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.