Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time is a funny, funny thing. But it doesn’t make Izuku laugh. 

He drops from the air, hitting the ground with all the grace of a cat, and runs. 

He should be commended, really, since he’s choosing to run rather than fight. The two heroes chasing after him won’t stand a chance if they catch him. 

Well, mostly. He likes to think so, anyway.  

Izuku adjusts his mask, securing it to his face as he weaves in and out of oncoming traffic and onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians shout at him and complain about the less than two second inconvenience he causes them while fleeing for his freedom, but Izuku is used to this. People are always ready to complain or call him an inconvenience.

Those words are old news to him. 

He stops, finding an alleyway to turn into, and instantly realizes his mistake. Dead end. Shit.

The hero with the wooden body hops from the roof, landing in front of him. 

Kamui Woods, Izuku’s brain supplies. Is this a bad time to ask for an autograph? 

Behind Izuku, Death Arms must’ve caught up. He can hear his heavy breathing as he moves to close him in. 

“Give it up,” Woods says, every word calm and carefully controlled. “You’re cornered.” 

Izuku crouches down and grips the strap of his supplies backpack. Just as he’s about to fling himself into the air with his powers burning through his legs to aid him, his breath is knocked out of him. He’s thrown against a dumpster, and Death Arms is eyeing his bag and about to rip it away from him.

Pro Heroes, Izuku would like to say, are thieves too. Somehow whenever they do it, though, it’s legal.

“Oh, hey guys,” Izuku says nonchalantly. “Nice weather today, wouldn’t you say?”

He leans back against the wall behind him, using it as support as he hikes his knees up and aims a powerful kick into Death Arm’s stomach when he gets too close. Izuku darts past him while he stumbles in pain, momentarily distracted. 

“I would love to stay and talk,” he calls, “but I’ve got places to be and all! You know how it is!”

“Son of a—” Woods suddenly enlarges his arms to stop the boy’s second attempt at escape. Izuku dodges out of the way and spins on his heel, only just having time to catch the meaty fist flying towards his head. He looks up and stares at the wide-eyed look on Death Arms’ face, still holding the fist tightly.

“That was close,” Izuku admits, slightly put off. He throws the arm back at him, shaking out his hand as the sting from the catch sets in. “You’re good at scaring me, sir!”

Death Arms steps back and glares down at him, something like trepidation flashing across his expression. “Wait, he’s just a kid.”

I’m literally right here.

The wooden hero approaches, hesitant now, eyeing him a bit differently. He can’t do a lot with his quirk in such a limited space, Izuku knows. The hero specializes in support, not so much close combat. “How old are you?”

Izuku doesn’t see why that matters, doesn’t see how that will change anything. He takes a couple of steps backward, surrounded again, and raises his hand in warning. He knows to avoid hesitation, but he’s sort of curious now. 

“Why are you chasing me?” Izuku asks, moving so he has both heroes in eyesight. 

“Is being an asshole delinquent enough reason?” Death Arms retorts, and Izuku giggles. I'd love this guy a lot more if he didn't just try to punch a hole in my face.  

Woods throws his friend an exasperated look. “You know why, Rabbit. Public quirk usage without a license, armed assault, vigilantism, attempted murder, and more things I can’t bother to name.” He wags a finger at him. “You’re putting a lot of people in danger, including yourself, and it’s illegal, kid.”

Izuku hums, feigning innocence. “Don’t forget grand theft and arson. I worked hard for those.”

Honestly, he doesn’t know why his client needs this bag so badly. He doesn’t usually ask questions if it doesn’t involve him, not unless he’s under some prior suspicions that they’ll hurt innocent people with what they request from Izuku. He learned a long time ago that when it comes to some people, it’s best not to know. 

So he just does his little jobs and collects his rewards with his head down and his brain turned off.

That’s how he’s survived so far, so he’s going to keep it that way. It’s not like he’s helping villains. At the very least, the people he works with are other morally gray vigilantes with a desire to keep the world free of scumbags. They’re not going to tear down society as it stands like most villains work to do. 

And besides, Izuku gets paid for what he does. He needs money to survive, after all. 

The boy can’t decide if it’s better or worse than just stealing money and making victims of the super rich. 

He still does that occasionally. Only when he needs to, though. But this way, he earns his keep. It’s work, even if it is technically dirty and illegal, and that’s better than foster care or an orphanage or starving every night.

He’s already experienced the last one before, but he’s not ready to try his luck out with the other two. He’s heard stories and even done his own personal missions surrounding the rectification of the fostering system.  

“If you’re as young as you sound,” Woods starts, a bit softer this time—a compromise. “We can help you. Just turn yourself in.”

Izuku knows it isn’t that easy, though. He knows what the government does with people like him, and even if he doesn’t get locked away in some high security prison like Tartarus once they find out who he is, he’ll be tossed aside to fend for himself anyway, just with added leashes around his neck to keep him contained.

No thanks to either.

If Izuku is anything, he’s fast. He snags the weapon on his thigh and fires, a thin black cable shooting out of the barrel and sticking to Death Arms’ chest. Izuku reels the man toward him and steps to the side as the hero aims a punch in retaliation. Woods has to put up a shield with his quirk as his friend collides into him, sending them both crashing into the side of the building. 

“It’s been nice,” Izuku says to them. He crouches down, preparing to jump again. This time there’s no one to stop him, no interruptions. “But I have to get going. See ya next time, gentlemen!”

He flings himself up, his enhancement quirk—Boost, he calls it—sending energy in waves through his calves. His feet are about to touch the roof when wood bindings encase his ankle and yank him down. Izuku grabs the edge of the building and hisses as pain shoots up his leg. He twists around, pulling a knife from his shoe and throwing it in Woods’ direction. 

The hero deflects it, just as Izuku predicted he would, and the wood slips off his foot just slightly. Not wasting a second, noticing Death Arms moving for the fire escape to head after him, he digs a hand in his back pockets and pulls out a grenade.

To be fair, it’s not an actual grenade. It just looks like one, with the same well-recognizable pin and grooves making up its features. It’s funny. Izuku loves to see the look on every hero’s face when they think they’re about to be blown to bits. It's exhilarating.

Maybe just a bit cruel, but hey, Izuku needs some form of excitement! He throws his homemade grenade, fighting back a shit-eating grin.

The second the bomb makes contact with the ground, there’s an explosion of hot pink sludge and glitter. It rocks the earth for a moment, splattering both of the heroes and walls around them and sticking them to the floor, effectively immobilizing them. 

“What the fuck!” Death Arms shouts. “Get back here you little—”

“Be quiet and help me find a way out of this,” Woods interrupts, obviously the more level headed of the two. 

Izuku is crouched on the building now, looking down at the scene. Both heroes are fighting, arguing with each other, and for a few seconds, Izuku wonders what it might be like to give up and let them take him in. 

Maybe he’d go back with them to the police station. Maybe the heroes wouldn’t recognize him for who he is. Maybe they’d give him a chance. 

But probably not. The chances of that are low. Too low to risk. Izuku doesn’t mind the way things are now, anyway.

Izuku straightens back out, turns, and doesn’t look back as he leaps onto the next building and heads deeper into the city.

He’s thankful that most pro heroes go easier on him once they see that he’s a little younger than most. It’s a bit insulting, sure, but he isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

If they’re going to willingly hold back and limit themselves in a fight against him, increasing Izuku’s own chances at escaping, who is he to stop them?

After he drops off some of the stolen goods to his customers and collects their payments, Izuku makes his way into a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where his newest clients are spread out around workstations, kicking back with sandwiches and quirk enhanced beers. 

Yep, you heard that right. Quirk enhanced. Izuku almost didn’t believe it at first when he was doing some background checks on his clients and found that one of them has the power to turn any liquid into an alcoholic beverage.

Literally a Jesus quirk, which is ironic saying as the man with the power is anything but selfless. No matter, though. It’s not Izuku’s business.

His stomach gives a low growl as he walks across the mostly empty space, largely ignored by the crew. The sandwiches are looking pretty good to him right now. He hasn’t eaten since… actually he can’t remember right now.

He drops the bag on the desk in front of a man with a goatee, waiting with his arms crossed to receive his cut.

“You’re late, brat,” Mr. Goatee says as way of greeting. He picks up a stack of cash to his right, counts it, then hands a few bills to Izuku, who doesn’t accept it. Not yet. 

“That’s half of what you promised,” Izuku points out, voice slightly muffled by his mask. “That’s not good business, you know.”

The man snorts and leans back in his chair, leveling Izuku with a glare. “What are you, five? About time you learned life isn’t fair.” He tilts his head a fraction, eyes roaming over his disheveled look. “Probably should’ve realized that by now, though. And it’s like I said, you were late. Real businessman know to always be on time.”

Izuku feels his eye twitch. This isn’t the first time someone has tried to short him. Adults can’t be trusted to keep their word, or to do anything at all, really. Heroes or criminals, whatever, they’re the same. 

He lets the money sit there in Mr. Goatee’s outstretched hand without breaking eye contact and lifts his chin. 

“I was a little distracted,” Izuku explains lowly. “Some pros were chasing me.”

That seems to garner Mr. Goatee’s full attention. “Heroes? Why?”

“Dunno. It wasn’t anyone too important, but they still weren’t easy to outrun.” Izuku shrugs, smiling under his mask. “It was just a C-lister and an A-lister.”

“An A-lister? Who?”

“Oh, y’know, the number ten pro hero.”

Mr. Goatee sucks in a breath at the mention of Kamui Woods, and Izuku sees a built of guilt along with fear in his shining eyes.

Izuku continues with a cocked head. “They were waiting at the spot where your supplies were, so either it was a trap and you knew that and sent me anyway, or someone else had the same idea you did and just spilled the information. But, judging by the look on your face, it sounds like they’re onto you.”

“Better hope not,” the man threatens, looking a little pale. “Because I know who to blame if they are.”

Empty threats. He doesn’t have enough men to waste on Izuku. Not like he’d bother harming the boy, either. The man may be harsh, but he’d never stoop that low. At least, that’s what his files tell Izuku.

Besides, Izuku will survive if Mr. Goatee puts him out. He has plenty of other clients, and not to mention plenty of rich people to steal from on the subways. He doesn’t like that last part so much, but he’ll do it if he has to, even if it does come with a small amount of guilt. 

He turns and is about to make his way out of the warehouse without any of the rewards promised when Mr. Goatee calls after him.

“Just take the money, kid.” He sounds gruff, but Izuku knows it’s a front. “You look like you need it. But the next time you’re late you won’t get nothin', you hear? And for fuck’s sake, buy yourself some new clothes, you look homeless.”

Izuku smirks and grabs the entire stack of cash before the man can change his mind. He doesn’t stop walking as he stuffs it in his front pocket and heads out. 

Sometimes it’s nice to steal for a living. 

“So, let me get this straight,” the head of the police department says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His eyes move back and forth between the two pro heroes in front of him. 

They’re empty handed, and they’re not supposed to be. Both of them sit on the same bed in the medical wing while a nurse puts ointment on their injuries—apparently they ran into some bank robbers on the way back to the station. 

They’re minor injuries, not even close to the worst they’ve had before, but still required by law to be treated. 

“You two got bested by a teenage boy who jumps around the city in a cheap hoodie and sweatpants?”

Death Arms shifts. He sits next to Woods, obviously uncomfortable—with the situation or with the man’s tone, Naomasa can’t tell. Either way, the hero doesn’t speak up. 

“He’s incredibly fast,” Woods says, sounding impressed. “And we stumbled upon him, really. It’s not like it was planned. We were expecting other villains.”

The officer sighs. “I figured you went easy on him. I guess I can’t fault you both too hard, as we’ve had pros on him for months. Every time they chase him around he manages to slip away.”

That’s my cue. 

Naomasa steps forward from where he was hanging back and watching quietly. “I’m the detective who was assigned to Rabbit’s case," he greets, "and I’ve been keeping tabs on him for a while. I have to say, you two got closer than a lot of others have, even while going easy on him, so don’t beat yourselves up.”

Three pairs of eyes stare at him, so Naomasa decides to demonstrate. He takes out his phone and shows them the security footage he compiled together a few hours before. 

He shows them videos of the vigilante jumping around the city with an occasional bōstaff that support teams have been anxious to discover the properties of. He also plays a shaky video of the boy stopping a more recent mugging from the night before, only for him to turn the tables and rob the mugger.

“Let me introduce you to Rabbit,” Naomasa says as more footage flashes by. “He’s a runner of government property to sources in the underground. He constructs his own weapons with stolen tech from hero agencies all around Japan, and is currently credited with around thirteen agency break ins all around this district and the next. He’s a grand thief, arsonist, and sometimes, vigilante.”

“Whatever he is,” Death Arms grumbles, “he’s insanely strong. He blocked one of my punches like it was nothing.”

“And like you said, he’s working for criminals,” Woods reminds. 

The detective shakes his head. “Most of his crimes as a vigilante are in favor of heroes. He’s never done any harm towards pros, and he tends to save civilians and aid us in villain fights whenever he can.”

The police officer turns toward Naomasa. “If we know so much about him, why hasn’t he been brought in yet? I heard Endeavor has a nice streak of catching vigilantes.”

Oh, Naomasa thinks sourly. He sure does. 

Endeavor certainly does have a streak. The number two hero will take any means necessary to bring a target in, kid or not. There’s a reason most criminals are deathly afraid of fire after being captured by him.

“He’s harmless to heroes. He doesn’t do much. Bothering Endeavor with something so small will prove to be counterproductive.” Naomasa puts his phone back in his pocket, and when he looks up, the officer’s gaze is still set on him.

“Or maybe he isn’t,” the man argues, shrugging. “The Hero Commission clearly doesn’t think so. They want him off the streets. Gave the order this morning for him to be brought in, or else they'll send someone to do it for us in a few months.”

It makes sense, at least at face value, that the board wants him off the streets. That the Hero Commission wouldn’t want someone like Rabbit to fall into the hands of a villain or someone who might try to turn him against the pros. While he is a vigilante, Rabbit has never outwardly hunted down heroes. But with enough persuasion, there’s no telling if he’ll change those ideals of his. 

Naomasa doesn’t want that for the teen, but he also isn’t sure he’s ready to turn him over to the Hero Commission. He seems too young to become a weapon, way too young, and someone like Rabbit has no business at any kind of government facility.

“We should grab him soon,” Woods speaks again, his face set in determination. “Faster he’s here, sooner he’s contained and safe from the villains out there.”

“No,” Naomasa interrupts. Their gazes are back on him. “We don’t need to go get him. I already have someone who’s helping me with the case.” He shrugs, then answers the questions in their eyes. “He’s an underground hero who’s dealt with these types of situations before. If anyone can gain Rabbit’s trust and make him stop, it’s him.”

“Not a terrible idea, I guess,” the officer concedes after a pause. “What do you guys think? How long do you think it’ll take for this kid to get captured?”

Death Arms huffs and rolls his eyes. “To capture one super-powered boy whilst trying not to hurt him too badly? Who knows. It’s always the teens without a license that are the most slippery. So stubborn, too.”

Naomasa holds back a snort. This is a child wearing pajamas. They’re talking about a teen as if catching him will be the hardest mission ever. Sure, the kid may have outsmarted and outtalked all of the heroes sent his way, but Naomasa is sure this time will be different. 

It’s just convincing Rabbit to turn himself in peacefully that’s the issue. 

“Leave it to me,” he orders, interrupting the betting pool going on about when the mysterious underground hero will drop the case after his inevitable failure. He turns to the officer. “You can tell the Hero Commission I’m working on it. No need to get Endeavor on his tail.”

The man frowns and shakes his head, and no doubt he has a ready-made speech about the importance of listening to the Association, but luckily for Naomasa, he has a ready excuse. 

“I apologize, but I’m going to be late for a meeting.” He looks at the three men and starts to back away into the hallway. “You guys know how it is. I’ll launch the operation as soon as possible, so there’s no need to stress.”

“Of course, Detective. Go on your way,” the officer says, but Naomasa is already out the door. He certainly doesn’t need permission.

Once he’s out of sight, he speeds to his office. His eye catches on the latest poster on the bulletin board on the way; Rabbit’s face is plastered on there, his mask and everything colored in, his face set in a knowing stare. 

Erasing the mask and bunny ears on the hood, Naomasa can just see the makings of a troubled teenage boy. 

He sighs. “Aizawa is going to kill me after all this.”

Friday nights are free breadstick nights at Tony’s. 

It’s a small, family-run pizzeria that Izuku walks an hour and a half to get to from his apartment, but every second is worth it. Izuku loves the time alone when he gets there, and he loves walking into the restaurant where he’s treated like extended family instead of a homeless runaway. 

No one at Tony’s tries to accuse him of stealing, and no one hounds him with questions about his home life or if he has anywhere to stay. They don’t assault him or treat him any differently, and for that he’s thankful. 

At Tony’s it’s quiet, and it’s just Izuku and a few other people there at all times. That’s all he really needs. 

Sometimes he still feels like he has a couple of missing pieces, however, like he’s somehow incomplete. He supposes that’s normal, though. Izuku can’t remember a time when his life felt complete. 

Even when he was with his mother as a baby and everything was alright for a while, even when he met Kacchan and became best friends with him, and even when all of that was taken away and he became a vigilante. 

Becoming Rabbit made his life fuller, brighter, more worthwhile, but it's still kind of lonely. 

The five-year-old girl sitting across from him seems to feel the same way. The family is sitting a few tables away from Izuku, so he gets a clear view of the couple and their child. 

The girl colors on the back of her menu with a pink crayon while the parents wait for their pizza, and she picks it up, flips it over so her parents can see, and smiles with all of her teeth.

“Look, it’s us,” she says, bubbly and bright. She points to each stick figure on the paper and names them, finally getting to the blob cradled in what Izuku guesses is the dad’s arms. “And that’s baby sis.”

“Baby sis?” Her dad asks, eyebrows flying to his hairline.

“Mhm,” she hums. She pushes her menu aside and snatches the one in front of her father, flips it over, and begins drawing another masterpiece. That one includes the nameless baby, too.

Her mother sighs, shaking her head fondly. “They were doing an assignment about siblings in class today, and now she’s convinced that everyone has to have at least one brother or sister. She’s adamant that a sister is on the way.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” the dad says with a cheeky grin, and the mom gives him a look.

Izuku hides his snort behind his own menu. After figuring out what he wants—he always gets the same thing, to be fair—he glances back over at the family, not able to help it. The girl’s mouth slants upward as she concentrates on her drawing, something Izuku knows people only do when they’re completely engrossed in their work. 

Ms. Hanako, an older lady with soft blue hair and eyes that Izuku’s familiar with, brings the family’s pizza, along with what looks to be the girl’s second glass of chocolate milk. 

Izuku lets his eyes fall over to the empty spaces at his own table. For a few seconds, he wonders what it might be like if he had a sibling sitting next to him, or maybe even parents of his own. Maybe he’d enjoy it, maybe he’d laugh at their conversations, maybe he’d tell some jokes. 

But Izuku doesn’t dwell on it for too long, opting to enjoy what he has now instead of what he could have had. Or, more appropriately, what he lost.

He tunes in to the television on the wall, trying to get his mind off of the morning. It’s always set on the news—partially because Ms. Hanako lost the remote a long time ago and won’t pay for a replacement, and partially because the news is the least problematic thing to show these days. 

“Best Jeanist has stopped yet another fiasco here in the third district this afternoon, and civilians are showing their thanks with—”

Same news, different day. Izuku is surprised there’s no coverage on his chase with Death Arms and Kamui Woods, though he’s not complaining. It wasn’t exactly the most interesting or harrowing thing that’s happened to him.

They probably don’t want the public to know they let a vigilante go, also.

“Hey, sugar,” Ms. Hanako greets, setting a water on the table. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”

Izuku notes the way her laugh lines crinkle when she smiles. She looks tired. “Nothing much, ma’am. Walked into a wall this morning, but I’m okay.”

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head at his poor attempt at a joke. “You know, I thought that was a bruise on your face but couldn’t quite tell. You’ve gotta stop being so clumsy, boy.”

Izuku stiffens, hand coming up to palm at his cheek. “I have a bruise? Already?”

“Yeah, honey, right below your eye.” She leans closer. “Tell you what, I’ll bring you some ice after I take your order. How does that sound?”

Oh. She’s too nice. 

The boy grins sheepishly. “You don’t have to do that—”

“The usual, I presume?” She doesn’t wait for him to reply. “Extra order of breadsticks with a chocolate shake and two slices of pepperoni, coming right up.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Izuku to stare blankly at the space she occupied. The lady really is a blessing. 

With nothing else to do but wait, he pulls out his phone and turns on the camera, staring at the purple and black bruise on his cheekbone that stops right under his eye. Now that he thinks about it, the skin there hurts when he speaks. It stretches painfully across the bone, itchy and sore. 

It really is ugly. No wonder he seemed to get more dirty looks than usual on his way here. 

He pokes at it with a finger, only to immediately hiss in pain. Fucking Kamui Woods. If he hadn’t grabbed the boy’s ankle and caused Izuku to slam his face into the edge of the building, he wouldn’t look like this.

Whatever. Can’t do anything now. It’ll go away in the next week or so. For now, though, he’ll cover it with his hair. 

Izuku really does need a haircut. 

He plays Subway Surfer for the next few minutes, tuning in to his surroundings from time to time. The game is fun, sue him. Although it's slightly annoying to play because of how laggy his phone is nowadays. He needs a new one—preferably one he can make himself.

The bell rings, signaling someone walking into the restaurant. 

Okay, but the dog in this game is pretty cute. I wish I could adopt it.

“Take a seat wherever, hon,” Ms. Hanako calls from behind the counter. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Damn. I need more keys.

He gets a text from Kacchan, and Izuku can almost hear his explosive friend’s voice through the screen as he reads the message. Still coming over tomorrow? The hag bought you something.

Izuku lets a small smile fall onto his lips as he replies. Yeah. Might be late, though. Got another job.

Kacchan texts back almost immediately. Whatever, nerd. Just don’t fucking get hurt again or I’ll kill you. 

Bakugou Katsuki is one of the few people who know about his vigilante counterpart. In fact, he’s the one that suggested Izuku become Rabbit in the first place. 

An ice pack is set in front of him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Ms. Hanako places the milkshake down as well. “The pizza and breadsticks are almost done,” she tells him, already walking to the newcomer’s booth to get his order. 

When the food finally arrives sometime later, the ice pack is warm and the milkshake almost gone. He thanks the woman and digs in, groaning at how good it tastes. 

Tony’s pizzeria never disappoints. 

He finishes in record time and places a stack of bills on the table before Ms. Hanako can protest. She always insists he keeps his money, claiming that he’s way too underfed to have to pay for a little bit of food. 

Izuku’s on his way out when suddenly the back of his neck itches, his hair standing on end. He turns his head to see the man who walked in staring at him. Fucking creepy much?

He has tired, sunken eyes, and his black hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. He looks homeless, in all honesty. Dressed in dark clothes, the man gives off the vibe of a murderer. And given the fact that he’s still staring at Izuku even when the boy starts to glare right back, that little thought seems all the more probable. 

But that’s not the most noticeable thing about him. Pushed to the side of the table is a large scarf, coiled in messy loops. It looks thick, like it’s made to keep the person warm—but it’s summertime, so why would anyone have that?

Shooting one last look at the probably-a-murderer, Izuku calls out a goodbye to Ms. Hanako and rushes out into the open air. 

The library should be open still. He’s got about an hour before it closes, so he should be able to get some research done on his new targets. 

Izuku’s heard rumors about a drug ring in the city over, and they’ve apparently got some good stuff. He managed to wean a bit of information from some of his past clients the other day, and that information had included a few names. 

If he can access police records, he’ll have an idea of who exactly he’s working with. Or, more appropriately, against. 

It’s not the first drug bust he’s done, and it surely won’t be the last. If he can head straight to the library with no interruptions, he’ll have just enough time before closing to get a location. 

He’s just about to turn onto the next street when a noise stops him in his tracks—it’s a scream, sounding a little bit off into the distance. 

It sounds shrill, and Izuku gets a sick feeling in his stomach. Of course this happens when I’m not in costume. 

He slips into the shadows after debating for a moment whether or not he should just ignore it, ultimately deciding that no, he won’t be a bitch. He uses his enhancements to jump onto the roof of the nearest building, leaping across multiple rooftops to get closer to the commotion. 

The screams are getting louder now, and Izuku peeks down into a lot behind a convenience store to see a young woman struggling against a masked figure. 

“What is wrong with you! Get away from me, I promise I won’t tell anyone, just please—”

She gets cut off with a slap to the face, and Izuku grimaces. 

His first guess had been a robbery, but now, looking at how Unknown Individual #2 is pressing the woman against the wall, Izuku can tell it’s much more than that. And besides, it kind of sounds like the lady knows him. 

No weapon in sight. It’s now or never, I guess. 

Izuku drops down from the roof and lands right behind the man, not making a sound. The woman lets out another scream once she sees him, only for Unknown Individual #2 to raise his fist again, an obvious warning. 

“I thought I told you to shut up—”

Izuku taps him on the shoulder before he can strike, jumping back when the man instinctively swings at him. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

The criminal stares at him, lips curling up in disgust. Even in the faint light, Izuku can see the way the guy’s eyes light up with something dark. “Listen, kid, you better back off while I’m feeling generous. This don’t concern you.”

“You know,” Izuku drawls, folding his arms and motioning for the woman to run, “you criminals have got to come up with something better to say when I start ruining your sick plans. I’m getting tired of hearing the same thing over and over again—”

The man’s generosity must be running dry tonight, as Izuku barely finishes his sentence before the dude is whipping out a switchblade.

I mean, he could’ve whipped out a gun or something. I should be thankful.

The woman gasps again on the sidelines, and Izuku gets the sudden urge to tell her off for not running when the man was distracted, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know their situation exactly, so he can’t judge. 

Now that he’s actually looking at them, Izuku can see that they’re both wearing formal clothes. They could’ve been out to a dance or club together, and one thing led to another. Are they married, or at least engaged?

The light’s too faint for Izuku to be able to look for a ring.  

“One last chance,” the dude growls, bringing Izuku out of his thoughts. “Get outta here, or I’ll rough you up the same I did her.”

“That’s kinky.”

Izuku doesn’t give him a chance to respond before he’s on him, fingers grasping his wrist and tugging him sideways. The blade flies from his hand and clatters a few feet away, right in front of the woman. 

Is that a phone in her hand—?

A punch to the gut has Izuku cursing, springing back into action. The guy doesn’t know how to fight, that much is obvious. He makes quick work of kicking him in the crotch and smashing him against the concrete wall, muscles burning.  

The man slumps to the floor, unconscious, and Izuku stares at him for a moment, analyzing. There’s no recognizable features or marks on him, so he’s not part of a gang or league of some kind—at least, not one that Izuku knows. And he knows just about every single one in central Japan, if not all of them. 

Digging in his pockets, he pulls out his emergency capture tape and ties the guy’s hands and legs up, putting a piece over his mouth just for fun. 

“Um, kid?”

Izuku kicks the man one more time just for funsies and faces the woman who called out to him, frowning. “I’m almost fourteen. Not a kid.”

“Oh, sorry!” She says, walking closer on shaky legs once she makes sure the attacker won't wake up. There’s a bruise right below her eye, matching Izuku’s own sore spot. “Er, thank you for stepping in. You didn’t have to. He’s been harassing me at my job ever since he started working there last week, and he made me go with him to this restaurant today. I only went because I was being polite, but I guess that backfired on me.”

I was almost right. Dammit. 

Izuku joins her under the street lamp at the mouth of the alleyway, wiping his hands on his pants. “Is he the one who gave you that mark on your face?”

She looks away, hiding her face with her black hair. She seems tired, and Izuku feels bad. “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt too much. If he went any further I would’ve stopped him with my quirk, y’know? I don’t know why I didn’t use it before, but sometimes it’s just…”

“I understand,” Izuku says, and he does, really. Sometimes, even when you have the opportunity and power to do something, you still can’t. In those circumstances, it’s still not your fault. “But, hey, if you want to do something now, like kick him or something, I won’t tell.”

The woman laughs softly, relaxing. “Thank you again. I’m grateful, even though I don’t think you should really be out at this time of night. Anyways, I called the cops, so they should be here soon to—”

Izuku stiffens. She called the fucking what?

As if being summoned, a new voice cuts through the air, and Izuku can feel a familiar man’s presence behind him. “Midoriya?”

Oh fuck. 

Two police officers suddenly appear a few yards away, irritation and confusion clear in their expressions. The guy who spoke rushes forward, eyes fixated on the boy. He has the face of a cat, which is the only reason Izuku recognizes him. And it may also be because he’s had to escape from said cat officer multiple times, both as Rabbit and as Izuku. 

“I swear, kid, this is the fifth time you’ve done shit like this!” The guy complains. “I’m taking you in this time, Midoriya. And don’t bother running.”

Izuku laughs nervously, escape plans already running through his mind. He’s not Rabbit right now, so he can’t use his quirks to escape. He’s just going to have to run for it. 

“Hey, buddy ol’ pal!” He starts innocently, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Long time no see! How about we talk about this first, huh? I mean, I did just catch that criminal right over there. That’s like, what, already sixty percent of your job?”

He points into the depths of the alley, and at Cathead’s nod, the other officer heads in to check it out. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Just come with us, peacefully this time, and then—”

Izuku spins on his heel, almost tripping over his own feet, and runs. He cackles maniacally as he hears the police officer sprinting after him. 

And that’s how he ends up being chased through the streets for the second time that day. He only needs one more incident before the day ends to beat his personal record. 

Izuku is fast, even without his enhancements. There’s not a lot of cover for him like there was this morning, though. There’s barely anyone out at this time of night, and—

Oh. He’s not gonna be able to make it to the library today. 

Groaning, Izuku jumps onto the hood of a car and does a backflip, continuing smoothly down the middle of the road. 

“Are you kidding!” He hears behind him. “Now you’re just showing off! Give it up, kid!”

Izuku just laughs and pumps his legs faster. The officer is still part cat, which is weird to think about, and therefore faster than average humans. If the boy doesn’t go any quicker, he’ll probably be caught. 

I already have a few cases of public quirk usage on my file. What’s another one?

Izuku crouches down, feeling the familiar burn in his toes as he jumps up, using a wall as a springboard to catch the handle of a nearby fire escape. From there, he makes the final leap to the top of the random building. 

He’s so close. The officer won’t be able to follow him up here—

He hears it before he feels it. 

There’s the rustle of fabric, so faint that it would’ve been nearly undetectable to someone else, but Izuku’s been trained to pick out these sorts of things, so to him it may as well be as loud as a car horn. 

Wind hits his neck, and Izuku twists mid-air at an awkward angle, his back arching almost painfully. He only just manages to miss the flash of grey fabric shooting his way, but the damage has been done, and Izuku overshoots the side of the roof and goes flying toward the ground. 

He rolls clumsily, fighting back a hiss at the pain that shoots through his shoulder from landing on the hard sidewalk. His back hits a fire hydrant, and Izuku feels the breath leave him all at once. 

Who the hell—?

A figure lands lightly in front of him, dressed in all black. Yellow goggles stare him right in the face, neon even in the night. The figure shuffles closer, not making a sound, and Izuku tries to conjure up some strength to get away, to run again, only to find that he can’t. There’s—there’s no quirk to use? His enhancements are gone?

“Oh, fuck me,” is the first thing to leave his lips.

Because he feels so stupid now. If the absence of his quirk doesn't give it away, then the large grey scarf certainly does. That, and the blazing red eyes. 

That’s why the guy at the pizzeria looked so familiar. Izuku’s been studying underground heroes for the better part of his life. He knows exactly who this is. 

The boy gulps nervously. “I didn’t know Eraserhead patrolled in this part of town.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

Chapter Text

“What?”

Izuku immediately flushes, waving his hands out in front of him. “Ah, forget I said that!”

He’s an underground hero for a reason, dumbass! No one’s supposed to know he even exists, much less know about his patrol routes!

Izuku has probably just come off as a stalker, or worse, a villain. 

Okay, don’t overreact. Chances are he just thinks you’re messing around.  

Eraserhead blinks once, then twice, and Izuku’s breath catches in his throat when the underground hero bends down to lift him up by the back of his hoodie, setting him on his feet. 

The man looks scruffy and tired. Not so much like the murderer Izuku had assumed he was just a little bit ago at the pizzeria. Pushing his goggles up, the hero scrutinizes the boy. 

“You’re faster than you look,” Eraserhead grumbles, completely ignoring what Izuku said before. “That’s your quirk, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

“You think so?” The hero echoes, sounding way too done to be having this conversation. 

Izuku turns an even darker shade of red.  He hopes the man can’t see it. “Um, I mean it’s part of it, but not really? It’s kind of like, um, well—”

Eraserhead cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Actually, forget about it. Come on. I’m taking you in.”

And that shakes Izuku out of his stupor. “W-Wait! Can you hear me out, first? I’m sure there are more important things for you to be doing right now, Eraserhead, sir. Like, er, fighting villains! Or, you know, taking in criminals!” Izuku is grasping at straws now.

“That’s what I’m doing,” is Eraserhead’s only reply. The man stuffs his hands in his pockets and strolls down the deserted street, obviously expecting the boy to follow. 

Izuku digs his heels into the ground and tries to slow his rapid heart rate. He’s too excited to even be offended by his comment.

Holy shit. This is actually happening. I just met Eraserhead, like for real. I just met one of the greatest underground heroes to ever live and he’s currently arresting me—

“You’re not being arrested. You're a witness. Now follow me.”

Izuku obeys with shaky limbs, currently starstruck. So what if his file’s going to get even longer after this? It’s not like he has to apply for a college or job or whatever. He’s meeting one of his idols, so at the moment a fucking meteor could strike him down and he’d probably be okay with it as long as he gets to talk to the man before him. 

I wonder what his favorite food is, Izuku thinks to himself. I mean, I just saw him at the pizzeria, but I don’t think he ordered anything. He was drinking something, though. Might’ve been a black coffee. He seems like that kind of guy.

“Are you hurt?”

It takes Izuku a second to realize the hero is speaking to him with his face turned just slightly to stare at him with one eye. 

The boy flinches on impulse. “Ah, no, sorry! I’m fine!”

Eraserhead gives him an indiscernible look before turning away.

Alright. That’s not suspicious in the slightest. Way to go, Izuku. Acting real pathetic. 

They come upon the cat officer, who Izuku guesses stopped his chase after seeing him get captured. He’s currently standing under a streetlight with crossed arms, and he steps forward once they get close enough. “Thanks for catching him, Eraser. He’s very slippery.”

The underground hero grunts, pulling a bottle out of his pocket and squeezing liquid into his eyes. 

Izuku briefly wonders if he smokes. There’s no way a guy who looks like that doesn’t. 

What’s his plug?

“Midoriya!”

Oh, he’s spacing out again. “Yes?”

The officer huffs, taking him by the arm. Izuku has to stop himself from kicking him in retaliation. “We’re going to the station. Eraserhead here is coming with us.”

“Ooh,” he says, inwardly dumbfounded. He covers it up with a flourish of his free hand. “You know, I think this is the most fun I’ve had in my seven times of being arrested by you.”

Cathead drags him along, hissing. Yes, he’s actually hissing. Izuku shouldn’t be surprised. 

“The day I get to actually arrest you is the day I finally retire, and you can quote me on that.”

“Don't you worry, I will.” The boy swears he hears a small snort from behind him. Must’ve been the wind, because it just couldn’t have been the emo hero trailing after them. 

The walk to the station isn’t long, as the library is only a few blocks away from it. He was heading there in the first place. Izuku can’t help but smirk as he’s led inside, and he greets the night shift employees with finger guns. They respond back with groans and muffled complaints. 

Izuku counts that as a win. 

“Stay here,” Cathead orders, pointing at a spot on the ground. “I’ll get the detective. Don’t move.”

As soon as the man disappears down the hallway and out of sight, Izuku spins on his heel to walk right out the door. He’s done this plenty of times before. In all honesty, Cathead should have expected him to do this every time he leaves him unsupervised—

He smacks into Eraserhead’s chest immediately upon turning around. The hero is standing in front of the doorway, looking down at him with tired eyes.

It’s only been like a minute and I already forgot he's here. He’s too quiet.  

Deciding that he won’t in fact square up to one of his idols—as he’d surely lose spectacularly—Izuku takes a few steps back and decides to go annoy one of the other cops after quickly apologizing to Eraserhead. If he can’t escape, then he has to wait. So, naturally, they’re going to suffer the consequences of keeping him here. 

He needs to water his fake plants. His imaginary fish need to be fed. He has to get at least a few hours of sleep tonight before his next task tomorrow. He has no time. 

He’s about to start bouncing off the walls—quite literally since quirk usage is permitted inside the building—when approaching footsteps cut off his train of thought.

“Why am I surprised?” Detective Tsukauchi sighs, strolling into the room with a cup in his hand. It smells suspiciously like coffee. 

Izuku wants it. 

“You really shouldn’t be anymore,” Izuku agrees, eyeing his beverage with malicious intent. 

Tsukauchi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, you know the drill. Come with me, Midoriya.”

But Izuku’s already walking his way over to one of the interrogation rooms down the hall, and not even a minute later Izuku is sitting in that uncomfortable chair, waiting for the detective to come in. 

All of this shit is making me hungry again. I wonder what Kacchan is doing right now.

Tsukauchi enters the room with a few papers in hand—Izuku’s file, from the looks of it. He sets a new coffee on the table and peers at the boy. “Tell me what happened, Midoriya.”

With an exaggerated huff, Izuku folds his arms and pouts. “Okay, in my defense, I was just going to the library this time, I swear. I was walking over and heard someone scream, so I went over and stopped what looked like a potential aggravated assault case.” He jerks his head at the wall opposite of him, knowing that another interrogation is happening beyond it. “I’m sure she’s telling your men what happened, so why are you keeping me here?”

Tsukauchi fixes him with a glare. “Because according to Eraserhead, you used your quirk to stop the fight, not to mention try and escape my officers. You were the only other witness to the crime.”

Izuku keeps his face carefully blank as his mind suddenly floods with thoughts. Eraserhead saw me step in? I didn’t sense him there, though. Is he just making that part up to get me to admit it?

“That’s not fair,” he objects. “You know my quirk is active most of the time, detective. It’s hard to just turn it off.”

The detective quirks a brow incredulously. “Eraserhead responded to the victim’s screams just after you did. He decided to watch what you would do, and he specifically told me that you spent a moment to power yourself up. I don’t consider that being accidental, son.”

Izuku wants to smash his head against the table. It seems like his idol is a stalker as well as a snitch. 

“I’ve got a question,” Izuku starts abruptly, wanting to get the man off track. “Does your quirk work over the phone, too?”

“Wha—?”

The door slides open, and an unfamiliar head pokes its way in. “Sorry for interrupting, sir, but the criminal we just brought in woke up. He’s fighting back, and the boss would like your assistance.”

Tsukauchi has never looked this tired, Izuku decides. 

“I’ll be right there.” He stands up and gestures for Izuku to do the same. “You can move around, but stay in this building. We’ll finish this in a few minutes.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving Izuku to his own devices. Which is mistake number one. 

They keep the criminals in the eastern part of the station, and I’m in the western part. The offices are past the interrogation rooms, so I have a wide-open shot. 

Izuku did want to go the library to get some much needed info, but since that’s not happening, he’ll have to settle for something better. 

Tsukauchi’s office is the third one down, and it’s by the far the biggest. After checking to make sure no one’s looking, Izuku darts down the hallway and slips inside, quietly closing the door behind him. 

It’s fairly clean, if not a little bare. The detective seems to be a simple man. 

Practically skipping over to the rolling chair and plopping down, Izuku shakes the man’s mouse. It’s already on, so there’s no need to scout for the computer’s password. It also appears to be on a random file—which makes things easier. 

Izuku digs around in his boot and pulls out a flash drive, praying he has enough room on it after his latest library visit. He hasn’t cleaned it out in a long time. 

He blows off the dirt on it from his recent escapades, plugging it in correctly after only the fourteenth try. 

The boy copies as many files as he can get his hands on, dragging the mouse back and forth to cover the hundred folders he can see. Hopefully he’ll get something useful. 

He doesn’t know how long he has until Tsukauchi finishes up with whatever the Chief wanted with him, so he has to be quick. 

There’s a lot of data on this computer. Just by glancing at the folder names, Izuku can tell some of the files date back to as far as a few centuries ago. There’s information on organized crime groups and their hideouts, on their victims and members. 

Ah. This is some good shit right here. Much better than what Izuku would’ve managed to find at the library. 

There are voices down the hallway, and Izuku hears the door to one of the interrogation rooms opening, probably to check if he’s in there.

Panic slithers up his spine like a snake, and Izuku frantically yanks the flash drive out of the computer and shoves it up his sleeve. The boy has just enough time to click onto the original tab before the office door swings open, revealing an annoyed Detective Tsukauchi. 

“What are you doing in here?” The man asks, shooing him to his feet. 

Watching porn, is what Izuku wants to say, but then he sees Eraserhead standing against the wall behind the detective, watching the scene with that same unreadable expression. Okay. I really don’t wanna say that in front of one of my heroes. 

“I was looking at your pictures.” Izuku grabs for the nearest photo on the desk, and it just so happens to be what looks like Tsukauchi’s dog. “I didn’t take you for a dog person. What breed is it?”

Tsukauchi stares at him in disbelief for all of five seconds, eyes going hazy as he seems to rethink his life choices. “You know what,” he sighs, taking the photo out of the boy’s hand. “Just get out.”

Trying to hide his nerves, Izuku slips past the two men and walks to the main area to wait. 

“To wrap this up,” Tsukauchi concludes, emerging from the corner. “I only kept you here to hear your side of the attack. This is a minor issue, and because you’re underage, I can’t really charge you for this, same as your other crimes. But this will be going on your record.”

The boy can’t help it; he grins. “Something tells me you really wanted to put me in jail this time.”

Tsukauchi stands and heads for the door. “Don’t get too happy. It’s past curfew for kids your age, so you’ll be going home with an escort.”

“What?”

It’s the detective’s turn to smile at him, looking entirely pleased with himself. “You heard me. Since no one else wants to do it, Eraserhead here will take you home.”

You gotta be shitting me. 

“And please try to refrain from putting yourself in danger again. At least for the rest of the week. I already have enough paperwork to do without you adding on to it.”

Izuku gives the man a short nod, even though both of them know that no amount of scolding is going to change anything. He looks at Eraserhead, who’s been standing to the side silently up until this point. 

“Come on,” the man grumbles. “My shift's already over.”

I mean, you didn’t have to agree to this. This is your fault for snitching on me. 

The walk is awkward, and Izuku comes to find that Eraserhead walks incredibly fast. The hero is walking a few yards ahead of him, despite the fact he doesn’t know where Izuku lives. It’s like he’s waiting for the boy to take the lead, or he’s just waiting to see how long Izuku will let it happen. 

Or maybe Izuku’s thinking too much into this and the man has actually forgotten what he’s supposed to be doing. But just as Izuku plans to slip into one of the alleyways and out of view, Eraserhead glances back at him, as if reading his mind.

He doesn’t say a word, but the boy can feel his impatience hanging heavy in the air, as if silently telling him to hurry the hell up. 

Rushing forward to continue walking beside the man, Izuku tries to slow his erratic heart rate. The power the hero’s quirk exudes is overwhelming, thrumming underneath Eraserhead’s skin even when he’s not using it. Izuku has to block out his own senses to focus on trying not to ramble. 

He’s so cool. There’s a high chance his quirk doesn’t work on mutant types, so he basically fights quirkless half of the time. He’s very skilled; he has a 98% success rate concerning missions, which is one of the highest Izuku’s ever seen, rivaling All Might’s himself. 

I may admire him, but I can’t get too close. What if he links me to Rabbit? Does he even know about Rabbit, or is that below his pay grade? Actually, how much does he get paid? Doesn’t he have another job on top of this one?

“You're mumbling, kid.”

Izuku wishes for a bus to come speeding by at a hundred miles per hour so he could conveniently step out into the middle of the road. 

Fuck. Did he hear the Rabbit part? He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t be acting so nonchalant if he did.

Izuku thought he stopped this little tic of his a long time ago. He hasn’t rambled aloud this much in years, not since—

Fabric wraps around his wrist and yanks him out of the way of a pole, stopping Izuku from crashing face-first into it. He stumbles and almost collides with Eraserhead yet again, only just managing to right himself in time. 

“Sorry!” He squeaks, covering his face with his hands. “I’m not usually like this.”

The hero grunts. He sounds annoyed, though to be fair that seems to be his default emotion. “Just try to pay attention.”

Izuku nods quickly. “I will, sorry about that!”

Eraserhead gives him a weird look before turning away again, continuing the walk to who-knows-where. 

Wait, now that he’s thinking about it, where is Izuku going to take him? He can’t just lead him to his actual apartment, which is the entire top floor of an abandoned building in the worst part of the city. 

That’s what the police call illegal. 

He’ll be sent to an orphanage if anyone finds out he’s homeless. He can just take Eraserhead to Kacchan’s house, but then he’d run the risk of the Auntie accidentally exposing him. It's past midnight, after all. He has no reason to be knocking on his best friend’s door when he’s not even expected to be there until tomorrow evening. 

The only logical explanation would be to go to a random apartment complex and hope that Eraserhead won’t try to talk with his 'parents.'

There are a few of those buildings a few blocks away from where my place is. I can try there. I know the lady who owns it; she won’t let Eraserhead in if he comes in after me.

That sounds like a solid plan. Now to just put it in action. 

Izuku tries to gather up his courage but finds it difficult. God, he’s Rabbit. He shouldn’t be having such an issue talking to a pro hero. 

He clears his throat. “I live down by City Hall. It’s like a fifteen-minute walk from here.”

Eraserhead grunts. He fucking grunts. Again. Without saying anything. 

Izuku isn’t nearly as irritated as he thought he’d be.

The boy nervously shoves his hands into his pockets, fingering the flash drive he drops in one of them. There’s probably so much stuff on it. He already knows he’s not going to get any sleep tonight. 

Maybe I can get more leads on that drug ring. 

They’re still walking, and Eraserhead stays just a step or two ahead of him the entire time. It’s not exactly a bad quiet, as Izuku is used to silence. He lives in it, so he’s not exactly a stranger to it. He can deal. 

But there’s something about the way the underground hero holds himself that tells Izuku that he’s waiting for something. He’s thinking. 

About what? It’s not like the boy can outright ask him. 

Izuku takes a chance and speeds up so he’s the one slightly in the lead. “So, uh, why are you in this part of town?” He immediately cringes, hearing how aggressive he probably just sounded. “I—I mean, not that you can’t be here. It’s just that you never usually come this far down on your patrols unless you’re going to see the Detective, and even then you don’t stay for long. It’s usually only when you’re already done with your shift and—”

Eraserhead stops in his tracks and stares at him, nose crinkling. “Do you make a habit of yelling out the secrets of all the heroes you first meet, or am I the first case?”

Izuku’s mouth snaps shut immediately. Okay, that was a bit rude, but I deserved that.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, looking at the floor.

The hero sighs and glances up at the sky before turning back to him. Izuku suddenly realizes just how tall the man is. “Don't be. Now listen, here’s the deal. I can feel your brain working from where I’m standing, kid. You can ask me one question, but then I get to ask you one in return. We can go back and forth.”

Izuku blanches. What does he want to know about me? I’m not important. 

Unless he has linked the boy to Rabbit. And then Izuku better be ready to run for his life. 

“Like ping-pong?” Izuku asks. 

The man pauses as if to gauge if he’s joking or not. He must not find anything, as it’s only a moment later when he huffs out something like a laugh. “Sure.”

“Ooh! Can I go first?” Izuku doesn’t wait for a reply. “Can you use Erasure on multiple people at once or just one person? I’ve never seen you do it to more than one, at least on camera, and I really wanna know if—”

Eraserhead keeps his voice clipped. “Multiple. How do you know so much about me?”

Izuku barely has time to process the first part before the fidgeting starts up again, his previous embarrassment coming back full force. “I just like to study people and their quirks, sir. I think they’re fascinating, and I’ve always liked to analyze things.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I guess it’s just a hobby.” 

“Ask your next question.”

“Oh, yeah! About your goggles, I’ve been wondering why you have those slits in them. There has to be a reason you’d go for that look instead of wearing actual protective gear.”

They continue like that for the majority of the walk, and Izuku learns that most of the theories he’s made about Eraserhead are correct. His quirk works through sight, and it wears off when he blinks his eyes, which is why his goggles look the way they are. It prevents villains from knowing where he’s looking. 

The man fights essentially quirkless against mutants, and he uses his capture weapon to aid in both long range and close-range combat. He’s trained his entire life to be able to do the things he can. I wonder if I can reach that point someday. 

Izuku pushes that thought away. Being a hero is just a dream for him. He may have completed all of his education online, making him eligible for a hero school if he wanted to go that route, but he doesn’t really have a choice. 

I can’t let myself be known. I get to do the same things a hero can when I’m Rabbit. I just wish I could be more for the people. 

“Do your parents let you out this late at night?” Eraserhead asks abruptly, looking straight ahead. 

“I live with my Dad,” Izuku lies easily, making sure to mask the discomfort on his face. “He knows I go out here all the time. He just doesn’t care.”

A lie that bad can only be the truth. 

“He doesn’t care?” The hero echoes. There’s a slight upturn at the end of his voice, and Izuku freezes. 

“Ah, it’s not that he doesn’t care! He just knows I can take care of myself!”

Eraserhead gives him a sidelong glance but leaves the topic alone. Izuku tries to distract him by asking him more questions about his hero life, but the calculating look on the black-haired man’s face never leaves. 

Great. Way to keep him off your tail, you piece of shit. 

A few minutes later, Izuku spots the building he talked about. The owner works the night shift at the desk area, which Izuku is eternally grateful for at the moment. He spots her face through the lit-up glass doors, and he waves at her from the street. 

She doesn’t seem to notice, but Izuku turns around anyway to say goodbye to Eraserhead, hoping he won’t follow him in. 

“Thank you for taking me home, sir. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Izuku bows low and straightens up just in time to catch the momentary confusion on the man’s face. Eraserhead, unsurprisingly, grunts, and so Izuku starts to head up the steps to his apparent home. 

“One more thing, kid.” 

Izuku turns to ask him what’s wrong when he suddenly sees it. The lights behind the boy allow him to see what Eraserhead holds up between his fingers. 

A flash drive. A very familiar flash drive. 

The hero doesn’t even flinch when Izuku practically leaps down the stairs, eyes wide with panic. “What! How did you—?”

“Nope. It’s my turn to ask a question.” Eraserhead looks almost smug as he continues. “What were you planning on doing with Tsukauchi’s files.”

It’s not a question. More of a demand for an answer. Izuku digs his nails into his palms, panic rising like putty in his throat. “N-Nothing bad, I promise! I just wanted some new people to study, that’s it!”

“So you thought stealing police records was a good way to continue your hobby?”

Fuck. How did he get it out of my pocket without me noticing? No one has ever been able to do that to me before. Why him? And why now, of all times?

Izuku fumbles with the sleeves of his hoodie. “Um, kinda?”

There’s another beat of silence, spent with Eraserhead looking him up and down, the flash drive still in hand. “You do know,” he starts slowly, “that there are other ways to get information like this? Almost all of the libraries in this area offer free, legal archives of past criminals.”

It sounds like a rhetorical question, but Izuku can’t stop himself from answering. “I mean, I—I was heading to one before that mugging happened and, uh, threw off my plans?”

“You didn’t have to intervene.”

And that has Izuku shutting up, because he’s right. It’s not Izuku’s job to stop crime, or to put himself in danger to help someone else. He just likes to be a decent fucking human being sometimes. 

But still. Izuku shouldn’t have stolen those files—not that he regrets it, though. He’d do it again if given the chance. 

He hangs his head, hoping for the best. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t manage to get Eraserhead off his back. “I’ll use the resources given to me next time,” he promises. “Can I please have the flash drive back now, sir? I—I didn’t copy any of the important files!”

For a moment, Izuku thinks that the man will scoff and tell him he’s crazy, that there’s no way he’ll give it back after what he’s done. The hero can definitely bring him in for this, because isn’t stealing government property a federal crime?

But then, in a move that’s almost anticlimactic, Eraserhead steps forward and places the drive in his hand, already turning to take his leave after fixing Izuku with an intimidating glare. “It’s not like you can use most of that information negatively anyway. Just don’t do it again. You’d only be giving the detective more of a reason to put you in jail, understood?”

In slight shock, Izuku’s head shoots up. “T-Thank you, I didn’t think you’d actually give it back—”

The underground hero jumps away, capture weapon flying out to wrap around a pole and pull him up. It reminds Izuku of that really old comic book hero from America. Was it Spider-Man or something?

Whatever the name may be, Eraserhead disappears into the night with the same amount of grace that the web-slinger himself had, just like that, leaving Izuku alone in front of an apartment complex he doesn’t even live in. 

Did that really just happen? Everything kind of feels like a fever dream right now. 

The glass doors behind him slide open, and Izuku turns to face the owner’s concerned face. “Izuku, is that you? Why are you out at this time of night? It’s way too cold out.”

After assuring the woman that he’s not, in fact, going to freeze to death, Izuku shoves the flash drive back into his pocket—where it will hopefully stay this time—and trudges away with a quick goodbye. 

It takes Izuku another five minutes to walk to his actual place, and by the time he’s climbed the many flights of stairs to the top floor where he lives, he’s shaking with nerves. 

I need to pay more attention. He could’ve arrested me. He should’ve. And I don’t think I could’ve run from Eraserhead of all people. 

He kicks open the mahogany door and slams the flash drive down onto his makeshift desk. “You better be worth it, you sad piece of plastic! Now I’ve got a pro hero watching me. This is all your fault.”

Izuku slumps into his chair and glances at the clock. It’s late—or early, depending on what type of person you are. Izuku knows sleep won’t come easy to him after the day’s events, so he just logs onto his beat-to-hell, generator-run computer, and goes to pick through the files. 

He’s only got a few hours until daylight. He can pass the time for that long, at least with some instant coffee. 

That’s about the only food he has in the apartment. Besides some packs of instant ramen noodles. And even then he doesn’t even have a way to heat up water for it. 

Man, I really do need some help. 

Chapter Text

To be honest, no matter how cool it looks in the movies, using a parachute is never fun. 

However, when you are over two thousand feet up in the sky in a burning helicopter with an untrained villain-for-a-pilot and a very, very large bomb, you take what you can get. 

Has Izuku ever mentioned how much he hates explosives? At least the ones that are about to blow him to little bits and pieces on live television. 

Izuku has managed to get in over his head once again by following a group of moron thieves—the very same group his client warned him about a few days prior. They said it would be easy. He’d go in there, set the place on fire because that’s the most efficient way to flush a large group out, collect the drugs, and end up saving the day for the third time in as many days. 

But the world hates Izuku. He can’t ever do things the easy way. 

The so-called moron thieves ended up being major gang leaders that Izuku put in prison a year or so back, so you can imagine his surprise when he caught sight of their faces inside a base with a lot of weapons, a lot of drugs, and a fucking helicopter. 

Izuku would’ve been more excited had one of the henchmen not clocked him in the knees with a crowbar right after his entry. Now he has a limp. 

Fucking superb you stupid little goon. I didn’t even see you coming.  

And truly, Izuku never planned on getting in said helicopter, but when Mr. Tiny got in it with an armful of guns and unmarked medications, what was he supposed to do?

Okay, yeah, he could have called Tsukauchi, saying as he got his phone number from the files he stole a week before now—but it’s a Thursday evening, and Izuku knows the detective only works night shifts on certain days of the week! He probably wouldn’t be able to do much of anything since he’s off duty right now.

Plus, Izuku couldn’t just let them get away! What kind of wanted vigilante would he be if he didn’t aggravate the heroes further by doing their jobs better than them?

And so Izuku clung to the landing skids under the helicopter just as it lifted into the sky. In hindsight, Izuku should have considered what he planned to do after dealing with all the bad guys, given the fact that he can’t actually fly a helicopter.

But it turns out that luck is actually on his side a little bit today! He doesn’t have to worry about that since Mr. Tiny set off the bomb before Izuku actually took him out. 

Who puts explosives in a helicopter, anyway? Isn’t that, like, illegal?

So here Izuku is, dangling from the bottom of a spiraling aircraft. Izuku curses to himself. He’s going to be late for dinner at Kacchan’s house. Just like he was last week the day after being captured by Eraserhead. 

If he doesn’t get killed jumping out of this aircraft, Kacchan will certainly do the job himself. 

As the timer ticks to fifteen seconds, Izuku decides he’d much rather die by his friend than face the impending explosion.

Giving a wave to the news helicopter a few hundred yards out, Izuku lets go of the landing skids with a screech. He spreads out his arms and legs to keep himself from tumbling through the air like a rabid banshee—he’s done that before and won’t do it again; he’s learned from his mistakes, thank you very much. The boy would smile if not for the wind whipping at his face and hood. 

Izuku has always enjoyed jumping from high places. The feeling is exhilarating. It fills his lungs with fresh air and makes his stomach do backflips. It always leaves him giddy in the end. 

This type of jump, however, is a little higher than he usually prefers. But it’s fine, he has a parachute, so everything is fine. 

He balances himself out well as he plummets, and after deciding that he’s a safe distance away from the bomb, he flips onto his back and presses the button under his left armpit. 

Nothing happens. 

Izuku’s heart leaps into his throat, his thoughts coming to a screeching halt. 

I didn’t reinstall the parachute from last month.  

If there’s an opening for a modern version of that old movie Dumb and Dumber, Izuku needs to audition. 

The helicopter explodes above him in a blinding display of heat and fire, but Izuku can’t bring himself to pay attention to it because fuck, those buildings are getting awfully close. 

He’s going to die. But he can’t, not before dinner. Kacchan will kill him. 

Izuku doesn’t realize he’s screaming until he feels his voice give out from the strain. He drops like a rock past a skyscraper’s roof and sees his reflection in the glass, his Rabbit costume a dark contrast to the blue sky around him. 

He watches in horror as he sails closer to the top of another building. Okay, I can do this. 

There’s no telling who’s recording. The media is probably capturing these fateful moments right now, so he can’t afford to use one of his more flashy quirks. Not that they’d help much in this situation. 

He can use Deflect to break his fall, but at the rate he’s plummeting, the transparent shield would probably shatter upon impact, killing him instantly. It’s not strong enough to withstand that much force. 

That’s what I get for refusing to train with it. 

The only other quirk he can use is Pull, and even then the only thing he can do is make himself fly into the side of one of the buildings. Concrete is too heavy for him to move, so instead of the building coming towards him, he’ll be going towards it. 

It’s basic physics, and it should work. Izuku just needs to wait a little longer for one of the lower floors. If he does it too early, a hero might come after him and trap him inside one of the higher levels. The closer he is to the ground, to an exit, the better. 

Izuku sails past the roof of a smaller hotel and juts out his arm desperately, letting Pull manifest in his palm. The momentum is far too much, the distance far too wide, and Izuku’s arm very nearly rips out of its socket as he goes flying towards the side of the building. 

This is going to hurt. 

In a matter of seconds, he crashes through the window, yelping in pain as his injured leg and arm are jostled again. 

He’s on a lower level, the polished tile of the hotel room covered in broken glass. The boy goes sprawling against it, barely registering the screaming to his right. 

He looks up and is greeted to the sight of a young girl on one of the couches, staring at him and still screeching. She’s clutching a small dog, who’s currently barking and wriggling to get out of her grasp and probably bite Izuku. 

Oops. Time to go. 

Izuku struggles to get to his feet, holding his hands up in surrender before stumbling to the door past the girl. He really is trying to think, but his body is still considerably numb. 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” He tries, though she most likely doesn’t hear him over her own strangled noises. “I’m leaving, it’s alright!”

He opens the door with a little too much force, nearly ripping it off its hinges, and proceeds to face plant into the hallway wall. He finds his way to the stairs and runs. 

That went better than I thought it would.

Izuku is, regrettably, a little over an hour late. He had to stabilize his knee and make sure to cover up any bruises and cuts on his face and body from the fight. His Rabbit costume is a little torn, but it’ll be alright. A little wash is all it needs. 

All in all, the mission was a success. The heroes have probably searched through the base and tied up any loose ends, and it seems the whole of Japan knows what Rabbit did today. Izuku has earned a bit more cash, too, so that’s always a plus. He has to buy more fabric for his costume to patch up the tears. 

But for now, the boy steps up to the door in front of him before he ends up losing his courage. Kacchan is very serious about schedules. 

If Izuku is being honest, though, he doesn’t think he deserves the punch to the gut he receives in greeting when Kacchan swings open the door before the boy can even get the chance to knock. 

“You nerd!” The blond roars, barreling into him before Izuku can defend himself. “You’re fucking late again!” 

Izuku yelps, falling to the ground with Kacchan standing over him. “That’s not my fault! I told you I might be a little late—”

Kacchan yanks him up by the front of his shirt, dragging him inside and slamming the door shut. “That was for last week, you dick!”

“You know that goes for every time, Kacchan! I’ve told you this.”

The explosive teen chuffs in irritation. “Whatever, you shithead. You’re not the one who had to listen to the old hag bitch about you being in trouble again. You’re lucky she didn’t call the police to report your fucking ass missing.”

Izuku frowns to himself as his friend shoves him onto the couch. “I thought you can’t report someone missing unless it’s been twenty-four hours.”

“That’s a myth, dumbass!” The blond plops down next to him, flicking through channels on the TV faster than Izuku can keep up. “Now shut the hell up, dinner’s almost ready.”

Izuku just rolls his eyes, biting back his own retort. He won’t admit it to anyone, but the fight—as quick as it was—wore him out. His knee is getting on his nerves. He now has a newfound reason to hate crowbars. 

Another voice cuts in then, sounding from the top of the stairs behind them. “Hey, what’s with all the yelling, brat? I thought I told you to shut up!” Bakugou Mitsuki pokes her head around the corner, and her face immediately lights up upon seeing Izuku on the couch. She starts down the stairs with a smile. “Oh, hon, you’re finally here! I was starting to get worried about you. Where've you been?”

Izuku jumps to his feet and bows quickly, ignoring the complaints he gets from his friend about standing in front of the TV. “Sorry, Auntie. I didn’t mean to worry you. I got a little distracted by a villain fight, that’s all! But I promise I’m fine.”

Izuku chooses to ignore Kacchan’s quiet that’s a shitty lie, because he’s technically not lying. It was a villain fight, and he did get distracted. 

The woman, thankfully, doesn’t hear her son, and she wraps Izuku up in a tight hug, picking him up and swinging him from side to side in typical Bakugou fashion. “Oh, that’s alright, kiddo. You came just in time. The food’ll be ready in a few.” She drops him and turns to her son with a glare. “Your father has a migraine, Katsuki, so be quiet!” 

“How is that my problem?” Kacchan snaps, palms cackling. “He’s always feeling shitty!”

Izuku just sighs as the mother and son duo go at it again, loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. He’s used to this, in a sense. That’s just how the dynamic is in this house. 

He’d be lying if he says he doesn’t like it.

Izuku instead goes into the kitchen to try and help with dinner. He may not cook a lot nowadays, partially because he doesn’t have a lot of money for food and partially because he’s too lazy, but he does know his way around the kitchen. 

He loves to cook. Being alone for the better part of his life, Izuku had to find some way to pass the time without school or family. And cooking, he found quickly, is a sure way to keep himself occupied. Living on your own for years kind of forces you to learn how to take care of yourself.

And besides, he likes to cook because it allows him to feel the warmth of something other than fire. 

It looks like Mitsuki is making katsudon tonight, if the pork and eggs on the counter are anything to go by. Izuku feels his stomach rumble. That’s his favorite meal, and the entire Bakugou family knows it. 

I don’t deserve you, Auntie. 

It looks like the only thing that needs to be done is to finish the rice. That’s easy. 

Izuku hums a tune to himself as he takes out plates and sets the table. He’s done this often enough for it to feel like second nature. The Bakugous invite him over once a week, usually every Thursday night, for dinner or breakfast. They are the only people he’d ever consider to be his family. 

Though that’s yet another thing he won’t admit to anyone else. If somebody finds out about his relationship with them, if they see how he looks at them whenever they let him come over, everything will be screwed. 

If Father finds out I’m still visiting this often, they’ll all end up dead. 

Izuku spreads the rice over the plates and prepares to divvy up the food. The smell makes his mouth water, and the boy forces himself not to scarf everything down. 

All that ass-kicking has left him starved, so sue him for literally salivating. 

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and Izuku nearly jumps out of his skin when Kacchan teases right beside his ear. 

“You hungry?”

Izuku flushes, not realizing he was staring so intently at the food on the table. “Shut up, it’s been a long day!”

