Chapter Text
Midoriya Izuku died when he was nine years old. He sat by the side of the road and screamed, screamed at the sky at the world at himself at -
At his mom, lying in the street, limbs splayed at awkward angles that made Izuku’s stomach twist to look at.
The ending begins like this: vanilla salted-caramel ice cream and movie marathons on their tiny two-person couch and oh, we should go shopping tomorrow! You start middle school soon and I want to celebrate and Izuku readily agreed because his Mom’s katsudon is the best, it’s better than anyone’s and nobody else’s comes close except maybe uncle Masaru’s but even then it’s never quite the same. Izuku goes skip-skip-skipping down the street, wind in his hair and a grin on his crooked teeth, holding tight to winter’s last stutters of cold before spring takes hold of them and rips it away.
“Careful, Izuku!” Inko calls, mother’s worry tasting sweet-sour with anxiety, concern, every synonym he can think of. “Wait for me to cross the street.”
Izuku chirps
okay!
And he does, he does because he loves his mom more than
anything
in this whole damn world and sometimes he thinks his love for her will swallow him whole. His body is too small to contain everything and it makes him happy, it makes him feel complete because he knows his mother loves him.
Izuku waits for his mom, carrying half the groceries and her the other bag because he’s too little to carry them all but it’s hard on her back to carry them all so they share the burden, share the load. A body, a heart laden with lovelovelove.
Izuku takes her hand, warm and soft through the blue wool of her mittens, and they cross the street together. One step, two steps - yellow-white highlighter pigment, stay between the lines, there is a truck barreling towards them and izuku’s shoe is untied and he can feel himself stumbling, falling headfirst until something shoves him from behind and -
Ten,
Nine,
Eight,
Seven. Izuku sees rice flour and breadcrumbs and chicken go flying through the air, and any other time he might laugh.
Six,
Five,
Four. He reaches out to catch an apple, shiny and red as it flies through the air, but his soft green-wool mittens are too slippery from the snow and ice to catch hold of it and it goes rolling down the street away-away-away from him.
Three,
Two,
One - There is a body in the road. She has green hair and green eyes like Izuku does, but she’s chubbier and softer, somehow, because even at that age Izuku looked threatening, sharp and double-edged. There is blood trickling from her temple down her face and Izuku goes to wipe it away, smearing it all over his new green mittens - she’ll lecture him for that when they get home, if only she would get up, mom, why won’t you get up?
His mutterings are drawing a crowd of onlookers, hushed murmurs and whispered cries and a baby has started to wail.
It takes ten minutes for the police to get there - for a hero to gently pull Izuku’s shaking hands, his green mittens and his screaming head away from his mother, what was his mother until she died because he didn’t listen, and Izuku bites him . The hero yelps and pulls his hand back, and Izuku runs off. He tears past the crowds of people who didn’t do anything to help and heroes who were too late to save his mom and towards their house, running faster than he has in all his nine years because if he doesn’t run fast his heart is gonna go boom like one of Kacchan’s explosions and he’ll be the next corpse on the ground.
Izuku doesn’t want to die. Izuku doesn’t want to die, and he doesn't want to go with the police. He’s seen what happens when they take kids - how they come back glassy-eyed and empty-hearted and that scares him. He’s scared, so he grabs his school bag (yellow and a bit too big but it was his favorite at the store and Mom said okay, sweetie and doesn’t All Might look so cool on it? One fist on his hip and the other in the air while he bravely declares, I am here! ) and he shoves it full of clothes, books, notebooks, and runs.
Streets blur into each other as Izuku passes every landmark he can recognize, this is how we get home, okay sweetie? If you’re lost you go to the police. But now Izuku knows he can’t trust the police. A few blocks from Kacchan’s house is a park - could he go to Kacchan’s? Would they let him or would they turn him in? - where Izuku knows he can safely hide until he knows where to go. Until somebody finds him. He holes up in the tube slide, bundled in his stupid bloody mittens and two sweaters and a coat because Mom worries - worried - that he would be cold and Izuku doesn’t like to make her worry.
“Are you here alone?” A deep voice rumbles, and Izuku snaps to attention.
“Who are you?” He whispers, but he hasn’t spoken in hours and his voice is so hoarse it hurts to speak.
“Someone who cares.” A hand extends in front of the slide and waves. “Do you want to come out?”
Izuku shakes his head, then realizes the man can’t see him. “No.”
“Hmm. Would you mind if I sit here and talk with you?”
“...That’s okay.” Izuku says.
“All right. I’ll be sitting out here if you want to come out.”
“What do you want from me?” Izuku realizes that this man wouldn’t be here unless he needed something, because Izuku is quirkless and alone -
He is alone. His mother is dead. Life and death and the finality of it all; even at nine years old, Izuku realizes that she is not coming back.
(“ Sometimes people leave, honey, and we don’t see them again.”
“Why not?”
“They’re too far away. We don’t get to go there.”)
Izuku didn’t have a lot to love six hours ago, and now he has even less.
