Chapter Text
The newly named Izuku had always known his childhood, the way he was living, and of course, his mother, was very much not the norm for normal people.
He learned that nice parents gave their children food when hungry. He nearly cried the first time he found out that normal kids were allowed to eat when hungry. Hell, he even learned that they can get these things called snacks. Sometimes, people ate snacks when they weren’t even hungry! (He’d found that out one day at the park, his usual spot for people watching… Especially happy families). Like, talk about selfish, let alone a waste! Izuku couldn’t comprehend why people didn’t save it for when they were actually starving.
Parents were also supposed to nurture their children, stead of harm. He’d only ever seen Kacchan’s mother raise her hand once. One time. And it was only when he accidentally blew up the front door, so her reasons were very much justified, according to Izuku. Even though he couldn’t quite comprehend how the taller boy got off scott free basically. Trade secrets, then.
Knowing Her, Izuku would’ve been locked in The Box again if he’d done the same. He suppressed a shudder at the mere thought of it.
To say he was jealous would be like saying the sky was blue, the grass is green, Kacchan is amazing and Yami is useless.
So it was a very big surprise to him when he found out kids his age could go outside whenever they wanted.
“Chizome, I’m gonna go out for a bit. I'll hopefully be back in time for dinner!” He called out while pulling on his favorite red shoes™.
Because of his extra toe joint, the boy was forced to wear those horrendous red things all his life. After all, normal shoes wouldn’t do his mangled feet justice. And despite finding them at a nearby homeless shelter, they worked well enough. Better than his old ones that were falling apart, that is. Those were simply… impractical. His new ones though? He was ever so thankful for them.
Izuku heard the man grumble back in response, leaving a huffing boy in its wake as the window closed behind them. Chizome, after a firm questioning from the other, explained that since this place is abandoned, they can’t just take the door. Too easy to be spotted, he said. And so they took the window.
Oh yeah, and because Stendhal is an illegal vigilante. Almost forgot, silly Izuku…
After a so-called ‘argument’ which ended with Izuku agreeing he’ll stay, Chizome and him became close. Close and fast, one might add. If one saw them roaming on the streets, or at the grocery store, they would think they were brothers. Maybe they were. They were as thick as thieves. He chuckled, knowing it was quite literally true. Brothers in all but blood.
The thought made him giddy, happy that he had someone akin to family with him. Someone to lean on when he was feeling sad (though he still had trouble, even now, to know that his problems weren’t as trivial as his previous guardian brought them out to be).
He was happy with his new life. He liked being Midoriya Izuku.
He liked being around people, as near-constant positive human interaction made a big chunk of his negative thoughts go away.
He wasn’t all alone again!
He looked upwards at the sky from his position perched on the balcony. The dark clouds loomed overhead, covering the sun’s bright rays, promising rain in the coming hours. That in mind, Izuku flipped his black hood over his head to protect his newly dyed hair. Despite it being an already darkish color, the man had agreed that with his striking green hair, eyes, and his notoriously spotted freckles, he looked too close for comfort like the dead Akatani Mikumo. And so his verdant curls soon became black. Just like Papa’s.
With a smirk on his face, he ran down the rusty stairs of the nearest fire escape, taking two steps at a time. His deep red scarf billowed in the wind behind him as he ran. The lack of comfort made him internally groan at the time consuming action. I wonder if Chizome would teach me how to jump down without breaking my legs…?
It's been a couple weeks since that fateful night in the alleyway, leaving Izuku floating in a cloud of pure ecstasy, enjoying his newfound freedom. He didn’t have to work long shifts and praying he would survive another week on the little food he could afford. He could just… be a kid. A normal, traumatized child. He could show his true colors (including that particular rainbow side of him, if you know what I mean). And yes even the obnoxiously loud, spiteful, sassy side of himself that he recently realized was there.
In conclusion, no matter how snarky, no matter how smart-alecky Izuku became, Chizome didn’t seem to be bothered. Heck, he even had the audacity to encourage the part of his personality that craved attention and seeked out trouble. Izuku didn't even know that it was there, everything except his obedience and pleasing behavior was kept tight in a box, lock and key.
But as that was one of the many new upsides of Her being gone, another new favorite thing to be thankful for was the fact that he was free.
