Chapter Text
Izuku landed with a grunt, his left side throbbing. Behind him, Endeavor’s heat made the air shiver and swirl as the hero entered the alley he’d just climbed out of. Even four stories up, the glow made him squint before he turned away. He tapped the stolen comm in his ear, the hero radio hissing.
“Where did he GO?!” Endeavor’s shout was echoed over the radio just after his actual voice pierced the air, both times painfully loud, and Izuku crept away carefully. Endeavor wasn’t the most agile hero, though he was certainly no slouch, and Izuku was known for making “impossible” escapes. No wonder the moron wasn’t even trying to keep chasing him.
He made it to a tall box vent, its consistent rattle masking his own sounds as he settled. Endeavor raged over the radio as he gently pulled at the fabric clinging to his skin. The burn wasn’t terrible, probably not third degree, but it hurt enough to worry him. His homemade armor came off easily, though he left his mask on, and his undershirt was flimsy enough to just tear open, the burnt fabric ripping easily. It hung off his lanky frame, and he pressed careful fingers over the burn, testing.
It hurt like a bitch at every little prod. Perfect; he sighed in relief. If he could feel it, it wasn’t as serious as it could’ve been, so he pulled out the fabric bandages from one of his many pockets and began carefully wrapping it. He had no antiseptic, no cool water, but that would wait until he got home. For now he just wanted it covered.
Izuku let his head fall back against the warm metal behind him. He felt lightheaded, and couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten. The hero comms were quieter, Endeavor’s periodic check-ins reassuring him as the hero continued on his regular route. The cool night air was soothing on the burns, at least before he’d wrapped them, and now he took a short break before heading in for the night.
Izuku stared up at the stars. He had nothing to go home to, really. A shitty flat with two roommates who hated him, temp work that lasted as long as it took for his employers to bother with checking his file and seeing the big red QUIRKLESS stamp, and a week of chafing against every shirt he owned because bandages were too expensive to waste on such a mild wound.
He couldn’t even do any analysis work with his laptop finally dead, not that he could really wrap his head around that. Him, Izuku Midoriya, doing analysis work? And getting paid for it? Now that was something. It would never be a career, of course. If he ever tried to get a license or get hired somewhere properly, his quirk status would bar him completely.
“Who would hire an unevolved analyst,” he mumbled drily. Who wants last century’s genius? Surely anyone could do his work, as long as they had the right connections. Anyone with an intelligence-based quirk would blow him out of the water every time.
The comm buzzed again, an operator with a nice voice talking to someone who wasn’t responding.
“-ft on the next intersection, and then two more blocks is where we lost him. Yes, Eraserhead, Endeavor was certain it was him.”
Izuku jerked, gasping as the bandages pulled on his burn, but he staggered to his feet anyway, wheezing. Eraserhead. No way, no way Eraserhead was coming for him, he’d never met the guy and thank god for that. He couldn’t outrun an underground hero normally, and now? He’d be lucky to make it five steps in any direction.
He’d heard of Eraserhead. He’d done analyses on him, scrounged up every scrap of footage and firsthand experiences the internet had to offer, and he had absolutely no desire to meet him.
Well, he absolutely did want to meet the man; ever since he made his first (and only) official appearance at a UA press conference several years back, Izuku had been utterly obsessed with the hero. He was strong, fast, agile, talented in close- and mid-ranged fighting, known in the underground as being fair and intelligent, and so unbelievably hot . He just didn’t want to meet him like this, in his shitty vigilante gear, probably on his way to being shoved into a police car.
He’d come close to meeting Eraserhead three times before, and all three had felt like this: panic, real fear simmering under his skin like a trapped animal. He was always certain he’d get caught, but strangely, it never happened.
Never once had he seen the man in person, but he’d always assumed he hated his job; for such a renowned underground hero he seemed to have zero interest in proper investigation. LIstening over the comms, Izuku could hardly believe the man even glanced at the scenes he’d been called to. He dismissed Izuku as harmless, sometimes even taunted the other pros by suggesting that Izuku’s vigilante persona didn’t even exist.
It stung a bit, but it also kept the cops off his back, at least to some extent. He just had to wonder how good of a hero the man was to have such a stellar reputation with such a horrible attitude.
