Chapter 2: a boy in cosplay
School seems so stupid, now that it's so close to the end of the year. Izuku knows he should be paying attention to his teachers, but it's hard when he knows that he has a quirk!
He hasn't told anyone, though. He stares out the window of the classroom, picking at the edge of his notebook. Kacchan's mom had brought it over after the incident, saying she'd heard from Kamui that he had the idea to aim for the eyes. She told him to be careful, that Kacchan was recovering fine. Izuku's written in it nearly nonstop since, filling it with theories about his own quirk, but keeping the writing in third person. He flips to the most recent page, stares at the sloppy handwriting, the smudges of pencil lead from being opened and shut too many times.
It's not like he shouldn't tell anyone, he thinks. His mom would be horrified, that's for sure, but she'd still be happy for him. The issue is he doesn't think anybody but his mom would believe him. It's only rational. If he, a fourteen year old professional diagnosed as quirkless, suddenly started claiming to have a quirk that he couldn't prove existed, he'd get brushed off as lying to make things better for himself. He doesn't want the bullying to get worse, not even as much as some small part of him wants to tell the bullies and then kill himself in front of them to see their reactions . God, what is wrong with him?
The thing is, now that he knows it isn't permanent (and that he's done it before), suicide doesn't sound so terrifying. It doesn't sound so forbidden, so out of reach. He finds himself daydreaming about it. He's already considered the fact that his quirk might have a limit, but it would likely be time based, not a total number of maximum uses. Maybe if he dies in quick succession, too quickly for his quirk to rewind time, he'll stay dead. He doesn't plan to push it, not like that, but he figures that between jumping off the roof and getting blown up by Kacchan, he probably was alive only five minutes. As long as he doesn't push that boundary, doesn't try anything funny like killing himself five times in five seconds, he should be fine.
He's already considered the fact that his quirk is likely time related, in general. He's not reviving after dying; he's rewinding to before he died in the first place. It's different from a regeneration quirk because it means that nobody will ever have to know. It also means he won't heal from wounds, and that if he does die, he doesn't necessarily know how far back he'll be when he wakes up. He's okay with that, though. So far it seems that he's rewound the minimum amount back to prevent him from immediately dying again, which should give him time to make minor changes to actions. He wonders if, with training, he could control where it rewinds to. He doesn't know where to start with that, though.
The final bell ringing jolts him out of his thoughts, and he hears someone laugh at whatever face he must be making. He feels his cheeks color, realizing that a group of about four kids is staring at him, grins on their faces. Kacchan is there, too, but he's just sitting on his desk and staring at Izuku with a blank look.
"Hey, Deku," one of the other boys says, slamming a hand down on his desk. "Still trying to study quirks? Didn't we tell you that was a waste of time?"
Izuku looks up at him and swallows. He'd avoided major beatings since the sludge villain incident, and honestly, he isn't really looking forward to the next one.
"Oi." Izuku snaps his head around to look at Kacchan, who's standing next to his chair instead of sitting in it. "Deku is mine today. None of you extras are gonna interfere, got it?"
The guy leaning on Izuku's desk backs up, raising both hands. "Alright, fine. But you gotta save some of the fun for the rest of us, Bakugou."
Kacchan just snarls at him, and he shrugs in response, walking out of the classroom. The rest of the class drains out after him, but Izuku just stares at Kacchan where he's standing in front of his desk, glaring down at Izuku.
"What did you think you were fucking doing?" Kacchan asks, his lip curling over his teeth.
"W-What?" Izuku asks, confused. He scoots his chair back slightly so he can stand up if he needs to, but Kacchan leans forward and grabs his collar in one hand, dragging him forward until they're both leaning over the desk.
"With the fucking sludge villain. What the fuck was that?" Kacchan snarls, and Izuku can smell his breath, can feel the moisture on his face.
Izuku screws his eyes shut. "You j-just... you l-looked like you n-needed help..."
He braces himself for a hit, but Kacchan just drops him, and he's so startled by it that he almost knocks his chin against the desk. He glances up, startled, and see Kacchan stomping out of the classroom.
