Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sharp sting of the morning sun pressed against Izuku’s eyelids, an aching reminder that he had to get up. He blinked himself awake and slowly scanned the room. Everything sat exactly where he’d left it when he went to bed—he liked that fact, after all the boy didn’t like change. It was Friday at least. Thank god.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself out of his All Might–print sheets and shuffled toward the bathroom, feet dragging against the cool floor. The mirror greeted him with the harsh aftermath of last night’s crying: eyes dull and shadowed, cheeks still faintly rosy, hair sticking out in stubborn tufts. Cold water stung his skin as he splashed his face, grabbing his brush to comb out his knotted green curls.

Once he slipped into his uniform and grabbed his bag from the main room, he headed toward the door—only to pause as a familiar voice coughed out a little ‘ahem’.

“Now where do you think you’re going, young man?” Inko asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

Izuku laughed sheepishly and turned to face her, the corners of his mouth lifting at her unimpressed expression. He walked over and wrapped her in a tight bear hug, and she immediately dissolved into soft laughter hugging him back. If Izuku had one reason to keep going, it was her. His mom was his favorite person in the world—the only one who could confidently say she cared about him—and that was more than enough.
He kept the conversation brief, partly because he didn’t want to be late, but mostly to avoid her gentle prodding. She kept glancing at the dark circles beneath his eyes with concern that tugged at his heart. To be general he didn’t have the energy to explain. So he slipped toward the door, calling a half-hearted “Love you!” as he stepped outside and shut it behind him.

She pities you. How could she not pity a kid as useless as you?

Izuku drew in a deep breath and let his eyes fall shut. The voice wasn’t new. Some part of him had always carried that cruel whisper—degrading, relentless, etched into him like old scars. The words hit their marks every time. He’d long passed the point of pretending that hearing a voice like that was normal, but acknowledging it felt even worse. Burdening someone with the truth of his deteriorating mind? No. Absolutely not. So he did what he always did: he shoved the thoughts down. He opened his eyes, and told himself he was fine.

Because he was fine. He always was. Fine.

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The school bell rang, and Izuku jolted upright in his seat. He quickly gathered his things and slipped into the rush of students flooding the hall, weaving through the tightly packed bodies until he reached the stairwell leading to the rooftop—the one place he could be left alone.

Or rather, the one place he wouldn’t bother looking.

He slipped into the stairwell unnoticed. After all no one ever paid attention to the quirkless kid, the boy who blended into the walls of their middle school. He hurried up the steps and pushed open the rooftop door, settling on the concrete floor with his back against the railing.
Izuku dug through his backpack to pull out his hero notebook and a brightly colored pen, flipping to a fresh page. Sketching possible hero suits, hero names, strategies. Despite the cards he was dealt, all he’d ever wanted was to become someone a kid like him could look up to. A pro hero.

For the thirty minutes of lunch he could escape. For thirty minutes, he could be a hero. God, wouldn’t that be—

A sharp kick slammed into his side, cutting the thought clean in half. He crumpled forward, clutching his stomach as harsh laughter echoed above him.
“Finally fucking found you, nerd. Hiding on the rooftop? You’re even more of a coward than I give you credit for.” Katsuki snarled, anger twisting his face the way it always did. His little gang stood behind him, each wearing the same look of disgust. He felt like an alien, less than human.

Izuku forced himself to stay steady, swallowing down the fear as he pushed himself upright with a shaky grunt.

“H-hey… Kacchan…” he mumbles. Katsuki’s scowl deepened at the sound of the old nickname, like the word itself offended him.
Katsuki’s scowl drifted downward, landing on the notebook clutched in Izuku’s hand. Instinctively, Izuku tightened his grip. It didn’t matter. Katsuki’s fingers were already closed around the front cover, yanking hard. Izuku held on tightly, silently begging to be left alone. But he knew better. Katsuki never knew when to stop.

A manic grin split across Katsuki’s face. “Ooh, is that your way of standing up for yourself? Huh… Deku?” His buddies snickered behind him.
Before Izuku could react, Katsuki’s free hand clamped over his face and shoved—hard. Izuku’s head cracked against the metal railing, a burst of pain exploding behind his eyes. The world blurred, sound dipping in and out as dizziness took over his body. His fingers loosened around the notebook, and Katsuki ripped it away.

“W-wait… please,” he quaked, the words desperate. His vision slowly cleared just enough to see Katsuki flipping through the pages of his notebook. Laughter rose from him first, to which the others joined in.

Izuku clenched his teeth. He was used to this—used to being the school’s rag doll, used to Katsuki tormenting him whenever he felt like it. And to everyone else, it didn’t matter. Izuku had no quirk. Katsuki had a powerful one. In this stupid school, that alone justified everything. It meant Katsuki had every right to hurt him. A mere tortuous reminder of his place.

His vision wavered at the edges, heat rising in his chest, a rage that clawed at him from the inside, begging to be released. But he wouldn’t let it out. He couldn’t.

“You? A fucking hero? Real funny. You kinda need a good quirk for that—oh wait. That’s right. You don’t have one.” Katsuki’s voice dripped venom. When he noticed Izuku spacing out, he sneered and lifted his hand, sparks crackling to life in his palm.
Izuku snapped back to reality just in time to react. He threw his arms up and turned his head away an instant before the explosion hit. A burning shock tore across his forearms, searing the skin. He’d been burned by Katsuki before, more times than he could count, but this was different. This wasn’t just a sting or a blister. This time he felt it under his skin, running hot through his veins. He could smell it, the faint, sickening scent of scorched flesh.

A weak cry escaped him before he could swallow it down. For a moment Katsuki’s eyes flickered. Something almost like worry cut through the anger.
But it vanished as quickly as it came, he jerked his hand back and forced his face into rage.

You deserve this. You’ll never be anything. You should be thanking him.

Izuku bit down hard on his tongue, forcing the voices back into wherever the hell they came from. He didn’t needed them. God, he didn’t need them now.

He glanced down at his forearms and grimaced at the sight. The burns weren’t wide, but they were deep, bubbly. His stomach churned, nausea threatening to rise. Before he could calm down, a sharp tearing sound snapped his attention upward.
His notebook, his favorite thing, was ripped clean in half.

Izuku’s eyes went wide, tears swelling up. He loved that notebook more than almost anything. It was proof that maybe, someday, he could become someone. Anyone. Katsuki scorched the torn edges with a flare of sparks, and Izuku scrambled forward on instinct, snatching the ripped pages from his hands and blowing out the flames with shaky breaths.

To his surprise, Katsuki didn’t try to take it back. He just scoffed, stepped closer, and fisted a hand in Izuku’s hair—yanking his head up until their eyes locked.
“You’re pathetic. You wanna be a hero so bad? I’ve got a time-saving idea for you.” Katsuki leaned in, voice low and dripping amusement. “If you think you’ll get a quirk in your next life… go take a swan dive off the roof.”

Izuku went still.

