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Izuku Midoriya tried not to make a habit out of getting himself impaled, but, as he had come to find out, life had other plans. He limped down the dark, shadow-filled alley, hand clutched to his still-bleeding side and the severed pitchfork prongs that still lodged there. His vision blurred as he swayed side to side, stopping only to glance at the single, flickering streetlamp lighting up the short bridge that lay ahead.
He recognized that bridge. His head felt light, he was bleeding out, and he was bound to pass out any second now, but he stopped and struggled to pull his thoughts together. Where had he seen that bridge before? He walked forward into the tunnel, a hand leaving his wound to graze the dust-covered cement above. He saw images, memories flashing by. A burnt notebook, a gelatinous beast, and the painfully bright smile of his idol. All Might. It always came back to All Might.
Izuku pulled his hand back, looking at the black smut covering his fingertips. This place had changed since he’d last been here. He hadn’t meant to come back to his old town, hadn’t even noticed he was there with how different the setting looked. The buildings were taller, more polished, while the streets below became all the more foul. Still, here he was. Stumbling down the same fateful path he had taken all those years ago. He continued forward.
Something snagged his foot, and he went down. Hard. A grunt escaped his lips as the steel prongs pushed deeper into his side. A pitchfork. Out of all the Yakuza goons in all the Yakuza bases, of course he’d end up fighting the one man on the face of the planet proficient in pitchfork fighting. He pushed himself up, glancing behind him to look at what had tripped him. A manhole. The same one the monster that had nearly killed him came out of all those years ago.
Izuku pushed himself to his knees, grunting as his other wounds shifted and groaned. Blood was trailing down his arm now. His patchwork stitching job must have popped open. So he was going to bleed out faster now, great. He forced himself up, trying to stand, but his ankle gave out and he fell right back where he started. Again, his arms went under him, trying to push himself to his knees. They felt weaker though, and his head felt lighter. His arms buckled and he collapsed once again.
"Come on," He muttered, putting all his strength into his arms. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't die here. There were at least five more human trafficking rings in this prefecture alone and he had to stay alive so he could stop them. God knew the heroes wouldn't.
There. He made it to his knees. That was the easy part, though. He still had to make it to his feet. He still had to start walking. He still had more than twenty kilometers to go before he could crash at the nearest safe house. He could trigger the alarm there, and the doctor would find him. He'd be safe. He'd recover. And then he could go rescue the rest of those children. First, though, first he had to stand.
His left foot slid forward. He shifted his weight, using that foot and the wall to steady himself enough to drag his other one under him. The second he put weight on his right foot, though, pain flared and he fell back against the wall. He looked down, just now noticing how tight his ankle felt trapped in the confines of his boots. It felt swollen. When did it get swollen?
He felt himself slipping down the wall, and there was nothing he could do about it. His arms felt like lead, his ankle felt like fire, and the two prongs buried in his side definitely felt poisoned. Twenty kilometers? Who was he kidding? It'd be a miracle if he made five. As he finally sank back to the ground, he finally came to terms with the hopelessness of his situation. This was it. He'd die out here, alone and cold like he had lived for the last half-decade. He wondered if the doctor would miss him.
"Sentinel?"
Sentinel. He always hated that name. Too stoic. Too demanding. He liked Doberman better. He hoped the police would stick with that one once they linked his Yakuza busts to his other Tokyo activity. Having to throw off two separate investigations at the same time was exhausting, not that it mattered anymore. He'd be dead before sunrise.
Izuku looked up, his vision blurring too much to make out the face of the man approaching him. There was… what was that? Steam? Wafting off of the man's skin before the figure before him almost doubled in size. Oh no.
"Vigilante!" He bellowed. “I followed your trail of breadcrumbs and have come to put an end to your mischievous wrongdoings! One cannot stop crime by…” The voice continued, but Izuku’s focus did not. Time blurred with the world around him and the next thing he knew he was wincing at the light being shined in his eyes. A hand turned his cheek, lifting up the hem of his respirator to check his pulse, “...you hear me?”
