Chapter Text
Hitoshi Shinsou was having a remarkably bad day.
Stumbling in the vague direction of the workshop he was unofficially employed at, the bitter thought crossed his mind. I’ve had worse.
Dried blood traced lines down his face and his chest felt as though someone had ripped his ribs straight from his body. Damn, it had been a while since he’d been in such a state. Though, the harsh sting fresh wounds and mottled bruises wasn't all that easy to forget. He despised the feeling just as much, even after all this time.
Sure, the near-relentless bullying he endured for pretending to be quirkless wasn’t exactly pleasant, but he could handle it. He had a concerningly high pain tolerance and wasn’t exactly desperate to be popular, so being a social outcast was… bearable.
This. Less so.
No lazy teases or offhand insults. Hell, right then those would have been a luxury.
On that particular day (through some sick twist of fate) some of his old ‘friends’ from Hosu happened to be on a day trip to Musutafu – probably to fangirl over some pros – and had caught sight of their former classmate.
‘Shinsou?!’ Hitoshi winced at the memory from just a few hours ago. In the moment, he couldn’t help but whirl around in surprise – it had been so long since someone had used his birthname, he could only react before realizing what a massive, idiotic mistake the action was. Because, if someone knew his real name wasn’t ‘Hitoshi Yamada’, it meant they also knew him before. And that meant-
‘No way! The villain kid?’ He wasn’t far from the workshop now. But he still took a moment to pause and internally curse himself for replaying the scene in his mind. He couldn’t focus on that now. He refused to focus on it, ever. It shouldn’t have been that hard to process: they hit him whenever he tried to speak, held him down as he tried to fight back, kicked him, taunted him, and congratulated themselves for putting a villain in his place as they sauntered away from his broken, beaten body. It was in no way right, and he knew that… but Hitoshi couldn’t bring himself to not be used to it.
After all, he'd had worse. This was nothing. It was really fucking shitty, but it was nothing. Temporary pain that he'd file away the memory of and tell himself to never revisit again.
The workshop came into view and Hitoshi let out a shaky, pained breath – relaxing at the sight of it. Alright, it’s closed but there should be a key hidden round the back and once I’m in I can patch myself up with the first aid kit – bottom row, third cabinet from the left. It’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse. Shit, my head hurts. I really hope the Hatsumes don’t fire me if I get blood on their-
Hitoshi jerked. His migraine intensifying as a scream ripped through the barren street. He could have sworn it sounded like-
Mei.
His thoughts went into overdrive. He pushed himself to run towards the sound of his friend being in danger, turning into the alleyway where the shriek had originated.
Hitoshi could see her trying to hide her trembling, but Mei Hatsume was still standing her ground as she faced her attackers. There were four of them, at least one had a knife - the tip of the scratched-up blade pointed at her. They had backed her up against one of the side walls of the alley and Hitoshi dreaded to think what the men where planning – a mugging? Robbery? Something far worse? He could not allow them to harm his friend, no matter what.
And he knew one way to ensure that.
Sorry, Hatsume. Please don’t hate me.
“Who are you?” Wow, he hadn’t realized how much his injuries would strain his voice. The words came out raspy, but it was loud enough to catch the attention of those in front of him. Hitoshi watched as both Hatsume and her assailants turned and collectively widened their eyes in shock at the sight of the bloody boy staggering into view.
Huh, he must’ve looked as bad as he felt.
“What the fuck.”
One.
“Piss off, boy! This is none of your business.”
Two. I need to have all of them before I activate my quirk, otherwise they might realize how it works.
Hitoshi stepped closer, attempting to put himself beside the girl to be in a position to protect her. “Really? Don’t you think it is my business when Ugly here is pulling a knife on my friend?”
“Oi!”, three, “you little shit-”. ‘Ugly’ lunged at them but he froze mid-action along with two of his friends – faces blank and bodies still. The blade clattered to the ground, falling from the criminal’s suddenly loose grip. Hitoshi winced, his migraine growing exponentially as he took hold of them. He didn’t even have time to get the fourth man. Well, shit. Uhh, I need a Plan B.
Feigning complete ignorance, he turned with questioning eyes to the last remaining attacker (who was both absolutely fuming and extremely confused).
“What just happened?”
The lowlife was having none of it; however, he was too stupid to figure out how the brainwashing worked before he shouted, “YOU FUCKER! What did you-”
Four.