The smirk drops off his friend’s face, being replaced with something more suspicious. Izuku tries to push down his sudden nervousness. 

Kacchan crosses his arms. “So where were you, really? And don’t fucking lie to me. You’ve gotten caught up in fights loads of times, but you’ve never been this late before.”

“I told you, Kacchan, I—”

“Then tell me again!” His palms cackle dangerously, but Izuku doesn’t flinch. He knows the other boy would never hurt him like that. “I don’t have time for your shitty excuses! And don’t be stupid enough to think I didn’t notice how fucked up your leg is.”

Izuku bites his lip, eyes flicking toward the doorway. “I’ll tell you later. Auntie might come down any second.”

“She’s trying to get Dad out of bed, so she won’t be back for a while. Now spill it before I blow your ass up!”

Too late, Izuku thinks to himself. Already had my ass almost blown up today. It must be quite famous for everyone to want a piece of it.

“You know,” Izuku says instead. “It almost sounds like you care, Kacchan.”

“I swear I'm going to—” Explosions pop from the boy’s palms, so Izuku backtracks quickly. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll tell you, just give me a second.”

Kacchan leans back with a scowl. “Better be a good reason for worrying me.”

Finishing up with setting the table, Izuku leads him back to the living room so he can see when Mistuki comes down the stairs. He doesn’t sit down, too full of nerves to be in one place. “You know that client I told you about? The one who told me about this new drug ring in the city over?”

Kacchan huffs. “Get to the point.”

“Well, I couldn’t find any information on the names I came up with, though they did sound familiar to me. I went into their base a few hours ago and tried to flush them out, but it was harder than I thought.”

Izuku trails off near the end, causing Kacchan to gesture for him to spit it out. “And?”

“Well, I set the place on fire, like usual, but then I had to—” Izuku has a reason for cutting off this time, his mouth going slack as his eyes catch the picture on the television. Oh, wow. 

Kacchan follows his gaze, blinking at the video footage conveniently being shown on the news channel. It’s a rerun from the fight, and it's currently showing the spiraling helicopter as it heads toward the ground at a rapid pace. 

Rabbit is seen clutching the rails of it, only to let go a few moments later, a huge explosion following not long after. 

Of fucking course they’d choose to replay the footage right now.

There’s silence. Izuku risks a glance at his friend, only to see a vein popping out of his skull. “Uh, Kacchan?”

The teen turns to him, and Izuku is pretty sure he would have become a victim of homicide had Mitsuki’s voice not rung out from the top of the stairs. “Boys, it’s dinner time! Get to the table!”

Izuku meets Kacchan’s eyes with a deadpan look. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

Kacchan just grins, but it’s all teeth. 

Maybe I am going to die. 

It turns out that the food is, in fact, as good as it looks. Izuku takes one bite and nearly moans at just how delicious it is. The pork practically melts in his mouth, and the eggs and rice balance out the salty taste of the tonkatsu sauce perfectly. 

“This is delicious as always!” He groans. “Thank you for the food.”

Mitsuki looks up at him and smiles, eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome, kiddo! I was rushin' a bit, but I think it turned out alright.”

“It turned out great!” Izuku confirms, and Masaru agrees with him around his own mouthful of pork. 

The blonde woman waves away the praise, turning to talk to her husband some more about something from work. 

Izuku glances at Kacchan just as the boy starts to speak, his voice low: “Everything tastes good when you haven’t eaten in days, huh, Deku?”

He flashes Izuku a fiery look, telling the boy all he needs to know about what he’s referring to.

“What was that?” Masaru asks, frowning, but Izuku kicks Kacchan from under the table before he can reply. 

“He said it’s good, too,” he lies quickly, giving a nervous smile at the two adults across from him. 

For a few, tense moments, everything is silent, but then Mitsuki shrugs and turns back to the conversation with her husband—not before narrowing her eyes suspiciously at them, though. 

Izuku breathes out a sigh in relief. Fuck, that was close. 

Kacchan is still glaring at him, and Izuku kicks him again under the table. His friend hisses but otherwise says nothing. 

Jesus. Does he want to expose me? We’ve already talked about this. He knows I try to eat when I can. 

Izuku tries to focus back on his food, continuing to eat as if his life depends on it. Katsudon tastes best hot, so he doesn’t want it to get cold. 

He cleans off the plate in record time and leans back slightly in his chair. He’s still hungry. He could go for another portion, but he also doesn’t want to eat more than he should. 

Mitsuki and Masaru are still eating, albeit slowly. They don’t look like they’re going for seconds anytime soon. And Kacchan—

The teen takes a large spoonful from the pan in the middle of the table and drops the food onto Izuku’s plate, not saying a word. 

Huh. I swear he can read my mind.  

He throws him a quick, grateful look, having not completely forgiven him for the comment a few minutes earlier, and digs in again. 

“So,” Mitsuki says suddenly, once everyone is almost finished. “It’s getting late, Izuku, so why don’t you stay the night here?”

Izuku pauses as three pairs of eyes land on him. He gulps down a piece of egg and takes a nervous sip of his soda. “Uh, I’m not sure Father would like it if I—”

“Nonsense,” Mitsuki interrupts, voice bright. “It’s dark out, and the crime rate around here has been high nowadays. I’d feel better if you stayed with us tonight.”

Masaru clears his throat then. “You don’t have to, of course. It’s just a thought.” He gives his wife a pointed look. “Don’t pressure him, Mitsuki; it’s his choice.”

“It’s fine,” Izuku cuts in, not wanting the couple to argue. “If it’s alright with you guys, I guess I can stay the night.”

Kacchan grunts from his place at the table while Masaru nods his reassurance. 

Mitsuki clasps her hands together. “Great! I’m sure Hisashi won’t mind since he’s never there at the house anyways.”

The entire room seems to drop a few thousand degrees, and Izuku winces. Kacchan’s head snaps up to face him, as if to gauge his reaction, and Izuku hears Masaru choke on his food. “Mitsuki, that’s not—”

She cuts him off before he can finish telling her off. “Oh come on, you know I’m right! That bastard doesn’t give a shit about him or any of us for that matter! He won't care if Izuku stays the night here.”

“You can’t just say that,” Masaru says, trying and failing to come up with a good defense. 

Mitsuki fires back, and Izuku half expects Kacchan to join the fight, too, but he just watches his friend with narrowed eyes. 

The green-haired boy winces. He doesn’t like being the cause of one of Mitsuki and Masaru’s arguments, even though it happens often enough. He knows it’s not really his fault, but still. 

Izuku waves his hands in front of him as if to fan away the metaphorical flames, garnering both of the adults’ attention. “It’s okay,” he amends. “Er, Father is kind of a jerk sometimes, but I don’t think he’ll mind this time.”

Mitsuki brightens up instantly. “Oh, that’s good.” She stands up and starts to collect the plates. “Well, dessert is in the oven, so stay here while I get it.”

She leaves the dining room quickly, and Masaru doesn’t waste any time before leaning over the table. “Sorry about that,” he mutters. “You know how she gets.”

“I can still hear you!”

Masaru sighs at his wife’s yell, and Izuku hides his grin behind a hand. “It’s alright,” the boy repeats. “Auntie’s right, after all.”

The dessert, it turns out, is a weird sort of pie filled with chocolate and cream. It doesn’t taste bad at all, and so Izuku has to stop himself after his second slice. 

He helps Masaru with washing the dishes and putting away the leftovers, making small talk along the way. Speaking with the older Bakugou is always calming for him. 

He’s the polar opposite of Mitsuki and Kacchan, so it was quite a shock to Izuku when he was first introduced to him all those years ago. He still finds it hard to believe that such a quiet man married such a headstrong woman. Masaru is like a river, steady and unbreakable, whilst Mitsuki is like a raging inferno, scalding and disastrous. 

But after spending so much time with the man, Izuku has come to realize that they both complement each other in their own way. 

Izuku doesn’t mind talking with him. Masaru is nice to be around. The power his gentle quirk exudes is comforting, almost, so the boy tries to soak it up all he can. 

Once everything’s cleaned up, Masaru ruffles Izuku’s hair softly before joining Mitsuki in the living room. 

Oh. That was nice. 

Izuku climbs the stairs to Kacchan’s bedroom after wishing the couple a good night, a skip in his step now. 

His happiness, however, depletes as soon as he opens the door. 

Kacchan tackles him, and Izuku instinctively spins around to throw the boy over his hip. Kacchan grabs his arm and brings him down with him, shoving his face into the carpeted ground. “I’m gonna kill you, nerd.”

“Fuck!” Izuku gasps, a little bit of pain running through him from the movements. “Get off me, Kacchan! I’m injured!”

“Not a chance. You deserve to get your ass beat for the shit you pulled.”

Izuku whines. “That’s not my fault! Why can't you—” A harder press to the ground has him shutting up, and he huffs in frustration. 

He can hear Kacchan’s grin as he speaks. “Just admit it, Deku. I win! I always win! Now say it!”

Any other time and Izuku probably would have pushed his friend some more. He’d make him angry enough to start another fight out of pure pettiness. But right now, all Izuku wants to do is sleep. “Fine. You win.”

Kacchan shakes his head. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“You always win!” Izuku throws the other teen off of him and sits up against the bed. “Happy now?”

“Always.”

Izuku starts to fix the wrappings on his knee, and the boy can feel his friend’s piercing gaze on him. He tries to ignore it, putting his hair up into a small bun to try and distract himself, but it doesn’t work. 

When his skin starts to itch in discomfort, he looks up to meets Kacchan’s sour expression. “What?”

Kacchan, surprisingly, answers him. “Are you alright?”

It’s clear that he’s not talking about his injuries. 

Izuku feels himself relax. “Yeah. I don’t mind it when she talks about him. I’m not going to piss and shit and cry at the mention of his name or something, Kacchan.”

“I don’t know why you won’t just tell them.”

He frowns. “About what? My father being the most feared villain alive? Yeah, that’d go over real well.”

Kacchan rolls his eyes. “I meant about your homelessness, shithead. It would be easier for you if you just told everyone.”

“And then I’d be sent to an orphanage, or worse.” Izuku stands up and goes to get the emergency nightclothes Kacchan keeps under the bed in case he stays over. “Is that what you want to happen?”

“They’d take you in! The hag already said she’d adopt you in a heartbeat if given the chance! Why won’t you—”

“You know why.” Izuku’s voice is tight, cutting right over his friend. “I’m already too close to you guys. I can’t risk putting you all in danger like that. I’m sorry.”

Kacchan snorts. “That’s hypocritical, Deku. You could just—”

“Please just drop it.”

Maybe it’s the look on Izuku’s face that does it, or maybe the tone of his voice, but either way Kacchan does drop it after only a few moments of hesitance. He always does. He cares about Izuku too much to make him upset. Especially when it comes to the topic of his father. The last time he’d argued with him over this, Izuku nearly had a breakdown. 

That's probably what would've happened now if he kept pushing. 

“Fine,” Kacchan says begrudgingly. “But you’re telling me about what happened today. In detail, shitface.” 

So Izuku does. He talks to him about the information his client gave him, telling him how the targets were supposed to be just petty thugs. He tells him how that was a fucking lie and how he nearly had his kneecaps taken out by a gremlin. He explains how he executed the flawless takedown of the entire base and burnt everything to ash, and how he hitched a ride with the helicopter seen on the news. 

Kacchan cackles and sneers at the right moments, slowly putting Izuku at ease again.

Izuku frowns when he gets to one part, though. “The helicopter exploded with the bad guy still inside. He was unconscious, and I think I saw him get caught by one of the flying heroes, but still.”

“That sucks ass,” Kacchan says, not a hint of remorse in his voice. 

“Kacchan,” Izuku chides.

The teen scoffs again. “What? He was a villain. I say good riddance to all those fuckers.”

“But he was still a person, Kacchan!” Izuku shakes his head. “I wouldn’t care if I didn’t already know he had a family waiting for him. He was one of the original group I put away the first time. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, so I guess I just feel bad.”

His friend doesn’t back down. “You did his family a favor. I’m not going to feel bad for a lowlife. He deserved what they got. ‘Sides, you even said he got caught. It’s not like he’s dead.”

Izuku watches Kacchan’s face for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he’s joking. Finally, the boy sighs. “You’re insufferable.”

“Shut your face, nerd. It’s already after nine, so go to sleep.” 

Kacchan flops onto the bed and flicks on his fan, kicking off his slippers in the process. 

Izuku smirks to himself, settling on his side of the mattress. “You act like you’re so tough, and yet you still go to bed at nine every night like a little kid.” 

A foot lands in his stomach, kicking him off the bed entirely. He just giggles as he lands, facedown, on the carpeted flooring. 

I deserved that. 

He doesn’t bother getting back up. He doesn’t like to sleep on beds anyway. They’re too soft for him. 

Izuku rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling, Kacchan’s light breathing a white noise beside him. A blanket and pillow are tossed his way, and he mumbles his thanks. 

As expected, he gets no reply. 

Today is, overall, a good day. A nice, hot dinner was just the icing on the cake—it always is, in all fairness. Cooking is fascinating to him, and today made him appreciate it even more. He may have to start it up again. 

He used to cook a lot, but now he prioritizes certain things over food. He makes his own weapons. He saves up the money he earns for necessities like his phone bill. He needs tech to make his support items. 

Speaking of which, he has to make more of his pink sludge bombs. 

He also never really feels hungry a lot. So why waste food if he doesn’t need it, right? It's best to save his belongings for better things. But that’s not the point. 

He’s full, he’s content, and he’s just completed another one of his missions. It may have been harder than he thought, but it was a success. He pocketed a lot of the money the gang had stashed in their boxes. 

So, today has been eventful, and all Izuku wants to do is rest. 

His mind, however, has other ideas. He doesn’t actually fall asleep until the moon starts to dip low into the sky and the early lights of the morning start to filter in through the window. 

Izuku pretends he wasn’t awake for the whole night when Kacchan gets up to go to school. 

He didn't mean to stay up. Insomnia just has a way of creeping up on you like that. 

Chapter Text

Shouta is done with life right about now. 

His day started out pretty well. He woke up at a fairly good time, had his favorite coffee, ate breakfast with his obnoxiously loud husband, and then proceeded off to work. 

He may have expelled his entire homeroom class a few months earlier, but he still has other lessons to teach the rest of the students at UA. Besides, Nezu doesn’t allow his teachers to just slack off, even when they technically don’t have a class to teach. 

But back to the point—everything started out okay. He felt relaxed. Content. So content that it made him suspicious, because something has to go wrong. 

Good days like this one don’t come by very often, especially on a weekday when he has to work. It just doesn’t happen. 

It’s around lunchtime when he gets the call, and Shouta can tell just by looking at the caller ID that his instincts were correct, as always. 

The underground hero sighs and puts down his chopsticks, wondering balefully if he’ll ever get the chance to finish his teriyaki. “What is it, Tsukauchi?”

The detective laughs a little over the line. “Don’t sound too upset, I think you’ll enjoy your visit this time.”

Here we go.

Shouta picks at his food, aware of Hizashi and Nemuri staring at him as he speaks. “You want me to come to the station again?”

“If you can. I only need a few minutes, at the very least.”

“I’ll see if Nezu will let me leave early after my last lesson. What do you need?”

“I’m sure you saw the news last night.”

The hero snorts. “Of course I did. It’s all everyone’s talking about right now.”

Shutting up about Rabbit is something the media doesn’t know how to do. The vigilante has done it yet again, embarrassing all of the pro heroes in the city yesterday by taking down a drug ring that local authorities hadn’t even been able to locate, much less initiate a full takedown on. Shouta didn't actually watch the coverage of it live, as he was getting ready for his patrol, but Hizashi recorded it for him. 

Not that he needed to, though. Every news station within a fifty-mile radius of the attack has been replaying the scene of Rabbit jumping out of the helicopter like some sort of maniac every five minutes. It’s like they truly have nothing else to report on. 

It’s getting to be kind of annoying. 

“Well, I feel like it’s time to start the process, Aizawa.”

Shouta doesn’t have to ask what that means. They’ve been planning it for a while. Shouta has been keeping an eye on Rabbit for a few weeks now—nothing too special. Just some tracking to figure out where the vigilante tends to patrol, and also of the area and perimeter he covers. 

So far, he hasn’t been able to gather much. The kid is slippery. He seems to know that he’s being followed, and after only a few minutes of Shouta trailing him, Rabbit just disappears into thin air. As if he’d never been there in the first place. 

Shouta hates to admit that he’s a little impressed. Now, that’s not to say the kid has completely bested him—of course not. He’s fast, irritatingly so, but he’s still young and jumpy. Twice, Shouta has been presented with the chance to jump him, but both times he refrained. Not only because he’s not a fan of attacking a person who just got done saving a victim of assault or robbery but also because he knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t have solved the core of the issue.

“Aizawa?” The detective’s inquiring voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Can you be at the station in, say, a few hours?”

Right. This is his case after all. 

Shouta makes an affirmative noise. “I’ll see to it. Give me a little bit.”

He hangs up, and with a long-suffering sigh, Shouta gets up to talk with the principal. He already knows he’s going to regret this.

“Going to the station?” Hizashi asks, peering up at him from his place at the table. 

Shouta nods, grabbing his scarf off the hook and wrapping it around his neck. “Is it alright if I take the car? You might have to walk home.”

“Sure! Hey, I’m going to get some more ground sausage before lunch is over. We ran out this morning, so I’ll be leaving in a few.”

Yawning, Shouta nods in confirmation and picks up his sleeping bag from the corner by the door, feeling the beginnings of another headache coming on. He starts for his office to gather the work for his next class. Nezu will no doubt say yes when he asks. The mammal has never had an issue with him leaving early before if it’s for police business. 

He passes back by the teacher’s lounge and chooses to ignore Hizashi’s amplified laughter as the voice hero berates Nemuri for taking the rest of his teriyaki. 

I’ll get her back tomorrow.

Izuku hates bullies. 

To be fair, most everyone does. You’d have to be a special kind of asshole to actively support bullying, especially when it’s against people who don’t deserve it.

Which is why it’s easy for Izuku to stand up to jerks. It’s the right thing to do. He knows what it’s like to be put down, to be hated by everyone around you and be spit on and treated like nothing more than an animal. 

He knows what it feels like, so Izuku will be damned if he lets someone else go through that. 

He tries to help as best he can. Most times, he does it well. He’ll see a group of kids picking on someone that they deem weaker, and he’ll step in. Most of the time, the bullies back down. 

That’s the thing. Most bullies aren’t used to their victims fighting back. They’ll get surprised. They’ll insult you a bit, and then make their exit after deciding it’s not worth it. 

But it’s not really an exit, it’s not really a show of kindness. It’s a show of cowardice. It’s more of an escape. 

Some bullies, however, don’t back down. These are the ones you really have to watch out for. These ones will break you down. They’ll pick out the things you hate most about yourself and bring it out into the light for everyone and their grandma to see. 

It’s harsh, and it’s wrong. But it happens. And Izuku had thought that after everything he’s gone through, after all the shit he’s overcome, he’d become immune to it. And in many ways, he has.

But the insults hurt worse coming from certain people; people who you used to trust. 

After Kacchan leaves for school, Izuku takes a quick shower and borrows some of his clothes, thinking that his friend probably won't mind. 

Probably. 

When he comes downstairs, Mitsuki is sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, getting ready for work. Masaru must have already left. It’s a Friday, after all. Those are the busiest days of the month. 

Izuku makes sure to thank her again for letting him stay, and after promising to be safe and not be late next time he comes over, the boy skips out of the house with his notebook in his hoodie pocket. 

He has a few things to do today, seeing as his Rabbit costume has a few holes in it now, plus the fact that some of his weapons got destroyed when he set the hideout on fire. The prices you pay for salvation.

So today he has to buy some fabric to patch up his costume, look through some dumpsters for abandoned technology and metal parts, and then wash his clothes at the laundromat. Which makes it a full day for him. 

He’s on the way to the embroidery story down the street from his apartment when his plans first seem to go down the drain. Because as he continues to slip through the crowds of people, he accidentally bumps into someone. 

Except it’s not an accident. Not on their part, at least. 

The next thing he knows, Izuku is being grabbed by meaty hands and slammed into the concrete wall just inside the entrance of an alley. 

His wide eyes trail up to meet the scornful expression of a boy around his height, and Izuku can already tell that things aren’t about to go his way. 

He knows this kid. No, he knows these kids, because there’s more than one. Three, to be exact. All encasing him in, arms coming out to trap him against the dirty wall. 

And honestly, Izuku could have avoided this. He felt the movement in the air a split second before the hand even came into contact with his shoulder, just before he was pushed by two other pairs of hands into the alleyway. He could’ve avoided it because he'd felt the attack coming. 

In four seconds flat, Izuku could have had all three of these kids on the ground crying. Probably sporting a broken bone or split lip, or something even worse. 

But he’s not Rabbit, here. He can’t fight them. And besides, if he dodged the hand, the idiot would've hit the guy behind Izuku. 

You see, it’s different when you’re defending someone else from a bully or criminal. At that point, it becomes self-defense. The laws become more lenient at that point, especially when you have an alibi or witness to back you up. 

But here, right now, the only witness is Izuku himself. And to make matters worse, he’s the one getting bullied. 

Which means he can’t fight back. Not unless he wants to find himself in jail. For real this time. He can get arrested if he harms them because no one ever believes the victim. Not when they’re someone like Midoriya Izuku. 

Someone who already has a history of violence and volatility from the age of six and beyond. 

His eyes glance between the trio, and Izuku’s throat suddenly tightens. 

It hurts worse coming from certain people. People who you used to trust. 

These are Kacchan’s friends. Or, should he say, were. He recognizes them all. The one with spindly fingers and an angular face—he's the one Kacchan hates the most. He’s in the middle of the group now, still holding Izuku against the wall. He must be the acting leader since Kacchan is gone. 

The next one is a boy Izuku can only faintly remember. He has a square chin with hair that stops right above his eyes, and Izuku can’t quite recall what his quirk is, but he can feel its faint power humming beneath the other boy's skin. 

But Izuku remembers Bully Number Three clearly. He’s round, just a little bit chubby. The most defining features, however, are the crimson wings he sports on his back, folded neatly in on themselves. They look almost leathery in texture, set with talons at the end of each joint. They’ve definitely gotten bigger since the last time Izuku’s seen them. 

“Tsubasa?” Izuku breathes out, staring at his old friend. 

The boy doesn’t answer, only letting out a sneer as he looks back at the ringleader—waiting for an order, Izuku faintly realizes. The power dynamic here is obvious. 

Kacchan’s replacement presses him harder against the wall, his breath hot against Izuku’s cheek. 

“Midoriya,” he scoffs, and his voice is almost laughable. It’s almost as if the boy is forcing himself to sound like an edgy teenager who’s just finished his second bowl of weed. “Didn’t think we’d find you here of all places.”

It sounds like a normal conversation to anyone else, when in reality it’s anything but. It’s more of the calm before a storm. That’s how they get you, Izuku thinks. They build you up and make you think you’re their friend, and then they hit you where it’s hardest.

They’re nothing but a bunch of slimy assholes, thinking they’re tough shit. 

Izuku can identify this. He can identify the problem and even come up with the solution for it, but the problem is just that he can’t seem to execute it. 

A slap to the face jolts him right out of his thoughts. He stumbles slightly, realizing all of a sudden that his knee still hurts like a bitch. Escaping won’t be an easy feat. 

“I asked you a question, Deku,” the leader starts up again, getting right in his face. “You don’t wanna be rude, do ya? Answer me.”

Deku. He called him Deku. As in, useless. As in, the nickname Kacchan gave to him a long time ago. The nickname that started out as an insult and is now nothing more than a term of aggressive endearment—but only when it comes from Kacchan.

And now this idiot is bringing back the old meaning behind his name? Anger rises up within him, setting his insides on fire. He shouldn’t stand for it. He really shouldn’t. He can almost hear his father’s soft words in his mind, egging him on, promising him he won’t get in trouble if drags these boys through the mud until they beg for him to stop. 

“Shouldn’t you guys be at school?” Izuku asks instead, clearing his throat and praying he doesn’t sound as snappy as he thinks. “It’s not time for it to be out yet—”

He sees the next smack coming and braces for it, relaxing his face like he’s been taught multiple times. His head snaps sideways with the force of the blow, and Izuku is now facing the street, only just able to see what’s going on through the gaps left between the two boys closest to him. 

He takes a few deep breaths in through his nose, ignoring their barked laughter all around him. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard. 

“Now, I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?” That’s the forgotten boy, the one Izuku can only faintly remember. His voice is squeaky, almost artificially so. 

Izuku wishes he’d been patrolling as Rabbit at this moment. He would've roasted the hell out of them all. 

So they got kicked out, or are they skipping? Probably the first. 

He receives a kick to the shin, and he nearly buckles as his bad knee is jostled even more. He has to stay up. He’s taken a whole lot worse before. He just has to keep up the facade for enough time for them to get bored with him. Or maybe for someone to step in. 

They tease him, but he’s used to these words. They’re more of a backdrop to his thoughts than real insults. 

“Worthless.”

“Creep.”

“Bakugou’s little witch bitch.”

“Finally decided to drop out of school, huh, Deku?”

“Guess he figured out he wouldn’t make it after all.”

Izuku sees a few people glance inside the alleyway when they walk past. But instead of lending a hand, they just turn away. They keep walking. 

In a way, Izuku isn’t surprised, but it doesn’t stop the new spark of rage from igniting inside of him. He forces it down with a swallow. This is not the best area to lose his cool in. 

They’re just kids. That’s probably what everyone’s thinking. The onlookers. Just boys being boys, roughhousing and all that. Must be good friends. 

But there’s no way. No way those people can’t see what’s going on. And what’s even worse, Izuku spots a cop on the other side of the street, watching the crowds for any suspicious movements or interesting events. 

He catches his eye, and for a few long moments, Izuku waits. He waits for the cop to come over and stop them. To break up the literal assault going on. But he doesn’t. He gives Izuku one last look before glancing away as if he never noticed him there in the first place. 

Somewhere in the midst of the spite-fueled rants being thrown his way, Izuku ends up falling to the asphalt. That’s when Tsubasa lands his first hit on him—a weak kick to his stomach. 

They keep going, but it doesn’t hurt much. Having a high pain tolerance really helps in these circumstances. Besides, they’re not hurting him too badly. And if they’re doing it to him, chances are they’d do it to someone else if given the moment. Better Izuku than someone else.

He wants to fight back, but another part of himself knows he can’t. Because for one, they don’t know any better. They’ve never been taught how to deal with their emotions correctly, which is still not an excuse, but it is a reason. 

Kacchan would’ve ended up like them. He probably would’ve ended up worse had Auntie not forced him into therapy. 

Secondly, Izuku can’t bring any attention to himself in this alleyway. If he becomes the punching bag for once, or maybe even a few times, they might decide not to hurt anyone else. He can be that sacrifice. 

Izuku would love to beat their asses and hand them over to the police—oh, to Tsukauchi! The detective loves straightening out bullies!—but chances are he’d be put in jail even with the detective’s quirk to help him out. There’s no proof that any of this happened, and lie detectors (even human ones) are still subjective in most courts. Even if they do believe him, his past record is enough to lock him up anyway.

If he attempts to beat them badly and run, they might snitch, and then he’ll be hunted by Tsukauchi and the others.

The only thing Izuku can do is fight back just a little bit. Just enough to keep them interested and off of someone else’s case. He can humor them a little. Besides, this is good practice for him. 

He sees a steel-toed boot heading for his nose and instinctively grabs it, twisting the leg and ankle simultaneously so the person trips over their own body. 

The ringleader lands next to him and starts yelling more obscenities at him, becoming progressively louder—which is what Izuku wants. 

Even after these years, the trio is still utterly predictable. They’ll no doubt take any bait he lays out for them. 

It’s not until elongated fingers reach into his hoodie pocket does he actually startle. His notebook—his analysis notebook, filled with all of his notes and theories on all the recent villains and heroes—is snatched out of his grasp and thrown. Right into a large puddle next to a dumpster. 

Are you fucking serious?

“Hey, what are you—!” Izuku is cut off by Tsubasa’s meaty fist flying towards him, and quicker than lightning, Izuku grabs his wrist between his fingers and yanks him forward. Tsubasa smashes face-first into the wall with a loud crack and cries out in pain, slumping to the side. 

Well. So much for not doing too much damage. 

The boy Izuku had forgotten about gasps, taking a few steps back from his previous place beside Tsubasa. He’s obviously the weakest link. Izuku had a feeling he would crumble as soon as one of his friends went down. 

Izuku jumps to his feet and heads for his notebook, only for Ringleader to grab the back of his hoodie and swing him around. 

Don’t hit him. You might hurt him. 

He merely ducks under Ringleader’s fist, kneeing the other boy in the stomach so he stumbles away. Tsubasa must’ve recovered already, as when Izuku turns back, the mutant is now holding the notebook in his hand with a furious look on his face. 

“Tsubasa,” Izuku tries, holding his hands out placatingly. “Please. Give me my—”

There’s a rush of wind to his side, and Izuku forces himself not to move as the third boy fucking slaps him with the back of his palm.  

And what? What kind of hit is that? What a bitch move! 

Izuku tastes iron in his mouth and grits his teeth, dazed for only a moment. Ringleader is on his other side now, blocking him in. Tsubasa stands triumphantly in front of him with his wings outstretched. 

I need my notebook, and they’re going to make me fight to get it. 

They want him to fight. They want him to get arrested, most likely. 

At this point, fuck it. Whatever. He needs his notebook back, no matter the cost. He’s spent a lot of time on it, and his own analysis of his quirks are in there. Izuku crouches down a little lower, fists clenching. 

Memories of his father are in it. He can’t afford to lose it.

He prepares for a fight, and he sees the trio tense in anticipation. They’ll go for the first hit, at least Ringleader will. Tsubasa will likely follow, and the third one will have no choice but to—

Ringleader is rushing forward, fingers outstretched to do who knows what, when a loud voice comes from the entrance to the alleyway and freezes them in their tracks. 

“What’s going on here, boys?”

Izuku stares at the intruder—because that’s what he is at the moment. He could be a cop looking to arrest him, or maybe even a random civilian looking to get in on the action. 

It sounds sick, but Izuku has seen it happen before. 

The man is tall and lanky, and his hair (a nice, light shade of yellow that almost looks white) is pulled back to presumably keep it from getting in his eyes. It looks like he has it in a half-bun. 

But that’s not the most interesting thing about the mystery man. He has red, rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, framing a set of piercing green eyes. 

Eyes that Izuku swears he knows, but just can’t put his finger on. The voice, too, he realizes. It has a certain ring to it. 

And also—is he carrying a bag of cat food and ground sausage?

Izuku opens his mouth to speak, but Ringleader beats him to it. “Oh, uh, were just having some fun, sir!”

His voice is high-pitched, and it’s such an obvious lie that Izuku wants to laughs. He should’ve let me talk, I would’ve been a hell of a lot more convincing. 

And from the looks of it, Mystery Man doesn’t believe the act either. “Oh, yeah?” He frowns a little, walking casually towards them while still carrying his bag. “What’cha doing with that notebook there, kiddo?”

He’s looking at Tsubasa, and the boy in question folds under the adult’s knowing glare. He sheepishly shoves the journal back into Izuku’s chest, wings flapping slightly out of nerves. “We’re all just, er, playing a game of catch, ya know?”

Real convincing. Maybe phrase it like a statement next time, dragon boy, and it might be a little more believable. 

Izuku holds his notebook tightly, not wanting to risk it getting tossed into another puddle. 

Mystery Man stops a few feet away from him, frown deepening. “Is that right? Well, I think maybe you three should pick another game. This one doesn’t look like too much fun, yeah?”

It sounds more like an order, and Izuku is hit again with the same feeling that he knows this man. 

The intruder—savior, more like—points back to the mouth of the alley with a thumb, giving the boys all the incentive they need to start scrambling. 

They keep a safe distance away from Mystery Man as they flee towards the exit, and the one closest to Izuku, the Forgotten Boy, shoots him a scathing look and says, voice low, “You should’ve done everyone a favor and jumped off a building once you quit school, Deku.”

Izuku had been waiting for a comment like that, had been waiting for a taunt, a finishing blow, but now that he’s actually hearing those familiar words, he feels himself get sick. 

"Do ya like making a fool out of me? You think I’ll believe you weren’t just lying to me all that time? Go take a fucking dive off a roof if you think for one damn second I’ll forgive you!”

The memory tastes foul on his tongue, and Izuku shakes it away quickly. 

Forgotten Boy is gone with shrill laughter, leaving Izuku and the Mystery Man alone together in the alley. Great.  

Izuku flips through the pages of his notebook, quietly seething. 

All of his notes are ruined. The pages are soaked; he can barely read the words written in them. His drawings, theories, all of his hard work—destroyed. He can probably salvage some of it, sure, but it’s the fact that he has to do it at all that makes him angry. 

A hand lands on his shoulder. “You alright, son?” 

Izuku snaps the notebook shut and shoves it back into his hoodie pocket, glancing up at the taller man. “Oh, yeah! I’m, uh, I’m fine, sir, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” the blond says happily, retracting his hand. “I’m glad to help. Do they do that often?”

He sounds used to this. Is he a cop? 

“Um, not really! They just like to play rough sometimes!” That sounds believable, Izuku thinks. The man probably would have believed it had he not just witnessed Izuku almost get the shit beat out of him. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, brows scrunching suddenly. “Hey, you’re bleeding above your eye there, listener. Here.” The man digs in his back pocket for a moment before handing Izuku a bandaid, and looking closer, the boy can see a small print of a cat on the top. 

Who the hell just carries a bandaid on them? Maybe he's more of a doctor? 

Izuku wipes the trickle of blood off his forehead with his sleeve, thanking the man once more as he applies the bandage. He stands there for a moment after, the silence awkward as he realizes the stranger is studying him, before blurting out, “I have to get going, sir! I’m going to be late!”

He doesn’t wait for a reply as he runs out of the alleyway and disappears into the throng of people. 

The man’s quirk had given off a strange, calming aura. It felt nice, in a way. Almost, dare Izuku say, comforting. 

Again, he can’t shake the pressing feeling that he knows him from somewhere. There’s a strong possibility that he could be a cop, or maybe even a hero. In all fairness, his brain is too muddled from the bullies’ insults to think too much on anything else. 

He ignores everyone’s stares and judgmental gazes, opting to instead continue on his way to the embroidery store. It closes pretty early, so he has to hurry. After that, he’ll finish his other plans. 

It’ll take a few hours, but if he does it right he should have enough time to go to Tony’s for free breadsticks again!

At least the day had started out shitty, he thinks. Now it can’t get worse, it can only get better from here. 

Right?

“You have his phone number.”

It’s not a question. Shouta hopes the disappointment is evident on his face as he stares at the text Tsukauchi apparently received from Rabbit himself. 

Nezu let him off work a little early, as expected, so now he’s here, at the station, having to deal with this bullshit. 

The detective has the decency to look a little sheepish as he replies, “Well, yeah. I don’t know how he got it, but he started texting me a week or so ago.”

“Did you find a location?” Shouta takes the phone and scrolls up, reading the rest of the messages. Maybe the kid left a clue or something. A hidden message. 

“Nope.” Tsukauchi spins in his rolling chair, blowing out an annoyed breath. “The number is private. It’s a burner phone, by the looks of it. But the fact that he uses emojis throws out that idea. It has to be a smartphone.”

“He’s childish,” Shouta observes. The vigilante really does use an excessive amount of emojis.

No doubt on purpose to give them this inner dilemma on what kind of phone he’s using. 

“Or he just likes to piss people off,” Tsukauchi offers. “You told me before that he’s likely trying to come off as innocent so the heroes won’t try to arrest him.” He tilts his head in thought. “And also so we’ll underestimate him.”

Shouta hands the phone back, huffing when he reads the latest text again: I lived, bitch.

Honestly, it’s so corny that it’s not even funny.

The message was sent at around eight in the morning, which is interesting in itself. It followed a string of messages from Tsukauchi, who'd asked the vigilante if he survived his latest stunt. The detective was obviously worried. 

“You think he’s injured?” Shouta asks, turning back to the holographic whiteboard. “The time frame between the incident and when he answered you is short, considering he jumped out of a helicopter.”

Tsukauchi stands up and drags a video file with his pointer finger onto the whiteboard. He expands it so it starts to play, showing the last minute of the warehouse fight. “He didn’t get injured too badly here. The most he got was a strike to the knee, but it doesn’t look like the bone shattered.”

Shouta narrows his eyes at the display. The vigilante is efficient in this type of scenario. He seems to have a lot of experience in dealing with multiple targets at once while also minimizing property damage. 

Well. At least before he set the place on fire. 

Shouta pauses the video just as the first spark of flame leaches into the air beside Rabbit’s figure and starts to spread over the dry wood of the warehouse. “That could be a fire quirk. I don’t see use of any implement.”

The detective shakes his head. “Previous encounters have shown that Rabbit does have a flamethrower. Homemade, by the looks of it, so we couldn’t search the records to find out who’s bought one in the past couple of years.”

“His file says he has basic enhancements,” Shouta continues. “If we narrowed down everyone in Japan based on his build and features, we’d still get nowhere. Ten percent of this country has a basic enhancement quirk, if we’re to be broad. There’s no way we could limit that range any further.”

“Despite the chances, we still tried to do so. By the end, we still had around nine thousand potential suspects. We don’t have enough information to narrow it down more. It’s a dead-end, as of the moment.”

Shouta rubs a hand down his face. He brings up another video file, this time of the most well-known part of the incident; the one with Rabbit taking a spectacular dive off a spiraling helicopter. “The only thing we don’t know is how he managed to survive this.” 

Tsukauchi speaks up again. “We spoke to the young girl yesterday. She was present at the time he allegedly smashed into her hotel room window.” His voice takes on an amused tone. “The only thing she could give us was a clue to his voice. She said he sounded a little weird when he apologized to her, and his words were a little choppy.”

There’s one explanation for that, one that Shouta has been pondering for a while.

“He might have a voice changer. I doubt he bought it with how smooth it sounds most of the time. Same with the flamethrower, he must’ve made it himself.” 

“That’s what I thought. All of the weapons he’s used, they’re all one of a kind.” Tsukauchi drags up a few grainy photos of Rabbit’s support items, exiting out of both videos. A bōstaff is more prominent among the pictures, along with a few dozen knives and capture wires. “My team can’t find any of these on the market, even illegally.” 

“So he’s incredibly smart,” Shouta concedes. “Or has a few amazing clients.”

The other man nods. “There’s also a chance he wears contacts. We have no proof, but we have to keep that theory on the table. What I’m hoping is that you can get some information from him.”

And that has Shouta turning to look at the detective, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. He’s too tired for this shit today. “You want me to initiate contact?”

“I don’t think you should capture him just yet,” Tsukauchi says after a moment of pause. “Just talk to him about what we’re offering. Maybe he’ll come to his senses.”

Shouta can’t help but snort. “I have a feeling he knows I’ve been keeping tabs on him. He won’t take too kindly to me talking to him. He’ll instantly be on the defensive.”

Tsukauchi grins. “Well, there’s only one way to find out how he’ll react, isn’t there?”

For what seems like the millionth time today, Shouta sighs. He longs for his sleeping bag. “I’ll try to see if I can talk to him in the next few days.” 

The man thanks the underground hero sincerely, but Shouta just rolls his eyes and makes for the door. 

“Just don’t expect anything big to come out of it. I know people who used to act like him before, and I know you know who I’m talking about. Chances are he’s going to laugh in my face and disappear on me again, perhaps permanently this time.”

If he messes this up, everything might crumble. The progress they’ve made will have to be restarted.

For the kid’s sake, Shouta hopes that won’t have to happen. 

Chapter Text

Now that he’s thinking about it, Izuku has never been to Tony’s Pizzeria this early. It’s around three o’clock in the afternoon, an hour or so before Kacchan gets out of school.

He doesn’t know why he’s keeping tabs on his friend all of a sudden, but the words of his bullies are still ringing in his ears, and he wants to make sure Kacchan is alright, even though he knows he most definitely is.

The explosive teen won’t let anything get him down, a trait that Izuku both envies and hates at the same time.

Anyway, Izuku usually only goes to Tony’s in the evening time, when it’s already dark outside and he’s about to go on patrol or head home. But since he's passing by, he figures it's time to break that cycle.

While he waits for his order of one Dr. Pepper and a side of breadsticks, Izuku pulls out his damaged notebook, along with a brand new one he bought at the department store after getting some supplies to fix his costume.

It comes with two pens and some sticky notes, making it perfect for his analyses. And what makes it even better is that it was only a few dollars! The manager gave him a discount since he has a surplus of them in storage.

Izuku thinks it might also be because he looks a little homeless, but that's beside the point.

He opens both notebooks and sets them beside each other, comparing the pages. It's safe to say that his original journal is destroyed beyond repair—the paper has dried pretty much completely, leaving streaks of black and red ink from where he'd written notes and theories. He can read a little bit of it, as the puddle was only so deep, but his sketches are all mostly ruined, along with his analyses of the more recent pro heroes and villains.

It's a good thing he doesn’t care much about those. He's already memorized everything in those sections, after all. Every time he studies a new person or group, the information gets lodged inside his brain. It's more like common knowledge to him now.

The only thing he’s worrying about is the notes he had on himself. Or, more specifically, on his quirks. He’s still adding on to those sections little by little, sometimes every day and sometimes every other day. It just depends on his findings. 

The thing about his quirks is that he doesn't know everything about them yet, so he still has to have a baseline down for them in his notebook. He can add on to them easily that way. That's why he's prioritizing copying those sections over from his old journal to his new one rather than his other, less important stuff.

He titles the notebook #15-2, in honor of its original, and doesn't waste any time in transferring the information. The only good thing about this is that he now has the chance to sort through his scribbled notes and make a more detailed, neater version. He uncaps his blue ballpoint pen and gets to work, humming under his breath.

Property of Midoriya Izuku. If found, please return to the nearest police station :)

That's all he's going to write on the first page. It's not like he's going to put down his phone number or address—what address, he thinks sourly, the abandoned building I've taken claim to?

Izuku has a criminal record, albeit not a terribly violent one, so if he loses it and it gets turned into a police station, it'll most likely come back around to Tsukauchi. The detective will hold it for him. At least, Izuku thinks he will.

He makes sure to write in code in case someone gets their hands on it and plans to use this information against him. Other than that, it takes a relatively small amount of time for him to get through the different sections. It's a little bit tedious, but he prefers handwritten notes since he has a very rational fear of someone being able to uncover all of his digital documents on his computer.

Ms. Hanako brings him his Dr. Pepper sometime in the middle of his furious jotting, and she doesn't look the least bit surprised at the cat bandaid on his forehead. She has the good sense not to mention it, and Izuku makes a mental note to give her a good tip (he’ll just have to run fast so she doesn’t try to give it back). Speaking of, how much money does he have left? He might just have to cash in his checks later on at the club.

But that's a matter for later. At the moment, Izuku is enjoying his soda and finishing his writing. The pen is smooth when he drags it on the paper, so he's having a little more fun than he probably should be.

Extract (M): activation requires both hands; exclusively skin-to-skin contact, gloves or fabric blocks usage; effects are permanent, cannot give back or away; steals original, does not take a copy; mutation of quirk from the paternal side, offspring quirk cannot steal parent quirk or vice versa

Izuku grimaces as he continues writing.

Cons: painful, leaves burn marks, immoral; Pros: could save a person dying due to quirk, more quirks = more versatile in combat; Use: villains, last resort only

It's admittedly a little bare for his liking, but it’s only a rough outline for now. He makes sure to leave a lot of room between sections. 

Force: f orced quirk activation; skin-to-skin, brief touches work; c an be used on two at once since one touch of a hand is required for each person; no cooldown, no limit to how many can be affected by it at a time; cannot control input or output; pushes victim to limit, often to the point of exhaustion or fainting

The last note makes Izuku shudder when he remembers heavy liquid filling up his nose and bubbles racing one another to break the surface far above him. Cold enters his veins, and he shakes himself to get rid of the feeling.

Cons: extremely painful depending on the quirk of the user, expels a lot of energy, may be counterproductive; Pros: a quick way to get someone out of the way permanently

Technically, Extract has the same benefit, but Izuku isn't going to write that down for fear of spiraling again. He always likes to get the worst ones out of the way.

Deflect: similar to transparent shield; could be better described as invisible glass; shatters at around 350 pounds of force or pressure; activated when arms are crossed in an x shape—must be held there for the entire duration; can successfully block bullets, knives, other variations of sharp weapons, blunt force trauma, gases, and more to add; unsuccessfully blocks attacks that are above 350 pounds of sheer force and repeated hits that bypass the regenerative aspects

Yeah, Izuku isn't about to forget about that one dreadful night a villain with a bodybuilder quirk kept hitting the shield over and over and over, adding up to about three hundred hits in ten seconds, and broke the shield to send Izuku flying through the concrete wall behind him.

He won't ever make that mistake again.

Cons: limited time to hold, current max time is seven and a quarter seconds; causes bloody nose and chronic migraines; Pros: solid defensive tool; blocks both long-range and close-range attacks; allows for mobility while shield is up

Izuku hasn’t trained with this quirk a lot, honestly. He’s used it before as Rabbit, but only a few times when it was necessary and also dark out, so no one could see it. It's more of an instinctive thing than anything. 

If he trains more with it, the boy is sure he’ll be able to increase the time limit. 

Boost: basic enhancements;  provides an incredible supply of energy; increased strength, stamina, speed, hearing, and sight (will need to conduct more tests); used daily, almost always active

In fact, that's the excuse Izuku always gives: I can't help it, it's just always on! You can't arrest me for public quirk usage, that's not fair!

Cons: higher metabolism means normal med doses will need to be tripled, along with food consumption; Pros: useful in nearly all situations, offensive and defensive means, great opportunities for escaping situations

He’s starting on the last section when Ms. Hanako comes back over and places two orders of breadsticks on the table. “Sorry for the wait, dearie. Ouki burnt the first batch, which should frankly be impossible with the setup we have back there. He managed to do it, though, so here’s an extra bag.”

Izuku dips his head at her in thanks, suddenly struck with that same uncomfortably warm feeling he gets in his chest when people are being kind to him. “I appreciate it! Today’s been rough.”

The older lady nods, putting her hands on her hips. “Got a new journal, huh?” 

“Yep! I kinda ruined the first one, but I don’t mind.”

“Hm.” She looks like she doesn’t believe him, but instead of calling him out on it, she pats him twice on the head and walks away. “If you need me, just holler.”

He munches on the breadsticks, sprinkling them with an ungodly amount of parmesan cheese and dipping them in marinara as he continues his work. He's glad for the food's timing, as he needs a slight distraction when it comes to this upcoming quirk.

Pull: weak form of telekinesis that allows objects to be pulled towards the body as long as nothing is blocking the way; to activate, hold out one palm, have the object in sight, and imagine an invisible string attaching to it; can control how much force and speed to pull at, however, requires more concentration

It's also not always reliable.

Cons: can only pull a max of 300 pounds currently; Pros: beneficial in both long-range and close-range attacks, good for retrieving weapons or providing distractions

Now that he’s finished with those sections, he can throw away his old notebook since he has no use for the old information. He can start anew with different theories and such in this one. 

He makes sure to throw a few extra bills on the table before leaving, calling out a goodbye to Ms. Hanako and the only other person working. He’s not full by any means, but at least the breadsticks will make sure he’s not starving. 

Izuku has a few choices. He can go home and get his dirty clothes to go to the nearest laundromat, or he can go home and get his Rabbit costume to get an early start on his patrol. He’s a little calmer than before, thanks to the food and the easy note-taking, so either of those options will suffice. 

Well, he might as well do the cleaning today.

The air is cool outside. It may be the afternoon, close to evening, but it’s not nearly as hot as it could be. The streets are bustling with people, some of them in suits and some of them in casual clothing. Izuku spots a few heroes in the crowds, too. They look like they’re off duty. 

He’ll go by the house, drop off his stuff from the stores, and get his laundry to go out again and clean it.

People give him strange looks as he weaves through the crowds, but it doesn’t really make him upset. Again, he’s used to it. 

It is kind of annoying, but what can you do about it? 

Izuku pulls out his notebook and writes little stuff down along the way. He passes by a few undercover cops and heroes, which serves as perfect practice for him to try and get out a quick analysis on people before they disappear. 

It’s more of a hobby now more than anything. Come to think of it, his note-taking is kind of stalker-ish. 

He decides to go down the tunnel he takes sometimes on the way to his building. It offers him more privacy than the usual streets do, and it also helps Izuku get more ideas for weapons and support gear. 

The bridge is quiet around this time—no cars or people passing by. It’s nice. It causes a certain kind of comfort to settle of his freckled skin.

And this is where Izuku makes mistake number one: he lets his guard down. 

He’s so focused on sketching a prototype of a bōstaff that doubles as a katana that he doesn’t hear what’s going on behind him until it’s too late. Usually he's more alert than this, but it's like the universe wants to stack every odd against him.

There’s a shift in the air, and a squelching noise is heard a few yards back. Izuku whips around, only to freeze in his tracks at the sight before him. 

A large, slimy creature is crawling out of the sewer hole, and as Izuku watches, it creates more of its sludge out of thin air. That must be a quirk, Izuku thinks quickly. Which means this is a villain. 

His thinking is proven correct once a face appears in the middle of the sludge, along with sharp, jagged teeth that send shivers down Izuku’s spine. Yellow eyes meet Izuku's green ones, and the boy suppresses a groan of pure frustration.

“You’ll make a perfect skinsuit for me to hide in, kid,” the creature grounds out, the words watery and dark. 

And the next moment happens too fast for Izuku to process. He just barely manages to dodge out of the way when the sludge makes a swipe at him, crossing the yards between them in less than a second. He doesn’t get a chance to breathe, though, as brown and green tendrils shoot from the side of the creature's body and wrap around Izuku quicker than lightning. He’s being pulled in before he can do anything about it, quickly being enveloped whole by the disgusting slime. As a last-minute decision, he throws his notebook and bag full of supplies somewhere out of view so his hard work won't get ruined once more and prepares himself.

What in the ass is happening right now? Oh, fuck, it's—

Izuku feels like he’s floating. His body is being held up by the smelly sludge, and it slides down his throat like cold lava once the tendrils pry his jaws open. He gags, his lungs trying to draw in air, but it’s no use. It clogs his ears and nose, cutting off his senses. 

He's drowning, but it’s a weird sensation, as he feels closer to flying right now. 

Izuku can barely hear what the villain is gloating about now. Something about how he has to leave soon, how he didn't expect him to be in town, whoever he is.

He’s choking, and it’s slow and weightless, but his lungs burn so badly that he feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside out. And for a moment, a very brief moment, he wants to close his eyes and sleep. He suddenly remembers what that bully said to him before fleeing out of the alley, and everything hurts ten times worse than before. 

Surely there’s a reason the boy said what he did. A reason for why he brought something up from their elementary school days. But Izuku can’t really think of one with the way his brain is reacting in this situation. Perhaps this isn't the best time to be thinking of Tsubasa and the others.

Izuku is trying his best to move around to dislodge the villain, but the sludge is sticking to his skin and attempting to peel it right off his bones, and he’s completely surrounded. It all happened so fast that Izuku is just annoyed now! Can his luck get any worse, for real?

Losing his patience, Izuku calls upon Boost and uses up some of the energy from his store to send his fist cracking forward through the slime. The sheer speed and force of the movement cause it to split apart with one easy line, freeing Izuku. The gunk splatters against the ground and walls of the nearby tunnel, but some of it lands on his feet and sticks him to the floor. He performs another superpowered kick to dislodge himself, but soon more tendrils shoot out from the base of the body to capture him again.

"Woah, woah, now! Stop being difficult, you brat!" The face in the ball before him warns. "I just wanna use you for a little while! That's all!"

His main body is somewhere inside all of that, Izuku thinks, face shadowed as sludge races up his legs to regain control. The stench clouds his senses. He's certain there must be some chemical reagents in the fluids since they are making him feel so queasy. I just have to send another blow directly through the middle without him dodging, and it'll split him in half. Then I—

His thinking cost him too much time. In a split second, a tendril erupts from the creature's abdomen and wraps around Izuku's throat, dragging him in once more and tightening around him like a noose. This time, Izuku is suffocating for real. His vision blurs and no sound comes out of his mouth when he tries to speak.

This stuff is not warm and comforting and safe like one might think slime to be—it’s cold and scary, and it fucking burns. He's even more certain there are some kinds of acidic substances making the man up.

He feels like the words the bullies spewed at him, funnily enough.

He musters up the last bit of his strength as black dots begin to corner his vision, because dammit this villain wants to end things quickly, doesn't he? And Izuku does not want to fucking die at the hands of this sewer rat, of all things! He uses Boost one last time to reach for the knife in his boot, hoping he can send the sharp side sailing through the sludge like it's butter for it to slice the physical body of the man and get the quirk to deactivate. He calls on all of his quirks to do something, anything against the goo suffocating him. He ignores the man's jeering words, and right now it feels like his lungs are about to shred themselves. 

Izuku feels the first patch of skin begin to rip from his flesh to be replaced by thick sludge, and he swallows down a scream in favor of yanking his knife out of his shoe and taking blind aim. He can't see the main body, but he can vaguely sense it using Extract, so he can do it. The moment Boost invades his body and sends the knife flying forward, headed towards its mark, the cold suddenly vanishes, and Izuku is dropped unceremoniously to the ground. 

The sky swims, and he swears he sees stars behind his eyelids as he lies on the grass, as still as death. 

He doesn’t bother getting up; his body is already trying to restore its reserves of energy, so he can’t delay that. He should probably take a nap. Or would it be weird, seeing as he’s literally in the middle of a pathway?

To be fair, he's in front of a tunnel nobody really uses. He’s slept in worse places before. He may as well—

A hand starts lightly slapping his cheek sometime after he comes to this conclusion, rapidly and in quick succession. A hushed voice reaches his ears, and it sounds a little rough around the edges—or maybe Izuku is losing it. 

“Hey, wake up! Hey!”

Izuku blinks against the sun in his eyes, staring at the shadowed figure above him. He frowns. Who the hell has awakened me from—?

“Oh, good! Thought I’d lost you there!”

Izuku’s vision clears, and for a moment he wonders if he did die, for why else would there be a steaming giant that looks suspiciously like the number one pro hero hovering above him, crouching awkwardly? Perhaps he is imagining things; there is no way that All Might is standing three feet above him. All Might patrols this part of town four times a day: early in the morning, again at noon, then at around three in the afternoon, and finally at seven at night. It is not any of those times, so why would All Might be here? Granted, certain villain fights may have led him astray, a little outside of his normal routes, but what are the odds he was searching for the very villain Izuku was fighting?

The more Izuku stares, the more Extract responds. He feels something nasty bubbling up in his stomach, and he has just enough time to duck his head and twist his neck to throw up somewhere that is not on All Might's face. Bile drips from Izuku's lips as he heaves, and he shudders anxiously, chills wracking his frame. 

His first thought afterward is oh, so it is All Might, and his second is oh, fuck, it’s All Might.

Izuku has been in All Might's presence before, but never has he talked to him or gotten closer than ten feet from him. Mostly because Izuku is well aware of who he is to his father. He also knows everything that the hero in front of him stands for—and that is everything Izuku is not. To say they're mortal opposites would be an understatement; simply put, Izuku can't be here right now.

He should leave. If Father finds out he got within even a mile of All Might, he’ll—

There's a hand on Izuku's back, which makes sense, as the boy is still hunched over, contorted in a weird position on the harsh concrete. He stares at the vomit in front of his face, now extremely embarrassed.  

“Oh, looks like you’re moving around all right!” All Might says, and Izuku realizes with a start that he's spending too much time thinking. "You've thrown up the slime, so that's a good thing!"

Beneath his terror and trepidation lies excitement. Two idols. He’s met two of his idols in just the past couple of weeks alone. Izuku is about to have a stroke. 

Despite this realization, the boy shrugs the very large hand off and scrambles away, eyes wide as saucers. “I'm sorry, I need to—!" Izuku's mind goes blank, because what exactly is he looking at? There, lodged into a very wide shoulder, is a sleek black and red knife that has Izuku's initials engraved on the side. This means one thing: when Izuku threw his knife in an attempt to slice the main body of the villain, he hit All Might instead, who likely jumped in the way. 

Somewhere, he thinks Father is laughing maniacally. 

"Um," Izuku starts, throat dry. "I think that's my knife."

The hero jerks at the reminder. "Oh, yes! I forgot about that." All Might glances at the weapon and pushes a little on the handle, testing its give, before smiling widely at Izuku. More steam radiates off his body at the motion. "It's quite deep! Forgive me, young man, but I may have to keep it so I can get it removed in a more sterile environment. Though I don't think you'll end up getting it back, unfortunately; it seems a little big for state standards."

Izuku grabs his discarded journal and holds it to his chest, not worried about that in the slightest. At least the knife isn't one of his Rabbit ones. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he says numbly. "I just stabbed you." 

"Not to worry!" All Might assures, standing to his full height and glory. His shadow casts over Izuku. "I don't even feel it! Besides, I should have seen it coming, honestly! You throw very fast and hard for your size—you should be proud!"

The boy averts his gaze, his cheeks reddening from the unexpected praise. He expected a lecture about not paying attention to his surroundings or being able to find a way out quickly, but he gets neither of those things. Why did he ever think All Might would be like that? 

“Now, are you feeling alright? Any dizziness or lingering nausea?” The hero coughs a little into his hand.

"No, I'm fine, sir." Izuku jerks his head up when the man begins to walk swiftly away after tightening the lid of a bottle stuffed in his cargo pants. He must be keeping the villain in there. This proves Izuku's theory that it is like slime; one just has to contain it in an object that will prevent it from expanding. If only Izuku had one of his bombs on him when he got attacked—things would've been easy!

“Good! If you can, I advise you to be checked at an urgent care facility just in case of concussion, but for now, I must get going, my boy!” The hero crouches down as if preparing for a leap, the smoke coming off of him in waves now. Extract is rippling inside Izuku, warning him of something, but he doesn't pay any attention to it. 

Izuku, who was momentarily stunned by my boy, jerks forward. "No, wait, please!"

His hand shoots up without really thinking about the consequences of doing so, palm facing outwards, and this is mistake number two. 

Pull activates on its own accord, tingling at his fingertips, and Izuku is yanked forward a few feet, as the sheer force of All Might's jump was much greater than the maximum he can counter. To Pull's credit, the man glitches mid-air, freezing in place for a fraction of a section, before losing the momentum he needed. And then the behemoth of a hero is falling back down to the Earth several yards away from Izuku, landing sloppily in front of the tunnel's entrance. He darts inside the shadows the moment he finds his footing, and Izuku is prepared to turn around and run (did he actually just use his quirk on fucking All Might, right after stabbing him?) when a cloud of smoke explodes within the tunnel and fans out to greet him. It feels slightly moist, kind of like rainclouds, and Izuku shivers, pausing in his plans to escape. The mist clears then, revealing a tall, lanky man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. 

And that’s not All Might. 

Well, it is. It’s just the man in his deflated form. Kind of like a balloon, if you think about it. That’s how Father explained it to him, anyhow. Izuku always called him Small Might, as it was easier to remember.  

All Might never really had a time limit for how long he could stay in his muscle form until he fought Izuku's father, and this reminder lodges a lump in Izuku's throat. It seems the hero's time limit is getting shorter with each passing day. Izuku doesn’t think the hero would let everyone know this secret of his willingly, so this must’ve been an unhappy accident.

Oh, that explains all the smoke. That's my fault. 

“You’re... not freaking out?” Small Might’s astonished voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Are you sure you don't have a concussion? Why are you not surprised?”

That’s right. Izuku shouldn’t know about this; no one should. He needs to at least act like he’s shocked. Should he scream? No, that’ll look fake. 

Honestly, fuck it. Izuku can just lie through his teeth like all the other times. He’s incredibly done with this entire day, so this may as well just happen. He walks closer, checking his surroundings just in case there are any cameras or people walking around.

"Honestly, I already sort of guessed this, sir.” Izuku rubs the back of his head. “I’m a fan, so I studied your moves, the time of your appearances, and the average duration of your fights back to back. At that point, I made the connection that you must have some kind of time limit." 

Small Might’s mouth drops open, blood spewing from between his teeth, and Izuku hurries to correct himself. 

“Not in a creepy way! I didn’t know about your other form, exactly! It just seemed plausible!” He wrings his hands together, hoping he looks nervous enough to be believable. 

Once the hero stops coughing up a scarlet waterfall, he gives Izuku a grim look. “Young man, you must know that this is a very important, very dangerous secret. Have you told anyone else about this?”

Izuku doesn’t know why he feels a little insulted at the accusation; he has no right to be. “Of course not. Even I know that it would ruin the whole of hero society if word got out. Plus, you'd be in even more danger, as you wouldn't be able to walk around without being recognized anymore."

After a minute of contemplation, he gets a small, slightly confused thank you from the number one hero, and after another few moments of awkward silence—well, probably awkward to Small Might, not so much to Izuku—the man speaks up. “When I was attempting my jump, what did you do to me?"

The question, though edged, has no anger in it. Izuku is careful anyway.

He stares directly into Small Might's shadowed blue eyes and forces his body to quit trembling. "I did nothing, sir."

"Really?" Small Might searches his gaze in disbelief, but he must not find anything, as he shakes his head and retreats further into the shadows when the smoke clears completely. "I admit, I'm off my game today. First the knife, and now this.”

Izuku swallows dryly and forces what little courage he has to aid him. “Well, now that you're here, I have a question I've been wanting to ask you if that's okay."

"A question?"

"It’s not for me. It’s for a friend of mine.”

“Go on.”

He takes a deep breath. Just go for it. What’s the worst that can happen? On second thought, don’t answer that. 

“He, uh, well... He wanted to ask if—if someone with a bad quirk can become a hero."

There’s a pause. The universe's eyes are on the pair of them.

“A bad quirk?” Small Might repeats. "As in, one that may not be very useful in heroics?"

Izuku shuffles, gaze on his feet. He kicks some of the gravel below him. “No, sir. Like... a quirk that’s thought to be more useful for villains than heroes.”

“Ah, so a 'villain' quirk?” Small Might clears his throat, and Izuku is suddenly aware of how different his voice is in this form, how much lower. His hands rub the cover of his notebook. “Before I can answer that, I must ask: Why does your friend want to be a hero?"

Just tell him the truth, the wind whispers. Tell him it all.

“To help people, I think?" Izuku says softly. "To be someone that the people can look up to. So, when he's around, everyone knows they’re not in danger anymore." His eyes narrow some. "And... maybe to prove that he's not all bad like everyone says."

Small Might studies him silently, his eyes glazing over briefly, thinking about something Izuku is not privy to. “I believe anyone can be a hero if they try hard enough. A quirk does not make you who you are.”

Izuku’s stomach does this weird, swooping thing that makes his heart jump out of his chest, because that’s way better than he—

“Though, it's worth mentioning that it is very hard to deal with the discrimination that comes with having 'villain' quirks. Sometimes it may be better to look into another profession entirely because of it.” He tips his head in thought. “Police work or even a doctor would do. Those are very important jobs, and you'd still be connected to heroics. There are hundreds of other ways to be a hero, young man.”

What you're telling me is to go for something easier? But how can I do that with who I am?

“To answer your question, yes, I do think it’s possible. However, I don't think it should be your friend's goal, as oftentimes these aspiring heroes face terrible struggles from those around them—even from other pros, unfortunately. With that in mind, it may be better if they went for something else, for everyone involved.”

It’s the way the man says they that has Izuku’s mouth running dry. “Oh,” he says quietly. “that, uh, makes sense. Thanks.”

Why is Izuku surprised?

He doesn’t know how long he stands there for, eyes focused on nothing, really, but when he comes to, All Might is gone, just like that, leaving Izuku alone at the mouth of a dark tunnel. 

Izuku doesn’t know what to think. He didn’t expect any sort of real answer when he first asked the number one hero the question. But he also never thought he’d get this sort of reaction. 

He’s right, though, isn’t he? You’ve known it yourself, all this time. You just never wanted to admit it. There's a reason suicide rates for those with villain quirks are higher than any other.  

Something heavy settles in his stomach, making the boy regret eating those breadsticks. He wants to throw up again. 

Hearing those words from his favorite hero? It’s just strengthened the walls around his mind and heart. He shouldn’t care so much. Why is he so upset? And why is he so sad? So angry?

Izuku asked. All Might answered. So who’s really at fault?

Great. He started out having a shitty day and had breadsticks to try and make it better, only to have those efforts ruined just a few minutes later. That’s just his luck, right?

The walk home is short. It takes him only a few minutes to get there from where All Might left him. He retrieves the bag of supplies he left by the bridge and trudges up the various flights of stairs—it’s broad daylight; he can’t climb up it this time.

