Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trash, gutter water, and blood. Even through the filter of his mask, Hitoshi could smell the stench of the slums and his nose wrinkled with distaste. He hated running missions in this area, but he was in no position to decline. He’d had enough sessions with Nightmare already and if he was to have any plausible chance of escaping the Agency in an able state, he needed to avoid any more disciplinary sessions. Part of that was suppressing his snark, and part of that was following orders.

Hitoshi kept his head down as he walked along the empty street, hands stuffed into the warm pockets of his baggy jacket. He was an inconspicuous figure, unless someone got close enough to see under the shade of the wide hood. His face was completely hidden by a gunmetal grey tactical mask and iridescent ski goggles. They were strange accessories for the city but at this hour, there was no one around to notice. It was too late, too dark, and too dangerous for anyone to be out except for those of dark intent. And they had more pressing concerns than a suspiciously dressed teenager. All except one.

Several feet ahead, a large man rounded the corner of an intersection. His hair was close-cropped and moonlight cast exaggerated shadows over his face so it was difficult to make out any identifying features, but that was of no consequence.

“That’s him.” A harsh male voice crackled in his ear. He didn’t bother responding.

Hitoshi kept his pace. The man stayed on course. As they passed each other, Hitoshi raised his head to meet the man’s eyes, letting the moonlight catch on the lenses of his goggles,

“What’s up?” He asked as he clipped the man’s arm with his shoulder; the blow hard enough to unbalance and prompt a surprised grunt. Surprise quickly morphed to anger and the man turned on his heel with a scowl,

“What the fu—”

Indigo eyes glanced over the man who had been paralyzed mid-sentence, a pawn from one of the drug-trading yakuza groups. He towered over Hitoshi but unfortunately for him, his muscles and training were completely useless now. Hitoshi’s voice was steady and clear despite the slight muffle from his mask,

“Follow me.” He ordered before turning and walking back the way he’d come. The target followed wordlessly.

One block down and two streets across from where they’d first met, Hitoshi and the target peeled away from the main street and into a rank alley. Without a streetlight, it was almost pitch black here. But he’d been out in the dark for an hour already and his eyes were quick to find the van sitting in the middle of the alley. Rear doors thrown open, two figures sat on opposite sides of the tailgate. Upon the pair’s arrival, the female figure on the left slid off with a sultry coo,

“Oh, Toto brought us a gift.” She sauntered over and Hitoshi stiffened as a heavy arm slung over his shoulders and pulled him aside into one of Boa’s voluptuous breasts.

In the Agency’s hierarchy, she was more of a Lieutenant than an Asset but her exact standing was still unclear to him. Whatever she was, she was too high up for Hitoshi to risk disrespecting. So he stayed still in her oppressive embrace. It was uncomfortable, but she was more preferable company than the man currently marching the dazed target towards the open end of the van.

Enforcer was the third highest-ranking individual in the Agency, and the one Hitoshi hated the most. The man was tall, well-muscled, intelligent, and had exceptional combat skills. Combined with his Paralysis Quirk, he could have made a great hero.

If he wasn’t a sadist that got off on torturing people.

“Boa, get off him. Let’s get this guy to the client.” Enforcer’s tone had sounded plainly irritated as he shut the van doors, but Hitoshi knew there was a possessiveness lurking beneath the casual facade. Judging from Boa’s malicious smirk, she did too. Most likely, she had purposely instigated the man. It’s been a week since Enforcer’s last ‘play’ session and Hitoshi knew he was due for another one soon. Even if it was expected, he couldn’t resist gritting his teeth. It was to his benefit that the mask and goggles hid his expression. Now that he'd stopped actively trying to escape, anything could be used as an excuse for punishment.

With the target secured, the three Agency members clambered into the front with Boa at the wheel and Hitoshi sandwiched between her and Enforcer. As they navigated the silent streets, en route to the client for delivery of the target, Hitoshi felt a familiar tingle at the back of his neck.

Goddamn implant.

He swallowed his dread as Enforcer leaned in close with a teasing smirk,

“Hey 15, let’s have some fun tonight when we get home.”

Boa cackled. Hitoshi fought the urge to jump out of the vehicle. He had to endure. Until he had a sure-fire way out of the Agency.

§

Three years later

Hitoshi watched the sleeping city crawl by as he slouched in the passenger seat of an unassuming grey sedan. His reflection in the window stared back with eyes shadowed by dark circles. He clicked his teeth together in a repetitive staccato, a habit he had developed from wearing muzzles for multiple years. The physical evidence manifested in layers of thin scars along his cheeks, from the time before he had earned the luxury of a mask. The block of metal-cased plastic molded over the lower half of his face no longer prevented him from speaking, but he still hated it. It made his jaw sore if he wore it for more than two hours and it still cut into his cheek if he was hit hard enough. The padding along the edges was thin, but at least it was there. It had taken five years for him to earn that bit of foam and a few inches of movement. He hated being grateful for the change. Grateful to the villains that had kidnapped him from the back of an orphanage when he was six.

The mask was part of a power play. It didn't stop him from speaking but was a reminder of his status as a villain's tool. Mesmer and his lieutenants knew that he wouldn't use his Quirk to escape unless he was certain it would be successful, and they were careful to not give him any openings. He was only allowed to remove it when eating, drinking, or in his room.

"We're here."

Hitoshi twitched at the sudden break in silence. His gaze shifted from the window to his left, where Enforcer sat with eyes forward and scarred hands on the wheel. He knew better than to think the man was any less aware of what he was up to. Hitoshi had tried escaping from the car once before but he'd only managed to unbuckle his seatbelt before Enforcer had him frozen in place with just a glare. Hitoshi learned three things from that attempt. One: Enforcer only needed to look at someone to paralyze him. Two: every Asset had a disciplinary implant in the back of his neck. Three: Enforcer had the controller to the implant and it hurt. He’d spent a full hour screaming and writhing in the backseat of the car as Enforcer played with the implant's settings. The incident had been enough to curb any escape attempts for a full year. Not that it kept him safe from the pain.

One of Enforcer's favorite pastimes was randomly activating the implant of an Asset just to watch them squirm. Hitoshi seemed to be the favorite victim and it usually turned into a game of how much pain it took for his knees to give out or until he started screaming. He could always give in early and end the pain, but he didn't. There was a defiance in him that made him question his sanity sometimes because why would he knowingly prolong the torture? It wasn't logical.

He'd lost enough already: his childhood, his pride, his hopes... if his stubbornness was all that he owned then he'd damn well hold onto it for as long as could. Like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. It was the only proof that he wasn't dead yet. He wasn't one of the robotic Assets whose identity had been reduced to an empty tool, and he wasn't one of the crazed Assets that had embraced villainy. He followed orders but he didn't take any pleasure from them. He refused to become a villain.

Hitoshi watched the warehouse come into view, the client and a few of his underlings already waiting out front. It was a type of mission that he had only started performing recently. When he’d first been deployed in the field, he’d used his Quirk to lead unsuspecting targets to Enforcer for delivery to clients. But just last year, Mesmer had finally broken one of his Quirk’s limits: he could now command people to recall and recite information. After many months of nosebleeds and migraines, he’d gained enough control of his newfound skill for the Agency to profit from. He rarely went on luring missions anymore. When pain, bribery, and threats failed to coax information out of someone, informed clients called Mesmer for Asset 15: the Brainwashing Asset.

As the car drew near, he pulled down the ski goggles that had been previously resting atop his head, then pulled up the hood of his jacket to hide his hair. Every Asset with a nonphysical Quirk was required to wear outfits that concealed their appearance as a precaution to preserve their effectiveness. After all, today's client could be tomorrow's target. If everyone in the underworld knew that the kid with the purple hair could brainwash people, eventually targets would stop answering him. And then he would be essentially Quirkless. Useless.

"Knock 'em dead." Enforcer snickered as Hitoshi exited the car. His eyes narrowed at the jab but he knew better than to verbally respond, choosing instead to just nod in acknowledgement and close the car door. He turned to face the clients and squared his shoulders.

He wasn't a villain, but he had to play the hand he'd been dealt.

§

Hitoshi had three other missions that day and by the time he was returned to the Den, he was mentally and physically exhausted. Usually his assignments were at least a day apart but something was brewing in the underground. Gangs were restless and groups of villains were lashing out at each other. Something big was in development and everyone was suspicious of each other. He'd interrogated four different people today and a headache drummed on his skull. When he was younger, his Quirk had been limited to physical control of a single person and easily negated by relatively minor physical sensations like a tap on the shoulder. Mesmer had seen potential in his Quirk but demanded more development before he could be considered a useful Asset. The training had been painful and he probably wouldn't have developed this much on his own. He hadn't been able to get around the question and answer requirement but at least now the people he brainwashed could only break from his control if they were knocked out or if he was.

His physical abilities were't too shabby either. He was far from the best fighter in the group but after all the hours Boa and Enforcer had spent beating combat techniques into him, he could subdue most common villains without too much effort.

With no other obligations for the night, Hitoshi slipped out the backdoor of the Agency's residence and into the unlit alley behind. It was a skinny strip of space that separated the building from its neighbors and was almost always empty for whatever reason. Here, he was out of the view of the street and it was just him in the moonlight night. He was wearing the same clothes as before: a baggy hoodie, jeans, and scuffed sneakers, all in dark shades. The mask was still snug against his face but his goggles were pulled up on top of his head again, fighting to flatten his ridiculous hair. At his back was the grungy office building that hid Mesmer's operation, and the closest thing he had to a home. From the outside it was a boring aged building with just one faded sign in a window that advertised the name of a bank. Legally speaking, the bank did exist, but it was an extremely specialized institution. Clients did not come to take out loans, they came to rent Assets.

Fall had settled over the city, draping a blanket of cold air over the nights. It was enough for Hitoshi to shiver every now and then but it wasn't enough to discourage him from his evening exploits. This was the only time he could relax a bit, away from villains. Being the only Asset that hadn't been broken in, killed, or converted, he didn't have friends in the organization. And being confined to the property except for missions, he didn't have friends outside of it either. At least, he didn't have any human ones.

"Black?" the boy softly called the name in a sing-song tune. His left hand fidgeted with the small piece of chicken he had hidden in the pocket of his hoodie. There was no rule that he couldn't give part of his daily ration to a stray cat but he was inconspicuous about it nonetheless. He didn't need Enforcer or any of the other members getting ideas on new ways to torment him.

A soft nyao immediately drew his attention and the light of the half moon was just enough to let him see a small body flit in the shadows. He offered the scrap from his dinner with a few quiet clicks of his tongue,

"Hey Black, got something for you." he kept his voice soft and soon a stray cat appeared in the moonlight. Its black coat was short and relatively clean but the lack of a collar and its slightly ragged appearance were indicative of a stray. Hitoshi had been feeding it for a few months, every night that he was able to sneak out after dinner. He'd started calling it Black at some point and it seemed to be familiar with him now but he didn't dare risk scaring it so he was always careful with his volume and movements.

"How've you been buddy?" he scratched the fuzz on the top of her head and couldn't help but smile at the warm, soft fur, "is it just me or have you gained weight? Been extorting some other lonely soul, huh?" The cat purred and rubbed against his hand. Hitoshi's expression softened further and he felt some of the tension in his shoulders slip away as he continued the one-sided conversation,

"I mean, you've got every right to. We needa do what it takes to survive after all, play the cards we have. Being a stray must be hard but do you actually want a home? It'd be somewhere warm to stay but they might not let you run around so much and being tethered against your will sucks." he frowned at the thought of his implants. They were the main problem keeping him from escaping. The disciplinary one was only an issue if Enforcer was in range but the tracker had no range limit, and he had no idea where in his body it was located. He'd realized that as long as he lacked that particular information, there was no point in anymore escape attempts.

"Not like I'd have anywhere to go, anyways." he muttered with a bitter smirk. Black had finished the chicken and purred loudly as she rubbed her entire body against his bent legs. Hitoshi stroked her back with one hand and let her tail curl around his other, "What, you think I could have a chance? I've been here since I was six... pretty sure I'm lacking in a lot of areas of normal civilian life." the cat meowed again but he couldn't decide if she was agreeing or disagreeing. Not that it mattered. If he got the chance he'd take it for sure. It just had to be a secure out. He already could barely sleep without waking up screaming from a nightmare and his left leg had chronic pains now from all the times it had been rebroken. If he jumped at every little opportunity, he'd end up leaving the Agency in a body bag. Isn't that a fun thought? He allowed himself a few more minutes of peace before finally standing and dusting off his pants before giving Black a parting scratch behind her ears,

"Stay safe, alright? You're the only friend I've got."

Chapter Text

Shrouded in the cover of night, perched on a rooftop in one of Saitama's less reputable neighborhoods, was the underground hero Eraserhead. Yellow-banded goggles concealing his eyes and grey capture weapon floating in the breeze, he was a silent observer of the city. Like a bird of prey, he was still as a statue, only moving his head in subtle turns from side-to-side. Usually he patrolled around Tokyo because it was closer to the school and apartment, but tonight he had felt an urge to travel farther. There was no particular case he was following, just a feeling in his gut that there was something here for him to find. With no leads, he decided to follow logic and scouted out the territories of various gangs that he knew of. If there was trouble brewing, one of them was probably the cause, or knew of the cause. The first two locations had been a bust, and the third one was beginning to look dull until a group of three men in suits wandered into the alley he was standing guard over.

Three stories was too far for him to hear their conversation over the sound of the city, but luckily for him, services from the UA Support Department was part of his perks as a teacher. He fiddled with the small cylinder in his hand, a compact directional microphone that connected wirelessly to the earpieces he had put on before leaving the apartment. As the men below stepped into the end shadows of the alley, Eraserhead narrowed his eyes to try to make out any identifying features as words filtered into his ears,

"What the hell do you mean you let something slip?" Man #1 hissed, obviously angry.

"I told you, I can't remember! Someone must've rented that brainwashing kid. I got knocked out and next thing I know, I'm dumped in some random alley with no memory of the past hour."

Eraserhead's perked up at Man #2's words, intrigued.

"Dammit. You sure you weren't drugged?" Man #1 sounded like he already knew the answer though. Interesting,

"No, drugs don't wear off that fast."

Man #1 swore and rubbed his forehead in frustration,
"I thought the Brainwashing kid was some joke all this time... no one even knows what he looks like or who he works for."

All this time?  Shouta frowned. He didn't like the idea that someone — and a kid at that — had been running around the underground with a brainwashing Quirk without any heroes knowing? Mental Quirks were not uncommon but a mind-controlling Quirk? One hour was a long time and who knows what the kid's limits are. Whoever he was, he could be a dangerous tool for villains.

"Wait what brainwashing kid? I've never heard of this." A new voice, the third man, sounded skeptical.

"You're new so you probably haven't heard the rumors. ’pparently there's an Agency that’s basically a Quirk-for-hire thing. They don’t deal with small groups like us and they’re real secretive."

"So only the big guys get the big guns and we’re left with our plain pistols." Man #2 grumbled.

"Well we can't really do anything about the kid since we don't know anything about who he actually works for." the first man grumbled.

"Boss is gonna be pissed." one of the other two lamented as they slipped into the building.

Shouta stayed on the roof for a bit longer, mulling over the newfound information. Eventually he left to scope out several more areas but there was no other talk of the brainwashing kid. He was scowling during the trek home, knowing that this would be one of the cases that would haunt his thoughts until it was solved. A kid with a brainwashing Quirk working with villains. Was he the child of a villain or had he been kidnapped?

Most people were ignorant of the trafficking of children with specific Quirks. They seemed perfectly content to assume that people with 'bad' Quirks just tended to be 'bad' people. But Shouta was an underground hero; he knew about the poachers who crept around hospitals and orphanages. He had a list of children whom he had managed to save, and every once in a while he would pass through their neighborhood to make sure that they were still safe. Next to that list were four names: the ones that he had not managed to save. One had died in an escape attempt, another was killed in the crossfire of a gang shootout. He kept an eye out for the other two, but they had been among his earliest failures and after twelve years of no new leads, it was very likely that they were not in the area anymore.

§

Shouta wandered into his apartment some time between the second and third hour of the morning. The lights were all off and he could hear Hizashi snoring in the bedroom. With the stealth of many years of practice, he managed to sneak in and undress without waking the slumbering hero, but the sound of the shower was impossible to hide completely. Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the bathroom sweat- and grime-free and changed into a soft black long-sleeved shirt and pajama bottoms. A light jingle of bells announced Maron's presence shortly before a warm body rubbed against his calf. Shouta leaned down to scratch the feline just behind her ears,

“Maron,” he greeted fondly, “sorry to wake you." The cat meowed loudly and Shouta winced. Ah well, Hizashi had probably already heard the shower. Still, he was quiet as he padded over to the bed, Maron jingling at his heels. He slipped under the sheets without jostling the bed too much while the chinchilla Persian pounced onto Hizashi's thigh. The curtain of silky blonde hair splayed atop the pillows stirred and a sleepy variation of Shou? was slurred. Shouta couldn't resist an affectionate sigh and gently carded his fingers through his husband's hair,

"Sleep, 'Zashi." Apparently Hizashi had only been half-awake anyways because this was answered by incoherent grumblings of,

"Tol' you not ta turn the bumble...”