Standing now, the cold night air was suddenly ice in his lungs as he lurched to the edge of the roof, armor back over his shoulders but loose, the ties hanging limply. He felt awful, he felt lightheaded, his stomach was an aching void, he stopped at the edge and realized he wouldn’t make the jump. He took two steps back, his brain playing catchup as he tried to map out where he was in relation to his apartment, as though making this first jump would make any of the next dozen jumps any easier.
Scratchy footsteps behind him, from the middle of the roof; whoever was there had announced themselves intentionally.
Izuku turned, hands instinctively rising to clutch his side.
Pro hero Eraserhead stood, hair swirling around his head like black flame, eyes glowing red. His scarf dissected Izuku’s vision into a stained glass mosaic of the night sky, reaching forward, encompassing his periphery. The man was terrifying, goggles down around his neck to reveal his face entirely.
Holy shit, Izuku thought. He’s so much hotter in person.
The man regarded Izuku impassively, before slowly reaching up to tap his earpiece. The one in Izuku’s ear buzzed in response.
“This is Eraserhead to dispatch; no sign of a vigilante here.” His voice was heavy, a slight rasp to it. Eraserhead’s mouth curled into a smug little smile. “Is Enji sure he wasn’t just outrun by some punk?”
Endeavor’s shouts screeched in both their ears, and Izuku flinched, pulling his earpiece out slightly. The hero in front of him released his quirk with an odd expression, and Izuku inched back slightly as he approached.
Out of all possible scenarios his brain could’ve come up with, Izuku didn’t think Eraserhead reaching out to gently lift his chin was in any of them. The hero intently held his gaze for several long seconds, much closer than Izuku knew he should’ve let him get, before procuring in his other hand a small med kit, likely from his belt.
Izuku couldn’t help but flinch when the hero’s hand landed on his shoulder and started tugging him toward the center of the roof, but he followed nervously. He couldn’t outrun the guy like this, and so far he’d made no move to arrest him, so he could at least accept whatever he was going to do for the burn.
Maybe getting arrested wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, either. He’d once heard that police stations gave you a warm meal if you spent the night in their holding cell. The vigilante charges wouldn’t stick, and destruction of property or obstruction of justice would hardly land him much jail time.
“Sit,” the hero said, shocking Izuku out of his thoughts. He obliged, dropping to the ground carefully, and immediately Eraserhead was gingerly removing his armor and shirt.
The hero worked silently, removing the haphazard dressings, applying burn cream and wrapping it carefully. Izuku watched him work, gritting his teeth to keep from gasping in pain. By the time he finished, Izuku was struggling to keep his eyes open, stomach growling loudly as he fought to stay awake.
Eraserhead was in his face again, practically nose to nose, one rough hand at his chin once more.
“Are you alright?”
Izuku hardly managed a nod; burn cream was one thing, but he wasn’t going to ask for food. He had some pride, after all. Eraserhead huffed, frowning, and pulled something else out of his belt, a small pouch.
It’s like Mary Poppins’s bag, Izuku thought. He wondered if he packed his belt every night or if he left it stocked between patrols. Did he pick his snacks out individually? Izuku let his mind wander further as the man pressed the now-open pouch to his hand.
The jelly pouch was bland, similar to grass jelly, but it was filling, and almost immediately Izuku wanted nothing more than to lay on that roof and sleep. A full stomach after a long workout usually knocked him out, not that he had many occasions to find himself with a full stomach. He relaxed against whatever was behind his back, something round and kind of soft, and oh, that was Eraserhead’s knee, he was practically in the man’s lap. He considered moving, apologizing, and instead relaxed further, noting with confusion the sincere smile on Eraserhead’s face.
The comm buzzed again.
“Eraserhead, are you ending your patrol?”
Izuku begrudgingly tried to sit up, clenching his jaw at the pain over his entire side at the movement, but he was stopped by the hero’s hands on his shoulders. Eraserhead tapped his own comm.
“Yes, I am. I’m logging off of official channels for tonight.”
The operator recited an obviously rehearsed, procedural sign-off, and the line went dead.
For once, Izuku’s thoughts were slow, the absurd situation resting on the surface of his awareness like oil on water, knowing he wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of it anyway. He let the hero help him up, let the man bring him back down to the street, let this stranger lead him back to his apartment. Eraserhead held the front door open for him as they entered, and soon Izuku was curled up in bed, the hero letting himself out through his window.
His side still ached something fierce, and he found his thoughts clearing the longer he laid there in the darkness. He turned the events of the night over in his mind, looking at it from every angle, and suddenly his face twisted up in confusion.
How did he know where I lived?