Betrayed
Izuku slammed the shack door behind him, rattling the hinges with the force and taking off across the park in a sprint. His feet fell easily along the memorized path, muscle memory taking him around holes and over flower beds. Racing around the playground, Izuku vaulted over the low wall that separated the park from the street like he had done a thousand times before.
The hot sun on his face pointed him to the east, the last rays of the day guiding him as he shoved past other pedestrians and tripped over his feet. He ran with his heart pounding in time with his feet on the pavement. He ran until the streets turned cold under his feet. He ran until he was so out of breath he started to become lightheaded from how short his gasps were.
Finally, Izuku leaned against a brick wall to suck air deep into his lungs, using his t-shirt to wipe the sweat pouring from his face.
Betrayed.
He felt utterly betrayed by the man he’d trusted for two years. The first person to truly believe he could be a hero. And that person had lied.
Sens- Stendhal just wanted to use him as a chess piece on his board, a pawn to manipulate. He’d crafted Izuku into a loaded weapon to point at whatever righteous target he pleased. The man complained of heroes looking down at a society from gilded thrones; and yet here he was, looking down from the edge of the hole he had slowly dug Izuku into.
Izuku could have been spending his time doing literally anything else to become a hero. He could have focused on coding, his analysis, intelligence, finding a mentor that wasn’t a hero school dropout/vigilante.
Stendhal had spent hundreds of hours training Izuku, molding his body and his mind, and now, Izuku wasn’t sure which ideas were his own and which he was manipulated to believe. Two years of Stendhal’s ethics lessons mixed with Izuku’s own research left a messy knot that the boy was hopelessly trying to untangle to see where Izuku ended and his former mentor began.
That messy pit of grief that he had slowly been learning to carry had torn, leaking into his veins and leaving behind a sickly black residue of enmity. Pure, unadulterated loathing roiled in his heart and licked up his spine, making him clench his jaw until his teeth felt like they would crack. That deep, dark pit was dyed bright red with rage as he thought of what his Sensei Stendhal had done to him. It made him want to slam his fist through a fall or scream at the sky until his throat was ragged. Izuku wanted to kick and scream and punch until it all made sense in his mind.
Instead, he took a few more deep, calming breaths, relaxing his muscles from his toes up to his head. Might as well put some of that wasted time to use. Keeping the slow pace he had set for himself, Izuku breathed in the city around him and began to filter through the scents.
He wasn’t sure where he was exactly, the smell in the air was different than around the foster home or his old neighborhood. It smelled of alcohol and sweat, bustling people and food. There was a food stand down the street selling takoyaki and someone had just puked three alleys down. The people currently passing him smelled of stale air and coffee, office workers on their way home from a company dinner.
His ears slowly fell in sync with his mind, picking apart the information he was receiving now that he was calm.
Thousands of watts of electricity hummed around him. Voices rumbled, a baby cried in the apartment to his left, a child laughing at a TV show across the street. The sounds were crowded and overlapping each other, evidence of people living on top of each other and in small spaces. It felt more packed than where he lived, vaster. He must be somewhere in the red district of Musutafu.
With that information, Izuku slowly brought his sensory bubble back into himself. He didn’t need his brain on information overload while trying to find his way home. Yes, he was well trained, but he also didn’t want to end up dead in the part of town with the highest crime rate because he had a migraine.
Slipping into the konbini he had happened to stop by, Izuku made his way to the bathroom in the back. He wet a paper towel and placed it on the back of his neck, leaning against the sink to catch the last of his breath.
Alright, It was past curfew, he didn’t have a phone that worked off of wifi, and he had no way of getting home. At least he had his wallet with him. He’d really let his emotions screw him over, didn’t he?
Izuku’s laugh at that thought was slightly manic.
Maybe Stendhal was right. Emotions really weren’t worth having if they were going to drive you into dangerous situations.
Izuku sighed and hung his head, reaching up to drop the barely damp paper towel into the sink.
Ok, so he was slightly fucked.
He hadn’t messed up this bad since the time the train was attacked by a villain and Izuku and Hitoshi hadn’t gotten back to the foster home until midnight. Sure, there was at least once a month where Sato-sama made up a rule for Izuku or Hitoshi to break and locked them in the closet for a couple of days. They’d had dinner withheld for talking or making too much noise, or just existing, really, but it wasn’t like Sato-sama hit them… often.
