Izuku is familiar with the exhaustion that comes with being on the run. They've been at it for years now, moving from city to city, never staying in one place for too long. At first it was to escape the threat of discovery, and then to stay one step ahead of the police and the heroes once Stain had done his duty in that place. It's all a blur of abandoned buildings, dusty safehouses, and rundown pay-by-the-week apartments or hotel rooms, Izuku and Chizome lingering at the very fringes of society, outcasts among even the vagrants and misty eyed wanderers.
They stay in the kinds of places where no one should look twice at them, no matter how suspicious their worn clothes and bruised faces might be. Occasionally, a clerk's eyes might linger a little too long on the small form hovering in Chizome's shadow. Izuku will feel their gazes catch on the knotted scar arcing across his cheek and his gangly limbs, on the way his jacket is too big for his small frame and how he pulls the hood low to try to obscure his face, hiding himself further behind his companion. They'll look between the quiet, shrinking shadow of a teenage boy and the hulking, heavily muscled man holding the cash. The knife strapped to his belt is never hidden. The hunger in his eyes sets them ablaze.
Sometimes, Izuku can almost feel them weighing his soul against the trouble that saying something might bring them.
They almost always stay silent, and he's glad of it. He doesn't need any more blood on his hands, just because some hapless civilian tried to reach out and help him. Chizome has made sure that he knows exactly what will happen when people try to help. It's dangerous to try to take him away, and Izuku still dreams of blood and fire most nights.
The newest apartment looks just the same as the ones before: grey walls, water stained ceiling, carpet that should have been replaced about thirty tenants ago, and grime that clings stubbornly to every surface. The smell of cigarettes and mold lingers in the air, and Izuku heaves a sigh of relief after his fight with the window yields more than just a shower of paint chips in his hair. He smiles as a gust of fresh air spills into the room, grateful that they at least have the option to air the space out this time; happy that he's proved himself enough that Chizome doesn't feel the need to nail the windows shut anymore.
What little he's seen of Iwata during the move has been nice. Even in this part of the city, he can smell the faint hint of the ocean beneath the smell of gasoline and garbage, and something about it feels almost familiar. Chizome's never taken him to the ocean before, but if he thinks about it right at the cusp of sleep, he dreams about playing in the sand when he was small and living with someone else. Someone with soft hands and a laugh that echoes inside his mind like distant bells. Warmth and sunlight suffuse the almost-memories, making his chest ache for things he knows he can't have.
He shakes the thoughts away before he can hurt himself by dwelling on them too much. It doesn't do any good to try to remember someone who wouldn't want him anyway; all it does is make his insides ache with the hollowness of something raw and gutted. No one's ever come looking for him. After the things he's done, who could blame them? Why would anyone ever want someone like him?
Well, besides Stain. At least he isn't completely alone yet. There's someone who loves him, and that's enough.
He breathes in deep again, and then out, releasing the lingering pain with one long exhale. He's fine. Life is pretty good, even! He's doing something important. He's helping Chizome determine which heroes are fakes who harm more than they help, after all! That's…that's a good thing.
Chizome is dumping his bags next to the bed, shoulders already slumping in anticipation of getting to rest for a while. He's been working hard recently, and if Izuku lets himself think too long about that, then he'll probably puke. Izuku's own things had been abandoned beside the sofa almost the moment they'd walked through the door, his sleeping roll already spread out on the floor beside it, just in case the ratty old thing is as lumpy and uncomfortable as it looks. They used to trade off, but once Chizome had turned 30 and hurt his back a few too many times during fights, Izuku had started insisting that he take the bed if there was one available. It had only taken a few more weeks on broken sofa springs and another bad fight before Chizome gave in.
Izuku watches Chizome throw himself onto the mattress, tension bleeding from his frame and eyes fluttering shut. It's an exhaustion that Izuku knows all too well, and any other day he'd let them both rest, but today isn't like the other days; it's move in day in a brand new city!
He waits until his guardian seems to be right on the cusp or sleep, hides his grin, and asks loud enough to wake the dead, "Can we have curry for dinner? I've been craving it for weeeeeks!"
Chizome grumbles something unpleasant under his breath and lifts his head just enough to eye the kitchenette dubiously. His face mask is hanging haphazardly off one ear so Izuku can see the way he grimaces at the thought of having to actually cook tonight. It's a tradition, though; first night in a new place, Izuku gets to choose a meal and they cook it together.
A beat, then Chizome turns his tired eyes towards Izuku's hopeful expression, groans loudly, and Izuku knows he'll be getting what he wants. He smiles, bright and pleased, and sets to work pulling out the sparse cleaning supplies they carry with them, pausing only long enough to wave as Chizome goes stomping out the door. He laughs when he gets flipped off in return, sticking his tongue out as the door slams shut, then turns his attention back to his project. He's sure he saw a cockroach fleeing under the mini-fridge when they first came in, and he'd rather not eat off any surface it might have been busy getting up to roachy business on.
