Stendhal hurts him, but it's an accident. It really is.

They're three hours into training and even though it's physically demanding sometimes Izuku just gets bored. He is tired from patrol the night before. His mind is on the used math textbook that Stendhal had brought home for him to start learning algebra from. He isn't paying attention like he should be.

There's one small misstep, a metal staff swung lower than he was anticipating. He trips into the blow instead of dodging it. There's a crack, eyes widening, face draining of blood, and then Izuku is on the ground clutching his leg. The skin is bulging around bone.

He's read pretty much every medical text he's been able to get his hands on, but even without that knowledge it would have been easy to see that it is definitely broken. Stendhal is lurching forwards before Izuku even has time to process what has happened, before he is even able to cry out. Stendhal is cursing and apologizing in the same breath.

"It's broken," Izuku tells him, feeling slow and stupid. His brow furrows. "Also, that was a very bad word." Stendhal ignores him and says the word a few more times.

The pain is there, but it feels buried. It is threatening to rise from the fog of his mind and overwhelm him if he thinks about it, though. He tries to focus on anything else. He thinks of his mom and of Kacchan and of Himiko. He goes over the math problem that had been giving him problems, trying to work around his uncertainty of what letters mean when mixed in with the numbers. He thinks of his patrol route, which he's pretty sure he won't be able to do tonight.

"Yeah, it is," Stendhal says. "I'm going to immobilize it so we can get you to a doctor."

"I'm going to the doctor?" Izuku is baffled. In the years he has been living with Stendhal, they have never once been to the doctor. Had that been an option the whole time? He hasn't even seen a dentist! Maybe he should ask if he can go to one, since his mom always said it was important to keep his teeth clean.

He shakes his head, trying to reign his thought back in, but they seem to flutter away like paper cranes in a strong wind.

"Yeah, kiddo. We're going to the doctor. This is going to hurt in the meantime though."

"But what if they recognize me?'

"She won't. And even if she does, she's not going to say anything."

"Oh. Okay."

"This is gonna hurt," Stendhal warns again and Izuku has just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut before his guardian does something that shoots fire up his leg. Izuku cries out, and for the first time since he hit the ground he feels tears as they overflow and streak down his cheeks. "You okay?"

"That didn't feel very nice," Izuku gasps out. An undercurrent of hysterical giggles is threatening to burst from his chest at the understatement.

"I know. It's going to be okay. We're gonna get you to the doctor and she'll get you all taken care of, okay?"

Izuku nods, biting his lip to try to keep more cries from breaking free of his throat. He can't stop the pained little whimpers, though. Stendhal looks concerned, which just makes Izuku feel worse.

"I need to make some calls. I'll get you some ice before we go. Do you want anything else?"

"I want my mom." The words are out before he can think better of it. He keeps his eyes shut tight so he doesn't have to see the way that Stendhal's face twists. There's a pause, then a sigh.

"I can't get you that," Stendhal says. "I'll make you some hot chocolate though. Don't move."

Izuku nods. He can hear Stendhal talking on the phone as he shuffles around the small kitchen, his voice low and urgent. Izuku ignores it and opens his eyes to stare up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the horrible throbbing in his leg.

He thinks about the people he won't be able to help if he's not able to go on patrol. The feeling of guilt is almost worse than the pain. He feels a few more tears slip down his cheeks, hot and stinging.

Stendhal returns and hands him a travel thermos and a medical mask. His teeth are clenched and he is holding his phone tight enough that Izuku worries vaguely that it may break. The screen is still lit up as it dangles by his side.

"They're ready for us," he grunts. "Now we just have to get there."

Izuku prepares himself for a painful journey.

.

"It's a clean break, so you can count yourself lucky. Any worse and my Quirk wouldn't have been able to help."

Doctor Yamaguchi is a large woman with greying hair and sharp maroon eyes. Her clinic is one of the few that will treat any clientele without asking many questions. The lines around her eyes had grown tight when Chizome had shown up at the back door with Izuku in his arms, but she had made the wise choice to keep her mouth shut.

