Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sansa loves kids. They’re tiny, they’re cute. They smile big, beaming grins whenever they see him and sometimes they ask to pet his fur. Sansa always says yes. He adores hearing their enthusiastic chatter and seeing the way their eyes light up in excitement. It’s adorable.

The kid sitting in front of him is tiny, that’s for sure, about five years old, edging on six. But cute? Maybe. Adorable? That’s pushing it. He feels a bit uncharitable in his assessment, but look, anyone else sitting here looking at the boy would say the same. It’s in the way he slouches, bonelessly relaxed but with his core tensed. It’s in his eyes, heavily lidded but concealing something deeper.

His temperament is different too. One could call it unexpectedly mature, but it was a fine line between that and careless laziness. At least he isn’t upset. Any other child in his situation would be crying by now. Instead he looks remarkably unconcerned, which is a good thing for Sansa because he has absolutely no idea how he’s even going to start solving this case.

He tries to keep his voice peppy. “You’re sure you don’t remember any of your parents' phone numbers? Or any of the digits of your uncle’s number?”

“There might have been a one,” the boy drawls. “Or a three.”

“Right…” Sansa says, and tries to keep his wince internal. “Well, tell me if you remember any more, okay?”

He turns to his computer. “What did you say your family name was again?”

“Nara.” The boy leans forward, eyes sharp. “We used to have a lot of family here. So there should be other Naras. They would look a lot like me.”

Sansa examines him. Narrowed dark eyes and a spiky ponytail. Nothing too distinctive or easy to pick out in a crowd. He sighs.

Nara Shikamaru, he types, already knowing he isn’t going to find anything. Born in Japan, but has citizenship elsewhere, so he won’t be in the database. Sure enough, it doesn’t turn up any results. He backspaces and searches for just Nara.

He gets a few hits for this one, but scrolling through the results doesn’t land him with anything useful. None of them look particularly similar to the Nara sitting in front of him.

“Nara Fuyo?” Sansa asks aloud. The woman has dark hair and dark eyes but so does nearly every other person who’s not born with some sort of quirk mutation.

Nara stares at the screen intently, eyes scanning through the list. Sansa clicks through a few more pictures, but soon the boy’s expression seems to drip in disappointment before he masks it behind an impassive frown.

“Don’t recognize anyone,” he sighs. “How troublesome. Let’s just look for my uncle then.”

Right, but how? Nara hasn’t provided any information on the man. He’s not an actual uncle, just a close family friend. And apparently the boy doesn’t know anything about him, not his name, his phone number, or his address. He knew absolutely nothing. Sansa shakes his head. What parent lets their six year old child go on a cross country trip by themselves?

Well, all he can do is go over what he does know, which is very little. “He was supposed to pick you up from the train station, right?”

“He was supposed to pick me up and he never showed,” the kid says, slouching even further.

“And,” Sansa says helplessly, hoping something has somehow jogged his memory in the past few minutes. “You still don’t know his name. Or your parents' names.”

“Tou-san. Kaa-san.” Nara gives him a pointed look, then shrugs in a way that reads what can I do, I’m six.

Fair enough. And it’s not like that would help anyway, since his parents weren’t even Japanese citizens. Argh.

“Right.” Sansa says, and gives in, hunching over and running his fingers through his hair. “Do you know anything about your uncle? Anything at all? Approximately where he lives, or places nearby? Do you know his job? Maybe where he works? Even what he looks like?”

“I’ll know him when I see him,” Nara states. “But I do know something about my uncle, I know what his quirk is.”

Sansa’s head darts up. “You know his quirk?!”

He’s so excited to hear of the possibility of having something to work with that he doesn’t even process how dark and intense Nara’s gaze has become.

“It’s a special quirk; it’s really unique.” Nara starts. “It lets him do something like teleportation. But it also allows him to travel in time…” He hesitates for the briefest second before continuing. “And across dimensions.”

Sansa’s eyes widen. “Well that’s… very unique.” He’s personally never heard of a dimension travelling quirk. It’s possible, he supposes. Really strange and pretty unlikely, but possible. But if it’s in the database, it should be easy to find at least. He gives the boy a reassuring smile tinged with relief and turns back to the computer.

The first couple results are for teleportation as he wasn’t too precise with his starting search. Teleportation quirks are rare, but not unheard of. He’s even met some people with basic travel quirks before. Time quirks on the other hand… He’s heard of a couple time quirks over the years, but they usually weren’t time travel time travel exactly, just minor time manipulation. It’s possible Nara was mistaken, or maybe the uncle was just talking up his quirk a bit to impress an excitable young boy.

Not that Nara is very excitable.

