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After Oboro Shirakumo’s death, something in Shouta’s brain shifted. He’d always known about the flaws of the hero society, having grown up in abusive foster placements for over a decade. But, watching his best friend, one of the only people who didn’t judge him on sight, sacrifice himself for a group of elementary school kids because the Pros were late? Oh, that hurt. And that pain, the anguish and grief flowing through his veins, forced him to see just what kind of world he was trying to protect.
The civilians he’d almost died trying to save, they all looked at him like he was a monster. As if the second year student was scarier than the villain that could’ve crushed them in seconds. The heroes gave him a pat on the shoulder and ordered him to help clean, to bring the bodies of the deceased to the paramedics as if Oboro hadn’t just died. Hizashi and Nemuri had gotten there soon after he’d won, congratulating him with dimmed smiles. They had been the ones to break the news of their blue-haired friend’s death to him. Not the adults, no of course not.
He’d shut down, moving robotically when given an order. Nobody spoke unless they had to, tears washed away by the rain and sobs muffled by the crackling of thunder. It had felt like a vivid fever dream, one he couldn’t escape. Shouta’s thoughts were either running constantly or not at all. Everything felt helpless, void of colour in a way he’d never experienced. Hizashi had tried to talk, but he’d just walked away. Nemuri herself had already left, the mask she wore around finally cracking under the pressure. She had fallen to her knees, crying out incoherent screams.
Shouta remembered that day. Not all of it, just the parts that mattered. He’d returned to U.A after three days of rotting on the mattress his most recent foster parents had given him, eyes duller than ever. Nobody teased him or tried to talk, even the teachers had given up on trying to get him to answer during class. As long as his grades were fine, they wouldn’t do anything. Nedzu had suggested a therapist that specialised in heroes, but he’d declined.
Instead, he’d forced himself to train. His hands were bloodied and often cramped up from the strain of using his capture weapon so much, rope burn was practically the new norm. Anything that could make him stronger, faster, smarter, he did it. The need to be better and do better was overwhelming, but never satisfied.
So it really wasn’t a surprise to anyone when he dropped out of U.A.
Hizashi had begged him to stay, a few tears being spared. Shouta cried with him, warm arms holding him close, but he didn’t promise he’d come back. No, he wouldn’t give his friend such false hope. Nemuri really hadn’t been any better, but she’d at least stopped crying before he’d left. Nedzu… he wasn’t shocked. In fact, he’d given the teenager his best wishes, a rarely genuine smile poking through. It wasn’t the one he put in for humans to make them feel comfortable, but rather his naturally animalistic one. He’d grinned back.
Now, they all (excluding the principal) thought he was just going to transfer, that U.A simply brought back too many memories. What they didn’t expect was for him to fall off the face of the earth. His foster parents didn’t call the police to report his absence, only mentioning it to his caseworker when she came over for her surprise check-ins. She had freaked out, scared about her reputation being ruined. The police had been called that day, but never found anything. Shouta’s clothes were still there, only his capture weapon, a pair of shoes, and a Polaroid camera having been taken. They documented it as a classic runaway, giving up with the investigation after the third day.
Shouta, of course, hadn’t known they were searching for him. Actually, he’d thought nobody would even notice. Technically, that assumption was pretty accurate, but whatever.
The good old question now is, where in the world is he? And, if we’re allowed another one, what is he doing that made him run away? Well, good news is that both of those can be answered. The only issue was that nobody liked said answers.
Firstly, he was in the Red Light district under an alias. A small, rather creaky apartment that either made him seem completely uninteresting or incredibly suspicious. Thanks to his gruff, exhausted state, people often assumed he was simply broke. Which was true, but that’s besides the point. Now, here’s the thing that seems to tick people off. What he was actually doing was training, and, in his opinion, taking out some trash. However, other people kept insisting that it made him a villain! Nobody was going to miss that pedophile anyway, who cares if his organs were splattered across the wall?