Katsuki was always cruel but this was new. Telling him to jump? Telling him to kill himself? Thoughts intruded in before he could block them.

Maybe then he’d get charged with bulling him into suicide. Maybe then someone would finally see how wrong this is—

No.
No, stop it.
Calm down.

He dragged in a shaky breath, forcing himself to focus. Keep it together, Izuku. Breathe. Just breathe.

With that, Katsuki shoved him back and stood upright, grinning like he’d just won a fucking award. Izuku felt a sudden, violent urge rise in his chest, god he’d love to rip that smirk straight off his face and watch as blood pools down in thick, dark clu—

He blinked hard, the thought practically snapping out of existence.
Where did that even come from…?

Only then did he realize he was alone again. The group had already left, no doubt heading inside now that lunch was nearly over. He had two more classes today. Yeah. No. Not happening.

He pushed himself to his feet, picking up the scattered scraps of his notebook, tucking them into his backpack before heading down the stairwell. The moment he stepped outside the school gates he felt guilty. He hated skipping. Even if the students tormented him, he still liked the classes.

Izuku stopped by a convenience store to pick up a small medkit, heading straight for the self-checkout so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. He quietly slipped outside to the alley beside the building, sinking down against the wall.
He rolled up his sleeves setting the supplies down beside him. Exhaling deeply before treating the burns. Which definitely wasn’t a fun experience. Even the lightest touch of the bandage sent pain flaring up his veins. But at last he clenched his jaw and worked through it, forcing himself not to shake too much. Eventually, he managed to wrap the wounds. The bandages weren’t perfect, slightly uneven, and a little loose at the edges. but they were good enough. Good enough to hide that is, the last thing he needed was his mom seeing.

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On his walk home, something flickered in the corner of his vision. He turned sharply, only to see a thick glob of sludge slipping out from a gutter. It didn’t take him long to realize it had to be someone’s quirk.

Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance.

The creature cursed under its breath when it noticed Izuku staring. “Eh, he’ll do,” it muttered.
The sludge lunged engulfing him in an instant. Slime forced its way into his mouth, choking the breath out of him. Izuku panicked trying to scream, only to gag on the suffocating mass invading his lungs.
That’s when it clicked, he recognized this villain from a news article.

A sludge creature with the ability to possess a host. Terror spiked through him. He clawed desperately at the monster, fingers sinking into the viscous mass.

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He must’ve blacked out, because when he opened his eyes, he was on pavement. His lungs dragged in air, something he won’t take advantage of again. He jolted upright, panting, eyes darting around for any trace of the sludge villain. Nothing.

A tap landed on his shoulder.

Izuku whipped around so fast his vision streaked. His heart stopped. He had to be dead. That was the only explanation. Because standing over him, was the Symbol of Peace himself.

All Might.

He looked exactly like the photos. Exactly like the action figures. Exactly like the poster in his room. Large, bright, smiling like he belonged on the cover of a cereal box. The sight was so striking Izuku couldn’t even acknowledge that he had just been used as a human scuba tank for a villain.

Izuku stared. For a long, long moment. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
All Might crouched down, hands on his knees. “Are you okay, young man? That was quite the scare!” Izuku’s soul nearly escaped his body. So dumbfounded he nearly fainted.

“A–All Might?!” Izuku squeaked, shooting to his feet so fast he nearly toppled over. His eyes were wide, and his jaw was unable to close. He had never been this speechless in his life, and that was saying something.

His gaze traveled up All Might’s towering frame, the suit, the muscles that looked carved out of rock, that huge, perfect grin. His hands started shaking so badly he had to curl them into fists.

“C–can you… I—um—book— I have—notebook—can—autograph?” The words tumbled out. Nothing even remotely resembling a full sentence.

All Might let out a booming laugh. It was so cartoonish. Izuku froze for half a heartbeat, and then, despite the tremble still in his bones, he cracked a smile. A real one.

“Why of course! I always have time for my fans!” All Might gave him a dramatic thumbs-up straightening back up. Up close, he felt even taller then the photos—five feet, maybe more, above Izuku.

Izuku scrambled through his backpack, hands trembling so hard the zipper slipped from his fingers. Finally he managed to pull out a crumpled sheet of notebook paper and a pen.
All Might took them with a grin, obviously noticing Izuku’s fan-boying. A few bold strokes later and the page was handed back.

Izuku beamed feeling happier than he’s ever felt in months. He carefully tucked the sheet back into his backpack. He already knew he’d frame it as soon as he got home, taking care of his wound and crying having to be pushed to second priority.

“Well, I should get this villain back to the station. Goodbye for now!”
All Might turns to leave, and Izuku’s stomach drops. He still has so many questions, but there’s one he can’t let slip away.

“Wait!” The word bursts out of him before he can think. All Might stops mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Sorry, kid, but I really have to—”

“Can I be a hero?!”
Izuku blurts it out, desperation cracking through his voice. His whole body trembles, praying to himself. All Might exhales slowly, and Izuku scrambles to fill the quiet.

“I don’t have a quirk,” he says, chest heaving, “but I want to be someone like you. Please… just tell me I can.”

Izuku stood there trembling, clutching the strap of his backpack. All Might’s eyes flicked to the bandages peeking out from under his sleeves, the fear on his face, the way he seemed starved for hope.

“Young man…” he began, voice softer, hesitant.
Izuku’s heart pounded so hard he worried he might throw up.
Please. Please say yes. Please don’t crush his dream. Please don’t be like everyone else—

All Might exhaled. “Being a hero… is dangerous. Even with a quirk. It’s a path filled with pain, sacrifice… and risk of death.”

Izuku’s fingernails dug into his palms. He knew all that. He lived all that. It ticked him off that the symbol of peace thought so little of him.
“I can handle it,” he blurted, eyes stinging with tears begging to fall. “I can. I’ll work ten times harder than anyone with a quirk. I-I’ll prove I can!”

The words spilled from him like vomit, years of swallowed dreams rushing out all at once. And behind them, fear. Because this was his only chance. His only moment. If All Might said no…

All Might was quiet and the longer that silence stretched the more Izuku felt like screaming. Until finally, All Might’s jaw tightened.

“…I’m sorry.”

Izuku could feel his walls of hope cracking deeper and deeper. “In this society,” All Might continued quietly, “a hero… a professional hero… needs a quirk. Without one, you would be putting yourself in terrible danger. You could get hurt. Or worse.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t shout. He just let the words cloud in. Izuku’s breath hitched to a stop. He stared at the ground, vision blurring.

“So…” His voice came out quiet. “It’s… impossible?” All Might didn’t answer immediately. But the silence was louder than anything.

Izuku always thought he’d grown immune to pain with how often it found its way into his life. But he was wrong, so incredibly wrong.

All Might apologized once more and left to deliver the villain to the station.

Izuku gathered his scattered things and wandered into a quiet alley, far from anyone who might hear him break. He expected to start sobbing the second he was alone, but instead his lips twisted into a sickening grin. He dropped to his knees, the rocky pavement biting into them as a snicker slipped out… then a chuckle, until he was laughing. Not happily. Not even close. It just felt right.

