Chapter Text
Not all men are created equal.
This was the harsh reality that Izuku Midoriya had been living in since his birth. Born to parents Inko and Hisashi Midoriya, his family struggled to make ends meet as Inko worked shifts at the hospital and Hisashi lazed around on the sofa. Inko had been a good mother, at first. She had cared for him, loved him, came home from late-night doubles with a smile on her face and thrifted toys for her baby. She would change his nappies, feed him, bathe him, play with him, and raise him practically on her own as Hisashi looked at him in contempt.
Hisashi had hated him from the start. They were young when they had him, merely 25 and barely out of college. Neither of them had been ready. But while Inko stepped up, Hisashi stepped back, leaving his family and his wife to fracture under the stress of raising a child alone. It fractured further when Hisashi finally left them when he was just three, leaving not a trace of himself behind, just a note telling Inko not to look for him. That was when things really changed.
Inko started drinking. Heavily. Where once she would come home from shifts and greet Izuku, play with him, and bathe him, she would not slouch on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey clutched tightly in her grip as she lost her senses each and every night. She slowly started neglecting izuku more and more, until he would be crying out in hunger most days as she had once again forgotten to make dinner.
Things just got worse when he turned four. It was supposed to be a magical age, one where he would finally manifest his long-awaited quirk. What would it be? Perhaps fire-breathing? Or telekinesis? Or maybe something completely out of left field, like super strength? He would be happy with whatever, he decided, as long as he could analyse it. Except, four came and went, and he hadn’t manifested a quirk.
It was okay, his teacher had said, some kids manifest them at five, or six, or sometimes even seven! So he waited, hoping and praying for something, anything to show up. Maybe then his mom would finally look at him. Maybe then she would love him.
But when his seventh birthday came, and he still hadn’t developed his quirk, things got worse. People hated him. He was pushed, shoved, taunted, teased, and hurt every day. None of his teachers said anything. To him, he was basically invisible. They turned a blind eye as he was beaten down in every which way.
His mom was worse than before. Rather than just ignoring him, she would hurt him, yell at him, throw empty bottles at him until she was hoarse. In her mind, it all made sense. Hisashi had left, she was in such a bad state, all because of her quirkless, useless son. It was all his fault. If he had just been something, anything, then maybe he would have stayed. If he had never been born, maybe she would be happily living with the love of her life right now, instead of taking care of a useless brat. And she said as much to him, sneering at him in disgust as he cowered under her wrath.
His one rock through all of this was his best friend. Katsuki Bakugou. When they were younger, they both dreamed of being top heroes together. Dreamed of being the best. The Wonder Duo, they had called themselves. Bakugou’s quirk came in right on time. Explosions. Something fit for his fiery personality. He showed them off to everyone who would watch as small fireworks popped in his palms. He loved showing them off to Izuku, especially, who would watch in rapt fascination every time, effusively praising Kacchan and his amazing quirk.
They had been so excited. They waited patiently for Izuku’s quirk to come in, too. To be just as cool as Bakugou’s had. But it never came. And Katsuki could have pushed Izuku away then. Declared him as useless, turned the affectionate Deku into a malicious, twisted thing. He could have joined all of Izuku’s tormentors, just another face in the sea of hurt. Instead, he saw Izuku’s determination and decided right then and there that they would be heroes together, quirk status be damned. And so they started training.
Despite all the positives that Katsuki brought to his life, it seemed like the universe was determined to make him remember his place. He was suffocating at home, under the weight of Inko’s anger after enduring it every day at his school. He was tired.
So one night, while Inko was asleep, he quietly snuck out of his unlocked window and went for a stroll down the street. It was dark, and the streetlights were dim. They lived in the Red Light district, in the bad part of town, a dangerous place for a kid to roam around at night.
Still, he steeled his nerves and moved forward, walking silently along the beaten sidewalk, heading towards the 24-hour conbini 4 blocks away. It was completely quiet, aside from the occasional clatter of trash or hiss of an animal from somewhere in the shadows. It was peaceful, Izuku thought as he strolled down the street.
As he approached the shortcut through the alleyway that he normally took, the sounds of a struggle became clear. It almost sounded like… a lady, yelling for help? But it sounded muffled. Knowing something wasn’t right, he took off closer to the alley, taking a sharp turn into it. Just as he rounded the corner, he caught sight of a guy with a shark head (shaped like a hammerhead - mutation type or shapeshifting quirk gone wrong?), his hand clasped tightly around the mouth of a purple-skinned woman, trying to prise her purse from her grasp. It didn’t seem to be coming out, though, almost as if it was sticking to her skin.
In that split second, the shark-guy caught sight of Izuku, pausing in his struggling to swivel and face him. Izuku swallowed nervously as the attackers eyes narrowed at him, as if sizing him up as his next victim. Shark-guy (because that was what Izuku had decided he would be called) huffed a laugh and dismissed him, turning back to the woman and continuing to attempt to snatch her purse.
