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What have they done? The question bounces in the minds of many.
“What have they done?” Shouta asks himself as he hears news of their resignation from UA, the disappearance of his new ward.
“What have they done?” Toshinori wonders, having to find someone that could not possibly compare to his boy.
“What have they done?” Their friends question each other, the news that they’re missing spinning in their heads, sharp as a blade.
“What have we done?” Izuku, head resting on Shouto’s warm shoulder, ponders. “Will this really make a difference?”
“What we have done,” they rest upon each other because it is all they have left, “is done. This, at least, we cannot change.”
…
Life isn’t logical, everyone starts and ends at the edge of a cliff. The only question that can be asked is, “when will they jump?”
...
Three months after their first crime is when they get noticed.
Of course, before this, there were rumours about a villain duo running around and taking down heroes in the dead of night. They said very little, only alluding to things that most could not comprehend. Their faces were never seen, only reports of eyes glowing with conviction. The two never killed, only injured, but the fact of the matter was that the injuries were often debilitating. Disconnecting fingers from hands - just enough to stop quirk activation, destroying the nerves in the legs - allowed to walk (with practise) but not to feel. It was always to make the heroes unable to be heroes. After all, you cannot be a hero without a quirk.
It was only after three months of mysterious injuries such as these, that someone connected the dots. It was hard to tell, since the injuries were always different, that they were the work of the same people. But eventually, the police compiled all of the unsolved reports that ended with a hero retiring early and noticed the pattern.
All of the heroes had a high civilian injury rate, a high villain death rate, or a combination of both. All the heroes claimed to be visited by two individuals wearing medical masks and dark hoodies, eyes barely visible. The taller of the two used ice, so it can be inferred that was their quirk. The other person was more confusing. Sometimes they had a knife, sometimes they had strange support gear that ended up nullifying the heroes’ quirks, sometimes they had nothing, and left it to their partner. Their quirk was unknown.
Some of the injured heros claimed they were angels of death, coming for their souls.
Some argued they were ghosts set on revenge.
These were the heroes who owned up to actions, saying the pair would come back to kill them otherwise. They said that they were spoken too, just a whisper of words to tell them their crimes were known. A whisper that they hurt people, that they aren’t true heroes. That they need to be punished.
Some, cocky even after being rendered quirkless, said the duo were merely villains who got a lucky hit.
After contemplation of the evidence, police decided that these attacks were meticulously planned and targeted. They dubbed the pair Decadence, because they represented the decline of heroic ideals. The heroes they went after were all too focused on the luxury that often comes with being a hero - the fame, the money, the power - that they merely took down villains to gain these things without care for anything else. It wasn’t until after they had that recognition taken away, along with their income and quirk, that some of them realised the stray from their morals.
Some praised Decadence for taking out false heroes in a way that didn’t kill them (thus differentiating them from The Hero Killer: Stain), while some vyed for their capture.
“We’re losing good heroes!”
“Were these heroes really good?”
…
For the most part, Izuku was content with where he was. He and Shouto would’ve been just starting their third year at UA, and he didn’t miss it. Much.
He was starting to grow past the bitterness from his mother’s death, but he never lost his desire to make sure something like that never happened to anyone else.
Shouto was… Shouto. They were together, and they had their shared beliefs, and that was enough. The numbness that slowly crept through his arms after every crime was easy to ignore. The fuzziness that long since settled in his head could be shoved back, where it would buzz silently at the base of his skull. When his hands shook and he could feel the blood under his nails, he scrubbed them raw under the torrent of water, watching it flow down the drain, not sure if he was imagining the pink.
This was what he wanted. He wanted people to see that heroes aren’t always right, that the force and the violence isn’t always the correct option.
He could pretend when they went after another hero. He could put on the act of Decadence and conviction, and he could ignore the clenching in his chest. He was doing good. Was he doing good?
Shouto found him, one night, after a particularly gruesome crime. The hero in question had a quirk that gave them extra appendages, providing them with strength and distance while fighting. These appendages were not necessary to their life.
Izuku can still hear the screams.
“They are alive,” Shouto said, pulling Izuku's hands out of the scorching water, “And they can’t hurt anyone else.”
“Am I just as bad as them?” Izuku didn’t cry, but his voice was choked.
