Chapter Text
The city of Hosu is beautiful at night.
It gleams and flashes in brilliant, neon colors that leak into alleyways, spilling kaleidoscopes through the streets. Constantly packed full of distractions, stores never thought to go to, millions of street vendors and hero billboards broadcasting the latest fight for everyone to watch. People walk around oblivious to their surroundings, all content to carry on with their merry little lives, all just waiting for nightfall to let loose. There's a plethora of alleys to hide in, plenty of dealers selling anything the mind can imagine, a maze of a city perfect for sanctuary under dark, polluted skies.
Unfortunately for Izuku, it's broad daylight, and the city is doing him absolutely no favors.
One would think that Kamui Woods beating the shit out of some dude with shark fins, on a thousand foot screen , would draw more attention than some kid trying to slip through the crowds. But no , throughout his fifteen minute panic-inducing walk through the city Izuku has run directly into a lamppost, attracted the attention of two concerned citizens, had hot coffee spilled all over the front of his shirt, and fallen into a mysteriously yellow puddle.
He's retreated to the rooftops for now, where the people aren't. They look like little ants from up here, all mulling about in their day-to-day business. No one notices the pickpocket in the crowd; she’s already stolen four wallets in the ten minutes Izuku's been watching. They're all too busy with each other and the world around them, acting like it’s a good place to be. Like it's easy to interact with, like they’re safe from it.
Izuku rests his head on the concrete ledge, resisting the urge to scream.
Today is absolutely not his day. Today is fucking awful.
Of course, that's not unusual. Most of his life has been fucking awful. He gave up trying to figure out why when he was eight. Not to say it’s all been horrible. He understands the basic concept of 'life has ups and downs'. Izuku can recognize the good things that have happened to him, the moments in his life that are little golden spots in his memory. See, the problem isn't him, per se. Bad things are just 'statistically more likely' to happen to people like him. Those little sunshine memories are scattered throughout a whole lotta rain, and it appears that today is a stormy day.
Insane, he knows, for fuck's sake there's not a cloud in the sky. Hosu is stubbornly sunny, holding onto the warmth of summer with a blazing fist. The sun beats down on Izuku's neck, he's covered in sweat and as much as he wishes he could blame it all on the heat, he knows better than to lie to himself.
He stands slowly, casting one final glance at the city below him. It really is ugly in the daytime. Too many people, too many assholes, too many potential threats. His eyes linger on the fight playing on the plaza's main screen. Kamui Woods has Shark Fins wrapped in wood, there's a small crowd cheering below him, but no breaking news.
Good.
That's- good.
Izuku turns, letting himself slump down against the ledge. Kicking his feet out, he stares up at the sky and tries to figure out what the fuck he's gonna do now. He's had some hard times, they’re as inevitable as they are frequent, and no amount of training can ever prepare one for their time in a crisis situation. The only reason Izuku’s been able to make it this far is because this isn’t his first rodeo, and his mother taught him everything she knew. Allure drilled it into his head: there is always an answer, always a tactic that can get you to the final blow, always a way out when you need to run.
He just needs to find his way out. It's the final step. The final blow has already been delivered, and it was a fucking disaster.
Izuku snickers, clutching his stomach as it turns to full blown laughter. He sounds insane, even to himself. The slightly hysterical laughing pulls at the wounds on his abdomen but the pain is nice. Grounding enough to snap some semblance of sanity into his brain. Kami, he sounds deranged. There's this pitiful little tilt in his pitch, like he's three seconds from snapping. Which, if there was ever a time to lose his fucking mind, it would be the same day he murdered someone.
No- no . Not murder, it was self-defense. Osami was going to kill him. There was no other possible explanation, no other possible reason for him to- for fuck's sake, the robe should've been a dead giveaway. Izuku never should've gone for the walk. He should've stayed hidden in his room until Osami left him alone, and then he wouldn't be in this situation. He wouldn't be fleeing a fucking crime scene and praying that his face doesn't show up on any of these fucking billboards.
He wouldn't have the blood of one of the richest men in Hosu on his hands if he had just stayed in his room.
Izuku frowns at the little patches of rust in between his fingers. He swallows the sudden need to vomit, quickly scratching it off. He doesn't have time for should-haves right now. Osami was a very important person to a lot of very important people and Izuku needs to figure out what the fuck he's going to do before he finds out what happens to little quirkless kids who kill billionaires.
He'd rather not know.
Finding out what happens to little orphan quirkless freaks who get adopted by eccentric billionaires was enough , thank you.
