Chapter Text
When Izuku wakes up, all he can hear is the ringing in his ears. As his vision slowly starts to clear, the only thing he can see is an unfamiliar alley. He tries to shake off the fog clouding his brain, tries to remember what happened, but the only result is a stabbing headache and an aching pang in his chest.
Izuku tries to push himself up, but his arms are too shaky and weak. He lets himself collapse back onto the grimy concrete beneath him. He takes a moment to just breathe, but even that feels oddly difficult. After a few deep breaths, a weak, sputtering cough tears its way out of his throat.
Izuku wipes at his mouth as something phlegmy comes out of his lungs, only realizing a moment too late that his hands are caked in something.
He spares a glance down, his stomach churning at the sight of blood and an odd, dark, dried substance covering them.
It’s not my blood.
Izuku isn’t even sure why the thought came to the forefront of his mind, but deep down he knows it’s true, and that’s terrifying.
The spark of anxiety that flashes through him has him managing to stumble up onto his feet, adrenaline the only thing keeping him upright. Something’s wrong, but he just can’t remember what, no matter how much he tries.
Practically tripping over his own feet, Izuku manages to make his way to the opening of the alley. The buildings that had been shading him are no longer close enough to protect his suddenly sensitive eyes.
A wave of nauseating dizziness washes over Izuku as the brightness of the sun beats down on him harshly. He has to stumble back into the alley in order to regain his bearings. It takes a moment, leaning back against one of the building’s brick walls, before the dizziness mostly fades away.
Trying once again, Izuku pushes himself off the wall, this time moving slower to the mouth of the alley. He expects the brightness this time, and he lets his eyes adjust before he starts slowly making his way down the city’s sidewalk.
The sight that greets him causes another wave of panic. Nothing looks familiar. Words are jumbled, buildings almost look warped, and everything seems fuzzy. Izuku knows he needs to stay calm, to keep going and find his way home–he just needs to get home–but the temptation to go back to the alley, the dark, quiet alley, is stronger than Izuku wants to admit.
The only thing that keeps him going is the thought of his mom. She’ll know what’s wrong, and she’s probably worried sick about him. As long as he can find his apartment, he’ll be able to find his mom and he’ll be able to feel safe.
He needs to feel safe.
Izuku puts one foot in front of the other. It’s the only thing he can do with his head pounding and his thoughts all over the place. He can feel eyes on him. People are staring. It’s something he can ignore. No, something he will ignore. He just has to keep going.
He had been making progress. Steady, irrefutable progress. But the sight of a father and child staring at him, as if afraid of what he’ll do, has him stopping in his tracks. They’re looking at him like he’s a villain.
I’m not a villain.
The blood isn’t mine.
I didn’t hurt anyone.
Those three thoughts overlap as Izuku haphazardly tries to get away from them. His breaths come in sharp, crackling pants. He starts shaking, feeling cold press in on him. He needs to slow down. He needs to calm down. But those people, they’re staring at him. All of them are. They think he did something. Something bad.
I didn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Would I?
Izuku doesn’t let the thought linger, half running, half stumbling away from the watchful eyes of the frightened people.
His eyes feel heavier the longer he keeps going. The sun sinks lower with each blink, the day passing despite him not being able to remember it. The more orange the sky turns, the more buildings he recognizes. Slowly, he makes his way to his apartment, specific landmarks subconsciously guiding him.
As he enters the building, he hears a gasp. Izuku turns, noticing someone he vaguely recognizes. He thinks she may be one of his neighbors, but his mind refuses to give him a clear picture when he tries to recall her.
“H-have you seen my-my m-mom?” He stammers out, after a second of silence. He’s still trembling from before, and the cool air of the complex certainly doesn’t help that.
If the neighbor responds, Izuku doesn’t hear. His attention shifts and locks on the way she reaches for her phone.
That action has him on the move again, this time all but running into her in his desperation to get past. He just needs to get to his apartment. To his mom. Then everything will make sense again.
Izuku doesn’t know why he’s running. He didn’t do anything bad. At least, he can’t remember if he did. But the thought of that lady calling someone, calling the police, has his heartrate skyrocketing once again.
He doesn’t stop running until he’s stood in front of a door reading 249. It takes him a moment to fill in the blanks: this is his apartment door. He’s home.
