“Do you remember my name?”

“Midoriya Izuku.” Yagi chuckled softly. “How could I forget?”

“Thought you wouldn’t… that’s a surprise.”

The silence stretched. Izuku smoked, staring off, eyes unfocused. Yagi looked at him, regret heavy in his gaze. This wasn’t the same boy. Something in him had cracked wide open.

“Seeing you here is a surprise to me as well, Young Midoriya.”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was final, a door slamming shut.

Before Izuku could leave, Yagi pointed. “Your phone is ringing.”

Izuku glanced. Katsuki.

“Why is he calling me at this hour?” he muttered, answering anyway. “What do you want--”

“-- shit! Deku, your apartment! There’s fire outside-- No old Hag! Fucking hell, no he’s not home! Ugh. Just… Something’s wrong-- at your damn house. Where the fuck are you?! Hag not fucking now, get your ass here, the hag won’t let me leave the fucking house!”

Izuku froze. Blood drained from his face. Fire. His home. His parents. His mom. Her schedule had changed, hadn’t it? Hadn’t she been working late? Or was it earlier this week? His thoughts scrambled, useless.

“Midoriya, what’s going on?” Yagi’s voice was sharp, grounding, but distant, “Hey, kid? Snap out of it.

“I-I gotta get home…” The whisper barely left his lips. He ran, sand sinking under his heavy steps, phone still pressed against his ear.

“Deku? Deku! You ass! Fucking answer me, nerd! Oi, you still there?! Deku--!”

Izuku hung up.

And only then realized he was crying.

Izuku started sobbing behind his hood when he caught sight of the front gate of the apartment complex. The red graffiti in full display, the paint still fresh with firefighters surrounding the street. 

Velvet red flames still shining bright, the hoses doing nothing to fight them off, Izuku looked at the window of his apartment only to see the flames blow out with an explosion so bright the people around stumbled back as they covered their eyes.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel as he rampaged through the firetrucks and the police cars, I have to save her..! Right as he was getting to the fire escape, he was pulled back by his hood. 

He kicked and screamed bloody murder at the person dragging him back. 

“N-No! Let-- Let go of me! M-My Mom! And Dad! They're in there! Let go!” He was pulled into a tight embrace. He kept clenching his fists and trying to fight the person off but they wouldn't bulge. 

“Deku! You fucking idiot! You can't go in there! You wanna get yourself killed?! And stop fucking hitting me, damn nerd-- just…” 

But Izuku couldn't, how could he? 

I did this, it’s my fault..!

This was his fault. 

“No! N-No-! Let me go! I need to help her! Mom is still in there!” Izuku protested, choking on his sobs, but Katsuki held him tighter at the words.

“What are you two doing there?! Get back! It's not safe!” A female firefighter rushed toward them, putting a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, “Let's get you to safety, come on. Are you alright?” 

“Deku, c’mon--” as soon as his arms loosened, Izuku made a run for it. The fire roared with rage, as if Izuku were a threat to it and sent them all flying back and Izuku hit his head. The last thing he saw was Katsuki’s worried eyes and heard him say keep your damn eyes open! Before his world went black. 

Once he came to, he was sitting in the back of an ambulance, his head throbbing with his vision blurry, he took out his hand under the blanket he was enveloped with and found the bandages wrapped tightly around his head. 

“Izuku! Thank goodness, you’re awake!” He blinked a few times, trying to understand who was talking to him then he started remembering, “Where’s my mom?!” pushing off the blanket he jumped on his feet, only to lose his balance and stumble back but the person talking to him caught him by his arm. 

“Honey, take it easy. You hit your head.” His vision was coming together with the voice sounding more and more familiar, “A-Auntie Mitsuki..?” He breathed, earning a sad smile from the woman. 

“Ple-- Please tell me they’re okay..! Did they find my mom and- and my dad?” Izuku pleaded, the tears coming back again, Mitsuki didn’t answer but her eyes said it all. She couldn’t look at him, only then Izuku saw Katsuki and Masuro behind her, talking with the police. 

“No! Tell me they’re okay! Tell me-- tell me mom’s okay! Where is she?!” He sobbed loudly, catching Katsuki’s attention. When he came face to face with the blond, Izuku pushed off the woman and found his ash-covered hands wrapped around Katsuki’s collar.

Katsuki didn’t say anything, just looked away, only pissing Izuku off further with the next words coming out of his mouth, “I’m.. I’m sorry, Izuku.” 

“Why wouldn’t you let me go in?! You fucking asshole! I- I could’ve gotten to them! I could’ve saved them!--” He screamed at the blond, he had no right to keep me away from mom! Katsuki cut him off, “What could you have done that the firefighters and the heroes couldn’t?” It was dry, no mockery behind the words, just plain facts said quietly. 

“I- I…” Izuku let go, then punched him across the face, Katsuki didn’t move, just bit his lip as the boy in front of him looked at the police officer with pity, “Midoriya-kun, I’m sorry for your loss,” the man in the uniform said, “But we need you to come down to the station with us.” 

When he approached, Izuku took a step back, he needed to collect his thoughts. This wasn’t right. He was so close. He almost got a name tonight and… and he was-- what was he even thinking..? He wiped away his tears and looked at the officer.

“Have you confirmed it?” He said, his voice cold, almost demanding an answer before he took another step as the officer looked puzzled, “Have you confirmed the identities of everyone in the building?” He clarified.

“Well-- Um, not yet, not all of them but--”

“Then I’m not moving an inch,” he declared, “Unless you can tell me otherwise, then I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

The Bakugous shared glances with each other, Mitsuki holding a hand over her mouth, eyes wet while Masuro put a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder who had a red mark on his left cheek as he shrugged his father’s hand away and stood in front of Izuku now then leaned in before talking.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” he said, ignoring the way Izuku gridded his teeth, “We’ll go to the station with you, drop the act.” 

I can’t do this on my own, the dog tags could help…

“You wanna talk about acts? Drop that look on your face and punch me in the stomach, pretend I said whatever.” Izuku whispered back as he spotted Detective Tsukauchi, who was looking their way. Katsuki didn’t understand but to hell with this moron if he thinks I’m gonna hit him in front of my fucking parents.

“What are you playing at?! Get your shit together, I ain’t gonna--” Izuku hit him for the second time, triggering the blond’s anger and his butchered arm was grabbed while a punch landed in his stomach. 

“Katsuki! Izuku! What are you two doing?!” Mitsuki rushed over, grabbing the back of her son’s shirt while a few cops along with Tsukauchi made their way toward them. “Hey! Cut it out you two!” 

“Let go of me!” Izuku yelled at the Detective who put his hands on his shoulders, “Son, you’re in shock right now. Listen to me, we will let you know if anything new comes up but you shouldn’t be here. I promise you, we will find out who did this. Alright?” 

The detective tried to reassure him, but Izuku just looked away. This is stupid, I might as well just take off my mask during patrol, “Okay, kid?” The man asked again, the boy nodded in defeat. 

“Good, Sansa!” Tsukauchi smiled and called over his partner, “My friend is gonna stay with you and your friend and his family can come along to the station. It’s Midoriya, right?” Izuku nodded again, without his words. 

“Wait for me there then we’ll talk again, Midoriya-kun.” 

As Izuku was escorted to a police car with Sansa, he failed to see the vigilante watching the scene over a rooftop and recognizing those green curls. 

Sansa looked at the boy in front of him fidgeting and shifting, unable to sit still. Izuku hadn’t said a word yet. He was a ball of anxiety, maybe a bomb, ready to lash out on anything at this point. 

“Would you like something to eat, Midoriya?” the officer asked, Izuku fliched. Startled by the sudden direct question, he shook his head, “Are you alright?” he asked, how could I be? Does he even know what he’s saying? Is he trying to get me to talk? I don’t want to. I wanna go back and help-

The cat man seemed to notice the way Izuku’s eyes darted around the precinct constantly at any noise, he sighed and stood up, the boy watched him approach someone and ask a question. Once he returned, “Come with me, let’s get you somewhere more quiet.” 

Izuku didn’t want to leave his spot but everything was just so overwhelming. It hurt to hear and be aware of anything and everything, he shakly stood up and followed Sansa into a room. 

Once inside, he saw a bench against the wall and a table with two chairs standing in front of one another. An interrogation room? “This room is free at the moment, you can stay here. I noticed you seemed uncomfortable with all the commotion out there.” 

“T-Thank you…” Izuku mumbled as he sat on the bench. Sansa’s yellow-furred ears perked at the metallic noise coming from under Izuku’s shirt, his eyes narrowed but he let it go, not thinking it was something to dwell on and smiled, “You can call for me if you need anything, okay?” Izuku just nodded as he shut the door.

It was after dawn when his parents’ death was confirmed and Izuku had stopped talking altogether since then. He sat in the interrogation room, all alone, scratching his arms and unable to cry, unable to feel anything as the dog tags’ metal rubbed against one another with the way he dragged his leg up and down. 

Katsuki and his parents had gone home to bring a change of clothes for the boy but that was a few hours ago and it was almost noon when the door opened again, revealing a man with glasses and his hair in a messy half-bun.

“Kid.” Izuku didn’t look at him. He didn’t care until the man knelt in front of him and pulled his hand away from his arm, “Stop doing that.” He said then sighed, “I saw the dog tags, Kurai, give them to me.” He whispered, only then Izuku looked at the man. 

“E-Eraser..?” he mumbles, confused and terrified, “There aren’t any cameras in here, give me the tags and I’ll find a way to hand them to that detective, don’t talk too loud, there could be a bug in the room, I don’t have much time, I snuck inside but it’s only a matter of time before the social services come and take you away.” 

“No-! I- I can’t!” Izuku cried, “Mom-- and, and Dad… they’ll help! They won’t-”

“Izuku,” Eraser snapped him out, grabbing his shoulders tightly, fuck, the kid’s still in shock, how could they just leave him alone in here and his arms… he’s bleeding still… “I’ll say this once so listen to me carefully, nod your head if you understand.” 

Izuku shut his eyes and shook his head, crying and sniffing, “No, no! They’re… They’re okay! I know what you’re gonna say!--”

“Kid, they’re gone. And it’s not your fault. You need to understand that, okay?” Eraser continued, “When social services come, go with them. They’re likely to take you to that orphanage where the precinct sends off kids who lost their parents or guardians during cases like these…”

Izuku’s eyes went wide at the words, “No- no, no, no--”

“Fuck…” He mumbled, “I’ll come and get you as soon as I can. Okay? If you had any extended family left, they would’ve been called here by now and that blond kid’s parents can’t take you in, I heard them when they were leaving.”

“W-What do you mean..? I don’t…” Izuku said, sniffing, “You’ll stay with me.” It wasn’t a question, Eraser was telling Izuku he wouldn’t let him go. 

And the boy felt sick. “I don't even know who you are! Why would I stay with-- with you?! Why would you want me to… to--!” 

“Aizawa Shota.” The man spoke, “My name is Aizawa Shota. Now you know.” Aizawa sighed and continued. 

“Look, kid, if you stay in an orphanage, god knows what will happen. Don't get mad but you are quirkless. I know what happens to kids who don't have a quirk in those places. You're only fourteen years old, and if you do manage to run away from a police station full of cops and heroes hanging around, they’ll drag you back here in an instant. Do you understand?” 

Izuku debated his options, his mind was cloudy with uncertainty when he nodded, “Tell me you understand.” Aizawa said, “I- I understand, Aizawa-san.” he confirmed, inhaling shapely as he reached for the tags hanging from his neck under his shirt. 

“H-Here,” he breathed quietly as he took them off and handed them to Aizawa, “I’ll make sure they catch the bastards who did this. I swear to you,” The man stood up as he slipped the metal in his pocket, “Wait for me and be strong, okay, problem child?” 

He smiled at the boy who fidgeted with his fingers and nodded before Aizawa left, “I’ll get you a happy meal as a welcome gift.” he laughed, and Izuku gave him a weak smile as he shut the door and disappeared. 

Izuku curled into a ball after that, missing the hunger ques shooting up in his stomach and ignoring the pain and the blood seeping from his arms as he waited for social services people like Aizawa told him to. 

They showed up, eventually, before the Bakugous did and told him he would be placed in that orphanage, just as Aizawa had told him they would, he didn’t let their pitiful looks and empty promises get to him as they explained everything. 

“It’ll be okay,” they kept saying, “It’ll all be fine.” they promised.

It’s not gonna be okay, he thought, nothing is gonna be fine.

Izuku signed a paper and watched the social services people put it in a folder, they left and that’s when Tsukauchi stepped in the room. He sat beside Izuku on the bench. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Midoriya-kun.” Izuku looked at the floor as the detective did the same while he spoke, “I shouldn’t be telling you this but… We have reason to believe that someone living in your apartment building was targeted. It’s likey they had something to do with the people who’ve been committing these arsons around the city.”

I knew it. I fucking knew it..! They knew I was after them, they-- 

“Look, Midoriya… Let this stay between us, yeah? I’m only telling you because I want you to know that we are one step closer to apprehending the people responsible. I talked to social services, they’ll take you to the West Side orphanage. I wish I could tell you there was someone you knew there but unfortunately, we don’t have any survivors other than you.”

The man sighed looking at Izuku brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his hair as he took in a shaky breath, “I hate to ask but where were you? I know you weren’t home and the fire department got the call around two am. Bakugou-san told me her son called you when they heard the sirens.” 

Izuku was aware of Tsukauchi’s quirk, as Kurai, he knew. But when he looked at the man at the question, right in the eyes, any recollection of that knowledge was erased from his mind as he answered. 

“I was with a- a friend, I got Kacchan’s call at the beach.” Tsukauchi had his suspicions, sure, it was necessary to ask the question but regardless of the fact, what was a fourteen-year-old boy doing outside past midnight on a school night? And what friend? Of course, he knew that was a lie the moment Izuku said the word, his quirk was at work.

His clothes were dirty, he was wearing combat boots; his eyes were tired and he had bruises all over his face. And the kid was bleeding on both arms, one worse than the other and his right sleeve was ripped yet he wasn’t showing any signs of discomfort or pain. 

“May I ask how you got those bruises on your face?” the detective asked, Izuku looked away immediately, “S-School… I, um… I’m quirkless.” It wasn’t a lie this time but Tsukauchi knew it wasn’t the complete truth either, he didn’t want to push it. So, for now, he decided to play along. 

“The other kids or the teachers?” 

“The others…” Izuku answered as his hand travelled to his bleeding forearm to hide it, “It’s okay though, I under--” he tried to reason, he wouldn’t hear the end of it from the school if word got out that the police knew about the bullying.

“It’s not. Quirk-related discrimination is a crime. They should know better, even if they’re kids and I understand the teachers don’t do anything?” Izuku nodded in shame, he felt pathetic. 

“I’ll tell social services to inform the orphanage about your school. They can get a transfer but it would take a week or two, if that’s what you want.” the boy shook his head, “I-I’ts alright. I’m used to it and besides, I’ve only got a couple of months left before going to high school. But… But thank you, I appreciate it, Detective.” 

The man smiled at Izuku, noting the dullness in his voice. He took out his notepad and wrote his number on it, “Here.” He said as he handed it to the boy who looked at him, confused.

“This is my number, you can contact me any time if you need anything.” He explained as Izuku took it, “Let’s get you to the infirmary before you leave, yeah? You’re bleeding.” 

“O-Oh…” was all Izuku said as his eyes trailed to his arms, only now seeing the damage. Tsukauchi stood up and led the way to the infirmary in the police station. He just followed quietly and eventually found himself getting fresh bandages wrapped around in both of his arms. 

“Thank you,” he said to the nurse who smiled at him, “Of course. You need to change them after a day, young man, don’t forget!” The woman said as Izuku sheepishly nodded and followed the detective until they reached the front entrance, the social services workers were waiting there along with Katsuki and his parents.

He put up his best face as the detective told him they would catch the arsonists and he didn’t believe it. 

When he came eye to eye with Katsuki next with a bruised face, he ignored him. And when Mitsuki hugged him tight while she held back tears before saying goodbye, he stared off to the gate behind her with dull eyes. 

I won’t be okay, nothing will be unless I catch that bitch and make her scream until I finally kill her. Izuku told himself, I promise to make it up to you, Mom. I’ll kill her even if it’s the last thing I do. 

The car ride was silent, a ten-minute drive to the orphanage. All Izuku had was a bag filled with the clothes Mitsuki had brought and his broken phone in his pockets as he was shown to his room in the orphanage. He eyed the other bed as he sat down and let himself collapse next. 

“Fuck…” 

Chapter Text

The following week was a blur. He was in a dirty room with another kid who lost his parents a year ago and didn’t have any other relatives to take him in. But he was already seventeen, waiting for his birthday to get out of this dump. 

Daisuke, his name was Daisuke. 

And he was the only one being kind to Izuku. The boy who shared his room had a quirk that could read people’s emotions, and feel their pain. Empathy. 

Izuku found out the hard way and learned what he did to silence his quirk when he came back with new cuts on his arm during his third night. 

“Fuck!” Daisuke had yelled, clenching the same arm as where Izuku’s cuts were hidden under his sleeve, “What the hell did you fucking do to yourself?!” The next thing he did was fish out a tiny plastic bag that held pink pills and swallow them dry before Izuku could explain himself. He was instantly sighing in relief and let go of his arm, rubbing his temples. 

“I- I’m sorry…” he’d apologized as he sat on his bed, “I didn’t…” 

“Not your fault, stop saying sorry.” The teen had spat, hiding the plastic bag back to its spot, “I wasn’t gonna say anything but you’re already hurt so stop fucking mutilating your arm!” The colorful language reminded him of Katsuki but the attitude and the words were nothing near the blond’s. 

This boy who was stuck here for just a few months longer, who was given up on by the world gave him comfort in a way Izuku couldn’t put in words, he smoked after the lights were out and Izuku joined him. He offered comfort to Izuku when he woke up from the same nightmare every time he managed to sleep. 

But the way he looked at Izuku at times made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t explain.

The first few days were fine, but after that, began the abuse; whether it be occasional slaps on his cheek by the headmaster or the other kids who learned he was quirkless cornering him after they were done with their studies for the day. He wished it was his classmates, which made him feel like a freak. 

Cleaning the bathrooms, the kitchen, the others’ rooms… he wished he could just stop breathing when the chemicals that leaked from the dirty cloth he was given to rub off the filth filled his lungs, he wished he could just cut off his hands when they burned red.

All he wanted was to disappear without a trace. 

He hated that his only comfort was the cigarettes Daisuke offered late at night, it offered a sense of peace, a part of his family, his home. Yeah, home is the right word. 

That entire week after the first, he started to think Eraser had lied to him. He was nowhere to be seen while Izuku was deprived of sleep as the bruises coloring his body kept growing, barely eating anything and constantly getting harsh words thrown at him that hurt more than the physical abuse. 

The woman in charge, the headmaster, hated his guts for not having a quirk while the other kids made fun of him and enjoyed taking out their anger against the world and everything else on Izuku after they returned from school. 

Izuku wished he could go back to school himself… but there had to be some arrangements made and papers to be processed before that, the detective had forgotten to mention it apparently. 

He sighed.

Now here he was lying wide and watching the minutes turn to hours and the sun rising as he was waiting for another day to pass by. The red light coming from the digital clock Izuku watched like a hawk on the nightstand blurred out at last and he fell into a dreamless slumber. 

_

It was thursday, of the second week off from school with no word from Eraser-- Aizawa. He lied, Izuku told himself, what was I thinking getting my hopes up..? He sighed then stared at the cracking white ceiling in his room, trying to suppress the urge to go out and be Kurai. Even the thought of blowing off steam sounded amusing but how could he just run off--

“Yo, Izuku!” His head whipped to Daisuke’s side of the room, only now realizing how dark it was outside, “Yes, Senpai?” He asked, sitting up. “Wanna go out?” 

Just when Izuku was losing hope, desperate to go out and after the black-haired woman who took his parents from him… Can he read minds too? Dai took his silence as doubt so spoke up before he could. 

“It’ll be fun, the hag won’t even notice we’re gone y’know. I know the way out, and you could use some fresh air.” Izuku was still unsure, can he be trusted? Then again, he hasn’t done anything to me, he’s nice… in his own way, I guess. He nodded and smiled at the teen, even if he had to scream back at his anxiety. 

Nonetheless, he was content to get some fresh air. 

They walked for a while in the cold of the night -Izuku was thankful Mitsuki thought of putting a jacket in the bag she’d prepared but it smelled like Katsuki- he smoked with the older teen in a comfortable silence until he spoke up.

“I wanna drink.” He said, “There’s a store nearby, the guy working there knows me and he doesn’t ask for an ID. You want a beer?” Daisuke got a weekly allowance from the orphanage, and Izuku didn’t have that privilege, he wished he had some money left to buy himself a pack of cigarettes but now… he had something else to worry about.

The mere thought of drinking terrified him. He was both too young and too afraid to drink, “Senpai, I- I can’t!” he protested as the teen lit another cigarette, “Geez, man! Relax, I had my first beer when I was your age. Why the hell are you so scared anyway? No one’s gonna find out.” 

Izuku looked at his shoes, thinking of his dad, and he stopped walking. “I’m not scared of the beer,” He explained, “My dad was a drunk, I just don’t want to…”

“Listen, kid, nothing’s gonna happen from, ‘kay? And anything is better than cutting yourself, if you ask me.” Dai said, not looking at him as he kept smoking, Izuku didn’t understand how he talked about these things so easily while he couldn’t even say the word. 

“Okay.” Izuku said, earning a confused look from the older boy, “Hm?” 

“I trust you, Daisuke-Senpai.” 

Dai smiled and swung his arm around Izuku’s shoulder. When he held his cigarette to the boy’s lips, he inhaled. The next thing he knew, he was laughing with that unfortunate boy in an old park, his cheeks flushed and mind fuzzy as his body started to feel hotter by the minute. 

And, somehow, the random topics found their way to pro heroes. “Oh man, Izuku! You really are a nerd, haha!” The teen laughed while he held his stomach as Izuku took another sip from his whatever number of beer cans. 

The first can had eased his anxiety, the second had made him relax and the tension built up in his body had swelled down and the rest got him here. “It's true though! There's no way he can move with all that gear! It would limit his mobility in the field. If you ask me, it’s not real metal!” 

“‘kay, okay. I'll buy it. But y’know what's really weird?” Dai said as he took out something from a bag that looked like cigars but Izuku wasn’t sure, “The fact that- that ugh shit… Never mind, I forgot.”

It was Izuku’s turn to laugh at the stupidity then his curiosity got the best of him, “What's that? It doesn't smell like a cigarette. Can I--” 

“Oh, this? It's marijuana. ” Dai answered, looking at the wrapped paper between his fingertips, “Nah, this ain't something I'm letting you try, sorry kid.”

Izuku took his last sip from his beer and put it down, Dai passed him another. Which Izuku failed to catch, “I shouldn’t…” he said as he settled it on the tiny rocks, “C’mon!! We’re still here for a while and I don’t have that many cigarettes left anyway. Just drink up. And never pass a free drink, got it?” 

The teen chuckled and took a sip from his can, followed by a deep breath from the wrapped thin paper, “Okay,” Izuku said as he popped open the lock, and held the can to his face. 

He was a goner after that and he didn’t remember how he had his next beer. His fingers were numb, his head was murky and he was burning up. He couldn’t register the words, his tongue felt heavy as he spoke absentmindedly for another hour. 

Izuku could see Daisuke making his way toward him but the boy’s figure was a blur as he settled down beside Izuku putting his cold hands on his neck, “What’re you do-doing..?” He managed to slur out as Daisuke’s hand trailed down to his stomach. 

“Just relax, you trust me, right Izuku?” The teen said as his hand went even lower and pulled at the hem of Izuku’s sweatpants, Izuku tried to keep his eyes open, unable to nod or say anything else as he lost consciousness with the last thing he felt being Daisuke’s lips on his. 

When the sun started to peak, Izuku’s eyes fluttered open, unaware of where he was with his back aching and lower body hurt in a way he couldn’t describe. He tried to recall when he passed out but only remembered bits of last night when he spotted Daisuke with a cigarette sitting on the barely holding-on swing. 

“Sleep well?” The teen said, his hair and clothes messy as he stood up, Izuku nodded as he sat up holding his head. Confused and scared by how much his body ached. Is this normal? Is it because of the drinking? No… this doesn’t feel right… 

He looked down, his shirt wasn’t tugged to his pants, he brought his fingers to his neck and felt bitemarks. His heart sank. No. No, no, no no-- What happened? Did Daisuke do this? But I wasn’t… I didn’t… 

His stomach turned and twisted, nausea crept up from the back of his aching throat, and before he knew it, he was hunching over to his side and puking his guts out. The acid and the alcohol mixed burnt his throat. 

Dai rushed over and held his curls back, even though his mind screamed at him to push the teen off, Izuku found himself powerless and weak. Once he was done, he sat up again, panting and exhausted.

“C’mon,” when Dai offered him his hand, he flinched, “We gotta get back. You can stand up, right?” Izuku blinked, then backed away from the teen, “What did you--”

He touched me, he-- what was I thinking? Why would he do this? I trusted him, I thought he was my friend..! It hurt to think because the more he did, the worse he could feel the traces of Dai’s hands all over his body. 

Dai chuckled dryly, “You okay?” He asked, pretending nothing happened like a pro as he grabbed a bottle of water and offered it to Izuku, “Looks like you’re kind of a lightweight, Izu.”

Izuku felt sick, the way that nickname rolled out of Dai’s tongue made him sick to his core. When he didn’t take the bottle, the teen sighed and drank it himself. “Suit yourself,” he teased and just as he was about to reach Izuku’s head, the boy backed away even further. 

“Don’t touch me.” he threatened only to earn a laugh from the teen, “Woah, I’m terrified!” Dai mocked, “That’s not what you said when I-”

“Sh- Shut up!” Izuku yelled as jumped to his feet, dizziness immediately shook his entire being, “You had no right to… to--” he tried to say but he was cut off again, Dai stepped closer, and Izuku could his warm breath against his face. 

“To what? To fuck you? You can’t even say it yet you were moaning so loud when I fucking railed you right there.” He pushed, the words seemed to just flow out of his mouth as if the scene he talked about played right in front of his eyes.

“I wasn’t-- I was… I..!” Izuku had tears bricking in his eyes as he spoke and looked away, “Don’t be a baby. And relax! I used a condom, alright?Anyway, let’s get back to the hellhole, c’mon.” Dai said and grabbed Izuku by his arm and dragged him out of the park as the boy fell silent. 

“Walk.” He ordered when Izuku stopped walking and waited until the boy was in front of him, Izuku found himself spacing out and in pain for the rest of the way, as time seemed to blur once again when they stood a few streets away from the orphanage. 

He wasn’t sure how he climbed through the window to their room, or how Dai just took off his shoes and went to bed while Izuku grabbed his bag and rushed to the bathroom downstairs and found himself in front of the toilet, clenching to his forearms until they bled.

He sat there, crying and wrenching on empty, disgust and shame swelling in his chest the more he recalled. Once he was done, he threw himself in the shower with his clothes on. 

His knees finally gave in as he wrapped his fingers around his curls and pulled and sobbed, biting his lip in an attempt to silence himself. He wasn’t sure when he ripped his soaked clothes off of his body, nor how he grabbed at his skin when he saw blood on his boxers but it happened. 

Izuku found himself in the common room, it was six thirty when sat down and stared at his reflection from the blank TV screen. He’d somehow passed out on the couch. 

Izuku was woken up for the second time with a slap to his arm his eyes snapped open and the headmaster stood yelling at him to get his ass up and come with her. So he did. 

“You're lucky someone's here to see you, otherwise you'd be locked up, what were you doing in the common room so early in the morning, you quirkless shit?” she whisper-yelled in his ear while fixing his hair once they stood in front of her office’s door.

Izuku flinched when she tugged on his collar and closed up the buttons, narrowing her eyes at the bruises on his neck, don’t touch me. Stop touching me. No, please stop! He wanted to push her off and yell, but he couldn’t open his mouth. It was like the words were stuck in the back of his throat. 

She opened the door next, talking with the person who came to see him but his ears were muffled with fear and anxiety to the point he couldn’t hear. “Midoriya, come here.” 

The headmaster ordered and Izuku’s body moved forward on autopilot, he was standing next to the woman now, still not looking up at the person. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” And she left. 

Izuku heard the door close and the person in front of him stood up from the chair, Izuku stepped back when he saw a hand coming his way, his breath hitching. “Hey there kiddo.” 

He looked up to see Tsukauchi, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Some part of him hoped it would be Aizawa. He hated having his trust shattered into a million pieces, he won’t come, he told himself, why did I think I could trust someone-- 

Trust… he trusted Daisuke. Izuku trusted Daisuke when he said he was his friend. He trusted Aizawa, he trusted the man when he said he would help him and trusted him with the dog tags: his only lead. He trusted his mom, he trusted her when she said she’d never leave him. And… and he trusted Katsuki only for him to turn his back on him and become his personal punching bag. 

I won’t make the same mistake again. 

“Midoriya? You still with me?” 

Tsukauchi’s voice pulled him out of his head, he caught the man staring at his neck. The detective could see the bite marks and the bruises and the red he gave himself while scrubbing his skin clean.

Izuku looked away in shame, only giving the man a silent nod, “Why don’t you sit down? There’s been a breakthrough in the case,” the boy looked at him with wide eyes as he sat down, “I promised you I’d let you know if anything came up, didn’t I?” 

Only now Izuku saw the file sitting on the coffee table in front of him, he was grateful to have something to distract him from himself. “An anonymous source has given us evidence that helped us greatly.” Great way to cover up a vigilante helping the police, he smiled weakly, Aizawa really did manage to deliver the tags…

“Have you found out who they belonged to?” 

“I managed to get one of the associates of the arsonists and got a police sketch done” He explained while he reached for the file, “Here’s a rough sketch of the person in charge.” There was a drawing attached to the paper, a black ponytail and a gas mask with tubes, Izuku took the paper and read the description, no certain number but above average height, female, scar tissue on the left side of the body, visible on hands and neck, no facial features are known. 

“There was an illegal support item manufacturer who turned himself in after we got the description,” The detective began as watched the boy put down the paper, dammit he said the same stuff but the information is missing a key element. He said the woman was tall, ‘too tall for a Japanese chick’ were his exact words. Sure, he may have meant it as a simple description but why that? It says here that the Japanese records don’t have such a quirk registered in the online database, there’s a chance she’s a foreigner. 

“As the file states, there are no records in our system, and finding them on paper would take some time,” He explained but Izuku cut him off unexpectedly.

“Her file could have been easily missed or not copied to the system if she didn’t grow up in a big city. Even if your theory is correct, why would she be targeting Musutafu? Most hero agencies are collected around more populated areas--”

Tsukauchi took note that there was no image of the tags and he never mentioned how old the prime suspect was, for now, I’ll play along, the man thought and cut him off, “Exactly. If you were a villain, would you not want to avoid places like those?” 

“If heroes are threatened, they would work harder to get rid of that threat. This woman avoids them not to draw attention but,” He turned the file to let the detective see the map scan through the locations, “She’s targeting specific people. The first three were months apart and scattered around town then the rest of them followed a pattern with little to no time wasted. If you ask me, I’d say she’s following orders.”

“That makes no sense, how did you come to that conclusion? There’s no indication of another party involved. Even if there was, there’s no evidence to prove it.” Tsukauchi had his suspicions about Midoriya. Some things didn’t add up when he looked through the boy’s record and now this…

The detective pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to the boy, “Okay then, what about the dog tags? Can you tell me what you think?” Izuku had studied them for weeks, one glance was all it took before he spoke.

“These are legit and old. Round and in Kanji, resembles the ones Japan used during the war before quirks appeared... She may not even be the owner, they could be a trophy of sorts.” This was no educated guess, Tsukauchi knew the current public school curriculums in history didn’t go that far into the pre-quirk times. 

He had his quirk activated this whole time but Izuku had never once lied, he needed answers, “You know your stuff, that was no educated guess, Midoriya.”

“Oh, um…” Izuku put the tags on the file, looking away and immediately cussing at himself, fuck, what was I thinking?! He needed an excuse and he needed it fast. He knew for a fact that the detective was using his quirk, I can’t lie but… not the whole truth. I did that before and it worked.

“I’ve studied the pre-quirk era before, of course, the part about her not being the owner is just a guess…” The man raised a brow, he’s not telling me something but he’s not lying either, “Alright then, that’s all I’ve got for you. Even if it’s not much, it’s something.” 

“Yeah, I guess...” Izuku mumbled, watching the man put the tags back in his pocket and closing the file, “I appreciate you keeping your promise, Tsukauchi-san.” 

“Of course, kid. But there’s something I have to ask,” oh no, “I need to know, was it an adult who did this?” The detective pointed at Izuku’s neck with his eyes, making the boy shift in his seat uncomfortably. 

Izuku shook his head, if I tell him what Daisuke did, he’d arrest him but it was my fault… he doesn’t deserve to be punished for it. Then again, if I tell him it was consensual, he’ll think I’m disgusting… 

“Are you safe here?” Was he safe? Izuku wasn’t safe anywhere. Not in school, not in the orphanage, not on the streets. He was never safe as long as he was a worthless, quirkless, piece of shit.

He nodded his head, afraid the headmaster could be waiting right at the door, “You can trust me, I’ll help in any way I can. You just have to say the word.” The man explained, giving Izuku a reassuring smile who just shook his head again.

“I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Really, I’m fine. 

Chapter Text

Izuku couldn’t stomach breakfast that morning or any food for that matter in the following days, he couldn’t sleep on his bed knowing Daisuke was just a few feet away, and he couldn’t stop smoking. He felt disgusting and helpless and on Sunday night, after making sure his roommate was asleep, he snuck out. 

He ran. And ran, ignoring the black spots in his vision and his spleen screaming at him to just stop and fucking breathe but he couldn’t. And he didn’t until he made it to his hideout. 

Sweat dripped from his hair and chin, soaking his shirt, heart beating so fast his chest hurt as he allowed himself to slip against the dirty wall marked with years just like the first time he’d stepped foot in the abandoned building. 

He pushed his hands against his eyes, blocking the tears’ way while he struggled to let the oxygen reach as it should, “What’s-- what’s wrong with me..?” He cried, asking the question and not expecting an answer, he hiccuped, sniffed then pushed his body to his stash of knives right around the corner. 

He dug around the bag, searching for the sharpest one. 

It had become an instinct at this rate, whenever the world became too overwhelming to bear, he would hold onto the blade as if his goddamn life depended on it. His throat felt dry as tears poured. When was the last time he had a glass of water? 

The blood dripping from the freshly drawn cut... For once, it hurt. It hurt because this time he was too carefree to think of what would come next. Who would even notice if he were to bleed out in cold sweat? He slashed his skin seconds apart, angry gashes following one another, his arm was a bleeding mess.

"Why!? Why goddammit!? What did I ever do wrong, huh? I-I always tried my best, so why... why can't I just live my life peacefully!?" He sobbed, dropping the blade at last, turning his head up, letting the tears slide from his bruised neck.

"What the hell do you want me to do!? What?! Tell me! F-Fucking hell—! Why won't you just leave me alone, why do you hate me so much!?" He bawled, he didn't believe in God, if there was one... he wouldn't let him suffer this much, he wouldn't let anyone suffer the way he was...

He knew it wasn't some mystical figure, it was the society that was fucked, the people. But he was so alone, so fucking alone, he just needed to cry it out, get it out of his chest. 

Izuku pulled his knees to his chest, crying and crying, breaking down... he wasn't sure for how long until his eyes opened again, meeting the white light that ripped his slumber away from him.

Feeling a stinking pain in his left arm, his attention drifted, immediately he got up and grabbed a bottle of water, pouring it over his cuts.

It burned. 

'You deserve this.' 

The boy gritted his teeth, looking down at his arm, trying his so very best to ignore the loud voice of the damned monster inside him, after he was done with cleaning his butched arm, he wrapped paper towels around, he’d run out of bandages in his stash long ago. 

He sucked in a breath before checking the time, five thirty am, “I’m going back to school today, fuck…” Izuku threw his head back in frustration. “If I go back to the orphanage now, I can make it to the first period.” 

He forced himself on his feet and groaned in pain then went upstairs where he kept a bag full of clothes in case he needed them. His knees felt heavy as he walked up the staircase, he held onto the wall for support and finally found himself changing into a black sweatshirt. 

Izuku looked back at the building one last time before he headed back to the orphanage with heavy steps as he watched the sunrise. 

_

Daisuke lay awake in his bed with a cigarette in one hand as he stared at Izuku’s lonely bedsheets, he’d heard the boy leave but decided not to comment on it. He was running out of pills and he was running out fast. It was good to catch a break.

The terrible ache in his stomach and the waves of anxiety he got because of Izuku since their night out was killing him. He inhaled once again, watching the cigarette burn further and the lit turning bright red. 

He’d been awake all night, coming down from the effects of the drug, his body twitching with the need for numbness the pills provided. The teen got lost in the quiet tune coming from his phone but the reality came crushing back with the pain doubling compared to last night when he caught Izuku’s curls peeking through the wide open window.

Daisuke dropped his cigarette on the floor, desperate to reach under his mattress, Izuku ignored his pained hiss. The boy wouldn’t talk to him, let alone look his way. He couldn’t think after his first attempt to grab a pill and suddenly stood up, pulling Izuku by his collar.

But Izuku wasn’t just standing there, not this time. He grabbed the teen’s arm and flipped him around, smashing his body and forcing his head on the bedsheets, grip so tight on his arm it could start bruising any second now; Dai’s mind couldn’t take any more pain, he growled against the sheets. 

Izuku had one leg wrapped around his knee to hold him steady and keep him from moving while he shifted and let his weight push the teen further and leaned to his ear. 

“You so much as think about touching me in any way, I’ll make sure you can’t use your hands ever again, Senpai.”

He could feel Dai’s entire body trembling as he lay trapped under his grip. The teen was high as a kite since what happened, or rather what he did to Izuku, he imagined Dai needed the pills so he pulled back and let him go only to pull him by his shirt and stare right into his eyes.

“Do I make myself clear?” He threatened, any trace of innocence leaving him, he decided he didn’t need to be Kurai to keep himself safe. He didn’t need to hesitate now. There was no one he needed to keep the secret from for their safety anymore, a single moment of hesitation was all it took to shatter the last bit of decency left in him.

Izuku wouldn’t hesitate anymore. 

He saw the way Daisuke put his hands up and his shoulders lowering, eyes scanning Izuku’s face, reading the new emotion radiating from the boy. Pure rage, he nodded profoundly and that was all it took for Izuku to let go of his shirt, and made his knees give out.

“Good.”

Izuku watched him crawl to his bed and take out a pill with shaky hands, swallowing it dry. He threw his head back with a groan, the pain slowly fading away. 

Daisuke gazed at the boy’s steps toward him as he panted, Izuku snatched the tiny bag of pills out of his hands, but before he could protest, the boy pushed him back with his foot against his chest and looked at the round pink pills.

“What did I just fucking say. Don’t. Move.” Daisuke gulped, mind on overdrive when he decided to give up, “Where’d you get these?” Izuku asked as he poured the pills into his palm, watching the way the older’s eyes went wide. 

“H-Hold on, Izuku. We can talk about this, right? Is.. Is it because of what happened the other day?” He tried to argue, but the look on Izuku’s face remained the same as he let the pills drop to the floor, right beside the burnt-out cigarette, “The hell are you doing?!”

Izuku raised his boot slightly, standing on his heel and listening to this druggie shift back to his usual aggressive tone, “You take three a day, minimum.” The boy stated, not caring about the change in attitude, “And this bag gets filled every two weeks, right, Senpai?”

He separated two of the pills and crushed them with his feet, making the teen turn pale, “Wait! Wait, Izuku please--”

“And it was filled up this Wednesday,” He had been watching, observing and analyzing the teen for two weeks now, of course, he noticed the pattern, “Yet there’s only six pills left in here. Is it me? You can’t handle a bit of pain?”

“I- I’ll do any- anything..! Just stop, I’m begging you! Do you want me to apologize? I’m sorry, okay?! I’m so fucking sorry--”

“Sorry for what?” Izuku pushed as he separated another pair of pills out of the bunch and stepped on them as well, then closing the distance between the bed at Daisuke even further with a more powerful push.

“I’m sorry for raping you!” 

Izuku flinched at the word. Rape. He was raped. He’d been trying to tell himself that’s not what happened, but now… His leg suddenly stopped pushing against Daisuke’s chest as he stepped back, the reality of what he’d done came crushing as he left the room and ran to the showers, not caring what the teen did when he left. 

He was panting, he felt like he couldn’t breathe again, just like last night. But now it was different. He could feel Daisuke’s hands all over him, his neck and shoulders and arms itched, as soon as he closed the bathroom door and locked it, he started scratching over his cuts.

Over and over again, breaking his skin beyond recognition. He didn’t know when he stopped, or how he threw himself under the showerhead. Nor how he found himself sitting on his desk with his uniform on until he started pushing through the clouds in his head and blinked. 

Katsuki was staring at him, sitting backwards on his chair, arms crossed. Izuku wondered just how long the blond was staring at him like that. His eyes darted around the empty classroom before looking at Katsuki again.

“Kacchan?” 

“Thought you’d never fucking notice, nerd.” 

Izuku never thought he’d be so happy to see Katsuki. It was reassuring, sure the blond beat the shit out of him, made fun of him but he’d never do anything like--

“How’re you fuckin’ holdin’ up?” The blond looked down as he spoke, he’d watched Izuku stare off to nowhere for fifteen minutes. He’d seen the fading bruises on his face and the dark eye bags, his cheeks were visibly more hollow now compared to when he’d last seen the boy.

And he didn’t miss the bandages on his arm peeking out under his uniform. 

“Okay,  I guess…” Izuku muttered as he looked at the clock hanging above the door, how did I space out for two hours? Is that even possible? He asked himself, now that he thought about it, this had started happening ever since Daisuke…

“The hag has been worried, so she woke me up earlier when the teach’ said you’d be back today,” He looked back up, “You don’t seem okay. What’d you do to your arm?” Oh no, he’d completely forgotten about Katsuki trying to get answers out of him before all this shit, he pulled his hands under his desk and looked away, “Just fell…” 

“Just fell my ass, nerd. You had them before as well and I saw blood on your shirt when you came to my house that day. You’re fucking cutting yourself, just admit it and I won’t bring it up again.” 

Izuku hesitated before giving in and nodding in response. Katsuki huffed then turned around, facing the board, “Be careful. Don’t fucking kill yourself.” They sat in silence after that, waiting for class to start. 

As the classroom filled with students one by one, Izuku could hear them whispering. Every student who came through the door looked at him first before going off to their friends. Fingers were pointed at him constantly, whispers and mockery, snickering and pitiful looks mixed disgustingly all against him. 

He tried to ignore them, his head resting on his crossed arms on his carved desk, he prayed he’d space out again. It was both horrifying and comforting in a sense. Just as he heard footsteps coming his way with a loud “Yo, Midoriya, you cryin’? Is it because mommy isn't—!” Before his classmate had a chance to finish, his desk was pushed back and he lifted his head just to see the kid on the floor. 

When he looked up, Katsuki was on top of the guy, punching him. He shot up from his seat when the blond stood straight and landed a kick on his classmate’s stomach before speaking up, “You fuckers all babble on and on ‘bout wanting to be heroes and you can’t even show some fucking respect to someone who just lost his parents.” 

The room fell completely silent, no one daring to make a sound; just then, the teacher appeared at the door and watched the scene play out, “Quirk or not, he’s a human being. Show some fucking decency.” 

There was blood on knuckles as he walked to the door and pushed past the teacher, who stepped inside and all eyes landed on Izuku again. He saw one of the girls coming his way, the class rep, puzzled. His eyes darted between his bleeding classmate on the floor and the girl.

She bowed her head, “Bakugou-kun is right, we should be more considerate. I apologize on behalf of the class.” She said and stood straight again, “We’re sorry for your loss, Midoriya-kun.” 

Izuku stared at her, the trembling in his hands had stopped but there was a lump in the back of his throat, he felt like crying. It wouldn’t be the first time his classmates saw him weep but now he… he was completely frozen.

“T-Thank you, Ado-san.” 

It was all he could manage as their teacher walked up and helped the bleeding boy on the floor, “Do let me know if you need anything, Midoriya.” He said then turned to class, “I’ll take your classmate to the nurse. Class, work on independent study until I’m back, Ado, you’re in charge.” The class rep gave the teacher a nod and the rest of the students retrieved to their desks. 

As soon as the teacher was gone, Izuku bolted out of the classroom, ignoring Ado telling him to come back, ignoring the other teachers in the hallways and finally pushing the boys’ restroom door open. 

Katsuki was holding his hand under the sink when he turned to see who it was that had just bashed in, only to see Izuku’s crying and flushed face. 

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Kacchan. I just… I-” he couldn’t find the right words as he looked at the blond's bleeding knuckles.

Katsuki immediately recognized what was about to happen. This is how it'd started the first time. Izuku was struggling to form words, hands visibly shaking, eyes everywhere but at him and he wasn't breathing anywhere right. 

He stood in front of Izuku, leaving the cold water in the sink running, Katsuki had managed to calm him down before, he could do it again.

“Deku,” he called, his hand reaching for Izuku’s and the other on his chest, it had worked last time. But he had no idea what had happened. Izuku didn’t just flinch like the last time, he pushed Katsuki off of him.

“No! No, no-- not again! D-Don't touch me! Oh god, no. No!” The blond blinked, trying to understand what was happening, what's he talking about? He sucked in a deep breath, no touching then. 

“De- Izuku. I'm not gonna fucking touch you, ‘right? Just try to match my breathing.” He inhaled, then exhaled but when he saw Izulu slipping away even further, eyes closed and scratching his forearms, he didn't know what to do. 

Izuku was backing away, clenching his eyes shut, only when his back hit the wall he opened them again, “I don’t… I don't know what to do--!” He cried, “I don't wanna go back, I- I can’t!” 

Once he fell on the floor, Katsuki walked slowly and then knelt in front of him, unsure of how to respond. All he could do was listen. So he did. 

They sat on the filthy restroom floor together, Izuku cried and kept saying the same things over and over again and Katsuki listened to him. Watching the blood start to drop to the floor from Izuku’s arm, helplessly waiting for the boy to calm down. Then the boy said something different in between shaking breaths that caught Katsuki off guard, “I don't want to feel him anymore.” He'd pleaded. 

When Izuku came to his senses, he sniffed quietly while hugging his knees, his cries died down. His eyes were dry and they ached but that was it. He couldn’t feel anything else as he looked at Katsuki’s face.

“I'm tired.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki said, chuckling, hoping to get Izuku to open up but it didn't work, so much for that, “Think you can stand up?” 

Izuku nodded, Katsuki was the first to get back on his feet and he offered his hand to help but it only caused Izuku to remember the way Daisuke carelessly walked around after raping him. 

“I'm gonna be sick.”

Izuku dashed to the stalls, picking the closest one. He collapsed against the tiles, heaving violently. Katsuki heard his knees hit the floor before rushing to his side, he remembered the old hag rubbing his back whenever he threw up but he couldn’t touch Izuku. He had made that pretty clear. He didn’t want to send him into another panic attack. 

He reached for the toilet paper, drying his hand first then holding a few for Izuku. When the heaving stopped, he offered the tissues, Izuku snatched them and wiped his mouth, panting when his back hit the stall wall. 

He lifted his head to meet Katsuki’s eyes, then closed them, trying his hardest to calm down as the blond waited patiently, “‘m sorry.” he mouthed. 

“It’s fine, nerd.” He said and grabbed some more toilet paper, he left for a second, and the sound of the running sink was gone when he returned with the wet paper, “You fucked up your arm though, we gotta clean it.”

Izuku’s hand covered his arm on instinct, he couldn’t let anyone see his arms, he felt trapped and scared like a wounded animal. He shook his head, no. “Deku, c’mon. I’ve seen you shirtless.” Izuku blushed, yeah but I didn’t have my arm torn apart, also, the answer is still no. He shook his head again, building up the courage to speak, and he parted his lips.

“I can do it myself, Kacchan.” 

“Yeah, right.” Katsuki rolled his eyes, “Like you know how to fucking patch yourself up. There’s no way I’m trusting you with it. Did you even clean them before wrapping them up?”

Izuku looked away in stain, then chuckled, “Wet tissues don’t count, right?” 

“You fucking idiot.” 

He forced himself off the tiles, the blond watching his every move, ready to jump in if he lost his balance, “I have supplies in my backpack, I… I’ll clean them up myself,” he promised then his body moved before he could think.

Katsuki leapt at the sudden contact, Izuku’s arms were wrapped around his boy, hugging him tight, “T-Thank you, Kacchan.” He scuffed then put his hand on Izuku’s hair, just resting it on top of that green bush, “Yeah.” 

_

Upon returning to class with the break bell going off, no one dared to say anything. And that’s how it went until it was lunch. Katsuki waved off his goons to leave him alone when they said they were headed for the cafeteria. Izuku was fast asleep as the students left the classroom one after the other. 

The blond stood up, giving a light nudge on the sleeping boy’s shoulder but it backfired with Izuku shooting up and pushing back his chair. He could read his distress from his panicked eyes. 

“Calm down, it’s just me, nerd.” 

Izuku steadied himself, sucking in a deep breath, yeah, it’s just Kacchan, he reassured himself as his shoulders relaxed. He looked over to the clock and then noticed the lack of students.

“Why aren’t you in the cafeteria?” He asked, only to receive a scoff from Katsuki as he crossed his arms and turned his head, “Couldn’t leave your stupid ass alone. Have you been eating at all?” 

He stared at the messy notes in front of him, trying to recall when the last time he had a decent meal was. He didn’t answer and started to put his things away instead, hearing Katsuki sigh as soon as he was done backing away.

“Lunch. Now.” Katsuki demanded and held Izuku by his uninjured arm, “Okay, okay. I’ll eat. I can get up on my own-” his vision filled with black spots almost immediately, making him lose his balance but Katsuki’s grip tightened, helping him up. 

“You really are an idiot,” he sighed again, “You need a sec?” Izuku shook his head, fighting to keep his body up as his vision slowly cleared, “‘m fine.” 

Katsuki let go and grabbed his wallet as Izuku reached for his backpack and they started walking to the cafeteria. The eyes, their stares, and the whispers in the hallways got Izuku overwhelmed. He slowed his pace, walking slightly behind Katsuki while the blond seemed unbothered. 

They must’ve heard what he did and about what happened to me, I should’ve taken up on the detective’s offer… Izuku thought, trying to suppress his anxiety by occupying his mind with regretful thoughts, “Kacchan, I don’t think this is a good idea…” he muttered, if the hallways were bad he didn’t even want to think about the cafeteria.

“Shut it. Don’t tell me what to do,” Katsuki didn’t turn to look at him as he answered, “Unlike you, I don’t give a fuck about what these morons have to say ‘bout me.”

Izuku wondered why he cared about ‘these morons’, they didn’t have anything to do with him. They were insignificant, just a part of the hellhole he called his school, this was his last year and he’d likely never see them again unless he ran into them on a random day. 

He let the stiffness in his shoulders give out and breathed out, Katsuki had it all figured, Katsuki was his image of perfection. Sometimes, Izuku caught himself dwelling on the flaws of his childhood friend’s character but then… 

Then it all suddenly disappeared. He couldn’t forgive Katsuki for all the torment and the bullying, he doubted he ever would but how could he not trust--

Don’t get attached, don’t forget, don’t trust. His mind reminded him, he might be acting like he cares but he’s still the same person. He just pities you. Poor little Izuku, no one to turn to, no shoulder to cry on, an orphan with a body littered so bad he can’t even stand himself.