Anyways. He didn’t immediately go out and start killing people for fun, no, he isn’t that reckless. For the first three years (until he was twenty), he had gotten a job as a construction worker. It helped him build muscle and gave him a decent reputation. He didn’t have friends, didn’t even try to make any, actually. His goal of villainy had been cemented into his brain ever since he saw Oboro’s limp hand fall out of a body bag.
Now, why three years? Was there a set time? Well, no. Originally, he just hadn’t felt prepared enough. Shouta had mastered the capture weapon by the time he was eighteen, and stealth hadn’t ever been a problem. So, really, he thinks it might’ve just been the thought of murdering someone in cold blood that didn’t sit right. What made him see otherwise, however, was when he’d gone out on his nightly walk and ran into a muscular man pulling an absolutely terrified woman into an alleyway. He was yelling at her to shut up, that she would enjoy what he was going to do. And if that didn’t just grind his fucking gears.
The first thing he did was disappear into the shadows, his black attire and hair fading into the darkness as if it were second nature. Silently, he crept up behind the man, capture weapon at the ready. The woman had seen him and whimpered, being pressed against the wall by a large hand to her throat. Fortunately, it didn’t give away his position, as the attacker was too focused on getting his micropenis out of his pants.
Shouta’s eyes blared red, hair and scarf levitating. He snarled, kicking the back of the man’s legs. He yelped, falling to his knees with a thud. His victim gasped loudly, finally being able to breathe again. She trembled violently, but soon bolted when she saw the look in her saviours eyes. It was nothing but rage, something terrifyingly expressionless. Their bloody colour seemed to intensify when the prey below him attempted to escape, a dry scoff practically echoing in the quiet of the alley.
It was all over in minutes. A dead man with his eyes gouged out, feet hacked off, and tongue torn apart, laid across the ground, completely unmoving. Shouta stepped back, admiring his work. He didn’t feel the need to mark a symbol, he knew people would remember his kills. None of them would be pretty, and all of them would be memorable. That night changed the way he viewed himself. Not drastically, just enough that he started searching for victims rather than waiting for them to fall into his lap.
Over the next nine years, he made himself a name. Eraserhead. The villain who could kill you in any way, and never get caught. Police from all over the country were warned about him, but nobody could really identify what he looked like. Glowing red eyes and a white scarf, was all they ever got. The dark of night kept him hidden, and he never left a witness. He wasn’t picky over who he killed, if it was a paycheck with someone who deserved it, the reasonings didn’t matter. Other criminals checked their backs twice as much, flinching at any noise. Which in itself is a little insulting, because he was quite literally known for being silent.
Tonight was no different from any other. Someone had contacted him, asking for a man to be killed, and he looked into his next victim. A former Pro hero; Dragon. He was a pretty well known man, but not for good reasons. Several lawsuits, thousands spent on repairing his property damage, he’s even suspected of murder. That one had caught his eye especially, so he kept searching.
His civilian name was Hisashi Midoriya, and he had somehow managed to create a family. Inko Midoriya, his former wife, had been murdered a year ago, and the hero had been the prime suspect until the investigation was mysteriously shut down. Everything led to him paying his way out of it, which wasn’t considering how much he was worth. The pay for his death was amazing, as well. The only issue, however, was that he had a thirteen year old son.
Izuku Midoriya. There had been multiple calls to their apartment regarding domestic abuse, often leaning towards the teenager. It made Shouta’s blood boil, knowing there were so many children that had to survive their parents. Not a lot of information about Izuku was useful, just his appearance and where he went to school. Actually, there was nothing about his quirk, either. Isn’t that odd? A quirk is everything nowadays, it’s supposed to be on each and every form, no matter what. Being quirkless was like an unofficial death sentence. At least most of the population were elders, they were a lot safer than the new generations. Well, it’s not like the kid’s the one he’s being paid to kill.
