Nikko is a warm and comforting presence as she settles herself in his lap. She's purring in that funny, wheezy way of hers. If not for the way she limped when she came to him, there would be no sign at all of what she'd done for him.

Well, none except the little tears in the stranger's pant leg. They're almost invisible, though, so soaked with blood that the fabric and the hint of skin beneath looks almost black with it. Izuku shifts silently backwards, away from the slowly expanding puddle. It doesn't do much good since his clothes are already stained, but at least it keeps Nikko away from it.

He feels…nothing. Quiet. Empty. Numb, maybe. He keeps staring, waiting for the stranger to open his eyes and climb to his feet, or for the blood and the body to disappear between one blink and the next. He keeps hoping to wake up from this awful nightmare in their old apartment, curled beneath familiar covers, with Stendhal's raspy humming drifting in from the kitchen.

That home and the person his mentor used to be are both long gone, though. Burnt away to ashes and lost to him forever. Just like the life he'd once shared with his mother. The one he hardly even has memories of, now.

Oh, yeah. His mom. She'd been looking for him, hadn't she? What would she think, if she could see him right now? She'd probably decide he wasn't worth all the trouble, and she'd be right. He wouldn't blame her if she decided she didn't want him, after all. This isn't something he thinks can be forgiven.

The thought feels like a physical blow, and he hunches over, trying not to jostle Nikko as he does. Every breath punches its way out of his lungs, short and harsh and painful. A low moan tears from his throat. Nikko's purring pauses momentarily, then starts up again twice as loud, like she's trying to drown out the sound of his misery with her rumblings. Her little pinprick claws knead his thighs, over and over, but he can hardly feel it beyond the pain of everything else. His head is pounding pounding pounding, thoughts so loud as they twist and tumble over one another until they've become a roaring white noise that screams against the inside of his skull and makes the horrible throbbing in his cheek worse and worse with each passing second.

He runs his hands over Nikko's soft fur, not noticing when it becomes tacky with the blood that is staining his shaking hands. Her ear flicks and her crooked tail twitches with silent agitation, but she doesn't move away. Izuku watches the dark puddle grow and grow, and his world narrows until it becomes nothing but the painful cacophony inside his head and the burning on his face; the fur beneath his hands; that puddle inching so slowly towards him, like it wants to swallow him whole. Maybe he should let it.

He doesn't know how much time passes before he feels hands on his face, tilting it, pressing something against his cheek. Izuku flinches at the sudden flare of impossible, unbearable heat that the touch brings. He tries to pull away, but the grip on the back of his neck only tightens, holding him still. Izuku settles and blinks a few times, wondering why his vision is so blurry before it occurs to him that he must be crying again.

A familiar face swims into view, and the relief that fills his chest feels too heavy to hold. He sags, and feels those calloused hands shift to wrap tight around his arm and steady him. Stendhal's lips are moving, and some distant part of Izuku realizes that the faint buzzing tickle against the edges of his consciousness must be his mentor's voice. He squeezes his eyes shut, and whimpers as the action makes the pain flare again. Tears slip down his cheeks faster, but when he opens his eyes again, they're finally clear, and he can make out the worried look on Stendhal's face.

Those familiar hands card through his hair, more gentle than they've been in months. He leans into the touch, lower lip wobbling, and he sees Stendhal's lips form the words, I'm here now, you're safe.

The sob that rips from his chest hurts, and Izuku lurches forward to bury himself in Stendhal's arms, muffling his wails in the warmth of the hug he's automatically engulfed in. It's warm and familiar, and all he wants is to let himself disappear into the sensation and never have to face the world again.

That's not allowed, though. Stendhal rocks him gently until his wailing has quieted to hiccuping, and then he gently untangles himself from the embrace. He holds Izuku at arms' length, sunken eyes darting across his features, a dark look passing lightning-quick across his face when his eyes land on the blood smeared over Izuku's cheek again. It is quickly replaced by concern, and he stands and guides Izuku to his feet as well, one hand staying firmly on his shoulder to steady him when he sways. Nikko had been annoyed enough at some point to give up her spot on his lap. She's settled herself on the back of the single ratty chair that had been here when they'd moved in, tail twitching as she watches them with narrowed blue eyes.

