Chapter Text
Hidan sneered, dragging his scythe through his calf as the man across from him screamed.
“Fuckin’ wimp-ass heathen.” He was barely worth sacrificing to Jashin-sama—but it had been far too long since Hidan’s last sacrifice, and he felt his connection to his god waning by the day. He’d had to trek deep into the questionable heart of the city to find this guy, sneaking around in the dark in a way that made his skin crawl. Hidan always preferred to do his business out in the open, like a fucking man; but he knew he couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself in this world.
That damn green brat better appreciate the lengths he went to in order to keep suspicion away from their shitty-ass apartment.
He drew a slice across his chest. The man shrieked and writhed in agony.
“Shaddup, bitch,” he groaned. He could already feel the heady rush of energy as his godly connection strengthened. The more pain he inflicted (and suffered), the stronger the ritual, after all.
He scored a cut across his bicep. And another, down his ribcage. A stab through the foot for good measure.
The man soon fell quiet, bald head glistening darkly under the flickering street lamp. Guess it was time to finish things before the heathen fucking bled out. Hidan stabbed his scythe into his chest, relishing in the sound of bone crunching and blood gushing.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be with Jashin-sama soon,” he gurgled to the man, grinning. With that, he died.
When he awoke, he felt better than he had in days. The man’s mangled body had barely cooled as he wiped his scythe off, clearing out Jashin’s symbol from the concrete under him as he mumbled the finishing prayers for the ritual.
Rifling through the man’s blood-soaked clothes, he pocketed a wad of cash (there’d better fucking be enough to cover the next month of rent); the rest of the wallet only contained the small plastic rectangles everyone here seemed to carry, which were entirely useless to Hidan. He tossed the leather pouch over his shoulder and continued searching. Keys, more weird plastic shit…
Something crinkled. It was a foil packet—chewing gum. The white tablets were soaked through with dark blood. Hidan grinned and popped one into his mouth, relishing the bite of peppermint and tang of copper on his tongue. Giving the body one last look, he stepped over the man’s corpse and walked away into the moonlight. His fucking job here was done, or whatever.
“Hidan-nii! Hidan-nii!” A green blur slammed into Hidan’s side, interrupting his morning meditation. “Guess what?!”
“A huge-ass lizard just came out of the ocean and is gonna eat this entire fucking city?” Hidan growled irritably. “And how many times do I have to tell you to quit fucking calling me that, nerd?”
Izuku grinned. “Nope! And guess again!” His eyes were round with excitement.
“You blew up a bank and now the police are out hunting your ass?”
“Nope!” Izuku said, continuing to exude his patented aura of puppies and unicorns. It always made Hidan want to puke (even if it was admittedly useful to sic the kid onto the nearest old lady to con her out of some snacks or groceries). The kid shook a sheet of paper in his face. “Look what came in the mail!”
Hidan eyed the paper with disdain. “Spit it the fuck out already, nerd. It’d better be worth interrupting my meditation for.”
“I got into U.A.! All-Might himself told me in the hologram!”
“...huh.” Actually, that’s pretty impressive for the pipsqueak. “Guess Jashin-sama really liked my sacrifice last night.”
Izuku’s face immediately flushed, and he clutched the paper to his chest like he was in some fucking shoujo anime he liked to watch so much on the grocery store TV’s. “You made a sacrifice just for me, Hidan-nii?” He squeaked.
“Not a chance,” Hidan snorted, “I did it while praying for Jashin-sama to shut your whiny ass up about,” he pitched his voice to a breathy soprano, “ ‘All-Might and his awesome Quirk that I love so much I wanna marry it and what if I don’t live up to his expectations and am a massive pain in the ass to the amazing Hidan-sama— ’”
Izuku threw his arms around Hidan’s middle “Thanks, Hidan-nii!” He beamed up at Hidan. “I couldn’t have done it without you!”
“Whatever, brat,” he sighed gruffly, “now get outta my fucking space and lemme pray.”
“I’ll go get dinner for tonight to celebrate, then,” Izuku said, scrambling to his feet. “See you later!”
The screen door banged shut. Hidan huffed to himself, settling back into his meditation pose and closing his eyes. He could finally begin his daily prayers, no thanks to certain green-haired gremlins who vomited rainbows and distracted him from his sacred duties.
