Archive of Our Own

A sharp wind pulls his hair up and away from his neck, turning the nervous sweat cold against his skin. Up here, everything is at once too loud and too quiet, observant of all the city's life and yet included in none of it. The rooftop is a little like Izuku, maybe. Surrounded by others, but still totally alone. Empty. Rooftops collect the lost and unwanted, don't they? They're where the kids with nowhere else to go gather, hiding from bullies at lunch or smoking cigarettes in the face of no futures.

Or jumping.

Izuku screws up his eyes at the reminder, glancing at the railing behind him. It comes up nearly to his waist. Kacchan's voice — go and take a swan dive off the roof — echoes in the back of his head, like a broken record.

This isn't the first time someone's said that sort of thing, but... somehow, it hurts more because it was Kacchan. Because— because Izuku knows he's annoying to Kacchan, knows that Kacchan doesn't like him any more than the rest of the kids at school, but he really hadn't thought Kacchan wanted him to die. And why wouldn't he? Izuku isn't— isn't a good friend, that much is clear. Too chatty, too annoying, not good enough at listening or helping, weak— a Deku, through and through. (This is the first time Kacchan's told him to jump off a roof, and it hurts.)

The rooftops are empty, desolate. In the distance, there's smoke — some incident, maybe. For once, Izuku can't quite muster the energy to run off for the next encounter. His notebook is still half-ruined from earlier, he'll have to re-write up so many pages now...

Light reflects off of the fencing along the roof's edge, mocking him. Swan dive, swan dive, swan dive—

Before he's really thought it through, Izuku finds himself toeing out of one shoe, then the other. Placing them carefully beside his backpack, tidy and safe. Climbing the fence ever-so-gingerly, toes clinging onto the interlinked wires as the wind rattles around him. It doesn't take long to reach the other side, where he can look out at the great emptiness above the city and breath in the smell of smoke and solitude.

It really is just ideation. Izuku's not— he's never really wanted to kill himself, not enough to toe the edge or look with longing at the pills in the medicine cabinet. He's never made plans, because if he died then who would be there for Mom? She's all he has, but Izuku's all she has too — he couldn't do something like that to her.

He just— needs to step into that risk, that feeling of escapism, and then he'll go back to normal. One more minute, time to let all of the bad thoughts boil and bubble up and seep out into the open air, and then he'll climb back over and go home.

They need groceries, Izuku remembers, letting his eyes drift idly away from the smoke in the direction of the supermarket. Eggs, milk. They're almost out of miso, too. If he can get some on his way home, that'll be one less thing for Mom to worry about — maybe he can make dinner, to surprise her. Tonight is a late shift, after all. He'd be cooking either way.

His hands are starting to hurt, so Izuku breathes in one last time before turning around to climb back onto the roof. A scowling face meets his, eyes dark under a curtain of unbrushed hair, and Izuku—

Well, he's surprised. And his foot slips.

In the split-second as the roof and the face whistle out of sight, Izuku thinks that maybe he should have gone to the supermarket first, before any of this could have happened. Someone — the face — curses loudly, the words unintelligible over the whistle of the wind.

Kacchan's voice whispers swan dive, and Izuku wonders if— if he gets a quirk in his next life, will he remember this one enough to be grateful?

Then something — rough, pliable, wide bands of a fabric that was never made for comfort, far too strong — wraps around his arms and chest and he jolts, the descent slowing before it properly stops. For a few moments, he's suspended in midair, arms pinned to his sides and hair blown every-which-way. He can see people in the buildings around him, going about their lives. A horrified-looking secretary stares at him through one of the nearby windows, and he does his best to give her a reassuring smile (that he in no way feels) before he's yanked sharply upwards and back over the fence. The fence — the fence? Yep, the fence.

As soon as the fabric unwinds from his chest Izuku coughs, rubbing at the sore spots where the force of his fall tugged it too hard. It hit his burnt shoulder on the way down, too, so that stings horribly — still, Izuku's felt worse.