He tilts the computer screen over a little so that the short boy can see it from his seat. “Are any of these people your uncle?”

Nara’s eyes dart across the screen, a little frantic, maybe, for how fast he scans the profiles. “No, they’re not him. And as I said, his quirk is powerful. It allows for time or dimension travelling.”

“Alright, I’ll do a more precise search.” Sansa scratches his fur and resumes typing. This time, the results are far thinner. There’s one called pocket dimension, but that doesn’t seem to be what the boy is looking for. Another is dimension gaze, but it’s not travel, precisely.

There’s one that involves portals. If you teleported through a portal did that count as dimension travelling? Sansa shows him the picture and then a couple other entries on people who can stop and rewind time and such. Nara carefully examines them all and shakes his head after each one.

They continue through the list and Sansa’s hope is really starting to fade when Tsukauchi comes through the back door carrying a few cups of coffee and a couple of chicken sandwiches. His eyes land on Nara.

“I see. I was wondering why you ordered two sandwiches.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Sansa sighs gratefully.

Tsukauchi tips his hat. “It was no problem. I just finished my case and it was on the way. Now what’s going on here?”

“Nara-kun came to Japan to stay with his uncle who wasn’t there to pick him up at the train station. And he doesn’t know any contact information, so we’re just trying to figure things out.” He tries to send the boy a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it’ll all work out. You gave me some information on his quirk, so it won’t be long now, okay?”

Tsukauchi crouches down in front of the chair with a smile of his own. “How old are you, Nara-kun?”

“Six,” he says, blinking lazily.

Sansa knows Tsukauchi. He’s worked with the man for years, both on the field and in the interrogation room. He knows his favourite foods and sports, his tricks and tells. So he can immediately identify the faint twitch in his left eye and the way his fingers tense then relax.

“Are you really six?” Tsukauchi asks gently. “That’s pretty old.”

The boy barely moves at all, but something in his posture still seems to coil in anticipation. “Fine. I’m five and three quarters. I’m nearly six anyway.”

Tsukauchi’s eye twitches again, and now Naomasa’s frowning. “Are you sure you can’t tell us your real age? We’re just trying to help you.”

The air pressure seems to drop.

“I turned five in September,” Nara finally concedes. His eyes are glinting warily which is not a look Naomasa has ever seen on any other five year old.

Tsukauchi nods and breaks the spell. The world seems to shiver back to normal, almost as if he was just imagining it all. The room isn’t tense. The air isn’t strange. The kid returns to slumping in his seat, seemingly a perfectly innocent, if stubborn, small child.

“Thank you, Nara-kun. So, you’re supposed to be staying with your uncle?”

There’s a short pause, hardly anything, but longer than when he was talking with Sansa. Is Tsukauchi making Nara nervous?

“I need him to take me home,” is what the boy finally decides on saying.

Sansa shakes himself and picks up the thread. “Right. We’ll find him so you’ll be able to do that soon, okay?” He turns back to Tsukauchi. “We were looking into his uncle. Nara doesn’t know any names or numbers, but he does know what his quirk is supposed to do so we were going to find him that way. It’s supposed to be a time or dimension travelling quirk of some sort.”

“A time or dimension travelling quirk, hmm?” Tsukauchi murmurs thoughtfully. “Do you know what it looks like?”

“I’ve never seen it in use.” Nara says.

Tsukauchi scratches his chin. “Well, that’s definitely a relatively rare sort of quirk. So even without too many details we should be able to pin something down.”

Sansa nods, trying to give off an air of confidence in order to encourage the boy. “Alright, why don’t we look at some of the others on the list, and then you tell me if you recognize anyone, okay?”

Tsukauchi starts rustling through his paperwork as the two of them continue to go through the entries. They click through a couple more and Nara shakes his head each time. Eventually Sansa turns back to look at him.

“Are you sure there aren’t any more details you remember? What about appearance? What does your uncle look like?”

“Black hair and golden eyes with purple stripes around them,” is what Nara promptly tells them, and from the way Tsukauchi’s head darts up incredulously from his papers, it is a complete and utter lie.

Sansa… doesn’t really know what to do when he’s being lied to so blatantly from a child he’s trying to help. This must seem to happen to Tsukauchi more regularly though, because he recovers quickly.

“That’s a really specific description,” Tsukauchi prompts leadingly. “Are you completely sure it’s accurate?”

“No.” Nara says, apparently willing to tell the truth just as easily as his previous lie. His eyes glitter victoriously, but what he’s so pleased about, Sansa has no idea.

“I see…” Tsukauchi trails off. Sansa can tell that’s his helplessly perplexed tone of voice. “But if we know what your uncle looks like, it will help us find him faster.”

