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The end of the world meant a lot of things: death, fire, fear.
For Midoriya Izuku it meant what he’s always known: he is not weak.
For Bakugou Katsuki it meant what he’s always feared: he was wrong.
+++
Their families stayed together, at the beginning. Izuku and Katsuki hadn’t had a play-date or a sleepover in years, hadn’t gotten along in years, but they sucked it up. Because they were scared. Because their parents needed them.
Because it was the end of the world.
+++
They taught each other to fight after someone tried to kill Mitsuki for a loaf of bread. They learned to run through the woods behind the Bakugou’s house without tripping over tree roots. They learned how to pick locks and hot-wire cars and steal gas.
+++
Midoriya Inko died first. Izuku didn’t cry.
+++
Soon enough it was just the two of them - Izuku and Katsuki. Deku and Kacchan. Fourteen years old and all alone. They packed four backpacks: three full of food, one full of clothes. They tied extra pairs of shoes to the straps and stuffed them full of socks. They agreed that they needed to leave.
They rode away on stolen bikes without a look backwards.
+++
There are gangs. Groups of people - never more than 20 - that hoard food and weapons. They kill, rape, destroy.
They keep slaves - people with dog collars around their necks, tied together and forced to shuffle along, usually towing carts of supplies.
There are guards, too - people with guns and knives and spears all around the group.
Nothing’s illegal at the end of the world.
+++
The first time Izuku and Katsuki come across a gang, it’s in the remains of a supermarket. It’s been raided already, but they learned quickly to not be picky eaters, so they fill their backpacks with anything that’s left.
They’re in the back of the store, arguing over whether or not the milk carton Izuku found would be worth taking, when they hear the crunch of glass.
They fall quite and lock eyes.
Katsuki jerks his head. Let’s leave, it says.
Izuku bites his lip. But what if they’re friendly? What if they need help?
Katsuki rolls his eyes. They’re not. And even if they were, we can’t help them.
Izuku pouts. Can’t we just look?
Katsuki gestures to the bikes at their feet. We’ll get caught, and then we’ll get killed.
That’s when they hear the yelling. The sound of an engine.
“Fuck,” Izuku mutters, because those things mean a gang.
“Told you so, dumbass,” Katsuki shoots back.
They take their bikes out the back and they run, milk crate and all.
+++
The second time they come across a gang, they hear the trucks ahead of them on the highway. (They’ve argued the pros and cons of this, as they’ve argued most things. Being on the highway is unprotected but faster. It’s also a direct path to the coast, where they can hopefully get across the sea to the mainland, and losing it would be inconvenient at best.)
“So,” Izuku starts.
“You better not be suggesting what I think you are,” Katsuki warns.
Izuku ignores him. “We’re getting a bit low on supplies. We can’t afford to wait behind them and hope they don’t notice us.”
“And your solution is to, what, steal from them? You are aware that they have guns, right?”
“You and I both know we could do it- don’t give me that look! We could!”
“No.”
“It’d be fun!”
“We’d die.”
“And we’d die without food!” Izuku stops biking and looks at Katsuki. “It’s the end of the world - we’re playing Russian Roulette every day - at least this could help some people.”
Katsuki doesn’t say anything.
“Kacchan, please.”
He makes a production out of giving in, throwing his head back and full-body sighing. “Fine. But if you get hurt, I’m leaving you.”
Izuku smiles. “Okay, Kacchan.”
+++
They attack in the night.
(It sounds so cliché, and it is, but it works.)
Katsuki has a steel pipe in his hand, and Izuku has a large kitchen knife. Both of them have pocket knives (in their pockets, ha), and they’ve tucked their backpacks and milk crate under the roots of a huge tree half a kilometer ahead of the camp, not far from the road.
The supply cart is in the middle, so they creep up to the side of the camp.
Ready? Katsuki’s eyebrow raise asks.
Izuku grins. “Most kills wins?”
Katsuki grins back. “Loser gets the shitty bike.”
They move in sync. There are four guards that need to be taken out - Izuku takes the middle left, Katsuki the middle right.
A hand over the mouth.
A jab to the throat.
A knife under the ribs.
A snapped neck.
You do what’s necessary at the end of the world.
+++
They nearly get caught when one of the guys climbs out of a tent near the cart with the food, but they duck behind another tent just in time.
They grab sacks of food at random, as many as they can carry, and leave the way they came - silent, unseen.
+++
They don’t take inventory, and they don’t celebrate - they’ll celebrate when they’ve put some distance between them and the people with guns that they just stole from.
They move through the forest as fast as they can, balancing on tree roots to avoid snapping branches and crunching fallen leaves. They don’t stop when they find their bikes - they just grab them and move closer to the road.
“We’ll need to get away fast,” Katsuki had said when they were planning. “If we keep our shit far enough down, we should be able to bike on the road without being seen.”
“What if someone sounds the alarm before we get far enough? Shouldn’t we head away from the road and move West that way?” Izuku had protested.
“Too slow. We’d probably have to leave the bikes - s’not worth it. If they notice us, we’ll move away from the road, but that should be a last resort.”
There’s no movement from the camp, no noise, so they balance the bags and sacks on their backs and handlebars and in their hands, and they bike like Hell is chasing them.
“We’ll get a few kilometers away and then get off the road - they’ll probably have noticed the dead guards by then,” Izuku had said. “We can tie everything together, then, and take turns keeping watch.”
“I call second,” was Katsuki’s contribution.
+++
They don’t make a habit of it until they do. They try to only target the gangs who are hurting people - the ones with slaves, the ones that rape and kill. They don’t take more than they need, or more than they can carry, but they start freeing people, cutting them loose and sending them off with a bag of necessities each.
Some don’t want to go - that’s the hardest to stomach. Harder than bashing in heads and slitting throats. Harder than bloody hands and the gasping breaths of the dying.
Some want to die - Izuku can’t do that. Katsuki can.
+++
There isn't much space for rumors at the end of the world - not enough time, not enough people - but Izuku and Katsuki make a name for themselves, nonetheless. They hear stories told around campfires before they attack: most laugh it off, scoff at the idea.
Those are the most satisfying ones to steal from.
+++
They eat light - there's only so much food in the world right now, and the amount is only going down. The land is too scorched to grow crops, the people too dangerous to raise livestock, the water too polluted to sustain life. They may have it good compared to most, but they can't afford to be careless.
+++
The world never really goes back to normal: the human race dies out the way it lived - slowly and painfully.
Izuku and Katsuki don't live to be as old as they thought they would when they were five years old and pushing each other over on the playground, but they're okay with that. Their lives weren't sunshine or rainbows, and they're okay with that too.
When Izuku was little, he dreamed of being a hero; he wasn't a hero in this story.
Luckily, being a hero isn't always all it's cracked up to be.