Izuku briefly considered just… leaving and going home. Shark-guy was obviously much taller and stronger than him, and he was quirkless anyway. What would he be able to do? He looked at the woman one last time, getting ready to just walk away, when his eyes met hers and he saw the desperate fear in them.
He imagined what it would be like if that was his auntie there, if Mitsuki was the one in his grasp. He hated that thought, and so he steeled himself, getting ready to fight. Heroes helped everyone they could, no matter what. And damn it, he would be a hero.
He swept his eyes over the guy's face once more. He had gone back to ignoring him, now attempting to remove his hands from the girl, where she had stuck them. What could he target? He had a shark head mutation, so the eyes would naturally be a good spot to go, and since he was hammerhead-shaped, it would probably be harder for him to see a head-on frontal attack. What else, what else? Izuku looked closely at his neck area, hoping to Kami that there would be something… there! On either side of his neck, by his collarbones were a set of three gills. Perfect.
Okay, Izuku took a breath and got ready. Launch at the guy, get your fingers in his gills, and don’t let go no matter what. Simple. You can do this. With a strangled yell, Izuku jumped as ard as he could onto the would-be predator, sinking his fingers into the fluttering slits on the sides of his neck as he locked on with his legs.
“Fuck, you brat—!” Hammerhead gurgled in a shout as he let go of the woman, grappling at Izuku’s legs and trying to pry him off. “Let go! I’m going to fucking kill you—”
Izuku held on tight as the man bucked back and forth, scratching his legs and pulling at his arms. He glanced over to make sure the woman had gotten awa— why was she just standing there?
“Lady, run!” Izuku shouted, digging his fingers even harder into the guy’s neck. His irritated yell seemed to snap the woman out of it, and she turned on her heel and ran out of the alleyway, banking a hard left and disappearing around the corner.
Seeing that the lady was safely out of reach, Izuku subconsciously relaxed, accidentally loosening his grip and allowing the shark mutant to finally prise his hands off and toss him to the ground roughly.
Izuku’s back hit the cracked sidewalk, hard, and he felt all of the air exiting his lungs. The criminal stalked towards him, eyes slanted in rage and fists clenched by his side.
“You fuckin’— loser! That was supposed to be my dinner!”
He bent down, grabbing Izuku by the collar and picking him up, shaking him roughly. “Who gave you the fuckin’ right to interfere, huh? Didn’t yer mama ever teach you not to meddle in shit you have no business in?” His fist wound back, getting ready to punch Izuku right in the nose. He continued to ramble on as he shook him around, but Izuku had long since zoned out.
Of-fucking-course, he thought irritatedly, of course this is what happens when I try to be helpful. At least I got to be a hero once before I die, I guess.
“Hey, runt, are you even fuckin’ listening? I think someone ought to teach you—”
Blessedly, the man’s unhinged rant was interrupted by a loud cracking noise, and Izuku fell to the ground a second later, released from the man’s grasp.
“Ow.” He groaned, looking up to see red, glowing eyes. And floating black hair. And a capture scarf— a capture scarf?!
“Eraserhead?!” Izuku jolted upright, recognizing his favourite hero, as he was tying the criminal up in his scarf.
He froze, looking up through his shaggy bangs at Izuku. “...How do you know my name, kid?”
Oh, fuck.
“Oh, well, hahaha, you know, just, y’know, forums, and like, uh, lucky guess maybe? I just—”
Izuku cut himself off, nervously running a hand through his hair. He knew he looked really fucking suspicious right then, but he couldn’t stop himself from his anxious spiral, looking at the ground and just wishing it was swallow him up whole. You fucking idiot, he thought, could you be any more conspicuous?! Nobody knows who Eraserhead is!
“Well, yes. That’s why I’m asking. How do you know who I am?” Eraserhead interrupted his stream of thoughts again, raising an eyebrow in a perfectly deadpan expression.
“Err, well, that is,” Izuku hedged, wringing his hands.
“Spit it out, kid, I’m not going to be mad.” Eraserhead sighed, clearly already done with this interaction.
“WellImaybereallylikeheroesandIcameacrossavideoofyouonedayandyoufightbasicallyquirklessandsoyou’rebasicallymyfavouriteheroandIwanttobeundergroundlikeyouoneday—”
“What.” Eraserhead just blinked at the kid. “Were there any actual words in there?”
Izuku sighed irritatedly, finally looking up at his hero. “I said, I came across a video of yours one day, saw you fight basically quirkless, and you’ve been my favourite hero ever since. I want to be an underground hero one day, too. I just— I saw how you were fighting the purse-thief-guy and the style plus your eyes, hair, and scarf make it kind of obvious.”
