They must have looked weird.
Tenko was holding an umbrella and a bag of groceries with one hand, and his other hand was being clutched by a small child with torn clothes and multiple wounds. He was stooped awkwardly in his attempt to shelter them both with the umbrella, even though there wasn't much of a point. They were both completely soaked anyway.
"Careful, kid. If you grab all of my fingers, you'll disintegrate." Tenko warned as the child clutched his hand tighter reflexively when he stumbled. "It's my quirk."
The kid looked surprised, then excited, then sad. "That's cool." He said softly. "It must be very useful."
Tenko shrugged. "I guess."
"I'm quirkless." The boy's voice was quiet, and he spoke in a rush, like he was ashamed of the fact, and he didn't dare look at Tenko when he spoke.
"There's nothing wrong with that." Tenko didn't even pause. "So what if you're quirkless? That doesn't change anything."
He assumed that there must have been a story behind the kid's apparent shame at his condition. Sensei hadn't asked about Tenko's quirk, when he had saved him. Sensei hadn't asked much about anything, aside from whether or not Tenko wanted to, or was ready to talk about it. So Tenko didn't ask the kid anything that would upset him, and that included his lack of a quirk.
Instead, he decided to change the subject. That seemed much safer.
"I'm Tenko Shimura." The teen said, still struggling to adjust the umbrella. "What's your name?"
The boy looked at him, then at the worn pavement. "I'm Izuku... Just Izuku."
"Well, Izuku, we're nearly there." Tenko said with a smile. He wasn't sure what else to say, really. He hadn't been good with talking to people, even before... Before everything.
"The heroes will come and save him."
So he just said what he had dreamed of hearing, would have killed to hear, back then.
"So you don't need to worry, Izuku. We'll get this all sorted out."
The smile he was rewarded with told him that he had indeed said the right thing. Then a particually nasty gust of icy wind made the umbrella trembled and they were both treated to a shock of rain to the face.
Well, Kurogiri's groceries hadn't exactly been dry in the first place, anyway.
Kurogiri didn't exactly dislike Tenko Shimura. He was just wary of the boy. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was unfair. He knew that All for One had plans for Tenko, big plans.
He already knew, on some level, that Tenko would be the one to kill All Might, that if anyone could kill All Might, it would be Tenko.
He could see Tenko in the future: violent and insane and calculating. He could see Tenko as he was currently: nervous and awkward and bad tempered.
He could see how Tenko would fall. Nobody had taught him how to care for others, nobody had taught him how a human should act. Nobody had taught him how to love.
Tenko had seen the worst parts of humanity. He'd seen the worst in his parents, he'd seen the worst in people as they walked past him, and so he'd only see the worst in himself.
He'd see the worst in everything, and he'd hate it all. He'd hate it and hate it until he couldn't stand it and the only option left was to remove it.
Kurogiri would know. He'd been there himself, even if it was so long ago.
That was how he'd become a villain.
But Kurogiri couldn't bring himself to hate the child with the messy hair and the curious red eyes that would watch him as he worked. He couldn't hate the child that would still sometimes wake up screaming and crying in the middle of the night. He just couldn't.
Still, he could so clearly see the villain within the child, and feared getting too close, in case he made anything worse. If Tenko saw only the worst in everything, then being in the same place as Kurogiri and All for one, villains and murderers and liars, then it'd be like living in a house full of mirrors.
Tenko was still a child, really. Still young and still uncertain and still scared.
Kurogiri was hardly a good person. He was a villain, a murderer, a freak. He couldn't care for a child. He couldn't show the love Tenko needed to see, he'd been broken too many times for that, far, far too many times.
So he could only watch. Watch how the child was becoming more and more like he'd feared each day.
Until one unsuspecting afternoon, Tenko shoved his way into the bar, completely soaked, shaking out an equally drenched umbrella with a child clinging to his leg.
As Tenko turned to close the door, his expression softened and he smiled at the trembling boy.
Promptly, every image of a future, monsterous Tenko that Kurogiri had ever imagined shattered. Tenko had never, in all his time with Kurogiri and All for One, demonstrated any sympathy for anyone else. Never.
The boy that Tenko had brought with him had clearly been surviving by himself for quite some time. His torn, dirty clothes were weighed down with water and revealed just how thin he was. His filthy hair was plastered to his face, and his guant face and his haunted eyes reminded him all too much of Tenko, when All for One had first taken him in.
"Well, Tenko." Kurogiri coughed, making the boy flinch and Tenko whirl around from fumbling with the lock. "Aren't you going to introduce your friend?"
"Oh yeah. This is Izuku. Hey, Izuku, this is Kurogiri. He may look scary, but he's really a big softy." Tenko said with uncharacteristic cheer.
In response, Izuku peered timidly at Kurogiri from behind Tenko's leg, but didn't move.
"Anyway, do you think we can help him out?" Tenko asked lightly, but his face told a different story. Tenko's red eyes held no room for argument, just the stubborn certainty that normally meant an impending tantrum, if he didn't get his way.
"Of course." Kurogiri agreed easily. This was interesting. Tenko would be willing to go so far for a stranger? This was new. "How about you get Izuku cleaned up, then we'll see about those wounds?"
Odd. Kurogiri had never seen Tenko look so relieved before.
As soon as the two were gone, Kurogiri turned to the screen. "Well, what do you think?" Kurogiri asked the static.
For a moment, the only noise was the quiet, serene hum of static from the screen. Then a distorted voice chuckled.