Tears streamed down his face as those laughs warped into something wrecked and unhinged. His hands shot up to his hair, yanking at the curls, grounding himself in the sharp sting because it was the only thing that made sense anymore.

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Izuku cried and laughed for what felt like hours, until his voice was raw and his eyes were dry. He felt disconnected, sick, and furious all at once. His thoughts weren’t just spiraling anymore, they were collapsing, and that cruel voice in his mind sat at the center of it all.

But something about it had changed. It wasn’t just calling him useless or worthless. It was screaming at him, urging him to do something awful. It reminded him of the violent impulse he had felt with Katsuki earlier that day, except this time it didn’t disappear. It roared louder, and the more his mind spiraled, the more he wanted to listen.

His eyes widened the moment he realized what he’d been thinking, and he slapped himself, hard. The voices faded, and the laughter died in his throat.

“F-fuck… that wasn’t… I shouldn’t… why would I—” he muttered, horrified at how little control he’d had over his own body, his own mind. He tried to think of his mom, the way she always settled his nerves, reminding him he was still okay. After all he still had her.

His mom.

Shit.

He glanced at his watch. 8:00 p.m.

How had he stayed out this long?

She must be worried sick.

Izuku scrambled to his feet and sprinted out of the alley.

He ran down the streets, but something felt wrong. A smoky scent drifted through the air. It was faint at first, then grew thicker the closer he got to his apartment complex. He didn’t think much of it until he finally looked up.

Smoke rose from a building in the direction of his home.

His panic snapped into place instantly. He ran harder, shoving past people, lungs burning as he approached the scene. Police cars and firetrucks lined the street, confirming the worst. His heart dropped.

Izuku stumbled into the crowd gathered outside, neighbors crying softly as they watched their homes rise in flames. He scanned every face, desperate, searching for the only person who mattered. He fought to keep his emotions contained, but they were slipping through his fingers.

After searching the crowd for several frantic minutes, he couldn’t wait any longer. Panic overrode reason. He turned toward the fire and, made the most irrational decision of his life.
He bolted straight for the burning entrance, sucking in one deep breath before diving inside, ignoring the horrified shrieks of his neighbors. Heat crashed into him immediately. He pushed through it, dodging falling debris and leaping over burning sections of the floor as he raced upstairs toward his apartment.

Breathing was nearly impossible but he didn’t care. His body moved on autopilot, driven by something primal and desperate.

He stumbled into the hallway, barely avoiding a collapsing door, and burst into the apartment. Flames were up the walls. Smoke blurred everything into shapes and shadows.

And then he saw it.

He froze at the sight of his mother—her skin burned, her body lifeless on the scorched floor. Every emotion inside him collided at once, jagged and violent, until his mind simply… shut down. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t even breathe.
The fire closed in, heat curling around him seconds from taking him when strong arms suddenly yanked him backward. Pro hero Manuel dragged him through the flames, using bursts of his water quirk to carve a safe path as he pulled them both out of the collapsing building.

Firefighters and paramedics crowd around him. That’s when something inside Izuku cracks. After so long of holding it in the anger collapses in. The grief doesn’t hit him first—rage does. A boiling fury at the world, at quirks, at heroes who weren’t there in time. The same dark voice from earlier whispers again, louder now, fed by loss and pain. His vision begins to tint red.

He barely registered Manuel stepping in front of him, gently pushing the crowd back to give him space. Everything was muted, that was until the hero crouched in front of him.

“Hey, kid, are you okay? You seem pretty distraught,” Manuel said with a soft smile.

Izuku hated that smile.
He hated Manuel.

A water quirk. He had a water quirk. So why wasn’t he here sooner? Why wasn’t he fast enough? What kind of hero—

Another man in full police uniform approached. “What’s up with this one?” the officer asked, with a scoff.

Izuku bit down hard on his tongue, jaw trembling, eyes fixed on nothing. The rage spread through him, crawling under his skin until he was consumed by it.

Manuel tried again, oblivious to the nightmare Izuku had just lived through. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said lightly, almost joking. “We checked and were positive everyone made it ou—”

Something inside Izuku snapped. It happened so fast he didn’t feel his own body move. One moment he was staring at the ground, the next his hand flew forward, ripping the gun from the officer’s holster. His vision blurred, ears ringing, he was all out of reason.

Before anyone could react, a crack slashed the silence. Manuel staggered back, shock painted across his face. He clutches his heart, where izuku hit bullseye.

And then, only then, did Izuku realize what he had done.
The rage cleared. The gun felt heavy in his shaking hands. His heart sank.

He hadn’t meant—
He didn’t think—
He couldn’t breathe.

He stared at Manuel, a hero who was only trying to help, and his grip released the gun the case clinking onto the ground.

Izuku stumbled backward. His mouth opening and closing pathetically, no sound coming out. The officer rushed to Manuel’s side, shouting his name, shaking him, desperately trying to get a response. But there was none.

Manuel was dead.
Izuku had killed someone.

His fight-or-flight response launched into action and so he ran.

He bolted away from the scene, sprinting blindly down the street as the world blurred around him. Why was everything changing? Why now, why can’t he wake up from this sick nightmare?!
Sirens wailed behind him, growing closer with every second. He slipped into an alleyway, panting hard as he tried to blend into the shadows stumbling backwards eyeing the street for sign of police. His shoulder slammed into an open door making him whip around. And in that door Izuku saw a staircase leading down. The sirens were gaining on him, so with no time to think, he slipped through the doorway. Quickly shutting it behind him.

The stairwell was pitch-black, making him stumble some. It was so quiet Izuku shivered. When he reached the bottom, a thin strip of light glowed beneath a door. Desperate, he tried the handle to find it unlocked.

He slipped inside and shut the door behind him, back facing the room, chest heaving, he was finally hidden.

Click.

“Don’t turn around.”
A rough voice came out from behind him. As a cold barrel pressed against the back of his skull. Izuku’s breath hitched, and he slowly lifted his hands, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“I—I didn’t want to hurt anybody… I swear…” he choked out between sobs.

The man, who must be two generations older than him, let out an amused scoff.

“What’s your name kid?” He asks his voice not as deadly as last time but still intimidating.

“I-Izuku.. Midoriya…” he stuttered only to hear his name repeated back. Not by the man but the sound of a television. A news broadcast.

“Young preteen identified as Izuku Midoriya is now being searched for by police. If you spot him, call 911 immediately. Pro Hero Manuel is dead— I repeat, Pro Hero Manuel is dead.” Izuku’s breath hitched.

Another sob tore out of him. His whole body trembled, the words hurting like a physical blow.
“Well now… that changes thing.” The gun lowers slightly behind him, no longer pressed on his head. The man approaches stopping just inches away. He felt a gloved hand land on his shoulder. “Looks like you’ve had quite a day…Midoriya,” the man murmured. Izuku flinches at his own name. “Let’s see what the boss thinks about you.”