“If you’re like them, then I’m like you,” Shouto soothed his hands with a thin layer of frost. Izuku watched as the ice crystallized prettily over red skin. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
…
Is it truly a choice? Facing the sunrise or the sunset, blinded or shadowed by orange threads of light. The swirling makes their features brighter. Are those tears in their eyes?
...
Izuku was as adjusted as he could be.
They watched the news, tucked into each other's arms, as they, as Decadence , made change.
After their rise to infamy, many heroes went out of their way to protect civilians first for fear Decadence would come for them. Many didn’t care, claiming to have no fear of the twin angels of death, announcing publicly that they would take them down. These were the ones who were visited next.
Izuku put a lot of time into his research. He needed to be sure the heroes they destroyed actually deserved it. He still had a little faith in the heroics industry, not all heroes deserved to be removed from their positions, some actually helped. All Might was still one, long after his retirement, Izuku still trusted the man. The man who had given him everything, that which Izuku so selfishly gave away. Eraserhead would never be on their list, could never be on their list. Izuku dreads the day that he would have to confront his former Sensei and gouge out his eyes.
Shouto helped sometimes, but this was something that Izuku was confident about, so his partner would often leave him to it. Letting Izuku work out the details of the quirks they were going against, the patrol routes they had to follow, the way to disable them.
Shouto was his support, Shouto was his longing, Shouto was his only.
Without Shouto, there would be no Decadence .
(without Shouto, there would be no Izuku)
Izuku felt it went both ways.
When Izuku was the one to find Shouto staring at his one blue eyes in the mirror, scowling at the red roots beginning to show, brushing his fingers along the ridges of his scar with a blank look in his eyes, Izuku would cup his cheeks in his hands and whisper, “beautiful.”
And when those blank eyes turned to him, he revelled in the shift to recognition and warmth.
When Shouto’s hands were the ones to shake, when he was the one to hold the knife in white-knuckled fist, when Shouto pleaded with his eyes, is this enough? Izuku would smile softly, take those hands in his, and speak quietly, so quietly. “You are enough.”
They were each other's orbits, they were each other's entire galaxy.
The stars shone so brightly when they were together.
Izuku has never been in love, but if he were to guess, this is what it would feel like. It is all encompassing, it is powerful. It is weak and it is fragile. It is like Shouto is the sun and he is a star thousands of lightyears away. He can feel the warmth but he cannot touch it because it is outside of comprehension. Shouto will never burn him, Shouto will never break him, Shouto will reach him and they will feel eachother and even in the cold void of space they will be warm.
...
The edge they stand on is quiet. The sun is at their backs. Is this the best choice?
…
They ran into trouble, once.
It was after they had taken out another hero in a dark alleyway in the middle of the night. Someone must’ve heard the screams, because the police saw them. Guns pointed their way, flashlights shone on their faces.
Izuku froze. Never once had they been confronted by the police. They had always gotten away before they arrived.
Shouto grabbed his hand, and they ran back into the shadows. The shadows are where they belong, where they’ve belonged since they began.
Gunshots. Cursing. And they escape.
Izuku is numb.
Shouto is saying something, but he can’t hear. Is that blood on his hands? On his cheek? Were those tears in his eyes?
When did they get back to their apartment?
Izuku’s hand raises from where it’s resting beside him on the ground (why is he laying on the ground?) to brush a tear off of Shouto's face.
“Don’t cry,” he says. Why is it so hard to speak? “It’s okay.” Shouto’s head shakes, and he says something else. Izuku can only hear the blood rushing in his ears. He looks up, past Shouto, to their ceiling, eyesight growing dim.
He thinks he can see the stars.
…
The shadows are within their sights. Far in front of them, the sun doesn’t reach.
…
Decadence hasn’t been active in a while, according to the police. It’s been weeks since their last attack, and no one has seen hide nor hair since the police shot one of them.
Some think they must have died, and their partner is grieving.
Some think they’re taking a break to heal.
Some think they are still active, merely in the shadows.
It’s only been a few weeks, of course, but since the beginning, Decadence has consistently attacked at least once a week. Police are hopeful that they’ll be too scared to continue, seeing them run before. Police are also disappointed that they evaded them once again, and are now completely out of sight. They can only hope they won’t come back.