He watched his body’s reflection, he was still in the school but he felt anywhere else. It was like he was out of his own body, not the one in control. It was like he was in a dream and became anxious again. Nothing felt right to the point he couldn’t walk anymore. 

Suddenly, he heard fingers snapping in front of his face, “Where the hell is your head, you damn nerd? You keep fucking spacing out.” Izuku looked away “I… I don’t know…” he answered, unsure and afraid. 

“Fucking…” Katsuki rubbed his temples, trying to contain the anger bubbling in his chest, he wasn’t sure why he was getting pissed off. A part of him knew Izuku wasn’t doing this intentionally to ignore him or whatnot but he couldn’t help it, “You stay here, I’ll get food.” 

Izuku felt grateful for the gesture, he wasn’t sure he could handle the crowd and all the noise in there. He nodded and watched Katsuki push the cafeteria doors open, it wasn’t long before he returned with a bag of chips and a cup of soup in one hand and a bento box in the other. 

The thought of going back to the classroom bothered him, and he knew Katsuki would push him to clean his arm again, he’d promised he’d do it during lunch. He found himself chewing the inside of his cheek before speaking.

“I go to the roof during lunch.” He confessed, making the blond stop in his tracks, “Are we even allowed up there?” Katsuki asked as he turned around this time, Izuku shook his head, “Some of the teachers know I go up there but they just act like they don’t. So I guess it’s fine…”

So they took the stairs to the roof, Katsuki watched Izuku fiddle with the new lock, then pull something out of his hideous yellow backpack, in a matter of seconds, he heard the lock click.

Raising a brow as the boy held the door open for him with his head down, wondering how a nerd knew how to pick a lock, he scuffed and met with the sun on the other side. Seeing a bench with a stool identical to the ones in the art studio caught his eye. 

“You come here every day? Is this where you fucking disappear to?” He questions, putting the food on one side of the bench and sitting on the stool, “The cafeteria is too crowded for me and the classroom isn’t exactly a safe zone without supervision.”

Katsuki felt bad in a sense when he understood exactly what Izuku meant, he turned his head away and looked at the view. Winter was just around the corner yet the weather seemed unbothered by the cold. There was a breeze but he didn’t mind it as he sighed.

“Clean your arm first, I got you soup, it's still too hot.” Izuku gulped at the statement. He’d been hoping Katsuki forgot about it. He still didn’t want the blond to see the damage but he couldn’t protest any further once Katsuki reached for his bag and parted the zipper from the middle. 

Shit, the knife! 

“K-Kacchan! Wait, I can--” 

The cat was out of the bag, the blond held the combat knife he’d taken from Eraser not too long ago in his hand, eyes wide. “Did you fucking cut yourself with this?!” Katsuki yelled and threw it back in the bag then grabbed Izuku’s sleeve while relief washed over him, thank fuck he didn’t suspect anything else.

Before he had the chance to pull back, Katsuki ripped off the blood-soaked bandages and Izuku could’ve sworn he heard him gasp. “Fucking hell… What the hell were you fucking thinking Deku?!” 

There was dried blood around the many deep gashes swarming his forearm, he gritted his teeth in worry and frustration as Katsuki’s grip firmed around his wrist with the delay of a response, “Shit, Deku. Snap out of it, fucking breathe.”

Izuku hadn’t noticed the change in his breathing, uneven and hitching, he breathed out and shook his head, “Sorry, sorry…” he mouthed, “I just… I don’t know, I spaced out while doing it and passed out right after--”

“You fuking what?” Katsuki let go of his wrist and reached for his bag again, digging in to find the first aid kit, “How much blood did you lose? How long were you fucking out for?” He didn’t look up from the bag, “And why didn’t anyone look for you in that fucking orphanage?” 

“I guess, a few hours? I’m not sure. And everyone was asleep,” Izuku lied through his teeth, not putting in the effort as Katsuki finally opened the kit and pulled out the necessary supplies. 

He wasn’t talking anymore, he seemed more focused on his self-given mission when he pulled the boy’s arm closer and poured merbromin as he watched Izuku’s expression remain dull, he knew it burned, and hurt like hell but it was concerning how calm the boy was. 

Was he just pretending this whole time? First, the head butting and fucking up my nose then that fucking punch and now this, how high is his fucking pain tolerance? He pulled out some cotton and wiped the medicine around carefully, he watched the red drip to the ground as he did so. 

His thoughts kept him occupied and focused on the task at hand so much, he mistook the dull expression on Izuku’s face for ignorance. He tried to get his attention by pressing on one of the cuts but it did nothing. 

Katsuki sat back, throwing the piece of cotton aside but not letting go of Izuku’s arm; he waved his hand in front of his face, still nothing, fuck. He decided to try something else and warmed up his hand with his quirk, just enough to be hot but not burn. 

Carefully pushing it against the boy’s cheek, he kept it there for a few seconds then Izuku yelped, back hitting the bench hard. “Ow! W-What’re you doing? Ugh, how much merbromin did you pour into my arm?! That thing is expensive!” He hissed, pulling his arm away. 

“I’ve been at it for the past five minutes, you didn’t notice..?” the blond asked quietly, and fuck, he was fucking worried for the nerd of all people, Izuku didn’t look at him as he shook his head, “Nerd, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

It wasn’t his usual aggressive voice, no mockery behind the words. It was more like a statement and Izuku knew he wasn’t talking about his arm, he understood. And he was terrified, he knew now that it wasn’t just in his head and the anxiety in his gut grew. 

The words didn’t come out, and the silence remained. Katsuki sighed and continued cleaning his arm, once he was wrapped in clean bandages, his arm was released. “You can’t fucking do this to yourself, you hear?” 

He took the silence as a cue to continue, “If you space out and fucking pass out… fuck, Deku. You can bleed out and fucking die.” it was true and Izuku knew it but what else was there to do? He couldn’t calm down with anything else. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Ugh! Stop fucking apologising. Just don’t fucking do it.” 

That same sentence, the same frustrated way… Daisuke had said the same thing when he apologized the first time for self-harming. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

“The food is getting cold.” He said, attempting to change the subject, Katsuki grunted in response and put the supplies back in Izuku’s bag, “Fine.”

They ate in silence, Izuku appreciated it as he ate the soup, slowly sipping and feeling his stomach get satisfied with the light meal as he listened to the way Katsuki’s chopsticks clashed into one another with each bite. 

When Katsuki was done, he pulled out his phone. He looked at Izuku for a brief moment, “Try eating the chips as well, I got the low-fat ones, shouldn’t be hard on your stomach.” He said and turned his attention back to his screen.

Izuku stared curiously as he sat the empty cup of soup aside and opened the bag of chips, listening to the plastic ruffle. “What are you looking at?” Katsuki didn’t look up, “Trying to figure out what’s fucking wrong with you.” 

“Oh…” 

Katsuki was reading something now, Izuku took out a potato chip and ate it, his leg bouncing up and down, he took another anxiously and chewed. He knew something was wrong with him, but he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of others finding out. 

“You’re not taking drugs, right?” The question was so out of the blue, that Izuku blinked a few times before responding, “What? No!” 

The blond hummed, “You’re obviously a ball of stress… You got any sleeping issues?” He looked up and checked Izuku’s tired face and the deep eyebags, “Nevermind, you look tired as fuck.” 

Izuku just watched Katsuki analyze him up and down, not even allowing him to answer, reading him like an open book, “You’re depressed, that’s a given with your arms in that state.” 

He was reading through the causes of what popped up first when he wrote down what he’d observed, and shit. Domestic abuse and the loss of a loved one were on top of the list, he’d rather not bring that up. 

“What does it say?” Izuku found the courage to ask, at last, Katsuki just handed him his phone, “Derealization and depersonalization?” He read out quietly, looking through the symptoms, not sure how which of the two matched his concerns. 

“You can apparently have both,” Katsuki explained then sighed, “Deku, this shit’s serious, I can’t do shit to help other than snap you out of it. You gotta tell someone.” 

“No. Kacchan, even if I did, no one would care. I’ll just,” he scanned through the page, “Pinch my arm or something and I can carry headphones with me.” Just as Katsuki was about to try and reason with the idiot, the bell rang. 

“Fucking idiot.” They collected their things and headed back to class. The day rolled faster after lunch, and when it was time to leave, Katsuki debated whether he should go with Izuku, just to make sure the nerd didn’t get himself killed on his way back. 

“You think you can manage to go back on your own?” he asked, Izuku was already on his feet with his backpack hanging from his shoulder, he shook his head, “I’ll be fine. I can text you when I get back if you’re so worried.” He chuckled quietly, “Yeah right. Just don’t fucking forget to text, you damn nerd.” 

So they parted ways after changing their shoes and stepping out of the school gates. Izuku was in a better mood, no trace of the previous night was bothering him. He had a curfew until ten pm and it was still four-thirty. The sun would set in a few hours so he headed to his hideout. 

He could use the rush, especially tonight.

Chapter Text

Looking down at the streets, he felt his knee twitch with that annoying ache he’d gotten used to by now. Normally, it would still be early to be out for patrol; he couldn't just stay in his apartment, not when his body got a rush of blood at such an intense rate as if to push him onward.

Getting back up, he put on his goggles and fiddled with his scarf, adjusting it properly around his neck. A scream erupted nearby, there was a bank close by and as if it was supposed to be confirmation, he heard alarms ringing. 

There weren’t any heroes stationed close by, and the police’s response time had gotten absurdly longer these past few years. He sighed as he started running toward the bank, it didn’t take long for him to make it there but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next. 

“Hizashi?” 

It had been so long since he had uttered that name, he’d rather not remember but… The man turned around, locking eyes with the figure, the others busy with the bank’s safe hadn’t noticed the vigilante until they heard their leader activating his quirk, unbothered with the help of the earplugs protecting them.

Eraser took a second too long to activate his quirk and found his ears deafening with the sudden scream, bright yellow waves he’d forgotten the sight of dancing around him as he covered his ears and fell on his knees. 

“Need any help, boss?” Someone yelled from the back, and the screaming stopped, giving the vigilante an opening to use his quirk, “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Hizashi?!” 

“Zip it, Shota! I should be asking you the same thing! I don’t have to explain myself to you after all these years!” He yelled but before he could reach for his weapon, he was restrained by Aizawa’s scarf, “Fuck you!” 

Aizawa finally had the chance to actually look at the villain, his hair was shaven on one side and the vibrant color had disappeared, black stokes on the longer end, he was still wearing a leather jacket but it wasn’t like before, the yellow glasses remained, apparently with sharper ends. 

“Eraser..?” 

Fuck. 

The man didn’t need to look back to know who that was, his expression must have changed because his old friend was laughing now, he looked over the other’s shoulder and saw two people rushing but they were thrown back and pinned to the walls with knives. 

His eyes were drying out and the contacts didn’t help, Hizashi smirked, he must have noticed, was he counting down this whole time? “Kid, cover your ears!” He managed to yell right before blinking and ducked, what remained of the windows shattered to pieces and now the other two pinned to the wall were free. 

If he thinks he’s the only one who can count then fuck him, Eraser knew how long it took Hizashi’s throat to dry out and when he’d stop using his quirk, he pulled at the restraints and saw the man fall to the ground. 

He watched the kid getting caught and punched, hands held firmly, kept from covering his ears as he yelled in pain with a punch to his stomach, but he wouldn’t stop struggling.

Izuku managed to tap his boot’s heels to one another and a knife appeared, he didn’t waste time kicking the woman on the leg and she screamed in pain at the knife stabbing her leg. 

Aizawa was too occupied with worrying over Izuku, he failed to see Hizashi’s arm freed from his scarf, time’s up. He thought and at that moment, the blond’s voice gave out; simultaneously, the boy elbowed the guy holding him in the head and Aizawa pulled Hizashi toward himself and kneed him in the gut. 

“Aggressive as ever, Eraser. You still go by that name, right?” Hizashi pushed, mocking him as Izuku handled his part with the rest of the crew, Aizawa stayed silent and then grunted before punching Hizashi, they were both standing now but the sirens were getting closer.

“They’re both out, we have to go, Eraser.” Izuku said, the man heard zip ties getting pulled as Hizashi spit out blood, “Get out of here, Kurai-”

“And what will you do?” Looking back at the safe to see if there was anyone else as he spoke, they know each other, what is he even doing..? He asked himself, that quirk of his… I’ve heard a similar description, what did they call this guy again? Ugh, I can’t remember.  

“Yeah, Sho’, what will you do?” Hizashi teased again, free of the restraints but not moving as he heard tyres pulling loudly, “If you don’t leave now, we’ll all be caught and taken in for questioning but if you do leave, I’ll just run. Which will it be, Shota?”

Eraser looked away and sighed, cursing at himself. He’s right, fuck, “Dammit. Kurai, let’s go.” he ordered and started walking away with one last glance at the blond. 

“We’re just gonna let him go--?!” Izuku protested, looking at the smirking villain but Aizawa cut him off, “I said we’re leaving. Feel free to stay and get arrested.” 

Izuku shut his mouth after that and tailed behind the older vigilante, “Don’t sue me when I copy the knife trick, little listener!” Hizashi waved his hand as he spoke to the boy but before he could turn to look, the villain disappeared. 

The sirens were getting louder when they found themselves running and climbing on the nearest roof in silence. Eraser made sure they were off the hook before stopping to catch his breath and reached for his knee. 

“You okay, kid?” He asked ripping off his goggles and throwing them on the ground, he was panting and any trace of his emotionless persona had been erased, Izuku pulled down his mask as he let himself fall on his butt. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.” He nodded and let his goggles rest on his neck, “Are you okay, Aizawa-san?”

He felt pathetic hearing that question coming from a kid, but he knew Izuku wouldn’t have the same idea so he nodded, rubbing his knee, “Do you have chronic knee pain?” The kid asked, “I’d noticed it twitching the first time we met and twice more including in the bank…”

How did he notice it in the bank with all the commotion? This kid… No wonder he sells analyses on the market, if he leaked anything to the wrong person… 

“Yeah.” He kept it brief, not explaining any further. He let his knees give out as well and sat against the roof, still rubbing his leg. He didn’t look at the boy in the eyes and let his head fall, gazing at the sky instead. 

“He called you by your first name…” Izuku broke the silence, his curiosity getting the best of him, “How do you know this Hizashi guy?” 

“It’s a long story…” Aizawa sighed deeply, mind running back to when everything started going wrong. “I used to be a student in UA’s hero course,” he began. Izuku looked at him with wide eyes, “During my second year, my friend and I got an internship offer and on our first day, there was a huge villain attack.”

Everything was a blur, a huge cloud of fog, it was ironic, really. To this day, he couldn’t recall how the paramedics got him to the hospital, or how he slipped in and out of consciousness with the anesthesia after the surgery on his leg. 

“We fought hard, the plan was to get the civilians to safety and fight the villain at the same time; my friend… Oboro, he- his quirk was suitable for rescue so I took on the villain but the building he was in collapsed and I got distracted after my last attempt to take down the villain and a metal pipe went through my leg.”

He couldn't get out of bed for weeks, he couldn’t talk for weeks and couldn’t sleep even after he was cleared to go back home; six months. For six months, I couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, opening and closing the windows, and changing his clothes constantly throughout the night with the mere hours he managed to close his eyes turning up to be a nightmare. 

“The only reason I pushed through was hearing his voice through the radio, telling me to keep going, telling me I could do it but once I secured the villain, the paramedics and the other heroes showed up, I saw his dead body under the rubbles.”

Whenever he closed his eyes, the image of his friend’s bleeding, disfigured body flashed before him despite the pit of darkness. All Shota could hear was his voice encouraging him. Telling him to keep going. 

"The radio was broken once the buildings in the area collapsed... you were on your own, Aizawa." I was all alone. I kept going while he was probably still holding onto the thin red string of life. I killed him. I was a murderer. 

“Before I could even begin to process everything, they took me to the hospital and everything went to shit after that.” The rest of the story was too painful to talk about, he’d never said anything to anyone about what really happened. 

When his grades started dropping drastically, when he was forced to sit by the bench because of his leg during heroics, and when he was cleared to go back in the field physically; he couldn’t pass the psychological evaluation. 

And he was tossed back to general studies. 

Everything was spiraling out of control, he watched his life, my dream, slip through his fingers like it was nothing. And he pushed his last hope away with the back of his hand. 

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Shota. Please,” His friend had begged, “You have to keep pushing through, he wouldn’t have wanted this for you.” 

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. Watching Hizashi all carefree, acting like nothing happened, looking at him like he was some wounded animal who needed to be taken care of as Shota lost everything. 

Home was shit, his mom didn’t even try anymore. She’d given up on herself long ago and now she’d given up on her son, the nights he found her passed out with a needle by her side kept getting more frequent, and she’d started to blame it all on him. What was Hizashi even yapping about, like he had any idea what he was going through?!

“Yeah? And how do you know what he would’ve wanted for me, Hizashi?!” 

I was an idiot.

“Would Oboro want me to just walk around with a smile on my face?!”

I shouldn’t have pushed him away. 

“Or would he want me to burn down the school for fucking kicking me out of the hero course?!”

I should’ve considered his feelings. 

“Would he want me to-- to…” 

I shouldn’t have left him on the school roof all alone that day. 

Shota ran, and ran. He couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much. The truth was, Hizashi was right. He was always right. He knew what he was doing, he was keeping up appearances. A part of me knew, but I was just a kid. 

A kid who killed his friend. 

Ignoring the rest of the world around him, ignoring the ache in his ruined leg, ignoring the people staring at him running down the streets in the middle of the day and he didn’t stop until I reached my house. 

I wish I hadn’t. 

His mother was on the couch, a broken needle stuck to her arm with a spoon spilling crystal to the carpet from her hand. He cried when he noticed she wasn’t breathing. 

I didn’t think it was possible for a person to cry like that until that day. 

And he disappeared completely. Taking himself out of the equation, making sure everyone forgot about his pathetic existence. He never heard of Hizashi or Kayama, he didn’t see the news about her debut or hear her name mentioned. He didn’t see Hizashi at the sports festival’s broadcast on TV. And never heard of his only friend after that day on the roof.

It was a mistake. He kept telling himself, it’s my fault, Shota blamed himself. But they don’t need me. He’d convinced himself.

And I don’t need anyone. He said the same thing over and over again when the overwhelming urge to feel something, anything grew and grew constantly until he was getting mugged one night and beat the guy to near-death. 

The rush, the adrenaline…  it felt good while it lasted… the self-hatred creeping away with every punch gave him a reason to keep going. He could never be a hero but he had no reason to stop himself from doing whatever this was.

So he did it.

He told Izuku the bits about Hizashi and Kayama but kept out the rest as his mind ached with the painful memories, he rubbed his temples and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Izuku finally said something.

“I’m sorry for your friend,” Izuku apologized quietly, Aizawa had held back on the details -about his mom and the school- he could tell but it was enough for the boy to understand the big picture. The man didn’t look at him, “You mentioned your senpai, Kayama-san, I’ve seen her before, at least I think so.” 

That seemed to get the man out of his head, his back straightened, “How?” Aizawa questioned, looking at the boy playing with the goggles hanging from his neck, “She’s an underground hero, from what I could gather. I’ve seen her quirk at work a year ago, before I became a vigilante. She was taking down a biker gang. I got curious and watched from afar,” 

He sighed before continuing, “There was a pink mist, and I couldn’t see anything then the entire gang was out cold. Then the cops showed up, but I left after that. I could barely see her face. It makes sense now,” He laughed at himself, hand pushing back his curls. 

“Man, I’ve got to meet Midnight… I’ve got so many questions--”

“If she’s anything like I remember, I suggest not getting close.” she was distant after Oboro’s death, and her fighting style changed drastically, if she abandoned the spotlight as the kid says then… Shit. How come I haven’t seen her?

“Enough about me. How are you? Are they treating you right in the orphanage? Anyone giving you trouble at school?” 

One question after the other got Izuku swamped in his thoughts, the memories making him go quiet. He was desperately trying to distract himself, trying to just forget. His lip quivered as the words stuck in the back of his throat, his breath hitched. 

“Hey, hey,” Aizawa his hand on his shoulder but Izuku flinched, moving away, fuck. I shouldn’t have pushed for answers so suddenly, the man put his hands in front of him, making sure the kid could see them. 

“I’m sorry for pushing, you don’t have to talk about it.” He watched as the shine in Izuku’s eyes got replaced by pure fear, his hands started shaking, and he looked like he was about to break. 

“Breathe, Izuku.” The vigilante ordered and watched as the boy pinched his arm through his shirt. Izuku inhaled, refusing to let himself slip away and drown in his thoughts, but the pinching wasn’t going to cut it, he realized as his head got foggy like this morning. 

“You.. dammit,” He hissed, shutting his eyes, “You promised you’d come and get me..!” He reminded himself of Aizawa’s promise back at the precinct, and the man looked away, yet again blaming himself. 

“You need a stable source of income to be able to adopt a kid and I’m not married, it makes things harder on my end. I got a job as a security guard recently but…” He paused, sighing, “I need you to hold out for a little longer, okay? Do you think you can manage just a few more weeks?” 

Izuku gawked at the man, he looked worn out, and he could see the guilt in his eyes, he nodded in understanding. “You promise..?” He muttered, Aizawa chuckled at the childish gesture when he saw Izuku holding out his pinkie. 

“I promise, kiddo.” He extended his hand with his pinkie out and smiled. Izuku gave him a weak smile in return. Once he let go, he stood up and gave Aizawa his hand, the man took it and groaned as he stood up. 

“I need to get back to the orphanage,” He stated as he pulled up his mask and adjusted his goggles, “You’re going back dressed like that?” Aizawa eyed him up and down, he was in full gear, Izuku shook his head. 

“I’ll go back to my um, place and change then I’ll head back,” Izuku cleared but the other vigilante had other plans, “I’m coming with you.” It was like Aizawa was trying to start a war.

“Absolutely not.”

_

“You call this a place?” Izuku ignored the man as he went upstairs to change, he was careful with doing so, Kacchan would kill me if he saw my arm bleeding again, he thought to himself as he slipped on his gakuan, not bothering with the buttons, he swapped his shoes next.

“Kid.” He jumped at the voice calling his name, “Yeah?” Izuku realized his mistake right then and there when he saw Aizawa’s eyes trail down to his arms. And thank fuck he was done changing. 

“What did you do?” 

He gulped, pushing his anxiety to the darkest pit of his mind, stepping away slowly as Aizawa came closer. “Nothing-- Nothing!” He tried to laugh it off, the gym was a mess when he'd woken up. It'd looked like a damn murder scene, “I'm not mad, alright? I just wanna make sure you're okay, kid.” 

“The blood wasn’t completely dry, did you- fuck. Izuku did you pass out down there? It happened last night, right?” probably early morning, he'd noted, “I know you haven't been out as Kurai, which tells me you did something to yourself. Let me see.”

Izuku shook his head profoundly, refusing to let yet another person see what he was so ashamed of, he can't, he just can’t! He is mad, I can see it. He'll never get me out of there if he sees. Fuck. Fuck! 

“How could you know I wasn't out playing hero? I- I mean, we don't have the same patrol route..! And what makes you think I did something to myself,” he laughed dryly, taking another step back, “That's insane!” He argued but he could tell Aizawa wasn’t buying it. 

The man was cautious as he spoke, he didn't want to frighten the boy; if he was going to take him in, he needed to build trust, “Okay, okay. You don't need to show me, alright? But at least tell me you took care of the wound.” 

The shaking was getting worse, he had already made up a dozen scenarios in his head; Aizawa could start yelling at him! He could hit him, for one. Oh, and he could just fucking leave! Yeah, just like that! There was nothing bounding him here. I mean it's not like he cares--

“Hey, stay with me.” Aizawa called out, “I won't leave, I won't yell and I won't hurt you and I mean ever. We pinkie promised, didn't we, problem child?” The broken smile he gave him was so comforting that Izuku hated it. He could feel the joy it brought him to be beside someone who actually gave a damn. He’d felt that with Katsuki of all people for fucks sake.

He’d just ruin everything, for the people he got attached to. His mom was gone because of him, what was next? What could be worse than that?! He asked himself. 

“Kacchan…” He began, looking for the right words, “Kacchan cleaned my-- my arm. I’m fine.” He said, trying to stay conscious, terrified of losing time again. Aizawa nodded in understanding. “That’s good,” the man said, he needed to make sure the kid wouldn’t slip. He had no idea what to do if he started crying, “Kacchan is that blond kid, right?” Izuku nodded his head, slowly reaching for his arm to pinch it. 

“Is he in the same class as you?” the questions should keep him busy, Aizawa hoped, “How long have you known him for?”

“Um... we, we’ve known each other since we were little, our moms… they knew each other from high school,” Izuku said, pinching his arm as hard as he could, he had no idea if it would actually work but he could feel himself calming down, little by little, “We’re not friends though. He doesn’t even care about me, he said it himself…” 

Looking back, he stepped away even further and slipped against the wall, allowing his body to take a break. He didn’t say anything when Aizawa took slow steps toward him. The man knelt in front of him, “He helped you, didn’t he? Doesn’t sound like something a person would just do. I’d say he cares but has no idea how to say it, he did seem like a brat.” He laughed, watching Izuku crack a smile. 

“He can be aggressive, but he wants to be a hero,” Izuku explained, “That makes me think he’s just doing it because he doesn’t wanna look bad…”

“Is that so bad?” The vigilante asked, scooting to lean to the wall as well, “And you wanted to be a hero too, didn’t you? Sometimes… Sometimes heroes need saving too.”

He sighed, “Don’t push him away, even if he’s just one person. I sure as hell regret pushing Hizashi away… It might feel like shit, it might feel like they don’t get what you’re going through… The truth is, they don’t.” 

Izuku looked at him, Aizawa hadn’t mentioned just how much the blond villain from the bank meant to him. He understood now, “But if they’re willing to stay, then let them. They don’t have an obligation to do so, they do it because they want to.”

“But what if he gets hurt? What if he gets hurt because of me..?” Izuku hugged his knees, he hated the anxiety; the mere thought of anyone else getting hurt because of him was enough to make him feel nauseous.

“I just ruin everything..! My mom… she’s gone because of me. My dad left then came back just to take his anger out on us, because of me. All those people living in that apartment burned to a crisp because of me! How..?” 

Aizawa let him talk, he doubted Izuku had ever spoken about his parents’ death since that day, he’d heard the boy say his mom would come and help in the precinct, and the guilt he’d been caring, the blame he too for something he didn’t do. He needed to talk about it. 

“How did you get over everyone you cared about leaving? How did you get over your friend’s death?” He asked, looking at the man then immediately he slapped his hands over his mouth, realizing what he said and shutting his eyes in fear.

“I didn’t.” 

He slowly opened his eyes, and Aizawa didn’t sound angry or upset. He’d expected to be reminded of his place but the strike he was terrified of never came. His answer was quiet and calm. 

“There’s a difference between moving on and letting go, kid.” He hadn’t, by no means, moved on. He’d just suppressed every emotion other than anger and began obsessing over the rush, he needs to hear this though… Aizawa thought as he continued. 

“I accepted it, at least to a degree,” He said, “I learned to live with the fact that he was no longer here. It wasn’t me who dropped that building on him and I didn’t tell him to save those kids, I just happened to be there, biting off more than I could chew as a second-year with little to no field experience and a quirk everyone said was useless.”

Aizawa looked him in the eyes, the boy could see them shining with tears threatening to spill, “It wasn’t your fault. The sooner you understand that the better, Izuku. You were just trying to help people, doing what the so-called heroes in the spotlight didn’t. At the end of the day, you’re still a kid who doesn’t deserve anything he has been put through.” 

Izuku felt something drip down his cheek, wetting his shirt, as he stared at the man with wide eyes. Aizawa was a stranger, a stranger he’d grown to rely on yet here he was, telling him everything he ever needed to hear. 

The man wiped away his tears with his sleeve, “So don’t beat yourself up,” he said, “And if you ever need someone to listen, I’ll be here, problem child.” 

_

The next day at school started differently. 

Izuku wasn’t sure if it was because of his classmates acting nicer, or his clean desk -he was sure had been replaced with a new one- or if it was him who was different. Not much had changed; he looked the same, sounded the same but something in his mind had wired differently. 

When Katsuki walked in, he simply gave a nod to greet him but didn’t say anything until lunch rolled around and he bought Izuku some food then they headed back to the roof to eat. 

He wasn’t sure how time passed so quickly when school was out already. He headed back to his hideout. When he reached for his bag in the gym, he noticed the blood from the other day had been wiped clean. 

Smiling weakly he went upstairs and opened the new case file he’d put together. The pink drug Daisuke had been taking had a strange mark on one side and it was identical to Trigger’s red container. 

“Now this is something.” He muttered in excitement as he put the drugs next to one another and drew the mark on a sticky note, studying it, trying to understand what it looked like, “A beak maybe..?” 

He let his eyes roam over to his phone’s lit screen, it was--

“Aizawa-san?” 

“Hey kid,” he spoke over the phone and Izuku put it on speaker, not dropping the file he had on hand, “Just calling to check up, you left school already, right;?” 

“Yeah, I’m at my place right now,” he answered, “Hey um, I know you told me to be careful with the Trigger case and all but I think I found a new lead. What time does your job start?” 

“Sigh. My shift is over in,” there was a brief pause, “An hour, I can meet you at your place in two.” Izuku laughed, “Did you just say ‘sigh’?” 

“Yes and don’t go out without me, got it, problem child?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“Have you had anything to eat?” Izuku just had lunch today but he didn’t want Aizawa to spend his money on him and he just knew the man had no idea about cooking, he must’ve taken too long to answer and he heard Aizawa’s voice again, “How about that happy meal?” Arguing was pointless, so Izuku accepted defeat and nodded.

“Yeah, a happy meal will do.” 

Chapter Text

“One happy meal for a problem child as promised.” Aizawa came through the door with two paper bags, his scarf was off and he was wearing his glasses, but otherwise, he looked the same. 

Izuku gave him a smile and shot up from the couch, reaching for the bags to help, “Hi, Aizawa-san!” He walked back to the couch and put the bags aside, “You seem to be in a better mood today.” 

“I guess I am?” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, he was just glad no one picked on him today at school, “How was work? You said you worked as a security guard, right?” Aizawa nodded as he sat down and pulled out a plastic cup. 

“It’s nothing fancy, there’s this private pharmaceutical company and the pay is good plus, the hours. I managed to get the morning shift.”  He took a sip from his drink and placed it between his legs as he pulled out a tightly wrapped burger. 

The boy sat down and did the same, listening to the wraps as he mingled them undone and inhaled the warmth of it, “That’s cool,” he said and took a bite, savouring the taste, when was the last time I had this junk? It tastes so damn good. 

He watched Aizawa look at the open files, then a name caught his attention, “The Rapper? How did you get his real name?” he asked curiously, “Wait, you know him?!” Izuku’s curls bobbed with how fast he turned to see the look on Aizawa’s face. 

“Not really, he is- well, used to be a cage fighter in one of the underground fight rings I used to go to in my early days,” The vigilante explained, scoffing next, “He beat the living shit out of me the first time I stepped foot in the ring.”

“Were you allowed to use your quirks in the ring? Any weapons? Wait how did they match the fighters? Is there--” Izuku asked one question after the other, mouth full with a handsome bite.

“Slow down, you’re gonna choke on your burger.” Aizawa laughed and took another sip from his soda, “It’s likely they’ve changed the rules, I haven’t fought in a cage in over five years, and they used to allow anyone who challenged the opponent presented. Also, how did you manage to gather this much on a guy like The Rapper?”

“I followed him.” Izuku picked a few fries out of the paper bag and didn’t look at the man as he answered happily. It was nice to be able to share his time as a vigilante with someone. 

It was Aizawa’s turn to choke, “You followed this guy of all people?!” He set his burger aside, “Why?” 

“Well, he was giving out Trigger near the fighting arenas and I decided to find out more about him, he was one of the first people who had possession of the drug and my only lead at the time. I couldn’t miss out on the chance.” The boy explained and ate more fries, pointing at a messy sketch of the guy attached to the handwritten notes. 

“He was wearing this weird mask that looked like--” he paused, how did I miss this?! “A beak… Holy shit!” Izuku popped his salt-covered fingers in his mouth and wiped it on his pants’ leg next before flipping through the papers, Aizawa just watched the kid with a look so done with life. 

“Look! This was the lead I was talking about! Both these drugs have the same mark that looks like a beak and the beak mask The Rapper wears… there was this other guy I was tailing and he was wearing a mask as well, it looked like a beak but I was too distracted to connect the dots until now. They must be working for the same person!”

Izuku made sure to leave out the part where the guy tore open his arm with a katana, he was looking for the page where he had a sketch of the guy but had no name, finally finding it, he turned the sketch he’d made for the other vigilante to see. 

He’d written a description; blond guy, golden yellow eyes, green shirt and tie with a long ass black mask. Aizawa laughed softly at the explanation and pulled out the paper to take a closer look, “His name is Setsuno something, I’ve seen him in the police station once. His quirk is called Larceny, a D-lister at power from what I understood. He was apparently saved by a hero on a cliff, they said he was trying to commit suicide.” 

Izuku ignored the last part for his own sake as Aizawa regretted mentioning it and balled the empty wrap of the burger and threw to the side. 

“Why were you in the police station? Isn’t it risky for you to be there?” Aizawa rubbed his temples after putting the paper down, “I got arrested for transpassing” It was embarrassing, really. He was looking for a cat he’d seen and the neighbours had called the cops.

Izuku opened his mouth to speak but Aizawa put up a finger and shook his head, “I’m not explaining any further. But it wasn’t because of my night shifts.” the boy pouted, understanding what he meant by ‘night shift’ and crossed his arms. Aizawa sighed. 

“Anyway, I don’t know anything else about him… These beak masks could mean something. The police file said it might be a new villain group but you and I both know this is organised crime.”

“The known Yakuza groups are under close watch by the Japanese Police, and they aren’t active. I couldn’t find much other than names. But,” Izuku finally finished the fires and found his drink in the paper bag, orange juice? Really? “For organised crime, they need money. Why would they give out the drug? And it has been going on for too long even for a test drive, I mean, four months?”

“You’re right, something here doesn’t add up.” Aizawa said, he picked up the entire file and scanned through it as Izuku continued, “I don’t think they have a fully trained chemist, otherwise they wouldn’t take this long to hold out on marketing. I haven’t had a run-in with anyone using Trigger in a while as well, have you?” 

The man shook his head in response, “We need more info on the ‘dealers’. Wait, I forgot to ask about this other drug,” Aizawa took the tiny plastic bag with a single pink pill and exclaimed it pithily, “What’s this one? Where’d you get it?”

Izuku looked away, not wanting to think about it, think about him. He didn’t say anything as Aizawa found a yellow sticky note in the file with an explanation for the drug, “This cancels out a quirk?” He raised a brow and Izuku nodded silently in retort. 

“Izuku.” The boy shifted his concentration back to the case at hand, ignoring his thoughts desperately, “Yeah?” he answered, playing with the plastic straw stuck to the juice box, “Where did you get this?” Aizawa pushed, wanting answers, wanting to make sure Izuku wasn’t involved with whomever he got the drug from.

“My-- um, my roommate, in the orphanage. He uses it to calm down.” His voice was low, any trace of excitement was gone completely, Aizawa noticed the change in attitude immediately “From his quirk? What does it do?” 

“It reads people’s emotions and allows him to feel other’s pain, physically,” He explained, “It’s called ‘sympathy’. You can imagine how messed up it is to have a quirk like that while living in an orphanage…” he’d thought about it so much he could go crazy. He hated seeing people hurt but he hated himself more for feeling glad that Daisuke was in pain.

He deserves it, he told himself, he deserves to be in pain after what he did. But a part of him kept saying he himself deserved to be in even more pain. At least the guy had a quirk and he ‘knew his place in society’. A kid as useless as Izuku stood lower than a druggy like Daisuke. 

Besides, it was my fault. I should’ve known better.

“Has he done anything to you while he was high? Why didn’t you report him to the headmaster--” 

“To the hag who hates my guts? No way! She’d have my head.” It didn’t go unnoticed by the older vigilante when Izuku’s breath hitched when he asked if the other boy had done something to him and how he didn’t answer the question. 

“Forget the headmaster, we’ll get to that later,” He locked eyes with the boy, “Izuku, what did he do? How often does he take this?” 

Izuku shook his head, hands trailing to hug his torso, “He takes three a day, sometimes more if I’m in the room for too long… It just calms him down, like, gets him numb I guess. He talks slower but he’s fully conscious.” He still couldn’t answer the most important question and Aizawa sighed. 

“Fine, you can tell me when you’re ready, I won’t ask again.” The man said and took out his fries, I hate cold fries, should’ve started with it, “T-Thank you…” Izuku mouthed and leaned back, letting his body take a moment to relax. 

He looked out the broken window, the room was getting darker as the sun disappeared by the minute, “I have a curfew, ten pm, if we’re going for patrol, we should leave soon.” he said and ran his hand through his curls, Aizawa nodded. 

“Let me finish this, you go and change into your gear.” The man said and opened the tiny cup of mayo as Izuku stood up and took his bag resting against the couch then headed downstairs.

As soon as he unzipped his bag with his gear inside, he spotted the half-empty pack of cigarettes. His lips formed a thin line as he took it out, he’s still eating, I got time to smoke one, he hesitantly walked into the back room he rarely stepped foot in and stood in front of the sealed window. 

Taking one out and placing it between his lips he lifted the lighter to reach the cigarette and lit up the tip with shaky fingers, inhaling sharply with ease and leaning on the wall as dizziness hit while he prayed Aizawa took his sweet time with his fries. 

Izuku smoked quicker than he normally would and managed to finish it without getting caught, he watched the smoke linger around the dirty room as he waved his arms around, pathetically attempting to get rid of it then stepped out, shutting the rusty door and hearing the lock squelch, he walked back to change as he was told. 

The second he was getting down with adjusting his goggles, he heard the staircase ruffling and cursed at himself as Aizawa walked through the doorless entrance before he could put away the pack of cigarettes he’d placed on the dusty benchpress bed. 

Aizawa quirked a brow as he eyed the pack, he’d seen Izuku’s pointer and middle finger stained on his left hand, he knew it was because of the tar of the cigarettes and he could smell it from the boy but the topic had never come up. He snatched it before the boy could take it.

“You do know I can smell it, right?” He said, stating the obvious, Izuku didn’t say anything as he fiddled with his hands, “I’m keeping this.”

“W-Wait-! Aizawa-san, I don’t smoke often, really! Please let me keep it!” he begged, walking over to take his pack back but Aizawa raised his arm, knowing Izuku wouldn’t be able to reach it with how short he was, “No. A boy your age shouldn’t be smoking at all. I know taking it won’t stop you from doing it again but you are not smoking as long as I’m here.” 

Izuku couldn’t make a comeback and just glared at the older vigilante, “Fine, whatever.” He crossed his arms and shifted his gaze away, “Let’s get going, we have a good three hours before you have to get back to the orphanage.” 

He must’ve failed to see the backpack Aizawa had with him when he arrived because now the man was carrying it over his shoulder; he had his scarf wrapped around his neck and he was wearing his contacts.

“Alright then,” Aizawa began as he slipped on his goggles and placed his backpack down, “Let’s start with the usual hand-out locations marked on your map, it’s Tuesday so the night market should be near a subway station; I doubt they’d take that route. Would be hard with the competition.” 

“My guess,” Izuku said as he pulled out his phone, “Yokohama City, Kamino Ward is way too crowded at any time of the day, it’s the perfect place for a hand-out.” 

“Yeah, but people would ask questions with our gear if we just hopped on the train dressed like this,” Aizawa spoke, “Plus, we need time to study the environment. And the trip there would take too much time, we wouldn’t be able to get anything done.” 

“Right,” Izuku sighed, “Musutafu station then?” Aizawa gave him a nod as he put the pack in his utility belt. As they headed out of the rusty building, they failed to see the figure hiding behind the ally they walked past absentmindedly. 

_ 

“Your hands are shaking.” 

Aizawa looked over to the panting boy on top of the beaten-up thug as he wiped the blood on his knife on the other thug’s sleeve. Izuku didn’t bother answering as he held his knuckles and pressed his fisted hand against his palm, ignoring the comment as he stood up. 

“We should get these guys to the cops, they’re no use to us in this state,” he eyed the thugs they’d knocked out cold, “I don’t get why they just don’t answer a simple question.” 

“Would you have given away who you work for if you made at least six digits in just a couple of months?” Izuku chuckled in response as Aizawa tied up the two thugs he’d handled and Izuku pulled out his plastic bands from his belt. 

“Guess not.” He sighed and snatched the guy’s phone, dialling the cops for pick up, he listened to it ring once then tossed aside the phone when he heard the emergency operator respond.

Aizawa gestured him out of the ally and he followed suit. “So?” 

“So what?” 

“Aren’t we gonna go to the night market?” Izuku asked as Aizawa pulled off his gear, hands slipping into his jumper’s pockets as he set up a suitable pace, “What’s your obsession with that place?” 

“I have things to do.” It was a simple answer, one Izuku refused to elaborate any further as he took his goggles off and let his mask down, oblivious to Aizawa’s knowledge. “You don’t have to come if you don’t wanna.” He added and pulled his notebook out of nowhere. 

“What things, kid? That place is an absolute mess, and it opens past midnight, you have to get back to the orphanage soon, remember?” 

“I gotta meet someone.” 

Izuku was still working on the arsons, it wasn’t his main priority but he couldn’t let it go, not when Tsukauschi’s file looked useless and didn’t give him much. He’d found a lead watching the news just over a week ago. He was meeting with a regular client who bought his analyses in exchange for information and the man did pay handsomely. 

Aizawa paused, heels rubbing on the ground with the sudden stop as he turned around, “Meeting with whom exactly?” he asked, Izuku just shrugged, he doesn’t need to get involved this much, he thought to himself.

“No one,” he mouthed and managed to sneak his hand out back before the older vigilante could snatch his notebook away, “Hey! What gives?!” 

“Kid, running around and beating up thugs is one thing but getting involved with villains is another. It’s too dangerous--”

“I got nothing to lose, Aizawa-san,” Izuku answered coldly, turning around and walking through an ally as he heard the police sirens, “I’ll see you later.” He waved his hand and disappeared.

Aizawa wasn’t great with kids, never has been and he didn’t want to push the kid when he clearly needed space. Izuku was a good person, the boy had a heart of gold. The man trusted him to make the right decisions but he was still a kid. No matter what he’d seen.

He would just let him go, just this once. 

_ 

Izuku ran his hand through his curls as he looked at his phone third time in a row, a part of him hoping the text would somehow change. He meant to go back to the orphanage before curfew, he really did but he’d completely forgotten about the meet-up with the client until he looked at the reminder he’d left for himself on his notebook. 

And now he had a text from Daisuke saying the headmaster was furious because he had yet to show up. His eyes drifted to the numbers on the left corner, it was nearing two am and he had no way of contacting the guy to cancel the monthly meet-up. 

He ignored the looks he got from the people as he walked back and forth in the night market with impatience, that was until an arm swang around his shoulders and snapped him out. 

“Look what we have here!” He knew that voice, shit, “Shota’s new pet! Man, didn’t think I’d see ya again this soon, little listener!” Izuku didn’t want to make a scene. He was a vigilante and Yamada was a villain, he had the upper hand with the nasty crowd, he decided to play along until his client showed up. 

“Yamada-san.” He said, not pushing away as he kept walking, “So, he told ya ‘bout me, huh?” Yamada laughed, Izuku ignored his words, “Can I help you?” He asked dryly as he slowly reached for his knife in his belt.

“Nah, just thought I’d say hi, y’know?” 

“No, I don’t. And I suggest you let go, people are staring.” 

Yamada pulled away, rubbing his finger under his nose, “You sure are a cheeky one.” He adjusted his glasses next and kept following the boy, then noticed the knife sticking out under his sleeve, he quirked up a brow and smirked.

“What brings you here then, kid?” 

“None of your business, Siren.” He’d looked up the villain after Aizawa told him their story. Rubbery, aggravated assault, more than a few arrests for petty crimes but no murders were tied to him, he doubted an old heroics student was capable of taking a life. 

Then again, what did he know. They were all human, humans were capable of anything, especially with uncontrolled powers. 

“Is that Siren? Oi! Siren, how you doin’ man?” Someone called out from a stand with high-tech guns, and he saw the blond waving at them from the corner of his eye, “Welp, that’s my cue, see ya around, Kurai.”

Izuku’s eyes widened at the name, looks like I wasn’t the only one doing background checks, he didn’t stop to see the seller talking to Yamada and went back to the meeting spot. 

Looking around and making sure to check his surroundings, he stepped behind a booth near the exit and pulled out his notebook upon seeing his client. 

“Kurai.”

“Giran.” 

_

Something isn’t right…

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” the man had his usual purple suit, lacking the tie as expected, but his face was a different story. His bottom lip was busted open and he had a black eye, Izuku chose not to mention anything as he shook his head and watched the man light a cigarette. 

“Not much of a talker tonight huh?” The man laughed and tried to catch a glimpse of Izuku’s notes, “No peeking, Giran-san.” He warned and the broker took a step back as he chuckled out smoke. “Whatever you say. I don’t have much time, you got what I asked for?” 

Nodding, Izuku leaned against the wall and pulled out some papers, handwritten per usual, and handed them to the man, “Excellent work as always,” Giran smirked as he scanned through the information, then pulled out the cash. 

“Before that,” Izuku put his hand up, making the man pause, “I know I said this would cost you extra but I think we can come to an arrangement; I believe it would be beneficial for us both.”

“Just spill it, kid. Whatever it’s you want, I’m sure I can be of service.”

“I need the name of the person responsible for the fires, and,” He could instantly see the shift in the broker’s attire, “I know for a fact that woman is taking orders from someone, and you’re the one who knows everything that’s going in this city.”

“Listen,” Giran’s voice fell quieter as the man leaned down as Izuku ignored his cigarette smoke wavering around, “You don’t want to know that, alright? Leave it alone, for your own sake.” 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear, Giran-san; I don’t want the name, I need it.” Izuku pressed, pushing his back away from the wall and grabbing the man by his collar. 

“Wow, wow! No need to get violent!” Giran laughed, putting his hands up as if to say he surrendered, he’d taken enough beating today. He watched as the papers scattered on the ground shook with the breeze and the fire from his cigarette wasted away not far behind. 

“Name. Now.” 

It was a demand, an order. He’d been working with the vigilante for the past four months and had never heard him so angry. He could tell though, this wasn’t just anger. A person as capable as Kurai was desperate, this was pure desperation. Maybe it was pain and frustration, he couldn’t tell for sure but… 

“Look, if I were to tell ya, I’d lose my top analyst. And I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be beneficial to either of us-” He was cut off by a knife right under his chin, threatening to tear his veins just like that. He wouldn’t cross that line, he’d sworn it but things were starting to change.

“I said name.” Izuku’s tone was bitter, not just cold and uncaring; not as it was. The man gulped, his apple bobbing harshly as he felt his body hit the stone wall with a shift.

“Easy, easy!” He nearly yelled, then exhaled, “The name you’re looking for is--” 

Izuku blinked once, twice then stepped back, gripping the knife tighter as he watched the man pass out. I was this close! Of all times… Dammit! He pressed his mask and held his nose as the pink fog spread gradually. His body felt tingly already. 

He couldn’t see from the thickness of the fog, suddenly his knife was whipped out of his hand, leaving behind a deep gash. Panic was starting to take over as he let out a cry, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He needed to breathe. 

“My, persistent aren’t you?” 

Heels hitting the ground echoed through the alleyway as Izuku’s eyes bounced around while he grabbed another knife from his belt, he couldn’t waste his breath with chit-chat. He was starting to get dizzy from the lack of air. Just then he spots the pipes leading up.

Then another hit landed on his leg, making him yelp and let go of his nose, sucking in a breath through his mask, he rolled back and pulled out the metal rope, countering the whip and pulling the hero to the ground. 

Once the knot untangled, Izuku aimed for the pipes and let it pull him back, as he moved quickly while fighting off the overwhelming urge to just pass out, he caught a glimpse of the black-haired woman with a matching mask before disappearing.

“Shit.” The woman muttered as she cleared the fog, securing the man villain with her whip and walking over to the passed-out man. Her eyes drifted to the papers scattered on the ground, there was a sketch of the new hero Kamui Woods. 

“Interesting…” 

Flipping her phone out, she pressed her heel to the man’s chest as his eyes fluttered, “This is Midnight, caught the perp near Musutafu Station. I got a runner,” Midnight reported, “Male, green hair, around one-sixty, green goggles and a balaclava mask, the face is completely covered and in full-black gear. No idea what his quirk is.” 

“Understood, ma’am.”

“Be a dear and connect me to Tsukauchi, will you?” She looked through the handwritten information, “Yes, ma’am, right away.” it was impressive, really, I’m sure the detective could use this.

“This is Detective Tsukauchi speaking.”

“It’s Midnight,” there was a pause, the detective heard a growl over the phone, “I’ve got something for you, it’s better if we talk face to face. I’ll see you at the police station in thirty.” 

“Alright, see you then, Midnight.” 

_

Shit, shit, shit! Izuku ran as he clung to his wounded arm, of all days… Running nonstop for three blocks through rooftops without looking back, he allowed himself to slow his pace at last. 

Panting, he moved his hand away from his arm, his glove was covered in blood. It wasn’t long before he realised he was near Katsuki’s house, he cursed at himself for thinking he could go home. 

He got down from the random rooftop and landed in an ally, pulling his mask down and placing his goggles on top of his head, pushing his bangs back, he hid his gloves away next. Midnight has seen me, I can’t walk around the streets looking like this, dammit. 

Ignoring the blood seeping from the cut, Izuku headed to his place. Paranoia was creeping in, so much that it overpowered the memories of his interaction with the broker. Every corner he turned, his eyes darted around once, twice, each rooftop was a blindspot and it was troubling. 

He knew the heroes stationed in the area, and what hours their shifts began and ended, if they got called in after Midnight, I might need to go back on the roofs. It was closing to two-thirty, that was nearly twenty hours since he’d woken up and he was starting to get tired. 

Another corner and the sidewalk started to show cracks, just a few minutes then I can get some sleep, checking his phone, he saw a text from Aizawa asking if he was back safely. A smile made its way to his lips, it felt nice having someone care. 

A second later, his silly smile was wiped away, no, he just feels responsible. I can’t get attached, I shouldn’t. He’ll leave eventually. Sighing, Izuku felt relief wash over him at the sight of the abandoned three-store apartments following one another. 

Once he pushed open the door, he walked past the spider webs in the corners of the walls and sat on the bench. Just as he was about to pull out his first aid kit, a loud noise made his ears perk. 

Izuku pulled out two knives attached to his boots and gripped them tightly in each hand, he slipped on his goggles and took careful yet swift steps, doing his best to avoid the creaking from the worn-out parquets and found himself on the second floor. 

He could smell cigarettes and the smoke hadn’t left the rooms yet, still dangling around weakly, he walked into the first room and covered his nose and mouth with his forearm, pointing the knife in his hand forward, the other pointed back just in case, he headed to the next room. 

Empty. Again. 

Taking his steps side to side, he found himself hiding by the biggest room’s corner, the smoke was thicker and seeped out the doorframe, jumping from his hiding spot, he came eye to eye with the intruder. 

He was just lying on the couch as he smoked, he couldn’t take in his appearance from the lack of light but vibrant blue eyes that bored into his and snowy white spikes… now that he could see. 

“Who the hell are you?” Izuku asked, not stepping any closer than he already was and the guy sat up, a bored expression on his face as he put out his cigarette on his arm, making the boy cringe. 

“Why would I tell you, pipsqueak?” His voice was raspy and uncaring. Letting down the knife, Izuku raised a brow, I’m too tired for this, “Um… You’re in my apartment?” 

