Chapter Text
Eraserhead.
Better known as Aizawa Shouta. A known strategist to heart. Sticks to the plan and never falters.
Well, that’s what he described himself as. In Nemuri and Hisashi’s words, he was a emotionless fucker who likes sleep, his jelly pouches, and his cats. Such as, he likes simplicity, and getting the job done.
But..when times need it..
“Absolutely not Tsukauchi.”
He had to turn it down.
There had been a new and young vigilante running around, seemingly unnoticed, for the past few months. The station called them ‘Nightshade’. Why? Don’t ask him.
It was always Aizawa’s job to bring them into the station, he was getting sick of it.
This one was interesting, though. They had went seemingly unnoticed in the peripheral cameras in front of the station when dropping tied up criminals off, note in front. He left no assigned signature, just ‘-your favourite little shit’. It was always a slipped up image, or none at all, of this child dressed in red and black, with a cat mask on the face.
Honestly intriguing, because in all honesty of the footage received, the kid looked small. Too small even. The movements were synchronised and practiced, they were good at handling weapons, and looked slippery.
He groaned and stretched, muchly watching as the detective grimaced as he stole the coffee on top of the coddled pieces of files they have on the vigilante.
This was going to be a game of cat and mouse, and if he’s lucky enough, this kid will end up in a holding cell.
Just as he was about to leave, Tsukauchi called after him.
“Make sure to at least get a glimpse of the kid, ‘kay?”
He groaned again, this time louder. This was not going to be fun.
Izuku was just reminded why the world was so fucking sick. Funny, considering that all the blood related people he is connected to don’t want to do anything with them anymore.
Inko- bailed out of jail and moved to America. Fun.
Old grampers- lung cancer by smoking. Son of a bitch.
Old grans- heart disease.
Not that it really affected them, at all. Call him heartless all you want but he had never had any criss-cross feelings over people before. Nobody really clicks with him.
Brat.
Worthless.
Unlovable.
Freak.
Villain.
Test tube.
Test tube…
4706.
4706.
4706-
It’s not really his fault he never grieved like a normal person. Sure, he cried, blamed himself, got high in the bathroom and threw up the rest of that night, but he never really experienced the loving bond that people got when mourning. Never experienced the laced patterns that hearts would take as if they went solo on a roller-coaster. Just…blankness.
See? You don’t even care about the people anymore, 4706. You became too little and weak that your just a little experiment.
But he does feel, it’s a memory in his brain that knows how to grieve. Only to people who mean something. But so far, nobody has meant anything. Kami, he’s a monster.
He had to figure out how to pay bills, budget, and work in the real world himself. It was fine, as well. He had hacked into government files before, it shouldn’t be that hard to cut cheap for meals and clear out the apartment. (Especially since the apartment complex was owned by a ‘family friend’. If he plays his cards right, it would stay the normal cost.)
But never, ever has he seen something so..so disgusting while patrolling.
Patrolling, as if he ever will amount to anything in life. He’s nothing more than a porcelain doll stationed in an antic shop at this point. His mask is breaking in some sort or way. Its as if he shatters enough, hell be nothing more than a crumple of dust.
A sexual assault case. Sure, he’s been a vigilante for a couple months, and seen come things that had made him choke on his sour gum, or bend over in a public toilet rest stop, but this…?
This is revolting. A young woman, probably 17-18, was getting her fucking shirt cut off by a man that’s probably 40-42.
Ew ew ew ew.
Pushing back the wave of nausea creeping up on him, and a full body shudder, he was squatting down on a roof (high up, might he add) and starts analysing how he’s going to go in.
He almost 100% needs to use his quirk in this situation. Its pretty much non-negotiable. He doesn’t do it often; just 1/18 of the time. Only when he has to use his poison for getting a deeper grasp of body definition and weak points. Sometimes, making his presence fully.
This, is one of those times. He knows he’s breaking the law and shit, but it doesn’t really apply to him that much.
He surrounds the area with his quirk; not too thick, but just enough to mask him and the sound he’s making. It feels like paint coming out of his body, he rarely ever likes this feeling. It feels muffled too, because of the gloves and how they block the output by a lot, but you have to do what you have to do.
What the man doesn’t expect is for Izuku to call him out in the shade, becoming one with it.
“Do you do this just for it or because you know nobody likes you?” He may sound harsh, but he’s too much his vigilante persona right now. Nobody should care unless you get the job done.
It does just that, of course. The old baldie falters in his steps, and Izuku takes the opportunity to sneak behind the man, and fan his hands to the girls line of sight.
(Of course, he took up sign language learning as soon as he could find the library. The real world is super loud sometimes and it makes Izuku pretty sick. He doesn’t know why, he just really hates sound and being aware)
The girl looks like she understands, because her eyes become more clear and not as distant as before.
‘On my signal, cover and turn around’ He signs. She understands. Thank kami. She doesn’t see it, but his lips quirk up just a little. He knows that saving people, is what he really wants, and she’s letting him.