Shouta snorted before he could control himself but Hizashi was already snoring again. The man had a high command of both Japanese and English but when he was half-asleep he said some of the strangest things.

§

"Rise and shine Shoutaaaaa!"

From within the depths of the blanket burrito that had taken resident in the queen-sized bed, a loud groan sounded. Maron was curled up in a ball near the top, seemingly as determined to ignore the noise as the man in the blanket.

"Come on, come on, it's irresponsible for a teacher to be late."

Yamada Hizashi, also known as the Voice Hero: Present Mic, was standing by the bed, gesticulating wildly as he tried to coax the underground hero from his blanket cocoon. It was their morning ritual: Hizashi would wake up first, get ready, start breakfast, then coax Shouta out of bed so they would have time to eat together.

When Shouta finally took his seat at the table, Maron held snug in one arm, his mouth watered at the omelette and meats already plated for him. He might have a penchant for jelly pouches but Hizashi’s cooking would take precedence anytime. Settling into a seat, he let Maron jump down to eat from her bowl in the kitchen, where her very own miniature meat omelette awaited. There was a stock of canned food in the pantry but Hizashi, being Hizashi, usually cooked a miniature variation of their meals for her whenever he could. Shouta wasn't sure how the man did it, juggling three jobs and being able to cook delicious food for themselves and their cat. He'd really lucked out in the soulmate department,

“So how was patrol? Anything interesting?”

The Underground Hero hummed as he chewed, knowing that Hizashi could see the answer on his face but still wanting to tease the man just because.

“Aww, come on Shouta, I know you’ve got something juicy on your mind. Spill!” Shouta fought down a smirk and made him suffer through his cryptic chewing of half a sausage before relenting,

“I don’t have anything concrete yet, but while I was in Saitama I overheard talk of a kid with a brainwashing Quirk. He’s either working for some kind of secret villain agency and if what I heard is true, he’s at least capable of influencing someone for an hour.”

“Oh Shouta,” Hizashi’s smile had softened with understanding, “you really have a soft spot for those kids.” It wasn’t a question. Shouta had experienced Quirk-prejudice in his younger years; people hated losing control after all, and losing the one thing that made them special? He’d been pushed around a bit in school but nothing too major. A kid with a brainwashing Quirk, though? Villains would jump at the opportunity. If he’d been molded into a villain then Shouta wanted to stop him before he did too much damage. If he was being forced into villainy, then Shouta would save him.

“So, brainwashing, huh?” Hizashi’s soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He nodded,

“Yeah, it’d be too easy to exploit a kid with that Quirk. I don’t know if he’s doing it willingly or not, but I can’t let him keep growing in villainy. There's no telling what havoc he could wreck.”

“You’ll find him Shou.” Hizashi’s voice was reassuring and his eyes held a fierce confidence that Shouta couldn’t help but mirror.

He would find the mysterious brainwasher.

He just hoped he’d be able to save him.

§

“15!”

Hitoshi shot up from his pile of blankets on the floor, nearly slamming his head into the opposite wall of his ‘room’. After another fitful night of tossing and turning, he’d only been half-asleep when the furious roar sounded outside his door. Even then, he couldn’t untangle himself from the sheets before Enforcer barged in through the door and fisted his hand in the flimsy material of the boy’s baggy shirt,

“You’re in deep shit today!” He shook the boy like a rag doll then pulled him out of the converted supply closet and into the hallway. Hitoshi gasped in a breath that was promptly punched out of his lungs when he was slammed into the wall. Grunting in pain, his hands instinctively clawed at the single fist holding him a foot off the ground by sheer pressure. He hadn’t needed to be disciplined in a long time and after a month of relative calm, a furious Enforcer was downright terrifying. His fear was further compounded by the fact that he had no idea what the man was so angry about. He hadn’t disobeyed any orders or failed any missions.

“Wha —“ indigo eyes widened. Shit. He was too late in cutting off the question. Enforcer sneered and slammed a fist into his gut. Hitoshi gagged as tears welled up in his eyes. He was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor, where he immediately curled into a ball and tried to breathe through the pain.

"You should know better than to ask questions, 15." Enforcer clucked his tongue mockingly. Hitoshi stiffened when the man leaned in closer and flinched when a rough hand grabbed hold of his hair, "Come on, Mesmer wants to see you."

It felt like his scalp was being torn off his skull. He managed to get his feet under him and launched into an upright position. Enforcer kept walking, yanking him by the hair until he was moving at the same pace. Even when he caught up, the hand stayed in his hair, forcing his head into an awkward bowing position that made his neck ache.

They arrived at Mesmer's office too soon and Hitoshi was shoved through the door. His adrenaline had been high ever since the rude awakening but it was peaking now. He didn't dare lift his head. Eyes fixed on the plain white tiles, he could barely breathe through the tension. It wasn't often that he missed his mask but right now he felt too exposed without something covering at least part of his face.

"Hitoshi." The smooth, silky voice crawled over his skin and made him shiver. It had sounded welcoming, which only set off more alarms in Hitoshi's mind. He tried to reign in his fear and focused on thinking of a brick wall. He didn't know if it really helped in combatting Mesmer's Quirk but it was something. The man chuckled from somewhere a few feet in front of him, probably lounging in the large leather office chair behind his desk, "Oh Hitoshi, you are so much fun. Did Enforcer give you a scare?"

Well yeah. Hitoshi thought resentfully.

"I'd like a verbal answer." Mesmer chided and the boy immediately stuttered a response,

"A — a little."

"Eyes up, Hitoshi. I thought we taught you better manners than that." Indigo eyes darted up, skimming over a white dress shirt, black vest, perfect white teeth flashing a seductive grin, and neatly cropped silver hair that framed a contradictorily youthful face. The man had a striking countenance but it was his piercing white irises that paralyzed you. It was different than Enforcer’s Paralysis. You could move, but you didn’t want to. Hitoshi wasn’t sure what exactly Mesmer’s Quirk was but he was fairly certain it was some kind of hypnosis that required eye contact. He couldn't look away no matter how much he wanted to.

"That's better. Now, do you know why you're here?" his voice was low and silky. Once, it had been a soothing and comforting sound to Hitoshi. Now, it filled him with resentment and unease. But when he looked into those strange eyes, the dark feelings melted away and he only felt kinship and the undeniable impulse to do as asked,

"No, sir."

"You're being honest. That's good. But we have a bit of a problem regarding one of your recent missions. Do you have any idea what I could be referring to?"

Hitoshi shook his head earnestly,

“No, sir.”

“Are you certain that you wiped the memories of all the targets?”

“Yes, sir.” Hitoshi insisted with a frown.

"Hmm, you seem confident but somehow, someone found out about you. I’ve already questioned the client and confirmed that the leak was not from his end. Therefore, the only explanation is that you let something slip through your wiping.” Hitoshi's eyes widened. That couldn't be right. It was routine for his last command to be to forget everything that could be linked to him. He was sure that he had done the same thing for each one that day.

"But I told them all to forget..." he insisted. Mesmer cocked his head in a puzzled manner that was almost endearing,

"Well, you seem to truly believe that. I am glad that this was not part of another one of your little rebellions, however the fact of the matter is that you failed and now there are questions circulating in the upperworld about a young villain with a brainwashing Quirk. People are starting to poke around and I do not appreciate outsiders interfering in my business." Hitoshi's eyes were trapped by the intense, not crazed but not completely sane, black-rimmed white irises.

How could this have happened? Was it a random slip up? His Quirk had been foolproof for years. He knew the memories had been wiped. But whatever the error had been, he also knew what was coming next and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“You will be off missions for the next three days. Enforcer will see to your punishment.”

Hitoshi could only nod and swallow as a heavy hand gripped his right shoulder.

It would be a long three days.

§

By the time evening fell on the first day of his punishment, Hitoshi was a staggering mess of bruises. Enforcer might not have a strength-enhancing Quirk but he was big and had combat training that rivaled most Pro Heroes. He was in charge of keeping the Assets in line but he also acted as Mesmer’s muscle on the occasions that Boa was unavailable. Thankfully, Hitoshi's head is off-limits because they did not want to risk affecting his Quirk. So while his fingers were crooked, each of his limbs had fractured in at least one place, and he had to force every breath through his bruised rib cage, at least his nose was straight and his eyes were not swelled shut like he’d seen in some of the other Assets. Joy.

Gods, he hated having bruised ribs. Mesmer would probably have 7 heal his ribs after the three days were up so he would be functional for his missions, but until then he’d have to tolerate the agony with his meager ration of painkillers.

“Black? You there?” It was later than usual when he crept out the back door of the Agency, eyes searching for ragged fur and a kinked tail.

After acting as Enforcer’s sandbag, he’d passed out in his room for a few hours before dragging himself down to the kitchen for dinner. Thankfully, his meal rations hadn’t been revoked so he’d been able to sneak out with a bit of fish. He hoped that the cat would be around to eat it. His legs hurt too much to crouch so he carefully slumped onto onto a flattened cardboard box by the wall. Closing his eyes, he let his head tip back against the bricks and tried to focus on the coolness of the air against the exposed skin of the upper half of his face. It must have been around one in the morning but there were still cars on the road and people around, judging by the sounds filtering over from the street.

He drifted off at some point because he woke up to loud purring and a warm ball of fur nuzzling the pocket of his hoodie.

“Mmm, Black?” He dropped his head to blink at the shadow moving in his lap and after a few seconds the cat materialized from the folds of his clothes. Logically, it probably just wanted the food in his pocket, but Hitoshi chose not to think about that and instead treasured the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Hey there buddy.” He crooned and revealed his treat for the night. There was a bit of moisture in his eyes but he chose not to dwell on that either.

“Were you worried about me? Sorry I fell asleep. Twice. Can you believe I napped for three hours? I guess it's a good thing, though.”

Talking was beginning to put too much strain on his ribs so he resorted to petting Black quietly. He was fairly certain that it was not normal to be functioning on just four hours of sleep a day, but ever since he had been kidnapped from the orphanage, he seemed physically incapable of sleeping for any longer. He wasn’t exactly energetic but his tiredness was less attributed to lack of sleep and more from mental fatigue. He was tired of this life, being forced to use his Quirk for villainous purposes. He didn’t want to be a villain. But he also didn’t want to die and he knew that if Mesmer judged him to be more trouble than he was worth, there was nothing stopping the man from having either Boa or Enforcer snap his neck and throw his body into the sea or some dump site. Like trash. Without a family or anyone to mourn for him except maybe some stray cat.

He sighed at the depressing thought, then promptly flinched when his ribs protested. He really hated bruised ribs,

“Enforcer’s an asshole.” He muttered, low enough that even Black might have had a hard time hearing. The building at his back was had been thoroughly soundproofed so there was very little risk of anyone overhearing him, but caution was never an unwise tactic. Black flicked an ear and burrowed deeper into his arms, demanding more attention. Hitoshi managed a huff and obediently rubbed his bruised fingers along the soft fur.

The thing about Enforcer's punishments was that it was a game of cougar and mouse. If he was a more skilled fighter, he might not have been so thoroughly beaten. But he wasn't a combat Asset. Mesmer only authorized him to receive basic fight training — just so he wouldn't be a liability if a mission went south. Mesmer knew he would run the moment he had a secure exit, so his fight training was intentionally kept to a minimum. Excluding 7, who had a healing Quirk, every other Asset was undoubtedly superior to Hitoshi in terms of physical abilities. He'd definitely need to improve them to become a hero.

"Hah." The self-deprecating laugh left his lungs with a punch that had him wincing from the pain again.

Why did he always end up here? His chronic insomnia and inconsistent mission schedule usually left him alone with just his thoughts for company, and they always seemed to come back to that one childish dream he kept clinging onto. He knew that he really shouldn't think of it as a possibility considering his circumstances, but the dream of becoming a hero was something engrained in him. It was one of the few things he remembered from his childhood before the orphanage. He couldn't even remember his parents, and he barely had any memory of the orphanage itself. But the desire to be a hero was a chronic flame. Not consuming, but undeniable and ever-present. Wanting to be free from Mesmer was an itch that made him antsy and rebellious. Wanting to be a hero was something that grounded him.
Hitoshi tipped his head back against the bricks again, gaze trailing up to the silver-tipped clouds.

...

Eh?

Something was different about the corner of that rooftop. Why did it look like there was a — Hitoshi's eyes widened as the aberration peeled away from behind the signboard and grew larger as it flew down three stories.

What the hell?!

Panicking, Hitoshi pinned Black to his chest with one arm and scrambled further into the alley. The abrupt motions aggravated his injuries and a muffled cry of pain forced its way through gritted teeth. His shocked and pain-addled mind had reflexively sought the shelter of shadows and proximity to the Den’s back door. It was a cloudy night so he couldn't make out any details but the person was tall, probably an adult, wearing dark baggy clothes, and had a masculine build though his hair was long and quite thick. He hadn’t made any moves since landing from the sky but Hitoshi was taking no chances,

“Who are you?” He demanded with as much calm as he could fake. The man stayed silent and Hitoshi immediately jumped to the worst case scenario: someone had found out about him and sent an assassin.

“Are you here to kill me?” He asked this time, not quite able to keep the slight tremor from his voice. The stranger seemed surprised and shifted back half a step,

“What? No, why would—”

Gotcha.

“Tell me who you are and why you are here.”

“Eraserhead. I was following the cat.”

The hell? Hitoshi huffed at the image of some guy jumping across rooftops to follow a stray cat. Wait, Eraserhead had to be an alias so this guy was probably,

“Are you a hero or a villain? Be honest.”

“Hero.”

Hitoshi blinked. This was unreal. His first live interaction with a hero in fifteen years and it was thanks to Black. But now what to do? Eraserhead hadn’t exactly answered his question earlier,

“Why did you come down?”

“You saw me on the roof.”

Irritation crept into the hard line of Hitoshi’s mouth. He could feel the man already fighting his Quirk but the vague answers were likely due to an inherently tacit nature. It was suspicious for a hero to be so secretive.

"Why were you watching me?" This was an assumption on his part but he figured it was a plausible one, "Give me a full answer."

"It's late, and you're a kid in a dark alley wearing a mask. It's my job to check on you."

Hitoshi huffed. He'd always wanted to talk to a hero but it was pretty mundane when he could really only interrogate the person. Releasing the hero from his influence was far too risky, though. One unknown hero wouldn't be enough to take down the Agency.

"What's your Quirk?"

"I nullify Quirks of the people in my sight."

Huh, that was pretty cool. But it wouldn't do anything about the tracker in his neck. No help from this hero, then. He couldn’t afford to plan an escape in half-measures without the risk of Mesmer finding out. There was one question he wanted to ask more than anything else but he knew that people under his influence were limited to very basic thought processes. He’d only recently gotten people to recall information, but forming an answer based on opinion was still too complex. Still, he couldn't help but try,

"Can someone raised by villains become a hero?"

One breath passed.

Two breaths.

Three.

Nothing.

He ignored the disappointment as best he could while gently placing Black, who he had forgotten was still in his arms, onto the floor. The car meowed loudly and Hitoshi rubbed the spot between her ears one last time before looking at the hero to give his final orders,

"Go back to the roof and wait until I close the door. Forget that you saw or spoke with me." He turned as he spoke; the short spike of adrenaline he'd gotten from the initial scare had worn off and his injuries were aching again. All he wanted to do was curl up in his blankets and sleep. A rustle of fabrics prompted him to look back, and he was surprised to see that the hero had already disappeared.

He was regretting not being able to see the hero's face and costume when he slipped into the building. But there was no light source in the alley and he couldn't risk being seen on the street. He made the slow trek upstairs, leaning against the wall for nearly the entire journey. At last, he arrived at his room.

Home, sweet home, he opened the door with a wry curl of his lips. It was really just a large storage closet. The door only locked from the outside and that was only to lock him inside during isolation punishments, the length of the room was a few inches taller than he was, and if he rolled over three times he'd hit the opposite wall. On the left side, a plank of wood had been hammered across one wall to function as a shelf. On it, the short stacks of clothes varied very little in color or style. Dark jeans, solid colored shirts, and several hoodies with the odd windbreaker. A pair of boots sat in the back corner, his only other footwear besides the once-white sneakers currently on his feet.

Silently thanking his past self for choosing to shower earlier, Hitoshi fumbled into a fresh shirt and his softest pants before rolling into the heap of blankets. The futon below was thin and his small pillow even thinner but as with everything else in his room, he had an unusual attachment to them. They were, after all, his only possessions.

Chapter Text

Shouta had a tendency to nap in strange places. It was a habit he developed soon after being admitted to UA as a student, and had only been encouraged over the years by his dual occupations. Some people thought he had narcolepsy but Shouta chose when to sleep. He always checked the time before closing his eyes so he could track the hours of sleep he’d accumulated in a day. So when he suddenly blinked awake while standing on top of a roof, with no memory of deciding to take a nap, and feeling like his brain had just glitched, he was unsettled. He might doze off whenever the opportunity came in class, but he never did something as irresponsible as fall asleep while on patrol.

On patrol, in Saitama. Why was he out here again? Ah, right. His confusion quickly turned to suspicion.

