Chapter Text
Sunsets were always Izuku’s favorite time of the day. There was something mesmerizing about the way the sky could paint itself into a water-color right before his eyes. The beautiful oranges that splattered the sky like a wildfire in the Autumn, the deep purples and blues that reminded him of every bruise he’s ever worn; badges of honor (read: horror). The clouds were lazily floating in little stripes across the sky, full of deep reds and greens that reminded him of Christmas - or maybe that night he caught his bloodied green hair in the mirror before taking a shower.
Izuku sighed. It all came back to that night, didn’t it? The scar wouldn’t fade, an obstinate reminder of his own grief each morning when he brushed his teeth. The scar had bore a hole into that mirror and Izuku found it hard not to close his eyes when entering his bathroom every day.
He still considered that the worst day of his life, thus far, and that included the day his favorite hero let him down. Izuku had been getting ready to walk home. He just put his bright red sneakers on at the school genken and walked out the front door. But it was never that simple. He should have known better. The hounding voices of his bullies came around the corner just as the front door closed behind him. Izuku turned, bright green eyes finding angry red ones through the glass door. He ran. But running never lasted very long, and they caught him a couple blocks outside the school grounds, cornering him in an alleyway.
‘You’ll never be anything more than a worthless waste of oxygen.’ One lackey spat in his face.
‘Look at how pathetic you are, useless Null.’ That wasn’t a common slur these days, but Izuku had heard it all his life.
When they were done berating him and throwing a few punches, the lackeys left the final action to Katsuki Bakugo. Of course, Kacchan, always the one to end the fight - always violently. But that day he was more violent than usual. Izuku had raised his arms to protect himself, but Katsuki grabbed his hair and threw his head against the brick wall. The resounding crack his skull made was sickening. Izuku had vomited within seconds, likely from the concussion that was vibrating his brain around like a pinball machine.
The three bullies froze up at the sound, waiting to see what Izuku would do. After he vomited and slumped weakly against the wall, still breathing - they all ran. Izuku couldn’t help feeling a bit relieved; they'd at least made sure he was breathing before they ran off. That might not be progress, but it was satisfying that they showed at least a minuscule amount of guilt.
When Izuku had woken up hours later, he’d trudged home to an empty house and that’s when he’d seen the gash on his head. The wound ran from the center of his forehead down over his temple and stopped about where the top of his ear was, cutting right through his hairline. The wound was ugly, and still oozing blood, but it was mercifully shallow. Head wounds bleed a lot, but after some probing, Izuku decided he could manage to close it with just some butterfly bandages.
The bullies had avoided being physical with him until the wound had healed completely. Maybe they just didn’t want Izuku to reveal they’d almost killed him. Maybe they actually felt bad for their actions. Izuku had thrown that idea out the window the very next time Katsuki put a starburst scar on his arm a couple weeks after the head injury. That head injury was indeed still the worst day of his life. It was the day he realized that no one was coming to save him. No one cared if he died, or was injured horribly. It was the day reality crashed around him and made him see the world for what it was. Izuku shouldn’t have accepted it, but he did, and he forgave them all.
Today was bad, but not worse than his worst day. Izuku knew he should hate the words that came out of Katsuki’s mouth today, but in all reality they just felt inevitable. Izuku had heard similar remarks all his life. Being told to kill himself was normal, it was part of life for a quirkless individual.
So, in truth, it wasn’t those words - those God-awful words - that had driven Izuku to be standing on the roof of his apartment building at sunset, watching the sky fade from orange to purple to deep blue. No, those words had only been an excuse, a validation for his feet to find the staircase. What drove him up here was the last raw and frayed nerve that had finally fizzled out like a burnt wire. The very last drop of the remaining will to push forward and hold on was drained from his heart the moment he walked up to his apartment today.
Of course, Izuku knew his mother hadn’t been home in weeks. He’d known for a while. Inko Midoriya had never said goodbye, she didn’t leave a note or even a voicemail. But when Izuku arrived home today - an envelope had been taped to his door, addressed to ‘The Midoriya Household’.
Izuku hadn’t read farther than, ‘We regret to inform you…’
His legs had already moved, the hard soles of his sneakers slapping on the concrete as he started to run towards the roof. Even being outside, he felt suffocated. His chest was aching for air, as if someone had shoved a pillow over his face. He knew what those words meant. He knew it without even reading it. It was a standard form letter from the Hero Commission, with their letterhead bright on the top left corner of the page.
He forced himself to look down at the letter again, just to confirm what he already knew.
