Chapter 2: Canvas - Get DeterminedChapter TextIt was a beautiful day.
The small but well-built playground was illuminated by a softly warm late-afternoon sun, the yellow glow bringing out the deeper hues from the sparse plants in the unfenced play area. The few jungle gyms and various toys scattered around in the soft, rubber turf were largely unattended, their users having mostly gone home tiredly happy with their parents. Poorly pronounced goodbyes had been given and promises of future fun had been made, the day coming to dusk.
The few that remained were either contentedly lazing about in various shaded ledges and hidey-holes, trying to sneak a quick nap, or were otherwise engaged in small group games, keeping the spirit of play high.
One such little group of four was rampaging around the outskirts, loudly proclaiming various strange names, producing explosion-esque sounds, and stating that they had "gotten" the other. Of course such things are only to be met by immediate and heartfelt denial.
"My super big blast got you!" was the exclamation of an ashen blond child, his little face painted with a look of excited frustration. Small, unintentional, sparking pops and smokey flashes marked his annoyance from his hands held down at his sides.
"No! I dodged wiv my wing dash!" retorted an similarly annoyed four-year-old, his leathery wings flapping up and down, as if to prove his point.
"NO! Blasts are big, and they make a lotta wind, they woulda blew your wings all weird!" An increasingly defensive air took over the stance of the child with firework-like hands.
"Wings use wind! I used your esplosions too!"
"What!? Explosions are too big, you can't do that!"
"Can too!"
"Wha-"
At this point the two arguing children turned to the other two, who'd been content to watch the others hash out the disagreement. Perhaps they'd been hoping that the two would hurry up and resolve their issues, so they could all return to the game.
The sparking pops ceased, as the ashen-haired child spoke up first, hope about as obvious as it could get with a hand outstretched in a plea for support.
"Izu, tell 'im! Wings can't just fly on explosions like that!"
"Well, Kacchan…"
The responding child, dark green locks falling over his head and face in uncontrollable swooping curls, timidly glanced between the two. A look as close to calculating as a toddler could get crossed his face in brief instances, overshadowed by nervousness. Even his friend to his left was curious about this sudden onset of nerves, his elongated fingers rising in concern.
Any interruption was swiftly cut through, as the child with dark verdant locks spoke up brightly, his eyes regaining prior excitement in a flash.
"If the wings were t-tough e-enough, and if they were, uh p-placed… um- angled good, t-then he could 'ave used the blast to e-escape."
The near-instant look of betrayal that flew onto 'Kacchan's' face was swiftly outshone as 'Izu' spoke up again, somehow even more excited.
"B-but! Doing that would t-take away balance, a-and if Kacchan m-made more blasts right after then youcould endup notflyingandKacchanwouldhave-"
"Izu!" 'Kacchan' interrupted with a bizarre mixture of drained disappointment and pride. He clearly lacked the patience for a tirade of tactics bound to last the next few minutes, and most certainly break the flow in their game.
"So what you're sayin' is he could, but it would be dumb?"
A self-contained nod elicited a bark of joy and a few celebratory popping claps from the little firework.
"Hah! Told you! And Izu's always right about quirks, remember the sub?"
Defeat crossed the face of the Bat-Dragon winged child, tinged with slight apprehension. The children remembered the day a substitute teacher had asked the class what they thought her quirk was, and most had written down some variant of 'Emotion Reading' as their answer. The nervous green-haired child had instead guessed 'Touch-based, Picture-Type, Thought Reading' after some consultation with a dictionary and their picture books.
When asked for an explanation of how he got such an answer, his stuttered response had been that even though she used it mostly to know how they were feeling, she often mentioned things that weren't really feelings, but thoughts when helping the one or two disheartened kindergarteners throughout the day. When asked why he had said 'Picture-Based' as well, he mentioned that when she helped him with a math problem he wasn't really equipped for (fractions) she knew which problem it was with the practice book closed.
While perhaps a reasonable assessment to expect from an adult, and not entirely correct either, analysis from a four-year-old child to that degree of accuracy was deeply disturbing to the young, hardly even qualified, substitute teacher.
The fugue state she spent the rest of the day in allowed the children far more leeway in their chaos then they had ever hoped for.
