Chapter Text
PROLOGUE (TWO YEARS PRIOR):
Grasshopper bolts through the back alleys, making his way towards a column of smoke rising over the rooftops. A fire truck races by on the main street, sirens drilling into his ears. He needs to be faster.
The vigilante glances up at the skyline as he ricochets through the backstreets like a pinball from the arcade. Rooftops are around 50 feet away. Easy. He keeps momentum, sliding into a low crouch before jumping for a roof. Giran always said he’d crash one day doing this. It hasn’t happened yet, and Grasshopper is willing to trust in luck.
Dragon Legs is a useful quirk. From what he can figure out, it’s a mutation from grandparents from both family lines. His father’s family tends towards dragon-like attributes, while his mother’s side swaps between telekinesis and jumping quirks. As a result, he can shift his legs into a second anatomical structure. The new scales and claws are easily hidden under costume fabric and custom boots. Grasshopper has transitioned slowly from hating his quirk to loving the work it lets him do. He can save people with this power.
Jumping is almost like flying. Grasshopper revels in the air rushing past his face before he spots it. A crumbling building belches smoke onto the streets. He lands, refocused. People are in danger.
Rooftops disappear under his legs seconds after he spots them. At this speed, deciding where to go takes most of his energy.
He arrives at the site, rolling to reduce momentum and still barely managing to catch himself on the roof ledge. It takes a few precious seconds to take stock of the situation.
An old brownstone office building is actively crumbling- flames flicker in several windows, and civilians in others. It's… not good. On the ground, heroes focus on the building but none of them enter. Mt. Lady – who really needs to move out to the countryside – shouts something about not being able to get through. Another yells instructions to wait – wait until what, the fire puts itself out? Firemen mill in the street without making any move to enter, which can only mean there’s a villain on the scene.
Windows on the second floor are blown out, covered in slime. Definitely a villain. Shouts filter through the chaos until Grasshopper figures the situation out- they’re waiting for a hero with the right quirk. The civilians don’t have time for this.
Grasshopper grits his teeth, estimating the distance across the street. Probably 40 feet or so, horizontal to the nearest empty window. It’s too dangerous with momentum and too much smoke to see what he’d be landing on.
The roof is further- an added 20 above his current height. He can make it with enough momentum. Grasshopper speeds back across the roofs, taking a straight path back until he’s built up enough distance. Smoke rises in a column – a signal to light his way.
He bends down, securing good footing and tugging his green hood up. The biggest downside to his quirk is traction – when shifting his legs into their second dragon-like proportions, his feet are smaller, coated in thin scales, with less space to grip the ground. Wearing shoes like this makes acceleration hard if it’s not aimed upwards.
Better that than anyone figuring out how far his quirk goes.
A police siren sounds and he’s off like a cannon. Buildings blur in a moment before the final rooftop. His legs burn when he pushes off, the ever present feeling that he could have gone faster if he’d just tried harder drifts away, and Grasshopper is airborne.
Time is still in the air. He can watch the building draw closer, up and under him. A news crew below spots him, but he’s gone before the cameras focuses.
Impact brings everything rushing back. Grasshopper affixes his mask securely, making his way to a door. One kick and it falls in. Smoke rushes at him like a slap in the face. He can hear more now, too. He grabs the roof fire extinguisher as he moves downwards cautiously.
The lessons Dabi and Zookeeper drilled into his head echo back: triage. Prioritize. Work from the outside in with unknown threats, especially with heroes nearby. Direct attention to victims, only step in if it’s necessary.
The first civilians are suspicious. Convincing him that he isn’t a villain takes precious time, and allowing him to jump them to another roof even more so. As he works down they stop asking, then they run to him. As the minutes tick by and the oxygen in his mask runs low, it becomes harder and harder to find them.
That should be good- should mean a difference. To Grasshopper it means he might be missing someone, and his time is running out. By now the news crews have spotted the civilians and probably gotten an interview. He needs to hurry before heroes desperate to look busy target the vigilante rather than the villain.
There are rules against that, not that anyone’s bothered to read them past cramming for an exam.
He’s jumping back from rescuing what he hopes is the last civilian when the building begins to crumple further. Flames erupt over a side and Grasshopper twists in midair so he latches onto the fourth floor window ledge rather than enter.
Grasshopper lets go, and falls. His arms scream when he catches the second floor window ledge. Behind him, heroes shout but the vigilante is in before any of their warnings finish.
The second floor is the worst. He’s been down only around the edges, avoiding whatever was shaking in the middle. There were people to save before he could scout the problem fully.
What he finds is the worst scenario: Kidnapping, assault and hostage situation all rolled into one. All they need is a bomb threat and this party will be really started. A villain made of slime has enveloped a civilian, trying to take over their body. Grasshopper is surprised they’re still conscious. The victim's quirk goes off, explosions popping from their hands.
Ah. There’s the explosives. Why can’t life be easy for once?
The villain screams when an explosion comes too close to it’s eye. It must be a weakness. Grasshopper swears, launching himself forward to kick straight into the villain’s eyes.