There was a definite time skip in his memories no more than an hour long. Ever since beginning his investigation of the brainwashing kid, Shouta had taken to periodically checking the time just as a precaution. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, if a bit paranoid, and he was glad he did. The last check he remembered was 1:30 AM, shortly before he discovered the cat and started following it from the rooftops. It was 2:15 AM now.

The cat hadn’t been particularly noteworthy, just another black stray with scruffy fur and a crooked tail. He remembered following it to this rooftop, and he remembered crouching down to watch something that had caught his interest. Then he blinked and suddenly he was standing and facing the opposite direction.

Something had definitely happened, but he needed definitive information. His investigation thus far had only found rumors of someone with a brainwashing Quirk working on a for-hire basis. No one knew what he looked like but the consensus seemed to be that he was young, a teenager.

He’d asked the police to compile every 'Missing Child' report from the last eighteen years and three nights of near-all nighters had barely put a dent in the tower of documents on his desk. Detective Tsukauchi had offered to have someone help him look through the files but without something definitive, Shouta didn’t want to trouble them just yet. There was no tangible evidence that this kid existed, yet something had happened tonight. He didn’t know what, exactly, but the symptoms seemed to match what he’d heard from the ‘victims’. It was enough to be more than just coincidence, and if he had interacted with the mysterious person... what had transpired? The idea that he’d been at someone’s complete mercy was unnerving. He was alive, and unscathed. If the kid was a villain, why let a hero go free? Had Shouta been interrogated? He hoped he hadn’t given away any information that might endanger the school or other heroes.

He needed to speed up the investigation. Whipping out his phone, Shouta hits the third number of his speed-dial and waits for the line to connect. The fourth ring cuts off with a sleepy mumble,

“Mmm, Eraser-kun?”

Shouta only felt a little guilty for waking the man up,

“Tsukauchi-san, sorry to wake you but I need a favor about the Brainwashing case.”

§

Even after Detective Tsukauchi promised to have one of the techies run a search through the police database for records of a child with a brainwashing Quirk, it wasn’t like Shouta to just leave the matter to someone else. After dismissing Class 1-A for the afternoon, he went straight to the teacher’s office, plopped down at his desk space, and dived into the mini-stack of Missing reports he’d brought from home. Sometime after the fourth case came the tunnel-vision and time slipped away. He was dimly aware of his co-workers shuffling in and out but didn’t acknowledge any of them.

“SHOUTA!” a slender pair of hands clapped his shoulders and if Mic hadn’t first announced his approach, the home room teacher might have hit him. From both shock and irritation. He’d given the man plenty of warnings before but Hizashi seemed to think that the opportunity to startle the ever-stoic Aizawa outweighed the risks.

As it was, Shouta kept his hands on the report he was reading and addressed his co-worker with a drawl,

“What is it, Mic?”

Behind him, Present Mic grinned. The gruff teacher might have sounded irritated to everyone else but fifteen years of friendship (and something much more intimate) had fostered an ability to differentiate each of his subtle variations of expression. Hizashi found it rather endearing,

“Neh, let’s get some food Eraser! Jelly packs don’t count!”

“Yeah, yeah just let me—” Shouta froze. Hizashi noticed the sudden stiffness and leaned over his shoulder with a worried hum,

“Shou?”

The man was unnaturally still: one hand reaching to his left, setting a Missing Child report onto a small stack of similar documents, and the other was hovering over a slightly larger stack on his right. He was staring at the document on top of the larger stack with a dazed look on his face. Curious, Hizashi read the name,

“Shinsō Hitoshi.” The photograph next to it pulled a sad note from his heartstrings. A child stared back at him from the prison of a black rectangular border, eyes wide and looking confused and utterly lost. He couldn’t be more than five or six years old and his wild nest of indigo hair, standing on end as if a great wind had blown it all back, only exaggerated his bewildered expression. Hizashi went to skim the information but his eyes promptly stopped at the second line of text:

Quirk: Brainwashing

Oh. This was the kid. His eyes scanned further down and he mentally condensed the information.

Born July 1. Mother gave him up for adoption shortly after his Quirk manifested. He’d been at the orphanage for a little over two years when he was kidnapped. No witnesses, no leads. The case had been closed relatively quickly.

“You found him.” Hizashi murmured, both relieved and amazed. Neither of them worked missing persons cases often so he assumed Shouta shared similar emotions, but a simple glance told him that there was something else in those black eyes.

“I saw him.” It was soft enough that Hizashi thought he’d heard wrong at first,

“... Huh?”

Shouta couldn’t take his eyes off the photograph. Specifically, he couldn’t look away from the large, frightened eyes of a lost child. Eyes that he knew he’d seen before. He couldn’t pull up any concrete memories, but he was definitely experiencing de ja vu. There were no U.A. students resembling the child in the photo, past or present, but...

His eyes drifted to the right, where the boy’s identity was reduced to a few short phrases.

Name: Shinsō Hitoshi
Date of Birth: July 1st
Quirk: Brainwashing

Shouta blinked. This had to be the one. The Quirk was right, and there was the unexplained but undeniable feeling that he had seen this boy before. He didn’t have a clear mental image, but there was a vague impression of frightened eyes in a dark alley. Was that from last night? According to the file, Shinsō was fifteen now, and had been missing for nine years. Hizashi sucked in a quiet breath between his teeth,

“That’s a long time Shouta...”

“There’s still a chance.” The amount of certainty in his tone prompted Hizashi to raise an eyebrow,

“There is but... did something happen last night?”

“I,” They both had woken up late this morning and in the rush, Shouta hadn’t found the time to update Hizashi, “think I may have encountered someone with a brainwashing Quirk last night.”

“Wait what?” Hizashi’s voice rose with a hint of his Quirk and Shouta finally turned away from the reports to face his lover,

“When I was on patrol, something happened. I’m not sure what exactly but there’s a gap in my memories about twenty minutes long. I’m not injured,” he quickly added when Hizashi’s eyes widened with concern, “I just can’t remember anything. It’s like there was glitch in my brain; one moment I was following a cat, then all of a sudden I’m turned around and standing a few feet away from where I was.” His eyes trailed back to Shinsō’s file and he reached for the thin packet, “I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen this kid before, and I know that he wasn’t a student here so...”

“You think you saw him last night.” Shouta nodded,

“I don’t have any actual memory, just a feeling.”

“It’s more than what we had before.” Hizashi gave a reassuring smile and Shouta mirrored it, just before a short trill interrupted the moment. It took him a second to recognize his own phone’s notification tone but he was quick to get the device out of his pocket. The sleepy teacher scrutinized his flashing phone screen for a moment before hope flared in his chest and his finger smashed the Accept button,

“Tsukauchi-san?”

“Ah, good morning Eraser-san. I’ve got news on the Brainwashing case. We’ve identified one name from Missing Children reports, Shinsō—”

“Hitoshi, I just found his report. Can you tell me anything else about him?” He knew cutting off the detective was rude but his desire to find the boy was even more urgent now.

“Ah, wonderful! We can move on to his family, then. His adoption papers don’t mention his father but I had someone go through medical records and it seems his father, Shinsō Souma, could brainwash by touch. Their family name sounded familiar so I had them go back further and it turns out that Hitoshi’s grandfather, Shinsō Sosuke, could Brainwash anyone just by speaking with them. According to Hitoshi’s file, his Quirk only activates through questions.”

“Shinsō Sosuke.” Shouta repeated the name softly. It did sound familiar but he couldn’t place why.

“He was a villain in Hokkaido. Spent a decade Brainwashing people to commit crimes for him. His family was placed in protective custody but Souma eventually moved out of the area, met Hitoshi’s mother, and got caught up in some sort of gang activity. He vanished without a trace before he could be charged with anything.”

That might explain why the mother gave Hitoshi up for adoption. At four years, he’d probably just started manifesting his Quirk and with the father gone and her child inheriting the Quirk of two villainous family members...

“Do you know if the orphanage was aware of Hitoshi’s family history?”

“It’s hard to say, but his Quirk alone wouldn’t have done him any favors. It bothers me to admit this but the neighborhood wasn’t very reputable and neither the caretakers nor the officers involved seemed particularly concerned. The case was closed too quickly.”

“Do you have any idea how we could find Hitoshi now?”

“There’s been no sightings of anyone fitting his description, but I think he might be linked to another case I’ve been working on. There are rumors of an organization in the underground that rents out people with certain Quirks. We've had cases of these before but this one has managed to avoid detection for at least seven years, probably more. They came onto our radar last year and we’ve been investigating them since but we didn’t have any proof outside of rumors until last night.”

Last night?

“But I couldn’t remember anything...”

“Your location was enough. I ran a search on the buildings in the area and it turns out that the building you were next to is supposedly the location of a bank. The bank does exist, legally, and their paperwork actually checks out.”

“Then why the suspicion?”

“Because no one sets up a bank in this part of the city without some kind of security, unless they have a connection with the underground. That building is actually a complete blind spot. Even the street cameras have been cut.”

“I’ll go back and check it out tonight.” They couldn't know if his memory gap and the suspicious building were connected, but any possibility was worth a try.

“Thanks Eraser-kun, unfortunately we don’t have enough for me to call a raid but once we do, I’ll have a force ready.”

“I’ll keep you updated.” Shouta promised.

“Please do and remember, this organization has been running under everyone’s nose for almost a decade, be careful.”

“I won’t underestimate them.”

“I’m not worried about that, I’m worried that you’ll jump into the lion’s den even while knowing you're outmatched.”

“...” if he didn’t respect Tsukauchi so much, Shouta would have clicked his tongue. He couldn’t say the man’s worries were unfounded, either, as he’d done exactly as said on more than one occasion. It was impulsive and hypocritical, and he was lucky to have gotten out of all the previous situations without permanent consequences, but certain cases just broke his composure.

“I’ll try to let you know if I’m going to do something stupid.” Shouta compromised with a wry curl of his lips, ignoring the glare Hizashi was giving him. An acquiescent sigh crackled over the line,

“That’s all I can ask for, isn’t it?” His smirk morphed into something more genuine and he exchanged farewells before finally hanging up and facing an unhappy husband. One blonde eyebrow was raised in question and one corner of his mouth turned down,

“So?”

“I’m going back to the same alley tonight, see if I can find anything concrete.”

“Where you think you were brainwashed just last night?”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming with—”

“Hizashi, there isn’t enough evidence to warrant two pro-heroes—”

“Shouta," the Voice Hero was standing his ground, "I’m coming with.”

Hizashi was known for having a silly disposition but he was certainly capable of being serious. When challenged by those fierce green eyes, sharp with determination and concern, Shouta couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He sighed,

“Fine.”

The piercing emeralds immediately brightened and Hizashi grinned from ear to ear,

“Great! Now let’s grab some grub!”

Chapter Text

Pain, was Hitoshi’s first thought when he woke. His arms, his legs, his ribs, every movement and every breath was agony. Somehow, he managed to hobble to the bathroom and get downstairs, though he couldn't be bothered with changing out of his sleepwear. Rummaging through the kitchen cabinet for his bottle of pills, he popped the lid and looked at the miserable number with depressed eyes. There was no way these would last him through today and tomorrow at the recommended dosage. Resolving to indulge now and pay the price later, he shook a couple into his hand and swallowed them with a glass of water.

With nothing left to do but wait for the pills to take effect, he started rummaging through the pantry for something to eat. Hitoshi didn't eat much, or often, but 7 had warned him against taking ibuprofen on an empty stomach. Assets were given one prepared meal ration a day, in labelled tupperware in the fridge. Asides from that, they were expected to take care of their own needs. There wasn't much variety in the Asset's pantry, though. 7 was the only Asset cleared to go shopping for supplies, but usually it was Warp who ran errands and he was a bit too pragmatic in his choices: behind the pantry doors were shelves of energy bars, canned foods, and ramen packs.

He defaulted to the ramen. It wasn't the healthiest option but he was fairly certain that Enforcer or some other villain would kill him long before any ailment resulting from his poor diet. He wasn't sure what lay in store for him today but he didn't really have an alternative to dealing with it as he'd done all these years: just survive.

Enforcer had been even worse this session. Hitoshi's right radius was broken clean through, his left tibia was fractured, and 7 hadn't been allowed to heal either. He'd been given a few more pills of ibuprofen but it still wasn't enough to completely mask the pain. He tried to ignore the looks of the other Assets as he limped around the building. He felt as vulnerable as he had been when he'd first arrived: a lost child fighting back tears and just wanting a home. He'd been too young to understand why his parents were gone and why the people at the orphanage had been so cold toward him. They'd said he was dangerous and forbid him from speaking to anyone. The other children bullied him or completely ignored him.

Mesmer had appeared to him late one night, when he'd snuck out to play with the stray cat in the alley behind the orphanage. The man had been well-dressed, kind, and actually conversed with Hitoshi. He'd been the first to treat the boy like a human being in a long while and the love-starved child had soaked up the man's attention like a desert cactus experiencing its first rain.

Mesmer and his lieutenants were smart. They were kind to Assets when they first joined, coaxed the lost and abused souls to lower their guard and kindle a feeling of kinship. But Hitoshi had been old enough to know of heroes and villains, and after a few years he'd realized that the Agency was filled with the latter. And they wanted him to become one too. He confronted Mesmer one day, the man who he'd begun to regard as a father. The betrayal had hit him hard and that was when his rebellions began. Hitoshi wouldn't say he was the only Asset who disapproved of the situation, but he had no desire to form any kind of bonds with anyone else from the organization. He couldn't trust any of them to not betray him. He trusted 7 to heal his wounds when permitted and give him advice on how to keep his body functioning but that was the only exception.

After a frustrating amount of effort, Hitoshi hobbled his way down and out to the alley behind the Agency's home. Night had fallen sometime ago, while he'd been been passed out in his room. He knew sleep was important for healing, even if it didn't really make him feel any better.

Taking a few steps away from the back door, Hitoshi put his back against the bricks and slid down with his braced leg stretched out in front. His right arm lay against his chest in a makeshift sling 7 had tied from one of Hitoshi's spare shirts. He thought about calling for Black but the pain in his ribs discouraged him from the effort of actually doing so. Hoping the cat would appear without his verbal summons, he rested his head back against the wall and allowed his thoughts to wander.

He was woken, once again, by purring. Soft fur brushed his cheek and his eyes blinked open,

"Hey Black." he greeted with a soft smile. The stray meowed and rubbed against his chest. He flinched at the pressure of her paws on his ribs and gently coaxed her away from the worst of his injuries,

"Careful there, Enforcer did a number on me today." It hurt to talk but he spent too much time with just his own thoughts for company. It was nice to be able to speak freely and with someone. Sure, Black was just a stray cat but she was more personable than most of the actual humans in his life. A wry curl edged into the corner of his smile,

Well, at least I'm not talking to the walls just yet.

Movement at the edge of his vision made him tense up immediately. His free arm brought Black closer to his chest as he glanced to his left. There, at the corner of the alley that led to the street, stood two men. A cold shiver numbed his body at the unfamiliar silhouettes. He couldn't make out their faces or any identifying features in their clothes from this distance. Normally he would have been able to slip back into the Agency before the strangers had moved more than a step but he really doubted his chances now, being down an arm and a leg.

"Hey little listener, out kinda late aren't ya?"

Hitoshi frowned at the unique voice. It sounded almost familiar, as if he'd heard it in passing somewhere, but he really did not have much exposure to people other than clients and other Assets and he was certain that neither of these people were Assets. The situation and the way that they were keeping their distance indicated that they were strangers to the Agency. The man didn't sound malicious, but Hitoshi knew better than to let that lower his guard,

"Who are you?" he didn't bother masking his wariness.

"Wah, don't recognize the voice? Present Mic! Pro Hero, radio host... you sure you haven't heard my voice before?" the silhouette on the right moved a step forward and Hitoshi bristled,

"Stop right there, don't come closer." his voice had wavered slightly but inside, he was panicking. He knew this man hadn't fallen under his influence but he couldn't understand why. He'd activated his Quirk at the first word of response but there was none of the usual sensation of a mind falling under his influence. This had never happened before. Was something blocking him? The man had answered his question so he hadn't blocked his hearing... and what was a Pro Hero doing here anyways? Wait. Pro Heroes and a nullified Quirk... Hitoshi narrowed his eyes at the silent figure on Present Mic's right,

"Eraserhead?" he probed.

"Hey kid." was the gruff response. Hitoshi's already racing heart beat even faster. Why was Eraserhead back, and with another Pro? Had he failed to erase the hero's memory? Did he know about the Agency?

"You're using your Quirk." Hitoshi stated flatly.

"We just want to ask you some questions."

"About what?"

"The organization you work for. We know that you were kidnapped when you were six and that they've been renting you out for your Quirk. We just want to help, Shinsō."

Hitoshi had been prepared to deny everything until his name had been spoken. It was his family name, not something he really identified with, but it wasn't Asset or 15, and it wasn't his first name spoken in the way Mesmer used, like he was flaunting his ownership. It was jarring, hearing even one of his names spoken aloud and being used to actually address him in a genuine manner.

If two Pro Heroes knew about him and the Agency, he wondered if the police did too. But if they had showed up here just for questions, then they were obviously still investigating and not able to do anything yet. He still had the predicament of the tracker, and he didn't know how skilled these heroes were. From their brief interaction, he knew Eraserhead could be fast and silent, and his Quirk was certainly useful, but that wasn't nearly enough of a guarantee.