"Izu's quirk's prob'ly gonna be a smarts quirk when he gets it." Was the reply of the long-digited preschooler, resigned dismissal coloring his tone.
'Kacchan', however, took notice of this. Narrowing his eyes, he pounded a fist into a smoke-blasting palm, and loudly stated "Yeah! And when he does: we're gonna be the best heroes, even better'n All Might!"
With this intent bolstering the group's morale, the winged child and long-finger kid raised their fists in solidarity, both cheering similar sentiments.
A wide smile overtook the face of the ever-verdant 'Izu' and an infinitesimal gleam of something elseburned in his eyes for the briefest of moments, escaping notice of all gathered present. Spirits restored, the children returned to their play of Heroes VS Villains, each side declaring their loyalty to all that is good and true, while blasting and detracting the others as agents of evil.
It was a beautiful day.
Beautiful enough that their teacher had taken momentary leave of her post in overseeing the children to retrieve a fellow teacher entrenched in paperwork, so they could enjoy it as well.
However, the road to Hell is planned, paid for, and paved with good intentions.
Such lapses in observation provide openings to the unsavory characters of society, those that would wish to take advantage of unguarded youth for their own wretched purpose.
Quirk Traffickers, something viewed as a lingering stain of the past, were in reality, much more prevalent than most people liked to consider. Their profession had simply slipped deeper into the cracks and niches of legality, burying themselves into legitimate professions, and weaving the web therein. Not all amidst such a cruel profession are so inclined to subtlety, though, and for many, a nondescript van and some sweets are all the subtlety required.
Across the playground, on the other side of the street, inside a gray van, waiting for just such a moment, were a group of just such individuals.
In the middle of a fierce bout between the forces of Mighty Junior, and Blast Might, a tall lanky man strode up to the group, an off-kilter smile plastered over his stubble, his gait too purposeful, too quick. Nothing quirk-related, just strange.
Dressed in mauve shades of bulky clothing, and a jacket that was certainly too warm for the season, the look in his eyes peeking out from just under an oversized beanie held an emptiness that betrayed his intentions. A sort of glassy emptiness, spread across the surface, reflecting back only the observer. A dull, unknowable depth, within which nothing kind hides.
"Hey, Katsuki, right?"
"Tch- yeah, who are you, huh? I don't know you!" The four-year-old's retort was full of bravado, his hands moving out to his sides with pops and sparks that made the smile on the stranger's face stretch in all the wrong ways. His feet betrayed him, shifting back and forth, an undercurrent of uncertainty running deep within the mind of the child.
'Izu', or perhaps Midoriya Izuku, Bakugo Katsuki's oldest friend was the only one to truly notice these things. His young mind could only brush across the various factors: the wrongness of the man, the state of his closest friend, and the lack of a teacher or any other adults. He certainly wasn't conscious of any of these things, nor could the small green child really put into words or even thoughts what these flickering ideas seemed to mean.
He did know one thing though, and the gleam in his eyes returned just a little more for it.
Kacchan was scared, and heroes save scared people.
"I'm an old friend of your mum, kiddo. Mitsuki and me go wayyy back, alright? I'm doing her a favor, pickin' ya up to go home." The words that slipped through his teeth and vacant eyes betrayed no hint of unfamiliarity, only an ease, a comfortable posture that told of boredom and amused curiosity. His gaze was another matter.
Still not convinced, little Katsuki held his ground, screwed up his courage, and challenged the man.
"My mom didn' talk about you, and neither did the teach'. I don't know you! Prove it to me!"
With a sigh that had slid from the quickest hint of a widening grin that was so fast Izuku thought he might have imagined it, the jacket-wearing man spoke up again, taking his phone from a pocket.
"Well kid, if you insist, here I'll ring up Mitsuki in one moment, easy as pie."
With a few swipes he paused and showed the screen to his doubter, his eyes half-lidded, burning a hole into Katsuki's own. Continuing to stare glassy eyed at the small child in front of him, he spoke.
"See, I've even got her down in my contacts, she's an old friend a'mine."
There was in fact, an entry with the face of Mitsuki Bakugou on it, that was Izuku wasn't sure where he recognized from, and the name next to the icon was labeled: 'Mitsuki Bakugou, Old Friend'.