Dinner better be fucking good.
— — — — —
When Hidan had awoken in this strange new world, he’d had nothing but his scythe and devilish good looks to his name—literally. He was buck-naked and freezing when he finally came to in the dead of night.
His last memory had been that of cursing out the shitty Nara asshole in the shitty dirt pit his head was in, after the shitty Konoha shinobi had blown him up. Wherever he’d ended up was nothing like anywhere he’d ever gone in the Elemental Countries, however. The ground was too tough beneath his bare feet, the buildings too tall, the streets too loud. At least his body was intact, a quick peek down assuring him that he’d arrived with all his limbs (and his dick, thank Jashin) accounted for.
But speaking of his god, why had he resurrected Hidan here? What did Jashin-sama want him to do? Where was he?
If he were a lesser man, he suspected he would’ve stood there in that nasty-ass alley for hours in shock. As it was, Hidan considered these questions for all of two seconds before shrugging, picking up his scythe, and merrily wandering off in search of a sacrifice. Jashin-sama worked in mysterious ways, after all. Who was he to question the divine will of his god?
Plus, he really needed some clothes.
Hidan quickly learned several things:
One, it was still socially frowned-upon to brutally murder people and loot their mangled bodies (even if they were heathens), judging by the screaming that had issued from a passer-by when they discovered said bodies.
Two, the people spoke a similar, if not the same, language he’d spoken in his old world, although the hysteria was just as hard to understand as before. Why couldn’t people just speak clearly?
Three, everyone here seemed to possess unique bloodline-limits. The random guy he’d sacrificed first had lashed out at him with some sort of weak wind jutsu, which wasn’t too odd; the second guy had honest-to-Jashin snakes for hair that snapped and hissed at him when he got too close, which was odd. Even the passers-by that screamed for fucking years had something weird about them; whether it was blue skin or electric fingers, no two were alike to one another.
Four, if people made enough of a ruckus, random freaks in costumes would show up, presumably to try and help. From their demeanor, Hidan figured they were law-enforcement of some kind, perhaps even similar to shinobi (they certainly dressed just as shittily). Whoever they were, though, he took them as his cue to leave. No fucking way was he getting caught by a guy with fucking wings .
Five, this world was fucking weird. He didn’t understand the metal death contraptions whizzing by him on the road, or the bright buzzing lights outside of buildings with obscenely clean glass windows, or the lack of maneuverability in his newfound outfit liberated from the corpse he’d made.
That was alright, though. Jashin-sama would provide. All Hidan had to do was survive until his god made it clear what his purpose in this world was.
He’d discovered the green-haired brat a couple months later.
There’d been a whole gang of those shitty Villain-looking assholes (damn, this new world was real creative with their naming) hanging around a back alleyway he frequented, and Hidan was in the market for some sacrifices.
What a happy coincidence.
Three deaths later, Hidan came to in the usual fashion, with blood and prayers on his lips. He rolled onto his feet, lazy swiping a hand through his soaked hair.
“P-please, please h-help,” a sob came from his left.
Hidan whipped around. “What the fuck,” he snarled—he hadn’t noticed anyone but the heathens he’d sacrificed in the alleyway with him. But now he saw a child, hunched over the limp body of a woman bleeding out on the ground.
“M-my mother,” the boy sobbed, fat tears rolling down his chubby face, “t-they hurt her, a-and now she won’t—she won’t m-move.”
Hidan warily stalked over to the pair, eyeing the woman closely. Her dark green hair was stained black, billowing out around her head. There were small, circular puncture wounds littered across her torso, likely inflicted by the strange exploding weapons some assholes seemed to favor in this world.
Her eyes fluttered. “...’zuku…” she murmured. “...safe?”
“I’m f-f-fine, Kaa-chan,” the boy cried, “b-but you’re hurt!”
The green-haired boy turned round, watery eyes on Hidan. “C-can you h-help her, m-mister? ...p-please…”
Judging by the size of the blood pool around her, she’d been beyond saving since even before Hidan had arrived. His connection to his god twinged; her pain and suffering filled him with a heady rush. He swiped his scythe through her blood, while drawing the symbol of Jashin with his foot.