The guy laughed, “Guess you’re right.” Is this guy serious? “Leave before I make you, asshole.” Izuku threatened as he took a step forward, “Last I checked, this entire neighbourhood is abandoned, asshole.”

Izuku was running out of patience, because what the fuck is this guy’s deal? He threw a knife and cut through the stranger’s arm, making him hiss and step back a nudge, just then, he saw flames light up in his palms. 

“I just wanna fuckin’ talk--”

“Oh yeah? Why the flames then? I ain’t talking shit with you before you tell me who you are!” Izuku grit his teeth, more blood escaping from his wound with how hard he had thrown his knife, it had hit the wall and echoed in the room with the impact. 

Another dry laugh and he sighed, putting out his blue flames as he held his arm, with how bright the flames were, Izuku could see the burns all over his skin. Purple and patchwork-like burns with golden staples holding his flesh together.

“You can call me Dabi then.” 

“What kind of a name is Dabi?” 

“Your name literally means green, what’s with that?” 

Izuku gulped, what did he just say..? His eyes widened behind the goggles, lips parted but not a single sound came out. He knows. How? Wait-- does he? He could be bluffing… Then again, ugh-! What’s with my luck today?!

“What? Got nothin’ to say?” Dabi stepped up, red flags waved around Izuku’s head as he extended his arm and pointed it at Dabi, “Stay where you are.” the boy warned, only receiving a loud laugh in return. 

Mocking. Mocking, mocking, he’s fucking around with me! Screw it. 

Izuku launched at Dabi in full speed, dodging the heat just barely as he stood behind the man and managed to land a kick on the back of his knees, making the flame user lose balance. 

Throwing his knife in the air and shifting it to point backwards, Izuku kicked him again and Dabi found himself immobilised on the ground, face pressing against the dirty floor and a knife to his throat. 

“I’ll ask again,” Izuku panted, elbow pressing against Dabi’s left shoulder sternly, “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here? Did someone send you?” 

“Ugh- I already told you, fucking brat!” Dabi hissed, he could feel the tip of the blade pushing closer, he’d learned about Kurai and tailed him after his patrol, keeping his distance, and yet here he was about to get his throat sliced by a kid. 

“No one sent me, okay? Giran told me you could be of help and I tracked you down. And for the love of god, get that knife away from me.” Izuku’s grip loosened, then tightened back up in an instant with his thoughts flowing bothersomely. 

“How much do you know? Does Giran know who I am?” 

“No. But I’ve been hanging around here as well, surprised we didn’t cross paths before,” Dabi sighed, “I’m here on business, and you sure as hell don’t have time to waste, let me go, Midoriya.”

Izuku stood up, scoffing and putting away his knife, he watched Dabi pat the dust off of his clothes and reach for a pack of cigarettes on the couch. All he could do was study this Dabi guy, for now. 

Dabi rolled his eyes without saying anything before sitting on the couch and placing a roll between his lips, Izuku couldn’t help the anxiety in his gut telling him to let Aizawa know.

Flicking his fingers, Dabi lit the tip and inhaled, gesturing Izuku to sit down but the boy crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the ground, “Suit yourself-”

“Have you told anyone? About me? And, how do I know you don’t work with the cops or the pros?” 

“Looking like this? Tch, you wish.” Dabi exhaled, ignoring the frustration on Izuku’s face, “And no, I haven’t told anyone. And no, again, Giran nor any other villain knows who you are. I work alone.” 

“What do you want with me?” Izuku pulled off his goggles, the bands were digging into his skin from how long he’d been wearing them, “Heard you analyze shit, is it your quirk?” Dabi raised a brow when the boy flinched at the mention of a quirk.

“What’s it to you?” 

“I need everything you got on Endeavour.” 

It was Izuku’s turn to laugh, this guy really was a moron if he thought anyone could tail the number two hero. “You want me to-- ha!” he had to hold his stomach, now this is golden, he stopped laughing and his face fell, “No.” 

“Alright, how about this,” Dabi began, smirking, “You will get it for me or I go to the cops about little Midoriya Izuku playing hero. How does that sound?” 

Izuku thought for a moment, was his life worth his identity getting revealed? Did it mean anything at this point? He had no future, that was for sure. And he was quirkless, if he ended up in juvie, he wouldn’t last a week. He ran his hand through his hair, looking away. 

“What do you say, Kurai,” Dabi extended his hand, sitting up, “Do we have a deal?”

I can do it. I’ve got years of research and analyses on Endeavour, he surely wouldn’t want me to dig into the guy’s private life. And this is the number two hero of Japan we’re talking about, I won’t have to get too close. Fuck it. 

“Fine.” 

They shook hands on it.  

Fuck my life. 

_

When he stepped into the room, Daisuke was awake. He didn’t bother looking the teen’s way when he heard a hiss. It was dead silent as he turned around and hid his bag under his bed that was until Dai spoke. 

“Just what do you do, Izuku?” Izuku ignored him, hoping he would just shut up, “Where the hell do you go?” Questions, questions, man fuck him.

“It’s none of your goddamn business-”

“It fucking is, you little shit!” Dai stood up and marched toward Izuku, gripping over the new pain he felt coming from the boy, “You pull that stunt the other day, watching me fucking spiral out of control from the pain then show up with new wounds. Every. Single. Time.”

“If you don’t let go right now, you’ve have to worry about your own pain.” Izuku coldly said, pushing past the throbbing from his arm but Dai wouldn’t bulge, before he could make a move, he was thrown on his bed with the teen on top of him.

At that moment, he was completely frozen while his mind roared at him to just move, but he couldn’t.

“Don’t you dare even think you can pull anything on me again, Izuku.” The name was a curse at that moment, Dai laughed bitterly, eyes dark as he saw tears bricking on Izuku’s tired ones. 

“Please…” 

It was barely above a whisper, hurt and desperate, he felt like a cornered animal about to be put down, shaking and terrified. He couldn’t take it again, he just couldn’t.

It was over for him when he felt Dai’s hand on his thigh, his eyes shut tight, “S-Stop.” a whimper escaped his lips, when he felt his school pants getting dragged down as he lay frozen. Unable to think or move. All he wanted was to push Dai away, but he couldn’t. 

“What was it you said? You’d make sure I couldn’t use my hands again? Where’s that fire now?” Dai teased, and Izuku could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t sober, he had no control, “Let’s see if your answer’s gonna change after this.”

He was woken up by the door slapping open and the headmaster yelling at him. He wasn’t sure what exactly happened, his mind had gone completely blank, or when he passed out for that matter but, his body ached all over and he felt disgusting. 

All he could do was take in the insults thrown his way as he could barely stand, he could feel himself slipping away again, his mind was foggy yet he felt anxious. There was a brief pause then the next words coming out of the woman’s mouth snapped his mind awake.

“Selling your body for money now? Is that where you were, fucking? Ha! As expected from a quirkless filthy mutt!” 

Izuku slowly brought his hand around his neck and looked down, his throat felt tight and he started crying. The headmaster looked down at him like he was the very scum on earth before yelling at him to scram off to school then storming out. 

He fell on the bed, scratching at his neck and feeling it burn and ensuring he would stay in touch with reality. But then, unlike last time, the piled-up rage surfaced and he gritted his teeth as he stood up and brought out his knife under the bed. 

Loud thuds and crashes, Dai’s mattress was torn to shreds with the cotton flying around, his posters torn off the walls and the wardrobe on the teen’s side broken into bits.

Izuku couldn’t help himself when he saw the lamp on the nightstand and threw it against the window, shattering the glass. No one was there to stop him, the door was locked and it seemed the headmaster didn’t hear but Izuku snapped out with his phone ringing. 

But the damage had spread to his side as well. 

The skin around his knuckles had torn on impact, his face stained with tears and flushed red, his heart gunning and body trembling. He dropped the knife and reached for his phone. 

‘Kacchan’

He sucked in a breath and dragged the screen icon, although, before he could answer, the ringing stopped. Slowly walking back on Dai’s side, Izuku held his pillow in his hands and dug out the money the teen hid away, taking all of his savings and throwing them in his bag. 

His phone rang again, this time, he answered. Before he could utter a word, Katsuki started yelling and scolding him, asking him where the hell he was. 

“Are you okay? Where the fuck are you? The hell is going on nerd?!”

Izuku looked down at his hands and stayed silent, he couldn’t think of an answer and blurted out a single word, “Orphanage.” 

“Why the hell are you still there? We’re on the third period already, get your ass here-” Katsuki stopped talking when he heard a sniff, just then, he registered how woozy Izuku sounded, “Deku, are you okay?”

Izuku hung up. 

Chapter Text

Izuku walked with his hands in his pockets, cowering behind his hood and eyes glued to the sidewalk as he took another turn and found himself in his old neighbourhood, headed to the store his dad used to send him to. 

He wandered around the aisles and finally stood in front of the refrigerators keeping the booze he so desperately craved ice cold. His knuckles had dried blood and were a dark shade of purple as he gripped the glass weakly and pulled out a pair of some random six-packs.

It was the middle of the day on a work day, just a few people were around, most of them were elderly ladies running errands and a couple of teenagers out for lunch break, Izuku could feel their eyes on him as he made his way to the register and placed the beers on the counter. 

“I’m gonna need to see some ID-” The guy said but stopped when he locked eyes with Izuku, “Hey man! How’s it hanging? Haven’t seen you around for a while.” 

Izuku shrugged, not talking, then he eyed the pack of chips on discount and put it on the counter on top of the beers, “Fine, Dad asked for them, and can I get the usual brand, two packs.” He gestured at the cigarettes behind the counter with his head.

He lied, knowing the guy would believe him, his dad had talked to him, saying he was the one buying the beers way back when and the guy had no idea where they lived so he complied, “Will that be all?” 

Izuku nodded and pulled out the money as the cashier placed his stuff in a plastic bag, “Is your dad trying out a different brand?” He asked as he took the money, shit, I never bought these before, “Yeah.” 

Grabbing the bags, Izuku gave a nod when the guy said to have a nice day and walked off, headed to his place. It was dangerous to stroll around in the middle of the day as a teenager, he was attracting too much attention. 

To hell with it.

It wasn’t long before he was done with the first can as he smoked and lay on the old, red couch on the second floor. He couldn’t be bothered with what happened last night, rather who was sitting in the same spot. 

He opened another can and swallowed bitterly while reaching for the bag of chips. His phone was ringing nonstop and he was getting tired of it but he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off for some reason.

Katsuki had been calling since the third period at school, Aizawa had rung once and Mitsuki as well but he wouldn’t-- couldn’t, answer. 

Izuku was too busy trying to - make his mind shut the fuck up- get wasted, the chips disappeared one after the other, each followed by a sip from the beer can and he finally opened his notebook hidden under the worn-out seat beneath him. 

He looked through what he had on Endeavour right as he flipped through the next page with shaky hands, Dabi appeared in the doorway. He raised a brow when Izuku weakly looked up to meet his face. 

“The hell you doin’ here?” Izuku slurred then drank the last bit of alcohol left in the can, “Could ask you the same thing, kid.” Dabi sat next to him, putting the bag of chips on his lap to make space for himself on the couch. 

Dabi took a chip and threw it in his mouth, irritating Izuku. “Fuck you.” he threw his notebook on the floor and reached for the next beer on line but Dabi grabbed his wrist as he studied the boy. Izuku shot him a look as he leaned back.

Now that the sun was out, and Izuku didn’t have his gear on, he could see the bruises and cuts all over the boy. Bandages stopped right around his elbows on both arms, his neck had an old burn and- “Don’t touch me.” Izuku warned harshly and Dabi let go of him without protest when he saw his neck. 

“The fuck happened and how much did you have to drink?” Dabi didn’t ‘care’, not really. He was just curious, Midoriya didn’t seem like the type to drink not to mention he’s probably still in middle school- “None of your business.”

Izuku hated someone being here, this was his space-- his only safe space-- and he didn’t have any patience left to deal with anything, especially not today. “I donno why you came here but get the fuck out.” 

“I saw you come in a few hours ago and wanted to see where you were with our arrangement. And I ain’t going to leave a kid here all drunk so shut up.” Dabi reached for Izuku’s cigarette pack and pulled one out, Izuku sighed and took one himself. He watched as Dabi lit them both up with his quirk and gave up arguing. 

“Why Endeavour of all people? ‘s stupid, you’re gonna get yourself killed.” Izuku broke the silence, he inhaled once then let the smoke out, “Tell you what, kid. You tell me why you’re drinking in the middle of the day instead of going to class and I tell you why I want what I want-”

“Y’know what, never mind,” Izuku threw his hands up, laughing, “Go get yourself burnt to a crisp for all I care. It’d give me one less thing to worry ‘bout!” 

“Ouch.” 

“Hey, it’s your funeral.” He shrugged and eyed the beers in the plastic bag, then looked at Dabi with desperate eyes, the man-- Izuku wasn’t sure how old Dabi was-- sighed “Fine. But toss me one as well.” Izuku complied happily. The following hours were spent talking about the number two hero’s weakness and the not-so-noticeable flaws in his fighting style, mutual mind-storming and smoking until they were both wasted. 

Izuku was keeping his distance from Dabi, making sure to check on the knife hidden beneath the cushion every few minutes as if it would disappear if he didn’t check, he could never be too careful. Someone stepped inside the room and snapped them both out of whatever mindset they were in.

Dabi was suddenly wrapped tightly in binds, and Izuku was too out of it to move or react in any way, he let out a chuckle then hiccuped when he met Aizawa’s glowing eyes, “‘Zawa!! Heyy..!” the man sighed at the state Izuku was in, teenagers.

“Are you drunk--? Jesus, kid. And you.” He tightened the binds as he stepped closer, “Who the hell are you?” Dabi rolled his eyes, “Relax, old man. And cut the kid some slack! I’m just making sure he doesn’t go overboard.”

“Does this look ‘not overboard’?” 

Izuku slouched down on the couch and spread his arms as he slid to the floor, his cheeks were flushed red and he was smiling like an idiot. Not sensing any hostility from the scarred guy, he released him and knelt beside Izuku. 

“Izuku.” Izuku blinked a few times then smiled again, humming in response, “Who’s your friend?” Gotta get this over with first, “Oh! Dabi! He wants to die!” Dabi rolled his eyes in annoyance, Aizawa just sighed as he looked over to the guy.

“He’s talking stupid, I jus’ wanna know shit ‘bout mr I’mma be the number one hero.” Dabi clarified through his slurring, “Right… How much did he have to drink?” Aizawa asked, Dabi held out seven fingers, then looked at Izuku “Lightweight.”  

You don’t seem sober yourself, Aizawa thought and turned his attention back to the drunk boy on the floor, worried about the new bruises and the gash he saw, “Izuku, I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” 

Izuku sheepishly nodded and felt his body getting lifted off the floor, he weakly wrapped his arms around Aizawa’s neck, then buried his face in the man’s chest, he swallowed harshly “Do you feel nauseous?” he shook his head then started crying. 

When Aizawa started walking off with a very drunk, crying Izuku in his arms, Dabi stood up and grabbed the vigilante’s arm, stopping him “Wow! Where are you taking him?” he asked, looking at the kid. 

“Let go.” Aizawa didn’t look at him as he threatened him coldly, then sighed when he didn’t let go. “I’m going to patch him up and get him sober. I’ll be downstairs. I won’t hurt him, don’t worry.” Dabi scuffed and pulled away his hand, dropping back on the couch, he watched as the man left the room. 

As Aizawa sat Izuku on the bench, the boy sniffed and cried silently, he shook his head and reached for the medical supplies in Izuku’s stash. He was careful as he cleaned his wound, apologizing under his breath every time the kid hissed in pain. 

“Why’d you come here?” Izuku mumbled weakly, slipping back to reality bit by bit, “You weren’t answering your phone so I got worried and this was the first place that came to mind,” he sat beside him before continuing, “Kid, what were you thinking? And what’s the deal with this Dabi guy?” 

Izuku fixed his eyes on his shoes, not answering, Aizawa wouldn’t let this go and he knew it but he just couldn’t think straight, he giggled and hugged his torso. It felt like his stomach was on fire. 

“Jus’ some client, he lives ‘round here.” He raised his head, Aizawa was listening patiently, not daring to interrupt, “I just didn’t wanna feel like shit anymore, ‘m sorry.”

“What happened?” 

Dabi hid behind the wall, eavesdropping as he sat there. He just wanted to make sure Aizawa was true to his word. He rolled his eyes at Izuku’s answer.

Izuku let out a chuckle as he felt the tears working up again, he ran his hand through his hair and sniffed, “I told him to stop but he just wouldn’t! He didn’t stop no matter what I said and I just laid there… doing nothing to prevent it! And- And the worst part is I don’t know how everything played out! I didn’t-- Fuck…” 

He sobbed again, pressing his hands to his eyes, the tears slipping through his palms and soaking the old bandages on his forearms, “She called me-- She- who the hell does she think she is?! What gives her the right to call me fucking slut when she doesn’t know shit?!” 

His hand fell into a fist and he punched the bench in frustration, “But she’s right… I am disgusting, huh?” He chuckled dryly, “Doesn’t matter anyway, I guess… Fuck… I ruined everything! Like I always do! And now I can’t go back there…” He looked at the man with pleading eyes, meeting with pure rage, only then realising what he confessed to. 

Aizawa didn’t say anything as he stood up and started pacing around the dirty room, processing while Dabi cursed under his breath, he definitely wasn’t supposed to hear that. 

Izuku was confused and terrified at the same time, it took a couple of minutes before Aizawa spoke again, “Let’s go.” was all he said before he pulled out a hoodie from the boy’s bag and tossed it to him. “W-What?”

“You’re not going back there.” It was more of a declaration, Izuku just stayed quiet and waited for Aizawa to continue as he put on the hoodie, “I’ll submit the documents, you have Tsukauchi’s number, right?” 

He nodded hesitantly, “I won’t let you stay there any longer, it’s not right. I’m sure the detective would vouch for you,” Aizawa sat beside the boy, “Is that okay with you? You sure you can give a statement?”

Admitting what happened out loud seemed impossible, it was scary. What if people looked at him differently? Treated him worse than before, given his lack of quirk, he doubted anyone would believe him. Izuku felt himself tear up at the thoughts. 

“Listen,” the man looked at him with understanding, a look Izuku had long forgotten, “It wasn’t your fault, none of this is. Your roommate is almost an adult, and you’re barely a teenager. What he did was illegal from whatever way you look at it. You didn’t deserve what happened. And… It doesn’t matter what other people think. I know you’re used to being put down but you don’t deserve to suffer for the things you can’t control, so be rational, problem child--”

Aizawa jumped when he felt arms wrapped around his torso so suddenly, cutting him off, Izuku couldn’t hold back the tears and just cried and cried. A sense of safety, maybe this is what it was. No one had talked to him that way and he felt understood even though Aizawa was still a stranger he’d happened to cross paths on a random night. 

It was odd, and unfamiliar to be understood and cared for, to be looked at with something other than disgust and hatred. He didn’t flinch when Aizawa started rubbing his back with one hand and the other resting on his head, he didn’t feel scared when he tightened his embrace over him, holding him while he sobbed pathetically. 

Dabi quietly went back upstairs when he heard the boy’s loud sobs, feeling guilty for just being there and listening in but what he hated was the fact that he felt resentment. Maybe if he had someone to hold him while he cried, he wouldn’t be in this mess. 

He cursed at himself for threatening Izuku with blackmail while he was going through so much, he understood where the kid was coming from and how shitty his life had been. He had ruined his life himself but Izuku had done nothing yet here he was, hurt by anyone and everything for just existing. 

Sitting back on the couch, he let his neck fall on the cushions and lit a cigarette, the last thing he heard was the door shutting downstairs. 

_

Izuku was dizzy, the world around him spinning endlessly as they made it to Aizawa’s apartment. He had thrown up on their way back and the moment he stepped foot in the apartment, he was greeted with a tiny paw tugging on his pants. He didn’t move, just stood there, lacking any trace of emotion on his face until there was a hand on his shoulder that startled him. 

“You okay?” 

“Oh, um… yeah. Just spaced out for a second, sorry.” 

Aizawa hung his keys by the door and then reached down to pick up the kitten still tugging on Izuku’s pants, “Hope you’re not allergic to cats.” he said as he scratched the back of the kitten’s ear, it started purring quietly and muzzled against the warm hand. 

Izuku shook his head and smiled weakly, “Right, I’ll show you around, come on, then we’ll get you to sober up.” The boy followed him to the short corridor with weary steps, holding onto the walls for support, the kitchen was connected to the small living room with two sofas “This’ll be your room, we already walked past the living room and the kitchen-”

“Wait, is this your room?” Izuku asked as he spotted Aizawa’s gear peaking out from under the bed and the messy bedsheets, he immediately put two and two together, “Aizawa-san, I can sleep on the couch, you don’t have to give me your room--!” 

“I don’t sleep much and if I do, I can literally fall asleep on any given surface; either way, it’s fine, kid.” The man cut him off, “The other door leads to the bathroom, I guess you figured it out though. Anyway, there’re somethings we have to talk about, you hungry?” 

“A little, I guess…” Izuku said as he waited for Aizawa to leave the room first, “I know I promised for a happy meal but you just threw up so let’s not push our luck.” 

“Yeah…” The thought of throwing up and why he did made him shift uncomfortably, he closed his eyes and gulped, trying to push the memories away desperately. Aizawa told him to go wash up while he fixed up something to eat, and Izuku found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. 

He looked like a mess, purples and greens danced on his face, deep eyebags under his half-closed eyes, his lips were cracked, the bottom one still had a healing cut from where he’d bit it then there was his neck. 

It looked even worse than he’d imagined. The bite marks had slightly bumped up, they were pink and purple; when he unbuttoned his collar and pulled it to the side, he saw the handprint Katsuki had given him a few weeks ago, it somehow looked a darker shade of red now. 

The sight made him shift uncomfortably, his eyes scoured around the sink then he found himself looking for something sharp, suddenly, there was a knock on the bathroom door. He jumped back at the noise, “You okay in there?” 

Izuku sucked in a breath and twisted the doorknob, “I was starting to get worried.” Aizawa said, looking at the boy in front of him, hope he didn’t do anything. Fuck, I should’ve checked the drawers before letting him in there. 

“Sorry,” a simple apology was all he received in return for his concern, “I made sandwiches.” Izuku just nodded and followed him back to the kitchen. He was nervous, not sure what Aizawa wanted to talk to him about and he felt uneasy in a he couldn’t explain.  

When he sat down, Aizawa pulled the chair in front of him and got seated himself, Izuku looked at the sandwich. I can manage that, yeah… easy enough, I guess… he waited for the man to pick up his first and once Aizawa took a bite, he hesitantly lifted the sandwich to his mouth. 

The man watched him take a few hesitant bites of the food, looking at his sleeves when the boy seemed too focused on the smashed pieces of toast, no blood, so he hasn’t done anything. 

“Here, drink this.” Aizawa managed to catch Izuku’s undivided attention with the words, he pushed a cup of steamy black coffee to him, “It’ll help you sober up faster.”

Izuku took a tiny sip, the warmth burnt his tongue, leaving a nasty texture behind, he cringed at it and put the cup down.

“Alright, if we’re going to the station then we have to get the story straight, in case they ask you about the drugs,” The man said and watched him put down the half-eaten sandwich as well, “Your nightly activities…” Izuku just listened, not uttering a single word, he didn’t want to talk so he picked up the sandwich again and filled his mouth with a handsome bite.

“How long have you been Kurai?”  

He put up six fingers in response as he chewed, “Just six months?” Aizawa asked to confirm, Izuku just nodded his head, “Where did you learn how to fight?” Izuku swallowed then grabbed the glass of water by his plate, gulping half of it down in one go. 

“I already to you I take notes on heroes and analyse them. I started studying their fighting styles; mostly short-range combat, stealth and such. But I--” He stopped himself, he was just about to reveal his weaknesses, he didn’t have proper combat training; he didn’t know martial arts, he does though, he could teach me. I’ve seen the way Eraser fights…

“You what?” The man asked, raising a brow when Izuku just shut his mouth and refused to elaborate any further, Aizawa sighed, “Alright, be that way. But I saw the way you ‘fight’. You can take a punch, no doubt at that,” He explained.

“But you avoid combat the best you can, you flee the scene after capturing your opponent. I won’t try and stop you because I know it won’t work but you’re not allowed to operate on your own. You wanna go out and be Kurai? Then you tell me, I come with you. Got it?”

“B-But-!” 

“No. You shouldn’t even be doing any of this. You’re fourteen and you don’t have a quirk, Izuku. If the police find out who you are now and they put the pieces together, both you and I could end up facing serious charges.” Aizawa wasn’t playing around and Izuku never thought about legal charges. 

The current law revolved around quirks, so no quirk meant no charges, as a vigilante, that is. If the police knew he was quirkless then they couldn’t arrest him but in Aizawa’s case; he could go to prison for illegal quirk usage, vigilantism and now child endangerment because of him. 

“I… I understand…” Izuku accepted defeat way too quickly to his liking, “Now, the quirk-numbing drug, how did you get it from that asshat?” he looked away, debating rather if he should be completely honest. 

“I- I um,” he could just let it out, talk about it. It would be fine, it’s necessary, “I sort of- maybe saw him sober then he tried to make a move and I was already having a shitty day… I knew where he kept them so I may or may not have ruffened him up and smashed the pills to bits to get him to talk…”

Aizawa sighed and took a sip from his coffee, Izuku followed suit, he wasn’t sure if he liked the bitterness of it, “If he’s taken in for questioning, can he prove it?” he shook his head, “He doesn’t have any evidence to prove I’ve done anything and I didn’t hit him, just-- sort of pushed him and restrained him. So it’s his word against mine. And in any case, assault in self-defence is nothing compared to drug usage and possession, right?” 

“Right-”

“But if the cops learn about this other drug, I could get in trouble for not reporting it right away…”

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry about that. The thing you should be worried about is them tying you to Kurai.” Izuku cursed when he recalled what happened with Giran, Aizawa didn’t miss the look of distress, “What is it?”

“Remember the client I was meeting up with?” The man nodded, “We may have gotten ambushed by Midnight…” Aizawa choked on his coffee, this kis is a menace when he’s Kurai, “Did she see you?” 

“Shit…” He ran his hand through his hair, it had become a habit whenever he felt uncertain and nervous when he talked about these things, “My notebook-- I dropped my notebook! Fuck!” 

“Hey, calm down--”

“My fingerprints… Eraser…How can I calm down?! I was so busy trying to escape, I completely forgot about it… Shit, this is bad.” Izuku was spiralling again, on top of everything, he had to deal with this mess. 

“Okay, just breathe and listen to me, alright?” he nodded at the words, terrified, I could go to jail-- “While you give your statement, they likely won’t let me in the interrogation room, I’ll find the notebook then clear the system of any evidence. Do you remember the shift changes from before?” 

“Yeah… but wouldn’t it be suspicious? The system only cleared from a single file and at the same time as the two of us are there?” 

“Which is why we’ll make it look like a cyber attack, I know a guy who can help, he can guide me through it. You worry about yourself, I’ll handle the rest, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay…” 

_

“Hello, how may I help you today?” Aizawa glanced behind to a nerve ball of Izuku fidgeting with his fingers, eyes glued to his red shoes, “I’d like to file a report regarding sexual assault and abuse on a minor.” 

The woman shifted in her seat before grabbing a few papers and handing them to Aizawa, “Please fill out these forms then you may head to the waiting area, one of our detectives will be with you shortly.” Aizawa nodded then took the papers along with the pen sitting on top of them, “Detective Tsukauchi knows the victim, his name is Midoriya Izuku, I would appreciate it if you could inform him.”

When he scanned through the information boxes, Aizawa realized he knew nothing about the kid’s history. He hated having Izuku do all this but he had no other choice, “Kiddo, you have to fill out the forms yourself, I can’t exactly help with it.” 

Izuku walked over and took the pen, his breath hitched when he remembered what happened with every question asked about the incident. His hand trembled as he moved to one question after the other then silently pushed them for the officer to take it. He hadn’t heard her informing Tsukauchi, he was startled when the man appeared right beside him.

The Detective looked at the boy first, seeing he was a mess then turned to Aizawa, extending his hand for a greeting, “Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa, and you are?” Aizawa shook the man’s hand, “Aizawa Shota, nice to meet you, Detective.” 

He glanced back to Izuku again as he let go, “Let’s go somewhere quieter, Officer Higuchi has informed me about the situation, I’ll need to talk to Midoriya alone for a statement if you wouldn’t mind,” he looked back at the other man, Aizawa gave a nod, “This way, Midoriya-kun.” 

Izuku walked behind the detective into an interrogation room, uncomfortable with what he was about to do, he sat in one of the chairs and the detective shot the door. He eyed the files on the metal table before the man sat down in front of him. Izuku felt uneasy and he could feel himself starting to slip back to the void in his head until Tsukauchi spoke.

“How are you doing, Midoriya?” 

“Um, not… not well, if I’m being honest…” Izuku played with the hem of his hoodie under the table, this was a mistake, I never should’ve agreed to this. Everyone’s gonna blame me-- “Can you tell me what happened, this is a safe space and I’m here to help. I’d appreciate it if you told me the whole story in detail, we can stop at any time you feel uncomfortable.” 

He gave a nod and put his hands on the metal table between them before telling the detective what happened. He hated how the questions were always blaming the victim in one way or the other. He hated how he had been put in such an exposing position by someone he’d happened to end up in the same room on a random thursday. 

It was degrading and embarrassing to talk about, saying everything out loud was humiliating and it made him feel disgusted with his own body. Tsukauchi was understanding, he waited patiently when the boy answered in detail with each question, the detective didn’t push him when he paused at times, but the uneasiness was always there until the end. 

“I know this was very difficult for you and I’m sorry this happened, Midoriya. Thank you, you were very brave. We’re legally obligated to perform a medical examination, it can be done here in the precinct. Now, would you like to press charges?” 

Izuku looked at him with pleading eyes, uncertain of his answer; he hoped Tsukauchi would tell him something, reassure him that he would be safe and wouldn’t live with the label for the rest of his life. “Look, the information you’ve provided regarding what happened to you and what’s going on in that orphanage is enough to shut the place down and put Daisuke behind bars for good. If you’re worried about your case being overlooked in front of a judge, then I assure you, it won’t be,”

“Normally, as police officers, we shouldn’t be making promises but…” Tsukauchi closed the file and looked Izuku in the eyes, “I promise it’ll be okay. Can you trust me, Midoriya-kun?” Izuku was hesitant when he nodded, the detective gave him a reassuring smile. Just as the man stood up, “Detective?” 

“Yes?” 

“Would you… could I ask you for a favor?” Tsukauchi sat back down, “It depends, I suppose.” Izuku let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Aizawa-san wants to adopt me and I trust him but he’s not married and…” 

“I’ll see what I can do. Now, let’s get you to the medical wing, I’ll talk with the people necessary regarding the adoption and get the report to the chief. Will you be alright on your own?” Izuku nodded again and followed Tsukauchi around the precinct. He had no idea how a full-body examination worked and when he found himself in a hospital gown, sitting on the table with a doctor telling him how it would go, he started freaking out. 

He didn’t want anyone to touch him, especially on every inch of his body. And fuck. He was drunk just a couple of hours ago, if they took his blood, they’d know. It wouldn’t look good on his record. It took him a few minutes of breathing exercises led by the female doctor for Izuku could come to his senses, he occupied his mind with Aizawa’s mission. 

Before he knows it, he’s completely spaced out. Maybe he’d wanted to slip back, just ignore everything and fly high on the clouds filling his mind, a moment of peace… It was quiet and he didn’t feel anything as the doctor performed the exam. He was brought back by that same doctor snapping her fingers next to his ear. 

“All done, dear. You can get dressed here, I’ll be right outside.” She typed something on her computer and gave Izuku a smile before leaving the room. Izuku listened for the door to click before reaching for his clothes. The doctor had patched him up, it seemed, because he had new bandages on his arms, securing his wounds tightly. 

When he stood up, he saw the open tab on her computer, he had changed rather quickly, I have time to look through. He saw the words ‘cuts, likely self-inflicted’ in between the sentences and deleted them quickly, no one needs to know that, right? Once it was done with, he grabbed the door handle and pulled it down slowly.

Tsukauchi was outside chatting with the doctor, along with Aizawa who gave Izuku a nod as soon as he saw the boy, Izuku gave him a look in return, understanding what it meant; then he turned to the detective.

“I’ve got some good news!” Tsukauchi handed Izuku a few papers as he continued, “I’ve talked to the chief, there’s going to be an investigation regarding the orphanage and how they treat the children there. Daisuke will be brought in for questioning and the odds seem to be on your favour, also,” 

Aizawa took it from there, giving the boy a smile, “The Detective got the papers approved for your adoption. They’re going to be on our ass for a while, just so you know.” Izuku’s eyes widened at the words, suddenly a wave of emotions hit and he dropped the papers, hugging the vigilante. Aizawa laughed and ruffled his hair.

Once he pulled away, he turned to Tsukauchi and bowed, “Thank you for your help, Detective Tsukauchi, you have no idea how much this means to me… I really appreciate how much you’ve done.” 

“No need to thank me, Midoriya-kun. I’m just happy to be of service.” Izuku stood straight again, smiling, maybe things won’t always be so bad from now on…

_

The silence in the police car to Aizawa’s apartment was awkward, to say the least. When they walked it, it was nearly midnight and Izuku wanted to cry. Before Aizawa could say anything--

“Can we go out?” Izuku mumbled, he needed something to take his mind off everything, “Please.” He added, almost begging. “Yeah, but you have to eat something first, deal?” Izuku nodded quietly and went to the bathroom. 

And when he saw himself, staring back from the mirror for the second time that day, he couldn’t cry. No matter how much he needed to, no matter how he hated himself and life itself, he couldn’t. 

The tears, they were right there, he could feel them; pushing and struggling to hold back, his body hated him at that moment. He was swaying the slightest, his hands were shaking, he could barely keep his eyes open… He sucked in a breath and forced himself to wash his face. 

Maybe there were a few tears but they got washed away with the tap water, the coldness felt like a wish granted, and when his fingertips turned red, he dried his face with the towel hanging behind the door. 

It was a blur when he stepped out, he was moving and was conscious, but he couldn’t feel anything. His body felt foreign, he felt stuck in his own body. As he nibbed on yet another sandwich, Aizawa poured some coffee into a cat-shaped mug and watched him. 

“Do you want to talk?” 

Izuku shook his head and took a bite from his sandwich, he heard the chair’s legs dragging on the floor and looked up, the man sat in front of him and sipped at his coffee. In truth, Aizawa was terrified. What was he thinking when he thought he could take care of a kid, honestly? He had no idea how normal people functioned to begin with, but a child? 

He remembered how Obora had once said he was good with kids and he could maybe even be a teacher. Aizawa wondered if that’s how it would’ve played out if what happened hadn’t. Pulling himself out of his head, he decided it was best not to dwell on it, Izuku needed him now, and that’s all that mattered. 

When he focused back on reality, he saw Izuku’s empty plate and the boy was just staring at it with this distant look, “Kid,” Izuku’s head whipped up, “Is your gear here or at your place?”

“My place.” Aizawa nodded, “Did you manage to get my notebook from the evidence locker?” Shit, he put the mug down, and stood up, Izuku waited for him to get back, and Aizawa returned with the notebook in pieces. 

“I deleted the digital records, it took some time to get in but it’s done,” he explained, “Your notebook… the information inside is just--” Aizawa sighed as he sat back down, “How much money do you make when you sell these? I’ve never seen anyone who’s not a quirk specialist with such detailed analyses.”

“Enough to make a stash for emergencies, it depends on who buys really,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I was saving up in case something happened…”

“Right… Look, I know I already told you this but do be careful with this stuff. Doing heroes’ work is one thing but selling information to villains is another. The police have nothing on Kurai, they don’t even know the name but if the word gets out, they’ll come after you.”

Izuku knew all that; at first, he’d started doing it because he bumped into Giran in the night market when he was looking for some sort of mask and he’d dropped his notes. And the broker had said people would pay handsomely for information like that when he saw the pages split on the ground. He did need the money so he made a quick decision and had gotten his first client. 

“I’ll be more careful, please don’t worry, Aizawa-san.” Aizawa sighed and finished off his coffee, “Who was the guy that helped you with the evidence?” 

“There’s this cop I got dirt on, he owes me big time, he was the one who got your notebook and led me to the computers. For the getting in… well, I think it’s best if you don’t know who he is.”

“But-!”

“No. I’m sure you’ll meet him someday but now’s not the time,” He turned and put his mug by the sink, “Let’s go, you need to get some sleep before school.” 

Once they left, silently walking for twenty minutes, neither of them speaking a word. Izuku was in a daze, while Aizawa’s mind was occupied with worries of one kind or the other but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw next the second Izuku opened the rusty door to the old apartment building.

“K-Kacchan?!” 

_

Katsuki paced back and forth in his room, the nerd wasn’t answering his phone and the last he heard of him was before noon. Something wasn’t right and it was getting on his nerves. Normally, he’d think Izuku was ignoring him but the way he sounded over the phone had convinced him otherwise.

When he got home, he made his mother call Izuku as well but it was no use. He strolled around the neighborhood; heading for the school first, then going to the park, the damn river behind the woods, the subway station… somehow he found himself in the 24/7 store and spotted the guy who always worked there. It’s worth a shot.

“Hey, you seen a guy ‘bout this tall with green hair?” He gestured his hand over his shoulders, waving it side to side, the guy looked confused when he peeked up from the register to see the boy, “Yeah, he came by during lunch hours, what was his family name… Uh-- oh! Midoriya, right?” 

“Yeah him. How did he look? Did you see where he was going?” 

“He looked real rough, I’ll give you that. I guess he went home? His father asked for drinks again apparently.” The guy shrugged, he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, maybe the kid didn’t want people to know he bought alcohol for his father, he shouldn’t even be selling it to a minor in the first place anyway but with the manager and--

“For his… dad?” Katsuki muttered under his breath, putting two and two together, he flipped out his phone and rang Izuku again, and then an idea struck. I’m such a moron, his last location should be somewhere , “Which way did he go?” 

“He took the road down that street,” he pointed out from the windows, and Katsuki skimmed through every social media app he had, he found his answer on that one nerd app talking about heroes which always registered the user’s current location for some reason on their profile. He had seen Izuku on his phone during class, editing his profile on a random day. 

As much as he hated it, the app was entertaining and the shit the nerd yapped about made sense, of course, he’d never admit it but he was thankful for it just this time. And that’s how he found himself standing in the abandoned area, in front of a trashy building in the middle of the street. 

Going inside, he saw Izuku’s yellow backpack next to what looked like medical supplies, is this where he stayed when he wasn’t home..? He decided to explore more and ended up on the second floor. There were at least a dozen empty beer cans and cigarette packs, he sat on the couch, Izuku’s notebook was on the armrest and his phone was on top of it.

“Fucking Deku…”

If his phone is here, he’ll fucking come back to get it, ugh! This damn nerd. 

Katsuki sat there, scrolling on his phone, hours passed by but there was no sign of Izuku. He turned to grab the notebook and something pocked behind the cushions, the hell is that-- 

A knife stared back at him once he moved the ripped-up pillow, what are you hiding, Deku? Placing the knife beside him, he flipped through the pages, notes on heroes, some sketches, he paused. “Who the hell is Eraser?” 

Quirk: Erasure, blah blah, wait, active vigilante? There was information about his fighting style and gear, the weapons he used and a few weaknesses listed by the sketch. He sighed and checked the time, 12.30… Katsuki stood up, ready to leave, he’s not gonna show up if he hasn’t until now. Heading back downstairs, he glanced at the sandbag wavering. And just as he caught the sight of the door, it opened.

“K-Kacchan?!”

“Damn nerd!” He noticed the guy standing behind Izuku, black jumpsuit and goggles hidden by what looked like a scarf, is that the Eraser in his fucking notes? A part of him wanted to punch Izuku, the other told him to just keep it cool and make sure he was okay. He decided to settle with the latter.

“Where the hell have you been?! I’ve been tryin’ to reach you all fucking day!” 

Izuku gulped, this is going to be one long night…

Chapter Text

Tsukauchi looked at the technical staff with dead eyes as they explained the database was wiped out with no means to recover the most recent data logged in. His hand tugged at his blue tie to loosen it up, frustrated, he turned around and sighed. Just then his eyes landed on a half-printed paper in the back of the desk.

“What's this?” Reaching to grab the piece of paper, scanning through the information, “Midoriya Izuku?” he breathed out, confusion written all over his face, this is dated a few days ago and I haven’t registered his name on the system yet. “What’s this report about?” 

The intern with round glasses looked around the other papers before answering, “I believe it’s the Kurai case--” 

“I know him. Midoriya is a quirkless kid in middle school, run it again.” The detective demanded, wanting to punch a wall at how absurd this was. “Sir, I ran it three times—” one of the technical staff answered but Tsukauchi wasn’t having it. 

“How is this even possible..?”

“Why not? Maybe he developed a quirk? It's not completely out of the question, is it? Most people go through a lot when they're quirkless, a quirk could have been triggered by stress, it could be trauma-induced—” the intern rambled in the background, they stopped when Tsukaushi crashed the paper in his palm. 

“He was just…” his eyes widened at the thought, he gulped “In the precinct…” 

He needed to get his shit together, letting out a shaky breath, he looked at the intern, “I want a thorough background check on Aizawa Shota on my desk by the morning. Every last detail, unlike earlier.” He glared at the data analyst who looked away as he gave the order.

“W-What..?” Everyone in the room turned to the door at the question, Midnight… dammit! Tsukauchi just walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, “Let’s go talk somewhere more private, yeah?” 

_

Izuku liked to think he was a simple person; sure, things were complicated and he wasn’t all that self-actualized -he was starting to see that more clearly lately- but nothing could have prepared him for the rollercoaster of emotions he had gotten himself into as he stood in front of his childhood friend with his analyses on display and a man he’d come to trust who Katsuki had no idea about until a few minutes ago. 

“I can explain--”

“You better start now, then.” Katsuki crossed his arms and glanced back at Aizawa, clearly taking some offence at being left in the dark by a fucking nerd.

“This is um, Aizawa-san, he’s my new guardian--” He was, yet again, cut off by a scuff. “And the vigilante Eraser, yeah yeah, we’ll get to that later. I wanna know about this shit first.” He walked over to grab Izuku’s backpack and threw it in front of him, startling the boy as knives and other gadgets poured out with the impact, while Aizawa looked at him with wide eyes, how much does this brat know? 

Izuku didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t sure how much Katsuki knew and he surely didn’t want to spill everything. It was like an automatic response when he knelt down and started putting the knives back in his bag. He could feel his ears ringing, and his hands were shaky, I’m such an idiot…

Both Aizawa and Katsuki just watched the boy throw the knives in the bag without a word, it was odd. At first, Izuku was all chatty now he was dead silent, and Katsuki didn’t understand it. He heard the man sigh and glared at how he hesitantly put his hand on Izuku’s shoulder, “I’ll be downstairs, you two need to talk things out.” 

When he left, Katsuki knelt beside Izuku and snatched the bag from his hand, which got his attention, “Stop it.” Izuku still wasn’t looking at him as he gripped the sharp end of a knife now, it was starting to piss Katsuki off, “Nerd?” he called again, “Goddamit, Izuku, just look at me.” 

The distance, the lack of sentiment, the hurt… Katsuki wasn’t sure which was more of a concern when he finally saw Izuku’s eyes. His hand was now bleeding but there was no sign of discomfort anywhere in his structure.

Izuku on the other hand, let his knees give in and just sat on the filthy floor as he fisted up the blood gushing from his palm. He can’t know, no one can. It’ll destroy them, I’ll just ruin his life. He can’t know, he just can’t--

“So?” 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Katsuki gently grabbed his wrist and ran his fingers through his palm with a ghost of a touch, “I won’t do anything, you have my fucking word, okay?” Izuku nodded and slowly let his muscles relax, unravelling his hand. 

“You already know I make analyses on heroes, right? It started as a hobby and I got better at them as time passed,” He explained, Katsuki just nodded, “And well… we were short on money this one time so I found out about this night market, I started selling the information I gathered to help mom bring ends together-”

“Still doesn’t explain the injuries and the fucking knives, nerd.”

“Right, right…” Izuku sighed, “My dad- he um… he is a--” he shook his head, correcting himself almost immediately, “He was a heavy drinker. And you get the picture, please don’t make me say it, but the knives are for protection, I can barely use them, Kacchan.” he pleaded, hoping Katsuki wouldn’t push any further. 

“Okay, fine. But what about Eraser? How does he know you?” 

“This place… I come around a lot, like when I need to just clear my head, to get away and- well I stayed here when Dad kicked me out. Aizawa-san found me one day all beat up and took care of me. That’s it…” 

Katsuki sighed as he eyed the empty beer cans and the cigarette packs, “Did he get those for you as well?” Izuku just looked away, he seemed ashamed. “I’m sorry. I really am, I shouldn’t have kept it a secret from you. You’ve been helping me so much and I just… dammit.” 

He felt proud of himself, for once it paid off being able to keep cool because now, both his secret and Katsuki were safe. He slowly got up, and watched as Katsuki followed his every move. He laughed, which surprised Izuku. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s just… I can’t imagine a nerd like you drunk, ha!” Izuku blushed when Katsuki wouldn’t stop laughing and swung his arm around his neck and ruffled his hair. “Stop it!”

“No way, nerd! And don’t tell me what to do!” 

Izuku realized he didn’t try pushing Katsuki away, nor did he flinch, he smiled sweetly at the thought, I’m sorry for lying to you but I want you to be safe, Kacchan. When they made it downstairs, he saw Aizawa sitting on the bench, playing with the knife Izuku had stolen from him. He gave the man a look, signalling he hadn’t told the blond the truth, which Aizawa understood and gave a slight nod as he got back on his feet with a groan.

“I trust we can keep what you know between us, brat?” he looked at Katsuki with a quirked brow, Katsuki just scuffed in return, “You better keep a close eye on him, Eraser.”

Aizawa sighed then turned his attention back to the boy, “We’ll get you home, come on.” The sentence made Katsuki realise why the two were in Izuku’s ‘hideout’ in the first place. If it was just to get his phone back, no, it doesn’t make sense. He decided to leave it alone, just this once and nodded. 

On their walk back to the blond’s house, there was this silence Izuku couldn’t explain. It made him uneasy then followed the paranoia. His hands were twitching and he kept glancing around, he came eye to eye with Aizawa a couple of times, and when the man finally had enough and stepped closer to the boy, just to ease his tension, Katsuki walked up front with his hands in his pockets with wide steps, the silence was over when they took a turn. 

“--re all sick, you just need to be cured.” 

Izuku grabbed Katsuki’s hood and choked him back as his back hit the wall and Aizawa grounded him with a hand over his chest once he understood. “Oi!--” Izuku slapped his hand over Katsuki’s mouth and placed a finger to his lips to tell the blond to keep quiet. 

“Worry not though, it will be soon.” They heard the same person say, suddenly, screams and fire erupted from that corner. Izuku gulped, he needed to see, to help. Someone was in danger, hurt, while he stood uselessly, hiding behind a wall. His curiosity was about to ruin his better judgment until he reminded himself of Katsuki’s presence. 

Looking around and listening closely to the other side,  they were hard to make out but Katsuki heard footsteps, gesturing his hand for the two to back away, he slowly followed them back to hide in a gap between two buildings. 

“Izuku, get Katsuki out of here, I’ll follow close behind to make sure you’re both safe,” Aizawa whispered and watched Izuku’s eyes widen then he shook his head, “I’m not arguing about this, go. Now.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” Izuku tried to reason but Katsuki stepped in this time, “The hell you think you’re gonna do, nerd? As much as I wanna kick some ass, I can’t if it’s not self-defense. Get moving.” He grabbed the boy’s arm and nodded at Aizawa as the man jumped to reach the rooftop through thick pipes. 

They started running from the long way around to Katsuki’s house, leaving Aizawa to deal with the mess they’d come across. 

Bending down to take a closer look, Aizawa saw a man with a green coat and a mask looking like a beak putting on a white glow. Around him were people with similar masks but he couldn’t see their faces. Putting two and two together immediately, he recalled Kurai’s analyses from the other day. These were the same people, which meant a Yakuza organisation was on a killing spree because now, pboy’sthe group lay a bunch of people with disfigured bodies and already had bled to death. 

He cursed at himself, if only that brat wasn’t noisy, this could’ve been a real break in the Trigger case. Aizawa glanced back over the rooftops and spotted Izuku running along Katsuki over a hill, then sighed as he tried to hear the people below as much as he could, “Overhaul, it’s time to get back, the heroes’ shift change is almost over.” 

Overhaul, finally, they had a name. “Yeah, yeah,” the brunette waved out his hand and they left the street, Aizawa stepped back just in time to conceal his presence, and let out a breath before rushing away from there. He called Izuku as he made his second jump to a different rooftop. 

“Are you okay?” Izuku answered immediately, the concern in his voice clear as day, “Yeah, I’m fine. How close are you to Katsuki’s house?” he asked, “Just a few blocks, are you coming or should I meet you halfway?” 

“No, it’s alright, I’ll be there, send me your location.” He could hear Katsuki complaining in the background as he hung up the phone, that kid was bad news but he had potential, it was evident. Izuku was good, his analyses supported him greatly in the field, he was quick on his feet but he wasn’t a natural. It was obvious how much hard work had gotten him here. He sighed as he put away his phone and looked ahead, tonight is going to be a long night…

_

“Kacchan, I can’t come in and let your mom see me, she’d ask too many questions! Why do you want me to come in anyway?” Izuku was at his limit with Katsuki’s persistence, there was just no shaking him off. “Fuck you, that’s why!” They’d stopped running after Aizawa’s call and the blond’s house was just a couple of steps ahead but Izuku despised the idea of being reminded of what happened to him and it was inevitable with Mitsuki. 

“Look, just go in and I’ll wait for Aizawa-san in front of your house, okay?” Katsuki weighed his options, but he didn’t like the idea, it was stupid, “That way, you can make sure I’m with him and safe from your window.” 

Scuffing, he sighed and accepted defeat, “Fine, don’t let the hag see you then,” Izuku gave him a reassuring look as Katsuki started walking away, “And you better show up to class tomorrow.” Izuku smiled, “Yeah.” 

He waited from Aizawa just as planned, kicking small rocks around. It wasn’t long before he caught sight of the man and practically ran his way. “Did you manage to--”

“I think I got the name of the person in charge of the Trigger operation,” Aizawa breathed out in one go and watched as Izuku’s eyes glossed with excitement. “Wait, really?!” then his face fell, I’ve ruined it. Fuck, if it weren’t for me being so careless then Kacchan wouldn’t have found out about my hideout and we wouldn’t have to walk him home. 

“I can hear you overthinking from here, don’t beat yourself up if that’s what you’re worried about but are you sure you still wanna go out tonight?” Izuku nodded silently in response, if anything, he needed it even more so now than before.

“Alright, let’s go then. I got your gear here,” he had completely forgotten about the bag Aizawa was carrying, “It’s just your mask and goggles, I couldn’t find your outfit, sorry.” Just as he was about to pull it out of the bag, Izuku shoved his hand back and looked behind his shoulder. 

Katsuki was glaring from his window with his arms crossed, he gave a wave and told Aizawa they needed to get away first, “That kid cares about you, Izuku.” The man said as he started walking, Izuku processed the words before tailing behind him with a weak smile. 

“Where to boss?” Aizawa joked as Izuku made sure they were out of view of Katsuki’s house and geared up, “Downtown, a little bird told me we could start there.” He laughed and skipped in front of the man, this was fine. Kurai was… being Kurai felt safe and it gave him reassurance. 

“Alright, lead the way, problem child.”  

