Note: tw for character death and slight blood. also swearing, but you wouldn't be here if you weren't okay with that. just. just check the tags please.

All of his life, Izuku dreamed of becoming a hero. He watched any videos involving All Might religiously, kept a notebook analyzing heroes (for the future), and dreamed of becoming just like his idol.

To put it simply, Izuku wanted to be a hero.

"You should probably give it up. Normally, by age four, he would have already manifested one of his parent's Quirks, or some combination of the two. In the past, when the superpowers started showing up, the results of an early research study were published. It became common practice to see if the pinky toe was missing a joint or not. When parts of the body aren't used, they're deemed unnecessary. People who didn't have the joint were thought to be a newly evolved form. You can see by looking at this x-ray that Izuku has two joints. It's unusual to see that these days, but that means that he has no Quirk."

But you don't always get what you want.

Izuku found it very confusing how people could act like your closest friend one day, and the next you're someone that shouldn't be talked to. His mother told him that it's completely normal, and that it would all blow over in a couple of weeks after they realized how cool and nice he was, so Izuku believed her.

Six years later, and Izuku wasn't sure if he did anymore.

The teasing and isolation didn't end, despite what Izuku's mom had told him. It became a social rule that Izuku wasn't to be engaged with, a sort of custom that everyone followed. And, although he never became immune to the harsh words and jabs, he grew a sort of tolerance against them.

Of course, along with this acceptance, his desire to become a hero inevitably chipped away into a faraway thought. His collection of hero merchandise was packed away (most of it, anyways), and his will to attempt to make friends fizzled out after too many rejections; because, as he had learned through the years, nobody really wants to hang out with someone who's Quirkless.

Instead of watching hero fights and avidly taking notes, he picked up sketching as a pastime. His mother, Inko, noticed when he stopped bringing friends home, and made it a personal mission to take him out every weekend to get lunch together. It's on the way home from one of their outings that the plot in Izuku's story takes an unexpected turn.

Walking along the unpopulated street hand in hand, Inko promises to make his favorite for dinner, Katsudon.

"-and after dinner, we can do some baking. Sound good?" She looked down at him, anticipation a pretty plausible mask that hid something else entirely. Worry, and likely pity as well. Izuku wasn't paying near enough attention, however, to catch it. His mind instead drifted and swayed from meaningless thought to meaningless thought. His eyes followed suit, casually scanning the ground and shop entrances that they passed with little to no interest. His reply to his mother's question got caught in his throat when something caught his eye. He stopped to peer down the alley that had piqued his interest,

It was when Izuku saw red (too much red-) that he called his mom over in a panic,

"Mom! Someone's hurt!" He ran down the tight space, ignoring his mother's protests, and pointed at the body slumped against the side of the wall. When his mother catches up, she gasps in shock.

"Oh my goodness—Izuku back up—sir, are you alright?!" She offhandedly noted the oddly placed plague looking mask sitting by his side. Her curiosity is quickly brushed away when she notices the man is wearing a white dress shirt, the left half soaked in blood. Not quite unconscious yet, he looks up grimacing and manages to sneer at Inko.

"U-um, I'm Inko, I work as a nurse, is it okay if I look at the wound? Izuku, call an ambul—" she's in the middle of handing Izuku her phone when the man protests.

"NO! You fool, you can't call an ambulance," Inko looks at him in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate. "Look, just- ah-" he struggles to slide a phone out of his back pocket with the hand that isn't favoriing his side, and that's when Inko notices the bullet wound in his other arm.

"Oh stop it... here." Inko insists, grabbing his phone and ushering him into a sitting position. Upon handing it to him, he immediately dials a number and promptly drops the phone, going limp. Inko is about to tell Izuku to call an ambulance again when whoever he called picked up and started talking.

Inko picks the phone up off the ground to hear a handful of frenzied voices from the other end,

"Um, I don't know who this is but—oh man he's unconscious now. Um, I found this man injured in an alley, and he called this number before he passed out. He doesn't want me to take him to a hospital b-but he needs treatment-" The other man on the line ignores her worries and bluntly asks for a location. She complies and the man unceremoniously hangs up.

Upon the abrupt end of the call, Inko can't help but feel a little unnerved. She concludes that although she definitely doesn't want Izuku to have to witness such a gruesome injury, it would be best not to leave the man in such a critical state.

However, her worries on the matter of staying or leaving are calmed when two sleek black cars pull up only within a minute or two after the call. Several men clad in black suits pour out. They take the man off of the ground and carry him into one of the cars, immediately driving off. Inko senses that these men are dangerous, regretting her decision of staying put, and immediately places herself in front of Izuku protectively.