Izuku takes a deep breath, flattening his hands against the gravel. He needs to think. It's never been this hard before, never has he ever had to beg his brain to work, just for a second , just so he can churn out some sort of game plan. This doesn't happen to him. His brain hasn't been this empty since That Night -
He closes his eyes, forcing himself to take another breath. Time is dwindling while he’s sitting around and complaining. Ogi said he wouldn't report Osami as 'missing', but Osami also had a meeting with Uakue scheduled at five, which means all his business friends will know their latest subject escaped before night falls. Izuku needs to be out of the city yesterday.
It's too suspicious if he disappears the same day Osami died. Granted, Izuku knows there's no way he'll get caught for this. The murder weapon is in his duffle bag, Osami's body is long disposed of by now, courtesy of Ogi, and Osami's private plane went out to Paris today, which should throw any heroes off his trial for at least a day or two. His mistress might think something is up, but she doesn't think Izuku can speak, much less slit a man's throat, and Osami was never stupid enough to put his mistress on any flight logs.
Uakue might know. But, Uakue is frankly a fucking creep who won't care enough to search for one quirkless kid when he can just find another. He knows from personal experience that Izuku is perfectly fine with punching someone in the face, but there's a pretty big difference between being able to harm and being able to kill . Uakue will think him too weak. Plus, the little rat bastard won't come within a hundred feet of Osami's name if anyone finds out about their ‘research’.
The only people who know are him and Ogi, that means he's covered, right?
It's quiet on the roof. The ringing in his ears is the only sign that he’s alive, and with his eyes closed it almost feels like nothing is real at all. Maybe the entire day is a really, really , bad dream. Maybe his life is just a fucked up, LSD-induced nightmare.
Tragically, the sky is still blue when he opens his eyes. The world is still real, his duffel bag and backpack are still over by the roof access door, on top of the ridiculously tall building he fled to the second he entered a semi-empty neighborhood. The day still continues, so Izuku must too.
He slit a man's throat today.
Izuku didn't know a person could bleed like that. Didn't know how quickly blood would stain Osami's pretty pink robe, drowning the little satin blue jays along with his bare chest, and the body below him. Izuku never thought he could murder someone, but he didn't think twice in the clearing. Osami came at him, robe open and knife in hand. He'd said all the little things that made Izuku's skin itch, threw him to the ground, and when the knife came towards him-
Well, reflexes are there for a reason.
It was so easy to block, so incredibly easy to flip the knife, so effortless to slit through someone's neck. Baffling, how simple it is to kill another person.
If Izuku had anything left in his stomach he would throw up. Again.
The worst part is the lack of guilt. In all fairness, he's pretty sure he's still in shock, but at least he's halfway present at the moment. He doesn't remember much, but he can use context clues to figure it out.
Like an idiot, he kept the knife in his hand the entire way back to the mansion. He knows Ogi found him, had to pry the knife out of his hand, and then rushed him to the showers while the poor old butler took care of the body. He remembers the smell of burning flesh, his first round of vomiting and his second shower. From there it's a blur of apologies, packing, Ogi's promises and then Izuku blinked and he was on a train headed anywhere but there.
Logically, he knows he did the right thing. It sounds horrible, he knows, but Osami was going to kill him. Study him, use him, and then kill him to keep anyone from finding out. The same thing he did to other quirkless children because that’s his M.O. It’s what he’s been doing for years. Izuku saw the notes with children's names, the failed experiments, the write-offs who were marked 'too weak' to withstand testing. He was one of the names on Osami's list.
The quirkless kid just got the kill first this time.
Once, a long, forgotten time ago, his mother taught him how to think through panic. It’s a simple answer, one that surprises him every time it works. Just breathe in patterns. In three, hold three, out three. Repeat. Figure out the next step. He knows how he got here, now he just has to find a way out. Where is anywhere ? Where can he go?
He can't go back to the orphanage. Sunshine’s is the first place anyone looking for him would go, and it would put Hito in danger. Theoretically, if he leaves tonight, he could grab Hito and the two of them could make their big escape, just like they planned. It could be the two of them against the world but… Hito deserves better than that. For fuck's sake, Izuku doesn't have a place to stay, doesn't know where he'll get food from, doesn't know how he's going to care for himself, much less another person. The last thing he wants to do is drag his only friend down with him.
No, no , Sunshine's is a bad idea all around.
Izuku opens his eyes, pursing his lips. The sun is lower in the sky, bathing the city in hues of purple, pink, and orange. Colors sparkle across thousands of windows, a beautiful image that he could lose himself in forever. He allows himself just a moment to stare, tracking all the little spots of waking color before dragging a hand through his hair and sighing.