_

Aizawa was uneasy, something was bugging him and he didn’t like it one bit. As Izuku talked with this guy he had never seen, who he assumed was a drug dealer, Aizawa hid behind the closest building still he couldn’t hear the conversation and the thought of being watched lingered in the back of his mind. Maybe he was paranoid, maybe he was just worried about Izuku after what happened earlier and it was close to dawn as well so maybe he was just tired? 

He wasn’t sure at this point. 

With a sigh, he turned to his phone and skimmed through the police scanners, if any busts or arrests were made, especially relating to this guy called Overhaul, they could get information from the precinct. 

Izuku suddenly jumped in front of him, snapping him out of his trace “So apparently, there’s this Yakuza group called the Shie Hassakai and they produce Trigger but there are no sales, as we predicted, only handouts for trial. This confirms my theory of them not having a professional behind the scenes.” 

“The guy just told you all that?” 

“Well…” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting behind the wall, Aizawa followed his gaze and shook his head in annoyance as he say the guy all bloodied up and passed out with rubber cuffs wrapped tightly around his wrists. “What did we talk about?” teenagers, “Do not engage in unnecessary combat. That’s an order.”

“Whatever you say, Aizawa-Sensei.” Aizawa sighed again then let it go, they had bigger things to worry about, “So? How do we find these guys?” 

“Apparently this Overhaul guy is in charge like you said and his closest goons are the ‘Eight Bullets’, from what I understand, the guys in the bird masks are the inner circle. Which means-”

“We have encountered two of them. The Rapper and Setsuno, the blond one. There’s no question they know about us being onto them, it’s not just a coincidence, it wouldn’t have been a problem if Setsuno hadn’t seen Kurai. The real question is: do they know you.” 

Izuku looked away, great. You ruined something else. Stupid. Stupid-- “We should figure out who the other members of the Eight Bullets are, then we’ll have something go on.” his body language did a one-eighty, what is he thinking? Aizawa didn’t want the boy to get involved with this, nowhere near it did he want Izuku but if he didn’t let him, he would get hurt or worse, get himself killed.

He stepped to the street, hoping the kid would follow behind and Izuku did, he didn’t say anything else though. Aizawa’s eyes kept wandering around the whole time, I’m being paranoid. He watched Izuku’s reflection from the stores’ wide windows as they walked in silence, checking if the boy was also looking around. 

Aizawa trusted Izuku’s instincts, with no proper training, the boy was sharp and stealthy, and he concealed his presence which could rival a pro’s. He’d noticed it the first time he followed Kurai. But if he didn’t bother looking around, then Aizawa could be sure he was being paranoid.

Seconds followed minutes of aimless strolling on empty streets in silence until he heard a thud, and looked back, only to see a little girl covered in bandages on the pavement shaking and clinging to Izuku, who was also on the ground. 

“P-Please..” 

When the girl looked up, he heard her breath hitch at the masked faces of both of them, Izuku must have noticed so in an instant, he had ripped off his goggles and face mask. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. See, nothing scary.”  

Izuku’s wounded arm ached with how tight the girl’s grip over him was but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind and hesitantly put his hand over the girl’s head, she can’t be older than six, what’s she doing out here at this hour? Is she running from someone? 

“Eri! Where the hell did you go this time?! You know you can’t run away, just come back here so no one has to get hurt!” Izuku felt the girl- Eri hug his shoulders this time and held her as he shaky stood up, “Please, please don’t go.” She begged, Izuku would feel tears soaking his shirt, “We need to get her out of here.” 

Aizawa simply nodded and started running, they could hear footsteps from the same ally, the man had recognized the voice, he had heard it merely a few hours ago, Overhaul, just our luck.

Grabbing onto the nearest pipe, he extended his hand to Izuku but seeing the boy’s hands occupied with Eri in his arms, he swung his binds around the boy’s torso and pulled him us as he climbed to the roof of the building, the roof had a wide ledge so he dropped Izuku over and brought a finger to his lips. 

Izuku nodded but Eri was close to sobbing and she could give away their location, “I’m sorry.” He whispered put the apology and covered the girl’s mouth, in return, Eri clung to his wounded arm again, Izuku gritted his teeth and covered his own mouth as well not to make a sound.

He saw Aizawa peek through the ledge, they could hear orders thrown around and running but no one was looking onto the rooftops. So they haven’t seen us, and they know a kid can’t climb up here either, good.

Settling beside Izuku, he sighed, “They’re gone.” Both him and the girl sucked in a deep breath as he let go, allowing them to breathe as they should, “I’m really sorry, are you okay?” He could see small tears bricked up, threatening to fall on her eyes as she nodded weakly, “I.. My name is Izuku. And you’re Eri, right?” Another silent nod and Izuku did his best to give her a reassuring smile.

“Nice to meet you, Eri.” 

“Glad you two are getting along but that was Overhaul. Why is a little girl so important to a Yakuza organisation? He was clearly upset…” Aizawa never understood children, not really. The only reason he knew how to talk to Izuku was because the boy was too mature, and he’s still irrational, he had seen hell and back. He could relate to Izuku but kids? Kids were weird--

“Please don’t give me back to him..!” Her voice was shaky as she pled, why does this keep happening to me? “We won’t,” He confirmed, “Kid, let’s head back.” 

“What about Eri?” Izuku looked up with puppy eyes, he knew Aizawa would never leave a person in need, especially a literal child in this case, behind. “Her too, the best we can do is tend to her wounds and let her rest until we give her to the heroes. So, let’s go.” 

“Put your mask back on.” He said before getting up, he immediately regretted it when his leg twitched, he sat back down and rubbed over it, “Are you okay? Is it your leg again?” He simply gave a nod and hated himself all over again. 

“I’ll be fine. Check the police scanners, the morning shift starts at six am sharp, and the shift exchange should be in thirty minutes, we can’t just walk around with a bandaged-up kid and our mask on. You have your civilian clothes on, go on ahead and I’ll see you at home, be careful, alright?”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” 

“You have school, Izuku. Go home, stay with Eri and don’t let her out of your sight until I’m back. Is that clear?” Izuku sighed in defeat, and he tells me to take care of myself when he just ignores himself, “Fine, I’m setting a timer.” 

Aizawa chuckled in return, “Take the shortest route home, and avoid any surveillance cameras, okay?” Izuku laughed before turning around with Eri in his arms and waved off, “You worry too much, Eraser. We’ll be fine.” 

_

“Just to recap, you’re telling that Aizawa Shota- the grumpiest person ever I’ve ever known- has adopted a kid?” Midnight tried to process everything the detective had told her as they stood on the roof, both exhausted and confused beyond words. 

Tsukauchi nodded “And just to recap, Aizawa was a UA student then ran away after your friend died and everyone thought he was dead as well? And you haven’t heard of him in over a decade?” Midnight crossed her arms as she let her weight on the wall with a sigh, “Yes.” 

“No one questioned it? I mean… He must have had friends? You mentioned, Yamada, right? And he’s MIA as well? What about their parents?” 

“I attended Shota’s mom’s funeral, she overdosed on heroin and apparently his dad was out of the picture… Shota was a private guy, kept his circle tight and his personal business was always kept out of conversations. He couldn’t pass the psychological evaluation from what I heard but I’d already graduated, we barely saw each other then the news about him running away after his mom died spread. People assumed he took his own life since no one ever heard from him. It was an open and shut case s,nce he had no one else…” 

The past she had buried deep underground was getting dug up, the part of her life she had forced herself to forget, to get away… She hated it, she hated remembering. 

“As for Hizashi, he cut off all contact with everyone from UA after Shota was gone. He was living with his foster parents but I couldn’t reach them either after Aizawa-san’s funeral.” She forced herself to explain, the charges were heavy, if he’s involved with something as big as the Trigger case and somehow relates to Kurai… this is bad news. 

Kayama paused before continuing, “What do we do now? He must have a registered address if he adopted a kid, right?” Tsukauchi looked at the copies of the adoption papers he had, “Yeah, we are supposed to have a check-up tomorrow, a hero is required, if you’d like we could head there together. How’s your schedule?” 

Flipping her phone out of her pocket, “I’m free this afternoon, and I can find someone to cover for me.” She answered, “I’ll meet you here at six pm then, sound good?” 

“Yeah…” 

I need a drink. 

As soon as Kayama stepped out of the precinct and found her way home, she couldn’t stop the tears pushing through against her will. Shutting the door, she let her back hit the back of the front door and ripped her mask off. She cried. Then laughed. 

It felt childish to cry over something that happened years ago. But the bitterness that had slowly crept its way inside her with unending loneliness and despair… maybe it was a mere wall. And now, with everything coming back to haunt her, the wall was shattering. 

She was an adult, a hero, “It’s been over a decade,” she hissed through her teeth as she fiercely wiped away her tears, “Why does it hurt so much..?” She wished someone was by her side to comfort her, then asked herself why. 

Why now? She was over all this sentimental bullshit, she didn’t cry! She had seen far too much to cry over being alone, people had actual reasons to cry to, to dwell on. Another sob then she smiled even though the tears wouldn’t stop. 

“I really need a drink…” 

Chapter Text

Eri wasn’t talking, Izuku’s leg was bouncing up and down as he listened to the clock tick with worry eating him up, it had been over an hour and Aizawa was still yet to show up, he wasn’t answering his phone either. He let out a frustrated sigh, he couldn’t just leave Eri here all by herself and search for the man but… dammit! 

He didn’t notice the way Eri had backed away on the couch with the sudden move when he stood up and paced around in circles, he ran his hand through his hair and decided to call Aizawa again, his phone was ringing but no answer. He wanted to throw his phone and break it to pieces. 

Izuku didn’t understand the way his urges dialed to a hundred with each passing second. It felt overwhelming and uncomfortable. Overwhelming and uncomfortable. Now that he was off the hook with Katsuki and the fighting was over, the events of the other day rushed in, taking place in his head, the clearer his mind was the more he could recall what Daisuke had done. 

Every single print, every touch, evidence or not, they were there. On his skin and inside. Clear as day. It made him shift his neck and want to vomit. Disgusting, he felt dirty. A kind of dirty he couldn’t put into words. He could feel saliva pile up in his mouth, his tongue was in my mouth, every inch, in my lips and his spit around them--

He hadn’t realised he was scratching at his forearms until his hand clamped over his mouth and he found his head buried in the toilet bowl, throwing up bile and what little he had managed to keep down in the last twenty four hours. 

His eyes were burning, he cried harder each time he gagged and gripped the bowl’s sides harder, knuckles turning white with the grip. Izuku coughed and coughed, retching there until there was nothing left and his hand landed on the knife secured in the belt around his thigh. 

Letting out a shaky breath, his gaze shifted from the knife and his wrists. Over and over again-- “I’m sorry.” He blinked, once, twice. Izuku’s attention snapped back with the voice. Eri was by the doorframe of the bathroom, shaking with glossy eyes, hand clenched over her chest, Izuku cursed at himself but the words were stuck at the back of his throat. 

Izuku couldn’t talk, not a single word. He let his body fall, allowing his knees to catch a break. His fingers met his neck in a daze. Scratching slowing while trying to get himself to just say something, anything. It was frustrating and it hurt so much. It also didn’t help when he saw the way Eri backed away. 

Looking away, he removed his hands from his neck and reached for the roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall, when he turned back around, the girl was gone. He could hear small steps rushing around but he couldn’t find the fire in him to stand up and just sat there. 

When Eri appeared again, she was holding the cat-shaped mug Aizawa adored, Izuku could see the way her hands were shaking as she stepped closer and offered him the mug, there were water drops on her shirt as well. For a brief moment, there was this warmth. 

It wasn’t bad, it didn’t hurt. 

Forcing himself to smile to thank Eri as he reached for the mug, Izuku noticed the state of his arms, his sleeves were pulled back and there were small spots from blood soaking through underneath his bandages, he immediately pulled his sleeves down and looked away before taking the water from Eri. 

“‘m sorry.” Izuku finally managed, it was barely above a whisper but it was there. There wasn’t a response, he didn’t expect one either. There was vomit on his sweater and the taste was evident on his tongue as he gulped down the little bit of water in the mug, he assumed she’d seen it on the coffee table in the livingroom.

When he was done, Eri extended her hand to take it back and he didn’t argue. “Thank you, Eri-chan..” his back was against the cold bathroom walls now, his breathing had slowed down to an acceptable pace as well. I’m okay, I gotta get it together, for her sake.

Izuku watched as Eri sat down on the tiles in front of him, he didn’t understand her. He didn’t understand the way she acted, maybe she was scared- Of course she’s scared, you idiot. You took her away from one hell to another in her eyes, stupid, stupid--

“Are you okay, ‘Zu-san?” Izuku smiled at the name, that’s probably all she remembers of my name… he nodded as he rubbed his wrists, “It’s just… Overhaul, he did that a lot when he was mad and-”

“I’m not mad, I promise. I’m just a bit worried.” He admitted, I can’t let her see my arms or talk about this, gotta change the subject. “How old are you?” He asked, forcing himself to avoid dwelling on what happened just minutes ago.

“Six, I think. I’m not sure.” 

“I’m fourteen.”

“And you’re a hero, aren’t you, Zu-san?”

A hero? Me? He could feel a frown forming, a pit in his stomach. I could never be a hero. Izuku was drowning in his own head until he faintly heard the doorbell going off. Instinctively, he pushed himself onto his feet and managed to get Eri behind him, he brought a finger to his lips as he briefly turned around to sign the girl to stay silent and quietly rushed to check it out. 

Once he found himself in front of the front door, he pulled out his new dagger and twisted it, great time to try this one out. The tip of the dagger was sharp and persistent, the body twisting, an m48 tsunami dagger, it was illegal but hey, that’s what the night market is for! 

Sticking his eye to the peeking hole, he saw Aizawa holding his torso, you can never be too careful, Izuku, gotta think of something. “You got my happy meal, ‘Zawa?” He shakily spoke, his throat still stained and pulling, “One happy meal for one problem child.” Izuku lowered the dagger and gripped the door handle, snapping the door open and searching for any other injuries on the man. 

“You okay? What happened?” Stepping aside, he allowed Aizawa to enter as he hesitantly reached for the man’s arm to support him, “They spotted me right after you guys passed the second block.” 

There was a small cut on his cheek, likely wouldn’t leave a mark; his jumpsuit was torn on his right side, its sleeves ripped on the cuffs, otherwise he seemed okay. Izuku let out a sigh of relief, but it was over when Aizawa took a better look at him. 

“Have you been crying?” Then he spotted the dagger in Izuku’s other hand, “And is that a tsunami dagger? Why do you have that?” They were by the couch now, Izuku just stayed silent as he helped him sit then remembered Eri. Without a word, he rushed to the bathroom, the girl was behind the door, hiding. 

“Eri-chan, it’s okay, he’s back.” He explained in one breath and extended his hand for her, Eri hesitated before reaching out to hold it but did so, only to find that Izuku’s hands were shaking as well. Izuku grabbed the first aid kit before stepping out of the bathroom and dragging Eri along the way.

When Eri saw Aizawa’s hands stained with blood while gripping his torso, her breath hitched, he’s hurt because of me, all I do is hurt people. She watched as Izuku pulled out some sort of bottle, struggling to twist the lid with how much his hands were trembling, it didn’t look right. 

“Izuku. Give me that,” Aizawa took it off of his hands and twisted it with his mouth, he spitted out the tiny black lid, not betting an eye on the girl as his wound throbbed. “I’m going to ask again, what happened while I wasn’t here, kid?” 

“I just… I got a bit overwhelmed, is all. Please don’t worry about me, Aizawa-san. You’re the one hurt, let me help.” He’s not telling me something, he allowed himself to look at the girl from the corner of his eye, she looks terrified but I doubt it has anything to do with the kid, he sighed as Izuku handed him a ball of cotton for the antiseptic. 

He forced himself to pull one side of his jumpsuit off as Izuku took the antiseptic from Aizawa and poured it on the cotton as he waited to inspect the wound, it looks bad, how is he so calm? “Are you sure you’re okay, Aizawa-san?” 

“The bullet just scratched, I’m fine.” 

“A bullet?!” 

Eri knew about the guns the Shie Hassaikai carried around, she’d seen them use the guns more than a few times; and despite the age of quirks, it was a known fact that some of the yakuza groups still carried arms with them, Aizawa just wasn’t expecting the eight-bullets to have them. Not after the research Izuku had provided through observation and analyses he had on them.

“Kid, I’m fine. I just need to get it cleaned up and rest, okay?” He tried to reassure Izuku then signalled him to take care of Eri but Izuku ignored it and got to work. He sat beside Aizawa and started cleaning his wound, letting out small apologies whenever the man hissed or tensed as he tried to help. 

Izuku noticed faint white bumps on Aizawa’s arm, how come I haven’t seen them before? He asked himself while doing his best not to get off track, his left hand was stained with blood, sticky and red, his stomach was barely holding and when he looked up, Eri was nowhere to be seen. 

“Where’s Eri?” Aizawa whipped his head to his side as if to confirm the boy’s words, when they were both silent, they could finally hear quiet weeps behind the couch. Izuku handed Aizawa the cotton and walked over to the source, Eri’s hands were covering her mouth as she cried. 

He knelt in front of her, not daring to make any sudden moves to startle the little girl, he just looked at Eri with sympathetic eyes, “Hey, it’s okay. He’ll be fine, you don’t have to cry, Eri-chan.” 

“It’s my fault, he’s hurt because of- of me. Overhaul was right, all I… I do is hurt people.” She stuttered between sobs while she clenched her eyes shut, pulling her knees closer to her chest, making herself as small as possible, when she looked up again, Aizawa was beside Izuku. 

“It’s… it’s not your fault, Eri. I got hurt because I- I was careless and unprepared. I’m.. fine...” He said as he clenched his teeth and felt lightheaded, Izuku must have noticed because he was panicking and had managed to slip his hand behind his back to support him as he hit the couch handle. 

“Aizawa-san? How much blood did you lose?” 

He couldn’t find the strength to answer, despite everything, the wound was pouring out blood and it was getting harder to keep his eyes open, he had taken a beating as well and it didn’t help his case. 

“Aizawa-san?! Shota--!” Aizawa’s vision blurred and black spots clouded everything else, he barely heard Izuku calling for him when he slipped out of consciousness.

_

Izuku had thought he was going insane when Aizawa had passed out, he wanted to help Eri, tell her it was fine and help Aizawa, stop the bleeding and stitch him up. He could hear the clock ticking.

All he knew was it irritating and putting him on edge even more. He didn’t remember throwing the dagger on the carpet right in the middle of it and shattering the glass, he didn’t remember how he stitched the man up and pulled him up to lay on the stained couch, he didn’t remember how he calmed Eri down and how she fell fast asleep as he was now throwing up again. 

He spit in the toilet and splashed cold water on his face next after watching the sink get stained with red, leaving behind this thick scent he despised dearly. He needed to get himself together, he needed to take care of Aizawa, he needed to- to… 

Izuku found himself in his room and searching for his cigarette pack next. One cigarette followed another as time passed, he watched the sunrise and the city crowding with cars and people pouring onto the streets to get where they needed to. As he reached for another roll, he scuffed.

“Empty, great.”

As if on cue, his phone rang with the little batter keeping it alive, I gotta charge it up, Katsuki was calling, his gaze drifted to the time before answering, seven am already? 

“Morning, Kacchan.” 

“You plan on showing up for class or have you retired from being a damn nerd?” 

“I don’t think I can make it to class today, something came up. Can I copy your notes and I need the homework as well--”

“You do know the UA mock test is this afternoon, right?”

Izuku cursed at himself once more when he pulled his phone away from his ear and noticed the date, shit. I have to take the exam! But what about Aizawa and- and Eri? Ugh! “I’ll be there, my battery is low so I gotta go, I’ll see you in class, Kacchan.”

“You better,” He heard Katsuki sigh on the other side, “You’re not hurt, right? Do I have to pour antiseptic all over you again?” He would rather not repeat that, especially not with Katsuki, “No, no. I’m fine, don’t worry,” Izuku reassured him, “Thanks, Kacchan. See you.” 

“Yeah, whatever.”

He hung up and plugged his phone to get charged, I should make them something to eat when they wake up, he walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, Izuku rolled his eyes when he was greeted by three slices of bread and two eggs. How is he still alive-- 

“Gotta restock…”  

_

“So, about this inspection--” Tsukauchi looked up from the papers with a detailed profile of both Midoriya and Aizawa, Midnight was drowning herself in coffee and had her glasses on. He noticed the lack of makeup on her face and the circles under her eyes, “Kayama-san, are you alright?” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just a little hungover, Tsukauchi-kun. Please continue.” She rubbed her temples, the alcohol was nice while it lasted, this is why I hate drinking. “I understand this is a sour subject on your end… I’m here if you need anyone to talk to.” The detective offered, receiving a simple nod in return as Kayama let her forehead hit the table. 

“Thanks. But go on, we gotta get this over with before the coffee wears off.” 

“Right… So, from what my team has been able to gather, Aizawa Shota has been spotted just over a few times in the last decade; he got arrested for transpassing once a couple of years ago, no bank accounts under his name, he seems to have lived off of cash mostly. Found a witness report with a description matching his and then there was the incident in the warehouse cage fights but that’s about it.” 

“So he’s been living as a ghost, picking fights and working part-time on the sidelines to survive? Sounds about right,” Kayama looked over the reports, the detective slid them over for her, for a better view, “What about the Midoriya kid?”

“He’s a completely different story,” He sighed before following through, “The serial arsons that have been taking place hit his apartment over a month ago. Lost both parents in the fire and was sent to an orphanage. Great kid, smart, but we’ve found evidence of abuse and he’s apparently dealing with a lot of discrimination for being quirkless.”

Tsukauchi recalled the time he had shown Midoriya the reports and the evidence file back when he had gone to see him in the orphanage, he definitely wasn’t guessing anything. He knew the stuff, and clearly had done his homework. “He showed up last night, with Aizawa, he was a mess. We did a physical examination, his roommate assaulted him and he came to report it. And you know what happened next.” 

“Are we sure it was them who wiped out everything? A quirkless boy wouldn’t just make up a story like that, and Aizawa wouldn’t agree on it.”

“The story wasn’t made up, I can assure you. But when I was in the interrogation room with Midoriya, Aizawa disappeared and we couldn’t spot him in any of the security footage. My guess is it was an inside job.” Midnight nodded as she listened and took in all the information. 

“So, we’ve got a mole in the precinct. Just what we needed.” 

Just what have you been up to, Shota? Midnight had heard enough, she pushed back her chair as she stood up pulled out her mask, “We should head to the address now, I don't like where this is going.” 

“We need a warrant first, it won't be before noon until the judge signs off on it. It's not like they're going anywhere, right? The kid must be in school right now and according to this, Aizawa is working. We have to wait.” 

Kayama sighed, another long day, great. 

_

When Aizawa came to, the sun was out and bright, irritating his eyes through the thin curtains and he saw Eri sitting by the kitchen table nibbling on an apple slice. 

He noticed the shattered clock on the wall next before forcing himself to sit up with a groan, when he looked at his torso, he saw fresh bandages wrapped tightly and the medical kit out in the open on the coffee table. Then there was a note; 

I'm at school, be back around five p.m. there's food in the fridge and take these please! 

There was a shaky arrow line under Izuku’s handwriting, leading down in on the paper and pointing at two pills, likely pain killers. He smiled at how childish it all seemed. 

“You doin’ okay, kiddo?” He directed his attention to Eri, who looked at him with wide eyes, next thing he knew, small steps echoed in the room and the girl was standing beside him with a tiny bowl, half filled with apple slices. 

“Do you want to share my apple, Zu-san cut them up for me before he went to school.” 

Aizawa shook his head even though his heart warmed up at the kind gesture coming from the little girl he rescued merely a few hours ago, “Thanks, kiddo. But I'm going to need more than that if I want to follow Zu-san’s orders.” He chuckled at the name, he won't hear the end of it from me.

“Oh, okay…”

“Was Zu-san okay? Did he say anything else before he left?”

“He said that I needed to be a big girl and tell you to stay home and sleep,” Eri explained, some of her words were slipping, Aizawa doubted they had taught her ‘big words’ much less given her a proper education, “And he said I could have all the apples to myself.” 

“Typical--”

“Can you sleep again? I want the apples!” 

“Sure, kiddo.” 

Chapter Text

Izuku wasn’t sure.

Izuku wasn’t sure just how much rage had been piled up until now but as he landed one punch after the other, not stopping until a pair of arms swang under his and pulled him away from the other kid. 

Izuku wasn’t sure when he had stopped pulling his punches, it got him thinking about why he was holding back in the first place. His breathing was ragged, there was blood dripping from his nose and eyebrow as well as his knuckles. His gaze shifted between the torn skin over his knuckles and the kid clenching his stomach cornered by the wall. He panted and tried to shake the person holding him off. 

He felt sick, he was both nauseous and dizzy as the rush started to fade off, he could feel his chest throbbing but he couldn’t hear anything with how his ears rang as if they were trying to make him go deaf. 

The person was facing him now, shaking his shoulders with their tight grip over them, “Nerd, calm down! Breathe!” It was Katsuki, it was always Kacchan. Right there, not letting go. Izuku could feel tears bricking up in his eyes, trying to just breathe.

Izuku looked back at the group of bullies all bruised and bleeding on the ground, the same kids who messed him up before it just clicked and Izuku couldn’t help the way he fought back like there was no tomorrow, it was a mistake, he hadn’t meant to get carried away, not like this--

It would be over for him when a teacher showed up eventually, this incident would go in his permanent record, for sure. “Deku, what happened?” Katsuki asked again, worried, Izuku’s entire body was shaking like a leaf in the wind, “I- I didn’t mean to-- to… they just started tailing me then-- then they pushed me to the wall, I don’t know what came over me! Oh god, what am I gonna do?!” 

As if on cue, their homeroom teacher spotted them on the other side of the hallway. The man rushed over to see the two then saw the other kids on the ground, his first thought was Bakugou going berserk again but there wasn’t a scratch on the blond and Midoriya’s knuckles were torn. 

“I’ve been looking for you boys all over the school! Someone explain what happened here before you go to the principal’s office!” He looked at Izuku, stepping closer and startling his student, “Midoriya. What happened?” 

“These idiots were the ones who blew the first punch, he was only defending himself!” Katsuki almost shielded Izuku behind him, Izuku on the other hand felt himself slipping, he was overwhelmed. With everything that had been going, it wasn’t a surprise, he was bound to break, eventually. But he hadn’t imagined it would happen like this. 

He let out a shaky breath and bowed to his teacher, “I- I’m sorry Sensei. I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit.” Katsuki was pissed, why does he have to apologise when he was the one who got messed with?! “Hold on a minute, Midoriya. We can’t just ignore all this, I wanna hear what happened, from you, then you may go to the principal’s office.” 

“With all due respect, Sensei, I would rather not.” He straightened his back, eyes glued to his shoes, agitated and ashamed at the same time as he heard the man sigh, “Alright, we’ll talk later, go to the principal’s office. I’ll meet you there.” He eyed the beat-up students on the floor then looked at Katsuki, “Go with him.” 

“Izuku.” When Izuku looked up, he was standing in front of the principal’s office with Katsuki beside him. “The hell is going on? Just fucking spit it out.”

He was in a daze, his pupils were wide and uncaring as he stared into nothingness until his vision blurred, “He got shot.” was all he managed to say in one shaky whisper. 

Katsuki looked at him, stunned and unable to speak, processing what he just heard. First, the sketchy phone call this morning then showing up to school for UA’s mock test pale as snow; as if those weren’t enough to raise suspicion, he beats those morons halfway to death… His mouth was agape, a lump stuck at the back of his throat. 

“He almost died… I patched him up and left and I--” Izuku gulped, eyes watering, “I just ruin everything I touch… Why is that?” Katsuki could hear the desperate need to have his question answered; even though he was about to cry, Izuku’s voice remained monotone, face not inching away from his eyes half-lidded and lips in a tight line. 

“He’s okay, right?” 

A silent nod was all he received in return, before he had a chance to say something else, anything else, Izuku was called into the office. Katsuki had to wait outside, he ran his hand through his hair, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently, worried. 

The first thing the principal said was enough to set Izuku off the bat.

“How many times has it been now, Midoriya?”

Izuku was silent, he didn’t have the energy to put up with the principal, not anymore. Not with everything that had been going on. He just couldn’t. His leg bounced up and down. He could feel the blood clotting on his busted lip, he had this urge to bite down on it hard, just feel the blood rolling on his tongue, the sting from his teeth sunken inside his wounded flesh. He wanted pain, pain. 

“We have been trying to keep your record clean despite all these childish fights--”

“Fights? Sensei, with all due respect, I have never picked a fight with anybody in this school since the day I was enrolled!” calm down, what are you doing?! Keep your shit together, Izuku-- “All these years, I have never even said a word about it! But I just can’t take it anymore!” 

He hadn’t realised he was back on his feet as he yelled at the man until he heard the principal’s chair’s wheels screeching back on the floor, “This is bullshit! The one time I actually try and fight back against those assholes, I get threatened with the record card!” 

Izuku slapped his busted hands on the wooden desk, shaking the mug of coffee on the edge and shattering it to pieces, “I- I get that you have been going through a rough time with your parents’ death--”

“They were murdered. And this has got nothing to do with why I’m here. Your goddamn school is filled with quirkist pieces of shit who think they will get anywhere in life and get away with everything thanks to you and the rest of the staff in this school. You wanna write me up?! Fine!”

Great going, you idiot. Just like you ruin everything, you just wiped out any chance at getting into UA! Good job! Izuku didn’t wait for a response and just walked out of the room, slapping the door behind him and walking past Katsuki who shot up as soon as he saw Izuku. 

I need to get away, from everything. 

“--ku, Izuku! What the hell happened? Where are you going? Oi!” He started walking faster when his ears finally decided to acknowledge Katsuki, don’t talk, don’t get him involved, don’t get attached. Just keep going, leave, he couldn’t stop his thoughts, the voices, it was starting to hurt. 

His mind was too occupied, with no more space left to think about anything else except degrading thoughts and false affirmations, they were loud and consistent, one word after the other, each flaw in his logic and actions spit back at his face with a stupid and unbearable comment---

“Fuck! Will you just stop?!” Katsuki had finally caught up to him and slapped him against the wall, Izuku thought it was the right time to take his shot with his busted lip, it’s driving me insane, I need it, he sunk his dull fang over the cut and pressed down as hard as he could.

“What was all the fucking yelling about back there?” Izuku just closed his eyes and let the blood seep through his teeth to his mouth, it hurt just the right amount. Letting out a breath, he sighed and looked Katsuki in the eyes before talking, “He said some shit about the fight going in my record and I lost it… Y’know, just having a bad day, is all.”

“This isn’t just a ‘bad day’, nerd. You ain’t tellin’ me something. Just fucking spit it out already--”

“It doesn’t matter,” his tongue licked over the blood, metallic, it was calming. The thought of bleeding, making myself bleed, suffer… It made sense to be in pain and suffer for his mistakes, it was the only way he ever knew how to live with himself, and then-- There’s something I have to do and it’s the perfect time for it.

“I’m sorry, can we just-- can we talk later? I’m really worried about Aizawa and we had the exam, I barely slept last night, and I’m exhausted, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki was unsure and worried, doesn’t sound very convincing but… But he couldn’t force Izuku to talk, he knew that by now, I don’t want him to block me out, not when I’ve managed to get him to open up, he told himself and nodded.

“Okay.” He breathed out and put his hands down in defeat, “Call me or text when you can so I know you’re alive, ‘kay, dipshit?” he could’ve sworn he saw Izuku crack up a weak smile, “You have my word, Kacchan.”

_

Izuku ran. Running was good, it made sense but at the same time, it didn’t have to. Maybe it was because that's all he did his entire life. He was always running from something, but that's all he knew about life, running. 

His feet pounded on the pavement through the crowd, it wasn’t really his intention to do this, not today. He knew he needed it, he had to. To keep his sanity. With his mind on high alert and body numb, he had to.

Glancing over to his phone briefly, he checked the shift exchange schedule he had managed to put together and took a turn to the police station. I need to get everything I can on the Shei Hassakai, I can't make a move into oblivion. 

It was essential; trigger, the quirk numbing pills, the trail of blood Overhaul left behind and-- and Eri. I have to figure out who she is and why she's so important to them. His thoughts found their way to what he'd heard Overhaul say, what did he mean by 'you need to be cured’? Nothing added up. I'm missing something here. 

The precinct was at close range, he could see the window that would let him inside and to the basement until he spotted Midnight and Detective Tsukauchi. He couldn’t help but listen to their conversations as he hid behind one of the police cars. 

“Are you sure about this, Kayama-san? You don’t have to come with.”

“We have been over this, Tsukauchi. If there’s anyone who can see through Shota, it’s me. I have to do this, whether I like it or not I--”

Izuku clenched his fist, are they heading to Aizawa’s place? But why? We covered up everything, if they wanted him or me in for questioning they’d give us a call… If this is about Dai-- Shit, no. That’s not it, otherwise, Midnight wouldn’t tag along, I have to get back fast, he dug out his phone and dialed Aizawa as he snuck behind the police cars and started running. 

When the realization hit, it hit hard, “C’mon, c’mon! Pick up the phone, ‘Zawa.” he mumbled with the phone stuck to his ear like glue as he raced against time, another ring then-

“Kid, where the hell are you? School closed up three hours ago and-”

“Tsukauchi and Midnight. They’re on their way to the house, I overheard them talking, you have to hide Eri, now.” He let out in one breath as he pushed himself harder to pick up his pace, he was exhausted but this was more important, if they realized Aizawa-san is shot, see my face all busted up and a toddler, all at the same time, we’re screwed.

“Slow down,” he heard Aizawa sigh as he ignored the traffic lights and threw himself onto the open road, cars were honking, and the man could hear the people in the background yelling at Izuku, “How did you even hear them? And what do you mean Midnight?! Shit-- give me a second Eri, I’ll be right over!”

Passing by the cars and across the street, Izuku decided it would be faster to go over the rooftops instead, and I’m in my school uniform as well, I have to get home and change before they can ring the doorbell or bust open the door--

“I promise to explain it later, Aizawa-san. But you have to hide Eri and-- fuck. I’m sorry about the clock, did you get a chance to-”

“Don’t worry about it. We have bigger issues right now. How far away are you?”

“Just a few blocks, they were still talking in the parking lot when I started to head back, I’m positive I’ll make it before them.”

“Good, are you in your uniform or your suit?”

“Suit, could you take out a hoodie or something for me?”

“Yeah yeah, you just worry about getting here while I take care of Eri, got it?”

_

When Izuku stumbled inside Aizawa’s, now his, bedroom through the rusty fire escape, he heard the doorbell ring, just on time. Good thing he hadn’t taken his chances with the front door. Roughly pulling his mask off of his face and changing in under a minute, he glimpsed over to the mirror to ruffle up his hair. He did look exhausted, might as well say I was taking a nap to avoid any questions. 

His attention turned back to his suit on the floor, what if they go through the rooms? I can’t leave this around-- shit I can hear them talking. Balling his suit, he opened the wardrobe only to see Eri hiding with Aizawa’s phone. 

“Oh, you’re here.” He whispered, it was like he was trying to confirm she was really there, a great hiding spot, Aizawa-san, kudos. He rolled his eyes at the thought, “I have to go, you be quiet, ‘kay, Eri-chan?” Smiling at her, he closed the wardrobe and left the room. 

He could see Aizawa and Midnight sitting face to face, when the man looked at him, Tsukauchi turned around to see Izuku. “Midoriya.”

“Detective, good to see you again,” It was Midnight’s turn to take a good look at the boy Tsukauchi couldn’t stop talking about. Izuku sucked in a breath when he made eye contact with the hero, “Why don’t you sit down, Izuku.” Aizawa said, patting the spot beside him. Izuku walked over nervously and settled down.

“After school nap?” The detective began, Izuku nodded in response, perfect. “Tsukauchi here tells me you’ve got the smarts, hope you’re being a good boy. Unlike a certain someone.” Midnight crossed her legs and brought her hand under her chin as she glared daggers at Aizawa, the man locked his arms in response and sighed.

“Real mature, Miss Midnight.” 

“Yeah? You’re one to talk, Shota. I mean-- ugh! What the hell were you thinking?!” Midnight had gotten used to concealing her emotions, she really had, even Izuku had seen her do it first hand but now, he could see tears pooling up in her eyes despite the gap between them. 

“I’m not going to explain myself to you, Kayama. I did what I did, it’s done. There’s no point in dwelling on the past and I do believe this is a private conversation so just get to the point.” He was putting up a front and Izuku was reading the room like an open book. Nothing about this particular interaction made sense no matter how he looked at it and it was unpredictable. Izuku didn’t like unpredictable. It was out of his control, it put him on edge. 

While Izuku thought he was onto everyone, Tsukauchi could follow his body language. Second by second, he was getting more uncomfortable and the detective didn’t want to get caught up between old friends either--

“I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about but as Aizawa-san said; we came here for a reason and I don’t want to intrude anymore then we already are so,” pulling out a file, he rattled through the documents and eventually drew one out, “Midoriya-kun, I need you to be completely honest with me,” he looked at Izuku, who snapped out of his daze at the mention of his name, once he looked up, everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“Have you been, in any way, looking into your parents’s murder without anyone knowing?” Izuku gulped, I can’t twist my answer, not this time. He must have noticed when he interviewed me, dammit! “I…” The words were stuck in the back of his throat for the second time today, he didn’t like to be cornered, Aizawa-san knows, Giran knows, who else? How am I supposed to get out of this one?

Seeing the boy’s hesitation, Tsukauchi spoke up again, “You won’t be in any trouble, okay? I would understand if you did but any vital information you managed to pick up would be of great help--” That’s it, he asked a different question! “Yeah, I- I understand, Detective,” 

Izuku sighed before continuing, “I did dig around, I know you’re gonna lecture me on how dangerous it is for me but… But I just couldn’t help it, I’m sorry.” Wait, it was as if a light bulb lid when it dunked into his head, Aizawa must have noticed because his brows had furred, “Well? What did you find?”

“According to my research, I realised the arsons happened all in different parts of the city but you already knew that. What I couldn’t look into was the residents. What if they are connected via the people living in the buildings?”

“We did look into it but nothing came up through the investigation. Their incomes indicated no significant value, most it went up to was middle class, social statue wise--”

Izuku cut off the man impatiently, “Yeah but what about their ages? Quirks?” he could see both the hero’s and the detective’s eyes widen, while the two were shaken with the new information, Aizawa kicked his leg, making Izuku realise how honest he was with them, it also led him to the question; why are they here in the first place?

“How did we miss that?” Midnight asked, rubbing her eyes as Tsukauchi leaned back, “Anything else, kid?” He asked, hoping for any bit of information, Izuku shook his head. Meanwhile, Aizawa was getting impatient, the police are onto us, just what we needed, fuck.

“What’s your little visit really about, Detective?” His tone was harsher than intended, the throbbing was right there again over his wound and it made him irritated, cutting his already torn patience in half, “Right, right,”

“Files have been wiped out the same time as you and Midoriya-kun’s visit to the police station, we need to tie up loose ends so do care to enlighten us.” Aizawa sighed as he kept up his cold gaze; no mimics evident and his body relaxed, I can’t slip up, not when we’re already in deep shit. 

“And why is that our concern?” Izuku had to jump up at the opportunity, if he played the scared kid and backed up Aizawa’s words, this could go away but he needed to be careful. “Yeah, I mean I was with Tsukaushi-san the whole time and Aizawa-san was likely outside. The waiting room is kinda gloomy…” He made sure to look at Midnight when he spoke, “Exactly.” 

“I understand but we need an alibi, as a former heroics student you should know that.” Aizawa didn’t miss the intention behind the detective’s words, the glare he got from his former friend didn’t help his case, “Look at your damn cameras then, this is outrageous. Instead of looking into the criminals who easily could have gotten inside, you’re here wasting time on us,”

“Oh really?” Midnight pushed, more like pushing her fucking luck! Aizawa knew better, he really really did. He knew Kayama’s ways, her interrogation tactics, she hasn’t changed much, has she? “Yes, really, Kayama-san.” he snapped back while Izuku fiddled with his hands, urging himself to step in, somehow interfere. He stood up with a split-second decision.

“Tsukauchi-san, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to share what I’ve been able to gather on your arson investigation down at the station,” he brought his hand behind him and made sure Aizawa saw what he said through sign language, praying he would know enough to understand him. 

The detective seemed to have been taken off guard, it did do the trick at settling down Midnight and Aizawa though, he then turned around and looked at Aizawa, “Is that okay, Aizawa-san? Can I go with them?” I have to play the part, show them that both Aizawa is in control and is taking responsibility for me while assuring that I’m free to make decisions under his watch, should be able to fool them.

“It’s late and you have school tomorrow. If the detective drops you back here then you may go.” The man sighed as he looked over to Midnight again, “But I don’t want Midnight around my kid, do I make myself clear?” Oh, come on, Aizawa-san!

“What’s that supposed to mean?! I should take you in just for conspiracy--”

“You have my word, Aizawa-san.” Tsukauchi cut her off with a firm look, and Midnight rolled her eyes in return as she stood up with a grunt and headed for the door, “Fuck you, Shota.”

“Love you too, Kayama-Senpai.”

Chapter Text

It was past ten pm when things had gotten heated in the bar, Yamada didn’t even know how he ended up in a secure jail cell with quirk-canceling handcuffs and a black eye.

Having just woken up, he groaned at the still unconscious jailers and started pacing around in the cell, no guards, no heroes, he doubted they had ID’ed him otherwise he would be sent to Tartarus, maybe they just don’t know I’m Siren. 

This was such a shit show, I mean honestly! His head was throbbing and the black eye he had was swollen, I need to get the hell out of here… Gripping the bars, he ensured the metal hitting one another echoed, I can’t get out myself, if they don’t know I’m a villain then I can’t risk it. 

“Yo! Guard!” Was he just too far away or had they left him to rot? His watch was missing, and so were his glasses; they were likely broken considering the small stinging cuts on his cheek, Yamada sighed. 

Sitting back down, he let his body fall on the wooden bench in the lonely corner and just lay there, a few minutes of some shut-eye won’t hurt. 

Suddenly, he could hear arguing behind the door connecting them to the main hallway, so much for that, standing up Yamada took his place back by the bars and stared at the door, then it opened revealing-- 

His body was on autopilot for a split second, feet moving back and away from view, he ran his hand through his hair, of all people… it had to be her, dammit! What do I do? Do I get out? But I can’t risk being on the run from the cops or the heroes, still… I don’t- I can’t talk to her-!

“Alright you lazy fucks, get up! We got incoming so you’ll be processed now,” Heels pounding on the ground, her voice getting closer, louder than before; while Yamada’s hands shook and mind raced, just as he was about to come up with a plan, the heels hushed and it was his heart pounding this time. 

He couldn’t look up, couldn’t talk, couldn’t move. Her figure cast a shadow on the ground, he could hear papers ruffling then a sharp inhale. She knows, fuck, fuck! 

“Hizashi?” 

_

“Are you certain this is all?” Tsukauchi was impressed, to tell the truth. A fourteen-year-old boy had managed to gather more information on a four-month-old case on his own in less than a month, at least to his knowledge. He couldn’t help but glance at the boy’s bruised face and exhausted eyes, Kurai hasn’t been seen by any heroes or gotten caught on any surveillance footage since Midnight’s encounter and we haven’t gotten any reports on him either from witnesses either in two weeks. Midoriya can’t be Kurai, at least the evidence and the alibies support the case. 

“Yes, I wish I could be more of help, Tsukaichi-san.” Izuku was on edge, he had been since they showed up at his house, he knew they were onto him and Aizawa but he couldn’t deny the invitation to the precinct, he wasn’t getting anywhere on his own. 

“Although, you haven’t told me if you got a match in your system with the dogtags, have you not been able to?” I’m asking too many questions despite admitting I’ve been working on the case on my own, I know it will raise suspicion but.. “Oh, right. Regarding the tags, it seems to be a few decades old. As you suggested, it’s from the pre-quirk era. It’s likely been passed down or perhaps a trophy,”

Izuku didn’t like the way Tsukauchi just kept looking at his face with- pity, if you have something you wanna say then say it! Is what he thought and wished to say but it was risky, he already had too much to deal with; he was worried about Aizawa, wondered how Eri was doing, the shit he pulled with the principal and the guys he beat to a pump at school… he looked down at his hands, distracted.

The detective sighed as he put down his pen, “Midoriya-kun, I know it could be a sour subject for you but I just can’t help it. What happened to your face? Was it the kids at your school again?” Now that he looked closer and more carefully, Tsukauchi could see Izuku’s knuckles were torn and bruised. He wished it was what he thought despite everything, Midoriya was a good kid, he can’t be Kurai. 

When Izuku noticed, he pulled his hand under the table to hide them and looked away in shame, he was just so tired. Sleep deprived, bruised and starving, how long has it been now, thirty-six hours since I last slept? Fuck. 

“Can we just get back to this--”

“Did you fight back?” 

He didn’t like being cut off, especially while he was trying to avoid a certain subject, some things were better left not spoken, he regretted a lot of things but for some reason, he had no remorse for likely putting three kids in a hospital all bloodied. Now that he was away from the scene, he could recall the crack that came from one of their ribs, I’m so screwed. 

“Yeah, I did but they… They jumped at me, okay? And I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never actually fought back before but I- I just hit back after the first punch.” Admitting it out loud made it all the more real and it was somehow rewarding. 

“Hope you’re not in too much trouble, kid.” Tsukauchi decided not to push it any more, Izuku was telling the truth and it was self-defense, he probably doesn’t have much to worry about, “Tell you what, if they decide to press charges or anything, give me a call. I’ll see what I can do. Now,” 

He shut the file down and looked at the screen this time, “You have been of great help but this stuff is far too dangerous for a kid, you can’t keep investigating--” Izuku was getting ready to protest, the detective noticed, “Let me finish.” 

“I can register you as a C.I. and keep you updated even though it’s not legal to disclose information and you are technically next of kin on the case not to mention you are a minor but as long as we keep it between us, I can do that. I need your word on this, Midoriya-kun.” 

Izuku took a second to think, and debated his options and the consequences they would bring along, he wants me at close range so he can keep an eye on me which would limit my time as Kurai and if I get injured on patrol, he will see it first hand then again, with his and the enforcements’ help, the case would move faster. I will just need to be more careful, a hand on this case would give me more time on the stuff going on with Overhaul. 

“You have my word, Tsukauchi-san-”

Both their attention was thrown to the briefing room door when it snapped open and revealed Midnight with-- Izuku’s eyes widened at the sight, Siren? What the hell is he doing here?! He gulped, forcing himself to remain still and unbothered while trying to reassure himself that Yamada had no way of recognising him like this.

That pitiful reassuring was washed down the sink when he noticed the villain’s eyes widen and shoulders stiffen behind the underground hero, Izuku prayed to whoever could be up there that he didn’t say anything.

When Tsukauchi walked over to Midnight and they were both distracted, Izuku slightly tilted his head side to side as his eyes remained locked with the blond, he must have understood because Yamada gave him a wink then the yelling started.

“-nd why wasn’t I informed about this? He is a suspect and we were just talking--!”

Not once since they’d met had Tsukauchi seen Midnight so off balance and emotional, she’d always looked at things from the rational side; no place for mistakes, no tolerance for sentiment. It made him uneasy, it wasn’t right. But he also knew better than to call her out on it, his best course of action was to keep her from getting into trouble with the force.

“Midnight, calm down. You are getting too involved in the case, if the rest of the people here caught on you’d be pulled off the case. I’ll handle it,” When Tsukauchi looked back at the boy, don’t do it, don’t say my name oh fuck-- “Take Yamada to the interrogation room next door, we can’t talk about this with Midoriya here.” Dammit detective! 

A twisted smile plastered on Siren’s face as Midnight grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside, Izuku had to hear them. He knew that the police hadn’t tied him to any attacks and robberies as Siren but if he knew anything, Yamada would spill everything not to get caught, he prayed the man would use it as leverage instead. 

“Sorry about that, kid.” Izuku shook his head with an innocent smile, “It’s alright, Detective. But do you mind if I ask what that was about?” 

“It’s best if you stay out of it, for your sake. I’m sure you will learn about it once the right time comes.” 

“Right…”

_

Aizawa watched Eri sleep on the couch with a quiet snore as she leaned on him, while a cat cartoon played on TV. He couldn’t doze off without seeing Izuku and making sure he was alright. Not to mention Nemuri’s outburst just a few hours ago, one of the two people he had hoped he would never see again after running away. 

The wiped-’clean’ new page of his life had started to stain and now it was falling apart, the changes scared him. He had been all alone for years to come, and just as he had finally accepted it… he had seen one of the ghosts from his past, had a kid living in the same house as him and now there was a little girl who had been locked away and likely been tortured all her life in his livingroom. 

When there was a knock on the door, he carefully lifted Eri’s head and placed a pillow under it before standing up, he groaned in pain as he did so and his knee locked from the lack of movement. Aizawa cursed silently as he walked to the door and saw Izuku taking his shoes off, thankfully, the noisy detective wasn’t there. 

“Well?” He asked, raising a brow at how quiet Izuku was as he walked past him and went inside. “Something happened again, didn’t it?” He followed the boy inside and ended up leaning on the kitchen counter as Izuku chugged on a water bottle before talking.

“Siren-- Yamada-san was at the station and he knows I’m Kurai.” 

“What.” Aizawa stood straight, alert. Izuku sucked in a breath, right when he thought things were good too, fuck. “From what I understood, he wasn’t arrested for being a villain. I heard Kayama-san say he was a suspect, which led me to believe they were talking about the data-wipe. They were investigating us and you’re associated with Yamada-san from your past, Tsukauchi-san also said Midnight was too involved to be working the case--”

“This is bad, we can’t let Yamada stay there any longer than he has. That son of a bitch is gonna give up information on us as a jail-free card.”

“Are you suggesting that we break him out? Aizawa-san, it’s way too risky, not to mention, you’re in no shape to be even stranding and I can’t go back to the station either as myself or Kurai. I can’t take that chance, they’re already onto us.” 

The kid is right, yet again. I’m too emotional to make a rational decision and but “It doesn’t have to be us who gets Hizashi out of the precinct.” Izuku looked confused for once, “I- I don’t follow.” he admitted.

“Dabi. He can do it for us, at least I’m hoping. Like you said, I’m out of commission, we have a little girl at home and it’s not rational to send you in. Offer him something, you also have informants, which you failed to mention but I wasn’t born yesterday. We need to get him out and it has to be through you without anyone knowing. Can you pull it off?” 

Aizawa really wasn’t thinking rationally, he was relying on Izuku too much without realising it. Putting too much pressure on him and risking his well-being and he had no idea. Izuku on the other… he didn’t see anything wrong with the plan, he didn’t see the stress that was coming his way, and didn’t include how utterly tired he was in the equation Aizawa came up with as he nodded. 

“Alright, I’ll head over to my hideout, see if I can get a word on Giran then convince Dabi to take the job. It should be done by the morning if everything goes smoothly,” Izuku started to walk into the other room, and Aizawa followed behind with heavy steps. 

The man sighed when Izuku leaned on the doorframe for support for a second and hooked his arm under his shoulder, what he didn’t expect was the way Izuku flinched and pushed him off almost immediately. 

 “You okay?” It made Aizawa realize how messed up Izuku was at that moment, in every way possible. He finally saw his knuckles and how deep the cut on the boy’s lip was, “Yeah- Sorry, I just-- never mind, I’m okay. I was just caught off guard is all. I didn’t mean to push you, sorry, again.” 

Izuku didn’t look at the man as he spoke, he opened the wardrobe and snatched his gear, he was shaking, he needed to eat, and he could barely keep his eyes open. The only thing keeping him awake was the pain all over his body from exhaustion. 

