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Izuku very rarely ran away from his problems. Heroes didn’t run. They stayed and fought and died for what was right. And Izuku couldn’t fight, not when he was younger and not now. But he also couldn’t run, so he did what he could; he stayed. He stayed, and he watched as the other kids ran away. He stayed, and took whatever Kacchan gave him, words or fists or kicks or little explosions that popped and singed and left little starbursts on Izuku’s skin even ten years later, because it would mean a different kid would take his place as Kacchan’s punching bag if he didn’t.
Later, he didn’t run because no amount of running would let him escape. He wasn’t a hero, he couldn’t fight, and running was useless. Kurogiri would just warp him back, or Shigaraki would make it into a game of hide and seek that Izuku always lost. He never won against Shigaraki, because he lived in a den of villains while he was dead to the rest of the world. So he stayed.
But after USJ, after Stain, Shigaraki was leaving more often and taking Kurogiri with him. And while those small reprieves were a blessing, a breath of fresh air, it just made Shigaraki’s painful returns all the more suffocating. For the first time in ten years, Izuku allowed himself to dream of a time where he wasn’t listening through a pounding heart, seeing through tears, walking on light feet, and choking on pain constantly. He had lived through it so far, but now his brain was being used to form plans that had killed two teenagers and injured a teacher. His plans were being used to trap hero society in a web and Izuku just wanted to be a kid again. He didn’t want to be a murderer under the thumb of a serial killer.
But he was.
So he figured the best he could do was take away one of Shigaraki’s tools, take himself out of the equation so Shigaraki couldn’t use his plans to harm others. So on another night where Shigaraki and Kurogiri were out of the bar, he took a chance. He ran out of that bar and planned to finally free himself, or die trying. He wouldn’t be responsible for another death unless it was his own.
So now, for the first time, Izuku was running. He was fighting through fear and sprinting down a street he didn’t remember, because if he stopped running he would die.
Izuku’s brain was barely seeing what was around him, his mind lost in a chant of run, run, run, run . He needs to run, run till the Earth is behind him and he’s resting up in the stars, run till no one will recognize him, or his name, or notice him enough to drag him back to his hell of agony and suffering. Izuku is miles away and still not far enough, never far enough, he needs to keep running-
But his heart is beating against his chest so hard his ribs might break, every breath is a fight, his stomach is eating him from the inside out, and his backs still aching from where Shigaraki disintegrated it yesterday, and his legs are cut and scraped and burned because apparently, Shigaraki needed to learn how to fight beyond his quirk, and he’s in pain so much pain but never enough to get them to hear pleas of stop please stop -
No. He’s fine. He’s free. He can take a breather. He’ll rest until his heart steadies and his breathing evens out, then he’ll keep going.
So Izuku finds a hiding spot, a back alley by the streets where no glowing gold eyes or angry red ones will look. Where, hopefully, just once, fate will smile on him and not bring dry hands and cold purple mist upon him.
Izuku finds himself nestled in an alleyway seemingly reserved for two dumpsters and the occasional stray cat, and is surprised to find the body of a deeply scarred man resting in the shadows of the alley. He smells like ash and looks like death, but he seems to be alive in Izuku’s unprofessional opinion. Alive enough that Izuku should turn and keep running because his too short break was going to be wasted patching someone else up instead of resting at this rate, and the adrenaline running through his veins is fading too fast and it’s not slowing his rapidly beating heart or stopping the cold fear dripping down his spine. Izuku is aware he needs to calm down because fear only drains energy and surely Shigaraki must have known that this would happen should he ever try to run as he has so foolishly done. Because staying would mean twisting his soul till it fractured, taking a steel-toed boot to the pieces, and stomping down till the remaining fragments were too small to see. Till Izuku was nothing more than a shadow and nothing, not even the pain could make him feel alive.
