CW: Violence, nonconsensual drug use, sexual harassment. If you've read Vigilantes then it's just the norm, really. Still, proceed with caution and take care of yourself!
Her parents like to laugh about how she has had her whole future planned out since she was four years old. Her mom has always said she is precocious and driven, while her dad prefers to call her determined and headstrong. The kids at school, on the other hand, are all under the impression that she's quiet and shy, since she never wants to go out on the weekends or join their clubs. Some might even call her snooty, from the way she ignores them in favor of burying her head in her books and her homework.
If she ever bothered to ask Koichi what he thinks, she is sure that he would give her that vacant smile of his, the one that makes her stomach clench and her heart race. He'd say something stupid about how mean she is to him, and then probably compliment her on her gentle nature all in the same breath. He's stupid like that. Knuckleduster, on the other hand, has never once hidden his thoughts. He likes to roll his eyes and tells her that she's just a dumb kid, but there's something fond and a little bit sad in the way he ruffles her hair as he says it.
The people that know her may see her in a lot of different ways, but naive has never been one of them.
Kazuho knows exactly what people think when they see her in her idol outfit. Her mom had warned her from a young age to be careful of how she dresses, what she says, how much makeup she wears and who she smiles at. Kazuho isn't ignorant of the world; she knows exactly how short her skirt is, how the fabric clings, and how much skin she's showing. It was made to ensure that all eyes would stay on her. She's the one who designed it, after all!
That doesn't make it any less uncomfortable when people shout obscene things at her, or try to take peeks up her skirt. She likes to pretend she doesn't hear them. It's easy when she's so far above them, wind in her hair as she leaps so high that it feels like she's flying. Their words get snatched away by the sound of blood rushing in her ears. The eyes that seek her out with hungry gazes are nothing more than specks amongst the crowds that look at her with wonder and excitement.
She can ignore the weirdos and the creeps when they're hidden within the sea of eager onlookers and smiling fans. She's always considered it just a hazard of the job, and one that she's prepared to live with. After all, most idols have the occasional strange fan, right? She can handle it!
Except she isn't expecting them to find her after her show and corner her in the alley she's using to get changed in. Two of them, both bigger than her, with grins that make her skin crawl. She can feel her heart hammering as she breaks out into a cold sweat, but she forces a wide smile all the same.
"Hi boys! Did you want an autograph?" Her voice comes out high and strained, and she has to hide her wince.
She knows they don't. They don't answer except to laugh as they move closer, caging her in so she can't run for the entrance of the alley. Her eyes dart towards the strip of clear sky far above her, but the sudden chill of fear has left her legs weak and trembling. Still, she lifts her chin defiantly and clenches her shaking fists at her side. She reminds herself that she's faced down meatheads hyped up on Trigger more times than she can count, trying to convince her heart to slow its jackrabbit staccato. A couple run of the mill assholes shouldn't be a problem, right?
But...this is different. The Trigger addicts are always single minded, slow and focused only on the issue they see in front of them. They're usually not doing bad things because they're actually bad people. When the men in front of her look at her, though, she can see the sharp glint of intent in their gaze. They want things from her that no Trigger addict does, and it is far more threatening than any mindless property damage could ever be.
She's scared and she wishes that Koichi and Knuckleduster were here. The thought makes her feel weak and helpless, and she hates it. Her gaze darts towards the sky again and she takes a deep breath, the muscles of her legs tensing. If she could just—
She yelps as one of the men rushes towards her in a blur of what can only be Quirk-enhanced speed, shoving her backwards and further into the shadows of the alleyway until her head cracks against the brick wall. Tears spring to her eyes, from both fear and pain. Her attackers are laughing, jostling her left and right as they pass her dazed form between them. The rough bricks of the building leave scrapes on her bare skin as she is shoved from one large pair of hands to the next.
"Get away!"
They laugh at the way her voice breaks, at the tears that burn their way down her cheeks.
"Don't touch me!"
Her mind is racing, but the pounding of her heart and rush of blood in her ears drowns out her own thoughts. All she can focus on is the way every inch of her is screaming no no no nononononononono. The fear is overwhelming, pulling her down as she lashes out blindly, crying out as large hands catch at her thin wrists and squeeze until she sobs with the pain of it before she is passed to the other pair of grasping, groping hands. She's drowning and she's scared and they're hurting her, they're going to—
"Pop Step?" a voice calls, young and worried. It echoes in the empty air above her head and breaks through her panic.
She blinks away tears and tries again to pull herself away from the man who has one hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist. He doesn't let her go and she sobs at the anger burning in his eyes as he glances away to see who has dared to interrupt.
"Get outta here," the man with one long horn commands. He sounds more amused than worried. "You're gonna get hurt if you stick your nose where it doesn't belong, kid."
"Get help!" Kazuho yells, right before a hand slams itself over the lower half of her face, muffling her voice and covering her nose. She can't breath, and the panic rushes back in at the realization. She tries to scream as she thrashes, trying to break the many handed hold on her. The taste in her mouth makes her want to puke.
"Let her go," the kid says, closer now, louder. Through tears, she manages to make out the blur of green hair and the red of his hoodie. A new kind of horror washes through her as she realizes the kid now rushing towards the massive men is Yudai and he isn't running away.
The grip on her loosens and with one last desperate lurch, Kazuho manages to break away. She stumbles towards Yudai, desperate to get to safety, trying to pull him with her on instinct alone. Her fingers find his hood and she runs, dragging him along behind her as she tells him, Run! Let's go! Now!
They're close to safety, almost to the daylight beyond the cavernous walls of the alley, when someone grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls. She screams as she stumbles, just barely managing to keep her feet beneath her. With all the strength she can muster she pushes Yudai ahead of her, shoves him towards the light, prays he will escape and be safe.
But he doesn't.