Being four, Izuku wasn't quite sure what to make of this, but it felt strange that someone would label an old friend as an old friend in their own phone. Surely they knew their own friends? Perhaps it was to counteract a quirk. Perhaps less interestingly, it was simply because the owner was a little strange?
These thoughts and ideas did nothing however, to detract from the wrongness of the whole situation, and seeing as Kacchan was still gazing into the phone, feet still shifting ever so slightly, perhaps he felt the same.
"U-um, Ka-"
" So kid, " The lanky man interrupted, his eyes only briefly flicking towards Izuku before returning to Kacchan. It was like the lanky man only wanted Kacchan.
"I can give ya mum a call, and we can both sit here while she yells at us, cuz between you 'n me, I'm doin' this cuz she's having a pretty bad day kiddo." The sentence floated through the lanky man's teeth without so much as a hint of discomfort, only his hand, now palm up and outward, in some tired facsimile of a shrug, even hinted as displeasure.
"But I think we both know that isn' the best idea, yea?"
Izuku knew Kacchan, while fiery himself, had an even more so mother, and the few times he had seen her displeased he had not forgotten.
So it was with a complete lack of surprise that he saw Katsuki face contort softly in expressions he didn't often wear, 'Kacchan looks guilty. Or maybe he's thinking?' before the movement of his feet briefly kicked up, and then ceased entirely. His head raised from the phone to gaze directly into the face of the lanky stranger.
The fact that the stranger hadn't told them his name floated through Izuku's head for a fraction of a moment. To little avail, of course, he was four . But this notion brought up a feeling that made that sharp gleam in his eyes that had been humming in the side of the back of Izuku's head flare just a little, and for moment, little Izuku faltered, unsure of what exactlyhe might have felt, before refocusing.
The tall stranger seemed a little more awake now, though his eyes remained just as glassy. He shifted for a moment, before putting the phone back in pocket and turning around and walking towards a van on the other side of the street.
"Well kid, c'mon, I gotta get you home soon, mum's orders. You can even ride in the back with the hero gear."
"With the what?" Katsuki's consternation was temporarily forgotten at the mention of such illustrious treasures, giving way to awe. He quickly began following after the lanky man with Izuku swift in tow, though his friend tailed behind for different reasons. The other two remained where they were. Though a little unsure, they quickly resumed their game without much fuss.
The lanky man snuck a knowing grin. "Yeah kid, the fashion your mum does actually helps my company out with the support gear we make."
It was with the most grudging of pouts that Katsuki acknowledged this, accompanied with a low mutter. "Yeah, I guess my old hag can be cool sometimes, ugh..-Tch."
The three of them reached the van, stopping on the sidewalk fully across the street from the playground. The lanky man turned around and opened the side door on the van, exposing a variety of utterly fascinating hero support tools. Of course, they were just regular support tools, but for little Katsuki and Izuku, such things were the stuff of near-legend.
The gesture and welcoming grin the lanky man gave Katsuki were nothing short of borderline suspicious, but Katsuki, already having half-climbed his way into the van, took no notice, even as the side door was closed quickly and softly behind him.
Izuku, however.
"W-wh-who a-re you!"
The abject silence from inside of the van was far more terrifying than any noise Izuku could conceive of in the moment.
"What d-do you w-wa-want with Ka-Kacchan!?"
The lanky man's smile dropped off his face faster and slicker than oil from ice, and he strode forward, slowly, penultimately, towards the small, now trembling verdanette. His accent was now inexplicably thicker and more weighty.
"Well, well, yer a sharp one are'ntcha. 'snothin' ya need ta worry yer little head abo-"
He stopped. Right in the middle of placing his hand down on Izuku's fluffy curls, in some vile imitation of ruffling his hair, he stopped.
"Oh. Ne'rmind."
"W-what do y-"
The lanky man's eyes were now no longer glassy, no longer simple, black mirror optics. The glassy sheen slid off to reveal a hungering soulless void. His long arms slipped around Izuku, clamping his arms still and covering his mouth, muffling a scream.
"See, mah quirk's name's 'Price'. Yer a smart lil' one, so you do th'math, hm?"