‘We regret to inform you that today, August 8th 20XX, Inko Midoriya was involved as a bystander in a villain attack. Despite the best efforts of the medical staff on scene, they were unable to revive her. Please see the enclosed check addressed to her only living relative on record, Izuku Midoriya, as a formal apology for the actions of the villain that caused the injuries that claimed her life.’
It wasn’t a fucking apology. This was hush money. The irony was the Hero Commission wouldn’t have even bothered to include the check if they had taken two seconds to look Izuku Midoriya up in the quirk registry. Being quirkless meant he was owed nothing by anyone, especially not by society or the government. That irony cut him deeper than the scar on his forehead. It sliced a gaping wound in his side and left him bleeding and gasping for air on the roof - for hours.
When Izuku had finally calmed down, he realized it was sunset and it was a beautiful time to accept that he was finally - and utterly - alone. There were no kind shoulders to cry himself into, no gentle loving hands that might brush their fingers through his curls in comfort - in solidarity. There was only Izuku - and the ever dwindling daylight drawing a close to another pathetic chapter in his life.
So, Izuku did the only remaining thing he felt he had the energy to physically accomplish. He stepped around the railing of the rooftop veranda and stared down at the street. It was quiet, and dark below. He was at the back of the building, perhaps subconsciously to avoid any passersby seeing him as he made his decision.
He’d stopped crying some time ago, having poured his whole heart out onto the cement rooftop, leaving only a thin puddle as evidence of how he’d shattered like someone had taken a hammer to his fragile sanity. Nothing, that’s all that remained. Izuku was empty. He was alone, unwanted, and unneeded. What could one quirkless child bring to the world besides their fragility and liability? Nothing. That’s all the world had left him with, all the world had ever given him.
Izuku didn’t see the flash of black and yellow that bolted across the rooftops towards him from the left. He didn’t hear the screams of a scared man trying desperately to reach him in time.
Izuku turned to the side and leaned backwards, letting his body free fall over the lip of the roof in slow motion. It was in that last second before his feet had fully left the ledge that something thin and fabric-like rushed towards him. Izuku could only imagine it was a rope trying to strangle him as he fell. One last dig into his neck from the universe that wanted to be absolutely sure he wouldn’t come back.
The fall felt like eternity - but perhaps moments as big as this always feel like time has stopped. Izuku looked up to the now dark sky, the stars just barely beginning to pop out. He would miss them, they were the only constant remaining in his life, something he’d always found comfort in. The only thought that echoed in his head was: ‘I don’t want to die, but I don’t know how to live anymore.’
He heard the crunch of bone splintering on asphalt before mentally registering he’d reached the ground; everything went black.
_________________________________________________________________
Shouta had been on his new patrol route, having only been assigned a couple weeks ago. The Commission was trying to catch a few petty criminals that were burglarizing the residential sides of town late at night so they’d decided to send Eraserhead in for good measure since the daylight heroes were failing miserably. It had taken about three days to find the trail, but he had caught up with the little gang and caught four of five members a few days after he first tracked them down.
This neighborhood was quiet, average middle class income level, nothing fancy. But it was a good spot for nighttime break-ins. TV’s, laptops, video games, hell - even cash - everyone had something these criminals could sell for a profit. He’d been chasing the last guy for days now, and couldn’t find even the faintest hint the asshole was still in the neighborhood.
Tonight, he’d been scouring a new section of the route that he rarely stopped on. This area was the lower end of the income bracket and most folks around here didn’t likely have anything fancy to steal or sell. That made it a good hiding place.
Shouta had spotted the kid on the roof, standing there staring at the sunset like it was the only thing that had meaning anymore. At least, that’s what Shouta assumed his face was saying - he was too far away to actually make out the details. But the way he tilted his head back, his arms hanging limply at his sides. It looked like…. Like the kid had lost all meaning.
Shouta’s body was moving before that sentence had finished forming in his mind.
The kid was moving. He was moving towards the back ledge of the roof, outside the railing.
No.
Shouta pushed his body to move faster, to get there quicker. He tapped the comm in his ear angrily, barking into it loudly.
“Get me police and medical at - X and X street - immediately.”
He didn’t wait for the reply. The kid was staring up at the sky again, then he turned. Shouta was close enough to see those deep forest green eyes. They were so empty, so lifeless, as if his soul had already been ripped from his body weeks ago - no - years ago. Who had done that? To a child .
“Kid! Stop!” He screamed, trying to break through the darkness that had swallowed this teenager’s mind but the boy was falling before Shouta could reach him. The capture weapon around his neck shot out like lightning, trying to grab a wrist, an ankle, anything.