The little monster wheels back around, fists raised, mouth open as though to shout. She can't hear him over the roaring terror in her mind. He rushes the second man, dodging the clumsy fists aimed towards his head and returning with his own flurry of strikes. The sight terrifies her more than anything else; she already knows she will never forgive herself if she lets him get hurt.
The grip on her hair pulls back, twisting her neck at a painful angle and tearing her eyes away from the fight. She hears the man Yudai is going after scream and curse, making terrible promises of pain. Heat flares to life in her belly, angry and hot and spreading to fill every part of her in an instant. Moist, rank breath is on her cheek as the man pulls her back towards him, the grip on her hair loosening as he does.
She takes a deep breath, lets the power build until it burns, and strikes. Her heel connects with something soft and fleshy. He screams as he goes flying backwards from the force of her back kick, and dark satisfaction curls in her belly as he hits the wall and goes silent.
She doesn't plan to wait around and see whether the second man is going to help his buddy or not, but when she turns she sees Yudai standing over his prone form. There is a split second of frozen shock as she takes in the sight, tries to figure out how he could have possibly won that fight when the man had such a massive size advantage. Then, she shakes her head and tells herself it doesn't matter.
Rushing forward, she grabs hold of the kid's hand and pulls him along with her as she sprints towards the illusion of safety that the street offers. He protests but she ignores it. There is a pressure building in her chest and it escapes her throat in a burst of horrid sound. She isn't sure if she's laughing or crying. All she can focus on is the feeling of the concrete beneath her feet and the burning of her lungs and the sweaty hand clasped tightly in her own.
"I know somewhere safe," Yudai says, and at the slightly hysterical shout he gets in return, he picks up speed until he is the one leading the way. He doesn't let go of her hand.
They end up on a fire escape that is only barely clinging to the side of an old concrete building. Rust flakes down and nestles itself into her mussed hair. She releases the pink strands with trembling hands and shakes them out. Her scalp is stinging. Yudai sits and watches her, green eyes full of worry.
"Why didn't you run when I told you to?" she asks, not yet able to meet his gaze.
"You needed help," he says with a shrug.
"You could have gotten hurt."
"So could you."
"That doesn't matter! I had it handled. Besides, you're younger than me so it's my responsibility to keep you safe. I can't do that if you're running into trouble like that! Do you have any idea how awful I would have felt if you'd been hurt?"
The kid looks baffled, brow furrowed and head cocked to the side as though her words aren't computing. She waits for him to say something, to apologize, to promise not to do it again. Her shoe makes a hollow tapping noise as she bounces it irritably against the platform. After a long moment, he speaks.
"Of course it matters."
"What?"
"You said it wouldn't matter if you got hurt. Of course it would."
Kazuho groans and drops her face into her hands. She shakes her head and tries to swallow down the lump in her throat.
"That's not the point. You're just a kid, Yudai," she says, voice muffled by her hands. His small form abruptly presses against her side. He's rubbing small circles on her back, like he's worried she's going to be sick.
"So are you."
The first sob rips from her throat. It is so vicious and sudden that it startles even her, but Yudai doesn't so much as flinch. He waits patiently by her side as she weeps, head resting on her shaking shoulder and hand still rubbing those gentle circles on her back. It is comforting, grounding, and she cannot be anything but grateful for it.
"I couldn't do anything," she confides through the tears, breath shuddering on every inhale. "I was useless and weak and they were going to-to—"
"It's okay," Yudai tells her. "You're safe now. You did great and you got out okay. Do you want me to walk you to the police station?"
She shakes her head and thinks that it's funny how their roles have been reversed since the last time they met.
"Okay. Do you still have your phone? I can call someone for you."
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and shakes her head again. He hums and she isn't sure what he means by the sound.
"I'm fine," she lies. "I just need a minute."
"Sure."
They sit quietly, Kazuho trying to catch her breath while Yudai waits and offers his silent support. His hand, small and warm, does not feel restricting or threatening as it rests gently on her back. The honking of cars and the shouts of a couple arguing in one of the apartments above their heads echo around them. The familiarity of it is soothing and Kazuho feels herself finally beginning to calm down.
"Thanks," she whispers once the crushing weight has begun to lift from her chest.
"Don't mention it."
There is something serious in his tone, so she shifts around until she's able to see his face. He stares back, unblinking and seemingly unbothered by her searching gaze. The silence between them doesn't feel quite as comfortable anymore.
"You're a weird kid," Kazuho decides and Yudai grins.
"I get that a lot."
"Huh," she says.
"I made a cake. Do you, um, want some?"
She's so taken aback by the sudden question that all she can do is nod. Yudai nods back, drapes his jacket over her shoulders, and tells her to wait here while he goes to get it. It's not like she has anything better to do, so she stays where she is and tries to ignore the fear she feels the moment she finds herself alone. She hates how pathetic she is.
The arguing couple sounds like they have moved on to...something else. Kazuho flushes and turns her attention to her phone. Koichi has sent her a handful of texts complaining about the training the old man is putting him through, and a slightly blurry picture of a cat he apparently stopped to pet at some point today. The small smile that had been twitching at the corners of her mouth dies an abrupt death as she tries to find the words to tell Koichi about how her day has been going.
She's typed up the text, deleted it, and then rewritten it seven times by the time Yudai reappears. She nearly screams when she notices him beside her; she hadn't heard his approach at all. He grins sheepishly at her and she can tell he wants to appear apologetic, but the mischievous way his eyes sparkle ruins the ruse.
"Here you go!" he says, placing a plastic takeout container in her lap. His smile is shy, but proud. "It's an ube cake roll."
"Thank you," Kazuho says as she opens the lid, eyeing the cake inside. It looks suspiciously purple. The sincerity of her words surprises even herself as she blurts out, "It looks delicious."
Yudai's smile gets brighter and his green eyes shine as she takes her first bite and hums with delight. They talk as they eat, passing the cake back and forth between them. It's not about anything important: school and the weather and the little oddities of this city. The idle chatter eases her nerves and she can feel the last dregs of her panic finally drain away.
