Chapter Text
“Not all men are created equal.”
Inko pastes a smile onto her face, tightens her grip on her mug, and thinks, Not this shit again .
The woman across from her takes this as tacit approval and continues, jabbing a finger in sharp emphasis between them as her own tea grows cold. “They aren’t! We don’t agree on everything, Inko, but even you have to admit that it’s true. No matter how gorgeous or rich or sweet a guy acts with you, some men just don’t compare to others. It’s not their fault, they’re just not made as good as the rest.”
When her oldest friend had invited her out with the promise of a fresh setting and letting Izuku play out some of his worried energy, Inko had jumped on the opportunity. She had so been looking forward to a day spent in the sun, out of the mausoleum that her apartment had started to resemble, a day to pretend — and yet Mitsuki just. Won’t. Drop it.
This particular opinion is one that she has been chewing on for years now, starting suspiciously concurrent with Hisashi’s bumbling courtship and lasting through an engagement, marriage, and the birth of their darling boy. Izuku is nine now, meaning that Mitsuki has doggedly kept up this argument for over a decade.
Inko is tired of it.
Nevermind the fact that lately Inko has had to consider her oldest friend's oldest argument might have a little merit.
Their boys play together on the swingset in the public park on this early spring day. Inko had only needed to remind Izuku to add a scarf to his sweatshirt this morning (his favorite yellow All Might one, of course) rather than insisting on a full winter coat; it finally feels like the darkness of the past few months is lifting, the cold and loneliness retreating a bit in the wake of a strengthening sun.
At least, to her relief, Izuku seems to be enjoying himself.
With their access to the outside world limited and only one adult in the house, Inko had come to rely on the internet’s marketplaces and quick deliveries (as well as Hisashi’s credit card) to entertain her boy. Now, he delightedly holds up two limited edition All Might figurines (of which he has mint condition doubles at home, thanks to her watchful eye on the forums) and looks thrilled to be included in a pack of boys led by little Katsuki Bakugou himself.
It does not escape Inko’s notice that Izuku has shared all of his toys with these boys and that Katsuki is the only other one in the group to be double-fisting All Mights, one of which is the rare vintage figure that Inko has watched Izuku curl around in sleep every night. Nor does it escape her notice that even with all that, her son is still being given something of a cold shoulder by his childhood best friend.
It’s something that Inko has been meaning to bring up with Mitsuki, but with everything else lately the topic of Katsuki and Izuku’s relationship had been relegated to the backburner. Maybe today they could have a talk about it… if Mitsuki would let either of them discuss any other topic.
“Inko,” she pleads, and Inko turns to face her, resisting the urge to sigh. Mitsuki’s frown is still solidly in place, but for once the crease in her brow is more concerned than pissed. She exhales violently, exasperated, and startles Inko by reaching across the table and tangling their fingers together.
Inko jumps, eyes darting to their joined hands. Izuku has never been a cuddlebug, really, and Inko respects that, but it occurs to her suddenly that it’s been a long time since anyone touched her.
“Inko,” Mitsuki repeats. “I didn’t — I don’t want to fight about this. I just—” She growls, frustrated, and changes track. “You know you’re my best friend, right? You know that I love you, and I’m here for you?”
“Of course,” Inko manages, though she’s not sure she does know that. Sure, Mitsuki has remained stubbornly by her side throughout the years, even as Inko's friend group shrank as a result of Hisashi’s… eccentricities. But just because Mitsuki’s been there doesn’t mean she’s always been present, exactly, and at this point the only things they really have in common anymore are a shared childhood and sons in the same classes.
“Because I do,” Mitsuki continues fiercely, scowling. “You’ve always been kind to me, and I don’t think the world has been very kind back to you. You really took care of me when we were younger and I think it’s only fair if I get to take care of you when you need it—” another harsh exhale, and Inko realizes it’s a sigh . “And I think, lately, you do need it.”