"You hurt anywhere else?" Stendhal asks, voice low and rough, and it snaps Izuku's attention back to him. There's a strange but gentle intensity to his tone that Izuku hasn't heard since the night they learned he was Quirkless. Chizome hefts Izuku onto the kitchen counter like he weighs nothing at all, cringing when Izuku's face crumples and the wound on his cheek starts bleeding anew.

(It's almost funny how Izuku had thought that being Quirkless was so terrible, back then. Maybe, if he had decided he couldn't be a hero after all, then this would have never happened. That hero would still be alive. His mom might still be able to love him.)

"J-jus-just my ch-cheek," he manages to gasp between hiccuping breaths, rubbing the back of a bloodstained sleeve across the uninjured side to wipe away the tears. It doesn't work very well.

"Right," Stendhal murmurs, reaching past him to turn on the sink. The old pipes rattle like always, but a gush of clear water begins to flow after a second. He wets a rag that had been left on the counter, waiting to be packed away. "This'll hurt," he warns, before pressing it to Izuku's cheek.

The boy chokes on a scream, cringing back in another subconscious attempt to escape the pain, but Stendhal's other hand holds him steady so he can't get away. It reminds him a little bit of when he was young and still trying to escape, back before he had learned how hopeless it really was. Stendhal's grip has always been as solid as steel. It would be easier to escape from shackles and chains than it would be to break free of his hold.

"You're doing good, kiddo," he murmurs, red eyes intense as they trace the rivulets of pink-tinged water as they run from the rag and down Izuku's cheek. Izuku can feel the uncomfortable tickle of warm tears joining in with the cold water, cutting down both cheeks and leaving tracks through the smeared blood. He bites his lip to hold back another sob. It's hard to tell whether the blood he tastes is from his lip or not. "We just need to get this cleaned up and bandaged. We can deal with everything else after. Okay?"

"Okay," Izuku whispers, clenching his trembling hands in his lap. Blood stains his shorts and is caught beneath his nails. He picks at it idly, trying to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Trying to focus on anything else, but he can't, because the blood is right there and it isn't going away.

"You did good," Chizome tells him, smoothing a hand carefully through his hair. Nikko stares at him from across the room, her little grey paws and the silver fur on her back all stained red. Izuku does his best to smile at Chizome, and then he turns to the side and vomits.

Chizome rubs a hand over his back as he heaves, and it's so gentle and careful that it only makes Izuku feel worse, because he knows he doesn't deserve the comfort. He wants this all to go away. He wants to wake up from this terrible nightmare, and be back where he feels safe and whole. He wants—

"I want to go home," Izuku rasps when he finally comes up for air, the words feeling like fire on his cheek as they break the silence that has settled over the cabin. The worst part is, he's not even sure which home he means anymore. Chizome seems to understand, though, because he lets out a great gust of air, heaving himself up onto the countertop beside Izuku to survey the unmoving form of the…man. The hero, if his earlier claim is to be believed.

Chizome's foot hits the flimsy cabinet door as he adjusts himself, loud and jarring. He's still wearing his work boots, and Izuku notices for the first time that he's left red treadmarks across the floor. The old wood soaks it up, eager to provide proof of the terrible thing that Izuku's done. That's never going to wash away.

Izuku does not flinch away when Chizome wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close once more. He's warm and gentle, and Izuku breathes in the familiar smell of him. It helps calm the drums beating inside of his skull, if only just a little. Against the steadfast wall of his mentor's side, Izuku's trembling is even more obvious. Neither of them comment on it.

"You know you can't, kid."

Izuku shakes his head, eyes locked on the form laying silent and still in a pool of blood just a few meters away. He just can't seem to wrap his head around why the man isn't moving, even though he should know. He does know. He just doesn't want to admit it, because if he admits it, then that makes it real.