It was too late. As Shouta came to a skidding stop at the edge of the roof, he heard one of the few sounds that would haunt him for the rest of his life. It wasn’t often this sound wormed its way back into his life, but he knew there would be a few sleepless nights coming his way. Shouta shakily breathed, struggling to control his shivering limbs. It was August, it wasn’t cold out. But still, he couldn’t stop shaking.
Police and EMT sirens sounded from miles away, which forced his leg muscles to finally move. Shouta’s capture weapon was useful for safe landings from high buildings - but tonight, it only landed him safely, and not the kid lying broken on the ground at his feet.
The sight of his mangled body was gruesome. He’d spun mid air and landed backwards, which meant his arm and leg had been caught on the ground in the fall. His head was surrounded by a halo of blood. There was no way he’d survived this. Shouta couldn’t bring himself to check for a pulse. He didn’t want to know the truth; he’d failed to save this child.
Stumbling sideways, he tried to walk towards the street to flag down the police and EMTs - not that they’d need medical anymore. They’d need a coroner. Fuck.
The sound of clicking and crunching made him stop dead in his tracks. It was similar to the sound of someone sweeping up a broken coffee mug from the floor. Slowly, he turned, staring at the bloody and broken teenager on the ground. Shouta’s eyes blew wide. His limbs were lashing around, straightening themselves and crunching as they clicked back into place. It took mere moments before the child he’d just watched splatter himself across the pavement was laying there peacefully as if he were only asleep. The only sign otherwise was the ring of blood that was seeping into the grass off to the side. Shouta’s stomach flipped and it took every ounce of his resolve not to vomit.
He flinched as a loud gasp rang out in the alleyway and bright green eyes blinked skywards. That was the third time that evening he’d seen this kid stare at the sky as if it held all meaning left in the world. It was the first time he’d seen the kid look so confused, though. Shouta was confused, too. Was this his quirk? Was this kid some kind of thrill seeker? No, that didn’t add up. When Shouta had seen those eyes before he fell, they’d been broken, empty, lifeless. This was a suicide attempt, that had clearly failed - spectacularly.
“K-kid?” Shouta asked hesitantly, taking one step towards him.
Viridian irises captured him and they stared at each other for a second before Shouta decided it was safe to move closer.
“Are you okay?” That was a dumb question. This kid had just jumped off a roof, clearly he was not okay. But it felt right in the moment, to ask.
The boy said nothing. Once Shouta was close enough, he realized the teenager had deep green hair to match his eyes. They sat atop his head in a fluff of curls, now matted with blood. A bright scar tracked an ugly white line from the center of the kid’s forehead down to his ear. That was not the kind of scar someone made on themselves, was it? No, someone had put that there, too.
The sirens kept getting louder with every passing heartbeat as the two stared each other down.
_________________________________________________________________
Izuku’s mind was so blank, he didn’t register the man standing to his side until he spoke, and even then Izuku hadn’t heard what he said. He kept staring at the man trying to figure out who he was and why he looked familiar. The black suit, the yellow goggles, the gray scarf. So familiar.
Eraserhead, his mind provided.
Oh Gods, this was the pro underground hero, Eraserhead.
Izuku had just tried to kill himself in front of Eraserhead - one of his biggest heroes. Everything got tipped sideways. A cat in Izuku’s mind just came along and knocked everything off the table of his thought process. So instead of answering the questions he didn’t even hear, Izuku just stared at the man across from him with a confused scrunch in his eyebrows.
“I’m going to check you for wounds, okay?” Eraserhead finally broke the silence and walked closer, kneeling down by Izuku’s - oh God - bloody body. Wait - had Eraserhead not caught him? Had he hit the pavement for real? But - why wasn’t he in pain? Nothing felt broken but maybe he’d snapped his spine and paralyzed himself? That would be his luck.
But no, that didn’t make sense. Everything had been gone, he’d been floating in some darkness, he’d felt at peace. But something vicious and cruel had yanked him back and thrust his soul back into his body. It didn’t feel like it fit inside him right anymore, like his skin didn’t quite sit right on his bones.
Izuku gasped as Eraserhead’s hands touched his arm.
“Sorry, did that hurt?”
“No.” His voice sounded wrecked. Izuku knew it was from hours of crying and screaming. “I thought… I didn’t break my spine, then?”
“Kid - you don’t have a broken bone in your body, as far as I can see. The medics should be here in a moment. We’re waiting for them to check you over and then you’re going to the hospital.”
“What? Why?!” Izuku could not go to the hospital. They treated the quirkless worse than the public did. “You can’t take me there. They’ll just hurt me worse.”
“The doctors are there to help you.”
“Not if you’re quirkless! It’s safer if I just treat myself at home. Please, Eraserhead.”
