Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Once upon a time there was a boy who woke up one day with the knowledge that he had the blood of Gods running through his veins and the memories of his sixth-sense wielding ancestors - all of whom had fought for humanity in one way or another.

If patterns are to be believed, then so would he.

Izuku lets the chatter of his classmates wash over him, serving as the perfect source of white noise - their voices meshing together in that indistinguishable way that mimicked the sound of waves crashing softly against a shore. That peaceful crescendo that could ease a boy into a half-conscious state of being after a long night of terrible dreams.

Bent over his notebook, Izuku felt his head lull, slipping deeper into those soft noises, as far as he could without losing awareness of the movement of those around him.

"Ah Midoriya, you also applied for U.A, correct?"

The ocean stopped its push and pull motions, the sand on the beach becoming tiny shards of glass, each threatening to cut. The distinct change of atmosphere was enough to send a spark of energy into him. Blinking into reality, Izuku took a moment to enjoy the cautious way his classmates flicked their eyes about, their silence and strained postures all too telling.

They watched him warily, silently begging with their eyes, knowing full well that he was going to ignore their cries for mercy.

An old smile paints itself across his face, it feels like oil leaking into this strange personal ocean, threatening to pollute. "Yup," he chirps, making sure to pop the 'p' for that extra stab - does Katsuki feel it?

The silence in the room seems enough to impress itself on the world, the temperature dropping by a few degrees. It lasts only a moment before there's a crash from behind him and Izuku feels the familiar heat of fire dancing across the back of his neck. He ducks low as he can against his desk, avoiding the brunt of Katsuki's Quirk.

"Ow, Kacchan," Izuku whines, high pitched in a way he knows Katsuki despises, "that almost hurt, be careful."

His heart beats out an excited rhythm in response to that familiar crackle and his, the sickly sweet smell of burnt sugar rising. It makes Izuku grit his teeth, the mere scent of it enough to make something dark and violent rise in him. Izuku presses the feeling down mercilessly, turning to face his former friend, the same smile stuck to his face.

The bell rings and his classmates take advantage of its dismissing tones to fling themselves from the room, all except Katsuki's entourage, who hover nervously - they never could decide who they were more disquieted by. Even their teacher leaves with an indifferent 'don't break anything.'

"Deku, you useless shit stain, do you really think your creeping fucking ass is U.A material?" Katsuki growls, skin popping in clear agitation, his Quirk ready to explode and burn the world around them.

Izuku eyes the quiver of the other boy's shoulders, takes bitter pleasure in the pure undilated rage in those red eyes. It's only right, Izuku thinks savagely, that someone who hurt him so much with his existence, should be hurt by his own existence in return. Because for all that Katsuki was apathetic to the world outside his own, he could never bring himself to ignore Izuku.

"Sure I am, Kacchan!" Izuku chirps sweetly, carefully allowing his smile to pull up into a grin.

Katsuki does not disappoint, surging forward in a roar, explosions popping with deafening sparks. In this careful game, Izuku can't dodge the fire that sizzles across his skin, but he flutters around Katsuki's punch on light feet, dancing around the other boy's fists with practised ease.

"Wow, Kacchan, you almost got me there," Izuku praises, voice so syrupy it almost sounds sincere, "have you gotten faster?"

"Fucking fight me you cowardly fuck, you disgusting waste of oxygen," Katsuki screams hoarsely, because Izuku has perfected the art of slithering beneath his skin. "All you do is run, useless cunt!"

With a small laugh from Izuku, their dangerous dance continues -  the scent of smoke and sugar in the air as Katsuki punches and kicks with wild abandon, more brawler than artist, and Izuku slides like water around each movement made to hurt. The fire clips him often, but not once does Izuku allow Katsuki to touch him.

But as all things tend to do, they reach an end as Izuku finds himself cornered, Katsuki looming over him, his chest heaving, red eyes glowing with unholy urges. Izuku idly wonders if he could ever incite murder in this boy.

They enter a brief lull, this strange intimate moment between them, both of them waiting for Izuku's next move. Katsuki waits for a blow that will never arrive with a small grain of patience that feels obsessive in nature, Izuku has witnessed it plenty of times and the sight never stops feeling like a victory. Izuku won't hit the boy, refuses to give him anything that will soothe those flames, he wants to watch Katsuki burn himself alive from the inside out.

"You win, Kacchan," Izuku sings to the other boy in a way that says he has won only because he has let him, knowing it would spawn poison in the blond.

Izuku will grant no mercy to the boy who had never thought to gift him the same courtesy.

Izuku watches as Katsuki's whole body shudders in fury. "You're nothing," the blond says in a quiet hiss, "you will never be anything, you fucking parasite. Every day you sicken the world just by breathing."

The fire powered punch he receives to the gut is admittedly new. It knocks the air out his lungs and Izuku fights to keep his stomach bile down and his smile up. The more pain Katsuki delivered,  the more Izuku felt the need to plunge his hand around the blond's ego and squeeze and so there they were, stuck in the same vicious cycle, neither of them possessing the strength of will to break it.

"Quirkless freak," Katsuki spits as he leaves, his entourage dogging at his heels as they send him parting glances, their shoulders hunched.

The bang of the door echoes oddly in the remaining silence, and with no one left to witness it, Izuku lets his smile drop, hands placing pressing down on his stomach to regain his breath. Facing the window once more, Izuku waits to watch as his one-time friend marches out of the school, small sparks leaving his skin as he does so.

The teen casts a wary gaze to the man leaning casually against the class blackboard, his olive skin contrasting beautifully with the pristine white of his robes. From beneath his beaked hood, eyes of molten chocolate follow Katsuki with all the intensity of an eagle, even as his scarred lips betray no emotion - negative or positive.

"Don't start, Altair," Izuku warns tiredly.

Altair shrugs, the movement so fluid and without strain, lends him an air of arrogance. "I would have broken both of his hands, " he says simply in the language of his land.

His honesty has Izuku's lips twitching up in a sincere grin, good humour lighting up his green eyes. "I know you would have ," Izuku replies with a laugh, falling naturally into Arabic when speaking to the Syrian - his accent flawless if archaic in wording, as if he'd been speaking the language his whole life.

Altair hums noncommittally, switching his gaze to Izuku as he finished packing and moved to leave through the door, an arm folded over his belly. Izuku felt the older man following him, his steps made no sound and his robes did not rustle with the wind, but Izuku felt the familiar pull in his chest that alerted him to Altair's presence - theirs was an unreplicable bond.

" You needlessly aggravate that child, " the Syrian says, and though he didn't ask a question, Izuku hears one none the less.