He leans more into Chizome's side hug, head tucked beneath his arm like a baby bird hidden beneath its mother's wing. It makes him feel safe, even though it probably shouldn't. He watches the unmoving form for another long, silent moment, and tries his best to let the terrible reality sink in without drowning him. Blood is no longer flowing from the hole in his chest. Izuku wants to tell himself that that's because he's started healing already, but the lie feels flimsy even in the privacy of his own mind. That's not how the world works, and he knows it all too well.

"It was an accident." Izuku's voice trembles when he finally forces the words out. They're a confession and a plea for absolution all at once. The blood covering the floor looks darker now, starting to get sticky as it hardens around the edges of the pool. It's not spreading anymore.

"Self defense," Chizome corrects absently. "—but…yeah. I know, kid."

"I have to…to tell her. I need to make sure she knows that I—I didn't m-mean to. I don't want her to h-h-hate me."

"What, your little friend in Naruhata? I don't think she—"

"No! My mom! I want my mom!"

Stendhal is silent for a long time after his outburst, and Izuku waits, breaths harsh and ragged, listening to the steady thudding of his mentor's heart and the muffled birdsong filtering in from outside. In the shadows of the sunlight that creeps in the spaces between window boards, he watches the echoes of swaying tree branches. The shadows are longer and deeper now, warning of the approaching night. The man lays before them, silent and still.

The sunlight looks pretty when it glitters off the silver of his costume and the nearly black pool surrounding him.

"Don't you understand?" Chizome asks after a long time, his voice low and careful, like the dead man mere feet away may wake if he speaks too loud. Wishful thinking. "It's only me, Izuku. I'm the only one you can trust. I'm the only one who won't judge you, won't hate you, because I'm the only one who can understand you now. We're the same, kiddo."

The words have his breath catching like a knife in his chest. A high, keening sound escapes before he can stop it, and he leans away from Chizome's overwhelming warmth.

"But I don't—"

Chizome is standing again before he can get through the thought, hunched over so his face is level with Izuku's. His arms cage Izuku in and each of his breaths whistle through the hole where his nose once was, tickling against Izuku's lips with every exhale. Izuku flinches back, head bumping painfully against a cabinet, but Chizome's heavy hand grasps the back of his neck once more to keep him still. The other comes to hold his face, relentless and uncaring of the way Izuku whimpers as fingers sink into flesh and tug at the cut. He can feel blood dripping down his cheek again as Stendhal examines him, and he wants to squirm and wipe it away, but the intensity of that focus roots Izuku to the spot.

He can't look away, the bruising grip forcing him to meet Chizome's red eyes. They're glowing like embers sunk deep into the hollows of his face. Izuku is trembling and the world around him keeps spinning and spinning and he can't seem to catch his breath, so he instead listens to the sound of Chizome's breathing and does his best to match his own to it. Blood is tickling his face and neck as it runs down, and he realizes suddenly that the hems of his shorts are tacky and warm and sticking to his skin, but he can't seem to tear his gaze away long enough to do anything about either thing.

"Izuku," he rasps, and his breath smells like rust and the cereal he likes at breakfast. "You killed someone."

"I didn't mean to—" A squeeze cuts him off, and he bites his tongue but can't hold back a whimper at the sharp jolt of pain.

"You killed a hero. Do you really think they'll take you back now?"

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, bigger and bigger until it's blocking his throat, locking away the words and the denials he wants to say out loud. Maybe, if he could just say my mom would still love me then that might make it true.

"You killed a hero, Izuku," Chizome repeats, slow and deliberate, and his thumb makes slow sweeps across Izuku's cheek, smearing the blood, so close to the open wound that it makes Izuku's skin crawl and his stomach clench. Chizome's been raising him all this time to be a hero someday. The kind of hero that will help anybody in need, who can smile and never back down, all while making sure that nobody gets hurt.

He's failed in every way. He was a coward and he was weak and stupid, and now he's killed someone. He's killed a hero, and that's not what good people do.

Maybe Izuku isn't a good person, after all, and the thought makes his chest feel tight and his throat all clogged up with the terrible realization. He imagines Chizome's finger digging into the cut, making it wider and deeper, until he can touch the teeth beneath. It's what Izuku would deserve, after what he's done.