To say he was living in paradise would be a severe understatement.
His previously severed toes still ached with phantom pains, but he grew to ignore the pain long ago. In spite of the cauterization that occured, It somehow healed really quickly -high metabolism perhaps? Sure. Let’s go with that- but he was told to keep it easy for now. The whole bottom half of his legs were wrapped up as an extra precaution in case he somehow managed to injure it more.
While he wore some of his new battle scars like an unwilling medal, he has yet to see his face. And frankly, he didn’t really want to. Smooth skin taking on a rough and uneven texture was his first clue. The second was the long, diagonal mark that runs through his eye. Chizome mentioned in passing that he had a rather large scar on the left side of his face, leaving Izuku to guess it was from the support beam that had fallen. And so he left a black eyepatch over it.
He soon found the familiar cracked sidewalk and started walking along it, trapped in his familiar thoughts all the way. Unlike most kids his age who would be nearing the end of their second year of middle school, legally dead kids sadly can’t go to school. Even if they aren’t actually dead.
Boo hoo, bitch.
So instead, the boy took online classes on the comfort of Chizome's worn out couch. The man hadn’t spoken of how he managed to make the computer usable, but Izuku had his queries. Especially so when the object seemed to be older than him. Practically ancient, by this point.
He must’ve been really out of it because he saw a beach pop up in his peripheral vision. Weren’t I miles away from here? Izuku took in his surroundings more. There was the literal trashy beach with junk covering every grain of sand. There were some pedestrians walking around and… isn’t that the Bakugo’s house?
Nope, I am not opening that can of worms today, no siree bob.
And with that rather interesting thoughtline, he continued on in a different direction. Feet taking the wheel, he started to aimlessly walk around the nearby area. This went on for a little while longer before coming to a stop somewhere in the downtown area.
Shops littered both sides of the streets. Regardless of the reduced amount of people because of the work day, he shoved his nervousness down into a seemingly bottomless pit inside of him, in favor of a nonchalant exterior. Seeing is believing, one might add. No? Just him? Ok then, nevermind.
The dark haired child looked up and down the street until one bright red and yellow shop caught his eye. Comic books, huh? Izuku tentatively walked in, the bright fluorescent lights making him squint a bit, as he was more used to the dark. He examined the interior, taking note of the myriad of rows covered in brightly colored books.
“Welcome!” A cheery voice from behind the counter. The person in question smiled and waved at him.
Izuku nodded, acknowledging her presence.
He didn’t particularly know why he was here, and he didn’t know if he had enough money to buy something. Regardless of that, he navigated the aisles on careful footsteps, quiet from all the years of sneaking around his house.
In order to get money, he picked up the art of pickpocketing. Izuku used to do it, but one close call that ended him up with a black eye and even more broke than he was before, he stopped. But why pick it back up now, of all times? Well, the answer is quite simple. On the streets, the motto is to eat or be eaten- oh wait, isn’t that saying from… Jurassic Park?
Ahem. Anyways… On these streets, it’s steal or be stolen from. And so he stole.
After navigating through a couple aisles, he found an interesting aisle.
Pre-quirk comics,
he read.
Huh, that’s cool.
They fight just like me. Quirkless.
The soon-to-be-teen analyzed the covers of some of them, thoroughly intrigued.
The store was near soundless, if one wasn’t counting the soft music playing on the store speakers and the quiet turning of pages. Izuku guessed it was because no one in a good mind would be taking their lunch break in some comic book store. His stomach growled at him angrily but he paid no mind to it, as he was used to going hungry.
Izuku picked a red and black one up. Deadpool. An anti-hero who wielded dual pistols and katanas. Nifty. He flipped through it, skimming some of the pages. It looks like he had some kind of regeneration quir- no you idiot, this was before quirks were a thing. So how could he regenerate?
“Wow, I never really seen many people my age who are into older comics,” startled Izuku from his thoughts. Snapping his mouth shut to quelch his musings, he glanced up at the rather tall boy. Green eyes met dark purple with white pupils. Quirk, perhaps? He looked like a late middle school or early highschool kid. Maybe the same age, then? If so, why would he be here?
“S-sorry,” he said instead of voicing his ponderings. Damn that stupid stutter, why can’t it just take the fucking hint?
