There's a dark shadow hanging over Katsuki's life. He tries his best to ignore it, but it always comes back to haunt him, looming over news stories and Aunty Inko's tired eyes and the faded missing poster hanging on the inside of his closet door. He hates the way it feels like a ghost is always lurking somewhere in the corner of his mind.
It really pisses him off, because if not for Deku, his life would be pretty fucking close to perfect.
He's top of his class with a flawless attendance record, popular and respected by peers and teachers alike, with a powerful and flashy quirk that's perfect for hero work. He's got a well documented record of volunteer work, and the club that cleans the beach is sponsored by Yagi Toshinori, who definitely has connections to the hero community even if he won't admit it. The meathead hardly ever shows up since he got hurt a few years back, but Katsuki doesn't let that bother him anymore. The guy's got more going on than supervising a handful of teenagers doing extracurriculars, even if it took Katsuki a while to figure that out and accept it.
No one cares if he uses his quirk to blow shit up when they're clearing the beach, either, so his control's been getting better and his explosions are more powerful than ever! At the rate things are going, he's a shoo-in for UA, and once he's there, it'll be a smooth ride straight to the top. Number one hero, here he comes, just like he's always known he'd be.
And all the while, the ghost of childhood failure will dog his every step. An empty promise of becoming heroes together makes every victory and step towards that once-shared goal feel hollow. He fucked up, and it's pretty much guaranteed to come out once he's famous enough for people to start wondering about his past. He can practically hear the interview questions now, and see the headlines.
Technically speaking, Katsuki was the last person to see Midoriya Izuku before his disappearance. It was his job to walk the little wimp home, because that was always the condition for letting them play at the park without their moms there. They were never supposed to leave each other alone, and that day, Katsuki did. His final interaction with Deku was to push him around, using his newly developed quirk against him in a way that makes a pit open in his stomach if he thinks about it too long, and then abandon him. He'd made sure the weakling was easy pickings for the sick fucking freak that snatched him off the playground.
He keeps that festering sore of guilt locked tightly inside. If his mom ever found out, she'd send him straight back to therapy. The last thing he wants is to have to spend an hour every week gritting his teeth and ignoring questions about his feelings and whatever other bullshit they tried to get him to talk about, because in the end it always just boiled down to Deku Deku Deku.
It's better to just ignore it, and usually that works just fine for him. Recently, though, it's been getting harder to do. Aunty Inko has had that look in her eyes lately; the one she always gets on the rare occasion when there's an update about her kid. Whenever anyone says something about it, though, she just shakes her head and insists that everything's okay with that dumb high pitched voice she always uses when she lies. Katsuki knows that means there's been new developments in his case, and the fact that Aunty won't even talk to his mom about it is bad news.
The thing is, Katsuki isn't stupid or naive. Far from it, in fact. It hadn't taken him long to pick up on patterns, to connect the dots and form his own suspicions and conclusions. It's not hard to put the pieces together if you know where to look.
The days where she looks exhausted and wrung out, pale and drawn and drowning in quiet grief, always come shortly after news of an attack on a hero. Anyone who pays attention to the news knows that there's a new serial killer with a lofty victim pool, and though it seems like a lot of details are being kept under wraps and out of the normal news cycles, it isn't too hard to dig up more information online. Even if the HPSC is trying to keep things quiet and the articles end up taken down in the end, some sleazy reporter or another's always gonna be sniffing around for a story. Katsuki's learned to download the ones he wants to keep, even if they're taking up all the storage space on his laptop.
(Deku's kidnapper is a busy, supremely fucked up man.)
Sometimes, Katsuki lies awake at night and wonders what the asshole did to the smiling four year old from the missing poster. The small handful of blurry pictures he's seen from surveillance stills and shaky phone cameras don't look anything at all like the boy he remembers. There's no light in his eyes. The smile that only one of those pictures has ever managed to capture makes his skin crawl whenever he sees it.
(That's the one he finds himself staring at the most, captive to his disgust, searching that glimpse of stretched lips and bared teeth for a hint of the brightness he remembers from summer days and time worn memories. He holds his phone up to the missing poster sometimes, eyes darting between the beaming four year old and the horrible mimicry of it caught on camera. The difference makes him want to punch more holes in the wall.)