Alright, Izuku knew he had to get back, he just couldn’t make himself.
He wandered the aisles of the konbini with his hood up, picking out a bottle of water, a small snack, a surgical mask, and some cat stickers for Hitoshi. If he was going to break the rules he might as well bring back something nice for his brother.
After paying (double) for his items, he strolled out of the small konbini with his hands tucked in his pockets and head ducked low. No one would bother him if he looked like he fit in or was someone to avoid. Keeping his hand on the knife Stendhal had gifted him told him to keep on him, Izuku started the long trek back to the foster home.
Izuku walked for a while that way, keeping his senses slightly more open than usual so that he could look as much like a typically seeing person as possible. Even if he did have his cane, he’d keep it tucked to his side here to avoid becoming a target. He didn’t need to be delayed trying to get back.
It wasn’t for another couple of blocks that Izuku’s ears picked up something odd. There was an odd conversation happening ahead, filled with hushed whispers and a high-pitched whimper. Izuku cocked his head toward the sound and forced his senses to tune in further.
“...quiet and this won’t be so bad. Drop your purse, turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”
“P-please, I really don’t have any-”
CRACK!
Izuku’s feet were moving before he could second guess the decision.
Bright red sneakers slapping the pavement, Izuku sped for the alley two blocks down that he had localized the sound to. He yanked his knife from his pocket, snagging his hoodie as he hastily flipped it open. With how loud that crack was whoever this person was most likely had a gun, using it to pistol whip the poor woman he was holding up.
The hide and seek games with Stendhal were paying off right now, Izuku could almost visualize the trail to the attack.
10 feet, 5 feet, 2 feet.
Izuku launched himself into the air and stretched his leg in front of him, a kick aimed at the approximate height of the attacker's head.
His sneaker impacted something solid and another crack, this time sounding like bone on bone, echoed around the alley. A shriek emanated from his left, but Izuku ignored it. He had to get the gun away from the attacker before he could shoot.
Izuku landed in a crouch just past the man who had crumpled to the ground from his kick. He was holding his head, growling about being interrupted. He didn’t give the robber time to think, flipping on the ball of his foot and slicing his leg out in the air, effectively catching the man behind the knees and sending him tumbling on his ass.
Spinning around to disperse his momentum, Izuku launched from his crouched position and drew back for a punch, but instead of connecting with the man’s face, he was met with a fist to his own. Izuku fell back and rolled over his shoulder, pushing up on his hands in a handstand and to his feet. The man was currently staggering to his own feet, hand shakily pointing the gun at Izuku while the other cradled his head.
“Get outta here before I kill ya’ kid,” the man growled.
“Do it,” Izuku laughed and sprung into action before the shock of his words could wear off.
He slid into the man’s personal space and grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the gun, yanking it towards him before twisting it and shoving it high behind the man’s back.
The robber yelped and his hand spasmed with pain before dropping the gun. Izuku kicked it back and further down the alley before kicking at the back of the guy’s knees to send him to the ground again. This time, Izuku went with him, landing with a knee in the man’s back, one arm still pinned and the other flailing as Izuku looped his free arm around the attacker’s neck.
He applied pressure on the man’s carotids as tightly as he could, waiting for him to pass out as Izuku struggled to keep him pinned. Sue him, the attacker was quite a bit taller than him.
“Think next time before you rob someone,” Izuku whispers in the man’s ear as he feels his heart rate slow into unconsciousness.
Izuku immediately releases the man’s neck and lets his head flop to the ground. He’d be out for a couple of minutes until the blood leveled out and rushed back into his head.
Soft whimpering to his right reminded him that there was still a victim there, someone he needed to calm down and help.
Keeping his knee on the man’s back and hand holding the pinned arm, Izuku slowly turned his head toward the poor woman.
“Hi there, I’m sorry you had to go through that. I can’t get off of him just in case he wakes up, so I’m going to need you to call the police for me, can you do that?” Izuku asked in a low, kind voice.
The woman whimpered, most likely nodding in reply, and Izuku heard the soft taps of her fingers on her phone screen.
“Good job,” he smiled under the surgical mask and gave her a thumbs up with his free hand, “I’ll stay with you until the police are close. Do you think you could find anything in the alley or have anything on you that I could tie him up with?”
