The house is old enough that no matter how this investigation goes, Tatsui is determined to report it to the city and have the damn place condemned before he wraps this case up. The front step creaks as Tatsui steps onto it, and it continues its protest as he moves carefully to the front door and presses his ear to the rough wood, trying to listen for any movement inside. He cringes when the old door groans in protest as his weight settles against it, biting back the urge to curse. Luckily, he doesn't hear anything from inside.
He breathes a sigh of relief and tries the handle. The sun-warmed metal is slippery against his sweaty palm, and he quickly wipes his hand against the shirt he's wearing to cover the slick material of his hero costume before trying again. It's locked of course, because nothing can ever be easy, but he came prepared.
The little lock-picking kit combined with his quirk makes quick work of the obstacle, and he eases the door open. Breath held and heart hammering inside his chest, he freezes on the threshold, waiting for something to happen. He isn't stupid enough to call out a horror movie "Hello?" into the quiet depths of the cabin, but he can feel the word poised on the tip of his tongue. It takes more effort than it should to swallow the urge down, but he feels his nerves slowly beginning to settle as the seconds pass and nothing happens.
The wood floor creaks beneath his foot as he steps inside, and he freezes again, eyes darting over the dim interior. Nothing moves in response to his intrusion, save for the dust motes that hang suspended in the slim fingers of sunlight making it through the boarded-up windows. He allows himself a small smile and creeps further into the cabin, head held higher as he surveys the shit hole that his suspect's been disappearing to on his days off.
The space is small and simple, with the front door opening into the kitchen and living space. It's all covered in a thin layer of dust, though it looks freshly disturbed and there's a broom abandoned against a wall and a stained rag sitting on the kitchen counter. The cabinets are all hanging open, and all but the top shelves are cleared out.
Though the living space is pathetically barren of any usable furniture, there is a thin sleeping roll tucked into the corner next to several packed bags. One of the open duffel bags is spilling an impressive collection of blades onto the floor next to it. Definitely suspicious, he concludes with a little thrill of adrenaline-tinged excitement.
With a twitch of his fingers, he draws the various knives and swords towards him. They hang suspended in the air around him, glowing faintly gold as his quirk keeps them aloft. He examines them with a critical eye, nose wrinkling at the signs of use. Gross and ugly looking, but they'll work well enough. Another twist of his hands, and the various blades take their places, spreading like a peacock's tail behind him. It's a move he's spent hours perfecting by practicing in the bathroom mirror, confident that one day it will be his signature move when he's in the big leagues. Sometimes, late at night, he likes to lay in bed and imagine himself on stage, placing high in the rankings for the top ten while his fans all cheer and whisper to each other about how cool he looks with his golden blades spread out behind him. Endeavor and All Might themselves would congratulate him and request to work together!
The familiarity of the action and the fantasies it brings to the forefront of his mind makes his breaths come a little easier. The soft scrape and ring of metal shifting with every move he makes is comforting. If all goes well today, he reminds himself, he'll be one step closer to achieving his dreams.
Off of the living area, he counts three doors. Two open, one closed. He figures the closed one is probably his best bet at finding whatever it is that Yamada is hiding. People tend to lock away their secrets and their most prized possessions, after all.
As he crouches before the door, lock picks in hand and glowing faintly as he wills his quirk to work its magic, Tatsui's mind is racing with thoughts of what might lay beyond the door. He imagines mountains of evidence; stacks of papers full of secrets piled high as the ceiling. Or maybe he'll find the weapon used to cut Ingenium down, still crusted with his blood. This sicko is probably the type to keep trophies; maybe he's got it mounted on the wall so he can relive the moment he got the better of a pro. Probably does some nasty shit while thinking about it, too.
Tatsui snickers to himself, head ducked low to listen for the distinctive click of a door unlocking. Between his focus on the lock and the blood pounding like a drum inside his head, he doesn't hear the footsteps until they're almost directly behind him. He stiffens when he hears a sharp intake of breath.
"Are you—?"
He doesn't give them time to finish the thought. He refuses to let himself be taken unawares, not when he's so close to everything he's ever wanted! Heart in his throat, he whirls to face them, knives splaying out like an animal's threat display and bathing him in golden light. Without hesitation, he throws one hand towards the figure, glowing knife following the arc of his arm, racing towards the danger.