The teenager feels a smile pull at his lips, it's not a nice one, it tastes bitter and vicious on his tongue. "My mere existence aggravates him and if it's all the same to him, then I want him to burn as much as I do, " Izuku admits, thinking on that satisfied curl in his stomach every time he spies the rage that eats away at Katsuki's innards, that delicious heat in his throat as he watches the blonde struggle with his clashing arrogance and insecurities.

Entering the tunnel that would cut his journey home by half, Izuku feels Altair's eyes carve a path across his back, but thankfully the man doesn't say anything. Izuku is grateful for the lack of judgement. They walk peacefully through the shade, the air stale but cool, right up to the moment where Izuku's instincts start yelling at him to move.

Not one to ignore the alarm bells in his head, Izuku rolls to his right without conscious thought. "What-" A large shadow falls over him, rising up in the place where he was previously standing as a moving body of slime moves straight through Altair, who watches the proceedings with an impassive expression.

"Nice reflexes, kid," comes the watery voice of what Izuku assumes to be a villain. "But I'm going to need you to stay still for a bit. I need that body of yours."

Dodging a grabby tendril of slime, Izuku can't help but shakily snark, "I'm sorry sir but I'm saving my body for my wedding night and something tells me you're not going to put a ring on it."

Izuku doesn't make a move to retaliate, not sure it would even do anything against the viscous body of the villain beyond handicapping Izuku. He wishes he could use his Eyes but his Vision was not stable enough to keep active during movement. And move Izuku did, dodging and evading while trying to build up some distance between him and the slime monster.

"Stop twitching around, you little shit," the villain growls in that same wet voice, irritation building.

"Am I supposed to seriously just stop and listen to you?" Izuku asks rhetorically, ducking into a forward roll and leaping to the side with what little room he has to work with.

Sadly, the slime villain is just fast enough that Izuku has no chance of simply turning his back and making a run for it. Instead, he's forced to keep his eyes on the slime's movements, tracking each twitch, knowing full well that even a moment of inattention could mean the death of him.

Izuku does his best to economise his movements, in hopes it would allow him more time before his stamina would fail him. The urgency and sheer doggedness of the villain leads him to believe that the slime is being hunted and that the hunter is nearby enough to spook him. Izuku just wishes they would hurry up, whoever they were.

As if summoned by his strained thoughts, Izuku hears the tell-tale sounds of another soul making their entrance. Izuku opens his mouth to snark out the villain with something witty like, 'you're so fucked now, pal' or perhaps something classic like, 'oh look the village chief is here to pick up its idiot' but all sounds die on his tongue once that large figure straightens.

Because there - there, right there ! - in all his posed glory, is the beginning and end of all of Izuku's childhood dreams.

He says something, probably something along the lines of how there's nothing to fear, because, there - oh god, right there - is All Might. Even now, years later and significantly more bitter, Izuku's whole being seemed to want to believe in everything this man stands for.

Izuku watches stunned as the slime becomes little more than flying particles of opaque blobs from the wind of All Might's punch. The teenager is forced to crouch low to the ground and dig his hands into the grates to prevent himself from being blown away. The villain floats about in the air in shimmering dust mite sizes, all of which are swiftly collected and contained within a multitude of bottles in a single burst of speed from the blond Pro Hero.

All Might's power is fearsome to behold, the villain whom Izuku could do nothing but run from and evade, was now nothing more than a green liquid in a soft drink bottle in what seemed like a mere blink of an eye. And then, that glittering smile turns on him and Izuku is forced to look up into the half shadowed face of his secret idol.

"I'm glad you're okay, young man," All Might says, voice boisterous and unapologetically masculine. He throws up a thumb and hold out in Izuku's direction. "You did well to hold out against that villain, my boy!"

The laugh that follows brings back memories of more innocent days, where Katsuki and Izuku would spend hours with their faces glued to a computer screen, studying and mimicking that very same laugh. A time before their great divide, All Might was there, holding them together. Izuku can do little more than stare up at the man, his body apparently unwilling to move from its crouched position and his tongue refusing to allow him to speak.

At his lack of reaction, All Might coughs awkwardly. "Tough crowd," he mumbles into his hand before that blinding grin is slapped back on his face. "Well my boy, thank you for your help in distracting this villain, but I must be off now!"

The teenager can only watch as the large man pockets the multitude of bottles and crouches down, bobbing on the balls of his feet in a stretch. Izuku feels his hand stretch out, as if to stop him, before he remembers who he is, and more importantly, who All Might is - the symbol of peace, the personification of all that was good in humanity, and that person would not approve of someone like Izuku.

But still...

"Thank you," he manages to croak out, his tongue unlocking, "for everything you do." Because Izuku may not be a good person, but he doesn't think he's a bad person either.

That famous smile seems to soften around the edges. "You're very welcome, young man," he says voice lively before he suddenly dashes forward and rockets into the sky with one powerful leap, a dark blur against the infinite blanket of blue.

Izuku unfurls from his position on the ground and slowly paces the remainder of the tunnel in a bit of a haze. He looks to Altair, who merely raises a brow, unimpressed, before disappearing like steam upon cool glass, the pressure in Izuku's chest easing with his exit. At least the day should be nothing but boring from this point onward.

But of course, nothing seems to go Izuku’s way and he finds himself standing in a crowd, wondering how the hell the very same slime who had cornered him mere minutes ago, had managed to escape someone like All Might.

Still, it was somewhat amusing to see that the slime’s new target was none other than Katsuki. It was less amusing to note that the Pro Heroes on site were...less than ideal. Looking on the blond spikes of his classmate, he feels that familiar dark stirring, that longing for violence.

The future was meaningless when the present - these glorious sands of time - felt eternal.

There existed only Izuku and Katsuki - Kacchan - struggling, mouth opened in a silent scream as he quietly drowned and just outside their noiseless world, there stood a crowd, unmoving, willing to simply let him die in their fear.

Do you feel useless, Kacchan? Does it bite at your soul to be so completely overpowered, to struggle against your captor and know that nothing you do is capable of stopping him?

Something in his chest curls up like a satisfied cat at the sight, purring languidly at the way his bully wriggled pathetically inside the body of the villain - like a dying worm. The image soothed something in him and Izuku didn’t have the mind to save him, wanted to preserve the moment in glass to look upon the next time Katsuki stoked the flames inside him.

And there would be a next time. Reluctant as he is to do it - oh how peaceful life would be without one Bakugou Katsuki, how satisfying - Izuku could not let his morals stop him from doing what was right. Still, though, he took one last second to watch the other teenager squirm before tossing up his hood - it was unsettling how much he enjoyed the way the other boy’s lips tinted blue from lack of oxygen, but that was something he could think on later.