The hero sighed back, and crouched down, looking Izuku in the eyes. “Look, kid, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, no matter what, you can’t be running around trying to fight crime at this age. You don’t have a license. Technically, this is illegal vigilantism. I could bring you into the police right now.”
Izuku eyed the hero warily. “Listen, Eraserhead— I didn’t mean to get involved. I wasn’t like, seeking out crime or whatever. I was just out for a walk. Came across the dude. And he noticed me first, and he got me involved. There was another lady—”
“Relax,” Eraserhead cut him off. “I’m not going to turn you in today, kid. Just don’t make a habit of it. Now—”
He stood, tightening his hold on the capture weapon, still with an unconscious criminal inside it. He offered a hand to Izuku. “—are you good to get back home, kid? I have to keep patrolling but if you need me to I can walk you home. How far do you live from here, anyway?”
Izuku grabbed the proffered hand, hoisting himself up as he shook his head rapidly. “No, no thank you sir. I’m good to get home. Live like 5 minutes away.”
If Eraserhead knew he was bluffing, he didn’t call him out on it. At least, not then. “Alright then kid, I’ll be on my way. Gotta get this idiot to the station. Don’t let me catch you out at night fighting criminals again, yeah?”
Izuku blushed and nodded his head, turning to head back towards his house. “Yeah. And, thanks for the save, Eraserhead.”
The hero just waved him off, already turning to drag the criminal along the ground with him as he walked off in the opposite direction.
God, could that night have gone any worse? I’m never doing this nonsense again.
He did, in fact, end up doing this nonsense again. And again. And again. It was accidental at first, he swears! His usual nighttime walks ended up with him accidentally stopping a mugging, once, and then he came across a woman being groped, and what, was he supposed to just ignore it?
Soon enough, grateful would-be-victims were offering him supplies in exchange for his help. He saved a woman who happened to have a fabric-making quirk from a mugger with a gun, and she made him a bulletproof hoodie on the spot. He ended up saving an older man from some losers trying to swindle him, and he gained a couple of brass knuckles in return.
By the time he was in his first year of middle school, he had a whole setup, costume, weapons, and some training from a man whose wife ran a self-defense dojo. And, well, if he had the means, he may as well, right? After all, did it really count as vigilantism if he didn’t have a quirk?
No, no it did not. He checked. Thrice. By his second year of middle school, he established somewhat of a patrol route, working alongside Eraser most nights. Eraser, who still didn’t realise that the vigilante he was begrudgingly fond of was the kid he had met all those years ago.
He knew and worked alongside most of the nighttime police force of Musutafu, especially Detective Tsukauchi, a close friend and colleague of Eraserhead. Eventually, and he still doesn’t know how to this day, he was dubbed “Viper,” and that became his vigilante name.
By night, he was well-known, well-respected, and untouchable in the eyes of the law, since all of his now-colleagues knew he was quirkless. By day, however, was a different story.
Middle schoolers could be especially cruel, he learned. The bullying evolved from simple shoving and schoolyard taunts to quirk practice, suicide baiting, and targeted insults every day. Most teachers had given up on him at this point, opting to either let the other kids continue while turning a blind eye, or sometimes even joining in. His grades were often changed, to reflect the “actual level of intellect” of someone like him. He was in detention more than not, constantly dinged for getting into fights, despite never raising a fist against another student.
The worst of the tormentors by far, were Tsubasa and Kariage. Tsubasa had large, red wings, about half the size of his entire body, and he never missed an opportunity to use them. He would swoop in from above Izuku, landing hits and throwing things on him, or snatch up his lunch, homework, backpack, or whatever was his and throw it into the koi pond. Meanwhile, Kariage had long, extendable fingers that hardened like long rock shards when he used them. His favourite game to play was, “how many times can we skewer Deku?” The answer seemed to be infinity. Both of them had recently taken to telling him to jump off the roof, pray for a quirk in his next life, hang himself off the rafters, things like that.
While Izuku was no stranger to suicide baiting, this was the first time anyone was so upfront about it. Before this, it would mostly be small, muttered comments, or coming to class to find spider lilies on his desk. But, emboldened by those two, other students started to follow suit, and soon the whole school had forgone subtle pushes and taunts to straight-up tell him to die.
Middle school was shit. But it was made bearable, at least, by Kacchan. He had never once wavered in his defense of Izuku, had always made it clear exactly where he stood. He had even stopped calling him “Deku,” once he learned how the other kids were using it.
Izuku had told him it was fine, that he knew how he meant it, and he didn’t have to change because of them. Kacchan had just shook his head, looking at Izuku with barely hidden anger.
“No way I’m calling you that anymore, Zuku. They don’t get to think, for even a second, that I agree with anything they’re saying. You’re so far from useless it’s laughable. They’re the real Dekus.”