Once he's absolutely sure that neither of them will catch bug herpes, all that's left to do is unpack the toiletries and the handful of weapons that he and Chizome both like to have stashed in easy grabbing distance around the apartment. The wardrobe meant for clothing stays empty; they never stay in one place long enough for it to be worth the hassle of unpacking any personal items like that. Plus, if they have to make a run for it, it's better to have the important stuff ready to go at the drop of a hat! He'd had to abandon a bronze age special edition All Might hoodie when they'd been found out halfway through a job once, and he's never quite forgiven Fourth Kind for that.
Satisfied with his progress, Izuku settles himself cross legged on the sofa, which creaks a warning but doesn't sag too worryingly beneath his weight. The familiar black notebook feels heavy as it rests in his lap, and he stares down at the beaten cover, lip chewed bloody between his teeth as he twirls his pen idly. He wants to figure out if he can determine why, exactly, they're here.
The thing is, there's not actually too many active heroes in Iwata. Of the Pros he knows about, most of them are pretty above board. No bribes or brutality, no sign of uncouth connections — not even any major property damage that he's been able to root out yet! Which, of course, means that they're likely not here for any of the Iwata heroes, but instead for someone in one of the larger surrounding cities.
He'd seen on the news a few weeks before that there were a few newbies debuting in Musutafu and Fukuroi, though it's probably way too early for them to have done anything to get Stain's attention. UA is nearby, of course, as well as a few other major hero agencies. Not to mention the underground heroes that operate in the area, though they'd be harder to pin down or dig up any kind of definitive evidence on. No one comes directly to mind when Izuku tries to recall who might have done something recently that would catch Stain's attention. Still, it's worrying how many potential targets are out there wandering around, completely unaware that they might wind up next on Stain's hit list if they make one wrong move.
In terms of accessibility, there's a lot of well known heroes at UA every day, and they're easy targets: arriving and leaving at the same time every weekday, only a certain number of exits from the school grounds, vulnerable to attacks since they'd likely have children to protect, and familiar enough with their surroundings to have grown comfortable and therefore complacent. The same goes for the agencies, though the schedules there tend to be more varied. After all, no matter what kind of preparedness training they might have received, people never truly expect to be attacked somewhere they feel safe. If there's someone that Stain is targeting, and they're not just here for reconnaissance or one of Chizome's unrelated jobs, then it wouldn't be difficult to plan an attack.
Hell, if one of the heroes at UA is the target, then it will be almost laughably easy. Izuku's the right age that in the dimness of an alley, he might be mistaken as a student. Heroes who work with children definitely wouldn't hesitate to go to him if they thought he needed help. If they're focused on Izuku, they won't stop to check the rooftops, where Stain would be waiting. Izuku won't be able to warn them, paralyzed and unable to choke out words around the sobs caught in his throat, forced to watch as they're cut down, unable to do anything to help either Stain or the hero. It's worked before—
Izuku tastes blood and quickly shakes himself free of his spiraling thoughts. It's easy to ignore the sting of broken skin as he wipes his mouth on his shirtsleeve, trying not to look at the smudge of bright color on the dingy fabric. The soft rustle of paper is the only sound to accompany his ragged breathing as he flips the notebook open, turning pages until he finds the entry on UA.
The list of known heroes on staff is in red ink, bright and accusing against the backdrop of blue and black sketches and notes on the history of the school and what little is known about the layout and buildings beyond their gates. There's no reason to think that Stain would have any interest in any of the UA staff, but…well, Izuku rarely understands why he chooses the targets that he does. His job has never been to understand, though. It's not outside the realm of possibility that one of them is covering something up that Izuku just hasn't been able to find yet.
They've all been vetted by the very best, proving their worth time and time again, defending civilians from villain attacks or doing rescue work after natural disasters, and they're even training the next generation of heroes on top of their usual duties! Even when Izuku had gone searching for dirt on them in the past, there was very little to find, and anything that he could dig up was minor enough that he didn't even need to bring it up to Stain. There's no way that that's changed, so there's no way that they'd be targets.
Right?
Only…. Well, there was an incident a while back where Hound Dog had been reprimanded for being too rough when apprehending villains. And for some reason Chizome always moved weirdly fast to change the channel whenever Midnight showed up on the news. And he's never really hidden his disapproval of Present Mic's radio show and how it could interfere with his duties as a hero, even though he knows how much Izuku loves listening to it. And—
The door opens, Chizome's rough voice announcing his return. Izuku closes his notebook, casual and carefree, smiling as he tucks it back inside his bag to hide the way his heart is racing inside his chest and the world's gone all fuzzy around the edges. He scrambles off the sofa and towards the kitchen, hoping Chizome didn't see that he was looking at his notes, as he calls back, "Welcome home!"