Nara doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“You do know what your uncle looks like, right?” Sansa asks desperately.

“When I see it, I’ll know.” Nara tells them, gesturing at the screen.

Tsukauchi meets his gaze. “Anything could help. What color is his hair?”

Nara’s half-lidded eyes slide further closed. “I don’t know. His hair could be brown, but it could be dyed.”

Sansa and Tsukauchi exchange glances. Tsukauchi jerks his head back to the computer screen. Go ahead, he seems to say.

With a deep sigh, Sansa continues scrolling through the list. There continues to be no reaction, until they reach the bottom, and one of the last people seems to catch Nara’s eye. Sansa stops, clicking open the page to maximize the photo attached.

“Is this him?” Sansa inquires, praying that they’ve found the man.

This man’s name is Matsui Hideaki. He’s tall and gangly with soft orange hair and wide rounded blue eyes, but the section in his profile that stands out the most is his very intriguing quirk. Plane shift, it says. The details section is quite sparse, but it does mention something about dimensional displacement. This could be it. This could be him.

Sansa keeps his eyes on Nara, eagerly awaiting an answer. He watches as various emotions flash across the boy’s face. What appears to be intrigue, shrewd analysis and smug satisfaction all zip by, appearing and disappearing so quickly Sansa can’t even categorize them properly. In mere milliseconds his expression is wiped clean, landing on blank neutrality without a hint of recognition.

He finally caves. “Is this your uncle?”

“Nope.” Nara draws out the word, then yawns widely. “Can we take a break? I’m tired.”

Sansa needs a break too. “Sure,” he says. “We’ll take a quick break, eat our sandwiches, then continue looking. Let’s go to the lunchroom. You coming, Tsukauchi-san?”

Tsukauchi sweeps his papers into a neat pile and taps them against the desk. After pushing in his chair, he grabs his sandwich. “Yes, better to eat now before I get too involved in this paperwork.” He brushes the pages off one last time before they head out.

As they’re passing through the hall near the entrance on their way to the lunch room, Nara sticks his sandwich into his pocket and starts fiddling with his hands. Sansa watches him twiddle nervously, interlacing and unweaving his fingers into various configurations. He’s just putting them back in his pockets when out of the corner of his eye, Sansa catches sight of a figure in the entranceway.

He startles instinctively. The man hadn’t been there a second ago, had he? It was almost as if he’d flickered into existence, but that can’t be right. Sansa waves down his initial feeling of unease to focus on analyzing the man.

He’s slouched, is the first thing Sansa notices. There’s so many distinctive traits about this individual but the slouch is what first catches his eye, maybe due to the strange similarity to the boy Sansa’s been looking after all day. They both stand and move in the same lackadaisical manner with their hands in their pockets and their spine curved lazily forwards.

But other than posture, the two couldn’t be more different. Nara’s hair is spiky, really spiky, tough and static. His hair is black, but shines a dark brown when catching the light. This man’s hair is done in feathered spikes, tufting out of his head jaggedly but in a way that would still feel silky smooth if tousled. It’s a dark liquid black, as if someone upended a bottle of ink over his head.

Most noticeable are his scars. Horrific purple wired burn scars travel up his sleeves, coating his wrists and most likely his entire arms. They’re under his eyes too, and around his jaw, creeping downwards towards his neck where they’re hidden under a scarf. Sansa’s seen people injured in the line of duty before, but he’s never seen burn injuries quite as bad as this. He does his best not to stare.

Beside him, Nara has no such qualms. He’s even walking towards the individual, appearing more and more confident as he moves forward.

Tsukauchi starts forward alongside the boy. “Hello there,” he says. “Can we help with something?”

Sansa’s turning to Nara. “Do you know him?”

“We know each other,” Nara says, stopping in front of the man.

“Are you Nara-kun’s uncle?” Tsukauchi asks, smiling pleasantly.

The man stops for a second, then signs something, fingers twisting into words. It doesn’t look like any sign language Sansa recognizes, too choppy and short. Almost military-esque. Of course Sansa’s only taken the beginner’s JSL course once, at least three years ago, so he’s very rusty. He can’t make out a single one of these signs, and guiltily considers that he should really go take the course again sometime.

“He can’t talk,” Nara tells them, and Sansa winces, averting his eyes from the sight of raw purpled flesh encircling his neck.

“That’s alright,” Tsukauchi says. “Do you know JSL? Or we have pen and paper if that’s helpful.” Sansa scrambles up a pen and notepad from off the sign in desk, holding them out to the man, but he doesn’t move to take them.

“I can translate,” Nara confirms instead.

“Ah, thank you.” Sansa says. “Just to confirm, this is your uncle, right? Or, a close family friend?”

