Chapter Text
Unlike most people, Izuku Midoriya remembered most of his childhood. From the ages 3-6 he had a perfect memory of almost every single event.
It was both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse, though. He still had vivid memories of his parent’s death in 2006, the abusive orphanage all throughout 2007, and the daring escape he had made in January 2008. But there’s one memory, or, several memories of one person, that he simply could not recall. All he remembers is a friend called ‘Kacchan’ in his dreams, he only ever seemed to be crying the name.
But here he is now, sixteen years old, covered in his own blood Saturday night, and getting closer and closer to dying of blood loss.
———
“Damnit! Just tell Portal-Face to come pick me up!” Izuku yelled into the flip-phone. (Which was held between his cheek and shoulder) He sat in a musty alleyway, legs spread out and hand pressing down on a bullet wound, trying to suppress the bleeding. With his free hand, Izuku dug in his vest pocket to find…. there it was, a needle and thread. Just the simple kind you used to sew up clothing or an old teddy bear. Good enough to do the trick. Sitting them beside him, Izuku placed the hand over his mouthTeeth clenched, Izuku reached his thumb and forefinger into the wound. The alleyway was silent, other than the small grunts that came from his mouth as his finger poked around his innards, trying to find the metal capsule.
The voice on the other side of the phone sighed, “I don’t know where you are, and stop the damn panting I’m sure you're fine,”
“I am /Not fine! The bullet just missed my liver! Now track the call and send him!” Izuku yelled. His two fingers finally felt around something hard, with a silent scream, Izuku clamped the fingers around the object and yanked it out, “Finally.” His hissed, placing the blood covered bullet into his pocket. The needle and thread that sat beside him were quick to make their way to the wound, Izuku threw his head back in pain as he pushed the needle through the first lair of flesh.
Too busy squawking over the pain in his middle area, Izuku didn’t notice the tall figure jogging towards him. Not until he felt a presence kneel down next to him.
“Shit…your bleeding,” the stranger spoke, clearly male. He reached forward to try and grab the wound. It was too dark to make out his features, all he knew of this person was that he was a dude.
Izuku scooted away from the stranger, “I’m fine,” He grunted as he pulled on the needle again, “Leave,”
The other didn’t seem to take it, “What the fuck? You’re bleeding! We need to get you to a hospital!”
“No! I’m fine now fucking leave!” Izuku argued
“You are literally sewing up a wound with a fucking needle and thread! That ain't fine! I’ll carry you or some shit if you can’t walk, let’s just go!” the stranger had already dropped the backpack previously held on his shoulders to the ground and placed a hand under one of Izuku’s knees.
Jerking away, Izuku swatted his free hand at the male, “Don’t take me to the hospital! Christ, don’t you get it!? Leave!” he shouted, trying hard to focus on the shaking hand as he pushed the needle in again.
With a ‘humph’ the stranger quickly swooped his hands all the way under Izuku and lifted him into the air, “Shut up! You know I can’t do that! I’ll just take you to my house, my parents are doctors!”
When the guy lifted Izuku into his arms, a sudden and extremely, extremely painful jolt of agony shot through him. His body must have been extremely surprised, as it went unconscious without Izuku’s permission.
———
Izuku cried, he cried and cried. He was five years old, an orphanage escapee and currently in a massive amount of pain. He lay crippled in an alleyway, the smell of pastries and alcohol indicated that he was between a bakery and bar.
His ass hurt, his eyes hurt, his heart and almost everything else along with. The mean men that had hurt him were long gone, leaving him a sobbing mess. What was left of his clothes had been put back on, but even that didn’t make Izuku feel any less naked.
No matter how many items of clothing he wore, no matter how long he would shield himself with gloves and jackets, he would always feel exposed.
Izuku’s hands stopped most of his tears, but not the loud sobs that echoed in the ally. He couldn’t help but scream at the top of his lungs, he was scared, hurt and confused. Apparently, his wails had attracted another stranger.
A large hand came down on his left shoulder, causing Izuku to flinch and scoot away but he didn’t take his hands from his eyes.
“Are you alright, child?” a deep, calm voice asked him, other hand landing on his right shoulder.
Izuku only shook his head and cried harder.
He felt the man nod, “Come on, young one,” The hands on his trembling shoulders slid down to his armpits and raised him to the air. The man sat Izuku on his hip and pulled his small, clammy fists from his face, forcing the boy to look at him.
Izuku only saw black and purple mist coming from a well-dressed man’s neck. He thrashed in fear, not wanting a replay of the earlier events.