When he opens his notebook, he is surprised to find All Might’s signature scrawled across two whole pages in black ink. It's something that Izuku never thought he would ever get the chance to have, and if it were any other time, he'd be delighted, but now he only feels subdued.

He feels too upset to do laundry now, so he puts on his Rabbit costume and turns right back out the door.

Going on patrol makes everything better. He can forget everything for a few hours, at least. 

That last part was a lie. 

Izuku’s fantastic luck strikes again only twenty minutes into his patrol. 

By this point, he’s already stopped two muggings and helped an older man cross the street, so that’s cool. Now, however, he’s gliding across rooftops and relishing in the feeling of cool air hitting his face, unaware of what’s to come  

There’s commotion a little ways away. He extends his senses and finds various quirks grouped together near an open alleyway, making him frown. A villain fight, huh?

It takes him less than a minute to have a bird’s eye view of the scene. The first thing he notices is, well, the star of the show: the villain. 

The villain that All Might should have brought to the fucking police station. The one that Izuku nearly suffocated in not even an hour before. 

That green and brown sludge is unmistakable. It’s definitely the same guy. 

Oh, shit, Izuku thinks with horror making an home out of his skin. Did he drop it when I yanked him out of the air? Did he not see it? How didn’t I see it!

The more Izuku thinks about it, the faster he comes to the conclusion. The jar probably dropped and rolled right back into the storm drain that the villain first came out of—which would’ve broken the bottle if it hadn’t been already, freeing the monster.

Arrogant and stupid. That’s what Izuku is. He should’ve seen it. He should’ve known that the villain wouldn’t give up so easily! He’s been trained for this kind of stuff, and yet he still somehow missed it!

If he had only checked for the villain’s quirk signature and not let himself be distracted by All Might, it wouldn’t have escaped.

The second thing Izuku notices is that quite a few heroes are already on the scene. Except they’re not exactly doing much of anything. The heroes are standing there. Does the villain have a hostage or something? Why are the heroes trying to keep back the press and civilians instead of trying to take down the fool and minimize property damage? He is, as a matter of fact, standing between two apartment buildings where families reside. This is a high risk situation!

Aren’t they going to help? 

The idea of a hostage becomes a little more realistic once he catches sight of a figure near the front of the goo. Izuku hops onto the corner of the roof to get a better look. 

And that’s when he sees it: a tuft of spiky blond hair peeking out from the sludge, along with a familiar school-issued uniform. 

Kacchan?

School’s been out for half an hour. They’re a few blocks away from the Bakugou household, which is around thirty minutes from Aldera Middle School. 

The time stamps match up. It could very well be him. And the heroes still aren’t doing anything. 

Izuku is moving before he can stop himself, his muscles burning from the sudden use of his enhancements. Suspended in midair for a fraction of a second after his jump, Izuku hikes up his knee and digs a knife out of his boot—this one with his Rabbit initials on the side.  

His precision is deadly, and light reflects off polished metal as the blade soars through the air and hits the villain’s exposed eye. 

The sludge recedes briefly, just enough for Izuku to see more of Kacchan’s body and skin. 

He’s suffocating!

When he flies close enough, the vigilante brings his leg down on an outer piece of the sludge, tearing a large chunk off of it and sending it far away from the villain’s grasp. 

He hits the ground running, hand already reaching for his friend’s exposed forearm. Wide, panicked crimson eyes meet his, and Izuku yanks. Kacchan is almost fully out of the sludge now; his leg and torso are the only things still stuck.

Izuku rears back with a grunt and aims another kick at the floating face, shoving the knife further into its eye. Juice sprays out, splattering both Izuku and Kacchan.

The screech he gets in reply grates on his ears, but he feels a tiny bit of satisfaction at the noise. 

He uses Pull on his friend again in tandem with his yanking, knowing that his back will obscure what his hands are doing from the cameras. Kacchan is jerked forward slightly, and he frantically lets off a few large explosions to try and break the rest of the way free. 

What can I do, what can I do—?

Izuku fumbles for the small grenade in his belt, nearly dropping it as he pulls the pin and chucks it at the far side of the villain, as far away from Kacchan as possible. 

This grenade isn’t like his pink bomb, which is made for detaining smaller criminals and heroes who are chasing him. No, this is the grenade Izuku uses for the Big Boys. 

This is his last one, too. It cost him a hell of a lot to make. 

The sludge absorbs it immediately, just as Izuku hoped, and the boy can see the moment the villain realizes his mistake, as he lets out an ear-splitting screech. 

It’s too late, though, as the sludge explodes from the inside, effectively destroying the base and causing some of the slime to dissipate. Thank fuck for physics!

Kacchan slips free, stumbling to the ground and coughing up black liquid. Izuku tries to drag him away, only for a furious roar to make him look up. 

The sludge has expanded to twice its original size in just under a second, and it’s now looming over the two boys, bearing down on them monstrously. 

Oh, fuck you! You’re gonna make me use one of my other quirks, you sack of—

His desperation and fear wins over all his other emotions; Izuku crouches over Kacchan and throws his arms up in an x, eyes squeezed shut.

Deflect comes to him naturally, and Izuku waits for the blow, waits for the sludge to envelope them both. He’s aware of the heroes and crowd screaming something behind him. They must’ve been screaming the entire time, he just never realized it. 

But the blow never comes. 

The ground shakes. Izuku doesn’t risk letting go of Deflect even as a large shadow washes over them—not even when, a moment later, a familiar, booming voice shouts out, “Wyoming Smash!”

All Might. 

Izuku is left with a striking feeling of déjà vu when the sludge villain is reduced to a million pieces, and it’s only by instinct that he grabs Kacchan before they both go flying. The shockwave is large, and chunks of sludge smack Izuku in the face like the ultimate bitch slap. The two of them land with a hard thud on the concrete, rolling forward a few feet. 

Izuku covers Kacchan with his body again until the wind dies down, and he can’t help but sigh in relief at the realization that Kacchan is safe, he’s not dead, thank God! He flops onto his back once the commotion dies down, still a little dazed.

Fuck, All Might. I knew I needed you, but holy shit. I love you, sir. All homo. 

His euphoria is interrupted by Kacchan socking him in the shoulder. “Why the hell did you do that?” The blond barks, eyes flaming. “We would’ve both been dead, dumbass!”

Izuku sits up and chuckles, making sure his mask and hood are still in place. The last thing I need is an impromptu face reveal. 

“Glad you’re still alive,” he says quietly, making sure no one else can hear them. 

“Shitty nerd, I’ll kill you!” Kacchan reaches for him again, but Izuku dodges out of the way, already on his feet. 

The explosive teen would’ve chased after him had a hero not run forward and grabbed the boy’s arm, directing him to the nearest medic. Everyone starts to crowd around him, some asking if he’s alright and others just telling him how brave he was, staying calm under the circumstances he was in. 

Good. At least they’re doing something now. After the fact. 

Izuku glances around and notices that All Might has already given the villain to the police, and he’s answering questions from the press with an awkward hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. There is a slight sheen of steam coming off of his back, but it’s much less than it was before.

Now it’s time for me to leave. 

He picks up his discarded knife from the ground and wipes the remaining sludge on his costume, figuring that he might as well seeing as he’s going to wash it later. 

He’s about to leave when a hero calls to him from beside a police officer, stepping forward pointedly. He’s obviously hesitant to capture the boy after what he just did but also isn’t willing to let him go. 

Izuku holds his knife threateningly and turns on him, his voice icy as that righteous anger comes back to him in full force. “Are you fucking blind or something?”

Everything comes to a standstill. The chatter from the heroes and press stops at once when everyone snaps around to stare at the vigilante. 

“He was suffocating!” Izuku gestures in the air with his blade, pointing at the man now restrained in the police car. “That bastard over there was going to kill him, and you all just sat there and did jack shit!”

He’s breathing heavily now, and he vaguely notices all of the cameras being turned on him and the reporters holding out their microphones. All Might has disappeared from view, though Izuku can still feel his quirk nearby. 

A woman to the far right of him shifts on her feet, jutting her chin out defiantly. “None of our quirks were suited for the job. We would’ve made the situation much worse—”

“Worse? What situation is worse than letting someone die because your quirks weren’t suited for saving him?” Izuku walks forward, flipping the knife repeatedly in the air out of nervousness. “Is that what heroes do? Let people die?”

Another one with hoses for hands shakes his head. “Of course not! We had a plan.”

Izuku ignores him, not wanting to waste his breath on a walking fire hydrant. “Unless your plan was waiting around for someone stronger to show up, I doubt that. How useless are you guys, really? I’m not suited for dealing with a villain like that either, but that didn’t stop me! You guys were okay with doing nothing as he tried to use a civilian as a skin suit, huh?” 

No one interrupts him this time. Most of the heroes and policemen look ashamed, uncomfortably moving around and looking at the ground. It’s kind of funny, Izuku thinks, how they all look like they’ve just gotten scolded by their parents. 

He’s only a little surprised that no one is trying to capture him. He just helped save a boy—not just anyone, Kacchan—from a villain, and the cameras most likely captured it all. If they were to arrest him now, there’d probably be some sort of protest. 

Izuku crosses his arms, the knife held tightly in his grip. “Did hero school teach you guys nothing? Or the police academy? You’re supposed to help people. Not wait around for someone like All Might to save the day, though I guess that’s the easier thing to do, right?” He has to wrap this up. He can see Kacchan glaring at him from the corner of his eye. “I can’t believe how shitty the system is these days. It doesn’t matter what kind of quirk you have, or lack thereof. You could be quirkless or a mutant for fuck’s sake—it doesn’t matter! What matters is your brain and how you use it. You guys obviously never realized that.”

Izuku doesn’t know why he’s ranting like this. Maybe it’s because All Might’s words are still fresh in his mind, along with his bullies’. He’s getting too passionate about this. It’s time to go, for real this time!

He lets the silence after hang in the air for a few moments, as if to let what he said sink in, before blowing out an annoyed breath. “Pussies,” he spits, ignoring the surprised murmur from the crowd.  

Shakily, Izuku lets some extra energy flow to his legs and jumps onto the nearby café, running along the rooftops until he’s out of sight, not answer the calls of his vigilante name behind him. 

Fuck. He said too much. Stupid, stupid!

His phone is buzzing nonstop as he runs, but Izuku is too angry to answer the texts. 

It’s probably Kacchan. He heard the blond’s voice among the others calling after him. He probably wants to yell at him again. Or maybe it’s Tsukauchi, as Izuku might’ve just been on the news again.

This time was purely accidental, though. Well, sort of. 

Doesn’t matter. He can’t do anything about it now. All he knows is that it’s time to hurt some bad guys.

Whenever Izuku is upset, he sleeps on the floor.

It’s completely ridiculous and totally irrational to an outside person, but it’s a habit he picked up after his mother left him. The first night with his supposed father, Izuku laid on that hard mattress and stared up at the clean ceiling with tired eyes.

And it was at that moment that everything changed. Nothing felt certain after that.

Even these days, nothing ever feels right.

Izuku just needs something concrete to hang onto every now and then, so he curls up on the floor and sleeps.

He used to do it all the time under the care of his father, used to require the comfort of a hard floor beneath himself, something sure to cling onto in the midst of his spiraling thoughts and splintering words, as he’d surely never be given that comfort by anyone else.

It doesn’t make sense, but these things never really do. They just are.

And so Izuku paces the run-down kitchen on the top floor of his building, his head pounding. This building hasn’t had anyone live in it (legally, at least) in two decades, so the boy doesn’t know why he’s stressing so much. It’s not like anyone is going to waltz in here and demand he leaves.

Maybe because he’s just put himself under All Might’s radar, both as Midoriya Izuku and as Rabbit.

Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut? Everything would be so much easier.

But no, Izuku just had to start ranting about a flawed system of heroes and police. How having a certain quirk defines your worth and your duty.

He was only able to patrol until midnight before his thoughts took over. He could barely concentrate the entire night, earning him a few more bruises than he honestly should’ve earned, skillfully speaking.

Kacchan could have died. Died.

Every time Izuku thinks about it, he starts to shake a little more. His only friend, the person who has stayed by his side for far longer than his own mother and father had.

He could have died. Would have, if not for Izuku’s small distraction and All Might’s quick save.

Izuku should have been faster. Should have realized the sludge villain still posed a threat to civilians even when he thought the Symbol of Peace was holding it. If he’d been even a minute late, Kacchan would have suffocated.

And those heroes just stood by and did nothing. They watched. They kept back the reporters and tried to calm everyone down, which would’ve made Izuku a little less angry had Kacchan not been in immediate danger with no one willing to help.

It’d be foolish to blame those heroes personally, though. Rather, Izuku points the blame at the system that allowed this to happen.

And he said as much, in front of everyone and the cameras. He spewed out his distaste, aware that if he didn’t leave soon, the heroes would try to capture him.

He was stupid. He should’ve left when All Might took care of the situation. He should’ve disappeared as soon as he made sure Kacchan was okay.

But he didn’t, and there’s nothing he can do about it now. His alter ego is trending on four different social media platforms. He’s in the public eye.

Izuku can’t tell if that’s good or bad. The only reason he’s kept his identity a secret so far is because he’s avoided cameras. The more he talks and acts out in front of people, the more chance there is of someone connecting Rabbit to Midoriya Izuku.

The chance is slim, but it’s still there. And it’s enough to make Izuku panic even more.

So many things have happened today; he ran into some of his old bullies, met All Might, then the same man in his deflated form, and then helped save Kacchan from the same sludge villain that tried to wear his skin as a suit.

It makes Izuku’s head spin, and that’s how he finds himself lying on the cold ground next to his couch. He doesn’t have a bed right now since he sold his previous one for extra cash, and he’d rather not pick one out of the garbage just yet. The couch is where he usually sleeps, but sometimes it gets too soft for him. Like now. 

It’s one of those days where he needs to have something hard beneath him. Something concrete.

He probably won’t be able to fall asleep, though, but that’s the least of his worries.

There’s a slight, gnawing pain in his stomach all of a sudden. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s felt it ever since the sludge villain attacked him, just not this bad.

That’s right. I haven’t eaten since those breadsticks. And they barely filled me up.

He should probably make himself some of that instant ramen. It’d just be cold.

Well. He could put iced coffee into the ramen to give it more flavor. Maybe to distract him from the fact that it’s cold and not cooked.

Huh. Maybe when I’m more awake. 

He stares at the dusty ceiling and thinks about how this day could’ve been better. The only highlight was the food. 

“This sucks,” he says aloud, to no one in particular.

The silence he gets in return drapes over him like a blanket, and Izuku closes his eyes to continue pretending to sleep until the next morning, hoping tomorrow will prove to be a little better.

Chapter Text

Izuku feels like an oxymoron.

He steals. He stops people from stealing. 

He breaks into places. He stops muggings and robberies.

He hurts people. He stops people from hurting others. 

Granted, the criminals he hurts aren’t good people in the slightest, but Izuku knows it doesn’t make it okay. 

He can’t find it in himself to care, though, because he has this need to just do what’s right. He also needs food and money, which his clients provide him with when he gets his jobs done. 

Sometimes the only way to survive is to break the law and get on Detective Tsukauchi’s last nerve. Which is an added bonus, in Izuku’s humble opinion. 

Forgive him, but he will do anything—commit any nonviolent crime no matter the size—if it means he can survive for another day. Because if he lives, he can help others. 

That’s just how being homeless works. 

Sometimes, Izuku gets lucky. Sometimes, people are so grateful to him as Rabbit that they offer him money or food if they can spare it. 

It used to make him uncomfortable. He started being a vigilante because he wanted to help people. He never meant to get anything in return, except maybe a slightly clearer conscience to help him pretend to sleep at night. 

But then the heroes started taking interest in him, and the game changed a little. 

No, a lot.

He then couldn’t stay in the same spot for more than a couple days for fear of one of the pros catching him. He could no longer take his time patrolling the city; he’s almost been caught by police more than once. He has the scars from his trip-ups to prove it. Now he has to speed run through his routes and go over them multiple times to make up for his haste. 

At least Izuku can be a vigilante. If he can’t be a hero, he can at least be that. There are less restrictions that way anyway.

So now Izuku gets to feel like a hypocrite. Because he takes and he takes and he takes, and being a vigilante is the only way he knows how to give back.

The rage he feels towards villains and people in general sometimes threatens to consume him, so he slides his mask on and does what he does best.

He runs towards the danger and prepares for a fight.

Tonight is no different. He got a tip from one of his clients that there’s going to be a large human trafficking auction happening downtown. There’s supposedly going to be around thirty kids there, all ranging from ages eleven to nineteen. 

It sounds normal. Easy. Familiar. 

So of course, he should’ve known that life hates his guts. As if he couldn’t catch a break between having to jump out of a helicopter so he wouldn’t be blown up and then having to save Kacchan from a freaky sludge villain, now he’s stuck having to take down a trafficking ring with an undesirable amount of guards around it. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

If Izuku is anything, he’s quiet. He presses himself to the wall and blends in with the shadows, happy that the dark green of his suit allows him that advantage. He barely breathes, instead becoming one with his surroundings. 

People are talking right below him. Harsh, barked voices, overlapping each other as they communicate. 

They’re speaking in English, that much is obvious. Izuku thanks the skies above that his shitty father had at least taught him that. Between six different languages, English was the hardest to grasp. 

“Where the hell is he?”

“He said he’s running late, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Izuku inches alongside the edge of the wall to hear them better. 

There’s four of them directly below him in a tight circle, dressed in suits. Looks cheap, Izuku notes. So they must not be too important. Or they’re gun-for-hires. 

Which makes this a little bit harder. But also a bit more fun. 

So far, no sign of the hostages. There are apparently a lot, so they won’t be too hard to miss. They’re likely in a room off to the side, waiting for the rest of the participants to arrive. Likely guarded, too. 

He can see the guns slung over the men’s backs, so he knows they mean business. 

Now, Izuku isn’t sure if this is the dealing part of the trade. This could be, as bad as it sounds, the viewing part. Where the buyers come and look and then later decide on the price. 

But if this is just a pick-up, where these mercenaries are probably just here to make sure everything runs smoothly, then things just got a whole lot more difficult. Because this means his time frame will be cut short. 

He’ll have to be quick with this. There’s also a chance a third party might come in, as the buyers surely have their own bodyguards. 

Izuku glances back down and notices more people coming from a side hallway. The abandoned warehouse—why is it always in an abandoned building, Izuku thinks, be more creative, guys—is dark, lit only by a few well-placed lamps and candles. 

It’s just enough light for Izuku to make out their faces. 

“It starts in ten minutes. He should be here by now, seeing as he’s the one who’s operating it!”

Oh, spill it.

Izuku thinks about how funny it would be if he were to drop down right beside them like I know right? He’s such a drag—but he ultimately decides not to. He’ll make sure to do one for the memes later on. 

“Watch your mouth. If he hears you say that—”

The one who first spoke turns on his friend, gesturing with his gun. “He’ll what? Sell me? That’s all he’s good for.”

Okay, Izuku would love to hear more of the roast fest going on, but he has kids to locate. 

Dumb and Dumber #1 told him that it apparently starts in ten minutes. Meaning he has just short of that to secure the victims and start to get them out. 

Ten minutes. He’s done it in less time before, but not nearly with this many people to evacuate. 

Can’t wait to tell Kacchan about this shit. He’s gonna flip. 

Izuku balances on the beam he’s crouching on and shuffles forwardly quietly, making his way into the ventilators. It’s just big enough for him to squeeze through, and it’s not too hot. 

He’s not very good with enclosed spaces in areas he isn’t familiar with, but as long as he’s got a way out, he’ll be okay. Besides, he’s doing this to help the kids stuck in this shithole. He can deal.

His watch tells him it’s five minutes before ten, so he’s gotta hurry if he wants to finish this before eleven. He promised Kacchan he’d go with him to the mall tomorrow, so he has to leave enough time to finish up his other work before then as well.

Izuku stops by a hatch and peers down the slits into an empty hallway. There’s no noise, so he keeps going, ingraining the location in his mind. 

It’s been a few days since the sludge villain attacked him, and thus a few days since he saved his friend and ranted to the press about how dumb heroes are. Not his best moment, for sure, but definitely one of his ballsiest. 

His patrols have been relatively quiet, granting Izuku a little bit of a reprieve from the chaos and exposure he’s received lately. He can still feel those eyes on him, though. They get closer with each passing day. It’s only a matter of time before whoever is following him decides to pay him a visit. 

Izuku has a good idea on who it is. 

Static crackles below him, and he pauses once more, peeking through the nearest vent hatch in interest. 

“Everything okay over there?”

Ooh. They’re speaking in Japanese this time.

A tall, bulky man is pacing back and forth in the middle of the walkway, dressed in the same attire as the previous guys. He, however, has a thick bulletproof vest on, obviously being more of a fighter. 

He looks like he could crush Izuku’s skull in between his biceps. The boy shudders at the thought. 

It’s the radio sitting on Crusher’s hip that made the noise. Someone is checking in on his position. 

“All clear. How much longer?”

Crusher has a Russian accent, is speaking Japanese, and carries himself like he’s German. All while being involved in a trafficking ring with a bunch of American English-speakers.

The flavor here is immaculate. 

Izuku carefully lifts up the vent, grateful that he’s small enough to fit through, and waits for an opening. He’ll have to be extra careful, as he has no clue what this guy’s quirk is. 

He isn’t very keen on finding out, either. That can come later, once the people responsible for this have been interrogated by the police and their names have been filed. 

Makes for good analysis practice. 

“Boss is late. Standby.”

Crusher turns his back towards Izuku, walking another few feet before stopping. “Clear.”

That looks like an opening, don’t you think? The voices in Izuku’s head, for once, don’t answer, and the boy drops down silently, slinking forward until he’s right behind the man.  

“Boo.”

It’s almost comical how quickly Crusher whips around with wide eyes, hand reaching for his gun on instinct. “You—”

Izuku doesn’t give him a chance to finish, his fist pulling back and smashing into his face with what’s probably excessive force. The punch is so strong that the man drops like a rock, knocked unconscious. 

Blood leaks like a steady faucet from his nose, and Izuku frowns. Excessive? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely. 

He bends down and takes the gun from the man’s grip, eyes already running over it to figure out what kind it is.

It’s heavy, but not as heavy as Izuku expected. He’s only a little surprised when he recognizes the tranq darts sitting inside. 

So he must be one of the keepers. He’s in charge of making sure the kids are behaving. Meaning they’ve gotta be close by. 

Izuku slings the gun over his shoulder and kicks Crusher off to the side, hoping no one will stumble across him and sound an alarm. 

He speed walks down the dark hallway, peeking around corners and opening all of the doors he passes. Five minutes left. 

He just about crashes into a woman running by, and it’s only by instinct that he drops to the ground and slides forward, knocking her feet out from under her. 

She shoots a tranq dart, and it barely misses him when it bounces off the floor and shatters. 

Izuku is behind the kneeling agent now, and he simply cocks his own gun and aims two darts at her, not willing to have a full-on fight with her. 

He’s already running to continue his search when her radio cackles. “Nova, what was that sound?”

Nova. That’s an interesting nickname. She must have a force quirk or something, or maybe a fire quirk. 

Which reminds him that he’s going into this whole thing blind. It’s not usually like this. Any other time, Izuku would have already known the participants and their powers, and he’d have developed a plan that best suited his mission. But now, Izuku thinks faintly that he might need some backup. 

“Nova?” The radio crackles again.

Time to go. 

The boy digs into his pockets for his phone, shooting off a quick text to a certain detective with the address of the warehouse. After a moment’s hesitation, he adds the number thirty after the words. Hopefully the man will get what he means. He only adds one emoji this time: a clown face. 

Izuku clenches his teeth and takes off, extending his senses as far as they will allow. Come on, search, search. Feel for their energies, Rabbit. 

Extract doesn’t just allow him to take quirks and their properties, it gives him an acute sense of the quirks themselves and of where they are. On some occasions, Izuku can pick out who the person is just on the energy or power their quirk, or lack thereof, exudes. 

But the splitting headache that nearly has him crumpling in pain usually stops him from using it to this extent. 

While he can feel the energies of the people closest to him on the daily, since that part of Extract seems to always be active, he can never really feel them when they’re a long ways away. 

Not unless he’s really searching. Like now. 

On the left. There’s a bunch of people in that storage room up ahead. 

Izuku rounds the corner, shooting the two guards closest to him with ease while dodging the fucking bullet that grazes his ear. The boy eyes the culprit, who’s standing protectively in front of the double doors housing the kids. He’s smaller than his fellow counterparts, but he seems to stand much taller. 

“Get outta here, brat, if you know what’s good for you.”

Cocky fucker. He’s also speaking English—the drawl tells Izuku he’s from the southern United States.

Izuku jumps onto the wall and bounces off of it, leaping at the guard like a feral cat. No, like a rabbit with rabies. 

He tries to draw in a breath before his attack, only to feel nothing coming into his throat. In fact, air is suddenly being pulled out of his lungs, scratching against his insides painfully. 

Oh. This man either has a breathtaking quirk—pun fully intended—or an air manipulation quirk. Either way, it’s gotta end fast, or Izuku’s not gonna be able to finish this quickly, if at all. 

The boy falters midair, twisting away from the bullet aimed at his head, and kicks the guard with so much force that they’re both sent crashing through the doors. 

Huh. That works. 

There’s screaming, and it’s only when he sees the large group of teens and young adults around him that he realizes how bad this must look. 

He scrambles to his feet and makes himself small, hands lifting placatingly.

“Hey, hey! I’m here to help, it’s okay! I’m going to—”

A hand grabs his leg, and Izuku casually kicks the guard beneath him sharply, hoping no one saw it in the faint light. 

There’s thundering footsteps down the hallway, and Izuku’s eye twitches in frustration. “You guys stay here for a little longer, I have to deal with those assholes out there, okay? Just a sec!”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before backing out of the darkness and throwing himself into the fray.

This is not good. His time is up. It’s probably been ten minutes by now, and they most likely know he’s here. The alarm will sound any second—ah, there it is. Right on time. 

The dusty walls are painted in red lighting as the alarms sound off, and Izuku feels his hope start to diminish. Come on, Tsukauchi. I’d prefer it if the backup came today. 

A hit to the face has him crashing into another guard, who immediately covers the boy’s face in what looks like plastic. 

And okay. That’s a pretty funny quirk—having plastic wrap come out of your wrist like some sort of discount Spider-Man. Funny, but also deadly. 

Izuku struggles against the tight hold on him, gasping when the man holding him from behind presses himself against the wall with a harsh thud. Slowly, he begins to suffocate.

“Give it up.” The English sounds rough in Izuku’s ear. “Just let us do this to you. It’ll be painless if you stop struggling—”

Wow. Izuku knows these people are pedophiles, but damn. 

With a renewed vigor, he kicks the chin of the guy advancing before him and throws his head back against the one smothering him. The crack of bone fills the air, only partially drowned out by the alarms and the approaching sirens, and Izuku quickly rips the plastic off of him. He turns on them, grin sharp behind his mask. 

He wishes they could see it. 

He picks up his discarded tranq gun and gets back to shooting. He drops half of them before he runs out of darts, and he backs up into a corner to get a bird’s eye view of the few guards left. 

A pink sludge bomb does the trick. It’s his last one, so Izuku will have to be careful now. 

After finding another gun and making sure the criminals who are now stuck in the goo are unconscious, he calls out to the scared teens, panting now. 

They come out slowly and in one large group, which would’ve been more heartwarming to see if they weren’t currently in the given situation. 

He holds out his hands again so as not to scare them and tells them the plan. They have to be quiet, and they have to listen to him. He mentally mapped out all of the hallways and rooms he passed on the way here, so going back to the exit will prove easy. 

He just has to get them there. 

Izuku leads them like a pack of wolves, darting ahead around ten yards at a time to deal with the incoming flock of fighters. Not too many guards stand in their way, though, not after seeing how bloodthirsty the group looks. 

And if the boy sees some of the other kids kicking and spitting on the unconscious guards as they pass, he doesn’t mention it. 

They have a right to be angry. He can give them this. 

It takes mere minutes to get to the fateful door leading to the outside, and Izuku ushers them out two at a time, directing them to the approaching sirens and police cars skidding to a halt out front.

Izuku is constantly keeping a close eye on his surroundings, so he’s ready for it when four more hitmen appear out of a side hallway, guns blazing. 

They don’t shoot him, obviously not willing to risk shooting their prized possessions, but they do aim a few shots at the ceiling. 

Which causes three of the kids near the back to start running away from the exit. 

Izuku, who is just finishing up taking down the guards, watches them go with a muted huff. “Oh, come on.”

He goes after them once he’s ordered the rest of the children to keep going towards the heroes. He’s certain they’ll be well cared for there. 

And Izuku doesn’t know what is it with stairs and people thinking that that’s where they should run during a raid, but the kids are heading up the floors, and the gremlins are fast. 

Izuku is tired. He can barely keep up. It’s only the sinking feeling in his gut that tells him something bad is going to happen that spurs him forward. 

They’re already on the top floor heading for the rooms on the far side of the building when he reaches them. 

“Hey, wait a second! We’ve got to get you three out!” They face him, terrified, and Izuku makes sure he sounds as soft as possible as he continues, putting a hand on one of the little boys’ head. “Trust me, it’s much safer back down there. You don’t want to go this way!”

A girl, looking the oldest of the three, takes charge. She can’t be any older than Izuku himself. “Are the—are the heroes here?”

Izuku nods, and he would’ve responded verbally had he not just heard the heavy footsteps coming from the side. The boy instantly shoves the group behind him, facing the very large figure in front of him. 

He looks just short of four hundred pounds, and he wears a crisp suit with a fully shaved head. The suit is much nicer than the ones some of the guards were wearing. He must be the boss. Or one of them.

“It’s you,” he says, as if equal parts amused and irritated. The Japanese is smooth, meaning he’s obviously been here in Japan for a while. “I knew you’d have something to do with this, Bunny.”

Bunny. Normally, Izuku would just be offended that his vigilante name was messed up, but the way the man said it just sent shivers down his spine. His heart beats fast.

“If anyone calls me that one more time, I’m gonna go back to juvie on another cannibalism charge,” he breathes out.

The Big Bad Guy chortles. “You’re funny, kid. You know, I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

Izuku feels the kids behind him trembling. He has to get them out safely before he finishes this up. “Sure, well, give me a second here, and I’ll gladly get acquainted with you, aight?”

Another low chuckle, and Izuku ignores the slight fear that coils up in his stomach. He points to the stairs, giving the older girl a meaningful look. 

“Just get down those stairs, and you’ll be fine.” He hands her his tranq gun, pushing her and the two boys back. “Use that if you need to. It’s not lethal! Go on now.”

She thankfully doesn’t argue, and she quickly leads the kids away, fumbling a bit with the gun. 

Izuku lets out a breath, his eyes lighting up. He faces the Big Bad Guy and is suddenly met with a bunch of knives hovering around the man like wings. 

That’s his quirk, really? Blades? 

The man winks at him. “I’m going to enjoy this, kiddo.”

Great. I have a feeling that I won’t. 

Shouta doesn’t really mind vigilantes, in all honesty. 

He sees why they do what they do, even when they push boundaries and break laws. As long as they’re working for the right side and have a pretty good head on their shoulders, Shouta doesn’t see the harm in letting them do their thing. 

Most of the vigilantes Shouta have met in the past use similar unorthodox methods to capture and restrain villains. Those vigilantes are brutal, efficient, and quick-witted. 

Rabbit is no different. Except for the fact that he’s most definitely on the younger side. And also that he’s a little more, well, explosive.

Both in personality and actuality. He actually reminds him of another vigilante he knew a few years back.

The man has to admit he's never been a fan of how the Hero Commission tries to keep everything tightly controlled. They send out heroes like Endeavor for the slightest reasons, at least when they realize they can’t get what they want when they want it. 

It’s probably worse for a hero who isn’t underground. Someone like All Might. 

While the number one hero can obviously get away with a lot more stuff than regular pros can, he’s also a lot more limited. Being in the public eye has its advantages, but the popularity also brings with it a ton of restraints. 

All Might can’t, for example, bash a group of newer heroes for not saving a young boy from a villain made of sludge. It would be considered rather distasteful, and kind of unprofessional. 

While for Shouta himself, being the underground hero he is, can say pretty much whatever he damn well pleases, as long as it’s not directly denouncing the Commission. It’s not like he’d give a rat’s ass about the backlash he’d receive anyway. 

But back to the point. Hero laws can drastically limit heroes, so of course vigilantes have no such constraints. 

It’s similar to how laws and systems in general only apply to those willing to abide by them. Those who aren’t willing are simply going to turn into criminals and villains. Thus making vigilantes, by definition, criminals. Which is why Shouta only complained a little bit when he was put on Rabbit’s case. 

He’s a hero, and it’s his job to take down criminals and protect the peace. But Shouta can also see where the detective is coming from. To be spotted this many times in only a week or so and be connected to so many fucking cases—

It’s only natural the Commission wants him out of the picture. Or maybe in the picture. They want him alive, or else they’d have sent Endeavor already despite Tsukauchi’s promises. They probably want him for themselves. 

The vigilante has a higher success rate than most of the top heroes today and has the skills to match even the dirtiest of villains. So the Commission getting their hands on him would be the equivalent to finding a piece of chocolate in a shop full of nothing but licorice, with the licorice being the agents that do the Commission’s dirty work. 

Why go for the shitty stuff when you can have something better? Something near perfect. Someone who is fresh and almost always successful in their work. Shouta—and any other sane person—would take the chocolate.

Okay, maybe not the best analogy, but it works. 

Rabbit would become the perfect weapon for them, much like the number three hero is—which is a dangerous topic in itself, but that’s a discussion for another time. 

The brat is definitely not sloppy with his stuff. Shouta assumed that the vigilante would mess up a little bit more, considering how new he is to all of this. Sure, his files claim that he’s been doing this for a few years now, only having gained popularity more recently, but Shouta still considers him pretty fresh. 

If you don’t count the past two incidents, Rabbit is like a ghost. The criminals he takes down always say that they didn’t even seen him coming. They couldn’t get a good look at his face, or even at his quirk. 

All they say is he’s apparently short, snarky, and fast. Incredibly fast. 

Which backs up the theory that he has an enhancement quirk. That would explain how he’s seemed to evade heroes well enough up to this point. Even Shouta himself has a little trouble keeping up with him. 

Strong, fast, and obviously intelligent, Shouta sort of respects Rabbit’s drive. At least until he opens his mouth. 

The expletives that come out of him sometimes are enough to make even Shouta wince. It’s even more obvious that he’s young. 

Shouta doesn’t know how to feel about that. He’s never really had any strong opinions on teenagers or kids in general. He teaches them, sure, but he’s also expelled so, so many of them in just the past couple years alone. 

And while it looks like he doesn’t care, he can’t bear to see his students not take their lives seriously by doing dumb, crazy stunts. It’s costly—a word Rabbit probably doesn’t even have in his mental dictionary. 

He doesn’t want the kid to end up dead in a ditch somewhere due to his own recklessness, a feeling that the detective shares with him. 

“I’m gonna kill him. I’m actually gonna kill him. The little shit is making me go insane.”

Shouta takes a long sip of his coffee before replying to the detective. “I don’t see what’s so bad about this. He called those pros out, as he should’ve.”

“You don’t see what’s so bad?” Tsukauchi throws him a glare, though there’s no real heat behind it. “That video is trending over four different social media platforms, Aizawa! Not just in Japan! Do you know how bad this makes everyone look? The board is pissed.”

“Why, because he’s right?”

The detective huffs. “You’re insufferable sometimes. And don’t act like you’re all innocent. This is kind of your fault, you know. You were supposed to go talk to him.”

It’s annoying to be called out.

That was a few hours earlier, when Shouta dropped by the station yet again after seeing the news. His friend was in the middle of an exasperated breakdown—faded coffee stains on his button-up shirt and slacks, papers and documents discarded all around him. 

Shouta knows he was debating whether or not to track the vigilante down himself and smack some sense into him. 

Hell, Shouta is still debating whether or not to go lecture the kid. While being proud of Rabbit for spewing the truth to those heroes, the man can also realize how bad of a decision that will prove to be later. He just pissed off the Hero Commission even more, along with all the less sensical pros. 

And he’s also probably won the favor of some villains. 

Rabbit has undeniably done himself a disservice. While he’s got the support of a lot of the general public now, especially after saving that blond boy, he’s also made a lot of enemies.

His phone suddenly rings, breaking him from his thoughts, and Shouta skids to a stop on the rooftop he’s running on. Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

“I was at the station not even three hours ago, Tsukauchi, what is it? You know I’m on patrol.”

The man answers with a hurried tone, and Shouta instantly goes rigid. “Rabbit just texted me an address. He’s busting a trafficking ring, are you available as backup?”

“Where? What’s the situation looking like?”

“I sent my closest officers. They have most of the kids, I think, but they’re still hearing shots in the building. I’ll forward you the text.”

He hangs up abruptly, and not a moment later the man hears a ding on his phone. And then Shouta is sprinting. 

He’s only five miles away, so he can get there quickly if he pushes it. He glances at the text again, frowning at the number written after the address. Thirty. 

Thirty what? Guards? Minutes? Victims?

Victims. It sounds like the best guess. Which means he needs to make sure the police and other heroes know the count so they can tell if they’re missing anyone. 

The sounds of gunshots get closer. A couple heroes are already spread out throughout the neighborhood, evacuating them because of their proximity to the raid. Shouta uses his capture weapon to spring himself forward even faster, and he approaches the police officers camped out front. Quite a few ambulances are parked on the side, tending to what looks like the victims. 

The children, Shouta thinks, upset. Some even younger than my past students.

“There’s supposed to be around thirty of them,” he announces, garnering their attention. “How many have you counted?”

The hero closest to him straightens up. “Twenty-seven, Eraserhead. We haven’t checked the upper floor yet, so there might be a few more there.”

“I’ll check, but in the meantime, get some water heroes on the scene! We’ll need strong firefighters in a minute.”

Shouta ignores the confused look the hero gives him. He has a feeling fire is going to get involved simply because of Rabbit’s presence. 

The first thing he notices when he goes in is the bodies on the ground. A few paramedics rush past Shouta to check the unconscious criminals. None of them look dead, so that’s a plus. 

There are gunshots high above, however, faint due to the distance, and Shouta narrows his eyes to try to adjust to the darkness. The alarms are still going, and it’s making his dry eye worse. 

Giving a nod to the paramedics, he heads for the stairs on the far side of the room. The building is big for a warehouse, and Shouta has to take large steps so as not to trip on the criminals lying on the ground. 

Now that he’s looking, Shouta can see the darts stuck to their skin. Tranqs. 

That explains a lot. 

He takes the steps two at a time, only to run into a small group of kids halfway up, having just rounded a sharp corner. They immediately stumble back with fearful eyes, and a girl steps forward, ushering the two boys behind her. 

They must’ve been trying to go down, and Shouta got in the way. 

The group seems unhurt, though a little shaken up, and the older girl holds up a gun with trembling hands. 

Shouta instantly puts up his arms, still on the steps. “I’m a pro hero,” he explains, looking her in the eye to make sure she listens. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to know, is there anyone else up there?”

The girl hesitantly nods. “Only the, uh, the hero, and the—the boss is up there.”

Hero?

Shouta nods in acknowledgement. “You three follow me, and be careful.” He reaches for the gun with wide movements, carefully taking it away from the girl before casting it to the side. “Are any of you—?”

An explosion suddenly rocks the building, and Shouta instinctively pulls the three kids to him and jumps over the side of the stairs just as fire engulfs the entire top level. He uses his capture weapon to make sure the kids are secure against him before booking it to the exit, the sudden heat acting as encouragement. 

Yep. Rabbit is definitely here. 

They had twenty-seven out there. These must be the last three. 

He has full intention of helping Rabbit after depositing the kids to the police and paramedics. The girl gives him a shaky thank you, and he just gives her a curt nod before turning back to the fiery building. 

There doesn’t seem to be any criminals left on the bottom floor, so it’s uphill from here. The heroes are almost finished with dragging the guards out so they won’t get burned. He stops to ask if they need help, and after being waved off, he heads back to the top. 

Gunshots ring out again, this time closer to him. Heat washes over him, and shouted voices reach his ear. He races up the long, metal stairs, and sees a few bodies being dropped from the railings on the uppermost floor. 

There are no heroes or police this high up, so it must be Rabbit. It seems like the vigilante is doing good without him. But he still has to help. He has to see it for himself. 

This event might help solve Shouta's current troubles of having to actually catch the vigilante in question.

The files Tsukauchi handed him didn’t really shed any light on what kind of person he’s dealing with, which is why he took it upon himself to look up everything he could about the teenager. Even going as far to try and note his frequent patrol routes and the time he takes to go through them. 

He seems like a good person, generally speaking. But for all Shouta knows, Rabbit could be completely different behind his mask. 

He's never even heard the vigilante speak except for in recordings, and even then it’s highly possible the kid’s using a homemade voice changer. They know nothing beyond how he usually acts due to how well his actual identity is hidden.

He's barely even seen the guy apart from a few interactions here and there when Shouta had been trying to tail him but ended up being far too slow to capture him.

According to the evidence, Rabbit is a happy, rebellious vigilante who’s not afraid to speak his mind and do what he thinks is right. He’s also incredibly intelligent and skillful. 

So yeah, there’s a chance Shouta might be in over his head.

But all of those thoughts come to a halt when he catches sight of a dark green figure, illuminated by the flames behind him, heading for the window after seemingly catching his breath. Bingo. 

You wanted me to talk to the kid, Tsukauchi, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Izuku didn’t mean to get shot. Honestly. 

But the Big Bad Guy set off an explosion right before their scuffle started and, being the greedy bastard he is, took all of his attention during their fight. Izuku made himself vulnerable, then, as he assumed the boss was the only one left.

He didn’t notice the guard to the side until it was too late. 

Izuku saw it, though. He saw the flash of light reflecting off the gun’s barrel, but it was still a little dark. He assumed it to be a tranq gun. 

With his enhanced metabolism, he was confident that a tranq dart wouldn’t work on him. And besides, he didn’t want to risk anyone else getting shot by it. 

So, Izuku didn’t dodge. He instead parried another hit from the Big Bad Guy and took the ‘dart’ in his abdomen. He had not, of all things, expected the wave of pain that rocked through him upon the bullet’s impact, or for the bullet itself to be a hollow point. 

Yeah. Definitely not a tranq gun. 

It was a hollow point bullet, meaning he now has several small pieces of metal inside him, and not in the fun way. 

“What the shit.” 

Izuku yanks the gun away from his side opponent, darting forward to kick the man’s legs out from under him before throwing him over the ledge of the top floor. Let the heroes have him. 

They’re like sharks anyways. Bloodthirsty motherfuckers. 

Another knife flies towards him, and Izuku blocks it with one of his own, grabbing the discarded blade before throwing both of them at the Big Bad Guy. 

He ducks down at the nick of time, but it gives Izuku the distraction he hoped for. He sails forward, foot outstretched, only for his ankle to be caught and his body thrown to the ground. 

His breath leaves him all at once, and then the Big Bad Guy is towering over him, another knife being drawn out of thin air with his quirk.

Izuku jerks to the side, dodging the blade as it drives itself into the wood beneath him like it’s nothing but wet paper. That could’ve been my head. 

He pushes off on his palms and hikes his legs up to wrap around the man’s throat, trying to rapidly draw in all the air he can before making his move. 

“This is where you’re supposed to moan,” Izuku chokes out, lurching forward and driving his fist into the man’s temple. 

The Big Bad Guy sways, and Izuku doesn’t wait to see if he’s still conscious before unclenching his legs and rolling away, watching as the man faceplants into the floor. 

Is he out? Izuku hopes so. 

Oh, fuck yeah. I’m amazing. I’m a fucking god. 

He turns away, already eyeing the broken window. He’s gotta go. There are a bunch of heroes here. They’ll take care of everything else. He barely has any energy left to use—he’s gotta save it for escaping. And the bullet in his abdomen would very much like to be treated, thank you, and soon. 

But then there’s an angry roar behind him, which foils his plans. 

Izuku moves, but evidently not fast enough as he’s body-slammed to the ground, being thrown straight into the flames. It appears the Big Bad Guy wasn’t as unconscious as he thought. 

“I’ll kill you, Rabbit!”

He tries to jump out of the fire, not wanting to get fried like a chicken wing, but the man seems dead set on wrestling him in the flames, and he tries to tackle him again. 

Izuku is ready this time around, and he meets him head on with a shattering kick to the stomach, sending the criminal stumbling to the side. He grabs his shoulder with one hand and his head with the other, using the very last bit of his strength to twist the man around and slam him into the wall. 

The crackling of flames drowns out the guy’s yells, and Izuku sees a knife appear shakily beside him. The boy just slams the guy into the wall even harder, again and again, not stopping until the mental hold on the blade is released and it clatters to the ground. 

Now he must be unconscious for real now. 

Izuku steps back, letting the Big Bad Guy slump to the floor in a bloodied heap with a loud thump. A little messier than I intended, but it’s his fault. His quirk is hella strong. 

Heat suddenly licks up Izuku’s pant legs, and the boy only then remembers that fire is fucking hot. 

Grabbing the criminal by the back of his vest, the boy drags him away from the flames using Boost before heaving him over the railings, dropping him to the base level like he’s an anchor to a ship. 

There’s shouts from below, and it sounds like the pro heroes are giving instructions and body counts. No one’s been recovered dead, apparently.

Which is a win in Izuku’s book. 

Something moves out of the corner of his vision, and the boy turns to get a glimpse of red eyes staring straight at him, almost gleaming in the firelight. It sends shivers down Izuku’s spine, because he suddenly knows. 

It’s him. The guy who’s been following him for the past few weeks. He can feel the prickling sensation start up at the back of his neck, and Izuku is certain that he’s right. 

Which reminds him. He should probably be escaping right about now. 

Izuku turns tail and runs. He stifles his cry of pain when he corkscrews out of the window, opening his arms up wide as he comes out into open air. 

Oh right. They’re a few miles away from the city, so there’s nothing but houses here. He has nothing to land on but trees. 

He crashes through the leaves, covering his face with his arms as branches scrape and claw at him like thorns. He hits the ground none-too-gently and scrambles to his feet, pressing a hand against his abdomen as more blood leaks from his gunshot wound. 

A glance behind him shows that yes, he is being followed. A figure is jumping through the trees after him with all the grace of a cat, and it’s clear even from this far away that he’s definitely gaining on him. 

“Oh fuck, oh shit, oh—”

He stumbles over a root but keeps going, not wanting to give up yet. His strength is waning, that’s for sure. He stupidly used up all of his energy because of his enhancements and not left any over for his getaway, which was his original plan. 

The trees start to thin out, and Izuku feels a bit of hope bloom inside his chest when he sees a clearing up ahead. Houses line the streets, so Izuku must’ve finally reached a neighborhood. 

Izuku is under a street lamp, exiting the dense line of trees and making for his freedom, when a shadow falls over him. He puts on the brakes so hard that he ends up tripping over his own feet, and the next thing he knows he’s plummeting toward the ground, face first. 

Oh, he loves the taste of dirt in his mouth. 

There’s a thud from somewhere in front of him, and he opens his eyes to see black boots standing just a few inches away from his face. Izuku is glad that his intuition was right, as he does in fact know who this is. 

“Rabbit,” the man above him greets. The bastard doesn’t even sound out of breath. 

“Eraserhead.”

A pause, and then a hum in consideration: “You’re smaller than you look.”

Izuku snorts, lifting his chin off the ground to meet his gaze. “And you’re even more annoying than you sound. Look, if you’re gonna capture me, just do it already. Make it a quickie.”

Eraserhead doesn’t blink an eye at the interesting word choice. “I’m not going to capture you.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Izuku narrows his eyes once he gets a good look at him. “On an unrelated note, are you perhaps into bondage? The scarf gives it away, you can’t really deny it.”

Eraserhead makes a low noise, something between a huff and a grunt. “You use sarcasm to distance people.”

“And yet you’re still here, so could you kindly fuck off? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“What, staring at the dirt beneath you?” 

The reply comes quick, and it has Izuku pushing himself up by the elbows and leaning back against a nearby tree, casually covering his bullet wound with a hand. His hoodie should be dark enough to hide the growing blood stain. Except this conversation is going to be hard, because thick, warm liquid is currently trailing down Izuku’s side and dripping onto the floor beneath him.

He prays the man won’t notice. It’s pretty dark out, so the chances are low.

He can’t show any weakness lest Eraserhead decides to attack him for being an easy target. 

Izuku glares half-heartedly at him. “What do you want from me, if you’re not planning on arresting me?”

“To give you a choice.” The man’s gaze is piercing, letting Izuku know of the sudden seriousness behind his words. “I know you’re young, and I know you’ve got heart, kid. So I’m letting you have a chance here.”

Letting. As if he has control over him. Maybe he does, and Izuku just doesn’t know it. 

Izuku grits his teeth. “Go on.”

“You did good back there, at the warehouse. You took those mercenaries down as efficiently and effectively as possible, while also prioritizing the victims’ safety. Not very many pros do that, as you pointed out a few nights ago. You have a lot of skill and potential. Unfortunately, not all people agree. And, luckily for you, you managed to piss off nearly every single one.”

I’m stuck between feeling giddy over your praise and being offended over that last part. 

Izuku rolls his eyes. “I know they’re jealous of me. What are you getting at?”

“You can turn yourself in. And before you argue, hear me out. This’ll give you a few advantages in court, and you’ll get off easier and with less charges than you would have any other way.” He tilts his head, but not in a curious way, more of in an I’m going to figure you out sort of way. “You’ll be given some time to tie up any loose ends as Rabbit, and then you’ll hang up the costume for good. You’re still a kid, so giving up now while you’ve still got that as an excuse is in your best interest, trust me.”

“I’m finding it hard to trust anyone right now, so that’s a hard no.”

“You trust Tsukauchi, and he trusts me.” He looks slightly annoyed when he says this, and Izuku files that detail away for later. “If you don’t believe what I’m saying now, believe him. You have his phone number, right? Ask him yourself.”

Izuku swipes a hand over his sweaty face, fatigue beginning to take over. “I only read half of what he sends me. I don’t speak his language.”

The boy relishes in the brief look of utter confusion on Eraserhead’s face, only for it to be replaced by irritation. “My advice to you is to turn yourself in. You do a lot of good, but you can’t deny that you get in the way of others. But. We can work things out for you in the long run, legally speaking. It’ll be easier for you and for everyone else.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy.”

“You don’t seem to have any better plans.”

Izuku balks at being called out. “Harassing me when I haven’t even done anything is a misdemeanor crime, punishable with a fine and up to two days in jail. You should be ashamed, sir. I have literally done nothing wrong, ever, in my entire life.”

The underground hero ignores him, getting right back to business. “One week. You have one week to make a decision.”

“Or what?” Damn him, Izuku is curious. “What are you going to do if I decide not to turn myself over?”

“I won’t be the one doing anything. The Public Safety Commission will. Believe me, you’ll wish you listened to me the first time. Consider this a warning.”

Okay. That’s fucking ominous. And kind of infuriating, since it’s not really an answer to his question. 

Eraserhead is walking away, hands in his pockets, heading back towards the warehouse. “Don’t screw yourself over, kid. I know you’re smart, so don’t disappoint me. We can help you get out of this.”

The boy frowns at the tired tone, at the kind of sad way the man says it. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what any of this means. 

His mouth opens before he can stop it. “Hey, you think I can get an autograph!”

But the hero is already gone, disappearing into the forest, and Izuku sighs to himself. The bastard probably wouldn’t have given him one anyway, being underground and all that. 

Tilting his head up, he glances at the stars above one last time and forces himself up. He can’t wait around when it comes to dealing with a gunshot wound. He does not want to bleed out the night before he has to go to the mall with Kacchan, thank you very much. Infections aren’t very festive to have, either.

His head is reeling. He’s happy that the mission was successful so he can collect his money when he gets the chance at the club, but he’s also very much wounded, and now he has to worry about what Eraserhead said to him.

His ultimatum. 

Izuku doesn’t know what to think at the moment. He doesn’t know if he even can think with the bullet lodged in his abdomen.  

The worst part, though, is that Izuku can’t tell if the underground hero was lying when he said he’d help him. 

Chapter Text

“Kacchan, this one looks new!”

“It’s not. It came out last year.”

“Bullshit. How come I haven’t seen it then?”

“Because you’re too busy getting shot every damn day of the week to pay attention to the newest hero merch coming out.”

Izuku gives his friend an irritated look, mildly annoyed. “So you are mad at me.”

“I’m not,” Kacchan snaps in a rather mad way, shoving his hands into his pockets and heading towards the shirt Izuku pointed to. 

This makes Izuku sigh.

“Kacchan, I’m fine. And it’s not like I wanted to get shot. It just kinda happened, you know?”

“Can’t leave you alone for a goddamn second without you almost dying.” He drags Izuku into the store by the front of his hoodie. “I don’t even know how you’re still alive after all the dumb shit you pull.”

“Death is tired of me. She threatened to file a restraining order if I showed up on her doorstep one more time—”

Kacchan raises a hand to hit him, and Izuku dodges it easily with a bright smile. 

They’re on the top level of the largest mall in Musutafu, browsing through the stores and buying little things here and there. The mall is pretty active during this time of day. The crowds are huge, and Izuku is sure that business must be booming since summer is almost near. The breeze is just chilly enough to give people an excuse to wear long pants and sleeves. 

Izuku himself is wearing one of Kacchan’s hoodies. He showed up to his friend’s house wearing jeans and a ripped black shirt with the words i’m dead (but actually) printed on it in flowery font. A shittily drawn human skeleton with neon sparkly crossbones coming out of its eyes was the centerpiece to it all, and Izuku is still pretty proud of it. It only cost him a couple dollars at the thrift shop down the street to his building. 

Kacchan, however, did not share his friend’s sentiment on the masterpiece, as the second he opened the door, ready to leave for the mall, the light seemed to leave his eyes. He made Izuku cover it up, claiming that he wouldn’t be caught dead with someone wearing such a disgusting shirt. Which is also unfair, in Izuku’s opinion, as Kacchan owns skull shirts himself. It’s likely Kacchan just wants to be the only weird kid out of the two of them.

So here they are. Izuku is still pouting, even though Kacchan’s red hoodie compliments his jeans and is actually really soft.

Yeah, he is definitely not getting it back. 

Kacchan grunts, gesturing with a hand at the shirt Izuku pointed at. “See, I fucking told you. Came out a few months ago.” 

He’s right. The tag has the original date on it. 

“Whatever. It still looks nice.” Izuku peers closer at it, deciding that he likes the Ingenium logo on the front. A little outdated since the hero came out with a new one recently, but at least it’s on major sale. Izuku thinks he might get it. 

He’s only got a few bills left, so he can’t get a lot, but he’s going to cash in his checks from his recent gigs later on in the day, so it won’t be a problem. After all, he isn’t sporting a bullet wound on his abdomen for nothing. 

He helped those kids get outta that hellhole, so the money doesn’t really matter; it’s just an added bonus at this point. 

“You already have two Ingenium shirts,” Kacchan complains. “Pick something else, or I swear I’ll leave your stupid ass here.”

Izuku rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you remember those shirts. I got those years ago.”

“My memory‘s better than yours, shitty nerd. Name one thing I’ve ever forgotten.”

“You forgot me in the parking lot last month when we snuck into that amusement park.”

Kacchan’s face contorts into a smug grin. “I did that on purpose.”

It’s Izuku’s turn to hit him. 

The rest of their time at the mall passes by in a blur. They banter back and forth a little more than usual, as Kacchan is still upset at him for some reason. At one point, the blond tries to fight a lady for running into them and not apologizing. 

Izuku is forced to hold him back, having to ignore the voices in his head that were cheering the boy on. 

Both teens have a couple bags in their hands now, full of clothing and smaller accessories, and they decide to rest on a bench near the middle of the mall on the first floor. The open air is a blessing, and they both start to relax for at least a few seconds. 

Kacchan is on his phone, scrolling through the news and some hero blog post, while Izuku is looking around, notebook in hand. 

This is a perfect opportunity for some people watching.

He’s always been observant. Hell, there were quite a few times back then where Kacchan would call him a stalker just to get under his skin. He kind of is, honestly. The only difference being that he doesn’t actually follow people around unless he has a reason to. Probable cause and all that. 

He just sits back and observes most days.

There’s a fountain. 

Izuku blinks at the sudden thought, not knowing where it came from. Okay, and?

Jump in it. 

What the fuck? Izuku frowns, unsure what the new deep voice at the back of his mind is doing. Why would he do that? He’s still healing. His bandaged torso hurts like hell, so why would he make it worse?

Why not?

Oh, shit. The voice is right. 

In a moment of incredibly poor judgement, Izuku slips the hoodie off of his back, revealing the monstrosity of a shirt underneath. He takes off his shoes as well, not wanting to ruin them. 

Kacchan glares at him over his phone. “What the fuck are you doing? I already said I’m not sitting next to you when you look like that.”

“I’m jumping in the fountain.”

The boy stares, mouth slightly agape in disgust. He looks disappointed, but not surprised. “You dug a bullet out of your stomach not twelve fucking hours ago. What makes you think that’s a good idea?”

Izuku shrugs and continues stretching.

“You did a shitty job at stitching yourself up, too. How did you even get all the pieces out?”

Izuku blanches and rubs at his neck nervously, laughing lightly. “Well.”

Kacchan turns on him, eyes intense. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did! And it doesn’t matter now. I’m jumping in the fountain, and that’s that. I’m already in motion, so I can’t stop now. Like an electron in an atom.”

So what if he’s deflecting? He does not want to remember last night. It turns out that if you poor enough liquor onto an open wound, you’ll eventually become numb all over. So yeah, he had a lot of fun.

“Deku, I swear—”

Izuku sets his own phone into one of his discarded bags on the bench before jumping up. He has a clear path to the fountain, so this is gonna be amazing.

He takes a few big steps and leaps, foot touching the edge of the wall holding the water, and promptly does a belly flop. 

The reaction is instantaneous. There are gasps and laughter coming from all around him, and the water splashes up like a wave. Izuku sloshes around in the surprisingly clean water for a few more seconds, giddy, right up until he hears shouted voices. Fuck. Mall cops. 

The green-haired boy stumbles to his feet and goes back the way he came. A crowd has gathered now, drawn to the noise, and they part for him immediately once he lands on the tiled floor and slips. 

And, okay. That hurts like a fucking bitch.

More laughs reach his ears, and Izuku finds himself giggling along with them. He speeds past the bench, grabbing his shoes and bags as he goes.

“Run, Kacchan, go!” He slips again, only to regain his balance before he can truly fall. “Sled gang, sled gang! Come on, say it!”

Kacchan catches up to him fairly quickly. “I’m not repeating that shit!” He yells, smacking the back of his friend’s head. 

“Hey, boys, come back here!”

The two of them only run faster. Izuku throws his head back to glare at the cops giving chase, water falling from his hair. “No! Fuck you, old man!”

And that’s when Izuku realizes he’s probably been spending too much time around Kacchan lately. Now he’s starting to sound like him. 

They run into a small restaurant at the other end of the mall, confident that they’ve shaken the cops from their tail. Kacchan still makes him put back on the hoodie, though, and not just to look different to the cops.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Kacchan promises, sitting across from him at the table. “I take it back. You deserved that bullet.”

“And they say friendship is dead.”

Kacchan’s eye twitches. “That’s not how that phrase goes.”

“Yeah, but it still managed to piss you off, so—”

Kacchan reaches across the table, death in his eyes, but then the waitress approaches their table. She has a bright smile on her face, and without her presence, Izuku would’ve most definitely been strangled. Izuku owes her his life.

“Welcome in,” she says. “What can I get for you boys today?”

Kacchan sits back as if nothing happened, going back to his usual gruff self. “I’ll have the number four meal with a coke, please.”

Interestingly enough, Kacchan can be nice when he wants to be. 

“Alright, and for you, dear?” She asks, addressing Izuku. 

Izuku, having only been to a couple restaurants in his life and nowhere else, short-circuits. What do they even serve here?

“I’ll take the number four, too, please!”

Kacchan gives him an annoyed look but otherwise says nothing. The waitress walks away, and it’s only then that Izuku realizes something. His face turns red, and he squeezes his knees nervously through his jeans.

“Uh, Kacchan, I don’t think I have enough money for—”

“Did I ask you if you had enough money? No.”

Izuku frowns. “That’s not fair. You always pay for my food.”

“You embarrassed the fuck out of me by jumping into that fountain, so you’re letting me do this as repayment.” 

Izuku snaps his mouth shut, still glowering once the waitress brings them their drinks. A lot of people won’t know this, but Kacchan is actually a huge sweetheart. A bitchy and controlling sweetheart, but a sweetheart nonetheless. 

It doesn’t stop Izuku from feeling guilty, though. While the Bakugou family isn’t exactly uber rich, they’re definitely not poor either. 

Though to be fair, pretty much everyone and anyone is richer than Izuku these days. 

The water from the fountain is slowly drying, and Izuku shifts uncomfortably at the feeling. His wound hurts like a motherfucker now, and even though his bandages are waterproof, it still feels a little damp. 

Maybe it’s blood. Oh, shit. Izuku hopes he hasn’t torn his stitches. 

One quick peek shows that he does not in fact have a leaking bullet hole, as his bandages are still pristine white. He breathes out, leaning back in his chair. 

Kacchan must’ve been watching him, as his eyes narrow onto his. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little bit. Liquor works wonders.” That last part is a joke, but his friend stares at him with an indecipherable expression, causing Izuku to shake his head. “I didn’t drink any, Kacchan. Well, not too much—”

He dodges the rolled up wrapper coming his way from Kacchan’s straw, giggling. Truth be told, he only had a little bit. Not a lot, really—only a couple of glasses since he doesn’t like the taste so much. He just wanted to see what it would do. 

Nothing, it turns out. It did absolutely jack shit. He knows that one glass can’t get someone with his enhanced metabolism drunk, so he assumed that a few would be enough to do it. It turns out he was wrong.

It would take, according to Izuku’s calculations, eight glasses of straight liquor.

Regardless, the liquor didn’t help with any of the pain permanently. He’s still sore, and jumping into the fountain has done nothing but reignite the dull burn in his lower torso. 

“You’re not going out at night until it’s healed, right?” Kacchan says once the waitress brings out their meals, barely sparing Izuku a glance as he digs in. 

“‘Course not. I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Kacchan doesn’t grace him with a reply to that, so Izuku starts on his food.

It’s a pretty large portion. Cheap food tastes the best at places such as this one: cheap restaurants hidden away in the corners of malls. They usually have the best customer service, too. 

With his metabolism, having larger servings is a blessing. Especially now since he used up most of his energy yesterday. Maybe a week to recuperate isn’t such a bad idea. 

Kacchan eats slower than Izuku, as always. The teen likes to take some time and look at the food, mentally critiquing it and giving praise. Which is kind of ironic. Izuku analyzes people, and Kacchan analyzes food. It’s an interesting dynamic. 

“That hobo ninja sounds like an ass.”

Izuku frowns, pulling away from his drink. “Who?”

“Hobo ninja,” Kacchan says impatiently, gesturing aggressively with his chopsticks. “Y’know, the guy named after the thing I bite off at the top of my pencils?”

“You mean Eraserhead?”

“That’s him. What a lame fucking name, anyway.”

“I don’t think he was being an asshole, Kacchan. He was just doing his job. Why do you think that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? From the texts you sent me about that talk with him, he seems like a pretentious ass.”

And doesn’t that sound familiar? Izuku finds a sudden burst of courage. “Like you?”

“Yeah.” Kacchan looks smug as he takes another bite of his food. “But at least you still follow me around. You probably don’t want nothing to do with him now.”

And isn’t that a dilemma. Izuku doesn’t know anymore. While the man was sort of a prick, he was just doing his job. He was probably forced onto the case against Rabbit anyway. He could’ve just taken Izuku in right then and there and not given him a chance to, as he put it, tie up any loose ends. 

He was pretty generous, if Izuku is being honest. 

A part of him wants to defend the hero, to put those thoughts into words, because despite his mixed feelings right now, he still likes Eraserhead. He’s still really cool and one of his favorite heroes. He wants to defend him, to chastise Kacchan about being so judgmental, but another part of him, the part that withers at not being in control and craves any excuse to commit a crime to save himself, is saying fuck yeah, stick it to all of them!

And he’s bound to listen to that part of himself.

Kacchan is scowling at him now. “Well? What are you gonna do to tell him your decision? Seek him out and tell him yourself? Because that would be a dumb idea.”

“Who said I made a choice already?” Kacchan just blinks at him, and Izuku looks away sheepishly. “Alright, fine. What do you have in mind?”

The blond grins, and it’s all teeth. “I have spray paint.”