She is grateful for this weird little kid, though she won't say so out loud. She doesn't want to encourage him too much.
"Oh!" he says, perking up. Kazuho stares incredulously as the palm of his hand has a sudden violent meeting with his forehead, as though he's suddenly remembered something. "I have something else for you!'
"You do? What is it?"
He digs through his pockets, exclaiming happily when he manages to locate whatever it is he wants to give her.
"Close your eyes and hold out your hand."
She obeys, baffled but amused by his antics. A small, warm hand takes hers and he wraps her fingers around...something. She frowns, brow creasing with confusion.
"Yudai, what—"
"Open your eyes!"
She stares at the unassuming little item resting innocently in the palm of her hand. It glints in the sunlight and she blinks several times, half expecting to find it transformed into pretty much anything else. Once it becomes apparent that her eyes aren't playing tricks on her, she drags them away, back towards Yudai's smiling face, and feels her confusion turn itself suddenly to exhaustion.
"Yudai."
"Yeah?"
"Why am I holding a knife right now?"
He looks at her like she's just said the strangest thing he's ever heard.
"I noticed you didn't have one earlier. You should always carry one with you! You know how to use it, right?"
Kazuho shakes her head and tries to hand the weapon back to him. Then, she thinks better of giving a sharp object to an elementary schooler and pulls it back. Yudai seems to take this as her deciding to keep it, and he beams.
"Don't worry! I'll teach you the basics today. The rest you can study on your own."
"I really don't want to," she tries, but he's already muttering to himself, voice low as he considers what she needs to know and which forms to use and all manner of things she doesn't really understand. He's not paying her any attention.
Kazuho sighs and lays back on the steps of the fire escape, hair spread around her head like a pink cloud and the cold metal digging into the bare skin of her back. A scrape she hadn't realized she had stings. She kind of gets why heroes give their capes costumes; Yudai's hoodie covers her bare shoulders, but it'd be nice to have a blanket right now.
"Who taught you how to use a knife anyways?" she asks over his soft voice, eyes on the sky. Predictably, she gets no answer. The sigh she heaves is one more of reluctant fondness than exasperation.
The knife is warming up in the palm of her hand. It looks well used, but well cared for. The silver blade glints when she turns it this way and that, reflecting the blue of the sky and the pink of her hair, and the strange realization that she's only really held dull kitchen knives before hits her. It's actually kind of pretty and the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that she's actually kind of excited to learn.
Knuckleduster might be willing to teach her more if she asks him nicely. She smiles at the thought, realizing just how excited she is at the idea of getting to learn to fight like Koichi does. It hits her then that Yudai's muttering has stopped, and when she sits up she realizes he's watching her expectantly.
"You ready?" Yudai asks, smiling so wide that her cheeks hurt just from being close. She looks back at him, considering, and then shrugs. A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth and her grip on the hilt of the knife tightens.
"Why not?"
.
She tells him to call her Hachisuka, sharp teeth flashing in a wide grin and green eye shining with mirth. He's definitely not going to call her that, he decides as he waits for her to get to business. She babbles at about a hundred words a minute while she hands him a thick manila envelope, and once he realizes she isn't saying anything relevant to the job he does his best to tune her out. It is two in the morning, he hasn't had nearly enough coffee, and her chipper attitude is so fake it's putting him on edge. At least when Izuku acts like this it's genuine. She's starting to piss him off, and this is only their second meeting.
"You want me to kill all of them?" he asks as he flips through the pages, just to confirm.
"Oh yes! Feel free to make it as messy as you want!"
He hums, eyes scanning over the long list of names. They're all punks and criminals; society will benefit from their removal. It will take time, but he's confident he can do it. Izuku seems happy enough here, so he's not worried about the kid being upset that they're staying a while longer.
"I'll need half of the payment up front," he tells her.
"Of course." Her voice has dropped to a low purr. He rolls his eyes behind his mask, not interested in whatever games she's wanting to play. "You'll have the first half tomorrow, and if you do good then my boss might even throw in a bonus at the end!"
"I'll start tomorrow, then."
"Aw, bummer. I was hoping to see you in action tonight!"
Her statement is met with silence. She is circling him now, getting a tiny bit closer with every rotation. His skin prickles and Chizome tucks the folder inside his kevlar vest for safekeeping, turning slowly to keep the girl in his line of sight at all times. His fingers brush against the cool metal of his blades and it helps to ground him.
"Do you need anything to help you get the job done?" she asks. There is a faint buzzing sound underlying her words every time she opens her mouth. "I have...connections."
He considers the offer, wondering if she would ask for any additional favors in return for the use of her organization's resources. She is watching him, unblinking and smile unwavering, waiting for his response. The wind sweeps the hair out of her face and he notes that her eye patch has several blue stickers on it. They are childish, stars and hearts and flowers. It feels out of place, but he supposes that that is the purpose.
"Blood," he decides at last. Her visible eyebrow arches and her green eye shines with a keen interest.
"Some particular blood or will anything work? I'm pretty sure my neighbor has a couple cats I could drain."
There is a teasing tone to her voice, but he can sense the way her interest has been piqued. Even so, there is a sense of condescension to her words, a feeling that she is simply humoring him the same way one would a child.
"I need the targets' blood."
"Ooohhhh, okay! That's easy. I'll bring that to you tomorrow when I give you your first payment."
"Fine." He nods stiffly, ready for this meeting to be over. "I'll find you tomorrow. You have my number if you need me before then."
"Okay!" she sings. "I'll see you then!"
He tries to ignore the creeping feeling of her gaze on the back of his neck as he walks away. The sooner he completes this job, the better.
.