Inko feels the tremor start in her fingers and tries to squash it down, but it’s too late — Mitsuki notices and squeezes their hands briefly before she goes on with a cadence like she’s reciting a memorized speech. “Hisashi has been gone for months now, Inko, and you still haven’t heard one word from the bastard. I think it’s time to start thinking about what to do if he really, well. If he really doesn’t come back this time.”
“He’ll be back,” Inko blurts out before she can stop herself, then winces at Mitsuki’s expression and pulls her hand away to readjust her scarf. “He — you’re right, he’s never been gone this — this long before, but he’ll be back. He promised me.” She fiddles with the ends of her scarf and wishes, weirdly, that she was back in her dark apartment instead, in the kitchen maybe. “He’s been — the money’s still being deposited in my account on time, every week. I don’t know what’s keeping him but he hasn’t — he hasn’t abandoned us, Mitsuki.”
There’s a roar from the playground, and Inko looks over in time to catch sight of little Katsuki leaping from the top of the jungle gym, flames spurting behind him, before he disappears back into the throng of children shrieking with delight. She can’t see Izuku within the crowd, but given Katsuki’s focus she expects that he’s right in the middle.
“OI!” Mitsuki shouts, abruptly standing and furious. “KATSUKI BAKUGOU WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT USING YOUR QUIRK IN PUBLIC LIKE THAT!?”
A head of spiky blond hair pops up from the pack of children to howl back, “Shut UP old hag! No one’s gonna grab me here anyway!” before diving back down onto — yes, that head of dark curls is definitely Izuku, and Inko has time to be briefly worried about that before Mitsuki slams her fist on the table.
“That brat ,” she hisses, and Inko realizes with a start that this is her escape route. “I told him not to show off—”
“You’re worried about Katsuki getting targeted, then?”
Mitsuki barks out a laugh. “You kidding? With a powerful Quirk like his, we’ve been staying inside nearly as much as you have.” She shoots Inko a semi-apologetic smirk as she sinks back down into her seat. “No offense, of course.”
“None taken,” Inko says, and she means it — though Mitsuki has known about Hisashi’s paranoia for years, Inko’s kept the past year’s uptick of it quiet. It wouldn’t be fair to take offense.
“I told him it’s dangerous with all these kidnappings lately, but he just won’t listen . Thinks he’s invincible,” Mitsuki says with an impressive roll of her eyes that takes Inko all the way back to high school. “I actually think you’re lucky with Izuku — at least you don’t have to worry about him being abducted for his Quirk.”
Inko shrugs and takes a sip of her tea, considering. “Maybe. But I think Katsuki’s right — there are too many witnesses here for it to be a good pickup location. The villains could be scouting here, perhaps , but it’s a big city. Plus you’ve already made yourself known and their M.O. thus far has only included other children as witnesses — an abduction here and now would be much too large a break from their patterns to be probable. All things considered, this is as safe a place as he could be besides home. But you are right that he should avoid using his Quirk in public — as long as he stays in the area now and you keep picking him up from school in person, I don’t believe you need worry about Katsuki getting abducted due to any actions he takes here and now.”
She finishes off the last of her tea with a swallow and glances up at Mitsuki, whose face has paled. The other woman shudders, eyes wide. “I will never get used to that creepy crime shit coming from little old you. Never . But don’t think you’ve distracted me — we were talking about you .”
Inko delicately readjusts her scarf to hide her grimace. “Wouldn’t you rather talk crime statistics?”
“I’d rather you come to dinner tonight, honestly. I haven’t been able to get you out of your apartment all winter, and we’ve been missing you.” Mitsuki leans back and crosses her arms, frowning again, but there’s a determined jut to her chin. “After the kids are done here you and I’re dropping them off at home — Masaru will take care of them while we go to the spa, and when we get back he’s making dinner. You’re coming, we already planned it all out.”