“Your suffering is sacred,” he intoned solemnly to her, bringing his scythe to his tongue. “Jashin-sama will show you peace.” Black and white markings raced across his skin, and the boy gasped.
The woman let out a labored breath. “...keep him… safe…” she murmured.
Hidan didn’t waste any time inflicting more wounds; Jashin-sama was already smiling upon her. He stabbed his scythe into his chest cleanly. The woman slumped a final time, her face relaxed from her previously-pained grimace. Hidan prayed.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the boy was staring at him from across the woman’s body.
“Did you help her?” he asked. There were dried tear tracks down his cheeks, but he seemed oddly calm and water-free now.
“...yeah,” Hidan said gruffly. “Her suffering is over. Jashin-sama will be good to her.” He stood, wiping his scythe down his shirt and wondering why the kid wasn’t freaking out.
“Thank you,” the kid whispered. He definitely had something odd with his head. Most heathens would be screaming and running by now.
“...thank Jashin-sama, not me, kid.”
Normally, this would be the time for Hidan to cut and run, no matter how weird the kid. Leave him for the Hero assholes (who was in charge of naming conventions here, a fucking baby?) to take care of. It wasn’t like he needed any more sacrifices for the day, and Hidan was feeling uncharitably generous in the face of the bountiful harvest he’d had.
Except Jashin-sama’s presence felt stronger than ever, his god’s interest in the kid flaring through their connection. Light flashed in Hidan’s eyes, momentarily blinding, and in that moment Jashin-sama whispered in his head.
The boy is chosen. You are chosen. Ensure his survival, my loyal disciple. Such is my will.
Jashin-sama had spoken.
He crouched in front of bright green eyes, which gazed at him calmly amid the wreckage of bodies and blood, washing the streets red and gold in the setting sun.
“...what’s your name?”
“Izuku. Midoriya Izuku.”
And that was how Hidan ended up with a kid.
They’d lived the first couple of months on the run, Hidan furiously dodging police and other various law enforcement searching for Izuku (usually with him tucked under Hidan’s arm like a sack of rice due to bullshit like ‘average children can’t keep up with shinobi speed and endurance, not to mention chakra usage’). The kid was precious cargo—he was Hidan’s mission, entrusted to him specifically by his god. No way he’d let him out of his sight.
Eventually, though, Hidan had been forced to concede that life constantly on the move wasn’t great for Izuku. Kids needed to eat and sleep, for some reason. After a bit of scouting and employing the few brain cells left rattling in his head, he’d found an apartment complex that was just shady enough that the landlord didn’t mind them living in a room without proper paperwork with shit like proof of identity or whatever. Hidan provided the requisite threats of bodily harm and looted cash to convince the guy to let them stay indefinitely; Izuku had been delighted by the dusty couch and beat-up futons and creaky table the apartment had come furnished with.
The kid seemed resilient. Other than nightmares here and there from watching his mother die, he was always relentlessly cheerful and disgustingly adorable. Also, he immediately developed the infuriating habit of calling him “Hidan-nii” when Hidan had made it clear he wasn’t leaving him behind. No matter how much Hidan swore at him, the kid kept using the name, too. Fucking asshole. At least he knew how to use the weird technology shit in this world.
At any rate, Hidan was able to eke out a life for the two of them over the years. He’d wake up in the morning, pray, feed Izuku, teach him about the gospel of Jashin, sacrifice a couple heathens every now and then, feed Izuku (again!), listen to the kid babble about his dreams of being a fucking Hero, pray some more, let Izuku play outside, feed Izuku (how much did he need to eat?!), train on the roof, and finally go to sleep.
Not too shabby a job, if he did say so himself. He hoped Jashin-sama was proud.
— — — — —
Hidan and Izuku stood outside the gates to the fancy-ass school. Hidan was wearing his best non-blood-stained civilian outfit, which he’d grudgingly donned to spare Izuku the stares he’d undoubtedly get on the subway if he’d worn his usual gear. Plus, he was supposed to make sure the nerd made it there safely. Probably couldn’t do that if he got stopped by the police ‘just to talk’ at every turn.
The nerd in question was practically vibrating next to him. He’d bought new school supplies with his own pocket money the week before (what a waste, they could’ve bought so much fucking food, where the hell even were Izuku’s priorities?); decked out in his stiff uniform, new backpack strapped around his shoulders, the kid looked like a light breeze would knock him over.