The last car's doors swing open and a single man steps out. He takes one curious look at them, flashes an unnerving grin, and pulls a gun from his waistband.

Inko goes cold.

"Sorry lads, Overhaul doesn't like loose ends." Inko freezes, but before the man can even aim or pull the trigger, Inko's maternal instincts come to life. She whips around and shoves Izuku towards the other end of the alley, shielding him with her body,

"IZUKU, RUN!" Izuku, frozen in shock, blinks back into reality and starts to stumble out of the alley. He turns back to make sure his mom is following when everything stops.

It's all in slow motion. The sound of a gun going off, and Inko's terrifyingly panicked expression as the bullet nails her in the back. Izuku's mind goes blank as he watches his mother crumple and slump to the ground.

And, and there's blood.

So, so, so much blood why isn't she moving and why can't Izuku breathe—

He can't move. Distantly he can hear his mother's words repeating in his head, quickly and urgently, screaming at him to go go go go GO—

So Izuku does.

With the sound of the gun still ringing in his ears, he springs to motion and sprints out of the alley as fast as he can. Turning a corner he hears footsteps echoing through the streets and another shot go off and yelling and it's all just so loud.

Izuku can't think straight anymore as he fumbles through twists and turns, backstreets and dumpsters, he doesn't even know where he is anymore, foreign street signs and shops names a blur as he runs. He doesn't know how long it's been either but he doesn't dare stop. His legs are numb and his head is pounding and his throat is dry and when he turns around to check if anyone is behind him, he slams into someone, knocking himself to the ground.

Dabi had been annoyed all damn week, and with good reason. He had finally gotten away from his shitty excuse of a father, but with his in the moment decisions and poor planning, he had been wandering around semi-aimlessly ever since. The only thing he regrets is leaving his siblings behind.

'They'll be fine. He doesn't care about them, he won't hurt them.'

Well, all except for Shoto—

In truth, he'd actually enjoyed the company of his youngest brother, until his Quirk came in. He'd always despised his father (duh), and was waiting for an opportunity to get out of that fucking house, but Shouto almost made it bearable. A deep self-loathing and rage hammered at him every time he imagined his little younger siblings knowing what he knew, feeling what he felt, but he just. Really had to get the fuck out of there.

His moment of brooding was interrupted when he was slammed into by a small body whilst scouring nearby shops for a half-decent cheap meal (his stolen budget wasn't exactly high, after all). He was about to cuss out whoever it was before continuing down the road, but he did a double take when he realized how much of a panic the kid was in.

He had a mess of pine-green hair, wearing an All Might T-shirt and worn-down red sneakers that were definitely way too big for him. The force of the impact had sent him to the ground, and a closer look told Dabi that he had dried tear streaks running down his cheeks and was panting like he'd just ran a marathon. After recovering from the fall he started babbling nonsense, taking big shaky gulps of air between each word, but Dabi only managed to catch the words 'mum', 'shot' and 'blood'.

Not the most fantastic combination, if you asked him.

"Woah, woah, chill kid, breathe," crouching down and grabbing his shoulders gently (and awkwardly), he tried to calm him down. "Shh, in and out, you're fine. Take your time."

After a minute the kid finally calmed down enough to get out a coherent (enough) sentence,

"P-please help! My-my mom she… s-she's..." He looked down at the ground and more tears started rushing down his face, his eyes frantically darting from side to side as his breathing quickened. Dabi, quite unsure on what the fuck he was supposed to do, desperately tried to make them stop; He never had anyone to help him through his outbursts, and his only real experiences were the few times he got to see his brother when he was having a meltdown, and even that was before he got his Quirk. Dabi settled for shushing him and soothingly carding his fingers through his forestry hair, allowing him to bury his head snugly into Dabi's stomach. He hoped it wasn't nearly as much as an uncomfortable situation for the kid as it was for him.

After a few minutes of sniffling and heavy breathing, the kids head meekly wiggled out of its position nuzzled against Dabi, and he scrubbed at his eyes weakly.

"I need h-help, my mom's really hurt. There was this guy and he was hurt real bad so we, we went to help him but," he took a moment to stifle an oncoming sob, "but t-then some creepy people came and they s-shot her and I ran and...and—"

His eyes opened wide, as if he was realizing something for the first time, "Oh g-god, I have to help her—"

Momentarily shocked after processing the words that the kid hiccuped out, Dabi realized that he had stopped speaking and shot up to run off again.

