Chapter Text
Izuku never gave himself a vigilante name. In all honesty, he forgot. It got lost in the blur of accidentally stumbling into one attempted crime, to which he may or may not have intervened, hood pulled down low, a random metal pipe in hand, then another two all in the same week. The third of which he helped out Eraserhead (ohmigod it’s ERASERHEAD – he’s so cool his Quirk is so useful, he's such a good fighter, he keeps himself such a mystery, blah, blah, blah, he rambles internally) and the hero doesn’t even try to chase after him or anything. And so in this way, he remains fairly unnoticed at first.
But then Izuku begins to turn his late-night wonderings into something resembling patrols.
He begins to listen in on villain conversations and hack Eraserhead’s email and phone to message him with said information, just labelling himself as ‘your favourite vigilante’. During the day, he free runs amongst trash and through rundown parks, jumping and flipping and moving until his muscles scream with something in between agony and victory. He analyses heroes and villains and civilians, learns even more about Quirks and psychology and biology than he knew before, and that had already been a significant amount.
A name honestly just slips his mind. He’s so hyper-focused on being able to save people, that even a Quirkless twelve, soon-thirteen year old can do something, that he just doesn’t care about minor details like a vigilante name.
Yet one day, heading towards where he knows Eraserhead should be patrolling this evening, hopefully with a spare snack and coffee in tow, he hears a loud voice exclaim,
“But I want to meet your Kidilante!”
“Shut up Mic,” comes Aizawa’s deadpan voice but apparently the blond (ohmigod it’s Present Mic, civilian name Yamada Hizashi, his Quirk- no, no, focus Izuku, pay attention-) warrants an undercurrent of aggravation. Izuku’s beginning to think that he should be taking notes.
After all, trying the underground hero’s patience is a good way to test whether or not he can be trusted. Sure, Izuku wants to think the best of the incredibly skilled hero who has yet to seriously try to arrest him and who seems to genuinely care about people, both victims and Izuku himself, albeit in a gruff way, but that doesn’t mean he can actually trust him. So, annoying the fuck out of him is a good way to see what he truly think of Izuku, what his true intentions are.
“Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to your shift. But I wanna meet him – tell him Present Mic says hi!”
“Whatever. Not like that’ll freak him out or anything.” But Izuku has already stopped listening. Hm, Kidilante. That just might work.
It’s later that evening, belly full of half a cheese and onion sandwich that had been shoved towards him by the pro hero as they sat on a rooftop, just about a metre apart, both eating, Izuku only doing so because Aizawa had let him choose out of the unopened packet first, that the hero asks,
“Why do you use a frying pan?”
“Easy to get ahold of and pretty hefty. And it’s like me!” comes the bright reply, bubbly and light. Aizawa is experienced enough with the vigilante to hear the edge of warning, of caution, in the tone.
"You're not a pan."
"Aren't I? You tell me." And the edge is gone now, leaving playful banter in its wake.
"But you're a human being!" Aizawa can't help but lament, groaning in frustration because the kid always does this, always talks in cryptic circles that remind him far too much of Nedzu. Kami forbid the two ever meet.
"Well duh," comes the immediate snark,
"I never said I wasn't. Are you feeling alright? Want some medicine? I could steal you- sorry, find you some."
“Kid, stealing is a crime.”
“Good thing I never do that then,” Izuku chirps, only half sarcastic. And though he narrows his eyes at the brat of a vigilante, Aizawa doesn’t push. It’s only been a few months after all. Maybe once he’s earned more of the kid’s trust he’ll try to fish for more information…
It’s another six months on when Aizawa finally fully earns Izuku’s trust – his Kidilante’s trust.
They have been investigating a ring of people traffickers who had a particular habit of taking pro heroes and selling them to, apparently, a fucking cult of all things. And said cult appeared to be performing some kind of Satanic rituals or the like, carving into the heroes whilst they were still alive, then slitting their throats once the ‘ritual’ was complete. Eraserhead and his kid had watched one of these rituals, their perch a roof opposite the warehouse. It had been agony for them both, to have to crouch there in the darkness, shoulder to shoulder, and watch as some idiots with too much money and dark cloaks chanted gibberish and carved nonsense symbols into the gagged man's chest.
