Chapter Text
The lights from the police station illuminated the sidewalk outside. Bright fluorescents painted the street an eerie blue that looked like something out of a horror movie. The people that strolled past the station stuck a little closer to the station's doors, drifting away as they passed the buildings it was nestled between. It existed as a beacon of safety amongst the unsafe city streets.
Izuku watched the station. He knew he probably looked strange. A kid with a backpack staring down at the police station with grim determination. If passersby looked closer, they might see his split lip and the bruise blossoming under his eye. They might find a starburst burn curling up his neck, just barely concealed by his bright, obnoxious All Might hoodie.
If they looked closer, they might think that the boy intended to file an abuse or assault case.
Izuku was stupid but he wasn't stupid enough to think that would work. The moment his quirk status came to light, any case he filed would be subtly dropped. Discrimination, Izuku knew, came in angry altercations and quiet negligence.
Besides, Izuku wasn’t there for himself.
Not anymore.
Izuku pulled his hood up a little further, trying to drown his green curls in yellow fabric. Green hair was distinctive, a fact that wouldn't help him now but would certainly help him later. When they needed to identify him. He pulled up the surgical mask on his face.
He crossed the street.
No one paid him any mind as he approached the next detective entering the building. The man himself looked up from the file in his hand at Izuku’s approach, eyebrows furrowed. He looked like his picture on the police database. Unassuming and normal.
Izuku held out a package, a simple box without any labels, taped closed. "It's safe," he said, trying to make his voice sound as deep and gravelly as possible. As unidentifiable as possible.
Tsukauchi blinked at Izuku as the kid shoved the package into his arms. He knew Izuku's words were the truth. As far as Izuku knew, at least, the package was safe.
"What is this, kid?" Tsukauchi reached for Izuku.
Izuku turned and sprinted away.
The detective gave a small chase but juggling the package and his file and chasing the kid became too much of a challenge. Izuku watched from a nearby fire escape as the detective paused in the middle of the empty sidewalk. Tsukauchi stared down at the package, heavy in his hands.
Izuku toed off his shoes, tucking the note under it neatly. It was simple, short, signed with his name. He wrote it weeks ago, when he found the spider lilies on his desk. When he had to dig through dozens of articles to get the girl’s name, seeing only the description of Quirkless over and over and over again. Her name was Yoshiko Sasaki. Not “Quirkless Girl”. Izuku knew he would be relegated to “Quirkless Boy” or “Quirkless Middle Schooler”. He knew that.
There was another similar letter stuck to the refrigerator at home. He doubted his mom would see it before the police got to her. If the police got to her. He'd wanted to write one for Kacchan but he couldn't think of any way to get it to him after the fact. Any way to get it to him without alerting him to his plans. Not that he planned for it to be today.
No, circumstances had expedited his plans.
Izuku strayed closer to the barrier, grasping the steel with shaky hands. Below, the city twinkled, always moving and alive. Oblivious to the boy at the top of the tower.
The tower All Might had left Izuku on the day before.
Izuku choked down a gasp. Frantic hands tore at his All Might hoodie as he yanked it off and threw it onto the roof. He stared down at it with a heaving chest, eyes burning, lungs burning, everything burning.
Why?
The question rattled around in Izuku’s head as it had since that day when he was four. Since the day his father packed up all of his belongings and disappeared into the night. Three little letters. One little word.
Why him?
What terrible thing did Izuku do in a past life to deserve this? To deserve being a Quirkless person in a world that hated his kind? Did he do something in this life to deserve this?
Izuku tried so hard to be good. To be a good son. A good friend. A good student. He wanted to be good. He wanted to do good. Be a hero.
But everyone was right. Kacchan was right. And Mom. And his teachers and his classmates and- And All Might was right too. Izuku was too stupid and useless and worthless.
He couldn’t be a hero.
He could barely be a person.
