Izuku Midoriya: Under the Red Hood

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This is a work inspired by 'A Robin's Nest,' written by SilvermistAnimeLover (it's not letting me tag them for some reason??) and their fic is available on Wattpad and Archive Our Own. 

100/10 recomend that you go and read it!

During a hostage situation gone awry, nine-year-old Izuku Midoriya is caught in the crossfire of the battle between the police, professional heroes, and the infamous supervillain, Lazarus. With the emitter quirk 'Missing,' Lazarus has the uncanny ability of somehow making whomever he touches disappear for the span of one week. Thus far, no one has been able to determine where these people have gone or how they were able to return, including those his quirk has affected. This is due to the fact that, upon returning, his victims have gone mad -- foaming at the mouth, attacking the people around them, and a few have even had seizures. After a few years, though, these people recover but without the memories Lazarus had instilled. Midoriya, though -- Midoriya was different. He recovered, and he remembered.

***

When he'd awoken, the boy didn't remember anything: his name, his birthday -- he couldn't even remember what he looked like. What was he doing on the ground? Did he fall? Or was he pushed down, perhaps?

Using his elbows, the boy pushed himself out of the dirt and onto his hands and knees with a wince. His ribs hurt -- so did his head -- but he sat up anyway; he needed to find out where he was, or more accurately, who he was.

The first thing he decided to do was to make himself aware of his surroundings. Wherever the boy was, the space was narrow and the walls were long. Greasy trash bags and cracked, dust-covered beer bottles lined the ground where he sat. Flies and gnats flew into his face, getting tangled in his hair and occasionally getting themselves trapped inside of his mouth or up his nose. Deciding that he had no other choice than to ignore them, he looked up and realized that the night sky opened up above him. Could it be that he was in some sort of alley? How had he gotten there, and when?

By gripping the edges of the grimy dumpster beside him, the boy managed to pull himself into a standing position. He needed to find the alley's opening. Maybe if he were able to get ahold of the police...

He heard the sound of a motor -- a car. Where there were cars, there were streets, and where there were streets -- that's where the opening is. The traffic lights and street lamps illuminate the alley, and cars' headlights even more so. How he wasn't able to see it earlier, he didn't know.

He stumbled toward the entrance of the alley, running his dirt-caked hand against the rigid, brick wall for both guidance and balance. His eyes, sensitive to the bright lights in the dark of night, remained trained to the ground. Between the cracks in the pavement, he noticed, grass was growing -- maybe, when it became warmer, flowers would grow. He made sure to side-step a particularly large black trash bag, grimacing at the putrid smell. Turning his head, the boy saw that the bag was blocking access to an old and chipped, wooden door. Did people actually live here?

During his moment of confusion and disgust, he forgot to watch where he was stepping. The bag that he'd originally been careful to avoid -- one of its edges crunched loudly beneath his shoe, causing rotted food and curdled drinks to ooze from where it had been ripped. He gasped, both in shock and at how intensely the stench had worsened. He took a few steps away and covered his mouth and nose with his hands. But before he was able to continue walking, he realized that the trash bag was shaking, ever so slightly.

The boy stopped moving, his focus once again being taken from him in favor of watching the bag. He was almost tempted to approach it again, just out of curiosity, but the anxiety of what it may be kept his body stiff. Suddenly, before he could react, a plump and hairy rat skittered out from behind the trash bag and across his shoes. His skin jumped and he let out a scream, kicking his feet. The rat, though cling as it may, was flung away from him, and, without looking back, scurried away and into the night.