Izuku is sitting quietly on the cot. He had watched with fascination as the doctor had examined his injury, her eyes glowing faintly as she found the break and began to heal it. His eyes had grown enormous with wonder and concern as her hair had faded, first to grey and then to white, and her face had wrinkled and sagged. The change had only lasted a moment before her form had reverted back to how it had looked when they had first arrived. Izuku wasn't saying anything, but Chizome could see his fingers twitching with the desire to reach for a notebook and pen. He hasn't asked any of the questions on his mind, wary of saying the wrong thing. Chizome can appreciate his dedication to secrecy, but a part of him wishes that he could just be his usual cheerful chatterbox self.

The doctor seems to catch on that the boy in her care is uncomfortable, though she doesn't know why. Her severe expression grows softer as she fishes the X-Rays from their manila folder and pins them up. She settles on her stool before swiveling around to face Izuku, considering him for a moment. She sighs and turns her attention towards Chizome instead.

"He'll need to wear a boot for a bit, but I was able to speed up the healing process. He'll be back on his feet sooner and won't need any further medical intervention, as long as he takes it easy."

Chizome nods, arms crossed over his chest. She had offered him a chair when they had first been shown to the examination room but he had declined, preferring to stand. He trusted this woman not to try any funny business but that didn't mean that he would let his guard down.

Doctor Yamaguchi hums thoughtfully as she grabs blindly for Izuku's file and flips it open, though she leaves it resting in her lap. Her attention is on Izuku again and she leans forward to examine his leg further. As she works, she talks.

"What is your favorite color, Yudai?"

Izuku jumps a little and her fingers press into the muscle of his calf. He doesn't answer for a split second, confused before he remembers the alias they had given when checking in. He wets his lips nervously and says, "I like red. And green. I'm not sure if I can decide which is my favorite." The doctor nods.

"Well once I'm done here I'm sure we can find you a sticker with both of those colors."

Izuku smiles shakily, thanking her. The doctor smiles back, eyes flickering between Chizome and Izuku as she considers her next words. She meets Chizome's eyes, holding his gaze for a second too long. Her gaze is too pointed to be anything besides a warning to stay quiet. She waits for the slight dip of Chizome's head, the silent acknowledgement, then focuses on Izuku. Her expression is much kinder when she speaks to him.

"Your uncle tells me there was an accident involving a bo staff. What were you doing playing with one of those?"

Izuku hesitates, glancing over at Chizome as though seeking guidance. He will find none. Chizome is curious what his charge will do, and after a long moment Izuku gulps and says, "I want to be a hero, so I was training."

The doctor's expression twists, brow wrinkling in confusion for just a moment before she can school herself. She takes a deep breath and the confusion bleeds away to concern. She purses her lips as she hums.

"I see. Now, I need to use my quirk again. Is that okay?"

Izuku nods, looking eager. He watches with rapt attention as Doctor Yamaguchi ages rapidly, her hair going white and thin, her body becoming frail and weak as her back hunches. Liver spots appear on the paper thin skin of her hands, which have begun to tremble as they knead the air around Izuku's leg. He winces as the bone audibly grinds but does not take his bright eyes off of her.

When she is done the doctor sits back. She closes her cataract ridden eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Slowly, the changes begin to reverse themselves. Once she is back to normal, sharp eyed and straight backed, Izuku lets out the breath he's been holding. Chizome can practically see the cogs turning in his brain and smiles to himself, forever impressed by the boy's intelligence.

"So you want to be a hero?" the doctor asks, slow and careful. Her tone sets alarm bells off in Chizome's head, though he is uncertain where she is going with this. Izuku doesn't seem to notice. He nods enthusiastically, grin breaking over his face like the sun across the horizon. Her eyes flicker over to meet Chizome's and he can almost swear that the look is accusatory. "And your uncle...encourages this?"

Chizome bristles while Izuku just looks confused.

"And why wouldn't I encourage it?"