On weekend nights, long after his parents think he's gone to sleep, Katsuki will spend an embarrassing amount of time rereading old articles and staring at those pictures, eyes tracing over Deku and the hulking shadow of the Hero Killer, wondering why they haven't killed each other yet. He knows that if he was in Deku's place, he'd have found a way to blow the bastard's brains out years ago. Surely his quirk must have manifested by now. Even if it was weak like Aunty's, shouldn't he have been able to do something to save himself?
Every time he thinks about it, he just ends up pissing himself off, because once he starts he can't stop. Memories and questions and what-if's will all chase each other around his head, reminding him that he'll never rise above this colossal failure no matter how successful he becomes. He hates thinking about Deku and all the stupid decisions he must have made to still be trapped by that man, instead of safely at home, getting smothered by his mama's affection.
(More than anything else, he hates thinking about his own role in Deku's situation. He spends hours at a time laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, throat tight and stomach filled with fire. There's a single glow-in-the-dark star up there, its luminescence almost faded from age. The rest had come down over the years, leaving only faint shadows of discoloration on the white plaster, but this one still clings stubbornly on.
He remembers his own chubby fingers pressing it into place as his old man held him aloft so he could reach; remembers looking down and seeing bright green eyes and a smiling mouth tilted up towards him, a tiny hand lifting the next star for him to decorate his ceiling with. It had been Deku's idea, because he'd once confessed in a shaky whisper that being alone in the dark felt a little scary sometimes.
Katsuki hates that stupid fucking star, but he gets this weird twisting in his stomach when he thinks about taking this final one down, and so he just tries to convince himself he'll ignore it up until the moment he's left staring at it while imagining the day he'll get the chance to explode that fucker's ugly face and drag stupid Deku home. He dreams of redemption; of clearing his name so that one day, he can stand at the top and know that he's truly earned it. Maybe then, he can take that worthless little star down.)
He hates thinking about Deku and the mess he's made of Katsuki's life in his wake, so he doesn't. It's easier to ignore it, to pretend that when his dad's friends hear his name, their first thought is the future hero, and not, the kid whose friend disappeared – the one who let him be taken. He doesn't need stupid stuff like that overshadowing his life and how much hard fucking work he's put into getting to where he's at.
He's got a great quirk, and he's put in the work to train it to be the best it can be. He's powerful and smart and his future is as bright as his explosions. He's better than anyone out there, and he's got everything he needs to prove it!
So why, he wonders with a tinge of hysteria, am I drowning?
It hurts. The sludge is filling his mouth, prying his jaw open until it feels like it will break under the pressure. It is coating his tongue and sliding down his throat and he keeps gagging, keeps coughing and struggling against the hold as the villain tries to suffocate him, and it hurts. The fucker is cooing into his ear, cruel words in a tone of mock comfort, and it makes his blood boil inside his veins but no matter how desperately he struggles or how vicious his explosions are, nothing he does is enough to escape.
The only reason he's still alive is because there's a crowd and he's the hostage, but he can tell that won't be the case for much longer, because this thing is greedy and it sees his quirk and it wants it. It's terrifying to feel it wrapping pulsating tendrils around his wrists, to feel his explosions detonate without his conscious input when the sludge churns inside his stomach and writhes inside his nostrils and squeezes his arms in tandem. It's already taking over, delighted and hungry and in control in spite of the way Katsuki is doing everything he possibly can to fight it off.
The villain is whispering in his ear, the words vibrating through the liquid of its gelatinous form as it wraps itself tighter around Katsuki. It's making promises and threats about all the ways it'll use his body, the terrible things it can do with a destructive quirk like his. It's going to use him to get far away from here first, and for a second all his panicked mind can think of is his parents, and the way that Aunty looked when her son disappeared, and wonder if his mom and dad will look the same.