"Stay out of my fucking way, Deku!" Kacchan shouts when he sees Izuku looking. "I didn't need any fucking help ." He says it like it's poisonous, then turns and walks out the classroom door. Izuku stares. He feels like he has deja vu, which is kind of funny because while he has lived through some stuff twice, this particular encounter isn't one of those times.
--
Izuku gets the idea one evening when he's in his room, tucked under a blanket and watching hero videos on his phone. He watches Mt. Lady slam a villain into the ground and he thinks, maybe I could do that .
Not the slamming into the ground. He's not strong enough for that, but it occurs to him that it's not like he could die . He wouldn't be in any danger, as a hero. He couldn't get hurt. He could throw himself into dangerous rescues and not only would he survive, he would get multiple tries . He shuts his phone off and stares into the blackness of his room.
He could be a hero. It's not unattainable but the thing is, he doesn't want to be a hero with a quirk. He wants to be the first quirkless hero, he realizes, clenching his hands into fists and staring at his dark ceiling. Even if he isn't actually quirkless, he'll essentially be fighting like he is. His quirk isn't any good in combat or rescue, not unless he literally dies. His quirk also leaves no evidence that he knows of. Nobody would know.
And even if he isn't actually quirkless, he thinks, wouldn't it be nice for the quirkless kids growing up? Wouldn't it help them, even if they're still bullied and told they're useless and beaten up? Wouldn't it help someone , for there to be a publicly quirkless hero?
So he decides right then, bundled up in his comforter, in the dark in his room after school. He's going to apply to UA. He's going to get in. He'll get multiple tries, won't he? If he messes up the first time, well.... He can just take a swan dive off a roof and hope for better luck in the next life.
He realizes though, that he has no practice. No training, and no quirk to compensate for his lack of ability. He could probably get into UA with enough tries anyway, but he doesn't know how far back he'll reset. What if it's midway through the test, and he can't prepare at all no matter what? He needs to train, somehow.
He turns over in bed, shuts his eyes. He'll figure something out. He always does.
--
Dagobah Beach is an ugly, messy thing. The junk heaps covering the expanse of it all are unsightly, and the stench of the rotting seaweed mixed with old garbage is enough to make Izuku gag as he picks his way through the trash to the shore, where clear water brushes up against his shoes. He stares at it. He'd thought the water would be nasty too, for some reason, but it's sparkling and clear, like glass. The sand underneath is a pale brown, speckled with bits of shells. Seafoam clings to the sand when the water pulls back, looking like suds from a bath.
He's come up with a couple of ideas since he had his realization about being a hero. The first is to clean the beach. It's messy, and it's local enough that not a lot of people go here, anyway. Nobody else is cleaning it up. It'll help him train his body.
Second, he thinks he's going to start exploring the streets at night. Nothing crazy; he's not going to go looking for dark alleyways to get abducted in. But now he doesn't have to be afraid of getting killed in some damp corner. He can get a feel for what it looks like, at night, when crime actually takes place. He'll have to be a popular hero, a famous one, for his quirklessness to actually help things for other quirkless kids out there, but he thinks... well. Some part of him, at least, feels sick at the idea of smiling and laughing and praising All Might in public. It had started with vague disappointment, after All Might told him he couldn't be a hero, but it twisted into something like resentment the more he thought about it. Izuku leans down, picking up an empty beer can and shoving it into the black plastic garbage bag he'd brought with him, grimacing. He'll need to buy gloves unless he wants to get his hands cut up.
Cleaning the beach is hard work. He expected it to be difficult because some of the stuff is heavy, but it's also a lot of walking. His garbage bag gets full really quickly, and he has to walk back to his house. His mom opens the door for him, smiling.
"Oh, Izuku," she says, ushering him inside. "How's the cleaning going?"
He smiles at her. "It's okay! I need to get more garbage bags, though." He'd told her about what he was doing this morning before he headed out, and she thought it was a wonderful idea.