Izuku hardly had time to resist, protest, or even think, as he was unceremoniously tossed in the van through the side door which opened without so much as a touch from the lanky kidnapper, revealing an equally suspect woman.
Landing on the hard metal floor of the back of the van, his limbs skidding and sliding across the sheen of the surface, Izuku only got the briefest glance at Katsuki, who was out cold, and the woman, who he now noticed had horns and a light lilac shade of skin. His observations, however useful, were cut short by a touch to his leg 'the lady villain? ' and a bluish white light overtaking his vision and sense of touch entirely, leaving him slowly succumbing to the void of dreamless sleep.
"Hurry up, we have to go. We've exceeded our time limit by 5 minutes already."
"Oh shush yerself, Moonshadow, I hired you , not th'other way 'round."
"What of the mission, or restraints, for that matter? We had a target. Singular."
"Ugghh-look , use th'damn hero gear, and mebbe yer brain too."
"...."
"... …."
If there were words spoken, Izuku couldn't tell.
Izuku Midoriya
Drifting in and out of some sort of lucid dream, the only thing he perceived was his heart beat, though it sounded strange to him. Layered, perhaps, like there was another heart beating right alongside it, in rhythm.
Though.
There was…
Something- else?
Izuku couldn't quite get a grasp on it or a look at it.
It seemed to be the sort of thing that persisted in the peripheral of your vision, a distortion on your cornea, shifting with your eyes every time you attempted to get a solid look at it.
A background existence.
Something that could only be observed through something else.
An undercurrent?
If Izuku had to describe at gunpoint, which, well, didn't seem to be that unlikely at the moment, he'd say it was a kind of warmth.
Rather than waiting for his perception to flit around its edges, the ephemeral object of his attention fed little pieces of itself to him in colored angles, philosophical velocities, and half-light impulses. It was a kind of energy certainly not electricity, a sort of source of motion but not an action, a shard of light but not the beam, a self-perpetuating squiggle of space though it didn't seem to be alive, a-and a violence?
It-
It was the loving passion of a thousand throngs, singing and screaming, voicelessly.
It was the limited infinity of light, piercing through the heavens, passing through reality without a care.
It was the violent, uncaring, vicious, unstoppable march of an army of armies, within a finger.
It was
It was-
Itwas It was ItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas ItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwasItwas
It was that which is.
Self-Evident Existence.
The Perpetuation of Self.
It was agency, choice, will, power,
It was…
DETERMINATION.
And upon this understanding, Izuku awoke.
Hogtied and gagged on the floor of a moving van with Katsuki similarly constrained in front of him, and…
What was her name? Moonshine or something for sure, but, whatever- it didn't matter. She was sitting on the wall of the van closest to the driver's seat.
Izuku quickly cycled through what he knew, a crimson glint shining from deep within his eyes. He knew it was daytime from the light emanating from a window towards the front of the back, presumably to keep an eye on the back. There were only two captors he saw. One knocked him out, but both were villains, and it wouldn't make sense for a villain to not know how to fight. He couldn't see any doors or other methods of escape aside from the side door they had been entered in from. He'd most certainly have to get past the Moon Lady, and before they reached wherever it was they were headed.
If it was day, the people around would see if they escaped. This would probably be his best chance for escape. Kacchan's too.
He could also feel something a little different about himself. The power of… whatever it was he had felt earlier, seemed to be just at the tips of some sort of metaphorical fingers. Right behind his eyes, somewhere between his brain and spine.
Considering what he knew, which admittedly wasn't much, about what was potentially his quirk, he began to concoct an escape plan.
In truth, the plan was half-baked, and relied on both the potential effectiveness of his newfound something, and the seemingly quite literal price tag on his head, that might protect him if he failed.
But Izuku was four, had no idea what his quirk even was, and was under considerable duress.
He thought it was pretty good, all things considered.
And honestly, it wasn't until part 3 that things started to go wrong.
The first few seconds of the plan saw Izuku gently and slowly testing his bonds, trying to see if there was any give to the rope.
If there was, it was unusable.
Very well.
Moving swiftly and with minimal disappointment to the next set of ideas, he closed his eyes, and began to pull the flighty feeling of energy he had connected with less than a minute ago to the front. He coaxed it from the deep center of his skull, to sitting just behind his eyes, where he couldn't pull it any further.