Does Chizome hate him now, too?

(Has this all been for nothing?)

"I'm sorry," he breathes, blinking away the tears that are blurring his vision, and watches as Chizome's gaze softens. He sighs, then turns to throw a look over his shoulder. At the body that Izuku has made. "I'm so sorry."

"I know that you had no choice, kid. The truth is, this guy was just a villain, wearing the face of a hero. You did the right thing by taking him down, because you protected yourself and by extension, everyone else he would have hurt later on."

"I still ki– did something bad," Izuku whispers, not yet able to get the word out without choking on it. Those glowing eyes turn back towards Izuku, scanning his face, stopping once more on his bloodied cheek before drifting towards his wide, desperate eyes. He smiles.

"You did the right thing, kid. Imagine how many other heroes like this one are out there; villains in shiny costumes, putting on a false mask of purity only to turn around and torment the people they were meant to protect. It's not right, and someone needs to stop them."

Izuku shakes his head, brow furrowed, recognizing the dangerous intent sparking across Chizome's face, but not yet understanding what he's trying to say. That smile stretches wider, showing more teeth than any normal person can. His tongue lolls, wets his lips, leaves those teeth glinting wetly in the fading light.

"No one else will understand. They won't know why you did this, kid, and I can guarantee that they won't believe you if you try to tell them the truth. Too many people worship even the bad heroes; they don't know any better. That's why it's our responsibility to keep them safe from false heroes like this. We can be the ones to cleanse hero society."

.

At any other time, in any other situation, Chizome would have made the kid clean up his own mess. He's not totally heartless, though; the first time is the worst, and this one wasn't even fully planned ahead of time. It's painfully obvious Izuku's in no shape to be absorbing any lessons on body disposal or getting rid of evidence. Instead of a lecture or demonstration, Chizome runs a warm bath, lays out clean clothes for him, and as soon as the door shuts, he rolls up his sleeves to get started. Most of the packing and more mundane house cleaning is already done — aside from the bloodstains — so it's simple enough to finish that up. Then, he gathers up the swords scattered around the fake's body, carefully cleaning each one before packing them away. Finally, he grabs the ankles of the wannabe and heaves, dragging his dead weight across the living area and out the front door, making a face at the trail of blood the body oozes. It reminds him of a slug's trail. The cat circles the two of them, getting underfoot, croaking in offense when Chizome nearly stumbles over her.

She follows him all the way out to where the car's parked in a cusp of trees, not visible unless someone makes the effort to go looking for it. With a lot of grumbling and cursing, he manages to get the body to it and wrestle it into the driver's seat. Rigor mortis is beginning to set in, and the effort of shoving the asshole into a seated position leaves Chizome sweating.

He surveys his work and hums, lips twitching up when he slams the door shut and hears the crunch of fingers flattening in the door. There's a cliff not too far from here, right by a sharp turn, and another car had gone over just earlier this year. He's got some spare gas in the trunk of his own car. It won't be too hard to stage things to make it look like an accident, at least at first glance. It doesn't matter if the truth is discovered after an autopsy; Chizome just needs a few days to get him and his kid the hell out of here.

With the trash taken out, he heads back inside and surveys the truly impressive amount of blood that's painting the floor. For the first time in his life, he finds himself wishing that this place had finished floors. Cleanup might be a little easier that way. At least he'd bought enough bleach to drown himself with. It should take care of the problem well enough, though he doubts that the dark stain where the body'd bled out will ever go away.

"The things I do for this brat," he grumbles, but there's no real heat behind the words. There's no creaking of pipes yet, which tells him that Izuku is probably just sitting in what is doubtlessly now tepid and dirty water, trying to process the whole shitshow instead of actually washing up. Probably for the best, since that'll give him time to take care of this mess.

With a grimace, he uncaps the bleach. The smell burns his nose cavity, and he pauses briefly to fish out his backup mask and slide it into place, never more grateful for the filter that he'd requested be included in the design. The support kids at UA had been worth their weight in gold for giving him the idea, back during the brief time he'd spent there.

