Chapter Text
Izuku’s body is a bomb, primed and ready to detonate. There’s a timer ticking somewhere in his chest, where the heart of this power resides, waiting for the moment that he lets his guard down to tear him apart from the inside out. He’s reminded with every ragged breath, with the taste of blood on his tongue, with the snarling of voices in his ear that are never quite muted by the raging of the storm around him. This power is not his; they will never submit to him. He’s a fool, they say, and they despise him. They hate who he is and they hate what he’s done and the swirling mist is a muzzle, leaving him defenseless in his own mind. He cannot tell them that he hates himself for this just as much as they do; he cannot tell them that if he could, he would go back and undo it all.
But for all his gifts, the ability to rewind time is not one of them. Instead, he must persevere, pushing on despite the ache that using such an explosive quirk always leaves him with. Izuku does not have time to dwell on the past; he does not have time for wistful thinking. A moment’s hesitation could lead to his capture, if not by his father’s never-ending supply of minions then by the pro heroes who always follow in his wake. Vigilantism may not have been his intention when he escaped his father’s clutches, but even years under the villain’s thumb had not been enough to change his heart. How could he leave someone in danger, knowing that he had the power to help them?
He couldn’t, of course, which is how Izuku ended up here: leaning heavily on the wall of the alleyway, teeth gritted tightly against the pain radiating up his side from the knife embedded in his thigh. His harsh breathing and the drip-dropping of blood are the only sounds to be heard over the quiet hum of city life, the mugger responsible is unconscious on the concrete and his victim has long since fled into the night. Were he anyone else, an injury such as this would have laid him up for quite a while unless someone with a healing factor got involved. Fortunately, his father had better foresight than that, even if this was not the intended application of his gifts.
Taking hold of the handle, Izuku tears the blade from flesh, biting down hard against the scream that’s perched at the back of his throat. A healing quirk may save him from permanent damage, but it does not stop the pain. It does not stop the light-headedness that threatens to overcome him as blood pours freely from the wound for just a few moments before veins and muscle and skin knit themselves back together. It does not prevent the weariness that settles in when all that remains is a hole in his sweats and the knife in his hand.
He really should be going, he knows. He’d messaged these coordinates to Tsukauchi before even getting involved with the fight, which had taken longer than expected considering the attacker’s quirk. Some kind of increased flexibility or pliability, making him difficult to hit and increasing his range. It had taken Izuku time to get in close, and even then the mugger had gotten lucky and managed to stab him just before he could take the man down. He shouldn’t linger any longer than he already has, but he needs another moment to catch his breath and recover his strength. One for All may be the most exhausting of his quirks to use, but his healing factor truly is a close second. It’s inconvenient, considering Izuku’s line of work. Maybe With a quirk that increased or replenished stamina more quickly…
“Don’t run.” The command echoes down the alleyway, and Izuku only just manages to keep hold of the knife when he startles. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, but clearly he is no longer alone. It’s an impressive feat, considering the state of hypervigilance he’s existed in since breaking free from the League, even if that flash of admiration is quickly chased away by his annoyance at being found. “Turn around, slowly, and drop the weapon.”
There’s only a short list of heroes who specialize in stealth. The list of heroes who can interfere with another’s quirk factor is even shorter, those active in this part of Japan narrowing it down to just one single hero. Izuku is quite certain who stands behind him just from the damning and uncharacteristic silence of the spirits that exist within One for All.
“Eraserhead, right?” Izuku asks as he turns, free hand adjusting the mask obscuring the lower half of his face just in case the shadows of his hood aren’t enough to do the job. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“I could say the same,” the stealth hero drawls. “I won’t ask you again to drop the knife.”
The Erasure hero’s posture is deceptively lax where he stands, halfway between Izuku and the entrance to the alleyway. One hand in his pocket, the other loose around strands of his capture weapon, he could almost be having a casual conversation instead of demanding Izuku’s surrender. Still, the vigilante has no doubt that the man could take him down a dozen different ways from that position, especially with his quirk factor still inhibited by the hero’s power.
Eraserhead’s grip tightens on the scarf, and Izuku hastily drops the weapon. “I was just making sure he didn’t pick it back up,” he squeaks, nudging the unconscious mugger with the toe of his sneakers. “Who knows what kind of trouble he would have gotten into.”
“No more than you, I suspect,” the man snarks, grip easing up only slightly. He takes one step forward, and Izuku forces himself to stand his ground. He can’t turn his back on this hero–not without a damn good plan. If he can just figure out the hero’s tells, he may be able to time a jump to the nearby fire escape with One for All. From there, he can always climb if he’s prevented from activating his quirk again. He’s smaller and more agile than the hero. Surely he’ll have the advantage, and be able to disappear into the shadows of the rooftops. “Tsukauchi’s told me a little about you. Honestly, I’m a little surprised to still find you here. From what I understand, you’re pretty good at skipping out on the scene.”
“Maybe I was just curious who they were sending after me,” Izuku replies, more to stall for time than anything while he analyzes the pro. Even though he has a baseline understanding of his quirk, there’s only so much he could learn from snippets of dark and blurry combat footage. “You are Eraserhead, right? The Erasure Hero? You’re an underground hero who specializes in stealth and ambush tactics. Your quirk lets you prevent the activation of another person’s quirk, provided the right conditions are met. It’s pretty cool!”