The pro hero looked shocked by both the fact that he was calling himself quirkless and by the fact that Izuku knew who Eraserhead even was.
“You’re… quirkless?”
“Yes.” The word came out like a shameful admission and Eraserhead scrunched his eyebrows up. Izuku couldn’t figure out what emotion just crossed the man’s face. He wanted to flinch away, preparing himself for the coming disappointment. But it never came, not how Izuku expected.
“Kid… I just watched you die. You were dead. Your skull was cave- your limbs were - you were dead. Then I watched your body knit itself back together like some morbid puzzle. There is no way you’re quirkless - or at least, not anymore. The doctors can figure it out better, I’m sure.”
Izuku didn’t think Eraserhead was the type to lie, but that seemed far-fetched. His body knitting itself back together like a damn puzzle? No way. Not possible. There was no way he could somehow just… what? Be immortal? Wouldn’t that be the worst fucking irony in the world? All this time, he had a quirk and the only way he would have ever known was to die or kill himself. He would have gone his whole life thinking he was quirkless had he not succumbed to the loneliness and agony of being a quirkless piece of garbage - or been murdered in a hate crime.
A laugh so shrill it might have woken the neighborhood ripped itself out of Izuku. Eraserhead jumped.
“Whoa, kid. Take a breath. I don’t think this is a situation to be laughing at.”
“No, it’s hilarious! It’s fucking hilarious! You don’t get it… I’ve been hated and mistreated all my life for the simple fact of being quirkless. When the pain of that life finally - finally - took its toll on me… I find out I’ve not been quirkless this whole fucking time and I’m somehow just magically immortal. The one thing, the ONE thing I never wanted to do was kill myself. I still don’t. Even when I tipped off that ledge, it was my last thought. I didn’t want to die - and now the universe is laughing at me and telling me I can’t die. How fucking hilarious is that?”
Izuku gasped for air, having laughed his way through that whole rant.
Cars pulled up at the end of the street just as he got his laughter under control. Izuku sat up. Eraserhead leaned back, almost looking scared the kid was going to bolt off.
“We’re going to talk about that, soon, but for now - just… sit still and let the medics check you out, okay?”
“Sure thing, Eraser!”
The medics took one look at how covered in blood he was and dashed forward, inspecting him for wounds. Both of them poured over Izuku’s body, trying to find the cause of the ridiculous amount of blood that was surrounding him in a puddle. It took all that for Izuku to realize that his pants were so soaked and he was quite uncomfortable.
“Uhh, Eraserhead - this kid isn’t injured, why is there blood everywhere?”
“He-”
“-I have a healing quirk!” Izuku bit back a yelp as he tried to speak. “Uhh, sorry. I was uhm.. I… I did jump. It’s … it’s been a rough…-life. But I was trying to.. Erm, out pace my healing quirk?” The guilty look in his eyes was genuine, even if the reasoning for his magically healed body was a lie. Thankfully, no one questioned him. The medics both sighed. One even gave his shoulder a squeeze. Eraserhead was looking at him like he was vaguely impressed at the way he danced around the medics question.
Izuku knew that resurrection quirks were rare, like, unicorn rare. Until they truly figured out what it was, it was probably best not to even try and explain it to anyone. He couldn’t avoid Eraserhead knowing now that the hero had seen him revive right before his eyes. But maybe he could manage to find a quirk therapist with the money the Commission had left him.
“We gotta take you in for a psych evaluation, son, and further testing. Where’s your parents?”
Izuku’s body froze up, his eyes dropping to the ground. Eraserhead caught it immediately and moved closer to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you guys wait in the ambulance? I think the kid needs some air. I’ll bring him over in a moment.” Both paramedics exchanged a look and then stared at Izuku for a second before shrugging and heading off to the van.
Eraserhead rubbed small circles on Izuku’s back a few times before speaking up. The gesture was some form of comfort Izuku could not remember ever feeling. He sunk into it like butter melting on a hot plate.
“Alright, kid, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“My… my m-mom… she hasn’t been home in weeks and, and today I got a letter.” Izuku tugged the letter out of his pocket. He was glad he’d stuffed it back in the envelope otherwise it’d likely be illegible from the blood stains. Eraserhead took it and read over it, his face falling quickly the further down the page he got.
“Kid-”
Izuku just kept barreling on, not letting Eraserhead speak yet.
“My dad left when I was diagnosed quirkless at four and all I had was my mom and she never really… She never really did well after that. She kept losing her jobs because of me and I think - I think she blamed me and..” Izuku gasped, a sob wracking his chest as he spilled his guts with abandon. “And then that letter. I… I have nothing left. I… that was on my door when I… today, and I just… It was the last… I loved her, I loved her anyway - and I wanted to think she’d… she’d come back but now she can’t.”