Chapter Text

“What the hell, Giran!”

Izuku sat up in the booth where he’d been tightly curled in fetal position. He had been crying for so long he’d almost forgotten where he was. Blinking through the tears, he spotted another person on a barstool beside Giran.

“Calm down, Tomura. It’s just a kid,” the man who’d let him in chuckled before taking another drag from his cigar. He’d introduced himself earlier as Giran, though Izuku doubted that was his real name.

His gaze went to the other man. His skin looked dry and flaky, and had blue shaggy hair hanging over… a hand? Which rested on his face. Why a hand? Izuku had no idea. But everything about him radiated danger, and judging by his tone and clenched fists, he wasn’t happy Izuku was here.

“Just a kid?” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just a kid?!”

He shoved himself off the barstool, whipping around to face Izuku. Causing the tearful boy to panic. Giran placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Don’t. He can be valuable,” Giran said, but the reassurance only got him a low, irritated growl from the freak show.

“Valuable, my ass. He’s sobbing like a damn baby. We don’t need a naive bitch in the group.”

Izuku’s brows furrowed and a frown found his face. He was used to being called a bitch, sure, but naive? That stung. He did kill someone, after all.

Shigaraki shoved Giran off of him and turned on his heel to walk toward Izuku. He swallowed hard, regretting ever accepting Giran’s offer to let him hide out here.

The dry man slammed his hand down on the table in front of Izuku pinky lifted, he found it odd but wasn’t given any time to think about it.

“Listen here, brat. You really fucked up coming down here,” he growled. “And now you know where our base is, so see you in hell.”

His hand shot out toward Izuku with a sneer.

Izuku reacted quickly, snapping his hand up and grabbing the man’s wrist.

“Don’t touch me, creep. I can leave on my own,” Izuku said through gritted teeth, far beyond wanting to play nice. He’d had a day straight from Satan’s ass, and he was pretty sure the only thing keeping him from taking Katsuki’s advice and jumping off the closest bridge was the shock of it all. His mind felt completely jet-lagged, leaving him drowning in emotions with no way release them.

Shigaraki let out another deep growl, this one even more animalistic than the last. He used his free hand and went straight for Izuku’s face. Just as his fingers came closer, Izuku’s eyes flicked to Giran, who looked… concerned.

That’s when it clicked.

Whatever this guy’s quirk was, Izuku is in worse off if Shigaraki touched him.

He tried to dodge, but Shigaraki’s hand was already a mere centimeter from his face. Izuku closed his eyes tensing up to brace for impact. Which… didn’t arrive.

Izuku opened his eyes slowly to find his view completely blocked by a glob of purple mist. It looked smoky and liquid-like, and seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
Izuku moved his head to peak out from it just in time to see Shigaraki whipping around.

“What the hell, Kurogiri?!” Shigaraki snapped, his expression twisted in fury.

The purple mist blinked away, revealing who he was talking to. There stood behind the bar was a man seemingly made of that same smoky substance, dressed sharply in a suit and tie.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already trying to kill someone?” Kurogiri sighed like a tired parent.

If Izuku hadn’t already been confused about the hierarchy of this group, this only made it worse. Shigaraki stalked over to the purple man, his mood as still just as violent as ever.

“What is your deal?!” Shigaraki snarled. “It’s just a kid, who, by the way, could rat us out to the heroes! Why are you both so insistent that he lives?”

He glared between the two of them. To which Giran only chuckled in response.

“You really think we’d spare him just for fun?” Giran scoffed. “Our door was left open on purpose.”

Izuku furrowed his brow, unease settling in his chest as he finally spoke up.

“You’re saying you wanted me to find this place?” he asked quietly. “…Why?”

Giran let out little “ah, ah, ah” before stating, “You’ll find out soon enough. But to put it lightly, the boss has taken an interest in you.”

Izuku grumbled. “You keep talking about this big boss man, who the hell would that b—”

“That’s enough questions, child. Just trust that we have your best interests in mind,” Kurogiri cut him off.

Izuku felt rage boil up to the top of the emotional tornado running through his mind.

“What the fuck?!” he snapped. “How do you expect me to trust you? I don’t even know you! The second I walked into this underground bar, I’ve almost been killed! …twice! I am two sentences away from leavi—”

“To go where,” Giran interrupted, his voice suddenly dead serious.

Izuku could have ripped his head off for interrupting him if it weren’t for the truth behind the words. Giran was right. He had nowhere to go. Half the police force was searching for him and… his mom.

Tears blurred his vision before he could stop them, he blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

“I’ve been looking into your background, Midoriya. You’re the most useless kid Japan’s ever seen.”

Izuku’s eyes flashed red as that voice in his head started up again. He stood up from the booth, blood boiling about to tackle the man—

“But you don’t have to be,” the man continued, Izuku stops in his tracks. “With the boss’s help, you could become the world’s greatest death threat. You could finally make those who hurt you pay the price. All you have to do is trust us.”

A grin stretched across his face as he extended a hand toward Izuku.

“So what do you say?”

Izuku hesitated, his mind reeling of violent clips of the day. Katsuki. The slime. All Might. His mom. Manuel. Each image was a twist in the knife, until his chest felt too tight to breathe. And yet, beneath the fear, the doubt, the shaking in his hands, he knew what he wanted.
Even as his hand wrapped and closed around Giran’s firm grip, only one word filled his mind.

Revenge.

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It should have been a normal day for Shota Aizawa. He was at the police station, finishing up some files with Tsukauchi before his shift, when a frantic intern burst through the doorway.

“Hero dead!” he blurted.

He staggered against the frame, gasping for air. Whatever he had just ran from, it hadn’t been nothing. Aizawa felt the unease settle in his gut.

“Calm down, Haruto. What’s going on? Who’s dead?” Tsukauchi asked, keeping his voice steady despite the concern creeping through.

Haruto sucked in a shaky breath. “Pro hero Manuel,” he said, the words tumbling out. “Shot by a teenager.”

The room went dead silent. Tsukauchi lifted a hand to his mouth, stunned. Shota only stared, the weight of the words sinking in slowly.

The intern went on, explaining the fire, the rescue, then the… violence that followed.

“We’ve tracked the kid to a name,” he said. “Izuku Midoriya. Quirkless. Fourteen.”

Aizawa choked on his coffee.

“Fourteen?” he repeated. “That means he’s still in junior high. And we’re positive he did it?”

Haruto nodded. “It happened in front of a crowd. We’ve got cop body cam footage, too.”

Aizawa tried to wrap his head around the news. Teenagers doing reckless things wasn’t new to him, saw plenty of that as a teacher. Getting into fights, making impulsive decisions.

But a teen killing a pro hero in front of thirty civilians, eleven firefighters, and half a dozen cops? A middle schooler, no less? That was something else entirely.

Shock changed to something colder in his chest. Because now, all he could think about was one thing.

What happened to this kid that could make him do something like murder?