When the two had arrived, it had already been too late, the ritual was already in full swing, and they were left with no choice but to observe. Aizawa had tried to turn his kid around, because a teenager did not need to be seeing this, but the brat had stubbornly refused, whispering in a tone very different to his usual snark,
"He deserves to be remembered." And okay, maybe his kid was going to traumatise himself even further, and Aizawa really shouldn't be allowing this, but it was a sentiment he understood all too well. Not the most logical one, but the underground hero kind of reckoned that he'd fulfilled his daily quota of logic with not jumping in to try and save the hero.
So for now, he slowly wrapped an arm around his kiddo's shoulders, glad to feel him relax into his side after a few tense moments, and watched the man die together. It was definitely a bonding experience, albeit not a fun one.
That bond only grows further later that week, when Izuku is going to watch the warehouse in preparation for a hero raid led by Aizawa in just under an hour’s time. But apparently their vantage point has been discovered as, when he got up to the roof, he is immediately met with three masked and cloaked figures. Now Izuku is a good fighter by this point – a brilliant one, even. He is quick and clever and capable, able to analyse opponents and utilise his surroundings. But one off-guard kid up against three prepared adults, particularly when two of them have tranquiliser guns, is not a good match up. And, whilst taking out his second opponent, Izuku’s neck is caught by one of said tranquilisers and he goes down hard. Ouch.
Half an hour later, he wakes up, groggy and disorientated, to find himself tied up, mask thankfully still on, with dark figures surrounding him, looming in his vision.
"It was not our intention to perform a ritual for Our Lord tonight, but by his will you were given to us and so for his will we shall return you as he would have you," intones a voice, neither distinctly male or female, a droning monotone that is all too familiar. After all, Izuku has heard that voice chanting bullshit for the last week or so. And now it's him on the altar.
Struggling and writhing, Izuku tries to break the bonds, feeling them give just a little under his movements, but then a hand comes to rest on his neck and everything stops. Wait, no, not everything. His body has stopped, paralysed, yet he is still breathing, still thinking. Must be a paralysis Quirk that only affects non-essential functions, he idly notes, trying to push aside his internal panic. Yet said panic can only grow as one of the occultists raises a very recognisable knife and cuts away his hoodie, then rests the point against his sternum. The blade must be well-sharpened, because it begins to sink in until it makes a slight, jarring scrape. It must have come to rest against the actual bone of his sternum. Kami, this is actually happening, they're actually going to kill him. But what can he do? He can't move, even as the figure begins to circle the blade around, drawing the beginning of the pentagram in lines of flesh and searing pain that makes him want to scream but he can't, he can't do anything, nobody will be here in time to save-
"KID!" Another black figure, this one different, surrounded by floating strips of grey-white, drops from the ceiling, right on top of the figure with the knife, the blade gouging just that little bit further into Izuku's chest before clattering away, to the floor.
And beside him is Eraserhead in all his capture scarf and red-eyed glory, kicking away all the nearby figures, presumably for other heroes to deal with, judging by the cacophony of fighting sounds, then the underground hero turns and is frantically cutting away Izuku's binds, freeing him, talking to him, checking over his wounds. But as he fades into unconsciousness, all Izuku registers are his words.
"You're alright kiddo, you're safe now, I've got you, you'll be fine, I'll look after you, I'll be here."
It's the next morning that Izuku wakes up in an unfamiliar room, this one with pale grey walls and too many bookshelves to be a hospital. Plus, Aizawa is asleep in that ugly yellow thing that Izuku had spotted in a shop window one evening and jokingly told the underground hero to buy for naps. Then the weirdo actually had and looked to genuinely use it. Well, he was asleep in it right now either way.
"Mm'raserhead?" he croaks, voice hoarse and chest sore, voice muffled even further because his mask, thank Kami, is still on his face, keeping his identity a secret.
"Kid!" Aizawa yelps, abruptly waking up. His startled expression would be funny in any other situation, but right now Izuku's feeling too rough to appreciate it.
