This Ain't Good

2: Rescue?

Uh violence warning (it's not that bad though)

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"WAKE UP! C'MON MAMA, THIS ISN'T FUNNY, GET UP!" Hot tears streaming down his face. Something pulled him back, he was slowly dragged by his arms until he saw nothing but black smoke.

Three years ago. Midoriya Inko passed away in a fire in her home, three years ago. Suspected arson, but the police, heroes and fire department could never pinpoint what happened exactly, and if they did, Midoriya Izuku was never informed. The funeral was small and quiet and lasted a few hours, Izuku stayed at the headstone for the full day until he fell asleep and his family friends took him to their home. It was heartbreaking, Izuku was seemingly silenced and his cheery smiles ceased, his eyes were either empty or filled with tears, mouth with sobs and hands with shaky dread. All Izuku remembers is being dragged away and waking up coughing, then being handed a cold, hard box. The same box his mother was clutching in her final moments. The funeral, his auntie, then being taken away by his father. Up until he was seven years old and taken in by his father, Izuku always believed Midoriya Hisashi was a kind man, always abroad, earning money for his family. When Hisashi finally had custody over Izuku, he showed his true colours, a cruel man who worked Izuku to the bone, training him for an unsaid reason. Father was out of the question, he declared himself Izuku's Sensei on day one, like he detested having a blood relation with his scrawny son. His life was turned upside-down as well as topsy-turvy. This went on for three years; the beatings if Izuku stepped a millimetre out of line, the dinner-less nights if Izuku didn't achieve one-hundred percent on a test at school, the lonely days where he trained in fighting, stealth, physical and academic studies and 'The Basics', while his mind was consumed by dark daydreams of his mother and where she might've gone. His mother was nothing but a blur that meant his world, something important but you don't know why. Like an important, historical figure who probably did something awe-inspiring, but you never studied so all you can do is stand in detached admiration for a silhouette. He couldn't remember her, her looks or figure, only her kind words and the ghost of her golden heart hugging his own isolated, abandoned one. But I suppose the looks don't mean anything if the soul is what we're truly after. He never fully remembered what happened that fateful evening. Shoes. Smoke. Corpse. Charcoal. Ash. Ache. Black. Box. Flashbacks would scratch and claw into his mind when he was alone, sinking into his ability to think. A curse.

When he had company, it was his Sensei or Sensei's friends, and he was their slave. When he was alone, he simply wasn't. When he wanted to be alone it was hard, it was hard to hide from your own head. School hadn't gotten better nor worse, the bullies had left him alone for a while after they had heard of what happened to Midoriya Inko, they were bratty children, not monsters. But, Izuku was still ignored, still had no friends and still left in the pitch dark, with only a flame for company; dancing, whispering, tormenting.

After long enough, people forgot why they left the poor boy alone and decided to change that, coming back bigger, bolder, worse. Home was a nightmare, calling it 'home' is probably too generous for the cold household. School was horrendous, jump scares round corners, teachers turning blind eyes and Katsuki. Bakugou Katsuki. Bakugou 'Kacchan' Katsuki. An enemy for later.

Now, the day had come. It had been almost two years since the first household inspection of Midoriya Hisashi's since Izuku had been residing, the second was arriving in a few minutes. When Izuku was eight, on the day of the first inspection, before the estate agent had arrived, his Sensei told him that if he didn't tell the agents any 'pieces of shit lies' for example:

"Sensei drinks lot of gross juice but then he gets loud.", "Why is my big bruise purple now?" or "Look! Sensei taught me how to spin a knife!!",