Aizawa sat on the bed slowly, and watched as Izuku put his mask and goggles on, “Eri mentioned you were sick, you sure you can--”

“I’m fine, Aizawa-san. I’ve gone out in worse conditions, I’m just tired and-- shit,” he whispered the last part, “You might get a call from the school, I don’t want you to hear it from them so, I got into a fight today and…” he chuckled behind the mask, “Shoulda seen the other guys.” 

“Figured as much, bullies?”

“Bullies. The UA mock exam was today. By the way, how is your injury, did you take the pills I left out for you?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, problem child. You worry about yourself, I’ve got it covered,” Aizawa gave him a reassuring look, “How did the exam go?” probably nailed it, “It was okay though I doubt it’ll turn out to be good, it always turns to be shit when I say it was okay.” 

Izuku opened the window, not having the energy to explain anymore, he’d rather not remember anything else from today, “I’m off, let me know if anything comes up.” 

“Yeah, be careful. Keep me updated.” he’s such a dad, Izuku smiled and wanted to laugh at the thought then his mind reminded him of his own father, not now. I need to be focused, I have shit to do. 

“Got it.”

With that, Izuku was swinging down the fire escape, forcing his head to think straight and stay on the task at hand that was until he fell inside a black warp and passed out on impact.  

_

“What is this, a staring contest?” Yamada leaned back, hands still cuffed as Midnight just sat right in front of him in complete silence with her arms crossed and eyes digging into his soul while Tsukauchi watched from the two-way mirror to his left, at least he assumed the detective was there from the way Midnight occasionally shifted her gaze to her right. 

“I don’t even know where to start with you, after the visit I had with Shota.”

“Wait, Shota?” Hizashi sat up, confused and wondering why this was a chain reaction; first Kurai was with Tsukauchi in civilian clothes, then there was his encounter with Shota a few weeks back, and now Nemuri was questioning him. 

Kurai-- Midoriya made it clear he didn’t spill about me and that they don’t know he’s Kurai, if they knew Shota was a ‘vigilante’ as well, he would be in custody and Kurai wouldn’t be walking around free. I can’t let anything slip by on my end, not when everything is in my favor, at least for now. 

“I don’t hear from either of you for over a damn decade and now I see both of you on the same day, poetic if you ask me, ‘Zashi.” He didn’t miss the sorrow hiding behind the anger in her words, “What do you want me to say, Nemuri? You weren’t there to see the worst of it, you didn’t see the shit load of sentimental bullshit all over the school-”

“You could’ve said something!” 

“Yeah?! What was I supposed to say, ‘Oh Kayama-senpai I’m going to jump off the roof could you drop by to watch it’?” Hizashi, like Shota, had turned a new page, he was done with his past. Done with dwelling on Oboro’s death and Shota, he was done with trying to be a hero- heck he was a villain now. He had been off the grid as Yamada Hizashi for a long long time.

“Or would you prefer ‘Shota is a mess and got kicked out of the hero course since he’s too emo?’” He mocked and rolled his eyes, not caring about the shift in Kayama’s eyes and her posture stiffening, “Guess what, life is a bitch and I dealt with it in any way I could. I just couldn’t live like that after Shota left me all by myself, I don’t owe you or anyone any explanation either.” 

“You didn’t have to deal with it on your own, Hizashi!”

“Yeah? And you did?!” Yamada hit his palm against the metal table, pushing his chair and making it bounce on the ground but Kayama didn’t even so much as flinch, just sat there, staring daggers into nothing, not saying a word. 

“I only did what was expected of me.” 

“Sorry we’re all too weak and pathetic compared to you, Midnight--”

“Midnight, let's take five.” It was Tsukauchi's voice through the speakers that overpowered Yamada’s voice, he watched as Kayama slowly stood up and ran her ID on the door.

“We’re done here, Yamada.”

Once he heard the metal door shut, Yamada let his knees give in at last and fell on the ground, his head tucked between his legs and hands gripping his hair, “Fuck…” He breathed out, right when everything was going so well, great.

Chapter Text

The first thing Izuku felt once his eyes opened was the sting from the ropes biting his skin through his clothes. On instinct, he found himself struggling to be set free, he had no time to adjust to his surroundings; he should’ve. That’s what he always did in a new environment but he couldn’t think straight. 

A harsh slap of glass on wood then followed the scent of the smoke, Izuku whipped his head around, finally noticing his mistake but that’s when he realized the green filter of his goggles was replaced with pure reality. 

“Finally, I was starting to get bored.” 

Izuku narrowed his eyes at the figure sitting on a bar stool, trying to fight the fog in his head. At some point, he thought he was seeing things, hands roamed the guy’s body, it was odd, can’t say I’ve seen a worse fetish but who am I to judge? He wanted to laugh at the thought and then at how miserable he was. 

Another person? Izuku assumed he was a man, then the puzzle pieces started to come together with the dark mist surrounding the man. A warp gate then, fantastic. 

“Cut the kid some slag, Shigaraki-san. He hit his head pretty hard.” Izuku turned to come eye to eye with Giran himself, smoking as usual with a cocky smile on his face, I should’ve slit his throat-- wait what? What am I even thinking..? He shook his head, I’m just tired, I need to focus. He said Shigaraki, right? Never heard of that name before. 

“And who’s idea was that?” Shigaraki snapped back, finally turning around to face the boy, “Hey, don’t look at me. I woulda offered him a meeting but you insisted--” Giran began but he was cut off by the- he’s such a man-child, Izuku rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, don’t wanna hear it.”

“Do play nice, Shigaraki Tomura.” 

So he’s an idiot, he rolled his eyes again, stuck between the two, in crossfires of the stupidest conversation he’d seen all day, one long fucking day, I just wanna get some rest. “What do you want with me?” Izuku spat out, calm but on the point. 

“Look who decided to join us, see, I told you to give him some time.” A low chuckle then Giran blew out smoke Izuku’s way, I’d kill for a cigarette right now. There was this weight pressing down on his chest as seconds passed and it just kept getting worse. The anxiety, the responsibility of the importance of his mission… He just wanted to let go, of everything. 

Izuku bit the inside of his cheek, eyes shut. His mind was on a rampage, it was getting harder and harder to keep his thoughts in check, he subconsciously curled his fingers into a fist. Now there was the burning sensation from his torn knuckles, he let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding with his recently acknowledged pain. 

“How’d you manage to ditch the cops?” He asked, turning his attention to the smoking man. “They had nothing solid to tie back to me but that’s not why we’re here today, Midoriya-kun,” Izuku’s pupils shrank, they actually knew who he was, Giran must’ve noticed because he was grinning, “Nothin’ personal, kid.”

“Cut to the chase, what the hell do you want with me?” Izuku insisted, he needed to get out of here. Every second that was wasted meant a longer sentence in prison, not just for him but for Aizawa as well. 

“Giran wouldn’t shut up about your nerdy notes so I took a look,” he turned to face Shigaraki this time, watching the guy as he took a sip from his drink as he paused, “I hate side-quests and other players are starting to bother me as well so,”

“You will work for Tomura as the League of Villains’ analyst, Midoriya Izuku.” he was taken off guard when a deep and sinister voice beamed through the flat screen right beside him, keep it together, Izuku.

“And if I refuse?”

“You can say goodbye to Eraser.”

Izuku watched the whisky glass Shigaraki held crumble down to dust within seconds as soon as his pinkie finger he held in the air joined the rest, pure terror. That was the only way to describe what he felt. The moment I let him in… I should’ve known. I just ruin everything I fucking touch. I should’ve just killed myself when I had the chance, then everything would be better. A better world without a worthless quirkless wannabe like me in it.

If it meant Aizawa would be safe, then he would do it. What more could he lose? And if he got lucky- they might actually get rid of me for good. Izuku nodded “Fine, but I need a favour, just this once.” He heard a low scuff and suddenly the ropes were untied. 

“What is it?” 

“I need you to use the portal guy’s quirk to get Siren out of custody, that’s all.” 

“Consider it done, kid.” Giran had his contact for vigilante work, so Izuku jumped to his feet and walked forward as another portal opened right in the middle of the bar, he stopped when he heard the voice through the screen again. 

“So full of self-pity and no taste of what it means to a child only because you don’t have a quirk yet here you are, playing the hero, Midoriya-kun. Such a shame how they treat someone as capable as yourself.” Izuku just walked through the dark portal without a reply and that’s how he found himself in his hideout, alone at last. 

A text shot up on his screen: it’s done. 

Quiet and dull, chilly. One stuttering breath brought a storm of fuck. The past few days caught back at him as the adrenalin wore off. His busted lip quivered, Izuku sucked in a shaky breath as he reached for the knife strapped to his leg. 

Seconds blurred into minutes and those turned to hours of watching the blood pour out of his forearms. It felt euphoric in a sense. He couldn’t describe it, no, not this. 

The man’s words echoed in his head, his own thoughts haunted him as he struggled to stop inflicting pain on himself. Daisuke, the alcohol, the kit then Eri, the fight, Siren and now the people calling themselves the League of Villains… Too much, it’s all too much. I can’t do it. I don’t want to. 

Izuku had never thought of killing himself, not consciously at the very least. That is, until this very day, he hadn’t. He meant nothing to anyone, he was lying to himself saying he fought for the good of the people, for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. 

Izuku was selfish and cruel, a liar. He was no different than the people he helped put away. He was useless, all he did was mess things up. Get in the way. He might as well just get rid of the problem.

Finally letting go of the knife, he started crying again. 

Crying was an understatement, he couldn’t breathe. He had no idea how long had passed once he came back to his senses. There was so much blood, I didn’t mean to- to… “What am I even doing here..?” He had no idea what was going on or what time it was. All he knew was that he couldn’t move a muscle. 

His fingers were sticky and covered in blood, as well as his clothes, his vision was blurry. Everything was hazy and it scared him to death. 

Izuku forced himself to focus on the pain but the numbness was overwhelming. He wanted to cry but he couldn’t, he wanted to be mad, he couldn’t. Nothing felt right. Everything was out of place and control.

Suddenly, his phone was buzzing. Somewhere, it wasn’t at arm’s length, he could make out that much. Pushing against the dusty flooring with his blood-covered hands, he tried his best to stand. It was a mistake, he should've known because he fell face down.

His bruised lips quivered, he felt that lump in the back of his throat the one he felt whenever he was about to cry. He couldn’t find the fire to crawl over, to dig down on his strength and just reach his phone across the room.

 “Maybe I should just let myself rot here.” 

_

Aizawa’s stomach was bubbling with unease, he felt useless and helpless. The man was mad at himself for getting hurt in the first place whenever his wounds throbbed but everything fell apart when Izuku wasn’t answering his phone. In the time he had known the boy, he quickly learned that Izuku always answered and took his calls unless he wasn’t able to or he was hurt. 

An hour had passed with no updates, he had decided to brush it off as nothing. The second hour, he started to get worried and turned on the news; a part of him hoped he saw the boy, even if it was bad news that he got caught but nothing, again.

The next hour, however, it was broadcast that Yamada Hizashi was on the run and exposed as Siren according to recent footage from the bank. The one that showed both Eraser and Kurai but they hadn’t been able to be identified thanks to a file corruption. Aizawa wasn’t there to watch that broadcast because he had tucked Eri to bed and left to search for Izuku.

He knew where to find him, there was one place where Izuku always found a sense of safety and that’s how he ended up in the abandoned neighborhood blocks away from his apartment. Not one thing different from the apartment building compared to the last time when he had pulled Izuku together after-- he sighed as he pushed open the door but panic all too soon when the only thing he smelt was metal. 

Rushing inside as he held his bandages, he saw Izuku lying flat on his back with a knife and a wide puddle of blood at his feet. For once, he was grateful for the sun rising but it didn’t help his worries once he noticed the source of the blood.

Aizawa froze completely. Izuku looked pale as snow, lying lifeless with tear stains on his cheeks. He fell on his knees next, checking his pulse with shaky hands. The thought of losing the kid terrified him, pressing his fingers further, he prayed to god just for a faint push under the boy’s snowy skin. 

“C’mon kid, don’t you dare die on me--!” 

At last, he felt it. It was slow and barely strong enough to notice but it was there. Aizawa let out a heavy breath, he wasn’t sure what happened but the next second, he had his arms wrapped around the boy. 

Izuku groaned weakly, trying to register what was going on. Everything was muffled and blurry. And all he felt was pain. His arms throbbed and brought his senses back, he couldn’t make out who had this iron of a grip around him and his stomach ruffled with anxiety, he tried to push the person off, so weak and hurt, desperate. 

“--ku, Izuku. Kid, it’s me. You’re okay… you’re okay.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself that Izuku was fine- alive. The boy stopped struggling then came the tears. He held onto Aizawa’s shirt, the blood smudging all over the man’s clothes. Izuku couldn’t hold back his cries. 

“I-I’m sorry, Aizawa-san, I’m so sorry--” He apologized over and over again as Aizawa held him tight. “It’s okay, problem child. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He was at a loss of words, he had seen the boy break down before but it wasn’t near as bad as this. And before anything, he needed to take care of his arms, and get him hydrated. 

“Kid, look at me, can you do that?” That only pushed Izuku to cry harder, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want Aizawa to be here, to hold him while he cried pathetically, to be in his life. He didn’t want anyone to get attached to him because right now, he just wanted to disappear. To be erased from existence. 

“Why’d you come here?!” He pushed the man back again, sobbing, “You weren’t supposed to come! No one was! Why won’t you just let me be?! I just- I… Fuck!” 

“Problem child, I know you’re upset. Just try and calm down, we’ll talk later. For now, let me take you home and bandage your arms, yeah?” Aizawa was using every bit of patience with Izuku, he didn’t do well with the emotional stuff, he had no idea how to manage his own to begin with. 

“No! Leave me alone! I don’t deserve to--”

Aizawa had enough, he couldn’t bare to see Izuku in that state; instead of the gentle approach, ignoring the pain he felt, he found himself turning to anger. He couldn’t control himself as he stood up and picked up the boy. Izuku trashed and cried, opening the fresh cuts on his arms in the process as he was carried upstairs. 

“What the hell are you doing?! Let go of me! Leave me alone!” He was thrown on the rusty couch in the middle of the room, the empty beer cans were still there, scattered around along with burnt out cigarettes. When his back hit the couch, he let out a yelp and tried to get back up but he failed miserably. The pain shot through every inch of his body now that he was done trashing around. 

“Stay put.” The man warned with a glare, “I don’t care if you want it or not, I’m patching you up then we’re going home and that’s final.”

Izuku noticed the blood seeping through the open cuts then fixed his eyes at them; each drop of blood slid slowly through his forearm, mixing with the brownish shade left behind hours ago. It was satisfying to watch the red flow, it gave him something to focus on and before he knew it, he had spaced out. 

Once Aizawa came back with the bag of medical supplies he had left in Izuku’s place in case of emergencies, he approached slowly with heavy steps and sat beside the boy. Guilt-ridden at the sight, the rage fading but he decided not to bring Izuku out of his trace, he needed a minute to let his body relax.

He started by cleaning the blood off of his arms, then moved onto the cuts. Some were deeper than others, he clearly hadn’t been thinking while he was at it considering how ragged the lines were. Aizawa sucked in a breath as he pulled out the medical needle and thread and got to work. 

It was harder than he had expected, he knew Izuku was hurting himself but he had never seen how gruesome the boy could get with the knife. It brought back memories, memories he had buried down long ago, ones he had locked away. He found his hands shaking once again when Izuku shook his head as the needle made contact with his skin. 

The silence was overbearing, it somehow made the air in the room thicker and harder to breathe in for Izuku. Aizawa on the other hand seemed determined to get this done with or without Izuku’s opinion. But he didn’t want him to. He didn’t need anyone, I just don’t.

He snatched his arm back and the needle slipped but before Aizawa could say anything, he grabbed it and continued stitching himself. It burned and his hands were shaking worse than Aizawa’s, to his relief, the man just sat back and watched him do it. 

The stitches were messy, and didn’t look anywhere near good but once Izuku was done, he threw the needle in the white plastic box. He was about to stand up when Aizawa pushed him back again. 

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.” 

He wasn’t looking at Izuku as he spoke with a threatening tone, his arms were crossed and eyes fixed on the shut windows. The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, “Fine. We’re just gonna be here forever then, Eraser.” he said then sat silently the same way Aizawa did. 

A minute, then two, then five. 

There was no admitting of defeat, they were both dead set on their word. If Izuku said anything with how foggy his mind was, he could slip up. He couldn’t say a word about the League of Villains, it was out of the question. And if he explained how he got Yamada out of jail, nonetheless with a deal made with villains, he was a goner--

“Fine, if you won’t tell me what happened when you came here at least tell me how you got Hizashi out.”

“I had a favor to call in, with Giran.” he supposed this could cut it, “I thought he got arrested-” he cut off the man as he stood up, immediately regretting it, “Well, he got out. I got the job done, didn’t I?” 

“Izuku sit down, you lost too much blood-”

“You said we could go home if I talk and I did. Let’s go.” Aizawa sighed as got on his feet and grabbed the boy’s arm gently, not wanting to risk him falling over, “Fine. Let’s go.”

_

Eri swang his feet back and forth on the chair, she had woke up alone in the house the TV was still on, and she felt hungry. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to roam around freely in the small apartment but Zu-san had told her to sit and wait for Aizawa in the kitchen when she’d last seen him leave so that’s what she did. 

The kitchen was a blind spot when one entered through the front door, which is why Izuku had told her to sit in that exact spot when he wasn’t around but Eri didn’t know that. As she stayed put, every little noise made her jump, she didn’t like being exposed, out in the open and all alone but having no idea of what would happen if she disobeyed terrified her. 

When she heard the door open, she jumped to her feet and rushed over. What she hadn’t expected was a bruised-up Izuku covered in blood with dull eyes beside Aizawa. Izuku didn’t seem to notice her rather he didn’t have the energy as he walked past her and into the bathroom and slammed the door after him. 

The girl flinched then looked at the tired vigilante with a both scared and confused expression, Aizawa just slowly closed the door and walked inside without a word. Eri just tailed after him like a lost duckling and watched him as he sat down on the couch with a sigh. 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, it’s not you, kiddo,” Aizawa was holding his wound with one hand and groaned, Eri could see the red on his hand, “Are you okay, Zawa-san?” she quickly sat beside him and searched for the right words but then, she was overwhelmed with the thought of the people who saved her dying and just abandoning her. 

What Aizawa hadn’t expected was the horn on her head start to glow brightly as she cried. He had no idea what her quirk was, if someone like Chisaki held her hostage then it was bound to- 

He blinked as his torso stopped throbbing and the cuts on his face didn’t burn anymore. Slowly lifting up his shirt, he saw the blood spots stop growing and ripped off his bandages. Mesmerized was probably the word he was looking for until a sharp sting shot through his chest and he felt his blood pumping in his ears. Gritting his teeth, he activated his quirk and in a matter of seconds, Eri passed out, panting. 

Gasping for air, he managed to catch the girl before she fell and he blinked a few times before panting himself as the pain in his heart disappeared. Allowing himself to regulate his breathing, he leaned and rested his back against the pillows. 

“So that’s why he needs you…” 

Chapter Text

The snow was evident in the night sky, the lined-up street lamps beneath his dangling feet let him see the people rushing for warmth but Izuku was content just sitting there with a cigarette between his freezing fingers. Two insufferable weeks with barely any sleep, piled up homework getting done, Katsuki breathing down on his neck and Aizawa watching him like a hawk every second he was home. But the streets… despite being a wasteland rotten to its core, the streets were safe. 

At least they used to be. 

The paranoia was overbearing, the fear of waking up to see the villain covered with hands and hearing that man’s voice through the TV, it was impossible to fall asleep and not wake up in cold sweat. The nauseating thoughts of death kept him from keeping the food down. 

Izuku found it funny, just a year ago he had been crying over a few scrabs and bruises now he was responsible for so many lives, “They were right,” he inhaled the smoke, allowing it to reach the deepest end of his lungs, then watched the same smoke leave his reddened lips as it mixed with a gust of wind, “I really had no idea what I was doing.” 

Sighing, he flipped onto his feet and put out the cigarette. “Another uneventful night, wonderful.” Snow had bricked over his shoulders and hair, he didn’t bother shrugging it off and started running. He needed to blow off some steam, cigarettes wouldn’t cut it, cutting wouldn’t do with everything that was going on at home. 

Why is it so hard to breathe all the time? Izuku wondered as he prepared to jump to the next rooftop, it’s like I’m getting crushed, I just want to breathe. He jumped, trying to focus on anything but his thoughts, he needed to come up with a plan to get the league off of his back. 

Another jump and he heard police sirens, suddenly, a strong heatwave flew past him, Endeavour? Izuku knew better than to get in the number two hero’s way, the man hated vigilantes heck Endeavour hated everyone. Izuku had his suspicions about him, there was something beyond trying to surpass All Might. He knew it. Heroes were supposed to bring hope to people’s hearts but all he brought was fear. 

He saw the police cars next, there was a bunch of them, he counted seven and then he saw the fire trucks, could it be..? Gritting his teeth, he stopped running. I shouldn’t but- “Fuck it.” Izuku ran back, following the direction the cops and Endeavour were headed, he pulled out his phone and turned on the dispatch next. “--aling all available units, I repeat we got a 904B! XXX street, building number 36--”

“904B is building fire, I knew it!” He needed to get there and get there fast. It was a fifteen minute walk “Approximately two km, if I run faster, I can make it within the next ten minutes. Perfect.” He did just that. He ran, faster than he ever had, this could be interesting. Those next ten minutes seemed to blur with the fastened snow pouring down from the sky, the weather getting colder by the second but he didn’t let that bother him, he just needed to watch his step and he could do that with no problem.

Once there, the smoke and the ashes were clouding the street, the building was already burnt to a crisp but thankfully Endeavour had managed to get some of the civilians out in time. His heart was gunning, the blood pumping back and forth rapidly in his veins as he hid in on a nearby building’s rooftop while holding his side. 

Izuku needed to get to work quickly, his eyes dragged around with caution, anything out of the ordinary was essential to the case. He was doing fine, he had put his anger aside, he was careful and calculated despite the rush but it all came crashing down when he saw the woman with silky black hair and tall build walking away from the scene through the crowd of curious bystanders. He inhaled sharply, and then came the buring rage. His eyes narrowed and his body filled with determination as he pulled out his knives and made the jump to the other rooftop. 

He couldn’t pass on the opportunity, so he ignored the sea of cops and heroes below him and ran, they were too busy with the fire and keeping the people in check anyway, at least he hoped they were. If I lose her, I may never get another chance, I have to do this. 

Seeing the woman take a turn to the back street and start running, Izuku followed suit and found himself on the ground, he ran faster and faster. His fingers were freezing and he could barely feel the knives but no matter, he had other plans. Once the woman was within his range, he threw one of his knives and managed to make a solid cut on her ankle. 

He watched as she stumbled and fell on the ground with a silent yelp while he kept his distance and studied his surroundings just then, he saw the woman raise her hand no quirks lady, Izuku ran and used the wall to support his jump as landed a kick on her arm, hearing the crack of her bones just as her veins’ glowing orange shade had started to crawl up to her hand but now one of her arms were immobilized. 

The weird thing was, the woman didn’t seem fazed by her bone shattering and used her other hand to fight instead, before Izuku could see what was going on, he was cut by his own knife and it didn’t just sting, his wound was burning. 

“Who are you supposed to be?” 

Her voice was raspy and deep, words cocky and sure of herself despite being hurt like she had nothing to lose. “I should be asking you the same question.” His new mask was a one-piece, had a voice changer as well and the goggles were a brighter neon green with night vision, he was thankful for the night market once again for having the right materials to build it because it would be harder to identify him from now on.

“Short, green hair and has knives; you must be Kurai.” Izuku scuffed, staying silent and slid his feet back on the ground to get a better distance, the woman was getting back up as his wound kept burning, it was almost toxic, and the pain had started to spread like poison. 

“He said you would show up sooner or later,” seeing the glow underneath her uninjured arm, Kurai pulled the knife attached to his boot and took a stance, trying to understand her quirk while her words occupied his mind, I was right, she is working for someone but who?

“You’ve been a pain in my arse, Kurai. I assume you were the one who took my tags? It was a bold move, interfering with a police investigation. Then again, you have put the pieces together faster than those pigs, all by yourself at that.” 

The real question was how much she thought Kurai knew, from the way she spoke, he assumed they thought he knew more than he actually had on them, I can use that to my advantage. He glanced at his last knife briefly, I can’t throw this one nor can I get in close combat, not like this-- dammit! 

“Cat got your tongue? What’s wrong, you don’t like my gift?”

“What did you do to me?” 

Her laugh bounced against the close brick walls at his question, Izuku noted her broken Japanese, the guy wasn’t lying then, great. He had to think on his feet here but everything was cloudy. His mind was slipping on and off with the effects of his wound, and when he finally acknowledged its presence, the dizziness hit. 

“I have to say, for someone who can barely keep their eyes open, you sure aren’t desperate to fight with your quirk-” Kurai groaned at that, then the woman stopped talking, eyes going wide, “Don’t tell me…” 

Noticing her guard was down, Kurai charged forth. Mind cloudy and wound aching, his steps were off, but he did manage to stick the knife in her uninjured arm and found himself thrown to the wall behind them, “You just don’t give up, do you?!” Before she could land another blow, her phone rang. Izuku was too out of it to hear her conversation as he slid down and his neck fell to his left. 

“Haven’t had that much fun in ages so thank you for that,” she knelt down to his level and tangled his curls between her blood-stained fingers, raising Izuku’s head up, “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again, Kurai.”

He wasn’t sure when she had left nor how long he sat there paralyzed, he couldn’t think but his body registered everything around him somehow, it was like a high he couldn’t snap out of. It was as if his senses had doubled but his mind had numbed in exchange. He huffed and then moved his neck slowly after some time, the cold weather had his muscles tensed and he was honestly anxious about the small pod of blood beside him. 

Accepting that he had to take his time, Izuku leaned back and let his body relax as he reached for a cigarette and lit it with shaky fingers. Looking up at the stars above him, he wondered why he even bothered to get help at this point. He was just trying to bleed out a few weeks ago and now there was no one to help him. All he had to do was keep sitting here and just let himself bleed to--

“Why do I even have a phone with me out on patrol, stupid--” 

Answering without checking the caller ID, that was his, what? Third, fourth? Mistake of the night? He wasn’t sure anymore. “I’mma be home soon don’ worry--” he began but swallowed at the not-so-familiar voice at the other end. 

“Your services are required, Midoriya-kun. Where are you, I’ll pick you up.” It was Kurogiri, the misty warp gate guy, fan-fucking-tastic, “Look, I know we made a deal and all but I’m not exactly available at the moment.”

“Are you not out on patrol?” Kurogiri asked, Izuku rolled his eyes and inhaled deeply from his cigarette before answering, “Kinda yeah?” he tried to sit up but hissed, unable to bear the pain from the open wound, “Are you injured? I can assist if you’d like.”

Izuku debated his options. Option number one: hang up the phone and bleed to -or freeze- to death here and risk getting Aizawa killed by the League of Villains, option number two, get his wound treated by the said villains and aid them take down the hero society, keep Aizawa safe in the process.

Sighing, he tried to remember where he exactly was and then described it to the villain, seconds later, there was a portal beside him. What he wasn’t expecting was seeing Dabi step out of the portal. 

“You motherfucker, it was you, wasn’t it?” When Dabi stepped closer without a word, Izuku turned his head and kept smoking his cigarette, “Fuck you, it wasn’t me! And geez, talk about suicidal, smoking while bleeding to death.” Dabi remarked and laughed as he bent down to pick up the boy, “Fuck. You.” 

_

It wasn’t often that Katsuki watched the news on TV rather than reading it online, this time, however, he couldn’t help the drop in his gut when he stumbled to the living room in pure coincidence and caught sight of the fire displayed on the screen. 

His mother looked troubled, she had more than a few cups of coffee, it was evident from the smell still lingering in the room. She had a bunch of research papers scattered on the dining table, the new spring collection for the brand she worked for and the final touches for it were to be done by the end of the week. Katsuki could hear the sewing machine and the needle pounding on the fabric upstairs, his father hadn’t left the workshop they’d set up upstairs once today. 

Despite how busy they were, Katsuki could see the way her eyebrows curled at the sight of the news. They both knew how much it was eating Izuku up and there hadn’t been a new case since his apartment was burnt to a crisp, “Have you been talking to Izuku, Katsuki?” 

“Yeah,” he sat down, eyes on the subtexts as he talked, “He at least shows up to class, he’s just real quiet.”

While he did his best to reach out as much as he could but it was proving to be more and more difficult with the barriers Izuku had set, recently, he seemed more withdrawn and colder. He saw Izuku every day at school but they barely talked, he was doing his best to make sure the boy at least ate something but that was it. Nothing else, nothing more. 

“I worry about him, he was so close with his mother… I can’t image how hard it is to get used to living without her.” 

“He’s managing, I think.” He tried to reassure her, maybe he was trying to convince himself. Other than making sure Izuku was physically alright, there wasn’t much he could do. “Just keep an eye out, yeah?” 

“Sure, ma’.”

His eyes pricked at his father calling him to model the suit he was working on and Katuski sighed, normally he would refuse, he hated the way the research needles poked against his skin but seeing how worked up they both were, he complied and made his way upstairs. 

As he put on the suit, he couldn’t help that feeling in his gut telling him to check on Izuku, he didn’t think the bıy was stupid enough to go after the arsonists on his own, he wouldn’t. Then again, Eraser might, for Deku. He tried to keep his mind present as his dad asked him if he felt any discomfort and rambled about how the shoulders needed more wadding. 

Once he was done, he immediately grabbed his phone and coat and ran outside, he called Izuku a few times as he headed for his hideout but no answer. When he found himself in Izuku’s crappy hideout, he was freezing. Hate the cold, fucking hell. “Yo, Deku! You in here nerd?” no response, he walked upstairs, completely missing the puddle of blood as he walked past it. There was a medical kit on the couch but no sign of Izuku again, he sighed and dialled. 

“Who’s this?” 

“It’s Bakugou. Is De- Izuku home, Aizawa-san?” 

“He’s not with you? He said you two were going to the library together.” 

Katsuki’s free hand balled into a fist as he walked downstairs, “It’s past 11 pm, why would we be still studying and fuck that fucker! Usin’ my name to lie, I can’t fucking reach him and there was another arson. I got a feelin’ he’s up to something stupid.”

“I’ll handle it, go home, kid. When was the fire? I need the exact time.” Aizawa stated, Katsuki could hear some stuff getting thrown around over the phone, “Gotta be like at ten pm I guess. The fire was getting put out when I saw the news half an hour ago. And I ain’t going home--”

“I said go home, this isn’t a game-”

“Did something happen, a few weeks back?” Katsuki cut off the man, if Izuku wouldn’t tell him then he would learn it from Aizawa. He hated being kept in the dark. There was a pause on the vigilante’s end which confirmed his suspicions, “You better not have done something to him or I swear to fuck old man..!”

“We had an argument about how he was treating himself like shit and he didn’t take it well. Something else happened before that but he won’t tell me either. Now,” Aizawa sighed, “If you’re done interrogating me, I’m gonna go look for him. Go. Home.” With that, he hung up. 

Katsuki didn’t argue any further as he put his hands in his pockets and started walking back to his house, he was enjoying the quiet until some guy bumped into him and kept walking without a word. He seemed older, he was taller than him. Katsuki knew better than to pick a fight with a stranger but he was frustrated and that led to anger. 

Suddenly, he turned back and pinned him to the wall, immediately landing a hit with his right hook and pulling out a yelp from the guy. “Watch where you’re goin’ next time, asshole.” 

As the guy lifted up his hand, Katsuki spoke again, “You so much as think about touching me, I’ll make sure you can’t use your hands ever again, Senpai.” The guy looked through his hood, the deja vu felt overwhelming and he chuckled dryly. Katsuki could tell he was high as a could with a single glace at his bloodshot eyes, “Feisty aren’t you?” 

The blond grit his teeth at the response, fucking creep, he stayed silent, “You talk exactly like ‘Zuku--” He was met with a firm punch in the face as soon as Katsuki heard the name, he surely couldn’t be talking about Deku, there’s no way, right? He let the guy’s collar go and turned away as he hit the ground with a laugh and a bloody nose, he couldn’t shake off the feeling, he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t have turned back but Katsuki couldn’t help it.

“Yeah? Who the hell is this ‘Zuku’?” he asked, the guy just wiped the blood from his nose to his sleeve and laughed again, “Just some brat with green hair and freckles and a warm hole-” Katsukii had heard enough when he kicked the guy’s stomach, he recalled the words coming out of Izuku’s mouth that day in the boy’s room, crying and begging to not be touched, wrenching and struggling to breathe. It made sense now, and he would make sure this creep paid the price.

He reached for the back of the guy’s hood and dragged him to the alley nearby. He smirked and threw him against the stone wall “Let’s you and I have a chat, tough guy, hm?”

_

Izuku had trouble understanding himself ever since he actually became aware of his surroundings. Everything, every person, every object, every quirk was an enigma since then. He found himself curious and just observed. Everything was an enigma to be broken down. At least he had no trouble solving the puzzle around him. What made him flutter was himself. Always. 

He couldn’t understand himself no matter what he did. He had no idea who he was or what he was meant to be. Although he had others telling him what and who he was- a quirkless, worthless idiot who wasted oxygen- ever since he could remember, things had started to change lately.  

He wasn’t sure when ‘lately’ began but he found himself carrying various roles such as a vigilante or an informant or the analyst- a friend, a son..? A victim. And now he was sitting on a worn leather couch in the middle of a bar owned by villains, surrounded by the said villains and spilling information on heroes he admired as he smoked a cigarette and drank from a bottle of alcohol just to suppress the throbbing wound in his gut. 

Dabi was silent as the whole scene played out, he sat beside Izuku while Shigaraki listened along with Master. Was that right? He did call the TV guy that… Izuku wondered as he chugged on the bottle to breathe for a minute, his mind was still cloudy but the effects of the woman’s quirk were wearing off, which was a plus considering how he could still feel his skin torn in half, it was like the knife was a piece of him and had been misplaced.

He couldn’t recall the first hour he was brought to the bar, but he caught a glimpse of his wound when his suit was taken off. He could see the layers under his skin, the bits of little fat and the muscle, he wondered how he was still kicking after getting struck that deep beneath his flesh but brushed it off with his dearest mind-bender: alcohol. 

The phone in his pocket was long forgotten, it was dropped during his fight but since Izuku had better things to worry about, he didn’t even know it was gone. Frankly, he probably didn’t need it anyway--

“What are you an alcoholic?” The boy quirked a brow behind the bottle at the mocking statement, once the glass bottle was down, he had bits of the bitter drink on the corners of his lips and dripping down from his chin. “He- Crusty is right, brat. Slow down!” Dabi was also drunk as he spoke- more like his words slurred into a sentence as Shigaraki rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

The interesting thing was, that Izuku was still coherent. 

“‘s fine, dunno why you’re makin’ such a big deal outta nothing,” Izuku slowly sat up, hissing in pain in the process, “Look, I told ya’ whatcha needed I gotta go now-”

“We’re done when I say we are.” Shigaraki stood up and walked over to the boy, “And we ain’t done?” Izuku laughed as he stood up. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe something was really fucked up with him but he didn’t feel scared. He should be, he knew that much, but he wasn’t. After his fight with the arsonist, he -ironically- felt like a fire was lit up. 

Izuku felt like he could take on the world if he wanted to, death was no threat, injury was no threat, people were no threat especially some guy with a hand fetish. It didn’t matter that the guy towered over his figure, didn’t matter that he had such a destructive quirk or how irritated he looked right now. No. Izuku was capable of taking care of him--

“Oi! You may be smart and all but you’re just some quirkless wannabe who doesn’t know who he’s playing with, get it through that thick head of yours unless you want me to do it for you, Midoriya.” Letting the words sink in, all so suddenly, the fire was blown to become mere smoke with the reminder Shigaraki saw fit to add. 

“Now, we’re done. Kurogiri, get him out of my sight and kick Dabi out as well while you are at it, I got a tournament to play after midnight, I don’t want his burnt ass here.” With a nod, Kurogiri complied, “Your hideout?” Izuku just shrugged as he grabbed the alcohol bottle.

“‘s not like I’m enjoying the sight of your crusty ass.” Dabi veered to his feet, the world around him spinning as he threw his hand over Izuku’s shoulder, which the boy shrugged off immediately as he saw the portal just a few steps away from him and waited for Dabi to walk through first. “Goodnight, Shigarak-san.” Izuku said quietly as he waved at the other villain and followed behind Dabi with shaky steps and his head hanging low just to push down the agitation and the throbbing pain. 

When the portal closed after him, Izuku found himself on the floor beside Dabi who had passed out. He sighed as he glanced over at the guy. Now that he actually had a chance to pay attention, Dabi’s hair was dyed pitch black. Izuku didn’t question it, he had no right to. He knew from the very start that Dabi was just a made-up name and it was obvious he was running away. From something, Izuku didn’t know why and he didn’t want to know anymore. He already had enough on his plate. 

Finishing off the last drop of alcohol, he let the bottle shatter with a mighty throw against the ripped-up wallpapers and let his head hit the floor. 

He just wanted to sleep now. 

Chapter Text

Izuku always knew he had issues but he hated it when someone else reminded him of them. Which is why his leg bounced up and down at a fast pace and his arms crossed shut while he looked at anywhere but Aizawa as the man scolded him. The most ridiculous part about all of it was Katsuki on the living room couch in their apartment. 

“--ku, Izuku. Are you even listening to me?” 

Rolling his eyes, he wondered why he had gotten out of bed and didn’t just pretend to be asleep throughout the whole day. It felt safe to be in bed, he hadn’t gone to the bathroom or brushed his teeth, and he hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t even smoked. None of those things seemed appealing. He had no energy and he was in a tremendous amount of pain, not to mention the fact that he had a hangover. 

“No.” 

Aizawa ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back and turning his back on him, he was overwhelmed and questioned himself again; what the hell made me think I could take care of a kid?! Sighing, he faced the boy again, “You know what Izuku? Fine. Go get drunk in the middle of the night, get into fights and screw up your life for all I care because right now, I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing and frankly, I can’t deal with it.” 

He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, he just didn’t know what to say. Shota was worried and helpless but that wasn’t his excuse for behaving the way he did toward the boy, it was because this was the only way he knew how to deal with a troubled kid. The treatment he received in return for a similar situation had been getting starved and yelled at, locked away in his room to rot and when he got out, he’d become the caregiver of a junkie mother. 

“I never asked you to--”

“Enough!” Aizawa yelled, which made Katsuki look up and over at Izuku who lifted his gaze as well, “I’m not going to help you kill yourself.” He mumbled something under his breath then headed for the door in his work uniform, “If you can, stay with him. I’m not going to collect his drunk ass from the streets again.” the statement was directed at Katsuki, who gave a nod in return then the front door was snapped shut.

Izuku stood up with this unamused and uncaring look on his face, determined to get back under his covers despite his hands trembling from the unforeseen way Aizawa had just yelled. He honestly didn’t understand why everyone was making such a big deal out of nothing.

It wasn’t like he was a drunkard; he knew what a drunkard looked like, he didn’t drink every night or throughout the day at times like his father, he didn’t spend every dime he had on alcohol. He was stabbed for fuck sake, and the other time he had gotten this bad was when--

“Where the hell are you going?” 

“To my room.”

Katsuki was in front of him, grip tight on his arm and unwilling to move unless Izuku gave him the right answer. “Just… sit down, and at least eat something, nerd.” Despite the pissed look on his face a second ago, Izuku saw his features soften as Katsuki spoke. He sighed in defeat when he lost the debate in his head about how he was being shitty and ungrateful with his newly (re)found friendship with Katsuki and shrugged his arm away. 

He could hear ruffling and mixing, stuff being put on and away on the kitchen counter; Izuku decided to close his eyes and just listen to the inconsistent noises. It confused him, the whole situation. He didn’t understand why he was feeling like he could conquer the world one day and just wanted to rot under his covers the next. 

A small weight beside him on the couch and he turned his attention back to reality, it was Eri in one of Izuku’s smallest shirts sleep dripping from her eyes. Now, it was no problem that Eri was here, sure. Izuku never minded Eri’s company, and he didn’t mind right now as well until Katsuki cursed at the egg cracking apart inside the bowl he was making a mixture in.

Shit. 

With all the selfish commotion Izuku put up last night and the inconvenience he gave Aizawa, Katsuki had ended up in their apartment the next morning after his run and with all the fuss, Aizawa had all forgotten about Eri when he let Katsuki in. 

“Morning ‘Zu-san.” the girl yawned and rubbed her eyes gently as Katsuki turned around in confusion and just stared at Izuku. “Eri-chan, this is Kacchan,” Izuku pointed at the blond with his eyes, “Kacchan, this is Eri-chan.” Eri waved at Katsuki nervously, in truth, she hadn’t seen anyone but the two vigilantes since she had been rescued which was almost a month ago. It was scary to see someone she wasn’t familiar with in the room, subconsciously, she found herself scooting closer to Izuku with trembling hands. 

Izuku was caught off guard at the reaction, he wasn’t sure of what he should do. Katsuki on the other hand looked more confused by the second and just stopped cooking, he walked over with soft steps and knelt down beside Eri; Izuku shot him a look that said I’ll tell you later, he nodded and looked at the girl. 

“I’m Izuku’s friend, Katsuki. You don’t gotta be scared, kid.” 

Of course it wasn’t enough to ease the girl’s worries, she stopped trembling but still held onto Izuku’s arm as she bobbed her head up and down, Izuku was kind to her and he wouldn’t hurt her. If Katsuki was his friend then it was only natural to expect the same kindness she received from Izuku as well. Even though she -half- convinced herself it was fine, she decided to stay as silent as possible while Katsuki was here. 

“Right…” he got back on his feet, “Gonna get back on the cooking.” he muttered and focused his attention on the eggs again. Izuku looked at Eri once more, exhausted. Just talk dammit, make sure she’s okay, comfort her. Stop being so fucking selfish you useless piece of shit. He couldn’t talk. It felt like his jaw was sewed shut, the words stuck in the back of his throat and eyes heavy. 

Lazily, he reached for the remote and turned on the tv, looking for cartoons to ease the girl’s worries even a bit, to give her some sort of comfort while he sat there uselessly. 

After an episode, there were three plates of veggie omelette and some toast on the kitchen table. It was quiet, no one even attempted to make conversation; Izuku was disassociating by the time he had put down his fork with only a bit of his food missing from his plate. 

Katsuki noticed and called him out but it was no use so he let it go. Eri on the other hand looked confused, she had seen it happen a few times but they were both alone and she just thought he was tired. She had never asked Izuku or Aizawa but when she looked at Katsuki, he had a different expression compared to the man.

“Why is Zu-san doing that?” 

The shift on his face didn’t go unnoticed, and Katsuki found himself wondering if this started before or after that junkie did what he did. He tried to recall if he ever noticed Izuku dissociating while his parents were still alive. 

“He..” Katsuki couldn’t find the words to explain, rather the right way to put this in a way a child could understand, “He thinks too much sometimes and he just can’t say what’s on his mind, I guess. And… yeah.” 

He wished it was that simple. He knew the real reason but judging by the scars on her arms Katsuki decided this much would be able to ease her curiosity. 

Izuku wasn’t just quiet when he showed up to school for the last two weeks like Katsuki had told his mom. He was jumpy, on high alert; he fidgeted a lot and seemed impatient. His notes were left undone in each class and he was sleeping constantly. Katsuki could tell he wasn’t getting any sleep during the night and the fact that he seemed even less eager to get his energy up with the lack of food he was putting in his body. 

Nudging him gently, he locked eyes with the boy. He could tell Izuku looked scared, the one expression he hadn’t seen in weeks on his face. “You okay?” as soon as he heard the question, his scared face was replaced with a cold one. One that lacked emotion and concern yet heavy and concerning as he nodded and simply picked up his plate and placed it on the counter. Katsuki looked at his phone’s screen, reading the time. 

“C’mon, we got class.” 

“I’m not going-- shit.” Izuku cut himself off with a hiss at the ache that spread throughout his body and made his blood run cold as he stood up. He held onto his chair for support with one hand while the other held his stab wound. 

Seeing this, Katsuki rushed to his side but before he could touch Izuku, his hand was shoved away with a harsh slap. “Said I’m fine, and I’m not going to class.” 

“The hell happened? Is it because of the fight the old man was talking ‘bout?” He pushed, but Izuku was determined to keep his secrets. He didn’t need anyone else’s life on his conscious. 

“‘s none of your business, Kacchan.” 

“Did you cut again?” 

Eri watched the scene unfold in silence. She had seen Izuku covered in his own blood and the large bandage wrapped around his torso when Aizawa brought him home unconscious last night. She knew he was hurt but had no idea how it had happened, she knew Aizawa was upset with him as well.

So when she spoke up, she meant well. She didn’t want to see Izuku upset--

“He got hurt on pat.. patrol?” 

But it backfired. 

“Fuck!” 

Izuku’s hand suddenly hit the wooden table, making Eri flinch and shake in her seat; Katsuki, on the other hand, took a step back, trying to process what he heard as the pieces finally fell into place.

“Eri! You- I- Ugh!” 

He didn’t leave room for an argument as he dashed to his room but he was grabbed by Katsuki who pulled him in there himself and shut the door with a loud bang. 

Before Izuku could understand what was happening, he was thrown to the bed. His side throbbed in agony, he could feel the bandages soaking with blood but his heart pumped loudly in his chest at the position, Katsuki put him in as he towered over his injured and trembling body. 

“What- What were you fucking thinking?!” He couldn’t talk, so he let Katsuki do it, “I shoulda known. I mean- fuck, Deku! Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re quirkless, you got no idea how to actually fight!”

His mouth was dry as he subconsciously backed away on the bed while Katsuki kept stepping closer and closer, “This is why you were such a mess when I found you that night… fucking hell!” There was a bitter chuckle, like the blond was laughing at his stupidity, “And you have been lying to my fuckin’ face for months. What the hell makes you think you could--”

“Back off.” 

Katsuki had him cornered with his arms caging around him, he gulped when the boy didn’t shift. Could he fight? Why am I thinking about fighting? He.. he’s Kacchan..! He’s not like that. He can be cruel but he wouldn’t do that. No. No! He’s just mad at me, ’s fine. I am going to be fine.

It wasn’t until Katsuki heard Izuku’s voice that he realised what he was doing and what kind of position he had put Izuku in. Composing himself, he immediately backed off and cursed under his breath as he recalled what that junkie guy said last night.

He opened his mouth to speak but Izuku acted faster. 

“Please leave.” He pled, “We can talk about this later, I just..  I just can’t do it right now.” 

_

When Aizawa came back home, he could hear cartoons playing on TV. The lights were off and his apartment was pitch black. Sucking in a breath, he stepped in and switched the lights in the living room on. 

He would be lying if he said he expected Izuku to be with Eri on the couch, what he wasn’t expecting was her hugging her knees tightly with tear stains on her face and asleep in front of the TV; he grabbed the blanket from the other side and laid it on top of her then turned the cartoons off. 

He found himself in the bathroom next but he wished he hadn’t. By the looks of it, Izuku had tried to take a bath then had gotten off track… He spotted the blood-covered razor staining the tiles on the floor along with the bandages previously wrapped around Izuku’s body all torn and blotted. 

Sighing, he followed his instincts as much as he didn’t want to, he headed to Izuku’s room and hesitantly opened the door. 

Izuku was asleep, one arm hanging from the side of the bed with messily wrapped bandages that barely hid the fresh cuts. What surprised him was the fact that he was shirtless, he had seen the boy's body before but had never actually looked. Since he was laying on his stomach, he could see the burns on his back, and a few scars on various places, his torso was still bandaged up just as the night before but the bruises had taken darker shades, greens and purples looking painful. 

The boy stirred, Aizawa always wondered how Izuku had such sharp instincts. He wasn’t the best fighter hence the injuries but he knew it was because the boy never had professional training, he was far too inexperienced. Maybe it was the bullying but…

Aizawa was starting to suspect abuse. 

Bullying alone wouldn’t leave this much damage on his well-being, teachers alone couldn’t make him terrified of adults. Izuku almost never spoke about his parents but on the day of the fire, when he’d learned who Kurai was, all Eraser saw was a scared child crying for his mother. People don’t misread reality over the death of an abuser, at least not in the way Izuku had, but what had struck him odd was the fact that Izuku had mentioned his father as if the man was just a backup plan. 

Thinking everything through in silence, Aizawa realised just how much he relied on the kid- a kid. That’s what Izuku was. He was just a child no matter how tough he looked, no matter how mature he acted, no matter how smart he was; Izuku was still a kid. 

He couldn’t help himself as he sat on the bed, careful not to disturb Izuku too much, he inspected his cuts for a brief second. I’m just pushing him away, aren’t I? He asked himself then sighed. He truly was lost at what to do, this was the only way he knew and it wasn’t doing wonders on either end. 

“‘Zawa?” 

“Hey, problem child.” 

Izuku appeared too out of it to realise he was exposed in a way he normally wouldn’t approve of as he slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes, “Don’t you have work?” his voice was husky, words slurring. Aizawa wondered how long he’d been asleep as he reached for the bottle on the nightstand and offered it to the boy. 

Deciding to take upon the offer, Izuku’s eyes finally landed on his butchered arm and immediately discovered he was half naked. His eyes darted around the room, hands shaking, fingers cold. He was panicking, Aizawa just grabbed his hoodie from under the blanket and handed it to Izuku who put it on immediately after snatching it from his hands. 

“My shift ended an hour ago, it’s past seven pm. Have you been asleep this whole time?” 

Looking away, the events of the morning played in his head. On top of everything, he needed to have a conversation about being Kurai with Katsuki of all people; he knew Aizawa trusted the boy but Izuku had his doubts. This could backfire greatly with a ton of consequences-

“Donno. I was just…” tired, agitated, overstimulated, hungover, “Not feeling it.”

Aizawa wanted to bring up his arm and ask about everything else, he wanted to know why. “Have you eaten today?” Izuku looked irritated by the question, which gave the man his answer, “Did something happen with Eri?”

“We had a little argument and I left to come here, I’m- I’m sorry. I just don’t know what came over me and… I'll make it up to her, just let me handle everything.” 

The way he phrased it didn’t seem accurate. Whatever it was they argued over was serious, he could tell. He doubted it was an actual argument but still. “I’m going out for patrol, would you like to tag along?” Of course, Aizawa wasn’t going to let fight, not under these circumstances, no. He knew damn well Izuku only opened up if he felt safe and he wanted to have a heart-to-heart with the boy. He also knew Izuku was sneaking out of the house whenever he could so it was a win-win situation.

Shooting a weak smile, Izuku nodded. He could use some fresh air. 

_

No crime to stop, no fight to intervene, nothing of interest on this so-called patrol. Izuku could feel his eyelids craving some more sleep, his body ached, his arms throbbed and Aizawa had noticed, that’s how they found themselves on a rooftop. The silence was comforting on both ends until Aizawa spoke up.

“I'm not going to stand in your way of drinking or smoking or cutting even, not anymore.” 

Izuku was caught off guard by the blunt statement, his eyes studied the man for a split second as he was unable to find the words. Aizawa wasn’t even looking at him, it felt out of character. It was confusing how unbothered and sure of himself he sounded. 

“Wh- What..?” 

He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean. Maybe it was the fact that he felt like he disappointed Aizawa, maybe it was the feeling of getting thrown aside, maybe he finally sees how worthless I really am--

“If I can't convince you that you don't have to do any of those things to feel okay or make you feel worth the time spent on you then I'm not going to try any more. I trust you enough to make that decision on your own, problem child.” The man explained and Izuku wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. 