"'m sorry I got caught," he goes on, needing to apologise for all the hassle he's undoubtedly caused. Stupid Izuku, he can never get anything right anymore, can he? Then again, could he ever?
"Don't be dumb kiddo. It's not your fault. Plus, you're only a brat. It's logical to assume that you won't get everything right all the time. Even us adults don't. And you do a damn sight better than my students tend to." Izuku manages to snort at that, snarking in return,
"Yeh but Dadzawa, they're hero students, not vigilantes. They have no chance!"
They both pause for a moment at 'Dadzawa', stiff and awkward, but then the man's face softens a little and he stretches a hand out of his sleeping bag, coming to card through Izuku's unruly hair, carefully avoiding the silver mask.
"Thanks Dadzawa. For everything." The man hums in reply, coming to kneel beside the bed, abandoning his sleeping bag, staying silent but no less comforting for it. Izuku appreciates that as he lets his tears slip down the inside of the metal, cooling his face. They stay that way for a long time.
Another year later, Izuku is fourteen and is more than established as a local vigilante, even if victims very, very rarely hear his name. Or his unofficial work partner’s, to be honest. Neither of them like the attention.
“Eraserhead – duck!” Aizawa is halfway through a fight, doling out short, sharp blows to the bulky mutant type in front of him. He's winning, he's fine, but that's his kid's voice and in the split second it takes him to think all this, he's already ducking down low, hearing the whistling of a blade, feeling it cut the tips of some his hair. A moment later he's stood straight again and fighting his mutant already, trusting the kid to take out whatever opponent has snuck up behind him. There are a few grunts, then a cut-off scream that isn't his kid's, and a solid thud of a body hitting a wall.
In the corner of his eye, a blur of black and silver shifts, then whirls past, a staff flashing out to knock the mutant across the back of his head, toppling the criminal to the side.
Without another thought, the two of them spin to stand back to back, Aizawa all too aware of how short his companion is, the warmth of his kid only reaching half way up his back.
"Sorted," the vigilante huffed. Eraserhead scrutinises the alley for a good few longer seconds, then relaxes a little, moving to pull the heavy duty handcuffs from his utility belt and restrain the mutant first. He would be more of a pain to deal with if he woke up again.
"Thanks kiddo," he began, squinting through his hair as it fell around his face, leaning over to restrain the mutant. He really should start tying it back.
"What? The big bad underground hero appreciates the help of little ol' me?" The vigilante teases, something reaching pain in his voice. At the tone, Aizawa whips around, quirk subconsciously flickering on as he pins the kiddo with a searching glare.
"Oi, kid, you better not be hurt," he warns, eyeing the other villain - a lanky man, silver hair, out cold and bleeding a little, shouldn't be a problem any time soon - as he stalks over to his kid.
"Nah, I'm fine..." Aizawa raises an eyebrow in return, knowing the brat can see it despite the goggles.
"Shut it Eraserdad! I- Fine, alright, I may have had a little run-in with Endeawhore. The bitch."
And now that tightness in his voice makes sense. And the way that the kid is standing somehow lopsided, one hand hovering over his side, the fabric scorched and black.
"Language kiddo. And do you need medicine? Can I get you anything? Do you want Recovery Girl? She'll let you keep your mask on." And, okay, maybe Aizawa is rambling, but this is his kid and he can't let him stay hurt. One day this kid will finally trust him enough to tell him who he is, and at that point it'll be time to adopt him, no more questions asked. Until then, the hero will do whatever he can to keep his brat as healthy and safe as a most-likely-homeless young vigilante can be.
It’s almost another year on again, when Aizawa is faced with a hellhole of a new homeroom, and they haven’t even had a single lesson yet. At the Entrance Exams, there was a joint first place which, in and of itself, is pretty rare. That one of those two kids got in on pure villain points isn't unheard of, but to get so many isn't common. Then for his peer to get an almost even split of rescue points and villain points doesn't at first seem remarkable, until you read the second kid's file and realise that he's fucking Quirkless.
Now, don't take this the wrong way - Aizawa respects the Quirkless. He honestly, truly does because with the number of Quirkless people that have fought back against villains, that he has talked away from roof edges and seen thrive despite abuse, how could he not? And that isn't even going into personal reasons such as his own Quirk and fighting style. Or his Kid and how convinced the underground hero is that his brat is Quirkless.