Izuku didn’t realize he was crying until the sobs screamed out of him. Until he was shaking and wailing. His legs gave out and he sunk to the ground, face pressed into the steel barrier. Izuku cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, his tears run dry and his sobs crushed into dry gasps for air. He cried until the panic and fear and anger and grief ebbed away. Until he was empty.
It would be quick.
He would be flying for only a moment and then he would be nothing. It’s not like he was ever anything to begin with.
He hoped that the police found his notebooks useful. Maybe pass them on to the Pros and show them their weak points so they could cover them. Probably not. They were probably nothing more than the useless, dumb scribblings of a fanatic.
But at least he tried, right?
Izuku shoved his bag to the side, next to his shoes. He lined them up neatly. His mom paid good money for them after all. She probably couldn’t return them but maybe they could go to someone that actually needed them. She could sell his cell phone at least.
Izuku sniffled, wiping the tears from his face. He pulled himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders. He breathed out slowly, swinging a leg over the barrier. The healing burns on his torso ached with the exertion.
His body ached like it always did but some part of him felt lighter. He pulled his other leg over, leaning back against the railing. Wind tugged at his hair, drying the last sparse tears. Izuku smiled.
Soon, it would be over.
He hoped his next life would be better.
“It’s a pretty long fall.”
Izuku’s head snapped around. His vision swam for a moment before it refocused on the figure balanced on the railing next him. Dressed in all black, shadowed against the harsh lights of the surrounding buildings. Izuku squinted.
His heart jumped into his throat and he struggled to swallow it down.
Eraserhead stared at Izuku, eyebrow raised. “What are you doing up here, kid?” he asked, sounding bored with the whole situation.
Izuku tightened his grip on the railing, looking at street below. He looked back at Eraserhead. “Stargazing?” he managed to squeak out.
Eraserhead’s eyes tilted toward the sky with a contemplative hum. “On a cloudy night? Halfway over the safety barrier?”
Heat burned in Izuku’s cheeks. He turned away with a nervous smile. “Yeah, not my best excuse.”
“Let’s brainstorm some better ones then,” Eraserhead said. “On the other side of the railing.”
Izuku could feel tears prickling at his eyes again. And gosh, wasn’t he the biggest crybaby? He looked up to blink back the sensation, knowing full well that it wouldn’t work. “Kid?” Eraserhead prompted.
“It’s no point, Eraserhead-san,” Izuku said, just barely keeping his voice from wobbling. His lip trembled as he looked back at the Underground Hero. One of Izuku’s favorite heroes. Izuku’s mind flashed back to All Might and he quickly corrected himself. His favorite hero.
A faint look of surprise etched across his features. A question lingered behind his eyes. He shook his head faintly. “What? Coming up with creative excuses?”
Izuku choked on a laugh, humorless and tight. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. He just needed to let go . “Trying to save me.”
Eraserhead huffed something that might’ve been a sigh or a grunt. Or something in between. Izuku kept his eyes closed, even as he felt something snake around his wrist. Some distant part of him acknowledged that it was Eraserhead’s capture weapon. The one that Izuku had spent months trying to figure out.
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” Eraserhead said, his formerly bored tone somehow softer. Izuku glanced back at him but he was staring out over the cityscape.
“I’m Quirkless,” Izuku said, the word trembling out of him like it always did. “I’m sure you know the statistics. If I don’t do it now, I’m bound to do it later. So? Not worth it, right?”
“Why would that matter?”
Izuku startled at the words. His fingers lost their grip and he tilted. Panic raced through Izuku and he let out a startled shout. A weight yanked him backwards, back over the railing and onto the roof. Eraserhead’s capture weapon tangled around his torso.
Izuku planted his hands on the table, his stomach heaving out what little he’d had to eat. He released a shaky sob, pressing his forehead to the roof. A hand smoothed across his back in soothing circles.
“Let it out, kid,” Eraserhead said.