After another few minutes of thinking it over, Shouta decided he’d agree. Anybody was better to live with than that man, Izuku would be fine. Even if he wasn’t, the police and foster system could help find him a better home. Even if the thought made his gut twist into uncomfortable knots.
_____________________________________
Izuku is having a pretty shit day. Usually, they were just bad, but the universe is a bitch and hates with a vengeance. First, Hisashi had thrown a ceramic plate at his head in the morning because he forgot to do the dishes, even though the reason he hadn’t was because he’d been passed out from that night’s beating. Then, Katsuki (he lost ‘Kacchan’ privileges after he joked about Mama’s death) and his lackeys had left him bloodied and bruised in the middle of class, which had resulted in him being forced to wear a muzzle again because he kept wincing in pain at every movement. The metal dug into his skin, cutting further into the scarred dents on his cheeks.
It was basically a repeat of yesterday back at home, too. Maybe a few extra burns, but Katsuki’s explosions hurt more. All in all, he’s sore and tired and hungry. Food was either a ‘privilege’ or simply nonexistent, so it’s safe to say he’s pretty malnourished. Honestly, how nobody had realised that Hisashi is abusive yet is a mystery. Or maybe they do know and they just don’t care enough to act on it. You know what, on second thought, he might just not think about it and go to bed. Chores are done, beatings have been done, and his injuries have been bandaged, even if it is a little sloppy.
Unfortunately, as soon as he put his head down, he sensed a figure in his room. It was still lit, the nightlight he got from Mama before she died giving it a warm glow. Peeking open his emerald eyes, Izuku forced himself not to tense up. There was a man in his room. And, considering how skilled he was, there was no doubt in his mind that this was a hired assassination. The dark figure strolled around, looking over the room with his face neutral. The green-haired teen concluded that, if this was for him, then he would already be dead. So, he did something stupid.
He sat up, bed creaking lightly. The man whipped around to face him, dagger already in hand. Izuku barely flinched, having predicted the reaction. Onyx eyes looked into his, narrowing slightly. For some reason, he relaxed from his fighting stance, weapon back in its holster. Izuku tilted his head to the side, getting out of bed and onto wobbly legs. They were still bruised from the kicking, his lack of food and the burns certainly didn’t help. Clenching his jaw to keep from whimpering, the boy walked over. Well, limped.
“You’re here for Hisashi?” He whispered, stopping at arms length. The man nodded in response, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Izuku sighed, drooping his head down and fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m not really worried that you’ll kill me, too. With the skills I’ve observed so far, I would already be dead by now. Did you- do they know that he killed Mama yet?” It was whispered, his final sentence. Truthfully, he’d actually witnessed his mother’s death. It was revolting, watching her skin melt as her hands reached out for help. Just thinking about it made him want to cry.
“You were there,” the man replied, voice rough but not threatening. It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement, like he’d already pieced it together. Izuku nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill as he looked back up. “Do you have somebody you could live with once he’s dead?” He asked, a frown tugging at his lips when the boy chuckled humourlessly.
“Technically. I’d rather not live with another one of my abusers, though,” Katsuki had officially upgraded from bully to abuser when he’d read about it in the books at the library. The things he did weren’t playful banter or light teasing, it always resulted in more scars. “Honestly, I’d rather be dead or homeless,” he admitted, looking him directly in the eye. There was no reaction for a few beats, just thick silence. Izuku knew he understood the subtle jab.
The man pinched the bridge of his nose, a long drawn-out sigh falling from his lips. Izuku almost felt bad. “I don’t kill kids, Izuku.”
“I’m legally an adult,” he offered, a small grin stretching his face when his eyebrows furrowed together.
“No, you aren’t. You’re thirteen. It’d be a stretch to call you a teenager.”
“In Japanese laws, you are legally an adult at the age of thirteen when you do not possess a quirk. It’s to keep them out of the foster systems because nobody wants a useless child,” that explanation left them in another silence, a quiet curse being whispered from the dark-haired man. Sticking up a finger, he walked towards the door, sending the greenette a look of stay put and leaving. It shut behind him with a light click, leaving the technically adult alone once again.