He groaned, trying to pull away. It couldn’t be him. Anybody but him. A sudden cough wracked his body. Sooner than he had time to process, his mask was thrown off and he was being held on his side, coughing up blood on the filthy road. All Might was yelling something now, but not to him. He was talking to… someone on… a phone? A wristwatch? It didn’t matter now. The world was quickly fading to black and Izuku was already far too out of it to care. The last thing he saw was All Might’s face, pausing, his eyes widening as he looked at him. “It can’t be. Midoriya?” And everything faded to black.
The light of the morning sun stirred him awake. Izuku opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Every cut, scrape, and bruise from last night came screaming at him full force. He groaned, rolling to his side only to roll off the bed. He hit the floor with a particularly loud thud, jostling his wounds even more. Upon looking up, he noticed that he had not, in fact, been on someone’s bed, but someone’s couch.
“Uraraka?” He asked, hissing as he pushed himself up. The pain had somewhat dulled, but it still hurt, “Fuck,” he muttered. “Doctor Uraraka!” He managed to claw his way back to the couch, dragging himself up just as someone walked into the room. He sighed, “Thank god. Where did you—” His voice caught in his throat. This wasn’t Ochako’s apartment. That wasn’t Uraraka, “Fuck,”
“It’s good to see you’re up,” All Might said, walking in in his de-powered mode. He set one of the two mugs of tea he was carrying on the table, “Gave me quite the scare back there,”
Izuku stilled. He sat there quiet, calculating. A moment passed, two. Toshinori sat down, blowing some steam off his tea and taking a sip.
“Why aren’t I in handcuffs?”
He paused, “Handcuffs?”
“I’m a vigilante, aren’t I? And you’re a hero. Why haven't you arrested me?"
"For what? Assault? You can't be charged with unlawful quirk usage when you don't have a quirk."
He faltered. "So… you remember then,"
"Of course I do,"
"Why?"
"Are you asking why I remember or why I've brought you here?"
"Both, I guess,"
He glanced down at the contents of his mug, swirling them around idly as he thought. He frowned, "It's been, what? Five years now?"
"Something like that,"
"Hmm. I called Recovery Girl, in case you were wondering. You were so banged up that I had to. Other than that, though, no one knows you're here,"
"That doesn't answer my question,"
He frowned again, a conflicted expression of regret and… something washed over his face, "When you vanished… we… well, we thought you killed yourself,"
"I did,"
His breath hitched. He looked up, "Y-You what?"
"Or, well, tried to, that is. The um… the building wasn't tall enough, though, and… well, I just ended up breaking my legs,"
"That… shit. I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean, well, seeing you here I thought… I'm sorry," He glanced back at his drink, feeling a lot less in the mood for tea, "I really am sorry, you know. Back on that rooftop, I've… I've regretted those words ever since,"
Izuku looked down, hesitating before reaching out an uneasy hand and taking the second mug. He liked tea, but due to his unsteady (homeless) housing situation, he only really had tea at the doctor's house, and he was only ever there when he was using her bathroom or bleeding to death on her couch. "You weren't wrong, you know," He said, drawing his aching legs under him.
"Looking at you now, at the things you've accomplished, I'm more certain than ever that I was. Sentinel took down the League of Villans,"
"I'm not a hero, though,"
"You could have been,"
Midoriya chuckled, but there was little warmth to it. The laugh sounded sad, empty, "You know how long it took for someone to find me? After I jumped, that is,"
"How long?"
"Three hours.” He sighed, looking into his reflection in the deep green of his tea, “Three hours is a long time, you know, to lay there crying, crumpled in a heap on the pavement. And amidst the pain and tears, it left a lot of time to think.
Izuku continued, "As you already know, twenty percent of the population is quirkless. That number seems a lot bigger when you realize that's one in every five. Granted, most of that are elderly, as the percent of children born quirk-abled rises every year, and the quirkless population does have a higher suicide rate than average, but that's… that's still a lot of people. What I realized, lying there broken and alone on that dark, cold sidewalk, was that I couldn't have been the first one to apply. It wasn't statistically possible. Yet still, there are no quirkless heroes.
