Chapter Text
It’s been a bad day.
If Izuku compartmentalizes it in such simple terms he can ignore the internal fall out. He’s been told to kill himself before, really he shouldn’t take it to heart. Kacchan is trying to hurt him and he should be the bigger person and not let him. Swan dive loops in his mind anyway. What an intriguing way of putting it. Swan dive. Like a bird, like a game.
The charred water logged edges of his notebook leave smears on his palms that he wants to avoid getting on the bright yellow of his backpack. Could be hard stains to remove and he knows he doesn’t want mom to see. That's what he’s thinking about as he walks home, how to hide the evidence of the day from his mother.
The only warning he gets is a metallic rattling, before a mass has plowed not into him so much as around him. One panicked breath and he’s being swallowed. He claws uselessly and frantic at the thing blocking his mouth. He hears the words the man (?) says but can’t quite process them.
Izuku thinks “I am going to die.”
He feels tears flow down his cheeks and spares a vague thought of relief that the sludge isn’t working it’s way into his eyes too. He pictures it, in that fleeting horrid moment. The pressure and pop of his eyes and the pain as the murky viscous liquid works its way inside of him.
Izuku is surprised to be awake again when he blinks his eyes open. Death hurts more than he thought it would.
There is a man hovering above him in a strange mask and a fur lined coat. His eyes are so bright, he stares at the yellow ringing the strangers pupils. Izuku’s cold and wet. His throat aches. He tries to say something, to sit up. The man cups a hand around the side of his face blocking his eyes from all but the stranger above him.
“Don’t look.” The rasp in the mans voice surprises Izuku.
Izuku has to clear his throat a few times to get his own voice to work and in that time the man helps ease him to his feet holding his equally sludge-logged backpack for him. “What happened?”
The mans eyes flash something dangerous then go blank once more. “Nothing you need concern yourself with Midoriya.” He must think he’s being reassuring. Izuku’s head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton but he blinks at the man trying to work out why unease in spilling through his stomach.
“Come, lets get you home.” It’s not really a request. He grips Izuku’s elbow one arm around his back to steer him away from the underpass.
Izuku tries to turn back anyway, to see what’s happened. To try to make sense of the after images and impressions he can’t be sure he didn’t dream. The stranger is faster and catches his chin “Now now Midoriya.” Letting go of his shoulder to bodily block him from seeing into the shadows of the underpass. His gloves are soft on Izuku’s face, but the touch makes him shudder.
The man walks him all the way home. He’d slipped a single glove off and clasped one of Izukus hands as they’d set off. His eyes looked strange when they touched. It unsettled Izuku, but he was unsteady enough to appreciate the support while they walked.
They part at the base of the stairs that lead to the Midoriya apartment. Izuku goes inside, feeling dead on his feet he dumps his uniform and backpack, rinses off in the shower, and gets into bed.
——————————————————————————————-
Izuku bolts upright in bed cold dread crashing over him. He fumbles around the top of his nightstand in the dark for his phone. He slaps the empty space and realizes it must still be in his backpack. He’d tossed the whole thing into his dirty laundry basket when he’d gotten home. Getting up out of his bed with a goal shakes some sense back into him, the numbness in his limbs recedes. A wave of acknowledgement, that there is no current danger, sweeps over him, chasing the all encompassing panic back a bit. He takes a breath shaking with waning adrenaline. He gets his phone from his backpack shuddering as his hands brush the cold slime congealing on his bag. He debates whether or not to call the police. That man knew his name and where he lived… and the sludge man that attacked him was…gone?
Izuku stands in his room indecisive for what feels like hours, body frozen as his mind tears itself in panicked loops. He wants, suddenly and deeply to not be alone anymore. He wants his mom. He looks at his phone, at the time to make sure she's even home. Its just past 4 in the morning, so she'd have gotten home from work a few hours ago. He makes his way to his mothers door and he hesitates briefly feeling bad about waking her. Wondering if he's not blowing everything out of proportion, overreacting like everyone at school always says.
Fear wins eventually and Izuku knocks on her door, harder than he means to his fist still shaking. There is commotion on the other side of the wood before his mother swings the door in. She looks a little panicked in her robe. “Izuku, baby?”
The first noise he makes is a croak and he realizes his throat still hurts. He clears it a few times as his adrenaline crash and leftover fear catch up with him. Tears roll down his cheeks and pathetically he whispers to his mother, “Something happened today. I'm scared.”
Inkos eyes go wide before she settles, a plan of action forming like a checklist in her head. “Okay, baby. I’ll put on some tea. You go sit at the table.” He nods doing as he's told.
They sit next to each other at the dining table, the same one Izuku can remember them having all his life, with scratches and chips and faint green and red discoloration on the legs where he had been eager with crayons as a toddler. Izuku takes a minute to let his mug warm his hands as he thinks through what happened that day.
“I was attacked by … a villain, I think.” Inko's breath catches.
