Chapter Text
Rain. Rain and mud and never ending gray concrete.
Once upon a time Izuku had loved the rain, but right now he’s not feeling particularly benevolent towards it. Or anything really, for that matter.
Thunder rolls across the sky, and more dark, heavy clouds collect in the North. The sign of a very, very angry warlock finding his favorite pet gone missing.
Izuku shivers and tries his best to shake some of the water out of his fur. He’s never going to be dry again. The bush he’s huddled under is poor protection from the downpour, and his paws and underbelly are filthy with mud.
A car turns the corner in the road and, completely uncaring of the shape shifter trembling under dark leaves, splashes water in a dirty, filthy arc through the air. It leaves Izuku drenched further and he makes a small, hurt noise, barely audible in his current rabbit-form.
For maybe the hundredth time he wishes he had shifted into something, literally anything else. A rabbit is completely out place running along sidewalks and ducking across city streets. Hell, running naked and terrified in his human form would have probably garnered the same amount of attention. Maybe even less if he’d headed for the shadier areas of the city.
But his absence has been noted, and if he tries to shift now, tires to release the magic within him that he’s dampened down, it’d be like sending up a beacon. He’s been running for hours but that wouldn’t matter. Izuku’s magic is too powerful, too distinctive to mistake for another’s, a veritable siren’s call in the middle of this dark, miserable city. He’d be found. Dragged back to that high rise apartment and collared once more, maybe even chained if the warlock is feeling particularly vindictive.
Eight months he spent with that horrid, horrid weight around his neck. Eight months of subtle, fine magic compelling him to follow every childish order, every demand, every whim and whimsy. Whether that had been feeding his power to the warlock or bending over to be fucked had depended on the day and the other’s mood.
Izuku shies away from the memory of petting hands and condescension. He shakes his head and tries to sneeze water and mud out of his nose but fails.
Where to now? He can’t sit around cowering under bushes forever, just waiting to be found. Unfortunately, street signs aren’t made to be viewed by someone so close to the ground. Not that he really knows where he is or would recognize the street names regardless.
Dejectedly, Izuku continues on his way, no direction in his mind except away. There’s nobody waiting for him, no home to return to. He’s been passed from hand to hand for so long that he’s not sure he even remembers what a home is really supposed to feel like. It’s not for want of trying, certainly. But in a world of magic and practitioners, Izuku is a rarity. Unlike witches and warlocks, Izuku is magic in and of himself, has magic rooted in his very bones. To put it shortly, he’s a power supply. But the only time he can actually tap into that power is when he’s shifting. The intricate spell work, the charms and curses and rituals are all lost to Izuku, completely beyond his reach.
In contrast, witches and warlocks can weave and bend magic to their will, but aren’t inherently magical. They have to draw power from themselves and from the world around them, usually wearing themselves out in the process. Izuku can fix that problem for them. When he shares his magic, it strengthens the practitioner, makes them more powerful, and doesn’t deplete their energy. It’s why Izuku is so sought after in the magical community.
They don’t want him though. Nobody wants just plain old Izuku, the shape shifter who likes to lounge in the sun as a cat, play in the dirt as a dog, and who keeps journals scribbled full of messy notes about magical theory. He can’t practice any of it himself, of course. But he doesn’t like the idea of practitioners pulling from him, and then not knowing what it is they’re doing with all his power. So his knowledge is extensive and runs deep, having turned into an actual interest somewhere along the way. Someday he wants to be able to share all that knowledge, to work side by side with someone instead of just being used like a super charged battery.
But that dream is old and slowly but surely being crushed under the weight of reality.No practitioner has ever cared about what he has to say. They pet him and feed him and call him pretty names, take his power, and then leave again.
There’s only been exception to that pattern and that’s the warlock Izuku is currently running from.
His paws drag through puddles, sending up little sprays of water that make his whiskers twitch. Exhaustion is starting to eat at him, and he finds his steps faltering as he hops along. His ears are trained for the sounds of cars and people alike as he darts from one hiding place to the next, trying desperately not to be seen.
Around him the storm is only picking up momentum. What had started as a fairly bright day is descending quickly into darkness, fat drops of water sinking deep into Izuku’s coat and chilling him. The lightning and thunder are still a ways off, but there’s a sharp wind picking up and it’s blowing them closer. Soon he won’t be able to see at all and he has half a mind to find a hiding spot to wait it out.
That’s just what he wants though, and Izuku absolutely refuses to be caught. Not again.
The crowding of buildings is just slowly starting to fade into suburbia when he feels it. The warmth of protective magic.