“We’re here,” Hidan drawled, nudging Izuku. “Aren’t you gonna fucking go in, bitch?” A passing student shot him a scandalized glare. He flipped her off. She looked even more scandalized.
“I…” Izuku croaked, “...I’m really here, at U.A…” Were those stars in his eyes?
“Where else would you be? The fucking moon?”
The kid turned watery eyes on Hidan. Shit. Did he know any water jutsu he could use to clean snot off his clothes? Fuck, of all the times to have a fucking earth affinity...
“My dream is coming true,” Izuku said, shakily. “All thanks to Hidan-nii’s help.” He started sniffling. “You’ve always done so much for me…you’ve always accepted me, even without a Quirk…” Liquid started pouring from his eyes. “And you helped me when I got All Might’s Quirk…” More liquid started pouring from his nose.
As a last-ditch attempt at self-preservation, Hidan grabbed the kid by the backpack straps and shoved him toward the school gates. “Blah, blah, whatever, you’re gonna fucking be late! Scram, nerd!”
Izuku’s eyes widened comically, and he scrambled to gain his footing. “Right!” He yelped, running through the gates. “I’ll see you after school, then! Bye, Hidan-nii!” And with that, he disappeared into the throng of students outside the front door.
Shit, that could’ve been way worse. Hidan pat himself on the back for a crisis averted, throwing in a quick prayer of thanks for good measure. Now, as long as the green nerd didn’t break himself again from that fucking Quirk he’d conned out of All Might, Hidan might even be able to relax while the kid was at school…
Aizawa Shouta sneezed, waking himself from his morning nap with a sense of deep foreboding. He frowned. It was too early for the entire class to have arrived already, so there was no point in going to the trouble of showing up just yet. But there wasn’t quite enough time left to fall back asleep… damn, the year was already off to a troublesome start.
Speaking of troublesome, his thoughts wandered over to the student profiles he’d been skimming over last night. Of the files, one of them stood out as particularly troubling: Midoriya Izuku, a boy who’d been officially missing for five years, according to police records. He’d vanished from all public record around the same time Midoriya Inko, his mother, had been found murdered. And then, after years of fruitless searching by the finest of the police force, he turned up at the U.A. Entrance Exams.
“I know this is highly unusual,” Nezu had said during their emergency staff meeting, “for us to continue with our offer of admittance to Midoriya Izuku. I have been working in conjunction with Chief Tsuragamae in regards to how we will approach this case, and considering his position of interest in connection with the Chinoike Serial Killer case, we have elected to allow him to attend U.A. as a student in order to ascertain his safety.”
(The Chinoike Serial Killer. Shouta knew the case well; he’d been actively investigating it for nearly a year now. Named for the sheer brutality with which victims were murdered, the killer was the most elusive suspect the police force had ever encountered. What little DNA evidence recovered turned up nothing in their databases; there was no obvious pattern linking victims, no trail to lead them to the source of the killings.
The only thing in common about the victims was always some sort of shady personal history; some had yakuza ties, others engaged in petty crime, still others were outright Villains… at any rate, the killer’s Vigilante-like behavior was the only reason the police force was able to keep most of the details of the case from the media. Shouta could only imagine the panic such news would incite.)
“Furthermore, Aizawa-kun,” Nezu continued, “Tsuragamae-san and I would like to assign you a special task.” He folded his paws.
Shouta rose from his slouch attentively.
“We will be placing Midoriya-kun into your homeroom class, 1-A. As his teacher, our hope is that you will eventually be able to gain his trust, perhaps learn some details about his disappearance. Due to your familiarity with the Chinoike case, we felt you would be the best choice to handle this delicate situation.”
Which led him back to the current moment. Midoriya had demonstrated a rather concerning lack of self-preservation during the Entrance Exam, what with breaking his entire body to hell and back—was that indicative of an abusive home life? Familiarity with violence? Or did he just have an incredibly unfortunate Quirk?
Shouta groaned. He’d used up his last moments of peace from that flashback. He would just have to wing the first day, use it to observe Midoriya. Then come up with a plan of attack later—after the requisite amount of grumbling and whining to Hizashi, of course.
This was shaping up to be a long year.