The slime villain rears back, loosening its grip just enough for it’s victim to draw a gasping breath and oh shit Grasshopper knows that face.
How does he know that face?
Ｈｏｗ ｄｏｅｓ ｈｅ ｋｎｏｗ ｔｈａｔ ｆａｃｅ？
Grasshopper freezes, and that’s what does it. The villain lashes out blindly, clipping him in the shoulder and crushing him against a wall. The explosions redouble in effort, and Grasshopper has to roll to avoid a stray blast.
He needs to focus. Grasshopper dodges another blast before jumping to another wall. He moves from wall to desk to ceiling to floor to table and back again at top speed. If he keeps this up it might provide a distraction; might let the civilian breathe for even a second.
Deku.
A voice he should know catches him off guard, but there’s no time. His mask is beeping softly, a sign he’s out of oxygen. The villain yells something- whatever it is cut off by an explosion in its mouth. The heroes should have intervened by now.
Useless nerd.
He should know, or care what those words mean. He doesn’t. Grasshopper pinballs through the room before launching himself at the eyes again. He almost makes it, too. The villain turns marginally, and Grasshopper is sunk chest deep into the slime.
Bad memories well up when his legs don’t respond, and he kicks out repeatedly. One manages to move slime from the civilian’s mouth, subjecting Grashopper to much fouler language than he was expecting.
“-FUCKING ASSWIPE, LET ME BEAT HIM ON MY OWN YOU USELESS EXTRA HERO WANNABE-“
Ah, Grasshopper thinks as shock sets in and his childhood bully cusses him out in a crumbling, burning building. It’s this asshole.
“Yeah, sure, let me leave you with a villain because that benefits either of us,” Grasshopper snarks back, lashing out again with his legs. The slime disperses his kick, and traps his arms when he pushes against it.
“I’ll beat him!” Bakugo rages. He unleashes a string of curse words much too violent for any kid just starting middle school. “I’m going to be the best hero! This greasy-ass jerk thinks he can take my quirk? Well guess again, fuck-face!”
“Jeeze, lighten up will ya?” Get it? Lights? Explosions? Too vague? “You’ve sure got an explosive personality, bet it’s real pop- ular.”
Bakugo snarls something else, but Grasshopper can’t hear. The sirens began to blare outside, and the building shakes. Something’s coming. Something bigger than the villain.
Grasshopper shakes his head, refocusing. Two more kicks propel him inches closer to the villains eyes, and he manages to grab one at the sacrifice of his arms. Slime covers them, sucking him down, down, down until light is swallowed up by gross, writhing slime. It feels disgusting.
He doesn’t let go of the eye. Even if he dies- even if this kills him – he can at least take the villains vision until the heroes arrive. It won’t hurt a regenerative slime quirk like this in the long run, anyway.
Grasshopper struggles with his own lungs, forcing himself not to draw in air and doing fake chest compressions instead to stave off the instinct to suck in slime. He needs to keep his lungs clear for the rescuers.
Then there’s nothing but wind.
Grasshopper is blown back. He catches sight of All Might, and scrambles into the shadows to catch his breath. He’s been told to prioritize intelligence over speed when dealing with the number one hero. He can’t be here. The fire and creaking building cover his gasping and unsteady footsteps as Grasshopper runs.
There’s so much smoke.
Grasshopper makes his way to a window and leans out, drawing greedy lungfuls of air for a few seconds before leaping up, story by story to the upper floors. From there, it’s easy to clear the street no matter the smoke in his lungs and burn in his legs.
Buildings blur together as Grasshopper sprints. If he’s lucky, the news won’t focus on him. They’ll look to Bakugo or All Might. He’s been lucky before. He’ll be lucky again.
He isn’t.
Grasshopper’s fanbase begins with their figurehead stained in sweat and ash, born of fire. Izuku watches the news at home with his cat, mask off and legs shifted back to human form. He gives up hiding from the public eye within hours. It takes two weeks for stores to start selling merchandise.
PRESENT DAY:
Buildings make good vantage points for disasters.
Grasshopper's known this since two years ago after middle school. It had been a building fire that time, and the heroes had almost left civilians behind. He shakes his head, batting away memories of smoke-stained walls and Bakugo cursing him out. Some origin story, huh?
Grasshopper doesn’t want this to happen. The heroes have been amassing resources for this bust for years, but they’ve got it wrong. They’re prepared to deal with angry gang members trafficking drugs for profit.
They won’t be expecting scared victims of human trafficking smuggling their own friends and found family into Japans’ borders.
And now the forces are about to clash right in front of him. On one side of the dock, he can see the heroes. From the bright costumes of All Might, Miriko, Hawks, and Midnight. Behind them, more underground heroes stand in the darkness. The estimated size of the cargo had accounted for the drug trade in most of northern Japan, so it’s garnered plenty of interest.
In short, as many of the big names as they could get.
On the other side, a small crowd gathers. They look rough, with torn shirts and few jackets between the lot. The strongest of them are out front. Mutation quirks have always been discriminated against in Japan. Less so in other countries, so they likely don’t know how bad this setup is for peacekeeping.