Izuku zeros in on a gas station across the street. The bright orange car is hard to miss, all sleek lines and noisy engine. A man opens the door and steps out. Ashy blonde hair sticking up in every direction, dark clothes, and a scowl on his face. Something about him is familiar but from this distance Izuku can’t really place what. The man goes inside the gas station and Izuku…well, he can’t resist.
When the road is clear he darts across it, little rabbit heart pounding in his chest. His claws scrabble against the concrete, splashing through dirty puddles as he makes his way as quickly as possible to the car. For a moment he’s worried it’s too low to the ground for him to fit, but when he’s close enough he realizes there’s just enough room for him to duck under it comfortably.
Instantly his heart beat starts to slow and his breathing evens out.
The magic is hot and so very welcome against his trembling form. He’s not really certain what kind of person spells their car but right now he doesn’t care. His own magic, dampened as it is, will be hidden under the intricate spell work of this stranger, and for just a moment Izuku feels safe. Protected.
Reality comes knocking a few minutes later when dark shoes approach the car, stopping beside it. But the witch doesn’t seem to notice his presence, quietly going about the process of filling up his tank.
Izuku won’t be able to hide here forever, sadly. Just thinking about going back out into the rain makes him want to sob, but there’s nothing to be done about it. He decides he’ll make a break for new cover once the witch gets inside again, and he gathers what little strength he has left as those dark shoes approach the drivers side door.
But they pause. Izuku’s heart leaps into his throat in fear as jean-clad knees hit the pavement and bright red eyes peer through the darkness at him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The voice is husky and quiet, and suddenly Izuku remembers exactly who this witch is. Katsuki Bakugou. An infamous ignis witch, though the more popular and slightly derogatory term is pyre witch. Someone whose power lies in flame, in destruction, in ash.
Of the few that live in the city, Katsuki is by far considered the worst. He’s rude, next to impossible to work with, and is said to catch fire, both literally and figuratively, the moment he gets pissed off.
Or so Izuku’s been told.
He actually recognizes Katsuki’s voice because he ran into him once, years ago, at a convention. They happen twice a year or so, huge gatherings where witches and warlocks gather to share trade secrets and reconnect. Izuku mostly used them for networking, seeking out whoever treated him the nicest in exchange for his power. Katsuki had never been one of the ones lining up for Izuku’s attention though, and when they had accidentally bumped into each other his gaze had been hard, bordering on disgusted.
Suddenly this hiding place seems like a terrible idea, and Izuku bemoans his decision making skills. First he willingly crawled into bed with a warlock, and now this?
But the pale man crouched down to look at him doesn’t seem angry. His mouth is pulled into a slight frown but the eyes are curious, expression open in a way it certainly hadn’t been upon their first meeting.
“If you don’t want to get run over, you gotta come out,” Katsuki says reasonably, if a bit brusquely. When Izuku only trembles he sighs. “C’mon, get out of there. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”
A pale hand extends underneath the car, offering but not really reaching. It’s smart actually. Grabbing at a scared animal will only scare them further, but an open, relaxed hand speaks of harmlessness and safety. Izuku takes a single step forward despite himself, and then another. It’s not like he can stay under here anyways.
When he’s close enough, that huge hand scoops him up and pulls him the rest of the way out. Katsuki isn’t rough but he’s not exactly gentle either as he stands, holding Izuku out in front of him. His nose wrinkles.
“A fucking rabbit. What the fuck are you doing out here all alone?”
Izuku squirms, uncomfortable in the hold. Katsuki has him under his front legs, and his hind legs hang unsupported and heavy in the open air. He’s tempted to try and kick at Katsuki or wriggle out of his grip, but he’s being pulled close before he has the chance.
“Ugh, you’re all muddy,” Katsuki continues, and Izuku can feel the rumble of his voice where he’s pressed close to the witch’s chest. A solid arm moves to support his dangling feet.
Katsuki is a veritable furnace, and Izuku finds himself melting into him. Before he realizes it he’s being bundled into the shiny, expensive car and his chance for escape dwindles to nothing. When Katsuki sheds his jacket and wraps Izuku in it, setting him safely in the passenger seat, he can’t find it within himself to care.
For a pyre witch, Katsuki doesn’t seem so bad. And it’s not like Izuku wasn’t sleeping with a damn warlock so he can’t really judge. But the almost -not quite, but almost- gentle treatment is still a shock.
Inside the car the spell work is stronger, and the heat of it sinks into Izuku’s bones. He snuggles into the jacket. It’s thick with Katsuki’s scent, something dark and smokey and his exhausted brain conjures images of pine logs in a warm hearth, ash in the fire-pit of a camp ground deep in the mountains, a lone sparkler bright against the night sky.
He’s fallen asleep before he realizes it.