Izuku has never loved him more than he does in that moment. 

Two hours later, they’re both running away from a poor officer in training who looks far too tired to be in the current situation. 

He’s barely even trying, just weakly calling out to them as they sprint through the crowds, cans of spray paint still in hand. They’re covered in different colors, so they’re obviously suspicious, though no one tries to stop them as they escape. 

“Sled gang, sled gang!”

Kacchan repeats it, too, only once, but it’s enough to make Izuku descend into a fit of laughter. He made sure to find a spot where there’d be no cameras to catch their faces as they sprayed the paint, and the gas masks on their faces should hopefully help more with their identities. They decided to wear them to protect against the fumes.

The cop must’ve stopped by now, as neither boy can hear yelling anymore. They slow to a stop, and Izuku tells himself he’s only panting because of his wound. 

“I’m going back home,” Kacchan says, throwing a multicolored hand up in a rough dismissal. “Try not to get shot again, nerd. I expect you at the house on Thursday.”

That’s a given, but Izuku nods anyway, giving the boy the gas mask he borrowed. He pants out a goodbye and starts the walk to the edge of the city. He dropped his bags off at his building before they even started defacing the billboard, so he doesn’t have to carry anything there. 

Pulling out his phone, he searches for his newest contact. He was a little hesitant about doing this at first, but after working through all of his nerves by spray painting with Kacchan, he’s not so uncertain anymore. 

He sends a quick address to the man in question, just as he did to the detective the night before. He’s trying to be as ominous as possible. He wants this guy to be freaked out. 

Do you like the gift I made you? :)

Izuku likes to think that the non-suspicious emoticon makes it even better. He won’t text anything else. He’ll just have to wait for a response. 

He’s not very good at waiting, so he finds something else to do to pass the time.

The beach is quiet around this time of day, just before evening time. Everyone is busy either leaving work and heading home or doing last minute shopping to make dinner. To be fair, Dagobah Beach hasn’t had many visitors lately, given the fact that it’s covered in heaps of trash. 

The beach was spotless once upon a time, like all things, until it started accumulating junk from the ocean over the course of a few years. Now nobody comes here. 

Ms. Hanako told him all about it a year or so ago. She recalled the days when she’d go on dates with her partner there, back when the beach was still a popular tourist attraction. 

And so, in honor of Ms. Hanako and her partner, Izuku has been slowly picking up stuff, just a few bits of trash here and there, whenever he passes by. It’s not much, as he only stays for like ten minutes, but it’s added up. He can put in the work if it means he can see it spotless one day, especially now that he’s not going out as Rabbit for a little while. 

He has more time today, which helps maintain his emotional state. Izuku doesn’t just clean up Dagobah Beach—he does the same for other dirty areas of the district. Whenever he’s not patrolling or working on his projects, he’s doing that.

The sun is dipping low in the sky by the time he decides that he’s done enough for today. He ended up working for a half hour longer than usual, so now a small portion of the beach has been cleared out—a few square yards by the edge, to be exact.

It’s not much, but it makes Izuku just a little bit happier. 

He turns around, longing for the comfort of his hard couch, and stops in his tracks. 

The air feels weird. There’s someone close by. He extends his senses and finds that someone is sitting on top of the hill near the pavilion, either near or on top of the steps. Their quirk is strong, he can feel it.

And it’s familiar, too. Blaringly so.

Izuku peeks around the corner and up into the pavilion, eyes widening.

Is that All Might?

The hero is in his smaller form, but it’s still undeniably him. He’s sitting on one of the steps, looking down at his phone. It doesn’t look like he’s noticed Izuku just yet. 

What is he doing? Izuku wonders. Has he been there for—

The man must sense his gaze, as he glances up abruptly, lips parting in surprise once he sees who’s staring at him. 

Izuku steps down, back out of sight, wincing. He begins to stride away fast, heart beating loudly.

No, no, no. Please walk away, please walk away.

The man immediately stands up and inflates into his bigger form, striding over with a huge grin on his face. 

Izuku doesn’t know how someone can stand to smile so much, and for that long, too. It’s something he’s always respected All Might for.

“Young man!” The hero exclaims, coming down the steps and stopping Izuku in his tracks. Izuku’s shoulders hunch up, and he turns to face All Might with a wince. All Might towers over him and blocks out the rays of the sun. “I’ve been looking for you all over this city! I thought I’d have to lose hope! I never thought I’d find you here.”

Yeah, never thought I’d find you here either.  

Instead of saying this, though, Izuku rubs the back of his neck, wondering why the number one hero is taking an interest in him. It can’t be because of Rabbit, or else he wouldn’t be smiling like that.

Would he?

“Oh, yeah!” Izuku smiles awkwardly. “I actually just started coming here a few months ago. It’s crazy that no one visits here anymore.”

“I agree!” All Might’s eyes fall to Izuku’s hands, which are dirty from the grease and debris of the trash he picked up. “Er, were you touching the garbage piles?”

Izuku reddens. He really doesn’t want All Might to think he was acting like some trashy delinquent rooting through the garbage! “No, no! Uh—I mean, yes? Technically! I was trying to clean some of it up!”

“Ah, you’ve got a noble heart, I see!” He comes to stand right in front of him, and Izuku is reminded suddenly that All Might is just as tall as his Small Might form. It’s quite scary to think about, actually. “Well, I’m glad I found you! I’ve been meaning to talk with you.”

Izuku tries to calm himself. There’s no way he’s made the connection between him and Rabbit. That’s impossible. So then what? And why is Izuku freaking out so badly? All Might appears to be nothing but happy. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he was planning on tricking Izuku, right?

When Izuku tunes back in to his surroundings, All Might is suddenly back in his small form, a puff of smoke escaping him as his muscles deflate. Which scares the everliving shit out of Izuku. 

It’s cool, but still unnatural. 

The next moment feels like an important one, and the breeze coming off of the ocean sounds like a gentle whisper of victory.

All Might dips his head a fraction. “I wanted to tell you that I was wrong. It was foolish of me to say that your friend shouldn’t be a hero due to a quirk.”

And—what the fuck? Izuku can’t quite comprehend what’s just been said, because there’s no way that the Symbol of Peace is standing there and telling him that he made a mistake. And why is he doubling over—?

“I apologize, young man, for possibly discouraging your friend with what I said.” He drops his head even lower. “I ask that you please forgive me, and that you can find it in yourself to give me another chance.”

Izuku panics, truly panics, because honestly, what the fuck is going on. And what does that last part even mean?

His hands jerk forward, only to stop before he can touch the behemoth of a man in front of him. “No, no, it’s fine, please! Don’t do that, it’s fine, I swear!”

All Might straightens up from his bow a little hesitantly, looking grim. Or maybe that’s just how his face looks when he’s in his small form, Izuku doesn’t know, but he keeps talking rapidly to fill the sudden silence. 

“I didn’t even take what you said to heart, so there—there was no harm done! I mean, not that I didn’t care about your advice, but—but you’re still really cool and I still admire you—not in a weird way, though! I’m sure you didn’t mean it when you said it and I knew it when—”

“Woah, hey, hey!” All Might cuts him off with a wave of his hand. He chuckles awkwardly. “You’re a big fanboy, aren’t you?”

Izuku blushes, looking anywhere but at the man. He lied when he said he didn’t take the words All Might said to him to heart. There by that tunnel, they cut deep within Izuku, but now, upon hearing All Might’s apology and revisal, the boy can feel that shame start to leave him. 

He coughs, crossing his arms in self-comfort. There’s just something about being in the presence of his idol, of his father’s arch-nemesis, that gets him extraordinarily nervous. “So, uh, what were you doing around this part of town?”

“Looking for you, of course.” He says it like it should be obvious, and Izuku sputters. 

“But it’s been days since the sludge villain attacked me. Shouldn’t you have given up by now?”

All Might has the decency to look sheepish. “If I may be honest, I deeply regretted what I said to you. It was foolish of me, and I shouldn’t have ever said those things. I was set on finding you again if only to make sure you knew the real answer.”

Why did you care that much? I don’t think I’m worth that much effort for someone like you.

Izuku glances away again, staring at the piles of garbage surrounding them. “Oh,” he says quietly. “What changed your mind?”

All Might inflates back into his hero form with a blinding smile. “Well, young man, I had to get the sense knocked back into me! Later the very same day we first met, I was inspired after intercepting a short villain fight back in the city. A particular hero at the scene reminded me of why I chose this profession to begin with, and I realized that I had deviated from my roots, for lack of a better way to say it.”

Izuku’s eyes bug out of his skull. No fucking way. He can’t be talking about what Izuku thinks he’s talking about! What are the chances the fight he’s talking about was the second sludge fight with Kacchan? 

With this comes another thought: did he just call Rabbit a hero?

Izuku shakes. “All Might—”

“Please, allow me to answer your question once more—correctly this time.” His hands come forward, settling on Izuku’s shoulders. The touch burns somehow, but Izuku was raised in the fire and now craves the warmth from it.

The earth has stopped spinning, only for them. Only for this. Izuku meets his gaze fully, eyes wide, skin prickling.

All Might is all tanned skin and scarred tissue, and his golden features light up the entire beach with more success than the goddamn sun setting behind them. “Your friend can without a doubt be a hero, and he shouldn’t doubt himself for a second. It doesn’t matter what his quirk is, or what he thinks he is limited by. None of that truly matters! It’s your actions that truly define who you are!” He tips his head, the setting sun framing his large build. “With enough training and determination, anyone can be a hero!”

For a while, the space between them is quiet. The waves are muted in Izuku’s mind. The birds flying overhead, the sand shifting beneath them—it does not exist. And the silence is painful. All Might’s words were painful. Why? They shouldn’t have been.

Izuku should be ecstatic. He should be feeling euphoric. Because this—this is what Izuku has wanted to hear ever since he was four fucking years old. Just those measly five words: anyone can be a hero. Because Izuku is anyone, so that means that he can be a hero, too, despite his background. Despite his nature, his father, his quirk. Despite his very real limitations  

It’s what he’s always wanted to hear, but it’s been more of a pipe dream than anything. A selfish little thought that he’s kept at the back of his mind. Sure, Kacchan has always told him that they’d be great heroes together. Hell, he’s threatened to force Izuku into becoming a hero with him, but it’s different when someone else says it.

Because Kacchan has known him his entire life; he could be biased. For All Might to say that he can be a hero even with a quirk like his own—it’s almost enough to make Izuku cry even though he technically didn’t say it for Izuku directly.

But why does it still hurt so much to hear? Why is it still so painful?

Izuku keeps walking through life one minute at a time, always forgetting to cauterize the wounds from his previous letdowns. He is a dog that licks the blood off his paws after each scratch, thinking he has cleansed himself when he has not. Perhaps this is why hearing All Might’s words feels like salt on open wounds. This is why trusting again feels like deceit and betrayal and constantly being exhausted.  

God, it fucking hurts, but the vines wound tight around his heart and lungs can only leave these kinds of puncture wounds from thorns once they have loosened, and Izuku feels that they must have. Air has never tasted so crisp to him. Not since he was laughing and being held by a man with cold clouds for hands.

“My boy?”

“Midoriya,” he says suddenly, his tongue heavy.

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s my name. Midoriya Izuku.” Izuku is focused on the sand. “Thought you’d want to know.”

All Might brightens even more. “Well, in that case!” He bends low to look Izuku in the face, still smiling. “How would you like to train with me, Young Midoriya?”

This time, Izuku hears the waves and the birds so clearly that he questions how he missed them in the first place. “What?”

“You have only told me about your friend, so how about you, young man?” He places his hands on his hips. “How would you like to be a hero?”

Izuku cannot help it: he steps back, stumbling in the sand. He nearly trips but at the last moment catches himself. The breeze has only strengthened, seeming to purr with encouragement. If only the boy right here had a way of knowing just how much the words hanging before him will change the course of his life and many others. 

Do I? I’ve always wanted to be. But can I? Do I even dare to dream for that much?

The thing is, this is what destroyed Izuku in the very beginning: the longing for something he could never have.

Izuku is stuck, because if he breaks and says he can’t be a hero, All Might most assuredly would not accept that answer. Not after his entire spiel. No, Izuku has to go for a different approach. 

And this urge to run away from what Izuku loves more than anything is a sort of sadism he can no longer pretend to understand. “I’m… I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think I, uh, want to be one. Not right now.”

Maybe not ever.

And for a moment, there’s a change to All Might’s expression. It’s simple, and it’s brief, but Izuku sees it. It looks like disappointment, it looks like sadness. 

But then it’s replaced with his usual shining enthusiasm quicker than it appeared, so he doesn’t dwell on it. 

“That’s quite alright! The training does not have to be exclusively for making you a hero. It can be just to help you be the best you!” His voice lowers a little as he adds, almost hopefully, “And if you eventually change your mind about the hero thing, that’s great, too!”

I won’t, Izuku thinks, but he finds himself nodding anyway. 

All Might punches the air with a fist, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Great! We can meet here every morning to start your training! We can use your little method of cleaning this beach to help with strengthening your body! Very good job with that, by the way. Oh, I hope you’re prepared!”

Izuku starts. Woah, woah, why are we going so fucking fast?

The hero begins talking about diets and training regimes, explaining that at first it might be easy for Izuku since he appears to already be in moderately good shape, but that the training will progressively become harder. At some point, they even exchange phone numbers. 

But Izuku is barely paying attention. He’s too shocked that all of this is happening. Training? With All Might, of all people?

There’s no way. Five-year-old Izuku would be having a meltdown right now. Even Kacchan would be in shock!

One thing that Izuku notices, though, is that All Might doesn’t once mention One for All in his ramblings. He doesn’t talk about the process, about its history—none of it. Izuku kind of guessed that that would be the case, but still.

Izuku’s just admitted that he doesn’t even know if he wants to be a hero, so All Might doesn’t have a reason to tell him about his quirk. But then there’s the question of why he is so dead-set on training the boy when they’ve only had a few minutes of interaction time. 

He has done nothing to warrant this attention. He’s just a kid who almost—stupidly—got killed by a villain but was saved by All Might himself. The hero probably saves a bunch of people every day, so why him?

Is all of this even worth it? Is Izuku worth it?

I really shouldn’t be here. I don’t deserve to stand next to you, or even to accept this training. Not with what my father did to you, and certainly not with what I’ve done. 

Regardless, All Might looks excited as he talks, and he shoots back and forth between his larger form and his normal form quite a few times, with the occasional blood spurting from his lips.

All Might looks like an oversized golden retriever. That’s what he reminds him of. Izuku can see it now. 

He doesn’t give the boy any time to interrupt, not that Izuku would have tried to given how guilty he feels at the moment. He wouldn’t dare shut the man down when he sounds so hopeful. So good and honest. 

This is not a good idea, that’s for sure. It’s most definitely not, but the boy ultimately decides that he can’t do anything about it now. This might very well backfire on him.

But he guesses that only time will tell.

The Underground Club is exactly what it sounds like. 

It’s a club, and it’s underground. 

Hidden under a law firm, the club is pretty secretive. Of course, the firm does know about them. They run it, after all. 

This club is not like any other clubs, and Izuku isn’t just saying that. This club is sort of like a hangout spot for a lot of vigilantes, antiheroes, and even the occasional underground hero. 

Izuku thanks the skies that he’s never seen Eraserhead in here. He doubts the man even knows about it with how under wraps everything is. 

Back to the point—you could call this the common room for all the people and groups that don’t exactly abide by the law but also aren’t full-on villains. 

There’s drinks, some food, a pool table, and even some card games set up. 

It’s more like a bar, honestly, but calling it a club sounds better. The Underground Bar sounds like it could have a number of double meanings. And none of them are good. 

Everyone goes quiet when he walks in. There’s a lot of people in tonight, some of them smoking and placing bets and throwing darts, while others are sitting around chatting. Could be for business, could just be for fun. 

Izuku isn’t wearing his Rabbit costume. He’s in what he calls his casual clothing. A dark green hoodie with black sweatpants, red and green sneakers—he looks like any other person on the street. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail and hidden by his hood, and he still has a plain black mask on and his contacts in.

He likes to think that everyone is staring at him because of his roguishly good looks, but he knows it’s probably because he’s the youngest one in there by far. 

Everyone in the underground knows his name. Rabbit is sort of a celebrity, much to Izuku’s chagrin. 

So it’s only natural that they’ll stare and then look away after a few moments. There’s a strict no-unwarranted-fighting policy inside the building, so if they want to start a fight with him, they’d have to actually ask him so they can take it into the ring at the back. 

He’s gotten into plenty of fights before. Sadly, no one has challenged him in the last few months. Not for real. He’s gotten the occasional friendly spar, though. 

He heads to the side counter, giving a few waves and nods in greeting to the others around him. No one speaks to him, though.

His friendlier vigilantes and partners aren’t in, it seems. 

“Rabbit,” the lady at the front says. She has horns on her head, kind of like a dragon’s. She can produce poison from the tips, which is partially where she gets her name. “Back again early I see.”

“Yep. Just here to cash out my recent dues.”

She nods and pulls out a tablet to check his profile, looking back up after a few moments. “Alright, just give me a second while I get your stuff.”

The lady goes into the back behind the bar, and Izuku whistles as he waits. 

The club is also a good place to get clients and unclaimed jobs. Most of them pay really good, which is part of the reason Izuku was introduced to this place a couple years back. He’s been banking off of it ever since, as he’s never been picky about which jobs he gets. The club sells weapons, tech, and even valuable information. 

That last one is new—Izuku still remembers in the beginning when they would only provide weapons and technology, not so much stolen documents. 

The boy is proud to say that he helped make that happen. 

When she comes back with his cash, he pockets it without saying a word. Something has caught his attention on the back wall by the wine. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Oh, this?” Dragon lady picks up the object and brings it over for him to hold. “That’s an itchy smoke bomb. Just got it in a few days ago.”

“A itchy smoke bomb?” He says excitedly, passing it between his hands like a baseball. 

She hums in amusement. “Yeah. We’ve only got a few left; they’re a hit with the antis here.”

He ends up buying three of them on impulse without anymore questions. Can you blame him, really? It just sounds so cool!

Sitting at a small table in the corner of the room, he starts to work on them. Dragon lady had said that the smoke is white, so he wants to change that. Maybe he can make one of them multicolored, like a rainbow, and the last two black. 

The black smoke is good for stealth, while the rainbow one is good for pissing people off. Sounds perfect. 

He’s almost finished with the second black one when his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. 

Oh, he thinks. It seems his victim has texted back.

Izuku checks the conversation with a wide grin. 

How did you get this number? Who is this?

Wouldn’t he like to know, huh? Izuku doesn’t think he’ll grace him with an answer to the last question. The man should be able to figure it out. 

He types back quickly: The same way I got Tsukauchi’s. 

It’s five minutes later when he gets another notification. 

This phone number has blocked you. You cannot receive texts or interact with this number again. 

Izuku starts to cackle like a maniac, earning a few nervous looks from the people closest to him. The hero thinks that’ll stop him? How dumb does he think Izuku is?

He can’t wait to terrorize the man. Izuku’s already complained to Tsukauchi about the less-than-stellar experience he had with Eraserhead, and he’s yet to get a reply. 

Probably because the detective realizes just how dumb it was to send a hero after him. 

He’s finished with the smoke bombs, so he’s ready to leave. He’s planning to wash his clothes at the laundromat, so he might as well get a move on. 

That’s his plan, at least, until one of his clients walk up to him and offer him another job, persisting even after Izuku tells them that’s he on a one-week hiatus. 

The boy is ashamed to admit that he stays an extra hour at the club listening to his client’s explanation, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Oh, Izuku can’t wait until the week is up. He’s going to throw down. 

Doing laundry sucks. 

Well, not totally. If Izuku actually had a working washing machine and dryer at his place, he probably wouldn’t be complaining. But he doesn’t, so here he is, sitting in this disgusting laundromat and waiting for his clothes to finish washing. 

It smells like burnt rubber in here, but also like the confusing odor of multiple laundry detergents and soaps mixed together.

It’s not necessarily bad, but it gets on Izuku’s nerves anyway. 

He takes a bite of his Slim Jim, bobbing his head to his playlist of this really old artist. 

He put his Rabbit costume in the washer as well, having picked it up at his apartment after dropping off his smoke bombs. 

Which reminds Izuku that he has to change his bandages when he gets back. His stitches still have to stay in for a while, but his bandages have to be reapplied twice every day to avoid infection. 

At least the boy thinks so. It’s not like he’s gone to medical school. 

The washer turns green, so Izuku finishes his Slim Jim and starts to take everything out, pushing a few coins into the dryer to start it. 

This new song is interesting. It’s about some student punching one of their classmates for stealing their potential boyfriend, but the artist still manages to make it sound good without being weird. 

He steps back, only to bump into someone. Izuku’s not surprised—his senses don’t work very well when he’s listening to music, which is exactly why he does it here. It’s an escape. 

Izuku immediately turns around and pops an earbud out of his ear, apologies spilling from his lips. 

But then he stops. Because what the actual fuck. 

The man is tall, but not as tall as All Might. He has long blond hair and green eyes that have a dark swirl in place of their pupils. He’s wearing red rectangular glasses and light grey sweatpants with a plain white shirt, his muscles clearly defined through the thin fabric. 

They’re built more for speed than for strength, though it’s obvious the man isn’t lacking. 

“It’s alright,” the blond insists. “I didn’t see you there either!”

Izuku recognizes him immediately. This is the man who scared off those bullies in the alleyway. 

It’s the voice that gives it away, along with the hair. It’s pulled back in the same hairstyle he had when Izuku first saw him. It’s definitely him—Izuku doesn’t mess up little details like that. 

He prays that the man won’t stop, that he’ll just keep going on his way to wash the basket of clothes he’s got in his hands, because this is already so fucking awkward, but of course Izuku doesn’t get his way. The universe never listens to what he wants. 

The man’s eyes light up in recognition, and he slips off his headphones and lets them hang by his neck, setting the basket on one of the washers beside him. 

“Oh, it’s you, little listener! How are ya?” 

Izuku curses at the world. Why does everything hate him? He’s just a magnet for trouble, isn’t he? Why can’t he just—

He said listener. 

Listener. 

Izuku is, to put it simply, a dumbass. How has he not put the pieces together already? The blond hair, the personality of a radio show host, the swirling eyes, kind of like a cockatoo’s—the man even called him listener back in the alley when he helped him that day.

This is Present fucking Mic. 

Izuku kind of wants to pass out. First Eraserhead, then All Might, and now Present Mic? Just how involved is his life getting? Is he the main character?

He used to listen to Present Mic’s radio show all the time, and he loved this man—still kind of does, actually. The pro has been steadily rising in the recent hero rankings, Izuku knows that much. He hasn’t caught up on the man’s life, though. He doesn’t know where he’s at, or how his show is going. 

This feels like a fever dream. 

“Kiddo?”

Oh, right. He asked him a question. 

Izuku flounders, stepping back to lean against his washer and dryer set, trying to give the man more room. “Oh, I’m fine! I’ve been doing great!”

“Well that’s good.” The hero smiles sweetly, and it looks too real to be fake. “The cut above your eye healed up nicely, yeah? I’m glad you’re alright.”

He remembered that? Why does Izuku feel so happy about that?

“Yeah, I—I heal pretty fast, so…” He winces after saying it. Why did he bother mentioning that? Actually, it doesn’t matter. He needs to take advantage of this! “Uh, Present Mic! Can—Can you sign my notebook, please? You don’t have to, obviously! I was just wondering, since, um, I didn’t really ask the last time and we’re both already here so—”

“Oh, you do know who I am!” He sounds amused but more flattered than anything else. “I thought you might with those clothes you have on.”

Izuku suddenly feels very self-conscious even though he knows the voice hero didn’t mean it like that. It’s weird how he didn’t care about his looks or attitude at all when it came to All Might or Eraserhead—but when it comes to Present Mic, a hero who loves fashion just as much as he loves yelling, everything suddenly matters more. 

Izuku probably looks pretty homeless right now in his oversized Hawks t-shirt and his Ryukyu pajama pants. Oh, he’s glad that he didn’t decide to wear his Edgeshot socks today. 

Present Mic dumps his laundry into his own washer, continuing to talk to him even with his back slightly turned. “And of course I’ll sign your notebook, kiddo.”

This prompts Izuku to go rushing back to his seat, taking the journal out of his bag and frantically flipping to a page. The voice hero gives him a teasing look when Izuku hands him the Ingenium-themed pen. 

Oh my God. This is actually happening. 

Izuku is vibrating at a frequency that could break glass once the man hands it back to him, and he hugs the journal to his chest as he bends down low. “Thank you!”

The voice hero lets out a no problem before finishing his load of clothes, already starting to whistle a tune to himself. 

Izuku is in heaven, and he has to force himself out of his stupor before he makes a fool out of himself. He does not want to be embarrassed, nope. 

Music is still blasting on one side of his head, and he pops his earbud back in and repeats the song that had started. 

It’ll be about thirty minutes before his laundry is done, so he’s just going to sit there and do what he does best: analyze. 

He opens his notebook back to Present Mic’s page and starts to make an entirely new analysis on him. He sketches the man in his hero clothing, as he’s pretty much memorized it by now, and jots down a few more notes about him and his style choices. 

His on air personality is very much exaggerated, but he’s reportedly a nice, sweet teacher for his students at UA while also a badass pro hero who doubles as a radio host. The man is incredible, and his intelligence is off the charts. There’s a reason he’s an A rank pro hero with high stats.

Someone pokes him in the shoulder, and Izuku jolts, snapping the notebook shut and yanking his earbud out yet again as he turns to stare, wide-eyed, at the culprit. 

Present Mic is looking at him with a hand outstretched, sitting two seats over and looking a little concerned. Oh. The man must’ve been trying to get his attention. 

“Sorry!” Izuku says, nails digging into his palms as his cheeks flush an even darker shade of red. “What did—what did you say, sir?”

“‘S alright, listener, I was just asking why you’re out here so late at night. It is past curfew for kiddos your age.”

Curfew. Izuku suddenly remembers that a curfew does, in fact, exist for children who are underage. The boy never follows that law, so he’s kind of forgotten it even exists. Besides, most of the cops around here know him. As long as he’s not using his quirk in public or being a little shit, they usually turn a blind eye to him being out late. 

Doesn’t stop them from snitching on him to Tsukauchi, though, which usually earns him another lecture the next time he sees the man. 

The hero must see the panic on his face, because he gives him another reassuring smile. “You’re not in trouble or anything, I was just curious. I was never a stickler to that rule either.”

It sounds genuine, but Izuku still hates how easily he believes him. He also hates how easily the lie slips from his own mouth. “My dad told me to do the laundry, but I kinda forgot. He’s getting back from a business trip in the morning, so, uh, yeah.”

For a second, Present Mic just peers at him. He doesn’t respond, and there’s not enough light in the laundromat for Izuku to see what his expression looks like, so the boy waits with bated breath on his reaction. 

He hums after what seems like forever, but what could’ve only been a few seconds. “That’s fair. And by the way, listener, I’m off-duty right now, so you can just call me Yamada.”

Yamada. That’s his last name. Being a pro hero with relatively high rankings, most people know that. It’s not a secret. 

Izuku opens his notebook back up, still a little shaken. He doesn’t like the look Yamada had given him during the brief pause. The man is, again, very intelligent. 

Did he notice the lie? Why not call him out on it if so? Izuku is too tired for this. 

He can barely focus on even his analyses, so he instead listens to the music playing in one earbud. He doesn’t dare put the other one in, not wanting to risk another incident. He’s learned from his mistake. 

And so he actually hears what happens next the first time.  

Present Mic is giggling now. Like a little schoolgirl. 

Izuku frowns, wanting to ask what he’s laughing at, but he stops himself. That’s none of his business. He has no right to ask, so he continues writing. 

Present Mic, however, doesn’t seem to think so, as he glances at him brightly. “My coworker just had an impromptu painting of him on a billboard today. Apparently some vigilante around here made it to get back at him for being an ass.” He blocks his mouth suddenly. “‘Scuse the language, listener.”

But Izuku didn’t listen to the curse word—he’s heard and said way worse himself—as he’s suddenly frozen solid. It can’t be. 

Why does this keep happening to him?

Yamada leans over and shows him the picture on his phone, and sure enough, it’s the painting that Izuku spray painted with Kacchan not five hours before. It’s a little bit painted over, unfortunately, as the excellent drawing of Eraserhead—an underground hero—is not something that should be seen by the public. They must’ve taken it down real quick. 

The painting is still all mostly there, at least in the picture. It’s a silhouette of Eraserhead with his most defining features: his unkept black hair, the capture weapon wrapped around his neck, and his neon yellow goggles. In bold, rainbow letters, the words Eat My Ass cover the top. 

Izuku made sure to add glitter everywhere, because why not?

Yamada tries to block the swear word with his hand, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like Izuku had written it or anything. No, not at all. 

“He doesn’t appreciate the talent as much as I do. I mean, look at the detail! It was obviously done in a rush, but it looks great!”

Izuku gapes, looking at the voice hero with a newfound sparkle to his eyes, because finally, someone appreciates my artistic abilities. 

“I agree,” Izuku says, looking back down at his lap. “I think the dick painted on his forehead makes it a whole lot better, too. Really ties it all in.”

Yamada laughs, and Izuku can’t help but wonder if the voice hero would still smile at him like that if he knew the truth. 

Considering the voice hero’s abrasive personality, he probably would. 

Izuku laughs with him, and it’s not until later that he realizes it wasn’t forced. 

Chapter Text

Izuku looks up at Endeavor’s Agency from the sidewalk, and logically, he knows it’s a bad idea.

He knew it as soon as his client explained the job, as soon as he mentioned it had anything to do with the number two pro hero. He should’ve walked away when he saw the name on the job report. No amount of money is worth getting busted trying to rob a place that houses Endeavor and all of his sidekicks, where Izuku will, without a doubt, be outnumbered and easily caught if something goes wrong.

And something usually does go wrong. It’s just Izuku’s luck. It’s his curse, and his birthright.

Though, despite his bad feelings, despite knowing better, here Izuku is, slipping into the alleyway beside the very intimidating building, about to make the climb. He’s drawn to this place, knowing that the hero who works here is second only to All Might himself. 

Sometimes, Izuku wonders if the Symbol of Peace would be disappointed in him if he found out about his vigilante counterpart, and he wonders what the man thinks about Rabbit, if he even thinks about him at all. He hasn’t exactly stood out lately except for the incident with the sludge villain a couple weeks back, so there’s no reason for someone as powerful as All Might to pay him any attention.

All Might stands for justice and tranquility, and he’s a pillar of hope for the people of Japan and even for the rest of the world. He advises everyone to help keep the peace, no matter the hardships that come along with doing that. 

Standing at the bottom of Endeavor’s agency after disabling all of the thermal recognition sensors around the area, it’s clear Izuku’s doing the exact opposite of what All Might preaches. 

He’s looking for trouble, not solving it. He may be doing it as a means for survival, perhaps, but this stunt, this job, is about more than that. He’s searching for something. 

He just doesn’t know what.

Izuku flips his hood over his head, making sure it won’t get in the way, then starts his climb. He has to be quick about this, as the next patrol comes by in twenty-five seconds and will assuredly see him if he remains at the base of the building. Endeavor is a paranoid man, and this makes it so his agency is one of the harder ones to get into.

He constantly has security patrols, but the only good thing is that there’s only two of them protecting the outside of the building. With over four walls and corners making up the outside, there are places that are out of sight for a small stretch of time.

And twenty-five seconds is enough for Izuku.

The climb goes quick with his adhesive gloves, and just seconds later he’s pushing himself up and over the balcony on the top floor, hidden away from the eyes of the public and the security patrols from the ground level. It’s the same balcony he’s seen Endeavor jump onto countless of times after finishing patrol. 

This must be his own private office, which is exactly where Izuku needs to be. 

He readjusts his hood and mask one last time and walks across the ledge to the door. Of course it’ll be locked—Endeavor may be a bitch, but he’s not stupid. If Izuku so much as touches the handle to open it, alarms will start to blare all around him. He’ll be caught in less time than it takes for Izuku to make a villain cry, and that’s saying something. 

So it’s a good thing all of the cameras are down for around ten minutes in this section of the top floor. 

Completely unrelated, of course. I wouldn’t dare mess with Endeavor’s security systems unless I had a reason to. 

Singing to himself, Izuku uses Pull to carefully peel off the transparent sensor—a thin sleeve that covers the handle of the door and checks for fingerprints—without making it go off. He then powers up his leg and kicks at the door handle, effectively breaking the handle off in one clean sweep. He catches it before it can clatter to the ground, and he lets out a relieved breath when he hears no alarms or sirens. 

He then takes one of his electronic probes and jabs it into the now exposed hole in the door—the electronic lock buzzes and then clicks, and Izuku is in.

He nudges open the balcony door and peeks inside. 

Sure, it’s a little strange that there’s no one else here, but he presses on anyways. Maybe it really is going to be this easy. He’s outsmarted plenty of heroes before now, so maybe they’re all just this stupid and incompetent.

Still, he isn’t careless about it. He’s just a little hesitant. After he steps inside, he looks around the room and checks out the high-ceiling appreciatively. There are scorch marks in some places on the walls, obviously from the hero’s quirk. Did he activate it out of rage back then? Or maybe excitement?

He doesn’t like where his train of thought goes after that last one.  

Izuku focuses on his senses, finding nothing out of the ordinary. There’s no one here, and there’s no hidden tripwires or anything. He’s in the clear.

And now he has his eyes on the prize, or, rather, his client’s prize. A statue sits near the large double doors, made out of what looks like hollow gold. It’s a lion, and if Izuku didn’t know any better, he would’ve presumed it to be a regular statue. 

But he does know better. He knows, thanks to his extensive research the night before and his helpful client, that this statue also happens to double as a safe. A safe that should, if Izuku’s information is correct, contain in-depth records of Endeavor’s latest missions and targets. Villains that he’s already apprehended, and also ones that he hasn’t. 

Not yet.

These files are worth way more than the lousy police records Izuku downloaded from Tsukauchi’s computer that day. He’ll have to scan these files for himself before handing them over for payment. It might prove to be useful to him, which is obviously why his client gave him the job in the first place. 

The lion glowers at him, mouth open in a permanent snarl. It looks like it’s taunting the vigilante even without being alive. Izuku doesn’t know why Endeavor chose a lion of all animals to hide his secrets away, and he doesn’t really care to find out. 

Each step brings him closer to the double pay he was promised. It’ll be enough to keep Izuku from pickpocketing rich jerks on subways—or from taking on another job like this one—for at least a few weeks.

Enough time to repair some of my weapons. I need to make more grenades. 

And besides, Izuku will get more time to focus on his training with All Might, something that the boy doesn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would when the hero suggested it a week ago. 

He’s glad that the training is easy, at least for now. His stomach still hurts a lot every day, and he only took out his stitches this morning—he probably shouldn’t have—but he reckons he’s alright.

Checking to make sure the alarms are still down, he takes out his staff and swings with all his force at the head of the mammal, right behind its left ear. 

Is that it? Izuku thinks, panicked. That should be the trigger. 

For a moment, nothing seems to happen, but then there’s the sound of metal scraping against metal, and a little compartment pops open in its chest. A keypad sits inside, and words flash on the small screen. 

Facial recognition required. Initiating full body scan. Please do not move.

Izuku takes the end of his staff and sends it smashing straight into the glass, shattering it completely and revealing the mess of wires behind it. There are no alarms yet, but Izuku has to hurry. He only set the security systems to be on loop for ten minutes. They’ll be coming back on soon—maybe even sooner if one of Endeavor’s sidekicks notices the breach. 

He sets down his weapon and carefully pops off the door to the safe, eyes widening once he sees what’s in it. There’s no money, of course. Izuku isn’t a fool—Endeavor is too rich to actually carry around bills. But there is a thick folder, along with a few pictures of the hero’s family that Izuku doesn’t give a damn about. 

They may still be useful, however.

He picks up the folder, turning it over in his hands and peeking at its contents. 

As promised, there must be a hundred different files in here, each containing the names and details of Endeavor’s closest allies and enemies. Flipping through them, Izuku can see pictures of battle scenes, and even some handwritten notes in the margins by the number two hero himself. 

He’s gonna be so pissed when he realizes someone took this. 

He sets it on the ground for a moment and picks his staff back up, sliding it into the harness over his back as he gets ready to leave. He doesn’t bother trying to shut the safe. He wants Endeavor to know someone was here. Hell, he wants him to be thinking about it for weeks.

When Izuku stands up, he freezes. Something—something feels wrong.

“Too easy,” Izuku whispers. He rubs at the corner of the folder with the pads of his fingers, and not a speck of dust clings to them, which just goes to show how important the files are. 

I broke into Endeavor’s agency to steal really important documents, so why am I not I being attacked right now by one of his sidekicks? Even with the cameras down, I expected better from the number two hero.

And, really, Izuku just had to think that, huh?

There’s a shift in the air, and wind blasts at the back of Izuku’s neck. The vigilante turns just in time to see a flash of gray fabric coming towards him. He drops to the ground and rolls to the side, barely dodging the capture weapon as it wraps around the space he occupied moments before. 

Izuku’s breath hitches as he crouches low to the floor, facing the intruder with his bōstaff clutched in one hand, folder in the other. Well, this is familiar. 

“Strange, isn’t it?”

Eraserhead stands just under ten yards away from the boy, right in front of the open balcony doors. He’s staring at him, but for how long? He couldn’t have been there the whole time. Just couldn’t have.

Izuku would have—should have—felt his quirk. He feels him now, of course, now that he’s made himself known, but the panic rising in his throat doesn’t seem to die down at all. 

“You look like a moth,” is the first thing Izuku says. The boy blinks, surprised at his own stupidity, before straightening back up from his crouched position. “Has anyone ever told you that, Eraser?”

“Once or twice. What’s in your hand?” 

Crisp, succinct, his tone of voice tells Izuku that despite his question, the man knows exactly what’s going on here, and what Izuku is holding. “A copy of Endeavor’s search history. Thought it’d make for good blackmail. Did you know he’s into temperature play?”

He gets an unimpressed look from the man. “I thought you only steal from bad guys.”

Endeavor is a bad guy, Izuku wants to say, but he bites his tongue. Now is not the time to start a debate, even though the boy has a feeling the underground hero would agree with him on his views. 

“I don’t recall ever saying that,” he says instead, trying to distract him. There’s not much else to do when Izuku is frantically trying to come up with a plan whilst simultaneously freaking out over the fact that Eraserhead found him so quickly, that he’s here, in this room, and Izuku didn’t notice. 

And that—that shouldn’t be possible. 

“Didn’t have to,” Eraserhead says. He starts a slow, methodical walk from his place by the balcony, creeping closer to Izuku. “Your records told me a lot about you.”

He’s bluffing. He has to be. Izuku has taken a lot of measures to make sure nothing important is found out about him. The man doesn’t know anything that Izuku doesn’t want him to. Right?

Izuku takes a couple of steps back to make up for the distance Eraserhead is gaining. The hero notices and stops approaching.

“It’s been a week,” the man continues, suddenly sounding much more serious. The change has Izuku shivering. “Have you come to a decision?”

Decision? For Izuku to make a decision, he’d first have to have a choice in the matter. And there is no choice, not for Izuku. He’s already thought about it, already talked it over with Kacchan. 

Izuku trusts Tsukauchi, he really does. The detective has admitted that he truly does want the best for him, and Izuku doesn’t need a lie detecting quirk to be able to tell that’s he’s telling the truth.  

But once Izuku turns himself in, it’s basically a death sentence. Not legally, since he’s still a minor, but when has the government ever done things legally? At the very worst, in the public’s eyes, he’ll get some time in jail or be put on house arrest for the unforeseeable future. He’ll be put through some program like any other juvenile delinquent, and he’ll just have to live with the words ex-vigilante on his record for the rest of his life. 

But that’s not what will really happen. He’ll be checked over by the doctors, of course. They’ll find out about his quirk—no, quirks. 

They’ll make the connection between him and his father, and then they’ll take him away. The government is good at that. No one will blink an eye at the disappearance of a vigilante once the Commission gets involved. He’ll then suffer a fate worse than death, worse than whatever Tsukauchi or Eraserhead seems to think will happen to him if he doesn’t turn himself in.

Because if Izuku is caught by the Hero’s Commission, his father will feel inclined to involve himself.

Izuku lets venom seep into his voice when he speaks. “Decision, huh? Let me think about it for a second, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

Eraserhead grimaces, which is more of a reaction than Izuku thought he’d get. The man takes another step, only to stop at the way Izuku raises his bōstaff in warning. “Listen, kid, I admit that I could’ve had more tact regarding our last conversation.”

I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a conversation. Felt pretty one-sided to me. 

The hero clears his throat, though the indifference on his face stays. “It was wrong of me to come onto you like that. You have no reason to trust me, so I had no right to act like you owed me something. Though you’re technically still a criminal, Rabbit, you’ve done a lot of good for a lot of people. Even I can recognize that.”

“I get it. You’re just doing your job,” Izuku says quietly, and he kind of means it, too. He can’t fault him too much when the man could’ve just spared him the ultimatum and captured him straightaway. As much as he hates to admit it, Izuku doesn’t think he would’ve stood a chance against him at that moment, not while he was injured at least. “Though what I do want to know is how you got roped into all of this.”

He means why. Why does Eraserhead care, or at least act like he does, when that makes everything so much more difficult. 

“You’re young. I can tell just by the way you talk, even with that voice changer. You can’t be any older than my school’s first years.” His expression softens just a fraction, and Izuku wishes it wouldn’t. Wishes the man didn’t decide to be so open with him. “It isn’t everyday a teenager with skills like yours chooses to become a hero instead of a villain.”

Izuku looks down at the folder cradled in his hand. He’s fucked. He’s caught with no way out. At least no way out that doesn’t involve going through Eraserhead, who has, once again, started to move closer and closer to him. He’s slow and careful, as if Izuku is a scared, wounded animal that will bolt or attack if he’s caught off guard.

And honestly, that’s not far from the truth. 

“You know what that contains?” Eraserhead asks, gesturing to the folder held tightly in Izuku’s hand. 

Izuku doesn’t answer immediately. He could be stalling until backup arrives. I have to get out of here.

When it’s clear the hero isn’t going to continue without a reply, the vigilante looks away, towards the clock hanging above Endeavor’s desk. “I know enough.”

Eraserhead makes a noncommittal noise. “I’m sure you know how dangerous those files can be when dropped into the wrong hands.” A tilt of his head. “But that isn’t your problem, is it? Ignorance means you don’t have to feel guilty when things get screwed up, right?”

Izuku backs up some more, back hitting the double doors to the office. He doesn’t like the way Eraserhead keeps tightening the room by closing the distance between them. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel trapped, or the way the man keeps trying to poke holes in his conscience, in the way he rationalizes what he’s doing.

The man was just praising him, soothing his rising anxiety, but now he’s back to being the pro hero Eraserhead. Rabbit is his mission, after all, and he has to finish it. 

Izuku lifts a shoulder in a stiff shrug. “I don’t give out information to just anybody. If something goes wrong, or turns bad, I fix it.”

“That’s not how the Hero Commission sees it,” Eraserhead says. “And whoever you’re doing this for, I’m sure you know they can’t be trusted, at least not fully. I don’t mean to be insensitive when I say this, kid, but you can’t possibly know for sure what that person will do with the information you’re holding right now.”

As much as Izuku wants to scream at the jab at his perception and his very untrustworthy client, he keeps his jaw tight, his eyes set on the balcony behind the hero before looking back down at the folder in his hand. 

It doesn’t feel dangerous. It doesn’t have an aura of power or feel like anything at all. It’s just a couple hundred pieces of copy paper with some ink on it. It has a few thousand names and dates, and that’s it. The more he looks at it, the more he’s convinced that it does nothing except look important and tease, that the hero is lying. 

Izuku supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Adults can’t be trusted to tell the truth, or to do much of anything good.

“Who said I’m doing this for someone else? I like to treat myself sometimes.”

It sounds flat, even to Izuku, and so the vigilante isn’t surprised when Eraserhead just blinks at him, unfazed. “Most of your jobs involve money. I doubt you’d be doing something as risky as this without some sort of reward at the end.”

Does he know about the club? I know there’s probably a few informants and bugs in there, but I didn’t think Eraserhead would know about it.

Or the hero could be bluffing, trying to push Izuku into submission without the boy realizing it. 

Izuku’s eyes flash back towards the doors and windows, towards freedom, and he watches how Eraserhead tracks the movement with his own eyes.

“Just hand the folder over. Do the right thing. If not for me or Tsukauchi, than for yourself.”

“And I walk out of here?” 

“No,” Eraserhead says. Another step. “You were never going to just walk out of here, but if you hand over that very expensive piece of government property, I can help you.” 

And there it is again. The help thing. He wants Izuku to trust him, and at the moment the boy wants nothing more than for the hero to go fuck himself. They’ve been over the trust thing. So why is Eraserhead still trying?

And why is he being so gentle about it? He still sounds so matter-of-fact, too. Izuku wonders how the hero manages to pull that off. 

The thing is, Izuku doesn’t know how the pro hero defines help. Maybe to him, help is calling the cops or sending him somewhere for troubled teens, or maybe Eraserhead’s idea of help is locking him up in some prison where they’ll never let him see the light of day again. 

Some people are twisted like that. Some people like to twist words.

Izuku doesn’t want Eraserhead to be some people. He hopes to god he isn’t. 

“I think you’re lying.” Izuku watches the man closely for any tells. For an eye twitch—something. But all he gets is a raise of his left brow. It could be read as a sign of irritation, or even amusement, but Izuku has a feeling that it’s neither of those. The hero is trying to figure him out, has been, ever since their first discussion. “I think you set this up, knowing I’d come here. That’s how you caught me so quickly.”

Caught him red-handed, like a parent catching their kid with their hand in the cookie jar. 

Eraserhead stares, curiosity and indifference fighting for control in his every movement. It looks like an act. Or the boy is looking too much into this, and the hero truly is examining him so openly. 

He’s good at that, Izuku thinks. Making me question myself. Practiced. 

“Is that what you think, kid?” His tone never changes, but he moves closer again. Hands now settled in his pockets.

Izuku feels closed in. 

“Those files are real. I did nothing except put word out on the street about where they were located. I figured you’d come looking for them. If not for yourself, than for someone not brave enough to break into the number two hero’s agency.”

Strange, isn’t it? 

Of course Eraserhead said that. He knew Izuku would find the whole thing too easy. Knew Izuku would do it anyway. So is he really that predictable? Izuku has walked straight into his trap.

His instincts were right. He should’ve listened to his gut. 

“Kid, if you turn yourself in, I promise that I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’ll be alright. I’ll work towards that trust, understand? Even if you don’t believe me right now, I promise that I’ll help you. You just have to meet me halfway.”

And for a moment, Izuku allows himself to think about what would happen if he’d cave. If he’d just do it and say that dreadful word. Maybe Eraserhead would be able to protect him. Maybe Izuku is just too paranoid, too anxious, too scared to admit that he might actually be okay if he laid down his weapons. 

Izuku, for some reason, doubts himself. 

But then he remembers his father’s face, he remembers the number three hero’s predicament, how he’s nothing but a tool for the Hero Commission, and then the moment is over and the clock is ticking. 

He has less than a minute before the security systems come back on. The doors behind him will burst open, and Izuku will most definitely be screwed. 

He has to run. Right now. That’s his only choice. Izuku’s escaped Eraserhead before, right? Well, not escaped; the man let him go, but that’s besides the point. This shouldn’t be too much difficulty. 

Oh, how wrong he is. 

Izuku slides the small bōstaff back into its harness. He stuffs his free hand into the inside of his costume’s jacket, and to anyone else, it would look normal. Like something an angsty teen would do to avoid having to do something or to socialize with anyone. 

But Izuku has pockets on the outside of his jacket like any normal piece of clothing. The ones on the inside are there to hold his weapons. His creations. 

The boy almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. Eraserhead doesn’t know, so it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault that people are cruel. Izuku can’t just turn himself in, not even with the promise the hero gave him. 

It sounded genuine, too. That’s the worst part. 

Izuku hopes the sorry is written clear in his eyes as he meets Eraserhead’s heavy gaze and tries for a laugh. 

“You said I wouldn’t be able to walk out of here, right? You never said anything about running.”

The hero jolts. “Rabbit—”

What happens next seems to be in slow-motion. Izuku takes one of the smoke bombs out of his pocket and throws it at the floor with one jerk of his wrist, and at the same time, a screeching alarm starts to blare from the walls. 

The thick black smoke expands more into a cloud, covering the whole room and seeping through the vents. 

Izuku has to think fast. There’s loud voices and quick footsteps coming from below. Endeavor’s office seems to cover the entire top floor. 

Well, fuck. It’s either Rabbit versus Eraserhead, or Rabbit versus all of Endeavor’s sidekicks. 

And with the way the underground hero is flying at him with his capture weapon outstretched, the smoke billowing around him, having somehow pinpointed exactly where Izuku would be standing even with the fog obscuring his vision, the decision is made abundantly clear. 

Izuku throws open the doors behind him and runs. 

He hopes Endeavor’s sidekicks aren’t as capable as everyone says. 

Shouta is unequivocally stupid. So incredibly stupid. 

He’s surprised the trap worked. He didn’t expect Rabbit to actually go for it. He expected another petty criminal or thief to make some attempts, sure, but Shouta was under the impression that Rabbit had no reason to, no need to go this far. 

He was obviously very wrong. 

Money must be one of those reasons—and maybe it serves as the deciding factor for most of Rabbit’s missions. That thought alone is enough to have Shouta frowning. 

The vigilante is young. He should still be living with his parents, so he doesn’t need that money, right?

Shouta never imagined someone as smart as Rabbit to risk his life like this for some cash. 

Yes, his life. Because if Endeavor had somehow been here, having canceled his meeting or simply left early, Rabbit would probably be dead. The number two hero wouldn’t think twice about frying a little vigilante over breaking and entering, so Shouta is eternally grateful Endeavor is not here.

That might change soon, though. He must be getting some sort of warning on the situation right now, wherever he is.

If Endeavor had been here in the first place, escaping would have been near impossible. He also wouldn’t have taken kindly to Eraserhead being in his agency, especially on his own private floor. 

He sees underground heroes as being lesser, and Shouta is no exception. 

Speaking of escape—what the fuck is Rabbit thinking? And why does he have smoke bombs all of a sudden?

This is the first time he’s used one, at least to Shouta’s knowledge. He’ll have to remember to ask Tsukauchi about it after this is over. 

He flies down the stairs, slipping his goggles over his eyes as he listens for the brat. The windows on Endeavor’s floor are bulletproof; Rabbit must’ve known this, which explains why he didn’t go for them immediately. 

He must be planning to go for the ones on the next floor down, as the entrance to the agency is most likely locked. If Shouta isn’t mistaken, the locks slide in place automatically once any alarms go off. There’s no point heading for the base level. 

He lands at the bottom of the first flight of stairs and curses as he takes in the scene before him. The room is already in shambles and it’s only been five seconds. Rabbit is bouncing on top of the rows of desks and using the walls as leverage as he dodges the three heroes who lunge at him.

The interns are all scrambling back, away from the seemingly rabid vigilante and the ongoing fight. Endeavor’s sidekicks are banding together and attempting to stop the chaos. There looks to be ten of them here at the moment, which isn’t surprising. Shouta knows Endeavor has over thirty, so they must be out and about at this time of day. 

Most of them are hanging back and protecting the interns while also watching the three other sidekicks try and take down the vigilante. They must not be able to all go for him at once—their quirks might make it difficult to fight close range or with partners. 

Another smoke bomb suddenly goes off, this one rainbow colored, and Shouta takes this as his cue to rush forward, capture weapon in hand. He leaps onto a side table and crouches down low, straining to see through the smoke. 

One of the sidekicks, a woman with long, flaming green hair that Shouta faintly recognizes as Burnin’, turns to look at him with dark eyes. “Who are you?”

She’s shouting to be heard over the yells of the other sidekicks and the alarms, and Shouta gives her a quick glance before searching the smoke again. “I’m a pro,” he informs her curtly. “I was tasked with capturing him, so let me help.”

She looks suspicious, but she must recognize him somewhat, as she just nods and disappears into the fog, looking for the others. 

Shouta, however, looks up. 

The smoke doesn’t travel very high; it tends to get thicker down at the bottom, just like moisture in a cloud. 

And there he is, just as Shouta predicted. Rabbit is sticking to the wall, head pressed against the ceiling. It has to be the gloves allowing him to do that, Shouta thinks, and now that he has a view of the vigilante’s boots, he can see that there’s something glossy painted over the bottoms.

Something that allows him to stick to surfaces? Is the gloss permanent, or does he have to reapply it every day?

The smoke is starting to clear just a little bit, and Shouta notices that the kid has purposefully thrown desks around to create obstacles in order to slow the sidekicks down. They don’t know that he’s above them, not running around them. 

Shouta realizes suddenly that he’s waiting for an opening—no, for the right angle. 

He’s trying to go out the window like Shouta thought. He doesn’t want to fight or hurt anybody, it seems. 

And Shouta sees the moment it happens. Rabbit’s head snaps to the side, and Shouta follows the movement; a sidekick is moving out of the way and heading deeper into the fog, leaving a clear view of one of the bigger windows. Big enough for a teenager to fit through. 

And then the boy springs, shooting across the room with surprising force and speed. 

It’s only on instinct that Shouta flings out his capture weapon, eyes itching as his quirk flares. His hair rises from his shoulders, and the gray fabric of his scarf only manages to wrap around the vigilante’s ankle. Shouta yanks hard, and in the next moment the figure comes jerking towards him. But Rabbit doesn’t make a sound, not even a pained grunt or breath; he only twists midair, free hand suddenly gripping his bōstaff. His finger moves quick across the metal, the weapon extending to reveal—is that a fucking katana at the end of it?

Shouta’s eyes widen, and he watches, breath suspended, as the vigilante’s arm comes down quick, the blade cutting through the smoke. A piece of his scarf is severed off a few inches away from the boy’s ankle, setting him free. 

Oh. He sliced right through it like the scarf is nothing but softened butter, like it isn’t made from one of the strongest materials to ever be threaded into fabric. 

But Rabbit is still sailing towards him from the leftover momentum, and Shouta brings his hands up to protect his face, being forced to blink at the sudden rush of air. 

His quirk sizzles out, a mistake Shouta is made aware of a fraction of a second later. 

Rabbit meets his gaze, and this close to each other, Shouta gets the chance to see the boy’s eyes. They’re a dark crimson, seemingly glinting even without light. it looks like contacts—the sharpness is still there, the emotion too profound, too bright of a center; it has to be fake. 

And then boots are hitting him squarely in the chest and Shouta is sent sprawling to the ground when Rabbit uses him as a springboard. He’s flying back towards the window like a torpedo, and the sidekicks are rushing for him as well, the fog having cleared due to the commotion. 

But he’s too quick.

The window explodes on impact, and Rabbit disappears through it amidst the shattering glass. 

Shouta is already up and running. He has to stop him now, dammit, or someone less forgiving will.

Burnin’ looks at him in shock. “What are you doing? We’re on the fifth—”

Shouta doesn’t hear the rest of her sentence as he’s currently flying out of the window himself, arms pulled to his body to keep from hitting the sides. The drop is long, and he puts together the fact that she meant to say floor. They’re on the fifth floor.

There’s a flash of dark green at the corner of his vision, but he can’t do much about it with the ground rising up to meet his face. He braces for it, rolling once his feet hits the ground. 

There’s gasps, then some screams, and Shouta looks up to see a bunch of people crowding around him and the agency’s entrance. They must’ve been drawn in by the alarm. 

The hero shoves past them, eyes searching over the area he swears he just saw the vigilante running through. 

Nothing. 

“Where’d he go?” He asks sharply, glaring at the horde of onlookers. He despises the press as it is, but civilians are arguably a little more annoying when it comes to getting in the way of hero work. 

A man with cat eyes points to a building across the road, and Shouta doesn’t bother responding before taking off. 

He has a feeling he won’t find him. The boy is slippery. 

And this is why Shouta feels stupid. He had him in his grasp, his capture weapon had been around him, and he just let him escape. 

His one job. He only had to not let the kid get the best of him, and look where he’s at now. 

Rabbit is gone. After an entire hour of combing the streets, Shouta only stops his chase when Tsukauchi calls him and chews him out about not telling him that he set up a trap at Endeavor’s Agency, and that he could’ve provided his men as backup. 

And fuck is Shouta angry. Not at Rabbit, at himself. He should’ve just captured him. Shouldn’t have let his emotions get in the way. He’s been trained for that. He knows not to do stuff like that, and yet he’s done it. 

He gave Rabbit a chance. He should’ve just done his job and not let a teenager influence his actions. 

But that’s not entirely right, is it?

Shouta is irritated, sure. Irritated that he failed to bring him in, that the kid is going to be in even more danger now, and yet he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt. Maybe because he saw how scared the boy really was. Even with the mask and the contacts, Shouta could see it. He got a glimpse. Rabbit is scared, no, terrified at the prospect of turning himself in. 

He’s scared to death over it. So much so that he’d much rather go through Endeavor’s sidekicks to avoid his biggest threat at the moment: Eraserhead. 

Shouta is definitely stupid. He’s so, so frustrated, and he finds himself stopping just before the edge of another roof. He’s too distracted—he won’t be of any use going on patrol. He has to head home now and gather his thoughts.

And it’s not until he’s halfway to the apartment he shares with his husband that he feels something digging into his neck. He moves to scratch his neck, and that’s when he finds it: a folder, bent in half and pressed into the folds of his capture weapon. 

He doesn’t even have to look at its contents to know that it’s the one. 

The brat somehow managed to stick it in his scarf without him noticing, probably when he kicked him. 

Shouta feels the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, a little bit of the tension easing from his chest. Playing mind games, huh, kid?

And after the underground hero has slipped into his apartment and kissed Hizashi in greeting, he decides right then and there that he’ll try to help the boy as much as he can. He promised, after all, and Shouta doesn’t break his promises. 

Izuku feels like he’s going to pass out from running too long. He’s a good city over, well outside his normal perimeters, which means he should be good. 

He doesn’t feel any eyes on him, so he slips behind a cat café and doubles over, clutching his stomach. His wound is jostled now, perhaps even torn. The skin is still healing, so it’s delicate. He probably shouldn’t have accepted the mission at all this soon after his injury. 

It’s still sore. His ankle hurts like hell after being jerked like that—oh yeah. His ankle. 

The piece of fabric is still wrapped around it, a little piece hanging off from where he sliced through it. Which, now that he’s safe and can think freely, he finds that he feels bad about it. That capture weapon must be a lot of money to fix. 

All of this shit, and the boy still didn’t even keep the folder. 

Oh well. He got something of far more importance from this little adventure. Izuku can do without that money. Although it would’ve helped a great deal, Eraserhead is right. While he sort of trusts his client, there’s no telling what could have happened if he did end up giving him the folder.

Izuku doesn’t want to be responsible for something bad happening. 

For now, though, he’ll just focus on getting home. Maybe he can actually go to sleep, as he feels like he’s going to pass out any second. 

Yeah. Kacchan is going to kill me. 

Chapter Text

“Slower, honey. The slices have to be smooth. If you're sloppy, it won't look right.”

“This is me going slow."

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Izuku grits his teeth and bites back a groan, his expression sour as Ms. Hanako moves him aside to show him how it's down. She takes the knife from his hand and positions it over the thick slab of pork in front of them. 

“You have to focus," she explains, "but not too hard, or you’ll mess up even more.”

“Wow,” Izuku says dryly. “That makes perfect sense.”

The woman smiles and continues to cut the meat into clean, even strips. “It just takes practice. You’re good with a knife, so it shouldn’t take long to get the hang of it. You're just being impatient, is all. Now try again.”

This is how the process usually goes for days like this. Ms. Hanako tells him how to do something, he fails at it, and then she shows him how to do it herself. It's frustrating sometimes, but she's right—he does eventually get it, most times within the hour. He's quick like that.

Well, as he said: most times.

“You’re doing it wrong again.” Her voice comes from the opposite side of the kitchen, and the boy glances back to see her busy kneading out dough. 

“How? I'm doing exactly what you told me.”

“The rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board is off. You need to be less hesitant.” She sniffs. "'Sides, your slices are getting crooked."

Izuku squawks. “How do you know? You’re not even looking!"

The woman finishes kneading and wipes her hands on a cloth before walking to him. “You did good,” she observes. “But you’re still doing it with the result in mind. Try focusing on each individual slice, instead of on what you think the product should be.”

Izuku feels like his mind might just melt into the drains beneath them but does as instructed anyway, receiving an approving hum in return. 

“See, that’s better.”

There is no difference, Izuku thinks, but he doesn't voice this. Ms. Hanako certainly knows best when it comes to cooking this type of food, so he won’t argue. 

That’s not the purpose of this, anyway. He's not really caught up in the art of cooking, not like she is, at least. The purpose of this is for Ms. Hanako to teach him how to make cheaper meals to substitute for the diet plans All Might gave him.

The man didn’t spare him a second glance after dropping the book into his hands after training one day. He only told Izuku to read it through and tell him his suggestions on what to change or not. The book contains the exercise regimes and diets he has to follow—which is okay, Izuku isn’t upset; he expected something of the sort to be in their agreement, but still. 

He just can’t afford to follow it. Like, at all. Who knew that eating healthier is a lot more expensive than not? Izuku did from his experience of being, well, homeless, but he never imagined the gap would be this large. 

And Izuku feels bad, he really does. He doesn’t like lying to the man, per se, but it’s not like he can just walk up to him and say sorry, All Might, I’m extraordinarily broke and can’t afford the very basic meal plan you want me to follow, which will probably ruin what we have going on here and make you stop teaching me, but I’m still willing to work myself to the bone to continue training with you if that’s alright. 

No. That wouldn’t be very plus ultra. 

“Privileged,” Ms. Hanako mutters sourly a few yards away. 

Izuku squints at her. “Huh?”

“That man just doesn’t understand that not everyone can eat like he does.” She gestures aggressively with the knife to the dietary book Izuku brought with him, shaking her head. “And besides, you’re already quite fit for your age and stature. Your metabolism burns through most foods, does it not? It’s not like eating more protein every day will change anything unless you're eating a bucketful of it, which is just insane to expect from a young boy.”

That’s true. The only reason he is fairly built—besides his vigilante activities, of course—is because Boost gives him an enhanced metabolism. He barely eats enough as it is, but what he does eat gets turned into whatever nutrients he needs incredibly fast. Besides raw ramen, cold coffee, and breadsticks, Izuku lives off the prepackaged food that sits on the clearance shelves of the nearby supermarkets. Sometimes he's able to have fruits and vegetables when they're on major sale, but more often than not he's getting his major nutrients from a can. His body cries for better sustenance, but Izuku can’t provide it. 

I need to save up for a mini stove heater. I don’t want to have to steal one.  

Izuku continues practicing the steps for the meal she told him to try, frowning slightly. “It’s not his fault. And I wouldn’t call him privileged, really. He works hard for his money.”

“Of course he does. That was bad phrasing on my part, sugar. I’d say he’s just rather ignorant, then.”

“Well, he’s nice, though.” Izuku thinks about how happy the man gets when he witnesses the boy achieving something new, and how he encourages him even when Izuku is stubborn.

It’s only been a little over a week of training with All Might, and Izuku can already feel the difference, both in his physical features and mental state. 

All Might is nice to be around, which is wrong. He shouldn’t be. He very much should not be.

Izuku shouldn’t even be around him. His very presence is dangerous to All Might. His quirk alone is reason enough to be wary. The boy feels he’s betraying the hero by even being near him. He doesn’t know what Izuku is, or what he can do with his powers. He wouldn’t be training him if he did, surely.

“Oh, I guess not," Ms. Hanako concedes. "I’m sure he's a humble person, but he could at least try to be more open with you. I swear, if he wasn't a hero, somebody would've called the cops on him already.”

Izuku only laughs quietly, now feeling torn. It would be nice if All Might was more open about One for All and why he’s choosing to train him. Izuku is still, at the bottom of all this, suspicious about everything. I’m a nobody. Why did he choose me and not someone else? Isn’t he just wasting his time? I have nothing to give back to him, so it’s not like he’s gaining anything from this. I already told him I'm not becoming a hero, so why does he continue to train me?

But he's being hypocritical, isn't he? The man owes him nothing. Izuku shouldn’t be upset when he’s also keeping his real quirk a secret. He's arguably doing much worse things, too, so who's really to blame?

“Which reminds me!" Ms. Hanako’s voice becomes sharp, and she turns to him with narrowed eyes. “You haven’t been to my house in a long time, boy! You know how many baked goods I’ve had to throw away because you weren’t there to eat them with me?”

Oh, shit.  