Izuku really debates climbing up half the wall and doing a Tarzan, but he’s already getting drained by his quirk depositing so much energy into staying as a molded mask.
‘Three’ He starts. The girl follows his movements. This is what he wanted. Now he has to not fail her. ‘Two, One!’
He does a high kick right at the back of baldie’s neck and he goes limp. Izuku isn’t that ruthless, so he catches him by the collar. Kami, this dude was heavy. The teenager turns around and covers up while he ties up the criminal. She doesn’t have a cover-up from her shirt. It’s fine, its quite a warm night, and Izuku is getting hot. He offers his jacket. It should fit her, he’s small and practically does swimming laps in it, anyway.
“A-are you sure?” She sounds like she’s crying. She looks reluctant.
“Yeah, I have plenty,” He doesn’t, but he can always go and buy a new one. He has a new credit problem, “And it’s pretty hot out. Do you want to call the police, or..?”
Damn. Izuku isn’t really good with socializing. He’ll probably need a book to get better on it.
“I-I’ll call them. Can- can you stay?” The girl barely voices, but its clear in his ears. She looks scared to come closer. She has the jacket on now, and the pedo is hanging in recovery position near a pole, not that Izuku cares about him, though.
So, he breaks his one rule. He takes off his cat mask and smiles at her. “Sure, I can stay. Let’s sit at the curb, better visibility, right?”
She nods and they go to the curb. He feels really uncomfortable with being exposed, facial wise and the police sirens he can hear in the distance. Whatever. It’s to make the victim feel better, so he can’t be selfish right now.
***
When he finally gets away, he feels off. He has his mask on, is hopping roofs like normal. What is it?
He sees it. A presence in his blind eye area. A tall, dark figure is chasing after him, fast. Holy shit. Its Eraserhead. I feel like I’m on cloud nine. He noticed me. Kami, I can die peacefully now.
***
“Nightshade,” a gruff voice behind him greets. Its by miracle that he didn’t get caught in the capture weapon that was flinging left and right, and the eyes that canceled out quirks.
(Seriously, he had been following Eraserhead for a while. And no, Izuku does NOT have an entire notebook analysis on the hero. No, you have no proof)
What does Izuku say in response? He already drained his social battery today by buying some cat treats for the strays, and helping that girl earlier. What does he do? And suddenly giant blobs of sentences and word vomit spits out of his mouth in one giant clump but he doesn’t know what to say and it all comes out like, “Hey Eraserhead. Your cool. Well, I-I’m pretty much talking about the way your capture weapon works, a-and how your hair suddenly floats up. But your goggles have ZERO fashion sense. And not to be rude, but you dress like a hobo that walks around with cheese sauce, and your name reminds me of Penciltips. No offence, though.”
His face flushes red and he crouches down with his hands on his mask. Oh god, why did he say that? He knows half of it is true, and really should be kept to himself, but his mumbling came back after being alone for so long. It was like a response to having zero self control. Or, for that matter, no filter.
Seriously, what the fuck?
Behind him, Aizawa is just…confused. Because this child that was just flinching a minute ago from every single lash that his capture weapon threw out, just offered a ‘buy one insult get 14 free’ day on him. Yet, all he can really do is huff out a snort, carried by the crispy wind of the night.
Back to Izuku’s sulking frame sitting perched on a roof, he rethinks everything in his choice and life from when he said those words.
What the actual flipflops was he thinking.
“Flipflops?” He hears behind him, snapping him out of his train of thoughts. Which, quite frankly, was getting to long.
Maybe it wasn’t the best choice to turn around and glare at one of the scariest men in the world, like, ever, but he can’t say he’s wrong for being offended when he gets his, *ahem*, different choice of words from curses, but there is only Eraserhead to blame him, if the man wanted to even. It makes Izuku sort-of-maybe agitated because it’s a literal hypocritical world he’s living in. Piss off.
So, what does he do?
“Fuck off.” He subconsciously huffs out and hops away to the safety to his precious, pumpkin and nutmeg candle smelled apartment.
Yeah, great first interaction, his ass.
***
It’s only a couple of hours later does Izuku find himself under the influence of nicotine infused cigarettes. Yes, he knows it’s a terrible fucking habit for a fucking 12 year old, but he can’t find it in any bone or cell in his body to actually care. Not when he’s decked out in a Mirko hoodie (OMG, Mirko? Izuku literally died when he found her merch), some black shorts, and a Mickey Mouse blanket With Pinx in his arms, all the while when he’s currently curled up in a ball on his bathroom floor.
He doesn’t exactly like the way he deals with things. Not really. But there has been nobody to stop him, so he just comforts himself like this.
Lonely.
Worthless.
You brought this upon yourself.
Go die.
Kill yourself. Do them all a favor.
Maybe, if he gets high enough tonight, the toxic things that purge his mind in such an unfashionable manner, making a home when it doesn’t even belong, will perhaps leave for enough time to be uncomfortable, but not unwelcome.
Well, he can only hold Pinx closer and dream like he always has.
Happy thoughts only, Izuku, right?