“Are you alright? Did this happen at school? Why wasn’t I told? Do I need to call-”
“Mom.” She stops. “I’m okay. That’s not what I want to talk about.”
“What?”
Izuku pushes his palms into his eyes and takes a shuddering breath “I- I feel like I’m going crazy. There was this man he- he saved me. I think, but. Mom” He swallows and looks at his mom fear haunting his eyes, “He knew my name, and where we live.” He’s near hyperventilating now, “I didn’t even think about it at the time. I thought I was going to die. I was so afraid. He told me not to look. Do - I… I think he killed him.” He cuts himself off with a whine.
Inko stands and folds her son up in her arms, squeezing tight she takes a breath. “Okay. I’m going to call the police so you can make a report. Go pack a bag now we’ll go stay at Mitsuki’s for a while okay sweetheart?” Izuku is shaking again. Inko stands with her phone in hand, “Come on baby I’ll sit with you while I call okay?” Izuku twists to squeeze his mom tighter in their embrace, wishing suddenly that he was still smaller than her so he could be surrounded by her warmth and the smell of her shampoo.
True to her word she hovers around his room as he packs a bag then she follows him to her room as he packs a bag for her. Her conversation is longer than Izuku thought it would be, but he has no frame of reference for what will be asked on the phone or how these sorts of things work outside of what the knows from outdated cop shows.
“Oh. I understand, yes. Alright.” Inko hangs up looking a touch pale. “Okay sweetie there going to dispatch someone here for an interview.”
“Right now?” He sounds hysteric to his own ears. Inko cradles his cheek in her hand, Izuku fights the urge to flinch at the touch. “Yes baby. It’ll be okay. I know this is a lot, but I am so proud of you.” He nods again.
He pulls away suddenly realizing he’s hungry. “When will they be here?”
“They said ten minutes.”
“Can I eat something?” Inko breaths a sigh of relief at having something to do “Of course. I’ll make you something warm.”
Inko is just setting a warm plate of eggs toast and leftover chicken on the table for Izuku when there is a knock. Izuku tenses afraid of the reality of what happened to him today. Inko squeezes his shoulder as she passes, “Eat your breakfast dear. They can wait.”
——————————————————————————————-
It’s almost half passed 5AM for a shift that ends at 6 when Eraser gets the dispatch to pick up an alleged murder witness. He’d skimmed the news before his shift started as he does most nights and knows about the gruesome crime scene All Might had stumbled upon while in pursuit of a villain turned victim. What he's briefed on as he makes his way to the witness is the only evidence on scene besides the remains had been a notebook boldly titled “Hero Analysis for the Future #13” with the remnant of a name inside the top corner of the cover. Burnt as it was the only discernible character being the kanji for lengthy. They had been trying to link a quirk type that could do that kind of damage to anyone even suspected of dealing in quirk information ignoring the fragmented kanji. And here was the mysterious hero analyst Midoriya Izuku calling dispatch at 5:30 in the morning over 12 hours since the crime occurred. With no reason to believe the boy would resist (and no warrant) it is deemed best to send Eraserhead out for an interview if they get permission inside the home else a pick-up back to the station. With only a squad car as backup at least this late in a shift they know to only send Tsukauchi or Sansa.
When he knocks a short woman with a shock of green hair wearing a pink robe answers quickly. “Hello,” She has a nervous smile but there is a tightness around her eyes
Aizawa rolls his shoulders back and gestures to the detective a few steps down from the narrow landing by the Midoriya’s door. “Hello I am pro-hero Eraserhead and this is detective Tsukauchi we received a call about an witness statement.” The woman looks relieved shoulders loosening a touch.
“Oh yes, thank you for coming. Can I see your ID’s?” He tries not to look too irked as he slides the identification out of a pouch, while also feeling vaguely approving that this woman is requiring proof of identity before allowing strange men into her home to speak to who he assumes is her son. She looks at them critically eyes lingering on Aizawa and his ID before nodding and handing them back. “Come in, you’ll have to give Izuku a moment he hasn’t eaten a thing since lunch. Would either of you like some tea?”
It’s Tsukauchi that speaks up after a moment of silence, “That would be lovely. Coffee if you have it ma’am.”
She smile “of course, Oh I am Midoriya Inko, Izuku is at the table if you’d like to sit.” They are led down a short hall to an open common space where the living dining and kitchen are sectioned off not by walls but with the clever placement of furniture. Aizawa notes the pictures on the walls, plenty of Inko and a young boy who’s the spit of his mother, a few featuring of a family of blondes but no clear father figure, there is a blanket over the back of the couch and a dog-eared book on the coffee table. It’s lived in, cozy, but clean.
The boy, who looks younger than the report told Aizawa he should be, makes eye contact with Aizawa and promptly drops his chopsticks. He is in fact the spitting image of his mother, it would be impossible not to see the relation. His face goes as impressive shade of red before he ducks his head and takes his chopsticks back in hand.