The night has been unusually quiet, which probably has something to do with the inordinate amount of vigilantes running around the area. Not that he's complaining, of course, because the less crime there is the less paperwork he has to fill out and the sooner he can go to sleep when his shift is over. As long as he doesn't get tangled up in their messes, he's happy to let them handle things.
Not a lot of people in his profession would be too pleased with the situation, but he's not that worried about it. Many of his peers have accused him of lacking the drive to climb the ranks of heroes, and honestly? He's totally fine with that. He has no interest in smiling for cameras or playing nice with reporters and civilians. He's here to get his job done, maybe save a few people if he's lucky, and then go home. Simple and straightforward.
A siren wails somewhere in the distance, and if he looks up and squints he thinks he can see the red and blue light reflected in the top windows of a far away building. He pauses, one hand to the comm in his ear, waiting for the dispatcher to request the help of any hero in the vicinity. The seconds tick by, and he accepts that there will be no call. He sighs as he slouches against the wall of the nearest building, hooded eyes scanning the almost empty street in the seediest district of the city.
Cats are fighting somewhere nearby, and the yowling is echoing through the streets. If he tilts his head and listens carefully, he thinks he can hear the sound of someone arguing inside their apartment. Other than that, the streets are quiet and it is weird.
He can't complain, though; the less work the better. He lets his head fall back and watches the darkened sky with half lidded eyes, wishing he could see stars through the light pollution. Trying to visualize the map he had glanced at before he left for patrol, he finds himself wishing that he had paid more attention to this new patrol route. Nemuri had told him to call if he needed to, but the absolute last thing he needs is her laughing at him for getting lost. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and the remnants of it drift up in the chill of the night air. His eyes follow it up, and land on something suspicious.
Legs are dangling off the edge of a tall building, swaying slightly with the breeze. If Hizashi were to ever ask, Shouta would shrug and say he considered ignoring it, letting whoever it is carry on with their night uninterrupted. The truth is that the idea never crossed his mind. Before he even fully processed what he saw, he was off to find the quickest route to the roof.
His boots make no noise as he stalks across the dirty, tar coated concrete. His heart pounds the closer he gets, and it registers in his mind just how small the person dangling themselves from the edge is. It's a kid, maybe 8 or 9 if he's guessing right, and they're just...sitting there. Staring out over the city with a distant expression that sends chills creeping up Shouta's spine, socked feet kicking softly into the void below them.
He sits beside the kid, just a few feet away, but he doesn't turn to look at him. His lips are moving, soft words escaping him so quickly that they're jumbled up and incomprehensible. Shouta waits a long moment, curiosity beginning to creep in on the edges of his worry, before it all becomes too much. If the kid is thinking this much and this loud, he's still undecided about the whole jumping off the roof thing, and that means Shouta has a chance to change his mind. Either that, or Shouta's misread the whole situation and the kid is just recklessly idiotic.
"You thinking of doing something stupid, kid?"
The boy screams. Shouta jumps about a foot in the air as well, then has to make a grab for the kid to keep him from toppling headfirst off the side of the building.
"Sorry!" the boy all but shouts, still sputtering from the shock of almost going head over heels towards the concrete below. Shouta stares at him, barely able to believe what he's hearing. His hand stays fisted in the back of the boy's shirt, just in case.
"Don't apologize," he says, and it comes out harsher than intended, more like an order than a platitude. The boy doesn't flinch. In fact, he laughs, which is not the reaction Shouta is used to getting in this kind of situation.
"Sorry," the kid says again, and Shouta feels his eyes roll towards the heavens once more. The kid smiles at him, wide and sheepish and no longer dangerously close to the edge of the building. He slowly releases his death grip on this boy, watching closely for any suspicious movements.
"What were you doing?"
"Just thinking."
He waits for more, but the kid stays quiet. Despite his seemingly relaxed posture, he has edged himself a little further away, just outside of Shouta's reach, and that sets more alarm bells ringing inside the hero's head. It's not unusual for a kid to want to keep distance from a stranger, but there's something about the whole situation that feels off. His instincts are practically screaming that something is wrong, and he's learned through a lot of trial and error to trust them.
"What were you thinking about?" he asks, and the boy turns his whole body to look at him. In the dim light Shouta can just barely make out the way his tiny face has wrinkled in confusion, and really, he can't blame him. If he were an elementary schooler and some random man cornered him on a rooftop at ass 'o clock in the morning, he would also likely be very confused. And probably a lot more concerned, now that he thinks about it.
"I was wondering how Gang Orca is going to do on the next set of hero polls," the boy says at last, which is...not what Shouta was expecting to hear. He's shuffled himself away and settled down to sit cross legged on the ledge, his left knee hanging out into open air. The sight makes Shouta's skin crawl and he considers yanking the kid away again. Something tells him that the boy would just be ornery if he tried, though.
There doesn't seem to be any immediate danger of the kid jumping, so instead he adjusts himself to mirror the kid's pose and leans forward, elbow on his knee and chin resting against his fist as he studies the boy in front of him. The wind howls through the spaces between buildings, cold and dangerous. The capture scarf around his neck moves when the breeze catches it, and he is already calculating how quickly he could use it to grab the kid if he loses his balance. He's so tiny, Shouta has no doubt he could be swept away by a strong wind.
He takes a deep breath, considers the words, and shrugs.
"Probably not very well, if we're being honest. He's a good hero, but he's not the type that usually ends up highly rated so early in their career."
"Because of his quirk," the boy says, matter of factly. It surprises Shouta, though he does not let it show.
"Exactly."
"That doesn't seem very fair."
"Maybe not. I don't know if he cares much, though. He seems like the kind of guy who's more concerned with helping people, instead of placing in the top ten."
"You really think so?"
"Yeah."
"That's good. I like heroes like that."
"Me too."
The boy hums thoughtfully and tilts his head, eyes catching what little light can reach this rooftop space. They glitter, sharp as uncut emerald, and Shouta has the unnerving feeling of being dissected and studied. He does not fidget as he meets the boy's eyes, watching as he assesses him. It's eerie, the way he can practically watch as thoughts spin through the kid's head.
