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Izuku has been running.
His footfalls hit the ground hard, reverberating in the open alleyway. Each pounding step of his boots against the asphalt echoes, a reminder of the choices that’d led him to this point. Each twinge and sting of his scars, the wounds that never properly healed, reminds him of how many attacks the League had launched against U.A., and how many of those might be his fault.
It wouldn’t surprise him. His quirk, once a gift, now represents the very thing the League wants on its side.
They want him.
Alive would be amazing. But, Izuku’s aware deep down that the next time they strike, they might consider taking him in a body bag instead. Nomus are their trademark, a staple of the army they desire to create, and his quirk would be the perfect power that army could wield.
Well, not exactly perfect. His brother’s would be better, but he’s also aware that they’d never be able to take him in, dead or alive. He’s the next best option, clearly. And he’ll do everything he can to fight against it.
So, he runs.
He runs away from U.A., once a sanctuary, a safe haven, but now he risks endangering everyone he’s ever loved by even staying there. He knows it’s a stupid decision. U.A. has some of the best technology, its security system designed to protect both students, staff and the public from the League and the criminals they’ve released. But he can’t risk it. Nothing is ever that safe.
He runs away from Shouta and Hizashi. God, it hurts, like sticking knives into his eyes, but he can’t. Shigaraki has already threatened their lives enough, the U.S.J. only the first attempt on his brother’s life. He still remembers lying in that hospital bed, waiting for Hizashi to walk in and tell him good news about Shouta’s health, his progress, anything. He remembers staring at the ceiling and thinking the worst because the last thing he’d seen before blacking out was Shouta lying on that stained tile, bleeding to no end.
He can’t risk it again.
So he ran, and continues running.
He ignores the pain in his arm. He can deal with it later when he’s moderately safe somewhere on a rooftop, escape in reach if needed. Not in the open, never in an open alleyway like this where he can get ambushed.
It’s one of the first things Shouta taught him about underground hero work. Don’t assume the world is safe. Don’t assume where you step, where you stay, where you stand is safe.
The rug can easily be pulled from beneath your feet.
“Need some help?”
He stops abruptly in the alleyway, almost tripping over his own feet. No one’s there with him, yet he swears he heard a voice. Sleep hasn’t come easy lately, there’s the off-chance it was just an auditory hallucination.
Still, he searches the alley briefly and curses when he spots the familiar silhouette hovering above.
“I thought I explained things clearly in my letter.” Izuku says, loud enough that he knows Shouta hears him. “Why did you follow me out here?”
Shouta makes his way down quickly, possibly on patrol judging by his hero costume. His goggles, ones Izuku used to hide around the house when he was younger, are taut over his eyes, the gold shine beginning to fade.
Leaning against the wall casually, he answers. “I wasn’t going to leave you out here alone. Not when you don’t understand how to survive yet.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Izuku utters, turning to face his brother. “It’ll be more dangerous if we both stay at U.A. The better option is to go and fight my way out here.”
Shouta scoffs. “That’s a death wish.”
Izuku shakes his head. “It’s better than risking you dying again.”
His brother stands, then, walking forward to face Izuku properly. His rough, calloused hand rests on his shoulder, a silent plea to stay. And his face, despite expressions being hidden, Izuku knows it must be twisting with worry. “Izuku, I can’t let you. No option is good if it involves the risk of you dying. Especially alone. What if you got into a fight with a villain, no back-up, and I found your body on patrol? How is that the better option here?”
“Because the next time the League attacks, I don’t think I'd be able to deal with seeing your body bleeding out again.”
Shouta softens, not noticeably but in the way that his hand relaxes on Izuku’s shoulder and he exhales subtly, tilting his head at him. “Izuku,” he addresses. “Is that what you’re really worried about?” Izuku doesn’t answer, and that’s all the answer Shouta needs. “That first attack, the U.S.J., we weren’t prepared for it, at all. We hadn’t known about the League nor its power. But, now we do. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Izuku glances back. “You need to let me go,” he says. “The League could still be out there. I need to do something.”
Staring incredulously at the gash on Izuku’s arm, Shouta asks again, “are you sure you don’t need my help?”
Izuku catches sight of what he’s staring at. “I’ll be fine.” His brother’s grip on his shoulder tenses. “I mean it, I’ve dealt with worse out here. I’ll be fine. Just—you need to let me go. If I stay, if you bring me back to U.A., everything could go south. I’m dangerous.”
There’s little truth in what he’s saying now, a desperate attempt to get Shouta to just let him go. In a sense, it’s true. His quirk has brought on challenges, and with the League’s interest in it, he could easily bring trouble to U.A. if the League strike once more. It could be today, tomorrow, in a week’s time, Izuku isn’t sure when, but he’s confident they’ll attack again, and he can’t let his brother nor his classmates get hurt again.
On the other hand, he isn’t the danger. He didn’t ask to have this quirk, nor have the League be interested in it. He only existed, and barely adjusted even then.
But, he needs Shouta to listen, and if it means vocalising vague truths, then so be it.
Shouta suddenly pulls him forward into an awkward hug. “Promise me you’ll be safe. Check in with me every week.”
“You know I can’t promise that.” Izuku whispers, burying his head in Shouta’s neck.
“Then, try.” he negotiates.
“I’ll try.”