And Present Mic.... The name sounded vaguely familiar but he wasn't one of the major Pro Heroes like All Might or Endeavor. If they weren't satisfied with his information, they might leave him here for Enforcer's mercy; there was no way he'd be able to hide such a betrayal from Mesmer. If he denied everything right now, he'd lose an opportunity but he'd be safe. At least, as safe as he could be in the Agency. It was a gamble for freedom versus the safety of the familiar,

"And how would you help someone in that situation, exactly?" he tried to sound like he was just humoring them, but he doubted they were fooled.

"We'll get you somewhere safe first, and keep you safe while we continue the investigation. You're a minor and given the circumstances, you likely won't be held accountable for whatever crimes you may have committed since your kidnapping."

Hitoshi's eyes narrowed. There was no guarantee that they'd actually be able to keep him safe, and from how vague Eraserhead was being, it seemed they didn't know much about the Agency at all,

"You can't guarantee any of that." he stated darkly. He wanted out more than anything, but he had survived this hell for too long to be killed for trusting two random heroes he had never heard of before. If it was Endeavor or one of the other top heroes, maybe he'd take the gamble. But there was too much to lose and not enough security.

"We —"

"You're wasting your time." Hitoshi cut Present Mic off, tone noticeably colder. Having decided that this was just false hope, he wanted this conversation to end and the heroes to leave so he could go back to his room and sleep before the pain killers wore off, "I don't know where you heard these rumors but you're looking in the wrong place. Go away."

"Hey kid we're trying to help." Present Mic took another step closer and Hitoshi's pulse, which had just began to settle, spiked again,

"Don't come closer. There's people in this building who'll come if I shout." he said immediately, voice raised but not enough to draw attention. The reality was that he would have had to scream pretty loudly for any Agency members to hear. The building was thoroughly soundproofed. Otherwise, even in this neighborhood someone would have called the cops at all the screaming that came with punishments and training 'accidents'. But these heroes didn't know that and his threat was convincing enough for Present Mic to freeze and raise his hands in a placating gesture,

"Easy, we're —"

"I don't. Need. Your. Help." he hissed.

Silence descended in the alley. Even Black had stopped fidgeting in his arms, seemingly sensing the tension in the air. After a long moment, Eraserhead shifted and gave his companion a nudge,

"Come on, Mic." he nodded back in the direction of where they'd come from,

"What? But—"

"We can't help it if he won't talk." His tone was factual but Hitoshi couldn't decipher anything else; he didn't know if the hero was irritated, angry, or disappointed, and his inability to comprehend the enigmatic hero only made him want to end this encounter even more. He didn't like not knowing things, especially not knowing emotions. Emotions helped to predict actions: whether someone was going to attack or retreat.

That night, the heroes retreated. Hitoshi went to bed with disappointment weighing heavily in his chest, hurting like a physical wound. Wrapped in his thin blanket, he fought back tears as he silently mourned another lost opportunity. Had he made the right decision? Would he be free right now if he had gone with them? He could have given them something to help their investigation. Why hadn't he? Was it the fear of being caught? Someone could have been eavesdropping and he would have had no idea until he woke up to Enforcer's hands around his throat, this time with the intent to kill. Was he becoming too paranoid now? If he didn't take some kind of chance, he'd never escape.

Hitoshi shook his head. Brooding wouldn't get him anywhere. He couldn't risk a gamble like that. An opportunity would come. And he would be free.

§

"We’re getting him out."

Eraserhead and Present Mic had been troubled by Hitoshi's vehement refusal of aid. Their journey home had been silent, as each man formed his own analysis of what had transpired. Now in the comfort of their two-bedroom apartment, they had stripped off their uniforms and sat side-by-side at the dining table with a fresh pot of calming tea between them. Hizashi was the first to break the silence, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He held his mug between both hands, letting the heat warm his chilled hands. On his left, Shouta took a long sip from his cup while his eyes stared unfocused at the table. It wasn't the smooth maple that he saw, but a pair of haunted indigo eyes,

“We need more information. He’s afraid we won’t be able to keep him safe.”

“Either he was being watched, or the leader has a way to track his Assets... a spy network? A Quirk? Or...”

“Or an actual tracker.”

Hizashi breathed an unhappy grumble as he sipped his own cup,

"So we've got a secret underground organization; no information on the structure, leaders, activities, or size; and a lead who's too cautious to give us anything without guarantees."

"This is going to be a pain." Shouta mumbled. Neither of them were used to drawn-out investigations, but he knew that both of them were too invested in this to give anything but their all. The kid, Shinsō Hitoshi, was the same age as their first years but he'd sounded so different, so... wary. Like a stray animal who'd never known a home. He hadn't given them any information, but he definitely was looking for a way out.

"He's too young to be sounding like he did."

Shouta let his gaze slide to the right. Hizashi rarely let himself look so depressed. He was always upbeat and merry when around the students or civilians, and when things got tense with fellow heroes and teachers he'd show his serious face; but this vulnerability, when the darkness of the world got under his skin, was something exclusive to Shouta. He exhaled and leaned against the blonde,

"We'll get him 'Zashi. He's still fighting."

Chapter Text

The two Pro Heroes didn't return after that night and Hitoshi told himself that he didn't care. 7 eventually healed his injuries and he was cleared to go on missions again. Tonight was his first assignment back, a week after he'd been called to Mesmer's office. It wasn't a particularly dangerous mission but there was an unfounded trepidation that weighed on his mind. It didn't help that the Agency had been having issues lately. But surely he wouldn't be a target, right? There were far more dangerous, more useful Assets for the villains to take...

Enforcer drove him to the location, a warehouse by the docks. The young Asset slouched silently in the passenger seat, goggles, mask, and hood already in place. It was a daytime mission, and he was tempted to move the goggles so he could admire the light blue sky and shimmering waters in their natural colors, but he didn't want to risk angering Enforcer so soon after his punishment. His hands stayed tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. It wasn't long before they arrived. The building was quiet and unassuming: a large metal rectangle surrounded by various semi-trailers, some of them attached to loading docks and some of them still attached to truck tractors. A small group of men was waiting for them outside. Hitoshi didn't recognize any of them, which meant that these were not the group's leaders that he normally interacted with. Enforcer noticed too,

"Where's your boss?" his tone was as rough as usual and the men seemed a bit agitated but they could have been reacting to his generally intimidating appearance. Hitoshi wasn't sure why the man was accompanying him this time but it didn't really change anything.

A tall man from the gathered group stepped forward, apparently the bravest of the bunch. He wasn't fidgety like the others but there was anxiety in his eyes,

"They had an inside matter to attend to but they'll arrive before the session ends."

Enforcer grunted, probably annoyed at having to accompany him and be answering to these grunts. But he couldn’t refuse Mesmer’s order, especially after two Assets had been killed last week. Dying was an occupational hazard in their line of work but these had been setups targeting the Assets specifically. Both clients had been found guilty by Mesmer and as retribution he'd sent in the two top assassin Assets to kill the head of each group. Hitoshi personally wasn't sure if that was the best course of action, but the groups were small and definitely had been foolish to going against the Agency. After all, their main clients were the three largest gangs in Saitama and Tokyo. Meaning that against two satellite groups, the Agency had far more allies in the underground. No one should be repeating their stunt anytime soon, but the question was why they had done it. Maybe they thought Assets were giving an unfair advantage to their rivals? Whatever it was, Hitoshi had the feeling that things were going to get a lot messier in the underground soon.

Enforcer, Boa, and even Warp were paired with Assets for missions now, and as much as he hated Enforcer, Hitoshi knew that the man was at least a qualified bodyguard. He didn't like the proximity of the wall of muscle at his back, but in light of recent events it was slightly more preferable than being alone.

They entered the warehouse, a large metal structure with some shipping containers, scuffed machinery, and general clutter. There were six men in collared shirts standing in a half-circle around a man who was bound to a chair in the center of the room. A black bag covered his head, his hands were bound behind the chair's back, and his ankles tied to its legs. He was facing the door and conscious, judging by the slight shift in the bag's position when they entered.

Hitoshi approached with quiet steps, leaving Enforcer by the door. As he passed the seated man, he pulled off the bag and held it in one hand as he stood behind the target. He leaned in to whisper into the man's ear but carefully stayed out of his sight,

"I'll get straight to the point. These men here have some questions for you so how about giving them answers, huh?”

The man stayed silent.

“Come on, you know where the next drug drop is going to be." he injected a pause, then as if the thought had just occurred to him, "oh, wait you're just a pawn, aren't you? Someone expendable. Are you really willing to risk torture, risk your life for a group who doesn't appreciate you?”

Still no response.

"Why are you the one in this chair, right now?" 

"Has it crossed your mind that you were setup?" 

Something shifted in the air; the tension in the room had skyrocketed. Hitoshi narrowed his eyes and discreetly looked around the room. Why did the clients look so on edge? He really had a bad feeling about this whole thing but he couldn't abandon a mission without a real reason. Also, he couldn’t keep asking questions without the clients figuring out his Quirk. As far as anyone knew, the target just needed to speak.

Hitoshi moved to stand in front of the target, noting how the man was sitting: slouching so that his torso was partially shielded by the rest of his body. He didn't know if the group had already tried interrogating the man through torture yet. There didn't appear to be any obvious injuries, and the target's breathing was even. He could try one more question but if the target didn't respond then —

BANG!

Dust and debris exploded into the warehouse from Hitoshi's left, where something had torn through the metal wall.

"What the fuck was that?" one of the clients shouted.

Hitoshi coughed and squinted through the haze as he swiped the air with the black bag, trying to get a clear breath in. His focus had been on the wall, where the commotion had come from, so he was completely taken aback by an attack from in front, where the target had been tied to the chair. At least, where he thought the target had been bound. Because right now the man was standing completely free, with an arm around Hitoshi's throat. Barely able to breathe, the boy was on the verge of panicking and abandoned the black bag to claw at the arm with one hand and at his tormentor's face with the other. He tried to articulate some kind of question but the arm around his throat was not only putting pressure on his windpipe, but also pressing his mask against his jaw in a way that prevented him from opening his mouth. Lack of oxygen was blurring his vision with tears but he could make out Enforcer starting a fight with five of the clients.

Had this really been a setup?

But to what end? And blowing a hole in the wall didn't seem like a practical way to accomplish anything... wait was someone shouting outside?

Movement in his peripheral prompted him to refocus on the people inside. The sixth "client" was heading their way, presumably to help his comrade subdue Hitoshi. Were they going to kill him like the others had done to 8 and 14? He watched with panicked eyes as the man drew nearer, gun in hand. His arms were pinned to his sides now and he felt a coldness spread through his body and time begin to slow as he watched his death approach.

But the reaper was stalled, by a band of grey cloth. It came from the hole in the wall, looped around the man, then like a snare it trapped the man's arms to his body and pulled him back several feet. A blur of black and grey shot through the opening and collided with the man, stopping him dead in his path. Hitoshi blinked, not quite comprehending how the man who he had been certain was about to end his life, ended up on the floor, knocked out cold. Above him stood a man clad in all black, with glowing red eyes and long black hair that stood up in twisted points — it was the antithesis of Hitoshi's own clownish hair that stood out in all directions. No, this man's hair was dynamic chaos and moved like black fire.

This is the real Reaper, was Hitoshi's first thought. He was so stunned that he almost missed his captor releasing one of his arms to reach behind. Acting mostly on reflex, Hitoshi managed to throw a reverse elbow strike to his right, twisting his body slightly for an extra boost of power. The height difference put his range of motion far below the man's neck and head, so he aimed instead for the solar plexus. He was off by a couple inches but with his weight behind the strike and his captor unbalanced and underestimating, it was enough to knock them both off their feet. Twisting in the air like a cat, Hitoshi got one foot back on the ground and propelled himself away from both his captor and the Reaper.

It was messy; his limbs flailed as he rolled forward on rough cement that scraped his skin and bruised his joints. A hand caught his ankle and pulled, laying him flat out on the ground. His chin hit the ground and a loud CRACK! echoed as his mask took the brunt of the fall. Hitoshi raised his free leg to kick, but when he looked over his shoulder, the man was gone.

The Reaper had him at his feet, knocked out and wrapped up in grey loops of fabric that moved like something alive,

“Hey kid.” The voice sounded tired and... familiar. It couldn’t be,

“Eraserhead?” The hero smiled. His eyelids were droopy and there was too much teeth but it was still the most genuine smile he’d seen that didn’t make his skin crawl.

“15!” Hitoshi’s head whipped towards Enforcer’s voice on reflex, heart rate immediately speeding up.

The beast of a man had managed his fight just fine with only a few cuts as evidence. Blood was splattered on his clothes but the bodies at his feet told that it wasn’t his. His mouth was pressed in a firm line and there was an unspoken order in his eyes:

Come here.

Hitoshi stayed put.

“15.” It was a beastial growl filled with warning and threat.

Strange. Maybe his perceived brush with death had triggered something in him because right now, he was feeling a defiance that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. But he had to be smart about this. With a last look at Eraserhead, he sprinted to the Agency lieutenant,

“Sorry Enforcer," he put as much sincerity as he could without it sounding forced, then nodded in Eraserhead's direction, "That a Pro?”

The giant glared at him. He reflexively took a step back and ducked his head in submission. Subtle movement caused him to look up, and he frowned as Enforcer reached into a pocket. Then his eyes stretched wide with fear and he desperately lunged with an outstretched arm,

“No!”

Enforcer grinned. Then,

PAIN.

Burning, searing, unbearable pain. It lanced down his spine and seized his limbs. He dropped to his knees with a gurgled scream, barely feeling the impact on his joints in comparison to the agony ripping through his nervous system. His nails scraped the cement as he tried to curl in on himself, despite the convulsions racking his body. Distantly he was aware of sounds around him but he couldn't concentrate enough to make sense of them.

It hurts.

It hurts.

Endure.

You can endure.

It'll end eventually.

It's just pain.

It's not permanent.

He hadn't felt this degree of pain for nearly a year. Enforcer's beatings hurt but they left him with blunt, throbbing pain. This was sharp, electric torment on every part of his body instantaneously. He was sure that the implant had been activated to its highest setting.

How long will this go on? He was sweating and suffocating. In desperation, he ripped off the goggles that had fogged up from his sweat and fever and his clumsy fingers clawed at the elastic band of the mask around his head.

Stupid. He shouldn't have hesitated before. If he'd run when first summoned, Enforcer wouldn't have gotten suspicious and he could have taken control of him.

“-so!”

“Shinsō!”

He felt hands cover his own at the back of his head and he shoved the person away in a panic.

“Hey kid, easy. I'm trying to help.”

Eraserhead? He tried to speak but his lungs wouldn't pull in enough air and the muscles of his jaw and tongue were twitching too much to shape words. He garbled out the hero's name in a hopelessly butchered fashion. The hero obviously didn't understand any of it but he leaned in closer, fingers moving through his hair, then suddenly the hard press of plastic against his face was gone. Cool air brushed his cheeks, and his clenched screams of pain were now unmuffled. 

"Eraser, I found something!”

Wait whose voice is that? Hitoshi struggled to lift his head. It took several tries, but he finally managed to raise his eyes. Some feet in front of him was Enforcer, slumped over his knees, either dead of unconscious. A strange man was crouched beside him, wearing some kind of ninja costume and sporting grey hair that was folded into three points, like origami. He was looking at something in his hand, something small and rectangular. Hitoshi's vision tunneled.

That black piece of plastic held the promise of salvation. An end to the pain. Like a starving man crawling towards a feast, Hitoshi threw his body forward in pure desperation. An animalistic grunt escaped him but as it did, the pain suddenly, finally came to an end and the air trapped in his lungs rushed out with a cry of relief. His body dropped to the floor and his forehead would have cracked against the cement had it not been for Eraserhead's quick reflex. With a sweaty palm pillowing his head from the ground, Hitoshi closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to just breathe. His chest heaved with lungfuls of air and in the quiet of the warehouse it sounded too loud, but his body felt too weak to do much else. Slight tremors passed through the traumatized muscles, making him twitch periodically though in a much less severe manner than before. He didn't know how long Eraserhead waited to speak, but it wasn't long enough.

"Shinsō, can you hear me?" Hitoshi opened his mouth to respond, thought better of it, then simply moved his head with the subtlest nod.

"Eraser, how is he?" The stranger's voice was suddenly very close, causing Hitoshi to flinch.

"I don't think he's seriously injured... what was that thing you found?" As the stranger replied, the trembling boy managed to push himself up into a kneeling position,

"It appears to be a remote, perhaps he has some sort of device on him that allowed the Agency to keep him in line?"

“Like an electric collar,” Hitoshi looked up in time to catch Eraserhead's furious grimace. The hero's expression softened, “Hey, Shinsō, do you know what we're talking about, and where it is so we can get it off?"

Hitoshi blinked and looked back and forth between the two heroes. His gaze lingered on the origami-haired man. Eraserhead seemed to sense his unease,

"Shinsō, this is Edgeshot, the number 5 Pro Hero."

Number 5?