                     Six hours earlier

                       ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Fuck.

He knew he’d crossed the line even as he did it. It was only supposed to be a warning. Just that. A warning.

So why did he always let it go too far?

He’d never hurt him like that before. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what had set him off this time. All that he could remember was the look on the nerd’s face when the blow landed. The way the freckles stretched with pain, then shifted into something worse.

Betrayal.

Like something had finally clicked. Like he’d just realized they weren’t friends anymore.

Katsuki couldn’t understand why it bothered him this much. Why couldn’t he just hate him fully? Why did that sinking feeling still rise in his chest every time he threw a punch? And to top it all off, he’d told him to jump off a building.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“Bakugo!”

He snapped his head up from his desk. His history teacher was staring him down.

Shit. He zoned out the whole lesson.

“I asked you a question, Sleeping Beauty.”

She was one of the only people in this school who treated him like everyone else. Even the principal treats him like a damn celebrity, yet she just can’t get the memo. That pissed Katsuki off.

“Pick someone else,” he scoffed, kicking his feet up onto the desk.

She didn’t even hesitate. Just rolled her eyes. “Detention.”

He jolted upright just as the rest of the class gasped. To say that reaction was new would’ve been an understatement.

“Are you fucking seriou—”

“Yes,” she cut him off. “An hour after school.” She crossed her arms, expression unmoved.
The room erupted instantly. Half the class protesting on his behalf, the other half losing their minds that Bakugo had actually gotten detention. The noise barely had time to start before the bell rang. She dismissed them over the chaos.

Katsuki slumped back in his seat with a groan as students flooded out around him. Figures.

Then he noticed it.

Midoriya’s seat was empty.

He furrowed his brow, irritation giving way to something uneasy. The nerd never skipped. Not unless he was sick or physically couldn’t make it.

…Weird.

                          ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Turns out “an hour after school” really meant clean the whole damn building.

By the time Katsuki finished, his arms were lazy and his uniform felt gross with sweat. It had just hit hour two when he finished. He shoved the mop and bucket into the supply closet, not bothering to turn around as they crashed against shelves and toppled over inside. He slammed the door shut.

Screw it.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and stormed out, muttering curses under his breath with every step down the empty hallway. 
By the time he got home, the sky was already getting dark.

He kicked his shoes off by the door. Today had been absolute shit leaving him with no energy left to deal with anyone. He went straight to his room, locked the door behind him, and finally let the weight of the day sink in.

Katsuki took a quick shower got into something comfortable, before collapsing onto his bed with a groan. He stared up at the ceiling, chest still tight with a mess of anger he couldn’t let go.

Trying to sleep was impossible.

Katsuki lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He felt this crawling feeling in his stomach, and just knew, something was wrong. He didn’t know what was wrong, didn’t even know how he knew, only that whatever it was felt bad. Really bad.

He rolled onto his side. Then his back. Then his side again.

Minutes dragged to hours. By the time morning light beamed in from his curtains, he still hadn’t slept.

He stumbled downstairs, rubbing at his burning eyes, head still thick with exhaustion. He barely registered his father’s concerned look as he headed off to work.

The living room glow pulled his attention next. His mother sat on the couch, eyes fixed on the morning news. Katsuki was about to pass by, not in the mood for whatever disaster the world was dealing with today—

“Izuku Midoriya….”

The name hit him like a punch to the gut.

Panic rose in his lungs. He jolted forward for the remote, turning the volume up with shaky fingers. And for a moment, his mind went to what he told him.

“If you think you’ll get a quirk in your next life… go take a swan dive off the roof.”

Fuck—no. No, he didn’t mean it. Fuck… don’t. Please, don’t tell me he actually—

The possibility made his stomach churn, and sickness rise in his chest.
But that wasn’t what the reporter said.

“Young preteen identified as Izuku Midoriya is now being actively searched for by police. If you spot him, call 911 immediately. Pro hero Manuel is dead—repeat, Pro hero Manuel is dead.”

The remote slipped from Katsuki’s numb fingers and clattered against the floor.
He- he shot someone? That wasn’t possible. Not Deku. Not the worthless, crying nerd who flinched when voices got too loud. Not him.

Katsuki staggered back a step, then another. He turned abruptly and left without a word.

His mother called after him but he didn’t stop. He didn’t need her pity. Not now. He shut himself back in his room, locked the door with shaking hands.

Katsuki slid down the wall until he hit the floor, breath coming out uneven as he curled in on himself. His chest felt tight, compressed by something thick and ugly.

Guilt.

“What the fuck, Deku…”

Chapter Text

Izuku hurried downstairs, a bright smile lighting up his whole face. His feet were tripping in the legs of his long pajamas as he stumbled toward the kitchen. The smell of bacon drifted through the air and he couldn’t wait.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” his mom called, laughing gently as she flipped something in the skillet. She gave him a smile over her shoulder.

He darted to her side and grabbed onto her leg, bouncing on his toes with a squeal.

“What are we having for breakfast?!” he giggled, going on his tiptoes to peek over the counter. 

It was covered in food, crisp bacon, fluffy eggs, perfectly golden toast. Making his mouth water instantly. He reached for a piece of bacon, only for his mom to swat his hand away. He gasped dramatically and pulled his arm back, lips forming in an instant pout.

“No bacon yet, silly. Go sit down,” she said, chuckling as she flipped the egg still sizzling in the pan.

“But I wanna help!” he whined, bouncing on his toes and pumping his little fists in a small tantrum.

“You can’t help, Izuku.”

He let out a tiny sigh and turned away, assuming that was the end of it. But she let out a scoff. Not playful. Not tired. Something sharper, almost disgusted. And suddenly the kitchen felt smaller. The birds outside went silent. The warm morning light felt muted.

“You can’t help,” she said again. “You’re useless. No quirk, no talents, nothing. You’re absolutely pathetic.”

The words weren’t his mother’s. They carried a harsh, warped resonance, a voice edged with something cold and inhuman. The boy flinched unprepared for such a change in tone.

“W-what? Why are you—”

Izuku’s voice died in his throat. He turned slowly, every hair on his arms standing on end. The warmth of the kitchen was gone, a harsh, cold feeling in its place. His mother’s back was still to him, the egg in the pan now burning bad.

“N-no—please! I can help! J-just let me help!” He stepped toward her, desperation cracking his voice. “I won’t let you down, Mom, I promi—”

She turned, Izuku stopped breathing.

Her face, if it could still be called a face, was melted, twisted into the exact nightmare he remembered from that night. Skin charred and blackened, features warped beyond recognition. The sight hit him like a physical blow, nausea rising through his stomach at the horror.

“If you came home sooner,” she rasped, her ruined mouth tearing open with each word, “I might still be alive.”

She took a step toward him, voice rising into a broken shriek.

“It’s all your fucking fault…!”

Tears streamed down Izuku’s cheeks fast. He stumbled back, shaking so hard he could barely stay upright.