“ Mitsuki ,” Inko squeaks. “I can’t, I—”
“What, you have to go home and clean the house all day and not go to work and be a good little housewife for a guy who isn’t even there ? Come on, Inko, live a little.” She darts a hand out and snags Inko’s before she can think to pull it away, squeezing again til Inko looks her in the eye. “Please. We can talk about crime statistics at dinner if you want, but you can’t just stay in that goddamn apartment all day anymore. I won’t let you.”
It’s abruptly a little difficult to breathe. Inko uses her free hand to scrub at her eyes, feeling suddenly so grateful to have a friend like Mitsuki, even if they don’t always see eye to eye. “...you promise we can talk about crime statistics?”
Mitsuki barks a laugh, short but genuine, and reaches into her bag to pull out a pack of tissues. “Sure. You really think those creeps won’t go after Katsuki?”
Inko laughs a little wetly as Mitsuki passes over a tissue. “In broad daylight, with you watching out for him? They’d have to really, truly be desperate.”
***
Izuku’s mom is crying again.
She’s been crying a lot, lately, way past the point where Izuku can pretend he hasn’t noticed. It’s been two and a half months now: since Dad got anxious again, since he disappeared off to America, since he stopped answering her calls or her emails.
The life of a salaryman is a busy one, Izuku knows, but Dad’s never been gone this long before without at least a letter. Even when he was away for long periods before this he’d always been prompt about answering Mom’s messages, and they'd talk almost every night on the phone. With every passing day without, Izuku has been quietly getting more and more worried and frustrated and disappointed .
At nine years old, Izuku is nearly an adult; without Dad in the house, it’s his responsibility to be strong for Mom. He’s been trying , obviously: he helps her around the house, does his own laundry, hides the bruises and burns from Kacchan so she won’t have to worry about that on top of everything else. He smiles at her over dinner, doesn’t ask her for anything, and acts extra thrilled when she gets him an All Might figure because it makes her happy to see him happy.
It’s just that at this point, he’s starting to get maybe a little bit… angry at Dad.
With a sharp gasp, the woodchips of the playground come up to meet Izuku’s face. He manages to turn just in time to avoid getting an eyeful of them and winces as they dig into his cheek. Above him, Kacchan laughs.
“What’s wrong, deku? Thought you wanted to play with us. Can’t the quirkless loser keep up?”
Mom’s crying on the park bench, but Auntie Mitsuki is right there next to her and she can help in ways Izuku can’t. For Mom, he can endure this.
Izuku takes a moment longer on the ground than he really needs, just to give himself a bit of a break. He had hoped that providing Kacchan and all his friends with their own toys to play with might have prevented this from happening — stupid, really. And even though Izuku can keep this up as long as his mom needs, he ought to minimize any signs that this was anything more than playful roughhousing. Maybe, if he can do a good enough job acting weak, Kacchan might believe that he doesn’t even need to hurt him as much.
Not that Izuku needs to act, really. With no Quirk, he’s weaker than any of these kids. He stands no chance against any of them.
Estimating that he’s been down long enough, Izuku pulls himself to his feet and wipes at the tears that he can never seem to stop. The other kids have formed a small circle around him and Kacchan, blocking them from view of the parents — good. Kacchan stands opposite him, smirking. He’s got three All Might figurines tucked under one arm and a fourth in his hands, the one from the first collection that even featured All Might. It’s Izuku’s favorite. Kacchan’s looking at it like he’d like to take it home with him.
“Well, deku? Thought you could keep up with us just because you’ve got toys ?” Kacchan scoffs.
No, but maybe they could be a distraction. Bait, even, if I made him mad enough. Lure him in, pretend I’m reaching for the toy, use my Quirk to break his wrist instead , Izuku thinks, but he takes a deep breath and squashes that useless thought down. Because, yes: if Izuku were a Hero and Kacchan a Villain, that’d be the move to make to efficiently neutralize the target’s Quirk. But Kacchan’s not a villain, and Izuku doesn’t have a Quirk, and besides: one day Kacchan will need his wrists in good condition for his career in Heroics, so there’s no point to that kind of thinking. There’s no point to any of the anger.