Hitoshi blinked, and his eyes went wide. Number 5! He'd seen the man before on TV, how had he not realized? This was Edgeshot, the Pro who could make his entire body as thin as a sheet of paper! He could pierce through enemies, maybe he could cut out the implants! Hitoshi frantically gestured to the back of his neck with one hand while the other continued to support his weight,

"There are two implants, one for discipline, one for tracking. The discipline one is in the back of my neck but I don't know where the other one is. You have to cut them out before they find me."

"Woah, easy, we can't just start cutting you open here. Don't worry, there's already a larger team of heroes at the Agency." Eraserhead had his hands raised in a placating gesture.

"The Agency?" Hitoshi murmured.

"A company of Pro Heroes and police forces have already gone to arrest everyone in that quack bank. You won’t have to worry about them anymore." Hitoshi saw confidence in the hero's eyes but he shook his head,

"I won't be safe until I get both implants out." 

“We can have someone take care of them while you’re at the hospital —”

“I don’t need the hospital.”

“We just need to make sure you’re not injured or have some chronic —”

“I’m fine. I don’t need it.”

“Look,” a hint of irritation crept into the hero’s tone, immediately putting Hitoshi on alert, “I know you were treated by someone with a healing Quirk seeing as your arm and leg seem fine now, but that’s not a substitute for a proper checkup.”

“I’m not going!” Hitoshi finally shouted and pulled away, somehow managing to stumble to his feet. He took a step back but his eyes landed on the remote still in Edgeshot's hand. Shit, why hadn't he gotten that before making the heroes angry?

He knew his fear of hospitals was unreasonable; after all, it was just a tactic Mesmer had employed using Nightmare’s help. Hospitals, police stations, hero agencies, all the places that a person in his situation might run to for help, were associated with his most traumatic memories. He was sure that they weren’t real but they’d been ingrained in him for years. He would not back down in this. Eraserhead stayed crouched in silence for a while, as if testing his resolve, then clicked his tongue in frustration,

“Fine, no hospitals. But I will have someone check you for injuries and the tracker in the police station.”

“... Fine.”

“Any other conditions?” Hitoshi felt a hint of indignation at the trace of something akin to amusement in his tone. It wasn't mockery, but he still didn't like it. Conditions... he needed dependable protection against Warp,

“I want a 24 hour Pro Hero guard... and I want it to be you.”

“Me?” Hitoshi felt an odd sense of accomplishment at managing to elicit surprise from Eraserhead, in the form of slightly widened eyes, “Why?”

“Mesmer’s second-in-command has a teleportation Quirk. You’re the only one I know of who would be able to counteract it.” He didn’t miss the way Eraserhead’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and how the corners of his mouth tightened with displeasure.

So they hadn’t known about Warp, then. It wasn’t a surprise as the man was extremely elusive and only accompanied Assets on very dangerous missions as an insurance policy, but he hoped they had some way of detaining the man or at least keeping him away from Mesmer.

“Alright, deal.”

Chapter Text

Eraserhead and Edgeshot had snuck onto the warehouse grounds an hour before Shinsō was set to arrive. They had scouted out the building for cameras, escape routes, and of course villains. It was thanks to the diligence of the police and a bit of luck that they even knew about today's exchange and were able to stage a simultaneous raid and rescue.

Tsukauchi might have a particularly plain appearance but he and his team of police possessed remarkable powers of investigation. Shouta and Hizashi had both been impressed by their dedication and rapid progress in the case and helped where they could, but it still took nearly a week of careful observation of the bank and inquiries in the underworld to obtain any useful information. Shouta still wasn't sure how the Agency kept their activities so covert, but he was glad that their clients had been less discreet. The three major gangs that ran the Saitama and Tokyo Underground were dead ends as every potential lead would either be working for them or too terrified to say anything — usually both. The key had been the satellite groups a few rungs down the ladder: groups that were less experienced and whose members would be more likely to buckle under pressure.

It was a rare stroke of luck that put a green member of the Ebonies, a small street gang that brokered information, into Tsukauchi's custody on an unrelated espionage charge. A brief interrogation and some legal bargaining was enough to reveal that the group he was part of were planning to kidnap Shinsō by hiring him for a fake interrogation then staging an attack. With only a day to prepare, they were lucky to get Gang Orca and Edgeshot to help, in addition to Kamui Woods, Mt. Lady, and Midnight — whom Hizashi had recruited. Shouta and Edgeshot would go to the meeting place and interrupt the setup, incapacitate the Ebonies, and retrieve Shinsō, while the police and other heroes raided the Agency. According to their informant and whispers in the Underground, multiple groups had begun planning attacks to steal Assets and two had already attempted to do so. It wasn't clear what was driving this behavior but it was rational to assume that Mesmer had some kind of safeguard in place now. Their safest bet would be to attack the villain's base at the same time that they interrupted Shinsō's mission.

The many semi-trailers lining the warehouse building had provided plenty of cover for the heroes. While in his folded form, Edgeshot placed a listening device by one of the loading bay doors to monitor the interrogation. His exceptional mobility also enabled them to locate both halves of the Ebonies: the "clients" and the "kidnappers". Once the two Agency members arrived, Edgeshot took out the small team of "kidnappers" before they even realized he was there. Things had been running smoothly, until a second group of villains appeared.

After knocking out the "kidnappers", Edgeshot rendezvoused with Shouta in the shadow of a semi-trailer as they both listened to the dialogue being directly projected into their earpieces. The nearby melody of ocean waves and highway traffic had almost masked the tread of stealthy footsteps, but both heroes had sharper senses than most. Immediately on alert, Edgeshot folded into a ribbon and Shouta slipped his goggles over his eyes. They could tell from the sound alone that it was a group of people, at least ten, approaching from the opposite side and end of the semi-trailer they were standing by. The bulk of metal was shielding them from view now, but they would lose the element of surprise in a few seconds. With just a silent node exchanged between them, they agreed for Edgeshot to take the lead. He shot around the edge of the container and Shouta followed less than a second behind. The group they encountered were dressed in civilian clothing without any distinguishing accessories that indicated an affiliation to any particular group. Had their been a second group of "kidnappers"? No, that didn't make sense. Shouta activated his Quirk and pinned the man standing farthest forward with a glare,

"State your name and purpose." The man blinked, looking bewildered. Then Edgeshot unfolded his head and the man immediately recognized the higher-ranked Pro Hero. With a frustrated swear, he hissed an order for his followers to attack. There were no war cries, and even while fighting the villains seemed to be making a conscious effort to keep quiet. These weren't Ebonies. This was a rival group planning on taking the Ebonies by surprise. They had to be here for Shinsō, either to take him for themselves or eliminate him. The question was, why were two groups targeting one of the Agency's Assets? This couldn't be a regular occurrence or the Agency would have been far less of a secret than it was. So why was this happening now?

Together, Shouta and Edgeshot were making quick work of the group. A lucky swipe by someone stole Shouta's goggles and earpiece but the culprit was swiftly dealt with. He didn't get a chance to recover the items when the villains abandoned stealth tactics. One of their number coughed up a slime-covered black ball and threw it at Edgeshot. The hero easily dodged by folding his body into a ribbon, and Shouta was glad the man's reflexes were so quick because when the ball hit the warehouse wall, it exploded with a considerable amount of damage.

They took out the grenade-vomiting man immediately but any chance of stealth was gone. It was a race between the three players now. Edgeshot realized this too and speared through the two villains that stood between Shouta and the warehouse,

“Eraser, get the boy!”

Shouta didn’t hesitate. He had full faith in his comrade’s abilities and bounded towards the warehouse. He leapt through the torn metal with both feet stretched forward and his arms spread wide, capture weapon at the ready. Adrenaline and concern set his body in overdrive and his eyes darted around the scene, processing the situation as he flew through the air. The world was moving in slow motion but his mind was running a mile a minute. Farthest away were five Ebonies battling a feral-looking man who matched the descriptions of Enforcer; he wasn’t as large as All Might, probably closer to Vlad’s size. He had a gun in hand but seemed to be having trouble getting a clear shot with his opponents spread out around him. Directly in front of Shouta, a few feet from where he would land, was another Ebonies member — armed with a Glock and heading for Shinsō.

Shouta’s eyes widened and his Quirk activated almost completely on reflex. Their goal was supposed to be kidnap, not kill! He threw his scarf forward and jerked it back as soon as it made contact. Panic put more strength into his pull than intended and he ended up colliding with the man. Hizashi probably would have yelled at him about how risky the move was against an armed opponent but the villain’s reaction time was slow enough that Shouta was able to knock him out before he fired a shot. The hero recalled his weapon while assessing the next challenge: the man holding Shinsō captive. Every inch of the boy was covered except for his hair and hands but there wasn’t any blood from what he could see, and for now Shouta had to take comfort in that. His newest opponent was of a similar height and build as himself but he couldn’t be sure if the man was hiding some kind of physical Quirk.

The villain moved first, reaching behind his back for something. A gun? Shouta immediately shifted his stance to lunge. Shinsō’s attack surprised him as much as the villain but he didn't let that trick him into complacency. He followed through with his initiated movement, intent on getting the villain away from Shinsō as fast as possible. He winced at the sound of plastic hitting cement — knowing exactly what it was — but didn’t falter in binding the villain’s ankle with his weapon and yanking the man towards him. A brutal kick to the head knocked the villain out cold. Panting, he finally let his eyes slide shut for a moment, just enough to ease the burning, before turning to the boy getting to his feet,

“Hey kid.”

“Eraserhead?” The hero smiled, relieved that boy didn’t seem to be favoring any part of his body and hadn’t damaged his jaw from the nasty fall he had taken.

“15!”

The furious roar made Shouta’s hackles rise with fury. He turned towards the voice, quick enough that the ends of his hair whipped his jaw. Enforcer was standing in a pool of carnage: there wasn’t an obscene amount of blood but the bodies around his feet were still with death and bent at unnatural angles. Blood was splattered on the Agency member's clothes but it wasn't his. A fire sparked and swelled in Shouta, different than the fury he had been prepared for. This was something more deeply rooted. It was protectiveness. And it was of a degree that he hadn't felt since the last time he ran a mission with Hizashi and the latter had been injured by a villain. He turned his body to fully face the beast of a man, completely focused on protecting Shinsō. He’d been ready to either attack or defend; he hadn’t thought to restrain Shinsō at all and as a result completely failed at preventing the boy from running straight to the villain.

He watched their conversation with narrowed eyes, knowing that the kid was in serious danger. He hadn’t seen Enforcer do anything strange when Shinsō suddenly shouted and lunged at the Agency lieutenant, but the boy’s voice was enough to get him moving. He jumped forward with Quirk already activated, and when Shinsō suddenly dropped with a muffled scream, ice stilled his heart. He didn’t know what was happening but he knew that Enforcer was the cause. The protective fire in his chest exploded, blazing through his veins and magnifying the power of every movement as he seized the man’s arms with his capture weapon.

He knew Enforcer’s Quirk, knew the man’s reputation as a fighter, and knew that he wouldn’t win a battle of strength. So he read the tensing muscles, watched the villain prepare to yank him off his feet, and jumped forward right before he felt the tug on his arms. Sailing high through the air, Shouta locked his knees around Enforcer’s head and twisted his body. The angle was slightly off, and the cement hurt, but he succeeded in the flying scissor leg takedown. Enforcer was thrown flat on his back and Shouta could hear the air being punched out of his lungs. The hero wasn't left unscathed either: his palms were scraped raw and his shoulder would have a nasty bruise by tomorrow morning.

It wasn't time to relax, though. Shouta rolled over onto his front and pushed to his feet. A bit shaky from the hard landing, he staggered over to the still down Enforcer, intent on getting him to stop whatever was happening to Shinsō. He'd beat him into compliance if need be. Kneeling over the man, he grabbed the lapels of jacket,

"Hey Asshole!" he shook the man hard, scowling when the eyes stayed closed and the sweaty head just fell limply against his chest. Hot breath ghosted over Shouta's hands, confirming that the man was alive, "don't play dead with me, you bast —" a harsh clack! and skittering behind him attracted his attention and he turned to see Shinsō clawing at his head. The goggles had been thrown aside, revealing panicked eyes as the boy struggled with the bands of his mask. His movements were jerky, like he was being periodically electrocuted.

"Eraser!"

Yes!

"Edge, check this guy's pockets!" Shouta didn't wait for a reply before sprinting to Shinsō, sliding on his knees to the boy's side,

"Shinsō!"

"Shinsō!" He didn't want to scare the kid but even yelling didn't seem to penetrate the haze of pain. Worried that the boy was suffocating, he moved a hand to the back of Shinsō's head, where the side and top bands of the mask were joined by a clasp, but was promptly shoved away by a surprisingly forceful palm on his sternum. His knees slid to keep his balance and he brought his arms back in the least threatening way he could,

"Hey kid, easy. I'm trying to help."

This time he waited for a sign that Shinsō recognized him. The slight falter in movement and garbled response — he didn't know had been said but it hadn't sounded like a refusal — were enough. His hands were gentle but quick and with a soft click the mask fell away. Shouta tossed it aside to join the discarded goggles, and as he did, Shinsō's pain was let loose. As the mask sailed through the air, Shouta heard strained choking noises. Then, as plastic hit concrete, a heart-wrenching scream forced its way through clenched teeth.

Shouta's heart seized and he'd been ready to stand; ready to run over and beat Enforcer back into consciousness if he needed to. Edgeshot's call stalled him,

"Eraser, I found something!” Shouta couldn't make out what the object in the hero's hand was but Shinsō obviously recognized it, and that knowledge hurt. Because the amount of desperation expressed by the boy indicated that he knew the object would stop the pain, which meant that he had experienced this torture before.

When Shinsō's arm gave out and he collapsed toward the ground, Shouta barely moved in time to prevent the kid's head from hitting concrete. The following silence rang loudly in his ears and Shouta was almost afraid to move, lest it invite something to upset the peace they had only just earned. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, and for his heart rate and emotional amplitude to settle. Then he reminded himself that there was someone else whom he needed to tend to,

"Shinsō, can you hear me?" the kid opened his mouth to respond, seemed to struggle with finding his voice, then nodded instead. Edgeshot approached with quiet steps, perceptive enough to know that his unfamiliar presence might startle the boy,

"Eraser, how is he?" A visual assessment noted a small cut on his chin but Shouta didn't see any other sign of damage,

"I don't think he's seriously injured... what was that thing you found?" he turned his head slightly to look and Edgeshot obligingly held out the small device for his view. Shouta understood almost immediately and while his comrade voiced the suspicions held by both heroes, Shouta's pool of emotions again began to bubble with fury.

What monster could do this to a child? His teeth clenched with enough force to strain his jaw and he was aware that his nails were digging into his palms but he couldn't find the care to stop. Until he noticed Shinsō looking at him. The kid looked hesitant; like he wasn't ready to trust that they were here to help. Forcing the tension away, Shouta let his expression soften into something more reassuring. The kid was initially wary of Edgeshot, which was surprising because how isolated did you have to be to not know the number 5 Pro Hero? A proper introduction seemed to ring a bell, which was good, until Shinsō started talking about having them cut his neck open. Then came the hospital dispute.

At first he attributed the refusal to obstinance and not wanting to seem weak. But the subsequent outburst clearly indicated a phobia of hospitals that took both heroes by surprise because surely Mesmer wouldn’t bring his Assets to a public place with so many variables. But why would anyone be afraid of hospitals if it wasn't some kind of traumatic personal experience? He didn’t like the idea of postponing a proper checkup but pushing the kid when he was clearly still shaky from the attempted kidnapping and implant-induced torture didn’t seem like a great idea. The only positive aspect of Shinsō's refusal was that despite the hardships he had faced, the kid still had some bite to him and Shouta couldn’t help but find it both admirable and amusing to witness such tenacity from someone who looked like a strong wind would knock him over.

“I want a 24 hour Pro Hero guard... and I want it to be you.”

Well, that was unexpected.

Wait, wouldn’t this be basically adopting him? It was probably something he should run by Hizashi first, but it also didn’t seem like something he could refuse. Not when considering Shinsō’s sound reasoning, the importance of the case, and the unusually strong want and need to protect this particular child. The third factor had been silently germinating in him since the start of the case and he'd only recently acknowledged it as more than a feeling of obligation. He knew Hizashi felt the same way and wouldn’t have the heart to refuse, so he accepted.

With the conditions settled, Shinsō looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Shouta set a mental reminder to give Recovery Girl a call and have her stop by the station or apartment later. It wasn’t a school day and she was usually available... wait apartment?

Was their apartment even Shinsō-friendly? He’d been planning on keeping an eye on the kid from the beginning but the hadn’t exactly prepared for full custody. Sure, he had six years of experience as a high school teacher but looking after a teenager who’d been kidnapped and used as a villain’s tool for nine years was a different ballgame. He’d need to keep both eyes on the kid to make sure he didn’t escape or stray down the wrong path. Whatever Shinsō wanted to do from now on was ultimately his choice, though it would be a shame for him not to be able to use his Quirk for something good for a change.

