(warnings: slight gore; emotional breakdown—starts at first bold Izuku and ends at the second bold Izuku)
Hizashi wakes to the sound of keys turning in the door lock.
His eyes snap open, muscles tensing and arm instinctively curling tighter around the boy in his side—but then his husband steps through the doorway a moment later and he relaxes.
It must still be late if Shouta's just now getting home. Well, early would be a more appropriate term depending on what kind of person you are.
The television is still on and, by the looks of it, playing another Disney classic. If Hizashi's memory serves him correctly, this one is Mulan. He must have turned the volume down sometime before falling asleep, though, as he can barely hear it now. The sound is a mere white noise in the background, and the light from the screen casts a faint glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.
"You're still up?" Shouta asks quietly, shutting the door gently behind him. He looks surprised that Hizashi still has his hearing aids in—the voice hero forgot to take them out before going to sleep. Midoriya's presence pushed him out of his normal routine, it seems. Though that's not a bad thing.
Not a bad thing at all.
Shouta takes off his capture weapon and hangs it up on the wall, his mouth making a little o-shape once he sees the second, much smaller figure curled up next to his husband. He frowns and pads closer after slipping out of his boots, neon cat socks sliding over the hardwood floor. "Is he alright?"
Hizashi hums something in affirmation, making sure to keep his voice quiet so as not to wake him. "He was sitting out here a few hours after you left." He tilts his head and resumes carding his fingers through Midoriya's hair. "Turns out that watching the Kardashians yell at each other over family drama is a good way to get him to sleep."
The black-haired man lets out a fond huff and moves closer, peering down at the pair from behind the couch. He doesn't look to have any cuts or bruises on him from patrol, Hizashi notes, so he leaves it be for now. "Want me to carry him to his room? Sleeping on the couch is going to kill your back, you know."
Well, according to Hizashi's phone it's only been a couple of hours since they both fell asleep. There's not much time left before the sun comes up, so why bother going through all that?
Hizashi shakes his head. "You might wake him up, and just look at him. He looks like he needs all the sleep he can get, Sho."
Shouta does look, dark eyes settling on the face half-hidden in Hizashi's side, a few freckles just visible for them to see. He looks smaller, Hizashi decides when he looks at Midoriya as well. More peaceful.
He hasn't seen the kid look this carefree since, well, ever. Not even at school, where he's supposed to be safe and surrounded by pro-heroes. He always looks apprehensive and on edge, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the blow to land. And who's dealing the blow, Hizashi isn't sure. Maybe to Midoriya, it's everyone.
No. He's not gonna move him or leave him here. He told the kid he'd stay with him, so he's going to do just that.
"I'll stay out here tonight," he whispers, readjusting the blanket so it goes back up over the listener's shoulders. "You can go to bed without me. Did you eat?"
Shouta nods and mutters something about getting a burger along the way, which isn't a surprise. He normally does that on nights where his patrol goes on a bit later than usual.
"And fine," Shouta adds, "stay out here if you want. But you better not complain about your back hurting in the morning."
He's obviously joking, but Hizashi teases him anyway. "I'd never."
Shouta leans over the back of the couch to press a quick kiss to his cheek in retaliation. "You're a softie," he grumbles, but Hizashi can hear the warmth in his voice clear as day when he pulls away.
"And you're not?" He shoots back.
Shouta grins with all his teeth, eyebrows raised. "Never."
Hizashi has to stifle his laugh so he doesn't accidentally wake the kid next to him, and he smiles smugly to himself when Shouta reaches down to pat Midoriya's head once before making for the hallway.
Uh-huh. Definitely not a softie, hm?
Whatever. He can deny it all he wants. If his husband didn't want the kid to be here, he wouldn't be. It sounds harsh, but that's the reality of it.
Hizashi props his legs up on the coffee table, getting more comfortable. Midoriya shifts a little, pressing further into his side, and the voice hero inwardly coos. There are only a few hours left till he has to get up for work, and his back is going to hate him in the morning, but honestly it's whatever.
He'll bear it for the kiddo. He knows Midoriya definitely needs the rest.
When Izuku wakes up, he's curled up on the couch, a thick blanket thrown over him and protecting him from the chill hanging in the apartment.
The first thing he hears is something sizzling in the kitchen, and his stomach gives a lurch when he smells bacon.
Is he... in the living room? How did he get here? Why isn't he in the guest room like he'd usually be? Izuku doesn't know off the top of his head. He just remembers not being able to go back to sleep last night after that nightmare, and having to come out here afterwards for a few minutes to clear his head. He remembers looking at the door and contemplating, and then he remembers seeing Yamada—
Oh. Oh.
He jolts up, the blanket flying off his shoulders, and it's almost comical how fast his cheeks turn red. Did he—did he sleep on Yamada? Again?
Izuku is going to die. Maybe not right now, but later he's just going to curl up and die from embarrassment. He's so stupid. How did it even get to that? Izuku has always tried to distance himself from dumb emotions. And leaning on Yamada for the second time while he finally gets some sleep? It's pathetic!
"Mornin', kiddo!"
He does not nearly fall off the couch in his panic, thank you very much. Izuku has much more grace than that.
His head snaps up, eyes widening upon seeing Yamada sitting on the loveseat diagonal to the couch. He looks to be putting on his shoes for work, as he's already got his hero costume on and his hair gelled up. Just how long has he been sitting there? Izuku hadn't even thought to check his senses before now.
He didn't feel the need to, in all honestly. He felt safe. He still does, in fact.
"Sho's making breakfast today since I gotta go in early for a meeting," Yamada tells him. "You gonna be okay?"
Izuku would probably question what he meant by that last part if he wasn't still frozen in place. He's still staring at him as if he's seen a ghost, because does Yamada not—does he just not care? That Izuku literally slept on his arm again and probably stopped him from going to sleep himself? Fuck. Izuku is, for the fiftieth time, a damn fool.
Yamada frowns. "Is there something on my face?"
The green-haired boy opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he only looks away when he suddenly remembers that staring is rude. He brings his knees up to his chest and shakes his head, eyes trained on the two cats curled up on the other end of the couch.
Is he not upset? He didn't seem upset that night at the laundromat, either, and that time was arguably worse since Izuku wasn't as close to Yamada then as he is now.
But that doesn't make this time right. So why is Yamada acting like it doesn't matter?
The voice hero leaves within the next fifteen minutes, promising to bring Izuku back an English book that he's assigning the class to read, and the entire time he doesn't say a word about what happened.
So does that mean it's really not a big deal?
Izuku starts to pace the house after eating some of the breakfast Aizawa made. It turns out that the man actually does know how to cook almost everything, he just chooses not to. And honestly? That's a mood.
Maybe he's overthinking things. Maybe he's making a big deal out of nothing. If Yamada truly had a problem with it he would've said something, or better yet stopped it from happening entirely. He didn't seem upset about it when Izuku woke up, but at the same time he could just be avoiding it to be polite.
Christ. Izuku hates this. He hates this uncertainty. Everything was going okay, but then Izuku just had to fuck it all up.
He has to distract himself. He has to do something, even if that something is thinking of random stuff that will make him fall further into his abyss of a mind.
Izuku huffs in frustration and scratches at the small scar on his jaw, muttering odd facts he's learned from Tsukauchi to himself. "Dumplings imply the existence of one large dumple."
Aizawa snorts from his place at the table, making Izuku blink in surprise. "That's nice, kid."
