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Izuku had been alone for as long as he could remember, not in the traditional sense, no, but in the sense that was both entirely avoidable yet unavoidable at the same time. His mother was with him almost all the time, so were his classmates and teachers during school hours, so he was probably being overdramatic.
He found that he still hurt anyway.
He was much too needy, too pathetic, too quirkless.
And he hated that.
So Izuku went out at night.
At first it was normal, or as normal as it could get, going outside for evening runs and walks, occasionally listening for the sounds that the crickets made as they chirped, carefree.
Then, it was parkour, jumping around and doing tricks. It was exhilarating. Izuku googled some videos, visited areas where they taught it, and practiced, and it was enough for him.
For a while.
Then he moved to buildings and rooftops, free running, adding leaps and high risk movements just to feel something, just to feel a thrill that he didn’t find from his own life.
School was easy for him anyway, he found that studying the material at home would prevent him from having to take notes. So he did that and ended up enjoying it, so he had a lot of time to go out at night.
He chased thrill, and when that wasn’t enough he found that crime fighting was also quite enjoyable.
Izuku was selfish, he didn’t really fight villains for heroism, instead he fought to feel something, something that wasn’t aching loneliness and a life void of meaning.
Sometimes he fought crime, other times he fought himself.
Anything to feel anything.
When he first bumped into Eraserhead, Izuku figured that it would be like any other hero that tried to catch him, the hero giving up after a couple of days, figuring that it wasn’t worth it. Instead, Eraserhead was persistent, taking up their own precious hours on patrol to try to catch Izuku.
“Springleaf, stop right there.”
Izuku didn’t know where the name came from, but he found that he was okay with it. At least it wasn’t too edgy.
Eventually though, Eraserhead just stopped trying to catch him, and started to bring him lunches, preferring to befriend Izuku instead of taking him in.
They ended up working together multiple times, getting to know each other and helping each other.
Izuku felt like he wasn’t as lonely when he talked to Eraserhead.
And that was what got Izuku through his days, becoming a vigilante was the best choice he made.
Sometimes though, Izuku would have a bad day, a relapse if you will. He wouldn’t prance around doing fancy stunts, instead he would sit on top of a rooftop watching the sun flash its last remaining rays of light before it disappeared into the horizon.
He didn’t know what Eraserhead did on those days, but he likely didn’t make too much of an impact on the man’s life. They had better things to do than hang out with Izuku all night.
Sometimes he would cut his arms just to feel the pain, he would watch in morbid fascination as the blood spilled out from the new wounds.
Others had it worse, Izuku was so selfish.
Today was one of those days, he had known from the moment he woke up. He passed through school in a daze, not really noticing anything and not really caring either way. If something did happen, after all, he would either be the center of it or not even privy to it.
Izuku didn’t remember that day, but he did remember the night. He wanted to patrol, he really did, but he just couldn’t muster up the energy for it.
Today he felt more numb than usual, cutting deeper than he normally would, trying to feel something (anything)
Sometimes Izuku felt like a shattered glass or a cracked bowl, hastily fixed with tape, overflowing with water yet not able to hold any. His problems felt irrelevant yet too much.
Izuku found that he was always too much for people.
“Springleaf? Kid, what are you doing up here?”
Izuku didn’t like those words, they meant that somebody was here, they meant that somebody had seen everything wrong with him. They would judge him for doing this, they would hate him because his problems weren’t that bad, others had it worse.
Yet here he was self-harming, because that was what it was called. He didn’t deserve to wallow in self-pity. Others were more troubled, he wasn’t enough, his problems weren’t enough.
Too much but never enough.
“Springleaf, please get away from the ledge,” then, softer, “Please put down the knife.”
And oh did Izuku know that voice, harsh and rough around the edges yet still unmistakably soft.
_______
Aizawa was expecting to have a day which was, by all accounts, regular.
He took his coffee and walked out the door to start his patrol, hoping to see Springleaf that day. The masked vigilante was often seen running around and stopping crime, quite illegal but he was helping, and underground heroes often worked with vigilantes anyway.
Aizawa went up to their normal meeting spot, the vigilante didn’t arrive all the time, but most of the time they were here and that was alright with Aizawa.
When they didn’t arrive at the usual time, or ten minutes after, Aizawa sighed. He was worried about the kid, something about his demeanour disconcerting in an abnormal way.
It wasn’t as if the kid was a psychopath and it wasn’t like the kid was a dangerous or creepy person, but he looked like a husk at times, no soul in those usually bright eyes.
Aizawa rounded the corner, deciding to try a new route for once, after all, crime wasn’t limited to one place or time.
He saw a kid on the roof.
He ran, quickly making it on top of the relatively tall building and already taking out his capture weapon, praying that he would make it on time.
He saw a familiar silhouette, and hoped that it wouldn’t be who he thought it was.
Springleaf.
And Aizawa panicked, his calm slipping away like water.
They had a knife in their hand and their arm was dripping blood out of a fresh cut. It looked bad in the dark of the night.
“Springleaf? Kid, what are you doing up here?” He asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray his emotions. Please be alright, he thought, because Springleaf had become a fixture in his life, a fixture that he cared about.
___________
Izuku leaned forward a bit and Eraser’s familiar capture scarf wrapped around his waist.
“You don’t need to worry Eraser, I’m not going to kill myself,” Izuku said calmly. Inside, however, he was panicking, Eraser wouldn’t like him. He was a broken, useless, wooden doll.
When Eraser looked at Izuku, what did he see?
Izuku found he didn’t want the answer to that question.
“Kid, you need help. I’m not going to force you to do anything, but I’m a hero, this is what I do. And right now, you need something. So I’m going to sit here, if you want me to give you more space, I’ll give it to you, if you want me to sit closer, I will, it’s up to you. But I’m not going to leave you alone. And I’m not going to let you jump.”
Eraser sat down, leaving Izuku to his own devices, the capture weapon wasn’t quite released but it was loosened slightly, and Izuku..
Izuku moved back, off from the ledge that was worrying Eraser so much. He wasn’t going to jump. He didn’t want to in the first place.
“W–why?”
“Everybody deserves to have somebody that cares for them, let me be that person for you, Springleaf.”
Izuku slowly put down the knife, and that was something.
His day no longer felt so numb.