Izuku doesn’t bother knocking, instead bursting in and letting the door close behind him. He’s greeted by an empty apartment. There’s no call from his mom, no scent of her cooking, and no sign of life. Something’s wrong, and the lack of his mom’s presence has only amplified that thought.
He has to take a moment to just try and breathe. It’s a more difficult task than it should be. Whatever is irritating his lungs weighs down each breath, every inhale sharp and unsteady, and every exhale sputtering and choked.
Izuku squeezes his eyes shut, stumbling further into his apartment. His mind rushes with thousands of thoughts, but he clings to a select few:
My name is Izuku Midoriya
I’m twelve years old.
Something’s wrong.
There’s blood on my hands.
I can’t find my mom.
The only explanation that makes sense to Izuku hits him like a ton of bricks. It’s sickeningly clarifying, and it’s a thought that has his knees buckling.
Before his panic can overwhelm him any more, a sharp knock sounds from the door. A voice calls through, one Izuku doesn’t recognize. He goes completely still, trying to understand the words being called through the door.
The one word his subdued mind can process has him scrambling back to his feet and into his room.
The police are here.
For him.
It solidifies the explanation he created for this terrifying situation, and it only makes him want to run more.
I did something bad.
Izuku blindly grabs at personal items his subconscious deems important to take with him. Notebooks, some pens, a hoodie, and his backpack. After shoving the few items he grabbed into his backpack, he quickly but clumsily goes to his mom’s room.
Any hopes that she had been in here, napping after her last night shift, crumbles when Izuku finds the room empty. He shakes off the new surge of panic and grief, knowing he has to keep moving. He has to run.
Izuku grabs the one thing he can think of from his mom’s room: a necklace. One of her favorites, and something he remembers her wearing often when he was younger.
He barely has time to slip it in his backpack before another sharp set of knocks rattles the front door. He can’t let the police get to him. They’re never kind to the quirkless, and if he did actually do something bad, they’ll only make it worse.
Looking around, Izuku’s gaze lands on the window in his mom’s room. It’s about the one window in their apartment that has a fire escape beside it, and that means it's his only way out.
Izuku rushes over to it, prying it open as quick as he can with his shaking hands. He unceremoniously scrambles through the window, his foot nearly getting caught on the sill in his haste to keep moving. He would pay more attention to the creaking of the rusty metal below him if not for the increasingly loud bangs echoing from the front door.
The twelve year old rushes down the fire escape’s stairs, making sure not to trip over his own feet. Izuku has to pause when he finally reaches the ladder that leads to the ground. Briefly considering his options, he decides that the it’ll be faster to jump the rest of the way than to attempt climbing down the rusty, metal rungs. As soon as he lands on the ground, he regrets choosing expediency over safety as his knees buckle under him.
The pavement scrapes at his skin, the movement jostling his sore head, but it’s not enough to keep him down. As he runs, he thinks about where he can go. He won’t be able to go back home, and he knows he’s not prepared to survive completely on his own, leaving only one place to go:
Kacchan’s house.
It used to be so fun going to Kacchan’s house when they were younger. Izuku went over there so often it almost started to seem like a second home. Despite Kacchan not seeming to like him very much anymore, Izuku knows that it’s the safest place to go. At the very least, Kacchan’s parents had always been kind to him.
It took a good several minutes of him running through the neighborhood before he gets to the Bakugos’ street, his current state slowing him down slightly.
The closer Izuku gets to Kacchan’s house, the more dread starts to pool in his stomach.
What if they think I did something bad?
What if they send me to the police?
Izuku hesitates when he gets to their doorstep. Deep down, he knows that Kacchan’s parents would help in the best way they know how, but doubt still lingers. He doesn’t even get a chance to back away before the door is swinging open, a concerned Masaru standing in front of him. After a moment of silent staring, Masaru’s expression melts into relief. Masaru quickly ushers the twelve year old into the house, pulling him into a tight hug as soon as the door has shut.
“Izuku! God, we were so worried. Where have you been?” Masaru asks, pulling away from Izuku in order to crouch down in front of him.
“Where… Where’s my mom?” Izuku doesn’t bother answering Masaru’s question, instead asking his own in a small, trembling voice.
“Izuku… You’ve been missing for three days… Mitsuki and Katsuki are out looking for you as we speak.”
“Where is she Bakugo-san?” Izuku repeats, growing more distressed the longer it takes Masaru to answer him.
“I'm so sorry Izuku. Inko… your mother was killed by the same villain that took you.”