Dammit. Now he looks weird. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though, as this is just Aizawa. That man knows a lot about him, probably even more so than he even lets on, so Izuku isn't worried about acting like a fool in front of him. If it were Yamada, on the other hand, Izuku might be a little more worried and try to curb his unusualness.
But still. He's going to go insane if he just stands around for the fourth day in the row. This has to be bad for his health, he thinks, as he's a growing teenager. Shouldn't he be out robbing rich people and acting suspicious? Or maybe that's just Izuku in general, not so much other kids his age.
Maybe he should ask Aizawa again if he can go out. His question might not be well-received, but he should still try.
He stops his pacing and glances at the dining table. Sure enough, the underground hero is still sitting there, as he has been for the majority of the week. It's almost annoying how much he's there, even though it's not really his fault. He's always working, and Izuku understands that.
He slides into the opposite chair, ignoring Aizawa's suspicious glance as he picks up the textbook on the table and starts fiddling with it. Perhaps he should've figured out how to sweet-talk him before coming over here. Would Aizawa even believe him if Izuku started complimenting his hero work? Probably not.
Izuku clears his throat after a few minutes, voice coming out dry. "Aizawa, can I—?"
"No."
"What?" Izuku starts, dropping the textbook. It hits the table with a loud thump, but Izuku doesn't pay it any mind. He glares at Aizawa, who's currently staring into his laptop, typing away on the keyboard. "You don't even know what I was about to say!"
"I do know," he says. He doesn't bother looking at Izuku, not even as he speaks to him. "You were going to ask the same thing you've been asking this whole week, and the answer is still no."
Izuku creases his face, slamming his back against the dining room chair and digging his toes into the ground beneath him. Having spent the past few years living on his own, he isn't familiar with hearing the word no, so he doesn't appreciate hearing it from Aizawa.
It's not like Izuku has had to fight similar battles with his own father his whole childhood or anything. No, not at all.
The way his teacher is talking to him is insulting. It makes Izuku want to hack his ears off with an axe. Makes him want to throw an axe at him.
Aizawa and his stupid rules and fake concern for his safety makes him want to leap out the window just to prove to Aizawa he can survive the fall. He's healed, dammit! He's fine. His building being burned down doesn't suddenly make him incapable of being able to walk around the streets for an hour or two.
The man is lucky Izuku hasn't just said fuck it and tried to walk straight out the door yet. That's getting all the more tempting with each passing hour, actually. Would Aizawa fight him on it? Would he go so far as to try and physically stop him? Izuku doesn't know, which is why he kind of needs to find out.
But he hasn't found out yet. He hasn't tried to really run from the couple, and he also hasn't caused too much chaos during his stay here. No, he's done something worse: he's been good.
"That's a load of shit!" Izuku snaps, finally getting Aizawa's attention. The Erasure hero looks up from his laptop, but his expression remains dull, bored, and unimpressed.
"Watch it," he tells him flatly, pausing in his typing. "I told you not to cuss when the cats are around. They might get ideas."
Izuku crosses his arms and deepens his glare. Aizawa just stares back at him, blank-faced and calm, making Izuku slam his toes against the tile with even more resolve.
Jailor.
"Why can't I just go for a walk?" Izuku asks, cringing at his own voice, at the way it sounds like a whine.
That's part of the bullshit. That Aizawa makes him sound and feel like a child throwing a tantrum, when Izuku is actually fifteen—and an old fifteen at that. He's been taking care of himself before most kids knew how to pour milk into their cereal bowls.
He doesn't need Aizawa looking after him, which is exactly what he claims to be doing each time he tells him that dreaded word.
"Because you'll run the moment you step outside," his teacher says casually.
Well now that you said that I just fucking might.
"I won't. I just want to go out for a few minutes, I promise! I'm not gonna—"
"I said no, so drop it."
Izuku grits his teeth, stopping a few choice words from escaping his lips. Starting a fight won't get him any brownie points. "What if you go with me?"
Aizawa stares at him. Looks at him like he's stupid, and for a brief couple of seconds, Izuku wonders if Aizawa is as frustrated as he is, until he shoves the thought away. Aizawa is the jailor here. He doesn't have a right to be frustrated.
"What if Yamada goes with me?"
That would be better than having to deal with your stupid face. Yamada doesn't treat me like a toddler at least.
Aizawa lets out a breath and runs a hand down his face. For a moment Izuku thinks he's going to snap at him, and his heart-rate skyrockets at the thought, palms becoming clammy. But then the man softens his expression, or at least tries to. Izuku gives him an F+ for effort.
"Listen," the hero starts, sounding entirely done with the conversation. "It's been a rough few days for you. I get it. You're unhappy. But you know why I'm not allowed to let you out in public right now, so deal with it until I figure out a way to fix this."
Fix this. As if there's anything to fix at all. Izuku isn't a vase that needs to be taped back together, thanks, and this situation may be trashy for both parties, but it's still okay. There's no reason for anything right now to change, except maybe Izuku's own lack of freedom. But once he's better he's going to leave for good. So why is Aizawa acting like this is supposed to be something more permanent?
"I can take care of myself," Izuku scoffs. He kicks at a table leg with a foot. "If someone decides to come after me again I'll be fine. I don't need a bodyguard."
Aizawa hums and goes back to his typing. "So nearly kicking the bucket the other day and getting a pipe stuck in your side is taking care of yourself?"
The silence that follows is heavy, and Izuku snaps his jaw shut. Oh.
One for All jolts under his skin, as if pissed on his behalf. The man is right, but perhaps it was just a little harsh. At the same time, though, Izuku has always appreciated that brutal honesty of his. This time is no different.
But still, now Izuku can taste the ash in his throat from that night, can hear the ringing in his ears from when he'd desperately tried to hang onto those last threads of consciousness. He remembers the scalding heat coming closer and closer and being unable to move away to save himself.
Of course Aizawa would use that against him. He's the one who found him, after all. He found him in more ways than one.
"That's unfair," Izuku says quietly, looking away.
He gets a sigh in response. "Life is unfair."
And it's such a parent thing to say that Izuku suddenly feels that much more tempted to throw the textbook at him. No, his laptop would be a better target. Damaging that thing, or at least aiming to do so, is a definite death-wish. But even being murdered by a pro hero is better than sitting around and being bored.
"Doesn't mean you have to be," Izuku mutters.
Aizawa just goes back to ignoring him in favor of whatever's so important on his laptop, and Izuku looks out the window, quietly seething. Freedom is so close, just separated by a thin sheet of glass and one Eraserhead, whom he's only been able to escape from a couple of times.
Maybe it isn't so close after all. Just looks that way, like some sort of cruel illusion.
He gets up and goes to the kitchen when the clacking of Aizawa's keyboard becomes too much for him. With nothing better to do, Izuku starts to mess with the microwave. He's taken apart one of these before just to see what the inside looked like, so he knows he could do it again now. It wouldn't be too difficult to put it back together.
And what if he could strengthen it somehow? That sounds like the most fun he could ever have at the moment.
The toaster seems like a better idea, though. Simple yet complex. Izuku could figure out how to install a screen into it if he had the right parts on hand.
Ooh! Maybe he could work on a new AI and base it off AINA—kind of like a rebirth.
He's in the middle of writing his ideas down in his notebook, the pencil that Yamada had given him scratching away against the paper, when he feels his throat itch. He coughs, and he's only a little surprised when he pulls back to see red dots splattered on his arm.
The meds from the hospital aren't helping him where he actually needs the help. He's been getting used to them, so the symptoms of his sickness are coming back, and they're coming back hard. He needs his pills; the ones from his doctor at the Club. His remaining bottles became lost in the fire that night, so he doesn't have any left. The prescriptions from the hospital helps with his other issues, sure, but they're not doing much of anything about the hemoptysis.