A small voice cries out. The figure stumbles back, a blur of deep green and blood red. Tatsui finally processes who, exactly, he's staring at, and his chest nearly bursts with the way his heart pounds against his ribcage. His mouth falls open, and he feels a little lightheaded.
Midoriya Izuku.
Stendhal's accomplice stands before him, gasping and clutching at his face. Blood leaks between his fingers, running down his wrist and staining his shirt. A few fat drops plop to the floor, and the sound of their impact seems too loud in the stifling silence that blankets this lonely cabin. One eye peers out at him, big and wet and full of fear and silent accusations. The eerie brightness of it cuts through the gloom, like a warning sign reflecting his headlights back to him on a foggy night.
Tatsui swallows and slowly, glee bubbles up to fill the hollow spaces in his chest that his split second of panic had carved out. He was right. This blows any proof he'd been hoping to find right out of the water. All he has to do now is bring the kid in, and his promotion is as good as got.
"Hi there," he says, trying to keep his voice low and gentle. Despite his best efforts, it is tinged with excitement. The kid stares back, wild-eyed and with one hand still pressed to his cheek in a futile effort to stop the flow of blood. The cut must be deep to be bleeding so heavily. Tatsui hides a wince, knowing that it won't be a good look to bring the kid back in this state. "Come with me. We can get you fixed up. You don't have to be scared; I'm a hero."
"But…you hurt me." The words come out bland and emotionless, like he's trying to process the situation. Stupid. He's wasting time! The flash of annoyance must show on his face, because Izuku's eyes flicker and he takes a wary step back. "Wh-what do you want?"
"I just want to help," Tatsui soothes, eyes raking up and down the kid's frame, trying to figure out what he's supposed to say to get him to move his ass so they can get out of here. He's a skinny little twig of a kid, so unkempt it's bordering on neglected. His clothes hang off his body, several sizes too large for his tiny frame. His knobby knees are a mess of fresh scrapes and old scars, and there are bandages plastered up and down what's visible of his arms and legs. The mop of hair atop his head is a wild green tangle and it makes him think, absurdly, of his mother's garden and how it had been abandoned and left to rot after she'd died.
The kid shakes his head, quick and frantic and never taking his eyes off of Tatsui. He takes another step back, putting more distance between them instead of running into the hero's arms like he's supposed to. What's wrong with this brat?
"You should go," he says, so softly that Tatsui almost doesn't hear him. "Now."
"I'm not going anywhere, kid. Not without you." Before he can even finish his sentence, the kid is shaking his head again.
"You're not getting it! You have to go, and I'm not going with you!"
The slow, burning annoyance is slowly turning into a simmering anger. Tatsui looks around the cabin, takes in the sleeping roll and the weapons laying out in the open and the cleaning that's been done once more. There are no shackles around those skinny wrists, and no bruises to indicate that he's been restrained. He thinks about how this brat hadn't lifted a finger to warn Ingenium of the impending attack that everyone agreed that he had seen coming. The pieces slot into place, and Tatsui realizes that he was right again. This little shit was definitely in on that attack.
Which makes him just as bad as the so-called Stendhal, and makes this job a whole lot easier. The kid is scrawny, and Tatsui has no doubt he'll be able to restrain him without much trouble. He just needs the brat to hold still long enough to grab.
He advances slowly, trying not to let on what his plan is, but for every step forward the kid takes two steps back, putting more distance between them. His bare heel knocks against the blade that Tatsui had flung, and the kid winces as it is sent skittering across the floor, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Irritation swirls inside his chest, poisoning his excitement. If he would just hold still, this would be over with already, but he's just making things harder than they need to be. The little shit is going to ruin this for him!
"Stay back," Izuku whimpers, eyes roaming the room wildly, searching for a way out. Tatsui has moved so that he's standing between him and the only way out of the cabin, though. He keeps his smile plastered across his features, trying his best to exude comfort despite the disdain that's only growing with every second wasted. Every minute spent trying to wrangle this pain in his ass is another minute that Yamada-slash-Stendhal could come back.
"I want you to come with me," Tatsui grits out around his smile, repeating the words from earlier. "I want to help."
His fingers twitch at his side, and the blades dance in response. A threat if this kid is as bad as Tatsui thinks he must be. A promise of protection if, by some miracle, Tatsui is wrong and he's actually innocent. His reaction will tell Tatsui all he needs to know.