Black shoes — boots, heavy and practical, without excessive lacing or buckling that could make noise or get caught — enter his field of vision, and he looks up to meet a heavily-shadowed gaze. It's the same person who'd startled him into jumping falling — a man, on the tall side of average and dressed in some sort of black jumpsuit, a Pro Hero? Maybe an underground hero, with that sort of nondescript and darker palette. A pale face, narrow and weary-looking with uneven stubble peppering the sharp jawline. Black hair hangs loose and messy over the man's shoulders, a few strands tugged here-and-there by the wind, and the grey fabric that caught Izuku is draped around his neck.

Beneath the fabric coils, Izuku can see the top half of a set of vivid yellow goggles, with barred slits across the front rather than some sort of glass or plastic, and he realizes with a start just who this is.

"Do I need to call someone about this, kid?"

Oh, right. That just happened. And from the outside, it really must have looked like he was going to— but he wasn't, right? Izuku shakes his head, not quite trusting his voice to behave after everything, and the man sighs before crouching down to his eye level. Izuku barely manages to throttle his impulse to scoot back, and an aborted flinch still makes it through his guard.

Eraserhead looks at him for a few painfully long moments, and Izuku clears his throat while reaching blindly for his shoes. "N— no, sir. It's— it's really okay, promise."

One eyebrow tugs upwards, and Izuku finds himself staring at the dark shadows under Eraserhead's eyes. Does the man just... not sleep, ever? Because, okay, that's definitely a relatable mood, but somehow Izuku thinks his unhealthy coping mechanisms are a lot more concerning when reflected on a Pro Hero's face.

"Didn't look all that 'okay' to me."

Izuku winces, tugging on one sneaker — winces again, at the way the motion pulls his shoulder. "It was an accident, sir. You don't— I'm fine, really."

There goes the other eyebrow. "An accident."

"Yes, sir." Oh, Izuku really hopes his voice sounds as certain as it's meant to, because he really doesn't want to explain this to Mom. She shouldn't have to worry about — about all of this, about something like a son falling off a building.

(Swan dive)

For a few moments, Eraserhead remains there, watching silently as Izuku does up his laces and tugs the yellow backpack onto his aching shoulders. Usually, hiding the winces and pains from Mom is easy, but Izuku gets the feeling that Eraserhead notices a lot more than an average mom does. It's a discomforting thought.

In the end, however, the man lets him go without a word, and Izuku makes his way down the long (empty) flight of utility stairs to the back exit of the building alone. The air down on the ground feels thicker, like he's walking through a fog. Nothing feels real, not exactly, and certainly not in a way Izuku can put into words. How do you put that sort of feeling into words, anyways? (He really didn't jump — he didn't. It was just a little ideation, and then he got startled and slipped. If what he felt while falling was less panic and more resignation — well, that's just practical, isn't it?

He knows he wouldn't have survived from that height, so there was no use hoping otherwise.)

Unbidden, his feet steer him in the direction of chatter and smoke and explosions, and Izuku feels a thin flicker of surprise at the crowd that's still gathered at the scene. So the villain — it has to be a villain, with this sort of presence — is still fighting?

He really shouldn't stay to watch — he has to get eggs and milk and miso, he has to get home with enough time left over to treat his injuries and wash his face before dinner, so Mom won't see that he's been crying. He should — after all, even All Might, the best of the best, told him it was pointless. He should just go home, instead of pushing closer through the crowd for a better look at the villain — the same slime villain who'd caught him, god, it must be his fault it's free again. It has a new captive, too, spiky blond hair and explo—

Explosions.

Kacchan.

(and go take a swan dive off the roof!)

Before he knows it, Izuku is running.

His legs feel like they're ready to give out, his shoulders ache and ache, someone — lots of someones — are yelling at him, but since when is any of that new? Izuku's used to people yelling at him, he's used to the pain and the adrenaline that's probably the only thing keeping him standing. Notebook pages flash across the insides of his eyelids and he swings the weight off his back, launching the backpack — full of sharp-edged notebooks and schoolbooks, heavy and lumpy and ready to jab through the fabric — at the exposed eyeballs hovering over Kacchan's head.