That would come later, though. The priority now was to get everyone back to the station. Edgeshot assured him that he'd managed to contact Tsukauchi to start the raid soon after the wall had been blown, and after securing Enforcer he'd contacted the team of police assigned to pick them up. That left Shouta to call Tsukauchi to check with the other team. Edgeshot was ranked higher as a hero but this was his case after all. The detective picked up his phone after a few rings and he could clearly hear the commotion of combat in the background.

“Ah, Eraser-kun.”

“Tsukauchi-san, we’ve finished up here, do you need backup?”

“No, we’re fine — ”

“STOP RESISTING!” Shouta jerked the phone away from his ear when Hizashi’s Quirk filtered through. The noise cut abruptly and he gingerly pulled it back closer,

“Are you sure?”

“Yep,” there was a grunt of exertion, then Tsukauchi sighed and his voice regained its usual composure, “sorry about that. We’re just about finishing up now and have the lieutenants and most of the Assets in custody.”

“What about the leader? Shinsō says his Second has a teleportation Quirk."

"Ah, that would explain it. Unfortunately, those two got away. We got everyone else who was in the building, but I'm not sure how many will be willing to cooperate with their leader still at large."

“Were those two the only ones who escaped?”

“We’re still tallying everyone up but assuming that you have Enforcer, it seems the only ones we’re missing are them and the one called Nightmare.”

“I see. We’ve got Enforcer here, in addition to seven Ebonies and twelve members of some rival gang. I think they were after Shinsō. ”

“Sounds like you had a nice surprise. How is Shinsō-kun?”

“He doesn’t seem to have any serious injuries but I’ll ask Recovery Girl to stop by the precinct just to be sure.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there. Thanks for the hard work.”

“Likewise.” Shouta repocketed his phone and relayed the information to Edgeshot, not missing the way that Shinsō flinched upon hearing that Mesmer, his Second, and the one called Nightmare were unaccounted for. He put on his most comforting smile, aware that his expressions typically lacked the right ‘reassuring’ quality but determined to try his hardest,

“Don’t worry kid, we won’t let them get ya.”

Shinsō straightened abruptly and predictably took on an expression of pure indignation. Shouta was hard-pressed to keep the amusement off his face but it wouldn't do to make the kid any more defensive. His ears perked up at the familiar wail of sirens not far off. He sighed with relief and administered a generous amount of eye drops to his stinging orbs. He really wanted to sleep but rest was a long ways off. There were still a lot of things they needed to do.

Chapter Text

"Alright Shinsō, any information you can give us on Mesmer and Warp will help us find them."

"I'm not giving you anything until the implants are out."

Shouta blinked, then exhaled with a quiet sigh. This kid definitely had tenacity, and while it was a bit frustrating when the situation was so time-sensitive, he didn't have the heart to really feel resentment. A part of him was relieved to see it. But without the kid willing to talk just yet, the interrogation room they had been ushered into was left with a somewhat awkward silence. He was afflicted by an itch to provide some sort of comfort or at least reassurance to the trembling kid. He wasn't shaking like a leaf but his facial expressions and body language were telling enough.

Evidently, the Agency hadn't bothered to train his poker face. The indigo irises were sheltered by droopy lids and eye bags worse than Shouta's own — did this kid even sleep — but the dead stare wasn't empty. Shinsō's steady gaze moved around his surroundings with slow, contemplative sweeps; he was observing and analyzing everything while trying to be discreet. To Shouta, his wariness and anxiety were clear as day in the downward tilt of his head and constant movement of his eyes. His mouth was pressed into a thin line with the corners turned down by a fraction. He didn't move much but he did fidget. And while Shouta would admit that the chairs weren't comfortable, the way Shinsō kept shifting his weight seemed to be more than a case of a sore rear. And his hands kept fidgeting under the table.

After so much excitement, the present quiet felt like the eye of a storm. After negotiating Shinsō's cooperation, Shouta had called Recovery Girl and Power Loader to meet them in the precinct. Turned out that the Youthful Heroine was unavailable but she promised she'd send a friend in her place. Then their police escorts arrived on scene and they had to round up all the villains. Edgeshot accompanied the group sent to the hospital while Shouta took Shinsō and the rest to Tsukauchi's precinct. When they arrived at the station, it was like walking into the aftermath of a tornado.

The past week of intense investigation had already left a mess of things with case files and documents piled high on everyone's desks, but the sudden influx of trained and dangerous Agency members had brought more chaos than anticipated. Even after divvying up the Assets among the local hospitals and several different precincts, just a few Assets in one place were proving to be more than a handful. When Shouta arrived with Shinsō in tow, they had only taken five steps into the building when he'd nearly been attacked by a giant death adder. Shouts from down the hall had given him enough warning to activate his Quirk, which resulted in a naked woman appearing on the floor of the station lobby. Asset 11: Adder. She'd snarled a bit and still tried attacking but his weapon had been enough to restrain her until an officer could shoot her with another tranquilizer.

After a bit more wrangling of unruly villains and coordinating with the harried officers, Shouta and Shinsō finally found their way into an unoccupied interrogation room. The sudden silence left a ring in their ears and while Shouta usually wouldn't be bothered by this, the kid was just so tense that it was putting him on edge as well. Zashi hadn't been much help either. The loud goof was guarding two Assets at a different precinct and had responded to Shouta's request for advice with a text that simply said 'channel me' followed by the emoji wearing sunglasses, a winky face, string of music notes and sparkles.

Like that's gonna happen. He mentally scoffed before pocketing his phone and looking over the kid again. The cut on his chin wasn't very deep and had stopped bleeding a while ago. There was dirt in his hair and on his clothes, and the streaks of grime on his face had almost disguised the scars on his cheeks. Almost. Shouta had noticed marks in the warehouse and at the time mistaken them for dirt that had caked in lines of sweat. Now, with the white light casting such stark shadows on the boy’s pale skin, Shouta knew immediately what they were. Three rows of symmetrical lines traced the contour of Shinsō’s face from near his hairline to the axis of his face. They were indented and darker than the surrounding skin with a red tint. The lines closest to his jaw were the most faded, almost unnoticeable but still visible.

He knew better than to stare, but not looking at them didn't put them out of his mind. How many other scars did Shinsō have? How much pain had he endured? He couldn't help but be angry when these thoughts were the only ones in his head.

"The tracker issue," Shouta tried again to break the silence, "requires an expert so I've asked another hero to come and take a look. He and the doctor should be here soon."

Shinsō nodded in acknowledgment of the information but said nothing.

Shouta waited.

And waited.

A minute ticked by in tense silence. If it was him and another adult, Shouta would have been perfectly content to let the situation stay as it was. But he had a soft spot for kids, loathe as he was to admit it. Adults were supposed to take care of their youngers and while he didn’t believe in coddling them, he knew when a comforting hand was called for,

“So, is there anything you want to do now that you’re out of the Agency?"

Shinsō blinked — ah, there was something he had in mind — and looked like he was pondering an answer, but after a few seconds he looked down at the metal table between them and shrugged. Shouta frowned,

“It doesn’t have to be anything big, I’m just trying to get to know you better since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. We can start small: what are some things you like? Books, music,” at this point Shouta realized that Shinsō might not have had much exposure to typical teen things and his brain raced to find a more likely option but in his haste just spat out one of his own, “cats?”

I should have said animals, cats is too specific! Shouta mentally kicked himself for projecting, which almost distracted him from Shinsō’s reaction. But he did notice the widened eyes and tensed shoulders. Huh, did the kid not like cats?

No... no — Shouta knew that look and couldn’t help but smirk,

“You do like cats, don’t you?” Shinsō looked a little weirded out by his expression but nodded. Shouta’s smirk widened into a grin. He had the perfect remedy to the situation. He whipped his phone out of his pocket, navigated to the gallery, and scrolled to Maron’s album. He allowed himself a moment to indulge himself, not bothering to hide his adoration before holding the phone out for Shinsō’s viewing,

“This is Maron.”

Shinsō stared for a second, and then pure joy slowly overtook the boy’s face: eyes growing wider and flat mouth splitting into a beaming grin until,

"Pffft!" Shinsō jerked forward with the snort that escaped him, "What — what kind of cat is that?" he asked, incredulous. Shouta felt accomplished and relieved; he sometimes forgot that not everyone saw the fluffy monster the way he and Zashi did. Maron was definitely a strange-looking cat that people either found horrifying or hilarious. She'd been living with them for a year now and still, neither one of them could resist chuckling — or in Hizashi's case, chortling — at the severe underbite and bulbous eyes,

"She's a chinchilla Persian. Mic and I got her from a shelter where she'd been left by a breeder."

Indigo eyes lowered to the image on the phone's screen. Sympathy, empathy, compassion... the kid was an open book. Was that why he'd been wearing the mask and goggles? Surely the Agency couldn't have their tools showing emotions so easily. Shouta laid his phone down on the table and waved towards it with an inviting gesture,

"Feel free to scroll through, I've got more pictures of her than anything else."

Shinsō used a single finger to swipe through the images. He looked younger, smiling softly like that, and Shouta would have been content to let him scroll in silence. Until something occurred to the boy and his smile slowly faded to a frown,

"Why didn't the breeder want her?"

"Probably didn't think they'd be able to sell her for a profit."

"But why not? A cat's a cat." Shinsō looked up and Shouta could only offer a shrug,

"Well, Maron doesn't follow the typical characteristics of a chinchilla Persian. When people buy pets from a breeder, they're usually looking for animals that fit the breed standard."

"So they didn't want her because she wasn't what they expected." it was a softly-spoken statement, like he was thinking out loud. And his next question was almost a whisper,

"Are people always so close-minded?"

Shouta leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes locking with Shinsō's. He really didn’t think that Shinsō would try to brainwash him and escape, but it was a risk that he didn’t need to take. Still... The kid had tensed up now, apparently having just realized that he'd asked a question. Seeing that anxiety returning, Shouta felt the need to show some gesture of trust. So he kept his Quirk in check and answered the question,

"Short-sighted, more like. Frankly, I think the breeder could have sold Maron for a perfectly sound price. There's plenty of people who like the unordinary."

Shinsō blinked at him,

"You didn't use your Quirk... you think the police out there can handle you if I brainwash you?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "They might not be Pro Heroes but they're dedicated and skilled in their work. In this case, though, I have more confidence in your intellect. You're careful. You didn't jump at the first opportunity Mic and I gave you at escape and you were cautious of Edgeshot and I in the warehouse. You know better than to act without considering the risks."

The young eyes moved down again, evidently unsure of how to respond to the praise,

"I think you're giving too much credit to a dull kid."

"I've been teaching high schoolers for five years; you're far from dull."

".... You're a teacher?" eyebrows rose with mild surprise while the eyes below looked Eraserhead up and down. Eraserhead nodded,

"That's how I know Power Loader, we both teach at UA."

Shinsō gaped at him for several seconds,
"What do you teach?"

"Homeroom for one of the Hero classes." he stated flatly. Again, Shinsō was left wide-eyed with disbelief. Heh, kid was starting to look like Maron. The slender chest rose in preparation for another question, but the moment was cut by the quiet but abrupt opening of the door. Shouta felt a pang of disappointment clench his heart as Shinsō practically caved in on himself. Where he had started to lean forward, he immediately fell back against the chair, hands falling back into his lap, shoulders rising with tension, and eyes narrowed at the intruder. The woman that entered was a slender, middle-aged individual with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Holding a large black briefcase in both hands, she dipped her head in greeting,

“Hello Eraserhead, Shinsō-kun.” She had a friendly smile but it wasn’t doing much to put Shinsō at ease.

“Dr. Mori,” Shouta returned her greeting, putting more familiarity in his tone than he normally would. Hopefully Shinsō was warming up to him enough to have some trust in his judge of character. He didn't know her personally but he recognized her as one of the medics who was called out to the field either during rescue operations or to perform examinations on suspects who were not injured enough to warrant the hospital. She approached the table slowly, trading places with Shouta as he moved to stand back in a corner of the room. He'd suspected that the kid didn't want him to leave, and judging by the intensity with which the indigo eyes tracked his movements, he'd been right. The doctor set her briefcase on the table and pulled out a pen and small notebook. Shinsō was immediately suspicious of the case, practically glaring at it as the doctor flipped to an empty page of her small notebook,

“Hello Shinsō-kun, I'm Dr. Mori. I'm here to that you're in good health; how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” The kid wasn’t exactly friendly but at least he was keeping a civil tone. He answered all the doctor's questions and complied with her requests, albeit with some hesitance. She cleaned and bandaged the cut on his chin, took his temperature, and even checked his teeth after questions about his cheek scars revealed that he'd worn a muzzle until three years ago,

"Were you injured and healed recently?"

A nod. Dr. Mori wasn't discouraged by his reticence and kept her kind smile, though it didn't appear to put Shinsō at ease,

"I have an X-ray Quirk so I can see that you've had many broken bones and fractures over the years. They don't seem to have healed abnormally, but I'd like to take a closer look at your more recent ones. Have you had any vaccinations in the last nine years?"

"Not since I was six."

"I expected as much. I did bring a couple with me," she patted her large briefcase, "but we can't be giving you twenty shots in one day so I highly suggest you visit the hospital as soon as you can to get the rest done. You're young but you're not infallible."

Shinsō handled the injections surprisingly well, given his suspected trauma of hospitals. He'd barely flinched, and even that had probably just been a pain reflex. The blood pressure cuff seemed to have been his greatest trial; as soon as the band started to inflate, his eyes bugged out and his breathing sped up to the point that Dr. Mori repeatedly tried to coax him to relax. She provided Shouta with a copy of her notes at the end and on the bright side, there weren't any serious health concerns that they needed to worry about. When she finally left, Shinsō still seemed wary of her though he was at least a little less tense than earlier. Interestingly enough, he hadn't reacted nearly as severely to Power Loader.

The doctor and Excavation Hero worked together to remove the implants: two deceptively tiny capsules that were less than half the size of a cold medicine pill. The tracker had turned out to be under the skin on the inside of Shinsō's left upper arm, which had been a little unexpected but they were all glad to just get the thing out. The devices were quickly ushered off to evidence, which had seemed almost anticlimactic. It had been nearly two hours since their arrival at the station, but Shinsō Hitoshi was finally untethered from the Agency.

He looked like he could use some time to let the knowledge sink in, and Shouta was tempted to give the kid a break, but the two lead villains were still missing, as well as one of the Assets. He was getting hungry, too, and almost groaned in relief when Detective Tsukauchi came through the door with two water bottles and brown lunch bags in one arm, and a notebook and pen in the opposite hand. His entrance had come less than a minute after Dr. Mori and Power Loader's simultaneous exit, probably a calculated move to avoid crowding Shinsō,

“Hello Shinsō-kun, Eraserhead.”

“Tsukauchi-san.” Shouta returned his salutation with a lazy nod despite the honorific. The detective had a friendly smile as he deposited his gifts on the table while slipping into the extra chair Power Loader had brought in. Hero and child each got a bag and bottle of his own,

“I probably should have asked what you wanted first but I only had a few seconds to add you to the intern’s list of orders.”

“It’s fine,” Shouta assured the bashful man while tearing into his bag. He spared a brief glance to Shinsō, who hadn’t moved, “You don’t have any allergies, right?”

“Uh, no.” Shinsō shook his head and tentatively reached for the bottle of water. He untwisted the cap but didn’t drink, instead staring longingly at the liquid like he was fighting some internal battle. Shouta narrowed his eyes, not liking the implications of the strange behavior. A sideways glance assured him that Tsukauchi was following the same train of thought.

Retracting his hand from the very tempting paper-wrapped sandwich, Shouta reached towards the center of the table, motioning for the bottle. It took a second for Shinsō to understand, but he eventually slid over the bottle with a carefully blank expression. Without a word, Shouta drank a long sip from the bottle, returned it, then opened Shinsō’s brown bag and stole a fry.

“Do you want me to test the sandwich too?” He was careful to keep any judgement out of his tone but Shinsō shook his head,

“No, I...” indigo eyes looked from Eraserhead to the sandwich and back, until he picked at the paper wrapping and peeled it away to reveal the glossy bread beneath, “I trust you.”

Huh, kid had taken him by surprise yet again. Here was a warm, fuzzy-kind of tingling in his chest that he didn’t really know what to make of. So he took a bite of his own sandwich and let the detective take the lead,

"Alright, Shinsō-kun, sorry I have to do this while you’re eating, but with Mesmer still missing, it’s imperative that we try every possible lead on his location.” Shinsō nodded his understanding as he chewed. The first bite had been more of a cautious nibble than anything but he’d either really like the food or committed to devouring it because nearly half of the sandwich disappeared in the second go. At least he remembered to swallow before replying,

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Does the Agency have any other locations? A safe house?” Shinsō blinked, and it occurred to Shouta that the question had been a test, which Tsukauchi had responded to without hesitation. The kid leaned back in his chair and seemed to lower his walls,

“I only know the bank. He didn’t trust me with details on the Agency’s operation.”

“I see... then in that case why don’t you start from the beginning, when you first met Mesmer.” Tsukauchi laid his pen down and clasped his hands on the table, full attention on their young victim, “Tell us your story, Shinsō.”

Chapter Text

"Mom —"

"No questions, Toshi."

The purple-haired child pouted from his booster seat in the rear of the car. He didn't like all the changes that had happened lately. First Dad went went missing, then the strange man and his friends started showing up, and after that Mom started acting weird — scared. She and Dad had always let him ask questions before. Dad was helping him train his Quirk! He was going to teach Toshi all about his job when he got older.