Fingering the pencil in his pocket, Izuku burst through the crowds - bowling over a police officer and a woman on the outskirts - in a running start, dodging the flames as he went.

Ignoring the screams and muffled curses of those watching, including some of the pro-heroes, Izuku suddenly halted and activated his Eagle Vision - able to do so now that he could look upon the villain without the danger of movement disrupting his concentration.

The world turned to grey as the villain in front of him burst into red, all except his eyes which glowed such a dim shade of gold, it almost looked yellow. His Eagle Vision flickers slightly before deactivating completely. 

Suspicions confirmed, Izuku bursts forward before twisting on the balls of his feet to smoothly evade a slime tentacle, ducking low to pick up the twisted pole of what was probably a street sign at one point before slipping forward in a barrel roll to avoid another tentacle.

Charging forward in a sprint to build momentum, Izuku planted the former street sign in the broken ground at an angle, using it as a makeshift pole vault. The metal wasn’t nearly as flexible as it needed to be to push him through the air, but it was strong enough for Izuku to plant his feet against and push off of in an impressive show of athleticism.

Sailing through the air, he manoeuvred himself habitually, tucking his legs in slightly with arms raised high in the air. It was just like freerunning across the rooftops - it was all about the landing. And Izuku landed right in this fuckers face, his pencil sinking into the villain’s eye with a sickeningly wet sound.

The slime screamed in pain, instinctively forming tentacles to cover his eye. Taking advantage of the open-mouthed wail, Izuku scrabbled for purchase along the slick contours of the slime’s body, before plunging a hand in the back of its throat to grip Katsuki’s head by the hair and yank him out.

“Making friends, Kacchan?” He can’t help but jab in a needlessly happy chirp, watching as the blonde gulped down air with undisguised desperation. “I see your taste in company hasn’t changed - still shit.”

Red eyes narrow in a vicious glare. “I don’t need your fucking help, asswipe!”

“Uh-huh,” Izuku says brightly, enjoying this far more than he should as he fisted the collar of Katsuki’s shirt, and reared back his other hand. “Either way, I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

I mean, for a while I did, wanted to, even, Izuku thinks as he plunges his fist in the villain's other eye, but that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to.  

As the slime rears up, Izuku bends his knees in anticipation. The villain thrashes desperately, forming tentacles all over his body to blindly swipe.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you little green bitch!” The slime roars.

With his body spread a little thin from all the extra tentacles he made, Izuku uses all the strength in his legs to push off, hoisting Katsuki along with him. Gracelessly tumbling backwards with the weight of the blonde teenager falling with him, Izuku takes a moment to feel slightly miffed at being called a ‘little green bitch’, before landing back-first on the broken pavement below with a dull thud.

“Fuck,” he can’t help but hiss in pain, feeling something give way in his ribcage area. He twists his head to snipe at the dead weight on top of him to hurry up and move only to notice the blonde’s vacant expression and the blood on the cement.

“Ah shit,” Izuku surmises succinctly, then looks up to see a tentacle raised high above them, ready to drop and squash them like bugs. “Ah double shit,” he says, accurately.

There’s no conceivable way to move out of the way in time, so Izuku grits his teeth and prepares for the worst, shifting his body as much as he can with the full weight of a decently bulky teenager atop him and what feels like three broken ribs to form a half dome over Katsuki’s head, hoping to shield it from what feels like the inevitable.

Izuku’s whole body tenses in preparation for spending his life as a vegetable or a swift if messy death. He hears the whistle of the tentacle slices through the air and a shadow falls over them and then...nothing.

The crowd in the distance breaks out in cheers as the pro heroes whoop excitedly, much to Izuku’s confusion and disbelief. This wasn’t a fucking circus act, there was a possibly concussed boy bleeding on the ground for fuck’s sake. If Izuku, with all his less than happy personal history with Katsuki could make the attempt, they should’ve too.

“Thank you, my boy.” Izuku blinks at the voice so close to him, interrupting his internal dialogue before craning his head to look up only to stare into the shadowed eyes of a familiar, grinning face. “For helping me a second time this day.”

All Might.

For the second time in the space of a single hour, Izuku watches in awe, feeling every inch the four year old rewatching his favourite hero through the screen for the hundredth time, as All Might pulls back his fist, to deliver his iconic punch with a booming roar.

“DETROIT SMASH!”

The power of his punch creates wind currents of its own, blades of air whipping in visible waves that scatter the slime into millions of molecules, all speared and sucked into the vortex of swirling air that All Might had made with the downward arc of his fist alone.

(When the spectators run to mob All Might, bursting through the barricades, Izuku slips away in a bid to avoid the lectures he feels coming his way - Katsuki was too stupid to keep down for long anyway.)

The next few days prove to be rife with gossip - Bakugou Katsuki has not been in attendance for the past three days. Of course, Izuku knows why, may even have been part of the reason he was missing, but he was also part of the reason he was still breathing too so Izuku doesn't feel all that bad about it actually. In fact, it's kind of annoying, with Katsuki gone the student body have taken to gossiping like snapping fish, some sending him wary glances as if he'd cornered Katsuki in some alley and beat him within an inch of his life.

But no, Katsuki is likely bundled up in bed nursing a bump while Izuku deals with the stares, an English lesson that does absolutely nothing for him considering he was already fluent in the language and a headache that threatened to split his head in half.

But he likes to think he's a good student so Izuku writes down everything the teacher is saying dutifully, hand moving in mechanical motions and mind only half focused on the lesson, the other half side-eyeing the view from his window seat. He wishes desperately that he wasn’t stuck here, in the stuffy classroom surrounded by flares of red - had his Eagle Vision be activated - and instead there on the ledge of the building, swinging from school rooftop to school rooftop, soaring in a graceful arc downwards to the beautiful blue ocean below and--

Wait, ocean?

Izuku checks once more and yes, that’s definitely the ocean where the school grounds should be, the unmistakable taste of salt on his tongue and the undeniable sound of waves crashing and lapping the building walls. Izuku looks around the classroom, to the teacher that seems to be ignoring the new ocean-view as gulls caw above in the sky.

What the fuck?

Izuku blinks as the teacher’s voice is slowly drowned out by a chorus of singing tones, all happy and probably drunk, beat quick but steady, melody alive with adventure and voices low and rich as the classroom slowly starts rocking in gentle side to side motions, untethered to the earth. Izuku grips his desk in a bid to keep himself steady, though no one else reacts.

What the fuck?

