Although he does not know it, six months have passed. It is impossible to keep track of the time, after all, when there are no windows and your captor keeps odd hours.
Izuku is breathing hard and the bandages around his hands have new spots of blood staining them. It isn't too bad, really. He's getting better with his practice sword. Stendhal's grin gets wider every time Izuku manages to almost hit him.
On the day that he does finally hit him, hard enough to draw blood, the man cackles. He wipes the streak of red from his face and grabs Izuku to draw him nearer, staring at him with a crazed light in his eyes.
Izuku's breath catches in his chest and he goes very still. He is waiting for something to happen, something bad that has surely been building since that first moment when he was snatched from the playground.
Instead, he gets a light shake followed by a pat on the head. He stares up with wide green eyes, trying to figure out what could possibly be happening now. His eyes trace the red that Stendhal has streaked across his face. It isn't the first time he has seen blood on the man's face, but it is the first time that the blood is Stendhal's own.
"You're getting good, kid!"
Izuku ducks his head and mumbles his thanks. He can feel his heart stuttering in his chest and his fingertips tingle. He doesn't know what will happen next, but he can sense that it will be big.
"You wanna hit the streets with me?" Stendhal asks, and the world around Izuku grinds to a halt. He can only stare, open mouthed as he waits for the punchline. Stendhal just keeps grinning and it begins to occur to Izuku that maybe this isn't a joke after all.
"Wh-what?" he manages to ask after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.
"You wanna be a hero, right? Then I'll show you how it's done."
Izuku feels the blood drain from his face. The idea of leaving this apartment suddenly seems unbearably terrifying. Inside these walls, he knows what is expected of him. He has a routine of sorts and he has gotten used to it.
Once they step outside, though, he won't know what Stendhal will want from him anymore.
"What...what do you want me to do?" he asks, his voice almost a whisper. He barely manages to keep himself from stuttering. Stendhal has told him before that it was unbecoming of a future hero, but Izuku just hasn't been able to break himself of the habit yet.
Sensing his uncertainty, Stendhal ruffles his hair, trying to be comforting. Izuku's hair is overgrown and tangled by now, and he winces as the man's fingers catch in the knots and pull. He doesn't bother to say anything, though.
"You don't have to do anything but watch and learn tonight. You can do that, right? It's what you're good at."
The passing mention of what might be a Quirk still makes Izuku's heart warm. He offers the man a tentative smile and nods. Then, with Stendhal's direction, he prepares himself to go out.
He is blindfolded and slung over Stendhal's back while they make their way to...wherever they are going. Izuku is amazed by the chill in the air, the smell of the breeze, the sounds of the city passing them by. He hears the sounds of other people, close enough to touch, for the first time in months. He wonders why no one thinks to look twice at the pair of them.
He wonders why no heroes are coming to save him yet.
Izuku keeps his mouth shut as he was instructed. He doesn't yell or ask for help. He doesn't fight or try to run away. He stays quiet and still, waiting for Stendhal to tell him what to do next. He is waiting, because he knows that sometimes that is what has to be done. He remembers having to wait for Kacchan to leave school first. Remembers waiting to go home until a time he knew his mom would be busy, cooking dinner or going through papers or cleaning up, so that she won't ask him about the dirt on his face or the ash on his clothes. He can wait now, too. He doesn't have any other choice.
They come to a stop long after Izuku's legs have begun to get sore. When the blindfold is removed, he knows right away that if he tries to leave he'll just get himself lost. He doesn't know this place, doesn't recognize the street signs or the buildings. The alley they are in is dirty and the echoes of voices from somewhere on the streets meet his ears. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the contrast of neon lights and the heavy shadows. Then, he looks to Stendhal.
Stendhal isn't paying him any mind. His beady eyes dart across the entrance of the alley, following the people walking past, unaware of the man lurking in the shadows. Izuku waits.
After a few moments, Stendhal seems to snap out of his thoughts. His lips split and curl, the strange approximation of a smile. He adjusts his bandages and scarf, then reaches a hand out for Izuku to take.
They take a winding way, up fire escapes and across rooftops. Sometimes Izuku is carried. Other times he has to follow behind, panting for breath and sweat pooling beneath the fabric of his dirty All Might hoodie despite the chill. His muscles burn and his lungs cry out for air with each gasping breath, but he feels more alive now than he has in months. Even though he's trailing behind Stendhal like a lost puppy, he is revelling in the feeling of freedom that comes with seeing the city spread out in front of him.
He gets breaks when Stendhal tells him to stay where he is, depositing him roughly on one rooftop or another and disappearing into the gloom of alleyways below. Izuku sits wherever he is placed, covers his ears, and waits for Stendhal to come back for him. It never takes too long, and before he has the chance to even fully catch his breath, they take off again. Stendhal is always on the lookout for the next fight.
A scream echoes through the air and for the first time Stendhal comes to a stop so quickly that Izuku slams into his back. They stand still, listening to the sounds of a struggle below. Stendhal glances at Izuku, contemplative and maybe a little excited. His tongue lolls out as he grins.
"You've been doing good tonight. You ready for some action, kid?"
