Chapter Text
By the time anyone thinks to hide it, it’s already too late.
The smoke is clearing, the villain unconscious. Approximately five cameras are pointed in the direction of the explosion as the world waits for their Symbol of Peace to emerge, victorious and triumphant, like he always does.
What they’re not expecting, however, is fourteen-year-old Midoriya Izuku kneeling on the floor on all fours and hurling his guts up on the concrete.
His face is down-turned so all they can see is a mop of messy green curls, and the crowd holds its breath, waiting in stunned, expectant silence as the boy finally stops heaving and slowly sits back.
He looks up with brilliant green eyes that widen in alarm as he takes in the crowd watching him from behind the police lines, every single pair of eyes trained on him. Izuku cringes back, curling into himself as if it would help him disappear, only to stop as he notices the veritable sea of green fabric he’s drowning in. He’s wearing what looks to be a hero costume about a few dozen sizes too large for him, complete with a creamy white cape that he pulls closer around himself like a shield.
Izuku would have stopped to contemplate the costume longer – it’s one he doesn’t recognize, which is something he must admit doesn’t happen often, given what a big fan of heroics he is – except the crowd is still there, and they’re starting to get antsy.
An agitated murmur spreads from his audience, growing steadily louder. Reporters are speaking urgently into their mics and a good number of people are pushing against the police lines, trying to get closer in order to get a better look.
Izuku can feel his heart hammering a steady beat in his chest, his stomach twisted in knots and his breath coming in short pants. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, doesn’t even know where he is, but there’s a restless, frantic kind of energy to the crowd and he just wants to get out. Everywhere he looks, there are more and more people and he can’t-
A sudden shout of anger rings out from behind him, followed by the sound of several people cussing and Izuku snaps out of his growing panic. He turns around to see a teenager in a dusty red costume vault over the heads of the crowd, twin jets of water shooting out of his palms and soaking the people below him as they propel him right into the middle of the battleground.
The boy is only a year or two older than Izuku, definitely too young to be a pro hero, but the crowd immediately calms in his presence. There’s recognition in the words they murmur to each other, a few excited calls of, “It’s Riptide!”
'Probably a UA student,' Izuku thinks. They’re the only heroics department whose students are well-known enough to have a following before they’ve even graduated.
Despite the situation he’s in, Izuku can’t help but wonder who the guy is interning with – because he must be interning with a pro hero, for him to be allowed to wear his hero costume off school grounds.
Before he can think on it any further though, the hero student (Riptide?) arrives in front of him, expression frantic as his eyes rove over Izuku’s body for signs of serious injury.
“Are you okay, Deku-nii?” he asks, and despite his gentle voice, despite his concerned expression, Izuku can’t help but flinch back at his childhood nickname. There’s only one person that ever calls him that, and hearing it from a stranger’s mouth rattles Izuku enough that he doesn’t notice the honorific.
Riptide notices the flinch, and seems to become even more concerned.
“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” he asks. “What do you remember? Do you know where you are? How-”
And while the boy may mean well, Izuku can't help but be relieved when his barrage of questions is cut off by an older voice snapping, “Riptide, that’s enough!”
Startled, both boys turn to look at the source of the voice. The crowd, which had quieted with Riptide’s arrival, is now completely silent as three heroes shoulder their way onto the scene.
They’re all wearing costumes the same shade of red as Riptide’s, and the one in front is leveling a disapproving look at the intern.
“Back off a little bit, you’re overwhelming Midoriya-kun,” he says.
Izuku's eyebrows furrow, curious at the strange emphasis the hero puts on his surname, but he doesn't comment as Riptide frowns, opening his mouth as if to argue with the new hero. In the end, he closes his mouth without saying anything, lips pulling into what can only be described as a pout. He steps back to make room as the three heroes arrive in front of them.
The one that had admonished Riptide, the one that seems to be the leader of the four, steps in front of Izuku with a reassuring smile on his face. “Midoriya Izuku-kun, my name is Puppetmaster,” he says by way of introduction, and bows low. “These are my companions, Scribe and Game Play, and you’ve already met our intern, Riptide.”
The others bow in greeting as their names are announced.
Izuku offers up a shaky smile, still too frazzled to respond. Puppetmaster doesn’t really seem to mind.
“I’m sure you’re feeling quite overwhelmed at the moment, Midoriya-kun,” he says, voice still gentle, “And I’d be more than happy to answer any and all questions you may have, but I really must insist we move to a more private location first and foremost. Would you be alright with coming back to our agency with us?”
Izuku hesitates for a second – he doesn’t recognize any of the heroes before him, and it’s ringing warning bells in his mind. They seem to be well-known among the crowd however, beloved in a way usually reserved for top heroes and their sidekicks.
He agrees to go with them.
Because he’s got all these puzzle pieces strewn about his mind and he’s slowly fitting them together. The costume dragging on the ground around him, tripping him up as he walks towards the car. The three heroes (plus one intern) following respectfully behind him like bodyguards – or sidekicks, his mind supplies. The hesitant parting of the crowd before them. The reporters’ cries of “Deku-san!” as they swarm around, vying for his attention.
Before long, he finds himself sitting in the back of a rather nice-looking car. He looks up at Puppetmaster sitting beside him, then at Riptide sitting on his other side.
“Am I a pro hero?” he asks the man he’s almost sure by now is his sidekick. The question earns him a raised eyebrow from Puppetmaster, and if Izuku isn't mistaken, the hero seems rather impressed.
There's a chuckle from Riptide. “That’s Izuku-nii for ya,” he says in a smug voice.
“You do realize he’s younger than you right now, Izumi?” Puppetmaster quips, gaze sliding over to the teenager.
Izumi shrugs. “I mean, if the previous cases are any indication, that’ll only be true for, like, a day or two. No point changing habits now.”
Izuku’s eyebrows knit together in confusion and frustration at being ignored. “Previous cases?” he asks.
Puppetmaster looks down at him with an apologetic expression. “Sorry, Midoriya-kun, I didn’t mean to ignore you,” he says. “Yes, you are a pro hero. For the past few weeks, you’ve been following a villain with a de-aging quirk. You managed to take her out during the fight earlier, but she managed to get you with her quirk before she passed out.”
Izuku finds he can’t reply. There’s something about the frank way that Puppetmaster had said it, as if Izuku being a hero were just another fact of life, a given, the way the sun is yellow and the sky is blue. As if Izuku hadn’t spent the first fourteen years of his life being told that his dreams were worthless, that he was the last person on Earth that could ever become a hero, that useless, quirkless Deku would be lucky to do anything useful with his life, let alone save people.
His eyes are burning with unshed tears, and he can’t breathe around the lump in his throat.
And he may have figured it out himself, he may have been the one that had suggested it in the first place, but there’s a part of Izuku that still can’t bring himself to quite believe Puppetmaster’s words.
But then the car pulls to a stop, and Izuku looks up at the tall, sturdy building in front of them, the sign out front proudly claiming it to be the “Deku Hero Agency.”
And he breaks.