Chizome upends half the bottle onto the floor, not bothering to dilute it. Then, he grabs a mop and starts scrubbing, pausing only to shoo the cat away when she wanders too close to investigate. By the time the kid emerges from the bathroom, still bleary eyed and haunted but with his cheek properly bandaged, it's almost like nothing ever happened. The only trace of what happened is the overwhelming smell of bleach, and the strange dark spot, half hidden by what little furniture they have in the house that they can't take with them.

Izuku barely seems to notice the change, automatically sidestepping where the body had been and nearly running into the ratty armchair on his way to scoop up his cat for another session of one sided cuddling. She bristles and grumbles, but doesn't claw him for it. Chizome cringes as he watches Izuku rub his unbandaged cheek against hers, dreading the coming conversation.

"Come here," he says after a moment, and waits while Izuku stumbles, zombie-like, to stand before him. The cat glares, like it knows what's coming. He clears his throat, and rips off the bandaid.

"We're going to have to find somewhere else to keep your cat. At least until we get settled somewhere safe."

It will be longer than that. It will be forever. He figures the lie will be kinder, though. Izuku stares up at him, slowly chewing over the words like they were spoken in some unknown language. The moment it clicks is obvious, because Izuku gasps and pulls her closer to his chest, like that will be enough to shield the two of them from Chizome's decision.

"We can just take her with us," Izuku says, voice high and pleading as tears gather in his eyes. The cat gives her usual scratchy little mewl in agreement. Chizome sighs, fingers lifting to pinch the bridge of a nose that's no longer there before he settles for rubbing his temples instead. He's already tired, and they're going to have a long few days and nights of driving ahead of them before they're far enough away from this mess for him to feel safe enough to rest. He doesn't have it in him to argue right now, but he'll try, for Izuku's sake.

"We'll be moving around a lot. That's no life for a cat like her."

"But it's just fine for a kid?" Izuku demands, pulling the cat a little tighter against his chest. She wriggles now, uncomfortable and croaking again in halfhearted protest, before accepting her fate and settling more comfortably into his arms. Izuku's eyes are blazing, and his cheeks are flushed beneath the layers of stark white gauze. The sight of those bandages layered so heavily over his kid's face makes him wish the man who did it was still alive, if only so he could make his death much, much slower. Chizome can hear the cat purring, and does his best to focus on that instead. Izuku is fragile right now, and the last thing he wants is for him to get it into his head that he's angry with him about what happened.

"We will not be bringing the cat," he says firmly, standing strong against those big green eyes. He will not allow himself to be swayed by tears, threats, or begging. "Think about it, kid. Do you really think she'd be happy having to move around all the time?"

"Yes," the boy says, but there is no conviction in his tone. He's wavering, anger dissolving and his resolve already crumbling as he imagines the same future for the little creature as what looms before himself. "She'll be happy because we'll be together."

"It won't be enough. She won't be happy," Chizome says. "And she might even be in danger. Do you want that for her?"

Izuku hesitates, but shakes his head. A fat tear slips down his cheek and lands on the cat's fluffy grey head. She makes a little merp sound that would probably be cute from any other creature.

"She's my best friend," Izuku admits, and the tears begin falling freely. "She saved my life."

"I know," Chizome says, remembering the scratches he'd noted on Sky Sword's leg before sending him off to the bottom of a cliff, but wondering if that is all that Izuku is referring to.

They sit together for a long while, listening to the beginning of the crickets' evening chorus and the cat's continuous purring. She is kneading Izuku's chest, claws catching in his shirt over and over, and Chizome sees how the boy winces but never pushes her away. He watches as he thinks over what little he'd been able to coax from Izuku about the attack and Nikko's part in it, how it would have been so easy for this tiny cat to have lost her life if the false hero had been just a little bit faster, had kicked a little harder or aimed a little better. He knows that Izuku has made his decision when he buries his face in the scruffy fur of her back and weeps, shoulders shaking as the cat grumbles but patiently allows him to wet her fur. Chizome waits, knowing that Izuku will never forgive him if he rushes this, unwilling to undo the new and fragile bond that almost a year of isolation and careful conditioning has created despite the way he can feel the clock tick tick ticking down every second that sniveling worm of a hero stays dead instead of reporting in to his superiors at the agency.