Katsuki never stops fighting even as his mind runs to places he doesn't want it to and his vision whites out with fury at the unconscious comparison, struggling through the slime with everything he has in him, but it isn't enough. For each inch he gains, the villain holds on tighter, creeps the tiniest bit deeper into his lungs and throat until it fills him with something disgusting and dangerous. Why isn't it enough?
Even this villain can recognize that Katsuki has the superior ability. He's strong and powerful, with an incredible quirk and the kind of determination that's gotten him everything he's ever wanted over the years. Everything points to this fight being over in no time, but it's not and he doesn't know how to fix it. He's strong, so strong, so why isn't anything working? Why is this villain still engulfing him, still tormenting him, and why isn't anyone helping?!
But he knows he shouldn't need help. Every teacher and counselor and adult in his life has told him time and time again that he's destined for greatness. Every time he's fallen, he's pulled himself back up all on his own. No one's ever offered their hand, because he doesn't need anyone else and they all know their place. He should be able to do this on his own, but he's setting off explosion after explosion, lighting fires, kicking and punching and clawing and biting, giving everything he has, but nothing is working why isn't anything working and he's scared why isn't anyone doing anything—
And then. Suddenly. A ripple goes through the slime, jolting him as the villain writhes, mouth opening in a pained shriek, and for one blessed minute his hacking coughs manage to clear his airway as it tears itself out of his lungs, leaving his insides aching and raw. He sucks in a giant breath, tasting smoke and sewage and iron on his tongue. His throat burns and every cough and breath feels like torture, but that doesn't even fucking matter because he's never known anything sweeter than the air from this shitty garbage strewn alley.
A hint of murky red swirls through the green beside his head, followed by one of those leering eyes. Only, it's not leering anymore.
There's a knife lodged in the jelly, straight through the pupil. Some distant, hysterical part of his brain thinks, bullseye. The fucker deserves that, and worse. If he weren't fighting for every wet breath, Katsuki would puke. Or maybe laugh. He's not sure anymore.
Then, the sludge trembles and the villain howls, not in pain but with anger, and his airway is cut off once again.
This time, there is no desire to draw his suffering out. The sludge rushes down his throat, and it expands until not even the barest hint of breath can make its way through, until even coughing and gagging is beyond his ability. Katsuki knows that this thing doesn't need a hostage anymore. Now, it just wants the power to escape. Terror unlike anything he's ever known fills him, and then the anger comes to burn it away just as fast, because there's nothing he can do to stop the inevitable and his own powerlessness makes him furious. He claws and tears at the sludge, bites down and feels his teeth clack painfully together before his jaw is forced open again. It creaks under the strain, and he hopes that if this fucker manages to take over his body, that at least it'll feel the pain of every torn muscle and ripped off nail and he hopes his jaw really does fucking break so the bastard will have to live with the pain of it.
His head is starting to feel foggy, anger and fear burning so white hot that his vision blurs and spots bleed into his periphery. The world blurs around him, and against his will, his struggles begin to flag. He's too exhausted, too far away, to notice the burn of tears as they spill down his cheeks.
"Don't be scared. I'm here to help," a soft voice says, close enough that it startles him back to an awareness he hadn't even realized was fading.
He forces his eyes open to find someone hovering just inches before his face, gaze intense and focused somewhere beyond Katsuki as they reach out and shove one hand into the sludge villain's floating mouth while the thing writhes and tries to shove them off with flailing tendrils of muck. Katsuki can just barely feel the brush of cool fingers against his throat. He shudders, eyes rolling, fighting to keep himself conscious.
The massive teeth bite down on the intruding hand, drawing blood and leaving a bracelet of open wounds, and Katsuki sees the stranger flinch but they do not withdraw their hand. More blood blossoms and hangs, suspended and undulating within the green muck. Katsuki tastes it on his tongue. With their other arm, they reach up to grasp the hilt of the knife and he sees the stranger's elbow jerk as they twist.
"I won't let you die," the stranger says over the howls of pain and anger that vibrate and echo through the sludge in Katsuki's ears, and his voice is tight with what can only be fear, cracking and reedy and yet brimming with a quiet certainty that his words are true.