“I’m just looking for some conversation,” The man says, and with a start Izuku realizes that he’s still there.
“Oh,” Izuku says, then remembers his manners. “I’m Izuku. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Shigaraki-sensei.”
“Sensei…are you a teacher?”
“Of a sort. Do you like heroes?” The man asks suddenly, and Izuku realizes his backpack is still at the base of the slide.
“I do.” But they couldn’t save my mom. The heroes couldn’t save my mom. They were too late.
“Even heroes make mistakes,” Shigaraki-sensei says. “I’m sorry to hear your mom died.”
“Was I saying that out loud?” Izuku asks. “I’m not supposed to do that. Kacchan says it’s creepy.”
“You were. But I don’t think it’s creepy.”
“You…don’t?”
“No.”
Izuku slides down to the bottom and lands in a pile of snow. He stares determinedly at his mittens, green and still speckled with blood that isn’t his.
“I think it’s sweet,” the man explains. “It can put people more at ease when they understand what other people are thinking.”
Izuku says nothing.
“What was your mom’s name?”
“Inko.”
“That’s a lovely name. Would you like some supper, Izuku?”
As if on queue, Izuku’s stomach rumbles. “Mom was going to make katsudon,” he whispers. “But I don’t think I’ll be eating it any more.”
A hand lays on his shoulder, and Izuku jolts. But it doesn’t hurt - it’s just warm, reassuring. “I have a friend who is a very good cook,” the man explains. “I’m sure he could learn to make katsudon for you.”
Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t - I don’t wanna eat that any more,”
“He can make plenty of other foods. I’m sure you’re cold, Izuku. It’s been a very long day for you, hasn’t it?”
If Izuku were a bit smarter or stronger or faster or more like Kacchan he might be able to say no, I won’t go with you but Shigaraki-sensei is right. It’s been such a long day and he’s so cold and wet and his mittens are soaked and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast and he really, really misses his mom.
“Why don’t you come with me, hmm? We have a spare room and dinner will be ready soon.”
That’s the kicker - a promise of warmth, of safety and comfort for a scared little boy who hasn’t yet processed his loss. He imagines a pile of blankets, or a heated table and a cup of tea or cocoa.
Against Izuku’s better judgment, he nods and follows Shigaraki-sensei down the street.
—--
FIVE YEARS LATER (ish)
“Villain” was the wrong term to describe him. Sure, Izuku had committed some fraud, framed a person now and then, did some breaking and entering, but he wasn’t a villain. He wasn’t one of the bad guys. He was a good person.
Mind you after saying that, all this shit just becomes way harder to justify.
Izuku slams on the brakes, swerving around an oversized truck and pulling up to the curb of a plaza that’s currently on fire. The shattering of glass signaled the arrival of Dabi ‘I can control my quirk!’ and Izuku watched as he sprinted from the scene, yanked open the car door and slammed it shut with more force than necessary. That was odd - he wasn’t alone when Izuku dropped him off.
“Where’s Shiggy?” Izuku asks, adrenaline mixing with irritation to form something fun.
“He’s not with you?” Dabi questions, breathing ragged and smoke trailing from both his hands.
“No? I thought he was with you. ” Izuku says pointedly, and Dabi groans.
Toga appears from seemingly nowhere, a chunk of hair missing and one of her knives bent. “That bitch is strong! ” She whines, gesturing with the bent knife. “She fucking -” She pauses, glancing around the car. “Where’s Dusty?”
Her confusion is met with identical looks of exasperation and annoyance. “We thought he might be with you..?” Deku asks hopefully, crossing his fingers on the steering wheel.
Toga shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. Ran off somewhere.”
“God damnit!” Dabi swears, slamming his hand on the passenger’s door. “Now, of all fucking times!”
Izuku chooses to ignore the fire user’s temper tantrum, saving his patience for the inevitable lectures to come.
“Toga, what direction did he go?”
She points, but with the knife’s blade bent at 90 degrees it’s a little difficult to tell. “Thata-way!”
Izuku looks at the way the majority of the weapon is pointing and sighs. Of course, it has to be a pedestrians-only zone. “Seat belts,” he grunts.
“I don’t need a damn seat - AUGH!” Dabi screeches as Izuku accelerates at an inhuman rate. Yeah, it isn’t good for the car to start in third gear, but A) said car is stolen! And B) if his hunch was correct, the transmission was already shot so he wasn’t gonna do nearly as much damage as it would be in a car that actually worked properly.
“I put my seat belt on!” Calls their knife-wielding schoolgirl, and Izuku smiles.
“Thanks, honey. Directions, please!” He swerves to avoid a stray shopping cart, heading for the mall entrance. Hopefully the automatic doors will open for a car.
“Blue shirt,” Toga says helpfully, causing Izuku to pull a turn so sharp it leaves a donut hole on the cement. Dabi barely has the time to peel his face from the window before Toga shouts, “PURPLE DRESS!” and Izuku has to make another U-turn. The doors open and they slam through the mall’s main hallway, shooting past commercial stores and clothing outlets.
