Chapter Text
Blood dripped and flowed down his arm in thick rivulets, hitting the concrete beneath him with disgusting wet sounds. He limped his way down the alley, leaning heavily on the walls to keep himself upright as he did. His breathing hisses through his shitty homemade mask, the sound seeming to echo as he reached the end. There was nowhere left he could go, at least not in his current condition.
Distantly, he heard the shouts from the street, the heavy footsteps and the thrum of the chase. But his body gave out on him, legs crumpling down and his back connecting with the brick wall in an attempt to keep himself upright. His bones hummed with little regard for his current condition, urging him to move. He took long breaths, both to calm his racing heart and his shaking hands. Hands covered in his own blood.
It doesn’t take long, and before he knows it he’s working on the gash on his arm quickly, praying that it's not already too late. He doesn’t look up as he hears someone start walking down the alley, towards him. He pretends he doesn’t hear when their steps stop, when they see him. He’s almost done, if they could just leave-
They grab roughly at where his hand is covering the wound, pulling it away and revealing it. He hisses as the air hits it again, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He hears the man in front of him gasp, and sees as he works quicker than Izuku could have, disinfecting it with far more precision.
“Kid, what happened?” The stranger said tersely, rolling up his sleeves. “Stabbed during a mugging. Made a rookie mistake and paid for it.” He attempts to joke, tensing as the man undoes the stitches he had done. Probably for the best. They would've had to get redone anyways, they kinda sucked. “I’m a pro hero, you can call me Eraserhead. Can I have your name?” They ask slowly, not unfamiliar with this line of questioning but still careful regardless.
“Jackal. You can call me Jackal.” He says, having to remind himself that he’s still in costume. He can let himself slip. Can’t falter, not even for a second.
The man- Eraserhead seems to take in that answer, nodding after just a moment. “Vigilantism is illegal, you know that right?” Eraser asks after a moment. He manages to not sound judgmental, but fucks up where he’s supposed to be soft.
Izuku scoffs lightly, relaxing slightly as eraser finishes his stitches. They look a lot better than what Izuku had managed. “Yeah, I know.” He mutters. He leaves out the part where it's technically not illegal in this specific instance, given his lack of quirk. It doesn’t feel like Eraser is trying to arrest him.
There's a beat of silence, not tense but certainly not comfortable either. Eraser leans back on his heels as he finishes wrapping the wound. “Is there anywhere I can take you?” He asks quietly. Izuku pauses at the question, giving the man a befuddled look.
He doesn’t sound disingenuous. But he probably knows that Izuku would never bring any hero to his hideout, home or any form of lodging. Especially not in his current state. It doesn’t matter that his hideout is barely more than a pile of rubble, that he has no home to return to. It doesn’t matter.
“There’s a coffee shop down the street. I know the owner.” He whispers, thinking quickly. It's the only place he can think of outside of his hideout. The hero nods quickly and stands, offering a hand out to the vigilante. He takes it slowly, cautiously, and manages to stand up without too much trouble.
His legs are only shaking a little, he can manage. He leads the hero over to the coffee shop and pretends he doesn’t see as eraser adjusts his speed to that of the injured vigilantes. The bell above the door chimes as izuku opens the door, and the lady at the counter gives them a friendly wave before returning to work.
Izuku sits in the booth furthest from the door, seeing eraser follow him over and sit across, entirely unprompted. Even if Izuku had picked a booth big enough to hold both of them. For a moment neither of them speak, content to sit in silence. The lady continues cleaning down the counters as if they aren’t there, and they might as well not be.
“If you were planning on ordering anything I'd suggest doing it now. They shut off the espresso machine in five minutes.” Izuku manages, pulling his mask up a bit further. It's cold. Eraser just nods, pulling his phone out quickly. The man stares at Izuku expectantly, and he just sighs and pulls out the burner phone he carries on his patrols. It seems to please the man either way, and he quickly enters his cell number.
“Call me if you need me, kid. I mean it.” Eraser says gruffly, sliding the phone back over to Izuku before getting up and exiting. Izuku just slumps further into the booth, watching as he leaves and fades away into the night. The day hits Izuku hard, harder than it usually does, and he finds himself dozing off in the booth.
He’s woken not too long after though, by the cafe lady sweeping at his feet. She gives a kind smile regardless, not bothering to ask him to leave. He does so anyway. He drags his aching, half asleep body back to his main hideout, a building left crumpling and in disarray after one of the top heroes fought on top of it.
It had the same lingering stench, the smell of dust and decay. It's familiar and comforting, at least for him.
It doesn’t take him long to doze off, to allow sleep to take him fully under. He doesn’t dream, not because he doesn’t want to but because he can’t. Not anymore.