"You were a professor at U.A., so you should already know, but all major hero schools have entrance exams centered around combat-based quirks. As you also already know, not all licensed heroes have combat-based quirks. Take Midnight, for example. Her quirk lets her release a mist that puts people to sleep. That's it. That's all she does. If she can score just as well as the heavy hitters on an entrance exam against robots, there is no reason in the world that a quirkless kid couldn't pass as well. But they don't, do they? They never do. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why,"
Toshinori was silent as Izuku sipped from his mug. The tea was warm and pleasant to taste but wasn't quite as sweet as Ochako's. He liked her's a bit better.
"Even if I had taken the exam, even if I had passed, U.A. wouldn't have accepted me. At best I'd get into a support class, at worst I’d just be thrown out. But being a hero? Receiving a license? It was rigged from the start,"
Toshinori set his mug down. The kid had a point. A really, really good point. He’d have to take this up with Nedzu later, "So you became a vigilante,"
"Not technically a vigilante—your own words—but yeah. I wanted to help people, I wanted to stop crime, and I wasn't becoming a fucking police officer to do that,"
"How did you manage it anyway? How are you getting money for your equipment? Where did you receive the training to fight? I would have… well, it’s a surprise you haven’t been killed yet,"
"Ah, that. After I jumped, after I lay there crying like a mess for three hours, Sensei found me. He took me in, patched me up, and asked if I had a place to go back to. I shook my head, and that was that. He didn't ask any more questions. He just took me in. And when I was better, when I was finally able to walk again, he taught me everything I know,"
"Was he a martial arts instructor?"
"In… a way,"
"A way?"
"He taught me how to fight, but he didn't teach for a living. He fought for one. Was an underground fighter, and a damn good one too. At night, when he didn’t have a match, he used to take me to the rooftops to train. His sessions were brutal, but I enjoyed them. They made me stronger, gave me hope, gave me a reason to want to live again. He… he saved me. In more ways than one,"
Toshinori sat silent for a moment, thinking, “Maybe this is a stupid question,” he said, “But… your mother is still alive. You had a place to go back to. Why would you tell him no?”
“Do you know how long it takes to heal from a seven-story fall?”
“Seven—Jesus, seven stories?!?”
Izuku just shrugged, “Survival isn’t likely, but it does happen. Anyway, with recovery it’s not the legs that are the problem. It’s the feet. The tiny bones that make them up don’t just break, they shatter. The healing quirk Sensei’s friend had was the one and only reason I didn’t have to have them amputated. It took me six months to get better. That’s half a year missing. How am I supposed to explain that to her? Just show up out of the blue one day ‘Hey, mom, sorry it took so long. I would have called but I was busy having my bones fused back together after trying to fucking kill myself. How you doing?’ And if I did go back, what then? What good would it do? I’m still a quirkless Deku. The only thing I’ve ever wanted in life still eons beyond my reach. I meant what I said. There was no life for me to go back to,”
“Hmm,” He reached out, picking up the black respirator from the table. He turned it over in his hands, “So… Sentinel, huh?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
He chuckled, “My biggest complaint about being a not-quite-vigilante has always been my inability to choose my own name. Never cared much for Sentinel,”
“What would you have picked then? If you could choose, I mean,” He put the mask down, picking his mug of tea up once again.
“Hmm. I don’t know. I’d never have chosen it on my own, but I do like Doberman better,”
Toshinori nearly choked, “Y-You’re not—?!?”
“Shit, I shouldn’t have said that,” Izuku rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “But, yeah. I uh… that’s me,”
“Midoriya, Doberman infiltrated the largest, most heavily armed bunker in the prefecture with nothing more than his knives and a couple of smoke grenades! I saw the footage, it was an absolute bloodbath. Are you telling me you—”
“They were planning on killing a girl named Maki Fujiwara that night. I didn’t have time to be gentle,”
“That was a little more than ‘not-gentle’,”
Izuku frowned, “A girl’s life was on the line, and I was running out of time. I did what I thought was right, and I stand by it,”
“That wasn’t the first time Doberman’s killed someone, either”
Izuku sighed, setting his empty mug on the table, “I try to avoid it when I can, but… well… the truth of the matter is, I can’t. Not always. I’m sorry I’m not bulletproof, but that’s just how the game works.”