"Of course," he says, ducking into the kitchen. "Should I just give you the whole box?"
"Yes please!" He chirps back, and he enjoys the cool breeze of the air conditioning while he waits. He hears the cabinet door shut and his mom's footsteps as she walks back over to him.
"Here you go, sweetie!" She hands him the box with a grin. "Don't forget to stay hydrated! Oh, and if you get hungry, there's onigiri in the fridge."
He nods, smiling at her. "Thanks, mom!" He waves at her and ducks back outside, hopping down the steps and back to the beach.
It goes faster from that point, since he's getting used to the routine. He's starting with the small stuff, little pieces that broke off of things and litter that washed up on shore, but he can see the difference in the beach after only a few hours. There's more space to walk between the junk, less wrappers and empty bottles scattered in the sand. He thinks it might smell a little better, too, but that might just be his nose getting used to the stench.
By the time the sun is low in the sky, hanging over the horizon and painting everything in bright peach hues, he's tired and sweaty but feels good. He feels like he's doing something. He might not have done much, but it's better than nothing, right?
He sleeps deeply that night, dreaming of UA and heroism for the first time since he died.
--
A few nights later, he's on the streets. It's after dark, and he feels a little bad about sneaking out through his window, but he knows it would only worry his mom if she knew he was out this late in the night. It's just past 11 p.m., and the sky is as dark as it ever gets in the city. The moon is fat and bright in the sky, not quite full but almost there. Izuku walks through the street, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets. He feels a little weird, walking this route when it's dark instead of during the day on the way to school, but it's also strangely relaxing. He knows he isn't going to run into his bullies, at least.
That's probably why he's surprised when he hears the sounds of an argument, low and muffled. He stops, turns and slowly walks in the direction of the noise, pressing his back to the brick wall that borders the next turn. He hears the voices more clearly now, and he knows they're just around the next corner.
"Dude," the first voice says, pleading and nervous. "I swear, I'll have enough money next week. I really thought I'd have enough by now, I swear." Izuku hears the sound of something clicking. It sounds familiar, but he can't place it.
"Is that so," another voice replies, this one lower and rougher. "It's too bad that I'm impatient." Izuku winces as he hears a sickening thud, like someone had just hit human flesh with something heavy. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, Izuku glances around the corner, trying to keep himself hidden.
He sees two men, both fairly fit, but one is a lot taller than the other and holding a gun . Izuku feels the blood drain from his face as he realizes the sound he heard earlier must have come from the man messing with it. It's a shiny black handgun, and from the smear of blood on the butt of it and the bruising cut on the smaller man's forehead, the larger man had just hit him with it. Neither of them seem to notice Izuku as he glances over the situation. They're both dressed in casual clothes, but the larger man is wearing a leather jacket and heavy boots, while the smaller one wears nothing to protect his arms and has on sandals.
Only one of them knew to expect a fight , he realizes, and his breath catches in his throat when the larger man fiddles with the gun, making another clicking noise.
"Y'know what time it is?" The man asks, cocking the gun and pointing it at the smaller man's head. The smaller man just shakes his head, biting at his lip and raising his hands in a pleading gesture.
Izuku moves before he can think, his legs not obeying his orders to stay still. He rushes out, tackling the smaller man to the ground just as the larger man shoots, the gunshot loud and painful in his ears. He winces as he lands on his butt, the smaller man right next to him, looking dazed.
"Run!" Izuku says, his voice quieter than he'd meant. "Get out of here!" He shoves at the smaller man, shocked when the guy stands up and complies with his orders. He sprints out of the alleyway, whimpering.
Izuku sighs a breath of relief, then looks up. The larger man has his jaw clenched, and he's shaking with rage, his pupils tiny pinpricks.
"Fucking kid ," he snarls, and that's the only warning Izuku gets before the back of the gun is whacked against his cheek, painful and hot. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Izuku reaches up a hand to touch his cheek. He feels blood, and weirdly enough the only thing he can think about is that his mom will be worried about the cut. He stares up at the man, and he realizes he's started to tremble.