…
Shouta hears of Decadence far before they were named. It’s always just a whisper in the back alleyways, the quiet hum of crimes that don’t quite make sense, the question of, “is this on purpose?”
He thinks so.
The two angels of death, they sometimes were called. A beautifully tragic name for those considered villains. Shouta wondered why they were called that when they hurt people but never killed them, it didn’t make sense. Until he saw them in action.
Two people, presumably young and male by their voices, dressed in black. Silent in a way that only hurt people are, strong in a way that is only built from loss. Eyes bright, convinced they were doing good.
The angels of death who do not kill. Who should not be angels and yet are.
It isn’t until they are discovered by the public that Shouta understands.
They are angels because they are doing good. They are of death because they kill heroes but not people.
They have been hurt by heroes. They decided to fix things.
Shouta hopes he’s wrong.
...
Izuku wakes up to the memory of burning pain, and an apology. For what, he is unsure. He tries to sit up, and makes a noise of confusion when he can’t. The noise draws Shouto close.
Shouto - his partner, his only - looks wrecked. Eyes puffy and darkened by lack of sleep, face pale, and lips drawn. Only when he looks into Izuku’s eyes do they loosen.
“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up.” It is said clinically, detached. A statement of a fact that shouldn’t hurt the way it does. Izuku remembers tears.
“I’m sorry for making you cry.” Izuku brushes a hand on his cheek, and Shouto takes a stuttering breath. Izuku does not remember the touch, but Shouto does.
“I’m sorry for hurting you.” A cold hand on his side, and Izuku sighs with a relief he didn’t know he needed. A cold against a hot (burning) he couldn’t quite feel.
Neither are unfamiliar to burns. If they had fears, it would be of the heat. Of being like him, of being burned again in more ways than one.
“You didn’t hurt me,” Izuku whispers to guilty eyes. “You saved me.”
…
The answer is unclear.
…
Izuku spends his time healing and planning. Shouto begs him to rest, and he does. He rests his body, but his brain is another story.
Endeavor.
The start and end of their list. The person who made them, and the one they want most.
It is also the most difficult.
With Izuku’s injury, they had to stop for a while. This aids them, since no one is looking or expecting currently. But that is a small advantage compared to Endeavor's seemingly endless power. How to nullify a quirk that allows complete control and creation of flame? It exudes from all parts of his body, they cannot simply remove a part of him to remove his quirk, lest they remove it all.
“Can we?” Izuku asks, for permission and for possibility.
“Can we,” Shouto thinks, not as a question. His hand rests on Izuku's side, cooling the scar that is sure to last forever in the shape of his love’s palm.
The data is difficult. The situation is specific. But the answer is they can .
“Will we?” Izuku asks, for confirmation and for contemplation.
“We must.”
It is why they began, after all. Their origins, their drive. Something must change and they will be the ones to change it. Their burdens are heavy, but they shoulder them together.
…
Endeavor falls.
It does not shake the ground so much as they assumed from such a large man. It was surprisingly soft. He made no noise as his eyes went blank. For all his boisterousness, his posturing, the yelling that Shouto had been hearing since he was 4 years old, he was silenced within a single moment.
His body hits the ground with an almost delicate thump, and they run. They don’t take any time to absorb their work, their hopefully final act.
If the angels of death are no longer angels…
Will this fix everything?
Will this cut the sickness at the source?
It’s quiet.
And then the world is screaming.
…
Shouta hears the news right before it goes public. Endeavor. Dead. By Decadence.
The hero commission is calling them demons.
The public is split.
“Endeavor killed my son during a villain attack! He was only 13! Those angels serve justice the commission never would.”
“Endeavor takes villains off the street. He makes us safer. How did those demons get him?”
Demons.
Angels.
Humans.
They’re just humans. We’re all just humans.
He doesn’t think he’s wrong, not anymore. And it hurts, but he thinks he understands now.
…
“Izuku?”
“Yeah, Shouto?”
“What now?”
Izuku looks out at the sunset, brilliant in shades of pink and orange. Then he looks at Shouto, brilliant too, in shades of ash and snow.
“I don’t know.” He smiles, small and uneasy. But there is something comforting in the unknown.
“Okay.” Shouto says, as the sun finally slips past the horizon.
And that’s all they say.
…
End.