Izuku doesn't answer. He doesn't really have to, because the next second he is being swept off his feet and together they hurtle into the alley below. He's set down, his feet landing on a pile of garbage. Stendhal keeps a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back a little so he can hide behind the man's body. A can skitters out of a torn bag, the sound seeming too loud. Two heads swing to look his way.
As Izuku takes in the scene, he feels his hands begin to tremble. The woman is bloodied, pushed against a wall of the dirty alleyway by a man with slicked back hair. He feels Stendhal go tense, fingers curling around Izuku's shoulder so hard it hurts. He can't bite back the whimper that fights to escape from between his clenched teeth.
Stendhal releases his grip and says, "Maybe you shouldn't watch this one, Izuku."
Izuku takes his advice. His eyes squeeze shut, but he can still hear everything that is going on. He hears the grunt of pain, the shriek and the scream. He hears the woman as she scrambles away, heels making unsteady staccato against the concrete. She is gasping, shuddering little breaths like she is fighting back sobs.
Izuku opens his eyes, keeps them trained on the ground as he makes his way over to her. She stares up at him, confused. Blood stains her white hair and there is a tear in her dress. He offers her a shaky smile and holds his hand out for her to take.
"I'm going to get you away from here," he tells her, his voice rough and soft to keep from attracting attention from the two men fighting just a few meters away. She looks for a second longer, her eyes glassy and a little unfocused. They shine even in the dim light of the alley, suspicious and scared.
Then those icy eyes soften. She smiles at him and takes his hand in a gentle grip. Her skin is soft and cold against his rough palm, and tears cloud his vision. She reminds him of his mom.
He pulls her to her feet and leads her out of the alley and into the street, skirting the walls to keep from drawing attention to them. He hears Stendhal yell, but it is muffled. Izuku doesn't look back, though the woman seems to hesitate. He urges her on, keeping his head down but his eyes trained on the entrance to the alley.
"We need to find somewhere safe to hide," he tells her. She doesn't let go of his hand even as they race through the streets, finding a quiet 24-hour store to duck into. It is almost empty, though the cashier glances up and gives them a concerned look as they pass.
"Are you okay?" the woman asks him. Izuku blinks up at her, surprised by her concern. He nods.
"I'm fine, but what about you? You're hurt." He pulls his scarf off and offers it to her. She smiles and accepts, but her eyes trace the bruises that stand out in stark contrast to the pale skin of his neck. Stendhal had been teaching him how to escape different kinds of attacks. Sometimes the man forgot his own strength when he was teaching Izuku new things.
"Thank you," she says, pressing the fabric to her head to try to staunch the bleeding. "What's your name?"
Izuku wants to answer. He really, really does. He wants this woman to know his name, to remember him, to find his mama to tell her he's okay, and to call someone to come and save him.
He remembers the blood on Stendhal's weapon and the dangerous glint the man sometimes gets in his eye. He knows if he says anything that this woman could be in danger. The worries and the wants swirl in his mind, choking him and stilling his tongue.
"Hey, I called the hero that patrols this area," the cashier calls, saving Izuku from having to answer. He waves his cell phone at them vaguely, biting his lip.
"I'm glad you're safe," Izuku tells the woman, backing away. She frowns and steps forward, hand reaching out to take ahold of his arm. He freezes and looks up at her with wide eyes. She smiles at him, and turns to the cashier. He can see the stiffness of her shoulders and the iciness in her eyes, as though a new threat has appeared that he doesn't know about yet.
"Thank you, but I don't think that will be necessary. I was just heading home anyways."
Izuku can hear the frown in the cashier's voice as he asks her if she's sure, but he doesn't dare to look away from the woman. He has to wait for his chance to escape from her. If he can find police or a hero before Stendhal finds him then he can make sure that nobody else gets in trouble with the man.
She turns back to him and gives him a look that makes him freeze, stopping his attempt to sneak away while her back was turned. "You're coming home with me, young man. We're going to get you some help."
"Why?" he asks. She sighs, pulling the hem of her dress down further and ignoring the tear that exposes a hint of pale flesh. Then, she kneels so that they are at eye level.
"I have a son," she tells him. "He's probably about your age. I'm taking you with me because, even if it isn't always pleasant, my house is at least going to be safe until we can get you some help. Do you understand?"
Izuku nods and tears flood his eyes. The kindness of the woman is staggering and he doesn't know what to do in face of it. He cries because he knows that, no matter what she says or what he wants, she can't protect him from Stendhal. She smiles at him, soft and gentle and so much like his mom that it makes him just cry harder.
"Come on," she says, turning away to look out the store window, eyes scanning the street outside for any sign of danger. She fishes a cell phone from her purse, frowning down at the freshly cracked screen as she punches in a number. She holds her free hand out for him to take, just like he did for her. He wishes that he could accept it.
Izuku shoves past her and runs. He ignores her as she calls after him. He can hear her heels clicking on the pavement behind him, but it isn't hard to lose her. Escape is something that he has been training to do, after all.
He hides, waits for the sound of her voice and the clip of her shoes to fade to somewhere far away. He waits until Stendhal comes to get him, hauling him to his feet and shaking him a little. Izuku stares at him, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I didn't tell," he says.
Stendhal stares at him for a long moment, eyes narrow and glinting blood red. He nods once and takes Izuku back to the apartment.