Dabi grabbed his wrist before he could bolt,

"Okay kid hold up, your mom sounds like she needs help, but I'm gonna call the cops first in case these 'creepy people' are still there, okay?" Dabi started dialing and motioned for the kid (he really needed to figure out his name) to lead the way. He was a little surprised when he hesitantly grabbed Dabi's hand before starting to speed walk back from where he came.

The walk felt short, especially since most of it consisted of a conversation with the police over the phone which ended up being pointless because 'no I don't know the location or how bad the injuries are' and 'I'm sorry but are you telling me to fucking ask this little kid where his mom was shot?'. He would call back when they got there.

After he hung up, the rest of the walk was for the most part quiet, save for the kids' quiet sniffles and small hiccups. Dabi didn't really like the tension in the air, as suffocating as it was, but it wasn't like he could start up some small talk, could he? 'hey kid, I know your mom just got shot, but what's your favorite ice cream flavor, huh?'

He stayed quiet.

When they reached the scene, Dabi felt his heart clench, and he could feel the small body that was holding onto him go stiff. He saw a patch of mostly-dried blood, presumably left by the injured man who was now nowhere in sight, and a trail of fresh blood leading to a growing puddle surrounding a body propped up against a wall. He was used to cleaning his own minor wounds and tending to bruises, but this was nothing either of them should be seeing.

Dabi moved to cover the now trembling child's eyes, only to see that his head was firmly lodged into his side, his small hands clutching his shirt like a life-line. He showed no evidence of crying, which was somehow infinitely worse than when he was.

He got out his phone and candidly informed the new, less asshole-ish operator on what happened, stuttering out their address as quickly as possible; as if the faster he spoke the less real it would be for the small figure next to him. Dabi pockets his phone, and for a brief moment, all is still and placid; as if the air itself is as fragile as china.

It doesn't take long, however, for the kid to finally break. He bounds over to the woman leaning up against the wall, Dabi following close behind. A quick once over tells Dabi that she had indeed taken a bullet, specifically to the back, and was heavily bleeding through her thin T-shirt. She seemed unconscious, or worse—and although Dabi was about the farthest thing away from a religious person, he prayed to whatever god that could be listening that it wasn't the latter. The kid was already in hysterics again, shaking and pleading and sobbing and just generally doing everything that Dabi does not want to see a little kid do.

He certainly did not have the heart to pull him away, not when this might be the last time he gets to sees his mother.

Sirens can be heard in the distance, and when the ambulance itself shows up—its red and blue lights casting a veil of grimness onto everything nearby—Dabi feels a brutal detachment settle in. He hardly tries to stop it, and welcomes the newfound numbness with open arms.

Paramedics rush in and Dabi has to physically tug the child out of the way. He's screaming and crying and yelling and scratching and Dabi tries to feel as little of nothing as he can when the paramedics cart away his unnaturally pale mother into the ambulance.

Dabi hadn't even realized police had shown up until an officer tapped him on the shoulder, politely asking them if they needed a ride to the hospital. As weary as he was with police, being a runaway, he couldn't imagine leaving the kid all alone after what he (what they both) had seen.

After a car ride full of sniffles, tears, and snot, they arrived at the hospital and were immediately told to sit in the waiting room. Inko had been immediately brought into surgery.

People shot them concerned, startled, and even annoyed looks, and it was all Dabi could do to stay by the kids' side instead of yelling and throwing punches because how fucking dare they—

The doctors had kindly left them to grieve a moment (it was the least they could do, really), and once the kid had been somewhat soothed back down again for what must've been the fifth time that day, a nurse cautiously approached them, asking about any relatives that he could stay with.

And, for a second, Dabi thought about telling them the truth. He thought about telling them that he was just bystander caught in the storm. He thought about leaving the kid to be dealt out to whoever social services sought fit. He thought about exiting the hospital and never looking back.

Then he saw the kids eyes. He was terrified. He was miserable. He was grieving beyond anything a kid as young as he was should have to bear.

Fuck it.

"He's my little brother. Can we please go home for the night and sort things out tomorrow?" He desperately hoped she bought the lie, and tensed when her eyes squinted in slight suspicion, darting between the two. Dabi knew that if she asked for anything; a number, who their legal guardians are, contact information, hell, even just his fucking name, that they would be screwed. They didn't even look slightly related, Dabi's own red hair heavily contrasting against the younger's own dark green. The kid said nothing, simply inching closer to Dabi, clinging onto his torso tighter.

To both of their relief, the nurse's eyes softened as she sighed and nodded kindly. She handed Dabi a card and told him something involving the hospitals opening time and how she understood how difficult a situation like this could be and that they could take all the time that they needed (but Dabi wasn't really listening).