(Maybe the sludge will ruin his notebooks, but— what good are they for, now? What good is any of it for? Izuku just jumped fell off a roof, and after this he's going to go home and pretend none of it happened just like always, so what does any of it matter in the in-between?)

Kacchan's choking on muck, yelling something at him that sounds a little like a question, and Izuku can't hear a damn thing over the ringing in his ears and the shouts from the crowd. Maybe he should be listening, maybe he should be answering, but— but saving is what counts, isn't it? And Izuku almost died not twenty minutes ago, his life was saved for a reason and maybe this is that reason.

Pay it forward. Do something good, do something worthwhile. (Validate the reality of his continued existence.)

There are tears poking at the corners of Kacchan's eyes, angry — Kacchan only cries when he's angry. Not like Izuku (crybaby, useless Deku, can't stop snotting it up). Sludge and slime are flying with every desperate grasp, and Izuku knows somewhere in the depths of his heart that he's not getting anywhere, that maybe this is just a signature on his newest death warrant. But—

But they're alone, on this battlefield. None of the Pro Heroes in the crowd are moving to help, and none of the bystanding crowd have crossed the perimeter lines, and Izuku's pretty sure some of his nails have broken off because there's blood smearing across his hands but it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter, none of it matters.

The villain's eyes swivel to glare down at him, one reddened with broken blood vessels, and Izuku swings on instinct (Kacchan always starts with a right hook, he's seen it twenty times at least, he knows the motion by heart) and drives his fist directly into the other. Slime spatters around him with a scream, and Izuku can hear Kacchan gasping for air in the momentary reprieve. He punches one of the villain's teeth next, each one the size of his fist, and feels something in his hand crack. Punches again through the pain, aiming for the sensitive spot where tooth meets gum, and earns another shriek.

His throat feels tight and choked, even though Kacchan's the one who can't breathe. "Someone has to save you, Kacchan! Someone has to!"

"Deku—"

And then All Might is there.

And then it's over, just like that. Of course it is. All Might was there, so it was over, that's how it always goes — he arrives, and the battle is won.

(It feels empty, this time. Why?)

Izuku retrieves his backpack from the mess while the heroes and paramedics fuss over Kacchan, checking his breathing and praising his courage. The slime didn't stick, but one of the seams split when Izuku threw it — he'll have to sew it back up, because they just bought this backpack last year and he can't make Mom buy another so soon. Death Arms yells at him for a bit, and then Kamui Woods yells at him for a bit, and then one of the paramedics looks at his bruised hands and broken nails oozing blood under the cracks and kindly recommends the drugstore three blocks over. Izuku doesn't have the heart to tell her he's already intimately familiar with the place.

Kacchan yells at him too. Sometimes, Izuku thinks it's really amazing, how nothing seems to get Kacchan down — even after being suffocated by a villain, he's right back to growling and spitting like nothing happened. Maybe he really didn't need Izuku to save him, like he says. They'll never know.

That's okay too, probably.

"Not everyone's happy to be saved." The voice comes from above, and when Izuku looks up he sees Eraserhead perched on a streetlamp, goggles up. In a quiet rustle of fabric he's on the ground, standing nearby without being too close.

Izuku shrugs. "I didn't do it because— because I wanted him to thank me."

Eraserhead pulls the goggles down, heavy eyes flickering from Izuku's face down to his hands. "Didn't stay for treatment?"

"I need to get home." The sun's already setting — he won't have time to get groceries, at this rate. Hiding the marks of today's scuffle is more important. "The— they said I looked fine to go."

The man's gaze remains on him for a few long, long moments, and Izuku shifts under the attention. Is this hero going to yell at him, too? (It seems like today is just a long line of people yelling at him, for one thing or another. Soon — soon he can go home to Mom, who won't yell at him because he won't let her know about any of this. Not about the villain, not about All Might, and definitely not about the rooftop.)

"Why did you run in?"

"Huh?" Izuku blinks, glancing around to make sure it hadn't been someone else talking. Nope, just him and Eraserhead. Who is... not yelling. Not even glaring. Just... looking at him. "Why did I...?"