Everything is happening so fast around him. He registers pink hair tucked beneath a red knitted hat. Catches the blurry form of a distant hero, arms spread and herding the onlookers away, but not coming to help the people who really need it. There's a crooked black surgical mask, and a scar peeking out from underneath it, cutting through the skin of the stranger's cheek. Fire and smoke fill the small space around them, alternating between casting deep shadows and illuminating the area with a brightness so intense it makes him wince.
In that flickering light, he sees freckles and green eyes, so fierce and focused they almost seem to burn hotter and brighter than the fires all around them.
Another shudder rocks the sludge, and the mouth opens to scream, and Katsuki sees the stranger's hand wrapped around the tongue and he sees him pull and somehow, miraculously, the sludge moves with it. Katsuki sees what's happening, and he uses the very last of his strength to brace himself, leaning back, feet firm against the concrete beneath him as he fights against the tide. The stranger takes a laborious step backwards and the villain is forced to follow, its mouth and one remaining eye held firmly in the stranger's hands even as it thrashes and screams. Another step, then another, and suddenly Katsuki can breathe again. He collapses to his knees as the bastard finally releases him, heaving up slime and bile and what remains of his lunch. Tears are falling hot from his eyes and he can't make them stop no matter how tightly he squeezes them shut, cheeks burning, hands sparking, fury boiling inside his stomach with nowhere to go because he can't fucking stop crying, just like—
The stranger yelps and Katsuki looks up to see that he's stepped in one of the burning piles of trash that are littering the alleyway. He's wrestling with the sludge, keeping it at arms length with one hand still in its disgusting mouth and the other curled around its eyeball.
"Can you put these out?" the stranger yells, and then again as Katsuki continues to sputter and gag, enunciating like he thinks he's speaking to an idiot, "Can you put the fires out?" and Katsuki realizes that the stranger is talking to him. He just barely manages to shake his head before he falls back into another coughing fit. The stranger curses, and his voice cracks, and it hits Katsuki like a thousand tons of flaming garbage that this guy is a kid. Probably no older than Katsuki himself, and he managed to succeed using nothing but his bare hands while Katsuki had failed, failed so badly he was going to DIE, and humiliation rushes in to join the aimless fury.
His knees are still too weak to allow him to stand, to charge forward once more into the fray, but he manages a glare and more sparks popping menacingly in his palms. The stranger doesn't seem to notice or care.
"Is anyone going to take care of this?" the kid yells, exasperation and anger in his voice as he twists to look over his shoulder at the gathered heroes as they mill about and wring their hands and stare with open mouthed sludge bastard tries to use the distraction to surge forward and cover the kid, but stops abruptly when the hold on its remaining eyeball tightens dangerously. Katsuki can see the delicate organ dip and bulge a little under the pressure. At some point those lashing tendrils of slime had hit the stranger in the face, leaving a wet trail glistening over his cheek and his mask knocked aside to dangle loosely from one ear. Katsuki sees him say something to the sludge, voice too low to hear from here, and he's smiling but there is something vicious about it.
(Something familiar?)
The villain stops moving, and it's at that moment that the heroes finally get their asses moving. The douche with the hoses for hands sets about putting out the fires around them, while the stupid one in the baseball costume starts yelling for a bucket. Katsuki flinches back when the cool spray of the hoses mists over him, then tries very hard to pretend like he hadn't. He squeezes his eyes shut and wipes away the final unwilling tears and the spit on his chin with the hem of his undershirt, which is soaked through with sweat but mostly sludge free.
"C'mon, the paramedics are waiting for you," a soft voice says, and a touch on his shoulder has Katsuki jerking back. "You're alright now. I'm here."
"I don't need your fucking help!" he snarls, bristling and managing to raise himself halfway before he wobbles. Immediately, there's a hand thrust towards him. Blood drips from the open wounds encircling the slender wrist, but the guy doesn't seem to care. Katsuki slaps it away, and hopes none of the blood got on him. "Don't look down on me!"
"I'm not. You just looked like you needed a little help, that's all. We all do, sometimes."