The woman continues dramatically, gesturing wildly with one hand. “I’m just an old lady, Izuku, I can’t finish an entire pie by myself. You know my daughter won’t eat them with me either anymore. Something about trying to maintain her physique or whatever.”

“Ah, I’m sorry!” He dips his head, his skin heating up. It has been a while since he’s last visited her outside of the restaurant. “I keep forgetting!”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses or nothing. Just make sure to come over when you can, hon, I’m getting lonely all by myself.”

Before Izuku can promise that he will, that he’ll eat all the pies she makes with him and even more, the bell near the front door rings, signaling someone coming in. 

“Ah, that must be Ayaka.” Ms. Hanako leaves the back kitchen to greet her daughter, briefly telling Izuku to take a break. 

The boy does so with a bit of hesitancy, glancing at the open book laid out on the sidebar. There’s a bunch of pages that All Might printed of various meals, drinks, and even shakes that he’s supposed to start adding to his daily routine. Most of them are crossed out in red sharpie by Ms. Hanako and replaced with cheaper, easier meals that hold the same amount of nutritional value. 

Most of the foods Izuku can get for just a few bills—older vegetables, reduced canned foods, and fruit that nobody buys this time of year. It’s still a lot more than he can really afford, but Izuku can try. 

Between Tony’s Pizzeria and Auntie Mitsuki’s house, he’s going to try and eat more. Eat healthier, more specifically. 

He may not need to lose weight, but he needs to build more muscle. Even with Boost, building muscle is hard.

But he has to keep it up. This isn’t something that he can do off and on when he has the extra money, he has to put in the effort. He owes All Might that much.

Again, he really has to save up for some household items. Like a mini stove heater, for one, preferably battery operated or solar-powered since he doesn’t have a lot of electricity. The generator he made only goes so far—it allows him light and some outlets to plug his tech in to charge, not so much anything else. 

He needs a phone. The one he has now is used for both his vigilante persona and himself. He isn’t comfortable with All Might having Rabbit’s phone number, even if the man doesn’t know that he does. He’s gonna have to play it off like I got a new number, you can lose the last one!

He’s okay with Kacchan and Auntie having it, Kacchan for obvious reasons and Auntie only because she doesn’t have a reason to connect him to Rabbit. But anyone else is a big no-no. 

“Oh, hey Izuku,” Ayaka greets, shutting the kitchen door behind her as she slips on an apron. “Ya here to help us today?”

When Izuku can’t go on patrol or when he has nothing else to do, he helps Ms. Hanako and her family at the Pizzeria. Being a family-owned restaurant is hard, so Izuku is glad to help. So now, saying as it opens in less than thirty minutes, Kayaka is probably assuming he’s here for that. 

Which, since it’s a weekend, he is free. He only trains with All Might during weekdays. A fact that Izuku is very happy about; sometimes he likes to get in an early patrol before the sun comes out to catch the criminals off guard. 

“Um, actually, yeah.” Izuku closes the book and starts to clean up his area, tying back his hair. “If you’re okay with it, that is.”

“Of course! I haven’t seen you in a while, kiddo, so it’s always nice to have you here.”

Again. He doesn’t deserve the kindness this family gives him. 

Izuku washes his hands and picks up the dough Ms. Hanako had been working on, spreading it out even more to get it to the correct thickness. 

Now this is something he knows how to do. Which is kind of weird, seeing as Italian cooking is actually a little harder to do than Japanese cooking—at least according to Ms. Hanako. He doesn’t know how to perfect basic cooking techniques, and yet he can cook and even bake sometimes. Both Auntie and Ms. Hanako have said he does it pretty well, too, he just doesn’t do it the correct way.

What the correct way is, he doesn’t know. All Izuku cares about in cooking is if his food is at least a step above garbage and a little bit edible by the end of it. 

“So where’s Ouki?” Izuku asks, hoping he sounds polite and not demanding. 

“Dad has to run a few errands today, so he can’t come in.” Ayaka doesn’t turn away from stirring the tomato sauce. “And he’s just not feeling it, y’know? He’s been getting depressed since the business has been going down.”

Izuku frowns a little, taking the sauce she slides him and spreading it over the dough. “No one’s coming in anymore?”

“You know how it is, being a pizzeria in Japan. Nobody really wants to eat here after they’ve gone here once.”

And Izuku does get it. Ms. Hanako complains about it a lot. That’s why she works all the time—they can’t afford to close it down for even one day. 

“Hm.” Izuku looks at the board on the wall, taking note of the menu. The three meat pizza is the most popular, he knows that much. Better start making that first. “Well, I think the food you guys make is amazing, so they’re missing out.”

A short laugh. Ayaka pats him on the shoulder as she squeezes past him to get to the sinks. “You know, maybe you should start working here. Mom says you help a lot, even when you’re not cooking.”

Izuku has thought about it before. He pushed that idea away very quickly, though, as working means getting paid. And Ms. Hanako and the rest of the family barely get enough money to keep it open. She definitely won’t have enough to pay him a salary. Izuku doesn’t want to do that to her, even if it would really help him. 

And besides, he isn’t always free to do stuff like this. His vigilante work calls for his attention at random times, not just at night or in the early mornings. 

“Maybe,” Izuku says, finishing up with the first pizza and moving on to the next. “Hey, where did Ms. Hanako go?”

“She’s cleaning up the front. We’ve got about, what, twenty minutes before opening?”

He glances at a clock above the door. “Yep. What’s the special today?”

Ayaka stops what she’s doing and turns to him with a wide grin. “Ever heard of Italian cream cakes?”

Oh, yes. 

Izuku likes sitting on roofs. 

Call it a hobby, call it a drug, hell, call it a fetish, Izuku just likes being up high. 

Not too high, though. He does not want to remember the helicopter incident right now, thank you. 

He just finished preparing the food with Ayaka and saying his goodbyes, and now he’s sitting on the ledge of the restaurant with his notebook in hand and earbuds in. 

He has to update his journal on his quirks. Even after a week, he hasn’t done it yet. 

Pull. 

It’s a dumb name for an even dumber quirk, but it’s helpful. It’s just the memories attached with it that Izuku doesn’t like. But again, it practically saved his life when he got shot, so he can’t hate it too much. 

See, before that incident, he assumed that Pull, well, pulled things to his body when he raised one of his hands. And in a sense, he’s still right. 

But rather than the actual magnetic part being his chest or stomach, it’s his hands themselves that serve as where the objects head.

To put it simply, the objects will head towards his hands and not his chest. So when he had to pull out the fragments of the hollow point bullet that night, things proved to be a little easier than he expected it to be.

He thought that Pull wouldn’t be useful, as the pieces were already in him and therefore wouldn’t move anywhere, but he was fortunately wrong. 

His palms are the magnets, not the center of his body. So when he positioned a hand to face the bullet wound entrance, he was gobsmacked to see all of the pieces flying out, meaning Pull worked. 

So gobsmacked, in fact, that the white-hot pain of his flesh being torn almost didn’t register.

Almost. 

It’s safe to say that being shot at the warehouse had its pros and cons. The pros being that he now knows about another aspect of his quirk and has even more uses for it, and the cons being that it hurt like a son of a bitch and left a large scar on his abdomen. 

Not fun at all, no. And it’s not cool when you can’t really show it off. People tend to get a little concerned when teenagers such as himself start to show off bullet wounds. 

Izuku is used to scars. No one else seems to be. 

And so he writes those findings in his notebook, crossing out his previous theories and expanding on what he knows now. He even makes a small sketch of his hands versus his body, showing that his palms are the magnets. 

A cop walks by from below, and Izuku hastily scrambles back so he’s not swinging his legs off the side. He’s already gotten reprimanded for his rooftop sitting before, even though it’s not technically illegal since Ms. Hanako allows him to on the restaurant. And the building is only one story tall, so it’s not like anyone can mistake him for a jumper. 

Eh. Better safe than sorry.

Tomorrow’s Monday, so that means he starts up his training again. Six o’clock in the morning, every weekday. It’s a nice schedule, saying as Izuku never sleeps anyway. 

He can’t wait for what All Might has planned this week. 

“Did you know that it takes longer to drown in saltwater than it does in freshwater? It can take anywhere between five to thirty minutes, while drowning in freshwater takes anywhere between five to twenty minutes.”

“I did not know that, my boy!”

All Might sounds confused, if a little intrigued. Izuku counts that as a sign to continue. 

“And so, theoretically, if I walked straight into the ocean right there and swam out, face down, for as long as I could, I should float pretty far out before finally dying. I think that calls for an experiment, don’t you think? I’m curious.”

“That doesn’t sound so theoretical, Young Midoriya. I must ask that you please step away from the water—”

All Might picks Izuku up easily by his shirt before he can submerge himself into the ocean, and he carries him like a limp rag doll over to the pile of garbage he’d previously been at. The pile of garbage where he’s supposed to be dragging a fridge from. 

The boy groans as he’s carefully dropped onto the pile. “Come on, All Might, anything is more fun than doing this! This is boring.”

“Drowning is more fun than training to become stronger?” The man beams at him, hands on his hips in another blinding pose. “I thought you said you wanted to clean this beach up, my boy!”

“Well, yeah, but it’s going to take forever without using my quirk!”

All Might doesn’t sympathize with him for a second. “I won’t allow you to use your quirk for this because that will simply defeat the purpose. First you must get your body strong, and then your mind. Your quirk will be next!”

Why is he making me do this. This is not what I had in mind. Someone run me over. 

At least it’s something for Izuku to do in the mornings besides stare at the ceiling and contemplate life or create yet another plan to terrorize Tsukauchi. That gets boring pretty quick. 

He’d rather be here than be lonely. 

“Here, my boy! I’ll make this a bit easier for you!” All Might grabs an edge of the fridge and, with one effortless shove, tears it out of the depths of the pile. It falls with a loud thud to the ground, now free from its restraints, and the hero grins at Izuku. “Now you can pull it to the garbage bin!”

Izuku just stands there, briefly wishing that he could’ve been under the fridge when it fell. All Might made it look so easy, and Izuku had been struggling for at least half an hour trying to dig it out. 

In his defense, his wound is still a little bit sore. It’s healed over pretty much completely now, leaving behind a deep scar about the size of a golf ball on his abdomen, like he’s said before. The scarred tissue won’t ever go away. 

But hey, that was his first time getting shot with a hollow point. He can add that one to the list of his growing scars. 

Izuku stares at the large refrigerator. “Just to reiterate, you want me to move that without my quirk?”

“Yes, my boy! I want to see how you do!”

Car, Izuku thinks, but make it crash. He wants All Might to pick up the fridge again and let it land on him. That sounds a little more tempting with each passing second. 

Speaking of All Might, the hero jumps up and lands on top of the fridge, throwing Izuku some ropes to wrap around it. “Well, get to it, my boy! It’s not going to move itself!”

“This isn’t fair,” Izuku gapes, glaring at him. “You’re like half a ton by yourself, and you’re sitting on it!”

“I have to say that I’m enjoying the view, Young Midoriya. You haven’t looked so beaten down since I made you push that car the other day!”

Izuku flushes as the hero takes out his phone and snaps a few pictures. “It didn’t have any tires. It was harder than it looked.” An idea suddenly forms in his head. A dumb, probably shitty idea, but an idea nonetheless. “I bet you can’t move this without using your quirk, All Might.”

It’s a tease just as much as it is a challenge. The hero stands to his full height on top of the fridge and does another pose, causing Izuku to have to physically look away due to the amount of light he emits. 

“Just watch, Young Midoriya! I will show you how strong you must become!” And then he slides off, grips the bottom of the fridge with both hands, and throws it up into the air. Izuku can’t help but let out a gasp as the man jumps up a little and kicks it all the way across the sand so it lands right in the dumpster. 

Izuku lets himself admire the man for a second—that’s just his physical prowess, he didn’t even use One for All—before turning smug. “Well, now I don’t have to move it, right?”

The boy sees the exact moment All Might realizes what he’s done, as he seems to glitch in place, blinking in surprise. And then he straightens up, grinning sharply. “I’m glad you did that, my boy! I was fearing it was getting to be too easy for you! Why don’t you move on to that other fridge over there?”

He points, and Izuku follows his gaze, only for his jaw to drop to the floor. This freezer looks twice the size of the last one, and it looks like there’s a bunch of garbage stuffed inside it. It may not be buried underneath a ton of trash like the last one was, but it looks to be even harder to move simply because of its size and weight. 

Izuku pouts and trudges over, trying to mentally hype himself up. They’ve been out here for a few hours now, and he’s tired, so sue him.  

“Head up, young man! This training will make you even stronger!”

And for what? I’m too tired from Rabbit as it is, and then I gotta do this every morning. I mean, it’s technically my fault, but still.

“You really do need to quit that mumbling.”

Izuku jumps, not having heard All Might power down into his smaller form. The boy sighs and starts to wrap the rope around his newest target. He’s gonna be here all day, as he knows All Might won’t let him leave unless he moves it at least a little bit. 

On Mondays and Thursdays they work on heavy lifting, which is what Izuku is doing right now. They take breaks on weekends, and everything in between is something cruel that All Might plans for him on the spot. That’s the plan, their schedule. 

Izuku likes knowing things. He likes the stability. 

The boy would be lying if he said he doesn’t get a bit of a thrill by training with the hero. He’s gradually getting a little stronger, and besides, he isn’t bad company. 

He just doesn’t know why this is happening. Izuku has a feeling the man doesn’t know himself. All Might must have some ulterior motives, some ambitions, but Izuku can’t think of any. It’s like there’s nothing there. He has an idea, but—no. Of course not. The number one hero would never choose him. 

Izuku knows that All Might’s quirk can be passed down, but there’s no way the man is thinking of him as a potential user. He probably has someone in mind already. Someone stronger, more obedient, maybe someone who can move a fridge with ease even without special powers.

Is that a little unfair to say? Maybe. It’s not right to get bitter, especially when Izuku knows why something like that can’t happen, even if All Might wishes it so. 

It’s better that way, anyways. For everyone involved.

It’s exactly eleven days after the Endeavor incident when he gets the text.

He’s taking a short break from All Might’s training, just laying on the ground with his shirt over his face to protect him from the light, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

The glare from the morning sun is bright, and Izuku turns his back towards it so he can read the screen. 

Meet me at this address tomorrow at ten. 

It’s the number that trips him up, not so much the text. He knows who this is, he’s just surprised that the man is even texting him at all. 

Now, his first thought is wow, he unblocked me. And his second thought is oh fuck, he unblocked me. 

Because this sounds like another trap. Does Eraserhead think he’s stupid? Izuku is genuinely curious now. 

He glances quickly at All Might, who is busy setting up a small area on the sand for them to spar. Sand will make it harder to fight, and Izuku has a feeling that that’s the point. 

When Izuku will ever have to fight a villain on the beach, or someone with a sand quirk, the boy doesn’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful, he guesses. 

Confident that All Might won’t walk up behind him, Izuku texts back with hesitant fingers. 

Ooh, a date night? Are you bringing some of your super secret cop buddies?

What he means is do it, I dare you.

He doesn’t like how Eraserhead is deciding to text him now, out of the blue. Why not earlier? Why not never?

Tsukauchi has been texting Rabbit a lot this past week. He’d blown up Izuku’s phone the night of the whole Endeavor escapade, asking if he was hurt. 

Kind of endearing, if Izuku is being honest, but that thought didn’t stop him from being annoyed at the detective. Tsukauchi claimed he didn’t know about Eraserhead’s plan until after it all happened, but Izuku is too pissed to decide whether or not to believe him yet. 

Again, he can’t be angry. Doesn’t have the right to be. He’s a criminal, a vigilante. Most people believe that vigilantes are worse than villains simply because they think they can get away with their wrongdoings. They apparently believe they’re above the law, same as criminals. 

Izuku knows he’s not. Knows that he really is a villain—in more ways than one—and deserves to be treated as such. And yet he can’t help but feel a bit betrayed. 

Detective Tsukauchi was the first one on Rabbit’s case when the vigilante first appeared. Izuku had run into him quite a few times in the beginning, if only to ask him questions about his quirk and how it works. He received no such answers then, of course, but Izuku wasn’t discouraged. He isn’t dumb, he knows the very basic rule of not telling the enemy your secrets—which is why he’d been especially surprised when Eraserhead answered his questions that night after saving that woman. 

Though in the hero’s defense, Izuku wasn’t Rabbit then. He was just a scrawny little kid who helped out a bit with a domestic violence case. And maybe he also stole some files from the police, but hey, they should’ve considered that his repayment. 

But back to the point—it’s taken a while for Izuku to trust Tsukauchi. The detective has never sent any heroes after him, not directly, and he’s never done anything that Izuku sees as threatening towards him. It’s as if, dare he say, that the detective has let him go a few times. 

All of that is changing, it seems. Even if Tsukauchi didn’t know of his colleague’s little trap, he was probably still in contact with him. He was still sharing his notes and probably spilling Rabbit’s secrets. So, by default, he must’ve known that Eraserhead was planning something. 

Tsukauchi probably talked with him about it, too, which makes this all worse. 

Izuku’s grace period is running out. He’s going to have to meet up with Eraserhead if he wants any hope of figuring out how to deal with all of this. 

So much has happened in the span of less than a month—he met Eraserhead as just Midoriya Izuku, had some trouble with the sludge villain, met All Might, then Small Might, and even met Present Mic. 

Oh, and he was also shot by a hollow point bullet. Not a very good experience. Would give it zero stars if he could. Would not recommend. 

Tsukauchi, in a sense, cares. At least artificially so. He’s shown that he cares. He doesn’t just text him now to tell him to turn himself in—though he still does that on occasion, and Izuku never fails in sending him another weird hero meme to get him to fuck off. He texts Rabbit and asks if he’s okay, if he’s hurt or needs backup or anything, as he promised he’d surely get that help if he requested it, like how Izuku had asked during the warehouse incident. 

The detective has the right to text him. Izuku trusts him, maybe not fully, of course, since he still works for the police and wants him to turn himself over, but enough. Eraserhead, on the other hand, does not have the right to text him something like that. For the underground hero to just suddenly up and tell him to meet him on some rooftop at ten at night, with the knowledge of how undesirably their last meeting ended—it doesn’t sit right with the boy. 

Maybe he’d waited for Izuku to cool off before texting, as dumb as that sounds, or maybe it’s something else. 

No. I’m not bringing anyone. This is just a talk.

The reply comes instantly, which is a little surprising. And what does he mean by just a talk? Like the first conversation they had after the warehouse incident? Where the talk was more of a do this or else sort of thing? 

But that can’t be right. Eraserhead promised to help him. Surely he won’t make another threat. 

Eraserhead is level-headed. He specializes in manipulation and espionage, so he might be planning something. Izuku has to be careful, as much as he wants to believe him. As much as he wants to build up that trust like the man was saying. 

He is still Izuku’s idol. Their relationship as criminal and hero won’t change that. Izuku will make sure it doesn’t. 

The boy leaves him on read. He fears no god. 

He’ll have to ask Tsukauchi if he can trust the tired hobo man. Only then will he seriously consider the offer. 

Kacchan won’t like it, Izuku knows that much. He’ll probably laugh in his face and suggest drop kicking the hero—which Izuku already has, much to his friend’s amusement and the boy’s own mortification. 

He did it to escape, sure, but it still makes Izuku feel a little bad. 

Hopefully he won’t have to do it again anytime soon.

“My boy, are you ready!” All Might calls to him from inside the makeshift box. “I think we should work on defensive strategies today, what do you say?”

Izuku is already jumping up and running over, leaving his phone sitting on his discarded over-shirt as his energy comes back full force. 

Now that, he thinks, sounds like a good distraction.

Chapter Text

“I told you before that you can’t just do something like that, Aizawa! He’ll get spooked!”

“Spooked? What is he, a dog?"

Hizashi watches the scene unfold in front of him with wide eyes. His husband has dragged him to the police  station for some unspoken reason, and the more of the argument Hizashi is beginning to hear, the more he’s starting to think that he’s only here as a witness so Tsukauchi doesn’t end up flaying Shouta alive.

Because boy does the detective look pissed.

“You can’t just text him some ominous message and expect him to meet you somewhere in the middle of the night! That just screams danger!”

Shouta glares at the detective, not budging an inch from where he’s sitting, arms crossed, at the large oval table in the conference room. The holographic whiteboard is lit up in front of them, not showing anything at this particular moment. 

The underground hero rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what else you expected me to do. I told the kid it’s just a talk, and it is. I’m not going to capture him.”

“You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried,” Tsukauchi says, and if Hizashi didn’t know better, he’d say the detective looks almost proud. 

Oh, shit, it’s getting real in here. 

Shouta throws a hand up in the air. “Really? Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the right side.”

Now Hizashi can’t help but snort at that, earning himself a cutting look from his husband and an amused glance from Tsukauchi. Hizashi is enjoying himself now, not at all mad at Shouta anymore for tearing him away from his favorite show. If he gets to sit here and listen to this frankly hilarious convo going on, Hizashi can perhaps forgive him. 

“You wanted me to get close to him,” Shouta says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “so that’s what I’m going to do.” 

“That’s not how he sees it. He texted me, you know! He still doesn’t know whether or not he can trust you after what you’ve done to him.”

Okay, I’m lost. What the hell are they talking about now. 

“How is that my fault? I only did what you wanted me to.”

Tsukauchi looks scandalized. “You set up a trap for him like he’s some kind of rodent! That’s not what I meant when I told you to get him to trust you and then peacefully convince him to turn himself in.”

Rodent. Hizashi hums thoughtfully. “I mean, rabbits are small animals, so that wasn’t a farfetched idea.”

And now both hero and detective whip around to glare at him. “Not helping,” Shouta grumbles, shaking his head. 

Hizashi just smirks as his husband continues. He’s cute when he argues. 

“And I tried, Tsukauchi. I only set him up so I could get the chance to talk to him. You know how fast he is. I tried to get him to believe me, and it just didn’t work.”

The detective doesn’t look convinced. “Can’t imagine why.”

Oop. Hizashi wants popcorn for this comedy. He has a feeling it’s going to turn into a tragedy soon. 

“Tsukauchi,” Shouta sighs. 

“Aizawa.”

“Look, I know I fucked up. I know.” The underground hero swipes a hand down his face before sitting up to touch the whiteboard. “I could’ve been nicer when I talked to him after the warehouse fiasco. I scared him off, and now I have to make up for it.”

Images and news articles pop up on the screen, all revolving around a certain green vigilante. Hizashi leans forward and peers at a few of them; he’s only read a few of the ones from when his husband showed him Rabbit’s file that one day, so most of these are new to him. 

The kid is apparently young, and he’s managed to escape a ton of heroes before, so he must be relatively smart. Hizashi thinks flippantly that he’d make a good hero under different circumstances. 

“I’ll meet with him tonight. See how it goes. We’ll work from there.”

“Fine,” Tsukauchi finally relents after a long pause. “I trust you won’t make this worse again.”

And then they leave, just like that, Hizashi giving the detective finger guns as a goodbye before his husband can drag him out completely into the hallway. 

The blond doesn’t hesitate to pull him in for a kiss once the door closes behind them, never one to pass up a chance to see Shouta flush. 

“Hizashi,” the man says in warning, pushing him away. His eyes dart around the police station, probably to see if anyone saw.

The voice hero ignores him and starts the walk to the car. “So, want me to come with ya for this talk, just in case?”

He means to keep watch. Maybe to act as backup in case things take a turn for the worse. 

Shouta must see where his line of thinking is. “No. Rabbit will know you’re there, as he always seems to when I try and tail him. I need him to trust me, and bringing you will do the exact opposite.”

Hizashi hums, taking out his set of keys. “What’re you gonna do? I don’t think talking about the weather is gonna do ya much good.”

“I’m gonna let him know that we’re on his side. We won’t actively try and capture him anymore.”

That’s unsurprising. It’s obvious to Hizashi just in the way his husband talks about the vigilante that he cares for him. The voice hero expected this sooner or later. 

“You’re such a softie,” Hizashi coos as they get in the car. “He’s grown on ya, hasn’t he? Even in such a short amount of time.”

“Shut up.”

Hizashi leans over to give him a quick peck on the nose, and this time his husband doesn’t pull away. 

It’s their day off today, and they’ve decided to go out for a quick breakfast outing, seeing as they didn’t have a chance to eat anything this morning. The couple unfortunately never gets to spend quality time together very often. Between Hizashi’s three jobs and Shouta’s nightly patrols, they have no time to just be together. But that’s alright, they both knew that that’s how it would be before they even got together. 

Doesn’t mean they can’t complain about it, though. 

Hizashi lets his mind wander as he drives, humming a tune in time with the song playing on the radio. Now that he’s thinking, he needs to do the laundry again. It’s been a couple weeks, and both heroes are starting to run out of clothes—Shouta especially, which is really telling. The man only wears one outfit the entire week, just a plain black shirt and pants that double as his hero costume, much to Hizashi’s distaste. 

To be fair, it’s not really Hizashi’s fault that he broke their washer machine. He doesn’t even know how it happened, it just did. Now Shouta has been making him go to the laundromat and wash their clothes until they can get a new one. 

It’ll probably be another couple months before that happens. While money isn’t exactly tight, saying as they have five jobs between them, they can’t just afford to up and buy a whole new washer machine. 

But maybe it’s not all bad. He might get to see that green-haired kid again. 

The boy’s quirky, no pun intended. He shares Hizashi’s same dry humor and music, so that’s a win in his book. He wouldn’t mind talking to him again. 

Hell, he needs to actually ask his name so he doesn’t keep calling him the kid in his head. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Shouta is still looking out the window as he speaks, a foot kicked up on the dash. He does that solely because he knows that it annoys Hizashi. And Hizashi knows that his husband knows that he knows why he does it. 

It doesn’t exactly make sense, which honestly sums up the entirety of their relationship. 

“You know that kid I was telling you about? The one I walked in on getting beat up in that alley?”

Shouta props up another foot on the dash, ignoring Hizashi’s side eye. “The same one you saw at the laundromat?”

“Yep. He’s making me worry a bit. There’s just something about him that I can’t put my finger on.” Hizashi flicks on a blinker to turn into the diner’s plaza. “Hopefully I’ll see him when I do the laundry again.”

“Hopefully not, you mean. He shouldn’t be out that late, ‘Zashi. That usually means something’s wrong.”

Hizashi rolls his eyes at him. “We were both exactly the same around that age, don’t try to act all angelic now. And besides, it’s not like curfew is a big deal.”

“You’re supposed to enforce the law, not encourage people to break it.” Shouta grins suddenly. “It seems we’ve both got delinquents now. It’s time for you to feel my pain.”

The voice hero can’t help but laugh, as he didn’t think of it like that before now. “Well, I don’t think mine is nearly as bad as your two. One of yours is an actual vigilante, Sho.”

“And the other one is going to put Tsukauchi into an early grave.” Shouta thunks his head against the headrest multiple times, groaning. “I have a feeling I’m gonna see more of him, too. Tsukauchi said he’s been too quiet recently.”

“Ah, so he’s the calm before the storm type, huh?” Hizashi ducks away from his husband’s hand with a cackle. 

They pull into the parking lot and go in to hopefully enjoy some food. It’ll be a good time to relax, especially when Shouta has to have that meeting with Rabbit tonight. Everyone is high strung nowadays. 

But even while eating his soup, he can’t get what Shouta said out of his mind. Hizashi wants to see the kid even more now. 

They’re both probably being paranoid, he muses to himself. The kid is most likely fine. 

“That usually means something’s wrong.”

And if he’s not, well, Hizashi will get to the bottom of it himself. 

Midoriya Izuku is, to put it simply, weird. He’s interesting. At least to Toshinori. 

The boy has an edge of unknown about him. An edge to his smile and a dark light in his eyes that reminds Toshinori of villains he’s faced before.

“I studied your moves and appearances and made the connection.”

Toshinori shivers as he remembers what the boy said to him on that roof. There’s just no way the kid already knew. He said that he hadn’t been sure about his other form, that it had only been a theory, and yet he didn’t seem surprised in the slightest when Toshinori unexpectedly deflated. 

Though in all fairness he barely reacts to anything as it is, which is mildly disconcerting but not quite to the point of making Toshinori uncomfortable. 

It doesn’t make sense. Does he have a mind reading quirk? Maybe an analysis quirk? But that can’t be right. He has increased strength and speed, and that fact is backed up by his paperwork, so it must be true. That’s the power listed under his quirk category—Boost, he calls it. Just another normal enhancement. Nothing about increased intelligence or a mental power. 

Toshinori only knows this because he asked Tsukauchi to run Midoriya’s name for him. Not out of suspicion, but just because he wanted to know more about his potential successor—ahem, his trainee. 

He hadn’t been expecting much, so imagine his surprise when he heard that his friend already knows the boy. Very well, in fact. He was even more surprised to hear that his trainee is a bit of a troublemaker. 

Midoriya has quite a few charges under his belt, that being multiples cases of public quirk usage, assault, and interference with police and hero work. Nothing too special, as Tsukauchi was adamant about the fact that the boy is not, in fact, a criminal or something of the likes. 

According to his friend, Midoriya is very passionate about doing good and maintaining an open personality, and he even went as far as to vouch for the kid. 

The green-haired boy is respectful to him, if not a little snarky sometimes, but that’s okay. The sass keeps Toshinori on his toes. It kind of reminds him of himself when he was younger. 

The point is that he’s never done anything that Toshinori would classify as villainous or dangerous. 

Which is good, however low that’s setting the bar in regards to finding a good successor. Midoriya’s character seems honest. He looks like someone Toshinori would want on his side during a battle—and the kid is only fourteen! Had just turned fourteen a couple months ago, in fact. His record says so. 

The hero feels a little bad that he missed it, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. 

Midoriya doesn’t seem to have a bad bone in his body, and yet he still manages to set Toshinori on edge sometimes. 

Not out of fear, exactly. More out of, well, anticipation. For what, he doesn’t know. 

The boy is bright and cheerful most days, but in those moments where he’s really focusing on a task that Toshinori gave him, he looks different; controlled, determined, a bit perturbed. 

He looks almost, as silly as it sounds, like a robot. Like a machine that’s been programmed to do everything efficiently and to the upmost standards. 

Or maybe the boy is just a perfectionist and Toshinori is looking into things that aren’t there. 

A part of him can’t help but compare Midoriya with his own rival. The boy reminds him of Endeavor’s menacing personality, the way the number two hero faces his opponents with an air of malice and animalistic power before completely and utterly destroying everything in his way.

Midoriya has a similar intellect, a similar off-putting aura, but there’s an obvious edge to Endeavor’s. You know his character just by looking at his face, and that’s if the flames hadn’t already clued you in. 

The boy is more like a mine, hidden from sight until you’ve already stepped on it. Hidden beneath a sharp smile and slightly feral demeanor that goes against everything Tsukauchi told Toshinori about him—about his comedic personality and the immature-yet-responsible way he carries himself, how he’s quiet and reserved when you first meet him, and how quickly the nervousness disappears once he gets used to you. 

So Toshinori doesn’t mind the sass at all, not if it means that the boy is starting to feel comfortable around him. He doesn’t miss the way Midoriya tenses up when he goes in for a pat on the shoulder, or even when he gets a little closer to the boy without warning him first. 

That’s only natural for a teenager, Toshinori supposes. It should go away soon. 

But Midoriya also has bruises on his body, bruises that Toshinori knows damn well he doesn't get from training with him. He isn’t blind, nor is he stupid. He may not be the brightest hero there is, but he can recognize warning signs when he sees them. 

The teen doesn’t answer any of his questions when he asks about them. He also never seems to take off his shirt. Sure, he discards his top whenever he gets a little too sweaty, especially when he’s out on the beach, but he always has an undershirt on. Like the day before, when they sparred together. The boy had that black gym shirt on. 

Which is fine. If the boy isn’t comfortable showing skin, that’s okay. It’s not like that matters. Toshinori wouldn't have cared about it had the boy not been covered in very worrying bruises everywhere else. But whatever, he won’t push him, at least for now. Because something doesn’t feel right.

And if Midoriya really is like a mine, that means the danger will start to explode into existence once someone sets him off. 

Toshinori doesn’t know what danger Midoriya possesses. What he could possibly do if given the chance or permission, and he isn’t too keen on finding out at the moment. 

He still doesn’t know why he’s taken an interest in the boy. Maybe it’s because of his guilt for saying all of those things to him on their first meeting, or maybe because of his growing sense of urgency due to the fact that Toshinori is getting old and he hasn’t picked a successor yet. 

But Midoriya says he doesn’t want to be a hero. At least, he isn’t exactly sure yet. 

So why is Toshinori still drawn to him? Why is he willing to waste precious time on a boy who probably wouldn’t even accept his quirk if he asked—

Waste. Toshinori frowns to himself as he watches said boy run around the park to increase his stamina. He’s sitting on a bench off to the side, just making sure the kid doesn’t pass out. 

He’s not wasting his time. Not at all. He enjoys training with Midoriya. He truly does. More so than he imagined he would when he first suggested it. He finds that watching the boy work and train and grow stronger makes him happy. Happier than he’s been in a long time. 

It’s only been a couple weeks now, but even Tsukauchi is noticing his friend’s change. He never stops teasing the hero about it every time he stops by the police station. 

Toshinori can only pretend he’s annoyed by it. 

“The question is for a friend of mine.”

Midoriya has never talked about his friends before. It wasn’t concerning at first. The boy is busy training, so there really is no reason for him to bring up his personal life. 

But now that they’re into this, now that Toshinori is getting invested, he wants to know more about him. 

He wants to know if the question was really just for a friend. 

The feeling is slight, but Toshinori is starting to think that the boy lied to him about that part. It wouldn’t make sense, though, as his quirk is just minor enhancements. There would be no reason for anyone to think that he’s a villain. 

But the more time he spends around the boy, the more he thinks about it. The more he realizes that he can’t judge the kid without knowing him, despite his growing suspicions. 

He plans to get closer to the boy. Even if he won’t end up becoming his successor. He’s too smart and powerful for Toshinori to let slip through the cracks. And who knows, maybe he can eventually convince him to be a hero. Maybe. 

It’s weird, is the thing. The kid is like a magnet. There’s something about him, something about his aura, that makes Toshinori drawn to him. But One for All screams at him whenever he gets close, or whenever he so much as thinks about him. Toshinori can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. He’s leaning more towards good. 

God, he hopes it’s good. 

Gran Torino would have his ass if he found out about this. His former mentor would most definitely whack him upside the head for being this ignorant and secretive about the new training. 

Toshinori doesn’t want to tell the retired hero about this. Maybe because he’s afraid of what he’ll say—that he’ll tell Toshinori what a bad idea this is, or how dumb of a choice Midoriya is for his quirk. 

He doesn’t think he can handle any more negative comments. His mind already does enough of that as it is. He knows that this is probably a bad idea. He knows, damnit. 

And yet he just can’t bring himself to push the boy away.

He shakes himself away from those thoughts. He has a duty to train Midoriya now, even if he doesn’t want to be a hero. Toshinori suggested it, so he’s going to keep his word. 

“Alright, my boy!” He calls out, inflating into his bigger form. “You can use your quirk now!”

The happy gasp he gets in return gets rid of all his qualms. 

“Your costume is dumb.”

Izuku turns on his friend, pointing the needle at him threateningly. “Your face is dumb.”

“You look like a wannabe All Might, nerd.”

“Literally how? It looks nothing like him! And besides, you helped me design this, so doesn’t that make you dumb?”

“Tch, whatever.” Kacchan leans back on his bed with his hands behind his head, eyes narrowed into slits as he watches Izuku work. “It looks dumb on you. It wouldn’t on me.”

Izuku huffs, threading the string expertly through the bullet hole on the costume. “Out of the two people in this room, who is A) being useless, and B) the one that makes little kids cry just by looking at them?”

Kacchan just snorts, lapsing into an annoyed silence. 

Huh, that’s weird. He usually would’ve jumped me by now. 

Izuku snips off the excess thread and looks at his newly stitched up Rabbit costume. The dark green is still there, along with the red outlines that frame the fabric and make it look sharper, but now the multitude of tears that’s been gathering on the costume has disappeared. The bullet hole has been fixed, along with all the other scrapes. 

It looks, in Izuku’s opinion, amazing. He knows Kacchan thinks the same, or else the boy wouldn’t have made such a big deal about it apparently being dumb. 

It’s reverse psychology. Izuku is well-versed in his friend’s language after all these years of knowing him. 

Izuku is proud of his suit. It looks new, and he can’t wait to put it on tonight to show it off. He has to make a new appearance for himself, especially since he’s decided to go to that meeting with Eraserhead. 

This meeting is going to be important, he can feel it. It might be a deciding factor for something, or maybe even the beginning thread for something new. Something great. 

If he looks scraggly, it’ll make him look even more stupid than he already is, which will ruin everything. He’s already embarrassed himself in front of the hero before, he won’t do it again. 

Izuku clears his throat, putting Auntie’s sewing supplies back into her box and sliding it to the side. “My suit is way better than all of your hero costume designs anyway.”

He makes sure to say it casually, like it’s a fact, as he knows that’s a surefire way to get his friend fired up. 

He’s proved right when Kacchan sits up suddenly, an angry hah? escaping the blond’s mouth. “The fuck did you say, Deku?”

Izuku is already throwing open the bedroom door, hoping he can get down the stairs and into the safety zone before it’s too late. 

He’s not quick enough, however, as Kacchan grabs him around the middle and throws him back into the room as if he weighs nothing more than a potato wedge. 

Izuku shrieks, scrambling away from his friend. “We can’t wrestle, I’m too tired from All Might’s training! This isn’t fair!”

“All he did was make you run,” Kacchan says, grabbing Izuku’s ankle and yanking him back with ease. “And you’re already good at running, nerd.”

Izuku uses the momentum to throw himself on the boy, bringing them both to the ground. He tries to pin the blond to the carpet, but he gets shoved off at the last moment. Now the positions are switched, and Kacchan is busy trying to hold the boy’s arm behind his back. 

“I feel like that was an insult,” Izuku grunts, rolling out from under him. 

This is all very practiced to them. They wrestle just about every time they see each other, sometimes with quirks, sometimes without. It’s more of a show of strength, at least on the front, but really it’s a show of endearment. 

Kacchan isn’t big on touch, or any kind of affection, really, so Izuku doesn’t mind wrestling like this if it means his friend can still be around him without getting uncomfortable.

That doesn’t mean Izuku’s going to let himself lose, though. 

He uses Pull to jerk the other boy off balance, dodging Kacchan’s outstretched arms to get behind him. He kicks the back of one of his knees and forces him down to the floor with a hand on his back. 

Kacchan sets off a mini explosion to change his direction, twisting to pull Izuku down. In a matter of seconds, Izuku is being put in a chokehold with Kacchan holding him still from behind. 

“Yield,” his friend hisses. 

He can’t. If Izuku does, that means Kacchan will gain another point. That’ll put Kacchan in the lead, which means they won’t be even anymore.

“No!”

“Do it, nerd!” The boy increases the force of the hold just slightly; he wouldn’t actually choke Izuku out. They’ve never really hurt each other when doing this before. “Do it, or I’ll—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door, and then Auntie is poking her head in. “Hey, what’s going on in here?”

She pauses, taking in the sight of both boys on the carpeted floor: Izuku wriggling in Kacchan’s grip like a dying fish, Kacchan kneeling behind him with what’s probably a blank expression now that someone has interrupted their wrestling, and then the costume balled up a few feet away from them. 

Oh. Double whammy. 

She doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest, though, and she doesn’t pay the suit any mind before looking at Izuku with a soft smile. Well, soft for her. 

“Izuku, kiddo, are you staying for dinner?”

Oh, right. 

The boy forces Kacchan’s arm away from his throat just enough to speak. “Um, I don’t think I—” A knee presses into Izuku’s back, punching a sharp gasp out of him. “Ah, actually, I can. If that’s alright, of course!”

“Nonsense, sweetie. You know you’re always welcome here.” She fixes Kacchan with a fierce look. “Stop that, brat, you obviously won!”

The door closes before Izuku can argue the fact, but Kacchan just lets go with a satisfied smirk. “Now I’m winning.”

“For now.”

“Whatever.” Kacchan says, falling back onto his bed. “And I thought you were planning on spending the night here. Why were you gonna tell the hag no to dinner?”

Izuku looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mm, well, you see—"

“Deku.” His voice is low, and Izuku risks a glance up to see his friend glaring at him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to meet up with the shitty hobo ninja.”

And okay, wow, that was quick. 

Izuku crosses his arms. “He’s not shitty, Kacchan, and what if I am? I calculated only a forty percent chance that I’ll end up in prison by the time it’s all over.“

The explosive teen scoffs. “You’re a dumbass. Just don’t go crying to me if something bad happens. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine, I can respect that.” Izuku throws his Rabbit costume at the boy. “But I’m not playing any stupid video games with you until you admit how great this suit is.”

And so it goes. 

By the time Mitsuki calls them down for dinner, they’re back to being even. 

The night air is chilly, and the small bursts of wind here and there make Izuku glad his costume has a hood on it. It’s just cold enough to be refreshing, and Izuku relishes in the comforting feeling spreading over his skin as he crouches on the edge of a roof, watching the few adults and teens still out at this time of night. 

It’s only a few minutes until ten, so Eraserhead should be here any second. If he even shows up, that is. This could still very well be a trap, although the chances of that are slim since Tsukauchi himself told Izuku that’s it not. 

He doesn’t know why he’s still nervous. He shouldn’t be. It’s apparently just a talk, so he should be fine. He shouldn’t be stressing out this much. 

Key word, shouldn’t. Because he definitely is. 

Izuku starts to pace the rooftop. He’s on top of a small, family owned cat café, and he really wishes it were open right now so he could go in there and pet all the cats. That sounds much more appealing than having to deal with his current predicament. 

Dinner was great. Auntie’s cooking is, again, always godly. The boy is happy that even with it not being Thursday the woman still let him over. 

He checks his phone after a few minutes and seethes to himself. It’s five after. He should be here by now. Doesn’t this man care about professionalism? 

Izuku knows the man may look homeless and indifferent all the time, but that doesn’t mean he’s ignorant. He’s usually on time when it comes to meetings. His school records say that he’s never been late to his classes, both as a student and a teacher. 

So why the fuck is he not here—?

“Rabbit?”

His bōstaff is already out and pointed at the speaker before Izuku can truly process what just happened. Because there’s no fucking way that Eraserhead managed to sneak up on him from behind for the second time. 

That’s twice more than anyone else has ever been able to, and it’s too much. Izuku had been searching, damn it. He should’ve felt him long before he even stepped onto this roof. 

The realization hits Izuku like a brick: he’s the only person who can sneak up on me.  

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t know why it’s even possible, and it’s not like he can just ask him. 

Eraserhead, to his credit, merely blinks at the bōstaff hovering threateningly a few inches away from his throat. 

The hero is smart. Izuku would even go so far as to consider him a genius in his own right, so it’s entirely possible that he knows that the side pointed at him is also the side where the blade of his katana slides out of.  

And yet, instead of moving back or even countering with his own weapon, the man just slowly reaches up with a hand and pushes the metal away from him. “It’s nice to see you, too,” he deadpans. 

Izuku pulls his staff back, still clutching it protectively by his side. He won’t put it away. Not yet. 

There’s too many open variables here. Too many things that could go wrong. 

He extends his senses once more to scan for anybody nearby, and he’s relieved when he finds that Tsukauchi was telling the truth. 

There’s no one else here. It’s not a trap. He’s okay. 

“You can relax,” Eraserhead says, nodding at the boy’s weapon. “I’m not going to try anything.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t put it away, though, just shifts on his feet to appear more comfortable. That’s the best the hero is going to get from him. 

Eraserhead looks normal, if a little more tired than usual. He probably wants to be here even less than Izuku does, but the boy doesn’t let himself feel sympathetic. He’s the one who suggested this in the first place, so he can suffer with him.  

The hero doesn’t make any move to get closer, as he’s already only a couple yards away. Too close. 

Izuku is yet again struck with sudden anger at himself. Eraserhead is this close to him, a dangerous close, and Izuku didn’t notice. Again. 

It has to have something to do with his quirk. But nothing about Erasure should allow Izuku not to feel its presence. He can feel it now, of course, and he could feel it the other times before this meeting, too.  

So why does it only happen when he’s coming up on Izuku? Perhaps it happens subconsciously. Perhaps Eraserhead activates some unknown part of his quirk without realizing it, and the outcome is giving Izuku a fucking heart attack. 

“Kid? You alright?”

Oh. He’s been staring into space for too long. Eraserhead is still in the same place, a fact that Izuku is grateful for. 

“I’m fine. What did you want to talk about?”

Izuku internally winces at his own sharpness. He doesn’t know why he’s being so straightforward, but Eraserhead doesn’t seem to mind. 

His hands plunge into his pockets, the epitome of casualness. “I just wanted to make sure that we’re all on the same page about what’s going to happen next.”

“Oh?” Izuku’s heart jumps in his chest. The chilly air doesn’t feel so comforting anymore. “And what’s that?”

“Nothing.”

And—what? That’s not at all what Izuku expected, but okay. 

The boy coughs. “Uh, can you elaborate? I think I lost you there.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Eraserhead repeats. “Meaning that I, along with Tsukauchi, will not attempt to capture you or bring you in anymore.”

“Huh?” Izuku says intelligently. 

He doesn’t get a reply, not that he expected one. It’s not Eraserhead’s fault that Izuku is a Grade A dumbass. 

“Wait, so you’re going to just... let me go?"

“In essence, yes.”

It’s the first part that garners Izuku’s attention. The boy narrows his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“There’s one condition to this.”

Fuck. Izuku isn’t good with conditions. With any sort of debt, honestly. Those never usually end well for both parties. 

Eraserhead must sense his hesitation, as he continues gruffly. “It’s nothing bad. I’m just asking that you continue to meet me here once every week, same time.”

And that throws Izuku a little off guard. He was expecting to have to promise something, or to do something for the man like help on some of his missions—not this.

It seems this discussion is full of surprises. 

Izuku slides his bōstaff back into the holster on his back. “Why?”

It always comes back to that. Why is he doing this. Why does he care. Why is he even bothering with making a deal with Izuku. 

Eraserhead doesn’t care about vigilantes. He doesn’t even try to capture them most of the time, so what makes Izuku so different?

“I just want to make sure you won’t end up dead, or worse,” Eraserhead says. “There’s no secret intentions behind it, kid. It’s for me and Tsukauchi to keep track of your wellbeing, that’s all.”

Wellbeing. As if he cares. 

A cricket chirps nearby, prompting Izuku to speak. “And if I say no?”

There’s a slight pause. It’s obvious that both are remembering their first conversation. The first time Izuku asked that. 

Eraserhead lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug. “Nothing.”

Oh.

Izuku searches the man’s face for any sign of dishonesty, and, after not finding anything, he nods once. “Okay.” At Eraserhead’s blank stare, he adds, “I’ll do it. What day do you want it to be?”

Eraserhead raises his brows in slight surprise, but otherwise his face remains unchanged. “It doesn’t matter to me. Thursdays would be better, however—"

“I can’t do Thursday!” Izuku flushes at the sudden scrutinous look he gets in response. “I—I have stuff to do on that day. I won’t be able to make it.”

He goes to Kacchan’s on Thursdays. Sure, he might not spend the night there every time he comes over, like today, for example, but it’s better safe than sorry. He wouldn’t want to have to sneak out of the house. 

“Fine. How about Fridays?”

“That’s good.” Izuku says, frowning suddenly from beneath his mask. “Uh, what if I can’t make it one night? Like, what do I do?”

Eraserhead seems prepared for this question, as he straightens up a little to his full height. Izuku is once again reminded of how tall the man is. “I know you won’t be able to make it every night. You have a life too, and stuff happens. So if you can’t, for whatever reason, just text me.”

Okay. That’s easier than he thought. So he’s not completely trapped. He still has his freedom. 

“Alright. Is there, uh, anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Eraserhead squints at him. “Only the obvious. I’m sure you know that just because I’m not going to capture you doesn’t mean that everyone else will start doing the same.”

“‘Course,” Izuku nods. He’s not that dumb, after all. “So, is that it?”

“Seems that way. I have to finish my patrol, kid, so I’ll see you this Friday, same place and time, alright?”

“Yeah. I can do that.” After a pregnant pause, Izuku bows quickly. “Thank you, Eraserhead. Really.”

“Sure, Rabbit.” The man just dips his head in goodbye and turns around to leave. 

The wind starts to pick up again, and Izuku really does wince this time as he catches sight of the end of the hero’s capture weapon flapping slightly. It looks like somebody hacked some of it off, and speaking of—

“Hey! Wait!” Izuku rushes forward, hands digging in his pockets until he finds what he’s looking for. He pushes the small piece of fabric into the man’s chest before stepping away quickly. “Uh, sorry for cutting it. I know it must be expensive to get it fixed.”

Eraserhead gives him another one of those indiscernible looks before replying, voice edged with amusement, “It’s alright. I have to do it sometimes myself to get out of certain situations.”

He continues on, as if he didn’t just drop a major bombshell on the analysis part of Izuku’s brain. Because what. Why hasn’t he thought of that? 

Of course! The man’s capture weapon aids him in a lot of his fights, but it can also serve as a huge disadvantage if a villain uses it for themself or if the hero gets stuck on something. 

Brilliant, Izuku thinks. He has to add that into his notebook when he gets a chance.  

“Oh, and by the way.” Eraserhead throws him a glance over the shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “That mural you painted of me was really something, kid. You’ve got some talent, I’ll give you that.”

Izuku laughs at the unexpectedness of the comment, and he watches Eraserhead leave with a funny feeling blooming in his chest. 

Because alright, maybe, just maybe, things won’t be so bad.

Chapter Text

Before Izuku knows it, a little over a month goes by. 

The pile on Dagobah Beach has been growing smaller and smaller over the days, even in the short amount of time he’s been working on it. All Might told Izuku that he’s being a little too quick with it, that he needs to slow down if he wants to keep building muscle and stamina over time. 

Izuku takes the too quick part as a compliment, even though the only reason he’s been able to move everything so quickly is because All Might has been letting him use Boost for certain things now. 

Together they came up with a change of plan. So now, instead of spending an hour on it every morning, Izuku will only spend thirty minutes cleaning it up. The extra time gives them more opportunities to try new training regimes and exercises. 

New training is code for more hell. 

But the good kind of hell. Is it bad to say that Izuku enjoys it? Training his body like this feels good. He’s always been a bit fit, of course, but not like this. It hasn’t been long, but he can feel the difference. 

Especially during his patrols. His stamina is even better than it was, and he can lift fifty pounds more even without his enhancements. 

The only downside is that now that he’s burning more energy—not just on patrols anymore—he’s starting to get hungry. 

Incredibly hungry. He doesn’t eat a lot as it is, so he’s used to surviving off a little less than what he should be, but now he feels like he’s starving. 

He goes over to the Bakugou’s more often now, and he knows they don’t mind, but it still makes him guilty. On the weekends he goes to the pizzeria to help cook and clean, as Ms. Hanako lets him eat whatever he wants on the job—she tries to feed him for free even when he’s not working, but Izuku won’t have that. 

He has to earn food. The family struggles as it is, he shouldn’t take anything of theirs without some form of repayment. 

And one morning at the park, All Might seems to notice his struggles as well. 

Izuku is busy balancing on a bench with his eyes closed, one hand being used to keep himself up, when the hero comes up to him in his smaller form, voice edged with concern.

“You look a little pale there, my boy, are you sure you’re alright?”

Izuku, still upside-down with his feet straight in the air, tries for a laugh. “I mean this is kinda difficult, it’s taking a lot of focus—”

“You’ve looked like that all week. It can’t possibly be from today’s training.”

What he means is that’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard. 

Izuku can’t really form a good response when he’s balancing like this, so he instead shakes his free hand in what’s hopefully an I don’t know, then gesture and purses his lips to pretend like he’s concentrating. 

He can feel the hero’s gaze on him. It’s disconcerting. 

“Have you been eating enough?”

Izuku’s eyes fly open, and the jolt that goes through his body is enough to have him tumbling off the bench and falling onto the sidewalk. 

He lays there for a moment and briefly wonders if it’s possible to ask whatever god that exists up above to strike him down, only for his world to sway as Small Might carefully picks him up by the back of his shirt and sets him on his feet. 

The man is close to him now, close enough to have to crane his neck to peer down at him. Even as Small Might, he’s the same height as his hero form. 

“I can’t help but notice that you’ve gotten a little lighter, even while gaining muscle.” His brows scrunch together. “You are following the meal plan, right?”

If it were any other time, and probably any other person asking this question, Izuku would have said something like so you think I’m skinny? But Small Might doesn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes, and Izuku doesn’t think changing the subject will do him any good right now. 

He doesn’t like the way the man is staring at him. It makes him feel like a bug under a microscope, and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

He’s—he’s eating, okay? Maybe not a lot, and maybe not nearly enough, but he’s eating. He’s eating more than he was before he started the training with All Might, and his nonexistent wallet has surely been feeling the toll. 

He’s trying, is the thing. But it’s not like he can tell the man that. He can’t be a burden to the number one hero, just can’t. The man has other things to worry about. To care about. 

Izuku crosses his arms to hide how his hands have started trembling and kicks at the dirt, looking anywhere but at the hero in front of him. “I am following it.” Lies. All lies. He hates himself for deceiving his idol, and yet there’s no other way to get out of this without creating more problems. “I just—I forget to eat sometimes, you know? With everything going on, it’s hard to stay on track, that’s all.”

With everything going on. 

Izuku hopes the man will latch onto that piece of information and leave him alone. That he’ll ponder on that instead of the situation at hand and hopefully miss the fact that Izuku is lying to him. 

The boy hates manipulating people. Hates planting bombs in his sentences and playing with people’s minds, and yet he never stops. Here he is, using one of his many methods of manipulation on a man he never thought he’d dare try any of them on. 

It seems to work, though. 

After what feels like a while but could’ve only been ten seconds, Small Might sighs. “I feared so.”

Izuku chances a glance back up, expecting to see disappointment or maybe even anger on the man’s face, but is instead met with the familiar sight of Small Might transforming into All Might. 

“Which is why I brought sandwiches!”

And huh? Izuku is sure he’s misheard him. 

All Might suddenly jumps onto the bench and then leaps onto a nearby tree, proceeding to pull a whole fucking cooler out of the branches. 

Izuku can only watch in mild confusion and a little bit of fear as All Might drops back down and carries the cooler over to a small patch of grass, waving at the boy to follow him. 

He does so hesitantly. “Was that there the whole time?”

“Indeed it was!” All Might says cheerfully, taking out a blanket from god knows where and spreading it across the ground. “I figured having a break at the park would be nice, saying as you haven’t rested since we first started!”

“But I take breaks on the weekends—”

“And you can take another break today, my boy! A day off won’t hurt!” All Might plops down and begins to take out bags of food. “Well? I can’t eat all this myself.”

You probably could, Izuku thinks, but holds his tongue. 

While All Might doesn’t have an enhanced metabolism like he does, he still needs to eat a lot to keep up with the energy he uses while maintaining his bigger form. 

“Ham or turkey?” The number one hero asks, as if this is fucking normal. 

Izuku glances around, trying to see if anybody’s looking. “Uh, All Might, won’t someone see you? We’re in the public park.”

“I’m used to publicity, Young Midoriya! But I guess it is better if I don’t attract attention this time.” A puff of smoke surrounds him for a moment before revealing his natural form. “I don’t think you’d want your face to be plastered on the news, right?”

Oh hell no. That’s the worse thing that could happen. His father could see it, and that wouldn’t end well for anyone involved. 

Izuku laughs nervously. “Yeah, I’d rather that didn’t happen.”

“Understandable,” Small Might says. He then hands Izuku a few plastic baggies with sandwiches in them, passing him some chips as well. “I made these in a rush this morning, so forgive me if they’re not the best.”

Izuku’s eyes bug out a little as he takes in just how many sandwiches the man made. There must be, what, thirty? And he just gave Izuku ten—why the hell does he have so much?

“No, no!” Izuku rushes to say. “I’m sure they’re great, but why did you make so many?”

“Well, I figured you would take the remaining with you. I know we both have big appetites.”

He thought about me this morning? 

The hero made this much with the intention of giving him the leftovers. Izuku doesn’t know how to process that information. 

Izuku takes a bite out of one of the sandwiches, almost choking as he realizes just how fucking great it tastes. Like actually. 

It’s not just because Izuku is practically starving at the moment—the food the hero put together actually tastes good. 

And Izuku says as much, which causes the man to chuckle a bit as he thanks him. 

The boy is equal parts relieved and nervous. The discussion on his eating habits has stopped, at least for now. There’s no telling when All Might will bring it up again. 

Izuku places a few chips inside one of his sandwiches to give it a crunchy texture, and he grins at the hero in front of him. “Thank you for this! Everything is delicious!”

Small Might flashes him a smile, eyes crinkling. “Of course. It isn’t often I get to have a picnic like this. It truly is a nice day out, isn’t it?”

Picnic. The word sounds foreign to him, even though he knows, logically, what it is. Izuku has never had one before. 

“It is,” Izuku agrees, because there’s nothing else he can say to that. There’s a warm feeling building in his stomach now, and he feels himself start to smile alongside the hero. 

There’s a few birds singing a song near them, perched on the bench Izuku was on just a few minutes prior. The boy tears off some bread and throws it at them, giggling when he sees more birds fly over to feast on the food.

He glances at Small Might, who’s watching the scene as well with amusement.

He must feel his gaze, as he turns back around and starts on another sandwich. “Tell me a little about you, Young Midoriya. I don’t think I’ve asked you before, which is kind of rude on my part.”

Izuku doesn’t know what compels him to listen, but he does. 

He talks. 

He tells him what he can, tells him about Kacchan and Ms. Hanako and his thoughts and analyses on the latest heroes, and the number one eagerly chips in at different times. 

It looks like he’s actually interested in what Izuku has to say, which only spurs the boy’s rambling on even further. No one likes to hear him talk like this—the only person who tolerates it is Kacchan, and even then he playfully insults him about it. 

But All Might doesn’t. He listens, and when Izuku is done he allows the boy a snippet of his own life outside of his hero career. 

So in the end, it’s safe to say that Izuku enjoys the first picnic he’s ever had. 

Present Mic is cool when he’s on duty and when he’s off, Izuku finds. 

He’d guessed that in the beginning, of course, when Yamada saved him from those bullies in the alley, but it’s nice to have his theory supported even further. 

The man comes into the laundromat Izuku goes to once every other week. Something must have happened to his washer or dryer, the boy thinks, as he never used to see him here a few weeks ago. 

Yamada arrives at the laundromat at the same ungodly hour as the previous two times, and if Izuku didn’t know better, he’d say that the man is doing it because he knows Izuku goes at that time. 

The boy does his laundry every week instead of every other week like normal people—don’t judge him, okay, most heroes have multiples of their costumes, he can’t afford to have any more than one—so he only sees the voice hero half the time. 

He likes to talk with the man and just be there with him. Yamada is funny and nice, and his quirk is bubbly, as weird as it sounds. 

It feels soft, and Izuku likes it. 

The third time Present Mic comes to the laundromat, hands full with his basket of clothes and laundry detergent, he brings snacks. 

Izuku isn’t quite ready for it when Yamada suddenly hands him a couple Slim Jims while he’s writing in his notebook. 

The boy flushes, waving his hands in front of him as he pops his earbuds out so as not to be rude. “Ah, no thank you! I wouldn’t want to—”

“It’s alright, kiddo, really.” Yamada practically drops them onto his lap and turns back to his own snack: a bag of goldfish. “I don’t like those anyway. I’d much rather someone else have them so I won’t have to throw ’em out, ya dig?”

No, the more logical, no-bullshit part of Izuku’s brain says, you saw me eating a Slim Jim the first time you saw me here. You probably went out and bought me some before you came, as you arrived ten minutes later than your usual time. 

The gullible, sadder part of his brain says that the man did in fact just give it to him because he didn’t want it, and not because he actually went out of his way to buy him some food. 

And also, what’s with the heroes he knows trying to feed him stuff nowadays? First it was All Might, now Present Mic—who’s next, Eraserhead?

Hopefully he didn’t just jinx it. Well, hopefully he did. He wants to know what the man would even offer him as food, as Izuku doesn’t think he’s even seen the man eat during one of their meetings. 

But Izuku doesn’t say any of that to the voice hero. He just concedes with a quick dip of his head and carefully starts to unwrap one of the Slim Jims, putting one earbud back in like he’s done all the other times. 

Yamada munches on his goldfish, tapping his foot to an imaginary song. 

It’s familiar and comfortable. The one laundromat worker that’s present at this time is busy sleeping at their desk, and Izuku doesn’t blame them. He would be too if he had to be here at this time of night and oversee literally two people and what Izuku swears is a ghost in the front corner. 

Izuku is adding more onto his Present Mic page when the man glances over at him, still eating his goldfish. 

“Oh, is that me?” He looks excited, almost giddy. 

And no, Izuku wants to say, it’s not. It’s just your doppelgänger who shares the same name and hero costume as you, but Izuku doesn’t say it. He’s only a bitch on the inside. He actually tries to be nice to people, contrary to popular belief, especially his idols. He wants to be nice. His mind is just an ass, that’s all.

“Uh, yeah,” Izuku says, his cheeks turning a dark red. 

What if he finds it stalkerish? Or weird? It’s not normal for someone to take notes on actual people, after all. That’s a therapist’s job. Or, if Izuku is willing to go deeper down the rabbit hole, a villain’s job. 

“That sketch is really good, kiddo! You captured my support gear really well!” Yamada turns to face him fully, and Izuku has to force himself not to shrink back at the attention. “Where did you learn to draw like that?”

“Oh! I picked up some tips from videos online. I had to have some basis of anatomy if I wanted to sketch heroes and stuff.”

It’s not a lie. 

Yamada doesn’t seem alarmed by this in the slightest. He just smiles wider. “Well it’s great! I’m glad to have another artist to talk to.”

He’s an artist? Another thing to add to the notebook! And while he’s here—

“Um, Yamada, I actually have a question about your support gear.”

“Shoot! I’m all ears.”

Thinking it would be better to just show the man instead of asking, Izuku hastily gives the man the notebook and points to a certain paragraph, pulling back quickly afterwards. “I was wondering if you could fact check this for me? I mean, it is about you.”

“Oh, wow,” Yamada marvels, eyes skimming over the two pages filled to the brim with notes and small sketches. “You wrote all this?”

Izuku just nods, not having the heart to tell the man that there’s actually four more pages dedicated to him right after these two. 

“The speakers on my neck actually help control the direction, not so much the output,” he corrects kindly after he’s read both pages. “I honestly have no say on where I want to direct the sound without them. The only thing I can control by myself is how loud I make it.”

“Oh, that makes more sense! I was thinking that, thank you!"

“I’m impressed, though! That’s some detailed work you got there.” Yamada’s washer beeps a few feet away, and he gets up and gives the boy a gentle punch to the shoulder. “You’d be a good hero with that kind of brain, kiddo!”

And Izuku is frozen, his mind coming to a screeching halt. You’d be a good hero. The touch on his shoulder has left but the feeling stays. 

It’s not good, but it’s not bad either. Izuku will give the feeling a seven out of ten. He thinks faintly that he wouldn’t mind it if Yamada did it again. 

And that brings up the other thing. Izuku told the voice hero his name during their second meeting, but he has a feeling he’s forgotten it since he never calls him by it. It’s always little listener or kiddo or some variation of the sort. Izuku doesn’t mind. It’s endearing, and if he can pretend that the voice hero cares, than that’s enough for him. 

Besides, Yamada calls all of his fans listeners. It’s not like he’s special. 

He gives the man another glance when he comes back, a thought suddenly popping into his head. “Do you have cats?”

“Why do you ask, kiddo?”

He doesn’t sound suspicious or taken aback, just curious, so Izuku doesn’t know why he gets so nervous. He fiddles with his pen before gesturing at the man’s clothing. “It’s just, uh, the hair on your shirt. It’s too thin to be from a dog, and you always have some on your clothes when you come here, so I just assumed you did, but obviously you might not so that’s why I—”

Yamada, thankfully, cuts off his rambling before he can make a fool of himself. “I have three cats, actually! Here, I’ll show you.”

It turns out that the man has a lot of pictures of his cats. He has five albums dedicated to them, to be exact, and Izuku leans over a bit to see them better. 

The first picture he shows is of a fluffy gray cat that Yamada says is named Pickles because of her green eyes. The other two are both short-hairs, and one is a calico called Meatball while the other is a light brown tabby by the name of Sushi. 

Izuku falls in love immediately. 

He’s a sucker for animals. For cats, especially, since they remind him of Kacchan: prickly and angry on the outside, warm and cuddly on the inside. 

But what gains his attention is their names. “Why are they all named after—?”