"I can't say I'm not surprised." The voice of the ancient villain admitted. "I didn't think Tenko had it in him. But I suppose finding someone so much like himself is good for him, in a way... I must say, I knew he admired me, but I'd more hoped that he'd attempt to copy my more villainous traits, rather than helping random children. Still, it will be good for him."
"Yes." Kurogiri thought of the vision he'd had of Tenko, merciless and cruel and insane, and then of the fleeting expression of warmth he'd seen on the teen's face. "I think it is. I assume that little Izuku will be staying with us for a while, if he seems to care so much?"
There was a thoughtful burst of static.
"I suppose you're right."
And Kurogiri was glad. Because he was a villain, but that didn't mean he was souless, that didn't mean he was heartless, that didn't mean he wasn't human.
Izuku's hair had turned out to be green, underneath all the dirt, a deep mossy green that reminded Tenko a little of the colour of grass in sunlight.
The small child looked very small and very fragile with his wounds covered in bright, clean bandages and he was swamped in one of Tenko's old hoodies. He was perched on one of the bar stools, staring owlishly as Kurogiri bustled around. The bartender had prepared something light for Izuku, as to not upset his stomach after he'd been living on the streets for so long, and whatever it was it smelt good. Kurogiri had prepared a warm drink for Tenko, which was nice after being subjected to the freezing rain.
Tenko realised that it had probably been a long, long time since Izuku had had a hot meal, and frowned. He could remember being like that, and he'd been older than Izuku was, too. He remembered what it was like to be so hungry that he couldn't sleep and to wonder when his next meal would be.
He was proven right as Izuku virtually inhaled his food.
"See? Kurogiri's food is the best." Tenko said smugly, and Izuku managed a timid smile.
"Y-yeah." Izuku's voice was hardly more than a whisper, but Tenko heard it nonetheless.
"You want more, Izuku?" Tenko asked, because he could still remember the horrible, empty feeling that came with living as Izuku had.
The boy was shaking his head, even as his eyes began to shine with tears.
"Is something wrong?" Tenko asked quickly, wondering where he'd gone wrong. He'd been trying to be like Sensei, because Sensei had somehow made everything better. Sensei hadn't made Tenko cry at all.
"I-I don't g-get it!" The boy sobbed, looking as terrified and as miserable as when Tenko had first found him. "I-I'm q-quirkless, s-so why are y-you h-h-helping me? I'm w-worthless, r-right? S-so why are y-you w-wasting your time?"
"Kid-"
"A-and I r-ruin everything! Even K-Kacchan s-said that e-everyone was better off w-without me. A-and h-he was right. I-I b-bet that m-mum and d-dad aren't fighting a-anymore."
Tenko frowned. So Izuku had been made into an outcast because he was quirkless, just like how Tenko had been made an into an outcast because he had an 'evil' quirk. The world just wasn't fair. Not to him. Not to anyone.
"Didn't I already say that it didn't matter that you were quirkless?" Tenko snapped, making Izuku freeze.
For a moment, Izuku looked terrified, enough that Tenko began to regret raising his voice. Then the kid's expression changed from shock and fear to awe.
Then the boy was clinging to him and sobbing.
Kurogiri and All for One watched in silence as Tenko awkwardly sat with Izuku until the small child had cried himself to sleep.
There was another, long moment of quiet, then Kurogiri sighed. "I'll take him to one of the spare rooms."
After that, it was just Tenko and the screen.
"Well? I know you're there, Sensei." Tenko mumbled, looking at the screen almost nervously.
"I'm curious, Tenko. Why would you save him?" Sensei's voice was soft, but not angry. Tenko relaxed slightly. He didn't regret helping Izuku, but he didn't really want to make Sensei mad. Not when Sensei had saved him, not when Sensei had been his hero, not when Sensei cared.
"He was like me. You know, on the streets." Tenko muttered, glaring at the mug in front of him. "And nobody was helping him. They were spewing the same shit, too. 'The heroes will help him', I heard them. What a joke. Like the heroes help anyone when it doesn't benefit them."
Sensei made a small noise of agreement, but didn't make any comment, so Tenko took it as a sign to continue.
"So I figured I could help him like you helped me... 'Cause I'd still be like that if you hadn't helped me out. I mean, it's not like the heroes would have helped him."
Sensei sighed over the static. "That's true. Heroes rarely help those truly in need."
"I hate them." Tenko growled. "They're praised and famous and it all seems so glamourous. But they're all fake."
"What do you intend to do about it?"
Tenko frowned at that. He thought about the praise the heroes recieved. He thought about how people ended up like him and Izuku.
"The heroes will come and save him."
He remembered what it was like to be cold and hungry and hurting. He remembered what it was like knowing that no one cared. He remembered haunted green eyes on a tear-stained face.
"I want to destroy them." Tenko decided. The mug he'd been glaring at crumpled in his grip, and was soon nothing more than a fine powder in his hands.
"Excellent choice, Tenko." Sensei sounded pleased, and Tenko could almost imagine that the man was smiling.
Tenko beamed at that. It was almost like Sensei was proud of him. It'd been a long, long time since he'd had anyone to be proud of him.
At moments like this, though, he could pretend that everything was almost like it was before. When he had been warm and happy and safe, and there was always someone watching out for him.
Almost.
Because this wouldn't end up like last time. Last time, Tenko was safe and happy and had people be proud of him, it all went to hell and he was left hurting and betrayed and lonely. And he refused to let it end like that again, no matter what he had to do to stop it.