And then Izuku sees him, moving forward in a confident swagger, so perfectly balanced despite the unstable floor, but more importantly, he’s wearing something that sets Izuku’s heart into thundering applause. White trousers, black boots, a white coat that had seen better days and a red sash - he wears the colours and robes of Altair and the others. Twin cutlases strapped to his sides, pistols along his chest, would there be a blade beneath his sleeve too?

“-where the pretty young girls all come down in their frocks,” the man joins in the singing, voice decadent and warm with good humour and with a jolt, Izuku realises he’s singing in English, though the accent different to the dialects he was familiar with. “To be rollickin’ randy dandy o!”

The man doesn’t even hesitate when passing him, sending him a jaunty blue-eyed wink as he swaggers on by, disappearing in a blink like a true assassin of myth, taking the ocean and singing with him.

What the actual fuck?

As far as Izuku is concerned four judgey ghosts are enough, who the hell was that guy?

“Is there a right answer to that question?” Izuku wonders aloud, tone light as amusement slivers into his voice as the whole situation creeps upon him. Here they were, two teenagers, trying to apply meaning to the universe, searching out answers to questions that have been debated for thousands of years. “Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not,” he can’t help but quote.

Shiro sighed long and deep in the face of his answer even as her lips twitch upwards in a grin, reaching the same conclusion as he had. “Honestly, just fuck you, Izu-kun.”

Their laughter shatters the strange miasma hanging over them and Shiro rolls onto her side to look him in the eye, "Seriously though, exam cram at my place?"

He grins through another blossoming headache, "Sure."

The headache doesn't go away, it's enough to distract him from any resentment he can feel for the now returned Katsuki who has taken to glaring at his neck through each class. By midday, the pounding in his head has reached a crescendo. 

Izuku could feel the pain at his temples burst into motion, spreading across his skull in a sharp arc - one thousand small blades piercing the first layers of his brain, the sting of the whip behind his eyes and a waterfall of ice water travelling down his back, stiffening his muscles like brittle metal to be shattered in a single blow.

Desperately he tried to focus on the teacher and her lesson in hopes that it would stop the blur at the edge of his vision from increasing, but her voice seemed to blow away in the ocean breeze, the sound of waves crashing slowly replacing the noise of the classroom.

Once more, Izuku found the room shifting upon its axis, no longer held down by the earth, its foundations entirely unmoored. Nausea pooling in his belly, Izuku let his head fall against his desk, not caring if he got in trouble for not paying attention to the lesson.

Instead, he focused on not passing out. In the distance gulls called to each other in high pitched squeals, serving as a focal point for his untethered mind. Sprays of cool water brushed against his cheek, the taste of salt in the air invigorating to the senses. With the sun on his back, Izuku felt the pain in his head seep away, his whole body melting in thanks for the reprieve.

Shifting his head against his resting spot, Izuku is only distantly surprised that the wood of his desk was now the wood of the railings of the ship: the Jackdaw - of which Izuku only had fond thoughts for, this love of the vessel was not his own as Izuku had never so much as set foot upon a boat of any kind.

The sails above strain against the wind, majestic in their purity against the backdrop of blues, not a speck of land to be seen - just the ocean, the sky and the crew, whom of course, were singing gaily as ever to pass the time. High in the sky, flickering like a warning flame to all, flew a flag of pure black, interrupted only by the slashes of white that made up a jolly roger.

Izuku found himself running his hands lightly across the railings as walked across the deck, aware of the intrinsic knowledge flooding into his head as he looked about, smiling down fondly at the musical crew as he went.

There was nothing about this brig that Izuku didn’t know, every piece of schematic knowledge as close to recall as his birthdate. He knew that she was sixty metres long from stern to bowsprit, knew exactly how many cannons graced her and knew she was adorned with twenty-six sails with ropes aplenty to swing from, to soar with the ocean wind.

Below, the crew - the captain's cornucopia of ethical diversity, each one hailing from every part of the word - shifted melodies, transitioning skillfully into something vaguely mournful as the yellow of the sun slowly bled into red, gilding the waves until they resembled moving pools of liquid copper.

The melody rose in a reverberating hum that seemed to sink right into the very bones of the Jackdaw and slowly the lyrics came to Izuku as he hummed along, voice growing stronger with confidence as his lips moved with ingrained practice, the crew harmonising as he leads the song.

“-I dreamed my love came in my sleep,” Izuku sung into the reverent atmosphere, drinking in the camaraderie, safety and loyalty born from shared trials and tribulations with quiet awe, “her cheeks were wet, her eyes did weep-”

The crew sang together as if they had been singing the same songs together since the dawn of all creation and would continue to do so until to dust they did return and all the stars had dwindled and died like the last licks of a flame upon a wick.

“She came to me, at my bedside,” Izuku continued where the crew fell, the sting of tears threatening to well in his eyes. “All dressed in white, like some fair bride-”

Looking at these people, who Izuku had never known yet knows all too well, Izuku feels something stab at his heart; a maelstrom of love and longing, tinged with some strange lament, the taste of something divinely bittersweet falling on his tongue at the mere sight of them, here, gathered together, singing and altogether at peace.

The song stalls a beat, maybe two as Izuku struggles to force the words from his throat, something dangerously melancholic and yet at content with it all burns in his chest, and the song won’t come.

“-and bravely in her bosom fair,” a voice sings in his place, rich and familiar, as its owner appears like a gust of wind beside the teen, “-a red, red rose, my love did wear-”

The Hollywood pirate in all his jaunty glory, singing among his crew with the wistful air of someone recalling the wondrous moments of childhood splendour. Hair playing in the breeze, and eyes drinking in the faces like a man starved of the affection of his loved one.

“-she made no sound, no words she said,” the pirate sings, slipping into the song with perfect ease, the tone of which sounds like a rally to arms and a lullaby to guide infants to perfect dreams all at once. “And then I knew, my love was dead,” he croons into the sea-breeze, the crew at once picking up the volume to finish the song.

“You,” Izuku begins, a hand over his heart where emotions not his own swirl restlessly, “this is you.”

Edward Kenway, the wind sings as it plays in his hair.

Watery blue cut down in a swift yet an unhurried movement, the dawn of a smile upon his lips - playful yet slightly doleful, avid yet patient. “Are you ready now? Will you listen to my story now?”

The sun slips further down as the company of the Jackdaw whispers another sweet melody to the first stars that blink into wakefulness across the sky, they too seem to have been waiting for him to listen.

“Yes,” Izuku finds himself saying, those traitorous tears making another attempt at escape, “I’m ready.”

The pirate nods, smile morphing into a roguish smirk. “Good. May want to hold your breath then.”

Izuku blinks, uncertain. “What?”