"I, um, I-I," he bites his lips. "I'm s-sorry," he says, pleading with his eyes.
The man groans, then kicks Izuku in the stomach. "God, I'm not going to shoot a fucking kid . Stay the fuck out of my way!" He kicks Izuku again, this time hitting his ribs and knocking him a few feet back. He grunts and starts away, headed in the direction the smaller man ran off in, but not even walking particularly fast. Izuku stares after him.
What on earth was I thinking ? He wonders, reaching up to feel his cheek again. The adrenaline pumping through his veins is dulling the pain, making him feel like a live wire. It's not like it would have helped the other guy if Izuku had died. Everything would have just reset, so why did he bother?
Except, Izuku thinks, I didn't die . It's strange, to think he might have saved a life tonight. Even if the larger man catches up with the smaller guy now, maybe there was at least a chance to call the cops. Izuku wonders, for a moment, if he could do it again. If he could go find another fight, break it up with his body. Either he dies and nothing happens, or he lives and he's saved someone. It's a win-win.
Well. More of a win-neutral, anyway. Izuku stands up, wincing at the way his ribs ache. Those would bruise in the morning. It isn't the worst he's had, though.
He starts to walk back home, picking his way through the streets, and if he starts thinking about what he'd need to do to conceal his identity if he kept this up, well, that's nobody's business but his own.
--
Izuku feels silly, at the costume store. He's one of the only people in the store in the first place, and considering that it's late February, nobody is getting a costume for Halloween or Hero Day. It's chilly outside today, and Izuku is honestly kind of enjoying the heating in the costume store. He'd walked here as soon as school let out, but his uniform isn't quite warm enough for this weather. He'll have to keep that in mind when designing his costume, he thinks.
Izuku doesn't need to get everything from here, anyway. He's already placed orders online for a long sleeved black shirt that had a high collar and was made of "activewear material," whatever that meant. He's already got a pair of black boots in his closet, a gift from his mom for Christmas. They'd be perfect for vigilante work, although his mom had gotten them with the intent of him using them at UA.
Vigilante work, huh? He thinks, smiling to himself as he pulls a matching pair of red gloves out of a bin. He's not sure he really considers what he's planning vigilante work, exactly, but that's the closest description he'd come up with, anyway.
He's already decided that his nighttime outfit needs to be as different as possible from his daylight costume. He's been planning something green and All Might inspired for his hero costume for ages, and he knows that even though All Might isn't his favorite any more, he's more than a little attached to the designs he's made. For his vigilante work, then, he'd decided on a red and black theme. The black because it'd be easier to blend in with the shadows and the red because it's the opposite of his green daylight concept. The gloves he's holding, clearly an adaptation on workout gloves but dark crimson red for hero cosplay, are a perfect touch. He'll need something like this to prevent fingerprints.
He holds on to the gloves and walks over to a display of belts. Most of them are styled after specific heroes; this shop specializes in cosplay, after all. There's also plain belts in most colors, though, for cosplaying lesser known heroes or for other uses. Izuku picks out one that matches his gloves and has a good number of pouches and hooks on it. He thinks it's supposed to be an imitation of one of the ones Crimson Riot used to wear, but he isn't totally sure. It's made of woven fabric, and the tag says it's fireproof, as is usually required for costume material. Izuku remembers reading about it in class. Since people in costumes tend to use their quirks, either for hero work or for reenactments, they're supposed to be at least minimally resistant to fire, to the point where they wouldn't instantly go up in flames on contact with fire. It'll be good enough for what Izuku is doing.
He looks over the pants briefly, but he's decided to just wear a pair of sturdy balck jeans, anyway. He hasn't really worn them out before, since he's usually in his uniform or workout clothes lately, so they wouldn't be recognizable to his daytime identity, anyway. He walks over to a display of masks.
Most of them aren't suitable. They either don't cover enough, imitate a hero, or they look like they'd make fighting hard. He stops when he sees a display of face masks modelled after surgical masks, just plain ones that cover your mouth and nose. He pauses, grabbing a plain black one and holding it. He'd need another piece to cover his eyes, but...