“Food?” Yamada interrupts with a knowing look. “I honestly can’t tell ya, listener. I only named Pickles. My partner chose the other two.”

Partner, huh? Izuku doesn’t ask, though he really wants to. He has an idea who the man might be talking about, but it’s really not his place to speculate. 

Izuku is still stuck on the cats. He doesn’t complain when Yamada shows him even more pictures. The more he looks, the more he wants one. 

They’re low maintenance, and they’re apparently a little easier to handle than dogs. Maybe he can convince Kacchan to get one so he can visit it when he comes over. 

Or maybe Izuku can just get a cat. He may not be responsible enough to feed himself, but he can definitely take care of another creature. A cat would be a good companion. 

But then he remembers what he does for a living, and that thought goes down the drain. 

Okay, so maybe a pet is a bad idea.

The first official meeting with Eraserhead was awkward. At least for Izuku; he doesn’t think the hero is capable of being awkward. 

And every time they meet he still gets spooked by Eraserhead. Every goddamn time, in fact. He doesn’t know why, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop trying. Izuku still jumps, he’s just gotten a little better at hiding how much it affects him. 

It’s their fifth meeting, however, when the dynamic changes. 

Izuku is sitting there, brows scrunched as he tries to feel for the man’s quirk as he’s started doing all the other times, when something sounds from behind him. 

A scuff of the foot. Casual and light amidst the soft whirring of the wind and the sounds of the city bustling below. 

The footsteps are familiar, but only in theory. He knows who it belongs to, but it still sounds wrong. Because Eraserhead doesn’t make any sound when he walks. Just like Izuku, they’ve both been trained in stealth. You can’t hear them unless they want you to hear them. 

And Izuku can hear him this time. He still couldn’t feel his quirk a few moments before, but he hears him. He didn’t get spooked. 

This makes Izuku frown, and he turns to face Eraserhead before the underground hero can even speak. 

“You did that on purpose.”

The man blinks at him, not bothering with a reply. And okay, Izuku figures, maybe he is being a bit cryptic. 

“Your shoes,” he elaborates, glaring at Eraserhead as if he’s wronged him somehow. “You made sure I could hear you.”

“Figured you wouldn’t jump this time. I was right.”

This bitch. 

The man continues walking closer and sits a few feet away, hanging his legs over the side of the roof. “If it truly bothers you so much I won’t do it next time.”

Izuku tenses. “No, wait—”

He doesn’t miss the hero’s small smirk as he hurries to correct himself. 

The next time he sees Eraserhead after that, he’s just Midoriya Izuku. 

He’s walking home from the library late at night, as usual, a few books on Japanese Sign Language tucked under his arm, when he hears commotion up ahead. 

Great. Another mugging. 

This one will hopefully go quick. He’s stopped so many thieves before that it’s almost like second nature to him now.

He places his books carefully on the sidewalk before strolling up and taking in the situation. 

A younger man, probably only in his early thirties, is being backed up against a wall with his hands in the air. “Please, I don’t have anything, I swear! I would’ve given it to you by now if I did!”

The robber looks to have a mutant type quirk, so Izuku doesn’t have to worry about anything. The pointed ears on the man won’t do him any harm. “Shaddup and hand me your wallet.”

“But—but you told me to keep my hands up, how can I—”

“Do it, or else!”

The man is crying now. “Please, I can’t!”

Izuku kind of wants to find out what or else entails, but then he sees the gun being pulled from the criminal’s waistband, and that’s when he thinks oh, so that’s what that bulge was. And here I was thinking the man was packing. 

Almost lazily, Izuku raises a palm and slips into the criminal’s view. It’s dark, he can barely see a thing—which means they won’t be able to tell what’s happening either. He can use whatever quirk he wants.

Izuku yanks the gun out of the mugger’s hand and catches it by the barrel, swiftly jabbing the man in the temple. And like a rock, he’s down for the count. 

Well. That was easy. And kind of pathetic. 

Izuku steps over the criminal and picks up the discarded wallet on the ground. “Hey, dude, you dropped your—”

He’s talking to thin air, as when he turns back around the victim is gone. Fuck. 

Yep. Izuku really is out of it if he didn’t even hear the dude leaving. That just makes his job much worse. 

Peeking through the wallet, he sighs. There’s only a few bills in there. The person is obviously not very rich, so he won’t take anything. The man looks like he probably needs every bit of it. It would be wrong of Izuku to steal it. Especially after fighting for it not to be stolen. 

The only logical thing to do is take it to the police. Well, he was already gonna have to do that, saying as he now has a very unconscious criminal on the ground and a dead phone. Usually Izuku just calls Tsukauchi or the police and tells him where the criminal is, but now he can’t. And he’s sure as hell not wasting his money on a pay phone. 

He can’t just leave him there; there’s no telling what other crimes he’ll commit once he wakes up. So he guesses he’ll just have to make the five minute walk to the nearest police station. 

This is just fantastic, Izuku thinks, hauling the man up over his shoulder—Jesus Christ what does this man eat, he weighs a fucking ton—and grabbing the gun off the ground. He’ll set his books on the man’s back in hopes that they’ll stay there during the duration of the trip. 

He was planning on just going home, charging his phone with his solar powered battery, and then reading all of the JSL training books, but of course things don’t go his way. 

Present Mic has recently revealed to him that he’s actually hard of hearing, same as Kacchan is. It seems having quirks that are loud have their disadvantages on both sides. Now, Izuku already knows a little bit of sign language, courtesy of his friend, but now he has even more of a reason to get fluent in it. 

And besides, his brain is telling him that if he doesn’t perfect the language tonight, he’s going to die a very terrible death. He doesn’t have the will to argue with himself on how illogical that is and instead becomes resigned to the toxic inner thoughts of his mind. 

Izuku smushes his face onto the glass doors of the police station and lets out an evil laugh at the short scream he gets in return. The receptionist hurriedly opens the doors, helping him inside since he does have a criminal on his back. 

“Midoriya,” the lady starts, sounding both tired and expectant at the same time. “What the hell is that.”

He grins. “A body.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but what are you—oh good lord.” She cuts herself off as Izuku drops the man onto the floor without a care in the world. “Another mugger?”

Izuku nods. “He had a gun.”

“What do you get yourself into, sugar? This is the second time you’ve brought someone in like this.” She takes the weapon and wallet from his outstretched hands, beckoning him further inside and away from the would-be-mugger. “Hold on a sec, I’ll call some guards.”

And so Izuku hops up onto the front desk, swinging his legs and popping two of the take only one lollipops into his mouth as he waits. 

Might as well get a start on that reading, huh? 

Not long after, though, there’s multiple voices coming from the hallway, and then two officers are jogging forward with handcuffs in their hands. They immediately kneel down and check his health, before moving him to stand upright. 

It seems the guy is waking up ever so slowly. Izuku didn’t hit him that hard, after all. He’s not cruel. 

The next person out of the hallway is Detective Tsukauchi himself, followed by—is that Eraserhead?

Fuck. This is awkward. Izuku met with him not even a few nights ago, and while the man doesn’t really know him as Midoriya Izuku, only as Rabbit, it’s still nerve-racking to be near him. Because what if he finds out. 

The detective only shoots him a look before heading for the officers, a tablet in his hand. 

Uh-oh. 

“Any injuries?” Tsukauchi asks briskly. 

“Nope,” the female officer reports. “Just a little sore spot on his temple, probably from when he was knocked out. No other injuries that we can see.”

The other officer, who’s busy holding the criminal up with both of his large arms, cuts in. “We’ve been looking for this guy. Has three other incidents on his record, and his poster is actually on the wall over there.” 

Izuku looks and sees that the criminal’s ugly face is in fact on the wall. Hm. Maybe he should’ve injured him a bit more, as he’s also listed as a pedophile on the poster.

The first officer speaks again. “He’s been robbing people and threatening them with a gun, which we now have as evidence.”

Izuku watches the detective nod at the officers before turning to the criminal, who’s now starting to blink his eyes open. “You, sir, will be going to prison for a long time after a very lengthy trial. I’m sure you’ll be very comfy there.” He says something else to the cops, and then the criminal is being dragged away, probably into a holding cell before they can conduct an interrogation. 

The boy hums around a mouthful of treats. “That was satisfying.”

“And you.”

Izuku squeaks as the detective’s fiery gaze turns to him, and he can’t help but smile nervously when the man starts to tap his foot. The boy sees Eraserhead glance between them a few times at the corner of his eye, and he swears he hears the hero mumble an I knew it under his breath. 

“You’ve been quiet for too long, I should’ve known you’d do something reckless. Again with the martyr complex, son. We’ve been over this.” He sounds done with this conversation. Izuku kind of is too, but the lollipops are giving him some extra energy. “You can’t keep putting yourself in danger like this. You don’t know what he could’ve had—in terms of both quirks and weapons.”

Izuku crosses his arms petulantly, one of the JSL books still spread out over his lap. “I disarmed him, though, and he has a mutant quirk. ‘S not dangerous to me at all.”

His voice is kind of garbled due to the sweets, but he knows Tsukauchi can understand him. 

“Tell that to his other three victims, one of whom got shot in the foot.”

And okay, that makes Izuku wince. He didn’t mean to sound insensitive. 

“And also.” The detective lifts up the tablet to show him something, one hand placed on his hip. “Care to tell me what you’re doing in this video?”

And Izuku frowns, leaning forward on the desk to see because what can he possibly be talking about now? What video? He stares at the screen, confused now, because this looks like a bird’s eye view of the inside of a mall. He can see people walking around with different bags in their hands, as if they’ve just got done shopping and are going for more goodies. There are multiple stores on the corners with banners on the walls. He can see a fountain in the middle of the scenery, and—

Oh. The fountain. 

Izuku wants the ground to swallow him up and never let him out as he watches screen-Izuku jump into the fountain and then slip on his way out of it. It’s pretty clear when this footage was taken. This is from a couple months back when he went to the mall with Kacchan. His friend doesn’t show up on the screen, and Izuku is incredibly thankful for that. The last thing he needs is for the blond to get in trouble because of him. 

He tears his gaze away from the tablet to look back up at the detective. “Uh, that’s not me.”

“That’s not you? Really?” The man magnifies the footage to focus on the green mess that is Izuku’s hair, and also on those familiar red shoes he always wears. “Watch it again, son.”

Eraserhead moves a bit to watch it alongside Izuku, causing the boy to want to curl up and die even more. Great, now he’s embarrassing himself yet again in front of the underground hero. 

As if the flash drive incident wasn’t bad enough, now he’s got this to think about at three in the morning when he’s pretending to sleep. 

It’s not fair that the camera quality is actually really good, too. Izuku thinks it should be illegal for mall footage to be this clear. It’s clearer than his skin, for fuck’s sake. This should not be happening.

“I mean, that could be me,” Izuku starts slowly. “But since you don’t have any concrete evidence...”

Tsukauchi looks like he needs a shot of tequila. “I can’t with you right now. Just can’t.”

Eraserhead takes another look at the screen, then shifts his gaze to Izuku, his face giving nothing away. 

The detective starts to rant again, but Izuku barely hears him. He’s busy weighing the pros and cons of slapping a pro hero. He wants to slap Eraserhead, just for fun. Just to see what he’ll do. 

Will he kill him? No, that’s too dramatic, and also kind of illegal. He might arrest him, or—no, not that either. It’s more likely that the man will just make it his personal mission to make Izuku’s life a living hell. 

And that thought sounds kind of festive. Hm. He wonders if Eraserhead is the type to just come to terms with Izuku’s chaos, like Tsukauchi has, or if he’ll shut it down quickly. Or maybe he’ll create his own chaos. That’d be fun. 

“Are you even listening to me, Midoriya?”

Oh, he should be paying attention to the probably spectacular lecture that the detective is giving him right now, if the incessant hand movements are anything to go by. “Not really.”

“For the love of—" Tsukauchi cuts himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t wait until my shift is over. I need a drink.”

“Drinking isn’t healthy for you. You told me that once.”

The detective shakes his head. “I won’t charge you for this, Midoriya, so you’re free to go. Thank you for taking in that criminal and turning in the wallet, but I think you should head home now. And please stay there for the rest of the night. I trust you can get back without an escort this time.”

Izuku hops off the desk and gives the man a horribly inaccurate salute. “Yessir!”

He gives a brief bow to Eraserhead and then starts to run, limbs burning as he uses the energy the lollipops gave him to rush out of the door, not wanting to test Tsukauchi’s patience lest the man changes his mind. He ignores the and stop using your quirk! that comes from behind him, choosing to instead run even faster. 

He loves annoying Tsukauchi. Either as Rabbit or as Midoriya Izuku, that’s just what brings him the most joy in life. 

In fact, pissing people off in general is why he’s still alive and kicking. Spite is a very good motivator. 

But in Izuku’s defense, the fountain incident was almost two months ago. It would be unfair to punish him for it now, which is probably why Tsukauchi let him off the hook. 

Besides, it’s not technically illegal. Izuku doesn’t break every law, thank you. 

Just a few of them. No biggie. 

Chapter Text

Izuku has a tendency to notice every little detail. He magnifies small nuances into major things, largely because small nuances can quickly become breaking points for strangers and villains. 

When he’s going undercover, or when he’s trying to sneak in somewhere for a job, he has to be careful. He has to be able to see. 

He’s learned how to manage moods and read the room. He can perceive danger in just the order of words that people say. He can read body language and see what other people usually can’t—or, won’t. This is all a natural outgrowth of him trying to stay alive during his missions and encounters with strangers on the streets. 

It’s not that everyone else is oblivious, no, of course not. Izuku isn’t that naïve. It’s more that he has to be like this. It’s just that this habit of his is what keeps him alive. This attention to detail that has made him over analyze minor nuances to the extent that it gives him much more anxiety than he would have otherwise—it’s kind of like a safety net. 

It prevents certain events from happening, and under the worst case scenario where something bad happens anyway, it helps to handle those issues and stop the situation from escalating. 

So, in short, Izuku stays alive solely because he can see. 

This ability of his also allows him to draw many different conclusions and patterns from events that he’s witnessed even the first time around. 

Izuku sees things in high definition, and sometimes he sees things that he’d rather not. He can notice and create patterns simply by watching and listening—a skill that has helped him grow into the successful vigilante he is today. 

Well, that last part is debatable, but whatever. 

Right now, sitting in the library and chewing on his pen, he’s noticed another pattern. Though this time he can’t really see the advantage from pointing this one out to himself. There’s no villain he can use it against, no question he can avoid. It’s just kind of sitting there, weighing at the back of his mind like a pile of bricks over wet cardboard. 

It’ll fall eventually, maybe even sooner rather than later, and Izuku will start to spiral into that awful feeling he gets when he doesn’t understand something. When he doesn’t know why things are happening. 

It seems that the newest adults in his life have been doing similar things to him without Izuku realizing it. They’ve been joking and conversing with him, either making small talk or just being a genuinely good person around him, and he doesn’t mind that, obviously. That’s normal, that’s polite, that’s decent, and that’s not why he’s so frazzled. 

All Might, Present Mic, and Eraserhead are all amazing people. They’re great heroes, sure, but just about anyone can be if they try hard enough or have the right mindset. But to be a genuinely good person? That’s when it gets a little harder. 

They were nice to him. Still are, in fact. It’s just that once they deemed it safe, they moved closer. 

Both metaphorically and physically. 

The first one was Present Mic. Which, now that Izuku has the opportunity to truly think about, isn’t surprising. The man always sits in the same seat two spots over from Izuku at the laundromat. He’s never sat anywhere else; that’s just his spot now, same as how Izuku’s spot is near the corner and just out of sight of the door—Izuku can see anyone coming in, but they can’t see him. 

Yamada never gets too close unless he’s passing by or showing him something on his phone. At least, that’s how it was for a while. But then, during one of their laundry meetings, he just... moved closer.

He walked in the door, dirty clothes in a basket in one hand and detergent in the other, and sat down right beside him. Izuku didn’t even notice it until his shoulder brushed against Yamada’s arm when he stood up to put his own clothes in the dryer. The voice hero is tall, just like All Might and Eraserhead, so the new contact made him pause for a moment, because that’s never happened before. 

A quick, hopefully not suspicious look back confirmed that Yamada had indeed sat in the seat right next to him instead of his usual one two spots over. And since he identified the change, Izuku then noticed the larger shadow that loomed over his seat due to the lamp right to the side of Yamada, hanging from the ceiling. 

God. Why is Izuku so short. Or maybe everyone around him is giant. Yes. That’s more plausible. His five-foot-two self cries every time. 

But back to the point. Neither of them acknowledged it then. It’s almost like Yamada didn’t notice he did it either, though that’s obviously not true. 

The next person to do something similar was Eraserhead. It’s a couple months into their newfound hero-and-vigilante relationship when it starts. He usually sits on the roof’s edge at their meeting spot with a good distance of a least five feet between them. It’s more of an unspoken rule: don’t get too close lest the other gets uncomfortable. 

They both understood that, so everything was cool. 

But then the five feet eventually became four. And then three. 

Izuku tells himself that he’s the one that closed another foot that time only because it’s getting chillier with each passing night and Eraserhead is like a heater with that capture weapon around his neck. 

If the man noticed it, which he most certainly did, Izuku thinks, he had the decency not to mention it. 

Now, the last person to be involved in the pattern is All Might. 

While the man has always been the more touchy-feely of the group of three heroes in Izuku’s life right now, he’s never made any move to outright be physical with him. 

Sparring doesn’t count, Izuku thinks, whatsoever. A jab to the throat is not a sign of endearment. 

But then things changed. Along with getting closer to Izuku metaphorically (the picnics seem to happen more often now; Izuku has a feeling it’s not just to give him a break from training), All Might has started to dole out hair ruffles or pats on the back whenever he can. He even stands a little closer to him—the change isn’t much, just a few inches, but it’s enough for Izuku to note. 

These changes made Izuku uncomfortable at first, only for a couple weeks. But now, having quite a lot of time to get used to it, he doesn’t even think about it anymore. 

It kind of scares Izuku how much he likes it. 

He learns something else about All Might a few months into his training. 

Izuku is busy writing down different moves he could use with Boost that could help him counter long range attacks when his arm starts to irritate him again. He was sparring with All Might just a half hour prior and stupidly got himself injured, resulting in a bruised arm from one of the hero’s stronger punches. In All Might’s defense, Izuku should have dodged it. 

He saw the blow coming and still didn’t move fast enough, so Izuku doesn’t know why the man started belting out apologies and questions. Izuku is fine, and no, I don’t need a hospital, All Might, it’s my fault, don’t apologize!

But while he convinced the man not to take him to the hospital—Izuku does not want his blood drawn by anyone for obvious reasons—All Might ended up forcing him to take an hour break. 

It feels more like a time-out if Izuku is being honest, as he’d argued with the man about it for five minutes, trying to explain that he doesn’t need a break when it was his own fault for being so slow and stupid. All Might was having none of that, however, and instead suggested taking the day off altogether as an alternative.

That shut Izuku up real quick. 

So now he’s brooding, still a little angry at himself for being so dumb and also a bit irritated at All Might for being annoying. 

Izuku flips to his analysis page on Eraserhead, deciding to add a little bit more on the theory he has about the hero’s capture weapon and just how the fuck it even works. 

Because seriously, that thing defies the laws of gravity! It shouldn’t be able to do half the shit Eraserhead does with it. And it can’t be because of the man’s quirk, as capture weapons can be used by anyone with enough training and dedication. 

There’s the crunch of sand behind him, signaling his mentor’s approach. “I say we do a bit of meditating after this, what do you say, my boy?”

Izuku grunts, not ready to forgive All Might for being the reason they’re not still sparring right now. 

“Hm. So who are you working on now?” The man leans over to peek at his notebook, letting out a noise of recognition. “Ah, is that Eraserhead?”

Huh?

Izuku twists around to stare at him, wide-eyed, suddenly forgetting about his previous anger toward the man. “How do you know his name? He works underground!”

“Well, he’s my soon-to-be coworker, Young Midoriya! I met him a bit ago.”

And what—what the actual shit?

“You’re becoming a teacher!” His voice cracks on the last word, but Izuku doesn’t let himself get too embarrassed by it. “Since when?”

The hero rubs at his neck, smiling. “I actually just completed the paperwork and interviews last week. The principal decided that having a hero with the experience that I do would be a great help in training the younger ones!”

And that—that actually makes sense, which infuriates Izuku, because that’s honestly a dumb idea. The man only has a maximum of a few hours in his larger form, so how is he going to juggle both school and heroics?

Izuku stares out into the ocean, mind drawing up blank. All Might? Becoming a teacher?

He kind of wants to laugh and cry at the same time. 

“What’s going on here, ladies?”

Izuku steps out of the shadows and grins at how quickly the criminal whips around, gun in hand. 

“Who the hell are you?” Bitch Boy asks, just a tad bit shaky. He must be new at this. “And why’re you dressed like that?”

“You don’t know who I am? I won’t lie, I’m kind of offended.” Izuku gestures for the boy cowering in the corner to run. “I’m kind of famous around these parts nowadays.”

Bitch Boy is still holding up his weapon, pointing it at him with such bad form and posture that Izuku can’t help but cringe. Yep. He’s definitely new. 

“Not much of a talker? How about you explain why you were sticking up that poor kid.”

That gets a reaction out of him. “I need money, you damn brat. Not everybody’s blessed with a rich mommy and daddy.”

Really? That’s your excuse? 

Izuku merely tips his head. “Sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a criminal.”

“And you aren’t? You’re that vigilante, right? Everybody’s waiting to get a chance to beat your ass, y’know.”

“I do, actually. I have a very nice ass.” 

Bitch Boy’s face turns disgusted in the faint light. “You sound twelve, why are you talking like that?”

“Twelve?” Izuku says abruptly, half shocked and half indignant. “I’ll have you know that I am not a child. I’m just a late bloomer.”

“Hmph. I don’t care how old you are. You come any closer and I’m blowing you to pieces. You made me lose that kid’s money.”

Izuku wishes the man could see his smirk. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby.”

“Shut the hell up. Don’t talk like that.”

“Alright, here’s the deal.” Izuku turns serious, taking a few steps closer despite Bitch Boy’s warning. “We both know you don’t have the balls to actually pull that trigger. You look new, so I don’t think you want a murder charge on you, amirite?” 

He gets no reply, as expected. 

Izuku continues, stopping only a yard away once the man’s back hits the wall of the alley. “I get it, alright? I’m guessing you have to provide for your family, so I’ll let you go this one time. Got it?”

Surprise flashes across Bitch Boy’s face. “What?”

“I’m letting you go,” Izuku repeats. “If I catch you threatening people again, however, I won’t be so lenient. There’s other ways to get money.”

Like being a stripper, his brain helpfully inputs. 

“Uh, thank you, I guess?”

“Yep.” In one quick movement, Izuku darts forward and snatches the gun out of his hands, immediately moving back right afterwards in case the man decides to retaliate. “Just a quick word of advice, too: if you want to threaten someone with a weapon, make sure the safety is off first.”

Izuku points to the safety on the firearm before beginning to unload it. Bitch Boy looks embarrassed, but also a little in awe. He’s probably still shocked at how quickly Izuku snatched the gun from him. 

“And by the way,” the boy warns, “my fashion is well beyond anyone’s understanding, so don’t insult my costume ever again. I can make you regret it.”

And with that he slides back into the shadows, mentally laughing as he stuffs the gun in his pocket after making sure it’s empty. Man, one of these days he just wants to say I’m Batman and see how many people get the reference. 

The rest of his patrol goes by smoothly. There’s not a lot of crime this time of week, so he can take his time tonight. 

He stops after just a few more hours, when the moon is dipping low into the sky. It must be early in the morning by now. 

The store should be open by now. He just got paid two days ago because of a few of his jobs, and he heard that the mini space heater he’s been looking at is on sale this week. He should finally be able to afford it. 

Izuku changes out of his Rabbit costume in a deserted alleyway, making sure the gun is still properly taken care of before stuffing it into his carry-on bag. He always keeps a change of clothes on him during weekend patrols. 

It’s when he’s walking back onto the sidewalk, coming from the alley, when he hears something. Was that a meow?

A small shadow prances up to him, causing him to stop short. It’s a cat, he realizes. It’s fur is long and fluffy, a nice shade of black and white. It looks like a tuxedo cat. He doesn’t know a lot about felines, but he knows that most tuxedos have green or yellow eyes, which this one has a mix of. 

The streetlight above them allows Izuku to see that the cat’s left eye is green while the other one is yellow. A rare sight, the boy thinks. 

“Aren’t you a lil cutie?” 

The cat just meows, pawing at his sweatpants with both paws. It doesn’t seem to wanna let him go. 

Izuku giggles, reaching down to scratch behind its ears. It purrs, moving to run its head and body all over his legs. 

So fucking adorable. 

“Alright, cutie, I gotta go. So stay safe, okay?” He gives it another pat before moving on, but after a few seconds of walking the cat appears in front of him again. It’s—it’s following him? That’s a first. 

He can’t help but give in, bending down to scratch the base of its tail. That seems to really satisfy it, as it starts to purr even louder. There’s no collar, so it’s obviously a stray. 

Homeless. I guess that makes two of us. 

He sighs. “Fine. I guess you can tag along for a little bit. But just until I get to the store.”

The entire way there the cat continues to do figure eights around his feet, occasionally meowing at him to reach down and pay attention to it. Each time he obeys, so he’s not surprised at all when the cat suddenly jumps up and claws its way up onto his shoulder. 

It crouches there, not at all perturbed by the change in height. Izuku smiles a little, not bothering to move the cat—a she, he realizes—off of him. 

There’s no one out and about right now, and for that he’s grateful as he walks into the store he normally goes to. 

One of the only workers at the moment, a tall, lanky boy who can’t be any older than twenty, does a double take when he looks at him. “Hey, no pets allowed, kid. It says it on the sign outside.”

“She’s not my pet.” Izuku says truthfully. “And besides, you don’t get paid enough to care, so kindly screw off.”

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns back to his magazine, proving Izuku’s words right. 

He heads straight for the mini space heater, lugging it over his free shoulder. He’s about to be eating good from now on. Well, not good, but better. 

He doesn’t know why, but he ends up heading for the cat food after getting half a gallon of milk. He’s glad that everything’s on sale right now, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to afford anything. 

He glances at the name of the cheapest bag he can find: Missy Cat Food! They’re your family, so feed ’em like family!

Izuku narrows his eyes, staring at the words for a moment before moving his eyes to the cat balancing on his shoulder. She kinda looks like the one on the cover of the bag. 

“Hm. I’ll call you Missy, alright?”

He picks up the bag and heads for the checkout, passing by the collar section. He won’t buy one yet. He doesn’t even know if the cat will stay for long. It’s not like she’s going to be his pet. 

The cashier gives him another irritated look once he spots the feline, but Izuku just glares right back. He knows it’s late, but that doesn’t mean the dude can be a dick. 

He pays for the stuff and heads home, Missy dutifully staying on her perch. They’re not too far from his building, so it doesn’t take long before he’s walking up the many flights of stairs and nudging open his door. He watches as the cat jumps off of him and slinks inside to investigate the area. 

“Well, this is the crib,” Izuku announces, kicking the door shut and placing the stuff on the counter. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

I think that’s how the saying goes. 

The cat just meows at him and immediately takes claim to the top of the couch, making herself comfortable.

Izuku preens as he puts the milk in the fridge. Thank god his generator allows him a place to store his cold foods.

Turning back around, he finds Missy staring at him with those vibrant green and yellow eyes, laying flat on the couch pillows. She looks like a pancake, he muses. 

And honestly, it hasn’t set in yet that he practically just took in a cat. He’s still too shocked and tired from his patrol. 

He doesn’t regret it, though. 

Drugs are dangerous. 

Logically, Izuku knows this. He isn’t dumb. Just because he stopped physically going to school after his elementary years doesn’t mean he’s not educated. His father made sure he got all the knowledge he needed through online classes and courses. 

Technically speaking, Izuku doesn’t even have to go high school since he’s legally completed the required courses. In fact, he’s been taking free online classes for college at the library. There’s not much else to do besides patrolling, training, or going to the club and Kacchan’s house, so why not get his diploma as a teenager?

He’s stacked when it comes to education. He’s certainly not dumb. 

So again, he knows drugs are bad. He’s gotten a firsthand account of how terrible they are since his vigilante counterpart has busted a whole lot of drug rings. Drugs can ruin people’s lives, and even entire families and relationships. 

It’s not good. Not at all. 

Now, if you do it safely, that’s another thing. Izuku doesn’t think drugs are bad if you don’t misuse them. Only a small amount on certain occasions is completely fine, in Izuku’s opinion. The only problem is that once you start drugs, a lot of times you can’t stop. 

And so here he is, sitting on top of a broken air conditioner with his eyebrows pinched in concentration as he studies the blunt in his hand. 

Now, before you get the wrong idea—it’s not his. And he’s not going to smoke it, either. 

It was given to him by one of his newer clients as evidence for this new case. Apparently a man has been going around and selling drugs to teenagers and young adults. Now this wouldn’t be that bad or surprising at all (in Izuku’s humble opinion) if the drugs weren’t being laced. 

Which means the weed he’s been selling isn’t just weed, it’s mixed with much more dangerous drugs and chemicals that could really fuck someone up if smoked, and not in the good way. 

His client, dubbed with the name Juicer, asked Izuku to take this job since he’s been affected by the criminal personally. Apparently Juicer’s niece paid for some simple drugs a week ago and ended up in the hospital for an overdose. She survived, thankfully, but only barely. 

He takes a lighter out of his pocket and lights the blunt, watching it smolder before eventually starting to smoke up. He takes a quick, experimental sniff of it before busting out in coughs. 

That smells fucking terrible—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Izuku startles so hard he nearly falls off the roof. He whirls around, eyes wide, lit blunt in hand, and suddenly realizes how bad this looks. “Eraser!” He pants, clutching at his chest. “What happened to warning me before doing that?”

And why are you even here? We just met yesterday.

Eraserhead ignores his complaint and instead stalks forward, capture weapon floating around his head along with his raven-black hair. He swipes the blunt from him and turns it over in his hand. His head snaps back up to face Izuku, who shivers involuntarily. 

“Tell me you were not planning on smoking this!” The hero hisses, eyes flaring in warning. 

“I was not planning on smoking this,” Izuku deadpans. 

“Rabbit.”

“Okay, okay!” Izuku waves his hands in front of his body to placate the clearly fuming hero. “I’m not lying! I’m just studying it for this new job I got!”

Eraserhead’s eye twitches. “Uh-huh.”

Okay, what right does he have to get all upset with me? It’s not his business even if I was gonna smoke it!

“And who are you to judge,” Izuku says, crossing his arms. “You look like a stoner, so don’t get on my ass for holding a blunt when you’ve probably smoked a whole lot more than this before.”

The sudden snort he gets from the man seems to startle them both, and the short silence that follows the noise is incredibly awkward on both sides. 

Hm. It seems Eraserhead is capable of being awkward after all. 

The hero huffs something between a sigh and another laugh, shaking his head. “Fair enough, kid. Fair enough.”

And woah, there’s no way Izuku was actually right about the stoner part. Who knew Eraserhead of all people used to do weed? And still probably does!

Eraserhead wets his fingers and puts out the lit part, making sure to blow gently into the chamber to get all the smoke out. Probably so the weed doesn’t get stale, Izuku thinks. 

Don’t ask how he knows that. 

Yep. Eraser has definitely done this before if he knows how to do it so well. 

“I assume a client gave you this job?” The hero asks, cutting off the boy’s thoughts. 

“Yep. He said this dude’s been running around and selling dangerous drugs to kids that don’t know any better.”

Eraserhead quirks an eyebrow at him. “How’d you get one of his blunts?”

He says it as if he expects the boy to say he bought it himself, which is highly unfair and a little pretentious of him to assume. It’s not like Izuku can afford to buy drugs anyway. 

“How’d you get the blunt,” Izuku mocks. “My client gave it to me, thank you. Apparently Mr. Dealer dropped it at his last spot, so this is the only piece of evidence I’ve got so far. I just wanted to examine it to see what it’s been laced with; that’s why I lit it.” 

“You know what he looks like?”

Izuku rubs his hands up and down his arms to protect against the chilly breeze. “I’ve got an idea. I think he’s got a mental quirk, too, so I’ve been on edge trying to look out for him.”

The hero hums in acknowledgement. “Any recent sightings of him?”

“Only one, and I’ve already combed that area. He’s nowhere to be seen. His patterns are making me think he’s got another dealing tonight, though, so I’ve gotta find him before he does something else.”

There’s a few moments of silence in which the hero seems to think about his next course of action. Finally, once Izuku has decided that he’s gonna make a rude joke to piss the man off, he speaks. 

“Fine.” Eraserhead pockets the blunt, ignoring the offended look Izuku throws him. “We can look for him together.”

No way. 

Izuku perks up immediately. “You mean like on a patrol? With you?”

“Only if you can keep up.”

And then the hero takes off, already clearing the jump before them and landing on the next roof. Izuku is quick to follow, laughing as the wind whips at his face. “Is this a race then?”

“It’s not a race if you already know who’s gonna win, kid.” 

The words are almost lost to the boy, but it’s clear he’s not talking about Izuku being the winner. The boy gasps dramatically, doing a flip before he hits the next ledge. “How dare you!”

Eraserhead is fast, and he may have his capture weapon to help him maneuver around, but Izuku isn’t called Rabbit for nothing. 

He powers up a little more energy into his legs and starts using the balls of his feet to spring even farther forward. He’s practically bouncing, or maybe he should call it aggressive hopping. 

It’s the fastest he can go without using too much of his energy storage, and it’s just enough to keep in pace with the hero. Eraserhead plays dirty, it seems. He continuously jerks in front of Izuku when the boy is about to overtake him, but Izuku is used to this kind of treatment. Kacchan doesn’t like to lose either. 

Izuku is in tune with all kinds of dirty tricks and methods used for victory, so he can just about avoid anything that comes his way. 

The hero-and-vigilante duo stop petty crime along the way, just simple muggings and assaults, and Izuku comes to learn that he likes fighting alongside Eraserhead. 

He likes seeing how the man fights. He’s only ever seen shaky camera footage of his battles, so he’s never been able to get a good analysis down on him. Now is his chance. 

But of course, if Izuku is using this time to get more info on the other, then so is Eraserhead. It works both ways. 

The hero probably knew that this would happen, and yet he still offered to do this with him.

Wow. He isn’t joking about the whole trust thing. He wants Izuku to trust him. 

Izuku counts that as a leap in the right direction. 

His senses alert him to multiple quirks up ahead, and Izuku comes to a rolling halt, making Eraserhead swerve to the side to avoid crashing into him. Izuku just raises a finger to his mask-covered lips and points to the alley below them. 

There’s three people down there. One of them, the one on the far right, is holding out a bag full of what looks like edibles. Edibles that are probably laced. 

The two buyers, one girl and a boy that look to be around the same age, are fumbling around with some cash. It’s obvious that they’re probably friends with each other and only came here to have a good time. 

They must not know who exactly they’re buying from, or they do and they’re just under the influence of a quirk.

The criminal looks incredibly anxious. His movements are jerky and his hands twitch ever so slightly under the light of his phone flashlight. He’s either high or he’s just a piece of shit. Could be both, Izuku reckons. He also has a feeling that it’s him.  

If he’s being honest, Izuku expected more. For all that talk and growing reputation, he kind of wanted some real action. Something not as pathetic as what the upcoming fight will most surely turn out to be. 

Eraserhead is already peeking down and taking stock of the situation, fingers deftly moving across his phone keyboard at the same time. Probably sending out a signal to any nearby cops. 

So cool, Izuku fanboys. 

“Which one is he?” Eraserhead mumbles, voice low so only Izuku can hear it. 

“The one on the right.”

“You said his quirk can mess with your mind, so it’s best if I deal with him. You make sure the other two are okay.” 

And with that the hero is preparing himself to jump down, one hand on the edge and the other gripping his capture weapon. There’s no time for Izuku to argue that I could’ve handled him just fine, but okay, as the man is already dropping down below. 

Izuku does as instructed and drops to the floor, wincing at the screams he gets from both older teenagers. They’re obviously delirious, either under the influence or just in a state of shock, and Izuku tries to calm them down while also blocking them from view in case something bad happens. 

Though that doesn’t seem likely, as when Izuku turns around the criminal is already being subdued by Eraserhead. 

The underground hero has the man pinned on the floor, expression remaining bored even as the criminal starts struggling and bucking wildly to escape.

Confident that the dealer won’t come near them, Izuku turns back to the teens, who have fortunately not yet made a move to run. “Heya,” he starts coolly. “Y’all good?”

No reply, just blank stares. Well great. This makes things a bit more difficult. 

He leans closer and notices that their pupils are dilated, which tells him that they’re definitely under the influence of a quirk. This has to be the guy they’re after. 

“You said you think you know what he looks like,” Eraserhead calls to him from where he’s busy tying the criminal up, “so go take a look at him. I’ll check them.”

They switch roles, Eraserhead moving to get what’s probably a better diagnosis of the teens than what Izuku was heading towards and Izuku going to get a better identification of the drug dealer. 

With black hair and even darker eyes to match, said drug dealer looks scary. Now Izuku isn’t one to judge, but he’d definitely think this man was a serial killer if he ever saw him out in public. 

Peeking closer, Izuku sees a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It’s faded and kind of hard to see in the faint light, so the boy quickly takes a picture of it to study later. Who knows what it might lead to. 

But other than that, Izuku recognizes him immediately. He was just reading about this guy on the police forums last night. He has multiple warrants out for him, all due to drug use and violating probation. And, if Izuku isn’t mistaken, a pedophilia charge. 

I should light his shoes on fire, just to scare him. Somehow, though, I don’t think Mr. Pro Hero over there will like that idea so much. 

“His name is Sugita Teruo,” Izuku says sourly. “He’s already got a bad criminal record.”

Eraserhead side eyes him from where he’s standing guard by the two teens. “You just know that off the top of your head?”

“Call it a lucky guess,” Izuku says cryptically. “He’s got a quirk that can make his victims gullible. Or, should I say, more easily swayed. He can spin any lie off of his tongue and they’ll believe it.”

“I’m assuming that’s how he gets his buyers to trust him so easily. He looks sketchy, so I find it hard to believe that anyone would buy drugs off of him otherwise.”

Izuku tightens the restraints once more, making sure it’s not enough to completely cut off circulation. “Yep! He’s also a child toucher.”

There’s a choke. “I’m sorry, a what?”

“A child toucher.” Izuku faces him with a frown. “Y’know, a pedophile?”

Eraserhead stares at him for a solid five seconds before blinking. “Kid, you’re something else.”

I know. 

Izuku finishes the last knot and hauls the squirming criminal to his feet. “Welp. He’s all yours.”

The hero takes the struggling man from Izuku’s hold and wraps him up in his own capture weapon as an added measure. The sirens and lights get closer, reflecting off the windows in the stores across the street.

Eraserhead gives him a meaningful look then. “Good night, Rabbit.”

Now that’s a dismissal if Izuku’s ever heard one. The boy merely grins despite knowing the hero can’t see it. “We should do this more often, Eraser. That was kinda fun!”

Eraserhead snorts. “I’ll think about it, kid. Now scram before the police get here.”

Izuku doesn’t need to be told twice. He waves goodbye to the delirious teens before scrambling up the side of the building and disappearing into the night.

Missy is waiting for him. 

Chapter Text

Izuku understands villains. 

Not to say that he endorses them or encourages them, he just understands them. 

He knows that not everyone starts out with an advantage in life, that not everyone is loved or blessed enough to have a good family or wealth behind their name. He knows the world is unfair. He knows this, but instead of making it easier to deal with criminals and villains, this knowledge makes it harder. 

Because now he feels bad about taking them in or stopping them. Of course, he doesn’t feel bad about the murderers and rapists. They still have a choice. There’s no excuse for those kinds of people. He’s talking about the ones like the guy he let go a little while ago. The ones who feel like they have to steal or break the law to survive, or to provide for their family. 

Izuku understands because technically he is one of those people. He’s a criminal. He goes out as a vigilante and hurts people to get a paycheck and survive. Having good intentions doesn’t change the fact that what he’s doing is illegal. 

So again, he feels bad when it comes to stuff like that because he knows what it’s like. 

Now, Bitch Boy shouldn’t have threatened a civilian with a gun for his own personal benefit or gain, no matter the reasoning behind it. That much is obvious. Stealing is bad when it’s from someone who needs it just as much, if not more than you do. 

Now, if you’re stealing from the rich...

Izuku does that whenever he gets the chance. While it’s still bad and hella illegal, he gets a lot of joy from it. He loves watching his next victim’s—ahem, billionaire’s face from a distance once they realize their cash is missing from their pocket. They never usually care that much, as the cash they carry around is nothing more than chump change to them. 

Again, doesn’t make it right, but still. He doesn’t stop people for that. It would be hypocritical of him to do so since he literally does the same thing. 

Izuku can’t help but be a little disappointed, though. Criminals and villains are still human, so they deserve to get a little compassion and sympathy as long as they haven’t done anything too bad. But their skills, their drive, their quirks—it’s kind of a waste. 

They could be using all of that for good, to help the people who can’t help themselves. To save people, to make them feel safe and happy, to be a hero. And yet those criminals throw away all of those opportunities for whatever reason. 

Different quirks and skill sets can prove to be vital in certain environments. Take the drug dealer he and Eraserhead took down for example. His quirk would’ve been useful in law enforcement. Or for a negotiator, either in a hostage situation or just to talk down a civilian from making a bad choice. It would’ve proved useful in rescue missions, as Sugita could convince civilians to trust him and do as he says to escape without hesitating. 

The ability to spin any lie off your tongue and have everybody believe it? Izuku could use that power. He wanted it, even when he was standing an entire floor above the guy. His skin had been itching to take that quirk. 

It would’ve been oh so useful to Izuku. 

He could use it defensively, to lie his way out of a confrontation or to diffuse a possibly harmful situation. It could also help offensively to get a villain or hero on his side. If trust is forcibly made, information will slip out, giving Izuku the advantage. 

There’s so many possibilities, and yet the owner of the quirk chose to waste it on convincing young adults to buy his shitty drugs. It’s almost kind of funny. 

His quirk is powerful, almost overwhelmingly so. Simplicity gives way to complexity when you allow other variables to get involved, and that’s just what Izuku would’ve done had he been in possession of said quirk. But it’s unfair to say that Izuku himself wanted it. Extract was practically begging him to take it when he got closer to the drug dealer. It’s like it was calling to him. 

Extract does that to just about all the quirks he comes across or interacts with, though he’s gotten used to pushing it aside and ignoring it. He’s already made a promise to himself that he’d never steal anyone’s power, no matter their villainous stature or ranking. That would make him just as much a villain as the guy he’s taking it from. 

Now, mutant quirks don’t have the same appeal to Izuku, as a lot of times he wouldn’t be able to steal them even if he wanted to. He can still feel their power, but he can’t take them. It’s like a tease, in a way. One that he in equal parts hates and enjoys. 

There are more quirks that stick out to him, not just the drug dealer’s. Eraserhead’s, for one thing, is pretty strong for such a simple sounding power. Like the previous one, Erasure has a lot of opportunities and advantages that come with it, especially given the fact that it can erase the quirks of multiple people at once. 

(Whether or not it can erase multiple quirks belonging to one person is a question that Izuku hasn’t had the chance to figure out yet. He has to find a way to try it without Eraserhead realizing it.) 

But none of the quirks he’s encountered so far have felt as good as One for All does. 

It sounds weird, now that he thinks about it. How a quirk can feel good to him when in reality it’s just a flow of energy spreading throughout his veins that in all senses shouldn’t be having such an effect on him. 

And that scares Izuku, how much he likes it, because he knows why he can’t have it—literally and figuratively. It’s just not meant to happen, and nor would Izuku ever dream of doing that to the hero.

It’s wrong, it’s villainous, it’s dangerous. And Izuku wishes above all else that Extract would stop making him feel so bad for thinking about it when he can’t even control it. 

Speaking of heroes. 

“Hey!”

Eraserhead shoves him out of the way of a stray bullet, darting forward to slam the shooter against the wall and knock him out of the fight. 

This jolts Izuku out of his thoughts and brings him back into the fray. 

Oh, right. We’re in the middle of a gang war. 

Izuku grabs the nearest person and throws them into their partner, leveling them both with a flying kick to their chests that sends them flying into an open dumpster. Izuku uses Pull to yank the lid down on their heads, effectively knocking them out. 

He’s confident no one is paying too much attention to him to realize the oddities of his quirks.

The air crackles behind him and he ducks, narrowly avoiding the jolt of blue electricity that scours the space he was just previously occupying. 

See what Izuku means? That’s a powerful quirk right there, and yet this gangbanger is using it to fight his own pointless battles. 

A gray scarf flies from out of nowhere and wraps around the criminal, yanking them back around to meet Eraserhead’s fist. 

Damn. What a way to go. 

It’s not long before both gangs are finished, their members either unconscious and lying on the ground or sitting up against the wall and grumbling about these fucking third parties always ruining shit. 

Everyone is down, it looks like. No escapees, either, so that’s a plus. 

“Well, that was exciting,” Izuku pants, turning around for privacy. He pulls down his mask to just above his mouth, wiping at the steady stream of crimson leaking from his nose from a lucky hit. He’d rather not drown in his own blood, thanks. The mask allows oxygen to pass through its material, thank god, but it doesn’t do anything for substances as thick as his blood. 

Izuku should really find a way to fix that one of these days. 

“The hell was that?” Eraserhead asks from behind him. He sounds angry, and when Izuku turns around to look at him, mask pulled back up, he sees that the man’s arms are crossed. “That bullet was heading straight for your head, kid. If I hadn’t intercepted, there’s no telling what would’ve happened to you.”

Izuku doesn’t know what to say to that. “Uh, thank you?”

“You should be paying more attention to your surroundings. You can’t afford to be careless in the middle of a fight, Rabbit.”

Izuku frowns, a little offended and also a little embarrassed. “I know that! I made one mistake, that doesn’t make me dumb.”

“Didn’t say you were,” the man counters evenly. “You’re usually quicker than that. You’ve dodged bullets before, so this time shouldn’t have been different. Pay attention next time.”

The boy mutters an apology under his breath and watches as Eraserhead makes his way farther back into the alley, probably to check that the criminals there are still unconscious.

Or to get away from Izuku. That sounds likely, too. 

Great. The boy was having a good night, too, and he just had to ruin it with his own mess of a mind. Now Eraserhead is upset with him. 

He probably thinks you’re stupid. 

Izuku kindly tells that voice at the back of his head to shut the fuck up. He’s known the hero long enough to at least be confident that he doesn’t think that. Not yet, at least. 

There’s a snigger to his left, and Izuku glares at the gang member that’s sitting up against the wall, sporting a busted lip and black eye. Izuku assumes he got it from fighting one of his rivals, as he and Eraserhead make sure not to use brute force on someone to subdue them. Only when necessary. 

“What are you laughing at?” Izuku asks. 

The criminal grins, which is a nice change of pace from all the snarling and yelling from earlier. “Is he like your dad or something? Didn’t think a hero and vigilante would team up for something like a gang fight.”

“Hah?” The boy says loudly, channeling his inner Kacchan. “No, he’s not my dad. Why would you even think that?”

He gets a shrug in return. “You’re getting defensive, there, son.”

Son? Why the fuck—why? The guy doesn’t look any older than twenty-five, so why is he calling Izuku son. 

“Just how young do you guys think I am?” Izuku says, very much exasperated. “I’m not a child.”

“You sound like a child.”

“I’m not.” 

“Prove it.”

Izuku kicks a pebble at him, only getting angrier when it harmlessly bounces off the guy’s cheek. “I don’t have to do anything. You’re a criminal, stop talking. You have no rights.”

The dude chuckles again. “Okay, son.”

Son of a bitch.

“What were you guys fighting over anyways?” Izuku tries to distract himself from his growing frustration. He’s not really frustrated at the child thing, more at Eraserhead. 

“Ah, the other gang stole my friend’s dog.”

Izuku blinks, because this sounds suspiciously like a John Wick movie. “That’s... that’s interesting.”

“Yep.” The guy fiddles with his hands, not exactly struggling to get out of the restraints on his wrists. “Also, can I have my gun back?”

Izuku turns on him. “So you’re the one who tried to shoot me!”

“Yo, chill, it’s not like I meant to aim at your head. I was going for you foot.”

“My—my foot?” Izuku is incredulous. “There’s literally no way you accidentally shot at my head while aiming for my foot. That’s on two ends of my body.”

“Never said I was a good shot.”

Izuku sighs and sits on the dirty ground in the middle of the alley, watching the rest of the criminals until the police arrive. “Whatever. You guys will probably get out on bond since none of you have actually harmed any civilians.”

“Sweet.” There’s a moment of silence before the guy speaks again. "Hey, you're pretty cool for a vigilante. I thought you'd be a douche like all the others."

The boy smiles, and he’s surprised to find that it’s genuine. “Thank you. Not a lot of people have said that to me.”

“Sure. Now can I have my gun now?”

Izuku laughs. “That’s not gonna happen. And besides, the cops are gonna take it anyway. If you’re caught with an illegal firearm you’ll have a harder time in court, so just pretend it’s not yours. I won’t snitch.”

Can’t say the same for Mr. Pay Attention Next Time, though. 

“Aight, cool. How long until they get here?”

Before Izuku can tell him that he’s not sure, Eraserhead comes back out of the shadows with his hair raised and eyes glowing. Izuku guesses he’s currently erasing somebody’s quirk to keep them from escaping.

“Stop making friends with the criminals,” the hero says, though the amused tilt to his voice contradicts his words. “The police will be here any minute.”

He directs the last part towards Izuku, who rolls his eyes but dutifully gets up, shooting his new friend a glance. “I’ve gotta hide for a bit. If you don’t snitch on me being here, we won’t snitch on you about the gun. Sound good?”

“‘Course, son.”

“I swear to god.”

Izuku has never been in this part of town before, at least not at this time of night. His patrol routes usually start on the outskirts of the city and slowly make their way inwards, so he tends to miss certain areas. 

Eraserhead is crouching on the side of the roof, silently watching a cop place quirk suppressants on a robber. He’s probably making sure everything goes smoothly. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

The words escape his mouth before he can stop them. Izuku stares out into the streets on the other side of the roof, mentally cataloguing every crook and cranny to a folder in his mind. Who knows when he might have to lay low in this area of the city. It’s better to be familiar with his surroundings than end up in a bad position later on. 

“What is it, kid?”

Izuku turns and slowly makes his way towards the man, hands rubbing up and down his arms at the cold breeze. The thin fabric of his costume isn’t always enough for Japan’s nightly weather. It’s been a few days since the gang fight, and with each passing night the rooftops seem to only get chillier. 

“Did you notice that I was injured the night you first talked to me?”

His words are quiet, but Eraserhead must hear it well enough because in the next second he’s straightening up, hair whipping at his face as his neck snaps around to look at him. “What?”

“I got shot during the warehouse incident.”

“Kid,” Eraserhead trails off for a few moments before turning around fully to stare at him. “You were shot? As in, you had a bullet in your body?”

Izuku blinks. “That’s what being shot means, yeah. And why do you sound so surprised? If I didn’t waste my energy trying not to pass out while bleeding from the stomach, I wouldn’t have been so easy to overrun. You wouldn’t have caught me.”

The man is deadly silent. Izuku doesn’t like the expression that settles on his face. There’s something there that he can’t quite place, and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

When he speaks, Izuku has to lean forward to hear him over the wind. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The words are uncharacteristically soft. Izuku can’t tell if it’s from shock of the situation or from some other emotion. Either way, the boy starts to feel his lips curl downwards. 

“Uh, I was under the impression that you’d capture me if I made a wrong move? If I told you I was injured I thought you’d bring me to the hospital and lock me up.”

Would you still do that, I wonder?

Eraserhead lets out a sigh. “How did you get it out? The bullet?”

Izuku shivers at the reminder. He thinks of alcohol and blood and Pull. Thinks of crescents being pressed into the palm of his free hand, leaving behind drops of crimson. He can already taste the iron in his mouth.

“My doctor was unavailable at the time, so I had to improvise.” It’s not a lie. It was too late at night to drag himself to the doctor at the Club. “It was, uh, unpleasant, to say the least.”

Eraserhead crosses the few steps between them and places a heavy hand on his shoulder, eyes suddenly very intense. “Listen, kid. If you get injured, I need you to tell me. I don’t care what time it is, alright? You have my number, so use it.” He shakes Izuku just a little bit with his hand. “I have people who can help you. They’ll keep their mouth shut about your identity.”

And that’s... not quite what Izuku expected. A lump forms in the boy’s throat, and he swallows it back before speaking. “Thank you. I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

The hand retracts from his shoulder, and it goes back inside the depths of the hero’s pocket. “What brought this on?”

“Um, I guess I just got reminded of it the other day.” Izuku continues at Eraserhead’s raised eyebrow: “When I almost got shot.”

“Makes sense.”

Izuku nods, scuffing his feet against the gravel. He doesn’t know what else to say, still stuck on the feeling of the man’s hand on his shoulder, so he falls silent, hoping the other will break the awkward air soon. 

He doesn’t have to wait long before the hero is suddenly shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone, Rabbit. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to. That’s a failure on my part.”

Izuku’s stomach clenches at the apology. He doesn’t like it. The hero shouldn’t be the one apologizing, not at all, especially since he’s already apologized for his previous shortcomings regarding the warehouse incident. “It’s not your fault, Eraser, I hid it from you. And it’s not like you seeing it would’ve changed anything, so we can just forget it never happened.”

“You can’t,” Eraserhead counters. “Not when it probably left you with a nasty scar without proper treatment.”

I wouldn’t be able to forget it even if it didn’t leave a mark. 

Izuku tries to sound upbeat and ultimately fails. “Eh, I’m used to scars.”

The hero gives him a weird look but doesn’t ask for an elaboration, not that he would’ve gotten one had he asked. 

School has been out for a while now. The break is a breath of fresh air for Izuku, despite the fact that Izuku doesn’t even physically go to school. His online classes are finished for now, which means he’s one year closer to his college diploma. 

He gets to hang out with Kacchan more often, which is always nice. The explosive teen graduated middle school at the top of his class—no surprise there, Izuku thinks. His friend has always been super studious, even without Izuku’s own encouragement or input. 

Izuku is back to losing on terms of their wrestling, though. The more free time they have to spend around each other, the more often Kacchan can fight him at seemingly random times and even more random places. Izuku doesn’t think he can ever forget how Kacchan jumped him at the back of a Denny’s parking lot that one time. 

That was peculiar, to say the least, and also quite scary. At first, Izuku thought that it was the local crackhead trying to rob him instead of his friend, so you can imagine his surprise and bemusement when he was promptly judo-flipped by his attacker. Yeah. Not something a normal crackhead would know how to do. 

But whatever. Izuku won that fight, anyways, seeing as he knows the Denny’s parking lot terrain like the back of his own hand. Not that it matters much in the long run since they keep trading places in their competition. 

One day Izuku is in the lead and the next they’re at a tie. It happens over and over again, but it never gets old. 

They’re evenly matched, much to Kacchan’s irritation. The teen tries everything he can to make Izuku use his other quirks, and most of the time, Izuku indulges him. 

But on those days, the ones where Izuku can’t even think straight for fear of falling into that bottomless pit in his mind, he can barely force himself to use even his basic enhancements. The memories attached to all of his quirks are sharp and studded, and every time he thinks of them, the more scars they leave on his brain. 

Kacchan knows that. But he continues to push. Izuku thinks that that’s the only thing his friend will never stop fighting him over. 

Izuku is going shopping today. It’s not too chilly out, not like it’s been these past few days, and he’s just returned from his trip to the Club to receive his recent paychecks. 

It’s not much, but Izuku’s been saving up enough to at least get some more food and supplies. 

The mini heater he bought works amazingly. He uses the pots left over from the last tenant (from around a decade or so ago, don’t judge him) to cook basic foods. Now he doesn’t have to eat raw ramen and cold coffee. It runs on solar power and/or batteries, so he leaves it on the roof during the day and at night he can cook whatever he’s got for him and Missy. 

And Missy has made herself quite at home at the apartment. He’s gotta buy her some actual toys so she’ll stop tearing up the walls and furniture. Not that Izuku minds—everything is already torn up, but he doesn’t want it to look like they live in a pigsty. Even though he technically does live in one of the poorest neighborhoods. He lives in a fucking abandoned building for god’s sake. 

But it’s whatever. He’s finally got enough money to buy some of the stuff he’s been looking at, so now he walks through the pet store, skimming the aisles for a clearance section. He doesn’t know shit about cat toys, so he enlists help from one of the workers to inform him on the best brands. 

Izuku makes sure to ignore the suspicious looks from the other workers (that’s what he gets for looking so homeless; Kacchan’s hand-me-down clothes are always a little big on him), and thanks the woman for her kindness. He picks up his stuff and checks out, thinking about how excited Missy will be when she sees what he bought her. 

He really hopes she doesn’t dislike the toys. While he does love cats, he’s not very knowledgeable on them. He knows the basics, like how many different breeds there are, and also on their allergies and do’s and don’t’s. 

But again, not on what they like. You can’t group an entire species into one category, so Izuku guesses that knowing it wouldn’t help anyway, but still. He’ll just have to find out. 

The worst case scenario is she turns her nose up to all of the toys and Izuku has to donate them to a cat shelter. A few bucks gone, but what can you do?

His extra money is giving him the chance to upgrade his weapons and such. He’s already bought more bombs and knives, saying as he lost a few of each during a raid. Now he wants to finish that AI he made for himself. 

It’s nothing special, just a simple piece of coding that’ll help him keep track of things during missions and have access to the internet without having his phone on him. He’s thinking of making the AI have a female voice, maybe with an Australian accent or something. That would be funny. 

The technologies shop isn’t far from where he is, so he arrives relatively quickly to buy some stuff. He’s already got the programming down for the AI, he just needs something to incorporate it into. He’s thinking about making it into an armband on his wrist or something, that way he can easily transport it and have it on him at all times. 

He kind of wants to extend the AI to his own home and have it run security measures while he’s gone. Besides, it’d be nice to have somebody to talk to, even if it’s a program. 

He gets the parts he’s missing and walks out with his hands full of bags. Today’s been productive. Hopefully he can keep it that way. 

He steps out onto the road, planning to cross the street to get home to Missy, when a few shouts up the street make him pause, glancing up from his phone. 

A car is barreling down the road at what looks like twice the maximum speed limit, and it doesn’t look like it has any intention of stopping, even as people jump out of the way and shout at it. 

Izuku quickly steps back, nose crinkling. 

Dumbass bitch. Could kill someone going that fast. I have the right of way here, too—

“Mommy, look! A butterfly!”

In this moment, Izuku is pretty sure that the universe hates him. Because it has to be him. It has to happen when he’s here, huh?

A little girl, looking no older than six years old, is crossing the road, chasing a pretty black moth. The little girl doesn’t know that it’s not actually a butterfly, as she’s still happily trying to capture it, and she also doesn’t seem to notice the car coming straight toward her without any means of slowing down.  

Her mother does, though. She’s still on the sidewalk, and Izuku watches as her carefree face morphs into one of horror. She starts to rush forward, arms outstretched and mouth open in a yell. 

But she won’t be quick enough. Izuku can see this. He can just tell, even without doing the math. Hell, not even Pull would be quick enough to yank the girl out of the way at the rate the car is going. 

Nobody else is near her. Nobody else will be quick enough. 

And so that’s what sparks him to move. It happens in the blink of an eye. In one instant, he’s dropping his bags onto the sidewalk, thoughts going a million miles per second as he thinks of a plan, and in the next he’s in the middle of the street, legs burning, scooping the girl into his arms. He moves so she’s cradled against his body, facing away from the approaching vehicle, hand outstretched as added protection—and there’s not nearly enough time to get out of the way as the car hits them head on.

They both go flying, and Izuku holds onto the girl tight as they roll a few times, tucking her face into his chest to try and protect her from touching the ground or getting scraped. 

Izuku closes his eyes somewhere in the middle of it, and when he opens them, he’s flat on his back and looking up at the sky. The girl is wriggling in his grasp and wailing, tears flowing down her face. His vision is suddenly sluggish, his hearing like it’s underwater. 

There’s more screaming and yelling, and faces pop up in his vision. Incoherent words reach his ears, and Izuku blinks against the light in his eyes. 

The girl is yanked off of him and into the arms of her mother. There’s not a scrape on the child, at least from what Izuku can see. 

A group of people hover over him, mouths moving around more sentences and questions that Izuku can’t quite hear, because fuck his head is pounding. He just got hit by a goddamn car going forty-five miles per hour. 

That’s—that’s a lot of force. Izuku isn’t awake enough to figure out how much it is exactly. 

Someone touches his body, as if to get his attention, and the pain explodes in Izuku’s shoulder and arm, so sudden and excruciating that the inside of his cheek tears when he bites down on it to keep from screaming out. 

Fuck, is it broke? His entire body hurts. His shoulder feels like it’s been dislocated, so that’s an easy fix. But his arm? What happened to his arm? He cranes his neck to try and see but hands gently push him back down. 

The world comes into his view sharply, all his senses too sensitive, too loud. The mother is crying and blubbering out thank you’s off to the side while simultaneously scolding her daughter for running out into the street in the first place. She’s apologizing to Izuku with the girl still held in her arms. 

She’s safe. The girl isn’t hurt. She’s alive. 

Someone’s on the phone, probably calling the cops or the ambulance. 

Where did the driver go? Izuku can see the car from where it crashed into a pole after hitting Izuku and the girl, but the car door is open with nobody inside. 

Ambulance. The meaning hits him hard. 

“Nuh,” he groans, struggling to sit up against the hands pushing him down. “‘M good, I don’ need a h’sp’tal.”

“Son, stay down. You’re injured! You gotta—”

Izuku uses his good arm to weakly push the offender away, blinking away the spots dotting at the corners of his vision. He’s fine, he has to be. He can’t feel his arm anymore, sure, but he can’t go to the hospital. He just can’t. 

He mutters some more of this as the crowd grows. There’s police sirens in the distance, and his struggling increases. “Lemme go, ’s all good. I c’n’t do h’sp’tal’s, gotta—”

A cat’s face pops into view. Izuku squints at it. Cathead? Is that his officer buddy?

Another push down, and then the world sways. He slips into a void of darkness with fluffy cats on his mind.

When Izuku wakes up, the first thing he does is panic. 

Because this—this looks like a fucking hospital. White walls, a computer next to him, the smell of antiseptic—it’s like he’s in a nightmare. 

Oh fuck. He told them, he begged them not to take him to a hospital, and yet here he is. 

He shoots up in the bed, eyes wide and frantic. He still has his sweatpants on, but his sweater—Kacchan’s old sweater—is gone, exposing the torn undershirt he has on. A thin blanket covers his top half, and when he moves he realizes his arm is bandaged. 

So it was broken. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but the relief doesn’t stop the panic from setting in. This is bad. There are doctors here. They could find him out. 

He tosses the blanket off of him and moves off the bed, stumbling to the ground immediately. He instinctively reaches out to grab something to stop his fall, only to forget that his arm is useless right now. 

He crashes onto the tiles, arm now throbbing in pain, and scrambles to the door handle a few feet away. He uses it to slide to his feet, jerking it open to run because he can’t stay here, I’m going to get killed, I have to leave before—

He gets a face full of black fabric when he shoots forward after opening the door. Izuku is on the defensive immediately, free hand coming up to shove whoever’s in front of him, but strong fingers grab his wrist and hold him in that spot. 

Izuku tries to jerk away, but the man is strong. The figure steps back and the boy freezes, his heart dropping to his toes.

“Eraserhead?”

Raised eyebrows, a tight frown, but the grip on Izuku’s wrist doesn’t lighten one bit. “Why are you up?”

Izuku just stares at him, mouth agape. His gaze flicks to the side, realizing that this doesn’t look like a hospital anymore. Is this—no. This looks like the inside of the police station. 

His mind instantly goes to the worst possibility, but before he can make sense of it all Eraserhead is leading him back into the room, and Izuku surprisingly lets him. 

“You should be resting,” the hero chides. “A nurse should be by soon to check on you again before you can go.”

Izuku is pushed back onto the bed, and he watches as Eraserhead moves to stand by the door with a tired expression. Probably to make sure he won’t try to run again. “Why am I here, sir?”

He means how. How the hell did he get here?

“Sansa was close to the scene when the cops were called. He managed to convince them to let him take you to the hospital.” The black-haired man rests his head against the doorframe. “He brought you here instead.”

Izuku is a little confused. “Sansa?”

“The officer with the cat’s face,” Eraserhead explains. He levels the boy with a look. “He also told me that you didn’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Uh, yeah.” The boy has a feeling he’s done something wrong. “That’s true.”