Aizawa was putting his trust in him, not just about other things but in himself as well. Trust was rare when it came to Izuku and other people but he came to realize he trusted Aizawa more than anyone. Izuku realised he wasn’t scared of Aizawa like he was from the rest of the world. He trusted him at his lowest, he trusted him with his life on the field, he trusted Aizawa. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want it. I can’t make you feel better about yourself if you believe you don’t deserve to be okay.” 

The man looked him in the eyes with this genuine gaze when the words came out of his mouth as he stood up with a hold over his knee. Izuku remained seated, unable to move or speak as he watched Aizawa go. 

“I’m heading back home, I’ll see you in the morning, problem child.” 

With that, he was swinging his gear around, jumping back and forth through the streets while Izuku sat there, completely frozen. He knew Aizawa. He could tell he meant it but what he didn’t know was if he could actually get better.

Oddly enough, Izuku’s overwhelming urge to numb himself out during the day had suddenly disappeared.

Chapter Text

“What are we going to do about Kurai?” The door shut behind the woman, her heels pounding against the floor until she sat on the leather armchair beside the desk, “I need both Eri and him. This could change everything, Blaze.” 

“You want to bring him here of all places? Overhaul, the kid is dangerous. He could jeopardize your work in here in an instant if he managed to wander around--” 

“I said what I said, do your job. You’re here to take orders, not to make suggestions.” Blaze put her hands over her lap, head down, if he would just listen… She had seen Kurai fight. He lacked in technique but he was a quick thinker. He was smart and sharp, she had no doubt he’d figured everything out already. 

“You may go, and the next time you’re in my office, you better have learned who this Kurai character is. Do I make myself clear?” Standing up, the woman bowed, “Understood, sir.” Overhaul didn’t look up as he signaled her to leave, just as she was about to step through the door, “If you do happen to catch him, I don’t want even a scratch on the boy, got it?” 

With a nod, Blaze found herself in the cold metal corridors of the hidden layer of the Shie-Hassaikai. Her hand reached for the nasty scar on her face, reminding herself why she was here in the first place as she sucked in a shaky breath and walked off. 

_

“nd- Midoriya? You signed up for UA as well?” Someone in the back barked out a loud laugh then the entire class followed suit. Insults and degrading words thrown his way only seemed to feed his sick thoughts as he sank back in his best efforts, cowering behind his desk as if he couldn’t kill all of them within minutes. 

He hated his homeroom teacher, and he had no question the man despised him to his core, quirkist piece of shit. Burying his head in his arms, he tried to ignore the mockery, snickering and pitiful looks of some. Izuku just wanted them to shut the fuck up. 

“I applied for the support course, Sensei. I don't need a quirk for that.” His voice was muffled but he'd gotten his point across, he could tell by the silence that fell around him. 

“Right…” the man coughed, clearing his throat as he placed the papers aside, “Anyway, as I was saying, for those whose names have been called may come and receive their mock test results by the end of the day. Midoriya, since Bakugo is absent, take his papers as well if you can.” 

Izuku nodded silently then put his head down once again. Of all days the blond was absent. Some part of Izuku wished he could see Katsuki here, hear his voice and find a sense of comfort in his presence. The other part hoped to avoid him the best he could; Katsuki knew everything now and they hadn’t talked since Izuku had kicked him out of Aizawa’s apartment that day. 

The sleeplessness was getting to him, he had been clean for a week and hadn’t had a drop of alcohol; and without distractions to relieve himself, the stress kept him up. Made him fidget constantly, he was angry. Izuku was always angry. 

He also came to realise how much he depended on cigarettes during the past week. Izuku despised the scent that lingered on his hair and clothes after each cigarette, every time he changed, all he could think about was his father. And when he thought about Hisashi, he remembered his mother. 

Then he had to face how much of a failure he was. 

Sighing, Izuku decided to let the school hours pass while going over his analysis; he’d seen the arsonist face to face now, and he knew they targeted buildings where quirkless people lived and now- Aizawa-san said Eri’s quirk rewinds things, now it all makes sense. Overhaul is trying to mess with people’s quirk-factors. Is he trying to erase quirks? 

The pen swinging up and down between his fingers dropped to his desk, does he know about Aizawa-san’s quirk? And if they burnt my apartment down, do they know that I’m quirkless as well, were they already after me or is it because I’m Kurai? Shit. Shit, this is bad. I’ve got to talk to Tsukauchi-san as Kurai, but how?!

When he looked up, he could see the entire class staring at him. Was I muttering again..? In search of his answer, all he had to do was look at his hand covered in scratch marks deep enough to carve his skin and draw bits of blood through, Izuku quickly covered them with his other hand and left for the restroom. 

Breath shaky, hands trembling, feet weak. He didn’t like it, what was I thinking?!  Aizawa-san is gonna be pissed- is he gonna be pissed..? He did say he wouldn’t get in my way with this stuff. But it makes me feel like shit, ever since he said it, I’ve been going out of my way not to do any of this shit--

“Shit--!” 

The water hit the scratch marks worse than expected, yanking Izuku back to the living world instantly; he pulled back and waved his hand around. “What time is it anyway?” 

Glancing at the clock above the chalkboard was like a distant memory, but he only had a single class left; after he managed to clean himself up and bandage his hand, he headed for the office to grab the test results. The questioning looks he got there were ignored with eye rolls. 

“May I talk to my- my guardian?” he gestured at the phone on the secretary's desk, the woman dialed the number in the system herself to make sure that's who Izuku was calling and handed him the phone. 

Aizawa was on the other side of the line instantly, “I'm going over to Kacchan’s to hand over his papers for the test--” 

“Go home right after, we have a situation.” Izuku had the same thing on mind, looking over to the secretary once, he turned around and stepped away from the desk, “Yeah, I gotta talk to you about the bird problem. I think I found out why they've been constantly showing up by the balcony.” 

“Right, do you have any homework for Monday? We need to take care of the birds.” He heard Aizawa sigh at the cover-up story, “Nope, I've got it covered. I'll see you by the end of your shift then?” 

“See you then, problem child.” 

_

Izuku sucked in a breath, bandaged hand clenching by his side as he rang the doorbell. Cursing his luck with coming eye to eye with Mitsuki, “Oh, Izu-kun! What a nice surprise, come right in, honey!” He smiled. 

And that's how he found himself having the most awkward conversation with Katsuki’s mom in their living room. The hot steam rolling up from a cup of green tea made him shift- I'm such a disappointment, who thinks about cigarettes because of a hot cup of tea!? 

“And what about your guardian? Katsuki told me he was a decent man, is he taking good care of you? Oh, you two have to come over for dinner sometime! I'd feel more relieved having met him.” 

“He's good, takes good care of me as well.” I'm not ready for them to be in the same room as Aizawa-san, no way..! Rubbing the back of his neck, he noticed a frown appear on Mitsuki’s face then followed her eyes down to meet his bandaged hand. 

“What happened to your hand? Did you get hurt?” 

“Oh, this?” He chuckled awkwardly, trying to think of a reasonable excuse, “I fell on my way to school and scratched it up, I'm fine though-” 

“Are they still bothering you, the other kids?” Izuku stiffened up, no one dared to do anything physical since Kacchan beat up that idiot in front of the teacher, “No- No, no! Honestly, I'm just super clumsy, Auntie Mitsuki. Besides, Kacchan… he doesn't let them bother me as much.”

Of all times he decided to go to the gym, why couldn't he be just home--

“I'm home, old hag!” Katsuki walked through the door with his gym bag hanging from his shoulder as he slipped off his headphones, “The hell are you doin’ here, Deku?” 

“Oh, um… The mock test results are in along with the application approvals for UA. Sensei asked me to bring you yours.” Katsuki gestured his head up, signalling him to go upstairs, “I'm going to my room and stop holding the nerd captive, old hag.”

“Izu-kun, why don't you stay for dinner? It's been a while.” Katsuki shook his head this time, Izuku just looked down, “I'd love to but I promised Aizawa-san I'd help him out with some shopping this evening, thank you though.” 

Getting back on his feet, he gave a slight bow to Mitsuki’s way before catching up with Katsuki on the staircase, “Really, Deku? Shopping?” 

“Would you rather me say vigilante business?” 

“Tch.” 

Maybe it was pushing his buttons, maybe it was too soon considering how betrayed Katsuki felt with his secret but Izuku needed to make Katsuki realise this wasn’t something he could just stop doing, that it was out of his control. 

When Katsuki locked the door, Izuku decided to break the silence himself as he dug out the papers from his bag, and gave them to Katsuki “I know you don't think it's a good idea but I can hold my own, Kacchan--” 

“How fucking long?” The blond wasn't looking at him, Izuku wasn’t sure if he meant how long he could hold out or just how long he'd been doing this for, until his question was answered, “How long have you been playing hero behind my back?” He was hesitant when he answered, “For a year or so now.” 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” 

Izuku didn’t have an answer for that. 

“I… I don’t know.” He could understand where Katsuki was coming from, to a degree at the very least but, “In my defence, we weren't exactly friendly when all this started.”

“I don't fucking get it,” Katsuki turned around, eyes burning, hands clenched, “Why would you? Don't you fucking realise just how fucked up this whole shit show is? Do you want to fuckin' die?” 

“Yeah, you don't get it.” It was quieter, not confident in his stance unlike before, “What the hell is that supposed to mean!? You suicidal or some shit? You could get seriously hurt, the villains could easily take advantage of you not to mention--” 

“This-! This is exactly why I need to keep doing what I do! You don't understand, you never can! You're… you're amazing, you have everything handed to you. You have the perfect quirk, perfect grades, you have a loving family who actually gives a shit about you no matter what happens…” 

Katsuki could only listen, and he watched as Izuku slowly sat on his bed, “Let's face it, I don't have anything to look forward to. I'm quirkless, no one cares what happens to people like me. They all think I'm fucking useless,”

“No matter what I do, there'll always be people to push me over because of something I can't control. No matter where I go, people will think I'm a joke. But when I'm out there,” he ran his hands through his hair as he let out a shaky breath, “I have a reason to keep going. I have people who actually need me, who don't think I'm useless or just getting in the way and even if they do figure out I don't have a quirk, they respect me. Me.” 

“De- Izuku, that's not true.” Katsuki tried to protest, stepping closer, “You don’t have to justify fucking living, you said I got perfect grades; so do you. You're fucking brilliant, I've seen those analyses. You said I've got a perfect family, sure your fucking dad was a menace but you meant the world to Auntie Inko and I’m pretty fucking sure Aizawa-san would kill for you,” 

It was Izuku’s turn to listen, he allowed Katsuki to sit beside him but couldn’t meet his eyes, “I know I gave you more shit then you deserved over being quirkless but it doesn't define your whole being. People are shitty, the world is a shitty place and there'll always be someone giving you shit.” I've never heard someone find so many ways to use the word shit, Izuku couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. 

“Y'know I suck at this stuff but you get my point, right?” Katsuki smiled, and his hand was placed on Izuku’s shoulder, “Yeah, I do.” He muttered. Katsuki’s touch felt comforting, safe. It was almost intimate in a way he couldn’t quite put a finger on, the same feeling that confused Izuku whenever he was with Katsuki. 

“Now, you gave your papers.” Izuku blinked, staring at the papers in Katsuki’s hand, “Your application got approved and it looks like you fucking nailed the exams as well.”

“R-Really?” 

“Can I fucking have mine now?” 

“Right- sorry!” 

_

Izuku could hear water splashing around in the bathroom, Aizawa’s keys were by the door and Eri was nowhere to be seen. When he put his backpack by the kitchen table, he spotted a drawing made with crayons there. The writing was messy, Eri had clearly written it herself. It was one word: sorry. Izuku felt like the shittiest person on the planet when he saw the drawing, she feels even more guilty than I do, great. Way to ruin another thing, Izuku. Just great. 

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to focus on the boiling noodles on the stove and the vegetables cut halfway, I need a distraction, maybe cooking can help? He walked to the bathroom to wash his hands with a frown but had to cover his mouth at the sight not to-

“Don’t you dare laugh, problem child.” 

Aizawa was covered in bubbles while his sleeves were rolled back his clothes soaked and he had a plastic octopus toy in one hand meanwhile Eri had a little duck and she was swimming through the bubbles in the bathtub that barely held the water in as it was supposed to. 

Izuku laughed, he wondered when the last time he laughed like this was. A genuine reaction to the ridiculous sight he’d never expected, so he laughed. He could see the man smiling way past through his glares, it all stopped with the doorbell ringing. Wiping a tear from his eye, he headed for the door, missing the way Aizawa tried to protest as he walked off. Normally, he’d peek through but this time, he hadn’t and when he parted the front door open- 

“Hey, kid! How ya’ been?” 

Stepping back on autopilot, he froze. As the man pushed past him and entered the apartment, he found himself thinking and thinking, the thoughts kept his mind busy to the point he couldn’t process what was happening. He was completely unarmed and shaking. 

“Whatcha doin’ there just standing, Midoriya?” 

It seemed to light back the fire and Izuku quickly ran inside to get his gear, only to be stopped by Aizawa himself, “Siren is in our living room, did you not think it was worth mentioning?!” The man’s face remained neutral as he put a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, who shrugged it away in an instant and looked away, “He has something we want, it’s better to have him on our side instead of him being against us,” 

Sighing he continued, “If it makes you feel better, you can grab your knife but don’t let Hizashi see it, alright?” As much as he wanted to protest, Izuku walked toward his room and got his knife before heading back to the living room. 

Yamada’s back rested on pillows, legs spread as he made himself home as Aizawa sat across from him, “You didn’t tell him?” his eyes were dark and calculating, trying to push Aizawa’s buttons, “Why doesn’t that surprise me, Sho’? Honestly, I’ve heard the saying people don’t change but yours is a new low. Still untrusting and alone-”

“You’re lucky to even be here, Hizashi. I suggest you don’t push your luck.” Crossing his arms, Aizawa sat back as well, watching Izuku from the corner of his eye as he leaned by the kitchen counter with his knife strapped to his leg and looking biased. 

“I thought he was your partner! Why not come over, little listener?” 

“I don’t associate with villain scum, unlike him.” 

Yamada laughed at the remark, Izuku knew he knew something. He knows about the League of Villains, what was Aizawa-san even thinking? This fucker better not-- “That’s rich coming from- Oh! That’s right, the Analyst!” Aizawa raised a brow at the way Izuku failed to stay unbothered and walked Yamada’s way as he reached for his knife with a look the older vigilante gotten rather familiar with, activating his quirk just in case, he remained seated. 

“Kid, stand down.” 

It pissed him off, the one person who is supposed to be on my side takes his so-called friend’s, great! Izuku scuffed before twisting the knife through his fingers and wadding it back down to the strap attached to his leg. Izuku could tell something wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense, he had no doubt Aizawa hadn’t told him the whole story between them, but why? He didn’t understand it.

“Fucking--” He muttered as he settled on the armchair, “Fine, why the hell is he here then, Eraser?” Aizawa knew the kid only used his vigilante name to make a point outside of work, he looked at the blond as he spoke. 

“Hizashi is here because he has something on our case,” He looked at Izuku next with a stern gaze, “Imagine my surprise when he says a portal opens under his feet and he ends up in a bar filled with villains. I think you’re the one who has some explaining to do, Kurai.”

“I already told you, it was Giran. He owed me and handled it himself, I don’t know what you’re implying-” 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure he’s trying to say that you, what was it you said, ‘Associate with villain scum’.” Yamada’s fingers went up in air quotes, “Bingo.” Aizawa added, annoying Izuku further. “You said handle it, I did. I can’t believe you’re taking his word against mine!” He felt like he was getting scolded by his parents-- Oh-- oh shit. Don’t tell me… 

Izuku’s eyes widened with the realization, I heard people getting their brains fucked out but god all mighty, Aizawa-san, really? Him?! He couldn’t help but laugh, this is utter bullshit. “Something funny?” Aizawa looked mad, while Yamada smirked “Took you long enough, little listener! Oh, this is gold. You didn’t tell him?”

“It all makes sense now, you trust Yamada-san because you know know him. I should’ve known.” Izuku stopped laughing and then looked at Yamada with an expression the villain couldn’t understand, “All that aside, you talked to Midnight-san. I didn’t hear the entire conversation but she got in your head, didn’t she? For you to come running back to Aizawa-san despite all these years apart, you don’t want him to get caught. You never got over him, did you Yamada-san?” 

Yamada’s gaze shifted, posture stiffened with Aizawa took in the boy’s words, “I don’t think you realise who it is you’re dealing with, kid.” It was almost like a threat, Izuku knew this but he didn’t let it bother him, “Those people are dangerous, they know who you are, and they know where you live. Not only are you putting yourself in danger, not that I care but- but Shota as well. You know it’s wrong yet you still go there, don’t you?” 

“Is anyone going to let me in on who these people you keep referring to are?” 

Before Izuku had a chance to answer, Yamada beat him to it, “The League of Villains,” he began, “They’re this organisation that recently came to be, their numbers are growing rapidly but they haven’t made a move yet. All I know is the guy in charge, Shigaraki, has some beef with the new young head of the Shie Hassaikai for some reason. And since the Yakuza have men inside the police force, along with the heroes they’ve corrupted, they need their ‘Analyst’, and that’s where Midoriya-kun comes in.”

Izuku had no idea of the role he was playing in their game of destruction, he had been too out of it to connect the dots, and he’d barely even done any exclusive research on those heroes’ profiles the League had asked for. He felt his chest tighten at the words, the expression on Aizawa’s face didn’t help but apparently, Yamada wasn’t done.

“Shota told me you were investigating Trigger, which means you have a connection to that Overhaul trash, way before all this stuff happened and now, you’re working with Shigaraki. All and all, if anyone can put an end to their mess, it’s you.” 

“There’s nothing to tie back to me with Overhaul-” 

The boy tried to protest but he was cut off by Yamada, “Not him, sure, but you fought with Blaze head-on just over a week ago. Some guys were talking about it in the market, rumors of your connection have spread to the force and now Detective Tsukauchi has a warrant out for Kurai’s arrest at sight.” 

His fist clenched, color draining from his face as he let his back hit the cushions; how could I be so damn careless..? “And since they know Kurai and Eraser are working together, Overhaul learned Shota’s quirk and wants him for some reason. They say he lost his ‘source’ and Trigger is off the streets as well. Whatever you did to stop him has worked to a degree, kudos on that, but now we have bigger things to deal with.” 

Aizawa had heard enough, Yamada always seemed carefree and played dumb but he knew better; in fact, he was one of the only people who knew, he didn’t need to ask any more questions except the one “Who is Blaze?” 

“T-The one who killed my- my--” Izuku’s voice wavered, his stutter cut him mid-sentence, Aizawa hadn’t seen Izuku lose his words the way he was doing right, much less in front of someone he barely knew. He was hesitant to say anything else but Yamada carried on. 

“Blaze, aka the arsonist. Apparently, a security camera close to the red light district caught the two of you fighting. Luckily for you, I have a guy working there and had the image wiped and with everything I managed to gather, I reached out to Shota, hence how I ended up here.” 

It didn’t add up, Izuku knew. Yamada had to have a better explanation than I do it because I care, “Wh- Why are you actually helping m-me?” He cursed at the way he stuttered and sounded pathetic. 

“You’re not going to like this part…” Aizawa muttered as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and glared at Yamada who leaned back with a smirk, looking up with a twisted look in his eyes, “Isn’t it obvious, kid?” he cockily asked, Izuku’s brows furred in confusion.

"Once you’re the last villain standing, no one’s dumb enough to pick a fight."

Chapter Text

The moment he stepped into the club, Izuku was swallowed whole by the chaos; he gulped after sucking in a deep breath. Flashing lights—red, blue, green—scattered in jagged patterns, stabbing through the crowd. The bass pounded so hard it rattled his chest, and the music was deafening, drowning out every coherent thought. Bodies pressed too close, strangers brushing against in a twisted harmony that made him feel sick at the thought of any contact.

His breath hitched. It wasn’t just loud—it was everything all at once. The pulsing neon, the laughter that sounded more like shouting, the mix of perfumes and sweat hanging heavy in the air. Izuku’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his hood, covering his face further and leaving just enough room to see the villain guiding him through the mess. 

“Just try to keep calm. The sooner this is done, the sooner we get the hell out of here.” Aizawa put his hand on his shoulder, trying to offer reassurance, but before he could even give a nod, “Move it you two!” someone called, the words were muffled. He turned, blinking against the glare of a strobe light.

He didn’t belong here. His legs felt heavy, but they carried him deeper into the club right behind Siren. He couldn’t help but look around, memorizing every inch of the place. He needed a safe way out, they barely had weapons on them because of the tight security at the entrance, thankfully, Yamada had a car where they could store them just in case-- how they managed to find a parking spot was still a mystery to Izuku. 

The amount of alcohol was tempting him but the pills and shiny rocks kept his head straight. He couldn't understand how people could do this to themselves. Then again, knowing why he did everything to himself, just so he could feel like he was happy, he couldn't judge them. 

Izuku kept his eyes peeled on Siren when the villain's pace slowed, he watched as he talked with a woman in heels and a dress, he could still see the gun strapped to her leg much like the knife he had on his-- wait a gun? Who even carries guns anymore..? I don't think I've ever seen anyone other than the police carrying guns! 

“C'mon, this way.” 

Izuku felt exposed, without his mask and goggles, he felt like he was bleeding in a tank full of sharks. Aizawa normally had a better cover, his civilian look made him almost unrecognizable but Yamada had made the deal saying he'd get to dress him which ended up with the man looking ‘metal as fuck’-- hey don't look at me, it was fucking Siren's words not mine! 

Unlike them, I only have my hood. It's like they want to screw my future. 

Well, I don't have anything to look forward to though, do I? 

Once they slipped away from the crowd, Siren led them to a door and through, they found themselves in front of a rusty staircase leading below the club, he could see various tunnels leading in different directions. It's smart, if this place ever got raided by the heroes, they'd have to find this entrance first but by that time, they could evacuate through the tunnels-- they have guns, too—

“Did you see the guns? Did you ever use a gun, Aizawa-san?” He couldn’t let it go for some reason, “Yes.” Izuku’s heart skipped a beat despite the dryness in the man's tone, he had this urge to hold one all of a sudden. As the staircase led them down in rounding steps, he stopped for a moment, “Can I--” 

“I'm going to pretend I have no idea what you have in mind and we won't speak of this again.” 

“Damn, Sho’! You sound like my old man, he's a kid. Let the little dude dream a little.” 

Unknown to Izuku, Yamada’s foster father was in the army. Aizawa knew, of course; and he knew the blond adored guns. He and his father went to the shooting range downtown every two weeks if his memory served right. He also know Yamada killed his foster family with a fucking machine gun and pinned it on his father, making it look like a suicide after he massacred them all. 

“Sure, ‘Zashi. I'm sorry, you're the expert in guns here, right?” 

No snarky comeback meant he shut him up for good, Aizawa smiled proudly as he kept walking and ignored Izuku’s disappointed yet confused face. The boy shook his head, determined to get back on track, he sighed. 

“Once we get in, you don’t talk. You only answer questions if and only when they're directed at you specifically, understand?” Aizawa had voiced his opinion loud and clear back home when they came up with the plan: Izuku shouldn't be here. But Yamada said the person they were meeting knew who Kurai was and wouldn't disclose any information if he didn't see the kid. 

“Right, um, yeah. Sure.” Izuku still couldn’t let it sink in though, he didn’t like being kept in the dark and lately, Aizawa had been doing it more often than not. Once they reached the end of the steps, Izuku spotted another woman, smoking with an inpatient look printed on her face. 

“I barely recognized you with your clothes on, Siren. To what do we owe the pleasure this time?” Aizawa had the most judgmental glare on his face as he crossed his arms and raised a brow toward Yamada who just laughed and then turned away. 

“Gotta talk to your boss, sweetheart. He already knows we're comin’, I'm just surprised you're on guard duty tonight. This place is packed!” The woman rolled her eyes, clearly offended by Yamada’s ignorance but gave a nod and started walking through one of the lid tunnels. 

“So, um, what exactly is this place?” To Izuku’s question, the woman barked out a laugh that echoed within the walls, “Geez, how old is this kid?” 

Aizawa shook his head, telling him to shut up from the back of his shoulder, Izuku just averted his gaze to the ground and stayed quiet for the rest of the way. 

The more they walked, the more this uneasy feeling in Izuku’s chest grew. She's making sure we don't know how to get there on our own, it's a diversion to throw us off. He kept his guard up, each step they took, Izuku counted it. If I know how many steps it would take for one tunnel then I can calculate an approximate distance for them. 

Two more turns, and Izuku knew Aizawa’s knee must have started twitching. Thankfully, they could hear laughter behind a closed leather door with two men in suits guarding it. 

“Siren is here to see the boss-man,” the woman’s fingers plucked at one of the guards’ collars and pulled him to reach her height, “Be a dear and let ‘em know, hm?” Izuku felt like he was intruding, stupidity enough he turned his head to look at Aizawa instead, sticking his tongue out, making a face. The man ignored him again, but Izuku could still see the tiny smile tugging on his lips. 

“Right this way, gentlemen.” As the woman stepped away, she pulled down Izuku’s hood on her way back, startling him but once he saw Yamada slip his shades onto his collar, he let it be. “What a drag…” hearing Aizawa mutter, he wore a confident look on his face as they entered the room. 

“Welcome! Oh, I see you have brought your little friend as well, Siren-San! Always nice to put a face to the name, Midoriya-kun—” he knew he shouldn't have talked, he remembered what Katsuki said you suicidal or something?? It was funny. It is funny--

“And who are you, V?” A silence of death, and the masked man laughed, a single clap of his hands made Izuku step back as he rolled around a desk and stood in front of him, extending a hand, “From that movie, V for Vendetta, was it not?” Hesitantly, Izuku shook the man's hand and nodded. 

“Ha! I'm afraid not, my friend. Although, I'm surprised someone of your age knows of a movie older than myself--” the man let go, looking back at Aizawa next before stepping back and throwing both arms to each side, “Forgive me, I tend to babble on, where are my manners? I'm Mister Compress. Pleased to be meeting you in person, Midoriya Izuku!” 

—

“When will they be back?” Katsuki looked up from his textbook, asking himself why he was struck babysitting as he sighed and shot a look at his phone's screen. It's been two hours and still fucking nothing, great. “Not very soon, kid. Why don't you keep coloring your book?” 

Eri didn't seem satisfied with the answer, “I-- Um, just don't want them to get hurt. When they go out so late, they usually come back hurt. And… Zawa-san's friend was scary, I don't think I like him.” 

Katsuki leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, “What friend?” Eri played with the crayon in her hand, not meeting the boy's eyes, “The loud guy with sunglasses. I think Zuku-nii doesn't like him too, he took his knife with him when he sat with them.” 

“Did he now?” She gave a simple nod, not saying anything else as if she wanted Katsuki to ask the question. She didn't want to say anything unless she was asked, the last time hadn't turned out so well. “Do you know what this guy's name is?” 

“I think it was, uh… Siren? I'm not sure, I heard ‘Zuku-nii call him that but ‘Zawa-San called him something different. It was kinda hard to say, something like ‘sashi?-- No… Zashi?” Katsuki decided it was hilarious to watch a kid try to struggle talking, he smiled but wiped it off his face quickly as he stood up.

“Good enough for me, kid. Tell ya’ what, you wanna bake cookies while we wait?” 

“Yes, please! Thank you Kacchan-san!” 

“I told you already, it's just Kacchan! Ugh, why do I even bother…” 

_

Izuku’s fingers twitched at his sides, resisting the urge to wipe them on his pants after shaking Mr. Compress’s hand. The man’s charisma was suffocating—the kind that demanded attention even in a room that thrived on chaos. Izuku glanced Aizawa’s way, hoping for some signal, some unspoken guidance, but the man’s face was a mask of indifference, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I must say,” Compress continued, stepping back toward his desk with an air of theatricality, “I was curious about the boy Siren insisted on bringing. A curious addition to an already… peculiar conflict. But, no matter, we’re all here for a reason.”

Izuku’s breath hitched. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him, the walls seeming to close in despite the space. The two guards by the door hadn’t moved, their expressions unreadable, but their eyes darted to him more than once. He felt like prey under their gaze.

“The reason,” Siren interjected, his voice low and steady, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Let’s not waste time, Compress. We need the information you promised.”

Compress’s mask tilted slightly, as though appraising Siren. “Ah, my dear fellow, always so… punctual. Very well.” He gestured for them to approach the desk, and the three of them stepped forward, though Izuku lingered slightly behind the other two.

The desk itself was cluttered with oddities: papers scattered in disarray, a crystal ashtray with a half-burned cigar still smoldering and a glass of whiskey. Compress picked up the cigar, taking a slow drag before exhaling a plume of smoke that swirled in the dim light. Underneath the white mask rested a black one, only revealing his eyes and mouth. 

“Blaze,” he said, voice smooth as silk but laced with something sinister, “Oh, does she have issues! No matter those but yes, I have… some details that might interest you.”

“Care to share with the whole class?” Aizawa mocked, his patience clearly thinning with the theatrics.

Compress chuckled, the sound rich and mocking. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that? Let’s make this… a conversation. Midoriya-kun, tell me, do you know why you’re here?”

Izuku’s stomach flipped. The way Compress addressed him felt too personal, too knowing. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Aizawa’s earlier warning rang in his ears: You don’t talk unless spoken to. But Compress had spoken to him, hadn’t he?

“I heard you’re a fan of authenticity,” Izuku finally spoke with some confidence, “Despite the theatrics, but anyway, to answer your question; no.” his voice cockier than he’d intended. 

“Indeed,” Compress said, leaning forward, his gloved fingers steepled under his chin. “But tell me, do you understand what it means to walk into a place like this? To mingle with… individuals like myself?”

Izuku’s gaze flicked to Aizawa, who gave the slightest shake of his head. Don’t engage further, the gesture seemed to say. Izuku clenched his fists, frustrated but obedient, lowering his eyes to the floor as his suspicions were confirmed, he knows me. Not Kurai, me.  

“Thought so,” Compress said, his tone smug. He leaned back, exhaling another puff of smoke. “Now, as for Blaze, she’s been providing goods off her jurisdiction throughout my district for months now, undermining the Shie Hassaikai’s orders. Dangerous game if you ask me. But this stuff, ouff! Stuff that even some of my associates find unsavory.”

“What kind of goods we talkin’?” Yamada cut in, his voice uncharacteristically sharp.

Compress’s mask shifted toward him, and for a moment, the room felt colder. “Oh, you know. The kind that rots the mind, corrupts the soul. Drugs, weapons, information. Blaze got her hands in all of it, and off-country as well thanks to her cross-land connections.”

Izuku’s stomach churned. He’d seen firsthand what drugs could do to people, how they could hollow someone out until they were unrecognizable. But weapons? Information? That was a different level of danger altogether. And what weapons..? The guns here maybe? Fuck, always a show with people like him, dammit.

“And you’re just giving us this information out of the kindness of your heart?” Aizawa’s voice dripped with skepticism. 

“Hardly,” Compress said with a laugh. “Let’s just say that Blaze’s ambitions don’t align with my own. Not to mention Chisaki’s. A little sabotage here, a little inconvenience there. It’s all part of the game.”

Eraser’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s the catch?” He asked, Siren crossed his arms, “Yeah, you never mentioned Chisaki-sama before. What’s the old man’s role in all this anyway? I thought Blaze worked for Overhaul.”

Compress’s gloved hands spread wide in a gesture of innocence. “No catch, my dear Siren. Just… a favor. A small one. In due time, of course. And you… I wasn’t aware of your obliviousness, rumor is, Overhaul put the old man down, which is why he is the new head of the organization.”

Izuku’s heart sank. He’d read enough stories to know that “favors” from people like Compress were never small, never simple. But Aizawa didn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unreadable, while Izuku watched the shift in Siren’s eyes, so Overhaul isn’t a fan-favorite, no one wants him to be in the game, he concluded.

“We’ll consider it,” Aizawa said finally.

Compress inclined his head, as though he’d expected nothing less. “Very well. Then I suppose our business here is concluded. For now.”

The meeting felt anticlimactic, but Izuku could still feel the tension crackling in the air as they turned to leave. Compress’s voice stopped them at the door.

“Oh, and Midoriya-kun?”

Izuku froze, his hand halfway to his hood. He turned slowly, his stomach twisting into knots.“A word in private,” Compress said, his tone almost… gentle. “If you will grant it?”

Izuku swallowed hard, nodding before quickly shooting Aizawa a look of approval and watched as the two walked out of the room as he sat back down. 

“You know, you don’t sound like your father at all.” Did I hear that right, Izuku wondered, uneasiness creeping back in, “I’m sorry?” He sounded confused and on edge. “Hisashi Midoriya was an associate of mine who owed a certain amount of debt to me, imagine my surprise when he offered your services to me! It was quite the twist, to hear him say you could be of use just a week before he disappeared.” 

“And what kind of services are we talking about?” His voice was venomous, irritation and betrayal mixing bitterly at the revelation, fists clenched, eyes seeing red. “He said you have got what it takes to dance with this crowd with your head, despite your lack of quirk, you’re smart and catch onto things people tend to dismiss.” 

My dad said what. Is he hearing himself, are we even talking about the same person..? His mouth felt dry, his clenched fist becoming undone with trembling fingers. Mr. Compress watched him lay back as he stood up and offered a glass of the same whisky he was enjoying to the boy, “Fathers— Family can be difficult.” He said, walking behind his desk again. 

“Did you decline?” The crack in Izuku’s voice wasn’t missed before he gulped down half the glass and closed his eyes, ignoring his sober streak and the man’s true intentions, letting the alcohol do the work. 

“Well, of course! Have you seen anybody even close to your age in my fine establishment?” Compress laughed, Izuku shook his head and finished the drink given to him, “Doesn’t stop you from handing me a glass of alcohol though.” He remarked with a smirk, amused by the man’s reaction. 

“Sharing a bottle of whiskey seals the beginning of great friendship, my late father’s words. And you, my friend, have had your share under my watch.” 

Izuku decided Compress wasn’t all scary, he valued the honesty provided in confidence despite learning his— my fucking father gambling with my life, screw not doing anything to myself, I’m getting drunk tonight but for the right reasons. I’m not like him, I know my limits, I’m not a pathetic fuck-up like my father. I’m not a bad person—

He smiled bitter-sweetly, pushing himself off the leather seat, “Before you go,” why is he so so dramatic, “I’ve known both Siren and Erased for years although I doubt neither remember me by my real name and face, I must say… I don’t trust them, Midoriya-kun. Watch your back.” 

The tunnels felt darker on the way back, the weight of Compress’s words pressing down on him with every step. Aizawa and Yamada impatiently stood with the guards, awaiting his return to the group. Izuku just held his head down without a word, wishing for that drink he promised himself as soon as possible.

Once they emerged back into the chaos of the club, the blaring music and flashing lights felt like an assault on his senses. But Izuku barely noticed. His mind was racing, replaying every word Compress had said, every subtle shift in tone.

As they pushed through the crowd, he tugged on Aizawa's jacket who leaned down, his voice barely audible over the music. “Can I meet you back at home?”

Aizawa was hesitant when he nodded. Pulling his hood tighter around his face, Izuku gave a look at the woman escorting them and watched the two men leave the club. He didn’t trust himself to explain any further. His thoughts were too jumbled, his chest too tight.

For the first time, he truly understood what it meant to be out of his depth. 

And he hated it.

Soon, he was led to a private booth with a guard and offered drinks without even asking and the woman sat across from him as he chugged down a few shot glasses within minutes. “What's got a kid so worked up, slow down big guy.” She warned, she understood why her boss had stationed her by the boy now. 

“Just need to wind down, why're ya even here?” 

“Boss-man said you could use some company,” she explained, smiling with care in her eyes Izuku knew was an act. This wasn’t ideal, not by a long shot with the awfully loud music and unwanted company but free alcohol was free alcohol, right? “You just drink away and destroy your kidneys and when you have had enough, one of the guys will drive you home, m’kay honey?” 

Izuku had to admit-- Compress is a great friend. 

_

Izuku’s vision blurred as he poured himself another shot, the burn of alcohol in his throat a fleeting distraction from the storm brewing in his mind. The club’s racket was a distant hum, drowned by the echoes of Compress’s words. His father. Hisashi Midoriya. A name that had meant so little, now resurfacing with a vengeance, dragging old wounds to the surface and leaving him to reel.

The woman across from him watched with measured concern, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. She’d seen men drink themselves into stupors countless times, but the kid’s haunted eyes told a different story. He wasn’t here to numb the pain; he was here to wrestle it.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning, you know,” she said, her voice cutting through the fog. It wasn’t unkind, but Izuku wasn’t in the mood for advice.

“What’s new?” he muttered, throwing back another shot. The warmth spread through his chest, dulling the ache but sharpening the edges of his frustration. “I’d rather regret this than waking up covered in blood.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back, letting him sit with his thoughts. She’d learned long ago that some battles were fought in silence while some required more attention, hence her job in the club but the kid wasn’t in need of it in a way other people did. 

By the time Izuku stumbled out of the booth, his legs wobbled beneath him, and his head swam with a mix of anger and despair. The guard assigned to him stepped forward, steadying him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s get you home, kid,” the man said gruffly, guiding him toward a side exit where a sleek black car waited. Izuku didn’t resist, his energy drained, his thoughts a jumble of fragmented memories and unspoken fears.

The ride home was a blur. The city lights streaked past the window, a kaleidoscope of colors that only deepened his sense of disorientation. He leaned his head against the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

When they arrived at his apartment, Izuku fumbled with the keys, his hands trembling as he finally managed to unlock the door. The guard lingered in the hallway, his gaze heavy with unspoken questions, but Izuku waved him off with an absentminded thanks.

Inside, the silence was deafening. He kicked off his shoes and stumbled into the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a groan, completely forgetting that Katsuki was babysitting, who had left hours ago. The room swayed around him, the alcohol’s effects taking full hold. His thoughts circled back to Compress’s revelation, the words repeating like a cruel mantra.

He offered your services to me…

The betrayal cut deep, sharper than any wound he’d ever received in battle. I truly didn’t mean anything to him, some worth I have as a son. The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity. 

“You’re back I see.” Izuku looked up, head-heavy and elsewhere as Aizawa dragged himself to the kitchen. He watched as a glass was filled with water and handed to him. He downed it in one go, the cold beverage shocking his system and bringing a semblance of clarity.

Time passed in a haze, the alcohol’s effects mingling with his exhaustion. Aizawa sat on the other end of the couch, a disapproving yet concerned expression on his face, he looked like he was expecting some sort of explanation but he didn’t voice it. 

Eventually, Izuku got bored of the silence and sat up slowly, “He knew my dad.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “That asshole wanted to sell me to villains in exchange for his debt, ha! The one time he says I have the potential to exist, acknowledging my worth is to advertise me! Can you believe it, Shota?” 

Taken aback by the use of his given name, and what he was just told; Aizawa carefully watched Izuku’s eyes brim with tears, so broken and fragile. His words were slurring, barely coherent, the man doubted he was meant to know any of this given Izuku’s state. 

Aizawa’s sigh was heavy, the kind that spoke volumes. “Izuku,” he began cautiously, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve had a long night. I think you need to sleep this off before we unpack anything.”

“Sleep it off?” Izuku’s laugh was bitter, his voice cracking. “I can’t sleep it off. Not this! Not when I know…” His hands balled into fists, trembling. “He thought I was… expendable. Like I was some tool to barter. Am I nothing more than that? If my own father thought that of me then why do I even try?”

Aizawa’s gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. “You are not expendable. And you’re not him, Izuku.”

“How do you know?” Izuku shot back, his voice rising as he sobbed. “How do you know I won’t become like him? I’m his blood, after all. Maybe I’m doomed to be--” His voice cracked again, and the tears spilled over, unchecked.

Aizawa moved closer, his hand resting on Izuku’s shoulder. “You’re not doomed to be anything. You’re your own person. And your actions, your choices—that’s what defines you. Not him.” Izuku’s breath hitched, the words sinking in slowly. He stared at Aizawa, searching for something—validation, perhaps, or a reason to believe him.

“I just… I don’t know how to…” Izuku’s voice trailed off, and he buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed.“You’re not alone in this,” Aizawa said quietly. “We’ll figure it out together. But for now, you need rest.”

Izuku hesitated, then nodded weakly. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.”

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting long, soft shadows across the room. Izuku’s head throbbed painfully, a sharp reminder of the night before. The blanket Aizawa had tugged him under felt too heavy, as if it was suffocating him, reminding him of the weight of everything that had happened. He groaned before getting up to face his failures with the cat-printed blanket wrapped around him like a shield. 

His stomach churned with the remnants of alcohol, each movement making him feel worse. His body ached in a way that only a hangover could yield—every inch of him felt off, like his own skin didn’t quite belong to him anymore. 

It wasn’t new though.

The silence in the room was heavier than before, thicker with the tension of unresolved thoughts, of words left unsaid. Aizawa’s presence loomed in the background dragging him back, to the bedroom, the quiet protector and the voice of reason. Izuku had barely slept, his mind constantly racing between the memories of the night before, the sting of his father’s betrayal, and the shame that now clung to him like a second skin. His own anger boiled in his chest, mixing with guilt and frustration.

“I can’t believe I broke my sobriety,” Izuku muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His hands gripped the blanket as if it might somehow give him the strength to push through the pain, but nothing helped. Nothing ever helped.

The room was colder now, despite the sunlight streaming in, and he could feel the absence of the warmth that had been there the night before, when Aizawa had comforted him.

The thought of last night felt like a distant memory, distorted and blurry, as though it had happened to someone else. He closed his eyes, trying to push away the overwhelming feeling of shame that had settled in his gut. He felt pathetic, barely a week and I’m back to acting like him.

He could already feel Aizawa’s eyes on him, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to face the disappointment that was sure to be there. He wasn’t just mad at himself for breaking his sobriety; he was mad at how easily it had happened. How quickly he had resorted to alcohol to numb the pain, to forget the betrayal, the confusion, and the weight of everything else that had happened in his life.

He recalled what he’d told the woman with him in the booth, I changed my mind, waking up covered in blood is better than a hangover. 

Aizawa had been patient last night, too patient, allowing him the space to speak when he needed to, to cry when the words wouldn’t come. But now, with the morning light pouring in and the reality of the situation crashing down on him, Izuku didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to apologize, wanted to somehow take back the words he had said, the way he had let the emotions spill out like that. But there was no way to take it back, no way to undo the damage.

Aizawa shifted slightly, the sound of his movements pulling Izuku out of his spiraling thoughts. The older man had been quietly sitting at the table across the room, but now he was standing, moving closer. His steps were slow, and measured, like he wasn’t sure what to say or how to approach the situation.

“Izuku…” Aizawa’s voice was quiet, hesitant, but still firm. It was the kind of voice that demanded attention, but not with force—more like a gentle nudge, as though he was trying to persuade Izuku out of the pit of his mind. “We need to talk about last night.”

Izuku stiffened at the sound of his name, the weight of it settling deep in his chest. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to face the harsh truth of what he had done, what he had become. His eyes darted away, avoiding Aizawa’s gaze, as if that would somehow protect him from the conversation they both knew was coming. 

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Izuku muttered, his voice tight, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. He wanted to hide, to push Aizawa away, but he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t alone anymore, and he couldn’t keep pretending like he was.

“Problem child,” Aizawa said, his tone gentle but unwavering, “Like I told you, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here for you.”

Izuku swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. He couldn’t look at Aizawa, couldn’t bear to see the concern in his eyes. “I don’t deserve your help,” he whispered, the shame in his voice undeniable. “I let myself fall back into it… just like my dad. I’m just like him. I’m worse than him and we both know it.”

The words tasted like poison on his tongue, but they had to be said. He couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep lying to himself. Aizawa had been there for him when he needed him most, but Izuku felt like he was beyond help now. He was too broken, too damaged, to be saved.

Aizawa’s footsteps were steady as he approached, sitting down next to Izuku on the edge of the couch. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and Izuku couldn’t decide if the silence was comforting or suffocating. Finally, Aizawa broke it, his voice calm but resolute.

“You are not your father, Izuku. You’re not him,” Aizawa said, the words firm but gentle. ”We never talked about this but… he was abusive, wasn’t he? I should’ve brought it up, I just didn’t know how to.”

Aizawa’s words landed heavily in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the unsaid, the parts of Izuku’s past that had remained locked away for so long. Izuku didn’t know how to react, his emotions too jumbled to process what Aizawa was trying to offer. A part of him wanted to feel relief—relief that someone finally saw his pain, that someone was trying to understand—but another part of him recoiled, too raw, too exposed.

Still untrusting.

“I…” Izuku started, his voice faltering as he fought to hold himself together, but the weight of his father's betrayal pressed down on him once again. “He wasn’t just… abusive. He—he was a piece of shit. All he did was use my mom, take advantage of her, and use me as a punching bag no matter how hard I tried..! I thought... I thought I could make him proud, but he only ever saw me as a useless, quirkless mistake.”

His chest tightened as the words tumbled out, every syllable a bitter reminder of the years he’d spent chasing something he’d never get. His father had never cared about him, and in some ways, Izuku had never stopped seeking that approval, even when he knew it was impossible.

Pathetic.

“I never wanted to be like him,” Izuku continued, his voice barely more than a whisper now as if saying it aloud would make it too real. “But I still wanted him to love me, be proud of me… I know it sounds stupid but all I had was my mom and him.”

Aizawa let out a slow, steady breath. He could see the conflict in Izuku’s eyes, the self-loathing that had taken root deep inside him. His words were sharp, cutting, like a man who was trying to convince himself that his own worth was beyond repair. 

“Izuku, you’ve been carrying a weight that isn’t yours to carry,” Aizawa spoke firmly, his voice tireless, the tone so certain it made Izuku pause. “The things your father did to you, the things he tried to make you believe—those are his responsibilities, not yours. You don’t-- You didn’t have to make a man like him proud. And….”

“And if it means anything to you… I’m sure as hell proud of you and the person you’re becoming.”

Izuku let out a shaky breath, his eyes stinging with the threat of fresh tears. He wanted to believe that, really, he did. But the image of his father’s cold, calculating eyes—eyes that never once saw him as a person—was hard to shake.

He swallowed hard, forcing his hands to unclench from the blanket that had become a barrier between him and the world. “But… I don’t know how to let go,” he whispered. “It’s always there, in the back of my mind. The fear that one day, I’ll wake up and realize I’ve turned out just as bad as him. And then it’ll be too late. I’ll be just like him, and there’s no coming back from that. I do ruin everything I touch--”

Aizawa’s gaze softened, his hand resting gently on Izuku’s shoulder. The touch wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to steady him, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” Aizawa said quietly. “You’re allowed to not be perfect all the time, problem child. You’re allowed to make mistakes and learn from them. What matters is that you keep going, and that you make the decision to move forward. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push back the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to drown him. His breath hitched as he exhaled, struggling to find control in the chaos of his mind. 

“I feel like I’m drowning,” he confessed, his voice barely audible. “Like I can’t breathe, and the more I fight, the worse it gets. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

“You breathe, Izuku. That’s all you need to do right now.” Aizawa’s voice was calm, and steady, like an anchor holding him in place. “You don’t have to fix everything. You just have to keep breathing. Keep living. That’s what matters. And you’ve been trying to do good by yourself, I can see it.”

Izuku sat there for a moment, lost in the weight of Aizawa’s words. He wanted to argue, to say that it wasn’t that simple, that the pain inside him ran deeper than anything Aizawa could understand.

But for some reason, in that moment, the quiet reassurance in Aizawa’s voice made the chaos inside him feel a little less overwhelming. Maybe he wasn’t beyond repair. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance.

The silence between them stretched on, but this time, it didn’t feel as suffocating. Aizawa wasn’t pushing him to talk or forcing him to fix everything. He was just... there. And for the first time in a long time, Izuku felt like maybe that was enough.

Just as he was beginning to feel like he might find some semblance of peace in the quiet, the sound of footsteps echoed from the kitchen, followed by a small, familiar voice.

“Zu-nii!! There you are!” 

Izuku turned to see Eri standing in the doorway, a bright smile lighting up her face. She was carrying a tray, the delicious scent of cookies on a plate with a cup of milk beside them. Her wide, innocent eyes were filled with curiosity, but there was also a softness there, a tenderness that made Izuku feel like maybe, just maybe, things might not be as broken as they felt. 

“Apparently, she likes milk and cookies now.” Aizawa greeted her with a smile that softened the sternness he usually carried. He looked at her with that quiet affection that only she seemed to bring out in him.

“Did you sleep well? I was scared when you didn’t come home with Zawa-san.”

Eri stared right into Izuku’s soul, setting the tray down on the coffee table with a soft clink of the plates, “I’m… I’m okay, Eri-chan. Thank you, though.” Eri smiled in return, skipping over to them, “Kacchan-san and I baked cookies for you!” 

Her smile was wide, her excitement palpable. “He said you like chocolate so we put a bunch in them. Do you want some?”

Izuku’s heart tugged at the sight of her—such a small thing, so full of light and warmth, despite everything that had happened. The milk still warm, the chocolate chips looking sickeningly sweet and the simple act of Eri bringing them to him felt like a small but important gesture of care. 

Izuku felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a while—a sense of belonging, of being needed. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something worth fighting for. “I’d love some, Eri-chan.” Izuku said, his voice quieter than usual, but there was a softness to it now, a note of gratitude that hadn’t been there before.

Eri beamed, her eyes sparkling with joy as she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the couch. As Aizawa watched the scene unfold, his gaze lingered on Izuku for a moment longer before he stood up. “I think we’ll take a break from the heavy stuff for now, we have time before Compress expects an answer,” Aizawa said, his voice lighter than before. “Let’s have some cookies.”

Izuku nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he reached for a cookie. It wasn’t a solution, not yet. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe he could start to heal, one small step at a time.

_

And what better way to do that than to help people! 

Out for a patrol, in the middle of the night, smoking half of his pack along the way, fingers freezing despite the gloves, and the guilt for sneaking out after the heartfelt conversation he had with Aizawa.

Jumping down from yet another rooftop thanks to a scream, he wished he could handle the situation with Detective Tsukauchi just so he could go back to walking in peace with his mask and goggles on. 

_

The narrow streets were shrouded in a dense fog that blurred the jagged outlines of the city. The air carried a faint chill, laced with the scent of rain and the metallic tang of blood smeared on her skin. Her fingers twitched as she tried again to wipe her face clean, but the sticky sensation clung stubbornly to her, a relentless reminder of everything she’d done.

She hesitated, stealing a glance at the figure walking just ahead of her. His dark silhouette moved with a steady purpose, the mask covering his face revealing nothing. His lack of reaction—the absence of judgment—gnawed at her curiosity and unease. Why had he stopped for her? Why hadn’t he bolted the moment he saw the knife? He couldn’t have missed it, lying so brazenly next to the body.

Kurai suddenly turned, his head tilting slightly as his voice cut through the quiet. “Are you alright back there?”

The simple question twisted something deep in her chest. Relief, perhaps, though it felt too much like guilt. She tightened her grip on her sleeves, forcing herself to take another step forward.

“I… I think so,” she managed, though the words came out weaker than she’d hoped. He studied her for a moment longer than she expected before continuing forward. His measured steps didn’t falter, his presence unshaken. That steadiness made her stomach stir.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked, his voice devoid of anything but quiet sincerity.

Home. The word struck her like a physical blow. She dropped her gaze to the ground, her pace slowing until her feet felt too heavy to lift. The weight of the night crashed over her again, a tidal wave she’d been trying to hold back since it all started.

“I don’t have one anymore,” she admitted before she could stop herself. Her voice wavered, carrying a vulnerability she hated hearing aloud. “My parents… they kicked me out.”