He was a butterfly so desperately trying to fight its way out of its cocoon, a hermit crab searching with shaking hands for a new safer home, a boy searching in what he hopes isn’t a futile yearning for a new home, one that won’t add too many more scars to his battered body. He may not be very well versed socially, but Izuku knew that fifteen-year-olds weren’t supposed to have bodies that looked like his.
But he digresses.
Taking a step forward, an old soda can crunching under his feet in what seems like an earth-shatteringly loud noise, Izuku tries to gleam if the man is injured and if he can treat it with his limited supplies. A part of his mind screams at him to leave but he’s already taken that step forward, arms outstretched and ready to help. He doesn’t get very far before cerulean blue eyes snap open and meet his green ones.
Izuku stills, standing about a foot away from the man but not moving an inch.
A growl echoes through the ally as the scarred man speaks in a voice that tells of cigarettes and bruised vocal cords. Those scars look like old burns though, so maybe burned vocal cords would be a better description? He’s getting distracted again.
“Touch me and you die,” Ah good, first impressions are going well then.
“Is that a threat or...?” Izuku asks. Maybe the man has a touch-based quirk that will hurt him? Or maybe he’s just touch adverse? Hopefully, he has an offensive quirk because he really shouldn’t be trying to fight people, even him, when he’s hurt. Maybe he can help him? Izuku does have a medkit, and it’s kept him alive so far so unless it’s something really bad he should be able to help Scar man at least a little. But he’d rather avoid any new injuries when he still needs to keep running…
Scar man’s staring at him with a blank expression. Oh, crap did he say all of that out loud?
“Yeah kid, you did.” Scar man says. Oh cool, he’s ‘kid’ now. That means Scar man probably doesn’t think he’s a threat anymore?
“Damn. I really need to work on my brain to mouth filter.” Izuku really hopes the Scar man won’t find his rambling too offensive.
Really he just hopes this man isn’t like Shigaraki.
But Scar man just scoffs and tries to stand up, with little success.
“Um...I really don’t think you should move too much mister. I mean, staying in a trashed alley is asking for an infection, but going back by yourself to wherever is asking for unnecessary blood trails. What I mean is. Uh. I could um, f-fix your wound for you? Or just um g-give you my med kit? I-I’d prefer it if you gave it back though- okay sorry I’ll s-stop now.” He finishes his ramble, cursing the stuttering that he should be over by now.
Scar man looks unimpressed.
“Look kid, my place isn’t far from here and I’ve got a big strong quirk to protect me. I’ll be fine and the wounds mostly superficial anyway.” Scar man says with a loud sigh.
But Izuku knows better. Better than to believe the strange man when the scent of copper has only been getting stronger. Better than to believe that he lives near here because people don’t get 3-inch stab wounds around here unless they’re new or arrogant. So Izuku reaches into his bag, ignoring the way the man tenses, and pulls out the unassuming bento box that holds the plethora of medical supplies that have kept Izuku alive all these years. The bento box was a nice touch, it cemented the schoolboy look if his age, height, and backpack didn’t do it for him. No one needed to know that he hadn’t been to school in years, and they wouldn’t think twice if they saw him on the street. They would ignore him and everything would be fine. A hand brushes his shoulder and Izuku stills, knees locking and heart hammering. No more no more no more, please-
“...kid?” Scar man asks tentatively.
Oh. Right. Scar man. Okay, breathe Izuku. Before he can drift off more Izuku grabs the man’s wrist and pulls him closer. The man doesn’t fight him but he does give him a long once over and keeps his hands just a tad too warm to be anything but a warning to Izuku.
All that really tells Izuku is that he might be getting some new burns for the first time in ten years.
“Sorry. I’m going to look at your wound now. It’s a stab wound right?” He mumbles half to himself and half to Scar man.
“Uh. Yeah,” Scar man says a bit awkwardly, apparently giving up on leaving before Izuku patches him up. He pulls up his shirt to reveal old marred skin crisscrossing down his torso in a purple and white mix, staples gluing the pieces of the man together.
Izuku almost forgets to look for the wound. Gently, he presses a cloth soaked in disinfectant onto Scar man’s skin, pressing just enough to stop the bleeding of what he can just barely identify as the stab wound.