And his ring isn't doing anything now either. It seems to only take the edge off since he's gotten used to it, which is exactly what All Might told him would happen, albeit for an entirely different circumstance.
Izuku feels queasy all of a sudden, a sharp wave of nausea overcoming him. If his ring is only helping to limit the power of his quirks now, what does he even need it for? He needs to practice with One for All if that's going to be the case from now on. He hasn't made any progress in trying to up the percentage he can use without the ring, which is frankly disappointing. He still doesn't have a good grip on One for All.
You're a cheater. Using a stupid suppressor to do all the work for you and mitigate all the damage. All Might didn't have to do that.
Izuku grinds his teeth, expression souring as he slides off his ring and swallows back the influx of copper at the back of his throat. He hasn't even called upon One for All lately, as he hasn't had much of a reason to, so that's the first step if he wants to improve it.
He powers up, and the red sparks that dance across his skin feel familiar and comforting. The slight heat the quirk gives off warms his body like a fluffy blanket, and he nearly sighs with relief.
If he can keep it going and just refrain from actually using it, perhaps that'll help in the long run. Lengthening his endurance is key, especially if he's going to try and focus his energy into one part of his body again. After he does that he can try messing with the percentage.
He honestly should've been doing this weeks ago, but the ring was just so easy to rely on. It was a simple and effective solution, and it seems now that the attack on him was the wake up call he needed.
"You've never told me the details of your quirk," Aizawa prompts, coming up behind him.
Izuku isn't surprised, as he'd heard his footsteps. His first thought is shouldn't you be working, but he bites his tongue. That would sound childish, and Izuku is anything but.
"It's just a strength enhancer," he grumbles, turning away. He has to be careful about how he words this. Aizawa is something of a walking lie detector himself. "It takes a lot of energy, so sometimes it's hard to control. Hence this."
He gestures vaguely with his sparking arms, and Aizawa hums, dipping his head as he takes a sip of his coffee. "You know, Hizashi had the same problem with his quirk."
That's the first time he's referred to Yamada by his first name around me. He usually uses Mic, like he does at school.
He frowns. "How? I know it was difficult to control it, but he never told me much else."
Now, what does surprise Izuku is when Aizawa actually sets down his mug and starts to answer his question in-depth. Apparently Yamada couldn't figure out how to control the volume of his quirk, even when just speaking normally, so there were many occasions of him accidentally screaming in a classmate's ear and causing a public disturbance.
Like Aizawa said, it's kind of similar to Izuku's situation with how he can't quite get a grip on the higher, more difficult percentages without losing control. But since Aizawa has known Yamada for a portion of his life and did end up graduating alongside him, perhaps he knows how the blond fixed that issue. Perhaps he could help Izuku with his own problem seeing as the situations are so similar.
And for the next half hour, Aizawa does just that.
He stands right beside him in the kitchen and works him through the steps and exercises that Yamada did to get used to his quirk's energy and potential. He gives Izuku plenty of analogies and ideas on how to master his control, and the boy is satisfied when, by the end of it, he can successfully charge up a little over twenty percent in his arm without the help of his ring—and without breaking anything!
Izuku is so stoked and eager to learn that he forgets about how upset he was at the man just a little bit before now.
But he's reminded of why he really should be just a few hours later, when he's sitting on the couch and playing with the cats, minding his own business up until Aizawa comes back from his sudden departure to his room with a tablet in hand.
He gives it to Izuku, who blinks at the words already on the screen. "Um, what is this?"
"It's a test of measurement," Aizawa deadpans, just reading the title off the tablet itself. "Principal Nezu wants you to take it."
And that's all he says before walking back to his seat at the dining table. He pulls out a few files from the stack in front of him and puts on his glasses once again, becoming oblivious to the world outside his work.
It's an IQ test, Izuku figures. That much is obvious. The first question is a simple one that asks him to identify the patterns between the pictures, and it's almost laughably easy.
But Izuku doesn't answer it immediately. He doesn't want to do this at all simply because it's Nezu who wants him to. The principal of UA is a rat, there's no doubt about it, and Izuku will be damned if he'll let a damn bastard rat know his intelligence and capabilities—no matter how curious the boy is himself about what his score would be.
He's never taken an IQ test before, but he certainly doesn't want to do it on Nezu's terms. He has no doubt that the rat is involved in this entire situation somehow.
But Izuku doesn't complain or outright refuse to do the test yet. That would be a pointless argument with Aizawa at this very moment. He begins to do it with little defiance, a manic grin on his face now.
He knows just the thing that'll piss the rat off the most.
The test itself is interesting, and honestly Izuku kind of enjoys completing it. After only an hour later Izuku is handing the tablet back over to Aizawa, shrugging at the raised brow he gets in response.
"That was fast," he says gruffly, almost suspiciously, and Izuku just chuckles to himself as he walks back over to the couch to resume playing with the cats.
Sue him, this is the most fun he's had in weeks.
Izuku tries very hard not to smile when Aizawa says his name in that specific tone of his just another hour later. Ah, Nezu must've already gotten the results and forwarded them back to the underground hero, which is why Aizawa sounds incredibly irritated.
"Yes?" Izuku says sweetly, the epitome of innocence.
"Why did you do this?"
It's pretty fucking obvious what he's referring to, but Izuku feels like being a little shit all of a sudden, so he just frowns, tilting his head at him. "Sorry, I don't know what you're talking about?"
"This." He holds up the tablet in his hand and zooms in on the screen, showing a large table and graph that has a ton of different categories. When Izuku still doesn't say anything, he huffs. "You failed the test, kid."
Interesting, the boy thinks.
"I thought it was a test of measurement. You can't fail something like that," Izuku points out.
"You can fail it when you get every single question wrong. Even this one." He swipes the screen a few times, coming back to the first one Izuku had answered. "This is elementary school level, Midoriya. A five-year-old could have gotten this one right."
Izuku shakes his head in mock shame. "In my defense, I'm having an off day today. And besides, I think that was actually the hardest question out of the entire test, so it's a little rude to imply that I'm stupid for not knowing it."
"Oh, fucking hell," Aizawa mutters to himself, obviously wishing he had gone to work today after all.
"Hey! That's a bad word! The cats might get ideas."
Aizawa folds his arms over his chest and stares down at him, lips pressed in a thin line. "Why, kid? Just why?"
Izuku flushes at the calculating look being leveled at him. Izuku's reason is stupid but one hundred percent reasonable, so the hero has no right to be staring at him like this. "Intelligence can't be accurately quantified. It would've been a waste of time."
"Midoriya."
"Okay!" Izuku says harshly, turning away with an annoyed expression. "I just don't want Principal Nezu to know what my scores are. He shouldn't know them."
There's a beat of silence, and then Aizawa sighs, this time much softer. "Okay. Why don't you want him to know?"
Is being a rat enough reason?
He doesn't say this, though, as he doubts Aizawa would be very happy with that answer. "He already knows too much. He—he's probably the reason I'm here right now anyway."
Aizawa doesn't answer right away, his thoughtful eyes still roaming over Izuku's face, which tells the boy all he needs to know.
After a few moments, the man unfolds his arms and starts to tap away again on the tablet, handing it back to Izuku wordlessly. He must see the question on the tip of Izuku's tongue, for he explains without being prompted. "It's a fresh test, and before you complain, I have an offer."
Offer? Izuku's stomach gives a painful jolt. Offers made by adults usually give way to nothing good.