He glances around, spotting a display of safety glasses and goggles. He grins. Eye protection is a good idea anyway, and this way he won't have to worry about his face or his eyes giving him away. He glances over the options for a moment before selecting a pair of reflective goggles, a shiny red mirror that shows his own face. He tries them on, and they aren't tinted, which will be great for night time. He carefully puts the goggles in his growing armful of stuff, then turns to get his last item.
He goes to a display of wash-out hair dye and grabs the largest, multi-use bottle of black dye they have. He knows that out of anything, with everything covering his body and face, his hair would be the most likely to give it away. Curly hair alone, in a plain unassuming black, though? It'd do the trick.
He goes to the checkout counter and dumps everything he's bought on the glass surface. The guy behind the register looks bored as he rings everything up.
"Who're you dressing up as?" He asks, then reads the total cost to Izuku.
"He's an original character," Izuku says, smiling as he hands over the money.
--
Izuku waits to go out in his costume until the beach is nearly halfway clear and his muscles no longer ache when he tries to move some of the bigger things. He hasn't been able to budge some of the objects, but he knows he'll get there.
That's why he's doing this now. It'll let him train parts of him that the beach doesn't, like stealth and dexterity. He hops out of his window and onto the soft path of dirt beneath him. He's wearing his long sleeved shirt, a maroon hoodie, black jeans, his boots, and the utility belt he'd bought. The mask and reflective goggles have his face covered, and his hair is dyed a deep black that doesn't show a lick of green in the dim light. He's pulled it back into what must be the world's tiniest ponytail, his mom's hair tie at the nape of his neck and just barely holding everything in, but he knows he's completely unrecognizable, which is exactly the point.
He steps onto the street, glancing around to double check that he's alone before he starts along the road, walking with his shoulders straight and his hands in his pockets. The gloves, hoodie, and mask together help, but the air still chills his skin, and he picks up the pace into a light jog, his boots tapping on the concrete. His breath comes easier than it would have even a few weeks ago, before he started cleaning up the beach. He relishes the sting of the cold air in his throat, and he catches himself smiling as he jogs along.
Unsurprisingly, the streets are pretty quiet. The area of Musutafu that he and his mom live in is a calm, residential area. He's thought about the act of finding crime itself quite a lot. He must have been lucky to stumble on that fight the first night; it wouldn't necessarily be easy to find these things in the first place. After all, part of the goal of the criminals would be to stay hidden, wouldn't it?
The crickets chirping in the long grasses poking out between the sidewalk and the wall seem to agree with him, singing happily in their homes. He can hear his footsteps echoing against the concrete ground and the brick walls that border the yards in this part of the city, too loud in the night. He'll need to learn how to walk more quietly, he thinks.
He turns down a road that he knows leads into the nastier part of the city, even if it is still a few blocks away. The buildings up ahead went up quickly, cheaply constructed from concrete and iron. They look like they're older than they are, with vines twisting on some of their sides and cracks on others. This is where the people who can't afford to live anywhere else go, where the seediest bars and the strangest clubs lurk. If he's going to find crime, it'll be over here.
It takes him the better part of an hour to find anything, and that's probably why he finds himself about to keep walking when he hears it. It's hard to tell what exactly he hears that sounds off. He stops, standing under a streetlight that casts a yellow light over the ground, flickering ever so slightly. He can hear the bulb inside buzzing, and watches as a group of moths bump around the light, knocking into the case surrounding it. They look black on the bright backdrop of the light, orange-yellow and flickering as it is. Izuku watches a moth circle it lazily as he listens to what sounds like a group of guys joking around.
The voices are coming from the alleyway just past the streetlight, and Izuku really isn't sure why he's stopped in the first place. It sounds like just two or three guys, and he hears one of them laugh, happy and deep. They're probably just drunk and playing around , he thinks, and he goes to move on when he hears something else.