Vaguely, Izuku thinks that Scar man should probably be hissing or showing some other sign of his pain. He chooses not to focus on this.
He instead puts away the cloth and begins the process of stitching Scar man’s abdomen back together stitch by stitch. He isn’t very careful, his hands shake and his breathing won’t calm down, every full breath accompanied by ten stuttered ones. But he was helping someone, and that thought alone was stitching together more than Scar man’s stomach. (If he lives past Shigaraki he thinks he’d like to help people more.) He finishes fast, and he hopes that if Scar man notices that kids aren’t supposed to be able to stitch people in less time than a nurse, he keeps it to himself.
He steps back and puts his stuff away, carefully avoiding the larger piles of trash, before bracing to ask the big-ish question. Big for him, at least.
“Um...could...could I a-ask you a q-question?” He stumbles and trips over the words, knowing they usually brought more pain than it was worth.
Scar man considers him, staring him down until Izuku is seconds away from turning around and continuing his escape.
“You just did. But sure. I might not answer it though.” He says in a carefully bored tone. Izuku could probably, should probably, read into it more but he’s so tired and all he wants is to know how much time they’ve taken from him.
“Do...uh...Do you- Can you show me where the police station is?” Izuku forces the words out in a rush. He was pretty sure he knew vaguely where it was but he was about to turn himself in as a terrorist so he thought he should probably be sure.
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A pregnant pause before Scar man answers him, his carefully crafted expression cracking for a second before he smooths it over again.
But he answers, because Dabi knows the question is important, even if Dabi knows where it is for different reasons than the kid.
“I...do you know if they um, are nice?” he whispers, and Dabi can see the shine in his eyes, knows that this question was important and that it had nothing to do with Dabi, but probably had everything to do with the Scars that the kid was covered in. Scars that layered upon his arms and neck and ankles and face leaving very little left unmarred on this literal child .
This leads him to his question, because Dabi was not above murder and certainly not for people that left scars like that, and this kid clearly didn’t want to stay here but had still stitched his wound in way too little time for it to be done so well. And this kid was looking for a police station but Dabi knew that they were just as likely to harm this kid as to help him.
“They’re police, that should tell you enough,” The kid nods, a resigned look on his weary face.
“Is there anyone you want gone kid?” Slips past his lips before he can truly think his offer through, and Dabi fully expects the question to be shut down because children usually aren’t thrilled at the thought of murder, but it never hurt to ask.
The kid startled violently, taking a step back, which Dabi considers a fair reaction.
“No I’m alright” is expected, “You wouldn’t be able to do anything. He’d just kill you,” is less expected but not too hard to understand. Dabi would like to argue that point, because he isn’t weak little Touya anymore, but he realizes the kid is probably this flighty for a reason, that the scars covering him aren’t from your average civilian, and that this kids bag sure is full for a quick trip to the police . So Dabi resists the urge to smile, and instead gives the kid his number, just in case.
The kids gone in a split second, running down the street and headed as far away from wherever he came as quickly as possible. Dabi watches him go, before heading to the meeting spot Giran gave him.
He almost expects the purple mist that defends upon him and the blonde girl he’s with; everyone’s heard of the warp guy that works for the league. The bar is unexpected but not unwelcome. The Leagues apparent leader going ape-shit because his favorite toys missing, is however, unpleasant and highly unwelcome. This is the leader that attacked U.A? He certainly doesn’t seem like much. But Dabi needs a group to be his means to Endeavors untimely end, so he buries his anger and waits for the leader- Shigaraki- to calm down. He’s going to join after all.
And when he hears the description of Shigaraki’s toy, if he forgets to mention the appearance of a certain green-haired freckled boy to his new boss? Well, that’s no one’s business but his. And, because he can, he promises to himself that once Endeavor’s dead Shigaraki will burn to ashes at Dabi’s hand.
No one needed people like him in the world anyway.