So Izuku scrubs an arm across his face to get rid of the woodchips and wet stuck there and lets out a deep breath filled with his bad thoughts and feelings. Right now all he has to do is focus on the present and try to stall, so he takes a step backwards and lets his body tremble as much as it wants to. “I just wanted to share with everyone,” he tries, hoping honesty works. “I thought it’d be… nice.”
“ Nice ?” barks Kacchan; the kids around them jeer. “You thought it’d be nice to show off all your stupid toys and pretend they make you so much better than everyone else?”
“N-no — wait a minute,” says Izuku — the other kids are closing ranks around him and Kacchan actually looks mad , nearly snarling. How has Izuku managed to lose control of this so quickly? “No, I — I just meant—”
“If you really wanted to be nice,” Kacchan says, a sneer lifting his lips in a way that makes Izuku’s stomach sink, “then you’d give all these toys to everyone, instead of taking them back when we’re done. That’d really be nice, right, everyone?”
Izuku can barely hear the cheers of the other kids over his own dull heartbeat, because he can see how this goes: he can either say no and be the bad guy, giving the rest of the kids more incentive to join in on knocking him around, or he can let go of the collection his mom has carefully been building for him and maybe avoid having his teeth kicked in.
Part of the reason Kacchan will one day be a great Hero is how clever he is: he only needed a sentence to outmaneuver Izuku. The other boy grins sharply, his eyes narrowed in challenge.
Izuku would grit his teeth if he had more room in his head, but he’s crowding out the anger with calm breathing and the knowledge that Auntie Mitsuki hasn’t had enough time yet to really help Mom.
So he says, “Fine.”
This time Izuku can hear the delight around him loud and clear, but Kacchan’s face twists into a snarl. Izuku blinks, trying to parse that look — he’d almost guess that somehow Kacchans’s the one who’s been cornered, not him.
“Well,” the other boy snaps loud enough for the crowd to quiet. They look to him, hanging on his every word. “I guess these things really don’t matter to you, huh, deku.” He looks down as if to examine the All Might figure still in his hand.
It was expensive — even if Izuku hadn’t seen the price on the forums, it’s an original from a collection that went out of stock years and years before he was even born. Besides that, it fits really well in his palm, making it perfect to curl up and fall asleep with (which he knows is kind of embarrassing and babyish, but… it’s not like anyone’s gonna know ).
Kacchan probably knows that it’s worth a lot, too, since he loves All Might just as much as Izuku does. His scowl turns even angrier, though, as he glares across the circle, the toy clutched in a smoking palm. “I guess if it really doesn’t matter to you, then—”
Kacchan’s palm is smoking. The hand holding Izuku’s favorite All Might figure is —
His body must catch up with what’s happening before the rest of him does, because Izuku is storming across the circle and drawing a fist back before he can even think, throwing his weight forward at Kacchan’s face with all of the anger that’s been building the past few months, because it’s just a toy but it’s Izuku’s toy and can’t he please, please just have one thing —
He misses, of course.
Kacchan has always been faster and stronger than him — he ducks out of the way just as Izuku is processing his own actions in what feels like horrific slow motion. His momentum pulls him forward, overbalancing, and the only thing that stops him from face-planting — again — is the fact that standing right there, just behind where Kacchan had been, is Saburo.
Izuku feels a sort of dull relief that Saburo is so much taller than Kacchan even as he watches his fist collide with the other boy’s shoulder, because at least it’s not his face. Saburo stumbles backwards, eyes wide, and throws his hands out in apparent panic. Izuku considers worrying when Saburo instinctively activates his Quirk, expanding his fingers into long, jagged points, which then manage to slash across the arms and cheeks of the boys around him. Those boys then panic themselves and lash out in turn, throwing fists and feet and more.
Before Izuku even hits the ground, the playground has erupted into an all-out, free-for-all battle royale.
Izuku barely has a moment to dazedly blink before he’s shoved further into the fray.