Conditions that are still something of a mystery to Izuku. It has something to do with his hair, he’s certain. The way it rises and falls as they speak–it’s a tell of some kind. Combined with the brief flashes of clamoring from One for All, it’s clear that he can only use his quirk for a certain amount of time, and then he has to re-engage it. Still, the timing for both the duration he has his quirk activated and the length of breaks between is inconsistent at best. The only thing he can isolate is that the longer he uses that quirk, the longer his beak has to be. But that’s the way any quirk use functions, so what is it?
Eraser cocks his head to the side as surprise flickers across his face. As an underground hero, it’s unlikely that the hero’s had anyone truly recognize him in patrol before. In fact, being unrecognizable is the entire goal of heroes like him. They don’t pursue the top spots or the fame and glory that go with them. As much as Izuku admires heroes like All Might and Best Jeanist, there’s something truly special about those like Eraserhead, too.
“Tsukauchi didn’t tell me you were a fanboy,” the erasure hero quips, taking another few calculated steps forward. Likely trying to get in range to use his capture weapon without spooking him, Izuku thinks. Keep him distracted, keep him talking until he finds the right window to strike. Almost a perfect mirror of Izuku’s own plans. “You must do your research; few people have ever even heard of me. Do you know every hero that patrols this region?”
Izuku shrugs, as falsely casual as Eraser has been, but the blush that rises to his cheeks at the foreign praise is real. Most heroes dismiss him immediately, calling his observations creepy; his father had hated any mention of his interest. He’s thankful for the mask and deep cowl that hide his face, preventing the hero from seeing both it and the awkward smile that he’s struggling to control. Eraser is trying to get him to drop his guard, damn it! “Most of them,” he admits, more warmth in his voice than he intends. “Studying heroes has always been a passion of mine. Though, seeing you here is definitely a surprise. I didn’t think a small-time vigilante like me would be worth calling in a hero like you!”
“Maybe Kamui Woods is sick of chasing your tail, problem child.”
Eraser’s hair drops once again, and the hero reaches up to adjust his signature fluorescent yellow goggles. It’s all Izuku needs. At this distance, it’s obvious that there are no lenses in the goggles, and they’ve instead been designed to obscure Eraser’s eyes instead of providing any shade from light or protection from elements. They make it impossible to see exactly where the hero is looking—ideal for a quirk that’s based around the man’s vision. It probably deactivates when he blinks, which would explain the inconsistent pattern. The longer he uses his quirk, the more irritated his eyes become and the longer he has to rest between activations. His hair is probably just a secondary effect, like the lightning that crackles around Izuku any time he uses One for All, or the soft glow released by his healing factor.
That’s good. Izuku can work with that.
“There’s definitely better uses for his powers than following me around,” Izuku agrees as his gaze darts around the alley, looking for options without drawing too much attention to the fact. With his quirk inactive, he’s especially susceptible to the hero’s capture weapon right now. It gives Eraserhead much better reach than Izuku, and is probably why the hero seems content to wait him out. He believes there’s nowhere for the vigilante to run, and would rather avoid a fight with a kid. All the pros who come after him start out like this, trying to make a connection and talk him into coming quietly. It would be smarter not to talk, but honestly it’s nice to share his observations with someone who’s even pretending to listen. “His Lacquered Chains Prison move is better suited to detaining large groups rather than a single person like me, and Death Arms isn’t fast enough to keep up even when I'm not using my quirk. He’s strong, sure, but he’s not agile enough to do well in my arena.”
“Which is why you get me,” Eraser huffs.
“Which is why I get you,” Izuku agrees, gaze settling on the knife he’d dropped earlier. It’s certainly not a perfect plan, and not his regular style, but sometimes you have to improvise. “At least I'll have some new notes to analyze when I get home.”
“Kid,” Eraserhead warns, suddenly tense, and is already tugging on his capture weapon when Izuku dives for the blade.
It’s a close call, only a slight shift in his trajectory saving Izuku from ending up tangled up in the hero’s scarf. His landing isn’t quite as elegant as he intended because of it, rolling awkwardly when he hits the ground, but he still has just enough time to snag the knife and hurl it in Eraserhead’s general direction before the pro can recover and sling the weapon again.
One for All returns in a rush, the spirits all clamoring for him to run, run, run . For the first time since he obtained this power, it seems they agree on something. But even as loud as their voices are, it’s not enough to drown out the sudden, sharp gasp from Eraserhead and the clatter as something hits the ground. Izuku freezes where he is, crouched and ready to spring to the fire escape he spotted earlier, and looks over his shoulder.
The pro hero is still, too, closer than Izuku expected him to be and far too close for comfort. His palm is pressed to the right side of his face, blood dripping between his fingers to splatter onto the concrete below. The hero’s goggles are there, their right frame busted and bloody, and for one horrifying moment, Izuku’s heart stops.
He hadn’t intended to injure the hero. It’d been a wild toss of the knife, meant to distract him and make him dodge, but Eraser had moved even faster than he expected. What if he’d injured the hero’s eye? What if it affected his ability to use his quirk? What if—?
“It’s just a scratch, fanboy,” Eraserhead rasps, letting go of the wound in favor of turning to face the vigilante. Sure enough, there’s a small cut beneath the hero’s right eye, still oozing down the man’s face. It’s at odds with his wild grin as he reaches for his capture weapon. “Don’t think you’re going to get that lucky again.”
Izuku swallows hard and takes off at a sprint, Eraserhead not far behind him.