“Child, who the fuck taught you to drive?” Dabi yells, hastily scrabbling with the seatbelt clicker.
“Nobody!” Izuku grins. “I don’t have my license!”
Dabi sighs, resigned to his fate, then points at a random passerby. “Twenty points for that one.”
“Dabi, I am not going to hit an old man.” To accentuate his point, Izuku dodges around another pedestrian.
“Okay, then what about that one?” Dabi’s arm crosses the windshield, and Izuku shoves it away.
“Don’t fuck with the driver! And just because she’s a college student doesn’t make it better.”
“RED SHOES!” Toga yells, causing Izuku to make a particularly sharp turn.
“Dabi, We need to talk about your coping mechanisms some time.” He tsks.
“One, Road Rage isn’t a coping mechanism, it’s a hobby. Two-” he almost gags as Izuku slams down a set of stairs, entering a different part of the mall. “My coping mechanisms are fine, thank you very much.”
“Dabi’s lyyyy -iiing.” Toga sings. “GREEN PANTS!!! Then stop!!”
Izuku hums in acknowledgement. “More in advance next time, ‘kay sweetie?” He avoids someone’s stray cat and pulls up sharply outside of a slightly crumbling, very dusty store.
“Kay!” She says happily, unbuckling her seat belt and hopping out of the car. “I’ll find crusty!”
Deku waits until she’s out of earshot, then turns to Dabi and says, “Now, what do we say about bullshitting me?”
The scarred man sighed. “That you’ll pull my teeth out if I try. Or something.”
Izuku nods solemnly. “Or something. We’ll continue this later. I’d rather not get arrested again in these circumstances.”
“I’d rather not get arrested at all.”
Izuku makes a pensive sound, like mm-hmm. “My record’s cleaner than yours.”
“Bet.”
“I will.”
“Twenty?”
“Twenty- five .”
Dabi grins, the effect slightly unnerving. “You’re on, Tiny.”
They shake on it, and Toga re-appears with a slightly disheveled Shigaraki in tow.
“Where the hell did you go?” Izuku calls. “I had to steal a car for this, you know.”
“You did that before I went off.” Shigaraki says, and surveys the situation: the car is fairly dented and smoking from the exhaust pipe, Toga’s weapons are crooked, and Dabi has at least two staples loose. “Do you need me to get rid of the evidence?”
“No need,” Drawls Dabi, and rolls up his sleeves. “Stand back, everybody, and let the Maestro do his work.”
“You sound like Compress!” Toga chirps, just as Shigaraki and Izuku are calling in unison -
“NO, DON’T!”
“DABI, WAIT A SECOND-”
But they’re just a moment too late as the fire-user lets of a well aimed blast and the car goes boom! in a phenomenal explosion that shatters the glass in all of the nearby windows.
When his ears stop ringing, Izuku doesn’t know if he wants to break Dabi’s nose or congratulate him. He settles for saying, “You’re explaining this one to ‘Giri.”
Toga laughs, and Shigaraki whoops in joy. “FUCK yeah!”
Dabi’s shoulders sag, and Izuku begins picking glass from his hair.
“Um, ‘Zuku?” Toga asks.
“Yeah, honey?” Izuku murmurs, a little preoccupied by how torn up his clothes have gotten.
“I think those are sirens.”
Izuku pauses to listen, as do the other League members present. “Shit,” Dabi mutters.
“Someone’s a tattle-tale.” Izuku says in agreement. “Tomura, get us out of here.”
The blue-haired man begins dialing Kurogiri’s number, and Izuku gives him a once-over. “What took you so long, anyways?”
“Um,”
“‘ Um ?’”
“...I’ll tell you later?”
Izuku blinks. “Okay.” He agrees, and perks up at the sight of a familiar purple portal. They all file through and appear back at the bar, the state of which is considerably better than all of theirs.
“Get cleaned up and then you can debrief Sensei,” Kurogiri’s deep voice resonates. “Is anyone seriously hurt?”
“Nope!”
“Only my pride,” Izuku whines, looking at Tomura. “And my trust.”
“Hey, I did what needed to be done!”
“You better have.”
“I, for one, hope you had a good reason for running off like that.” Kurogiri agrees, and Izuku flashes him a smile.
“Oh I did,” Shigaraki assures them, and pulls a plastic package from his hoodie’s pocket. “Limited edition Eraserhead funko pop!”
The bar is intensely quiet for a moment, and then Dabi groans. “Are you kidding me?”
“His eyes glow!” Tomura says defensively.
Izuku pauses. “Wait. Really?”
“YES! Come look!”
Izuku runs over and Toga follows suit, leaving Dabi standing frustrated in the middle of the bar. “Am I the only person who sees something wrong with this? Yes? No?”
“How did they make the eyes glow?” Kurogiri murmurs. “Is it a quirk, I wonder?”
“That’s it!” Dabi throws up his hands. “I’m done!”