Her hand. Her blackened, skeletal hand, snapped out toward his face, reaching to grab—

His eyes snapped open.

Izuku jolted upright, a strangled gasp ripping out of him as he slapped a hand over his mouth. Sobs tore through his chest before he could manage a breath. Sweat soaked the cheap sheets beneath him. Sticking to his back like a disgusting second skin, but he barely felt it.

He wanted to scream.
He wanted to rip his own head off. Anything to get the nightmare out of him.

The sane voice in the back of his mind begged him to breathe, think, slow down, anything. But it was gone as quickly as it came, not helping in the slightest.

His hands shot up to his hair. He grabbed fistfuls of green curls and yanked. Hard.

The sharp pain grounded him, barely. He pulled again, desperate, shaking so violently the mattress shifted on the floor beneath him. His breathing hitched, a choked whine slipping from his throat. Weak and desperate, he hated it. When his arms finally dropped into his lap, his hands couldn’t stop shaking.

Clumps of his own hair lay in his palms, torn straight from the scalp. Izuku stared at them, wide-eyed, heart hammering so hard it hurt.

Fuck. This was bad.

                            ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Izuku refused to even try to go back to sleep. Not after that.
He glanced up at the crooked clock on the wall. The time read twelve p.m. Yeah. Twelve p.m. Given his night before he didn’t get any opportunity to sleep with all the shit going on, meaning, he went to bed at seven in the morning. So here he was curled tight against the dusty drywall, knees to his chest, breathing deep breaths. He didn’t even risk blinking for too long.

His room, if he could even call it that, sat on the floor above the underground bar, the smoky purple guy had led him to it last night. It appeared to be a section of an old apartment complex completely walled off from the rest of the building. No windows. No vents. Just solid concrete and darkness.

Even now, daytime meant nothing down here. Twelve p.m. felt the same as twelve a.m. Pitch black, and slightly suffocating. It was a nasty space too. The walls were stained, the mattress had springs that jabbed him every time he moved, and the floor smelled faintly of spilled liquor, old metal, and possibly blood.

But it was a room.

It was his.

And compared to where he could be: on the streets, dead, in jail, he didn’t really have the right to complain.

Still, he pulled his knees tighter as a shiver wracked his thin frame. He was safe. He repeated that to himself again and again but his body wouldn’t listen.

Not even five minutes later, the door to his room was shoved open with no warning.

Kurogiri stepped inside, his silhouette rippling like smoke. His eyes flicked over the scene, the clumps of torn green hair in Izuku’s hands, his red-rimmed eyes, the trembling in his shoulders. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. If anything, his frown deepened into something close to irritation.

Izuku glared back, even though his heart kicked hard in his chest.

“Couldn’t even knock?” he snapped, “What if I was changing?” His voice came out sharper than he expected, sarcasm covering the fact that he still felt like he was collapsing in on himself.

The man’s expression didn’t change. What was his deal? Izuku was starting to think he’s really a robot.

He had yet to get a single straight answer about who these people were, who the hell their boss is, or why he was wanted. And with every vague response his stomach twisted tighter.

He wasn’t usually a brat, in the slightest.But right now he couldn’t help it.

He was exhausted. Terrified. And pissed.

“Seriously,” he muttered, softer but still tense, “what’s with the dramatic entrance?”Kurogiri let out an irritated tsk before he spoke.

“Please come downstairs. Giran has something for you.”

Izuku bit back the insult that was in the tip of his tongue. No point picking a fight, especially with a walking fog machine who could teleport him into a volcano if he felt like it. He stayed silent, staring past Kurogiri as his mind drifted. He had questions for sure but the fear, exhaustion blurred any cohesive thoughts unrecognizable. When he finally snapped back to reality, the man was still standing there in the doorway, waiting with that infuriatingly calm posture.

“Alright, I got it,” Izuku muttered. “I’ll be there in a second.”

He shot Kurogiri a half-hearted glare. Out of everyone he’d met down here so far, this guy seemed the most… put-together. The most sane. And, weirdly professional.
It shouldn’t have been comforting, but it kind of was.

Kurogiri gave a small nod before drifting out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Izuku in darkness.

While the entire situation screamed sketchy, his curiosity clawed at him all the same. Giran said there was a reason they’d brought him here… but what the hell did that even mean? He didn’t know these people. He didn’t want to know these people. And yet somehow a group of villains not only knew his name but wanted him in their little “gang.”

It made absolutely no sense.

Still… he’d decided that creepy villain stalkers were a better option than being out there, thrown in jail, branded a monster, and forgotten. It’s not like anyone out there actually cared about where he was. His mom had been the only person in his life who even bothered—

His throat tightened.

Great. Here come the tears.

He clenched his fists and blinked hard, willing them away.

It’s all your fault.

Damn it.

That voice again. That fucking whisper that wouldn’t leave him alone. If anything, it had gotten worse, louder, slipping in and out of his thoughts and leaving only pain behind. Pain and the sickening urge to claw his own brain out just to make it stop.
He pushed himself to his feet, one hand braced against the wall as he fought to steady his breathing.

He could feel himself slipping. Giving in to that voice he did not want to listen to. But it cornered him, pressed against the back of his skull like a hand forcing his head underwater.

He looked down at his school uniform. He hadn’t changed out of it since yesterday and it smelled like soot. He slowly stood up and walked over to his bag. He had a backup hoodie and sweatpants in there for when he needed to cover up Katsuki’s burns from his mom. It would do.

He got changed quickly ignoring the bandages that definitely needed changing, deciding that he can take an actual shower later. He took a long deep breath before finally moving his feet and leaving his room.

He made his way down the narrow stairs into the underground bar spotting the same trio, the purple fog-man, the blue, hand-obsessed gremlin, and Giran.

Kurogiri was handing Giran a thick stack of cash. Like… a lot of it. Izukus gaze hardened. What the hell was that about? The second Giran noticed him, he jerked the money out of sight and flashed a wide grin.

“Morning—”

“Shut up.” Izuku snapped. “What the hell was tha—“

Giran’s smile twitched, irritation flashing in his eyes at being called out. He tucked the money away and sauntered over, clapping a hand onto Izuku’s shoulder as if they were old pals.

“Relax, kid,” he snickered. “Come here. I’ve got something for you.”

Giran led him a little farther from the others. Izuku shook his hand off, but followed anyway. His stomach twisted with unease. God, he wished he understood why this group wanted him so badly. Why a quirkless kid had caught the attention of these… strangers. Ever since he’d arrived, this sense of danger wouldn’t leave. It was a warning. But he found himself ignoring it for a reason he isn’t even sure of.

“I know you’re confused,” Giran said calmly, lowering his voice. “But trust me, it’ll all be explained.” He paused, then grinned. “We want you in the League of Villains.”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed. League? Was that their brand name? It sounded childish. Giran continued before he could comment. “But you can’t exactly just walk in with no experience. No skills. No power.”

Izuku’s heart dropped into his stomach.
Oh god. What does that mean? Giran pressed something into his hands, wrapped in cloth.