He can't be quite sure, but he thinks he hears a woman's voice, pleading and squeaky. He thinks that he must have heard it before, but not registered it consciously, and he strains to listen as he slips into the alleyway pressing himself against the building closest to him, the concrete surface smooth and cool. The shadow of the building seems to do a good job of keeping him hidden, because as he inches along the alleyway, none of the people at the end of it seem to see or hear him.
He can see three men, just teenagers, really. He thinks they might be 16 or 17; not much older than him. They're laughing, shoving at each other, and grinning, but what makes Izuku grit his teeth and inch closer is the woman they're cornering against a wall. She's their age, dressed in similar clothes to them, too. Izuku notes that they're all wearing the same uniform under their jackets. They're probably from the same high school , he registers, creeping closer.
He kneels behind a dumpster that blocks his path along the side of this building. It stinks of rotten food, but he's used to it after all of that time on the beach. He can hear the conversation much more clearly from here, and he studies the shadows of the guys' legs as they move, cool black on the cool grey concrete. The light seems to be coming mostly from the moon up above; Izuku can't see even a hint of the yellow from the streetlight.
"Come on ," one of the guys says, his voice nasally and high. "You should come back to my place with us. It'll be fun," he says, a smile in his voice.
"I-I told you," the girl replies, voice wavering. "I want to go home."
One of the guys snorts, and Izuku hears what sounds like someone kicking the ground, a large scuffing noise. "Oh, really?" A different guy speaks. "You're going to let us get this far and then reject us? Not cool." This guy sounds older than the other one, although not by much.
"Dude, let's just take her," the third man says. "With my quirk, we can just--"
Izuku hears the girl shriek, then get cut off like something covered her mouth. He grits his teeth, then scoots forward on his feet to peer around the dumpster.
The tallest of the guys, a skinny one wearing a yellow hoodie, has a hand raised, each finger turning into a thick rope that extends over to where the girl is pressed against the wall in fear. Three ropes are wrapped around her forearms and waist, binding them together, and the other two are wrapped around her mouth like a gag.
"Nice," the second voice whistles from where he's watching wearing a green windbreaker. "Let's--"
And that's when Izuku moves, even though he doesn't know how he's going to swing this or how on earth he's going to get that girl out of harm's way. He runs at the man with the rope-hand quirk, launching himself up onto the man's shoulders and then leaning backward, trying to pull him down . It works, but he lands on top of Izuku and he's heavy. Izuku hits the ground and gasps, feeling all of the air pushed out of his lungs at once. The man he pulled over screams, and the one with the green jacket shouts, but all Izuku cares about as he cranes his neck up to look is if the woman got away.
He sees her, ropes loosened but not dropped. She struggles for a second, then gets her hands out of the ropes and pushes them off of her. She starts to try and run, but the first guy to speak catches her, his denim jacket almost grey in the darkness. He grabs her shoulders and grips her what must be painfully tight, and Izuku grits his teeth, kicking at the body squirming on top of him.
He feels an impact on his stomach as the man kicks at him, but the motion frees him from the man's weight. Izuku pushes himself up into a crouch, then springs back when the yellow-hoodie guy, still on the ground, throws a messy punch at his face. His hands, Izuku notes, aren't rope all of the time, and as he jumps to his feet he wonders why the guy wouldn't have used his quirk on him. Maybe he forgot .
Izuku scrambles back, shooting a glance to where the girl is struggling to get out of her captor's arms, kicking back at his shins and biting his arm where it's holding her. The man screams, and Izuku realizes that the girl's teeth are unnaturally sharp, arranged like fangs on a cartoon vampire. It must be part of her quirk, and the guy quickly drops her, swearing and pressing a hand to the bleeding wound in his forearm.
"Son of a bitch !" he curses, turning to run after her, but Izuku dives at his legs, trying to somewhat repeat his stunt from earlier with the rope-hand guy. It doesn't knock bleeding arm guy over, though, just sends him stumbling back a few steps, grunting in surprise.