The Jackdaw creaks dangerously as water suddenly filters through her floorboards. Izuku takes a moment to send Edward the most unimpressed look he can muster before the whole vessel takes to the water like the Flying Dutchman of legend and Izuku is forced to scrabble against the water and hold whatever air he has in his lungs or drown.

Beneath the waves, the blurred edges of Edward Kenway wears a distinctly amused expression as he watches Izuku flail about in the water.

What a dick.

The whole school talks about it in hushed whispers, many throwing him cautious glances, other children dare not approach. They say, that boy, you know, that quirkless one, he's mad, there's something wrong with his brain.

Oh, you didn't hear? Yeah, he started swaying on his desk, singing in words no one understood, low and mournful, tears dripping down his cheeks and blood pouring from his nose.

Yes, that’s the one! The same boy who smiles and laughs as he’s attacked.

(That night Izuku dreams about the bittersweet life of a man named Edward - sailor, pirate, assassin, holder of the Eagle Vision, father, husband, dead.)

A kid stands along the edge of the thin railing, so slight yet perfectly balanced and unmoving against the wind battering against them, their feet positioned in a way that reminded him of the beginning of some grand ballet - but this was no dance, for all that it was striking to the eye.

The kid raises their arms, palms to the heavens in a parody of piety, as they tilt their chin skyward, allowing the rain to slip down their hooded face, the stance feels symbolic as they whisper something to the wind. Shinso feels like he’s witnessing something distinctly ancient and personal like he’s stumbled into someone’s private confessional. But the feeling doesn’t last long as the kid - boy, probably - tips forward and plummets from the sky, like Icarus of the legends, arms stretched wide as if he could catch flight at any moment.

As he falls, he takes Shinso's heart and breath with him, the images of a broken body against the rocks dancing along his mind. He’s already moving before he can even form the thought, legs pumping as hard as he can make them, but he’s so desperately, tragically aware that even then he won’t be able to cross the span of beach fast enough -- and the kid arcs and slips peacefully into the water, away from the rocks, entirely safe as his head breaks through the water to wade back to the shore.

The entire fall lasts less than three seconds and the child appears completely unharmed. So why then, does Shinso feel unspeakable rage batter at his heart?

A week after Edward Kenway assaults his brain, Izuku finds himself on a beach at the dead of night, scaling a light house with rain drenching his already horribly abused hoodie. His ribs hurt like a bitch, and he'd really rather be sleeping but the small part of him that now responds to 'Edward' won't let him rest until he's seen the ocean from up high and tasted the sting of sea salt upon his tongue. The light house is non-functioning and the beach nothing more than a dump site, but standing on it's railed rooftop, the horizon beyond his reach makes the world look beautiful.

He looks down at the ocean below, at the sharp rocks that could kill a man and feels his stomach turn.

Izuku has never done this himself, he’s watched and felt and breathed through the moments as his predecessors have made the jump, but has never personally done it. The science, the mathematics of it all has always prevented him from even thinking of it. The probability of surviving such a fall, speaks either of suicidal tendencies or desperation, one last attempt at survival. But, he supposes, that’s why it’s called a leap of faith.

Izuku nimbly leaps upon the railings of the lighthouse and peers down at the world below, just beyond the shoreline. Out of habit that is not entirely his own, Izuku feels his Eagle Vision activate.

And...well.

Maybe there’s something more to his ancestors’ love of heights beyond sheer mechanics, this is…

The world lights up in flairs of colour as his surroundings bleed into shades of grey: blue, red, white and gold flare in the distance and if he allows himself to focus on a single colour in the expanse he can feel himself being drawn in, the source of colour tugging at him as if he were a dog on a leash to be directed. It’s beautiful, unprecedentedly so, but beyond that is the gentle thrum of unexpected knowledge, as if the foundations of the town is reaching out to him.

Listen to my story, it says, let me show you what you need, let me help you.

It’s as if he can sense the points of importance, where he needs to be, where things can be found - a catastrophe of colours and whispers in his head and behind his eyes. Izuku pedals desperately above the noise, skimming only the surface and willing himself to stay in the shallows away from the deep.

But he understands, at least, this call to high towers and structures, this divine sense of freedom that permeates him as he raises his arms, palms to the heavens. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

Suddenly there is no fear of what lies beyond the fall, only the fall itself. He is Altair, falling through the heated air of Damascus, the warmth of the sun on his back. He is all who have come before him. He is not one, but merely the vessel of multitudes of souls who have sacrificed themselves for this world.  Except not - the spectres of his mind stand silent as if to say, this one is for you and you alone . And so he is Izuku, taking his first leap of faith.

Falling forward without knowing the outcome, but falling in the faith that whatever happens, it would be...what? Favourable? But it was more than that, he could feel it, something saying, if you fail this, it is because you did not have faith that you would succeed. It was every bit as spiritual as it was acrobatic skill. Faith, in yourself, in your body, your ability and your will.

It feels less like falling and more like flying like he could continue forever into the sky - but he does not and his body is moving in that way that feels less like a habit and more like possession, positioning itself into the perfect dive. He breaches the water seamlessly as if he’d done it a hundred times before, slipping beneath the waves without fear, barrel rolling underwater to right himself and kicking forward to break upon the surface to breathe in the night air.

Maybe it’s fanciful thinking, but Izuku feels his ancestors looking down upon him, approval burning down along the planes of his neck. It, all of it, fills Izuku with this powerful yearning to leap across the rafters, with nothing but the rain, moon and his ghosts to keep him company. This burning desire to capture those precious seconds of flight, he feels hot with the need to move.

What might it be like, to soar from the spires of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross as Altair had once done in Jerusalem instead of the short drop of an old lighthouse? Was it still there or had the hands of time, the ravages of war and the shifting of civilizations laid waste to it? Izuku’s heart beats with this indescribable longing, this immense wanderlust, to travel the world as his ancestors did, to soar from historic monument to historic monument, feel the ancient masonry beneath his hands.

It’s impossible, of course, he thinks to himself. Izuku is not his predecessors whose circumstances allowed for the travel, necessitated it even. He is still a child, with a loving mother - for which he is grateful - and there remains no great mission that would compel him to leave her. But still, the traitorous thought crosses his mind, would she miss him for a weekend? Funds easy to collect with Eagle Vision and Ezio’s sense for monetary valuables.

--But no! Stealing is wrong, he reminds himself with a hard shake of his head, still wading his way through the push and pull of the ocean, the rain lightening to a soft, almost romantic downpour, casting the shoreline in a delicate, eerie mist. The morals of the assassins are not his own, he chants to himself, even as the idea stays in his head and dangerously close to his heart.