The hero waits until he has Izuku's full attention before continuing. "If you do this test honestly this time, to the best of your ability, kid, I'll take you out on patrol next Friday."
Izuku blinks, the words not registering at first. He'll take him out on patrol? As in, Rabbit and Eraserhead?
Aizawa nods sharply, as if knowing exactly what he's thinking. "I promise. Do the test and I'll find a way to convince Nezu to let you go out as Rabbit with me."
Oh yes. It won't be hard to convince the rat that, Izuku thinks. Perhaps the principal wanted this to happen. His past research on the mammal would support this claim.
"Yes!" Izuku says hurriedly, eyes wide and sparkling with a light that wasn't there before. "I'll do it!"
This seems to surprise Aizawa just a little bit, as the man just stands there for a few seconds before letting out a relieved breath, reaching forward to pat Izuku's head twice before going back to his work.
Izuku is still reeling from the contact even when the hero sits back down.
Maybe a little test isn't so bad if it means he can go out as Rabbit. Next Friday is a little over a week away. It's a long wait, and Izuku honestly didn't think he would even be here for that long, but it's something.
As Izuku starts to work his way through the test yet again, this time a little slower so he can double and triple check his answers, Aizawa moves to the kitchen to get a snack. It's been hours since breakfast, and neither of them have had lunch yet.
"Hey, kid," Aizawa calls, "did you eat the last jelly pack?"
And Izuku doesn't know why exactly he does it, but he panics at the question. Both Yamada and Aizawa have stated multiple times that he can eat anything he wants here, that he doesn't have to ask permission. Izuku knows all this, so he'd eaten the last one in the box sometime just after breakfast.
He knew it was Aizawa's, but he just—he thought it would be okay. He thought they wouldn't even notice. Or at least wouldn't care that much.
Aizawa doesn't sound angry. He sounds more like he just wants an answer, but Izuku can't help it.
"No!" He blurts out, the tablet case cracking in his grip. He releases it immediately before he can accidentally break it.
His teacher gives him a blank look and slowly closes the fridge door. "Midoriya, I don't care if you did. It's not a big—"
"I didn't!" Izuku says, more defensive this time. "I swear I didn't!"
He winces even as he says it. He hates himself for lying, but what's the alternative? Telling the truth? Admitting that he did take it despite his gut having warned against doing so? Aizawa might be upset with him if he tells him that. But it doesn't look like that matters now, as Izuku can't seem to be able to fucking lie all of a sudden.
It's not like Aizawa can't see right through him.
So stupid. Why am I so pathetic? It's just—it's just a jelly pouch.
"Okay," Aizawa says after a short pause, voice reassuring even though it's obvious he doesn't believe the lie. "I was just wondering."
And Izuku understands why he asked the question, of course. The man needs to know when things run out so he knows when to go out and buy them again, but it's just the principle of it.
But lying to Aizawa over a jelly pouch? Of all things? Great. That's just fantastic; just another tally to add onto his long list of mistakes.
His ears burn, and he stares down hard at the tablet screen. He wants to apologize. He wants to take it back and say I was just kidding, it actually was me, haha, that was so stupid, but now it would just be awkward.
So he ignores the tense silence that he caused and goes back to working on the test, wondering how much he'd have to pay the devil to just drag him under the earth right then and make him disappear.
It's annoying, Katsuki thinks, how people don't like to tell him things. It's annoying how they keep him in the dark, especially in those circumstances where he should be the first to know about said things.
But what's even more annoying is when he's only told the bare minimum—and not even to his damn face, either. Katsuki has been informed of plenty of important circumstances and events through text and voicemail, which is kind of sickening.
How much effort does it take to just suck it up and tell someone the truth in person? It's not like Katsuki would kill someone for no reason.
Well. This time might be different, but still.
He has to admit that he's never had to deal with someone writing him an update on their health in the form of a crumpled up, obviously half-assed note.
Yeah, that's right. A fucking note.
When Katsuki was given the small slip from his dumb cockatoo of a teacher on the second day back, he had a hard time restraining himself from setting it on fire immediately after reading it. He's still very much tempted to blow it up, even after having a couple of days to cool down, but he manages to hold back. He knows it's important.
But that doesn't change what it is, and consequently what it represents. His not-friend can go fucking fuck himself. A damn note, really? It's better than nothing, sure, but still. Izuku didn't even explain anything in the message. It was more of a drunken ramble than anything.
The first line was literally: to my dear explosion lord.
And what the actual hell? Izuku missed a whole day of school without warning him beforehand, making Katsuki nearly have an inner meltdown during school on Monday, and then had the audacity to write him a fun little note? As if nothing was wrong?
He's gonna kill him. Katsuki is going to strangle him the next time he sees him, which will apparently be the start of next week. He's going to destroy him.
Izuku promised to explain exactly what happened to him soon, saying that he can't say anything too specific on the note because he's not in the clear yet. Whatever that means, it isn't good. Not with who might be monitoring him now, that is, and it's pretty obvious who that someone is.
He's waiting to talk with him face-to-face because it's safer that way, and also because he apparently doesn't have a phone anymore.
That's all Izuku had put in the note, and it left Katsuki seething. He can't write back, obviously, as that might jeopardize his friend's situation, so it's frustrating. It's also frustrating when the other idiots in class ask him if Izuku's alright, because apparently everyone knows that he's the closest to the missing boy.
Which just pisses him off even further, not only because Katsuki doesn't know, but also because they have no right to pry. Their questions usually lead to him yelling I wouldn't tell you even if I did, so fuck off! at them, which always earns himself a disappointed sigh from Present Mic for not at least saying it in English.
Katsuki is suddenly reminded of the Sports Festival and how he'd had his own quirk used against him. He remembers Izuku's palm on his skin, and then the feeling that he was dying. It only lasted a few seconds, but Katsuki knows exactly what happened during the last moments of their fight. It was that forced activation quirk, he's pretty sure. His control had been taken from him in that instant, and the resulting panic because of that made his subconscious ignite every part of his body by accident.
It's honestly a wonder he didn't die then.
He didn't want to accept first place. Izuku wasn't at his full potential even from the very start of the festival. He never is with how much he holds back. But Katsuki had taken it only because he knew Izuku would whine about it.
Katsuki remembers glancing at him when All Might was putting the medal over his head. He remembers seeing something in that sad expression of his. He looked at his friend and didn't see what he would normally see. The faint flicker that was always ever present in his eyes had disappeared. The kindness in them remained, but it was different somehow.
That look on Izuku's face was hauntingly familiar, and it sent shivers up Katsuki's spine. It was a look of guilt. A look of never-ending regret and apprehension.
He was going to leave then, wasn't he? That was the universal look of fight-or-flight, and Katsuki knows Izuku is more of a runner than a fighter when he isn't sure how things will work out.
And that's the thing. His friend is slipping away from him more and more with each passing day, and he doesn't understand why. He thought UA would make him happier. He thought things would be different, as naive as it sounds. Better.
But it seems that Izuku is just getting worse. He's going backwards. All of that progress Katsuki has tried to make with him, all of that steady build up—it's being torn down right now. He can feel it just by the tone of the note. The USJ attack must've been one of the blows to start this spiral.
He can still remember how it felt to carry his unconscious friend out of the shattered entrance of the training facility, black and red blood dripping onto his boots as he carried him to the medics. He can still remember how cold the raw panic coursing through him felt when he saw Izuku's state.