In the end he must not be found wanting, because the boy blows out a long breath that ends in a raspberry. His shoulders slump, not in defeat, but instead releasing a tension that Shouta hadn't even noticed was present until the moment it was gone. He wonders what else he may have missed.
"You seem like a nice guy," the kid says, smiling so brightly that Shouta can see it clearly even in the dim light. "What do you need, anyway?"
Shouta is baffled. He doesn't answer, just allows the silence to swell and take over, hoping the accompanying discomfort may be enough to spur the kid into revealing what the hell he's talking about. The kid just goes on smiling as he continues, completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere.
"Did someone tell you about me?"
Shouta grunts, neither confirming nor denying. The boy uncrosses his legs, wobbling a little as he does so and making Shouta want to tear out his hair. His fingers wrap around the end of his capture weapon. The cold nips at a hole in his pant leg, and he is reminded that he needs to ask Hizashi for help in stitching it up.
Then the boy swings his legs over the edge and leans backwards to grab something, legs held straight out over the edge of the building to keep him balanced. Shouta is going to have a goddamn conniption at this rate. He is going to die of a heart attack right here on the ledge of some shitty warehouse because some stupid reckless child thinks he's a circus performer. It feels like watching a kitten who's just learned to climb; wobbly and fearless and fragile. This kid is going to give him anxiety and Shouta is sending his next therapy bill to the parents.
Without thinking, Shouta reaches out to steady the kid, who blinks up at him with something like surprise before it morphs back into a cheery smile. He nods his thanks and goes back to rustling around in his backpack, pulling out a folder decorated with All Might's signature colors. He swings his legs and sits back up, totally unaware of the way Shouta's heart does several uncomfortable flips in his chest.
"Here!" the boy says, flipping the folder open and pulling out a slightly wrinkled paper. He shoves it towards Shouta, who does not take it.
"How about we move away from the edge of the roof first," he says. He's not begging. Of course not. But if this kid wobbles one more time he's going to have an aneurism and that just means more paperwork he'll never get done.
"Oh, sure! I'm sorry, I didn't even think about the fact you might be scared of heights."
Shouta doesn't correct the assumption, waiting silently for the kid to walk away from the danger he's in before following behind him. His worry has finally begun to dissipate, now edging towards a mild curiosity as the kid gestures him over and offers the paper again. He takes it this time, looking over the contents and feeling his eyebrows climb as he takes in the list of contact information for a variety of charities and shelters in the area. He isn't sure what to say, so he just grunts out something resembling a thank you and hands the paper back.
"Did you need help finding somewhere to sleep tonight?" the kid asks, expression open and earnest, and Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache as he debates whether to set the record straight or just let it go.
"I don't need any help," he settles on saying. "Do you?"
"What do you mean?" the kid asks, wide eyed like he can't fathom why someone would ask him that.
"Why are you on the roof at this hour?"
"Oh! My uncle's out right now and it gets quiet in the apartment, so I just like to come up here to listen to the city. It helps me think."
Left alone often, allowed free range while his guardian is out. Eager for conversation and wants to help others. He'd make an easy target for someone with bad intentions.
Shouta files the information away, taking in the kid's easy smile and relaxed posture, and he thinks that this kid needs to learn to not be quite so trusting. He sighs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and letting his shoulders slouch.
"Get down from the roof, kid. And stop talking to strangers. It's not safe."
The boy has the audacity to laugh as he nods and takes a step backwards, towards what must be the stairwell into the building. Shouta watches him with narrowed eyes, already knowing that he's not going to be leaving the building until he knows that the boy has both feet safely at ground level. Then, the thought occurs to him that children shouldn't be walking around the city in the dark at this time of night and he grimaces.
"Wait. Let me walk you home," he says through gritted teeth, already dreading what he is sure will be a time spent with the kid chattering away in that far too cheerful tone of his.
Instead, the boy just stares at him incredulously for a second. He shakes his head and says, "Sorry, but no way!" before he runs for the stairs and is swallowed by the dark.
"Strange kid," Shouta mutters as he stares at the yawning stairwell, wondering if he should go after the boy or not. Something about the whole interaction felt off, his instincts telling him that there is more than just the time and place inherently wrong about the situation.
He thinks back to the crumpled paper, suddenly wishing he had kept the list. He wonders if it has anything to do with the sudden decrease of petty crime in the area. If so, he hopes the kid is being careful while he's playing hero. Shouta pauses, lips pursing as he goes over the conversation in his head again. He groans as he remembers his last words to the boy, one hand freeing itself from his pocket to cover his eyes.
Now that he has a moment to think about it, he does have to admit that he could have phrased his offer better. It's not surprising that the boy ran off, because even Shouta can admit that he sounded suspicious. He cringes at the thought of the boy running home to tell his guardian about the strange man who tried to walk him home. Thank god he's still underground, because if he had been a daylight hero he would have never heard the end of it.
This is why he's never going to work with kids - they're way more trouble than it's worth. Still, if he makes a point to patrol this area more often and keeps his eyes on the rooftops a little more, it's not like there's anyone who will know.
.
Technically, Izuku is only supposed to leave the apartment when it's absolutely necessary. There had been an unspoken understanding that he could go out to get groceries, or maybe step outside for some fresh air once in a while. He's supposed to be staying home, doing his self-imposed schoolwork and running through training exercises. And he does do that! He trains and he studies and then he trains some more.
But now that he's tasted freedom...well, there's only so much he can think to do when he's cooped up inside. If he goes out for a run, or to practice leaping from building to building, or to keep an eye on the streets, then that should still count towards his training! Besides, if he never mentions it to Stendhal, then his guardian won't ever have any reason to worry anyways.