“Why? You broke your arm. You were lucky to even survive the impact, so there was no telling what else was wrong with you. It would’ve been illogical to not receive medical attention.”

He sounds just like he did when he told me to call him if I ever got injured. 

In Izuku’s opinion, that’s an unfair question to ask. He doesn’t know how to respond, so he settles for a half-truth. “I can’t afford a hospital. They would’ve made me go, even though I wouldn’t have been able to pay for it. 

And that really says something about Izuku’s situation, since Japanese citizens only have to pay thirty percent of their medical bills while the government pays for the remaining seventy percent. The boy is sure Eraserhead is judging him at least a little bit right now. 

“Hm,” the hero says disinterestedly. “Your father can’t afford it? Didn’t you say he works a lot?”

Rude, Izuku thinks. And also, how does he remember me saying that? That was the very first time we met. 

“That’s not something you say to someone,” he says cautiously, making sure he sounds slightly off-put. He doesn’t want to be disrespectful, but if he can get the man to back off, then maybe it’ll be easier to avoid his questions. “And we have money, I just don’t want to waste it on something so... trivial, I guess.”

The man studies him for a moment before letting out a noncommittal noise. Izuku briefly wonders why the hero’s here, of all places, talking to him. Doesn’t he have somewhere more important to be?

“Well, it’s a good thing the team here is paid fully by the government. You don’t owe a dime for this.”

What? Izuku glances up, ignoring the small burst of pain that shoots up his arm at the movement. “Really?”

Eraserhead doesn’t reply, not willing to waste breath on a dumb question. 

The boy is used to it, though. That’s why Cathead took me here, he knew I couldn’t afford a hospital. I have to thank him next time I see him. 

An awkward feeling settles in the air. Again, only for Izuku. Eraserhead looks more comfortable in silences. 

“So, uh, why are you here?”

“Tsukauchi called to tell me to keep an eye on you. I’m waiting for the nurse to come in.”

It’s such a blunt statement that Izuku feels himself flushing. Of fucking course the detective said that. He knows about his distaste for doctors more than anyone. “Oh, wow. Sorry, I guess?”

As usual, there’s a grunt of acknowledgment. If Izuku didn’t know any better, he’d assume the hero is falling asleep.

“Eraserhead? Can I ask—”

“It’s Aizawa when I’m off-duty.”

“Oh.” Izuku already knew his name, but okay. “Do you have any cats?”

“Yes.”

Interesting. 

Izuku subconsciously struggles against the sudden thought to kick the man in the shin as he continues. “How many?”

“Too many.”

He laughs a little, still tense. “Are you excited for the new school year?”

“As much as I can be,” he mutters, looking at Izuku with one eye now. “My turn. Why did you run in front of that car?”

Izuku stops short, only to speak once he realizes Eraserhead won’t continue without an answer. “What do you mean? The little girl was in the middle of the road. At the speed that car was going and how small she is—she would’ve died.”

“You could’ve died, too.”

And that stumps Izuku, because he truly doesn’t see why that matters. It was either him or the little girl, and to him, the answer was obvious. She’s younger, she has more potential, it wouldn’t have been fair to let her go so soon. He’s not as young, he’s already lived quite a life, so when it comes to worth, the little girl logically holds more value. So what is Eraserhead’s point?

“But I didn’t,” the boy argues, starting to get defensive. “Are you saying I shouldn’t have done it?”

“No. I’m saying that sometimes you have to think about different opportunities. There were other ways to save her without being so reckless.”

Great. Now he’s getting lectured. 

Izuku knows that there were other ways. He knows how reckless his plan was. He knows that the chances of both of them surviving were remain low. But again, he doesn’t see why it matters. In the end, they both got out fine. 

“I only had a couple seconds to think,” Izuku mumbles, not liking the uncomfortable feeling that’s spreading over his skin. “I still don’t see how else I could’ve saved her without shoving her out of the way. That would’ve caused her more harm, especially if I wasn’t fast enough and she got clipped anyway.”

Eraserhead nods. “Okay. So you—”

There’s a few knocks, and then the door is being pushed open, revealing a nice looking woman in nurse clothing. “Hi, Midoriya, how are you feeling?”

She gives a brief nod to Eraserhead, who straightens up a little. He looks a little hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should stay. 

Izuku clenches the blanket in his hands. “I’m fine.”

The nurse smiles. “Well I’m glad to hear that! Your arm is already healed and your shoulder relocated, so you should be free to go after I check the rest of your body, does that sound okay?”

Izuku is uncomfortable, but he says yeah nonetheless. This is just protocol, even if the whiteboard on the wall says that a doctor already checked over him when he was knocked out.

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not when Eraserhead steps outside, but he tries not to complain as he’s told to take off his undershirt. 

The lady peers at his skin and frowns. “When did this happen?”

She’s pointing to the golfball-sized scar on his abdomen. The one from when he got shot. “Uh, a while ago. I got it treated, though.”

“Hm. The stitches were done a bit shabby—if it were done properly the scar wouldn’t be this jagged.”

Wow. Roasted. 

“But I guess it’s healed, and there’s no other blemishes I can see, so you’re free to go. You’re body’s just a little sore.” She hands him a small bag of pills. “Take this medication once a day until there’s no more, alright? The pain should go away.”

When Izuku is given back his sweater and shoes, he’s quick to make it out of that too-clean room and head down the hallway. It definitely is the station, as he’s been back here more times than he can count. 

He’s about to burst out the doors—holy shit, it’s dark outside! how long was he out?—when Eraserhead (no, Aizawa) suddenly appears from a side hallway. “This just came in a couple hours ago. The couple who brought it in said it belongs to you.”

He hands him a few large bags from off the counter, and Izuku recognizes them immediately. Oh thank fuck. 

He forgot about his stuff in the midst of his panic. Hopefully everything is all there. He paid a lot of money for that shit. 

“Thank you so much! Have a good night, Aizawa, sir!” He bows quickly at the man and heads for the double doors, wanting to get out of there before he can be studied even further. It’s always awkward being around the man when he’s not Rabbit. 

“Hold it, kid.” The man holds out a packet, and Izuku takes it with hesitant hands. Printed on the top of the first page is the—the UA crest? 

UA, the heroics school that Eraserhead (and now All Might) teaches at? UA, the place he used to dream of going to when he was little? The place that he knows, deep down, would be his downfall if he ever tried attending it?

And Aizawa just gave him one of their packets. Why?

“Think about it.” Aizawa says, eyes piercing as he searches his face for a reaction. “The exam is less than a month away. They’ll still accept applications up until the night before if you email it to the principal.”

Izuku is still too shocked to speak, or to do much of anything for that matter, as he’s still stuck on his previous question: why? 

Why did Eraserhead, someone that Izuku fanboys over just as much as he does All Might (though hopefully neither one of them are aware of it), give him an application to one of the most prestigious schools in Japan? One that’s known for its amazing heroics course and teachers?

And to give it to him directly, as if he truly believes Izuku should apply for it—it doesn’t make sense. 

But the underground hero is already out the door, leaving Izuku standing alone in the deserted police station lobby, wondering what in the hell led him up to this point. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Izuku won’t use it, he can’t afford to. Things will become much worse for him if he goes. He’s known that for a long time now. 

Right?

Chapter Text

It’s the last week of training. Izuku almost doesn’t believe it. 

The beach is near spotless, with only a few piles of garbage and household items strewn about. Izuku knows he could probably clean it all up today if he wanted to, but that’s not the point. 

The point is that he did it. He made it, he’s here, and so is All Might. It’s been ten months of this grueling training, ten months since he met his favorite heroes, sometimes both in and out of his costume, and he’s never been as happy as he is in this moment. He’s incredibly stressed and anxious, sure, but still happy.  

All Might jumps onto the steps leading down to the beach and crouches there, leaning forward to pick Izuku up by the scruff of his hoodie. He holds him at eye level, which does nothing but remind Izuku just how short he is. 

Jesus, couldn’t you have just bent down?

“It’s almost all cleared, my boy! I’m very proud of you!” He jostles him around a little, and Izuku feels kind of like a limp rag doll in his grip. “I’m sure the locals will be overjoyed once they see what you’ve done here!”

That was the point, Izuku thinks. I wanted to make them smile again. 

The beach used to be beautiful, he knows that much, so it’s about time it was fixed back up to its natural state. 

All Might straightens up, lifting Izuku even higher. “Now I wanted to ask you a question, Young Midoriya! Since my job is starting up in a few months, that means our training time will be cut short in the mornings. I would like to move our meetups to only weekends, if that’s acceptable for you!”

Oh, fucking hell. Izuku doesn’t drink—at least not legally—but if he did, he’d probably want some alcohol right about now. 

“I know this is hard,” All Might continues, “and you don’t have to, but I feel like I should still ask.”

Izuku is stumped. He was under the impression that All Might would cut off all contact with him after school started back up again. He knows the man has to get to work early, so obviously mornings are a no-go, but to offer to keep training with him on the weekends?

He should say no. He really should. He should’ve said no a long time ago. Why would he keep doing this when he knows it’s just going to end up with him being hurt?

It shouldn’t even be an option for him, really, for reasons that are obvious. But when he really thinks about it, he doesn’t want to get rid of the strange feeling he gets in his chest when he’s near the man. He likes training with him. It makes him feel good about himself, because if All Might believes in him, then that’s all that matters, right? He can sit here and pretend that he deserves the praise and attention, all the while getting help on his skills and moves. 

Is it selfish? Maybe. But it’s also cruel, so it all evens out. Izuku knows deep down that it’s all a lie, that he’s somehow fooling the hero into believing in him, so what’s the harm in hanging around just a little while longer before disappearing? Call it self-indulgence, or even self-destruction, it doesn’t really matter. 

He just wants to know what All Might is getting out of this. 

“If it’s not a bother to you,” Izuku says, offering a half-shrug, “I don’t see why not?”

It’s not like I have anything else to do. 

All Might drops him onto the sand and strikes another pose. “Ah, I was hoping you’d say that!” He hops off the steps, a teasing glint in his eye. “Now, let’s fight each other with our quirks! No holding back now!”

Or maybe Izuku will die right here and there. That’s alright, too. 

“It’s about time you brought this damn cat over, shitty nerd! Let me see it!”

Izuku glares at his friend as he tentatively holds Missy out to him. “It’s a her, Kacchan, not an it! And she’s got a name.”

The blond just snags the feline from his hands and stomps further into the house, leaving Izuku standing in the doorway. 

“Have you no manners?” Izuku screeches, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. “You’re supposed to welcome me in!”

Kacchan snorts as Missy starts to climb all over him. “As if I’ve ever done that. And where’s her collar, shitface? Shouldn’t she have one if she’s yours?”

“I thought I told you to watch your fuckin’ language, brat,” Mistuki calls from the kitchen, walking over and instantly preening when she catches sight of her new guest. “Ah, honey, you brought Missy over this time!”

She goes to pet the feline after pulling Izuku into a bone-crushing hug, cooing at the animal in a very non-Mitsuki-like way. 

Izuku shoots his friend a glare. “If Auntie remembered her name, you should've, too!”

“Tch, whatever.” Kacchan then starts to argue with his mother about getting in the damn way, and I’m petting her, so screw off until I’m done. 

Izuku just watches the scene while shaking his head. It happens every single time, without fail. They always argue about some stupid thing the moment he gets in the door. 

Eh. At least he’s used to it. 

“Hey, Izuku,” Masaru says from the stairs, walking down with a briefcase in hand. “I gotta work for a bit because a buddy of mine called out, but I wanna show you something when I get back.”

Izuku perks up. “Oh, really? What is it!”

The man ruffles his hair as he walks past, saying goodbye to his wife and son. “Nothing much. I just got my hands on some older hero merch from the Bronze Age and thought you’d wanna take a look.”

The boy shrieks. “What? Where did you even—!”

“Work had some extra, and Katsuki doesn’t want them all, so I figured you’d take them. The shirts are too small for me, anyway.”

“Oh my god! Yes! Thank you!”

The man leaves before Izuku can make a fool of himself, and Izuku is stuck vibrating at a frequency that could break glass. Fuck, he loves the Bronze Age! All Might’s costume in that era is arguably his best.

Izuku may be biased because of the darker colors, but the fact still remains. 

“What’s her name again?” Kacchan asks abruptly, and Izuku looks over to see Missy settling into his dandelion hair like a bird in a nest. 

“Missy,” he says, glaring at him. “Which you would know if you read my texts.”

“Cry about it. And I do read them, I just don’t care.” His grin grows sharp. “And Missy, huh? Short for missile launcher. I like it.”

“Kacchan, no—”

“Yes.”

Izuku just sighs and goes to help Mitsuki with dinner. It looks like they’re having nizakana tonight, along with other things. 

Mitsuki is busy getting the stove ready while Izuku quickly blanches the ingredients. Nizakana refers to any fish that is gently poached in a sweetened dashi stock which is typically flavored with either soy sauce or miso. It’s usually a part of every meal besides breakfast, and Izuku enjoys it greatly when he comes over to the Bakugou’s because he can never usually afford fish. 

It’s a nice treat for him, especially since he loves to help make it. While he’s never been good at the art of actually preparing a meal, he’s good at the presentation. He can make any cheap meal look delicious in the end. 

Blanching the ingredients is done to subdue the strong natural aromas and flavors of fattier fish, but it also removes the sliminess of it and prevents the broth from becoming cloudy.

While Mitsuki works with the actual fish, Izuku gets out some vegetables. He likes mushrooms and sliced ginger with nizakana, as the zest goes well with the strong and savory flavors of the soy sauce and broth. If you add just a little bit of sugar at the end, the dish tastes perfect. 

“How ya doing, kiddo?” Mitsuki asks, back turned to him as she prepares the food. 

Izuku chops the ginger and sets it to the side. “‘M okay. I’m not as lonely anymore since I got Missy with me. She’s very playful.”

“Seems like a sweet cat. Where’d ya find her again?” 

“On the streets. She had no collar on, and she kinda followed me around.“

A laugh. “I guess she chose you, huh?”

Oh, Izuku thinks, pausing briefly in his chopping. Yeah, I guess she did.  

They switch places for a bit, Izuku poaching the fish and Mitsuki gathering the sauces. 

“Oi, nerd! Come in here!”

Izuku narrows his eyes, incredibly suspicious at his friend’s jeering tone. “Why?”

“Just fucking come here!”

That doesn’t make him any less worried. 

Mitsuki answers before he can. “He’s helping me cook, brat! Maybe you should get off your lazy ass and help me, too.”

“Hah? I cook all the time! The fuck are you implying!”

Izuku sighs and turns the stove down a bit. You don’t wanna boil the fish, just poach it with liquid. Keeping it at a simmer is the best way to do that. He figures it’ll only take five more minutes. 

“Shut up, Kacchan. I’m coming.”

A rookie mistake, Izuku learns, as the moment he steps out of the kitchen he’s body-slammed by his friend. He twists just in time to avoid crushing Missy, who apparently followed the explosive teen off the couch, and knees Kacchan in the gut. 

He rolls to his feet and springs at him, taking care not to bump into the table against the wall. Breaking Masaru’s very expensive vase is not on Izuku’s bucket list, no siree. 

Kacchan easily throws him over his hip, but Izuku just clings to his clothes and brings him down with him. Missy hisses as she avoids yet another flattening. 

“If y’all are gonna roughhouse, do it outside! God knows what the hell ya both gonna break this time.”

Izuku squeaks as he remembers breaking Mitsuki’s coffee table that one day a few months back. It wasn’t his fault, to be fair. Kacchan threw him into it, and since it was made of fucking glass, of course it shattered. 

It’s a good thing the Bakugou’s aren’t poor. He still felt bad about it, though, even after Masaru’s reassurances that they were planning on getting a new one anyway. 

A warm hand grasps his arm and drags him to the back of the house and through the doors. “Use your quirks,” Kacchan demands. 

“Fuck, not so loud,” Izuku hisses. “Are you trying to get me killed? And I’m already worn out from All Might! He kicked my ass, Kacchan.”

“Because you weren’t using all your powers, nerd. Now come on!”

No. I wouldn’t have won even if I used all my quirks, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.

Izuku ducks just in time, the heat from the blond’s explosion sizzling his hair. “Hey, watch it!”

“You need a haircut anyway. You look like a fucking piece of broccoli.”

“Wow. At least I don’t look like a Pomeranian.”

Izuku shouldn’t have been surprised at the bigger explosion that followed. 

“I hope you know you only won because I let you.”

“That’s the shittiest lie you’ve ever told, nerd.”

“I’m sorry, did I ask for your opinion? No.” Izuku points at the leftover fish on the teen’s plate. “Also, are you going to eat that?”

Kacchan practically snarls at him, and Masaru chuckles from his place at the table. He looks tired nowadays, but Izuku figures it must be from work. “There’s more in the kitchen if you want, Izuku. You never have to ask.”

“Here, I’ll get ya some. I was going back for more, too.” Mitsuki takes his plate despite his protests and comes back with the fish, along with a pie in hand. 

It’s a wonder I’m not fat by now. 

Kacchan suddenly kicks him under the table. “Your cat is being loud.”

Oh. She is. Taking a glance down, Izuku sees that she’s busy scratching at Kacchan’s legs. She must be hungry. 

“I brought some of her cat food, so I’ll feed her after this.” He flashes the two adults a smile. “Thank you for letting me bring her over. I feel bad for leaving her all the time.”

The conversation picks up after that. Izuku chimes in here and there, but mostly resolves to cleaning off his plate and eating some pie. He’s gotten better about eating more, but instead of making the issue better, it seems to just make it worse. 

Because now that he’s gotten used to eating more than usual, his stomach has stretched back to its normal size, which means that he’s just as hungry. 

When Masaru gets up and collects all the plates, Izuku follows him instinctively. While he doesn’t have any jobs or expectations at the Bakugou household, Izuku still tries to clean up or help when he can. If he cleans, he’s technically earning his stay. So he helps Masaru do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, all the while listening to the mother-and-son duo argue about something petty on TV. 

When Masaru reminds him of the hero merch he has, Izuku immediately gets giddy. He follows the man up the stairs and soon enough he’s staring into a box full of clothing and figurines. 

“Holy shit,” Izuku whispers, earning a chuckle in response. “This is so cool.”

He picks up a nice pink sweater with an older hero on it, holding it up to himself to see if it’ll fit him. Most of these clothes look a little big, but Izuku likes them better that way. 

“I can have all of them?” he asks, still rummaging around. 

“Yep. Katsuki already chose a few, so don’t worry about leaving him some. You know how he is.”

Izuku does know how his friend is, which is why he’s a bit shocked when he comes across a large hoodie with All Might printed on the front. It’s definitely from the Bronze Age like Masaru said before; Izuku recognizes the costume immediately. 

The hero is giving a thumbs-up as he stands tall and mighty in front of a crowd. He looks younger in this one. 

“I’m surprised Kacchan didn’t take this,” Izuku laughs, clutching it tighter to him as he picks up the remaining pieces of clothing. 

Masaru chuckles. “I think he left that one for you, actually. He told me you’d like this one since it’s your favorite look.”

Oh. That’s suspiciously nice. 

When Masaru leaves, Izuku takes the two remaining hero figurines and clothes and sprints to Kacchan’s room. The boy is already sprawled out on his bed, writing stuff down on a notepad. He grunts when Izuku enters but doesn’t say a word until his friend snatches the paper away from him. 

“Oi, the fuck are you—”

“Is this your hero costume?” Izuku asks, staring at the frankly horrible sketch and writing off to the side of it. “For UA?”

“What else would it be for?”

Izuku sends him a teasing look before sitting at the boy’s desk. “I thought you had to pass the exam first before making this?”

“Eh?” Kacchan probably would’ve jumped him again had Missy not climbed into the explosive teen’s lap. “You think I won’t fucking make it?”

“Never said that,” Izuku grins. “I’m just saying, aren’t you’re jumping the gun a little bit?”

The blond rolls his eyes. “You already know I turned in the application a month ago. Besides, we study a bunch of shit for the written part every time you come over. It’s gonna be easy.”

“Whatever you say.”

It turns out that Kacchan actually has a few great ideas. His hero design is fairly simple—a low cut tank top with orange stripes to go with the aesthetic, black cargo pants and matching boots, and also sharp knee guards that strap on over his pants. 

Izuku blinks, staring at the notes his friend has written off to the side. “You want to be able to kill someone with your knees?”

Kacchan scoffs from where he’s playing with Missy. “I wanna break those extras in the least expected way possible.” 

“Alright. That’s fucked up, but it works.”

Izuku adds a few more details of his own, much to Kacchan’s annoyance. He figures that while his friend has great ideas, they look a bit shitty on paper. No way is Izuku going to let his friend walk out into the world looking like he just rolled out of a dumpster. He’s going to have style. 

He puts a little color on the boots and sides, adding a tactical belt to the waist. If UA approves of it, Kacchan could have little grenades on him, kind of like Izuku does. 

“I was thinking about putting in a form for some blasters on my arms,” Kacchan says when Izuku gives him back the paper. “Something that’ll store up my sweat.”

“Ah, to make a bigger explosion? That’ll be great.”

He chuckles darkly. “More firepower to blow up those damn villains.”

Yep. Izuku expected him to say that. 

It’s quiet for a while, and Izuku works on his own ideas in his notebook. His recent jobs have been making him anxious, as most of his supplies and weapons have been worn down. He’s gotta make some more stuff to keep up with the increase in villains. Since school is out, tensions are running high. People are more high strung, leading to more crime. 

It makes patrols with Eraserhead all the more fun, albeit a lot more tiring. 

“The entrance exam is a week away,” Kacchan grumbles. He sounds cautious, like he’s waiting for something to happen. 

Izuku just hums and crosses out a paragraph in his notes. 

“You should be joining me.”

The grip on the boy’s pen tightens a little. Izuku forces a tight smile. “I wish.”

“Whaddya mean you wish?” Kacchan’s eyes are boring into his back. “You could if you wanted to. You’d make it, too, that’s for damn sure.”

Here we go again. 

“I can’t.”

“Even without using all those damn quirks, you’ve still got a brain. It’d be a piece of cake for ya.”

“We’ve been over this, Kacchan. I can’t.”

“Deku—”

“Stop it,” Izuku snaps, the pen cracking between his fingers and leaking ink onto his sketch. “I’m here helping you, aren’t I? That’s what you wanted, so let me do this. Fucking stop.”

Kacchan falls silent, which is usually a bad thing, all things considering. 

The shame hits quicker than expected, and Izuku stares hard at the ruined paper before him. There’s rustling, and then a pillow is thrown at his head. It falls to the ground and lays there, upside-down, and Missy takes claim to it at once. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it could if Kacchan wanted it to. 

Izuku swipes a hand across his face and breathes in deeply. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” More rustling, and then the lamp on Kacchan’s nightstand flicks off, enveloping the room in darkness. “Hurry up, it’s already past nine.”

Missy purrs as Izuku rubs a foot on her belly, and the boy just pulls out his phone and turns on his flashlight, making sure it’s on the lowest setting. He needs to finish the idea in his head right now or he’s never going to. 

What was he thinking about? New boots for his Rabbit costume? Maybe a magnetic knife that he can call back to him whenever he needs it?

Everything is fuzzy now. He can barely concentrate. 

“Deku.”

His friend sounds annoyed, like always, but there’s an edge to it that Izuku cringes at. “I heard you, just—just give me a second, Kacchan. I’m almost finished.”

A grumble, but otherwise the teen stays silent. 

Izuku doesn’t quite mean to, but he sketches through the night. He scribbles down whatever he’s thinking, and half the time it’s gibberish and half the time it’s nearly illegible, but he writes. He’s very good at that. He can always count on that being something he can do when he doesn’t know what else is there for him. 

His Rabbit costume is still great. He doesn’t want to change its features, he just wants a few upgrades. The portable AI is on the way, so that’s off the list. He’s toying with the idea of new knives and homemade bombs. His flamethrower needs to be repaired, so he can check up on that later. 

In fact, he hasn’t set anything on fire in a while, and that in itself is a crime. Is he really Rabbit if he hasn’t committed arson at least twice in as many weeks?

Eraserhead doesn’t approve of his fiery tendencies, but Izuku finds that he doesn’t quite care. In fact, he decided a while ago that he’ll continue to set fire to things just to spite the man. It’s not like he burns down perfectly good establishments or police stations—no, he’d rather do that to villain lairs and hideouts. 

It does a good job of flushing them out. 

I wonder if I can create something for Eraserhead. Maybe give him one of the magnetic knives I’m going to make. 

Maybe Present Mic wants something to add to his own costume. Maybe more leather? Weaponized boots?

A claw catches on his sweatpants, scratching the skin underneath the thin fabric, and Izuku glances down at the offender. Missy is sitting there and glaring at him, tail twitching in the faint light. 

“No,” he tells her quietly. “You gotta behave. He’s sleeping.”

A slight hiss, and then another whack with her paw. It’s like she’s trying to tell him something. 

“I can’t understand you. Go to sleep.”

Missy hisses and fluffs up her fur. She doesn’t seem to want to give it up. 

“Why are you being so—ow!” Izuku abruptly stands up from the desk before Missy can whack him for the fourth time. “Okay, okay!”

He turns off his phone’s flashlight and plugs it into the extra charger in the wall. It’s after midnight now, and Izuku briefly wonders how he didn’t notice how fast the time was going by. He picks the feline up and tosses her onto the bed, earning another hiss in response. 

Izuku tidies up the desk as best he can before making his way over to his side of the mattress. Kacchan looks to be asleep, his back turned towards him with his chest rising and falling very slowly. 

He looks peaceful, and for a moment Izuku hesitates. This isn’t his bed, after all. Most of the time he sleeps on the floor, mostly by choice, but sometimes he does like to be next to his friend. It gives him a form of comfort. But does he even deserve to be near Kacchan after being so rude to him?

Izuku sighs and carefully climbs onto the bed, not wanting to wake him up. He doesn’t bother getting under the covers, as he gets hot easily. Besides, he kinda likes the cold. 

Missy prances over and curls up on his neck like he’s nothing but a fluffy blanket, though Izuku doesn’t really mind. He can still breathe, so he turns slowly to face the fan on the nightstand. 

If he'd been more aware and hadn’t been nodding off to sleep, Izuku probably would have seen the way Kacchan rolled over to look at him. 

He probably would have seen the mix of frustration and sadness in his friend’s eyes.

“Get up.”

A whimper. “No, please. I can’t.”

“I thought you wanted these quirks. Why are you whining? Do you want to disappoint me?”

“No! I never wanted them! Please—” There’s a resounding slap, and the voice cuts off with a cry. 

“Pleading will get you nowhere. Need I remind you what happens when you disobey me?”

The short silence is almost deafening. “No, sensei.”

“Good. Now get up.”

And then there’s electricity shooting through his veins, pain dancing across his skin as monsters lurk from the shadows, a hand on his face—

Izuku jolts awake, heart thumping out of his chest. He doesn’t know where he is, everything is so dark, so quiet, fuck, why is he here?

Someone grabs his arm and he flinches, hands coming up to protect himself, breaths coming out in pants. 

“Hey, kiddo, you alright?” Present Mic stares down at him, brows furrowed in concern. 

Izuku blinks once, then twice. “What?”

The voice hero laughs softly, hand leaving Izuku’s arm. “You’re still in the laundromat. You fell asleep about an hour ago.”

An hour ago? The wash doesn’t take that long? What is he—oh. 

Yamada gets up to put his clothes in the dryer, which is weird, since Izuku hasn't heard it beep yet. That means it must’ve been done before now. Which can only mean...

Izuku’s eyes widen. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” He shoots to his feet and bends down low, his face on fire. “I didn’t mean to disturb you!”

He just slept on Present Mic’s arm. He laid his fucking head on the man’s shoulder, probably making him very uncomfortable and also wasting his time for, what, an hour? How did he even do that? He doesn’t even remember falling asleep!

The hero waves him off. “‘S not a problem at all, kiddo. I don’t mind. You look like you need the extra sleep anyway, yeah?”

Izuku just continues to apologize profusely, not stopping until Yamada comes back and hands him a Slim Jim. 

When the air gets less awkward and Izuku isn’t as embarrassed, the boy starts to think about what just happened. He was asleep on the man, and Yamada didn't move him once, even when his clothes were done. 

And fuck. It must be almost eleven at night now. He wasted a lot of the hero’s time. That seems to be something he’s good at, huh?

Izuku chews on his Slim Jim and tries to shake off the coil of dread in his stomach. 

The nightmare stays with him all the way back to his building. Missy is standing by the door and meowing when he arrives, obviously hungry. 

Izuku feels a little bad about being late. He’s been trying to make a set schedule for her so she knows what to expect. He usually feeds her dinner around nine, and it’s a few hours after that. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” He scratches behind her ears and sets his folded clothes on the counter. “Here.”

Mixing some wet food and dry food together, he sets her bowl on the floor next to her water dish. Her new collar shines brightly when Izuku flicks on the lights, and he admires the hot pink coloring just for a moment before turning on the hot burner. He’s craving some coffee. 

If he’s not going to eat, he can at least have some caffeine to keep him going.  

He still can’t get the nightmare out of his mind. He can barely remember it, and yet it stays there, weighing him down with every movement and thought. 

Izuku can’t quite tell if the nightmare was just that, a nightmare, or if it was a memory. Perhaps a mixture of both. 

“Don’t you feel this power? I could give it to you. All you have to do is ask nicely.”

The boy shudders, hands gripping the edge of the countertop. God, he needs to sleep. But he knows he can’t after what just occurred.  

Kacchan still hasn’t texted him back. Izuku wanted to go paintballing sometime next week, as he’s been saving up for it for quite a while. It’s pretty cheap this time of year. But his friend hasn’t replied back, and it’s been a week. Izuku knows the exam is first thing in the morning, so there’s no chance he’ll respond now, not when he’s most likely resting. 

His friend does like his schedules. 

Izuku’s head hurts. His vision starts to spin if he keeps his eyes open for too long, and it feels like they’re burning. He glances at his phone and sees that it’s an hour or so until midnight. 

He—he’s disappointed. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling anything right now. Fuck. He needs to buy some sleeping aid. 

How much does he need to drink for his enhanced metabolism to process it correctly? A whole bottle? Or is that considered an overdose?

Whatever. That’s a stupid idea, one that he’ll probably try the next time he gets his hands on it. Maybe he’ll negotiate for some of the good stuff from his dealer at the Club. He’s usually pretty cheap and reliable when Izuku asks for pain pills. 

But there’s nothing to do about it now. He doesn’t feel like going out, he doesn’t think he should even bother trying to sleep, so what is he supposed to do? And great, now he’s not disappointed anymore, he’s just frustrated. Frustrated at himself, frustrated at the goddamn world. 

He’s still mortified over the fact that he slept on Present Mic’s arm. Does Izuku snore? He doesn’t think so. At least, Kacchan has never complained about anything like that before. Did Izuku annoy him as much as he thinks he did?

And on top of all those feelings, Izuku doesn’t feel like he belongs anywhere. 

The Bakugou’s are like his second family, and so is Ms. Hanako and her small family. But it’s not really his. It’s stolen. 

Izuku doesn’t deserve it. He’s leeching off of them, isn’t he? Taking advantage of their ignorance and kindness. He wants so badly to push that feeling away, but each time it just comes back at him and eats at his insides. 

The apartment is much hotter all of a sudden, despite it being the top floor of the building and also one of the coldest nights of the year. Izuku pulls off his new All Might sweatshirt and shakes his head against the dizziness it causes. 

“Sometimes I just feel so homesick for a place that doesn’t even fucking exist.” The words come out rough and jagged around the edges, and Izuku digs his palms into his cheeks to try and stop the scream from leaving his lips. He is so angry. 

He’s frustrated and sad and guilty and everything in between, and the worst part is he doesn’t even know why. 

There’s an inkling there, a nasty voice at the back of his mind that tells him you know exactly fucking why, and you just don’t want to admit it to yourself. 

“Pathetic. Useless. Traitor.” 

He’s starting to shake now, and Izuku’s hands slide off his face and hit the counter with a thud. Get over yourself. 

There’s a short hiss to his left, and he looks over and sees that Missy is on the arm of the couch, sitting with her paws tucked neatly under her tail, ears flat against her head. She must have already finished eating. 

Izuku shakes his head. “Does that make me a bad person? Does it?”

To want more than I have? To want more than I deserve? 

The cat just cocks her head and mewls, ears coming back up to its normal position. 

She’s probably judging me, Izuku thinks sourly, but then she lets out another noise and the boy realizes with a start that she must be begging for more food.  

He forces out a smile and goes to get some of her treats, snorting as she immediately jumps off the couch and comes up to him with her tail held high. 

She’s always polite and gentle when he gives her treats. She’ll take them right from his hand, which was kind of surprising at first. He expected a cat like her to not trust him at all until at least a couple months in, and yet here they are. 

He watches her chew the small treats and sighs. 

“I’m sorry. You’d probably be better off without someone like me taking care of you.” He bends down to pet her a little. “Guess we’re both stuck with each other now, huh?”

She purrs and slinks off down the hallway, as elegant as always. She goes to sleep right after eating, and Izuku usually does the same. 

But now he can’t, can’t even stomach the mere thought of it, so the only thing to do is straighten up the house and finish some of his projects. His AI is already completed, he just has to take it for a test run during tomorrow’s patrol, maybe see how well it holds up. He’s worried about the durability. 

Oh shit. He doesn’t have training tomorrow morning because of the entrance exam. All Might is apparently proctoring it. Possibly to root out potential successors, Izuku guesses. Or maybe because he has to be there since he’s just starting out. 

Ugh. He doesn’t even want to think about UA or heroes right now. His fight with Kacchan is still fresh. 

Izuku winces when he remembers how All Might looked at him after telling him about the proctoring. He almost looked... resigned. Because Izuku hasn't changed his mind about going? Or because of something else?

And now that he’s thinking about it, maybe Izuku’s disappointment in himself is because of this. He just wants to make the man happy, even if he knows it’s futile. 

Well. Unless. 

He thinks of All Might’s blinding smile as he tells him the words Izuku has always wanted to hear but never dared to believe in: “Even someone with a villain’s quirk can be a hero, my boy.”

He thinks of Present Mic patting his shoulder while laughing at one of his own jokes, just barely keeping a hold on his quirk. 

He thinks of Eraserhead’s burning gaze as he hands him that packet, of the no-nonsense way he speaks to people. The man wouldn’t have bothered with Izuku if he didn’t think he was worth it. 

And lastly, he thinks of Kacchan. How many times has his friend tried to convince him to try harder? To chase after this age-old dream? 

He remembers being just shy of six years old and gripping Kacchan’s slightly sweaty hand, both of them outside in their All Might onesies with not a care for the world. 

“We’re gonna be heroes together, right Kacchan?”

“‘Course, ya dumb nerd! We’ll be the best!”

And he believed him then, too, because why wouldn’t he have? 

All Might, Present Mic, Eraserhead, Kacchan—they all believe in him, don’t they? Even if it’s fake, wouldn’t it be more of a waste to disappoint them? To have wasted all of their efforts, big and small?

Izuku’s eyes slide over to the discarded papers on his desk, buried under a mountain of notebooks and his Rabbit costume. 

He’s going to regret this. He’s not thinking correctly. He really is going to hate himself in the morning. 

“They’ll still take them up until the night before.”

He has thirty minutes to spare. He can bullshit his way through this like he’s done with everything else in his life. 

Izuku lets out a shaky breath and grabs the UA application. 

Chapter Text

UA is enormous. 

Izuku finds this out the second he steps onto the school’s street. Sitting atop of a forested hill that looks out over Musutafu, UA is huge. 

Which is unsurprising given the fact that it’s the number one ranked high school for heroics in Japan and, in Izuku’s opinion, the world. It has an alumni of famous and successful pro heroes, including that of All Might himself, Endeavor, and even Best Jeanist. 

Most of the top heroes all graduated from the same place; that in itself speaks volumes on the credibility of UA’s teaching. That’s why it’s near impossible to even get in. 

So, to put it simply, Izuku is nervous. 

The campus itself is usually gated and protected from criminals and reporters, but now it stands open for the hundreds of examinees going in. Guests would normally have to have a special ID card to be allowed in—at least, that’s what All Might told him, but now isn’t the case.

He really shouldn’t be here. Nope. The open gate in front of him isn’t welcoming at all; it’s like the UA Barrier is jeering at him from where it arcs high above him. Like it’s just daring him to go through with this. 

To be honest, Izuku is surprised his application was even accepted. He does have a criminal record, after all, even if it’s not that bad. It’s not like he could lie about those specific records either; they most likely would’ve done a security check and disqualified him immediately for falsifying documents. 

UA is very serious about legalities, as the principal and staff can get into a lot of trouble if something were to go wrong regarding students or training. 

Izuku had taken pictures of the many pages of the application and emailed them to the principal a few minutes before twelve last night. There must’ve been a filtering system attached, as he received the verification email less than a minute afterwards. He’d spent a good twenty minutes before that trying to figure out what he could lie about, however. UA asked for a lot of things: his parent’s name and occupation, phone number and address, medical records, a birth certificate, and so on. 

It’s not like he could put down abandoned building a couple miles away from the bank as his address, so he did end up lying about that, among other things. He just had to make sure that his lies were believable, and also foolproof. Again, he couldn’t lie about his criminal record, as that’s easy to look up. He just hopes that everything he put down won’t be looked into too much. 

But anyways. UA is much larger than he expected. 

It has to be, he guesses, seeing as the school offers a wide variety of courses to take besides heroics. They have a range of classes, too, like most other schools: A—K. For every letter there’s two more of the same class, which means there’s thirty three classes always active there. To accommodate all of their students, UA has to be large.

Izuku takes a deep breath and forces himself to move forward. He’s only a few minutes early; if he wants to be on time for the written exam he has to get going. 

I can do this. They all believe in me. Eraserhead gave me that application directly, I can’t disappoint him or—

He trips on air, having been too focused on not chickening out to remember how to walk correctly. 

Or I’ll just embarrass myself here and become one with the sidewalk. I wonder if UA will let me become their doormat. That's honorable.

His face is hovering over the ground a couple feet, and when he looks down he notices that so are his legs. Huh. 

Is this death? He’s just floating there, what the fuck.

There’s a giggle to his left, and his head snaps up to see a pretty girl with shoulder length brown hair standing right next to him. 

“Uh, hi?” He squeaks, because he’s still in the air; does that mean she’s an angel? He wouldn’t be surprised either way. 

She laughs again and takes his shoulder to set him down, and Izuku is overcome with dizziness as gravity seems to work again. 

“I stopped you with my quirk!” The brunette smiles, fingertips meeting together to form some sort of praying gesture. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask first, but I figured you wouldn’t mind me catching you!”

Izuku just stands there, mouth slightly agape and cheeks reddening. She’s really cute, he thinks. She’s also a girl. He hasn’t talked to many girls before, at least not as Midoriya Izuku. Rabbit gets all kinds of fans, though. But this is different. 

He didn’t even hear her come up to him. He’d been so preoccupied with his nervous thinking and doubts that he hadn’t paid any attention to his senses. Now that he can see her, though, he can feel the presence of her quirk burning at his skin. Hm. Another strong power. 

It must have something to do with weight and gravity, as she just stopped him from falling. Can she make things float up, or just leave them hanging? And it looks like it’s touch activated, given by the weird praying-gesture she’s doing. Maybe that’s what releases it, or maybe what keeps it active? 

“Well, guess I’ll see you inside!” She says, waving goodbye.

And now Izuku feels like an asshole. She must’ve said something before that and he hadn’t answered her. What was it? Something about this all being nerve-wracking? He has to apologize, and also thank her for saving his dignity. She seems really nice, so it’s only polite to—

“Deku?”

Oh fuck. Izuku stiffens, all previous thoughts abandoning him. He hadn’t been planning on seeing Kacchan this early on in the exam. Actually, he’d been hoping that he could avoid his friend the entire day. 

“Nope,” he says, not bothering to turn around as he tries to speedily make his way towards the steps, hoping to get a chance to see the girl again. “Wrong number.” 

“Deku!” A hand grabs his shoulder and spins him around. Kacchan is glaring at him now, a scarf wrapped around his neck. “The fuck are you doing here! You said you wouldn’t take the exam.”

“Honestly? I don’t know what I’m doing here either.”

“You changed your mind? Why?”

Izuku shrugs off the hand, aware of the stares and whispers coming from the passing examinees. “Wow, it’s almost like you don’t want me here, Kacchan.”

“Don’t be stupid.” The blond starts to drag him towards the entrance. “I’ll let it go for now, shitty nerd, but don’t think you’re getting out of telling me just what the fuck happened. We’re gonna be late for the written portion.”

Izuku is resigned, and as the duo walk into the large building and follow the signs to their testing room, he wishes it wasn't illegal to punch people for seemingly no reason. He doesn’t want to punch Kacchan—well, not now, at least—he wants to punch the bitches who are whispering around the pair as they walk past. 

“Isn’t that the boy who held up against the sludge villain?”

“What’s his name again? Bakugou or something?”

“Yeah, he’s the real deal.”

Izuku takes his water bottle out of his jacket pocket and chugs some of it, willing himself not to snap at them. Don’t they realize it’s not nice to bring up somebody’s trauma?

“Are you drinking?” Kacchan asks suddenly, staring at the bottle in his hand. He obviously doesn’t think it’s water. 

“Uh, no?” Izuku frowns. “I wouldn’t drink on school campus, Kacchan; I’m not that dumb.”

Izuku doesn’t miss the disbelieving look that passes over his friend’s face. 

It turns out that the written exam was easier than Izuku worried it to be. In fact, it seems that he and Kacchan overstudied for it. 

Most of it was multiple choice; simple questions about the main four subjects: math, science, Japanese, and history. But then they also had a few open-ended questions about quirk laws and management. Izuku’s favorite part, however, was the mini essay on the very back. You only needed to write one page, but Izuku ended up doing five, and that’s only because he almost ran out of time. 

The essay contained an analytical question that needed to be answered in the form of neat and well-thought out paragraphs. It was a situation about what to do first in the case of a fiery villain attack in the middle of a crowded city. Most of it was easy and simple, at least to Izuku. He answered it to the best of his ability, pencil scratching against the multiple pages at a furious pace. 

He must’ve looked crazy to the others around him. Oh well. 

And so here they are, in the UA auditorium, waiting for the short presentation given before the last exam. 

The lights suddenly flick on, and Izuku feels the color drain from his face as he sees who’s standing on the stage, clad in his full hero costume. Oh, come on. 

“What’s up UA candidates!” Present Mic screams, making vague gestures with his hands and body. “Thanks for tunin’ in to me, your school DJ! Come on and let me hear ya!”

The silence that follows makes Izuku cringe. He would’ve screamed back had he not been worried about Present Mic recognizing him and calling him out. Izuku shivers just thinking about it. 

“Tough crowd, huh? That’s alright, I’ll skip to the main show! Let’s talk about how the practical exam is gonna go down, okay? Are ya ready!” The projector hums to life and displays a huge diagram of UA and its side buildings. “Like the application said, you boys and girls are gonna be out there conducting ten minute mock battles in super-hip urban settings!”

This is weird. I’ve spent so much time around him when he’s off-duty that I forgot how he usually acts around other people. 

“Gird your loins, my friends. After I drop the mic here you’ll head to your specified battle center, sound good?”

Oh, that’s right. Izuku looks down at his card and examinee number. His is one number after Kacchan’s, which is why they’re sitting together, so that must mean they made the seating chart based on your education.

We went to the same elementary school. They probably didn’t know where to put me since I took middle school online, so they just put me next to one of my old classmates. 

In UA’s defense, Izuku did turn in his application literally last night. It’s not like the school had much time to figure out his placement. 

Izuku has battle center B while Kacchan has A. The boy doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. It’d certainly be harder to get points with his friend in the same center, seeing as Kacchan will most definitely try and take all the robots for himself, but he also kind of wanted the extra motivation. 

The blond huffs. “They’re splitting us up so we can’t work together.”

“As if you’d ever work together with me,” Izuku taunts. “And my examinee number is one higher than yours, which means I’m automatically better.”

Kacchan glares at him. “Stop looking at my card, shitty nerd.”

“Okay, okay! Let’s check out your targets. There are three types of faux villains in every battle center. You’ll earn points based off their level of difficulty. Your goal in this battle is to use your quirk to raise your score by shredding these faux villains like a mid-song guitar solo!” Present Mic does another weird entertainer’s pose. “But check it! Make sure you’re keeping things heroic. Attacking other examinees is a UA no-no, ya dig?”

Izuku sticks an elbow in his friend’s side. “Damn. There goes your plans, Kacchan.”

He just barely ducks the swing to his head.

Izuku looks at the projector again, this time realizing that there’s only three robot silhouettes. The sheet he’d picked up before entering the auditorium states there’s four, however, so something’s not right. Hm. It must be a surprise factor. They’re obviously keeping it quiet for a reason, Izuku figures. 

It seems he’s not the only one to notice this. 

“Excuse me, sir, but I have a question!” 

A spotlight suddenly shines on the new speaker, and Izuku stares at the tall, blue-haired boy as he stands up with his hand straight in the air. He’s kinda handsome. 

“Hit me!” Present Mic says, shooting finger guns at him. 

“On the printout there’s four villains listed, not three. With all due respect, if this is an error on official UA materials, it is shameful! We are exemplary students.” Izuku calls bullshit on that. “And we expect the best from Japan’s most notable school. A mistake such as this won’t do!”

Kacchan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like fucking goody-two-shoes, and Izuku hides a snort behind his palm. 

“And additionally, you with the unkept hair!” The boy spins around and points right at Izuku, glasses shining in the projector’s light. “You’ve been muttering with your friend this entire time! Stop that. If you can’t bother to take this seriously, leave! You’re distracting the rest of us.”

Alright, damn. Just call him out like that.  He doesn’t seem as handsome anymore. 

“Hah?” Kacchan says loudly, eyes promising death. “Only I get to make fun of the damn nerd! Get that stick outta your ass, you fucking extra, and then we’ll talk.”

“That language of yours is hardly appropriate, I must ask that you—”

“Ya wanna know what I think about my language?” Kacchan raises a palm menacingly, and Izuku has to slap his arm down and pull his friend back into the seat when he starts to get up. 

The blue-haired boy is a couple rows down, but Izuku knows that wouldn’t stop Kacchan from going after him. “Quit it! You’re embarrassing me!” Turning to look at the taller teen, Izuku dips his head quickly. “Sorry.”

The boy’s eyes just narrow, but thankfully Present Mic saves the day. “All right, all right, examinee number seven-one-one-one! Thanks for calling in with your request.” A new silhouette suddenly appears on the board. “The fourth villain type is worth zero points. That guy is just an obstacle we’ll be throwing in your way. There’s one in every battle center, but try and avoid it, yeah? It’s not that it can’t be beaten, there’s just kinda no point! I recommend you listeners try and ignore it to focus on toppin’ the charts.”

Blue Boy sits down after bowing stiffly. “Thank you very much! Please continue.”

He seems nice, Izuku thinks, still holding onto his seething friend’s arm. But still blunt and a bit impolite. 

“That’s all I got. I’ll sign off with a little present: a sample of our school motto! Just as General Napoleon Bonaparte once said...”

Izuku stops listening to the voice hero the moment he hears the name Napoleon, and he groans quietly to himself. Boring. They must be forcing the voice hero to say this spiel, as Izuku knows Present Mic would never stray this far into the rabbit hole. He knows how to entertain, but now he’s just spewing school bullcrap. 

“...Are you ready to go beyond? Plus ultra!” The man pumps a fist in the air, getting no reply back—no surprise there. “Good luck, and I hope you practiced hitting more than just books.”

The bus ride to his battle center isn’t long at all, barely three minutes. Again, the fact that they have to take a bus to get to the other side of UA’s property is jaw-dropping in itself. UA is rich rich. 

Izuku and Kacchan separated at the station, leaving the boy all alone. Which isn’t a big deal, really. As long as no one talks to him he should be fine. It’s not like he’s going to go out of his way to talk to any of the others, anyway. That would be dumb and—

It’s the girl from earlier! The one who stopped me from falling!

The brunette is standing in the middle of the crowd of other examinees, looking incredibly nervous. She must be stressing out about this, and Izuku can relate, albeit for an entirely different reason. 

He should go talk to her and thank her. He might be able to get her mood up if he cracks a joke. 

Izuku forces his legs to move forward, only for an arm to block his way.

Fuck. Blue Boy is back, and it looks like he’s already judging him. His gaze flits from Izuku to the girl in question, and then back to him. 

“She looks like she’s trying to focus on the trials ahead,” he says. “What are you gonna do? Distract her and ruin her chances to succeed?” 

Izuku bristles. “No, no, of course not! I was just gonna thank her for helping me earlier!”

“Sure,” Blue Boy says disbelieving, voice hard. 

And great, now everyone else is looking. They’re talking about him now, he can feel it. The attention makes him feel small, and Izuku clenches his fists to stop himself from snapping at the boy. He seems nice, if a little pretentious, so it’s not right for Izuku to get upset. 

He’s more upset over the fact that everyone else seems to have already written him off, like they think he won’t be able to bring forth anything to this battle. It sucks. 

A loud voice comes from above, and Izuku looks up to see Present Mic on a tall tower. “Right, let’s start! Get moving!”

Now that is a command that Izuku knows how to follow. Hell, he’d do just about anything to get away from Blue Boy at the moment. All he has to do is move, and so he does. His limbs burn with the sudden use of power, and he darts through the unsuspecting crowd and rushes inside the battle center. 

He’s the first one in, and hopefully he can keep that place on the leaderboard. 

“He’s got the right idea!” Present Mic shouts from behind him. “There are no countdowns in real battle, listeners, you’re wasting airtime!”

Izuku can hear the thundering of footsteps behind him and giggles to himself. This is more like it. He practically thrives in battle; he loves the thrill of it. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and he lives for it. 

This challenge is the most fun he’s had since he spray painted that dick on one of Endeavor’s billboards. 

Don’t judge him. It’s not a crime to deface trash. 

Right. So there’s three robots, each worth their own respective amount of points. The higher the number, the more difficult it is to take them down. Sounds easy enough. The only thing to do is actually find them now.

Izuku finds that that’s not going to be a problem about two seconds after thinking that, because as soon as Izuku rounds the corner of a street, a huge metallic claw comes crashing down, just barely missing him. 

He jumps up and twists his body, leg coming up to kick off the head of the robot, revealing a set of wires and switches underneath. It’s still standing, though, and that’s when he sees the painted two on it. This one’s worth two points, then. 

He grabs one of its large fingers and yanks, driving a punch through the middle of its torso. It falls into a heap on the ground, and Izuku wastes no time before sprinting off again. 

Oh, this is exciting. Extract is going crazy right now. There are a lot of other examinees in the battle center with him,  and he can feel their power all around him. He kind of wishes he could use his quirks to help him out with everything, but he knows there’s cameras watching his every move. He can hear the thrum of the drones flying above. 

The robots seem to cluster together the closer Izuku gets to the middle of the faux city. Sometimes in pairs, sometimes more. 

He is in the middle of the main road, fighting off three robots, one of them a two-pointer and the other two three-pointers, when he realizes that they can be turned off manually. 

He dodges a heavy blow from the robot behind him and picks up a piece of shrapnel leftover from one of his other kills, swinging it like a bat at the nearest robot’s face. It pops off like something from a cartoon, and Izuku watches as the head hits the third robot in the face and sends it stumbling back. Izuku braces himself and throws the long piece of metal like a spear. The robot shuts down immediately when it gets stuck to the concrete wall, Izuku’s makeshift katana sticking out of its abdomen. 

Oh, what Izuku would give to have his bōstaff right now. 

He goes to fight off his other robot, only to find that the laser beam dude has already taken care of it. The back panel of the machine is open, revealing the same set of wires and switches that he’d seen on the other one. There’s one switch, and Izuku can recognize the pattern of the wires and placement of them to realize that this must go to a signal. 

It’s must be controlled by a program being broadcasted, not by someone watching through its eyes. If Izuku had a little time to spare, he could probably search for the head robot that carries the signal and tear it up, effectively shutting all the remaining robots down at one. But he won’t. That’s cruel. The other contestants wouldn’t have a chance, and who knows how far the range is and if it’ll affect the other battle centers or not. 

What he will do, however, is take parts of the panel that already fell off of the robot and pocket them. That’s expensive metal! Izuku can get a lot of money for it if he sells it to a local scrapper. Or he can use it for himself. 

He takes a few pieces and helps a boy up from the rubble of another three-pointer, only nodding in acknowledgement to the thanks he gets in return. 

How many points does he have now? He’s lost count. And what about the time? They have to at least be five minutes in already. 

He wonders how Kacchan is fairing at his battle center. 

Izuku spots another robot sneaking up on a girl with vines for hair. She’s preoccupied with fighting two, so she doesn’t see the one coming up behind he. The boy immediately jumps it, smashing it against the wall with a powerful kick. It was only a one-pointer, so it’s down instantly. 

The girl gives him a grateful look before returning to the fray, and Izuku does the same. 

“Two minutes left, listeners! Get in your last points!”

He’s getting a little tired now. He’s gotta slow down before he uses too much of his energy. He should have enough points. There’s nothing wrong with him taking it slow for a bit, right?

But then there’s rumbling. The entire earth shakes and windows rattle as something opens up in the ground around ten buildings away from Izuku. 

And holy fucking shit, that’s a big bitch. 

Standing at what has to be at least a hundred and fifty feet tall, the robot’s multiple eyes gleam red as it starts to saunter its way forward, destroying the obstacles in its path with ease. That must be the zero-pointer. The one that Present Mic told them to run from. 

The one that the examinees are running from. A lot of them are screaming as they sprint past him, actually. Izuku realizes that he’s the only one standing in place, staring in awe at the flawless machinery and design, and he’s just about to turn around and head for the exit when a cry rings in his ears. 

His head snaps forward, his eyes zeroing in on the figure that’s right below the robot, trapped under a large slab of concrete. 

Izuku recognizes the light brown hair and is moving before he can think differently. Great. This is just like the speeding car and little girl situation, except this one probably won’t end in death or severe injury. At least he hopes so.

She might get stepped on. Aren’t there any pros monitoring this right now? There are cameras all around here, there’s no way they don’t see her right there. Guess he’s gotta do it himself. 

Izuku forces more of his energy into his legs and knees and jumps onto the edge of a building, hands scrabbling for a hold on the windowsills. He climbs up further and leaps off the wall and onto a nearby roof. He’s gotta get to the robot before it gets to her. Maybe he can distract it by fighting it. 

He flies across the rooftops of the buildings and squints his eyes against the glare of the sun. He’s still not high enough to reach its head, and he needs to if he wants any chance of defeating it. The head is the weakest part. 

There’s a camera flying by, Izuku can see it hovering right in front of the looming machinery. The girl is still struggling down below, and that knowledge alone is enough to put the idea into Izuku’s head. 

He veers to the side and springs off the edge of the roof. The camera is large, so it should be able to carry his weight and then some. He lands on it and uses it as a springboard to soar across the remaining distance. The robot’s face is right in front of him now, and his fist pulls back, his breath catching in his throat. 

And later, when he looks back on this moment, he’ll say that that’s probably the dumbest idea he’d had in about four minutes time. 

His hand goes through the metal of its face, shattering a hole right next to its eye. It does nothing but poke a decent sized hole, however, and his wrist and knuckles explode in white-hot pain. Fuck. He must’ve just broken his hand. Of course he did. That’s straight metal. Reinforced metal. Much stronger than the other, smaller robots. 

Wow, he’s just the sharpest tool in the shed, huh? 

The robot is still moving, even with him holding onto it with one broken hand. He swings his lower body up and uses his legs to smash into the hole yet again. It widens up, and Izuku is relieved to see that the inside is hollow. 

He crawls inside the opening, fighting to stay balanced as the robot shifts and tries to get him out. And hah, there it is, the power source! 

He was right. This is the one that’s sending out the signals to the other ones. It's been active this entire time. Izuku grabs the control panel with his good hand and fucking tears it out.  

Electricity sparks from the outlets, liquid pouring from the side of one of the holes. Izuku feels the blood drain from his face. Oh fuck. Bad idea. Bad idea. 

Everything starts to crumple in on itself with him still inside, which is very bad because that means it’s going to—

Izuku uses one last burst of power from his his legs to spring forward and out of the hole he made, twisting like a corkscrew just as the robot implodes. The parts go flying. Shrapnel flies past his ears and heat licks at his back. He screeches like a dying bird as he plummets through the air, because oh, he's so much higher than he thought he was when he jumped on the camera. 

And shit. He’s going to hit the ground hard unless he uses Pull, or maybe even Deflect to help with the impact, but honestly he’d rather die than have that can of beans opened. He tries to right himself to land on his legs, knees slightly bent, as he knows that that’s the most promising way to land without a parachute. 

This kind of reminds me of the whole helicopter bomb thing. Kinda ironic. 

The ground rises up to meet him and Izuku braces for the pain, only for a hand to slap him right in the face before he can touch down, making him float again.

Either that or he's actually dead.  

He flops onto the concrete when the anti-gravity quirk releases him from its hold. He can barely think with the adrenaline still pumping through his veins and ears. His hand hurts like fuck, but he’s had worse. 

Izuku lifts his tired head to stare at the brunette, who has, for the second time, saved him from falling. “Hey, thanks for that. I—”

The girl promptly throws up a sea of rainbow and sparkles, and Izuku blinks a few times before turning away to give her privacy. Must be an effect of her quirk. Maybe quirk overuse, which explains why she couldn’t get the slab of concrete off of her quick enough in the first place. 

Fucking UA and their dangerous and slightly unfair entrance exams. 

Izuku finds that the concrete here tastes amazing, almost like it’s artificial. This is 10/10 the best concrete he’s ever had the pleasure of nearly dying on. 

The timer runs out, and Izuku faintly hears Present Mic yell about the exam being officially over. Eh. He doesn’t really care in this moment. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before a cane pokes him in his side. He was busy trying to take a nap, so he grumbles when he’s nudged onto his back, only for his eyes to blow wide open. He knows who the person above him is. He’s studied her in his medicinal textbooks!

“Hey there, sonny,” Recovery Girl says, voice just slightly raspy with age. “Lemme see that hand of yours.”

Oh my god, it’s actually her! She’s so much smaller in person.

Izuku is aware of the lingering examinees standing off to the side. They must’ve come back once the zero pointer was defeated. He sees Blue Boy staring very intensely at the ground, seemingly lost in thought. Izuku wonders what he’s thinking about now. 

“Come here, sugar, and eat these gummies while you’re sitting there.” She takes his hand gingerly and kisses it after handing him a few vitamins, making Izuku’s face practically catch on fire. His embarrassment is short lived, though, as he watches with awe as his hand is enveloped in green light before returning back to its original color.

It doesn’t hurt at all anymore. It’s—it’s completely fixed. That’s a lot cooler when I’m not reading it in a textbook. 

Izuku doesn’t pay attention to the laser beam guy explaining Recovery Girl’s job and quirk, as he already knows about all of it and then some. What he does want to know is why the other boy knows about her, too. Oh, maybe they share the same interests!

Recovery Girl hands out more gummies, praising them all and their abilities, but before Izuku can work up the courage to talk to either her or the laser guy, everyone is being ushered out of the arena, being promised with results in only a week’s time. 

He leaves without a word, trying to escape any possible conversations with the others now that his social battery has run out. He succeeds, for the most part. 

And wasn’t that some godly adrenaline there? He hasn’t felt that high in forever, and it only lasted ten minutes! It felt like an hour to him, though. 

That could’ve gone a little better, he thinks, but there’s nothing to do about it now. 

“Deku!” A familiar voice rings out, just as Izuku is about to step out onto the street leading down the hill. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the fucking explanation you owe me!”

Izuku tenses, meeting Kacchan’s primal gaze for only a moment before turning tail and running like his life depends on it, because it kind of does.  

Chapter Text

When Toshinori sees that familiar mess of green curls pop up on one of the large screens in front of him, he doesn’t choke, but it’s a close thing. 

He swallows back the blood in his throat and jerks forward in his chair, aware of the sudden questioning looks he receives from the other teachers around him. He ignores them, though, as he’s too focused on trying to make sure that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him right now. Because this has to be fake. Midoriya isn’t actually here, tackling two robots at once at an entrance exam he told Toshinori he wasn't even going to think about taking. There’s also no way he’s doing this good. 

That’s not to say Toshinori thinks Midoriya is incapable, of course not, it’s just that he’s never seen his trainee quite like this. He’s never seen him in an actual battle setting, fighting off pieces of complex machinery left and right without so much as a breath in between. The change is refreshing, but it’s also frightening because why didn’t I know he could fight like this? We’ve sparred together plenty of times.

The camera on the screen changes to a bird’s eye view of the center of the mock city, and Midoriya is lost against an ocean of other examinees and robots.

Toshinori is still reeling. He can’t really process this. That is definitely Midoriya. His instincts are telling him so, and besides, there’s not many other short boys with green eyes and hair in Musutafu these days. At least, not ones that he’s seen. 

But the fact that the kid is here, taking the exam, means that he had lied to Toshinori—well, not lied. He never promised anything to the hero. The only things he'd said to him were I don’t know what I want to do yet, and I’m not going to UA. Toshinori is still uncertain about why he’d specifically said UA and not any hero school in general, but oh well. 

The point still stands, though, that Midoriya never promised anything, so it hadn’t been a lie. So why does Toshinori feel a little... sad?

He’d been willing to wait. Just a couple more years and Midoriya would’ve been eligible for the Commission’s hero program. Not all pro heroes get their license by going to UA or other available schools. Some can’t go to school, or never made it in to their ones of choice. Those aspiring heroes apply for the program the Commission offers once they turn seventeen and are then trained directly by other pros. 

It’s hard to get in, sure, but with the number one hero’s recommendation, Toshinori is sure Midoriya would’ve done just fine. He would’ve done fine without a recommendation, he knows, but still. 

That’s how Hawks had done it, Toshinori is sure, and the young hero is already number three in approval ratings at the age of twenty-two. There’s no reason why Midoriya wouldn’t be able to do the same. But that plan would have only worked if the boy even agreed to it. 

But again, Toshinori had been willing to wait. Hell, he’d even been working up the courage to tell Gran Torino about his trainee if only to get the old man’s help in training him. He had been willing to get into contact with his scary as all hell teacher to get Midoriya the best resources he could for training. Yeah, that’s how serious he is about this. 

Now those plans are going down the drain, though Toshinori can’t say he’s upset about that. He’s more upset about Midoriya not telling him. He had just seen him the day before, so why hadn’t he mentioned this? Had he just now changed his mind, or had he kept it a secret as a surprise?

He doesn’t know, but he’s certainly not complaining. The boy is destroying those robots, after all. There’s no way he won’t get in. 

This is great for Toshinori. Finally, the world seems to be spinning his way. He won't feel so guilty about making Midoriya his successor if the boy actually goes to hero school. He can be trained a lot easier that way. That’s how Toshinori’s master did it with him, after all. 

But all of this excitement doesn’t stop Toshinori from physically cringing when the camera changes again a few minutes later and he sees the boy use the camera like a trampoline. He jumps at the robot, fist reared back and brows furrowed in concentration, a certain gleam to his eye. It’s when he sees his trainee nearly get blown up when he escapes from the inside of the head just before it implodes that Toshinori really does choke on his own blood. 

Everyone in the room tenses as the boy plummets to the ground, and Toshinori can barely breathe until he sees the brunette Midoriya had saved slap him in the face and halt his fall. 

He could’ve died, and yet the boy is smiling as Recovery Girl heals him a few minutes later, face split into a wide grin as he most likely fanboys over the healer and her quirk. He doesn’t look too beat up, Toshinori notes, but it’s still a reminder that things could’ve been so much worse. 

The number one hero doesn’t remember his own entrance exam being so... deadly. Or maybe that’s just because he hadn’t done something nearly as reckless as his trainee has. 

“Who is that?” Kan asks, and Toshinori suddenly remembers that the blood hero is here because his next set of students will be in this mess of an exam. He has to know what he’s working with, seeing as he’ll be their teacher. Aizawa is there for the same reason, he’s pretty sure. The man hasn’t said a word to him this entire time, though. 

“That would be one Midoriya Izuku,” Nezu says, sounding way too pleased with himself as he types on his computer. “Aged fifteen with an emitter type quirk he calls Boost.”

“Enhancements?” Kayama guesses. The R-rated hero is lounging off to the side, eyes twinkling as she watches the replays of the battles. She’d told Toshinori that she’s only here because of Aizawa. 

“Correct!” Nezu chirps. “Not very powerful at first glance, but it seems Midoriya has honed it to be quite the substantial ability.”

“He got first place?” Toshinori asks, hoping he sounds nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and clears his throat. He wants to know how many points his successor—ahem, his trainee got, as it had certainly felt like a lot while watching.