He hits the sandbanks soon, hauling himself from the water with little force, adrenaline and exhilaration from the fall keep his muscles from aching from his impromptu night-time circus act across town. He may possess the genetic memory of his predecessors, but his body hardly allowed for most of the things it now knows on an instinctual level.

This is reinforced by the absolute cold that hits his body once he leaves the ocean, his muscles attempting to solidify in protest. Maybe the spontaneous Leap of Faith was not such a good idea, although, in his defence, it hadn’t been planned, falling before the thought to actually do it had even half-formed in his mind. Izuku needs to keep moving though, before he ends up with pneumonia.

Except there’s a guy on the beach, whose staring at him in a way that makes Izuku think that maybe he’d witnessed the part where Izuku threw himself into the ocean from a relatively large height over a length of jagged rocks.

“What...the actual fuck?”

Yeah, definitely saw something. How is that his predecessors never got caught throwing themselves off of great heights and the first time Izuku does it he has a witness? No one ever looked up at the great heights of basilicas.

“Oh, um, hi. Great, uh, night for a swim?” He tries, absolutely aware that he’s wincing even as he says it.

The boy eyes him flatly, dark eyes pinning him in place, something decidedly unimpressed -and maybe a bit irritated? - in his expression. Izuku activates his Eagle Vision, the already dark beach fades to grey, no colour except the haze surrounding the boy in front of him. Blue, an ally or at the very least, willing to help, though Izuku isn’t in need. What’s interesting though, is the golden glow and any other time he’d feel the need to investigate, but as it is he’s freezing and really wants to be home now that the adrenaline is wearing off.

“Well this has been grand but I'm cold so I’m going to leave now,” Izuku says as flippantly as he can, pulling his hood lower over his face, it doesn’t do much to conceal his face given its wet and clinging and lacks a beak to shadow over him as his ancestors’ had.

“Wait!” Comes a flustered yell, interrupting his escape attempt. Izuku slowly turns to look at the purple-haired boy. “Are you okay? I mean... is everything okay?” The other teen asks awkwardly as he makes a vague gesture between the tower and the ocean.

Izuku blinks, water drops falling from his lashes as he does, because, yeah, that’s a pretty good question to ask after watching someone jump from a tower.

“Oh yeah I’m just messing around with my -” genetically imprinted memories of my assassin ancestors who held and passed down a possibly psychic visual-based ability along with a few nifty assassin skills and now seem to be judging my choices from the afterlife, if possible, oh but don’t worry so far it’s only the assassins, not like, all of my ancestors, do you think it’s my father’s or mother’s side? “- quirk,” he finishes gracelessly.

“...By jumping off a lighthouse.” The boy says, flat and without inflexion even as his whole body says ‘I’m judging you.’

Izuku shrugs, withholding a wince. “Different strokes for different folks.” It literally couldn't get any more awkward than this. “I’m fine, really, no suicide attempts here, promise.”

“Wait!” Izuku is stopped once more in his attempt to leave. “Your parents, are they...the good kind?”

Izuku blinks, thrown. “Uh, yeah?”

The purple-haired boy nods with a grimace. “Look it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just...precautions, you know? I’m sorry but...it’s not normal to jump off of lighthouses. Go home and tell your parents that you jumped off a lighthouse.”

Izuku blinks, shaking off the fog in his head before looking around in disbelief. His mother stood in front of him looking utterly unimpressed, arms crossed and mouth pursed.

“A lighthouse, Izuku?” It’s a credit to all the things she’s witnessed him do that she sounds mostly just exasperated.

How did he do that?

"Mind control, Shiro-chan! Mind control!" Izuku stresses, banging a textbook on her bed. "And no memories of what happened between those two time slots either! Do you have any idea - Shiro-chan, are you listening?"

The frantic scribbling of a pen pauses as wild white eyes look up to him, tension in her frame. "Yes Izu-kun," she hisses irritated, white tongue flickering, "for the past three hours while you haven't so much as opened that book. Do you need a tutor, Izu-kun, is that it? Shall I call M-"

"No!" Izuku says, panicking before ducking his head low and hissing back quietly, "We do not speak the Devil's name in this household. She'll hear you."

Izuku has the feeling that Shiro is rolling her eyes at him again. "Go home Izu-kun, exams are only eight months away and I am not prepared."

"You're literally the second smartest person I know and the first doesn't count because you and I know she's clinically insane," he says in an attempt to comfort her, it doesn't work.

"Statistically that says more about you than it does about me, my anti-social friend." She doesn't bother looking up as she says this, pencil back to paper and writing like her life was on the line.

"Fine. I have to go pick up some things for mum before the store closes anyway. Try not to stab yourself with that pencil, okay?"

She waves him away with a distracted hand. 

God help him, but Izuku couldn't help but throw a fond look at her before climbing the stairs. Passing through the kitchen, he spots Nanami hard at work.

“Be safe!” Nanami calls and Izuku is once again struck by the vast difference between mother and daughter - her bright red hair and eyes the polar opposite of Shiro, despite the simular facial structure.

Izuku throws her a jaunty salute that feels one part Izuku and three parts Edward Kenway. He ducks out into the street, locking the door behind him as he goes and considers taking to the rooftops before deciding against it. It had rained recently and he’s in no mood to take his time across the slippery tiling with his ribs still on the mend. 

Slipping into an alley that would cut down his run-time by ten minutes, Izuku contemplated the upcoming U.A exams. Shiro was a shoe-in for her high school of choice, a private institution up north that was well known for its academic prowess. Shiro, despite all her worrying had skipped a grade and had at least three letters of recommendation from her teachers - her place was guaranteed.

As for Izuku, he wasn’t sure what exactly the general department exam entailed. He imagined it couldn’t be anything more than a paper exam. General Education, after all, focused on more academic pursuits than any real hero work. Which lead to thoughts of the future, of which Izuku did not want to think of.

In an attempt to distract himself Izuku activated his Eagle Vision, he had hopes that with enough practice he would one day wield it as expertly as his predecessors  had. Currently he could hold Eagle Vision for up to three minutes if he held still - mere seconds at a time if he was moving quickly enough to not be actively focused on maintaining it and somewhere in between if he could juggle both.

Looking about his now grey world, Izuku let his eyes trace the white outlines of the buildings, pausing only when gold and red flared in his peripheral. Following the beams of colour, Izuku noted that a single red silhouette appeared to be following behind a large column of gold, branching outwards to the sky like a loud fireworks display. Considering the colour, their intentions couldn’t be too pleasant.

His Eagle Vision timing out, the world takes on its natural colours once more and Izuku heads in the general direction of where he’d seen the two flares of colour. Rounding a corner and slipping into a long alley, Izuku spies a figure dressed in black trailing a good distance behind another man. 

