It is in the middle of the night that Izuku's plans change. His mindset changes from the depressed little quirkless boy, trying desperately to hold onto his moments of firey determination instead of the constant beatings and insults, and into someone who has the means to do something - to be somebody, to save. And saving? That's all he's ever wanted to do.
So, it is merely three in the morning when Izuku wakes up to a scream, long after his CD player has stopped and the streetlights were the only source of light on the streets. It's close, and isn't that nerve wracking - to wake up in the middle of the night to a scream so, so close? It comes from the wall closest to him, one that is thin in itself and crumbling from age, one with many, many cracks and makes up half of an alleyway. His skin is pricked with goosebumps as he sits in silence, completely still and tense as a board.
And the person - lady, presumably - screams again. It is high-pitched and echoing, making Izuku want to cover up his ears. The scream is stricken with terror, desperate for a way out, for a hero. Izuku stares at the covers on the bed with unseeing wide eyes, only able to imagine what is happening to that poor person tonight, while he is sat in a bed doing absolutely nothing. He wonders how many other people are doing the same, or perhaps doing it differently - waking up to an ear-piercing screech only to return to a slumber, lying in blissful ignorance to what someone has experienced when they could have done something, saved them.
It's a fleeting, stupid thought that Izuku acts on. He runs - runs out of the room and down the old and crumbling staircase, out into the wet alleyway he heard the screams. There is heavy breathing but not much talking, only murmuring of a girl who couldn't be more than fourteen, four years elder than Izuku himself is -"no, no, no," she whispers, and Izuku dreads what he will find.
He can't make himself known - that is for sure from the bullies at school. That will only aggravate the aggressor more, make them attack out of shock or rage or desperation, with so much more damage if it is an assault because the move will not be calculated, will be something in a split-second fight or flight. His feet are cold and wet, sticking to the tar of the ground, but he cannot be bothered when something is going on right in front of him.
There is a rustling of clothing and the girl screams yet again - and though it is still filled to the brim with terror, it is quieter and raspier, choked up with tears. It's so familiar, weeping with despair and resignation. It reminds him of days at school, when explosions scorch his desk and he has too many detentions lined up in a row that he stays at school until dark, reminds him of the days he lies in bed and looks at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, imagining a world where he is gone.
In a stupid split second decision in a stupid situation for a ten year old, Izuku blindly feels around the ground for a rock and throws. It's little larger than a pebble, small and easy to grasp in his hands, but sharp and irritating nevertheless. The rock ricochets on the pavement after hitting it's mark, hopefully, on the aggressor - whoever or whatever that may be. It's silent once again, breathing silent in anticipation.
"Whose there?" A gruff voice asks. It's not on edge, merely miffed, and Izuku takes quite a bit of offense to that. He throws another rock, like an idiotic, impulsive ten-year-old boy. He hasn't planned this far ahead, brain running on overdrive, and the panic is starting to catch up with him. What is he doing? He has absolutely no muscle mass with his boney little arms and legs that shake as he stands, whoever is attacking the girl would plow him down in a fight.
There's a grunt, or possibly a growl, and as much as he wants to cower away and hide away, he runs towards it. He can see it clearly now - a lanky man, appearing around seventeen, has a girl with a snake mutation quirk pinned to the alley wall. There's no obvious quirk on the man, which has Izuku nervous, but it's too late now. He runs to the chaos with absolutely no plan but to hit where it hurts, weak spots because Izuku himself is weak and no hits will hurt.
The man shoves his elbow out, jutting into Izuku's side, but he's had worse and perseveres. Izuku attempts to assess the situation with the man going at him from all angles, throwing punches and kicks more uncoordinated than Bakugo. The girl is stuck against the wall, watching as this malnourished child fights off a grown man - or attempts to. Izuku breathes heavily, out of breath, mind reeling from everything that's happening in such a short time span.
He doesn't know how to win the fight, doesn't know how to take down the man and make it so he can't attack the woman or him any more. The man's piercing yellow eyes seem to gleam in the dark, and Izuku feels his limbs start to get heavier. That must be his quirk, Izuku thinks. He panics more, his heart beating loudly in his ears, and shoves his fingers into the man's eyes. The man cries out in pain, stumbling back and covering his eyes with his hands.
The snake girl seemed to have been shaken out of her statue nature, darting to the man and biting him on his shoulder. He cries out once more before his body begins to go slack, his quirk deactivating and his legs collapsing under him. His eyes are still open, darting around frantically, something akin to terror and fury lighting his eyes.