“I-I,” the woman squeaked before letting out a sob.
“It’s alright,” Izuku soothed before holding out his free hand, “I’m going to use my belt to put his hands behind his back, and then I’ll come to check on you, alright?”
The woman only sobbed in return, so Izuku took that as a yes.
Quickly, Izuku unlooped his belt with his free hand and slipped it around the man’s wrists. It would have to work for now. Before moving over to the woman’s side, he took the edge of his sweatshirt and wiped down the leather belt and the buckle. Not worth getting caught for this because his fingerprints were on the leather or metal. Satisfied with his slightly sloppy job, Izuku stood from the man’s back and carefully walked over to crouch in front of the woman.
“The police are two blocks away,” he could hear the sirens in the distance now, “I can’t stay here and get caught for vigilantism, but I’m going to go sit on the roof right there and wait until they take care of this. I’ll be right above you, so you’re not alone.”
Izuku gently patted the woman’s hand before standing up. Slim fingers caught his wrist before he could get very far.
“Th-thank you,” the woman wobbled out.
Pausing to tilt his head back down toward the woman, Izuku gave her his brightest smile from behind his mask.
“Stay safe ma’am,” he whispered before carefully pulling his wrist from her grasp and jumping on the dumpster across the alley. He used the large item to bolster himself up to an old fire escape and scampered up the metal structure just as police sirens echoed around the alley walls.
He stayed hidden beyond the lip of the roof, careful to keep red and blue lights from flashing on his dark hoodie. Izuku wanted to make sure the police did their job correctly, that the woman was able to give her statement and that she was taken home by the officers.
After the woman had been escorted to a police car, Izuku finally left his little perch and made his way across the rooftop in the opposite direction of the alley. Halfway across, he started to sprint before jumping the couple feet to the next rooftop. Izuku hit’s the other roof and rolls over his shoulder and to his feet in another dead sprint for the next rooftop. He crosses four or five roofs before he finds one to settle down on. Izuku’s sure he’s far enough now to not be connected to the crime.
He settles on the edge of the roof again, this time sitting with his legs swinging off. Izuku’s not ready to go back yet, and if he’s going to get in trouble anyway he’s going to milk his time out for all of its worth.
The stars aren’t out there, it’s too bright in the city for that, but the glow of the lights and the far-off shadow of Mt. Fuji is beautiful even late at night. Closing his eyes, he breathes in the city and lets the information filter in and out. Babies cry, radios murmur Yamada-san’s show, cars rumble down the street. It all syncs into a comforting harmony that reminds Izuku of an odd orchestral piece.
It’s the soft whisper of clothing that has Izuku’s head whipping around.
“Hello?” he calls, just barely above normal speaking level.
“What are you doing on a roof, kid?” a low voice calls in return.
“Just taking a break,” Izuku replies with a small smile.
Nearly imperceptible footsteps make their way towards him and Izuku shifts slightly away. The footfalls immediately stop as he moves.
“Alright, I won’t come any closer. Just don’t move anymore, okay, kid?” The voice calls over from where they’re lowering themselves to the ground.
“I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re worried about. That wasn’t my plan. I really was just looking at the city,” Izuku tries to explain.
“Sure, sure, I’ll believe that when you come off the edge,”.
Izuku huffed in annoyance and hopped off the ledge, turning around and sinking down with the low wall to his back. “Better?” he snarked.
“Much,” the voice grumbled.
The two were quiet for a few moments, Izuku was sure that the person was studying him, so Izuku studied them as well.
They smelled of coffee and detergent, a similar shampoo to the one he and Hitoshi used at the foster home, and faintly of a cologne that was somehow familiar. Their clothes rustled in a way that suggested they were fairly loose, but there was a soft clinking lower to the ground that suggested they had a knife on them. As the person turned their head, Izuku heard hair scraping along their shoulders, suggesting it was long and down. Their voice was a low grumble, so Izuku assumed it was a man, but that didn’t mean too much in all honesty. A soft tapping and a low electric hum told Izuku that the man was sending a quick text to someone, probably letting them know they had found a kid on a rooftop.
Izuku shifted to run a hand through his hair when a deep, vibrating hum filled the air. The person was using their quirk.