"Well, it's just that he's getting a little old to still be chasing impossible dreams. It's more cruel to allow it to continue, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?" Izuku asks, wide eyed and hurt. The doctor jolts like she hadn't been expecting Izuku to speak up at all. Her brow creases further, aging her yet again.

"Well, it's just," she seems to struggle with the words. "Heroics is a very dangerous line of work. It might even be impossible for someone like you. There's a very good reason why there's never been a Quirkless hero before."

There is silence. Izuku's face is stretched into a rictus smile. His cheeks are pulled taut, baring far too many teeth, and his eyes are vacant despite the tears beginning to pool on his lashes. Chizome knows this is the face he wears when he is trying his very best to be brave.

"Explain," he commands. The doctor looks increasingly more concerned.

"I don't – I mean...you don't know?"

"Know what?" Izuku's voice is very small. The doctor's eyes dart between Chizome and Izuku. She wets her lips before settling her gaze on his charge, looking sad. She sighs and straightens up, flicking on the light of the board the X-Rays are pinned to, illuminating the break in Izuku's bone. Chizome swallows down his guilt and focuses on the problem at hand.

"Here, in your pinky toe," she says. "There's an extra joint. Do you know what that means?"

Izuku shakes his head but Chizome feels like someone just dumped ice water over his head. The chill trickles down his spine as he prays that somehow the doctor is wrong, that perhaps there was just another break they didn't catch. As she continues explaining, he is forced to accept that this is not a mistake. Izuku is staring blankly ahead, eyes trained on the image of his foot but not really seeing anything. His smile is still in place, stretched painfully across his face.

Chizome clears his throat to draw the woman's attention away from his charge and pulls her instead into a discussion about treatment, side effects, and how long Izuku will need to wear the boot. The boy needs time to process the ways in which his world view has shifted. Chizome will need time too, but for right now, his only focus is making sure the kid's able to make a full recovery.

.

Izuku is still smiling by the time they make it home. He hasn't said a word since the doctor broke the news. He won't even look at Chizome and instead moves like a wraith to lock himself in the bathroom. Chizome grits his teeth, wishing he had had the foresight to pee before they left the clinic.

(He hears Izuku crying behind the locked door and resolves to hold it as long as he needs to.)

An hour passes, then two. Chizome scrolls idly through a forum for parents of Quirkless children. He has already scoured the dark web, trying to get a feel for how much danger Izuku will be in if word gets out about his Quirkless status. He doesn't like what he's seeing on either site.

Reports of bullying.

Human trafficking and experimentation.

Parents who are trying their best to hide the fact that they hate their kid for the shame their powerlessness has brought upon their families.

Grainy recordings of Quirkless people fighting one another in blood stained arenas as the onlookers jeer and place bets.

It all twists his stomach in different ways. Not for the first time, he wonders what Midoriya Inko would do if she were in his place. He can still hear Izuku crying every now and again over the sounds of running water. He knows it has to be cold by now and lays the extra blanket over the arm of the sofa in preparation for when Izuku finally comes out.

Another ten minutes pass with no sign of the bathroom freeing up any time soon. He sighs heavily and heaves himself up from the sofa. There is a grocery store just down the street that he is sure will let him use their restroom, as long as he buys something. As always, he locks the door from the outside when he leaves. On his walk to the store he decides that, for the first time since he brought Izuku home, he is going to cook.

.

Izuku has to come out eventually. He's spent the last two and a half hours alternating between crying and washing his hair. The smell of his mother's shampoo wraps around him and he can almost pretend that he is back home with her, that she is waiting just outside the bathroom door with a smile he can't picture anymore to hug him tightly and tell him that everything is going to be okay.

He wants to hide. He wants to keep pretending. He doesn't want to see the disgust and disappointment on his mentor's face. After all, the doctor had made it painfully clear that Quirkless people can't become heroes. He can still remember the hatred in the eyes of his classmates before Stendhal took him, the way they had jeered and teased him back when they only suspected that he may be Quirkless. He can still hear the worry in his mother's voice as she assured him that his Quirk would show up eventually.