The man’s fingers form more shapes, quick and efficient. Yeah, he should really retake that JSL course. These signs are completely unrecognizable.

“He says, yes, he’s my uncle, sorry he’s late, he accidentally got the time wrong.” Nara dutifully translates.

“...I see.” Tsukauchi’s voice trails off dubiously. He turns back to the kid. “You’re sure this is your uncle?”

“I know what my uncle looks like,” Nara complains, rolling his eyes.

“Good, just checking.”

“What was your name again?” Sansa asks. “I’m sorry, we didn’t catch it in all the confusion.”

Nara snorts, turning back to the older man. “I was just calling you uncle. I never call you by a name. Can we go now?”

The uncle nods, and starts towards the large doors, following Nara on the way out. He dips his head in thanks as the boy moves around to hold the door open for him. Tsukauchi and Sansa watch the odd pair walk out of the station in silence.

Weird kid. Weird, not very cute kid, but somewhat charming nonetheless. If you were charmed by lazy and strangely intense snark, that is.

“Well, that was eventful,” Sansa comments.

“The hair could have been dyed, but you would think the kid would remember the burns, at least,” Tsukauchi says thoughtfully.

“The burns could have been recent,” Sansa throws out, even though the ropey scarring looked like it could have been nearly a decade old. Besides, if they were recent enough for Nara to have never seen them before, he would have expected much more of a reaction.

“It is strange,” he finally concedes. “But Nara-kun wasn’t lying, right?”

“No,” Tsukauchi murmurs darkly. “He wasn’t lying.”

Sansa frowns. That was a strangely ominous tone to take for a statement that should have brought some measure of relief.

“I knew something about him seemed familiar,” Tsukauchi swears. “Deflections, evasive statements, unconnected truths… That glaring lie about his uncle’s appearance. Tamakawa, do you remember Aizawa’s kid? Shinsou Hitoshi?”

“Aizawa’s kid?” Sansa asks bewildered. He’s not entirely sure where this is going. “The mini vigilante? You think this has to do with him?”

“No, no,” Tsukauchi waves him off.

“Then what do you mean?”

“They act the same way,” he mutters. “Relaxed, confident. Prodding and testing my quirk until they find a way around it. Seeing what they can get away with.”

Sansa recalls black eyes full of unexpectedly mature wariness and shining satisfaction.

“So… you don’t think that was his uncle.”

“If he’s anything at all like Shinsou,” Tsukauchi says dryly, “then I would suspect we’ve just been played.”

“I never actually got the uncle’s name,” Sansa suddenly recalls.

Tsukauchi sighs.

Personally, Sansa still believes the kid’s a kid. Not a small conniving vigilante or whatever Tsukauchi seems to think – his colleague had never been quite the same following the babysitting incident. But he can admit that this past afternoon has definitely been a little suspicious, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to check.

They couldn’t have gotten too far. Pushing open the heavy doors, Sansa runs into the streaming rays of afternoon sunlight. There are people milling about, heading downtown or off to relax after school. Sansa casts his gaze down the street, searching for the pairing of a tall scarred man alongside a young child, but there are none to be seen.

He paces down the sidewalk, stopping at the end of the station. There are two teenagers laughing as they run down the street, and a businessman tucking his briefcase in the trunk before getting into his car. At the very end of the block, a man walks alongside-

Wait. No. Sansa rubs his eyes. A trick of the light? He squints into the bright sunshine. At the very end of the block, there’s a young preteen with spiky black hair who disappears around the corner.

They’re gone.

Sansa scratches at his fur and slinks back into the station. Tsukauchi is still standing at the desk with his sandwich unwrapped, having already gotten started on their extremely late afternoon lunch.

“Already gone, then?”

“Gone,” Sansa confirms with a sigh. He casts a glance over his shoulder, almost hoping they’ll waltz right back into the station. Alas, no such luck. “I hope Nara’s okay, though.”

Tsukauchi gives a low snort. “You saw the boy. Supposedly five years old and lost in a foreign country. And he wasn’t nervous at all, Nara was confident and in control that whole time.” He shakes his head. “I expect he’s doing just fine. We can still keep an eye out for him though.”

“And for that uncle…” Sansa says, already making a mental note. Mute, burn victim, dimension quirk. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. “Well. That happened, then. How are you so…?” He gestures at his coworker, who is casually leaning against the desk and taking another bite of his sandwich.

“I remain constantly aware that young people can do some crazy things,” Tsukauchi says wisely. “That and Shinsou. Mostly Shinsou.”

“...Right. So. Lunch?”

“Lunch.”

The chicken sandwiches were remarkably good.