But he wasn't here now. And Mom wouldn't say where he went, or who those strange men were.

He didn't understand.

"Don't worry ma'am, we'll take good care of him."

"What did you say his Quirk was?"

He didn't understand.

"Don't talk to him."

"Don't play with him."

"He's dangerous."

Why did these people keep saying that?

Why did they treat him differently than the other kids?

Where were mom and dad?

Did they really... not want him?

.
.
.

"Hello, there."

Hitoshi, six years old now, looked up from the ground between his feet. A man stood in front of the crouched child, looking too clean to be in a grimy alley in this neighborhood. He was a stranger, but he was also the first person who'd spoken to Hitoshi in months. And he was smiling at him. At least, he had been until Hitoshi looked up. Now he was frowning,

"What's this on your face?" slender fingers reached towards him and nearly went cross-eyed following their movement. He barely felt the pressure of the fingers tracing the the plastic cage around his jaw.

"Did those people at the orphanage do this to you?"

Why did he look sad? Hitoshi nodded. The man sighed and reached around his head. There was a click! then the cage fell away from his face. Hitsoshi hesitantly brushed his fingers against where the plastic had begun to chafe against his cheeks.

"Feels better, right? What are you doing back here all alone, though?"

Hitoshi pointed behind himself, where a decrepit sign spelled the name of the orphanage whose back door was just next to it. The man sighed in understanding,

"They're okay with you hanging around back here?"

Hitoshi nodded.

"Is there a reason you aren't speaking? Are you unable to?"

Hitoshi hesitated. It wasn't that he was unable to, but the adults said he wasn't allowed to. And his mom had told him to listen to them... even if she still hadn't come back for him.

"Someone told you not to talk, didn't they?"

Hitoshi's eyes widened with surprise. How did he know?

"Don't worry kid, I won't get mad at you. Come on, what's your name?"

Hitoshi hesitated for a long few seconds, before hesitantly mumbling out the syllables. His voice was scratchy and he didn't even recognize the sounds as the name he'd once been used to hearing. The man didn't get angry, he just leaned in a little closer with the same patient smile,

"Don't worry, it can be hard to talk when you haven't done so in a while. Why don't you try again?"

Hitoshi stared at the man. Had the man been told not to speak before? Was he like Hitoshi, maybe?

"Hi... Hitoshi."

The man grinned and Hitoshi felt a warm and fuzzy feeling bloom in his chest.

"Nice to meet you Hitoshi, you can call me Mesmer."

"Mesmer." Hitoshi repeated the name. Mesmer nodded encouragingly.

"That's right. And I'm here to take you home." Hitoshi blinked.

"Home? With mom and dad?" he asked desperately. But Mesmer didn't respond. He was frozen with a blank look on his face. Hitoshi cried out in panic and released his Quirk,

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" tears welled up and spilled over his lashes, "I'm sorry!" he hit the wall falling backwards, afraid of what fury would transform the nice man into. But Mesmer wasn't mad. He blinked in surprise, then smiled,

"Hey, hey. Relax. It's okay." his hands moved up and down in a calming gesture, "Hitoshi, look at me."

Hitoshi did, and in the mesmerizing hold of two ebony-rimmed irises, the anxiety melted away.

“Your dad sent me.”

Dad did?

“He wanted me to train you.”

“Is —” Hitoshi cut himself off and looked at the ground. He puzzled over how to ask what he wanted without asking a question. After some hard thinking, he tried, “Dad and Mom will be there.”

“No, Hitoshi, they won’t be there,” Mesmer looked genuine, “and I can’t say where they are right now. But I’m going to teach you about your dad’s job and if you’re good, then you might see both of them again.”

"You're not lying." another question hidden in a statement.

"I don't lie. You trust me don't you?" Hitoshi didn't respond, unsure of how to make such a big decision all of a sudden.

"Hitoshi, do you trust me?"

The boy looked up, and again felt that warm feeling as he gazed into the strange eyes.

"I'll take care of you and teach you how to use your Quirk. Will you trust me to do this?"

There was movement in his peripheral vision but Mesmer had to break eye contact first before Hitoshi could look down at the hand held out in offering. He didn't know if he could trust this man. But he knew about his parents and his Quirk, and he'd been so much nicer than the people in the orphanage. Surely it couldn't be worse than what he had now?

Hitoshi reached forward at a hesitant speed, until his thin fingers touched the smooth cuff of Mesmer's sterling sleeve. The digits slowly curled around the woven thread, until Hitoshi was gripping Mesmer's sleeve with a strength powered by a feeling he couldn't quite identify. It might have been desperation, or fear. A few minutes of interaction was enough to stir the longing he'd been fighting so hard to suppress, and after experiencing the comfort of kindness after so long, Hitoshi didn't want to let go.

Mesmer brought the hope of a better life. Someone who would care for him.

Someone who would train his Quirk.

And maybe, he'd see Dad again.

§

"Did you ever hear from your father again?"

Hitoshi, now fifteen years old, looked up from where his gaze had wandered to the table during his reminiscing. Eraserhead was wearing the same tired expression, though the warm meal might have softened the lines around his eyes a mouth with a hint of contentedness. The wrappers from his meal were now crumpled together in a corner of the table. He leaned against the back of his chair with arms crossed over his chest, effecting a laid-back posture that didn't match the sharpness of his gaze at all. The detective seemed like an easier read: his posture, his speech, his expressions — everything about him was professional and standard. But he was too plain. There had to be something more behind the detective mold.

"No."

"Do you know if Mesmer kept contact with him?"

"I asked him about my parents for years but he would always deflect and eventually I realized that it had been a lie all along."

"I see," Detective Tsukauchi scribbled something in his notebook, then pulled out a folded sheet of paper that had been tucked into its pages, "We've gathered the Quirks of each Asset, so any more details on their powers and limitations, and overall information on the Agency would be extremely useful."

Hitoshi glanced over the typed sheet with a frown. Excluding Warp, they had every member and his/her respective Quirk,

"How did you get this?"

"A stroke of luck, mainly. We caught a small-time Ebonies member for a separate investigation but turned out that he knew about the Agency too. It's how we knew about the setup at the warehouse."

Hitoshi's frown deepened and he looked for some sort of deception in the Detective's flat eyes,

"You got all this from an Ebonies pawn?"

"That's correct." the man nodded, answering without hesitation. The boy leaned back slightly, looking over the paper,

"A pawn shouldn't have access to this information. The Agency has very specific contracts with its clients: only the leaders should know the effect of the Quirk of the Asset they are hiring. They make a request to Mesmer with details on what they need, and Mesmer sends them an Asset to fulfill the task. The Ebonies usually request mercenary Assets, they shouldn't know about spies like Ghost and Widow..."

The detective pursed his lips, understanding the apparent gap in information,

"We'll look into it. For now, would you be willing to tell us what you know?" Hitoshi, still puzzling over how a low-ranking gang member had enough information for this list, took a second to shake himself from his thoughts,

"Yeah," he took up the paper in both hands, "The first thing is that you're missing Warp. He and Mesmer are really close so they're about the same in terms of power. They have a weird thing going on where Mesmer's really protective of him so he hasn't been seen by clients until recently, when he started accompanying Assets as an insurance policy after Tox and Cain were killed — you can cross off 12 and 14 from your list. Enforcer is the first lieutenant and technically first Asset; he chaperones other Assets and acts as Mesmer's representative but he does missions of his own too. He can paralyze up to 10 people but they have to be in his field of vision and the concentration makes him slower."

"Why didn't he use Paralysis on me?" Eraserhead had a slight furrow between his eyebrows, probably replaying his encounter with the lieutenant. Hitoshi shrugged,

"He likes to fight. Probably didn't think he needed it." the hero hummed in response, still thinking about something. Detective Tsukauchi motioned for him to continue.

"Nightmare is probably on par with Enforcer in terms of the hierarchy. Her Quirk requires physical contact the entire time and can't physically harm you," his fingers crumpled the edges of the paper, "but don't underestimate her as a fighter. She and Enforcer are in charge of keeping the Assets in line, with the addition of Boa. Now she, I'm not sure if she's technically a lieutenant or not — probably somewhere in between. Don't underestimate the speed of her transformations like you did with Adder."

"Ah," Detective Tsukauchi looked abashed by the slip-up of his subordinates, "yes, sorry you had to witness that. It won't happen again."

"Make sure that it doesn't. She has all the traits of a death adder when she shifts so a single bite is enough to kill."

"Duly noted. Do you think Mesmer and the others would try to free any Assets in particular?"

"I'm not sure. The Agency was a business, not a family. Warp can only teleport to places he's been before and he can only transport a maximum of two people at a time. More than likely, they'll move out of the area and start a new venture or simply made do with what they've earned so far."

Detective Tsukauchi scribbled down everything with impressive haste. He had the concentrated expression of someone who was mentally piecing together the variables of a very complex puzzle. By the end of Hitoshi's rundown he felt as exhausted as he had been before the food. The detective continued to scribble some things in his notes even after Hitoshi had stopped talking. Eraserhead seemed accustomed to this,

"So," his mouth curved in a slanted crescent that was a hybrid between a smile and a smirk, "you still holding me to 24-hour guard duty?"

Hitoshi stiffened, and his cheeks began to warm. It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now that the police had basically the entire Agency in custody, and he'd had some time to think, he realized that the condition might have been a little overboard — pretentious at the least. He hadn’t exactly thought over how it would work out, either. Not that he had much of a social sense, but even he knew that it’d be weird suddenly moving into a stranger’s place. Did Eraserhead have a family? He looked old enough to have kids... or maybe it was just the scruff? In Hitoshi's defense, it wasn’t completely implausible that Mesmer would come after some of his Assets to restart the Agency; and there was always the possibility that someone might recognize and try to either kidnap or kill him.

"We made a deal." Hitoshi reminded the hero, trying to sound confident and cool. Eraserhead nodded in a serious manner,

"Of course. Fair warning: I've got a clingy cat and husband so you'll need to stay with us if you want me to guard you. There's a free room you can stay in and 'Zashi and I make enough to pay for everything you need. I can't abandon my classes, so until we make arrangements I think it's best if you just sit in for now," Hitoshi's eyes widened to the size of saucers — he couldn't possible be suggesting — "I'll need the principal's approval first, but I've got a vacancy in my class anyways so it should be fine. And even if I'm distracted with my job, UA should be plenty secure enough for you."

"You're serious." Hitoshi murmured and Eraserhead huffed before slowly standing with his phone in hand,

"I'm serious, but I need to make a couple of calls first so just wait here for a bit, alright?" he turned to his left, "Tsukauchi-san?"

The detective nodded and waved for him to go ahead, eyes still focused on his notes. Hitoshi watched the hero slip out the door, focused too much on hoping for the principal's approval to worry about the detective he was now left with.

Going to UA?

It didn't matter that he wouldn't be an official student. Just getting past the gates would be the greatest experience of his life.

Please, please, please please...

§

Boop.

Boop.

Boo — "HEEEEEELLO!"

Shouta's eye twitched as he moved the phone away from his ear until the exclamation cut off,

"'Zashi, are you almost done over there?"

"Yeah, I'm actually in the lot about to head home. How's the kid?"

"Doing well; he's still on edge but calmer than when we first entered the station. We're just about finishing up now but I was hoping you could get back and start clearing up the apartment before we get there."

"Hah, you want me to Shinsō-proof the apartment?" Hizashi chuckled.

"He's not a puppy, 'Zashi."

"You said the same thing about Maron and guess who ended up putting caltrops in the bed?"

Shouta snorted at the memory.

"Oi, no laughing. I got scars from that you know!"

"You have more scars from where she's scratched you." he pointed out and Hizashi clicked his tongue,

"Hah, she's lucky she's cute. But if this one puts any of your weird ninja weapons in the bed, I'm making a 'no more bringing strays home' rule."

"I doubt he's going to booby trap the apartment —"

"No, because I'm hiding all your weird stuff."

"I don't have weird stuff."

"Yeah, whatever you say. Hey, aren't you supposed to be watching the kid?"

"He's with the detective right now."

"Shou, I know you got a soft spot for kids but don't forget where he's coming from."

"I know, 'Zashi, I know."

"Just a reminder, don't get your panties in a twist. Oh and better call Nezu now, heavens know that mouse will keep you on the phone forever."

"How — never mind."

"I know you're not going to abandon your classes and you're not going to leave the kid on his own. So, only solution is to bring the kid to UA."

"Alright, know-it-all. See you later."

"Hey Shou." Oh, he didn't like that tone. Mischievous Hizashi usually meant trouble for him.

"What?"

"It was sweet of you to call me first." Shouta rolled his eyes, just knowing the overzealous blonde was wearing one of his smuggest grins,

"Bye 'Zashi." he hung up without waiting for a reply. Glad that he was alone in the hallway, Shouta turned his back to the main path and let his forehead fall against the wall. Curse Hizashi's ability to activate his blush factor.

"Ah, Eraserhead," he looked up to see Sansa coming down the hall. The officer tilted his cat head, "you're flushed, are you alright?"

Damn Hizashi.

Chapter Text

It took another hour to get all the paperwork out of the way but by the time they left the precinct, Aizawa Shōta had been officially named temporary guardian of Hitoshi. Officer Sansa gave them a ride home and the ex-Asset spent the entire trip staring at the man's head from the backseat. Did he have other feline traits? His ears swiveled and periodically flicked like a cat's would. It was endearing, until Hitoshi was reminded of the one friend he'd left behind. Maybe after things had calmed down he might be able to convince Eraser and Mic to let him go back to check on Black? He didn't know if the cat hung around the Agency during the day but if she did, the commotion of the battle might have scared her off. Hopefully she hadn't been injured.

"Shinsō?" Chin propped in one hand against the window, Hitoshi looked up at Eraser's voice,

"Do you have any preference for food?" Hitoshi blinked, then shook his head. Eraser turned back around and seemed to be typing on his phone. A few seconds later, he sighed and asked without turning around,

"You sure?" He didn't sound like he cared, so why did he keep asking?

"Warp only knew how to boil meat and vegetables for our rations. Other than that it was energy bars and ramen."

"... I see." He couldn't tell what Eraser was thinking but dismissed it in favor of staring out the window. There was a healthy flow of people despite the setting sun; most were adults but there were also teenagers traveling in either pairs or packs. His gaze drifted lazily over the crowd, making casual observations but not lingering for more than a few seconds until he spotted a certain trio who looked about his own age: a laughing girl with brown hair, a short green-haired kid, and a much bulkier guy with glasses. They looked so care-free.

What's it like, having friends?  Everyone else in the Agency had been significantly older than him and none of them were friendly. At least, not anymore. Many of his youngest memories had grown hazy over time but there were certain ones that complicated his feelings towards Mesmer's group. He knew they were real; that he'd actually been — No. Hitoshi interrupted his own train of thought. He didn't need to think about that right now.

They passed the mall and seemed to be straying into a more residential area. Hitoshi perked up as the car slowed to halt, at the base of a tall white building. It wasn't particularly flashy but it was definitely a higher-end residence. Officer Sansa left them with a pleasant farewell, which Eraser returned with some drawled variation while Hitoshi just nodded in acknowledgement. He fell behind the hero by a full pace, feeling more comfortable with the distance. They walked straight in through the sliding doors but a large intercom box on the right suggested that the entrance locked at some point. There was a front desk manned by a single middle-aged guard in uniform, who tipped his head in greeting,

"Ah, welcome back Eraserhead." the hero nodded back but didn't pause on his way to the elevators. Hitoshi ignored the polite smile aimed at him but made an effort to remember the man's face, just in case. Twenty stories up, Eraserhead opened the door to his apartment and was promptly assaulted by the smell of food. He could smell fried things and seasoning and Hitoshi's mouth watered.

"'Zashi?" Eraser raised his voice over the sound of the range hood. Hitoshi followed his cue to toe off his shoes at the door.

"Welcome back!" a cheery voice called from the kitchen. It was slightly higher in pitch than Eraser's and had a unique vibrating quality. Through the narrow doorframe, he could see the back of a tall man with long blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. He looked very civilian in a loose sweater, lounge pants, and when he partially turned to greet them, large half frame glasses. Eraserhead led the way across the threshold and having marked the other occupant as a non-threat, Hitoshi's gaze moved on to observe the rest of the kitchen. He blinked.

Food. There was so much food. The plates weren't piled outrageously high but there were just so many and all with different kinds of food from fried chicken to noodle salads.

"'Zashi, why is there so much?" Eraser looked around at the filled counters before coming up to stand beside 'Zashi'. When they were side-by-side, the height difference wasn't nearly as significant as the blonde's leaner frame made it seem. The man being questioned shrugged,

"Well you said he didn't have any preference and we did just stock up on ingredients so I might have gotten a little carried away. Hey there, little Listener!" The shift in tone pulled Hitoshi's gaze back from the delicious-looking food. It was brief, but there was definitely a moment where the happy glint in the man's eyes dimmed a bit and his smile twitched. It was gone in the blink of an eye, though, and Hitoshi was left feeling confused and a bit unsettled. Wait, Listener?