The Pro sighs, weariness settling heavy into his expression, and crosses his arms. "There were multiple Pro Heroes on the scene, and a clear perimeter. What drove you to run into that sort of danger?"

"Well—“ Is he asking if Izuku was trying to die again?

(Not again, he hadn't been trying to die the first time, he slipped—)

“I— um, the boy he grabbed is— I know him. And, um, I'm not— I know his quirk, so I could handle the explosions, and— well, you know, the— the Pros there weren't really suited to that type of villain anyways? I mean, Kamui Woods is vulnerable to fires so Kacchan's quirk would've made it impossible for him to help, and Backdraft was totally busy managing the fires so he couldn't help either— plus, his quirk would've been a poor match for the villain since water might have only helped give the villain more mass, while Death Arms's only really good with straightforward physical combat so a villain with an amorphous nature would've been next-to-impossible for him to restrain, so I figured if— um, maybe— maybe someone else would arrive soon, but in the meanwhile Kacchan couldn't breathe so—"

"Kid, kid— stop, okay?" Eraserhead holds up a hand and Izuku snaps his jaw shut so hard he can feel his teeth grind against each other. "Did you do that analysis before you ran into combat, or are you trying to explain your actions in hindsight?"

"I—" Oh, he is, isn't he. Izuku hangs his head. "I just— I had to save him, somehow. My legs just started moving."

For a moment, Eraserhead doesn't respond, and Izuku doesn't dare lift his eyes from the ground even as the man's boots step silently into his field of vision. A hand touches his arm and he flinches on instinct — the touch stops, pauses, and Eraserhead crouches down until Izuku has no choice but to look at his face.

"I'm just checking your hand, that's all." This time, Izuku manages not to flinch from the touch, though he winces and bites the inside of his cheek when Eraserhead's fingers brush over the rapidly-swelling bruise that's bloomed over his knuckle. The man huffs. "That's a fracture or a break, kid. Paramedics really didn't do anything about it?"

Izuku swallows a nervous laugh. Besides watching Death Arms yell at him, you mean? "I— she said Takamichi Shōten down the street would have everything I need?"

"Kid, you can't treat a broken bone at a drugstore."

Oh, this is a mistake. All a mistake. He should've run. He should've gotten groceries and gone home and pretended none of this ever happened. "I can't— I can't go to the hospital, or something. I— if they tell Mom, she'll worry, and— I-I'm sure it's fine, as long as I splint it, it'll be fine." It's his dominant hand, too. The teachers are going to dock points on his handwriting for weeks while it heals. This is all one huge mistake.

Eraserhead's eyes narrow. "Any reason you can't tell her?"

"I— I guess not... not really." Even though he wants to protest, there really isn't a good reason. 'She'll worry' only makes sense when you know what he is. At least this time, Izuku can excuse all of the injuries as being the fault of the villain, as long as she doesn't learn the rest. "But she's— she won't be off work until nine, so I can't go before then. Since if— if they call her, she'll leave work early. I really have— I've done this before, it's fine."

Last year, Sachiro accidentally broke two of Izuku's fingers. He'd probably only intended to twist them or sprain them, but then there'd been loud cracks and everyone had run away before the teachers could catch them. Izuku had searched the internet on his phone after school, splinted the fingers together with a set of metal rods from the hardware store, and bandaged it all up before telling Mom he'd gotten them caught in a door-hinge and sprained them by mistake. He'd barely been able to eat through the pain for a few weeks, and almost failed a test in class because his handwriting was so bad, but that was fine. That sort of thing was fine.

"Kid." Izuku flinches again and Eraserhead sighs again. "You want to be a hero, right?"

"I— what?"

The man straightens up with a grumble, brushing a hand across his legs before fixing Izuku with a stern gaze. "Heroes take their injuries seriously. If you leave something untreated, or treated poorly, that risks becoming a future weakness. You can tell the nurses not to call your mother, so come on."

Half-shocked, Izuku starts following the man before his mind catches up to his feet. "I— you're not going to yell at me?"