“Nah, it’s fine.” Hey, who cued the awkward silence?! You could almost hear a cricket chirping.
Thankfully, the purple boy was more brave than he made himself out to be. “So you like pre-quirk era comic books too?” The taller of the two sheepishly rubbed his nape, averting eye contact. Is he nervous?
“Well, they’re interesting, I’ll give you that.” Izuku closed the comic he was skimming in favor of facing the boy in front of him. “I don’t know much so far,” was a smooth enough lie instead of admitting that he didn’t know anything. “But what I've seen so far is super cool!”
“Neat.”
Izuku nodded, secretly grateful for the exchange. He didn’t have that kind of a positive social interaction with a fellow peer since… Well, forever, he guessed. He had always simply just been a wallflower at heart, after all.
Shaking his head to get rid of his past dwellings, he focused back to the task at hand. Ignoring the “inconspicuous” glances the taller boy was sending him (cue the air quotes), he ran a finger over the soft paper covers and let a melancholy smile grace his features. It was an action of him finding inner peace, if you would.
Libraries had always been his favorite place to go. A safe haven, one would call. The old yet sweet aroma of old books, an actual comfy place to sit that beat his past room by a landslide, and most importantly? The quietness. His house, the school, the park, all too loud ,how can everyone and everything be so loud without a care in the world? But being surrounded by almost ancient-like books added to the serenity of the silent atmosphere. He unconsciously relaxed his shoulders a bit. Just a tad.
“Hey,” came the familiar rough yet tired voice from before. Izuku minutely flinched as a hand came down on his tensed up shoulders. Whirled around with screwed shut eyes and fists ready to fly, he failed to notice the odd expression that the purple boy wore. And as soon as the contact came, it left but not without a quiet “ oops , sorry.”
Izuku tried -keyword tried - to take a deep breath. Instead, all that came out was a low shuddering puff of air. Pressing a hand to his frantically beating heart, he cracked open his eyes once more.
And what he saw was very far from what he had been expecting.
Staring back at him was none other than the purple boy, who Izuku thought had walked away. Yeah. He thought. The boy in question was shifting from foot to foot in a clearly uncomfortable gesture. Izuku quirked an eyebrow at him.
“So, uh… heh, sorry,” the purple boy said while rubbing his nape in a nervous gesture.
Izuku felt his cheeks flush a bit. How was he supposed to interact with people his age? Whenever he talked to people, it never went well! So being the good ‘ol egg he is, he responded with a much different approach than what he was going for.
Instead of freezing up, nervously averting his gaze and saying it was his fault like he would have a couple weeks ago, he felt a shit eating grin grow across his features. Crossing his arms, he noticed that he couldn’t push the smirk back down, something that never happened, in all his years of living. “I'll file your apology under ‘pending cases’ for now. I will try to get back to you as soon as I can.” Shit, why did I say that? I didn’t mean to say that!
Despite his initial thoughts, it was worth it when the purple boy spluttered out a laugh. That made Izuku’s smile widen, a warm feeling growing in his chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable, no, far from it. Just… different. What is this? The boy welcomed the unfamiliar feeling and pushed his ponderings to the back of his mind for a later time.
“You seem interested in those comics.” Izuku nodded his head in agreement. “So do you want a recommendation?”
Izuku.exe has stopped.
This boy, who Izuku had just met , is offering a comic book recommendation? Is this what being normal is like? Having random strangers being nice to you without getting beaten up? Why is he even bothering with me? It’s not like I’m ever gonna see him again…
“Well, I wouldn’t know. I’m not normal either.”
Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his ramblings. Stupid stupid stupid fucking idiot, he internally chastised himself, the black cloak of self protectiveness he wielded strengthening. He’s not going to hurt you, he reasoned, despite not lowering his guard. He shook his head as well as his thoughts.
Making eye contact with deep purple orbs, he realized just how cool they looked. Just like a purple honeycreeper, or a purple emperor, or maybe even a violet-backed starling-- woah, slow down buddy. Someone has clearly been watching too much Animal Planet this past week.
“Anyways. About your question,” Izuku started, distracting himself from his ever growing rabbit hole of thoughts. “Sure, hit me.”