Izuku stayed like that for what seemed like hours but might’ve been minutes. He slowly looked back at Eraserhead, who watched him with soft, sad eyes. The Pro-Hero nodded and pulled his hand away. Izuku slowly sat up, his eyes drifting back to his backpack and his shoes and his suicide note.
The two, middle schooler and Pro-Hero, sat in silence for several long minutes. Izuku looked between Eraserhead and ground, gnawing on his lip. Eventually, Eraserhead sighed. “What is it?”
“Did you mean it?” Izuku asked.
“Mean what?”
Izuku hunched in on himself, staring down at his socked feet. He was shoeless. In front of Eraserhead. “That my Quirklessness doesn’t matter?”
Eraserhead stared at Izuku for a moment, his expression contemplative. He sighed and shook his head. “Your Quirk status doesn’t define your worth, kid,” he said.
“Do you-” Izuku cut himself off, shame coursing through his chest. He’d already received one compliment. Why push for more?
“Do I?” Eraserhead questioned. “Spit it out.”
Izuku raised his shoulders before exclaiming, “DoyouthinkIcanbeahero?”
He released a long breath as Eraserhead watched him for a moment. Eventually, the Pro sighed, digging his hands into his pockets. He sighed. Izuku’s heart sank. “Yeah,” Eraserhead said with a shrug and Izuku’s eyes widened. “It would be a lot of work but I don’t see why you couldn’t be a hero.”
Something loosened in Izuku’s chest like a coil releasing. Izuku sagged. He smiled softly to himself, “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me for telling you the truth.”
“Well, no one else has ever said that to me,” Izuku stated, feeling Eraserhead bristle beside him. “So thank you anyways, Eraserhead-san.”
Now that the initial panic had worn off, a million questions bubbled to the surface. Izuku’s fingers twitched, aching for a pen and paper. He opened his mouth to ask two, maybe ten, questions.
He snapped his mouth shut when Eraserhead grunted and rose to his feet. Eraserhead held out his hand. Izuku stared at it. “C’mon,” Eraserhead said, giving his hand a small shake. “Let me walk you home.”
The warmth in Izuku’s chest caved at the thought of going home. Of returning to a cold home with an all but absent mother. He didn’t want to face Inko’s vacant stare. Or worse, face her after she found the note. She’d probably be disappointed to find Izuku still alive.
Eraserhead seemed to sense his hesitance as Izuku looked up with a tight smile. “It’s fine, Eraserhead-san,” he said. “I can walk by myself.”
“I don’t really trust you to walk yourself,” Eraserhead said. “Besides, your parents are probably worried about you.”
Heat burned in Izuku’s chest. He let out a nervous laugh. “I doubt it,” he said softly, bitterly, but the Underground Hero hardly missed the comment on an empty, silent rooftop.
“Why?” Eraserhead prodded.
“My dad is gone,” Izuku said with a small shrug. “My mom won’t even be home until midmorning tomorrow.”
They shared a small standoff as Eraserhead’s eyebrow furrowed. Eventually, the Underground Hero sighed and pulled a phone out of seemingly nowhere. He typed something quickly and Izuku seared with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. Eraserhead put the phone away and held out his hand again. “C’mon.”
Izuku sighed and reached for the outstretched hand. Eraserhead easily pulled him up. He kept his hand wrapped around Izuku’s, picking up his belongings. Izuku hurriedly put on his shoes before following Eraserhead back to the entrance to the roof. As the descended the stairs, Izuku a step behind him, Eraserhead spoke, “I have an emergency foster license,” he explained. “You can stay with me for the night and go home tomorrow, okay?”
“What?” Izuku said, sure he heard Eraserhead wrong.”
Eraserhead looked back at Izuku, standing on the step above him. From here, Izuku was level with the Pro-Hero. “You’re staying with me tonight,” he repeated.
The warmth filled Izuku again and a smile finally broke out across his face. Eraserhead blinked, looking a little surprised. The Pro-Hero turned away. “Let’s go. It’s late and you need sleep.”
