Hi everyone :)

This is my first fanfic and I'm very, very nervous.

(I really hope you like it)

This was inspired by a dark comedy indie film called: Siblings (2004). The plot really struck a chord when I watched it and I was instantly inspired.

*Please leave a comment if you can. Feedback is always amazing :)

Tysm everyone


Chapter 1

The smell of blood lingered in the air like a stubborn fingerprint stain on glass, but Izuku couldn't seem to stop himself from desperately heaving lungfuls of that same stale, bloody air into his chest.

Distantly, he could feel the blood coating his hands turn gooey and sticky, where his shaking fingers were wrapped around the handle of a kitchen knife.

I should wash that off, Izuku thinks under a blanket of detached hysteria.

A low, breathy moan and twitching limbs from the blurry peripherals of his sight made his heart seize up in his chest.

Oh. People die really slowly in real life.

The second thought that followed was filled with muted horror and relief.

Dads usually survive because they're strong. Maybe mom is dead already because she's always been weaker than dad.

Izuku knows that he should movemovemove. That he should stop being useless and do something. But every part of him feels frozen solid.

Frozen like snowflakes and chopstick-thin icicles on a winter day.

Frozen like frostbite.

Frozen like his mom and dad's leaky-red corpses.

Izuku lurches away from the blooming pool of blood seeping towards the tips of his toes, and violently vomits his undigested lunch all over the kitchen tiles.

With the after-image of their still bodies buried vividly against his corneas, Izuku doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget the sight of a dead body.

"Fuck," Kacchan hisses from his position by his mom's blue-tinted feet where his twelve-year old brother stumbled whilst dragging her body towards the door.

"Fuck— Zuku. Toshi. Get the fuck outta here." Kacchan's voice was just as fierce and cutting as the ghost of his dad's voice, but Izuku could also hear a layer of sheer panic in his brother's voice and the same cloying fear in his chest reflected in Kacchan's wide eyes.

Hicchan placed a trembling hand on the edge of Izuku's elbow and was guiding him away from the grotesque scene when Izuku realised that his strong, stoic brother was also covered in blood.

Because Hicchan stabbed mom.

"Zuzu— please," The whisper was soft and resigned. Izuku knew that if Hicchan wanted to, his older brother could have commanded him to move, but Hicchan wasn't going to because Hicchan hated his own quirk as much as Izuku despised his very own.

"It's ok. You can drop the knife now."

The knife clattered against the tile with a sharp, piercing clink.

Izuku wasn't aware how hard he was gripping the knife until he felt his joints crack and saw the stark-white imprint of the handle against his palm. Izuku didn't remember picking the knife up but it didn't matter because it still ended up in his hands.

"Let's wash our hands, ok?"

Hicchan nudges him towards the kitchen sink and turns on the tap. The water was surprisingly warm against his skin and Izuku felt the electrifying layer of awareness sluggishly soak back into his body from the edges of his fingertips.

Izuku washes his hands rigorously. Washes and washes and washes until he can't see any hint of pink left in the water.

In the horror of the silence that's left, Izuku could hear Kacchan's uneven, hitching breaths and the heavy sound of a body being dragged. Beside him, his older brother had gone silent and was staring at his own hands and the pink water with a blank look. With a watery sniffle, Izuku leaned across the sink on his tiptoes and clumsily turned off the tap. Before he could break the silence, there was knocking against the door. It was faint at first, but whoever it was started to grow impatient and insistent, and soon the doorbell rang with a deafening boom across the house.

Oh God

They all stood in frigid silence with bated breaths hoping that it wasn't the man that was supposed to come take Hitoshi away. The man that his dad had sold his brother to.

Or it could be the police.

(He didn't know which one was worse)

Izuku looked towards Kacchan with distress, but this time his older brother's eyes didn't offer any comfort.

Those familiar red eyes looked the most despairing he had ever seen them look, and the lead weight in his chest dropped down to the depths of his stomach. When Kacchan stumbled towards them and placed a steady hand on each of their shoulders, Izuku started sobbing through his nausea.

"Listen to Toshi, Zuku. Run, hide —" Izuku knew his older brother. Izuku knew that Kacchan was planning to go down fighting.

"And whatever ya hear don't fucking turn back, got it?"

"Kats. No," Hicchan's voice was hoarse, and Izuku could see his own suffocating desperation reflected in Hicchan's eyes.

They were his parents. Izuku had to be responsible for their deaths because any other option didn't make sense. He had already stabbed his own dad. That fact alone already made him a monster. He shouldn't be allowed to be free. Izuku's brothers deserved to live a happy life that he didn't fuck up.

It wasn't like they asked to be adopted by his parents.

"No!— No! It should be me!" Izuku was crying so hard he couldn't see anything through his tears. He knew that he was going to pass out soon, but the most important thing was creating an opportunity for his brothers to run, so with another heaving, panic-driven sprint Izuku blindly scrambled towards the door.

The only thought in his head was that if Kacchan went towards the door, Izuku was never going to see him again.

Izuku dodges his brothers' hands, but Kacchan was always stronger, faster, smarter than he was and Hicchan was always better and braver than he could ever hope to be, and soon his brothers manage to grab him.

"Fucking hell! What the fuck are you doing, you goddamn idiot?!" Kacchan's voice shook with rage but the hands around Izuku were gentle.

Why were they always gentle to him?

He didn't deserve it.

"You can't let them take you! They'll put you in juvie!" Izuku felt Hicchan's arms around his chest tense, and through the hopelessness Izuku turned to him and pleaded, "Please, Hicchan."

"I'm ten and a half! They won't send me to juvie—"

Kacchan grabs his shoulders suddenly and shakes him.

"Shut up! What—What the fuck!"

Hicchan's voice was like sandpaper against Izuku's neck, and his brother's tears felt like lava against his skin. Izuku jerked in surprise, "Stop talking. StopJesus, Zuzu."

Izuku started weeping uncontrollably again—smearing blood, snot and tears onto his brother's purple hoodie—but not once did his brother protest or shove him away in disgust. The arms around him just hugged him tighter and the cavern in Izuku's chest caved in just a little deeper at that affectionate gesture because he might never feel that again. He might never even see any of his brothers again.

That was the last clear haunting thought Izuku had before the doorknob jiggled and a male voice called out from behind the locked door.