“That’s… That’s not…”
“Speaking of which,” He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, bracing himself against the table for a second as he waited for his lightheaded vision to clear. Ochako was going to kill him when he got back, “I need to get back to work,”
“You’re not leaving just yet,”
“I thought you said you didn’t tell anyone. That implies you intend on letting me go,” He straightened his back, narrowing his eyes, “Am I right? Or was that a threat?”
“Midoriya, wait. Please. There are others who’d want to see you. You’re mother, for one. She still thinks your dead, for Christ’s sake!”
He picked up the respirator, slipping it on, “It’s best if it stays that way,” He grabbed his goggles next, but paused, looking up to meet Toshinori’s eyes. All Might looked… confused, desperate, “You have to understand, All Might, her son died five years ago. I saw the headstone last time I was here. She found her closure, let her keep it. Telling her she was wrong now, that would kill her. Just think about it, think logically. She spends a year and four months—”
“How do you know the—”
“Searching for her only child, absolutely sure he’s still alive somewhere. She pushes past the concerned advice from friends and family, past the advice from police and heroes. She kept searching for over sixteen months only to decide enough was enough and give up. What do you think she would do if she realized that I was still alive? That she gave up while I was alone and cold and sleeping on the street? And I’ve changed, too. I’m not the scared little kid that ran away all those years ago. I’m not the Izuku she lost. What do you think she’ll do if she learns that?”
“When she learns that,”
“Hmm,” He wiped the lenses on his goggles before pulling them over his eyes, “I’m not going to fight you on this. Not exactly like I can. Just… well, you know what I want,”
“And Bakugou?”
Izuku paused, “Kacchan?”
“I once heard him say he thought your death was his fault, although I’m not sure why. He still carries that regret with him. I can see it in his eyes,”
“That’s… unfortunate, but I’ve really been trying to keep a low profile,” He glanced up at the clock on the wall, “You… weren’t planning on turning me in, right? Because there’s a shipment of school children being sent to China tonight, and that would really put a damper on my plans,”
“I…” He looked up at Izuku. He was taller now, and even under the thick mesh of his body armor, Toshinori could tell he was more built. His hair was shorter, and his face held several scars, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was the look in his eyes, the shape of his spine. He held himself higher, straighter, a look of purpose on his face that he hadn’t seen for half a decade. A look he hadn’t seen since he himself had snuffed it out all those years ago, “Well…” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill this kid a second time in a row, “I’m not exactly sure what I’d turn you in for. You haven’t exactly used your quirk unlawfully,”
“As if that would stand up in a court of law,”
Toshinori shrugged, “It might,”
“Knucklebuster’s still considered a vigilante, isn’t he?”
“Kid, I’m letting you go. Do you want that or not?”
It wasn’t really visible from under his mask, but Izuku smiled, “Thanks,” he glanced down to the two empty cups sitting on the table, “and thanks for the tea. It was… nice. Seeing you again, having this conversation. Let… Let Bakugou know I’m alright. Just… keep my mother out of this. Please. I want her to have her closure,”
He frowned, “I… suppose I could think about it,”
“And I suppose that’ll have to do,” He turned and began walking towards the door.
He hadn’t seen the kid in years, and probably wouldn’t again. His thoughts were racing. He couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t just walk away like that, it wasn’t right. There had to be something, anything to get the kid to stay. “Midoriya, wait!”
He paused in the door frame, one foot already outside.
“It’s not too late, you can still get your hero’s license. I’ll talk to them, I’ll make them listen. You can come forward, you don’t have to live like this!”
He turned, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need a license, I don’t even have a quirk. Besides, I’ve worked in the shadows for so long it just… It wouldn’t feel right,”
“You said you were living on the street,”
“Eh, kinda. I have a couple different places I can crash at night, but… well, let’s just say they’re not up to city code, but the doctor lets me use her shower sometimes, so I manage,” He sighed at the look All Might was giving him, “I’m okay, really. I do good work out there, work that just isn’t possible in the spotlight you pro’s live in,
“Are you sure?”
“I am,” he glanced outside. It was morning, he must have slept through an entire day, “Thanks once again for… well, for everything,” He took another step outside, but turned to look behind him one last time, “Oh, and when the detectives finally link my two files together, please make sure they stick with Doberman.” And with that, he left.