Chapter Text
In that narrow alley, with only dimming street lights to illuminate their silhouettes, it felt like Kacchan was turning into something unrecognisable.
Izuku’s throat was dry and thick, choked by nerves and fear as he was backed into a corner. Kacchan, with eyes wide, hands shaking and sweating with lingering adrenaline and fear, continued forward with a pace quicker than Izuku could keep up with.
Kacchan didn’t wait for heroes to finish chewing Izuku out before dragging them both away, ignoring all EMT’s and words of praise. His grip was iron, unforgiving on Izuku’s collar, until they reached an empty street and he was shoved into it.
His back hit the wall at the same time a hand slammed beside his head, crackling, already smoking on the brick. Izuku yelped, the scent of burning sugar already stinging his nose, triggering a familiar fear, a familiar cowardice. Just keep your head down and it’ll be okay, just be quiet and it won’t hurt as much-
“I didn’t need your fucking help!” Katsuki seethed, and by the slight tremor in his breath, Izuku could tell he was at the end of his tether. Under the weight of what just happened, something had to snap. It seems like the only thing around to break was Izuku. Two hands shoved into his chest harshly, pushing him back against the wall with all the lasting strength of someone who thought they were about to die just minutes before. Izuku bit his lip so he didn’t cry out, so he didn’t spur on anything else. Kacchan always hated the sound of his voice, and right now there was nothing else Izuku could do but be as unprovocative as possible.
“Do you hear me, you fucking deku!? You did nothing, understand? Nothing!” His voice grated on Izuku’s ears, ringing painfully as his back ached. Steaming fists twisted in his uniform, and with a roar Katsuki slammed him into the wall again. This time, Izuku did gasp.
“You’re weak!” The strain in his voice betrayed the strength he tried to keep up. “You’re nothing!” The heavy scent of smoke and sludge still hung off both of them, clinging to their clothes and skin suffocatingly. Izuku felt himself begin to shake. For a moment, the grip on him was released, only before his hair was gripped tightly, forcing him to look up. Kacchan's other hand clamped down on his shoulder. Izuku quickly shut his eyes, thinking it was better not to make eye contact, to set him off further. He was wrong.
“Are you too good to even fucking speak to me now?! Too good to even look me in the eye?!” A barely restrained, scathing explosion disintegrated the shoulder of Izuku’s gakuran, burning through it until his skin was exposed, heated red. Tears pricked his eyes, his teeth gritted in a poor attempt to stifle the cry torn from him. If Kacchan wasn’t holding him up, he would have fallen to his knees.
“You’re crying? After getting in the way, you’re the one crying?! After uselessly trying to help- now you can’t even look at me?!” Izuku’s skin began to sizzle, now without any fabric to separate him from the heated hand, his bare skin bore all of it. He whimpered, and even if he wanted to, his eyes wouldn’t open, screwed shut in pain and a measly effort to keep back tears. What hurt most, was that Katsuki was right. At the end of the day Izuku really couldn’t do anything but be a liability, another civilian needing to be saved. All he was good for, was being unrealistic, then crying when things didn’t go his way. Kacchan was right, he was right to be angry. It was all Izuku’s fault after all.
Fingers tightened unforgivingly on his shoulder, others twisting in his hair and tugging.
“Am I that fucking helpless to you, huh?! Fucking look at me-!”
“I-I’m sorry!” Izuku sobbed, unable to help his stutter. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, something that would convey how regretful he was, for everything. Distracting All might, the sludge villain escaping- everything, it was all his fault. Tears slid down his cheeks, and getting air into his lungs was all too hard.
“I’m, I’m so sorry…” silence followed, and compared to how loud it was before, it was like being submerged in ice.
“…you’re pathetic, Deku. Pathetic,” the hand in his hair released, and a sharp punch to his jaw caught him off guard. His gums stung, and iron already filled his mouth, “Useless-!” Another punch, hard enough that his vision was flickering. But the hand on his shoulder wouldn’t let him budge an inch, or evade the hits. He just had to take it. And if he was being honest, it felt like everything he deserved.
“You’re so fucking worthless! Who the hell would ever need help from a person like you!”
Kacchan’s ragged breaths were the only interval between the jarring, overwhelming hits. He was shouting something, yelling, but blood rushed too violently in Izuku’s ears for him to catch it right. But even so, he could understand the sentiment perfectly. He’s Deku, nothing more than a weak, quirkless person who can’t do anything right even if he tried. He’s useless Deku, who shouldn’t hope because he was simply born incapable. He understood. He already knew. All Might had made it clear, and them needing to be saved even with Izuku’s attempt to help only proved it further.
Izuku, was useless.
“-So why won’t you even look at me?!” Burning heat flashed over his neck and shoulder, so sudden, so powerful that the force of it sent Katsuki’s hand away from him. The sheer loudness of it was deafening, and any thoughts Izuku had before were completely drowned out. Ringing lingered in his ears, shock echoed through his mind, and finally, his eyes opened. On Katsuki's face, was some kind of twisted, clarifying horror.