Tucked away in the bathroom, he can at least pretend that the visit never happened despite the ache in his leg and the boot that sits nearby. It can't last forever though and he has to face reality no matter how much he doesn't want to.

Izuku gives his toes one last glare before he turns the knob and emerges into the living room, one foot bare and the other encased in the boot. Chizome is sitting with his back to Izuku, scrolling through his phone and huffing with restrained laughter every few seconds at some post or another. Izuku can catch the curl of his smile on the corners of his too big mouth. It is not the scene that he was expecting to be greeted with, but it is an infinitely better scenario.

Interest piqued, he wanders over to stand behind the sofa to sneak a glimpse of what Stendhal is laughing at. The laptop is open on the table and playing soft music in a language Izuku doesn't recognize. The small apartment smells like food and it is making Izuku's mouth water and his stomach growl. It is almost enough to pull his thoughts away from the revelations of the night.

"Hey kid." Stendhal doesn't turn to look at him, but he doesn't sound angry. "You wanna see?"

Izuku scrambles eagerly over the back of the sofa to sit by Stendhal's side, the bulky boot making his movements awkward and clumsy. He is pretty sure he nailed Stendhal in the back of the head with it, but the man doesn't say anything. Izuku presses close to his side, eyes wide with open curiosity as he tries to get a better look at the screen. He grins.

An All Might meme smiles back at him.

They spend the next 20 minutes scrolling through hero memes and candid pictures of various heroes making silly faces in the midst of battles. The Endeavor ones make Stendhal laugh the hardest, but Izuku thinks the Best Jeanist ones are funnier. There aren't any silly pictures of All Might, only ones where his smile gets bigger and bigger. Still, Izuku laughs so hard his stomach hurts and he almost forgets why he was so sad in the first place. Eventually, a timer beeps and Stendhal tells him to wash his hands and get the table ready for dinner.

"What is this?" Izuku asks, eyes lighting up as a paper plate loaded with rice and meat and string beans is set in front of him. He can't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal, though he likes to think that his mom might have made him all of his favorites once upon a time.

"It's adobo," Stendhal tells him. He looks uncomfortable. "My mom used to make it all the time. It was one of my favorites when I was little so I thought you might like it too."

"I don't think you've ever talked about your family before," Izuku says. Stendhal shrugs, his eyes trained on his own food.

"Never really saw the need to. They're long gone."

Izuku doesn't respond. He takes his first bite and wanders what his mom would say if she knew he is Quirkless. Would she make him special food, too?

The taste hits him all at once. It dances across his tongue, sharp and salty and clean and nothing like the fast food and takeout he's been eating for the past five years. He takes another bite and imagines Stendhal in the kitchen, working to cook this while Izuku only worked to shut him out. His vision blurs and he has to fight past the lump in his throat in order to swallow his mouthful.

He wipes at his eyes, trying to hide the tears before Stendhal can see. Is this a final meal? He is so afraid that the moment the man remembers that he is powerless and unfit for heroics, he will be thrown out.

Maybe it would be better. At least then he might be able to find his way back home, but for some reason the thought of Stendhal abandoning him makes his chest hurt. He doesn't want his old friends to be right about him. At least with Stendhal he is able to help people. He can be something more than a weak, useless crybaby. He can be strong enough that his mom doesn't have to look at him with tears in her eyes.

(Would his mom even want him back, if she knew he is Quirkless?)

Stendhal watches him, teeth clenched and lips pulled back into a grimace. Izuku can almost hear them grinding together. It just makes him cry harder. The tears slip past his already aching eyes and down his cheeks, burning as they go. He leans back so he won't ruin the food.

A tense moment passes, silent besides the soft sound of his sniffling. Stendhal sighs, putting his fork down and leaning back in his seat. "Don't cry, kid. I'm sorry it tastes bad. You don't have to eat it, so just throw it away and we'll grab something from the corner store, okay?"

Izuku jolts, waving his plastic spoon through the air as if it can ward off Stendhal's words. "No! It's good. It's really good. Thank you."