He started to feel something of a glowing warmth seeping from his eyes, as his body started to sweat, getting hot rather quickly for some reason.
Taking a slow, deep breath in, centering the warmth, and imagining it coursing through his arms and legs, he readied himself to attempt to break the bonds in one swift motion. He waited until it was almost pulsating through his veins, energy shimmering internally, and then- it didn't feel quite right.
Hmm.
Izuku slowly and somewhat shakily released the breath, doing his level four-year-old best to avoid detection. He released his hold over the warmth, feeling it return to its place between his spine and eyes.
He wasn't quite sure what went wrong there, he followed all the advice that the quirk counselor had given them for using new quirks. She'd said that quirks were special and unique parts of them, and usually felt easy and intrinsic, like moving a new body part. And just like how if Izuku suddenly gained extra arms on his back he should be careful when first moving them, the same applied to anyone first using their quirk. Be slow. Be gentle. Focus on the source. Don't le- Wait a minute.
He was focusing on the feeling of warmth yes, but was that the source? Warmth was just one of the parts he had felt. Though it wasn't quite a part, it was more like a face you could wear. Same person: same face; different shape: different meaning.
Curious, Izuku returned to his inward meditation, searching for the idea that best fit his newfound power.
Which, by the way, was so cool ! A quirk, all his! He could do anything with it! It felt really squiggly, like extra potential, and he could probably figure out so many uses for it! Versatile quirks were the best, as were simple ones! - All quirks were awesome, really. Hidden depths and complexities, just for him to seek and know! He had so many choices, and-
Wait- choice. That- that felt right. How did choice feel right over power, or energy, or warmth? His quirk felt like it was all about the power to do, to be. The warmth was the energy and the energy fueled the power, right? Actually, what was the power?
As far as little Izuku was concerned, power was just what let Heroes win. Even though power could be smarts, or speed, or strength, it was just a cool thing that gave them the ability to save the day, right? But what was winning, exactly?
Izuku frowned in his ad-hoc meditation atop the sheet metal floor of the van, current circumstances nearly forgotten, so deep was he in his own mind.
Winning was… Well, for Izuku, winning was saving people, right? Heroes save the people that the villains want to hurt. It could also be winning a game, he supposed. In tug-of-war, winning was when the side you were on pulled the other team over the line, where they didn't want to go. Or like in a race, where you won by running as fast as you could manage, as soon as you could react, for as long as you could keep going.
Winning could also be… he was running out of ideas that were different.
Winning a competition? Like a science fair, which he hadn't participated in, being in Kindergarten, but he knew of them. You worked to get something everyone else was working to get, first place.
There had to be some connection between power, winning, and choice, but Izuku's mind of four years wasn't seeing it.
You used power to win something someone else wanted. To make someone do something they didn't want to. To decide a battl- Hold up.
To decide a battle?
The wording of Izuku's inner monologue, while not nearly as verbose as depicted here, tripped him up momentarily.
He considered it.
Perhaps winning meant to decide over someone else? It was almost like you were making a choice for them.
He chose to watch more Pro Hero videos, and his mom chose to put him to bed. He chose to learn about quirks in the books at Kindergarten, and the teacher chose to make them all listen to stuff about Kanji. Heroes chose to save people, and villains chose to hurt them.
Considering that power was many things, maybe winning could also be if he was smart enough to make Kacchan choose to play a game that he enjoyed more? Like a card game.
That definitely wasn't a choice Kacchan would make, he'd be making him do something against his will, even if he might think he wanted to play card games afterward. He might trick Kacchan into playing cards as just an extension of Heroes Vs Villains. The idea didn't make him feel very good, but he did feel a small surge of satisfaction as he realized the most prominent facet of his quirk. His quirk probably let him choose things, to decide one thing over another.
To impose his will on reality.
That sounded right.
Dangerous, as even his four-year-old mind could tell him, in the wrong hands.
But it felt right.
And so he opened his eyes, gleaming with new purpose, bolstered by will.
Glancing around once more, Izuku saw that nothing had changed, they were still in the city, the two villains were still talking, and to his utter luck, Kacchan was awake and the van had stopped.