And Katsuki hasn't been the world's greatest friend. He knows that; the world knows that. But wherever his friend is right now, he hopes it'll help him. He hopes it won't be the breaking point.
The note was written in a code that Katsuki had honestly forgotten about. That familiar rushed yet neat handwriting, that code that they had both used when they were little, back from before—it hurts. It's a painful reminder of how much Katsuki has failed.
The blond boy walks down the dark streets, the black clouds above promising rain and despair. School just got out, and he shouldn't be alone right now. Izuku should be right there with him, walking home with him just because he feels like it, but he's not.
This may not be the green-haired boy's fault, but the principle remains. Izuku has been keeping Katsuki from being close to him lately, even though the explosive teen just wants to make sure he's fine. It—it feels like they're nearing the end of it.
God, Katsuki doesn't want that to be true. He doesn't want to lose his best friend. He's been showing Izuku everything that's bright, and every time he would ask about his health the boy would respond with I'm fine, Kacchan, really! You should worry about yourself first!
And he is, really. Katsuki is being so stupidly selfish towards him, because he doesn't want Izuku to be okay just for the boy's well-being, he wants him to be okay for himself. Izuku has to be okay because Katsuki still needs him. He can't lose him. Not yet, and not ever.
Don't let me go. I can't handle losing you again.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and his heart leaps in his throat. It turns out to just be a text from the hag, asking him what he wants for dinner. He stares at it for another few moments before leaving his mother on read.
It's Thursday, meaning Izuku will miss their regularly scheduled dinner completely instead of being fashionably late like all the other times. This fact is like a sledgehammer to the knees.
He gets another ping, this one being from the news outlet he follows. It's just another update on the attack the other day. The same keywords are there, and they make Katsuki scowl.
Stain. Ingenium. Paralyzed. Near-death.
Hero killer.
Katsuki looks up at the sky before arriving at his house, knowing that somewhere, wherever the damn hobo ninja is keeping him, Izuku might be looking up at it as well.
He hopes his friend isn't as lonely as he surely feels.
The fifth day starts out as the best day yet.
Izuku sasses at Aizawa every second he can spare, and the man responds back in kind every time. The friendly banter is something simple and familiar that Izuku can focus on, because if Aizawa isn't actually getting upset that means that everything's okay. They're okay. He's not as pissed at the man as before, but he's still itching to leave.
It's okay, but only for a while. Honestly, he should've known something like this would happen.
Sometimes fate does swing in his favor, but he knows that this particular event will still bite him in the ass somehow, as nothing is ever solely good for him.
And it's an accident, the way it happens. Really, Izuku wasn't supposed to find out, but alas. Some things just happen for a reason.
Izuku is messing with the papers spread out on the dining room table just to annoy Aizawa a little bit and fulfill his daily quota, and he eventually makes the man give in and hand him the tablet from the day before, being told to shoo.
A fair trade, if Izuku says so himself. That's the most freedom he's been given so far, so that isn't the problem.
The problem is that Missy must've been watching him mess with the papers and be an overall pain in the ass, as it's when Izuku is about to send an ominous message to Principal Nezu from Aizawa's email (just to see how he'll respond) that Missy starts messing with the folders on the table as well. Aizawa looks to have gone into the kitchen for something, so Izuku tuts at her—but only because she looks to be going for the laptop.
Yamada isn't here to help either, as he had to go in to work at the studio. He won't be back until late.
In a flurry of black and white, Missy swishes her tail and leaps back off the table, sending all the papers and folders fluttering to the floor.
Izuku immediately curses to himself and gets to his feet to pick it all up. Normally he wouldn't help with something like this, but Missy is his cat. She acts just like Izuku sometimes, so it's only fair he helps out. He knows people can barely handle one of him, so another?
Aizawa approaches quickly from the kitchen as Izuku crouches down and stacks the papers. "Hey, kid, don't—"
But his warning comes too late. Izuku picks up one of the documents and turns it over, only to find out that it's actually a picture—and a gory one at that. He freezes, blood turning to ice.
The photo shows a person dressed up in all gray, eyes wide and milky as they lay, without life, on the roof of a building somewhere. The camera angle clearly shows the huge slice across the figure's stomach and abdomen, and Izuku gets the sudden urge to throw up when he spots some organs and intestines halfway out of the body.
Holy... what the fuck is this?
He quickly picks up another one, heart pounding loudly in his ears. This photo shows something similar, but this time the slice goes diagonal across the chest and stops at the hip. There's another cut right around the throat, and that one looks a little deeper, which means—
This person must've drowned in their own blood.
Izuku's eyes travel lower, and he lets out a silent gasp. The paper has a caption that reads Image: 13/24.
This is only one of twenty-four? But that's how many were... that's how...
He sees Aizawa moving towards him at the last second, but he's still not fast enough to dodge the hands of the underground hero. The papers are snatched out of his grip, as if that could erase what Izuku's already seen.
No, the damage has already been done.
"What was that?" Izuku asks. He feels cold all of a sudden. Numb.
Aizawa sounds annoyed. Flustered, almost, which never happens. "That was confidential, Midoriya. You can't just touch—"
"Twenty-four," he repeats, his voice a shocked whisper when he cuts Aizawa off. "That paper said there's twenty-four of these in total. Twenty-four bodies. Are those... are those the people that attacked me?" Izuku gets more urgent at the lack of an immediate reply. He realizes that it's a far stretch, that the number 24 can mean anything, really, but he just can't see any other possible alternative. It would make sense. Too much sense. The pictures he saw showed the bodies on top of a roof—Izuku has been on enough to recognize the kind of gravel and concrete they were on.
So they were obviously on a building before they died. No, before they were...
"Were they murdered?"
Izuku can't even hear Aizawa's reply, as his mind is currently screaming at him now. Fuck. He thought they disappeared. He thought they were warped out of there, not whatever this is!
Their quirks were flickering out because they were dying, not being teleported away. They were being brutally murdered at the same time that Izuku was trying to fight for his life. The mere thought has him teetering on his feet.
"Kid." Aizawa reaches for him again, but Izuku jerks away.
"No! Why did you—?" His voice cracks, and he tells himself it's just because of his body recovering and not because of the reality being dropped around him. "Why didn't you tell me this?"
Did you not trust me enough for that? What did you think I was going to do?
"Hey, calm down. It wasn't the right time. I was waiting until—"
"Until what?" Izuku asks, bordering on hysterics now. The dining room is too sharp, too real. His head feels like someone is taking a hammer to it. Like his insides are being cracked open and put on display for everyone to see. "It's been almost a week since then! Have you known about this the entire time?"
But even as Izuku asks this, he thinks he already knows the answer. Aizawa saved him that night. There's a high chance he would've seen those bodies if he went in from the top of the building.
So he must've been the first to know.
Izuku can tell just by the man's grimace that his thinking is correct, and that's—that's scary. He doesn't even know what to say right now, and the fact that Aizawa isn't saying anything either makes him want to scream.
The boy shakes his head vigorously, as if to clear his mind, and picks up Missy and the discarded tablet almost as an afterthought. He needs out of this room and far from this hero's presence. He can't look at the pictures anymore, he can't look at Aizawa right now.
He just needs a second alone so he can make sense of all this. He's not used to having these kinds of moments around others. He's used to being alone. He's used to breaking alone. He was allowed to act however he liked in the privacy of his own apartment. His own building.
How should he act here?
"Midoriya, hold on a minute, kid. Let me—"
Izuku ignores him and practically flees to the guest room, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary just after Sushi darts in as well. He doesn't respond to any of the man's calls and instead slides down the door of his room—not his room, he corrects, the guest room—before hiding his face in his knees.