“Ok.” With that, the taller of the two picked a mostly red comic book off of a shelf by his head. Handing it towards the other’s waiting hands with a glint in his eyes, he gave a crooked smirk. “Have you ever heard of Spider-Man?”
It was well past lunchtime and yet Izuku just wanted to find a nice and quiet place to read his new comics. He could always steal -I mean buy- lunch, anyways. At the shop, he ended up leaving with a couple Deadpool comics, a couple Spiderman ones from a recommendation, and a new warm feeling arising in his chest.
Izuku found himself walking past the trash beach that he came upon earlier. I remember when Kacchan and his little so-called friends said that I was born here or something. Glancing around, there were a lot of things. Stuff like wrecked cars, a stove, and is that a grandfather clock? Izuku wouldn’t know, he’s too young for politics.
The boy heard loud bickering from farther down the street. Turning his head towards the noise, his now dilated pupils landed on a set of familiar figures. All three of them, one child and two parents, wore dark colors. The father had brown hair and glasses, the mother had blonde hair and…
Izuku hid behind an old and half broken car on the beach as the small family walked closer and closer. Kacchan. He could recognise those fiery eyes and ever present scowl from anywhere. Kacchan is here oh no no no hell no he’s gonna find me and hurt me and I need to run, I need to run --
His thoughts were kicked out of orbit when they crossed the entrance to the beach. The panic in his chest increased tenfold as he somehow managed to distinguish what they were talking about. (...do I have a super hearing quirk?).
“I still don’t get why I have to come,” Kacchan grumbled with a deep frown on his face. Huh. Strange. He didn’t seem to be as mad as he usually was. Don't jinx it.
“You know why, brat. Little Miku-chan probably has no one else coming, so we have to step up and go ourselves.” Oh. They’re talking about me. And they’re… visiting me? Izuku frowned. “Imagine if he heard you running your mouth off about him. Geeze, learn some fucking respect .”
Auntie Mitsuki, his mind betrayed. The only good support system (besides his late father) that he ever had before the incident . Gone. Her voice lacked the usual patronizing and animosity it usually held, leaving him more guilty for leaving.
It’s better this way… the back of his mind betrayed.
“Come on, you two,” came his Uncle’s soft voice, and oh how it hurt to hear it. Izuku had always liked that about him. Always the calm, mellow, and reasonable one of the trio. AKA the only person he’d been acquainted with that didn’t yell at him when he’d shown his face. And ouch, does that hurt.
And with those words, the small sized family continued on their way, unknowingly leaving Izuku behind in a trail of dust. The boy sat there, squatting behind what was probably the remains of a silver metallic sedan, for longer than he thought. How long is that exactly? Long enough that God’s clock needed battery replacements.
And that old thing never runs out of batteries.
Snapping back to the present, Izuku stood on shaky legs, groaning when they buckled underneath him. I guess squatting with a healing broken leg wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve had, now wasn’t it? Leaning against what was once a rearview mirror on the car’s side, he watched the figures retreat.
His mind drew a blank, finding himself at a crossroad for his next actions. Do I really want to be standing around all day surrounded by rotten, smelly garbage? He looked toward the beach, eyeing the possibly decade old scrap metal. I mean, I’m not going to take some useful stuff from here. I wouldn’t even be able to carry things right now, in the state I'm in, so what's the point in sticking around here?
Laughing at his own twisted sense of humor, his eyes were able to (barely) see the retreating figures from so far away. Also, what else am I gonna do once I go back to Chizome’s apartment? Sit on my ass, read a bit, and sleep? Izuku silently strokes his chin in deep thought. Wait no, the last one probably won’t happen. So I might as well follow. Like, what’s the worst that could happen?
He slowly let go of the crooked rearview mirror he was holding onto with dear life and tried to walk off casually, as if he wasn’t freaking out less than a minute ago. With much care, he delicately rolled up the multiple comic books and placed them in his hoodie’s pocket. ( This is Chizome’s money that I used today. I’m not allowed to waste it. Especially with these little insignificant comic books that I will probably finish in one day). So he can walk around and use both hands for balance instead of occupying a perfectly good arm with a little plastic bag filled with paper. Yeah. Totally not keeping them safe in case someone decides to steal from him. Or worse.