Shouta, as a rule, did not like being called into the station during his patrols. He liked taking care of business and dropping villains off at the station and picking up any paperwork at the end of the night. It was efficient. Shouta liked when things were efficient.
He especially didn’t like being called in when he was dragging a suicidal teenager through the streets of Mustafu.
But Tsukauchi, calm and steady Tsukauchi, had sounded... Off over the phone. One part shock and one part awe. Shouta wasn't sure what to think about the way he said "I have something to show you."
“Stay here,” Shouta said to the boy, Izuku as he’d finally introduced himself, as they stepped into the police station.
Izuku curled into himself a little but nodded, sitting down in one of the plastic chairs. He still looked rattled, shaking and pale. Shouta left one of the desk officers with instructions to keep an eye on the kid before heading back. He texted Hizashi on the way, asking him to come down to the station. He received a response almost immediately.
Hizashi :: Is the Little Listener ok?
Shouta :: Yeah. Tsukauchi called me on the way back. Sounded serious. Come down and pick us up. I’m already done with tonight and I have a feeling I’ll be even more done in a minute. Plus, need someone to keep an eye on the Problem Child.
Hizashi :: Already giving the kid nicknames?
Shouta :: ...Shut up.
Shouta just wanted to get home and get the kid settled in for the night. He planned on sending some officers to do a wellness check on Izuku’s house tomorrow, but that could wait. Right now, he needed to see what Tsukauchi needed to show him.
He certainly wasn't a stack of composition notebooks. There were at least two dozen and all of them were in pristine condition except for the missing cover, which had been ripped off. One sat off to the side, the edges of it burned and the ink a little watermarked.
Shouta looked between Tsukauchi and the notebooks, a single eyebrow arching up. "Take a look," Tsukauchi said, gesturing to the books.
Shouta opened one, finding a neatly labelled table of contents. His interest piqued when he saw the names of pro-heroes. Popular ones like Hawks and Miruko were next to lesser known ones. The burned one, he noticed, had recently debuted heroes. He flipped further in, his stomach clenching in a fit of sudden panic though his face remained neutral.
Well drawn pictures lined up with detailed descriptions. Graphs and charts next to analysis and theories. Pros and cons. Strengths and weaknesses.
"Read this one," Tsukauchi said, sliding a notebook towards Shouta, who had sat down at some point.
Shouta nearly dropped a notebook when he saw himself rendered in two dimensions, his hero name written in neat kanji at the top. He scanned the three pages dedicated to him, significantly less than most of the others. How did the author have so much information on him?
Shouta was an underground hero. He was unknown. He wasn’t supposed to be known. But the details suggested that whoever authored these analyses knew significantly more about Eraserhead than Shouta felt strictly comfortable with. His eyes lingered on a scribble in one of the corners, a hastily written note.
Married to Present Mic?
Shouta nearly choked on his spit. He shoved the book away and rose to his feet.
Even with just a quick look, Shouta knew these books were dangerous. Every hero he could think of was the subject of at least three pages. Each one broken down to their barest bones, each one pushed the boundaries of what Shouta thought analysis could hold.
Each one carried detailed notes on how to bring every single one of those pro-heroes down.
"What are these, Tsukauchi?" Shouta demanded, his bored and flat tone hiding the anxiety twisting in his chest. "Who wrote them?"
"I don't know," Tsukauchi said with a deep sigh. "Someone walked up to me and shoved them into my arms as I was coming into the station. Just said the notebooks were safe and disappeared."
"You didn’t follow them?" Shouta asked.
Tsukauchi leveled a flat look at Shouta before shaking his head. "Like I said, he just disappeared."
Shouta frowned, burying his face into his capture weapon. He took a deep breath of it's metallic smell before looking back at notebooks. Tsukauchi leaned back in his chair, his tired eyes taking on a mischievous edge. Shouta glared at him. "Looking for a new long-term mission, Eraserhead?"
Shouta sighed. This night was shaping up to be much longer than he anticipated.
He needed a cup of fucking coffee.