Hitoshi groaned at the pain his quirk was causing him. His nose had started bleeding again. From past unfortunate events, he knew that he was capable of handling four people – more in fact – but the state his body was in and the probable concussion he received earlier made everything so much harder. He doubted it would be too long before the brainwashing gave out.
“Yamada!” Hatsume grabbed his shoulders to steady his shaking body – completely unaware of how she was pressing down on a bruise. “Wh-what’s going on?”
It took an obscene amount of concentration to form a breathy response. “Ha- Hatsume.” I’m sorry. “You n-need…” I lied to you, I’m sorry, don’t hate me. “You need to go. Get somewhere safe and call the-” it hurts, “the police or something.”
“What? No! There’s no way I’m leaving without you, idiot. Come on!” She tried to forcefully guide him out of the alleyway, but his legs crumbled underneath him as another grunt of pain filled the area. The strain of controlling the four in such a state was definitely getting to him. “Shit, Yamada, you’ve got to stop whatever you’re doing – it’s hurting you!”
Hitoshi took a moment, letting out an unsteady exhale before meeting her eyes. “Hatsume, y-you trust me, right?”
Please forgive me.
“What?” He watched his friend’s eyes go blank, and it cut far deeper than he wanted it to.
He knew she trusted him, she was one of the few people he could return that trust to, and it ached as he spoke the command. But there was no way he was going to willingly let her stay in danger – that’s not what a hero does, is it? And how the hell could he ever be a hero if he couldn’t even save the people he cared about?
“Run.”
While out on his patrol, the underground hero had seen the girl sprinting in his direction. But he hadn’t paid much mind until she came close enough for him to catch her intense, blank stare – glassy, yellow eyes fixed on something only she could see. Once he realized that she wasn’t going to swerve around him, he only had enough time adjust his stance so that the force of the impact wouldn’t knock him over when she barrelled into him.
“Are you alright?” The pro held the girl’s arms and observed her as she pulled herself from her daze - surveying the surroundings with a level of panic that concerned the man.
“H-how did I…” Her – now clear – eyes widened, and she whipped her head around, pulling from his grip. “Shit!” She turned back to the man: looking him up and down and taking in the capture weapon around his neck and the protective goggles peeking out from under it. A flash of approval for the tools crossed her face before her expression grew more serious. “You. You’re a hero, right? He- he needs help. Ugh! Idiot.”
The girl was already heading back the way she came as she muttered the end of the sentence, breaking into a run as the sense of urgency inside her grew. All the underground hero could do was follow her, not knowing the situation but undoubtedly aware of the obvious distress the child was in.
She stopped in front of an alleyway and he took a moment to assess the image in front of him. There was a purple-haired boy - similar age to the girl who had accosted him (maybe fourteen or fifteen) – and he looked savagely beaten up: one hand was gripping the side of his head as he forced himself to his feet - squeezing his eyes shut and hissing at every movement. The boy was surrounded by four men, who all seemed primed to attack him. It was apparent what the pro hero should do.
By the time the boy had glanced up to spot him it was too late, his quirk activated - erasing the quirks of all those in view, a split-second before the injured teen could rasp out a “NO!”.
Hitoshi was quick to block the first punch that swung his way – the swift reaction probably would’ve been something to be proud of had he not been more pre-occupied with the swirling of his vision due to his quirk’s sudden erasure. He was less successful in evading the next fist that flew towards his torso.
Hunching over at the impact, he registered that two of the villains in his peripheral vision had become entangled in EraserHead’s capture weapon and they immediately flew to hit one of the walls – the blow knocking them out in an instant. (Holy shit that was cool.)
He ducked under ‘Ugly’s next swing and managed to jab an elbow into the man’s side. That gave him a chance to step back and give the Erasure hero room to finish disabling the remaining assailants: Hitoshi was smart enough to know that, at that moment, sure as hell couldn't do it. He probably would’ve attempted to help more but his vision was rapidly growing more and more blurry, and – since the adrenaline was quickly draining from his system – every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire.
There were definitely voices speaking to him. He looked up with unfocused eyes, regarding the hazy shape of a certain underground hero approaching him before he stumbled back - arms flailing out in an unsuccessful attempt to steady himself.
He collapsed onto the concrete and was vaguely aware of the two sets of feet rushing towards him. As he toed the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, Hitoshi attempted to mumble slurred reassurances to the people crouching over him. (It was safe to say that they were not convinced.)
The last thing he heard before completely blacking out was the distant sound of an ambulance siren.