Hopefully a traffic jam, so the villains would be extra stuck. Judging by the various sounds of horns around him, he believed that yes, it probably was a traffic jam. Hopefully there were Heroes around to do more than use a lot of cars to block the villains. And potentially scream at them.
Giving Kacchan what he hoped was a meaningful look, hogtied as he was, he relaxed himself, breathing in and out in steady, smooth cadence. He thought about all the nasty things his mother had said about people who took kids, and thought about why he had to save Kacchan.
These thoughts in his head, he readied his limbs, swiftly pulled his arms and legs inwards to wind up as much as he could, focused with all his little being, and ripped right through the hogtie, a sharply shining flash of crimson light blinking from his irises, as he pulled as hard, as fast, and with as much Determination as he possibly could, red light spilling from around his arms and legs coating them in a vermillion shimmer.
The ropes snapped like rubber bands, frayed strands flying every which way, the sound echoing in the cabin alerting both villains who swore, the driver taking off at a sharp veer, and the Moon lady struggling to stand and mount some sort of response. Katsuki sat in stunned silence, utterly speechless even without the gag around his mouth.
The second the vehicle crashed into a semblance of stability by quite literally crashing, likely against some building considering the lack of give, Izuku dashed towards Katsuki on his hands and feet. Quickly gathering, focusing, and sharpening his intentions once again, Izuku pulled at the ropesbetween Kasuki and the wall with an effortless strength that left Katsuki just a little whiplashed, tore the ropes where they were tied to the wall, and faded as quick as it came- instantly.
Both the loss in strength and the now-recovered Moon lady, plus a concussion or two (sitting next to a bunch of hero gear without a seatbelt can lead to some ugly injuries, who'd have guessed.), forced little Izuku's hand, as by slamming whatever will he had left into the idea of jumping, he launched backwards through the side, the shimmering crimson coating his head, back, and upper legs, with Katsuki held protectively at his front.
As soon as the unstoppable crimson essence completed its job of annihilating the wall of the van, the metal and plastic having provided what felt like an utter lack of resistance, the material bending, shattering, and flying as fast as it was pushed, it vanished, leaving the two to tumble onto the asphalt rather painfully, garnering them a few scrapes each. Having activated his brand-new quirk no less than three times within the span of five seconds now, Izuku was utterly exhausted, breathing in and out about two and a half lungs of air with each cycle. Tears pooled in his eyes, sniffles begging to break into more, but the crimson gleam quickly evaporated them both from within and without.
Though now with Katsuki's bonds broken and both their villain captors starting to attempt to leave the wreck of a van that had been their temporary prison, they really only had one option: Run.
And run they did, dodging through cars and pedestrians with the two villains hot on their heels, shouting for help the whole while. While ducking under an oil truck halted at a red light, Izuku was relieved to see the grocery store his family went to, meaning they were still in Musutafu, and probably hadn't been out long at all.
Continuing to try and run from the pair of villains was only made possible by adrenaline and desperation, and even that was running out.
In a moment of panic, having not seen a single hero or hero agency for the whole minute they had been running, 'maybe they're all at the crash?' Izuku, still gagged, gestured to and took off down an alleyway, hoping to find somewhere to hide, with both Katsuki and the villains following swiftly behind.
Dashing down the uneven bricks of the alley, Izuku frustratedly noted the lack of anything to hide behind, small trash bags, regular size trash cans, even some foliage, but nothing actually suitable to hide from their pursuers.
Turning the corner, gasping for breath, Izuku came to the despairing realization that the alleyway, was in fact, just an alley, as there was no way through the rather solid brick wall of the dead end they had just run into.
Well, maybe he could make one? No, it would be exhausting, and would only delay the issue. That, and he didn't wish to possibly destroy someone's home.
"MMMPH!"
Judging by Katsuki's frustrated face, utterly overflowing with exhaustion, rage, and frustration, Izuku believed that his dear friend might not hold such reservations, even if all he could produce were firecracker-sized explosions, having found his quirk only a week ago.
Nonetheless, the fast-approaching footsteps lead Izuku to consider that running may no longer be an option.
