Chapter Text
Denki remembered it as if it were yesterday.
He hadn’t lived in the area for very long, but he was still ridiculed for his stances on… everything. He didn’t like his quirk. He didn’t want to be a hero. He didn’t even like most heroes outside of Eraser Head and his father. Denki was told to adjust to how the world works, or to kill himself. His peers hated him. Death didn’t sound too bad. Maybe that’s why he was so careless when he walked home from school. He never had to pick up his sisters, so he never worried about his walk home. He would always cut through alleyways that he knew were dangerous, but his quirk was always enough to scare off anyone who tried to touch him.
Denki didn’t like it. But one day, it wasn’t enough to scare off one man.
Denki walked through the alleyway he always walked through. There was a man he didn’t recognize, but he couldn’t care enough to give him any attention, even after he called him over. The feeling of the man’s callused hands grabbing his wrist was still engraved into his mind. The man forced Denki’s bag off his back and pushed him against the wall.
“Don’t ignore me,” he said, getting uncomfortably close to Denki’s face. Denki winced as the man pushed him further into the wall and tightened his grip on his wrist. He could feel his skin bruising. Denki tried to use his quirk, move his body, and scream at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the man’s quirk or if he was paralyzed with fear. The man had a wicked smile as he wrapped his other hand around Denki’s neck, almost cutting off his air. Denki could only let out a grunt in pain as the man’s fingers pressed into his throat. Denki wasn’t sure how long he had been there, listening to the man ramble about how this could have been avoided if he hadn’t ignored him. His voice alone was nauseating, and his breath reeked of alcohol.
It didn’t take long for the man’s anger to grow. He tightened his grip on Denki’s throat, cutting off his air supply. Denki gasped, desperately trying to breathe. His vision slowly went black, and just before he could fall unconscious, the man was violently pulled back. Denki fell to his knees and gripped his throat as he struggled to catch his breath. He slowly lifted his head, his vision blurry and fuzzy. All he could make out were two figures, one on the ground and one standing. Denki leaned against the wall as he watched the scene unfold before him, his vision slowly returning.
A masked man with long black hair stood with a katana in his hand. Denki recognized him from the news. It was the vigilante, Stendhal. Denki watched in silence as Stendhal drove his blade into the man who had assaulted him. He listened to the man scream for mercy, crying about his family back home. Denki wasn’t afraid or disturbed by the scene. His eyes lit up as it dragged on. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t even stand horror movies, fake scenarios, fake blood, and CGI. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away as he witnessed a murder firsthand. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel sorry for him? The man had forced himself on him, bruising his neck and wrist and leaving a permanent scar in Denki’s mind. Why would he feel sorry?
The man eventually stopped screaming. Denki watched as his blood puddled underneath him, stopping just before it could touch his shoes. Stendhal slipped his katana into its saya as he slowly stood up. He looked at the boy against the wall and stared at him silently. Denki slowly rose to his feet and smiled at him.
“Thank you,” Denki said weakly. He grabbed his bag off the ground and put it on one shoulder. He turned around, wanting to ask a question, but Stendhal was already gone. His smile dropped into a frown. Denki sighed and turned on his heel, resuming his walk home as if nothing had happened.
He didn’t talk for the next week.
“Denki?” Hanta said as he gently shook his friend’s shoulder. “You good, man? You’ve been staring at the wall for fifteen minutes.”
“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking,” Denki answered. He forced a small smile onto his face and stood up. “I’m gonna head to bed.”
“What? It’s so early! You sound like Bakugou,” Mina whined. Katsuki rolled his eyes at the comment. Hanta sat down next to Denki and grabbed his wrist to stop him. Denki winced silently. He hated it when anyone touched that wrist, but how were they supposed to know that?
“Stay up for a bit longer, Denks. It’s only eight,” Hanta said. Denki lazily shrugged his shoulders. He had been trying to get away from everyone all day. He tried skipping school, declining any hangout requests, and even ignoring some people, but his friends were a persistent bunch. He forced out a yawn and pried Hanta’s hand off his wrist.
“I’m tired. Good night,” he said flatly as he stood up. Denki left without another word, leaving his friends confused. Denki took the elevator to the third floor, where his dorm was. The doors slid open, and Tenya was revealed. He smiled when he saw Denki and waved at him.
“Hello, Kaminari!” Tenya said, his voice carrying down the hall. Denki stepped out of the elevator, and he gulped when Iida didn’t step in.
“Weren’t you going somewhere?” He asked.
“I was, but I wanted to check on you first,” Tenya admitted. “You haven’t been quite yourself these past few days.”
“You mean quiet?”
“Well, yes. Are you okay?”
“‘m fine, Iida.”
“Well… You can talk to me if you need anything.”
“Mhm. Good night.”
Denki walked past Iida and went straight to his room. He locked himself inside and kept his hand pressed against the door for a few seconds. He let out a heavy breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He walked over to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. After pushing aside a couple of folders, he found his journal. He opened it and sighed as he stared at the first page.