"Do you want me to yell at you?"

"No!" Ooh, too loud. Izuku claps a hand (the one that isn't apparently broken) over his mouth, glancing up at Eraserhead's back to make sure the man hasn't turned around to glare at him again. "No— um, I just— all the other— the other Pros got—" And wasn't it his fault? He'd been the idiot running into danger — they were right. "—nevermind."

Eraserhead looks back, one eyebrow raised. "It seems like you're already aware of the consequences of your actions. I see no need to remind you." He turns away, still talking, and Izuku jogs up a bit to keep up. "While your actions were reckless and ill-advised, your assessment of the situation is accurate — the heroes on-scene were not equipped to handle the villain. If you hadn't acted at the time you did, All Might's intervention would have been too late to save— Kacchan, was it?"

"Oh, no." Kacchan will be so mad if Izuku lets a Pro Hero think that's his actual name. "Um— his name's Bakugō Katsuki, sir."

"Bakugō." Eraserhead nods. "And you are—"

"Midoriya— um, Midoriya Izuku." Oh, wow, a Pro Hero knows his name now! Well, maybe two, if All Might remembers him — oh, he still needs to apologize to All Might, but he's long gone so maybe Izuku will just… send an email or something. Do Pros actually read their fan mail?

Another nod. "Midoriya, as foolish as your actions today were, you did save Bakugō's life."

"Um—" Those dark eyes turn back to look at him again, and Izuku flounders before the rest of his words manage to come together. "—you— couldn't you have erased his quirk, sir? I— I know your quirk doesn't work on mutation-class quirks, but I'm pretty sure his was actually more transformation-class so it probably could've—"

"You know who I am?"

Oh, there's the glare. Izuku is in trouble after all, isn't he. "I— You're— you're Eraserhead, aren't you?"

The Pro has stopped walking, turning back to stare at Izuku with a sharp gaze. "Why do you think I can't erase mutation quirks?"

"Oh!" Izuku remembers his notes on this. "Well, aside from it being outright logical to expect that it would be impossible to erase quirks that only cause physical mutations and are thereby completely integrated into the user's body, your Erasure — I'm assuming it's called Erasure since it erases, although maybe it’s more of an off-switch so I don’t know — is also sight-activated and mutation quirks are notorious for being nearly impossible to affect without physical contact because they're one-hundred-percent physiological, plus no-one's seen you use your quirk against a villain with an obvious mutation so it makes sense that you'd know that and not waste energy on trying if you know it won't work from the get-go, and—"

Quite suddenly, he realizes he's rambling about an Underground Hero's quirk to said hero's face, and cuts himself off with a hand over his mouth. Eraserhead is still staring at him, with a thoughtful expression that's probably even more frightening than anger.

"Did you find that information online?"

Izuku shakes his head with enough vigor that it leaves him slightly dizzy. "No! Not— I mean, I've seen a few things online, a few photos and just two videos, but— but I had to search pretty deep to find them, and— um, the rest is just— just my analysis. Sorry."

Overhead, one of the streetlights flicker. Eraserhead nods slowly. "And you figured out what my quirk is by…?"

Against his better judgement, Izuku grins, because this is an analysis he's especially proud of. "Well, it wasn't easy to guess, but first I noticed how it had to be sight-activated because I could see how you were keeping your opponents within a line of sight in both the videos I could find, and your goggles are designed really weirdly for anything except disguising where you're looking without actually obstructing a physical line of sight, so obviously it was a logical conclusion to think that you need that open sightline in order to use your quirk. And since you were using it in active combat I knew it had to be an emitter-type quirk that affects specific people rather than an area-of-effect like Midnight's Somnambulist, right?"

"…Right."

"It was really hard to figure out what it specifically did since there weren't any visible effects, but then I noticed in one of the videos — there was this woman who was manipulating metal, I think?" Eraserhead grunts, eyes narrow, and Izuku hastily adds, "Don't— don't worry, the video got taken down years ago! But— um, I noticed that your hair floats up when you use your quirk, and every time your hair was floating, the metal— stopped floating? And just fell down? So I kinda figured out that your quirk had to be interfering with hers somehow and I— I just cross-referenced all the sources I could find, and something like Erasure made the most sense? And, uh— your hero name also has 'eraser' in it in English, so it fit?"