Izuku’s breath hitched. The weight. The cold metal closing around his fingers—

Suddenly he was back there.

The night of hell, as he would call it, staring at Manuel and the horror of faces around him, all glowing in the light of the fire. The terrified eyes of the pro as he collapsed to the ground.
His hands shaked hard before removing the cloth.

A gun.

Giran, oblivious to Izuku’s panic, kept talking. “It’d be good for you to get some real training. And considering the shot you took at Manuel, the gun seems like a tool you’re pretty go—”

“No.”

Izuku shoved the gun back into Giran’s hand so hard it nearly slipped from his grip. He staggered back a step, chest heaving. “Fuck no. I just need a place to stay. I—I’m not one of you.”

Giran let out an irritated sigh, “You killed someone, kid,” he said flatly. “You’re not on the heroes’ side anymore.”

Izuku felt like he couldn’t get enough air. The room felt smaller. Suffocating. His heart hammered painfully in his chest.

No.
No, that’s not true.
I’m not one of them.
I’m not a villain.

He’d been scared. Angry. Cornered. That was all. That had to be all.

“I’m not…” His voice broke, the words weak, not even trying to convince Giran. Just trying to convince himself. “I’m not—”

Without another word, he bolted.

Straight for the door. Ignoring the voices in his head, ignoring the ones calling after him. He flung it open and slammed it shut behind him, sneakers pounding up the stairs. When he burst out into the alleyway. He took a deep breath of fresh air and sunlight, but he didn’t stop. He kept running.
From the villains. From the heroes. From himself.

He ran fast and far. His legs burned and his chest ached and he no longer knew where he was. Somehow, he ended up at a beach.
It was devoid of people, the shoreline stacked with trash. Piles of other people’s discarded lives rose in stacks. Broken furniture, rotting food, rusted metal, things no one wanted anymore. It was ugly. Forgotten.

Perfect.

Izuku crossed the mess and found a small patch of clean sand near the water. He dropped down onto it, knees pulled in, shoulders sagging. He thought he would’ve burst into tears or at least scream. Something. Anything.
But he didn’t. He just sat there, staring out at the dark water as the sea breeze washed over him, threading through his tangled curls. Staring at the water until the sun grazed the horizon.

The quiet didn’t help.

With no distractions , the thoughts crept back in. What had his life even become? One day, his mom was sending him off to school. The next, he was a murderer. The shift was so abrupt it barely felt real, his brain refused to accept it. A sick, twisted fever dream he kept expecting to wake up from.

And yet… despite everything… he didn’t regret what he’d done.

That man was the reason his mom wasn’t even whole enough to bury. The realization was a weight on his chest. But fuck, he knew he’d do it again. Maybe next time he wouldn’t make it quick. Maybe he’d make it hurt. Something drawn out, fingernails torn away one by one, a needle pricking the again and again—

Izuku flinched, sickness rising in his throat.

No.
No—stop.

He grimaced and dug his fingers into the sand, grounding himself in the feeling. Staring at the waves as they rolled in and pulled back again. Over and over.

                           ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The sun finally dipped below the horizon after what felt like sixty solid minutes of numbness.

Izuku let out a long breath. He knew he had to go back. He didn’t want to, but Giran was right. He had nowhere else to go. No one was waiting for him. And as awful as it sounded, a bed was better than a beach. With a tired sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and brushed the sand from his pants and started walking.

At first, he relied on vague landmarks he passed when he ran here, that and instinct. He knew the area well enough, or at least, he thought he did. But after a while, the streets stopped making sense. Buildings started to look the same.

Eventually, the truth settled in. He was lost.

“Shit…” Izuku groaned in frustration. He slumped down in an alley he was pretty sure he’d already passed once before. His back hit the brick wall and he let his head fall forward, hands hanging uselessly between his knees. The sun was fully down now.

He was so tired of this.

So tired of running, of guessing, of being afraid. He just wanted to go home. To an actual home.

Footsteps snapped him out of it causing Izuku to look up quickly.

They were loud and slow. Like someone was stumbling hard. A rough laughter drifted down the alley, and a group finally staggered into view. His shoulders tensed.

Great. Just his luck.
A bunch of drunk idiots.

They spotted him instantly and despite Izukus internal begging, approached him anyway.

“Well I’ll be damned,” a slurred voice drawled. “The hell is a kid doing out here? Ain’t it your bedtime?”

Another snorted. “You alive there, shrimp? Or you passin’ out already?”

Izuku tensed but didn’t answer. He kept his head down, hoping they’d lose interest and move on.

“Hey,” one of them growled. “I’m talkin’ to you.”

A shadow fell over him. Izuku glanced up. There were four maybe five of them. Messy looking, glassy eyes, swaying on their feet like they might topple over at any second.

“Don’t you know better than to sit alone in alleys?” another chimed in with a crooked grin. “That’s how bad shit happens.”

Someone laughed. “Yeah. Dumb kid looks like he’s beggin’ for it.”

Izuku’s fingers curled into the fabric of his pants. He was pissed, but he knew better than to be a smartass. He had no idea what their quirks are.

Ignore them. Just ignore them.

“Oooh,” one of them mocked, crouching slightly as if to get a better look. “What’s wrong? You mute or somethin’?”

“Relax, kid,” the tallest one sneered. “We’re just talkin’. Or you gonna start sobbin’ your eyes out on us.”They laughed again, louder this time.

Izuku swallowed hard, eyes burning, every instinct screaming at him to run… or worse. The alley suddenly started to feel very small.

The first man leaned closer, breath reeking of alcohol. “You look familiar, kid. Like I seen your face somewhere.”

Izuku’s pressed himself back against the wall trying to get some space that was not given to him.

“Oh shit,” another said, squinting at him. “Wait ain’t you that one? The news kid?”

Another voice cut in, sharper, meaner. “Nah, look at him. Scrawny. Shaky. Bet he cries if you yell too loud. He ain’t no psycho.”They laughed again, louder this time, emboldened by the echoing alley. “What’re you, twelve?”

Izuku got up, he needed to get out of here before he—

A hand shot out and grabbed his hoodie, yanking him forward. Izuku barely had time to hitch a breath before his back slammed into the wall behind him, the impact knocking the air clean out of his lungs.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me, you little shit,” the man snarled, hot breath hitting Izuku’s face.

And there it was.

He felt it. That same deadly urge clawing under his skin. The urge to hurt, the urge to kill. He’d like to say he fought it. That he hesitated.

No. Of course he didn’t stop it, not when it felt like he physically had to do something. And that he did.

His hand snapped up and closed around the man’s wrist. The guy chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “Aw, what’s wrong? Hurt your feelin’s? Go on, cry about i—”

Snap.

The scream that followed was raw and ugly.

And Izukus face spread into a Cheshire grin. The man stared down at the damage, eyes blown wide with terror as it bent slightly in the middle of his forearm. It had to hurt. Izuku knew that. He just didn’t care. If pain was what it took to make them leave him alone, then fine. But at last, they didn’t get the hint.