His hands are shaking. Everything is shaking. He can barely breathe through the sudden tightness in his throat.
One of his palms jerks up and pulls one of his pillows toward him, and he clutches it like it's a life jacket.
There's something bubbling up under his skin, over his skin, around him, and he thinks that it could be anger or even confusion, but he's well familiar with those, and this doesn't feel quite like that. His eyebrows furrow, his grip tightening on the pillow covering his face as he just tries to form some kind of rational thought.
Dead. Twenty-four. Gone. Just like that.
He recognizes those cuts. Those slices on the person's body. There was a pattern to it. God, he knows what this means but can't go any further into that thinking. A knife is being jabbed repeatedly into the soft part of his brain, carving out some of the most important parts, and he can't stop it.
Has this happened before? He can't remember, but he's sure it's never been as bad as this. Not even when he over-drank some of that extra strong alcohol that night.
And that thought is frightening. He doesn't even know what to do. There's nothing for him to do.
Izuku sits there, curled up in the smallest ball he can, fingers gripping the pillow so tight his knuckles are probably white. He tries to steady his breathing, as he feels like he's hyperventilating, and god he knows that's not good, but he's not even in the right state of mind to put an actual end to it. What did Kuro always say about this? About how to stop yourself from breathing too much too quickly? There was a little rhyme he taught Izuku, but he can't remember it now.
It's been years since then. And what a thought that is, huh? It's been years since he's been away from his caregiver.
His heart is still going a hundred miles an hour, and dammit Izuku can't stop the fucking trembling!
The world is too big and too small all at the same time, and the weight of the current situation has his chest constricting, now making it hard to even drag in breaths. He was breathing too much before and now he can't even suck in any air at all.
The smoke did this to him in that burning building. That, he can remember.
Blades so sharp they could cut through multiple layers of armor and then skin. The speed to slice not once, not twice, but three times before being countered.
Where has Izuku seen that before?
A paw touches his skin, and Izuku jerks, red sparks flying off his body. Missy meows in retaliation and jumps away, now sitting on the edge of his bed with Sushi and watching him.
"Stay!" He says as best as he can, though it comes out rough and garbled anyway. He stutters over the word a few more times before having to give up, and he shoves his face back into the now soaked pillow. He's sweating bullets even though he feels so cold.
The chill in his room is like needles pricking at him from every angle. His ass is going numb from sitting so long, but he doesn't even register it.
A few more moments pass and he can barely make sense of anything around him. The cats and the chill and the not-his room slip away, like a TV channel being turned. He feels stuck in a sort of glass box that he can't break through. He can see the other side, he knows what's beyond the other side—but he just can't reach it.
And maybe the harsh truth is that he feels safer inside this glass box. He just wishes it wouldn't make him feel as alone as this.
Because really he's never felt this inherently bad before. There have been other moments like this, he thinks, but this is different. Worse. More crushing. Something is crushing him. He would be crying right now if his mind would let him. His control is slipping, and he hates it. He hates it so much.
Instead of any more words, all Izuku sees in his mind are images. Memories he's buried for a couple years now. More for peace of mind than anything. He's buried them to tame his guilt.
Another stab at his brain. This one cracks at his skull. Opening it like someone would an oyster.
The shadows around him darken. They dance on his walls and make him realize just how much the room is closing in on him. There's something there waiting for him. Someone. There's a breath on the shell of his ear. It's his, right? No. Maybe. He can't tell.
His glass box is getting tighter. It's pressing against him and going to break. He puts his hands up to stop it from going any more in and squeezes his eyes tight. The tablet he threw to his left lights up with a notification, but to him it just looks like a camera flash. A doctor's light.
Stop.
An unfamiliar voice cuts through the fog. It sounds like it's right there, but there's no one in front of him.
One for All is a live wire inside him. His palms are burning. Itching.
Steady now.
Another breath at his other ear. The pressure of the glass box being pushed against him decreases. The box is being... pushed away. He's just sitting there, contained. In a thankfully motionless, small area. And he waits.
Air is still hard to come by, so he holds it for as long as he can before forcing himself to drag some more in after exhaling. The seconds between breaths calm the sparking of One for All. He tries to occupy himself by thinking of the cats, of Missy and Sushi—who are both somewhere in this room, he just can't make himself move to see them—and All Might and everyone else, but those thoughts are sucked away almost as quickly as they had come, like a vacuum sucking up all the debris. It's leaving him with too much, not enough.
Yet, even in all this, Izuku is quiet. There are no tears or cries or anything of the sort, just forced breathing and deep-rooted fear and cold, why am I still cold? Sweat sticks to his curls and plasters them to his forehead, and another shudder wracks through him when the voices leave him.
He's not back here yet. He doesn't think he's truly in this room or apartment or even on this planet. Not quite. This is more of fabricated reality that he's been thrown in.
And what a sensation that is, to not be anywhere but in your own mind-created violence.
After what feels like hours but what could've only been fifteen minutes, Izuku slowly starts to come back to himself. An anchor has been tied to his ankles so he wouldn't float off into the sky. But now it's weighing him down too much.
He sucks in some steady breaths as Sushi and Missy rub themselves all over him in support, and he has to stop himself from pushing them away again because dammit he doesn't want that right now. He can't handle that. The touch feels wrong. Eventually, though, his heart stops trying to jump out of his ribcage, and the world slowly comes back into focus.
The shadows aren't there, he assures himself. They're gone now.
He's still shaking, but he chalks it up to how cold it is in this room. Aizawa must've stopped calling for him a long time ago, as Izuku can't hear him anymore.
He can't decide if that's a good or bad thing.
Izuku needs to distract himself now. That seems to be the only thing he's been doing these past few days. There's nothing else to do, to be fair.
He just needs some control, that's all. The sharp pains in his chest disagree with that statement, but that's too bad.
After at least another hour and a half of just lying there and trying to connect back with reality, the boy reaches for the tablet he'd thrown off to the side, his trembling fingers unlocking it and opening the web. He doesn't feel up to messing with Nezu anymore. Maybe he should surf some of the heroes and villains' forums, just to catch up on his analyses, just to stop himself from thinking about whatever the fuck happened in the dining room.
To stop thinking of him.
He's exhausted, and he actually wants to sleep, but he can't. He knows that nothing good would come of it.
It's kind of ironic, though, that the first article Izuku sees has him shutting off the tablet and setting it back on the ground. Having already drained his storage of emotions for the day, he can do nothing but laugh drily at the words and pictures he'd just seen.
He shouldn't be surprised at all anymore. Just from the nature of the wounds on those bodies, Izuku can tell who they were given by.
'Ingenium stepping down! Hero Killer: Stain strikes again!'
That's Iida's brother, and Izuku remembers his friend (can he even call him his friend with how shitty Izuku has been lately?) leaving before the end of the Sports Festival. The timestamps match up, so this is definitely real. He knows that if he'd searched a little more or maybe just browsed through the news channels on the TV, he would've heard about it.
The fact that neither Aizawa nor Yamada told him about this is telling.
And then another realization, this one much darker: oh, he's started up again.
He should've realized his old mentor would continue where he left off when that group started following him, especially when Stain left him that note that night on his desk. Izuku should've realized that simply ignoring things wouldn't make it all go away forever.
Running wouldn't either. He's learned that lesson.
Fuck. This is all Izuku's fault. So many things could have been prevented if he had only just been better.
He'll have to ask Yamada how Iida is when he comes back. But does he even deserve to inquire about that? Izuku has no right to, does he? Not with how he's involved, that's for sure.