He thanked her, trying to sound as sincere as possible when in reality there was nothing real in his voice but an urge to end the conversation. She smiled softly before promptly leaving to tend to another patient across the room.

They wasted no time.

Dabi sat up before crouching down so that the child could ride on his back (he didn't think that he would have the energy to walk). The kid quickly complied, hopping on eagerly without so much as a word, and the two skirted out of the hospital and down the street before anyone could stop them.

Dabi could feel the way that the kid had all but melted into him, his shallow breaths cool against the back of his neck. It made complete sense that he would be exhausted, and Dabi was frankly surprised that he hadn't dozed off long before now.

A couple of minutes passed in near silence before it dawned on him that he really hadn't checked if the kid actually had any family he could go home with, and that he could be kidnapping a child from a very worried family.

Shit.

He nudged the kid slightly to wake him up, trying to be as gentle as possible. When he heard a faint monotone hum, he took it as an okay to continue,

"Hey, kid, you don't like, actually have anybody to go home with, do you? Like a Dad or Aunt or some shit." the second the words escaped his mouth, he realized that he had phrased them in about the worst way possible. And he had also sweared. In front of a kid.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"No." he mumbled into Dabi's neck, seeming not to notice how rude the question was. Either that or he was just too tired to care. Probably both.

Well alright then. Problem solved.

About five minutes into their walk, Dabi realized he actually had no idea where this kid lived. Tapping his thigh to gain his attention again, he softly asked where his address was, heavily relieved that he recognized the apartment building and it wasn't more than a five-minute walk. Because as fit as Dabi was, with his marvelous six pack and all (ha), he had to admit that the days' events had thoroughly drained him to the point that he couldn't wait to crash into a bed and not wake up for days.

His brows furrowed thinking over how he went from scrounging for cheap food, to carrying home a newly orphaned kid who couldn't be older than a junior high student, in only a few hours.

He snapped out of his daze with a slight shake of his head. Dabi would save thoughts like those for tomorrow, when he could better deal with them.

He scaled the stairs of the apartment building, going down a hall and stopping at the given room number. Dabi crouched slowly, making sure his back stayed straight as to not jostle the kid as he nabbed the spare key from under the welcome mat. It was exactly where he had said it would be (Dabi honestly had no idea how these people hadn't gotten robbed with the ingenious hiding spot).

Stepping through the threshold, he immediately felt a wave of warmth hit him. The living space was very well-heated, and the comfort only added to his growing desire to pass out then and there. He fought the urge though, and shifted the weight of the small body on him so that he wouldn't slip off.

Dabi shut the front door with his foot, albeit a bit louder than he intended, and meandered into the hallway to try to find the kid's bedroom. Choosing to inspect the door closest to him first, he twisted the knob (noting how it creaked loudly in response) and entered, surprised at what he saw. It looked like a room that would belong to a child, with toys and bubble lettering and a very small bed, but he also noticed how bare the room was, aside from a few art pieces on the wall that were actually pretty good for such a little kid.

He gently laid him on the bed, trying to avoid stirring him as much as possible. His expression was peaceful and devoid of any negative emotion (save for the dried tear stains). If Dabi hadn't known about what he had gone through he would have assumed that the kid was completely fine. He looked as normal as any kid should.

Except Dabi did know what had happened.

So he knew that he wasn't fine.

Originally, Dabi had planned on finding another bed to sleep on so that the kid wouldn't have to wake next to an instant reminder of what had happened (and there was also the fact that he was 17, and the kid was like, what, 8? He didn't want to act like a creep). However, the thought of sleeping in the bed of the kids' deceased mom was both unsettling and probably very disrespectful, so he canceled that out.

Sleeping on the floor, although not the worst idea, was probably not very smart either; because as much as he was used to the unwelcome and awkward pain from sleeping on a hard surface, it wouldn't be the best way to tackle tomorrow. And dealing with tomorrow was going to be really fucking hard.

In the end, thinking became too much labor, and Dabi had half-consciously crashed onto the kids' bed and crawled under the covers in exhausted defeat. Besides, this child had used him as a living tissue about six times that day, so that must mean something in the not-being-a-complete-stranger-and-therefore-not-being-a-creep book.

He rolled over onto his side, making sure to keep a moderate distance between his body and the kids, and shut his eyes.

Somewhere very far away in his mind he registered that he was hungry, and probably dehydrated as well, but you know what? He could deal with all of that unwanted shit tomorrow

And with that thought, Dabi finally let sleep take him.