In his young mind, well, that was utterly terrifying. But, with the new understanding he had of his quirk, perhaps that was for the best? After all, if you want to change something as quickly as possible, you go to the source. Sunburn? Something to soothe the affected skin and shade. Tired? Sleep. Hungry? Eat.
People choosing to kidnap and hurt you? Make them choose not to.
Or render them incapable of choosing.
A decidedly violent thought for a four-year-old, especially considering his recent feats of destruction.
Just as he had decided on his course of action, his ashen-haired best friend looking at him confusedly, a pair of footsteps rounded the corner, revealing the two villains.
Both heaved with every breath they took, clearly somehow just as exhausted as the two children. 'Did they not sleep?' Izuku idly wondered, but their exhaustion was secondary to the large variety of injuries on them, ranging from bruises to lacerations, and small cuts. The lanky man in particular was thoroughly roughed up, likely a head-on crash then. Izuku hadn't taken the time to look. Blood was a common color between the two of them, though far more prominent on the jacketed man than Moon lady.
Moon lady, however, was limping in what seemed like both of her legs.
In the time it took him to catalog these sights, the lanky man reached into the jacket and pulled out a dull, metallic gray obj-
'That's a gun.'
Izuku was faintly aware that the man had started to speak about something.
He didn't quite care at the moment.
If he pulled out a gun, then he probably had half a mind to use it.
He didn't want them to hurt Kacchan.
Izuku himself really only knew what a gun was and what it could do thanks to his father, who held a job in the WHA where such weapons were prominent, and who was one of few Japanese citizens to legally own a firearm.
What was the point of threatening someone who didn't know what you were threatening them with?
He couldn't let them hurt Kacchan.
And to that end, what was the point of talking to someone who had already decided they were ready to kill a child?
He wouldn't let them hurt Kacchan.
Izuku's decision to attempt to incapacitate the two came almost too quickly for his own taste.
Flicking his eyes between the two, Izuku knew that his own his power would be hard to use, and that he had to get the meanest one first.
The lanky man was apparently in charge, held a gun, and was of the two, could move more. The Moon lady, while she had a powerful touch-based quirk, probably couldn't move much, and he had the feeling his quirk would overpower hers if push came to shove.
The decision made, he rushed towards the man with every last drop of stamina he could muster, readying a punch that would pin him against the wall, allowing him to maximize the use of his quirk's strength, which seemed to be some sort of unstoppability, on the whole.
And in an instant he knew.
It wouldn't be enough.
The man's gun was already leveled towards his head.
Being a literal child, Izuku had both severely misjudged the man's capability with the weapon, and the necessity of speed in this conflict. Perhaps a misdirection would have been helpful somewhere.
Thoughts flickering through his head, about as fast as a four-year-old could think, parsed through half-considered ideas and partially-thought feelings.
He was already Determined, but he didn't know exactly how to empower his head alongside his arm since he'd already started with his arm, thinking of the attack as a punch and not a charge.
If his current level of Determination wasn't enough, well, he could hardly just let Kacchan die.
Years from this moment, Izuku would look back in disappointment at this moment, and laugh, to celebrate the monumental foolishness that led to the worst decision he ever made, potentially bar none.
Izuku, in the instant between breaths, as the lanky kidnapper squeezed his trigger, decided that he would have to be more Determined.
And so with a lurch, a shift of the fundamentals of reality, and a ripping tear that sounded like it came from within his head, he was.
Katsuki Bakugo
Katsuki Bakugou, gagged, exhausted, and frustrated beyond reasonable convention, was as far as his four-year-old self was concerned: in hell.
He had been kidnapped, gotten into a car crash caused by the sudden showing of his best friend's quirk, had smashed through the side of said car via the same means, had run through the streets of some city, and was now stuck in an alley at gunpoint.
He wished with all his heart that he could simply manifest an actual 'super blast', and send the kidnappers into the wall. He had to save Izuku.
Izuku had gotten all wrapped up in this, when it wasn't even him they wanted to kidnap, and had been the one to save the two of them with that really cool new quirk of his.
It wasn't fair to Izuku, and Katsuki wanted with all his heart and soul to set it right, wanted to enact cosmic justice on behalf of green-haired friend.
It wasn't to be, however.