"Hope chicken curry's alright," Chizome says as he sheds his boots and moves silent as a ghost to join Izuku by the little single burner cooktop the apartment had come equipped with. Izuku nods eagerly, making grabby hands towards the grocery sacks. They're handed over with a rasping laugh, and Chizome watches him with an indulgent smile as he goes digging through the veggies to find the melon buns that Izuku never asks for but Chizome always gets because he knows they're his favorite cheap treat.
"Yes!" Izuku crows as he pulls the package out, holding it above his head in exaggerated excitement. Immediately, it is snatched away and he squawks in dismay, even though he's familiar with this part of their ritual.
"Not until after dinner," Chizome teases, holding it above his own head, far out of easy reach. It's a comforting song and dance, years of familiarity bubbling warm and bright inside his chest as Izuku jumps and flails playfully to try to grab the package back. Could he get it if he really wanted to? Yeah, of course, but that isn't the point of this little game.
As Chizome puts the melon buns on the top shelf of the cabinet, he catches Izuku around the waist when he makes a jump for them, hefting him easily over one shoulder as Izuku screeches about betrayal and the cruelty of mankind between bursts of laughter. Strong fingers dig into a bruise on Izuku's side, a flash of hot pain that almost steals the breath from his lungs. He is careful not to flinch or let his masksmile fall, not wanting to ruin the mood.
He dangles there, hands fisted into the back of Chizome's shirt and feet kicking wildly, and his fingers are so close to the knife that Stain keeps tucked into his belt. If he wiggled just a little more, giggled and squirmed, he could wrap his hand around its hilt. It would be so easy, because Chizome would never expect it from him. He wouldn't win the fight, but at least he'd be able to say that he'd tried. Maybe he could cause the kind of lasting damage that would slow Stain down enough that he'd have to retire. He's done it to enough people, he's sure he could pull it off before Chizome even realized what was happening. Izuku would never be allowed to see the sky again – would go back to a life of locked doors and boarded windows and complete and total isolation – but wouldn't it be worth it, if he could save just one single person?
His fingers twitch.
Chizome spins, shrugging Izuku off his shoulder to flip him into his arms, all in one graceful movement. He's laughing as he swings him around and then down to his feet, mouth wide beneath the hole in his face and tongue lolling with his joy. There's a vulnerability in how his eyes squeeze shut as he tips his head back and exposes the lines of his throat; a softness in the way his hands are held loose and open at his sides, posture relaxed and carefree. It's a side to him that is reserved only for Izuku and for these quiet moments alone together, and it's so much better than that burning fury or the apathetic disdain that Izuku's seen his only connection look at him with before. The bubbling warmth bursts and burns inside his chest, rising to fill his throat and his head until he's laughing, too. When he's like this, it means that Chizome is happy, and they're safe and everything is okay, so Izuku loves it when he makes that stupid face.
He can't do anything that would compromise these moments of happiness. Izuku already knows that he can never hurt Chizome, because if he does, then he'll lose them altogether. Maybe Chizome will still love him, because he's loved him through every moment of rebellion before, but he just can't bring himself to risk it. After all, this is all he knows. The only family he has and the only life he'll ever be able to lead. Things are so much better when he just follows the rules, so he'll follow Chizome, even if it means doing things that he hates himself for more and more every single day.
As they fall into a familiar rhythm, trading jibes between chopping vegetables and making rice, Izuku plans. He doesn't know why they're here, and he doesn't want to risk inciting Stain's bloodlust by asking, but he's sure it won't take long to figure it out. Stain will begin his hunt after a short cooldown period, and once he's made his judgement he'll tell Izuku, just like he always does. That means there will be time to plead mercy for the heroes that Stain sets his sights on; Izuku just needs to find evidence that they do more good than the world can afford to lose before Stain gets too focused on his mission and can't be reasoned with. It'll be harder, since he'll have to split his focus and gather intel on a much larger number of heroes, but he's confident that he can do it! He might be able to deduce exactly which heroes they're here for if he works hard enough. So he'll just have to do the work.
Tomorrow, then. He'll explore the surrounding cities, see what he can find about the pros that operate there. It'll all be fine, and then they can move on once it's obvious that everything is copacetic here and nobody will have to get hurt!
(If that's what he tells himself every time, then he'll just have to keep believing it until it comes true. It's all that he can do to keep himself going.)
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Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! I was absolutely blown away by the response to the first chapter. It made me so incredibly happy, and so excited to work on this fic! Your kindness was a much needed bit of joy in my life.
As a side note, I have a little (well...101 songs and counting...) playlist I like to listen to while writing this story, and I'm always looking for songs to add to it. If you feel like there's a song that fits the vibes, please feel free to rec it!
Shae is, as always, the best beta any writer could ever ask for. Please go check out her fics and leave her some love.