For it to rain.
He soon found himself almost bumping into something. Good thing he has an above average reaction time! Taking a step back, he eyed where exactly he came to be at. Menacingly, the big black gates of hell stood tall before his very eyes, towering over him.
Popularly known as a cemetery. He thinks the former sounds cooler.
Izuku decided to don his cloak of trepidation as he rested a hand on the metal gate. Carefully pushing it open and walking through, he tried to set aside the burning questions that his mind made up, specialized just for him. To much disappointment, his efforts were subpar.
Why were the Bakugo’s talking about me and then coming to a cemetery? They must not be visiting me, of all people, right? Like, why would they? I know that I called them Auntie and Uncle, but Kacchan?! Why would he be here? It just made no sense.
Walking around, Izuku took note of the countless headstones that littered the grounds. The scenery would’ve been nice, if he didn’t know that it was a cemetery. But now that Izuku was aware of that fact, his eyes were able to pick up the small details. Such details that most would probably ignore. Like the way the dry grass crunched under his feet as he walked. Or how cobwebs strung from a couple of the rotting trees and the big statues for the deceased. Or--
“We are gathered here today,” a sudden voice rang out, near startling the boy. “To commemorate one Akatani Mikumo’s life.”
Izuku swiveled around, taking notice of a couple people that surrounded a small casket. He let out a little gasp of surprise, falling to his knees. His trembling hands covered his mouth as he held back his tears. Those were getting harder and harder to control ever since the incident. Especially with the dilemma that began a good 20 or so feet away. My funeral…
“And as it seems that, besides myself, only three people showed up.” Only three?! “Meaning, that this ceremony will be shorter than the usual 2 hours.”
Izuku heard a not so far-off yell from somewhere near the ceremony, followed by a couple of equally-loud cusses. And he couldn’t blame them, either. The boy himself felt like breaking something really expensive . Biting his tongue, he redirected his attention back to his entombment. And god does that sound depressing…
The old and wrinkly undertaker held up an impatient hand in an attempt to stop the outbursts. And, in one of the most utterly bored tone he’d ever heard ( And that's actually saying something, coming from the guy who’d been discriminated against and neglected for over 10 years) , Mr. Raisin Guy continued on.
“So yada yada yada it was a great person and all, would anyone like to say a word to it before we bury its casket?” The now-black haired boy heard someone start talking, but the chatter was quickly covered up by another voice. “Nope? Alrighty then, you can say your goodbyes right now after we bury the casket.”
Izuku felt anger simmer in the pit of his stomach like a hunger starved dragon. No actual ceremony? I’m being called an ‘IT’?! He attempted to scowl but the eyepatch dug into his still-healing injury, causing a sharp hiss to leave his clenched teeth. An even more reason to be angry. Like geez dude, learn some respect. It’s kind of obvious that someone, not gonna say any names, but someone is taking the word ‘overtime’ to the extreme.
Before he knew it, his casket was buried right next to his father’s own gravestone. Soon after that, the teary eyed Bakugo family left and everything was swiftly packed up. Izuku didn’t even remember when he moved towards his grave, or when his eyes started-- are they leaking? He neither cared or bothered with wiping his cheeks off. Instead, he spat on Her headstone, stomping on the freshly placed flowers for good measure.
His eyes roamed the trio of stone, letting a bit of sorrow leak out of his well placed metaphorical mask as he eyed his father’s. Gently touching the last gift he’d gotten from the man, he looked up to the gradually darkening sky above him as if asking the gods ‘Why? Why kill such a good man that had never wronged anyone?’
‘ Why couldn’t it have been me?’ was the single question he tried not to dwell on too much.
Shaking the thoughts away, he looked at the last one. A tiny, dirt covered plaque with the crooked and poorly designed words ‘Akatani Mikumo’ sprawled across the front. His eyes roamed every crack, every mark, knowing for a fact that the funeral directors decided it wasn’t worth their time to make his gravestone nice. Hahaha. ‘His gravestone’. Izuku let out a bitter chuckle at that. How ironic of him , the oh so very strong soon to be hero, supposedly killed by a weak little house fire. He laughed even more.