Those wide green eyes dart towards the blades that must be familiar to him. His face pales impossibly further, and Tatsui can see his hand shake where it's still clutched against his cheek. He takes another step forward, and as he does, he feels a sharp burst of pain against his leg.
"SONUVA—!"
A mangy ball of grey fur has latched itself onto him, hissing and spitting and yowling as it digs claws and teeth into his calf. He shouts and curses, shaking his leg to try to dislodge it. The cat only clings harder, shrieking its fury, leaving scratches burning up and down his leg. The kid is shouting, voice tinged with terror and desperation, but Tatsui pays him no mind, focused only on getting the little beast off of himself.
He spins, slamming his leg and the stupid cat into the wall. It lets out a final, pathetic little croak, before it slumps boneless to the ground. The kid warbles out a scream, and Tatsui breathes out his own shaky breath, fixing his hair and trying to catch his breath as he turns back towards the kid. He's useless. Couldn't even call his crazy animal off. The damn thing probably has rabies!
"Now for you," he snarls, lunging forward, at last closing the space between them in just a few steps. The boy makes a sound like a wounded animal as he tries to scramble back again, hands clenched tight to his chest like that will be enough to shield him from the justice that is coming for him. His teary eyes keep darting back towards the still form of the cat, and maybe Tatsui would feel a little guilty if the damn thing hadn't attacked him first. He grabs the kid's collar and jerks him close, eyes narrowed as he forces the kid to meet his eye. "Listen here, you little pain-in-my-ass. You're coming with me, and when we get back, we're…we…."
He trails off, suddenly breathless as the throbbing pain in his leg becomes distant and trivial all at once. It's like it shifts and settles elsewhere, sharp and tight and so much worse. Izuku stands frozen mere inches in front of him, staring up with those wide wide eyes. The blood dripping from his cheek mixes with the tears running down his face, pale pink droplets staining the wood boards beneath their feet.
Tatsui looks down. His hand is steady as it wraps itself around the hilt of the blade that is sunk deep into his abdomen. He has enough first aid training that he knows better, but the tiny voice in the back of his head directing him not to pull the knife out is drowned out by the screaming panic demanding that he get it out now now NOW! The blades surrounding them tremble, metal knocking against metal like windchimes inside his head.
The knife he pulls from his body is the same one he had thrown at the kid earlier. Faintly, he hopes that there's no chance of bloodborne diseases, since it was probably still smeared with the kid's blood. There's no telling what nasty shit he's gotten into.
It's a bigger concern than being stabbed, probably.
He tries to remember what percentage of stabbings are fatal. It's low, isn't it? Less than 10%. But it hurts. It hurts and his brain is feeling foggy and his whole body is buzzing as the adrenaline and the panic flow through him, keeping him upright even though the pain should be enough to send him to his knees.
The kid is still staring at him, though he's stumbled back, hand smearing a bloodied trail across the countertop he clutches for support. Beneath the red of blood and exposed muscle and the pale yellow of the baby fat still clinging to his cheek, he's gone deathly pale. He's shaking so badly he can hardly keep himself upright, and Tatsui distantly wonders if maybe he had the kid pegged wrong after all. What kind of psycho gets all shaken up about a little stabbing?
He feels cold. His hands are shaking. Why is this damned cabin so cold? Has that asshole really been leaving this stupid kid here, all alone in this painful cold?
The sudden thought strikes him that he needs to get to a hospital right away. Even if the kid can't drive, now's gotta be as good a time as any for him to learn.
"Let's get out of here," he says again, trying to step forward, but the words are slurred and the world tilts and blurs as he stumbles. He doesn't feel the impact when he hits the ground. Somewhere far away, he thinks he hears someone screaming. Feels small hands pressing against the hole he'd pulled the knife from. He thinks that maybe–
.
(It doesn't matter, because he'll never get to finish any thought again.)
Sorry, I really did intend to just post one big chapter for the ending. But my uncle died unexpectedly and work really sucks bc they STILL haven't hired anyone to replace the two people that quit so I'm trying to keep up with three peoples' jobs, and I'm really burnt out and probably getting hit with the depression stick so! Chapter is getting split up so you don't have to wait another six months before the next one lol. Next chapter will be the last one (for this part of the fic) for real! Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review, subscribe, or bookmark. You guys are the reason this story continues on.
Thank you, as always, to Shae for being the best beta in the world. Feel free to join the (very quiet) discord if you want to!