A/N: Welcome! Thanks for stopping by, dear readers. :) Just wanted to say that this story has a lot of warnings. Please know that this story will contain:

suicide/self harm, character death, depictions of blood and violence, mature language, substance abuse, and mental illness

Take care of yourselves. This story will be a lot of angst, but we will get to hurt/comfort and nice things later on. Just hang in there! I'll hopefully be posting chapters every Monday.

Chapter 1 – Round One

The breeze felt good today. A little chilly, enough for a cozy scarf, perhaps a soft beanie. Sunny Saturday mornings were particularly sweet to Izuku, as if the wind itself were happily sweeping through his chest. Though, Izuku would never admit it, rainy afternoons were a close second favorite. The puttering of raindrops on wet pavement. The grey puddle of clouds in the sky. The distinct, earthy smell, the soft touch of chilled drops on his bare face. It was bliss. To close his eyes and still be treated gently.

His mother never questioned his whereabouts on most weekdays, since there were very few times that Izuku would arrive home later than 5. It was for the best, he knew. She would not be fond of her son playing leisure 40 feet above soft grass and hard concrete. Not that he wasn't safe, of course.

But Izuku hated the building beneath him—though its landscaping was pristine and bright, and its rooms were organized and colorful, covered with educational signs and encouraging posters, as most middle schools are—it harbored some particularly painful…well. Harsh words. Suffocating insults, shoves, tears. Memories.

He had his notebook (number 13) placed in his lap, and though his mumbling was absent, a soft smile graced his lips. It was Friday, and school had just finished. He had maybe an hour or so before he had to return home.

He paused his writing briefly. His mother likely assumed he was in a club. Or had a close-knit friend group that enjoyed after school time together. Bakugo remained frequent in their conversations together over dinners. It was growing difficult to make more excuses about why they did not have sleepovers, or even share dinner or play video games. His mother's bright eyes would recount their childhood antics with such vigor that he had not the heart to tell her that something had changed since those pleasant memories. Now, Bakugo's presence alone stung like salt on split skin, tears from black eyes.

What had happened since then? What happened. Izuku struggled to find the right explanation for her. She had such an intense gaze at times. Over dinner, their shopping trips, study sessions. Izuku knew his mother was not oblivious to the loneliness that clung to Izuku's small frame. Yet she persisted, and Izuku was always left feeling so hollow after each excuse.

The school years had flown by, blending into each other with very little to differentiate what life was like at 4 from what it was like now that Izuku was 14. No students talked to him since they gained their quirks except to ridicule or insult him. Their fists and kicks certainly grew in strength as the years passed, and it seemed that the damage dealt with words followed suit. It was a shame that he couldn't share his hero analysis notes with anyone yet. Bakugo might have liked the rooftop too… Maybe. Maybe if Izuku wasn't there to share it with him. Ha.

The green-haired child stood then, and clutched his notebook to his chest, looking down toward the ground. It was so far. Each blade of grass looked tiny, like the wiry hair on a street dog. Perhaps a bit rough to the touch, but far more inviting than the concrete steps at the entrance. A fall from this height on those steps was certainly fatal. Though the wind would be nice on the way down. Perhaps the grass would be more forgiving.

Pro hero Eraserhead would probably be the best at rescuing a falling civilian from a height like this, or maybe even himself, though the whiplash would have to be accounted for. If internal organs in the abdominal cavity were forced from the spine too quickly, the abdominal wall would rip its connective tissues and fatal blood loss would be imminent. There were lots of juicy bits in the abdomen.

Now that he was thinking about it, Izuku quickly scoured the notes in his hands, Mt. Lady, the new Pro hero that revealed herself for the first time just yesterday might actually be better for this scenario, if she was extremely careful. Unless the civilian were falling from a skyscraper. Then she might sustain damage to herself as well. She wasn't impervious to damage, most likely. Though it wasn't out of the question that she might have a higher resistance to damage since her skin would most likely be proportional to her size, and then must be thicker. Well, in any case, he couldn't be sure. But then…Oh!

Izuku grinned and slapped his forehead. Pro hero Fat Gum. Of course.

But if he himself were falling. Was it simply shock damage control? He couldn't reasonably absorb the ground. Hm. Scratches across the margin of a page in the notebook. That was an interesting topic for later.