The girl and Izuku himself breathe heavily as they watch the paralyzed man, unable to fully comprehend what has just happened. Izuku looks over at the disheveled girl, her hazel eyes wide and looking at the collapsed man.
"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice thin and breathy. The girl flinches and looks over at him, her shoulders tense and up by her head, her forked tongue darting out to lick her lips occasionally. She seems to observe him, look for his weaknesses or any sign he's going to hurt her, before relaxing slightly.
"I'll...be fine," she mutters, just loud enough to hear her voice, deep and raspy, like a smoker's. Izuku thinks she might be, considering she has a mutation quirk and is currently in the bad and abandoned side of town that drug dealers and pedophiles lounge in. Perhaps she's had a life similar to his own, being beaten down time and time again, having to pick the shards herself up and gluing them back together though the finished product will never be the same - like a blanket being sewn together with different fabrics than the one it originally was. "You?"
It takes a moment for Izuku to process that she's asking if he's okay, used to people laughing as he writhes in pain, uncaring about how he is. He stands like a deer in headlights, trying to confirm that yes, he is okay.
"It's fine," he says, waving a hand, "I've had worse."
Oh, fuck, that's concerning.
The girl stares at him in alarm, and Izuku has to return his gaze to the man on the ground. He doesn't recognize him, he must be from out of town - perhaps a tourist. Or a trafficker - with a quirk like that combined with what's gone on tonight, it's, unfortunately, a possibility.
Izuku looks at the girl once again. "Do you have a phone on you?"
Izuku does not dare to go back to the hotel, instead making the way home in the dark - though by the time the man was taken into custody and he made sure the girl got home safely the sun had started to rise. He jumps over the cracks in the sidewalk as he walks, waves to the vendors setting up in the early morning, and pets a stray cat he comes across. It's a nice feeling to be up early, his stomach light as a feather.
He thinks about the day he's had so far, thinks about the girl's "thank you"'s after she called the police, thinks about the interrogation, thinks about everything, really. And, as he thinks, an idea pops into his head, festering and growing the longer he dwells on it. As he walks, and he will be the first to admit that he wasn't walking home but rather around the city, he passes by Bakugo's house. It's a nice house, much nicer than his, and is personalized. He remembers when he would go over, remembers the cinnamon-caramel scent that seemed to be engraved into the walls.
He also remembers the family photos and homecooked meals, the kindness Masaru gave not only Mitsuki and Katsuki, but also Inko and Izuku himself. He remembers, after his quirkless diagnosis, wondering why his own mother wasn't like Masaru, wondered why she wasn't even that rough kind of caring Mitsuki is.
The sun is just barely up, and it seems so are the Bakugo's, considering Masaru is outside and watering their flowers - beautiful Amaryllis and Gladioluses filling a small garden in the front of their house. He sees Izuku and waves, his eyes still down turned and sad looking as they were so many years ago, even despite his happiness. Izuku hesitantly waves back, his hand shaking from a combination of the somewhat cold weather of the night and nerves, leftover and new ones from seeing Masaru.
It's stupid to be anxious to see the one person who never treated him differently after his quirkless diagnosis, it's so overwhelmingly stupid and he hates it, but he cannot control the way his heart drops to his stomach and his palms sweat, will never be able to control the sickening nostalgia of caramel.
He walks by quickly, missing Masaru's genuinely sad look as he watches him pass by. Or, perhaps, he does see, but chooses to ignore it - he will never acknowledge it if it's true, too scared of sympathy or being treated normally to accept it.
So, he continues to walk home, into his cold little house with the bare walls. It's a sad little thing, no personality whatsoever, and he hates it - the walls that surround him every time he walks into that god forsaken place make him claustrophobic. He hates it so, so much but it is his (is it really?) and that is enough.
The rest of the way he walks with his head down, not smiling at the vendors that wave at him as they set up. His muscles strain with every step he takes and his head pounds unforgivingly, and when he opens the door to the empty house, all he wants to do is collapse on his bed and sleep forever.
He doesn't, though, instead sitting on the counter top in the kitchen and pulling out his phone. He pulls up the google app, slow as his internet is, and looks up vigilantism laws.
And he might have no training, might have black spots at the edge of his vision when he stands, might have bones jutting out of his body, but that doesn't mean he can't save people, right? That doesn't mean that because he is malnourished, what he did today is faulty?
Despite his worries, he goes down that rabbit hole of vigilantism, and hope once again blooms in his chest and fills him with a childish giddiness.