Although he was announced legally dead, he still didn’t understand how or why they knew that he was so called dead . What did they do? Cremate a corpse from some rotting roadkill and say that was his ashes? A small chortle bubbled from somewhere so far deep in his chest that he didn’t even know it existed.
All his life, Izuku had been nothing but roadkill.
Because of his quirkless status, society made him an outcast. They cast him aside like vermin and swept all sightings of his abuse under the proverbial rug like it never even happened in the first place.
And because of that, he never got to experience anything that normal, quirked people would be able to. He had quickly learned that love was a privilege. That it’s not given out for anyone who is just merely sad or lonely or needed a hug. You have to earn it.
In his father’s eyes, he earned some through the few interactions and phone calls he got from him. But other than that, he was simply just unloved and lonely. Just like a cliched lone wolf.
But in spite of all of that, it was really funny and really ironic. Like, people thought he was fucking dead! And here he was, alive and mostly well! At his own friggin gravestone! Izuku might as well throw a party for all the broken, the beaten, and the damned by now. Oh yeah, and maybe invite some ghosts while he’s at it. Why not? It was his party, after all.
“ Wow, I am on such a roll this week,” he whispered past his laughter. “Hell, while we’re at it, let’s add some fireworks!”
A picture of a smirking blond popped into his mind, the thought of fireworks reminding Izuku of the taller boy’s flashy quirk. Izuku would call it a bad memory, but pretty much everything besides Chizome and his father was a bad memory by this point. But this fragment was one from the worst day of his life.
Kacchan telling him to jump off a roof.
Izuku laughed even harder, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Oh Stars, Kacchan told him to die! But he didn’t! Izuku’ll bet that God didn’t want him, just enough to damn him to this Earth. Left and forgotten by all. Including Kacchan (Inko didn’t count, she wasn’t worth the space in his mind to be thought about). That he’s only alive because of spite. And oh wow, Katsuki told me to do something and I didn’t cave in! He punched and kicked me down, hell he helped in torturing me! But I didn’t do shit!
Izuku took in a deep breath through all the cackling and yelled as loud as he could. “SUCK ON THAT, KACCHAN!!”
Stupid stupid idiotic Kacchan, he doesn’t even deserve a nickname! “Shitty shitty Katsuki,” he tutted. Hahaha. Shitty Katsuki. S-H-I-T-T-Y K-A-S-U-K-I. Izuku’s mind made a stupid yet downright brilliant mental image of Katsuki but instead of the dandelion-esque hairstyle, his hair was a turd. A freakin turd!
Izuku threw his head back and cackled like there was no tomorrow. Tears ran down his face and dripped down his chin, but he didn’t stop. His mouth hurt from smiling so wide for so long, something that he didn’t even think was possible. Especially for someone like him. This whole entire situation was so funny, he didn’t even care how crazy he looked! And yes, even while he was violently muttering up a storm. But that didn’t matter. Why? Well, maybe because HE HAS HIS OWN GRAVESTONE! IN A REAL CEMETERY!!!
Izuku thought back to Kacch- Katsuki’s friendly advice, and how he nearly followed through with it. But that was when he remembered how hard his father would cry. And Papa never cried.
“I’ll always love you, squirt. Don’t you forget it.”
Izuku’s happy, joyful tears soon became hot and burning, rolling down freckled cheeks. The smell of fire wafted through his nose as his face was burning underneath the well placed eyepatch. The briny wetness heavily contrasted the raindrops that clashed with them as the sky started to cry alongside him. Papa. The laughter slowly died down, delving into muffled whimpers. A choked sob tore through his sore throat and he grasped his now sopping wet hair in his hands to seek a sense of grounding.
The boy couldn’t even feel the pitter patter of raindrops on his skin. All he could feel was grief. And so, for the first time in what seemed like years , he openly cried. He cried until it was pitch black and he couldn’t see much of anything. He wailed until his whole body was shaking and his fingers were blue.
And he sobbed until he felt the large hand on his shoulder.
Hizashi, also known as pro-hero Present Mic, wasn't feeling well. Neither was Shouta. Or Nemuri. Or Tensei. Or anyone for that matter, but the revelation hit them harder than anyone else. They weren’t sick, per se. Well, not the common cold or a fever kind of sick.
They were sick with grief and heartbreak.