So Izuku goes out into the daylight when his studying is over and he's gone through every kata and drill that he knows. He wears a beanie and medical mask, and keeps his knives hidden beneath the folds of his oversized sweatshirt. He avoids the police like their lives depend on it (he has suspected for quite some time that they really do) and tries to avoid talking to anyone he doesn't have to.
(He tells himself that Kazuho doesn't count as just anyone, because she helped him and he helped her back, so he isn't really breaking any rules by spending time with her.)
It feels nice to be outside during the day. He loves the feeling of warm sunlight on his face as the chilly breeze ruffles his hair, but he's not always a big fan of all the people he runs into on the streets. He's spent the majority of the last six years alone in the apartment with Stendhal or stalking the empty streets late at night, so it feels strange to be around the crowds of daytime wanderers. Any time the bustle and crush of bodies around him becomes too much, he can just duck into an alley for a few moments of peace to collect himself.
It's in one of these alleys that he finds a woman crouched between two dumpsters, trembling slightly with her eyes rolling in their sockets. For a moment he just watches her, every inch of him on high alert as he assesses the situation and tries to find any sign of someone else being in the alley with them. He breathes out a soft sigh of relief when he doesn't find any trace of an immediate threat.
He steps closer to the woman and crouches down to her level, arms wrapped loosely around his knees. She is talking to herself, lips barely moving and words so low that he can only hear her now that they're so close. There's no sign of injury and he wonders if maybe she's just sick.
"There was a...a bug," she mutters to herself, over and over, trembling and rocking slowly back and forth. "The bug did some-some-something."
"Ma'am?" he calls, voice soft so as not to startle her. "Do you need help?"
"Help?" the woman rasps back, sounding disoriented. Her head tilts, falling to rest on her shoulder at an uncomfortable looking angle. Her voice is rough and dry, and when her eyes finally stop moving in her skull to focus on him, their gaze is clouded and distant. She doesn't look at Izuku so much as she stares right through him.
"I can help you," Izuku tells her. "I can walk you to the hospital, or a police station if you want."
The woman shakes her head, still twisted at that awkward angle. Izuku winces at the sight - it looks painful. Her tongue darts out to trace over her chapped lips. It looks wet but shriveled in her mouth, and almost black in color. He wonders if it is part of her quirk, or just part of whatever illness is making her so sick.
"Don't want...help," she mutters. Her orange eyes are trying to focus again and Izuku does his best to hold still, trying to make it easier for her.
That's weird, he thinks. Weren't her eyes brown a second ago?
Suddenly, she reaches for him. He stiffens as her hand wraps around his wrist, and he watches with a furrowed brow as her nails lengthen and sharpen until they're tearing through the fabric of his sleeve and digging painfully into his skin. He tries to shake her off, but she is deceptively strong for such a small woman.
"You're hurting me," he says, trying to hide the sudden fear in his voice.
"No," she moans, tugging him closer. "You can't help me."
Her eyes are a toxic yellow now, slitted pupils blown wide as she blinks at him. Her face is warping, twisting and elongating and growing bigger and bigger as she leans closer. Her breath is hot and sticky on his face, and he flinches away. A pointed black tongue lolls from her mouth, saliva dripping from it and landing on his knee. He bites his lip to muffle his cry of pain as it burns through his pants and reaches the skin beneath.
"Let me go," he commands, trying to be firm despite the way his voice cracks and shakes. "You're hurting me and you need to let go."
The woman wails, high and warbling and loud enough that it makes his head hurt. Tears spill from his eyes at the noise, dripping down his cheeks and splashing on the hand that has swollen so much that it has gone from holding his wrist to encircling his entire forearm. She throws her massive head back and acid spit hits the wall and sizzles. A drop hits his face and a sob escapes Izuku's lips as he tries again to tug himself away from her bruising grip.
"Where is it!?" the woman cries, voice garbled and barely intelligible with the way her mouth has twisted. "Give it back!"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Izuku screams, voice cracking as his heart lurches with fear and her enormous hand squeezes tighter around his wrist. He thinks he can feel the bones grinding together and, as he struggles more desperately against her hold, he wonders if he is about to have another broken bone. Teeth gritted, he draws his knife.
The blade slices the back of her hand and the woman, now more beast than human, screams and gives his wrist one last vicious squeeze as she flings him away. He collides with the brick wall, bouncing off of it and hitting the ground with a whimper. Wrist held tight to his chest, Izuku curls into a ball and wheezes as his lungs try to remember how to hold air once again. His uninjured hand is still curled around his knife, now stained with blood.
He waits for the woman to attack, praying that he will have enough strength to move, to defend himself. She watches him warily, silent but for the mournful rumbling deep in her chest, like there is another wail building there and just waiting to escape. Acid drips from her mouth and sizzles on the ground beneath her. There is no humanity left in her yellow eyes; they are deep and dark and empty. Glass shatters beneath her feet as she takes a step towards him.
Suddenly, there is a voice from the mouth of the alley. Someone is shouting, asking if everything is okay. She turns towards the sound. Izuku hears a scream and, just like that, she's gone.
He stares after her for a moment, wide eyed and shocked as he tries to process what just happened. More people have begun to scream, the sound echoing around him but almost vanishing under the roar of blood rushing in his head. He wants to lay down and cry for just a moment more, because right now he feels small and weak and scared. Waves of panic and relief fight for their place in his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
His lip is bleeding. The taste fills his mouth and makes him gag. He grimaces and spits, red staining the pale concrete of the ground. More screams and the sound of something being broken filter through the panic, and he forces himself to move. Painfully, slowly, he pushes himself up from the ground and stumbles towards the street.
Izuku gapes at the disaster zone that greets him, shocked by the amount of destruction the woman has caused in a matter of minutes. There are shards of glass covering the sidewalks from broken store windows, deep gauges clawed into the street and sides of buildings, and a car crumpled against a light post. Had he read the situation wrong? Is she a bad guy, or did she just lose control of her quirk?