“Three years ago today,” he muttered to himself. He stared at the writing in his journal. His handwriting was messy and unorganized, and it was the only entry. That day, he was shaky. It didn’t help that the man had damaged his dominant hand. Denki couldn’t help but wonder if he would have made it out of that situation alive if Stendhal hadn’t saved him, and if he did, would he have made it home? The thought made him sick every time it came to mind. He rubbed his wrist and brushed his fingers against his neck. He remembered how hard it was for him to talk after that night. If he tried to, his voice would crack and break with every syllable. He hated how the man had plagued his mind. He could barely remember anything from when he was thirteen, but that night was as vivid in his mind as if he had just experienced it.
Denki put the journal down and sat down at his desk. He powered up his PC and rested his head in his hand. He gripped his mouse and looked through any headlines that caught his attention. He was looking for Stendhal. His name had disappeared from headlines the year before, and it irked Denki. He scrolled and scrolled until his eyes landed on a new name.
Hero Killer: Stain Strikes Again!
Denki clicked on the article and read through it closely. A villain who kills heroes he judges as “false heroes.” He hummed and kept reading. Eventually, an image was shown. It was blurry and had a painfully low quality. Denki sighed and squinted his eyes as he tried to make out what he was looking at. It didn’t work well. He powered off his PC and moved into his bed. He was disappointed. He had hoped that maybe this “Stain” was Stendhal. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to meet him again. He told himself that it was just to say thank you again, but he knew there was more to it than that.
Denki turned to lie on his back, and he stared at the ceiling with tired eyes. He closed his eyes after staring for half an hour. He rubbed his face with both of his hands and pushed his hair off his forehead. Sleeping wasn’t working. Denki pushed himself up and changed his clothes. They were comfortable but more suitable for being in public, at least in his mind. He went downstairs to the common room and walked to the door.
“Kaminari?” Izuku spoke up. Denki stopped and sighed. He slowly turned to face his friends and forced another smile onto his face.
“Yes, Midoriya?” He said with an exasperated sigh.
“Where are you going?” Izuku asked as he stood up.
“Just… for a walk,” Denki answered. He slipped his hands into his pockets and turned around. He yelped when Tenya suddenly appeared behind him. “What the fuck, dude?”
“I can’t in good mind let you go out past curfew,” Tenya said. He put his hand on Denki’s shoulder, and his gaze softened. “And you don’t look well.”
Denki rolled his eyes and lightly shocked Teyna, making his hand jerk back. Denki slipped past him and stepped outside. He sighed as he felt the fresh air hit his skin. He opened his phone and looked down at it as he walked. He dragged his feet with each step, and his body swayed left to right. He didn't stop moving until his phone rang with a text message. It was someone Denki barely spoke to in middle school, but he was the only kid who didn't find him weird for liking Stendhal.
[Usui] Hey, I think I found that guy you're looking for.
[Denki] Stendhal?
[Usui] Yeah, him. Took me forever to figure it out, but I think he's Stain.
[Denki] The Hero Killer?
[Usui] Yeah. Someone managed to snap a picture of Stendhal without his mask. He looked pretty banged up, but it's worth a shot.
[Denki] Thanks
Denki hummed and rubbed the back of his head. He didn't want to get his hopes up, as he had time and time again over the years. Denki held his hand to the side and started fidgeting with his electricity. He felt it dance around his fingers, and it calmed him, made him feel grounded. His scars suddenly became visible, glowing just like his hair. He wasn’t sure how far he walked or how far he wandered, but he didn’t stop until he came across a shop. In its windows were TVs, all with the news forecast. He turned to the screens and watched with tired eyes. Every channel was talking about Stain, about his latest victims, and for citizens to be careful going out, especially at night. Denki couldn’t care less about their warnings. He couldn’t tell if Stain was Stendhal. After all, Stendhal wore a mask that hid his entire face; Stain only had a bandana over his eyes. Denki sighed and rubbed his eyes in frustration.
“Who the hell are you?” Denki muttered.
“You’re too young to be out here alone.”
Denki’s head snapped back. A woman stood behind him. She was nothing more than a regular citizen, but Denki made sure to keep his guard up. He turned to face her and slipped his hands into his pockets.
“I’m sorry?” He said.
“It isn’t safe out here,” the woman said softly. “Maybe you should head home? Just a suggestion.”
Denki forced an innocent smile and gulped. He didn’t do well with adults. Most adults didn’t do well with him, either. Denki shuffled away without a word. He pulled up his hood and headed back to the dorms. It was a much longer walk than he thought it would be, but when he got home, he was thankful it was over. He silently slipped inside and sighed when he saw that everyone had gone to bed. He rode the elevator to the third floor and stepped into the hall. As he passed Tenya’s dorm, he heard muffled shuffling. He tried to ignore it, but just as he stepped away, the door swung open.
“Kaminari?” Tenya said. Denki’s body stiffened. He turned on his heel and smiled at the taller boy.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He asked.
“Well, yes, but I saw your hair glowing under my door,” Tenya answered. “And I just… wanted to check on you.”
“Again?”
“I know I’ve been asking a lot recently, but I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re my friend.”
“I don’t know what would happen to me. I’m fine.”
“Please, come to me if that changes.”
“Okay.”
Tenya smiled warmly at Denki before he slipped into his dorm. Denki sighed and went to his own, tired and annoyed. He changed into his pajamas and collapsed onto his bed. He looked at his clock and frowned when he saw the time. 11:58. The day was almost over, and he hated it, oddly enough. He hated that man who laid his hands on him, but he was grateful for Stendhal, even if he was a murderer.
Even if he might be the Hero Killer.