“Akatani Hisashi, former pro hero Igneel, had died in a terrible house fire alongside his wife and child, Inko and Mikumo.” Upon hearing that, Hizashi’s ever present smile faltered. His blood ran cold and all color drained from his face. No. It can’t be real. Had Hisashi really…? The hero pulled at his hair in disbelief. His old classmate, his colleague… His friend is gone. Forever.
And when the gang found out that Mikumo’s funeral date was on a separate date than his parents’, let alone on a workday, well let’s just say they had a little chat with Tsukauchi on quirkless customs and laws.
Hizashi took it upon himself to go and try to make it to the funeral while the others were too swamped with work. They couldn’t make it, anyways. Meaning, Hizashi should try his damn hardest to make it on time, despite his patrol that ends a little after the funeral’s time.
Hopefully running into a cemetery with messily brushed hair and a hastily buttoned up shirt didn’t make him look like a crazy person, but who was there to say he wasn’t? Not him, of course. So when he happened upon the empty funeral grounds and a little boy who was clearly having a moment, he got angry at not only himself (for missing the funeral), but also for his dead friend’s son. No kid should die in such a horrible way, just because of their father’s profession.
No kid should die in such a way period.
He started walking towards the area when he heard the boy yell something. Hearing a 10-something year old yell ‘suck on that’ to someone who clearly wasn’t there was funny enough that the man had to cover his mouth with both hands to muffle the sound. His concern only grew when the boy mentioned the words ‘kill’ and ‘myself’ next to each other in a sentence. Uh oh, he thought silently, that doesn’t sound good. Not at all.
Hizashi soon found himself at a crossroad as he looked down on the three new headstones that had to be dug. He couldn’t decide whether or not to comfort the indenial kid or laugh-slash-cry alongside him. Maybe both at the same time? That might be hard but he’ll bet that he can accomplish it. He’s a great multitasker, afterall. He just didn’t know the right time to intervene. He instead backed up a few feet to stand under a weeping willow to give the boy some space.
And then it started raining. And the boy started crying. The kind of crying that’s loud and ugly and had clearly been bottled up for some time now. Hizashi even shed a few tears after hearing the sounds that were coming from someone so young .
When it was very clear that the boy wasn’t going to leave for a while, he rose from his position on the wet grass and walked over to him with loud enough footfalls to not startle him.
“Hey,” he started as the boy sobbed again. “Can you hear me?” No answer. In return, the man walked up to him and placed a soft hand on their shoulder. Something that he wasn’t expecting, though, was for him to full body flinch. His heart panged with sadness at that. Especially when he put his arms up near his head like he was trying to protect himself.
“Sorry little listener, “ he started. “I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just that you weren’t responding to me when I asked if you’re okay.”
The boy lowered his arms in favor of holding his scarf like a lifeline. It looked to be a dark maroon color or black, but it was probably from the rain. They stood/sat there for at least a minute before Hizashi walked a couple steps closer. The boy in question shifted away a bit, but Hizashi kind of expected that.
Gingerly sitting down a couple inches away, his face took on a grim expression. “Ya know,” he started. “I used to know Hisashi.”
The boy’s head whipped up so fast, tears almost unrecognizable in the downpour. The hero in question put on a strained smile at the kid. “Really?”
The raspy yet meek voice made his smile widen, if not just a little. He always thrived off of others, the ever social butterfly that he is. “Yup. High school friends. A couple of our other friends, him, and I owned a little house together at one point.” Ah, those days were fun. I’m just glad that Shirakumo is up there taking care of him for us. He let a single tear run down his face.
“Oh wow. Present Mic knew him.”
Despite being whispered, Hizashi’s hearing aids were surprisingly loud for some unknown reason, which was probably at fault for how he was able to hear the soft-spoken words.
“So you know me, little listener?” A nod. “What gave me away?”
“You called me ‘little listener.’ Not many people say that, unless they’re either you or a fan of your hero work. Also, your hair and voice. I used to listen to your radio show…”
The boy trailed off into a mumbling spree, too quiet and too fast for the voice hero to comprehend. Hizashi cleared his throat, effectively breaking the boy back to the present. A small “sorry” reminded him that they were, in fact, at a cemetery. He was always the energetic scatterbrain of the bunch, who also easily forgot stuff. Sometimes it was that he shouldn’t use his quirk inside, other times it was that this was previously a sad moment that was accidentally made more lighthearted.