“What the fuck—?!” one of the others shouted, lunging for him.

Izuku stepped aside, slipping cleanly out of the way. The guy stumbled past, balance wrecked by booze and rage. Sloppy and predictable.

He spun just in time to catch the glint of a bottle swinging toward him. It smashed against the side of his face, cutting deep and barely missing his eye. Pain shot through his body, and adrenaline drained instantly. His knees buckled making him stumble into the wall

Before he could steady himself, a rough hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back. He barely had time to register the movement before his skull slammed into the brick wall beside him. Stars exploded across his vision. He crumpled to his knees, vision flickering in and out, blood trickling down his face.

Fuck… maybe I shouldn’t have done that.

“Fucking bastard!” the tallest one snarled.

His knee slammed into Izuku’s stomach. The impact drove the breath straight out of him, a sharp cry slipping out as he folded and hit the ground hard. His body refused to move the way he wanted it to.

“Hey… chill, man.” One of the others stepped in, grabbing the tall guy’s arm. “Let’s just go. It’s a kid. He’s not worth—“

The plea was cut short with a violent shove.

“No way in hell,” the man snapped. “This brat needs to be taught a damn lesson.”

Metal flashed in Izukus vision.

He saw the pocket knife come out and panic flooded his chest. He tried to stand, crawl, anything, but his body felt heavy and useless.

Hands fisted in his hoodie again, hauling him upright just enough to keep him sitting. He squirmied weakly, his vision blurred and distorted, but he saw the blade as it edged closer to his throat.

Thud.

Izuku’s body crumpled back to the ground as the hand holding him up let go. He blinked rapidly, eyes snapping open. His heart pounded so loud he was worried he would have a heart attack.

The knife-wielding man lay sprawled on the pavement, groaning faintly, and something blurred past the corner of Izuku’s vision. His head whipped toward the front of the alley.
A figure stood there, shadowed and fairly tall, a long scarf draped over broad shoulders, moving with a calm, measured presence that made the chaos around him feel small.

“Fuck! I’m not going to jail again!” one of the attackers screamed, sprinting down the alley, tripping over trash and debris, followed by the others. Their unconscious friend was left behind, sprawled on the ground as Izuku’s heart finally began to slow.

The whip came again, slicing through the air before wrapping tightly around the fallen drunkie, binding him in a tangle of fabric. Izuku used his shaky limbs to get himself sitting up against the alley wall, finally able to move a bit. His head spun, vision swimming, face cut and streaked with blood.

The man stepped closer, and Izuku flinched instinctively. His hands lifted weakly trying, and failing, to create any real barrier.

Then the voice came. Gruff. But underneath, there was a softness that made him pause.

“Shit, kid… you got pretty roughed up. Are you okay?”Izuku blinked, swallowing hard, unsure if he should answer or if he even could.

How pitiful.
Always needing help. Too useless to be anything but a burden.

The voice echoed in his head, all too familiar, and Izuku believed every word. He pushed himself upright on shaky legs, brushing off the man’s hand when it reached out to steady him.

“I don’t need your pity…” he muttered, eyes fixed on the shadowed figure. The man stiffened, clearly confused.

“Pity?” he repeated. “Kid, you need a hospital. I’m a hero, I can take you, no problem.”

A hero.

The word hit him like a punch to the chest. His instincts screamed at him to run.

To kill.

The second thought crept in just like it always did, but this time, it didn’t take hold. Instead, something else welled up in his chest. Exhaustion and vulnerability. He didn’t feel like killing.
He felt like collapsing into the man’s arms and sobbing until there was nothing left. Like maybe, just maybe, the hero in front of him actually wanted to help.

“Come into the light so I can see your wounds,” the figure said, steadying Izuku on his feet.

Izuku let himself be guided out of the alley, leaning heavily on the hero for support. The streetlight lit up their faces, nearly blinding the two of them. And at last he finally got a clear look at the man beside him.

Izukus eyes widened.

Eraser Head.

The underground pro hero himself. The man who only appeared on late-night news segments, the one who cared more about saving people than fame. He’d been one of Izukus favorites when he was younger.
The moment his eyes swept over Izuku’s face, the hero grimaced. “You’re losing a lot of blood,” he muttered. “That’s going to need stitches.”

He paused. His eyes widened just a fraction scanning over his face. “Wait… what’s your name again?”

Izuku stiffened. Fuck.

“Um… why do you wa—”

“You’re Izuku Midoriya, aren’t you?”

The words were quiet and careful, but the grip on Izuku’s arm tightened. That’s when look in the hero’s eyes changed, sharpening from concern to assessment.

Fuck.
Fuck!

The hero slowly reached for his radio and Izuku reacted without thinking.
He shoved him back, adrenaline flooding into his veins giving him the energy to move, so he ran.

He bolted down the alley, barely dodging that damn scarf as it snapped past him, and stumbled out onto the streets. He didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. He sprinted through alley after alley, not caring where he was going only that he needed to get away, far far away.

Tears priced his eyes and shed down his cheeks as he ran. He was furious.
At the hero, at himself, at everything. The look on that man’s face replayed in his head over and over. Disgust. Fear. Like Izuku was some kind of monster.

How could he have been so stupid?

Heroes didn’t care about him.
No one did.

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After running longer than he ever had in his life, Izuku finally recognized where he was.

His old apartment loomed ahead—charred, abandoned, cut off from the rest of the world by bright strips of construction tape. The sight of it hit him like a punch to the chest. His lungs seized, panic flooding back in a violent rush, dragging him straight into that day all over again.

He kept moving anyway.

Running turned to a desperate jog, then to an unsteady walk, and finally to stumbling steps as the adrenaline drained from his body. Pain crashed in all at once—his head, his ribs, his legs—every injury suddenly demanding attention.

And then he laughed.

A slow grin spread across his face before it broke into full, breathless laughter. He laughed at how pathetic his life had become, at the cards he’d been dealt, at the sheer cruelty of it all. It was almost funny, how bad everything hurt, how bad he hurt.

By the time he reached the alley, he was laughing so hard his stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat, his chest burning like he might cough up blood.
And somehow… the pain grounded him.

He staggered down the stairs and swung the door open, walking straight past the hushed conversation between Shigaraki and Kurogiri like they weren’t even there. His focus locked onto Giran. He tapped him on the shoulder, forcing him to turn.

Giran’s eyes went wide.

“Holy shit… kid, what happened to you?”

Izuku looked up at him and smiled. Bright. Almost cheerful. Completely off putting given the blood trailing down his face and soaking into his clothes.

“Give me the gun.”

Giran hesitated, fingers tightening as he pulled the case from his pocket, he kept it just out of reach. “Whoa, hold on. What for? I’m not letting you just go kill your—”

Izuku rolled his eyes.

“I want to practice my aim,” he said lightly, his voice sweet.

Then his smile vanished.

“For if I ever see another hero again in my fucking life.”