Then, then all Izuku could understand was the soldering pain. His vision blanked, and he crumpled, no longer being held up. Bakugou had completely backed away from him. Izuku's legs gave out from under him, and he crashed to the side in a wheezing, sobbing heap. If it weren’t for the shock of it, the heat and pain overtaking his throat, Izuku would have screamed, he wouldn’t have been able to stop.
Pure fire encompassed his shoulder, a blazing agony that just wouldn’t fade. He choked painfully, fitfully on a sob, as his consciousness began to wane. Hot blood dripped, it felt like it was everywhere, coating him completely, smearing in thick puddles on the floor. But as he whimpered and struggled to breathe, as his vision turned black, he could barely hear a voice, distant and muddy as if he was underwater. Someone was talking, then when his eyes began to slide shut, he could hardly even notice the shadow and shuffling of the figure in front of him, running away.
—
When Stain saw a middle-schooler, with his face, neck and shoulder bloodied and burnt, limping down the sidewalk- he had to admit he was curious. It was approaching night, the sky cloud free thanks to All Mights handiwork earlier, or so he’d heard. He was in the city, so it was irritating to find out he had just missed the hero. But now, as he stared at the heavily injured kid, shuffling down the sidewalk like an aimless corpse, he was suddenly distracted from that previous annoyance.
He sped up his pace, approaching. Even though he made no attempt to silence his steps, the kid didn’t even motion that he could hear him. And even as he strode up, walking right beside him, the kid didn’t notice him at all. Murky green eyes bore straight ahead, dripping tear tracks clutting clean through bloody and bruised cheeks. Even in his civilian wear, Chizome knew he was scary looking, intimidating, and even more than that he was a grown man, approaching a kid in the growing dark. Any person, in their right mind, would have been acting suspicious right now, or even indicated in some kind of way that they were aware of his presence. But no, there was nothing with this kid.
Though, what somewhat let Chizome know that the kid was even somewhat awake was the fact that he was holding one arm, the one on the damaged side, tightly, his hand shaking and covered with slowly drying blood. In the other, was a yellow backpack dragging behind him, the strap of it consciously looped around his elbow. So, there were some kind of thoughts, just not much awareness. Chizome thought it would be a miracle if that bag made it in one piece by the time this kid got to wherever he was going.
The man hummed and looked ahead. There wasn’t any hospital in the direction he was headed, or a doctors clinic, nothing medical he knew of. And by the looks of it, now that he was closer, he could tell that the kid wouldn’t make it if he didn’t receive medical attention soon. Or maybe that was dramatic. if he didn’t get help for it soon, Chizome could really only see two options. He’d get an infection or he’d lose the arm. And the first would most likely result in the latter.
From the burnt away patches of clothing, he could see that the trapezius was exposed with some major chunks taken out of it, which didn’t bode well for future mobility in that arm. The junction between his neck and shoulder a bloody mess, muscle deteriorated, and now he could understand why the kid was holding it up.
Chizome's eyes flicked to the bag again when it caught on a rock wedged in the pavement, hearing the resounding rip it made as the teen continued to walk. He felt a brief satisfaction that he was right, before something cluttered out of the new gash, jingling on the cold concrete. His eyes instinctively caught on those distinct colours. Blue, red and yellow, an All Might keychain.
It was merchandise from his bronze age, he noted, one that was discontinued shortly after production because the metal hair pieces kept cutting people and clothes. This kid must be a diehard fan, to have something like that and risk the safety of everything it touched. That, was something Chizome could respect. It seemed a waste to leave something like that behind, so, he picked it up.
As the seam continued to rip, widening the opening a considerable amount, next came a notebook, a tattered, singed one. It tumbled a few paces and flipped open. Chizome peered down at it, seeing a drawing of some upcoming hero next to a block of scribbled out writing. He leant down, and picked that up too.
Seemed like this kid was a hero nerd, or an analysis junkie. Stain scanned down the page and quickly he realised something.
Not only did it include praise, but also weaknesses, possible improvements, suggestions. Chizome read through it as they walked, keeping his expression neutral. All this information was completely out in the open. If put in the wrong hands, it could be very dangerous to the hero.
“…You there,” Stain called out. There was no response, like he expected. He thought that if the kid really was gone to the world, he could just take the notebook and leave it at that.
“Hey.” He tried louder and the kid flinched. His disoriented eyes found Chizome's and he blinked. For a moment, the man was surprised he was even capable of that much.
“You dropped this.”
“S-sorry…” the kid said carefully, trying not to pull his cheek. His shakey hand reached out, unlatching from his other arm and chizome noted that it immediately slumped, like nothing else was holding it up. The damage must be even worse than he thought.
“You need medical help.”
“No… thank you.”
“You’ll die like that.” He threatened, hoping to get some kind of urgency out of him.
“Mm…” the kid just mumbled and his eyes drooped. Despite the mans warning, he continued shuffling on, bag still dragging behind him. Chizome eyed him strangely, but continued to follow.
It didn’t take long before the kid ended up passing out on the walk, almost crashing onto the pavement if Chizome hadn’t caught him first.
If a hospital wasn’t an option, Stain only really knew of one person that could heal him, or well, one organisation that had the means to.
Did he really want to cement a relationship with those villains? Not at all.
But was he going to leave an All Might fanboy with a great eye for heroes' weaknesses to die…
He’d rather not.
It seemed like a waste.