The man's brow wrinkles with his confusion. He looks between the plate and Izuku's tear streaked face, then his eyes trail down to the boot on his leg.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm Quirkless."

"Yeah, I get how that would be a shock. But I thought maybe you'd already, uh, finished crying about it? Earlier? You were in the bathroom for, like, three hours."

He looks so awkward that Izuku can't help but laugh, the sounds dry and choked as it rasps its way out of his sore throat. He shakes his head, ignoring the way Stendhal eyes the place the window should be like he would rather tear the bricks down with his bare hands and jump from it than take part in the impending conversation. Izuku understands because if he had the choice he would do the same.

"Stendhal...can I still be a hero even if I'm Quirkless?" The silence that meets his question is deafening. Stendhal's face is unusually pale, his red eyes widening in what Izuku can only guess must be shock. Or maybe disgust. Fresh tears spill down his cheeks as his breath hitches, his heart catching somewhere in his throat as his stomach sinks to the floor. "I can't, can I? Wh-what will you do with me? I'm useless. I've always been useless!"

The table shakes as Stendhal slams his hands down onto it, making the food on Izuku's plate jump. He flinches back, the tears coming harder.

"Izuku." The man's voice is practically a growl. "Calm down."

Izuku apologizes through his sobs as the man rounds the table, grabbing him roughly by his shoulders. Izuku braces himself, not sure whether he is about to be struck down or thrown out. As awful and crazy as it is, he doesn't want to lose the only home he has known for the last five years. He doesn't want to be a disappointment to the man who has been caring for him for all this time. As useless as he is, he still wants to help.

He realizes he is mumbling when he sees the stricken look on Stendhal's face. His mouth goes dry. Memories of his friends surface again, the way they had hurt him and taunted him and thrown around the word Quirkless like a weapon. They had thought the way he talked to himself was creepy, just one more thing to make him a freak and an outcast. He thinks about the burn scar on his shoulder, the only parting gift he had received on the day he was taken, and wonders what new ways Stendhal might find to hurt him for being such a freak.

The hug is a surprise.

Izuku stiffens as Stendhal pulls him closer, muscular arms firm and warm around Izuku's small frame. He is completely enveloped in the embrace and it strikes him as strange that he is only now reminded of how big and strong his mentor is. He can hear the man's heart beating and feel the way his chest rumbles as he speaks.

"I'm sorry Izuku. I'm sorry you ever thought that I would do something like that. I won't abandon you, not over something like this."

Izuku is trembling, his breath hitching as he whispers, "Promise?"

"I promise. Quirkless or not, you'll still be the greatest hero this world has ever seen. I'll make sure of it."

Izuku hiccups, burying his face in Stendhal's chest and wrapping his arms around the man. He pulls him closer and Izuku feels smothered and crushed and warm and safe. He doesn't mind at all.

He won't be abandoned. He isn't useless or weak. He's Quirkless, but Stendhal believes that he can still be a hero. That means it must be true.

.

The house is massive and old, and it is only years of training that allow him to creep soundlessly through the halls. A single misstep would mean the creak of a floorboard or the noisy clattering of antique decorum crashing to the ground. He can't risk waking the home's occupants.

After Izuku had gone to bed, Chizome had continued his research. He had spent hours combing through the videos and blog posts. He had watched the bidding for a Quirkless girl rise from 10,000 yen to 1,000,000 yen in minutes and saw the way that the interested parties demeaned the people they were bidding on even as they lusted after them. It was horrific and entirely expected.

He had reconsidered his promise to Izuku, just for a moment. Would allowing Izuku to pursue his dream be what was best for him? He will be faced with villains and the dark underbelly of the world every day, each interaction promising something new and horrific. Each moment will be another chance for someone to learn of his condition and take advantage of him.

Quirks are common. They can be fascinating individually, but as a whole they are boring. Almost everyone has one. Simply possessing a Quirk is no more exciting than having skin, but the Quirkless are a different story.