“Calm down. I’m Kurogiri, and I’m going to take care of you from now on….” Mist man spoke, using his free hand to pull Izuku’s head towards his chest and stroked his back, “You’ll be fine now.
——-
Izuku snapped awake, now sitting straight up in bed. In…a bed that wasn’t his…
He jumped from his position but was stopped by a searing pain in his abdomen. Glancing down, Izuku pulled up his white shirt (Where his vest went? he had no idea) and under it was some professional looking hospital gauze.
With a groan, Izuku laid back down on the foreign bed. He took this time to glance around the room and observe his surroundings. Find an easy exit or weapon.
Frankly, the only ‘wepon’ like things in the room were a few pencils on a desk that sat on the other side of the room, near the door. Other than that, there were a few motivational posters here and there. Just the basics like ‘Your the greatest!’ or ‘keep going!’ Izuku squinted at the poster, ‘Keep going,’ and underneath it in sloppy sharpie was written, ‘You pathetic sack of fat’. Izuku giggled quietly at that.
Finally, Izuku gained enough strength to slide off the bed, using the headboard for support as he stumbled to a nearby window. He peered outside, and of course, he’d be stuck in a 20 story apartment building. He limped to the door, using whatever was near to support himself. His hand found it’s self on one of those office chairs with wheels, causing Izuku to lose his balance and fall to the tile floor with a loud ‘thud’.
He fought the urge to scream when he hit the ground, his wound aching and head pounding. He could hear footsteps getting closer and closer to the door as he tried to pull himself off the ground, hand clutching his warm stomach wound.
Finally, the door opened, and a boy, about his age, busted in. He looked around the room before spotting Izuku lying in pain near the window. He rushed to his side and helped him up. (Very roughly, if Izuku may add)
Once he was standing up, Izuku jerked his hand away from the stranger, earning a very rude noise in return. He looked at him, straight in the eye. The boy was taller than him, by a good few inches, blond spiky hair and fierce red eyes. He wore baggy jeans and a black tank, probably the inhabitant of this room.
“Dad! The dumb guy’s awake!” he shouted after a good two seconds of a silent stare. Footsteps came down the hallway, this time much softer and slower.
A man, around his late 40s, came in. He had on glasses and casual clothes under a doctors coat. The boys presumed father walked over.
Izuku eyed the man, who looked almost nothing like the kid. Suddenly, the black-headed man’s hands shot out to touch Izuku’s shoulders. With a gasp, Izuku jerked back and fell on the bed, causing him to wince harshly.
“Christ, chill out,” The blonde boy seethed, glaring down at Izuku with crossed arms.
“Katsuki! He cants help if he’s skittish!” The man protested, looking at his son. Katsuki huffed and looked to the corner of the room.
Izuku sighed, “I’m not skittish, you just surprised me.” he defended, sitting back up on the bed and holding his stomach.
The black-headed man nodded in understanding, “Katsuki, go get Mitsuki for me, she can change his bandages,” he told his son, backing away to give Izuku some room on the foot of the bed.
Katsuki nodded and went out of the room, leaving Izuku and the other man alone in the room. Izuku scooted farther away from the man, who stood about five feet away, near the door.
“I’m not gonna hurt you…” He said. Izuku didn’t respond, “So…what happ-“
“No.” Izuku stopped him, he wasn’t talking to this man. He didn’t know him, he didn’t know…anyone here.
The man looked a little taken aback, “I…ok.” the door opened again, and in came Katsuki and a woman who was strikingly similar to him. Mitsuki, his mind supplied. “Ah, honey, his bandages need to be changed…” he laughed awkwardly.
Mitsuki, who looked, very, stylish under her lab coat walked over to Izuku. Her hands landed on his chest once she was beside him,
“Oh, Sweetheart! Don’t he’s-“ It was too late, Izuku had already thrashed out and punched the woman, “…Scared…” he finished, clearly way too late as he went over to look at his wife’s face.
She brushed him off quickly, turning back to glare at Izuku, “I’m tryna fucking help you, brat! Don’t hit me!”
“Honey…”
Izuku glared at her, “Then dont jump on me like that! What do you expect!” He fought back. It was her fault. Human interaction still made him jumpy, even after he had grown accustomed to being used.
Mitsuki’s nostrils flared before she calmed down, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Obviously, “ that time of the month, y’know? Now lay back so I can fix you up,” she smiles
With a suspicious glare, Izuku slowly laid back on the bed. He had decided once the older guy showed up that he was just gonna let these people take care of him, they were professionals so it meant he didn’t have to have some rusty sewing needle stitching him up.