Kurai stopped walking. He turned to face her fully, his expression hidden behind his mask but his silence heavy with thought. “I see,” he said, at last, his tone unreadable. “Can I ask why?”

She hesitated, her nails biting into her palms. It wasn’t a question she’d wanted to answer, but the words came spilling out anyway, drawn by the way he’d looked at her—like he genuinely wanted to understand.

“My quirk,” she whispered. “They think I’m cursed.”

Her heart pounded, her mind screaming that he’d leave now. That he’d recoil just like everyone else. But something inside her pushed her to keep going. He helped me when no one else did. I owe him the truth.

“I can transform into anyone,” she continued, her voice steadying despite herself. “If I drink their blood.”

The words hung in the air between them, as heavy as the fog. She braced herself for disgust, for rejection, for him to turn and walk away. But instead, he tilted his head, his posture shifting as if he were intrigued.

“That’s your quirk?” he asked, his voice filtered through the mechanical distortion of his mask. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in a good way or a bad way.

Her heart sank. He’s going to leave. He’s going to think I’m a freak. But before the thought could root itself, he surprised her again. From seemingly nowhere, he pulled out a notebook, flipping it open with practiced ease.

Toga blinked, startled, as he slid the mask down just enough to speak freely. “Does it matter how much you consume? Is there a time limit? Can you drink more than one person’s blood and switch between them at will? Can you tell the difference between gender, age, or quirk? Wait—! Can you use the person’s quirk once you’ve transformed?”

The storm of questions was almost dizzying. He caught himself, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry. I tend to mumble when I get carried away.” He offered her a slight bow. “You can call me Kurai.”

Her eyes widened, the unexpected sincerity cracking through the tension in her chest. A chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Toga Himiko,” she said, her smile faint but real. “And you don’t have to apologize, Kurai-kun. It’s just… no one’s ever been that enthusiastic about my quirk before.”

Kurai’s smile mirrored hers, though his attention quickly shifted back to his notebook. He scribbled a few notes before tucking it away, his focus returning to the path ahead.

“You did see the body, right?” Toga asked cautiously, her steps faltering. “Why aren’t you…” She trailed off, unsure how to phrase the question. “I checked his pulse,” Kurai said matter-of-factly. “He’s still alive. He probably won’t remember much because of the blood loss, and you seemed like you needed help more than he did.”

The simplicity of his answer left her speechless. She jogged a little to catch up, falling into step beside him. “So, are you like a villain who helps people? Oh! An anti-hero?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Kurai glanced at her briefly, his tone calm but firm. “A vigilante, Toga-san.”

“Wait, vigilantes are real?”

“Um, yeah??”

Her eyes sparkled with newfound interest, and though she asked no more questions, her energy filled the silence between them. Kurai sighed inwardly, the weight of his decision settling over him. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to help her. His safe house had already been compromised, but offering it up now made the situation feel permanent.

The walk stretched longer than he expected. As the shadows grew heavier, Kurai’s hand instinctively moved toward the cigarette pack in his pocket. He paused, glancing at her.

“Hey, um, do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, the question feeling strange on his tongue. He’d never bothered asking anyone before.

Toga looked at him with confusion before shrugging. “Why are you asking?”

He thought for a moment, realizing he didn’t have a good answer. “I guess I just thought… you don’t seem like someone who’s around smokers often.”

“It’s okay, you can smoke, Kurai-kun!” she said, her enthusiasm catching him off guard.

He hesitated before pulling out his pack, lighting a cigarette as his mask slipped down. The first drag filled his lungs with bitter relief, though it did little to settle the unease stirring in his chest.

“How come I’ve never heard of you?” Toga asked, breaking the silence. Kurai exhaled a plume of smoke, his voice quieter now. “That means I’m doing it right. You’re not supposed to know any vigilantes.”

“Wow! Okay ‘Mister Mystery’... Then-- How old are you?”

“You’re not supposed to know that either,” he replied, though there was a faint smile in his tone. What he wasn’t aware of was the glimpse of admiration growing behind her golden eyes as he walked up front with his hand in his pocket, leading someone just as lost as himself to what once was a sacred place for him.

The rest of the trip passed in silence. No words were exchanged while they both got lost in their own heads. Izuku felt both guilty and free in a sense, conflicted was likely the word he was looking for. He always had a moral code he followed, at least he thought so, but lately… 

Lately, he found himself in uncalled situations, interacting with bad people, doing things he’d never dream of doing; his life was more complicated, he knew he should’ve expected this but it didn’t change the reality he was a part of now. Sighing quietly, he pushed open the door and allowed Toga to go in first, feeling better about making sure she felt safe in the process. 

“It’s not ideal, I know but—“

Toga’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, overwhelmingly tight, and— “Thank you..!” He resisted pushing her back, trying to understand she was just doing it to show her gratitude and focused on keeping himself calm instead of the contact. 

“So, um,” he began, Toga slowly let go and smiled through tears, “There is a couch upstairs, I have a stash of food in the back room and bottles of water over there,” he pointed at the corner behind the bench, “There is a bathroom but no clean-- or any working water, I don’t recommend it. I’ll do my best to find another way to keep you safe. I know this isn’t enough but I need you to lay low here for a few days, is that okay, Toga-san?”

Toga nodded, smiling ear to ear, confused as to why someone who had just met her was helping her so much and happy for the same reason, “It’s more than enough, Kurai-kun. I can’t thank you enough. But where do you stay--”

Izuku’s phone started ringing, as if answering the girl’s question, one look at the caller ID and he hung up. “Look, this is a hideout. I come here from time to time but I don’t stay here. At least not anymore, I’ll give you my number so you can contact me if you need anything but I have to go now. I’m really sorry.” 

The explanation seemed enough for Toga, while he walked her upstairs, he gave her his number, showing her around briefly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Toga-san?” 

“Looking forward to it! And… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

_

Chapter Text

Frantic footsteps and an ashy scent jolted her awake, but before Toga had any time to get a grasp on what was going on, a puzzled face greeted her through the doorframe. “Who the hell are you?” her eyes narrowed, pushing herself to sit up, the sharp edge of a knife poking her hand. I’m starting to like you even more, Kurai-kun, gripping the handle of the knife, “Who are you?” she asked.

“Dammit, I don’t have time for this! Where the fuck is Deku!?”

She studied his distressed eyes, and the messy clothing hanging from his frame, who is Deku..? Is he talking about Kurai-kun? What does Deku even mean!? “Are you talking about Kurai-kun--?” she couldn’t even finish what she was saying as the blond’s phone rang, cutting her off.

“He’s not here either. Fuck… what if something else happened?” She could feel the distress in his voice as he completely ignored her and took the phone call, pacing around like a madman. “Yeah, but-- Alright, I’ll go check the police station since you can’t.” she could only listen to the one-sided conversation, seeing he was no threat, Toga hid the knife back to its safe spot. 

“Can’t you ask that ‘Zashi guy for help? What about the guy you met the other night-- No, he didn’t tell me shit!” She watched him as he took a deep breath, but his fists were smoking, clear anger issues, “Well maybe if you’d told me what was going on from the beginning then none of this would have fucking happened!--” 

Toga slowly got up, pushing the thin blanket aside and putting her shoes back on but her eyes didn’t leave the boy’s figure. He must’ve noticed because she met his furious gaze, “What the hell are you looking at--? No, just-- fuck. There’s a chick here. No, I don’t fucking know her-- Fucking… fine. Yeah, I’ll keep you updated.” 

The phone slipped back to his pocket as Toga stood up, she held her own when the other walked toward her, “I’m going to ask again and this time,” he raised his palm, glowing a shade dangerously resembling fire, “You better answer. Where the fuck is Kurai?” 

She made an act of falling back on the couch after a gulp, just to reach for the knife again. Having no idea who he was, she’d rather not give anything away. Kurai had helped her, she’d rather take care of this guy than sell out the one person who was nice to her in-- in forever. 

“If you tell me who you are, maybe I’ll consider it.” The knife’s edge brushed his shirt, leaving behind a thin cut and causing him to jerk back, arms up for defense. “Are you fucking crazy?! He might be hurt or-- or worse. I ain’t the enemy here! For all I know, it could have been you!”

“You… You’re not a villain?” 

“What the fuck..? No!”

They both stared at each other. Both in middle school uniforms, both cursed with bed-hair, and dark circles under red eyes. Toga put down her knife first, and bowed slightly, “Toga Himiko.” The blond sighed, “Bakugou Katsuki.” he looked away next. 

“So, Kurai-kun… is he in trouble?” She broke the silence, curious and worried.Toga watched Bakugou pace back and forth, his fists still faintly smoking as his frustration simmered just beneath the surface. She could tell he was barely keeping himself together. Something about Kurai meant a lot to him, and while she didn’t fully understand what was happening, she decided to tread carefully.

Katsuki’s voice cut through the silence. “What do you mean, ‘is he in trouble?’ Of course, he’s in fucking trouble! That piece of shit-- I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” His red eyes locked onto hers, burning with an intensity that made her grip the knife tighter.

“I mean,” she started, choosing her words cautiously, “What kind of trouble? Is he hurt? He seemed okay last night…”

Katsuki scowled, dragging a hand through his wild blond hair. “I don’t know! That’s what I’m trying to figure out. He’s been missing for hours, and no one knows where the hell he is--” He cut himself off, processing what Toga had just told him. 

“You mean he rescued you last night?”

Toga’s heart raced as the words sank in. Kurai was missing? Her grip on the knife tightened momentarily before she forced herself to loosen it. Something about Katsuki’s urgency struck a chord within her. Whatever trouble Kurai was in, it had to be serious if this fiery blond was pacing the room like a caged animal.

“He saved you last night? So you saw him…” Katsuki’s voice was sharp, laced with suspicion. His gaze bore into her, demanding answers she wasn’t entirely sure she had.

Toga nodded slowly. “I… I was in a bad spot. He helped me out. That’s all I know.” She wasn’t sure how much to divulge, but something about Katsuki’s desperation made her believe he wasn’t lying. “What’s going on? Why would someone want to hurt him?”

Katsuki growled, frustration clear in his tone. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out, dammit! All I know is he’s been off the grid for hours, and that ain’t like him. Aizawa’s got people looking, but I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

“Aizawa?” Toga tilted her head, confused.

“Doesn’t matter,” Katsuki snapped. He began pacing again, muttering under his breath. “If he’s not here and the news said nothing about him either, then where the hell could he be?”

A sudden mock like knock at the door silenced them both. Katsuki’s body tensed, his fists beginning to smolder with faint sparks. Toga’s eyes darted to the knife she’d just tucked away. She hesitated for a moment before retrieving it again, holding it at her side.

The flooring cracked before either of them could respond. A tall figure stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the rusty windows. His dark coat hung loosely around him, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to cut through the room. Toga instinctively took a step back.

“Who the fuck are you?” Katsuki barked, stepping in front of Toga protectively. His fists sparked brighter, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice.

The man raised a hand lazily, as if to wave off Katsuki’s aggression. “Relax, kid. Name’s Dabi. I’m not here to start a fight.” His voice was calm, not gonna repat the whole ‘Who the hell are you’ I had with Midoriya, almost bored, but there was an edge to it that made Toga uneasy.

“Like hell you’re not,” Katsuki growled. “What do you want?”

Dabi’s eyes flicked to Toga briefly before settling back on Katsuki. “Looking for someone. Might be the same person you’re looking for. Green hair, freckles, kind of a goody-two-shoes vibe but still a brat?”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about him?”

Dabi leaned casually against the doorframe, his gaze unreadable. “Not much. I was coming to borrow cigarettes from his stash anyway then heard he might be in some trouble. Figured I’d check it out.”

Toga’s grip on the knife tightened. “Why would you care? You don’t exactly look like the ‘helping’ type.” Dabi smirked, staples pulling, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Fair point. Let’s just say I owe the kid a favor.”Katsuki stepped closer, his fists still sparking. “If you’re lying…”

“I’m not,” Dabi interrupted, his tone cool. “Believe me or don’t. Makes no difference to me.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Toga watched the two men carefully, trying to piece together what was happening. Dabi’s demeanor was hard to read, but he didn’t seem overtly hostile. Still, there was an unpredictability about him that put her on edge.

“Have you seen him?” Katsuki asked, his voice strained with barely contained anger.

Dabi shook his head. “Not for the last two weeks, maybe more. But if he’s in trouble, I might have an idea where to start looking.”

“Then spit it out!” Katsuki shouted, stepping closer.

Dabi held up a hand, his smirk fading. “Calm down, hothead. I’ll tell you, but I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are!”

“You want to find your friend or not?” Dabi’s voice was sharp, cutting through Katsuki’s protests. The two stared each other down, neither willing to back off.

Toga cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “If he knows something, maybe we should listen. Kurai-kun helped me. I want to help him too.” Katsuki hesitated, his fists still sparking. Finally, he let out a frustrated growl and turned away. “Fine. But if you’re lying,” he pointed a finger at Dabi, “I’ll blow your ass to pieces.”

Dabi chuckled softly. “Noted.”

The three of them left the small apartment, the air tense with unspoken questions. Toga couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated. As they followed Dabi through the empty, rotting streets, she found herself glancing at Katsuki, his fiery determination unwavering, and then at Dabi, his calm exterior masking whatever motives lay beneath.

Whatever was waiting for them, Toga knew one thing for certain: Kurai was worth the risk. And she wasn’t about to let him face it alone.

_

“Awake I see.”

He blinked, then blinked again. Head throbbing in torment. The dark spots in his vision were bothersome but the voice greeting him had hammered against his eardrums. The blur was right in front of him under a second, triggering his senses and the scent of detergent awakened him fully at last.

Wrist and ankles bound, no green sight hinted the lack of coverage on his face, “He’d have my head if you didn’t wake up, Midoriya.” His breath hitched when he recognized the husky voice. The words piled into a lump in his throat before he registered where he was. Blinking again, he sighed, this should be fun.

“Did your master pull your leash too hard the last time, Blaze-san?”

The woman’s hand rubbed his knee, a jaunty look on her scarred face, “I’d imagined you were on the young side but a child? No- a brat, this, I was shocked to find out. Not in a position to be mocking, don’t you think?” Clearly, Izuku thought, but I just need you to keep talking. He chose to stay silent and smirk in return instead.

“No snarky come-back?” She teased before retrieving her hand, Izuku’s smirk didn’t falter, even as Blaze’s hand retrieved. Her scarred face twisted into a mixture of amusement and irritation, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned back against the wall.

The room was bright, pitch white lights illuminating each corner. The faint hum of machinery in the background suggested they were underground—a hideout, maybe. Not Overhaul’s main base, but close enough to his operations. Could be though, these guys are stupid enough.

Blaze tilted her head, her uneven grin betraying a hint of curiosity. “Both a kid and a quirkless mutt. It’s impressive, really. A kid without a quirk, playing vigilante. Must be exhausting pretending to be something you’re not.” Izuku’s fingers twitched, the bindings around his wrists digging into his skin. He felt the rough metal beneath the straps almost tighten with every small movement, but he didn’t care. 

Her words were bait, and he wasn’t about to bite. Instead, he leaned his head back against the cold metal chair and let out a soft laugh.

“You think I’m pretending?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “That’s adorable.”

Blaze’s grin widened. “Oh, you’re feisty. I like that. Makes this more entertaining.” She stepped closer again, the click of her boots echoing in the confined space. Her hand hovered near his face, as though debating whether to strike or caress. She settled for neither, instead crouching to meet his eyes.

“But let’s get something straight, kid. Overhaul doesn’t tolerate games. And me? I don’t tolerate disrespect.” Her voice dropped to a near growl, and for a brief moment, Izuku felt the weight of her presence pressing down on him.

She wasn’t bluffing—the intimidating part was the truth behind her words. But he was confident this time. He’d fought her before, he could do it again; he’d seen enough of her moves to predict the next ones.

He met her gaze without flinching. “I’m not disrespecting you. I’m just… unimpressed.”

Blaze’s expression darkened, but before she could respond, the heavy sound of a door opening interrupted them. Both turned to see a figure stepping into the room, his presence instantly shifting the atmosphere. Overhaul himself.

Dressed in his signature plague —it's a beak, fucking bird— mask and tailored coat, the man exuded an air of cold authority. His eyes swept over the scene, taking in Blaze’s crouched position and Izuku’s restrained form. Without a word, he raised a hand, and Blaze immediately stepped back, straightening as though she’d been caught misbehaving.

“Hands off the merchandise, Blaze,” Overhaul said, his voice subdued but firm. “Leave.”

Blaze hesitated, her eyes flickering between Overhaul and Izuku. Finally, she nodded and moved toward the door, throwing one last glance at Izuku. “Don’t get yourself killed too quickly, Midoriya. I’d love a rematch.”

The door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and silence settled over the room. Overhaul took a step closer, his gloved hands clasped behind his back. His eyes bore into Izuku, unblinking and calculating.

“You’ve been such a nuisance,” Overhaul began, his tone devoid of emotion. “Yet for someone without a quirk, you’ve been remarkably resourceful. It’s almost… impressive.” Izuku said nothing, his smirk fading as he shifted his focus entirely to Overhaul. The man’s presence was suffocating, his calm demeanor hiding the ruthlessness Izuku knew all too well.

His eyes were desperate for an opening, a sight of weakness in his glory of darkness but none. Is he even human? The only thing I know about him is his scratching habit when he’s stressed, thanks to Eri--

Overhaul’s head tilted slightly. “I’ll cut to the chase. I know you have Eri.” Izuku’s breath caught, but he forced himself to remain still. He couldn’t let anything slip, not now.

The man continued, his eyes narrowing. “You think you’re protecting her, along with Eraser-- wait, sorry, Aizawa.” Izuku’s eyes widened, “Judging by that look, I’m spot on. Good to know.” He could almost see the sinister smile in his tone.

“Acting like you’re some kind of hero. But you’re only stretching the inevitable. She belongs to me. And I will get her back but you…”

Izuku clenched his fists, the bindings biting into his skin, “The amount of quirkless people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and compared to them, you’re the real deal. Young, fiery, not some old geezer who’s bones have become twigs--”

“You sure do like to hear your own voice, huh, Chisaki?” The twitch in Overhaul’s eye made Izuku push through the torment of his thoughts, jackpot. “If you hadn’t noticed: She’s not an object,” he said, his voice laced with anger. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.”

Overhaul’s eyes flickered with something—annoyance, perhaps—but his expression remained neutral. “You’re naive. Do you really think you can protect her? You’re alone. No allies, no resources, no quirk. You’re just a pest, Midoriya. A temporary obstacle.”

Izuku met his gaze, his green eyes burning with defiance. “Maybe I’m alone. Maybe I’m outmatched. But as long as I’m breathing, you won’t touch her, I won’t let you.”

Overhaul’s lips pressed into a thin line beneath the mask. He took a step closer, his gloved hand reaching out to grip Izuku’s chin. The leather was cold against his skin, and the gesture was both controlling and demeaning. 

“Bravery without power is foolish,” Overhaul said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re fighting a battle you can’t win.” Izuku’s smirk returned, small but unwavering. “Then why are you so worried?”

Overhaul released him with a small shove, his expression darkening. He straightened and adjusted his gloves, his movements precise and deliberate.“I’ll be sure to entertain myself with this spirit of yours while it lasts,” he said, turning toward the door. “I do hope you learn to keep your mouth shut, wouldn’t want to cut off your vocal cords.”

Izuku gulped, eyes fixing on the tiles with the vivid image popping up in his head, “We’ll begin the tests tomorrow, I’ve postponed my operations long enough because of you. Until then, I do hope you think all this over and give up her location.”

As the door opened, Overhaul paused, glancing back at Izuku. “Oh, and Midoriya. I suggest you get comfortable because you’re not getting out of here any time soon.”

The door closed with a heavy clang, leaving Izuku alone in the blindingly lit room. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He tugged at the bindings on his wrists, testing their strength. They held firm, but I have to get out of here.

He had to get out. He had to protect Eri. The front he’d put up crumbled, his lungs burned, Izuku forced his racing thoughts to calm down but it was useless. Overhaul’s words echoed in his mind, but he pushed them aside. Doubt had no place here.

Yet, it wasn’t long before the said doubt crept itself to his mind but it was hours before Izuku actually gave in to his twisted thoughts.

He wouldn’t give them what they wanted. He wouldn’t be a pawn in Chisaki’s sick game. For a brief moment, he considered freeing himself just to reach the scalpel sitting at the edge of the medical tray on wheels beside the chair he was strapped on and slit his wrists, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

Maybe he had been waiting for this moment to take his life, or maybe he was trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing as an excuse. 

Tugging on the restraints, he put every muscle in his arm to use, it’s now or never, if I do this then I don’t have to worry about anything else ever again. Chisaki wouldn’t be able to complete his research either and the war everyone is expecting with the League— It would all come to an end. 

Finally, one strap’s hook broke and hit the ground, leaving room for his hand to move around and slip away from its imprisonment. Shooting a quick look over to the metal door, he helped his other wrist out and undid the rest of the straps binding him to the chair. He took a moment to rub his wrists to give them some relief before slowly standing up and reaching for the scalpel. 

Izuku rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, then stood there staring at the scar tissue. Eyes shifting between the sharp edge and his skin, I can do this. I’ve done it enough times to know how this works, all I have to do is just put more pressure. Closing his eyes as he dragged in a breath, he felt the tears rolling down his bruised cheeks, “I have to, for everyone’s sake…”

It wasn’t a convincing argument, and a part of him knew. Deep, deep down but not close enough for his rational senses to reach, he gradually sat back down and lowered the scalpel to his wrist, just as it made contact with his skin, he came to realize one thing. If Chisaki doesn’t have me, he’ll try even harder to get his hands on Eri. 

“Eri will be the one strapped to the chair getting his skin ripped apart and blood sucked until her body gives in… Can I do that to her? Do I have any right to trade my place with her..?” He thought aloud, unable to get his thoughts straight; it felt like he was lost in the many lies he’d told and couldn’t get his story right.

“But I have to. If I- If I do this, then there’s a chance he might not get to her as well.”

The blade was back at his wrist, poking his scarred skin, bits of blood looked like tiny pearls, “Yeah, Aizawa-san will protect her..!” He argued with himself as he dragged the blade sideways but his hand suddenly stopped moving, “He couldn’t protect you, how is he going to protect a little girl-- then again, he doesn’t care about you. He does care about Eri though..!”

He felt like he was going crazy, his thoughts, he could hear them talking about him; the wide walls and the huge led hanging above his head didn’t help. He was trapped-- 

“Fuck! I can’t do this anymore!” 

Izuku yanked the blade, leaving behind a deep red horizontal line in that moment of racing thoughts, hissing suddenly at the feeling after not having done this in days now but he knew better than to put pressure on.

He needed to get the job done so he placed the blade above the cut he’d just made and aimed for vertical in his head as he closed his eyes and pushed.

It burned. Never in his life had he felt pain this excruciating. Not when he was burnt by his own father, not when he was beaten halfway to death every day, not when he was shot or stabbed, no. Nothing compared to this.

His mind flickered with endless thoughts and anxiety but a weird sense of rush filled him despite the numbness in his fingertips and the chill that ran throughout his entire body, this feeling was different. 

It wasn’t pleasant, not in a way he would appreciate, no… It was white pain but the way his senses heightened; the smell of antiseptic and detergents that lingered in the room, the slight twitch of the light above him every few seconds, the fabric of his clothes brushing against his skin--

Izuku leaned back and forced the scalpel to his injured hand, switching onto his other arm but he quickly understood it was a mistake because the blood was pooling on his lap and pouring down to the tiles; fresh blood flowing away from veins to waste, staining everywhere and suddenly, the scalpel slipped out of his cold fingers. 

As it hit the ground, echoing through the torturous white walls, Izuku clenched his eyes shut. “’m sorry, ‘Zawa, Kacchan…” he muttered right as the door snapped open and revealed a blur of colors and a mix of voices, the last thing he felt as his eyes gave in was a hand over his own before everything went black. 

Chapter Text

The amount of paperwork, courtesy of Kurai, he had to deal with... The extra hours cashed in for the past week to stay ahead of schedule. If Kurai worked this restlessly, why not just become a hero?! Why play the cat and mouse game, ugh. He was going to be the death of Tsukauchi--

“Detective Tsukauchi?” 

“Come in, Sansa.” 

He put down his pen as his partner entered the office with a package tucked under his arm and a fresh cup of coffee in his paw. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” Handing the cup over, Sansa smiled, then put the package on his desk. “What’s this?” The detective eyed the yellow-taped package and noticing the note on top, he leaned forward for a closer look. 

“The station received this anonymously later this afternoon apparently. It’s addressed to you directly. We’ve checked for explosives, the x-ray just showed a tape and the note had specific instructions for you to be the first to see it.” 

Tsukauchi took the package and read the note first, with a sigh, he cut the seal and stood up. Sansa stood patiently as he walked over to the tape player on the other side of the room and rolled it, the first minute of it greeted them with silence until a pained groan ended it. 

The two looked at each other, and then breathless panting, sniffs, and a loud cry followed after a sound much like a whip. Tsukauchi faced Sansa, “Get a team in here. It’s likely to be a kidnapping--” 

“Are you going to tell me where she is yet?” A sickeningly rough voice beamed louder than the cries, cutting through the Detective’s words, “F-Fuck you-- ugh!” the other voice sounded robotic, filtered. Despite that, they could hear the pain. 

“Maybe we should’ve gotten Eraser, wouldn’t you agree, Kurai? It’s been hours and I still haven’t managed to get a word out’a ya.” 

The crackling sound of the tape rolled on, filling the dimly lit office with an eerie tension. Tsukauchi’s grip on the desk tightened, his jaw set in a grim line. Sansa stood stiff beside him, tail twitching with unease as another agonized groan came through the speakers.

The woman’s voice cut through the static again, carrying a smug amusement beneath the cruelty. “You’re a stubborn brat, I’ll give you that. But see, I’ve got all the time in the world, and you? You’re just burning through yours.”

“I thought that was your kink--” 

A sharp, wet crack echoed through the tape, followed by a strangled hiss of pain. Kurai was holding out, but just barely.Tsukauchi exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Damn it,” he muttered. He reached for the recorder, pausing the tape as he turned to Sansa. “We need to find out where this was recorded. Get the tech team to analyze the background noise.”

Sansa gave a curt nod, already pulling out his phone to relay the order. “On it.” Tsukauchi pressed play again, forcing himself to listen.

“You really don’t want to talk? Maybe you’re hoping your friend will come save you. Maybe you think you can hold out long enough?” Blaze chuckled, low and slow. “Even if you don’t talk, you’ll be stuck here. I may not be allowed to kill you but…”

Kurai’s breath hitched, but he still didn’t speak.

The other sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll humor you. Let’s play a game instead. You do like games, don’t you? Tell me where the girl is, and I’ll--” A metallic sound echoed, footsteps next. A few seconds of silence and the robotic voice, barely above a whisper spoke again. “Eraser-san, don’t worry ‘bout me, just make sure Eri-chan is safe--” Kurai’s breath hitched with the return of footsteps. 

“Boss says he’ll need you soon, are you sure you’d prefer him over me?”

No response.

Another snap of pain. A wheezing gasp. Tsukauchi clenched his fists. Sansa, frowning deeply, adjusted the volume slightly. “Who the hell is ‘Eri’?” he murmured. “I don’t know,” Tsukauchi admitted, frustration seeping into his voice. “But it means someone else is involved.”

The tape continued.

“Better than your ugly-ass face.” the woman clicked her tongue, the sound unnervingly casual. “You damn mutt!”A scraping sound, metal against metal, followed by Kurai’s ragged breathing.

Then, the voice spoke again. “Would’ve been better if we had Eraser here. I told him this would happen, tch. You clearly need encouragement to talk.” Tsukauchi and Sansa exchanged sharp glances.

“Eraser? This is the third time… Do we have anyone in the database with that name?” Sansa whispered. Tsukauchi pressed pause again. “It could be a codename. Or an alias.” Sansa folded his arms, brow furrowed. “Or an accomplice.”

Tsukauchi exhaled through his nose. “Either way, we need to know who they’re referring to.” He gestured to the tape. “And if this ‘Eraser’ is someone the captor wanted instead of Kurai, then they might be even more dangerous.”

Sansa nodded grimly. “Or they might be the key to understanding all of this.”

Tsukauchi restarted the tape.

More labored breathing from Kurai. Footsteps pacing distantly, “I’ll ask one more time, Kurai.” the woman’s mocking tone was replaced with a voice colder and more serious. “Where is the girl?”

Silence.

And then, Kurai’s broken whisper, “Go to hell.” A harsh smack. A guttural sound of impact.

The tape ended.

Tsukauchi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The room felt heavier now, thick with unspoken urgency. Sansa ran a paw down his face. “That bastard’s got him bad.” Tsukauchi nodded slowly, his mind already working through the possibilities. “But he’s holding out.”

“For now.”

They both knew time wasn’t on Kurai’s side. Tsukauchi reached for his phone. “We need to move fast. Run the name ‘Eraser’ through the databases. Cross-check it with any known aliases, vigilantes, underground networks—anything. As well as ‘Eri’, we’re looking for a minor. Judging by how Kurai referred to her.”

Sansa didn’t hesitate. “And Kurai?”

“We find him before they decide he’s outlived his usefulness.” Sansa’s ears flicked back, his grip tightening on his phone. “I’ll get started.” As Sansa left the room, Tsukauchi stared at the tape player, its silence deafening.

“Dammit,” he cursed and rolled the tape again. “What did you get yourself into, Kurai?” 

_

Katsuki followed behind this Dabi character, with the girl he met mere hours ago beside him. The man hadn’t told them anything, and being kept in the dark made him uneasy. Aizawa wasn’t answering his phone, it had been hours since their last call and the sun had set. 

“So,” Toga skipped closer to him, “How long have you known Kurai-kun? Are you friends? Oh! Is he your boyfriend? He is such a cutie!!--” Katsuki stopped walking, Dabi chuckled in amusement at his reflection as the boy clenched his fist. 

“He’s-- He’s not my fucking boyfriend!”

“Then why did you call him ‘Deku’? Is it a nickname? The way you said it sounds a lot like a pet name, Bakugou-kun.” 

“Do you ever shut up?!” Katsuki barked and Toga laughed again but Dabi raised his hand, signaling them to be quiet, “You, pomeranian, got something to cover your hair and face?” He asked, Katsuki turned his shoulder to reveal Izuku’s spare bag with his old mask and a hoodie inside, “Is that Kurai’s stuff?” 

“Yeah, thought it might come in handy so I grabbed it. Why do I need to cover my fucking face anyway?” Dabi didn’t answer and pointed over to Toga next, “Got anything for her in there?” Katsuki nodded and they hid in an alleyway, he handed the hoodie to Toga and put on the mask himself. 

“When we go down, watch out. I won’t hear the end of it from the brat if you two got yourselves into trouble. Especially you, do you understand?” Dabi sounded serious, the laid-back attitude replaced within the blink of an eye, and he guided them down a hidden passage, the lack of light and people was unnerving. 

“Where exactly are we going?” Toga asked curiously, walking between the two for security as they followed down a moldy stoned stairway, “The night market.” 

The place unexpectedly stretched out before them like a labyrinth of neon signs, dim alleyways, and the low murmur of clandestine dealings. The air smelled of oil, metal, and something acrid Katsuki couldn’t quite place. The atmosphere pulsed with an undercurrent of danger, the kind that made his skin prickle.

Dabi strode ahead, barely glancing at the stalls crammed into the tight spaces between rundown buildings. Each one catered to a different need—customized gear, information brokers, and illicit supplies that catered to those who operated outside the law.

Katsuki adjusted the mask, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. “So what the hell are we doing here?” he muttered, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of hostility. He wasn’t stupid—places like this didn’t welcome outsiders, and he had no intention of getting caught up in someone else’s mess. This is probably where the nerd sold his analysis, that fucking idiot. 

Toga, now swallowed up in the hoodie he had given her, twirled on her heel. “Ooooh, this place is lively! So many interesting faces. What are we looking for, Dabi-kun?” Dabi glanced over his shoulder, voice low. “Contacts. Kurai’s been stirring up trouble, and we need to figure out who’s been keeping tabs on him. Thanks to Giran’s word, almost everyone here is familiar with Kurai’s work.”

Katsuki’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like the way that sounded. “You saying someone’s after him?”

Dabi’s lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Someone’s always after someone in a place like this. We just need to make sure we’re ahead of the game. If he isn’t out for patrol, at home, or in his hideout, this place is our best bet.”

The crowd shifted as they moved deeper into the market, the faint hum of an electric generator buzzing beneath the sound of voices bartering, whispering, and threatening. Shadows clung to figures exchanging goods wrapped in cloth, and neon lights flickered against the damp pavement.

A stall up ahead caught Katsuki’s attention. A man leaned against the counter, arms crossed, the dim light glinting off cybernetic implants tracing up his temple. His mechanical eye whirred, adjusting as they approached.

“Dabi,” the man drawled, voice like gravel. “Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”

Dabi tilted his head. “Didn’t think I’d have to be.” clear annoyance at the unknown figure, Katsuki watched as the man’s gaze flicked over to him and Toga, scanning them both before settling back on Dabi. “Bringing in fresh faces, how kind of you--”

“Not interested in that. I need info on someone..” The man chuckled, pushing off the counter. “That’s a dangerous thing to want in a place like this. And, as much as I hate to say it, why not find that pipsqueak Kurai?”

Dabi didn’t look amused. “You hear anything about anyone sniffing around for him? Anyone looking for him?” The man considered the question, registering the visit then tapped his temple where a thin wire coiled into his skin. “Might’ve heard something. Depends on what you’ve got to trade.”

Dabi sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn-out USB drive. “This should cover it.”

The man raised a brow but took it, slipping it into his jacket. He gestured for them to lean in closer, lowering his voice. “Someone’s been asking around for him, as far as it goes. Someone high up. Not the usual street-level scum.”

Katsuki clenched his fists. “Who?”

The man shook his head. “No names, not exactly…  but whoever it is, they’re not just looking. They’re hunting.” A heavy silence fell between them. Toga, uncharacteristically quiet, tilted her head. “That’s kinda intense. What’d Kurai do to piss someone like that off?”

Dabi sighed. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

The informant stepped back, already losing interest. “If you want my advice? Lay low. The bitch looking for him isn’t messing around.”

Katsuki didn’t like that answer, then stepped closer, “I thought you didn’t know who it was.” he said. The man’s smug face wavered for a split second and Katsuki knew he had hit the jackpot. Even if it didn’t help the bad feeling in his gut, one that wouldn’t go away until he got to the bottom of it, his palms started smoking.

Dabi put a hand on his chest to hold him back, “He’s got a point, y’know. What happened to honest work, Kobayashi?” The man gulped when he got pulled forward by his collar by Katsuki, heads turning their way, “Let’s try this again, who’s fucking looking Kurai,” one burning hand clung to Kobayashi’s throat and the look on Dabi’s eyes with flamed up hands made it clear he couldn’t use his quirk. 

“Last chance, bastard.” 

“Fine! Okay, just get your hand off of me-!” the man put his hands up in defeat then jerked his head before talking, “The Arsonist was looking for him, no one had seen her in months and she just showed up last week, covered in bandages and asked around the market for Kurai. That’s all I know, I swear!” 

“The Arsonist..?”

“Thought you’d know each other,” the man laughed dryly as he shot a look over to Dabi who scoffed, “Why not go to Giran-san? Why are you even wasting your time here?” he breathed out as Katsuki let go.

“You sure you’re in the information business, mister?” Toga spoke, “All you’ve done is ask us why we don’t talk to others. It’s weird right, Dabi-kun?” Dabi nodded, “She’s got a point. It is weird. Maybe he needs more roughening up, what do you say, kid?” Katsuki smirked under the mask, he was starting to get why Izuku was so insistent on playing hero. 

“‘Tis nothin’ like that, believe me. She paid good money to keep everyone quiet and for some reason, she didn’t want to involve Giran-san, there. You happy now?” The man snapped, “Very.” Katsuki answered slickly, then a hand tapped him on the shoulder. Making his head whip around instantly. 

“Oh thank fuck,” The man sighed in relief as the villain behind the trio waved at him, “Your next order is on the house, Siren-san.” 

“Lucky me!” Siren smiled and swung his arm around Dabi’s shoulder, “What do you kids say we take this outside and leave my guy alone, hm?” Dabi pushed him off, eyes trailing down to Katsuki and Toga with a confused look as he shrugged with confusion. 

Siren leaned down to Katsuki’s ear, “Shota sent me, we gotta get you guys out of here. This place is about to be swamped with cops and heroes any minute now.” The boy’s eyes widened, and he looked over to Dabi, nodding with acknowledgment. 

“Alrighty! Let’s go then, hurry now listeners.” The quick pace set by the villain guided them out of the Night Market and they exited from the other side, one Dabi wasn’t aware of and once outside, Siren’s smile fell. 

“Overhaul has Kurai. Blaze got him and sent a tape to the police station, we don’t think the bird knows ‘bout it. They’ve got Shota under custody--”

“Blaze? That’s the famous Arsonist’s alias? Not very creative.” Dabi crossed his arms, Toga looked baffled at a loss for words as she studied Siren but Katsuki-- His feet dragged his body to step back until he hit the cold wall behind him. 

Katsuki’s breath came sharp and ragged, the weight of Siren’s words pressing down on his chest like a vice. Overhaul, that’s the guy Deku has been after. That bastard had him. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms even as a distant part of him knew that blowing up right now wouldn’t help. But damn it, what else was he supposed to do? Stand here and do nothing?

“Bakugou-kun?” Toga’s voice cut through the fog in his head, light, but laced with confusion. She tilted her head, arms swinging slightly in that eerie, too-casual way she always had, like she wasn’t quite grounded in reality. “Are you okay?”

Katsuki barely heard her, his mind racing through possibilities, through worst-case scenarios, through what the hell am I supposed to do next? His breath hitched, uneven, and he hated it. Hated the way panic slithered into his bones and made his muscles feel locked in place. He forced himself to breathe, to focus, but the edges of his vision blurred like he was underwater.

Dabi’s sharp eyes flicked between him and Siren. “Overhaul, huh?” His voice was steady, unreadable. “Didn’t take that freak for the kidnapping type. What’s he want with Kurai?”

Siren crossed his arms, expression grim. “We don’t have all the details yet, but Blaze made it clear it’s, well somewhat, personal. She didn’t just hand Kurai over—she made a show of it. Sent a damn tape to the police.” he sighed, why was he even dealing with this?

“Shota’s trying to keep it under wraps, but they locked him down before he could do anything. They’re calling it an internal conflict, keeping the heroes from interfering.” His gaze flicked back to Katsuki, studying him. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know what’s on that tape. Only that it was bad enough to put the higher-ups on edge.”

Katsuki exhaled sharply, his mind catching on one crucial detail. “If Aizawa’s in custody, how the hell did you get here?”

Siren smirked, the ghost of his usual smugness peeking through the tension. “What, you think a little lockdown is enough to keep me from getting where I need to be? Shota planned for this. Left contingency routes in case things went south.”

Dabi scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? And what’s this brilliant plan of yours, then?”

Siren’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened. “Simple. We get Kurai back before they make an example out of him.” Toga clapped her hands together, eyes lighting up, “Ooooh! A rescue mission? Sounds fun!”

“Can I stab someone?” It had slipped out suddenly, her hand immediately slapped over her mouth with an anxious look. But no judgemental glare met her gaze, was it okay to talk this way with these people?

Katsuki ignored her, his mind still trying to process everything. He needed a plan, needed to act, but his pulse was hammering in his ears and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Deku... That fucking nerd. If he was caught up in Overhaul’s mess, if he was—

No. Katsuki forced his hands to unclench and forced himself to think. He didn’t have time to lose his head. Siren clapped him on the back, snapping him out of his spiral. “I know you’re freaking out, but you need to get your shit it together. We need you for this, kid.”

Katsuki swallowed hard, eyes blazing as they locked onto Siren’s. “Where is he now?” Siren’s smirk widened slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Now that is the right question.” He turned on his heel, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste.”

Dabi sighed, rolling his neck. “Tch. Always something.” But he didn’t argue as they moved. Toga skipped beside Katsuki, humming to herself. “Say, Bakugou-kun, you never answered my question. Why do you care so much about Kurai-kun anyway? You were ready to blow up that guy just for mentioning his name. Sooo intense~”

Katsuki gritted his teeth. “Shut up.”

But the truth clawed at his throat, unspoken. Because that damn nerd was always getting himself into trouble. Always pushing too far, too hard. Without any regard to his well-being. And Katsuki had already failed him too much to let this slide. Whoever Overhaul was--

I’ll kill that fucker. 

_

“Shota.” 

“Nemuri.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked between the two figures in front of him. Tsukauchi sat across the metal table, his expression carved from stone, while Midnight stood just behind him, arms crossed, her gaze illegible. The weight of the cuffs around Aizawa’s wrists felt trivial compared to the suffocating knowledge pressing in on all sides. Izuku was still out there. In danger. And Eri—he didn’t even want to think about how terrified she must be, locked away in some other room, surrounded by strangers in uniform.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. Tsukauchi exhaled sharply. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.” Midnight spoke, tired of the silence. 

Aizawa’s jaw tightened. There was no point in responding. Not yet. Not when the air was coiled so tightly with expectation.

“All these years, you made yourself disappear,” She continued, voice level but edged with something raw. “And for what? So you could play vigilante?” Her expression darkened, disappointment seeping into her tone. “There’s a reason we have laws, Shota. This is what happens when you decide to go rogue. A kid. A fucking kid. What happened to being rational?”

Aizawa let the words hang in the air for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet, measured. “Being rational? You think that’s what this is about?”

Midnight’s expression didn’t waver, but Tsukauschi shifted, his lips pressing together. Aizawa’s gaze flickered to him briefly. “You don’t get it,” Aizawa continued.

“You sit here, behind your desk, drawing lines in the sand and calling it justice, but you don’t see what happens outside these walls. The ones who fall through the cracks. The ones you’d rather pretend don’t exist.” His hands curled into fists against the table. “Eri was one of them. And Izuku—” He swallowed hard. 

“You want to talk about laws?” His gaze hardened as he switched between the Detective and the heroine “Tell me, Detective, how many of them protected either of those kids?”

Midnight shifted again, but it was Tsukauchi who answered. “It’s not about that. It’s about you putting yourself above the system. Do you think you’re the only one who sees the cracks? We work to fix them. Legally. Not by running into the dark and dragging others down with you.”

Aizawa scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re a fool if you think your system works the way you want it to.” Midnight’s hands banged on the table, her patience wearing thin. “And you’re a fool if you think you’re any different from the criminals you hunt down.”

Aizawa’s gaze darkened. “You think I don’t know what I’ve become?”

Silence.

Then, a knock on the door.

The three of them turned as an officer poked his head in. “Sir. We’ve got something.” Tsukauchi stood, motioning for Midnight to stay before following the officer out. The door shut behind them, leaving Aizawa alone with his old friend.

Midnight sighed. “You’ve really made a mess of things this time.” Aizawa didn’t respond. She moved closer, leaning against the table. “You’re not the only one who cares about those kids, you know.” His gaze flicked up to meet hers. “Then act like it.”

Her jaw tautened, but before she could respond, the door swung open again. Tsukauchi returned, his face unreadable. “We found him,” he said simply. Aizawa’s pulse jumped at the words. “Where?” Tsukauchi hesitated. “There’s a catch.”

Aizawa’s stomach turned. “What catch?”

“He’s not alone. And we don’t know if he’s still alive.” The words sent a bolt of ice through Aizawa’s chest. He surged forward, only to be yanked back by the cuffs chaining him to the table. “Where is he?” Tsukauchi met his gaze, reluctant. “The Shie Hassaikai jurisdiction. Near the old railway.”

Aizawa’s hands clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. He knew that area. Knew exactly what they’d deal with. He knew they had Izuku but charging in there alone meant death, he’d read all of the boy’s notes.

And the statement, Izuku and death in the same sentence— His mind snapped into focus. There was no time to waste. No time to argue. He met Tsukauchi’s gaze. “Let me out, you need me. I know every last  detail about the Shie Hassaikai. Kurai has been working on their case for months now--” 

“We can’t just let you go,” Midnight snapped, but Tsukauchi looked at him understandingly, however hesitant, “I get that you want to make sure he’s safe but…”

“Just… let me out. Until we make sure he’s okay then you can do whatever you want with me.” The Detective stepped forward and pulled out the key to unlock his cuffs, “Until we get him back,” he pointed out, “Don’t make me regret this.” 

Aizawa stood up, rubbing his writs with irritation then flicked his gaze toward Midnight, “Is Eri okay?” he asked, his tone softer yet concerned, “Can I talk to her before we get going?” the question hung in the air for a moment.

“Five minutes.” 

As they walked through the station, Aizawa recognized the way to the infirmary. The door opened, revealing the same doctor who’d helped Izuku the last time they were there. Eri was hugging her knees with quirk-suppressing bracelets while she cried. He didn’t notice the doctor and Tsukauchi leaving the room, Midnight remained for safety measures and watched as he ran to the girl, kneeling in front of the bed. 

“Hey, kiddo. It’s me. It’s alright, can you look at me?” 

Eri’s arms wrapped around his neck as she sobbed, her entire body trembling. “Zawa-san, I wanna go home, please..! I want Zuku-nii,” Aizawa couldn’t talk, words stuck at the back of his throat as he hesitantly put his hand over Eri’s hair, “I- I heard them talking and-- and they said Overhaul took him! I don’ want him to hurt Zuku-nii!” 

Midnight could barely understand her through the stutter and the cries but she was terrified, it was evident. Aizawa’s quietness confirmed his knowledge of the case, “I won’t let him, you hear me? I’ll bring him back here, I promise--”

The girl pulled back, wiping away her tears desperately, “He wants me! I don’t care if he takes me back, he can’t hurt Zuku! He can’t!” Aizawa sat beside her as Midnight watched the scene take a darker turn than expected, “Eri, no. I won’t let him take you. You don’t have to see him again. I’ll… I’ll bring him back instead before he hurts Izuku--”

“I wanna go home, why can’t we go home..? Why can’t you bring him home instead, like you did before?” Before Aizawa could answer, Midnight spoke up

“We’ll-- He’ll take Izuku here so we can talk to him,” Midnight stepped closer, sitting on the other bed with a caring look, “Then you can go home, Eri-chan. I’ll take care of ‘Zawa here for you, and help him bring Izuku back. Does that sound good, sweetie?” 

Eri’s eyes darted between the two then she gave a defeated nod before hugging Aizawa again. Midnight and Eraser shared a look and she realised it then and there. This was still the same boy, silently caring about others, doing everything in his power to help people. 

She made a silent vow to save Kurai. 

Chapter Text

The needles tipping the various sizes of syringes, Izuku watched them with a blurred vision as they slowly disappeared down the path of his veins, sucking away at his lifeline. His breath came in uneven waves, chest rising and falling with an irregularity that mirrored the erratic beeping in the background. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air—sharp, sterile, suffocating.

His fingers twitched against the restraint of the leather strap. A weak movement, barely noticeable, yet enough to remind him that this body was still his, for now. His consciousness wavered, caught between reality and the creeping void that threatened to pull him under. He didn’t know how long he had been here. Hours? Days? Time had unraveled, slipping through his grasp like grains of sand through fractured fingers.  

A voice. Distant, clinical. “Vitals are stable.”

“Good, lower the dosage.”  

His stomach twisted. The sharp sting of a new injection burned through his bloodstream, colder than the last. He felt it spread, sluggish and deliberate, as if it carried malice in its molecular structure.

He tried to focus on the faces hovering above him, but their features melted, warping into grotesque shadows under the fluorescent lights. Were they watching? Studying? Waiting for something?  

Izuku parted his lips, in an attempt at protest, but his throat yielded nothing but a hoarse rasp. His body betrayed him, sinking deeper into the abyss of paralysis. He was little more than a specimen now, dissected in real-time, every drop of his existence extracted with meticulous precision.  

His mind screamed, but the sound never made it past his lips, at least he could move them now. The sedative they’d given him because Overhaul decided he talked too much was starting to lose effect ever so slightly. His body craved any sort of energy to keep him conscious. Suddenly, the strap got pulled off of his bicep and the needle followed next. 

Eyes trailing down, he could see the shift in color around the needle’s home, a nasty shade of purple and deep reds. The white-coated figure was replaced with green, and fingers snapped, bringing his redirecting his attention once more. 

“Are you certain you don’t want to tell me where Eri is, Midoriya?” It was Overhaul’s voice, but the beak mask had been replaced by a black surgical one. His eyes remained menacing, boring into his with little to no emotion. Izuku shook his head, the reality coming back in fractured pieces. 

“Really?” Izuku repeated the gesture and the man let out a dry laugh, clenching his fists to ground himself, “How is she?”  

The question was deceptively calm, but Izuku wasn’t fooled. He knew Overhaul didn’t ask out of concern. He wanted confirmation, leverage . A reason to tighten his grip around Eri’s existence and crush whatever fragile hope Izuku held onto.  

Izuku swallowed against the rawness in his throat. “Safe,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. A lie, but one he had to believe in.  

Overhaul hummed, the sound devoid of amusement. He tilted his head, studying Izuku as if he were an incomplete equation. “Safe,” he echoed, testing the word like it was foreign to him. “And yet, you’re here.”  

“But she isn’t, right, Chisaki? ”

The implication burned more than the drugs in his veins, but he wouldn’t give Overhaul the satisfaction. Izuku bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to stay silent. Every second he didn’t talk was another second she had to get further away.  

Overhaul sighed as if Izuku’s resistance personally inconvenienced him. “I suppose we’ll see about that.” He motioned to the white-coated figure beside him, who moved with eerie precision, retrieving another syringe. The liquid inside gleamed under the sickly hospital lights—a dull green, viscous and foreboding.  

Izuku tensed, his fingers curling into weak fists. “You—” his voice cracked. He tried again. “You think you can actually win? Please.”  

Overhaul’s gaze flickered, irritation creeping at the edges, he listened this time, wearing his patience thin by indulging Izuku. He must have understood because the smug look on the boy’s face, despite his position was fun to see as he spoke up again. 

“What does Shigaraki think? What about your boss, Chisaki-sama? Is he here or did you get rid of him for g—” Izuku knew he was pushing it to an extent, but the fog in his mind took away the filters and the consequence was the gloved hand grasping his jaw tightly as his head got pushed further back on the chair he was strapped on. 

“Don’t invoke his name!” 

“Which one? Shigaraki or Chisaki? ”

Izuku let the name roll off his tongue, deliberate and slow, watching how Overhaul’s grip tightened against his jaw. His fingers dug into Izuku’s skin like a vice, bruising, a stark contrast to the sterile control he usually carried. That was good. That meant he was cracking.

The beeping of the monitors around them filled the silence, erratic like his pulse, but Izuku barely registered it. In truth, he was terrified, but his gaze stayed locked on Overhaul’s, unwavering despite the dull throb settling into his bones.

“I thought you didn’t like being called that.” His voice was hoarse, but there was a trace of defiance in it. “What happened to all that glory?”

Overhaul’s fingers flexed before he released Izuku’s jaw with a sharp shove, forcing his head to loll back. “Don’t test me, Midoriya.”

Izuku huffed out a breath, a pathetic excuse for a laugh. “I think we’re way past that.”

Overhaul straightened, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the moment of weakness. The mask obscured most of his expression, but Izuku didn’t need to see it. He could feel the tension lingering in the air, the barely restrained frustration that had begun to seep through the cracks of Overhaul’s seemingly unshakable demeanor.

It meant Izuku still had control—maybe not of his body, not of the situation, but of this. Of pushing him, of forcing Overhaul into emotion.