They are rare, and rare means interesting. Interesting means valuable, which means that Izuku will be in danger if anyone ever finds out. He is only just beginning to understand that being a hero is not just about smiling in the face of danger and more about surviving it. He is far too young to be able to comprehend why being a Quirkless hero is so much worse.

He had grappled with the thought for hours as he had scoured the dark web and a variety of mommy blogs. Both had Quirkless children on display, though the latter generally included a long winded post about how the parent in question had sacrificed so much to accommodate their child. Both made him sick for very different reasons. He had thought about Izuku's mother as he read, wondering if Midoriya Inko would have been yet another parent who tried to convince the world she was a saint and was better than the others for putting up with someone with Izuku's condition.

The mere thought curdles in his stomach, taking root and filling him with a quiet fury. Other people would have never been able to see Izuku's potential. They would have ruined him before he ever got the chance to shine and crushed him if he tried to rise above the station they had assigned him.

The world won't see Izuku's potential, how he is the perfect amalgamation of every trait that can be found in the truest of heroes. The bullies he had called friends won't see his determination and strength. They will only sense his loyalty and exploit it, never returning his earnest offers of friendship. His mother will smile at how kind hearted and generous her son is, but won't accept that with those traits comes his hard headed stubbornness and willingness to sacrifice himself for the good of others. They will look at him and only see the extra joint in his pinky toe – never his true self.

Izuku is perfectly suited to hero work in every way, yet somehow the universe has neglected to provide him with the one thing most believe a person needs to succeed as a hero.

Stendhal's frown deepens behind his mask as he considers, once again, the kind of hardships his kid will face. The ridicule and the danger and the greedy, evil people that will look at him and see dollar signs or entertainment or something to tear apart and experiment on.

But he also thinks of the way civilians look at the boy when he steps in to lead them away to safety, and of the warmth and unadulterated joy he can see shining in Izuku's eyes every time he is able to help someone. The world needs a hero like Izuku.

He narrowly avoids tripping over a loose floorboard and shakes his head, annoyed with himself. The best thing he can do is be honest with Izuku about what he will be facing. The kid is smart and they can come up with a plan together. For now, he needs to focus on the task at hand.

He arrives at the bedroom. The door is open and they are both asleep, oblivious to the unwelcome guest in their home. They are unaware that these will be their final moments on this earth. He watches them for a while, counting his heartbeats and their even breaths as he thinks about the way the doctor had healed Izuku without hesitation. He can't find a trace of guilt within himself at the thought of killing her. The killer who lurks in the shadows is not the same man who took Izuku to be healed earlier that day, just as the man who works days at a menial job is not the same as the man who stole a child from the playground all those years ago.

The doctor has done nothing to earn his ire. She helps others without a thought spared towards money or social status. It will be a great loss to the world, but his kid's safety comes first. No one can know the truth about Izuku.

Anyone who saw him at the clinic will not survive the night. He had had someone wipe the records clean the moment he and Izuku had arrived safely home that evening, and the clinic itself has already gone up in flames to destroy any physical copies there may have been.

He draws his blade. His mouth waters and he wets his lips, muscles tensing. He breathes in, out, fingers tightening around the hilt of the sword. His targets shift in their sleep as if sensing his intentions. Doctor Yamaguchi's eyes flutter open. He moves.

The doctor and her wife don't have the chance to scream.

Long chapter, I hope no one minds! Readers, would you prefer one long chapter or multiple shorter ones like I have been doing?

As a heads up to everyone, some time in the next few chapters there will be some pretty heavy Vigilantes spoilers, mostly for chapters 9 - 11 where Stendhal shows up. It will only really matter for one chapter, but I just wanted to let everyone know so there is time to go read the Vigilantes manga if you want to. :)

I will probably be going through earlier chapters to do some minor editing at some point. When I started this fic I really had no plans or directions, but I do now so I need to either edit the past or change my plans for the future to match. That said, I'm still interested in getting a beta for this fic if anyone is into that.

I hope you liked this chapter and that it was worth the wait! Please leave a review if you've made it this far into my author's note!