The principal moves away from his computer to look at another monitor of his. “His points are still being calculated after the last robot, but as it stands right now, Midoriya is indeed first.”

The sudden pride that runs through Toshinori is nothing short of euphoric. 

Kan points to the monitor hanging on the wall. “Number two is that exploding kid from Battle Center A with seventy-seven points. None of them are from rescuing, which isn’t something we see very often.”

“Interesting.” Nezu balances a pen on a claw. “It also seems that both Midoriya and Bakugou went to the same elementary school, which would explain why my filters separated them into different centers.”

So that’s his friend, Toshinori concedes. He’s never met him, but he recognizes the name. Midoriya talks about him sometimes when they take the occasional break and eat some sandwiches. He hadn’t expected said friend to be such a riot, especially since Midoriya is like a walking ray of sunshine around the hero and couldn’t possibly be acquainted with a kid like that, but it’s nice to finally have a face to go with the name, Toshinori supposes. 

Nezu tilts his head, something akin to a frown settling onto his face as he clicks to another tab on his computer. “It seems, however, that Midoriya has a criminal record. His name is attached to quite a few cases of public quirk usage, assault, and interference with police work.”

Toshinori shrinks in on himself at that, and he swears he can see Aizawa, who’s been hiding in the corner of the commentator’s box, shift on his feet out of the corner of his eye. 

“To be quite honest,” the mammal continues, “I don’t know how he made it past my filters. His application should’ve been denied immediately.”

Denied. The word feels heavy in the air. Toshinori knows UA doesn’t joke around about that sort of stuff, so he feels his chest tighten a little bit. UA has a no-record policy, no matter what the charges are for. 

“I’ll vouch for him.” The words escape him in a rush, but it’s not just his own. 

Toshinori stiffens as he makes eye contact with Aizawa, who’s currently staring at him with such intensity that he has to fight a shiver. It sets the hairs at the back of Toshinori’s neck on end. 

“What?” Aizawa asks, voice as monotone as always even while asking a question. Toshinori’s previous encounters with the man have given him the inkling that the underground hero doesn’t like him very much. “You know the kid?”

And isn’t that a loaded question? Aizawa is smart, Toshinori knows. The man has taken one comment and put the words under a microscope, nitpicking at the underlying details. 

Toshinori smiles sheepishly. There’s no point in lying, is there? “Only a little bit, Aizawa. I’ve seen him around. Given him tips on training and whatnot!”

That's not suspicious at all. 

Aizawa quirks a brow but still somehow manages to look uninterested. "You’re willing to vouch for a kid you’ve only met in passing?”

Okay, that’s a bit unfair. “Well, he just seems like a bright kid, Aizawa! And besides, aren’t you willing to as well? It hardly seems fair to put me in the spotlight here!”

The hero doesn’t skip a beat. “I’m vouching for him only because he doesn't have zero potential. He also happens to have gotten first in the exam. It would be a waste not to look into him.” Aizawa dips his head, face shadowed. “And as the number one hero, you’d think you’d be used to the spotlight by now.”

Haha, fuck. Why is Toshinori getting so flustered? It’s just a conversation; he doesn’t even have to reply. But now everyone is looking at him and alright, now that he’s thinking about it, maybe it is a little weird to just go out and stick up for a kid he probably has no business knowing, but still. 

Before Toshinori can stutter out an answer, the door suddenly bangs open, revealing a disheveled Present Mic. 

And that’s when Toshinori decides that he loves his blond coworker. He won’t be able to thank him enough for saving him from Eraserhead.

“Holy shit!” Yamada screams, voice cutting out midway thanks to Aizawa’s erasure. “Did y’all see the end there at Center B? Christ on a stick, Sho! Tell me you saw that!”

He gets a long-suffering sigh in response. “Unfortunately.”

The voice hero just laughs loudly and throws his arms around his friend. “Sho! Sho! You know that kid I was telling you about a while ago?” He shakes him like a child would a present on Christmas. “The one from the laundromat?”

“The one you refuse to stop seeing even though our washer was fixed months ago?” Aizawa asks quietly, still unimpressed. He looks irritated at having this conversation where everyone can hear, and Toshinori doesn’t blame him.

He’s not really a fan of social interactions either, which is surprising given he’s literally the number one hero. He’d rather not get into all that, though, and more than once he’s gotten in trouble with his publicist for accidentally missing a few requested interviews.

“That’s the one!” Yamada is unfazed by the other hero’s indifference. “Well guess what? Guess what, Sho!”

Aizawa seems to have disconnected from his body, however, so Kayama promptly answers for him, eyebrows wagging in delight. “Ooh, what is it, darling?”

That last part makes Toshinori only slightly less confident in his theory that the R-rated hero isn’t currently dating anyone. It’s hard to tell when she’s being serious considering she’s a dominatrix. She could probably be dating everyone in this room and Toshinori wouldn't realize it.

“It’s the same kid! The one who blew up the zero-pointer!”

And now Toshinori is very confused, as well as a little concerned. What are they even talking about? Midoriya has mentioned meeting Present Mic in the past, but he’s never mentioned anything about laundromat meetings.

Aizawa seems to be even more bewildered. “Midoriya?”

Yamada snaps his fingers. “Yep, that’s him! I’d recognize the little listener anywhere!” 

“Oh my god,” Aizawa mutters, holding his face with a palm. “Hizashi, you idiot, why didn’t you ever tell me his name?”

I’m definitely missing something here.

“Wait, what’s the big deal?” The question just makes the black-haired man shake his head and stare blankly at the other for a few seconds, as if having a silent conversation, and it’s not long after when Yamada gasps. “Oh, don’t tell me!”

Aizawa sounds incredibly tired when he speaks. “He’s the delinquent that’s been terrorizing Tsukauchi and I, Hizashi.”

As bewildered as he is, Toshinori can’t help but chuckle at that. It seems his trainee is more famous than he thought, though that might not be the best thing.  

Yamada screams again, throwing his head back. “No way! You’ve gotta be fucking with me! We’ve both known him this entire time? No!” He cuts off in a wheeze, doubling over. "Sho that's fucking hilarious. How did you not—?”

He breaks off into another bout of laughter, making Toshinori smile. The voice hero is always good at brightening up a room.

“Well, that solves a few things,” Aizawa says. “Delinquents number two and three are the same kid, and apparently the fourth one I didn’t even know about is also one and the same.”

Four delinquents? Jesus. 

Yamada sobers up quick. “The fourth?” 

“All Might ran into him before, too, though I’m sure it runs deeper than that.”

Toshinori ignores the obvious jab and instead frowns. “Who’s the first?”

“Not important,” Aizawa says flatly, turning back to argue with Yamada about not telling me his name, damnit. 

Ouch.

Kayama rolls her eyes playfully. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Rabbit, All Might. He’s been giving Shouta gray hairs for the past few months, though it’s obvious the kid’s grown on him.”

“The vigilante?” Toshinori asks, just to confirm it. “I didn’t know Aizawa was the one on the case.”

She smirks. “I have a few photos of a certain mural Rabbit painted of Sho, if you’d just give me a minute to find it. I’m sure you’d love to see it, hm?”

Toshinori perks up despite himself, only for Aizawa to whip around and glare at the pair.

“Not another word, Nemuri.”

Kayama just snickers and sends the underground hero a teasing look. “Don’t lie, Shouta, you told me you were flattered.”

“I thought it was beautiful,” Yamada agrees, wiping away a fake tear. “Truly a renaissance painting in its own right.”

The two heroes start to cackle, not at all worried about the growing irritation from Aizawa. The dynamic these three have is incredible, Toshinori thinks. 

Kan must feel the same way, as the man curls his lips in mild disgust from where he’s sitting quietly near the other set of monitors, watching the conversation going on with mild interest. “You guys are weird,” he states plainly. “It’s a wonder you two made it to adulthood.”

“I was always in adulthood,” Kayama corrects, causing Yamada to burst into yet another fit of laughter. 

Toshinori hides a snort at their antics. They’re way too funny when they’re together. 

“If you all are quite done,” Aizawa interrupts pointedly. “I think Nezu has something to say.”

Everyone settles down immediately at that and looks at Nezu, who’s waiting patiently in his seat. “Thank you, Aizawa. I just wanted to say that the points have been calculated and are now displayed on the large screen.”

The projector on the wall flashes to life, and the teachers watch as the highest ranking students are counted down from ten. Everything seems normal, as most of it all comes out as expected anyway, until Midoriya comes up on the number one spot. 

Toshinori can only gape at the two boxes next to the boy’s name labeled villain points and rescue points, because there’s just no way. 

Yamada is the first to react. “What the fuck?” He screeches. “Is that even possible?”

“I second that,” Kan says seriously. 

“One hundred and ninety-eight,” Kayama observes. “That has to be a new record, right?” 

It is. Toshinori would know that because he was the previous holder of said record, standing at a whopping one hundred and eight points. The only person who’d ever come close to that is Endeavor himself. For Midoriya to get ninety more points than him? 

Toshinori is in equal parts flabbergasted and proud at the same time. 

“I agree that such a high number is normally unachievable given the short time frame allowed,” Nezu starts, “so I must admit that I hold a little bit of fault for this unusual occurrence. You see, I made a small mistake in my previous calculations. Can either of you guess what that was?”

The number one hero internally winces. There always seems to be time for a pop quiz with the mammal. 

Aizawa is the only one who answers, still sounding bored despite the events going on. “The zero-pointer was the primary transmitter for the other robots. Midoriya destroyed it less than a minute before the exam ended, so the signals were still going out. Destroying it disabled all of the active ones, which effectively immobilized them.”

“Very good,” Nezu nods. “If you look at the footage again, you can get a glimpse of the inside of the zero-pointer’s head. The transmitter seems to have been ripped out.” He lets a self-satisfied smile slip through. “Had Midoriya taken down the zero-pointer any other way, the panel probably would have stayed intact and thus continued to send out signals, as it was designed to do.”

The room is quiet for a few moments after that, and Toshinori can understand why. He’s having trouble wrapping his mind around this. “Do you think he knew?” He asks the principal. 

“Perhaps. But whether or not he had won’t change the outcome, being that is he’s now currently the holder of UA’s highest record in history.”

Yep. Toshinori is so taking the boy out for lunch sometime. He deserves it after this. This is just—this is incredible! And the boy did it all on his own!

Kayama rests a chin on her palm, eyes squinting as she glances at Nezu’s computer. “It says here that he’s already completed all of his high school education, and he’s currently working on a college site right now for a standard diploma. That’s a lot of studying for a youngster.”

Now, that’s not really a surprise. Toshinori already knows that Midoriya is finished with high school, but he didn’t know about the college thing. He wonders why the boy never mentioned that to him, as that’s certainly a big deal given the fact that he’s not even sixteen yet. That’s a huge feat.  

“Really?” Yamada whistles, brows rising to his hairline. “I knew the listener was smart, but damn!”

“If he’s already finished with his required education, why are we even considering him? You can’t go to high school twice.” 

That’s Kan who’s speaking again, voice a deep rumble. 

I almost forgot he was there. 

“Are you kidding?” Toshinori can’t help but ask, pointing to a replay of Midoriya’s takedown of the zero-pointer. “Did you see him in action? He earned the highest points out of all the examinees.”

Nezu hums in agreement. “As Aizawa said, it would be a shame to let such a promising opportunity pass us by, would it not? His skills are remarkable, as is his strategic planning. It’s also worth noting that here it says he left a small comment on the bottom of his application. He claimed that he’s only here to try for the hero course, and that he’s not interested in any of the others. I’m sure we’re all aware that such courses are not offered in basic high school education, which I’m assuming is what he got.”

The mammal is staring at the footage with something dark in his beady eyes, and all the teachers in the room let out a full-body shiver.

Damnit. I know you see his potential, too, Nezu. But lay off.

“Legally speaking, it’s entirely possible for him to still attend UA and receive his hero credits despite having already done general high school education. It will, however, be up to his homeroom teacher to decide whether or not to require him to do non-heroics related classwork.”

He’s speaking as if the boy is already enrolled. 

“Homeroom teacher, eh?” Yamada says, looking smug all of a sudden. 

Toshinori understands why when he sees the look of dread flit across Aizawa’s face. 

“No,” the underground hero says firmly. “Kan can have him.”

But it seems that Nezu has already decided, if the manic laugh that escapes the principal is anything to go by. It’s a lost cause at this point.

Everyone knows you can’t stop the mammal when he’s set on something. 

Shouta honestly doesn’t know what to think anymore. 

He hadn’t been expecting anything when he walked into the commentator’s box and sat down with a few other teachers, screens laid out in front of them like every other time they’ve done this. He was supposed to be there to get a feel for his potential first years, as this year marks the time of a fresh new batch of students. His third years had graduated two years ago, and his last batch of first years were all expelled. He’s trying for a new batch again this year. Hopefully they’ll have more potential.

Shouta admits that he’s relieved to not have to deal with any of his past students anymore. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves his students—well, most of them, anyway—but they’re a handful to deal with. He has a feeling this year’s group is going to be even worse. Especially since he’s been assigned Midoriya. 

The kid who’s acted way more suspicious in Shouta’s eyes than most of the villains he’s encountered, though that might be a little unfair to say since he doesn’t even know why Midoriya seems suspicious to him, or even what Shouta thinks he’ll do if his paranoia turns out right. 

He was surprised to hear that the kid he’d been forced to chase after that first time they met is actually the same kid that Hizashi talks about all the time. The one who apparently goes to the laundromat around the same time every couple of weeks. That kid is bright, bubbly, and enthusiastic. His humor and love for heroes is off the charts, along with his laugh—which Hizashi has told Shouta about multiple times, each with growing fondness. 

While the Midoriya that Shouta knows is definitely enthusiastic, the hero wouldn’t go so far as to call him bright and bubbly. More like nervous and jumpy with a little bit of a troublemaker’s mindset mixed in. 

But what can you do? The revelation is certainly a big surprise, which is why Shouta is still thinking about it when he and Hizashi are driving home. They can at least enjoy the rest of the break in peace now that all of that is taken care of. 

Shouta is leaning back in the leather seats, face turned just a little bit to look out the window when he asks the question. “Didn’t you say you found him getting picked on?”

“Who, Midoriya?” Yamada continues at his husband’s sharp nod. “Yep. The little monsters cornered him in an alley and took his notebook. They were hitting him, too.”

Shouta frowns thoughtfully. “Why didn’t he fight back?” 

“Beats me, babe. They claimed they were just playing a game, though the kiddo obviously wasn’t enjoying it. Had a cut on his eye and everything.”

Hm. The entire situation has become even more interesting, if that’s even possible. 

Shouta doesn’t like to butt into places where it doesn’t concern him, mostly because he doesn’t care enough, but also because he does actually believe in privacy. What’s weird, however, is that he finds himself wanting to know more about Midoriya. About his situation. His home line.

From the moment he met him that night up until now, with him watching the kid break his goddamn hand to take down a robot for a high school exam, everything has just been one giant question mark surrounding his name. 

And Shouta didn’t really mind much at first. He had no reason to care. Midoriya is just some teenage delinquent with a  probably subpar father and living situation. Nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary. Now, that would’ve been okay with Shouta. That would’ve been enough for him to just leave it at that. 

But now that he’s getting to know a little bit more about Midoriya, the more he’s beginning to realize just how little he really does know. 

Shouta knows Midoriya could’ve fought back in the situation Hizashi described if he wanted to. Very well, in fact. The kid has no qualms with picking fights with actual criminals and potential murderers or thieves, so why wouldn’t he in that particular circumstance? Sure, it’s different with other children. The law is strict about using your quirk on underage kids, but Midoriya is underage, too. He could’ve claimed self-defense. 

It would’ve been so easy for him.

Shouta wasn’t there, obviously, so he can’t really judge, but from what Hizashi has told him, the fight wasn’t too brutal. It’s still unacceptable, of course, and Shouta wouldn’t have stood for it at all, but it wasn’t too bad. Midoriya displayed incredible skills at the exam, which confirms to Shouta that the boy could have easily laid those ‘friends’ out if he so wished. 

Was he scared? Is that why he didn’t fight back?

Shouta shakes his head. There are too many thoughts running through his mind now, too many unanswered questions. 

He couldn’t have been more happy to sink onto the couch in their shared apartment after the short drive back. The day seems to slip by, but it happens ever so slowly. Shouta doesn’t really mind that, however, not when he has his wonderful husband and three cats to share his life with. 

His comfort never lasts long. The events of today are still fresh, and even when they’re both supposed to be falling asleep, full from a very nice dinner that Hizashi cooked, Shouta keeps thinking. 

Everyone did pretty well during the entrance exam. Shouta spotted several kids with good potential, which almost never happens right off the bat, by the way, and Shouta can already tell he’s gonna have a harsh three years in store for him from this new group of students. 

And Midoriya.

There’s something off about him. Something familiar that he just can’t put his finger on. He closes his eyes and keeps seeing the way the green-haired boy fought off three robots at once, ducking and weaving between blows and using fairly complex moves to finish them off. He noted the precision in which Midoriya used shrapnel from a fallen robot to pierce the body of another and pin it to a wall, allowing him time to get a powerful kick in. 

He did all of this in the span of a few minutes, gaining the most points since All Might and Endeavor themselves even before defeating the zero-pointer, and he still managed to make time to help other examinees. 

Midoriya is skilled. Shouta already knew that; he’d heard it from Tsukauchi, which means quite a lot saying that the detective doesn’t praise just anyone. But to see it himself? To witness him fighting firsthand?

Shouta has seen Midoriya fight one time, and even then that was the first time he met him. He’d only gotten a glimpse of him knocking the criminal out, which then led to him having to chase the kid down a few streets to help out Sansa. What was the most confusing part of the night, however, was when he’d caught Midoriya slipping a flash drive from his sleeve into his pocket while Shouta was walking him home. 

And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t know why he let the boy have it. The information on it wasn’t anything earth-shattering, as he’d obviously gotten Tsukauchi’s files from his office computer, but it did hold a few private records and contacts. 

Shouta’s contact, for one. That should’ve been enough for the hero to keep the flash drive and drag the kid back to the station to charge him with government theft, but he didn’t. Which is confusing. 

He never does that. He very rarely has a lot of patience or sympathy on the best of days, but he’d had just about none that night. And yet he still let him have it. 

Again, there’s something off about Midoriya. Something unsettling, but not quite in the he poses a threat to everyone around him sort of way, more of in a danger follows him around like some sort of bodyguard way.

And Shouta hates it because it’s painful, it’s familiar, and it might kill him. 

It might kill him soon. 

Izuku gets the text the next day.

It’s only five words, but when he sees who it’s from he gets excited, because All Might is texting him. Him—Midoriya Izuku. Sure, he’s done it before multiple times, but it doesn’t stop Izuku from feeling a little giddy. 

His excitement is replaced with nervousness when he actually reads the text, however. 

Meet me at Dagobah tomorrow!!!

Three exclamation points. Izuku is concerned. This can either mean All Might is really happy about something or really upset about something. 

Izuku has a feeling it has to do with the entrance exam, because of course it does. The hero was there, after all. There’s a high chance he saw Izuku at his battle center. 

Is he angry at him? Disappointed? Izuku probably should have told him, right? Even though it was last minute. He owed him that much, at least. 

When he shows Kacchan the text to get his opinion on it, the blond slaps him in the back of the head and tells him not to worry so much, which makes Izuku punch his friend in the arm in retaliation. They’re walking back to the Bakugou household now. They just went paint-balling, and Izuku is ashamed to admit that it ended with Kacchan winning. Izuku may be a better shot when it comes to guns, but Kacchan definitely knows his friend’s movements well. 

They can predict each other almost perfectly. 

But the next day, when Izuku is at the beach alone, with no Kacchan to make him feel better, he’s tense. He’s worried. He doesn’t know what to expect from All Might when he sees the hero jogging down towards him from the top of the stairs leading to the parking lot. 

For some reason, Izuku expects a hit, a lecture, maybe some disappointment, but what he doesn’t expect is for the man to pick him up clean off the ground in his small form while spewing out praises and shouts of glee, spinning him around in a circle. 

What. The. Fuck.

Izuku is pleasantly shocked, but also a bit sick because why are we going so fucking fast, holy shit, is this a rollercoaster?

The boy can barely even understand half of what the hero is saying, so he’s grateful when he’s eventually put back down on the sand, even though he immediately misses the close contact. 

“Young Midoriya, why didn’t you tell me you were applying!” The number one hero asks. “I would’ve put you in as a recommendation student if I had known!”

Well shit. Then I’m glad I only decided last night.  

Izuku offers a slight quirk of his lips, rubbing at his arm. “I, uh, I guess I wanted to earn it?”

A small laugh, and then the hero is gripping his shoulders, soft blue eyes burning with intensity as he stares at him. “Well, that doesn’t matter now. My boy, you did amazing! You blew us all away—quite literally with that last robot!”

I... did amazing?

Izuku turns red with embarrassment. “Yeah, that part was, uh, not really planned.”

“I can tell, but even for such a rushed plan, you did remarkably well! And with such little injuries!”

Izuku wants to remind him that he did break his hand, but then thinks better of it. It’s not like that’s a major injury, after all. He’s had worse. 

And so Izuku settles on another shy question. “Did I pass?”

It’s All Might’s turn to look sheepish. “Well, I cannot tell you that, but I will say that you did just fine! There’s no need to worry, trust me!”

And Izuku kind of does, because I wasn’t worried about not getting in. I was worried about disappointing you.

They talk for an hour more after that, mostly about Eraserhead and Present Mic, and also about how Izuku never mentioned just how much he knows the heroes. Kacchan also comes up, along with why Izuku changed his mind about applying, so he repeats the same bullshit he told Kacchan about wanting to take risks, and he hopes the man takes the answer. 

It’s an enjoyable, if not slightly awkward conversation, as Izuku can tell something’s wrong. 

There’s something off with the way All Might is carrying himself. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders and a tightness near his eyes. He’s hiding something. 

For a while there, Izuku is convinced that he has upset the man. He doesn’t know why or how, but he has, and it makes him feel terrible. 

He’s already come to terms with it by the time they run out of things to talk about, or at least until one of them brings up another hero or past life experience. Izuku is prepared for a lecture, for an apology before the words I’m stopping the training comes out. Because that’s how it always happens, right? It begins with a false promise and fake hope, and it all ends with the truth of the matter being revealed.

But what’s the truth in this case? Is it that All Might actually hates him and is disgusted by him now—because Izuku is sure that that’s it. He’s heard it from so many people on so many different occasions that it can’t be anything but the truth now. 

He’s ready for it when All Might finally turns to him, face a bit grim now, hand on Izuku’s shoulder. He thought he was ready for it, at least, but nothing could have prepared him for what his idol said next. 

“My boy, I think it’s time I tell you about One for All.”

Chapter Text

All Might ends up giving Izuku a week to decide, which is honestly a lot more time than the boy deserves. It’s not enough, though. Could any amount of time ever be enough? Not for this, Izuku thinks. Never for this. 

He’s running through the city, bōstaff clutched tightly in one hand as he glides over rooftops and street wires. It’s getting a little warmer out, and he’s incredibly thankful for that fact. His costume doesn’t do much against the cold. 

He has to distract himself, at least for a little while. Patrolling usually does the trick; it helps calm his nerves. Getting into little skirmishes with criminals helps ground him, in a way. 

Because here’s the thing: Izuku loves the fight. He loves it more than he loves living, because it feels good, because it's familiar, because it's the one thing he can control. Because as insane or sick as it sounds, the split second before his fist connects with bone and flesh is the only second where he can breathe. 

And by god does he need to breathe at this very second. 

He’s very close to breaking down. He can feel it. He can feel the itch under his skin, the tightness near his eyes and mouth; everything feels so acutely wrong and he doesn’t know why. Actually, scratch that, he does know. Just doesn’t want to admit it. 

Izuku already knows the story about One for All. Has known since the very beginning, even before All Might came into his life. How could he not with who his father is? 

And that’s another issue entirely. Izuku fights because it’s all he knows. He wants to fight, because it’s easy for him. He needs it, which is why he’s out here today. This situation of his is peculiar, and it’s making Izuku feel worse than ever. 

He’s leading All Might on. Deep down, there has always been that small inkling at the back of Izuku’s mind that says he’s only training me because he’s getting old and needs a successor, but he’s never let himself believe that for more than a moment. He’s not a good choice to be anyone’s successor, much less All Might’s. 

Izuku briefly wonders if All for One is included on that list, but then pushes that thought away. He doesn’t need another reason to spiral into that pit of despair. 

Maybe his thinking isn’t entirely incorrect. Maybe he is nothing but a pawn in All Might’s game, just the next step in the course to defeating the evil in this world, as that’s what One for All’s purpose is, right? To defeat All for One?

Would he have offered it to me if he knew who I was—no, who I am?

Izuku doubts it. He’d probably be in a dark prison cell if the number one hero knew. Tartarus doesn’t sound too improbable, if he’s being honest, but that would be the best case scenario. More than likely Izuku would be experimented on like some lab rat since having multiple quirks is practically unheard of. 

The Commission has done it before. Izuku knows they won’t hesitate to do it again, even with a child. 

The other thing that’s been nagging at Izuku is that he hasn’t told Kacchan about All Might’s offer. His friend will obviously be on board with it if it means Izuku will tell someone about his powers, which will never happen. Not if he has any say in it, at least. 

And Izuku hates it. He hates the situation. Hates the lying and the confusion and the feeling in his gut that’s telling him to just give in. He hates himself for even thinking about accepting the quirk. He already knew about it, of course, but it doesn’t make it any better. He shouldn’t even be near All Might, much less talking to him and training with him and eating fucking sandwiches with him.  

He should’ve said no, right then and there. Right when the words One for All left the hero’s mouth. It should’ve been simple, and yet here he is, thinking about it. 

The explanation took a good ten minutes, and that was just All Might explaining the basics of what his quirk does and how the transfer works, of what Izuku, in all senses, shouldn’t already know. And the boy stayed quiet the entire time, frozen in thought, because again, he had a feeling this would happen, but it didn’t quite set in until that very moment. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now, Young Midoriya, I am merely informing you of what you might expect should you say yes.”

Izuku doesn’t speak. Can’t speak. Because if he does, he might just blurt out that godforsaken word after all, and then everyone will end up dead one way or another. 

“How does a week sound? I don’t mean to pressure you.”

The boy nods his head. He understands. Deadlines are deadlines. The number one hero has to move on to someone else if Izuku doesn’t accept. 

That’s just the way the world works. 

Izuku finds himself pacing on top of a bank near his building a few hours into his impromptu patrol. He never usually strays this close to his house, but it’s whatever. It’s not like there’s specific territory he’s not allowed to go in. Most areas are free range for him, being a vigilante and all. Minor rules such as no trespassing don’t apply to him. 

A gang runs this part of the town, he knows, but he’s on good terms with them. They don’t harm anyone innocent and never cause much property damage. If anything, the gang kind of protects the residents of this neighborhood from other, more violent organized crime units. So Izuku doesn’t snitch on them or take them down, and in return they won’t come after him. It’s a win-win. 

The bank he’s on is still open, even at this time of night—well, morning, he should say, as it’s currently one o’clock. The lights are still on despite practically no one coming in. That’s always how it is in these parts. 

The only people who go to a bank at this hour are robbers and vigilantes. And apparently, Izuku finds, underground heroes. 

“A figure is approaching to your left.”

It seems his AI works after all. 

Izuku turns his head just in time to see Eraserhead drop down from a neighboring building and walk toward him, hands in his pockets. 

“Rabbit.”

Izuku nods at the greeting and resumes his pacing, not offering any verbal reply. 

They still meet at their spot every Friday, but nowadays they seem to see each other more often, even when they’re both patrolling on opposite sides of the city. Izuku is starting to think it’s not as accidental as Eraserhead says. 

The hero doesn’t seem put off by his silence, though, and he stops a couple feet away to watch Izuku’s stressed walking. “You know, I was hoping to see you at the entrance exam.”

It’s more of a question. A baited one, at that. Izuku can identify it because he asks those kinds of questions all the time; that’s how you get information out of people. He doesn’t really mind the underground hero doing it to him, so he just plays along, still only half paying attention. “Who’s to say I wasn’t there?”

Eraserhead huffs, sounding amused. “Thought you’d say that. But to be frank, I don’t think you’d have jeopardized your position like that.” 

Damn. That’s what Izuku thought, too. 

The boy stops his pacing to glare at the other. “I don’t know if I should feel offended or not.”

“Depends on if you actually went and took it.” Eraserhead sits on the ledge, wordlessly beckoning him over. He’s obviously just teasing now; he doesn’t know what Izuku has done. “Here, I brought you something.”

“Please tell me it’s not your mixtape.”

The man shoots him an unimpressed look and throws something at him. “An egg and cheese sandwich, actually.”

“Oh.” Izuku frowns a bit. “Thank you.”

“No problem, kid. Now are you going to stand there all day or come sit down?”

Izuku’s legs move on their own accord. He’s eaten an early breakfast with the hero before, but never like this. And never this close to Izuku’s house. If he looks, the boy can just see the top of his building less than half a mile away. It’s kind of unsettling, knowing Eraserhead is this close to it. 

That feeling is like the cherry on top to everything that’s weighing him down right now. Those fears and doubts wash over him again like a tidal wave, and he finds himself glaring at the streets below, the sandwich still clutched between his hands. 

Here he is, sitting next to Eraserhead on a roof like they’ve done a hundred times before, eating breakfast like he’s not currently in the middle of a mid-life crisis. And yes, he’s going to call it a mid-life crisis because he’s not sure what part of his life could be considered the middle. In fact, now that he’s thought about it, he’s going to have an ongoing crisis. 

Eraserhead chews on his own sandwich for a bit—turkey with mayo and mustard, Izuku guesses, as that’s what he always gets—before glancing at him. “Came across a few villains tied up at a convenience store a couple blocks away. Was that you?” 

Izuku is brought out of his thinking momentarily. “Uh, yeah, that was—that was me, I think.” He laughs awkwardly. “Can’t really remember right now.”

Did he do that? Probably. His knuckles burn a little bit. His gloves only offer so much protection when he punches with his enhancements. 

Eraserhead quirks a brow. “You alright?”

Izuku opens his mouth but nothing comes out, the weight of everything crashing down and constricting his throat. 

He’s not.

Izuku’s breaths suddenly come shallow, too shallow. He can barely breathe anymore. But he sits there, face perfectly expressionless, body as still as possible while he’s suffocating, knowing the man beside him can feel every centimeter of his movements, every single one of his tells.

They’ve known each other for quite a while now. Izuku doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want to appear weak. Because damn it all he should not be stressing this much over All Might’s question; a question that should be easy for Izuku to answer. Why can’t he just say no? It’s the only option for him. The only choice. 

His mind is telling him that it’s a bad idea, that this hesitance of his will get him killed, that he’ll hurt All Might, he’ll hurt everyone. But his instincts are screaming at him to just accept it, because don’t you want it? Don’t you want that power?

The voice at the back of his head is back, and it’s louder than ever. You’re not stealing it. He’s practically begging for you to take it. Do him a favor and just say yes. You want it. 

“Kid?”

Izuku grits his teeth. He recognizes the tone and doesn’t quite care for it. It’s the tone Eraserhead uses to calm down civilians after rescuing them from a burning building or something. It’s not soft, but it doesn’t hold his usual gruffness either. 

The hero is using that voice on Izuku now, and the boy doesn’t like it. “I’m good,” he grits out. Because he is. He’s okay. As much as he can be, at least. 

“Rabbit, are you—”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Eraserhead’s gaze burns his skin, but the boy can’t bring himself to meet it just yet. He takes the silence as a cue to continue, so he does. 

“If someone offers you something that you know you shouldn’t have, like you really shouldn’t have it, but you really really want it—what do you do? Is there even a choice at that point?”

The sudden silence that follows his outburst stretches on for a good ten seconds, and Izuku winces. Just as he’s about to open his mouth to say forget about it, I’m stupid, don’t listen to me, Eraserhead speaks. 

“I guess it depends on what that something is. For example,” he tilts his head, “drugs.”

Izuku chokes at the randomness, the sandwich very nearly falling out of his hands when he glares at the man. “What, no! It’s not—it’s not drugs. Why do you always assume that?”

“I don’t. Just wanted to bring you back to yourself.”

And oh. Izuku’s eyes fall back to the ground, listening to the hero eat the last bite of his turkey sandwich before crumpling up the wrapper and shoving it in his pocket. 

(Eraserhead is not, in fact, a litterbug. He’s lectured Izuku twice before for throwing something on the ground during patrol. It’s safe to say that Izuku doesn’t litter anymore, and sometimes he even finds himself yelling at other people who do it.)

“Finish your food before it gets cold,” the man orders, pointing to Izuku’s own sandwich. 

Izuku fights the urge to roll his eyes. It was already cold, he wants to say, but stops himself. He’s definitely not ungrateful. And besides, egg and cheese sandwiches taste better cold. He will die on that hill before admitting otherwise. 

“And to answer your other question,” Eraserhead continues. “There’s always a choice. It doesn’t matter what anyone says you shouldn’t do or have. The only thing you should consider is if you know you shouldn’t have it.” He stretches, his back popping a couple times. “But even then, most people are biased against themselves. I’m assuming you either can’t or won’t tell me what it is, right?”

Izuku just nods, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen up as he listens to Eraserhead’s voice. The man is smart; he’s logical. If Izuku wants anyone’s advice, it’s his. 

“Okay. So I can’t really tell you anything of use. What I can tell you, however, is that sometimes it’s not always a bad thing to have something you think you shouldn’t. Some of the best things in my life have come to me when I thought I’d be best without them.”

Is it just Izuku, or is Eraserhead speaking almost wistfully now? He sounds fucking ancient. 

“That being said,” the hero nudges his shoulder, “do what you want to do. Just make sure you’re safe, alright?”

Safe. Will Izuku be safe if he says yes? His first answer is no, not in a million years. Not with who he is and what he was made to be. But the more he thinks about it, the more Izuku realizes that maybe this isn’t such a bad idea. The more he realizes that One for All will make him stronger. He can—he can protect himself, right? From who, he isn’t quite sure. 

And more than that, he can protect others. Sure, he’s doing that right now, even when technically being a criminal. He’s helping others, and that’s enough for the moment. But in the long run, what good is he doing against top-tier villains? Against people like All for One? 

Nothing. He’s not strong enough for that. He won’t be, not ever. But with One for All...

Is this selfish? Wanting a power he’s not supposed to have just because of his blood? Wanting another quirk on top of the other stolen ones? 

Izuku isn’t the one who stole them, at least not all of them, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that All Might chose him, so that has to mean something.

Or maybe Izuku is looking too far into this and All Might really is desperate. Maybe he doesn’t really see Izuku for who he is, he just sees him as a potential vessel.

But would that be unfair to say about the man? With how much time he’s put into Izuku?

“What’s that on your wrist?” 

The boy brightens up immediately, pushing aside his rising panic. So what if Eraserhead is just trying to distract him? He’s grateful for it. “It’s my new AI. Do you like her? I made her myself!”

“Holy shit, kid.” Eraserhead leans closer to peer at the small screen on the boy’s forearm. “From scratch?”

“I mean, I stole a few things from some dumpsters, but I put it all together.”

The man laughs quietly. “‘Course you did. What can it do?”

“It’s a her! She’s named AINA. Short for Artificial and Intelligent Notification Analyst. A mouthful, I know.” Izuku taps on the screen, giggling at the surprised look that crosses Eraserhead’s face when the device flashes to life as a mini hologram. “I programmed her to be kind of like a phone, but she can do a lot more than that. She has access to the internet, like most things, but she also has a mind of her own. Here, say something!”

Izuku disables the earbud feature and holds out his arm, gesturing for the hero to speak. 

Eraserhead blinks at him in disbelief. “Uh, hello?”

“Welcome, Eraserhead. What activities would you like me to complete today?”

The hero tenses, causing Izuku to immediately wince. “Ah, should’ve warned you first. When I said she has access to the internet, I mean she has access to everything on the internet. She knows your real name, too, hope you don’t mind.”

“Guess I don’t have a choice,” he says, though he doesn’t sound upset. “I’m more surprised at how she recognized my voice.”

“Oh, she’s called an analyst for a reason! She can go through any security footage and match up faces with voices and stuff. Didn’t take me a while to get her coding done, but integrating her into my house and device here was a pain in the ass.”

Eraserhead hums. “That’s a lot of talent, kid. You’d make a damn good support hero.”

Support hero. The words hit him like freight train. Holy fuck, why didn’t I think of that? I could make devices for other heroes and wouldn’t even have to use my quirks. 

Damnit. Maybe he should’ve applied for the support course. That would’ve been easier to juggle with the rest of his chaotic life.

When Izuku tunes back in, Eraserhead is already standing up. He looks to have been scrolling through the options and capabilities AINA has while Izuku was dissociating. 

“It’s already past two, so I’ve gotta go, alright? My patrol ends soon.” He waits for Izuku to scramble up as well before holding eye contact with him. “Just remember what I said before. Be careful, but do what you think is right. You’ve got a good head, so I know you can do that, problem child.”

It’s said so casually that Izuku almost misses the nickname. He doesn’t whine or complain at the jab, but he does stop and stare at the man for a moment. Because why did that make him happy?

Eraserhead flicks one of the ears on Izuku’s hoodie, causing the boy to give a small smile underneath the mask. And maybe it’s still too sharp, and maybe it still doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s altogether better than the ones he usually wears these days. 

Izuku is breathing easier now. He doesn’t feel that impending doom crushing him like how he felt just half an hour before. He feels lighter, if only by a little. 

Eraserhead rests a heavy hand on Izuku’s head before leaving, and the boy knows there’s a chance when he doesn’t automatically flinch away this time. 

Maybe he has a choice in this after all. 

“No. I refuse to fucking believe that shit’s real!” Kacchan stands up from the couch and storms to the kitchen, probably to go aggressively help Mitsuki with dinner. “There’s no fucking way you got that high of a score!”

Izuku, who’s sporting a shit-eating grin, just shrugs. “Projector All Might doesn’t lie, Kacchan.”

The blond appears in the doorway again. “Bullshit! A hundred and ninety eight? You had to have cheated. Don’t fucking spew that crap to me.”

“I think you’re just jealous that I beat you by, what is it, one hundred and twenty-one points?”

“And that’s part of the bullshit!” He stomps over and takes the projector from Izuku’s hands. “Fucking piece of shit.”

Izuku giggles. “I told you what I did. That’s not cheating.”

“I want to see the footage. I won’t believe any of that shit until I see it.”

“They don’t just give that out, Kacchan. You’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Son of a—”

Izuku uses Pull just in time to grab the projector before Kacchan can smash it into the ground. “Hey, watch it! You don’t know if we have to send them back or not! It looks expensive!”

His friend just rolls his eyes. “It said on the package we can keep it for memorabilia, dumbass. Now let me break it.”

“Uh, no? This one’s mine! You have your own to destroy!”

“I don’t care!” Kacchan grabs for it again, but Izuku just steps back and sticks his leg out. The blond trips and face plants into the couch, curses getting louder. “You fucking shitty nerd! Give it to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

Izuku tries to run for it, but Kacchan is already balancing on the armrest like an angry cat. The blond jumps on his back and sends them both crashing to the floor. 

Damn. I’m so glad I didn’t bring Missy. She’d get her fur scorched off. 

Izuku rolls over to dislodge him, but Kacchan is still much bigger than him. Using a little bit of power, the green-haired boy knees him right where it hurts and shoves him off. He goes skidding into the dining room, face murderous. 

Oh fuck. 

Their scuffle turns into more of a brawl. Mitsuki joins in at one point to kick them out of the kitchen after they almost knock a boiling pot of water out of her hands. How they even migrated to the kitchen in the first place is beyond Izuku, but oh well. 

“Come on,” Kacchan says, dragging him outside. “We’re settling this right now. I’m gonna beat you, and then you have to admit that I’m better.”

Izuku crosses his arms and digs his feet into the ground. “Nope. Just look at my points. I don’t gotta prove shit.”

In the next second, Izuku is letting out an oof as a fist hits his back and sends him falling forward. He chokes on a mouthful of dirt before groaning. The quick defeat doesn’t come as much of a surprise. The boy hasn’t slept in two days. He’s starting to hallucinate now. He swears there was a clown right behind Kacchan a few seconds ago, but he isn’t gonna be the one to point it out if it wasn’t true. 

Hopefully he can rest later. It’s not even Thursday, and yet he’s still here. 

He received the projector a few hours before now in the mail. The address he put down on his application is the same address he led Eraserhead to all those months ago during their first encounter. The lady at the front desk had called him after seeing his name on the package. 

While he was definitely excited, Izuku forced himself to wait until he got to Kacchan’s house to open it and compare. The only bad thing about his is that he didn’t ace his written exam. He missed only a few points, all of them from History.

Figures.  

Kacchan promised that he’ll keep rubbing it in his face for the rest of time, as he aced it, of course. He’s always been the more studious of the two, especially when it comes to History. 

What made Izuku blush was the fact that the brunette girl (the one who saved him twice, which Kacchan has helpfully reminded him of every second after watching the projector) wanted to share some of her points with him. Izuku certainly didn’t need it, but he’s happy all the same. He never thought anyone would do something like that for him. 

But all the same, he was incredibly grateful when Present Mic made her keep her hard-earned points. 

During all of this fighting and teasing with each other, however, Izuku still doesn’t breathe a word to Kacchan about the offer All Might gave him. He should. He really should. That’s one of the reasons he even came over to the Bakugou household. 

But now that he’s actually here, he stays quiet. The guilt is strong in his chest, but Izuku bites his tongue. He’ll see how it goes first, and then he’ll tell his friend. 

That’s Izuku’s promise to him. 

He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. He has to be crazy. Certifiably insane, in fact. 

Why did he agree to this celebration brunch with All Might in the first place? He texted the man his scores (even though he’s pretty sure the hero already knew) and was surprised when the man texted him back enthusiastically. 

He insisted that they had to celebrate this feat of his, seeing as he apparently made a new record. 

Honestly, Izuku can kind of care less about that. The only thing he cares about is the obvious question he’s going to have to answer today. The question that he does surprisingly have a set answer for. 

He blames Kacchan for this situation, too. It’s one hundred percent the boy’s fault. No, he will not take criticism. He can still recall his friend’s stubbornness just the day before. 

“Kacchan. Yes or no.”

There’s a grunt from below him. Izuku is currently balancing on his friend’s back with one hand while reading a book in the other. His sweat drips onto the pages, which is frankly disgusting. Izuku will definitely cringe over it later. 

The blond is doing push-ups, still holding steady with Izuku’s added weight. They’ve been training for almost an hour now, but neither are ready to give in. “The fuck are you on about, Deku?”

“Just answer the question! Yes or no!”

“Why should I? I don’t even know what it’s for!”

Izuku wriggles a little in air, trying to throw his friend off kilter. “Just do it!”

“Fine!” Kacchan drops low to the floor in one abrupt movement, causing Izuku to tumble off of him. “Yes.”

And huh? Izuku is confused and also irritated. That’s not what he’s supposed to say. Not at all. 

“No. You have to say no, Kacchan. Say it.”

“Well now that you’re so damn upset about it, my answer’s gonna stay yes.”

“Fuck you! Say no!”

“Yes.”

Izuku throws dirt at him, only to end up eating it for the second time that day.  

That entire conversation had been unfair. Kacchan is stupid, and so is Izuku. 

He had it all planned out. He had a poll going on in his head, for god’s sake. Eraserhead, for one, said yes—well, technically. He told Izuku to do whatever and to not be afraid to branch out, which is the closest thing to a yes he’ll ever get from the hero. 

Izuku already put in his vote: a hard no. Which means Kacchan was the tiebreaker; a terrible decision, really. 

He expected him to say no. Hell, Kacchan’s entire personality is like the word no printed in large font and highlighted in the blood of the innocent. 

And so Kacchan saying yes in that determined tone of his had Izuku thinking the world was coming to an end. 

The two idiots didn’t even know what they were saying yes to! They couldn’t have possibly guessed that Izuku was using them to decide whether or not to accept the Symbol of Peace’s quirk. They were answering it blindly. 

Which makes it all even worse.

“This place is really nice,” Izuku whispers. He is not hiding behind Small Might, thank you very much. He’s just a little cold and needs some warmth. 

Saying that the restaurant is nice is an understatement. It’s a very expensive restaurant. One that Izuku doesn’t dare look at when he walks past sometimes on the way to the store. He’s gotten dirty looks from the people going inside plenty of times, but it’s different when you’re receiving those looks while going in as well. 

To be fair, Small Might had told him to dress casually. And so here Izuku is, in Kacchan’s red jeans and dirty converse with an oversized white hoodie on top—an outfit that is not suitable for a place like this. 

The hero himself is wearing some nice slacks and a comfy dress shirt, but otherwise he looks casual. Izuku, on the other hand, looks like he just got dragged out of the dumpster wearing okay-ish clothes from a lost and found bin at an orphanage. 

I should’ve borrowed Kacchan’s gel. My hair looks like a bush. 

Small Might had waited for him outside of the restaurant since he was the one who made the reservation. He didn’t say anything bad about the boy’s looks, besides a sputtered response after noting the Plus Ultra! on his hoodie, but still. 

While Izuku knows the man doesn’t care, he still can’t help but feel very out of place. 

The hostess leads them to the second floor and gives them a table with a nice view of the city with a floor-to-ceiling window. 

Ah. This is definitely where rich business people meet. 

Apparently All Might goes here all the time with his friends, which explains why he looks so at home. The man proceeds to talk to Izuku about random things, and also about how he’s thinking of getting a pet. 

This prompts Izuku to show him a picture of Missy. He’s talked about her before but never actually shown her to the man. It turns out that he’s actually a dog person, though, so Izuku starts to babble on about the different shelters he’s been too while picking up strays off the street. 

If Izuku is being honest, he’s been this close to adopting more stray animals after finding them during his patrols. The only thing stopping him is the fact that he can barely afford to feed himself with Missy there, so how could he afford another animal?

Izuku is relaxing slowly, now. There’s quite a few people here, so he makes a game of searching through their quirks and trying to identify what it does just by feeling the energy. He does this all the time, and it’s quite fun. Malicious, perhaps, but fun. 

When the waiter comes back with their drinks and takes their orders, Izuku just gets what All Might does since he still feels very out of place. Sashimi seems to be a popular dish here. 

Izuku doesn’t really like raw meat in general, but he knows it must taste good for how expensive it is, so he doesn’t mind. 

“I’ve always wondered how you eat without a stomach,” Izuku says, hoping to start another conversation. He’s starting to get sick of the looks from all the people around them. 

Small Might chuckles and delves into the story of how he had to get said organ removed before getting a replacement. He talks about how he’s limited to eating certain things now—spicy foods are a no-go, for one—and has to go to the doctor’s every month to make sure everything is going fine. 

Izuku listens with awe as he nibbles on his food, and he wishes he had his notebook on him because that’s definitely something he should put on the hero’s page. 

Also. How the fuck is All Might even alive?

The brunch is turning out nice, Izuku won’t lie. Well, he could be doing anything with All Might and it would probably be enjoyable, but whatever. Everything is nice. 

The air is a little tense, however. Only for Izuku. 

The boy has to say something. All Might hasn’t mentioned anything about their previous conversation, but Izuku knows he’s waiting for an answer. He’s not dumb. Izuku can see what ulterior motives lie behind the idea of a celebration brunch, as he called it. 

It’s when All Might orders dessert for Izuku despite his pleadings of you don’t have to, really, that’s a lot of money that the boy finally works up the courage to tell him. 

At first, the hero looks confused as to what he’s talking about, though Izuku did just blurt out yes! seemingly out of nowhere, so you can’t really blame him. 

All Might’s eyes widen in realization after a few moments, and then he’s talking excitedly, almost too quickly for Izuku to keep up with, and that’s saying something. 

Again, Izuku is reminded of how much of a happy golden retriever the man can be. 

After the rambling is seemingly over and the dessert has already made its way onto the table, All Might tells him that they can do the transfer right after this, saying that it’s better to get an early start since school starts very soon. 

Izuku hates how easily he matches the hero’s enthusiasm and agrees. 

And somewhere, not too far from the restaurant All Might and Midoriya Izuku are dining at, a faceless man grins. 

The tubes in his chest will only subdue him for a little while longer. His treatments are almost finished, and it won’t be long before he can continue where he left off. And then he can take back what’s his. 

He can take back both of them. 

Chapter Text

Izuku is glad that All Might suggested they wait until after the celebration brunch to do the transfer. He is so, so glad. 

He doesn’t think he could’ve handled the prying gazes from the other diners for much longer. Judgmental fuckers, aren’t they? All of them. But besides the uncomfortable staring, he’s also glad they left because they kind of need more privacy for this. A crowded restaurant isn’t exactly the best place to discuss an age-old secret that has the capability of destroying Japan if discovered by the wrong people. 

There’s no telling who’s watching anymore. Hell, the fucking waiter could’ve been a spy, though he hadn’t raised any red flags in Izuku’s mind. And trust him, the boy had watched the man very carefully. He’d watched everyone very carefully. 

You can never be too cautious. 

They’re back at Dagobah beach, standing on the roof of a secluded pavilion for no specific reason. Izuku just likes to be up high, and he only offered one excuse to the hero, saying that the beach has been getting crowded nowadays and they should be where no one can see them. The man had accepted the reasoning with no problem, and so here they are. 

The sun is beating down on them at this time of day, as it’s always the hottest during the afternoon. Izuku shamefully admits to himself that he just wants this over with, despite Extract being very excited about getting another quirk. It’s almost like his given quirk is alive and can read his thoughts, which is kind of scary. Because for one, how does it know? And two, why is it getting happy when it’s not even going to be used in the transfer? Izuku doesn’t need to steal One for All, not that he’d ever in any other circumstance. 

But Izuku can’t lie and say he’s not a bit excited about this either. He can’t wait to see what the new quirk will do to his existing ones. He’s practically vibrating with nerves. 

That is until All Might holds out his fist and says, with as much conviction as twelve thousand burning stars: “Eat this!”

Izuku is, again, very glad that they’re alone, as the noise that comes out of his mouth is one that will embarrass him until the day he dies. He clears his throat to speak. “Eh?”

All Might lifts his fist up a little higher to show the golden strand of hair that’s floating in the faint breeze. He looks suddenly sheepish, and he rubs at the back of his neck in a way that Izuku’s come to realize as the hero trying to find the right words. 

“To inherit my power you have to have some of my DNA,” he explains, almost confusedly. “That’s how the transfer works, my boy. I told you this, did I not?”

Izuku blinks once, then twice. “Well, yeah, but I just... didn’t think it would be this way.”

“Well, what were you expecting?”

The boy’s mind instantly goes blank. What had he been expecting? It’s not like there are many other options for DNA transfers. 

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe a blood transfusion?”

He gets a frown in return. “I thought you didn’t like doctors, my boy?”

“I don’t,” Izuku confirms, though he’s surprised the man actually remembers that bit of information. The boy himself can’t even recall when he’d told the hero that. “But this still isn’t exactly how I imagined it.”

“So, do you still want my quirk?”

Not really. 

“Yes.”

“Then let’s not waste time! Come on, Young Midoriya, eat!”

Izuku takes an instinctive step back when the hero lifts his hand up again. “Actually, on second thought, I—"

“Eat, my boy!” All Might practically shoves the hair in his face. “Eat!”

“Wait, this isn’t—"

“Eat!”

The boy’s screams can be heard all the way from the city. 

“Stop laughing! It’s not funny.”

Ms. Hanako merely laughs harder at Izuku’s pout. She doubles over, clutching her stomach with a frail arm. “You accidentally ate his hair? Oh my, dearie, that sounds quite interesting.”

“It was traumatizing!” He corrects, still mildly offended. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Ayaka says, voice heavy with amusement. “Now tell me, what did it taste like?”

Izuku glares at her. “You too? Please, somebody end me.”

Ms. Hanako thankfully takes pity on him, and the older woman sends a mischievous look at her daughter. “Now, Ayaka, don’t tease him too much. I’m sure it was a rather unpleasant feeling.”

“What, like a worm? Or more like string cheese gone wrong?”

Izuku gags. “Please don’t! I can still feel it stuck in my throat!”

The two women laugh louder and continue talking, and Izuku can only pretend he’s annoyed by it. He’s busy putting mini slices of pepperoni on a small pizza, along with some banana peppers and other meats, and once he’s done he slides it into the oven. 

The shop is closing up earlier than usual today, so he’d stopped by to help them with the last orders. He’s been visiting them less and less with everything that’s been going on, and he’s happy he was finally able to find some time to be with Ms. Hanako. 

His jobs are coming more frequently, and it’s hard to pass them up when he’s already barely scraping by with the money he has. 

He moves on to the appetizers as Ms. Hanako goes to the dining area to wait more tables. 

Ayaka squeezes past him to get to the soda dispensers. “So, when are ya bringing that kitten of yours?”

“She’s not really a kitten. The vet said she’s just over a year old.”

The woman hums but doesn’t look away from her work. “Vet? I thought you couldn’t afford a vet?”

“I can’t.” He grins. “I guilt-tripped the receptionist lady at one of the walk-in offices to get a free checkup.”

There are only a few circumstances where manipulation is good, Izuku thinks. That being one of them. 

“Why am I not surprised?”

Izuku giggles. “In my defense, I had to make sure Missy was healthy. Being on the streets for most of her life isn’t good for her health.”

“Guess not.” Ayaka takes the pizza he prepared out of the oven and sets it on the counter, ringing the bell once to let Ms. Hanako know it’s ready to be sent out. “Say, what was that you were talking about with Mom? Something about UA?” 

Glad that they have something else to speak about, Izuku excitedly chatters about the entrance exam and his results. He can’t tell them much about All Might and how exactly he came to eating the hero's hair, but he can tell them whatever he wants about UA. 

While it’s good that Ms. Hanako and the rest of the family won’t push him about certain things, Izuku can’t help but feel kind of guilty for not telling them everything. He knows they get it, and he also knows that he’s putting everyone in danger when he tells them anything about All Might or himself, but he just can’t stop. 

They’ve shared so much with him, it’s only fair that they know a bit about some of his own life, even if it’s just a little. He doesn’t like being dishonest, despite how much he seems to lie all the time, whether it’s to himself or to the authorities. It makes him feel dirty. Almost like a villain. 

And yet, just like any other form of manipulation, he can’t help the lying. Or, rather, the evasion. 

It’s an hour into work when the restaurant closes for the day. Izuku helps wash the remaining dishes and hums softly to himself, swaying his head to the tune of a classical song playing on an old radio in the corner. 

Ms. Hanako joins him in cleaning up the kitchen. It seems Ayaka already left. “What’s on your mind, honey?”

“Hm? Nothing. I’m just a bit tired, ‘s all.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “I have plenty of years behind me to know when somebody’s lying, child. But as long as you’re alright, that’s all I can ask.”

Izuku sighs to himself. There it is again: the deception. He finds lying easy, he truly does. It’s almost natural for him to spin any web of lies off his tongue and pass it as the truth, but that doesn’t make it any less shameful to do. It’s especially difficult when he lies to someone who truly cares about him. 

He wishes they didn’t. It would be so much easier that way. 

“I just—" He cuts himself off and then frowns. “You remember Kacchan, right?”

A small snort. “How could I not? That boy manages to blow something up every time he comes in here.”

Izuku shivers at the reminder and continues to wipe down the stoves. “Well, I haven’t been entirely honest with him either about this whole thing, and I feel pretty bad about it.” He pauses for a moment, deep in thought. “He’s my friend. Shouldn’t I be telling him about all this?”

Shouldn’t I tell him that I now have the quirk of our shared idol? The man we’ve both looked up to for the majority of our lives?

The woman tuts. “Well, friendship is based on trust, isn’t it? I’m sure you have your reasons for keeping quiet, but I’ll tell you this: lying to the ones you love never turns out well. They’ll figure it out eventually, and it might not end pretty. For both sides, in fact.”

“I know, but I still can’t help but feel like something bad will happen if I tell him. It’s like—it’s like a gut feeling, I guess.”

“Are you afraid of what he’ll say?” She cocks a hip. “Or of what you think he’ll say?”

And if he’s being honest with himself, it’s definitely the latter, but again, Izuku isn’t always honest. Even when it only concerns himself. 

“I... I'm not really sure. Maybe both? I know he’ll have some strong opinions about it, but I kinda already expect that from him.” He wipes his hands on a towel and faces her. “What do you, um, think I should do? You don’t have to answer, I just don’t know what—"

Ms. Hanako doesn’t hesitate. Her eyes are as kind and intelligent as always. “I think you should confide in your friend, seeing as you don’t have many at the moment. You never know when you might lose him.”

And alright, that makes him feel like shit. The boy knows she’s talking from experience. 

“But,” she continues. “You shouldn’t push yourself too hard. If it’s a gut feeling, listen to it. You know your own boundaries.”

Do I? Or am I just being paranoid like I am with everything?

The truth is that he doesn’t want to put Kacchan in danger. Sure, he’s already in danger. Since the moment they met when they were just babies, Kacchan has been in danger. But Izuku doesn’t want to make that worse. 

He doesn’t tell Ms. Hanako and Ayaka everything because they’re fine with not knowing, they understand. 

But Kacchan is different. He understands, of course, but he doesn’t seem to care about that. He’s always been stubborn, and he’s always wanted to be involved. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, it just makes Izuku feel like shit when he’s faced with situations like this. 

If he tells Kacchan about One for All, his friend might become a target. The less he knows, the better. But there’s also that sinking feeling in Izuku’s heart that tells him that if he were in Kacchan’s shoes (hey, he’d grow a couple inches), that he’d want to know about it as well. 

And so, to put it simply, everything is fucked. Izuku is either a shitty person who puts their friend in harm’s way by telling him a secret, or a shitty person who lies to their friend and acts like nothing’s changed. There’s no in-between. 

Christ. The quirk hasn’t even set in yet and Izuku is already panicking. He’s been doing that a lot lately, it seems. 

“I’ll be heading out now. Everything’s finished here, so just make sure to lock the back doors when you leave, alright?”

Izuku nods his head even though he can barely hear her over the fuzz in his ears. 

He has to get himself together. 

Spying on people is fun. Especially when you’re getting paid to do it. 

Now don’t get the wrong idea. Izuku isn’t a stalker, per se. He just likes to study people. He likes to keep tabs on his clients to make sure they’re safe, of course, and he also does it as insurance in case something goes wrong. 

But he doesn’t just spy on his clients, he spies on everyone he’s ever come into contact with, either as Rabbit or as Midoriya Izuku. It’s a precaution, in a way, and it’s also just to give Izuku more leverage. It’s something he can use as a bargaining chip whenever he gets himself into a sticky situation. 

He tracks their movements, their battles, their weaknesses, you name it. He knows their friends and finances, their every indiscretion. Hell, he even knows the color of their underwear!

This guy, for example, doesn’t wear any. Not that he needs the added protection down there; the dude doesn’t have the balls to do much of anything good. 

Izuku is currently crouching in the rafters of a nearby tower, spying on the wealthy businessman drinking champagne in the building over. He’s in one of his many penthouses, chatting with a coworker. 

This coworker of his has been coming over very often. Over the past few days, Izuku has come to realize that their relationship goes much deeper than what the man would probably like anyone to know. 

He’s not meant to take him down or extract him from his location. The client that gave Izuku this job only wants information on the target, at least for now. Izuku didn't ask any questions, not when he'd seen the number of zeroes after the first number on the promised check. 

Sometimes it’s best not to know what he’s getting himself into. It’s not like he’s going to murder the guy, nor is he going to give away top secret information. 

The businessman is cheating on his wife, that’s all. Not to say that that’s okay! It’s just that things could be a lot worse. That little bit of information, however, will make Izuku’s client very happy. It’s an easy way to take down politicians and people of high power. 

“AINA,” the boy whispers, detaching the armband and holding it up like a camera phone at the window. “Can you zoom in for me?”

“Of course. Would you like to send this footage directly to your pinned contact?”

Izuku smirks to himself. “Why not? Give him a live shot.”

He might enjoy ruining politicians’ lives a little too much.

The thing is that Izuku can figure out a lot about his targets in a short amount of time. It’s even easier now with AINA, who can search all the records with this guy’s name and billing information. It seems he dabbles into the Black Market almost just as much as he cheats on his wife. 

Which, for one, is kind of creepy, and for two, only adds to his rich boy-slash-douchebag personality. 

Even Izuku doesn’t spend ten hours a day surfing the dark web, and he does that pretty often to get the best deals on mechanical parts and weapons. 

This guy is sick, so Izuku is glad his client brought this to his attention. Even if he doesn’t get paid for the extra work, Izuku is going to make sure this man gets arrested. Hm. He should probably text Eraserhead or Tsukauchi about it. They’d be within legal grounds to take him down with the evidence Izuku has. 

It might be faulty evidence since he isn't obtaining it legally, but nobody has to know that. 

Speaking of Eraserhead, Izuku hasn’t seen the underground hero in a few days. Their meeting is coming up soon, so he’s looking forward to it. He wants to hear the man’s voice again. 

Does that make me clingy? The hell is wrong with me. 

It’s been a few hours after the transfer with All Might, and the sun is starting to go down. Izuku can feel the quirk taking effect. It’s almost scary. 

Of course, he’d felt the change immediately after inhaling the hair due to Extract and it’s sensory awareness, but he’s only just now feeling the power of it. And oh boy can he feel it.

Something itches at the back of his throat, and Izuku frowns a little. When he coughs into his hand he can see little specks of blood on his palm. 

He knows instantly why that’s happening, so he doesn't freak out too bad.

Extract used to do that to him all the time when he was younger. The quirk basically forces him to take other people’s powers, and so when he doesn’t, he’s the one who pays for it. He’s scared Kacchan and the rest of the Bakugou family plenty of times like that before. 

It hasn’t done it in forever, not since... not since he acquired the multiple quirks he has now. It calmed down after that happened. And for it to be starting up again now, that can only mean one thing: One for All is indeed strengthening his other quirks.

And fuck, that’s a great thing; that’s exactly what he’d been hoping for out of all this. But that’s also a very, very bad thing. 

That bad feeling he gets with Extract now will only grow exponentially with this new addition, and Izuku suddenly realizes how fucked he really is. The sudden increase in strength and power in his core is making him feel a little dizzy, and he has to shake himself out of his thoughts to focus on reality. 

It’s time that he experiments a bit. 

“AINA, initiate Shutdown Protocol Four, please!”

Instead of a verbal response, the AI just flashes the words of course, I’ll speak with you later, Izuku, before shutting off completely. He fluffs out his unkempt hair to hide the earbuds before dropping down from the rafters. He’s on the top floor of this building, and there’s nobody there since it’s usually reserved for business meetings. He’d done quite a bit of research on this company before sneaking in, just to make sure. 

He smooths out his clothes a little bit since he’s not even in his Rabbit costume and takes the elevator down to the bottom level. It’s almost laughable how easy it was to bypass their security. He didn’t even need to mess with their cameras and stuff, he just had to create a diversion so he could get past the guard just inside the front doors. 

The same guard that’s staring at Izuku in utter disbelief as the boy slips out of the doors. He doesn’t dare stop him, though. 

Like Izuku said. Pathetically laughable. 

What makes it worse is that the company is all about home and cyber security. Yeah. Not too secure, huh?

The sky is pitch black by the time he puts a halt to his other spying deals and stops on top of another building, this time for a different reason. He wants to get a feel for things. The transfer is complete by now, he knows it. It has to be with the sudden giddiness he’s experiencing. 

He can feel the energy buzzing under his skin. It’s so much stronger than his usual enhancements. He’s almost drunk off the feeling, and his previous dizziness makes way for euphoria as he tests out Boost in his legs and feet. It’s obviously different: it’s stronger. He can run quicker than before. 

Not by too much, but the change is noticeable enough. If Izuku wanted to, he could train himself to go a little farther. He could be even faster. 

Boost isn’t the only quirk affected, just as he thought. He’ll have to find time to test out his other powers and write down his findings, but for now, Izuku wants to try out the newest addition to his quirks. 

The one that matters the most, now. By far. He has to protect this one more than the others, that’s for sure. It holds the greatest face value, and also the greatest personal value. There’s no way he’s going to let this one slip out from his grasp now that he’s got it. 

He holds up a fist and glances around, trying to find a nice target for practice. What better time for training is there than right now, on a deserted rooftop at just a little past ten at night? Anyone could see him if they really looked. 

He doesn’t know exactly how to activate One for All. It sounds silly, but the only information All Might offered him on the topic was just clench your butt cheeks and think of greatness! It’ll come to you naturally, my boy! So, yeah. He’s basically starting from scratch. 

He’s sure it’s similar to Boost, as they’re both power types and a form of body enhancement, so it should be like powering up a battery. He just has to imagine it, right?