As he watches her howl and leap on top of a moving car, causing it to veer onto the sidewalk, he decides it doesn't matter if this is accidental or intentional. He has to find a way to deescalate the situation and get her help before she hurts anyone else. The knife feels heavy in his left hand as he keeps his right one tucked tightly into his side, fingers trembling and wrist throbbing where she had grabbed him. His thoughts are running at a million miles a minute as his eyes scan the street, cataloguing every hazard and each civilian that could become a casualty. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears, loud enough that it blocks out all other sounds.
He takes a few deep breaths and holds his knife tighter. If he can get her attention and lead her somewhere with fewer people, he can at least keep innocent civilians from getting hurt. Judging by the jerky, stumbling way she moves, he's guessing that she isn't used to this form. In just the few moments since he stumbled upon her in the alley, she went from someone barely bigger than him to a hulking, massive creature easily over seven feet tall. He can use that to his advantage; he thinks (hopes) it shouldn't be too hard to get beneath her and trip her up. Once she's on the ground, he'll just need something to restrain her with.
He pulls his sweatshirt off, gritting his teeth as his wrist is jostled, and makes quick work of cutting it into strips. Armed with nothing but a knife and a handful of tattered red fabric, he finds himself wishing that Stendhal was here to help him. He's scared of what this woman will do to him if his plan doesn't work, but he knows he can't let himself think about that. Right now, there are people who need his help.
"Hey!" he shouts, waving the shredded remains of his favorite sweatshirt above his head. "Over here!"
Her eyes snap towards him, and he suddenly realizes that he really did prefer the empty glaze from the alleyway over the feral fury in her expression now. It's too late to back down, though. Her attention is on him and he notes with a distant sort of relief that the nearby civilians are using this chance to run to safety.
There's not a lot of time to be happy, though, because the next thing he knows she is down on all fours and charging towards him. Izuku yelps and turns on his heel, sprinting away from the business district and towards an area he knows is mostly empty construction sites. He can feel her nipping at his heels and he pushes on, running as fast as he can, and his legs are burning and he is gasping for breath, but he is almost there! Just a little further, then he can use the tight spaces to his advantage and —
He yelps as sharp nails rake over his back, and he knows without looking that his shirt is now ruined, too. First his favorite sweatshirt and now his only piece of Sir Nighteye merchandise, all destroyed in one day. He'll find time to be disappointed later.
Tears blur his vision as he puts his head down and tries to go faster, heart pounding and lungs screaming from the exertion. He can feel her, so close that her hot breath burns the back of his arms. He knows she is reaching for him, hungry, angry, and he is scared.
Stendhal, he thinks, only because he can't find the necessary breath to scream right now. Where are you?
"Duck, kid!" someone shouts.
Izuku hits the ground just as something goes whizzing above his head. From behind him, he hears the woman bellow and a new, deeper voice return the sound.
Izuku rolls to his feet and whirls around to see two men fighting the woman, one gliding on all fours around her feet and tripping her up. The second man seems to be just...beating the crap out of her with his bare hands.
"Huh," Izuku says breathlessly, brow furrowed as he watches them fight. It is brutal and efficient. He gets the feeling that Stendhal would approve, but he can't help but wince as the big man lands a hit that sends the woman to the ground. He follows it up with a kick to the head. She doesn't get back up after that.
When the big guy turns his attention towards Izuku, he doesn't put his weapons away. Likewise, Izuku doesn't bother to hide his knife as the man stalks towards him. His companion is still back with the woman, and he seems to be struggling with tying her unconscious form up. At this point, Izuku isn't sure if he should make a run for it or offer the guy the remains of his sweatshirt. There's a part of him that is hoping they might be heroes - after all, who else would have stepped in to stop her?
"What are you doing here, kid?" the man asks when he gets close, voice low. It sounds like he's trying to growl. Izuku can't say he's all that impressed.
"Running away from her," he answers honestly, tilting his chin towards the unconscious woman.
The man seems to consider him, head cocked and fingers flexing around the grip of his weapon. His eyes are hidden by his mask, but Izuku can imagine the way they must be narrowing behind it. He isn't quite sure what the man wants from him, but he can tell by the tilt of his head that he has noticed the bloodied knife clenched in Izuku's hand.
"You on any drugs?" he rasps, leaning uncomfortably close. His breath smells like cigarettes. Izuku wrinkles his nose as it wafts over his face.
"What?"
"Answer the question, unless you want things to get messy."
Izuku considers just leaving without answering, then remembers the weapon in the man's hand and thinks better of it. He shakes his head and takes a step back. "No, I'm not on any drugs. I'm going to go now, unless you have a reason to detain me."
The man leans back, and Izuku can see the way his brow rises with surprise even through the fabric of his mask. Something like a smile is twitching at the corners of his mouth as Izuku takes another step back, trying to put distance between them. A rock clinks beneath his foot,the sound strangely loud, and he is reminded just how far from other people they are.
"Not so fast. You can go, but you have to show me your tongue first."
Before Izuku can question the strange request, the man's hand shoots out and grabs his face. Gloved fingers squeeze his cheeks, puckering his lips even as Izuku clenches his teeth and tries to shake the man off him. The man's other hand grabs his wrist as Izuku swings for him, blade glinting in the sunlight.
His attention flickers briefly towards the weapon Izuku had been aiming at his shoulder and a bark of harsh laughter escapes his lips. With a twist sharp enough to make Izuku grunt in pain, the weapon clatters to the ground.
"You're a feisty one, huh?" he growls, teeth flashing in a too-wide grin. He drags Izuku closer, crushing Izuku's hurt wrist between their bodies. He can't help it; he cries out in pain.
The man's fingers close tighter and the insides of his cheeks burn as they're cut against his teeth. He wonders if this is going to leave a bruise as the man leans close, head ducked slightly to get a good view inside his mouth. Izuku whimpers, eyes squeezed shut and mind whirling with strategies to break the hold, which direction to run, how to escape before this crazy man can do anything worse.