Suddenly, there was a loud yelp, followed quickly by a demand. Hisashi was yelling about stupid intruders and underestimating his skills, but as soon as he’d started, it stopped. Izuku couldn’t help but move towards the living room, where he’d been resting. Halfway down the hallway, he could already see a blood splatter on the ground. It was smudged by someone’s foot, so he assumed his father’s ankles had been cut from behind. Was it wrong that he felt a surge of satisfaction that he was being tortured? Maybe. Did he care? Yeah, a little. Hurting others had always felt wrong to him, but Hisashi deserved what was happening to him.
He’d destroyed dozens of lives, having brought down multiple office buildings during his time as a Pro. If he hadn’t been forced into retirement by the hero commission, then it would’ve escalated into the hundreds, that he can say for certain. Entering the living room, he couldn’t find it in himself to be scared. Whoever this mysterious man was, he wasn’t all that terrifying. In fact, Izuku had a sneaking suspicion that he would actually be a pretty nice guy outside of his profession.
On the couch was Hisashi, bleeding but conscious. His tongue was on the coffee table, four of his fingers thrown around the floor. There was a stab wound in both of his shoulders, as well as a visible cut on his throat, physically stopping him from using his quirk. It was obvious that the artery had been avoided on purpose, keeping him alive as long as possible. Izuku couldn’t help but let a small smile rest on his lips. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about the situation, but knowing he wouldn’t have to be scared all of the time? Oh, how nice that sounded.
“You were meant to stay in your room,” mystery man spoke up from the kitchen, knives laid out on a towel in order of size. He was pulling out some more from a few draws, clearly unaware of where they kept the utensils. The greenette trudged over, pulling out the other ones from two cabinets. Placing them in the right spots, he turned to look at him. The lights in this room were on, so he could finally get a good look. Deep shadows rested under his eyes, his dark hair wavy and a little knotted. Izuku frowned at the sight, but lit up once he remembered where Mama kept her hairbrushes. Rushing into the bathroom, he pulled one out and ran back, panting a little bit. Having your ass beat and then being active is a lot harder than it looks.
He walked over to where mystery man was leaning against the bench, holding it out with a genuine smile. “Your hair is knotty, and I really hate it when that happens because it feels uncomfortable. You can finish this if you want and then I can brush it?” Was he crazy for offering to brush a potential serial killer’s hair? Yeah, definitely. However, the boy has never been normal a day in his life, and he’s a little bit excited about not having to deal with Hisashi. Even if the image of him laying there would definitely haunt him for the next few months and make him feel like guilt reincarnated, he didn’t mind too much.
Mystery man looked baffled, momentarily forgetting about the hero he was supposed to be murdering. “Are you aware of who I am, Izuku?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter. A bunch of people don’t know me, but they hate me anyway. You know me, but you don’t hate me. I think you don’t, at least. I can go back to my room and wait if you do,” he answered, fiddling with the brush in his hands.
“You- wait here,” the dark-haired villain instructed, pulling the towel of knives closer towards Hisashi. Izuku didn’t turn to watch, zoning out as he thought about what was going to happen after this. Things weren’t looking good. If this guy doesn’t kill him, he’ll be suspected for the murder and either sentenced to prison or given a private execution. Running away is his best bet, and then probably just… lying down on the road, or something. There wasn’t anything he could do with his life, especially with his diagnosis. Gods, he hated how they called in a ‘diagnosis’ like he was diseased. It’s an extra toe joint, not a virus. “Kid?”
Izuku snapped his head up, not noticing that the man had been standing in front of him. He took a step back out of habit, awaiting the raised hand or open mouth. “Sorry,” the greenette mumbled, head dropped down. A hesitant hand was placed on his shoulder, initially making him flinch before he leaned into it. This entire situation was so bizarre, but honestly? It was either death, homelessness or prison after this, and he didn’t mind a bit of affection beforehand.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Still not looking up, he shook his head in shame. “I asked if you knew who the villain Eraserhead was.”