The next minute and a half last for approximately an hour, by Izuku’s count — he’s stepped on, has his hair yanked, and trips over at least two different moaning bodies before he can get to the edge of the arena. His ears ring with the shouts and shrieks of the combatants as he crawls, panting, onto the sidewalk surrounding the park.
He thinks he got an elbow to the eye at some point — he touches it gingerly just as Kacchan stumbles to the ground beside him, his nose bleeding freely and eyes wide.
They stare at each other for a frozen moment, neither sure what to do, when something goes sailing overhead and both look up.
The vintage blue All Might figurine, slightly melted but otherwise intact, soars over them and bounces, twice, before landing with a clatter in the alley just around the corner.
Kacchan looks to Izuku, who looks to Kacchan. Behind them, voices cry out in war and pain.
Then, simultaneously, both boys scramble to their feet and race away from the park to reach All Might first.
Even though Izuku expects the shove, he’s still not fast enough to avoid it entirely. He catches himself with his hands and is already pushing himself back up off scraped palms to rush after Kacchan, but the other boy turns the corner before he’s even up. Thinking a word his mom would be ashamed for him to know, Izuku tears after him.
“Aren’t I lucky,” croons an unfamiliar voice, and Izuku has time to gasp before he hits liquid.
Instinctively Izuku tries to pull away, but the liquid sticks to him. In fact, it almost seems to curl around him, intentional, reaching, pulling back , pulling Izuku’s arms into the slime, his legs, forcing his whole head under.
This is very bad , Izuku thinks as he begins to choke on whatever is forcing itself down his throat. He’s surrounded by some kind of rushing sludge, dirty green and thick as molasses. He tries to scream, but he can’t get any air — his brain races.
Some kind of Quirk; doesn’t match any Pro Hero currently in the area, nor UA student from last year’s Sports Festival. Villain?
Suddenly the sludge around Izuku heats up, nearly scalding Izuku — Kacchan? — and the voice speaks again: “Come on, brats, I don’t wanna hurt you. Just relax and this will go much easier for all of us.” A villain, for sure, Izuku thinks. The one that’s been kidnapping kids ? But no, he’d read some of the accounts online and none of the witnesses mentioned anything about a slime Quirk — maybe he’s not the only one ? Could there be more kidnappers? Many ?
The voice snarls and suddenly Izuku’s mouth is clear — he sucks in a huge breath, coughs out what he can, and looks up to see thick, curved teeth the length of his fingers and a pair of rolling yellow eyes ( solid, in an otherwise amorphous body: possible weakness? ). They’re focused right now on something else, a struggling figure held tight in the same sludge that has just lessened its grip on Izuku.
The struggling person throws their head back and Izuku catches sight of their eyes: they’re pleading for help.
Kacchan , he realizes a second later, but most of his brain is already in overdrive, searching his surroundings for a way to help him.
As the other boy sends another bolt of heat through the villain, Izuku pulls an arm free from the slime with a disgusting squelch . He reaches out, scrabbling for something, anything he can use.
His fingers close around something that fits perfectly in his palm. He rears back, takes aim, and throws the All Might figurine with all his might.
Against all odds, Izuku’s aim is true and the toy crashes into one of the yellow eyes ( confirmed weakness , Izuku thinks dizzily), which closes with a furious hiss. The whole being flinches back, releasing Kacchan, who drops to the ground with a hacking cough. A wave of relief and triumph crests through Izuku, lasting just long enough for Kacchan to scramble to a knee and for the sludge villain to snatch Izuku back up.
“You fucking brat ,” it hisses, “I didn’t want to hurt you! This could have been easy !” The villain constricts itself tighter around Izuku’s sides, tight enough that he’d gasp if there weren’t slime down his mouth and in his lungs again.
But Kacchan has a powerful Quirk, and he’s getting to his feet, so Izuku is calm. He watches him stand.
Then, without even glancing back, Kacchan turns and runs away.
Huh , thinks Izuku muzzily.
“You better be worth it,” snaps the sludge monster as the world starts to fade, and then Izuku doesn’t think anything at all.