The boy hugs the pillow at the thought and forces himself to get up on the bed. He's been on the ground for far too long.
(And if it takes four minutes for him to even build up the strength to stand up and make it to the bed, nobody will ever know.)
He's long since given up on entertaining himself with the tablet. He doesn't want to go on the web and see it all over again. He doesn't want to see his old mentor's face, he doesn't want to see those blinding white eyes, and damn it all, he doesn't want to even be reminded of that piece of his past.
It wasn't even that long ago, and that's what hurts. He's been trying to run from that part of himself, ashamed and entirely frantic. But it's as if his subconscious longs to simultaneously erase his past and run to it; to reach it before anyone else can. To reach it so he won't be hurt again.
I did this.
A shadow falls under the crack between the door and the fluffy carpet, and Izuku clutches the pillow tighter as two soft knocks sound out. Aizawa's voice comes from the other side, quiet and almost hesitant. The change from before has Izuku surprised.
"Kid? I made dinner."
Izuku doesn't answer. This is obviously an olive branch, but he can't even respond because he doesn't know what he could say without making everything worse. He doesn't think he could speak even if he wanted to. Missy jumps up and sprawls out right next to him, giving Izuku an excuse to focus on something other than the tightness in his chest when he begins to pet her.
There's another knock. "Midoriya?"
"'M not hungry," he says, just loud enough for him to hear. The words come out rough with unuse. Sushi pushes his head into Izuku's other hand, as if to provide encouragement, and rumbles.
Aizawa's voice doesn't change at all when he replies. "You're gonna have to eat eventually. You didn't have anything for lunch."
The boy rolls over onto his back, causing the two cats to get up and sprawl across his stomach and chest. He doesn't like the way the hero is acting like everything's fine now.
There's a beat of silence, and then a soft, quiet sigh. It's more of an outtake of breath than anything else, but still. "We really need to talk, kid."
Well, that would've been amazing say, Izuku doesn't know, a week ago? Another jab, and Izuku pushes away those petty thoughts. Geez. When did Izuku start acting so much like his father?
Talk later? He wants to say, a proposal, but his mouth can't even form the words right now. Not anymore. He missed his chance.
Aizawa waits another ten seconds before speaking again. Izuku can hear the forced calm in his voice. "Dinner will be in the microwave if you change your mind."
Izuku concentrates on the feeling of Aizawa's quirk moving away, and the moment he feels the man back in the kitchen he sits up, another wave of dizziness overcoming him.
He's sorry, but what little pride Izuku has just won't let his teacher see him like this. Especially not after Izuku so childishly ran off and hid in the safety of the guest room.
Only toddlers do that.
He knows, deep down, what he needs to do. It's pretty obvious.
Aizawa was just being nice to him yesterday and today; he was joking around and listening to the boy's ramblings, acting as if he actually understood him and his feelings—even promising to take him out on patrol despite any potential legal consequences!
He was distracting him. He was keeping him in the dark and being purposefully vague so Izuku would be as ignorant as possible, for he knew what would happen if the boy knew the truth. He knew what Izuku would do. And now, with those gruesome photos ingrained in his mind and appearing on the walls every time he blinks, Izuku thinks that maybe, just maybe he would've been better off not knowing after all.
"That will just make it harder to track them later. I've gotta stop them from trying to hurt anyone else."
A sudden, weird look. "Track them?"
Aizawa knew. He knew the truth then and didn't say a damn thing when Izuku mentioned them being alive. He kept it a secret by not saying anything at all, and that is absolute horseshit.
That stupid fucking bastard. Izuku hates him. He hates him.
Is he not privy to his own business? Is he not worth someone taking a little bit of time out of their day to tell him the truth? Izuku is never one to point fingers, and he's also never one to judge without knowing the full story, but this specific circumstance? This little event?
This might prove to be one of the only exceptions.
For what seems like the fifth time today, Izuku starts to pace, his steps awkward and shaky. His eyes dart around the dark room, nerves dancing all over the place.
A week. It's been almost a week since the incident, give or take a couple of days, and that's far too long. He's been relaxing here in this nice and welcoming not-home, eating food that he doesn't deserve and wearing clothes that don't belong to him—all while his old mentor is out killing innocent people once again. Paralyzing innocent people. And sure, maybe those twenty-four heroes and villains weren't exactly innocent, but it doesn't matter. They were killed because they went after Izuku, and who could blame them for that? It's not like Izuku is anyone important. He's the only outlier; they can go after him and blow up his fucking building for all he cares, but the line is drawn when they hunt down other people.
Stain did it to protect him. He killed for him, which means it's Izuku's own fault that they're dead. He might as well have been the one holding those dreadful blades.
Shaking hands reach up and grasp at uneven hair, pulling at bottle-green strands. Fuck. Why? Why is it always him?
Izuku chokes on something warm and immediately twists to cough it out into the trashcan next to his bed. Red spots dot the bloodied tissues already in there, and he curses to himself. Emotions don't mix well with a sickness fueled by a petty quirk.
He stands there, half bent over the bin, eyes closed as more sweat trickles down his face and drips onto the floor. Everything is once again too much but not enough. It'll never be enough, he thinks.
And in a smaller voice, starved by a white-hot heat, a pouring stream of indifference and petulance, there's another thought: might as well keep going if you can't run. Rule over what you already have. Reinforce. Keep the people safe.
He uses his sleeve to wipe at his mouth as he straightens up. There's something demanding his attention at the corner of his eye, and his brow furrows when he turns to see what it is: a navy blue hoodie. It's hanging on the handle of the door, and Izuku glares at it. There's a pair of matching sweatpants in one of the drawers in the dresser, he knows. Yamada gave it to him after finding it in the lost and found bin at school.
What if I...?
Izuku grinds his teeth in frustration. He doesn't know why he's thinking about this all of a sudden, but now that the pieces are all there, egging him on, he knows that this is what he needs to do.
He forces himself not to think too much as he pulls on both items, making sure to fasten the slightly-baggy clothes so they won't fall off. He doesn't have his costume anymore, so this will have to do. The only other items he could wear are black, which honestly isn't the best option here. Black clothes stand out in all but the darkest of shadows, and that's hard to come by when you live in a city. Even at night, there's always a light to shine on you. Navy blue is more likely to fit your surroundings when you're sneaking around.
And is that what he's going to do? Sneak around like some sort of rebellious teenager who's angry at their parents? Is this what he's come to? He's not going to run for good. Not now, at least. That would be counterproductive and stupid. Izuku just needs out. He needs some freedom, if only a taste of it.
Especially after what just happened.
Besides. He needs some more of his medicine from the club doctor anyway, right? Yeah. He can tell himself that that's why he's doing this.
He doesn't have a mask, but that can easily be fixed by tying up a spare shirt around his face. And isn't that weird? He never used to just have spare things sitting around at his disposal. He never used to have anything extra before this.
Hm. What are the chances that Aizawa has some contacts? He's a master at espionage and underground fieldwork, so the man must have some of that stuff around here. But the question is how Izuku will get it.
He can't just ask. That would be a suspicious thing to do. He might have a few pairs in the medicine cabinet, or perhaps in his room, but Izuku can't risk being seen around the house now. His last interaction with the man didn't end very well, and he knows Aizawa will probably want to talk to him about it once he sees him moving about—something that Izuku is not ready for. He's still too pissed and shaken up from whatever that was earlier.
Is he being petty? Yes. Is he being a stupid, childish teenager? Also yes. But that doesn't mean his treatment of the man is completely uncalled for.