They stand together, refusing to flinch against the wind, and they stare at the heroes with something between hope and fear. Grasshopper is well versed in the light he sees in their eyes.
Desperation.
Grasshopper bites his lip, watching it all. The wind stings at his eyes and cuts through the cheap fabric of his homemade costume, but he forces himself to stay still.
He can’t afford to attract attention yet.
A single member of the foreigners steps forward. He raises his hands in a universal peace symbol, but it just makes the heroes tenser.
They’ve all been lied to before.
“Please,” The man says in broken Japanese. “We want to talk.”
Miriko’s voice rings out across the space. “So you say, villain. What about?”
Grasshopper notices movement amongst the underground heroes. This isn’t a peace talk. This is an ambush.
The man continues to speak, pleading for mercy, but the heroes are too cautious. Grasshopper reaches up to tap his headset. “Heya stale meme, where are you?”
Dabi isn’t long to respond. “Fuck you bug boy, I’m right by the ship. They’re still unloading.”
“Some undergrounds are heading your way. They don’t know I’m here.”
“Well, Shit. Go take the spotlight, grass guy. I’ll clean up here.”
“Thanks, T-pose vigilante.”
“Ant: the shortest fleabag.”
“S’mores-guy.”
The man is still trying to explain in halting words that they are the victims, but Miriko isn’t taking it. They’ve all heard villains’ monologue before. After a while, it becomes hard to differentiate between honest speech and manipulation.
“Bunny hop vigilante.”
“Toasted wheat cereal.”
“You know what? I’ll take it.”
Too many heroes are lied to these days. Miriko moves first, clearing the stretch of open ground easily with her quirk. Grasshopper winces as the heroes move in tandem, a well-trained force.
An army. The victims won’t last long like this.
“Glad one of us has some self-worth. Going in.”
“Let me know if Hawks gives you trouble. Fucker owes me one.”
He needs to be smart about this. His quirk shifts in seconds. The feeling of joints in his legs sliding into their second location is a comfort by now. Muscles warp and shift, reorganizing to his new bone structure. Scales slot out from under his skin, itching under the costume fabric. It’s not the prettiest quirk activation, but it’s saved lives.
Grasshopper hesitates a moment longer before he jumps. The wind whistles in his ears and the city lights blur before he makes impact, hitting the ground right between Miriko and the smuggler leader.
Miriko doesn’t hesitate, kicking out with a vengeance. She might not even know who he is. That’s okay.
Grasshopper blocks, just barely, but his arm explodes in pain. He kicks out with an attack of his own and she dodges, leaping up.
Grasshopper runs, scooping up the leader- he’s too light to be healthy, unless it’s a quirk- and speeds through the crowd. He keeps his leaps long and low to the ground. Miriko won’t hesitate if they’re airborne.
He’d be mincemeat.
Something hits him in the back, and Grasshopper crashes to the ground.
Everything hurts.
The smuggler’s leader is yelling something, and Miriko responds, but he can’t concentrate over the blooming warmth in his back.
He can’t feel his legs.
He can’t feel his LEGS.
He’d heard of people losing their quirk in this part of town. A terrible thought hits, and Grasshopper pushes it back.
No.
He can’t panic.
The fighting is dying down. Grasshopper parses through the noises, trying to push himself up. The ground is warmer, wetter than it should be under his hands, color is leaching out of his vision.
“-he’s a vigilante for crying out loud! He’s never committed a crime beyond public quirk usage!’
“Not like I could tell!” Miriko’s scathing voice cuts off Midnight. “He shouldn’t even be playing hero.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Well excuse me for assuming a costumed, unregistered opponent was a villain. Better cuff him now with the rest.”
“No…” Grasshopper needs to say something. Needs to make them stop.
“There’s still villains left. Let’s go.”
They can’t. They can’t arrest the victims. “No!”
Grasshopper flinches away when a weight descends on his shoulder. He looks up to find Best Jeanist watching him cautiously.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Don’t move.”
“No, wait-“ Grasshopper makes the mistake of trying to prop himself upward, and pain shoots through his spine. He still can’t feel his legs.
Midnight speaks up. “Kid, sit this out. Let us do our jobs.”
“NO!” Grasshopper screams it out, hoping the heroes will hear. “Did you even check what their cargo was? Did you even look into their past records?”
Best Jeanist tries to calm him, but the words don’t reach. Grasshopper has been told to sit down and shut up his whole life. Not today.
“We’re all together!” Grasshopper fights through the pain, not caring if his hood has slipped back, displaying recognizable fluffy hair for the world to see. “The legislation, the broken hero system-“
He screams the truth out hoping someone out there will understand that words matter.
“They affect all of us, but we try to help people. And sometimes it hurts every one of us!”
Across the front lines, All Might glances to one of his colleagues.
“We just want to live and go home! So please- can we please-“ His voice breaks, revealing the teenager under the mask.
“Can we please just talk this out?”
Miriko moves, and Grasshopper tracks her with the corner of his eye. He catches Best Jeanist swearing before something hits him like a truck, and he’s out.
Grasshopper collapses unconscious.
Hood off, green hair for all to see.
Back severely injured.
Crying.