"You have to find her a good home," Izuku says after he has no tears left to cry, and the cat rasps out her agreement. Two pairs of eyes turn towards Chizome, green and blue cutting into him. Izuku's eyes are rimmed in red, swollen and shot through with countless burst blood vessels from all the misery he's experienced in the last few hours. The green of his eyes seems all the more vibrant for it, practically glowing in the fading daylight.

"Promise me," Izuku demands, voice soft in what could be either a plea or a warning. It's a little hard to tell with him, sometimes. "Promise me we won't just abandon her, and that you'll find her the best home ever."

"I promise."

He reaches for the cat, and he avoids her claws as he pulls her from Izuku's arms and into his own. Those small, scarred hands linger for as long as they're able, fingertips twitching as he resists the urge to hold her for just one moment longer.

"It's better like this," Chizome says as he steps outside, phone in hand, to call in a favor.

.

"Where are we going?" Izuku asks from the back seat of the car, eyes glassy and unfocused. The blanket he'd hidden beneath during their stop in town is pooled around his waist, forgotten as soon as he'd been given the okay to sit up. His shaking hand gropes at the empty air beside him, as though searching for a place to rest in Nikko's warm fur. When he doesn't find it, his fingers curl into a fist before settling in his lap. He is still and hollow as an empty grave. Tears overflow, trailing silently down his cheeks, soaking into the bandages that hide the gruesome wound beneath. His empty expression does not change.

"I've got another safehouse," Chizome tells him, though that's just the beginning. They'll be on the move for the next month, at least, just in case they'd left enough evidence behind for actual heroes to put the pieces together. He keeps an eye on the rear view mirror as he drives, adjusting it so he can watch Izuku in the reflection. In the far distance, two plumes of smoke rise from trees. They paint the sky black, likely already catching in the surrounding foliage and turning the blaze into more than a simple nuisance for the local fire department.

"Another safehouse." Izuku echoes, voice hardly above a whisper. He blinks, tears clinging to his lashes, and meets Chizome's gaze in the mirror. "And then what?"

He looks more lost now than he did that first year, back when he had just turned five and realized that his mother and little asshole friends would never get the chance to celebrate the occasion with him. He's searching for answers; for purpose, now that everything he knew about himself has been shattered and thrown to the wind.

Good. He's easier to control when he's lost like this.

Chizome smiles, and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"Now, kid, we're gonna save the world from false heroes. And it's all thanks to you."

His smile only grows as he lays the foundations for their future.

.


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.

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Finally, the end.

That's a wrap on TGIM, folks. Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. Part 2, which will start during the series' canon timeline, will be posted momentarily. I hope you'll enjoy it just as much as you (hopefully) have The Good In Me!

As always, a very very very special shoutout to Shae, who has kept me going for literal years. I honestly don't think anyone in the world has a better beta than me. I feel so very lucky to have gone through this journey of traumatizing baby Izuku with you.

Thank you, also, to everyone who has read, bookmarked, and reviewed over the years. This fic is the FIRST longform fic I have ever actually finished, and I am in as much shock as everyone else. I can say with absolute honesty that it is everyone's comments that inspired me to keep going, because there were so many times over the years where I lost interest or felt like giving up. Seeing the love this fic got and getting the chance to read yours thoughts saved this more than you will probably ever know. This was a five year project, and is still ongoing, so honestly, even if you're reading this story ten years from now, a review then will thrill me like it will now. ;)

Last note, and then I'm off to post the first chapter of part 2! I just wanted to say that transformative works of this transformative work are always welcome. Art, fics of the fic, podfics (as long as you're narrating it yourself and not with an AI/robovoice), playlists, whatever you want! Seeing what you might make would be a treat. All I ask is that you give credit where it's due, and send me a link so I can see it!

I love you. I hope your day is beautiful and full of all the happiness I deprive Izuku of. Until next time!