The thought was a twisted kind of comfort.

Overhaul exhaled through his nose, irritation barely masked. “I don’t need you to talk,” he said, voice smooth again, even as he flexed his gloved fingers like he was imagining closing them around Izuku’s throat. “I just need you to break. ”

Izuku met his gaze, unwavering. “Then you’re going to be disappointed, obviously you’ve never been a quirkless kid. I doubt you had any issues with the old geezers you had here.”

Overhaul hummed, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. With a tilt of his head, he gestured to the figure beside him. The syringe was ready. The red liquid inside swirled slightly under the artificial light, too thick, too blood-like.

“You’re resilient. I’ll give you that.” Overhaul adjusted his gloves, slow and deliberate. “But everyone has a breaking point.”

Izuku tensed as the needle pressed against his skin again. He had seconds—maybe less—before whatever new hell Overhaul had prepared for him sank its claws into his mind. So he did the only thing he could.

He smiled.

A broken, exhausted thing, but real.

“You don’t have her. ”

The words hung between them, and for the first time since waking up in this place, Izuku swore he saw something shift in Overhaul’s expression. 

Something dark.

Then the needle sank in, and the world shattered into pieces with the burn that pulled out his first scream since he got there and he fell unconscious. 

Overhaul watched as his eyes closed and his body went limp, he turned to the other with a scoff, “How did he know about the others?” Chrono pushed the last of the blood in the syringe before sighing, “Blaze did say he had it figured out. Kai, this kid… he’s different. He made it hard to capture him in the first place and if I wasn’t there with Blaze then he wouldn’t even be here.” 

“He’s a quirkless kid deluded with playing hero.”

“He’s your vision of the new world we’re trying to create here.” Chrono corrected him, “You’re letting him get in your head, I don’t see you lose your composure often but ever since he came into the picture—”

“We need Eri, not just another test subject, Hari.” Overhaul was quick to change the topic because he knew. He knew that every word Chrono said was true, “How did he even know about the old man?” 

“Shigaraki too, don’t forget.” 

Overhaul’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t immediately respond. His grip flexed at his sides, gloved fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to tear something apart—someone apart. He exhaled slowly, measured, forcing himself back into control.  

“He’s guessing.” The words came clipped, forced through clenched teeth. “Fishing for a reaction.”  

Chrono’s gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, unreadable. “Maybe,” he allowed, voice level. “Or maybe he knows more than you think.”  Overhaul scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not leaving this place.”  

Chrono hummed, evasive, before turning his attention back to the boy’s unconscious form. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, his body slack against the restraints. The sedative was working. For now.  

But something was unnerving about the way he looked even in unconsciousness—too calm, despite the pain they’d put him through. As if, even here, strapped down and drugged, he still believed he had the upper hand.  

“Tch.” Overhaul clicked his tongue in irritation. He turned sharply on his heel, the tails of his coat sweeping behind him as he moved. “We need to tighten security. If the League knows about the old man—if he knows—then we’re running out of time.”  

Chrono’s expression remained neutral, but there was something almost knowing in his eyes. “You’re worried.” Overhaul stopped.  

Slowly, he turned his head, his glare cutting through the dim light of the room. “I don’t worry,” he said, voice cool, controlled. “I prepared in case anyone knocks.” Chrono didn’t challenge him further, but the silence between them was heavy, weighted with unspoken truths.  

Overhaul cast one last glance at Izuku. He was still out cold, his breathing ragged but steady. His face, pale and bruised, was turned slightly to the side, and yet—even now—there was something insufferably stubborn about him.  

It made Overhaul’s skin crawl.  

He turned away. “Let me know the moment he wakes up, I got a meeting.” he ordered, already heading toward the exit. Chrono didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, Overhaul thought he might challenge him again. But then—  

“As you wish.”  

The door clicked shut behind him.  

— 

The darkness was thick, suffocating, pressing against the edges of Izuku’s mind like a vice. It pulled at him, coiling tight around his limbs, dragging him deeper into nothingness.  

He could hear voices—muffled, distorted. Familiar, yet too far away.  

His body ached. Every inch of him felt like it had been wrung dry, like something had reached into his veins and hollowed him out from the inside. His skin burned where the needle had bitten, the lingering heat searing through his muscles, his bones.  

He was floating.

Somewhere, distant but clear, a voice broke through the fog.  

“You don’t have her.” His own words, echoing back at him. The darkness wavered, and cracked. Then, a whisper—small, trembling. “You were supposed to be dead.” It was his own, he realized. His attempt shouldn’t have failed, and he knew. This was on him for acting stupid and taking measures when he had no idea what was really going on. 

Forcing himself to look down, he acknowledged the new scar on his wrist. The only member of the eight bullets and the leader himself were the ones he hadn’t managed to find anything on and he had the pleasure of experiencing Chrono’s power firsthand.

He guessed he had to thank their boss for the kind gesture of bringing him back to life. As much as he hated to admit it, this was good. Now he had an idea of what Overhaul was capable of. Sighing, he took his time to reflect on his thoughts from earlier. 

Death. 

His death. 

It felt selfish, just as being Kurai had. He was only living for himself but did he have the right to? Did he have the right to anything anymore? To life? To choice?  

Izuku exhaled sharply, “Fuck..” feeling the weight of his own question press against his ribs. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs in his system or his own exhaustion, but his thoughts were unraveling, slipping through his fingers before he could catch them.  

He closed his eyes, willing himself to focus. His wrist throbbed—a phantom pain, a reminder. It should have ended there. He’d made peace with that, or at least, he thought he had. But Overhaul—no, Chisaki —had other plans.  

Izuku’s lips curled, bitter. “You were supposed to be dead.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words slipped past his teeth like a confession. Maybe that was what made it worse. That it wasn’t just a passing thought, a fleeting moment of regret. It was real. A truth he had accepted.  

And yet—  

Here he was.  

Alive.  

Strapped to a chair.  

And the worst part? He had no one to blame but himself. Reckless, a voice in his head sneered. Weak. Izuku gritted his teeth, nails digging into his palms. He had been stupid—too confident, too desperate. He thought he was careful. Thought he was ready. He should’ve known better.  

He did know better.  

Still, none of that changed the fact that he was here now. That he had survived. Again. Why? Izuku opened his eyes, forcing himself to sit up, even as his body protested. His muscles screamed, his veins burned, but he pushed through it. He had no other choice.  

Because this wasn’t about him. It never was.  

His breath came slow, steadying.  

He had gotten too lost in his own mind, too caught up in the weight of his existence. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was what came next.  

He had learned something tonight—about Overhaul, about Chrono. He had felt it, the way Chisaki’s quirk worked, the way it unraveled him and pieced him back together. The way death had almost been a reality, only to be torn away like it was never his to claim in the first place.  

That was power.  

And power could be turned against the one who wielded it. Izuku flexed his fingers. The sedative was still dulling his movements, but he could feel the strength creeping back in, slow but sure. His fear of death had delayed his judgment long enough. In reality, he had nothing to lose. 

He almost laughed.  

Instead, he tilted his head back, eyes trailing the cold fluorescent lights above.  They hadn’t won. Not yet. And if he was going down then they were going down with him, a hell of a lot harder. He had managed to get the straps off once, he could do it again. 

But this time would be different. This time, he wasn’t going after himself, he would go after them. 

No matter the cost because scum like Overhaul and his lackeys didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of them.

His first objective was the free himself and pretend to be weakened still and once his guard dog —Sakaki Deidoro, quirk: sloshed, a raging alcoholic, and carries a gun. I’ve seen him leave the room last— came in again. I saw Nemoto use his gun when they captured me, I can do it too. 

“That is if I can take his gun,” He started muttering his plot while he moved his fingers to increase movement, shifting his neck left and right, to get his blood to circulate. “We’re underground so no natural light to rely on, ugh… I wish I had my goggles.” 

He closed his eyes, moving his ankles next in his best power, ignoring the biting sensation with each wiggle that pressed onto his skin through his boots, “I can’t navigate my way out, I’d need one of them to do it.” He laughed at himself, “Brilliant. Take a hostage, Izuku! Watch them kill you then bring you back again…”

“What would Aizawa do?” he thought, then shook his head, “No, not Aizawa. He’s not reckless, he’d just stay put or wait for reinforcements to take action. But Kacchan… what would Kacchan do?” probably fight them head-on. He found that to be the right answer. And hey, “He wouldn’t come up with a plan! But I got one too, his fighting style with my plan, perfect combo!”

Izuku sighed and stared at the ceiling, this is pathetic, I’m pathetic. 

“Gonna lose my mind if I don’t get the hell out of here soon.” Just then, his eyes landed on the vent, “Well hello there.” He grinned, maybe I don’t have to navigate through the tunnels after all.

—

The air inside Shie Hassaikai’s base was thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic and something more metallic—blood. The halls stretched in winding corridors, clinical yet suffocating, like a hospital designed to keep its patients in rather than heal them.

Katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose as he pulled the hood lower over his face, fingers twitching at his sides. This was a bad idea . But it was the only idea they had.

Toga giggled, adjusting her mask over her mouth as she stretched her arms. “This is a little intense,” she whispered, her tone lilting with excitement despite the context. “The Yakuza creeps are--”

Dabi didn’t even look at her, his voice low and measured. “Take this seriously, no one asked you to be here, crazy.” The frown under her mask was missed, he’s right. Focus, Himiko. 

The plan was simple, in theory. Thanks to Siren’s intel, they knew which sector of the the underground facility Izuku was being held in. Getting inside was the issue. 

That’s where Toga came in. And contrary to Dabi’s statement, they did need her to be here.

She licked the edge of a vial in her hand, her body shivering for a split second before her features morphed into the lean, sharp-jawed face of one of Overhaul’s lackeys. The transformation settled like a second skin, and she flexed her fingers with an eerie chuckle. “Alright, listeners! Follow my lead!”

Dabi’s eyes flickered to Siren. “How long do we have before your ‘friends’ notice we’re here?”

Siren smirked. “First of all, they ain’t my friends and second, I bought us a window, but we should move fast.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth. His muscles were coiled so tightly they ached, but he forced himself to focus. The second they got Izuku to safety, he was going to kill that bastard Overhaul. No questions, no hesitation. He flexed his hands, feeling the heat simmer beneath his palms.

Toga led them through the facility with a confident stride, her new face granting them unchallenged passage through the security checkpoints. The guards barely spared her a glance as she swiped an access card against a steel door, gesturing for the others to follow. 

Inside, the hallway darkened, and the walls took on a sickly hue under flickering fluorescent lights. Katsuki’s gut churned.

Then he saw the door at the end of the corridor. Metal reinforced. No windows. Heavy-duty security panel. A place meant to keep something—or someone—inside.

Toga’s stolen identity of Setsuo got them past the initial clearance, but the last lock required something else. Siren knelt by the panel, pulling a small device from his belt. “Give me a sec,” he murmured, fingers working quickly. “Should be an override sequence in here somewhere…”

Katsuki’s patience was running thin. Every second wasted felt like another moment Izuku was suffering. “Hurry the fuck up, old man.” Siren shot him a sharp look. “I’d like to see you crack high-grade security without setting off alarms, smartass.”

Dabi leaned against the wall, seemingly unbothered. “Can’t believe I’m risking my ass for this,” he muttered. Then— click.

The lock released with a sharp hiss, and the door creaked open. Leading to the next tunnel ahead, but the sudden gunshot at the end of it raised the alarms, “Shit, was that a fuckin’ gunshot?” Katsuki didn’t wait for the others, and marched ahead. 

“Kid, wait!” Siren called out behind him but he could hear footsteps mixing with his own, pounding on the metallic ground along with his. A loud cry followed by two more shots and Katsuki felt his stomach twist as the lights flickered, before he could make his turn, he was shoved to the wall. 

“Look what we have here!” Katsuki’s hand gripped his shoulder as he felt something tickle down from the back of his head but waves of sound activated prior to his next move, knocking the plague cosplayer down. Toga appeared before him, her ears covered with a worried look in her eyes. 

“Go! I’ll handle this one!” Siren turned to Dabi and Katsuki regained his composure with a nod, they ran close to the walls with their ears shut, avoiding Siren’s attacks until they turned a corner and separated at the doubled tunnels. 

Katsuki was on his own, alone with his thoughts his breath was ragged, his mind a din of thoughts as he charged forward. His boots slammed against the cold floor, echoing down the empty hallway. The tunnel curved sharply, the dim lighting barely enough to navigate, but he didn't need perfect vision to know what was coming.

Hekiji stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, his imposing figure blocking the way forward. "Tch. Thought I'd be dealing with more than just some brat," the older man sneered, cracking his knuckles. His quirk-enhanced muscles bulged beneath his suit, veins pulsing with raw power.

Katsuki didn't slow down. He launched himself forward, hands sparking, aiming straight for the man's center mass. Hekiji dodged with surprising speed, twisting to the side and countering with a heavy swing. Katsuki barely ducked in time, feeling the rush of air as the fist sailed past his head.

"Not bad, kid," the man admitted, rolling his shoulders. "But you're out of your league."

"Like hell I am!" Katsuki snarled, propelling himself off the ground with an explosion, twisting mid-air to deliver a blast straight at Hekiji's chest.

The impact sent the man skidding back, but he remained upright, coughing against the smoke. "Feisty. But that temper ain't gonna get you far."

Katsuki grit his teeth, muscles burning with exertion. He couldn't afford to waste time. Izuku was somewhere in this hellhole, and every second spent here was another second lost. His thoughts wavered for a split second—what if he got caught? What about the cops? What if UA found out about all this? What if this ruined his chances before he even had them?

He shook the doubts away. None of that mattered right now.

Hekiji lunged, closing the distance in an instant. Katsuki barely had time to react before a knee slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled back, coughing violently, but forced himself to stay upright. His fingers twitched, warmth building beneath his palms.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," he said, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. "But persistence ain't gonna save you." Katsuki wiped his own mouth, grinning despite himself. "Nah. But this will."

With a deafening boom, he launched another explosion at the ground, propelling himself forward at an angle. Hekiji's eyes widened as Katsuki twisted midair, flipping over him and landing behind his target. Before the man could react, Katsuki grabbed his collar and detonated a concentrated blast right at his back.

Hekiji roared in pain, collapsing onto his hands and knees. Smoke curled from his suit, fabric scorched and torn. Katsuki didn't hesitate—he slammed his foot into the man's side, sending him sprawling against the wall with a sickening crack.

"Stay the fuck down," Katsuki warned, panting heavily. “Fuckin’ scumbag…”

The yakuza groaned, his body twitching but unmoving. Katsuki didn't stick around to see if he'd get back up. As he turned the next corner, his breath hitched at the sound of another gunshot. He quickened his pace, heart hammering against his ribs. Then, just as he reached the intersection—

A vent above rattled violently.

Katsuki barely had time to react before a figure crashed down in front of him, landing in a heap on the floor. Dust and debris scattered in every direction, the clatter of metal reverberating through the hallway.

Izuku groaned, shifting onto his hands and knees. In his grip was a gun, the barrel still warm from being fired. Katsuki stared, chest rising and falling as the realization settled in. 

"Deku!?"

He watched as Izuku struggled to stand, breath ragged, blood dripping from his forehead, and face bruised, his upper body was completely bare, revealing the myriad scars he kept hidden. His arms had bruises around his veins. Katsuki swallowed harshly. His body ached after one face-off and Izuku looked barely awake yet he was still fierce. 

“Kach-- Kacchan..?” Izuku’s voice brought him back, he immediately helped him to his feet, one hand around his torso as his eyes fixed on the weapon in his hand, “What the fuck did you do, nerd?” the words came out with hesitance, quiet and evidently terrified. 

And when he didn’t get an immediate response, a part of him knew Izuku had done the unimaginable. His breath hitched, jaw clenched shut as he pressed onto his earpiece with his other hand, “Siren, I got Deku. Let’s get the hell out of here before we run into more trouble.” 

“Copy that,” Siren was the first to respond, “If you took the tunnel on the left, follow your way out the same back.” the villain informed, “Yeah, on it--”

“Who-- Who else is here?” Izuku cut him off, voice strained, “Mr. Scarface I met this morning and the chick in your hideout.” He answered and watched as the last bit of color Izuku had drained from his face, before he snapped “What were you thinking!?” 

Katsuki moved his hand from the earpiece and tried to keep his temper in check as he let out a breath, “Kacchan, you have an actual chance of becoming a hero! Siren is a villain, Dabi is with the League..! And Toga, Toga is a civilian--”

“What did you fucking think was going to happen, Deku, huh?! Did you think I’d leave you at the hands of these assholes? Aizawa got arrested, the cops are way fucking clueless and the heroes weren’t gonna do shit. Not before it was too late! And what were you fuckin’ thinking?! You have a gun in your hand!”

Izuku didn’t look at him as they kept walking, his steps were dragging and slowed them both, Katsuki cursed at himself before stopping and picked Izuku up. Only then seeing the blood hidden by the fabric of his suit seeping from his leg. 

“Aizawa-san got arrested?” was the only response he was granted, he sighed, “He’s fine as far as we know. They got both him and Eri at the police station. Aizawa’s guy inside said they wouldn’t fucking move until the next day and we had to get you out of here.”

The silence wasn’t a good sign and the gun hit the ground, going off into the distance and echoing through the metal tunnels, “Fuck! Deku, wake the fuck up!” 

“Bakugou! Was that you?” Dabi asked, but Katsuki didn’t answer and ran faster, praying he wouldn’t run into anyone else, he turned the corner he’d fought the freak earlier and a figure appeared, just as he powered up his quirk, he realized it was Dabi and Toga. 

“Shit..” 

Dabi’s frown was barely visible under the dim lights. He glanced down at Izuku, noting his battered state. “What did that asshat do to him?” 

“He needs a hospital.” Katsuki blurted.

Toga’s face twisted with concern and desire at the sight of blood, “We-- we cleared a path—c’mon. Before more of Overhaul’s dogs show up.” They moved quickly, Katsuki adjusting Izuku in his arms. The nerd was too damn light, the weight of him barely registering, but the heat of his blood against Katsuki’s side made his stomach churn.

Izuku stirred weakly. “Kacchan…”

“Shut up and focus on staying awake,” Katsuki growled, pushing forward. Siren’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Move faster. I just heard a crash.”

Dabi led the way, incinerating a barricade of crates blocking their exit. Toga skipped ahead, slicing through an unlucky guard’s leg before he could call out for more people. The halls twisted in familiar patterns, and Katsuki realized they were close to the entrance.

A cluster of guards rounded the corner ahead. Dabi clicked his tongue. “Tch. Always gotta be a pain in the ass.” Katsuki let Izuku down gently, pressing him against the wall. “Stay here. We’re almost out.”

Izuku blinked sluggishly. “Be.. careful…”

“Tch, like I need you tellin’ me that,” Katsuki scoffed before charging ahead, palm igniting. The fight was brief but brutal—his explosions sent bodies flying, and Dabi’s flames ensured nothing was left standing. Finally, the metal doors leading outside came into view. And once they were out—

“Hands where we can see them!” 

Katsuki finally understood the weight of Izuku’s words as the bubble lights on the police cars switched between red and blue and he locked eyes with Aizawa who pushed through at the sight of Izuku clinging to his side once he did, Dabi’s blue flames created a barrier of fire between them and authorities. 

While they were busy trying to outrun the fire, Dabi took out his phone and Katsuki saw a fucking portal appear out of thin air, “Go through, now. We don’t got much time!” was all he said as he walked through. Toga followed but Aizawa prevented him from doing so with a stern look. 

“Run out the back. Don’t let them see you, go to Izuku’s hideout and clean up,” he watched as the portal closed behind the two, “Then go home right after, do you understand?” Aizawa instructed but he was frozen, he couldn’t answer. 

“Kid, go! I’ll make sure he’s okay.” 

He clenched his fist and spotted Siren in hiding, “ Fuck… Fine! Don’t let him fucking die.” And he ran, doing as he was told.

He had two things in mind while Siren joined him and they avoided trouble: one, Izuku was more of a fighter than him and he wasn’t near ready to be a hero. Two: I’m going to fucking kill him if he dies on me. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Izuku did was try and sit up when he opened his eyes thanks to the annoying beeps trailing back to a monitor by the bed. His heart spiked up when his nose perked with the scent of antiseptic, panic took over and he felt like he suffocating, hadn’t he gotten away from Overhaul? Why was he still hooked to serums and monitors? 

Realizing his wrists weren’t bound, he ripped away the needle from his arm and the wires away from his chest with a yelp. He watched as blood poured the spot, he probably shouldn’t have done that, this isn’t a movie, he tried to reason with his actions but stood up regardless, a sharp pain from his leg knocking the air out of his lungs. 

He refused to stop, oblivious to the windows and the lack of a metal door, his vision His vision blurred at the edges, and he shook his head to clear it, gripping the bed rail to steady himself. His mind raced—where was he? This wasn’t a twisted lab. There were no cold iron doors, no dim flickering lightbulbs buzzing overhead, the walls weren’t concrete… A hospital? No. That didn’t make sense. He should be dead.

He stumbled forward, dragging his injured leg as the blood smeared down his arm. The IV stand clattered to the ground behind him, but he ignored it. His breath came in gasps, his pulse erratic. Something wasn’t right. He tried to piece it together, tried to remember what happened after he pulled the trigger, but the memory was fractured—sharp edges without a clear picture.

The first shot. The recoil biting into his palm. The way the Yakuza’s body jerked back. And then—

Nothing.

His hands curled into fists as frustration knotted in his stomach. He had to remember. He had to—

The door swung open.

Izuku barely had time to react before a figure stepped inside—a woman in scrubs, eyes wide, mouth opening to speak. He lunged before she could. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, twisting, pressing her against the wall in one fluid motion. The tray in her hands clattered to the floor, a sharp metallic sound that made his skin prickle.

She sucked in a breath. “You’re safe.” she managed, but Izuku’s grip tightened. “Where am I?”

She didn’t struggle. Didn’t scream. She met his gaze with steady calm, as if she knew that fear would only set him off further. “A hospital. You were brought in two days ago after being rescued.”

Rescued?

The word felt foreign.

He didn’t let go. “By who?” Her lips parted as if choosing her words carefully. “By the heroes. You were unconscious when they brought you in. You don’t remember?”

His fingers loosened slightly. Heroes? Ha! Ridiculous. No hero would save him. But that meant—

A sharp knock on the door made him jolt, instinct slamming into place. He grabbed the nurse by the arm, pulling her in front of him like a shield just as the door pushed open again.

A man stood in the doorway. Tall. Familiar.

“ Izuku .”

Izuku stilled. That voice. He knew that voice, “Let her go,” the man said, stepping forward. “You’re not in danger. We got you out, you’re safe.”

His mind scrambled, trying to connect dots that weren’t there, but his grip loosened anyway. His limbs ached, his leg screamed in protest, but something about the man’s voice grounded him. Slowly, he released the nurse, who stepped back but didn’t run.

His breathing was still uneven, but his body slumped slightly, tension bleeding out just enough for exhaustion to creep in. Aizawa-san — he let out a shaky breath when he saw a police officer standing behind Aizawa. 

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Midoriya-kun.” The nurse said, voice strained yet concerned, eyes darting between the two vigilantes. Izuku shook his head, frustration burning behind his ribs. “The last thing I remember… I pulled the trigger… How--?”

The man exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s alright, problem child, I’ll fill you in,” Izuku frowned. “What happened?” Aizawa sighed as he stepped closer, gazing at the hospital bed, “Back to bed, kid.” Izuku swallowed, his fingers curling at his sides. The room suddenly felt too bright, too suffocating.

Alive. He was alive and away from Overhaul. He just wasn’t sure if he believed it yet—

“Eri! Is Eri okay?” he looked up at Aizawa with pleading eyes, “She’s alright. She’s safe, as are you.” The man assured him and sat beside Izuku on the bed, only then the boy realized the quirk-canceling bracelets around his wrists. 

Bits of memories scrambled in his head, and a flash of red eyes, flames, and blood, echoes of sirens ringing in his ears, he swallowed dryly. Aizawa must have caught onto his realization because he turned to the nurse briefly, “Would you excuse us for a few minutes and inform Detective Tsukauchi?” he asked and the nurse nodded, leaving the room. 

“Kacchan… I remember Kacchan carried me outside. He said you got arrested and Dabi was there and-- and the cops..! Fuck. Fuck. I messed everything up, didn’t I? What are they going to do now, did they see Kacchan? Is he okay? Are you okay?” 

Izuku was spiraling, nails digging into his scalp, eyes darting around aimlessly and the hand on his shoulder made him flinch back violently. Aizawa’s expression softened as he withdrew his hand, giving Izuku space to breathe. “Izuku, calm down.” His voice was steady, and grounding, but it barely reached Izuku through the noise in his head.

He was back. He was breathing. But the memories clung to him, sharp and unrelenting. The heat of the flames. The weight of the gun in his hand. Katsuki’s voice, raw and desperate. The blood—

Aizawa shifted, drawing Izuku’s wide, unfocused eyes back to him. “Bakugo is fine. He got you out before the police could see him, and don’t bring him up with the cops.” Izuku exhaled, a mix of relief and nausea twisting in his stomach.

“And the others?”

Aizawa hesitated, and that moment of silence felt like a blade pressing against Izuku’s skin. “Dabi and Toga disappeared before they could capture him. The police are investigating, but there’s not much to go on.”

Izuku clenched his fists, “And me?”

Aizawa’s gaze was unreadable. “We’re figuring it out.”

The words sat heavy between them. Figuring it out. Which meant it wasn’t over. That there were still consequences waiting in the wings. That the chaos he left behind hadn’t settled.

Izuku’s breath hitched as he shook his head, the panic rising again. “No— no, I can’t just sit here. I need to help. I need to fix this.”

Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re not fixing anything in this state. You need rest, problem child.”

Izuku gritted his teeth. “I can’t rest. Not when—”

The door clicked open before he could finish, and a familiar figure stepped inside. Detective Tsukauchi, his expression grim yet composed, clipboard in hand. The sight of him sent another jolt of unease through Izuku’s chest.

“Midoriya,” Tsukauchi spoke,, his voice level but weighted. “Glad to see you awake.” Izuku barely nodded, still caught in the storm of his own mind, “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, under these circumstances nonetheless.”

The remark sunk deep, and Izuku avoided the Detective’s gaze. Tsukauchi glanced at Aizawa before stepping closer, and pulling up a chair. 

“What now?” He asked, Tsukauchi studied his figure, torn between fight and flight, too messy for a kid his age, he sighed. “That depends on you.”

Izuku frowned. “Me?”

“You were found in critical condition at the scene of a major operation involving multiple high-profile villains,” Tsukauchi explained. “The press doesn’t know anything since we kept the spotlight heroes out of the picture but the police have a lot of questions. And so does the Hero Public Safety Commission.”

Izuku swallowed hard. He’d known this was coming, but it didn’t make the weight of it any easier to bear. “I-- Am I being arrested?” Tsukauchi studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “Not yet.”

The words weren’t exactly reassuring.

“The situation is complicated,” Tsukauchi continued. “There’s evidence that places you at the center of the conflict, but there’s also testimony in your favor. Some are arguing that you were acting out of necessity— that you were protecting Eri, and trying to do good.”

Izuku’s head spun. “And the others?”

“The number of villains’ involvement is unclear to the authorities,” Tsukauchi admitted. “What they do know is they were there to aid your rescue before we made it to the scene and that you’ve been operating as the vigilante Kurai for the past year.”

Izuku’s breath came faster, uneven. Noticing this, Aizawa’s voice was firm. “That’s not your burden alone, kid, we’ll handle it.”

Izuku wanted to argue, to insist that it was, but the exhaustion in his bones made it hard to fight. He sagged back against the pillows, his mind a tangled mess of fear, guilt, and uncertainty.

Tsukauchi looked at him, then sighed. “I need you to be honest with me, Midoriya. Everything that happened— what led to that moment. I need to hear it from you.” Izuku swallowed, his throat dry. The last thing he wanted was to relive it all, but what other choice do I have? The truth was clawing at his insides, demanding to be spoken.

He exhaled shakily, staring down at his restrained wrists. “Alright.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you everything but Aizawa-san has to stay, I don’t wanna be alone.” Aizawa and Tsukauchi exchanged a glance before the detective nodded. “Then start from the beginning.”

As he started explaining, he paused frequently, his mind slipping time and time again, pissed at himself for not remembering all the details. “--nd the woman on the tape?” Tsukauchi asked, caught up with his capture, “Blaze. She’s the arsonist I’ve-- We have all been chasing.” Izuku corrected himself. 

“How long have you known her? Got a real name for me?” Izuku shook his head, “She attacked me. Well… I went after her, remember the building fire near the red light district? I was close to the scene and spotted her and yeah…” he said, looking away sheepishly. 

And when it came to the topic of his escape, “Our team found two bodies at the facility,” Tsuakuchi explained, but only fragments of blood and gunshots were there for Izuku. He couldn’t recall anything related to them, a part of him knew it was him who took their lives with the gun, his eyes got fixed to his wounded leg, “Both were shot. Anything you recall that could help?”

Tsukauchi was hiding something, Izuku could see it in the detective’s eyes. He was testing him, he already knew the answer to his question, they have the gun with my fingerprints. He looked at Aizawa then turned to the detective again, even if I did anything, I can’t be sure. I don’t remember shooting them.

“I grabbed one of their guns but I didn’t do anything. Wish I could tell you more.” He added, voice cracking by the end, “That explains the fingerprints…” Tsukauchi wrote something down on his clipboard, unnerving Aizawa with his disappointed expression. 

Tsukauchi’s gaze lingered on Izuku for a moment longer before he closed his notebook. His expression remained unreadable, but Izuku could sense the weight behind it. A decision had been made, one he wasn’t privy to yet.

“We’ll be in touch,” Tsukauchi said finally, rising from his seat. “Rest for now, Midoriya. This isn’t over, but you won’t be facing it alone.”

Izuku barely nodded, the words ringing hollow in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he believed them. As the detective exited the room, the air felt thinner, like he had taken the last of the oxygen with him. The door clicked shut, leaving only him and Aizawa.

Silence settled between them, thick and stifling. Izuku’s hands trembled slightly at his sides, his fingers twitching against the sheets. He clenched them into fists, trying to ground himself, but it wasn’t enough. His body ached, his mind raced, and a restless energy twisted inside him like a vice.

“Izuku,” Aizawa’s voice was softer now, his usual gruffness tempered with something else. Something close to concern. “You’re spiraling.”

Izuku shook his head sharply. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

His breath came too fast, too shallow. The hospital walls suddenly felt closer than before, boxing him in, pressing against his ribs. “I can’t just sit here,” he muttered, more to himself than to Aizawa. “There’s too much—too much I don’t remember, too much I can’t fix.”

Aizawa studied him, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “You’re not expected to fix anything.”

Izuku let out a hollow laugh. “Then what am I supposed to do? Just—wait? Wait for them to decide what happens to me? Wait for everything to fall apart?”

Aizawa exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples as if warding off a headache. “You’re not the only one dealing with the aftermath of this. Stop acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders alone.”

“But it is.” The words slipped out before Izuku could stop them. His fingers dug into the blankets, knuckles white. “I pulled the trigger, I—” His breath hitched. “I don’t even know what happened after. How do I just sit here, knowing that?”

Aizawa didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped candy. With a quiet flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto Izuku’s lap.

Izuku blinked down at it. “What—?”

“Eat it.”

Confused, he hesitated before peeling the wrapper and popping it into his mouth. The taste of honey and lemon flooded his tongue, a sharp contrast to the bitterness in his chest. He swallowed, throat tight. “What’s the point of this?”

“The point,” Aizawa said, leaning back slightly, “is to remind you to breathe. You’re still here, problem child. Stop fighting like you’re about to disappear.”

Izuku looked down at his lap, his breath evening out ever so slightly. The exhaustion pulled at him again, but he resisted. He couldn’t afford to sleep. Not yet.

A knock at the door made him flinch, and Aizawa sighed. “That’ll be your doctor.” The door opened, revealing a woman in a white coat, clipboard in hand. She had kind eyes but a firm demeanor, her sharp gaze immediately scanning him as she stepped inside.

“I’m Dr. Hayashi,” she introduced herself. “You gave us quite the scare, Midoriya-kun.”

Izuku didn’t respond. He was tired of people saying that.

She approached the bed, glancing at Aizawa briefly before turning her full attention to Izuku. “I need to check your wounds and overall condition. Try to relax.”

Relax. Right. Like that was possible.

He nodded stiffly, letting her do her work. She unwrapped the bandage on his arm, lips pressing together as she examined the puncture wounds left by the IV he had ripped out. “You need to be more careful,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. She moved down to his leg next, peeling back the gauze with careful fingers.

Izuku stared at the ceiling, feeling detached from his own body. The wound throbbed, but he barely reacted. He had felt worse.

Hayashi hummed in thought before reaching for her pen. “Your injuries are healing well, but the stress you’re putting on yourself isn’t helping. You need to rest.” He clenched his jaw.

“I can’t.”

Her gaze flickered up to him, assessing. Then, as she reached for his wrist to check his pulse, her eyes landed on something else.

She stilled.

Izuku followed her gaze and felt his stomach drop.

The scars.

Her grip on his wrist was gentle, but he still wanted to yank it away. He hated this. Hated the way people looked at him when they noticed. Aizawa, to his credit, didn’t react. But Dr. Hayashi’s face softened in a way that made Izuku’s skin crawl.

“I see,” she murmured, jotting something down in her notes before setting her pen aside. “I’ll be sending in someone to speak with you.”

Izuku’s pulse spiked. “No--!” he said quickly. “I… I don’t need that.”

“It’s standard procedure,” she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Especially after everything you’ve been through.” Izuku clenched his fists. “I don’t need to talk to anyone.” She met his gaze evenly. “Midoriya-kun, this isn’t a punishment. It’s to help.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his face. “Let’s get this over with.”

Not long after, a man walked in, dressed in a simple button-up and slacks. He had a calm, practiced smile, the kind that made Izuku want to run.

“Midoriya-kun,” the doctor greeted, pulling up a chair. “I’m Dr. Kiyoshi. I’m here to check in on you.”

Izuku shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Aizawa, who gave him a subtle nod. He wasn’t alone. That didn’t make it easier. But he was grateful for not being alone either, “I don’t need this,” Izuku muttered, crossing his arms.

“I understand,” Kiyoshi said easily. “But humor me. How have you been feeling since waking up?”

Izuku bit his tongue. He wanted to say, Like my world is collapsing. Instead, he just shrugged. “Fine.”

The doctor nodded, jotting something down. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to not be fine.”

Izuku exhaled sharply. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The man didn’t push. “Then let’s keep it simple. Do you feel safe here?”

Izuku hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“That’s an honest answer.”

The session dragged on, Kiyoshi asking carefully phrased questions, Izuku dodging them when he could. Eventually, the psychiatrist closed his notebook. “I’ll be checking in again,” he said, standing. “But if you need to talk before then, I’ll be around.”

Izuku didn’t reply, only watching as he left. The second the door shut, he exhaled shakily. Aizawa regarded him for a long moment before standing. “I’m heading out for now.”

Izuku tensed. “You’re leaving?”

Aizawa gave him a look. “I’ll be back. Get some sleep, problem child.”

Izuku wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was creeping in again. He nodded once.

As Aizawa left, Izuku laid back, staring at the ceiling. His mind refused to quiet, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. But for now, he was still breathing. Still here.

He just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“I wonder how Kurai-kun is doing,” Toga stared at the drink her new friend had made while her finger drew invisible shapes on the wooden countertop, “He was mesmerizing with the blood all over him but it was messy even for me. I wish I could see him at the hospital…” 

Giran stated at the girl Dabi had brought over through one of Kurogiri’s portals while he smoked, if he was being honest, I did wonder the same thing. Kurai-- Midoriya Izuku, wasn’t just a vigilante, Giran saw him as a broker just like himself only more dangerous. 

“How come no one has heard of you, kid?” Giran asked curiously, taking another drag from his cigarette as he sat up, “What do you mean?” Toga turned to the man, puzzled. She honestly had no idea why he was here, to be frank, she didn’t know why she was here either.

“I mean,” the man began, “You have a transformation quirk. Those aren’t common and anybody would be thrilled to possess such ability.” 

Ever since she’d met Izuku, all Toga heard was how amazing her quirk was. It was an odd change to hear people say nice things about her quirk, it didn’t sit right considering how her powers made her a target and messed up every good thing in her life. She didn’t look at Giran, taking her time to respond. 

“I’m not a villain.” 

“You’ve killed before though, haven’t you?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Those aren’t the eyes of an innocent. I know a killer when I see one, Toga.” 

Toga stared at Giran for a moment, her golden eyes sharp and unreadable. He wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t like the way he said it. Like it was a simple fact, like it was something that defined her. She knew what she had done, but it wasn’t like she had ever planned to be this way. The words felt like they carried weight in the air, pressing against her like the thick scent of smoke curling from his cigarette.

She gripped the edge of the counter, her nails digging into the worn wood. “You don’t know anything about me,” she muttered, voice quieter than before.

Giran exhaled slowly, his gaze still on her. “You’re right. I don’t. But I know people. And kid, you got the look of someone who’s walked that line too many times to pretend otherwise.”

Toga clenched her jaw. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, her mind drifted, unbidden, to the memories she had long since shoved into the depths of her mind. The first time her hands had been slick with blood, the warmth, the way her breath had caught in her throat. The way her heart had pounded, not just with fear, but with something else. Something she hated and loved all at once.

She wasn’t a villain.

But she wasn’t normal either.

Giran must’ve seen something in her expression because he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he tapped the ash from his cigarette into the tray beside him. “Doesn’t really matter what you call yourself, kid. The world’s gonna call you what it wants, anyway.”

She hated that he was right.

Before she could say anything else, the door creaked open. The air in the bar shifted, a slow chill creeping in despite the warmth of the dim lights overhead. Toga turned her head just slightly, her muscles tensing. She didn’t need to see who it was to know. The weight of his presence was enough.

Shigaraki stepped inside, his red eyes scanning the room lazily before landing on Giran. His posture was relaxed, but Toga knew better than to assume it meant anything.

“Why is this brat still here?” Shigaraki muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached. His gaze flicked to Toga, lingering for just a second too long before returning to Giran. “Didn’t take you for a babysitter.”

Toga bristled but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but she didn’t like the way he looked at her. Like he saw something beneath her skin, something she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to see.

Giran, on the other hand, only smirked. “She’s got potential.”

Shigaraki snorted. “Yeah? For what?”

Toga wasn’t sure if he was actually asking or if it was just meant to get a rise out of her, but either way, she didn’t care. She pushed back from the counter, grabbing the drink she had barely touched and taking a long sip before setting it down again with a soft thud.

“Not interested,” she muttered, her voice even. Shigaraki tilted his head, watching her for a second before shrugging. “Whatever. Just don’t get in my way.”

He turned his attention back to Giran, clearly done acknowledging her, and that suited Toga just fine. She didn’t want to be involved with whatever this was. She had enough to deal with already.

Her fingers twitched against the glass, her mind drifting once again to Kurai-kun-- Izuku . She had been thinking about him more than she probably should, but she couldn’t help it. The way he moved, the way he fought, the way he bled—

She exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away.

“Where is Dabi?”

“Out.” 

“Very helpful, Giran-san.” 

Chapter Text

“Detective Tsukauchi! If I may, could you tell this young man I can’t help him? He insists on getting information on a patient and--” 

The Detective looked at the boy, not missing the bruise on his cheek. He studied further before speaking up, “It was Bakugou, right?” he asked, nodding to the nurse at the front desk as Katsuki scoffed. “I’ll take it from here, thank you. Why don’t you come with me, Bakugou-kun?” Gesturing him away, Tsukauchi followed him to the waiting seats and sat beside him. 

“I know he’s here, I want to see him.” 

Tsukauchi sighed through his nose. He looked older than he had yesterday, like the weight of the week had crumpled his spine a little more. Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe just the flood of questions piling on top of each other with no solid answers.

“Bakugou-kun,” the detective corrected himself, softer now. “It’s not that simple.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “What part of it isn’t simple? That idiot hasn’t been answering my calls or texts, and I haven’t heard from him for over week. He doesn’t have anyone else and… fuck. I- I just want to know if he’s okay.”

The detective didn’t flinch. “That’s exactly why it’s not simple. Do you even know why he’s here?”

Katsuki's fists balled in his lap. His nails bit into his palms, the faint sting grounding him. “You’re acting like it deosn’t matter he’s hurt. Let me see Izuku or I’ll break down every door here until I find him.”

“Look, there’s no need for that,” Tsukauchi replied, and there was a gentleness to his voice Katsuki wasn’t used to. “But that’s not the issue. You’re not listed as one of the official rescuers. We have no documentation, no clearance, no reason on record for you to even know he’s here—”

“Are you seriously lecturing me about protocol right now?” Katsuki snapped, voice rising. A nurse peeked nervously from around the corner, but Tsukauchi raised a hand to wave her off.

“I’m trying to keep you out of trouble,” he said firmly. “Do you want them to start asking how you got there? Who you were with? Because I know you’re involved in this, one way or another since, as you said, he doesn’t have anyone else, but I don’t have any proof, so keep your head down.”

Katsuki didn’t answer.

Tsukauchi leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “If you go in there without clearance, someone will dig. And when they start looking into who else was there... do you want to stain your record? Do you think Midoriya wants that on his conscience?”

That hit harder than Katsuki expected.

He looked away.

“...How is he?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Tsukauchi hesitated, his expression unreadable. “He woke up this morning. He's... confused. Disoriented. He didn’t recognize where he was at first.”

“Shit,” Katsuki whispered, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Is he—like—fuck, can he talk ?”

“He can,” Tsukauchi answered. “But he’s not saying much. Aizawa-san is with him.”

Katsuki blinked. “He’s here ?”, he had to keep his promise to them, he couldn’t slip. Playing dumb was his only option.

“Turned himself in before we made it to-- doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. He said he wouldn’t leave Midoriya’s side.”

Katsuki swallowed hard. That sounded like Aizawa. Idiots .

“Izuku asked about you,” Tsukauchi added, watching Katsuki carefully. “Said your name before he passed out again. He thinks he’s still in danger. We’re trying to... piece things together, but he’s not helping. He’s scared .”

Katsuki felt that twist in his chest again, low and bitter.

“Then let me see him.”

“I can’t—”

“I’m not leaving,” he snapped. “You want to arrest me? Fine. Book me, throw me in a cell, I don’t give a damn. But I’m not going until I know he’s okay.”

Tsukauchi rubbed his forehead. “You’re not technically under arrest...”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, if we let you in now, we’re opening a whole can of worms. The press already got wind that a vigilante was found in critical condition after a raid on Chisaki, surely you have seen the news. We’re doing everything we can to keep Midoriya’s name out of it.”

Katsuki stood suddenly, pacing a few steps before turning back around. “And what about the bastards who did that to him? You keeping their names out of it too?”

“We’ve got most of them in custody,” Tsukauchi said, slowly. “But the rest of the their leader? We’re still cleaning up. The place was a mess. And his friends—”

“Not his friends .”

“—the others that were there, they left no trace. Like ghosts. It’s impressive, honestly. Concerning, but impressive.” Katsuki let out a low breath, hand twitching with the urge to blast something. “So what now?”

“You wait,” Tsukauchi said. “Let us do our jobs. We’re monitoring him. The minute we can get a straight answer out of him—”

“I can get one.”

“You think he needs more pressure right now?”

“No,” Katsuki said, and the word surprised them both. “I think he needs something real. He needs me . He needs to know he’s not alone.”

That made Tsukauchi pause.

“…He doesn’t trust hospitals. Last time he was in one, it was because he’d gotten his ass kicked at school.” Katsuki continued, almost to himself. “He hates the smell of them. They make him feel nauseous.”

Tsukauchi sighed again. “You’ve been with him since—?”

“Ugh! Not with ,” Katsuki muttered. “I’ve known him since we were brats so I know him. Alright?” A silence hung between them. A shared weight neither wanted to carry but both had chosen to. Finally, Tsukauchi stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Katsuki blinked.

“Just… wait here. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“No promises,” he muttered, but sat back down anyway.

Inside the hospital room, the air was cold.

Izuku’s eyes fluttered open again, but everything still swam at the edges. Blurred lights. The steady beep of the heart monitor. Aizawa’s silhouette, blurry and still in the corner. His presence was the only solid thing in the entire room.

“‘Zawa?” his voice cracked. Aizawa stirred, dark circles under his eyes even deeper than usual. He moved to Izuku’s side with quiet precision. “You’re awake again,” he said. “Try not to move too much, they put you on morphine.”

Izuku blinked up at him. “W-Where’s…”

“Safe,” Aizawa answered before he could finish. “You’re in a hospital. Under surveillance, yes. But safe. You remember right?” Izuku gave a small nod, letting his head fall back on the soft and sterile pillow with a sigh, “Any word from Kacchan yet?”

“Not that I know of. Kid, he’s going to be fine. Worry about yourself for now.” Relief and dread fought in Izuku’s chest. “He shouldn’t have been there. I—I told him how dangerous it would be if he got involved with my shit. Stupid Kacchan…”

“He cares about you and I don’t think he’d miss the opportunity to beat someone up” Aizawa interrupted, calm but sharp. “For the hundredth time, he will be fine, problem child.”

Izuku’s throat burned. “I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“You got hurt anyway.”

His breath hitched.

Silence.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Izuku spoke quietly, “It’s all my fault you got caught and now Eri is… Dammit. I never meant for things to get so messy. I’m so sorry, Aizawa-san… 

Aizawa could see the tears pooling and the dread in his eyes, “You never were--”

There was a knock at the door. Aizawa turned, the conversation left behind with the interruption. Tsukauchi stepped inside, followed by a very stiff, very pissed off-looking Katsuki Bakugou.

And Izuku froze.

For a second, he thought he was dreaming again. But then Katsuki’s eyes locked with his and widened, just a fraction. And then the frustration drained out of his face.

“Holy shit, ” Katsuki breathed, stepping forward. “You look like hell.”

Izuku let out a broken laugh that caught in his throat halfway. “Takes one to know one.”

Katsuki dropped beside him on the bed, glaring at the wires, the bandages, the way Izuku’s hands trembled. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Do you mind if we talk alone?” Izuku looked at the detective, who seemed hesitant but Aizawa stood up and he followed him out regardless. “Don’t take too long, Bakugou-kun.” 

As soon as the door closed, Katsuki’s features softened then, “Don’t you ever fucking do that again!”

“I—”

“I mean it. Next time you get yourself in trouble, I’m not saving your ass. I’ll let that Toga girl kiss you just to teach you a lesson. What is up with her obsession with you anyway?”

Izuku laughed, really laughed this time, and then flinched from the pain of it.

Katsuki grabbed his hand.

It was small. Calloused. Real .

“You’re here, you’re okay…” Izuku whispered, “I’m so glad, Kacchan.”

“Yeah. I’m here, you idiot.” Katuski gave him a gentle smile and squeezed his bandaged hand, but Izuku pulled back the best he could without disturbing the IV on his arm, “I’m glad you’re okay but why are you here..? And how did you convince Tsukauchi-san to let you in? If he puts two and two together, you wouldn’t---”

“Save that shit for Eraser, nerd. I’m not here to get a lecture. And yeah, he did say he suspects I’m involved somehow but he has no proof and it’s been two days so he probably won’t find out anything about me.” Katsuki moved to sit on the chair, crossing his arms and pissed off about the fact that Izuku was disregarding himself again even while he was hooked to tubes and stuck in a hospital room, guarded by cops. 

While Izuku talked about precautions and how Katsuki was being reckless and throwing himself in fire, it turned into a back-and-forth bickering. Katsuki studied him closely, eyes flicking over every twitch of a muscle, every blink that lasted too long. Izuku looked like he was trying to stay present, but his gaze kept drifting—like a radio barely tuned in, crackling with static.

“You keep spacing out,” Katsuki muttered. “Don’t think I’m not noticing.”

Izuku blinked at him, a little too slowly.

“Huh?”

“There. That. That right there,” Katsuki leaned forward, voice dropping. “You’re answering late. Like your brain’s lagging.”

“I’m just tired,” Izuku murmured, turning his face slightly toward the window, toward the fogged-up glass like it had answers. “They’ve got me on so many painkillers I feel like my bones are made of glue.”

“That’s not it.” Katsuki leaned back, his arms folding tight across his chest like it could keep his worry from spilling out. “You’re twitchy. You’re not even looking me in the eye for more than two seconds. What, you think I can’t tell when something’s off? Is it because of the dissociation thing?”

Izuku bit his lip, then let out a soft laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think something’s always been off with me, hasn’t it?”

Katsuki flinched.

“Don’t start with that.”

“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” Izuku said quietly, voice rough with something that wasn’t physical pain. “It’s just—I don’t know what’s real anymore. I keep thinking I’m still there. Like I’m gonna open my eyes and find Chisaki leaning over me again. I can’t even tell when it’s over.”

“It is over,” Katsuki said sharply, almost snapping. “You’re here. You’re not there. You’re in a hospital room and there are cops outside and people who’d kill to keep you safe. And I’m here.”

Izuku was silent for a beat too long again.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know, but…”

Katsuki didn’t press. Not yet.

Izuku’s hand twitched, then reached to touch the gauze on his shoulder. He winced at the contact. His expression contorted like something was crawling under his skin.

“Does it still hurt?” Katsuki asked, softer this time.

“Yeah,” he replied, too quickly. “No—I mean, not really. Not the worst of it. Just… sometimes I feel it, y’know? Even when I know it’s not there. Phantom pain or something. Like he’s still got his hands on me.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened until he felt the muscle jump.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he muttered under his breath. “If I’d gotten there five minutes earlier, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve gotten hurt too,” Izuku interrupted, gaze sharp for the first time. “You think I wanted you to show up? I was trying to keep you away. I wanted you safe.”

“Don’t act like that’s your call to make,” Katsuki hissed. “You don’t get to play martyr and decide who gets hurt for you. That’s not how this works.”

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

“Well, we did anyway. That’s the price, Deku. We don’t get to control the fallout, we just survive it.”

Izuku flinched again. That name. Katsuki rarely used it anymore.

“You called me Deku.”

Katsuki paused. “Yeah. So?”

“I don’t know. It feels… like I’m back in school again. Back when I thought I had everything figured out and nothing could touch me.” He laughed, broken and thin. “Guess I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Katsuki said, more quietly this time. “You were just stupid. There’s a difference.”

Izuku smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. It means you can still come back from this. You’re not a lost cause.”

Izuku’s hand trembled again as he reached for the water cup on the tray. He spilled a little, and Katsuki was on his feet before he could stop himself, grabbing the cup and holding it to Izuku’s lips like it was second nature.

“You’re shaking again.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t eat, did you?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t even try.”

Izuku said nothing.

“You’re spiraling,” Katsuki said flatly. “I’ve seen you do this before. Back when your notebook got burned and you stopped talking for two days. You think if you just... suffer enough, it’ll make things right.”

Izuku’s expression crumpled, and he looked down at his lap. His fists clenched, gripping the blanket tightly.

“It’s just… it’s so loud in my head, Kacchan. Everything’s loud. Like I’m stuck in a loop of that room. I keep remembering what he said. What he did . How it felt when I couldn’t breathe. When I thought—” he stopped himself with a shudder. “I thought I was going to die down there. And then you showed up and I wasn’t sure if it was real or not.”

“It was real,” Katsuki said. “I’m real. I’m here.”

Izuku turned toward him, eyes wide and red.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “I’m terrified something is going to happen again.”

Katsuki didn’t know what to do with that kind of honesty. It wasn’t the kind of thing either of them were trained to handle, especially not with bandages and IVs involved.

But he reached out anyway. Grabbed Izuku’s hand again.