Home is off limits too. He's not sure if it's been rebuilt yet, and Izuku doesn't want to get caught just for a trip down memory lane. Frankly, he doesn't want to see that stupid place for the rest of his life. Plus, if he remembers correctly, it's listed on his files back at Sunshine's, which means it's the second place anyone looking for him would go.
He could try some of the local homeless shelters, but that's always a risk. One murmur of the word 'quirkless' and he'd be right back on the street with an even larger target on his back. Wouldn't be the first time he was kicked out of a shelter over a fucking toe joint.
Izuku could...track down Uncle Sho?
No- absolutely not . The thought deepens his frown, Izuku doesn’t even know where Sho is now. The man wouldn't want to see him anyways, that much is obvious by how he left and never looked back. Sure, it was two years ago and the entire world has changed by now but the sentiment wasn't lost on Izuku. Sho wants nothing to do with him, and Izuku would be an idiot to hope a hero would harbor a murderer.
Izuku stretches his neck back. His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth, there's gravel stuck in his hands, his stomach still feels like lead, and he can't think of anywhere else. Sunshine's is a no, he can't go home, shelters will kick him out, Sho wouldn't take him, where else is there?
He could stay on the rooftop. Hero patrols rarely dip into the poorer side of Hosu, where Izuku immediately turned to escape the crowds. The vantage point lets him stay up-to-date on any breaking news via the giant billboards across the block, and the fire escape is broken so he could barricade the door to cover entrance points. Of course, anyone with a flight-based quirk would be a problem, but if someone does find him, he can always just jump.
Izuku pauses.
He can always just jump.
No one will question a small child falling from a rooftop here. Garbage gets picked up once a week, providing just enough coverage if he aims right. The noise from the slowly filling bar two streets over should hide any sound. By his estimate he would be dead instantly. His neck would snap as soon as he hit the street, he wouldn't feel his bones shatter on impact, he would be gone before the worst of it.
Green eyes flick to the edge of the roof. Is it worth it?
Izuku has a history of shit luck. The last time he tried to die, all it did was scar his arms and send poor Hito into a panic attack. Cleaning everything up was a pain in the ass but- there's no one here to stop him this time. There is physically no way for him to survive a fall from this height. It wouldn't be like last time, he wouldn't wake back up.
The thought is...oddly comforting.
See, Izuku's always known how he would die. There are only three ways it could ever end: killed by someone else, himself, or the world around him. He's known the statistics his whole life. Quirkless kids are meant to die young, they're built to be the perfect little punching bags who can't fight back against assholes with too much power for their own good. If not a slap to the face, it's a foot to the gut, a spider lily forced down his throat, words carved into his skin until they're carved into his brain, and that's before the systematic issues.
Statistically speaking, he's lucky that he made it to eleven years old. By all accounts, he should've died a long time ago.
If he keeps going, what will that bring him?
His parents are dead, killed by each other in a massive clusterfuck of a night. His uncle-like figure walked out of his life and, really, if Uncle Sho wanted to help him, he would've. He had every opportunity and resource to rescue Izuku from the stupid orphanage, but he never came. Instead, Izuku had to fight for his life because no one- no one- comes to save him, ever.
And there’s no one here to save him now. He has nowhere to go, no one to turn to, but Izuku knows that he can't run forever, and killing himself now sounds better than finding out what happens to quirkless murderers.
This is the only way out. All other possibilities lead to dead ends, but at least this route leaves Izuku without a beating. If he does this, it'll all be over. All his mistakes, his regret, the blood on his hands, the nightmares and wishing for it all to stop. Maybe his life is meant to end like this. It fits with all the statistics. Tragedy after betrayal, after heartbreak, after trauma until nothing is left but a lifeless child wishing death would hurry the hell up.
Jumping would just be speeding up the process.
Izuku stands on shaky legs. He braces himself against the ledge as he removes his shoes, setting them neatly by his bags. Night has finally fallen, and he's once again stunned by how beautiful the city is. Robotically, he climbs over the ledge, his feet dangling, eyes never moving from the blur of lights around him.
Hosu really is so beautiful at night. Neon flashing between buildings, turning empty streets into kaleidoscope waves. Too dark to see the trash, the assholes, the others who are like him - beaten down and at the end of their ropes. For a second, Izuku thinks the view from his little rooftop would make the perfect painting. He’s happy he got to see it one last time.
The fall is simple, a small disruption that shatters his moment of peace. One little push and Izuku is flying through a million specks of color. At the end of everything, he has the wind rushing through his hair, that calming feeling of weightlessness, and the quiet reassurance that this is it .
It's finally all over.