Stalking them from behind without a sound, Izuku watches for any display of aggression. Nothing happens until they reach the mouth of the valley, when the man being followed turns his head to look behind him, likely feeling watched. Realising he’s been spotted, the man withdraws a knife.

The blonde would-be victim freezes, making eye contact with Izuku from behind the man in black. Izuku sends him a happy wink and places a single finger against his lips in the universal ‘keep quiet’ gesture before slinking closer to the assailant. Izuku nearly winces upon seeing how poorly the man in black was handling the knife - at least he wasn’t dealing with a professional.

“Give me your mon-” The man doesn’t get to finish the sentence as Izuku grips the back of his neck and swiftly delivers the man’s face to the bricks of the alley wall with a dull thud. Like a puppet whose strings have suddenly been cut, the man drops to the ground without a sound, his knife cluttering beside him.

“Oof, sorry about the nose,” Izuku can’t help but say to the unconscious guy with a grimace upon noticing he’d accidentally clipped the guys nose and had likely broken it. “But to be fair, you were trying to rob a guy who looks like he could blow away with the breeze, that’s low man.”

And in the spirit of honesty, the guy he’d been tailing really did look like he could blow away with the breeze. While being incredibly tall, the man was also terrifyingly thin with gaunt features and sharp bones sticking out at awkward angles, his neck was so thin it hardly looked strong enough to hold up his head, his clothes hanging off this thin frame threatening to slip off completely.

 Izuku kind of wanted to kick the guy on the ground for preying on a man that was clearly ill.

“You okay, sir?” Izuku asks, kicking the knife away and giving the prone male a quick pat down to see if he had anything else on him. He doubted the guy would be up any time soon but better to be safe than caught off guard.

“I’m fine, my boy. Thanks to you.” The blonde man nods, looking between Izuku and the guy he’d knocked unconscious. “You seem to be prone to acts of heroics.”

Izuku carefully does not allow himself to freeze, his mind flashing to a cold body in another alley, in another time. He reaches for his Eagle Vision and it punishes him for over-using it with pain blossoming behind his eyes, but Izuku soldiers through it. The man in front of him transforms into a pillar of golden light, so bright Izuku can’t look at it directly - importantimportantimportant it screams, but no dangerous red to be seen.

Eagle Vision draining away, Izuku relaxes marginally. “Sir?”

“Ah, Yagi Toshinori,” he rushes to introduce himself sheepishly, hand rubbing at his thin neck, “I was in the crowd on the day of the slime attack, you disappeared quickly afterwards. What might your name be, my boy?”

“Oh!” Izuku perks up, of course. “Midoriya Izuku. Nice to meet you, Yagi-san!” Izuku beams at the man before executing a swift bow, relief palpable. Straightening, Izuku looks down at the man on the ground. “I noticed he was following you and just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything bad.”

“Ah, my thanks, again.” Yagi says with a sheepish smile, humbling ducking his head - again, Izuku wants to kick the man on the ground. “You seem to be fairly proficient at saving people, am I standing in the presence of a future Pro hero?” The blonde chuckles in that patent grandfatherly way, warm smile on his thin lips.

Good God, Izuku wants to take him home and feed him.

“Here’s hoping,” Izuku chirps in an upbeat tone, thoughts of the future still swirling. 

“Anyway, here,” Izuku pulls out a marker from his pocket, grabbing onto Yagi’s arm and repressing a frown at his jutting wrist bones, before writing away, “this is my number for the police, so they can take my statement or ask any questions. I’ll leave the rest to you, okay?”

“Ah-”

“Please eat something, Yagi-san!” Izuku calls over his shoulder, already sprinting down the direction he came from in a bid to reach the shop before it closes or risk his mother’s disappointment.

Izuku stood at the edge of a split path, two roads open to him as he looked down at the cowering assailant, hood pulled down low to shadow his face. He could let him go, Izuku reasoned, simply let him go, tie him to something and let the proper authorities deal with him, and then what?

Izuku, detail-obsessed as he was, knew what would happen next. He knew the statistics and the likelihood of this man getting nothing but a slap on the wrist before being released into the world again.

Nothing had happened, the woman remained unharmed, not a scratch on skin to show for the scars on her psyche, and it would simply be a game of ‘he said, she said’ and any lawyer could spin Izuku into an unreliable source in front of a jury - young, mentally damaged, they could pull up his strange behaviour at school, the hallucinations.

If he let him go, who would be next? Would anyone be there, as Izuku had been, to stop him? Green eyes caught on the blade trapped beneath his foot, eyeing it thoughtfully, hyper-aware of what murder felt like while wearing the skin of his forefathers - what would it feel like while wearing his own? And did he have the right? To play God, to be Judge, Jury and Executioner?

Stay your blade from the skin of the innocent.

This man was not innocent, could such crimes be forgiven? Could someone be rehabilitated from something as filthy as what this man wanted, had every intention of doing? Was there even a chance of redemption? - well, that wasn’t for Izuku to decide.

Sweeping down in one smooth movement, Izuku picked up the blade, surprised at the feel of it in his hand, how practiced it all felt in his grip as he spun it in a perfect fan flourish, the metal of the butterfly knife not making a single sound as it sheathed and unsheathed again in his speed, the sharp point flicking out to point at the man on the ground.

Brown eyes widened in fear as the man threw up his hands as if to push Izuku away despite the distance that already existed between them. “Please, no,” he whimpered, “please don’t hurt me. I-”

Izuku pitched forward, forearm catching on the man’s throat instead of using his hands in fear of leaving Izuku sized handprints behind. The pressure from his arm swiftly cut off anything the man wanted to say as Izuku swung a leg over his body, exerting downward pressure and trapping the man between his thighs and disabling any major movement from the hip area before the man could even attempt to buck him off. The action, militant and modern in its flow had been taken straight from a mind that was not his own.

Izuku allowed the sharp edge of the knife to rest just above his forearm on the man’s neck, valiantly ignoring the man’s tears and full-body shudders with an indifference that was not all his. His eyes cut to the woman, pressed close to the alley wall, mascara flowing like black rivers down her cheeks, the beginnings of several bruises along her face and thighs, her hair rotating between ghost white and a sickly purple in jerky movements.

Cocking his head to the side slowly, he hopes she understands, desperate to not have to speak - the voice of a teenage boy is pretty damn recognisable, even in trauma. Patiently he waits for her verdict, the knife content to kiss the man’s flesh softly for the moment, happy to linger in perfect suspense.

The woman stares, gaze looking beyond the scene in front of her, wherever her mind was, it wasn’t here in the dark alley where she’d been assaulted in a way that attacked more than her body. Still, Izuku waits, willing to play the part of gargoyle until the sun rose again if need be.