"Hey," someone interrupts, slow and languid and sounding like they might feel just a little bit awkward about the whole situation. "I think you might be hurting him."
Izuku's eyes flutter open at the same moment that the man releases his grip, letting Izuku stumble and fall backwards onto his ass. He takes the opportunity to scramble for his knife, holding it in shaking hands despite having already seen that his skills aren't enough to protect him from the big guy. The knowledge makes tears of shame and frustration prick at his eyes.
"Sorry about him," says the same lazy, cheerful voice. The newcomer is grinning at him while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His pants have acid burns in them and there is a streak of blood smeared across his cheek. That is not what makes Izuku's eyes go wide though. Any sense of self preservation is suddenly lost as excitement takes over.
His mouth moves before his brain has time to catch up and he blurts, "Is that a limited edition silver age All Might hoodie?"
"Yeah!" the newcomer replies, effortlessly matching Izuku's enthusiasm. He casts a pointed glance towards the other man and says, "I'm so glad someone noticed!"
"That one is super hard to find. I don't know how…." he trails off, cogs clicking slowly into place in his mind, finally placing the guy amongst the dozens of articles and forums he had read when researching the hero and villain activity of the city. His mouth drops open. "Oh my god, you're The Hauler!"
The excitement disappears immediately, brown eyes growing dim as he shakes his head and sighs, sounding exasperated as he says, "No! Why do people always mess that up?"
Even though hoodie guy is obviously just talking to himself at this point, Izuku feels his face turn red with humiliation as his heart sinks. The fleeting glimmer of hope he had felt dies a quick death. Even if the thought had briefly crossed his mind to ask someone experienced with crime to help him get back to his mom, he can't justify putting civilians in danger just for his own sake.
"Sorry," he mumbles, head hanging low.
"No worries! Most people make that mistake, to be honest with you."
Izuki's lips pursed as a thought occurs to him, eyes drifting from the ground to look between the two men, then to the woman lying motionless behind them. He would have been worried if he hadn't caught the slight movement of her chest rising and falling as she breathes.
"If you guys are just normal people, how come you stopped her?" His eyes dart towards the big guy and narrow, suspicious and untrusting. "What did you want with me, anyways?"
"I'm just a guy who wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt," hoodie guy says, smiling at Izuku with all his teeth. It is sort of a weird look, but Izuku finds himself comforted by how genuine he seems.
"I'm looking for people who are addicted to a certain drug," the big guy says, shrugging like he doesn't realize that Izuku would have been traumatized by the interaction if he were pretty much anyone else.
"Do I look like someone who does drugs?" he asks, honestly curious.
"Yes," comes the immediate reply.
"Huh. That's good to know...I guess."
The younger guy has his face in his hands, shaking his head slowly. He is groaning like his stomach hurts. Izuku wonders what his deal is.
"You guys won't get in trouble for fighting her, will you?"
"Nah. I'm Quirkless so the police can't actually do anything to me since I'm not technically breaking any laws," big guy says, attention already drifting away, completely unaware of the way his words have sent Izuku's mind spinning and his heart racing as something he never realized is spelled out for him.
"You can't get in trouble for crime fighting if you don't have a quirk?"
"Pretty much," he says as he turns away and wanders towards the woman again. She is beginning to stir, low groans scraping against Izuku's skin and raising goosebumps. Hoodie guy clenches his teeth, cringing a little as he glances between Izuku and his companion.
"You might wanna get going, kid. His interrogations aren't all that pretty, so I'll need to call the police before he gets started." His eyes drift towards Izuku's wrist, swollen and already beginning to turn purple. "Do you need me to take you to the hospital to get that looked at?"
"No thanks. I can get there on my own."
"Okay," he says, already turning away and pulling out his cell phone. Izuku hears the big guy's voice, low and rough as the decimated gravel beneath his feet, hissing and spitting at the snarling woman. Hoodie guy doesn't seem all that concerned, and he's already dialed the emergency number, so Izuku supposes that everything is officially handled.
"Okay," he says, tucking his knife back into its hidden sheath despite the dried blood on the blade. It's going to be a pain to clean later, but he just doesn't have the energy to worry about it right now. "Bye."
"Bye, kid. Maybe I'll see you around."
Izuku opens his mouth, not quite sure yet what will come out in response, but before he can say anything hoodie guy is turning away, speaking loudly into the receiver in order to be heard over the growling and the wailing and the yelling going on in the background.
Izuku shrugs and walks away. He doesn't go to the hospital.
.
Kazuho lets loose a string of curses that would make her mother blush when she hears the story later that day. She swings and hits Koichi, who groans and rubs at his shoulder, complaining under his breath. The old man dodges her kick, but only by a hair. It seems like her lessons are really paying off, but she'll let herself be proud later.
Right now, she's too busy debating using the building they're standing on to launch herself straight into the sun. She just needs to figure out a way to take these two morons with her.
"That was Yudai, you idiots!"
I was supposed to post this yesterday, but ran out of time. So let's just...pretend it's Monday.
Happy Monday!
First off, let me say that TGIM has another piece of fantastic fanart with the most stunning Pop Step and adorable Izuku EVER. Check it out!
tisbutascratchblog dot tumblr dot com / post/649502478676754432/show-chapter-archive (As always, ff . net had an issue with links, so sorry for the weird formatting!)
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It was...really hard to write and I don't love this chapter as much as I thought I would. It got too long so looks like there's going to be a part four to this arc! That said, if there's anyone out there who doesn't mind spoilers I would love love love someone/a beta reader to bounce ideas off of.
Please remember to leave a review and let me know what you think. They really help inspire me to keep the story going! :) Stay safe and healthy, friends!
(Side note - Mind Games by Sickick is a great villain Shinsho song and makes me want to write something for that lmao)