Izuku dashed forward, right into a bullet.
The crack of the gunfire echoed around the alley, the sound reverberating like some spatial death knoll. Katsuki couldn't help the ragged scream that forced its way out of his small lungs, nor could he stop the tears.
But even as his eye's flinched, expecting to see his essentially life-long friend fall to the ground, they widened in shock, as Izuku became something else.
Years later, Katsuki would think back to the event and recall it as if a Izuku Midoriya-sized tear in the fabric of reality manifested and burned all the color out of itself, leaving only a faintly dimensionless white smear in its place.
The only thing apart from this description that made it even stranger, if that were possible, was that there were 4 things with color upon this smear of reality.
His two eyes, which radiated an iridescent miasma, shimmering colors of the rainbow and perhaps more shining from deep within his eyes, perhaps from within his very soul.
He was bleeding from somewhere near his upper forehead, kind of a lot, actually.
The last and strangest of all, lay at the center of the figure.
It was a heart, seemingly human, though apparently doubled, the shape actually lending itself to a frankly, hilariously cartoon-esque heart.
At least, it would have been hilarious, were it not for the fact that this Izuku-shaped, prismatic, visibly hearty, hole in the fabric of the universe, had just pushed the lanky, strange-gray-blob-wielding man into the wall he was standing next to.
But momentum didn't stop as it normally does. Katsuki might have supposed that made sense if he was capable of thought at the moment. After all, Izuku's quirk made him a lot like that unstoppable force he heard his mum joking about when she spoke with Auntie Inko.
Of course the chest of the lanky man was no immovable object, and was probably fated to break, according to the joke, anyhow.
And break it did.
For a moment it seemed the only explantion for what had happened was that the white stain on existence had shifted color in some bizarre fashion, and painted itself across the alley wall in an obscene shade of red, accompanied by a sickening wet crunch.
And then Katsuki realized it was probably blood.
Then, somewhere after the second crunch and between a high-pitched whine overtaking his ears and his vision starting to double, he thought he might have heard a scream, maybe a sound like a bundle of damp sticks breaking too. He wasn't sure, but he stopped thinking about what it might have meant when an inexplicable nausea took him to his knees.
Four year old children weren't really ready for violence of that caliber.
After a few moments where he almost added green to the alley's palette of colors, he heard footsteps, through the tinnitus, cutting through the ringing gently, but with firmness.
If footsteps can have such a thing.
Katsuki would also look back upon this incident, years later, and decide that most of it was some sort of stress-induced hallucination.
Raising his head, just enough to glance upwards at the footfalls that grew ever closer, he realized that the white tear in reality was less a hole, devoid of color, and more of a culmination, a nexus, a focal point of reality, awash in colors that defy human expectation. Sights that border on sound and taste.
Future Katsuki would have many easy full night rests, as hallucinations are rather common, and nothing to worry overly much about.
Katsuki also faintly realized that there was a crimson-soaked hand brushing away tears he hadn't realized he was shedding.
It was Izuku's hand.
Oh, the culmination of existence that looked like silk thrown over a silhouette and tasted like burning white was in fact, Izuku.
Of course, the fact that he was also bleeding from the eyes now, which were still shining a rather terrifying assortment of colors, was more of a side note than anything.
"It's okay Kacchan, I'm here."
The words, while comforting, were utterly terrifying coming from the washed-out silhouette of Izuku, seeming as though they were layered several times over, and registering on some wavelength that wasn't exactly sound.
The only thing distracting Katsuki from the apparent eldritch horror in front of him that had just wiped away his tears, leaving a smear of blood not his own, was the wide, kind, tearful smile that he could make out on the senseless dimensions of what might be Izuku.
The blood streaming from his eyes helped.
Mustering up his courage, he gave possibly-Izuku a hug, with a ragged whisper of gratitude.
" Thanks. "
Maybe-Izuku's smile got wider, if such a thing were conceivable, and without the slightest hint or warning, all things eldritch vanished, leaving behind a blood-soaked pair of four-year-olds, one of which had tracks of blood left behind from streams leaking from the eyes.
If Katsuki had the energy left in him to move, he might have noticed his best friend's hair was still void-white, and his eyes, steaming.