The cheerful sounding words are accompanied by a surprisingly strong grip on the goo-soaked lapels of his uniform jacket, hauling him the rest of the way to his feet with ease, not waiting for permission or protest. Before Katsuki can shove him away, the freak ducks beneath his arm, supporting his weight with a solid arm wrapped tightly around his waist. It is warm against the tense muscles of his back.
"You handled yourself really well," that gentle voice continues, cutting off his enraged shout before it can get rolling into a tirade. It's probably for the best, because every sound he makes feels like gargling broken glass. "Even the heroes were afraid to do anything or get too close, but you kept fighting! You were really amazing."
"Yeah," Katsuki huffs, voice rough. Any other day, he'd be scoffing or preening at the acknowledgement. Right now, though, he's just…tired. His chest and throat hurt and his head is pounding and as the final vestiges of adrenaline fade, all that's left over is a bone deep exhaustion to go along with the pain. Every step forward feels harder than the last, and he finds himself leaning more heavily on the stranger, who just readjusts his grip and doesn't say anything. Katsuki casts a quick glance towards him, feeling strands of fluffy pink hair tickle his cheek as he does, but it's hard to get a good look at him from this angle.
"What were you thinking, rushing in like that?" Someone cuts in, jolting him from his thoughts. The voice that's grating in his ears belongs to one of the heroes who'd been hanging back, waiting for Katsuki to save himself.
They pull up short as he steps in front of them, hands fluttering, expression caught somewhere between worry and frustration. Katsuki glowers at him, but doesn't try to force words past the rusty nails inside his throat. He doesn't need to, right now.
"No one else was stepping in," the boy supporting him says easily, tone careful, but there's an edge of something sharp and cold beneath the words. The grip around his waist tightens until it's almost painful, pulling him closer, like the stranger's planning on making a run for it and isn't against dragging Katsuki along, too. Katsuki thinks about the sludge and how this freak had smiled as he pulled the knife from its eyeball. "I guess my body just moved on its own when I saw someone needed help."
Every point of contact between them burns like acid, making his skin crawl and his chest ache. The sludge on his clothes is beginning to dry. It's clinging to his skin. His stomach twists again and he shoves away from the stranger, teeth bared and hands smoking but unable to meet his eye. Despite the way he'd been holding onto him with an iron grip mere seconds before, the other boy lets him go without a fight, stepping back like he's anticipating that Katsuki will take a swing at him. It's not an unfair assumption, considering that the fact he'd had to be rescued makes him want to kill every person who'd been around to see his stupid shitty weakness. It rankles and burns deep inside, twisting and igniting until all he wants to do is burn everything and everyone to ashes just to make it go away.
The hero's eyes turn to Katsuki then, and they go a little warmer as they sweep down his frame, taking in his school uniform and the way his hard earned muscles are apparent through the sticky, clinging fabric. His hands spark, and he clenches them into fists, but the man only seems impressed as he opens his fat mouth to start saying as much. For some reason, the hero's praise does nothing to temper the flames, but he keeps his mouth shut and allows himself to be directed towards the paramedics once the poser's done spewing the kind of garbage that would usually feed Katsuki's ego.
The boy trails close behind as Katsuki moves towards them, like he doesn't trust that Katsuki can walk twenty fucking feet without collapsing. He grits his teeth, watching the hero pull ahead of them to talk to someone with a camera, looking like he wants them to leave. He feels a careful hand brush his shoulder, and he snarls, whirling around to face the boy, explosions popping in his hands and acid already rising to burn his tongue.
"Fuck! Just leave me the fuck ALONE—"
The words die in his throat as he comes face to face with a pair of familiar green eyes.
He's been staring at Deku's missing persons poster for so long, and has spent hours combing over what little he can find of his life after disappearing more than ten years ago. It's not a faded poster or grainy security footage that he thinks of now, though. He's changed, after all. Grown and matured and been beaten down in ways that four year old Katsuki could have never dreamed of.
No. He knows him because he has seen Aunty Inko every day. He sees her in the color of his eyes, the shape of his face, the worry that bows his mouth and creases his brow. They look so much alike, and some distant part of his brain thinks that she'll cry when she learns that. He chokes on a suspiciously wet breath.