“You mean the one who’s been on the loose for nine years? Yeah. I know I’m not supposed to have favourite villains, but he is. People don’t realise that he’s actually taking out really bad people, and it’s not just random. Rapists, pedophiles, drug dealers, child traffickers, it goes on. I’m really interested in his quirk, too! People say they only notice him when his eyes glow red, which could mean it’s some sort of invisibility. Although, glowing eyes don’t really make sense. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Then again, quirks keep evolving and changing, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume-”
“I’m Eraserhead.”
Izuku’s head shot up, mouth agape. He took another step back, observing his appearance. Was he the first person to see him in all of his glory, without dying? Actually, he’s known for never leaving witnesses, so maybe not. But, being killed by the number one villain would be pretty cool. Cooler than just becoming another quirkless statistic. “So am I about to… die?” Eraserhead raised an eyebrow, his hand falling from the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t know! You don’t leave witnesses, and I’m very much a witness right now.”
The villain hummed, glancing over towards the body of his father. Izuku tried to turn and look, but a hand shot up to cover it. He flinched at the sudden movement, pouting at the action. “No, I’m not going to kill you. Like I said, I don’t kill children,” before the greenette could pipe up, he added on. “I want you to come with me.”
“I’m sorry?” Surely he heard that wrong.
“I want you to come with me,” Eraserhead, an A-rank villain, who has over three hundred confirmed kills, repeated.
“…why? Do you not kill kids so that you can torture them?” He looked genuinely offended by that, it was almost funny.
“No, definitely not. You’re like a weird, clingy cat.”
…
“A weird, clingy… cat? You want to take me because I’m like a cat?”
Eraserhead nodded, head tilting to the side. Izuku laughed, exasperated. The man turned to face the knives still laying on the towel, now covered in thick, red blood. Manoeuvring around the room, he started washing them. The water splashed against the metal, the sound not helping with his spiraling thoughts. Why would he take in Izuku? A quirkless Deku who hasn’t done a single thing right in his entire life? Had he gotten a concussion, or was this the lack of food finally catching up to him? Glancing over towards the villain, he felt something odd settle into his chest. The scene could almost be considered domestic. Humming while doing the dishes, his onyx eyes occasionally flickering over to see if he’s decided. It reminded him of Mama, all of those years ago before Hisashi came back.
Something cold and forgotten pressed against his heart. It was… familiar, but new at the same time. Like replacing your favourite book because the pages were torn. The sensation wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact, it could be considered welcoming. Inviting him back into somewhere he’d assumed was closed. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he limped over to Eraserhead, hope glimmering in his emerald eyes. They had gold flakes, he’d been told before. Similar to his mother’s. The rushing water stopped, the villain directing all of his attention towards the boy. It made him feel warm, knowing he was listening. Patient. “I’ll… I’ll come with you.”
Eraserhead grinned at him, but it wasn’t malicious like Katsuki’s or cruel like Hisashi’s. This felt… real. Comforting in a way you couldn’t explain with words. He offered a small smile back, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. They stood like that for a few moments until the dark-haired man resumed cleaning the different knives, Izuku retreating back into his room to pack the necessities. When they met each other at the front door, he saw the faintest hint of nerves. Tension released from his shoulders slightly, grateful that he wasn’t the only one anxious about their new arrangements.
Leaving that cursed apartment felt like lifting a weight off of his shoulders. It was so relieving he almost cried. He’d dreamt of leaving, of what life could’ve been like. Once, the greenette had even fantasised what it would be like if All Might was his mentor! It didn’t end great. But, that’s besides the point. The point is that he felt safe. That alone was foreign, but to experience that while an arms length away from one of the most wanted villains in Japan? Honestly, he still wasn’t sure if this was a fever dream or not.
Well, if it is, hopefully it’ll be kinder than the reality he’s had to deal with lately.