Yeah, Izuku had cried. A lot. But Kacchan hadn’t said anything beyond his customary affectionate, “Tch. Such a crybaby.” Before pulling him into a hug.
Especially lately, Kacchan had been getting more and more affectionate. Slapping his shoulder had turned into gently squeezing it. Headlocks had turned into hair ruffling. Playful punches had turned into gentle hip checks and shoulder bumps.
Both of them knew that they were moving towards an uncharted area. Neither of them really wanted to stop it. Izuku knew he loved Kacchan, and he was fairly certain Kacchan liked him at least a little in return. And vice versa, Katsuki knew that he loved Zuku, and was hoping the nerd would feel the same.
So, yeah, his life by day wasn’t all that bad, either. And he would’ve been content continuing like this until high school. He knew his tentative peace would never last, though, and that’s why he was barely even shocked when he came home from school one day to find the house empty, a single yellow post it note on the counter.
And by empty, he meant truly empty. No sofa, no TV, no decorations. All the kitchen utensils were gone. Fridge, empty. Pantry, empty. No dining table, no books or magazines. He picked up the little square of paper and sighed, already knowing what would be on that note. He read it anyway.
“I can’t do this anymore. Bills are paid till the end of this week. After that you’re on your own. Figure it out, or don’t. I don’t care anymore. Don’t look for me.
Inko”
As he set the note down, he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Sadness? Surprise? Anger?
It didn’t really matter, because he had seen this coming from a mile away. He just crumpled the note, tossed it into the garbage, and trudged up the stairs to his room. As he opened the door, he was surprised to see that his room was kept entirely intact. In fact, it hadn’t even been touched since he had left for school this morning. All of the meagre things he owned were still there. His computer, his few clothes. The remnants of his hero merch from when he was younger. All, still there. Huh. Okay, he could work with that.
Izuku sighed, sat in his chair, opened his computer, and started planning.
That week, he disappeared. He stayed in the old apartment for a week, selling all of his old hero merch on E-Bay. Well, all except two. He couldn’t bear to part with his Eraserhead figure, nor his Present Mic one. He knew he needed the money, but, well… He just couldn’t do it.
But it was fine. He had made around 65,000 yen, which would be just about enough for a month of food, and some extra supplies. He’d obviously have to start looking into other housing, and as for school…
Well, he didn’t have to continue in person now, right? He could just… switch to online school. Inko had never let him, saying she wanted him out of the house as much as possible, but now that she was gone…?
But he would have to go completely off the grid. He couldn’t afford to be placed into a group home, or some shitty orphanage. He was going to continue being Viper, after all, and he couldn’t do that in a situation like that. So, disappearance it was.
He didn’t think he’d have to do much, given his quirklessness, and in the end he was right. He just stopped showing up to school one day. He disabled all the tracking on his phone and computer, took all of his meagre remaining possessions and cash into his bag, and left. He found a small abandoned building nearby, and set up shop in one of the little corners there.
He’d have to be careful, he knew that many other homeless people lived in the building, and he didn’t want his supplies stolen, so he’d have to move after a night or two. He kept an ear out for any whisperings of his name, but all he heard was “Good riddance,” and “Finally.” He was probably in the clear.
After a few days, he found a spot in the forest near the river he and Kacchan used to play in, and hunkered down there, putting a small hole in the ground for his supplies. He didn’t hear much about people looking for him, not that he had expected to, but it still hurt that even Kacchan didn’t seem to care.
Maybe, this had been the right decision, then.
One night, patrolling with Eraser, they stopped on the roof of an apartment building, eating some sandwiches. Originally, when Eraser realised that he was a kid, and probably didn’t have the best home life, he’d tried to convince Izuku to come home with him.
But Izuku point-blank refused. He didn’t need help, and he didn’t want to deal with Eraser’s reaction once he found out just who he was. He couldn’t deal with rejection like that again. So, Eraser just settled for bringing him food on patrol nights, for now. He disguised it as his husband packing extra every night, but Izuku knew. And Eraser knew he knew. But neither brought it up, and so the arrangement continued.
To be entirely honest, he loved his relationship with Eraser. He was such a dad. He knew a lot more about him now, too. His name was Aizawa Shouta. He was married to Present Mic, a.k.a. Yamada Hizashi. He taught heroics at UA (which was so freaking cool!!). Eraser still knew next to nothing about him, but somehow he never let that put him off.
It felt nice to have an adult care about him. To actually want to be near him. To not care about his quirk status. To have an adult like that, one who seemed to genuinely want the best for him, was almost too much for him. He had been around Eraser for years, constantly refusing his offers to take him in, and yet the man was still here. Still stuck by him. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe, he should—
“Oi, you hobo, that was my sandwich, you have your own right there!”
“Yeah. But yours is better.”
“They’re the same damn sandwich.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“What the fuck do you mean, nuh-uh—”
On second thought, maybe not.