Eraserhead groans, the loudest noise he's made since he appeared, and presses fingers to the bridge of his nose. "That's— that one is Hizashi's fault. If I'd known I was going to go Underground then, I would've picked something less obvious."

"…oh." Izuku's not sure what else he can say to that. "Well— that's, um, that's how. I mean, I also— I have notes on fighting techniques, and some ideas for new ways you could use it, or— or maybe other types of equipment that would be useful, but—"

"Notes?"

The tone is curious, not angry, and Izuku dives into his backpack because he's pretty sure— "Oh, um. Sorry, I don't— I don't have them with me, I think they're in volume six? I can— um, our apartment isn't too far from the hospital, if— if we stop there I can go get it?" Still, he takes his (singed, wrinkled, honestly-kinda-grimy) notebook out and proffers it to the Pro. "This— um, it's just notes like these."

Eraserhead takes the notebook without blinking at the dirt, though he pauses to consider the burn marks for a moment. Izuku winces.

"They're — um, it wasn't like that this morning." Hopefully, the Hero will just assume it got damaged in the fight — well, more like hopefully he won't notice that Izuku's backpack isn't similarly damaged — and won't say anything.

It seems to work, and Eraserhead flips through the pages as they walk. For the next few minutes they walk in silence, and Izuku is almost relieved when the hospital comes into view. Eraserhead hands him back the notebook as they approach the intake desk, and Izuku dutifully shows off his aching hands as the Pro explains the situation. The nurse at the desk assures them it won't be a long wait, and Izuku's just about ready to find a seat when his cellphone chirps in the pocket of his bag. Mom's ringtone.

Glancing nervously at Eraserhead — he hadn't had time to tell anyone, so it can't be that she knows — Izuku tugs his phone out and answers the call. "Mom?"

"Oh, Izuku!" Her voice doesn't sound upset, so she definitely doesn't know. It is tired, though. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm fine — we did career choice forms in class today." Which he knows will just make her sad, because Mom doesn't think he can be a hero either, so Izuku hurries that along by adding, "I, uh— I put coding and social work down for my second and third choices. After—" After heroics, he doesn't need to say.

Mom sighs, in what sounds like a happy way. "Oh, Izuku. Those sounds like lovely career choices."

"Yeah." Swallow down the bitterness. "Um, is there a reason you—"

"Oh!" Mom's voice drops. "Well, I know I said I'd be home tonight, but— Chika at the clinic just called in sick, and they don't have anyone else to cover her shift so— it'll only be until five, so I'll be home to make breakfast tomorrow. I'm sorry, Izuku, I just—"

Revulsion coils in his stomach at how relieved he feels. "No, no, it's— it's fine, Mom. I understand. Tell Miss Chika I hope she feels better soon, please?"

"Of course, dear." Another sigh, relief and tiredness. "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it. You'll— you'll be alright tonight, won't you?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine, don't worry. I was just about to go get groceries, so I'll be home soon."

Mom perks up. Izuku can imagine her smiling, in the break room of the office where she edits documents for building codes and electrical construction. "That sounds perfect, Izuku — oh, would you pick up some more panko and another bottle of mirin?"

"Sure, do we need anything else?"

"Not that I can think of." Another voice echoes in the background, and in the corner of his eye Izuku can see a nurse come into the doorway and start to speak, before pausing. "Sorry, that's Mr. Hanamura— I've got to go. I'll see you in the morning, Izuku."

"See you, Mom."

The call ends before he can press the button, and Izuku closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. Adds mirin and panko to the grocery list. Thinks about how to hide things from Mom tomorrow morning, instead of tonight. Stomps down the memory of Kacchan's voice yelling-mocking-whispering.

(Swan dive)

"Midoriya? We're ready to see you now."

"Ah, coming!"