“I’m glad ya know who I am, kid. Because now that I ask you why you’re out so late all alone, I won’t look like some creep,” he chuckled.
The rain poured harder, the boy adjusting his hood before Hizashi opened up a red and dark blue umbrella and held it over their heads. The younger sent a small grateful smile upwards at him, who got one similar smile back at him.
Shouta had gotten the object for his birthday one time, the receiving end of said gift being left ecstatic. Why? Well, because a certain Spider themed hero from the Golden Age in which the umbrella was decorated after. Hopefully children of the newer generation would get the reference. It seemed almost like the little listener knew what it was, judging by the way he’d been eyeing it. Speaking of the boy...
“Little listener, how about I walk you home and you can tell me? Only if you want to, of course.” Hizashi stood up and stretched his legs a bit, not missing how the boy stiffened at the word ‘home.’ Narrowing his eyes, multiple scenarios littered his mind.
The younger one nodded and stood up as well. Hizashi, now given his apartment building’s coordinates, walked side by side on the empty streets, with only the umbrella to shield themselves from the omnipresent rain.
The two continued to walk around, avoiding puddles and the back alleyways. Hizashi had started to think that the boy wasn’t going to share his story until a deep, shuddered inhale sounded from his left.
“The Akatani’s were… close family friends. M-Mikumo was around my age, and we were like best friends. But now…” the boy paused to take a shaky breath. “But now they’re gone and I-I don’t know how to deal with it.”
Hizashi’s step faltered, if only for a second. Kind of reminds me of Shirakumo… Shaking the thoughts away, he looked down at the boy. Bloodshot malachite irises locked with his, filled to the brim with worry. “Hey little listener, what’s your name?”
The shorter of the two blinked. “Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, sir.”
Hizashi stopped walking, in favor of turning to Midoriya. Putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, he tried not to spook him out again. “Ok, Midoriya.” He took in a tone that he used while on duty. To scared and injured civilians who needed help and guidance. Just like this boy. “I know it can get hard, I’ve been there before. I was lost and scared and felt so alone, so helpless. ”
He paused, either for dramatic effect or to let the words sink in a bit more. Bending down to Midoriya’s level, Hizashi’s gentle grip on his shoulder became firm, grounding. “But do know this: You are not alone, and you can get help.”
Izuku let out a small sigh as he rubbed his eyes. Present Mic is one of his favorite heroes, after all, and it was hard lying to the man about his address without spewing facts and statistics about him. And no, he didn’t like lying, but sometimes it just had to be done. One can’t exactly tell a Pro Hero that they don’t have a stable home, after all.
He continued walking down the street from the apartment building he claimed that he lived at, alone. The rain made his hair droop down into his eyes, something that he had to side-flip out of the way every so often so he could see. The familiar cracked sidewalk and rusted fire escape caught his eyes, feet taking him toward the latter.
Climbing up the steps took forever. The vast amount of steps would’ve tired out the average joe, but someone whose leg was all bandaged up? It was quite hard, is all I’m saying.
Izuku eventually made it towards the window, deliberately cracked open a smidge just for this moment. Climbing through, he took off his grass covered shoes in favor of going barefoot. When living in a crappy space like this, one does not have many luxuries. Including impractical slippers that were gonna get dirty on the mud tracked floor in seconds.
Carefully taking out the comic books, he set them on the only coffee table that wasn’t broken. Ringing out his clothes, he quickly started trying to air dry his scarf so he could go to sleep. Getting into softer clothes, he crawled under the thin blanket set up on the couch.
Sleep never came quickly to Izuku. Heck, most nights he spent staring up at the ceiling all night long pretending to sleep in some desperate attempt to succumb to. Sleeping below a closet shelf for almost your entire life does that to an old AND freshly traumatized kid. Extra points for ones with some type of undiagnosed insomnia. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep to the gentle pitter patter of the rain.
You thought it was going to end there, correct? Nope! Instead, the boy eventually rolled off the couch and before he even knew it, he found himself wrapping the damp scarf around his neck. Feeling the familiar weight on him, sleep had never seemed to come quicker.