(And if he's not then it's a passive Quirk or a mental one, Aizawa knows - the kid doesn't react when Erasure is aimed at him, doesn't even flinch - even the most hardened villains reel for a split second at their Quirk being interfered with.)
Regardless, this year's class promises to contain potential but will surely be all the more exhausting for it. And of course, Aizawa is ever aware that this might be the year that his kid joins UA. This is the second potential year group for his kid, and he's determined to identify him if he ever walks within a foot of the school campus. He's fairly sure the brat would apply to both the General Studies and Hero Course, and should get into the second, between his tactics, analysis and physical capabilities.
Of course, he might go down the Gen Ed route to prove a point, to hide from Aizawa or even just through a lack of self-belief. Yeh, the last one wouldn't surprise him much. Far too many of the kid's jokes were self-deprecating ones.
But whether or not Midoriya Izuku could possibly be his Kidilante, Aizawa refuses to take any prisoners in his usual first-day Quirk assessment, because the teen should be capable enough, Quirk or no. And indeed, Midoriya comes seventh - he is only beaten out by those whose Quirks gave them significant advantages in a few, or more, of the tests. His physical fitness, as a rule, far outweighs anybody else's. No, he's not quite the physically strongest, but he's by far the fastest and definitely one of the most flexible, barring three of the girls. A Hagakure Tooru comes in last, with Shinsou Hitoshi barely above her, but both have unsuitable Quirks and, whilst clearly not having done anywhere near enough training, they don't seem to completely lack potential. Looks like-
"Hey there! Your name's Midoriya, right? I'm Ashido Mina! What was your Quirk? I didn't see you using it at all!" Ah, Aizawa thinks, his reaction to this should be pretty telling. But he's something close to disappointed when the green-haired kid replies with a stutter overriding the silent steel lingering in his voice,
"Ah, uhm, I- I'm Quirkless." And yes, admitting that takes a lot of guts (and if he hadn't, Aizawa would have likely been forced to expose the kid sooner or later for it) but that voice doesn't really sound like his kid's. It's close admittedly, but really only similar in the way that all teenage boys are. Something about the intonation is familiar, but it's ruined by the stutter and distinct lack of sass.
For now, he'll put Midoriya towards the bottom of the admittedly-short list of His Kid Candidates.
Of course, the second day of the school year, Aizawa is already being cornered by Hizashi, begging for more news of 'his Kidilante' as the moron's nicknamed him. And the brat has picked it up at some point himself. Weirdos.
"Zashi, he's not my anything, let alone my Kidilante." What would normally sounds bored has a warning edge to it, something tense and almost-hurt. The voice hero begins to visibly back off at that.
"Look, Shou, you've literally filled out the adoption forms, all bar his name!"
"Because I don't know it," the underground hero deadpans.
"Well yeh, but-!"
"But nothing Zashi. Leave it." And the blond does, simply falling into step with the shorter man, bumping shoulders occasionally in apology and reassurance. Judging by how Shouta doesn't shove him away, it's appreciated. Somewhere. Somehow. Deep inside. Maybe.
Meanwhile, Izuku is opening up his costume case and already grinning widely. His case is massive, comparatively, and certainly looks the perfect size for the frying-pan-like baton he'd ordered. After all, he had gotten really quite accustomed to using a frying pan now. Well, plus his bo staff that Dadzawa gave to him. There should be one of those, a retractable one, in here as well, he couldn’t risk the weapon getting recognised after all, it was already enough of a gamble choosing the same types of gear, but it was what he was used to. And, as he lifts the lid to his suitcase, matte-black metal is the first thing Izuku sees. Ah yes, he smiles to himself, his pan indeed. Perfect.
Hefting the weapon, no attention being paid to the rest of the support gear yet, Izuku allows his grin to widen even further. It’s well-balanced, not too heavy and appropriately short-handled. Cool. Perfect for bashing people over the back of the head with. Izuku as a hero-in-training is in business.
(Aizawa is going to have so many headaches and heart-attacks, but that's yet to come.)