"Deku?"
The boy who's haunted him for so many years stares back at him now, head cocked curiously, almost like he's not sure whether to be offended or amused, and says, "What did you call me?"
Katsuki shakes his head, stunned. He takes a step closer, shock making him numb. The anger will rush in soon to drown out everything else, but for now he just has to convince himself that this isn't a dream. Or that he's not dead, because if he is, then that means that Deku's dead, too, and that can't be true. After all, Deku's not allowed to die until after Katsuki brings him home.
"You piece of shit! Where the fuck have you been!?"
The boy takes a step back. Not like he's afraid, like he would have been ten years ago. It's the way strangers stepped away when he was little, baffled and a little amused, giving him space for his temper tantrums. For the briefest flicker of a second, he wonders if maybe he has it wrong. It's been so long, after all, but he's never been one to second guess himself. He's always trusted his instinct, jumping in, letting actions lead him, and they haven't failed him yet.
(Maybe only once, long ago, when he stubbornly refused to look over his shoulder to call for Deku to follow him home from the park. Back then, his skin had prickled with the feeling of eyes on his back, but he had dismissed it. Something inside had screamed at him to not leave Deku alone, but the laughter of his friends and his own pride had drowned it out. He listens better, now.)
As his eyes trace hungrily over the foreign features he feels like he should know so well, Katsuki settles into the knowledge that he knows he's right. The anger is beginning to trickle in at last, replacing the shock, like the first warnings of a dam about to break as he's answered with a blithe smile. (He'll regret it later.)
"Are you talking to me? I think you're confused. Or, uh, maybe you hit your head. The paramedics will be able to—"
"SHUT THE HELL UP, DEKU!"
And now that baffled amusement has turned to irritation. He meets Katsuki's eyes, green and achingly familiar, but there is no sign of recognition in them as he snaps, "Who the hell is Deku?"
Katsuki lunges forward, howling, furious, (hurting,) ready to beat the bastard within an inch of his life and then drag him back home to his mother. He's so close. He's right here, not chained up in some fucking pervert's basement or held at knife point. He's surrounded by heroes and he's not even trying to get help, and Katsuki wants to wrap his hands around the stupid, useless, piece-of-shit's throat and set off explosions until his head falls right off. Maybe then he can fucking screw it back on the right way.
His fingertips brush against shitty Deku's frayed collar, hands already hot and sparking. He sees those too-green eyes go wide as he sways back and out of his reach with an easy grace that sends shudders up Katsuki's spine. He grins, wide and feral and so close to his goal of getting Deku back home, and for the briefest of seconds he thinks he sees something almost fond steal across that scarred face.
Then, one of the heroes steps between them, arms spread and intent on stopping the fight before it can start. The first fucking thing this asshole does, and it's to fuck everything up! Katsuki loses sight of Deku for just one second. He shoves past the hero, spitting and screaming his rage, but Deku is gone. Vanished, like the ghost he's always been.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!?" Katsuki screams, twisting to face the hero who just fucked everything up, explosions shaking the air around them. The useless motherfucker looks shaken at his anger, hands up, trying to soothe him without even understanding the irreparable damage he just caused.
Beyond his shoulder, there's a flash of golden hair, and Katsuki's eyes zero in on a familiar face in the crowd of onlookers. Yagi Toshinori stares back, concern creasing his brow and sunken eyes trained only on Katsuki – not even looking for the kid whose case he's been assisting with for years.
"Oy! Meathead!" he shouts, shoving past the wannabe hero a second time, ignoring the man's spluttering. Yagi's expression darkens briefly, shame and guilt and relief all warring for space on his gaunt face. Without acknowledging him, though, Yagi is already ducking away, trying to disappear into the crowds despite standing taller than the majority of the milling, gawking onlookers. "Oh, you motherfucker—"
Katsuki sprints after him, ignoring the burning in his lungs, the shakiness of his legs, and the way that every jolting step makes his stomach churn and slosh in a way that threatens to make him puke again. He shoves through the crowd and ignores the shouts that rise after him, breathing hard as he chases down the one man he's confident will be able to fucking do something.