Mitsuki pulled the office chair out from under the desk and rolled it beside Izuku’s place on the bed. “Pull up your shirt,” she told him.
Izuku held his shirt down, glaring at her. “I’m not gonna hurt you kid, chill the fuck out,” she ensured. Still feeling weary, Izuku slowly lifted up his shirt, stopping at his bullet wound.
Katsuki, who stood on the other side of the room, eyed Izuku’s muscly, scared stomach. He snickered and looked down. Poor kid’s embarrassed, Izuku chuckled.
He felt the woman’s cold hands pull up the medical tape, successfully unbandaging it and coming closer to inspect the wound, “Christ…how the hell does a kid like you get in a situation like this?” She asks, looking up at Izuku, who didn’t answer, “How’d you get shot?”
'Not a word, not a word', Izuku told himself.
Mitsuki stood up, putting her hands on her hips, “Tell me or I’m calling the police.” She deadpanned, looking down expectingly at Izuku.
“Wrong place, wrong time.” he lied. If he were being honest, Izuku had been getting money from a guy who owed the league, turns out the guy was armed and tried his damnedest to hurt Izuku.
“You’re lying,” she held her hand out to her son, who picked up a box from the ground and handed it to her. She began picking through the inside of the box until she found a white gauze and large bottle.
Her hands came back down to Izuku’s stomach, placing the gauze over the newly stitched wound, “Why do you need the truth?”
The woman huffed and grabbed the antiseptic she had previously pulled out, “What am I gonna tell you parents, kid?” the man and Katsuki were silent, watching Mitsuki pour the antiseptic over the gauze that sat on Izuku’s wound.
“You won't tell them anything because, after this, I’m leaving,” Izuku winced at the pain as Mitsuki pressed the gauze down on his stitches.
This time, it was Katsuki who intervened, “Uhm, how about no? We bring you into our home, stitch you up and you just leave right after? Fuck no!” he sneered, getting closer and closer to his spot on the bed.
With a sigh, Izuku glared up at Katsuki, who was now at the very foot of the bed, “I told you to leave me where I was. If anything, you guys are a burden to me!” he tried not to yell too much, as it caused a
The boy tisked, about to speak. His father got to it before he could though, “Wait so you were just going to sit there and stitch your self up? Then what?”
“Then I’d get up and go on with my life, that’s what.” Izuku sneered. He’d done it before, and he’d do it again.
“You’ve had to have had some quirk to fend off the dude, why the hell didn’t you?” Katsuki barked.
Mitsuki had already begun taping a new, thicker gauze onto Izuku’s side, not that he noticed. He chuckled, “I probably didn’t use my quirk because I don't have one.”
Everything seemed to stop, Mitsuki had already packed up her nurse things and looked at Izuku, the man looked surprised and Katsuki looked nothing short of angry. “You’re lying.” Katsuki seethed. (He really takes after his mother)
“No I’m not, your just too dumb to realize that there are people like me, you privileged bitch,” Izuku spat, pulling his shirt down and sitting back up, trying not to let his pain show, “Now, I’ll be leaving,” he stated, trying his hardest to stand back up. He had never been shot right there, the feeling was weird.
Mitsuki looked worried, “Hey! You can barely walk! Stop that!” She sat Izuku back down by pulling his arm to the bed, “You aren't going anywhere until you at least let us call your parents!”
“You cant,” Izuku told them.
She raised an eyebrow, “Oh? And why not? Afraid you’ll get in trouble?”
“Because they’re dead,” he said truthfully. He had to hold back a laugh at their dumbfounded faces, especially Katsuki’s. Mitsuki turned red and rolled away on the office chair.
“I’m…sorry,” Mitsuki apologized. It was funny how guilty she was. Hilarious even.
Izuku huffed and tried standing again, this time with no one stopping him. He only made it to the door before a rough hand grabbed his right arm, “Sit back down.” Katsuki growled at him.
“Or what? Mamas boy gonna punch a quirkless, orphaned teen with no home who’s already wounded? For shame Katsuki, for shame,” Izuku teased, looking up at the blonde with puppy eyes while clutching his wound and bending over a little. And no, he wasn’t per say ‘homeless’, he lived at the bar, with Kurogiri, but with the lack of food and surplus of alcohol, it wasn’t really a home.
The father gasped behind Izuku, at what? He didn’t know. So he kept on trying to yank his arm from Katsuki’s grip.
The man coughed, “Son, if you don’t have a place to stay….”