The frequency was bone-rattling low, shaking his lungs in his ribs as he drew a breath. It pulses in time with his heartbeat, like the low bass of a movie theater explosion. The sound feels like it’s scratching his brain, looking for something that it’s not quite finding, running along his nerves and poking at different parts of his body. It's also… comforting, something that could ease him into sleep without a thought. His train of thought slows down, his brain becoming quiet for the first time in ages, and Izuku is suddenly filled with a calmness he hasn’t felt since his mother died.
He slowly puts his hand down into his pocket and shifts his feet out to be ready to run. Wrapping his fingers around his knife, he clutches it tightly in a practiced grip. Izuku didn’t know what this man wanted, but he had to figure it out quickly if he wanted to get home without incident.
“Who are you?” Izuku asked.
“I’m a hero,” the person replied immediately.
“That’s not an answer,” Izuku replied bluntly.
“You haven’t told me who you are,” the stranger points out.
“Yes, because the child out on the roof at night is going to give you their name,”.
“If you gave me your name I could help you,”.
“I don’t need help,”.
“You sure? Because most people with shoes like that on a roof alone at night typically need some form of help,”.
Wait.
His shoes?
Izuku looked down at the red Primordials and balked. Right, his shoes.
Anyone with basic knowledge of quirkless people knew that red Primordials were the shoes that quirkless individuals wore due to their wider feet. It was the only manufacturer that was allowed in Japan and the only color they came in was bright red.
Ah, shit.
Izuku sprung up from his sitting position, twisting and vaulting over the edge of the roof. He had to get out of there now. If this person was offering their “help” to him, he was absolutely going to end up dead in an alley or in a jail cell in juvenile prison.
A tight band wrapped around his stomach just as he was reaching the first balcony that he was planning to use to scamper down the building. He planted his feet and reached down, grabbing the metal bar and anchoring himself to the railing, and pulling as hard as he could. The band squeezed his center, cutting off his air supply, as it was yanked upward from the other end. Izuku just pulled harder, determined to get out of there.
He couldn’t get caught, couldn’t get caught, couldn’t get caught.
“Kid!” the man shouted from above, sounding desperate and slightly afraid.
Izuku paused in his hasty escape, tilting his face up slightly to wear the person was leaning over the edge of the building.
Late at night, the red district of Musutafu, a weapon that worked like a combination of a rope and a whip, long hair and a loose costume.
A flash of a grainy video from ages ago pops into his head, one that he thought about often since meeting Hitoshi.
“Eraserhead?” he whispered in awe.
“You know who I am, kid?” the man confirmed, sounding shocked.
“Yup!” Izuku grinned brightly and lashed out with his knife, slicing through the capture scarf and falling backward off the balcony.
A shout from above echoed around the alley, but Izuku just giggled and continued his plight to escape.
He flipped mid-air and grabbed the edge of a fire escape. Pulling himself up and over, he scampered down the stairs as fast as he could, jumping over railings to make his descent faster. Izuku could hear the whip and whistle of Eraserhead’s capture scarf through the air, a sound he had memorized from the worst day of his life. The man was trying to catch him, and while Izuku idolized Eraserhead, he wasn’t sure what his real views on the quirkless were.
He raced to the edge of the fire escape and tossed himself bodily over it, hitting the ground in the same tuck and roll as early. His feet hit the pavement and he was sprinting, making his way to an alley a few streets down that he knew branched off into multiple paths. Skidding around the corner, he threw himself into the cool, damp shadow of a dumpster and crouched as low as he could.
The soft breeze that came with Eraserhead’s capture weapon rushed past his face and Izuku knew the man must be coming down from the roof of a building that he had been hopping to follow him. The soft thump of his landing sounded like it was behind him, so Izuku took his chance.
He scooped up a rock and threw it, letting it ping off the wall and a couple of trash cans before skittering down an alley to his left. Eraserhead’s head snapped toward the sound and he took off down that alley.
Izuku held his breath, counting to thirty to make sure his hero didn’t come back. He’d need to be sure if he didn’t want to be caught. He’d been perfect earlier, making sure his footfalls were loud so the hero could follow him, but now as he stood from behind the dumpster his feet were silent even to his ears. Izuku tip-toed down the alley that led to the right and took off into the night, avoiding Eraserhead and towards what he was sure would be a nasty punishment.