"You moronic sack of muscles! Wait! That was–motherfucking asshole, STOP! Yagi!" he yells, chasing the shadow of the man down alleyways and side streets, cursing when he realizes he's not going to be fast enough to catch him if he doesn't want to be found. He grits his teeth and throws discretion to the wind. "ALL MIGHT! Stop fucking running from me!"
And at that moniker, the man finally pauses. Katsuki pushes himself harder before the asshole can change his mind, running fast enough that he nearly crashes into the towering twig of a man. Yagi manages to sidestep just in time, reaching out immediately to lay a steadying hand on his shoulder, but his face is a mask of shock and maybe a little awe.
"You knew?" he asks, wide eyed, but Katsuki just doesn't have the patience to deal with the number one hero's idiocy right now.
"HAH? What kind of moron do you take me for?! Of course I fucking knew! But forget about that!" he shouts, every breath coming fast and harsh, his lungs tightening with more than just the exertion and pain. "That guy who saved me! It was Deku. Izuku."
And he realizes his mistake as he watches Yagi's face crumble.
.
(From the rooftops, Izuku watches the heroes scramble around the scene, scooping toxic green sludge into airtight containers. The victim (had someone said his name at some point? Izuku feels like he should know it, like it's lingering right at the tip of his tongue just to taunt him) had already fled the scene. Though they'd called after him, not one of the heroes had gone to find him to bring him back and ensure he gets treatment from the concerned looking paramedics gathered nearby. None of them had bothered to look for the "mystery kid" who stepped in when none of them had, either. He wouldn't have wanted them to, but still…. Izuku isn't impressed.
His notebook is splayed open on the tarmac before him, and he taps the pen to his lower lip as he considers the heroes that had been too cowardly or too stupid to think beyond their own weaknesses in order to help someone being actively murdered before their eyes. As he watches them stop to talk to the gathered reporters, he writes down their names on an empty page. His hand does not shake, and the blood rushing in his head is loud enough to drown out any worries of their shortcomings being discovered and dissected if Stain sees this neat little list. It's just in case, right?
He can't get the sound of that boy's voice out of his head. The intensity in his red eyes had made something twist inside Izuku's chest. Deku, he'd said. Like the name meant something. Like Izuku meant something. All by himself.
He absentmindedly brushes fingertips across the old burn scar on his shoulder, and wonders why that name feels so familiar.)
.
Izuku, surrounded by heroes and feeling weirdly fond of the stranger in front of him: if I don't put my mask back on right away, it's just because I'm busy helping a victim. No other reason. It's totally fine. :)
Yagi, hearing The News from Katsuki: I am ashamed and horrified that I didn't figure this out myself, and that I came face to face with Izuku earlier but wasn't able to save him. This failure will surely haunt me.
Yagi, ten hours later, suddenly sitting straight up in bed while coughing up blood: I TOLD THE HERO KILLER'S PROTEGE MY LIFE STORY AND MY BIGGEST SECRET/WEAKNESS
In case anyone was wondering, All Might spent time searching the streets for the strange boy who obviously needed help in this version, so he didn't get to the scene until after everything went down and Katsuki had been saved. He only caught a glimpse of Izuku and didn't connect that it was the same person he was looking for, since he was too busy feeling guilty that he hadn't been able to be there for Katsuki.
.
This chapter wasn't beta'd, so any mistakes are my own! Let me know your thoughts on Katsuki's characterization, because I'm always iffy on that. :')
I can't remember if I mentioned before or not, but my very loose aspiration for this story is to update at least once a month. Maybe more if I have a big backlog of chapters. (At this time...I do not lol.) Thank you so so so much to everyone who reads, follows, bookmarks, and especially to those who leave reviews! You guys make me so happy. I try to respond to all of them, but I'm not always good at doing so. I've received some really lovely reviews from guests, and it kills me that I can't respond to them! Even if I don't or can't reply, just know that your words were seen and appreciated and boosted my mood and fueled my desire to write. I love and appreciate you all! Hope you have an amazing week!