Aizawa is being annoying solely because he's trying to be nice. He hasn't done anything to provoke Izuku or make him feel like he doesn't belong, and yet here the boy is, boiling with hate.
He's shown Izuku a lot of trust recently. He's given him a tablet with no restrictions, he's turned his back to him without thought or hesitation, he's let Izuku annoy him and take apart most of the kitchen appliances four times over, and he also hasn't pressed too much about what Izuku is hiding in his notebook and envelope. So Aizawa is trying, at least.
But at the same time he's also shown Izuku the least amount of trust, which is why he hates him. He's being hypocritical.
"I don't trust your ability to know what's best for yourself."
Yeah, Izuku didn't forget about that stupid comment. If there's one thing Aizawa Shouta has, it's the audacity for sure.
It doesn't make sense, is the thing. Aizawa is disguising his own need for control by acting as if he actually cares about his student's health. As if he's truly worried and wants Izuku to get better, when in reality he just wants the boy where he can see him.
That's gotta be the only reason, Izuku thinks, because why else would Aizawa trust him enough to give him a tablet and turn his back to him, only to keep him locked up anyway? He's trying to create an illusion of trust. He's giving Izuku a false sense of security.
That's how they always get you. They entice you with small rewards and gifts just so you can stay right where they want you to. It's as they always say, Izuku guesses: the best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure they never know they're in a prison.
Adults do it all the time, sometimes even without realizing it, and Izuku hates that Aizawa has turned out to be just the same. He'd been hoping for the longest time that he wouldn't be, but in the end, when has the universe ever swayed in his favor? He doesn't know why he even bothered thinking he could have this one thing.
Hell, what makes it worse is that Aizawa has done the dumbest thing possible in his attempt to get Izuku to trust him more—he's gone to sleep every night despite knowing that Izuku could use that time to escape. He doesn't even lock Izuku's door. The locks on Izuku's window? They're not for him. He knows Aizawa isn't dumb enough to think those cheap locks would stop him, so it's obvious those locks are just for criminals trying to come in.
It seems as though Aizawa expects him to just not go out at night. As if seeing that he's been given this choice—this small sliver of trust—will suddenly make Izuku compliant.
And that might've been true just a couple of hours ago, but now the tides have shifted. Izuku is going to prove him wrong.
Deciding that he can do without contacts, as his green eyes are bright enough to be mistaken for fakes anyway, Izuku tries to think about what he should do. Without his support weapons he knows he'll have a harder time on patrol, so he'll have to prepare for that. But there is a way to get some more weapons, he remembers. The club has a sort of community chest in the back that not many know about, so he can grab some stuff there since he's planning to get his medicine.
Yes. That... that sounds good. A set-in-stone plan that he can follow without fail. He's used to this. He's used to following his own orders.
The multiple locks on the window prove useless against the power of One for All. Izuku pops them off easily after holding a blanket up to the area to muffle the sound, and he slowly inches up the glass. It's not too loud, so he should be fine. This should go off without a hitch.
So why is he hesitating?
The nightly breeze ruffles his hair and caresses his face when the window slides up all the way. The smell of the city is intoxicating, and Izuku feels his body tense up in mild excitement. He's been waiting to get out of here.
But still, Izuku can't help but pause with his hands on the windowsill. He can fit through; that's not the problem. The problem is that he doesn't know if this is a good idea now that he's actually about to do it.
What will Aizawa think?
Just do it. He won't find out.
But what if he does? What will he do then? Will his teacher be pissed and tighten the slack on his metaphorical leash even further, or will he just hand him off to someone else and wipe his hands clean?
Why do you care so much about what he thinks? Isn't the entire point of this to prove to yourself that you don't have to listen to him?
Well, yeah, but just because Izuku kind of hates the man right now doesn't mean he's lost his respect for him. Aizawa is still very much his idol, and he does care for what he has to say. And he's—he's never been angry at Izuku before, which is a very good thing, so why is he willing to risk changing that? Is he really willing to risk what little freedom he has now just to test the boundaries?
Don't be a wuss. The people need you, don't they? Or are you just lying to yourself and saying you're important when you're really not at all?
His chest tightens at the admission. He doesn't know who's talking right now. It could be himself or it could be an entirely different person—he wouldn't know.
It's just for a few hours. What's the worst that can happen? He's doing it for himself. It's not like he wants Aizawa to find out. And besides, Yamada has no reason to check his room once he comes back from the studio, so Izuku is fine. Better than fine. He's a wanted vigilante, for fuck's sake. He can handle this.
You say that and yet you're trembling like a leaf.
Izuku grits his teeth against the cold and waits, one half of his body in the window and the other half out. This is what normal teenagers do after an argument, right? Sneak out of the house to go fight crime with a variety of powerful quirks under their belt? Yeah. Sounds about right.
He remembers the newspaper Aizawa had thrown away this morning. He remembers seeing his masked face on the front page with bold words accompanying the profile: Vigilante Missing for Days? The End of Rabbit!
It's only fitting that the people have noticed his disappearance. He's never taken a full week off before. The last time he did that was when he got shot with that hollow point bullet, and even then he had made sure to be seen briefly once every day to keep up the act. He didn't patrol on those days, but still. All the people needed was a brief glimpse to think he was out and about.
Crime rate will rise if I'm not out there tonight. It's already been too long.
Something claws at his sweatpants, and Izuku looks down to see Missy hissing at him. Her fur is fluffed up, her ears flat against her head, making the boy frown at her. "Don't look at me like that! I am literally so far from being in the wrong this time, so keep the disapproval to yourself."
Missy just hisses at him again, retracting her claws to leap up onto the bed for a better vantage point. She crouches down, and Izuku only just has time to twist his body to catch her before she can leap straight out the window.
"Nope! It's too dangerous to come with me. Stay." He throws her back into the room, leveling her with one last glare before glancing at Sushi, who's been watching the scene quietly with unimpressed eyes. "You both better not snitch on me or else you're losing your petting rights for a day."
And with that, he swings his other leg through the window and drops from the sixth floor, landing quietly on his feet with his heart thumping in his chest. This feeling is exhilarating. After nearly a week of being stuck in that stupid prison, the adrenaline thrumming through his veins feels like a drug that he just can't get enough of. It's what he's been craving so badly for days now, and he can't help but laugh quietly to himself as he springs up onto a few buildings further down the road, feeling the wind whip at his face as he runs.
His quirks are awake now. They're not as dull anymore. They feel stronger, more powerful. The difference is huge, and Izuku moves faster through the air, testing out what he's capable of. It seems that all this medication and resting has done some good—he's healthier than he's ever been. His sickness may be worsening, sure, but everything else? It's all making him feel so alive.
Extract purrs in his mind, all too happy to finally be used this selfishly again. He extends his senses, almost tripping over his own two feet at the sudden sensation of so many quirks and powers bubbling around him, teasing him. His fingers twitch on their own accord, and Izuku's smile slips from his face.
Oh. Of course this would be the case. He should've expected this to happen. His body and mind have gotten stronger, and now that his quirks have as well, he has some catching up to do.
Izuku breathes in the smell of fresh air right before taking a dive off of a larger building, the city lights whizzing past him in a blur of color and familiarity. This feels right. It feels normal. Out of everything that's happened in the past few days, Izuku knows that this is the one thing he can control for sure. No one else has a say in what he does. Not when he's out here.
He can start catching up on what he's missed by doing what he was born to do. What he was made to do.
And so Izuku darts through the shadowed city and prepares for a fight.