Chapter Text
Izuku was a hero. Not the kind of hero who wore a cape or leapt into battle against villains, but a hero nonetheless. At fourteen, Izuku gave up his dream to become the next Almight. It was a childish ambition fueled by years of torment by the people bigger and stronger than him. Instead of chasing an impossible title, he focused his time on finding other ways to help people. Izuku majored in medicine and quirk analysis at the most prestigious medical university Japan offered. Despite his quirkless nature, he quickly rose through the ranks of the other scholars and made a name for himself. Now twenty-three, Izuku had earned his place among the brightest minds of quirk medicine.
Izuku vowed to himself that he would not become another quirkless statistic of wasted potential. He traded his dreams of a cape for a lab coat, and he was okay with that. Really, he was. It was a noble decision. He would change the world one patient at a time.
But life had a habit of testing his resolve.
One night, while walking home through the bustling and active streets of Musutafu, Izuku found himself in an impossible situation. Inside of a damp alley was the metallic smell of blood. Slumped over on the ground in front of him was a man dressed in all black adorned with wounds. Burns, gashes, and—were those bullet holes?
Izuku felt his breath hitch. The man was enveloped in a sea of red. His white hair peeking out from underneath his hoodie was the only way Izuku was able to tell that the man in front of him was a person and not just a large puddle of red. Silently, he cursed himself for his unyielding determination to save others. He could have ignored the pained groans from the alley near his house–anyone else might have. But he was a doctor. He had taken an oath with responsibilities he couldn’t simply shake. So now he found himself alone in the dark, kneeling next to a bleeding stranger. Dammit.
Izuku dropped his briefcase to the ground with a thud. He began rummaging through his medical bag for bandages to help stop the bleeding. Quickly he cataloged the injuries of the man in front of him. Burns, gashes, bullet holes–where to even start? His heartbeat echoed in his ears. Focus. Stop the bleeding. Izuku gently but quickly rolled the man onto his back where he began to wrap each of the wounds. He was trained for this. He needed to call an ambulance.
After swaddling each of the man’s most severe injuries with some spare bandages and gauze, Izuku whipped out his phone to dial the police. As he was tapping the number in for help, a hand reached out and gripped his wrist. “No… no doctors. No police”
Izuku froze. The dying man was refusing medical treatment? Ignoring his comment, Izuku immediately tried to make sure his sorta patient didn’t pass out. “My name’s Izuku Midoriya. I’m a doctor. Can you tell me your name?” Izuku was trying to keep him talking in case the man had some sort of concussion. If he let him fall asleep he wouldn’t be able to monitor the stranger’s conditions which could lead to a serious brain injury.
“Don’t bother” responded the man in a raspy tone. “No-not worth your time.” His eyes looked unfocused and glazed over. He had to keep him talking. “What hurts the most right now?” Izuku asked, trying but failing to keep the urgency out of his voice. The man was fading in and out. It was clear he only had a few seconds before the man was completely out cold. If he could just figure out what was the main issue, he could do something to help the person bleeding out in front of him. Think Izuku, think!
“M-my ribs” groaned the man before passing out.
His ribs! Izuku could work with that. He knew how to treat a damaged rib. Although typically he was treating an injury such as his in a sterile environment surrounded by appropriate medical equipment. He should call for backup. What was he doing? He was insane. He should have called for support. Slapping his hands against his cheeks, he knocked himself out of an existential daze. Get a hold of yourself. The man had pleaded for no doctors…or police. Right now he would have to make do. He carefully swung the man's arm over his shoulder and started to stand up. Ever so gently he began walking out of the alleyway with the man in tow. His apartment was thankfully only a few feet ahead when he had been coming home. Dragging the man up the stairs of his building, he felt somewhat guilty. He was trying his hardest not to bump the man into anything, but the guy was heavy. Clumsily he hauled the man into the side of the wall. He was a doctor, and this was the best he could do?!
Unlocking the door to his apartment, Izuku made quick work to place the man on his couch. Izuku was breathless and sweaty, but he had a duty to fulfill. He put a pillow under his head to prevent him from swallowing any potential blood or vomit. Once his head was elevated, Izuku raced into the kitchen to grab washcloths, ice packs, scissors, and his medical kit. He would not let this man die.
“You’re not dying on me” Izuku lectured the stranger lying on his couch. Taking the scissors Izuku cut open the man’s sweatshirt revealing the plethora of wounds hiding underneath. Izuku worked quickly disinfecting the wounds, stitching the gashes, and bandaging the burns with the precision of a seasoned doctor. He was unable to fully evaluate and fix the bullet wounds in fear he would end up causing more trauma to his patient while he was sleeping. He needed better tools, stronger medications. Tired and worn out, Izuku took a second to make a list of the things he would need to buy.
Izuku had no way to tell how effective his care was for the man as he couldn’t exactly ask him. So it became a waiting game. He would just have to let the man in front of him wake up. Izuku doubted that would be any time soon. For the time being, he could not take his eyes off his self appointed patient. Too much was riding on the line if he were to fall asleep while the stranger in front of him was recovering. He might start seizing or hemorrhaging. When he went to work tomorrow he would have to grab some strong medications. Oh shit, work. He still had to go to work tomorrow. Maybe he should just call out sick and purchase some supplies from the pharmacy a few streets down. God, he really was in over his head.
Groaning, Izuku slumped onto the ground and put his head into his hands. Why didn’t he just call an ambulance? He knew the procedure one was expected to follow upon finding someone in critical condition. So why didn’t he call an ambulance? The stranger’s words flashed into his mind, lingering. ‘No…no doctors. No police’ Izuku hadn’t been paying much attention to the other man’s emotions, too consumed by his physical injuries. If he had been he would have heard the malice laced into every vowel and consonant.
Truthfully, it was suspicious to find someone in his type of condition. Once again, Izuku refused to judge. He himself had been backed into a corner one too many times based on quirk discrimination. It was not his business to pry. Yet a part of him remained curious. Examining the man's face, he felt a familiar pull. The stark contrast of his white-ish hair to his dark clothes reminded him of someone. He couldn’t quite place his face. Maybe he had seen him on TV. Whoever he was, Izuku couldn’t shake the feeling he was dealing with something larger than him. And that was what haunted him the most.
Who had he just let into his home?
What had he just let into his home?