It went like this almost every day. A head full of scrambling thoughts, a petri dish of ideas springing from mind to page. Until 4:00 of course.

The main doors, heavy with shatterproof glass, slammed together as Izuku trotted away from the school. He checked his phone, then slipped it back into his pocket. As usual, devoid of other friendly notifications, Izuku's phone was simply his favorite connection to the world of his dreams. The world of Pro heroes. An app alerted him to any Hero work surfacing in the nearby area. (Or any of All Might's appearances, actually, not that that mattered.)

Turning around the corner, now downtown, Izuku clutched tightly to his backpack straps as his eyes scanned the street. This had been the correct street. Right? Phone out, thumb scroll. Yes.

Left and right, everything seemed normal. Lazy pedestrians, humming chit chat, the occasional stray cat bounding along the gutters. It all seemed so quiet, peaceful. Very lacking in the Villain department.

Mom: Grab snow cabbage on your way home?

Izuku sighed, his chest feeling awfully deflated, excitement gone.

You: Of course! :)

The door to the convenience store scraped open with an ear-splitting squeal, and Izuku jumped inside, hands at his ears. Said door slammed shut and quivered behind him. What an obnoxious entrance. Was there only one?

At least he was in the market district already. Diverse food options were everywhere. Not as prolific as Tokyo's market was likely to be.

Imagine the Pro Hero density there!

Izuku jumped as the loud scrape let another customer into the store, and dropped the can of snow cabbage onto his foot.

He winced but bit his lips together to keep from shouting and quickly bent down to scoop the can back into his grip. He hoped that this would be good enough. He didn't know whether his mother wanted it diced or sliced. Or whole, but where would he find a jar that big? He grabbed a similar sized jar instead, hoping it was of higher quality.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. Izuku's knuckles turned white.

"Speak and the cashier dies."

The jar falls. His hands are wet. Nothing slammed into his feet this time. Izuku's eyes dart to his hands.

Oh. I broke it.

"Leave with me. Don't struggle."

Mom will be mad.

The grip on his shoulder is released and his left hand is gripped so tightly Izuku feels like he's back at school.

He does as Katsuki tells him. Up, on shaky legs. Walking. His shoes crunch over the broken, bloodied glass on the floor, a soup of pickled leaves and vinegar. It's slippery. More steps. Toward the obnoxious doors.

The squeal comes sooner than expected. Instead of being met with fresh afternoon sun, a man walks in.

The presence squeezing his wrist pauses. His wrist hurts.

Izuku looks up for the first time since dropping the can. He wants to say ow, because his wrist hurts, and there's the pattering of rain breaking the sudden stillness, but it can't be raining inside, silly.

The man looks at Izuku, then his bloodied hands, the grip on his wrist, then the man at his side.

Izuku looks for the cashier, then. The man that just entered follows his gaze briefly. The checkout is empty.

In an instant, Izuku is on the floor, his head spinning, his wrist finally free. His attacker is struggling against the oddly gaunt man restraining him. His eyes are blue, piercingly bright through the tangled mess of blond hair and deep shadows from his sunken cheeks.

"Are you alright, young man?"

Izuku registers the words, takes a moment to process. He isn't thinking quickly enough. He nods, sitting up, his head swimming, unsure where exactly up and down go. Huh. What?

"Can you call for help? The police, if you can."

Police. Oh. Yes.

Uh.

"Don't forget to breathe. It's alright, it's over now."

Izuku stares. Then looks down at his chest. Brings a hand to it.

Oh.

One, then another, and another, and a great flood of gasps overcomes him then. He forgot to breathe. How silly. No wonder he was shaking so badly. And tingling.

"Cashier?" Izuku manages to squeak in between breaths.

The blonde man hums.

"Police and ambulance, then. Can you call them, boy? I would offer to do it myself, but I worry this one may not stay very still."

That makes sense. Izuku tries to shake off the quivering in his fingers as he pulls out his phone and dials. The call is brief. They reassure him everything will be alright. They're on their way. Izuku hangs up. Phone slips into his lap.

"You did very well."

"Thank you?" Izuku frowns. That wasn't meant to be a question. He looks down at his phone. It's covered in textured fingerprints of oil and now blood, a layering of messes and Izuku scrunches his face into a sob.