"Fucking brat," someone spits from just behind Izuku, and suddenly the breath is knocked out of him, a sneakered foot digging into his ribs with a strong kick. Izuku is knocked away from the guy with the bleeding arm, and he lands on his ass, one hand bracing himself and the other raised to try and block any incoming hits. He winces as another foot comes flying at him, this one aimed at his face, and his hand softens the blow but gives him a flare of pain in his palm.
"What," the guy with the green windbreaker sneers, "do you think you're some kind of hero ? Dressed up in that bullshit?" He kicks Izuku's shin.
"God damn ," bleeding arm guy says, hand still clamped over his arm. "I'm gonna have to get fucking stitches."
Izuku pushes himself off the ground, trying to get up so he can run away , but he feels something rough and tight wrap around his thigh and yank him back to the ground. He looks up to see the guy with the ropes for hands leering down at him, his lip bloody where he must have bit it when Izuku knocked him over. He feels dread pool in the pit of his stomach when he realizes he's not only cornered, but also caught, and he reaches his hands down to try and loosen the rope wrapped around his thigh, just above the knee. He scrabbles at it, but he can't even get his gloved hands underneath the rope; it's too tight. He glances back up, looking desperately for an escape route, but the three men are all facing him now, windbreaker guy with a terrifying grin on his face.
Bloody arm guy spits at him, and Izuku turns his head just in time to avoid the spit hitting his face. He's glad he did when he hears a sizzle where the spit landed on the wall behind him, and he can't see it but he can smell something sulfurous. He clenches his jaw and hopes that they kill him quickly so he can try again. Maybe next time, he'll be smart enough to bring a weapon at least. He's practically fighting quirkless, as is.
Rope guy yanks, and Izuku shuts his eyes and braces himself as he's dragged across the dirty concrete. He feels someone stomp down on his stomach, and then abruptly, he hears a shout and the weight is gone. The rope around his thigh loosens, and he opens his eyes in surprise.
He sees something that looks like bandages floating in the air around him, a thick, canvas-like fabric that whips around and wraps around rope guy. Izuku sits up, pushing himself back and away from the other two guys, but it doesn't seem to matter because they both turn and start to run.
"Not so fast," a low, adult voice growls, and Izuku watches as a man clad in all black with golden goggles steps out from behind rope guy, brandishing the fabric. It quickly snaps to wrap around the other two, tying bloody arm guy and windbreaker guy together in one wrapping of white material. Izuku scrambles up to his feet, watching as the new man's black hair falls down from where it had been floating above his head, landing on his shoulders in a mess of black curls.
The man steps into the alleyway, his face turned to Izuku, now. Izuku bites his lip and he presses himself to the wall of the alley. Suddenly, it clicks. He recognizes him.
"Eraserhead," he breathes, and Eraserhead quirks an eyebrow at him. "The erasure hero." It occurs to him all at once that not only is he dressed like a wannabe hero (or villain) in front of an actual pro who he is a fan of, but also that Eraserhead is quite possibly the most dangerous person in the entire world for him. If he erases Izuku's quirk and Izuku dies, he wouldn't come back.
"The girl said someone wearing a cosplay had saved her," Eraserhead says, voice unreadable. "I guess that's you."
"T-That's me," Izuku replies, voice shaky. He takes a few steps along the wall, testing to see if Eraser will stop him. The man doesn't move, and Izuku takes it as a sign. He breaks into a sprint, running from the alleyway as fast as he can. He passes under the flickering street lamp, listening for footsteps behind him, but he doesn't hear any. It's cold outside, and it stings his skin but not as much as his ribs and thigh ache. He feels like he can still smell that one guy's blood, can still smell the stench of the dumpster, and he runs the entire way home.
When he gets back, he hauls himself through the window, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. His heart pounds in his ears as he rips off the goggles and mask, as he tiptoes to the bathroom and turns the shower on the hottest temperature, even though it could wake his mom up. His heart rate doesn't come back to normal until he's standing under the spray, black hair dye washing out and running down his skin in dark rivulets. The bruises forming on his abdomen and thigh are bright red, turning violet in spots.
When he sleeps, he dreams of the look on the girl's face when she got away.