A minute passes, then two, three, until Izuku spies red-painted lips moving at the edge of his vision. “I...he almost...I begged too,” she says, eyes glazed, lips trembling and voice nothing but a whisper, “if you weren’t there, he would have.” Her eyes seem to focus on his face, or rather at the shadows obscuring it, before hanging her head, ending on a heartbreaking confession: “I begged too, but he didn’t stop...”

Izuku waits, to see if she will finish her sentence, knowing full well she wouldn’t. He understands, of course, despite what had been done, despite knowing what you want, it isn’t easy to say something like ‘he doesn’t deserve to live’ out loud, knowing that your goodwill was the only thing keeping someone alive, but Izuku hears it none-the-less.

She begged and he didn’t stop, and neither will Izuku.

In a fraction of a moment, the blade against the man’s neck lifted and just as he easily slipped between the fourth and fifth rib on his right-hand side, the body beneath him jolting in pain, a high keen sliding from his lips. Izuku knew from memories not his own that the man would be dead in seconds once he pulled, the blade long enough to puncture the right ventricle, a tamponade death - traditional assassin technique.

Izuku pulls the blade quickly, not willing to let the man suffer, a small mercy where the man had none to give. It really did take mere seconds, Izuku thought in detached wonderment. Watching the light leave the man’s eyes and the blood pool around the wound, Izuku could safely say he’d found an answer to his earlier question.

Whether in his skin or his predecessors, murder felt the same.

It didn’t exactly feel personal, more like a necessary evil - or perhaps, the most efficient action to take under the circumstances. Izuku found himself reasoning with his own conscious, if it were anyone else, if the circumstances were any different, if the man wasn’t a rapist, if his victim wasn’t still shivering against a wall - then Izuku would not have killed him.

But he had been and now he was dead.

But what now?

This wasn’t the 15th century, there would be an inquiry, a full-scale investigation and with the full arsenal of modern techniques, not to mention the enormity of the scale of quirks that may possibly loan themselves to such a task. It was all...more than a little daunting. What he’d done, was a crime, he may have saved this woman, but his brand of justice bore all the marks of vigilantism.

Izuku eyed the woman once more, the cut he spies on her arm felt like justification, settling his mind somewhat. What’s done is done, he reasoned, he would simply deal with the fall out as it occurred.

Stepping off the body beneath him, taking the butterfly knife with him, Izuku walked closer to the woman, stopping before he was close enough for her to see beneath his hood. “Call the police,” he spoke into the fabric of his hood, hoping it would muffle it slightly beyond recognition.

The woman snorts, bitter and vitriol. “And tell them what?”

“The truth,” he says with simplicity, “that I killed this man in retaliation, that I was more skilled, stronger and faster than you, that even if you wanted to, there was nothing you could have done to stop me.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” she whispers, a pained light in her eyes, even as she holds her ripped skirt to her body. “I didn’t want you to.”

Izuku shrugs. “Who's to say I would have listened, maybe I’d have killed him regardless of what you said. Regardless of any misplaced guilt, I was the one who took his life, you just happened to be here.”

It’s a lie of course, Izuku would have let the man go if she had said so, maybe pulled his head back and slammed it across the pavement to knock him out and deliver him to the authorities but he doesn’t exactly think he’s made the wrong choice, maybe not the right one either.

“You wouldn’t have had to kill him if not for me,” she cries, face crumbling.

“Wrong,” Izuku denies fiercely, a fire in alight in his chest. “I wouldn’t have had to kill him if he wasn’t scum, a rapist, if he were a decent human being worthy of breathing. You’re not responsible for his actions or mine.”

She sobs harder, her whole body rocking with her cries. “Okay,” she scrubs futilely at her face, fighting a losing battle against the never-ending cavalry of tears, she looks less and less like a woman three times his age and more like a scared child huddled in her corner.

Izuku crouches, not daring to come closer but wanting to make himself as open as he can while attempting to keep his face unseen. “You need to call the police,” he reminds her gently, his voice as soft as it can go without breaking, pouring his heart into the words, “I know it’s hard, but you need to talk to them.”

“And you, what about you?” She huffs through the tears, “They’ll arrest you, for being a vigilante.”

Izuku shrugs again, “I’m not a vigilante, I’m, well,” Izuku blinks, nonplussed at having to say it and it being somewhat true now, “an assassin.”

The woman pauses, body slowing to a worrying stillness before she laughs, high, reedy and only a little bit hysterical given his words, the body behind them and well, everything so far. “Oh well, I suppose that’s okay then, silly me.”

He huffs, only a little offended and more than understanding given, well, again, everything. “I’ll be long gone by the time they show up.” And after that, he’d just have to deal with everything as it came.

Among her emotional turbulence, all of which was more than justified, she managed to pull herself together enough to give him a rather unimpressed look - which, okay, fair enough. “Look, don’t worry about me, please just make the call,” he says, voice dipping plaintively.

She nods, trembling fingers fumbling at the screen of her phone before the telltale dial tone can be heard. Izuku watches her shiver against the bricks and wishes he had something to give her to fight the cold, the hood of his jacket the only thing hiding his face.

When he hears the greeting of an emergency service worker, Izuku stands from his crouching position, ignoring the eyes on him, and tucks the knife into his back pocket. Without so much as a by your leave, he breaks into a run toward a brick wall, bouncing off the pavement in a strong leap to grip onto a pipe fixture and scale his way up the building as fast as he can.

It takes him less than half an hour to return home - concerning given the timing meant he wasn’t as far away from the scene of his crime as he’d have liked to be. He slips in through his window and into his bed and feels...nothing. Izuku prods at his emotions, wonders what he imagined he would feel - remorse, guilt? It’s a surprise that nothing of the sort rises to the surface.

He’s not indifferent to the responsibilities of the assassins, that lives weren’t something to be taken lightly, but as he thinks of the smile the man wore while ripping apart the woman’s clothing - well he wasn’t pleased that he’d killed someone but he doesn’t feel all too sorry either.

He really should be more unnerved by the idea but, morality is subjective, nothing is true and everything is permitted.

It’s all a careful balancing act, this assassin thing.

(There's a knife beneath his sleeping head and ghosts behind his eyes - they know what he has done.)

 Though I ask my brothers now to abandon their rituals, I do not ask that they abandon the creed. This is what makes us Assassins. Not the removal of a finger. Not a false promise of paradise. Not the prohibition of poison. Our duty is to the people, not to custom.

- Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, Master Assassin during the Third Cruisade in the Holy Lands, Eagle Vision wielder, dead.