He'd just wanted to see heroes. And give his mother snow cabbage. And be home by five.

The man looked away.

"Uh, there there, young man." His face seemed like one big sweat drop. "Everything will be okay!"

Izuku nodded. Still openly sobbing. What a big baby, huh. No wonder he didn't have any friends.

"Are you injured?"

Izuku nodded again, then thought better of it and shook his head. He wasn't injured, just, picked on.

Wait. What?

"Ah. Sorry, besides the obvious."

"I…" Izuku "I don't…"

The man wasn't struggling. Just lying there, silent.

"Cashier."

Cashier.

Izuku's eyes widened despite their red, puffy state.

"H-he, he said that he w-would k-kill the cashier if I…"

The man laughed.

Izuku bolted upright, his head still bobbing in a sea of disorientation. To the checkout counter, he had to see if, if…

Izuku stopped, as if he'd been stabbed, and violently retched, a horrible tearing pain searing through his chest.

"Step away from there."

Blood. Absolutely everywhere, as if the glass display case, the laminate floor, the cabinets lining the counter were shedding crimson tears for the crumpled body of a young woman, no older than her late 20s. And guts.

He couldn't help but heave again, letting his body do as it wished.

Who had done it? What kind of quirk could do that without any touch? Was there a second perpetrator? But there had been only that one incredibly loud entrance.

And suddenly, the blonde man yelled. What he said, Izuku didn't know. It sounded odd. Familiar, he thought. As he was quickly hoisted from the ground and plucked from the store altogether. What?

Someone was running beneath him.

"Stupid fucking cunt let himself get caught."

Izuku frowned at the harsh words.

"No, we got the boy. I'm headed there now."

What?

The running didn't slow, as the man shifted Izuku into a more secure position.

"Don't worry, boy. You'll be safe with us."

WHAT?

"Let g-go of me! Help!"

Why couldn't they have had katsudon for dinner? Why couldn't that man just not interfere? Let him…No, it was Izuku's fault. Of course, no one would simply let violence go unchecked.

"Fuck, kid, you talk too much."

"HELP! LET GO OF M-ME!" Why yell? He wasn't worth saving.

Well, that's also mean. Why are you so mean today?

"Someone's gonna' kill you if you don't shut up, assmunch."

"Assmunch?"

"See, that's better. Quiet."

"HELP!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," the man stopped. Izuku felt himself drop onto the ground and was about to run when the man decked him on the side of the head. Dark and white spots scattered across Izuku's vision, and suddenly he was very, very nauseated.

The running began again, and just as quickly as it returned, it stopped.

"I am here!"

A flutter of excitement and recognition swirled in Izuku's chest.

All Might?

Things were happening suddenly, though Izuku felt as if he were looking through a haze. Why was it so hard to focus? Izuku softly mumbled his usual fanboy mutterings, only this time they were a whisper. And for some reason, there were so many tears leaking from his eyes, and a pounding headache swelling between his temples. He felt…awful.

The man that had run with Izuku fell to the ground quietly, just the slapping of flesh and hard bone meeting pavement. For some reason, it made Izuku sick to his stomach. The cashier…

"Are you alright, young man?"

Huh. So that was…

"I…You, d-did'nt…what about the other…he… w-what about the c-cashier?"

Oh.

All Might fell silent. Grim. It felt wrong.

"I'm sorry."

There was nothing they could do.

So much blood.

"You should come with me. The authorities need to get your statement, call your parents, wrap up those hands."

So much, everything.

"O-okay."

The night seemed to flash past. Words tossed around, recorded, someone grabbed his hands, the sound of his mother's voice, and suddenly he was in bed. Wrapped in All Might blankets, on an All Might pillow. The room so quiet, so empty.

So much blood.

He hadn't told them what he saw. Why bother? They saw it for themselves. His mother had seemed frantic knowing just the bare minimum.

The hand on his shoulder. Why had he thought it was Katsuki?

Guts strewn across the laminate floor.

And…and. He wasn't…picked on. Even if he was, that didn't count as hurting.

The man had laughed.

Why was he so alone?

So much blood.

All Might blankets held tight. Izuku wept. Until sleep soothed him.

You'll be safe with us.