“This was the last push...” Eraserhead mumbled, finishing what Izuku couldn't say aloud. He nodded, wiping the tears from his face.
The hero leaned over quickly. Izuku flinched instinctively, but all that happened was strong arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. The hug was… kind, gentle, and loving? Was this what it felt like, to have someone care that you were here in front of them? Izuku didn’t know what to do at first. His body was frozen as the seconds ticked by. Eventually, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Eraserhead and buried his face into the man’s shoulder and let himself cry.
_________________________________________________________________
The way this child flinched when he went in for a hug hurt Shouta’s soul in a way he couldn’t explain. It was like he’d been burnt - but he pushed onwards. He hugged Izuku Midoriya - that’s what the letter called him - he hugged him tight and offered as much of his strength as he could give. After a few tense moments, the kid just burrowed into him and sobbed openly.
This kid… this child . He’d lost his father at four purely for being born quirkless. His mother had resented him all his life for the very same thing, and she’d just stopped coming home weeks ago. This barely fourteen year old had been alone and taking care of himself for weeks. Then a villain attack truly destroys the last shred of hope he had for his family. That didn’t even begin to touch on the torture this child must have experienced in school and in public.
Being pushed to the point of jumping off a roof and flinching from hugs - that took years of abuse, years of habits formed around the desperate need to protect oneself from outside attack.
Shouta knew, by the end of the night, this child was coming home with him. He didn’t care if Zashi got mad. The blonde wanted a child anyway. Shouta would bring him home to parental love - something he clearly needed so desperately.
Of course, Tsukauchi chose that moment to walk up with a pen and pad of paper.
“Should I get the paperwork now, or later, Eraser?” The man teased. The police force had always joked about all the stray cats Shouta brought back to the shelters and even his own house. It was only a matter of time before he found a stray kid, really.
Izuku cowered under his arm, hiding himself in such a tiny ball, Shouta swore he was going to disappear.
“Kid, Midoriya, it’s okay. This is Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi. He’s a close friend of mine, and my police partner. He’s here to help, promise.”
The revelations Izuku had spit out moments ago must have made him remember what brought him to that roof, he was slipping out of whatever wide eyed excited state he’d been in to find out about Eraserhead and his new quirk. Now he was a scared, broken little boy and Shouta wanted to shake it out of him. He wouldn’t, but the desire was there. No child should look this destroyed. No person should have that much pain and emptiness in their eyes - especially at his age.
Shouta looked up and Tsukauchi must have seen what Shouta saw in those dark green eyes because he was staring at Shouta with the most intense look the erasure hero had ever seen. Shouta sighed.
“Get the paperwork ready. I need to get the kid to the hospital for evaluations. Mark this down as a quirk manifestation - not an attempted suicide please. It might be both, but it will give the kid less grief and the media won’t really bother with a quiet manifest.”
Tsukauchi nodded, “I’ll have the first half of the forms done tonight. Come by the office tomorrow to sign them.” He walked off after making a few notes. He was a good friend.
Izuku had said nothing the whole time, just flitted his eyes between the two adults as he clung to Shouta’s shirt. He wondered if the kid even realized he was doing it. He was analyzing everything, even checking for escape routes - the underground hero in him could see it in the kid’s face easily.
“Alright, kid, I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” Izuku nodded. “Good. Let’s get you to the hospital so we can have someone I trust assess that quirk of yours.”
“What if-” The kid stared at him as Shouta picked him up. He clung to his front and buried his face in Shouta’s shoulder before speaking again, though muffled, “What if I have to die again to test my quirk?”
Shouta’s hands tightened around Izuku’s frame, a deep rage filled breath puffing out his chest. He exhaled slowly, to push out all the anger that idea put inside of him. What a horrible fate for someone so young to have. Resurrection quirks were incredibly rare. At present, the number was something like 3 in the entire world. Two of them were a variant of healing quirk that just didn’t allow a person to die. The last one was genuinely a resurrection quirk and Shouta wanted to check them out. They might be related. With such rarity, it wouldn’t be odd to think that person might be a distant relative of Izuku’s, even overseas.
“We’ll cross that road when we come to it. Right now, we need to make sure you’re safe, healthy, and that you have someone watching over you.”
“But, Eraserhead, I don’t have anyone left.”
“Yes, kid, you do. You got me. I’m not going anywhere.” Izuku immediately started to sob into his chest again as he walked them over to the ambulance. He didn’t stop the kid from crying. This young teen needed to get his stress and pain out, or he’d never heal from it.
The healing was going to start now.