"Present Mic?"

"Hey, you remembered!" the hero grinned and turned to more fully face him, "You can call me Yamada or Mic, though." The new angle showed more of the other side of his face, including a long scratch along his right cheekbone; it would have drawn blood when first inflicted but evidently had been cleaned since. Eraser frowned and traced underneath the wound with a finger, careful not to actually touch it,

"You said you weren't injured." Mic rolled his eyes,

"It's just a scratch, Shō, and I know you didn't get out of your fight squeaky clean." Eraser scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest but Mic caught one wrist and turned it over so that the bruised knuckles were facing up. He didn't say anything, just raised a pointed eyebrow. Point made, Mic released his husband's hand with a smirk,

"Go on and show him the guest bath, I've laid out everything he needs, including a change of clothes."

"What clothes?"

"The ones you shrank in the dryer last week. They'll still be baggy but it's the best we have right now." Eraser agreed with a nod, then seemed to regard his husband with awe,

"How did you have time to prepare and cook this much?" Mic feigned a haughty smile,

"Shō, you underestimate me."

Eraser rolled his eyes and exited the kitchen without deigning to reply. Before following the hero into the hall, Hitoshi spared a quick glance around the living area. A leather sofa stretched across one wall, opposite a large flat screen TV. Towers of DVDs and music records were on display inside of glass cases but everything was kept in clean order. It was... nice.

Going down the hall, Hitoshi lagged behind to appreciate the framed photographs. He felt like an intruder, looking at the private lives of heroes, but he couldn't resist. The Ivories had broken him into residences for burglaries before but there hadn’t been any opportunity to actually see the personal aspects of the residence. Here, Eraserhead and Present Mic's private lives were literally on display. One wall held up various snapshots of Eraser and Mic together or with friends, from high school to the present. The opposite wall held a dozen more stories in each frame, the aspiring heroes of UA. Hitoshi slowly halted and stared at the second to last frame, where Eraserhead was surrounded by a crowd of jubilant students proudly displaying some type of identification card. Closest to him was a very buff blonde with circular eyes, a timid-looking guy who looked like he was trying to hide behind the blonde, and a beaming girl with lavender hair. The teacher, still dressed in his hero uniform, had his hands in his pockets but was standing straight for once and smiling. Not a smirk but a genuine, proud smile.

“That’s my class from two years ago.” Eraser moved next to him.

“They graduated?”

“Not quite, this was just after their first year. They’ve got one more to finish before they'll be Pros. Come on, let's get you more comfortable first.”

Even the bathroom felt homelier than what he'd used at the Agency. There was room to move around, the colors were easy on the eyes, there wasn't any mold, broken tiles, or suspicious stains. A short stack of clothing and a large and small towel were folded on the counter. A thin sweater sat on top of a soft pair of sleeping pants, which Eraser pulled out and held next to Hitoshi's hip. At least five inches of excess fabric lay on the floor by his feet. The hero pursed his lips, then started searching through the drawers; his frown deepened with confusion when he failed to find whatever he was searching for. After he'd gone through each one he gave up with a sigh,

"Why don't you clean up first while I find something to cut the pants?"

§

Shōta spent a good two minutes going through all the drawers in the living room until finally giving up and leaning around the doorway to the kitchen,

"'Zashi, where did you hide the scissors?"

"Hmm? Oh they're in our room."

As soon as he opened the door, Shōta was assaulted by a fluffy rocket of tawny fur. The hero caught his loudly complaining cat with a grunt and momentarily struggled to get the animal aligned comfortably in his arms. Bulging eyes stared at him and he snorted,

“‘Zashi locked you out of the kitchen again, huh?” Maron rubbed her head into his hand with a deep purr. His eyes eventually moved to the surrounding space, wondering where the scissors were, but stopped upon seeing the state of the room,

“‘Zashi?”

“What?”

“Why is everything in our room?”

Open boxes and various containers were strewn around the floor and bed, filled with various objects that had even the slightest bit of edge, from knives to a pack of shaving razors. Several pieces of Tupperware had been repurposed to hold his 'ninja tools' as 'Zashi liked to call them.

"I didn't have a lot of time, okay? Food takes priority!" Hizashi's head appeared around the door.

"No wonder you were able to do everything so fast." Shōta mused. The apartment had seemed a bit emptier but he was surprised by how many items Hizashi had confiscated. Most of them did seem like reasonable precautions, though. A box of documents on the nightstand caught his attention; leaning over to look inside, he saw that it was mostly full of student papers and forms, with the exception of a familiar manila folder at the end. Hitoshi's case file.

"I forgot I had that in the office."

"Yeah, I left your computer there since it's password-protected but all of your documents should be in that box. Even the ones you dropped behind the desk and never bothered to clean up."

"Thorough." Shōta smirked. Hizashi shrugged but subtly preened,

"Can't be too careful." Shōta's ringtone postponed further conversation. It was Tsukauchi.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Eraser-kun. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No, Mic and I are just waiting for Shinsō to finish showering."

"Glad to hear he's settling in. I just finished checking in with everyone. There's a lot ahead of us but things seem to be going smoothly for now."

"That's... good." surely the man hadn't called to deliver such a sparse update?

"The other Assets aren't cooperating at all, but there is something that I've found quite interesting and seeing as you are the boy's temporary guardian, it seemed sensible to share this with you and Mic. The thing is, I’m starting to suspect that there is a unique circumstance to Shinsō’s involvement with the Agency. He's significantly younger than the other Assets, doesn't appear to have been there voluntarily," Shōta's thoughts were beginning to drift, having already known those two pieces of information, until Tsukauchi's next words brought him back to attention, "and he is the only one with a tracker and disciplinary implant."

"What?"

"None of the other Assets have either implant. Our specialists checked three times but only found wearable trackers. Shinsō certainly believed he was telling the truth at the precinct so somehow Mesmer and the others were able to convince him. I'm not sure how, but they did.”

“So Mesmer knew that Shinsō was a risk. The question is why he went through the trouble.”

“Yes, he might have just figured that a brainwashing Quirk was worth it but that doesn’t seem to follow how careful he is."

"And we're sure this doesn't have anything to do with his father?"

"There's been no word of him since his disappearance; someone tipped off the police about his criminal activities and there was a manhunt but the trail went cold fast. He's likely either dead or abroad but we’ll keep working the leads we have.” Shōta would wager the man was still alive but did he have anything to do with this? His wife had remarried soon after his disappearance to some wealthy businessman. Apparently she’d been ignorant of her husband’s illegal activities but that was difficult to believe.

“Eraser?”

“Sorry, spaced out. Thanks for the update.”

“Thanks for your hard work, give Mic my regards.”

“Will do.” He hung up and relayed the information to Mic, who agreed that Mesmer must have had some other incentive to take Shinsō in. They lapsed into silence, each pondering their own theories until Maron suddenly meowed and jumped out of Shōta's arms. Landing silently on the carpet, she padded out of the room with her plume tail waving in an aloof manner. Huh, she didn't often stray from his side when he was home.

"Shinsō must be out." Hizashi's voice was deceptively casual as he glided over and, with a sly grin, stole a kiss. Shōta's grunt of surprise was cut short and his widened eyes quickly fell with exasperation. He was happy to oblige but pushed off the Voice Hero when he felt a mischievous tongue swipe across his lips, requesting entry.

"’Zashi! We have a kid in the house now." A sloppy kiss wasn't much but he knew from experience that it was far too easy for them to get carried away. Hizashi heaved a dramatic sigh and dropped his forehead onto Shōta's shoulder,

"Neh, I forgot how inconvenient kids are.” Shōta rolled his eyes,

“Keep it in your pants. Come on, your food’s getting cold.”

Dinner passed without much incident. Shinsō was quiet but responded to their prompts for conversation enough that it wasn't awkward. He asked his own questions, too, which both heroes responded to without any hesitation. Predictably, they mostly revolved around hero topics and UA especially. With no extra bed, Shinsō would have to camp on the couch for the night but he seemed genuinely glad for even that mild luxury. They decided to spend the next day shopping. Shōta had first argued that online shopping would be more efficient and less dangerous, with Mesmer and Warp still unaccounted for, but Hizashi reasoned that the villains should be laying low.

"And besides, Shinsō you haven't gone shopping in years, have you?” Shinsō hesitantly shook his head, apparently reluctant to disagree with the Erasure Hero. Hizashi dramatically gestured to their charge,

"See! Kid's just gotten his freedom and you wanna keep him cooped up in our apartment?"

"Alright, we’ll go.” Shinsō did look like he wanted to go and a casual a outing should help him relax. He wasn't as wary and read-to-bolt as he'd been when first entering the apartment, but the tension in his shoulders and shifty gaze were not unnoticed by either hero.

First on the agenda was clothes and other necessities. They gave Shinsō some space so he wouldn’t feel pressured but occasionally provided recommendations on what items he might need. Shōta’s upbringing had led him to be more frugal than most and Hizashi, though prone to indulgence, was not an extravagant spender either. But just for today, they didn't see an issue with letting Shinsō indulge without worry. Between their multiple jobs, money wasn’t an issue and they told him as much. Shinsō hadn't questioned them but notably gravitated towards sale racks when they were applicable. In general, he stuck to dark colors, plain patterns, and practicality. He struggled the most with picking out things to personalize his room with but eventually settled on a black cat plush toy and a UA hero poster (which featured both Eraserhead and Present Mic). A phone seemed necessary and Shinsō quietly explored his new smartphone during the drive to the furniture store, pocketing it when they arrived.

Hizashi was very enthusiastic in encouraging Shinsō to try out the beds, sofas, and various items on display. Shōta trailed after them with a fond smile, completely uncaring of curious onlookers who turned to look at the loud hipster-looking blonde acting more like a child than the quiet, wide-eyed teenager who followed all cues to ‘sit on this’, ‘feel this’, ‘look at this’ but didn’t really seem to understand what the point was. They spent more than an hour longer than was needed but Shōta couldn’t even be annoyed. Not when Shinsō was showing interest and seemed to be having fun. On the walk back to the car, Hizashi was still talking animatedly about something while Shinsō listened with keen interest. Shōta was momentarily distracted by a message from Tsukauchi. Frowning at the notification, he slowed down to open the message but ended up bumping into someone. Muttering an apology on reflex, he only looked up when the person failed to respond or even move.

The man was slightly taller than himself and slightly broader, with short dark brown hair poking out from under a baseball cap. He didn’t look familiar but the sunglasses and cap didn’t allow much opportunity for recognition. The stranger eventually noticed eyes on him and finally turned, and at that moment Shōta realized that the man had been watching Hizashi and Shinsō. Immediately, his body tensed and his eyes scrutinized him more thoroughly. This man didn't fit any of the Agency's descriptions but there was something in the line of his jaw and flat mouth that nagged at Shōta's conscious.

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly. The man might not have done anything yet but experience had taught Shōta to trust his instincts. The stranger stepped back in surprise,

"Uh, no sorry. Just spaced out. Have a nice day." He quickly retreated into the crowd, leaving a perplexed hero in his wake.

"Oi, Shō!" Hizashi's voice carried easily from the lot and Shōta waved back in response. It wasn't until they were all in the car on their way home that he remembered getting a notification from Tsukauchi and quickly pulled up the new message. It was short, less than ten words, but immediately filled him with dread as puzzle pieces rapidly clicked into place.

Shit.

Chapter Text

"You're sure it was him?"

"Positive.”

“Well shit, guess we can count ourselves lucky that he was too shocked at seeing Hitoshi to do anything to you.”

Shōta nodded in agreement; the shower had given him time to think and had relaxed some of his tension but he was still feeling unsettled by the latest development in Hitoshi's case. Lying in bed on top of the covers with one hand propping up his head and the other gently carding through Maron's fur, Shōta mulled over the situation as he waited for Hizashi to join him. They’d managed to finish the day’s errands without Shinsō getting suspicious but now that the kid had gone to bed, it was time for the heroes to address their new problem: Shinsō’s father.

The villain was back in Japan and not only was he in the country, he was in Musutafu. Shinsō Souma had been at the same mall, less than 20 feet away from Hitoshi who had just been rescued from a villain organization that had exploited and abused him for nine years. The worst part was that Shōta had been completely useless. He had been wary of the strange man but he hadn't been nearly careful enough. One touch and he would have been at the villain's mercy. Souma had dyed his hair and covered up most of his identifiable features, but his jawline and facial structure should have been enough of a tell. Shinsō was the spitting image of his father and Shōta had seen enough pictures, he should have—

“Shō.” The Eraser Hero’s head jerked up with a blink. Hizashi, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, wore a mild smile. Shōta mirrored it and felt his shoulders relax a few millimeters; he hadn't realized the tension returning. Zashi padded over and slipped into bed, then leaned in over the covers to gently thump their foreheads together,
“You’re worrying about unnecessary things again.”

Shōta huffed, his breath stirring a few loose strands of Hizashi's blonde hair. He smelled warm and Shōta just wanted to snuggle up to his husband and fall asleep already. He knew that they needed to talk about Souma but he was tired and it was so much easier to let Hizashi do the thinking. In an attempt to keep his husband talking, Shōta slowly let his head fall against the pillow with a noncommittal hum filling the expectant silence. Slender fingers combed through his hair and his eyes began to droop,

“Souma’s in Musutafu and Tsukauchi’s team have lost track of him for the time being. Hitoshi’s under our protection and we have to prepare for the possibility that Souma is here to reclaim his son. His Quirk is more obvious than Hitoshi's but we don't know how much it's developed since he dropped off the radar and he likely has multiple allies."

There was a long pause, and it took the semi-conscious brunette about 30 seconds to realize that Hizashi was waiting for him to say something. Having only been listening with half a presence of mind, he gave a loud but incoherent hum in hopes that Hizashi would oblige and continue steering the conversation. Because the loud blonde was absolutely merciless, Shōta was rudely pulled from his not-quite-asleep-not-quite awake limbo by a hard flick to the forehead.

“Ow.”

“Shō, this is important."

Why was Zashi being so persistent? He glowered through his bangs, "I know the situation and the risks, why are you being weird about this?"

"Because," Hizashi stared him straight in the eye, matter-of-factly, "Hitoshi triggers your Mama Bear instincts and that's when you lose your head. You have more experience with this kind of stuff than most other heroes but this is still new territory for us. We don't know who Souma knows or what he's planning, we don't know what Memser's motivations are or what he's planning; we don't know half the story here."

"'Zashi, this may come as a surprise to you but not everyone operates with 100% intelligence."

"Baka, can't I complain without you being a smart-ass?"

"You always get to be the smart-ass. Maybe I'd like a turn every now and then." 

"Oh?" Hizashi's smile suddenly turned devious, "You want a turn on my ass, huh?"

Shōta snorted even as he rolled his eyes. What was it that he saw in this idiot? He considered his rebuttal but was promptly served a mouthful of fur when Maron suddenly stretched out, batting both of them with her hefty paws. The large feline's accompanying vocalization was a strange mix of cat noises that could inevitably only be interpreted as a complaint. The hero pair laughed and when Shōta recovered, he grabbed a spare pillow and slapped it over Hizashi's face,

"Maron says to sleep."

Hizashi fumbled with the sack of cotton while groaning,

"First it was the kid, now the cat — what's a man to do when he gets cockblocked in his own home?"

"Be a responsible adult."

"Says the one who would subsist solely on jelly pouches if I let him."

"It's calories."

"It's empty calories. Honestly, you're worse than the kids sometimes."

"Yeah, and we have to deal with those kids in the morning so sleep." Shōta closed his eyes and settled in, determined to knock out.

"Midoriya's gonna pester you with questions about the raid, isn't he?"

Ugh. He'd almost forgotten about how much of a hero otaku that one was. He hadn't participated in any of the press releases regarding the case but news of the Agency had undoubtedly found its way to internet forums already. Walls could literally have ears nowadays. He'd learned to stop being surprised about people managed to find out. Thinking about Midoriya's endless questions was enough to make him grimace because Midoriya was a mutterbox and Uraraka would find out, then Iida, and basically the whole class would be pestering him to share the insider scoop. Resigned to his fate, he sighed,

"They'll be even more annoying than usual."

There was a soft laugh by his ear, followed by a chaste kiss on his forehead,

"Night, Shō."

Twelve miles inland, in a luxury high-rise at Tokyo's heart, violet eyes gazed across the city lights with an expression that might have been contemplative or even melancholy. Periwinkle hair flowed over silk-robed shoulders while the woman lounged with one knee folded up to rest her head. Behind her, past marble floors and upscale furnishings, the front door opened. There was no reaction from the woman when a man stepped through, calling jovially,

“Honey, I’m home!”

 She continued to stare into the night as the man stalked up behind her and laid a heavy hand on one shoulder,

 “No ‘welcome back’ for me?” He reached out with one finger to stroke her cheek. She turned away with one corner of her mouth curled with displeasure. The man chuckled,

 “That’s cold, Saku.” She didn’t seem the least bit sorry,

 “Titus?”

 “Yes, dear?”

 “There’s dog shit under your nose.”

 Titus immediately recoiled with a groan and a grimace, wiping his face with a crisp cuff. The illusion was dispelled quickly but the odor still lingered in his memory and he could almost feel the crap on his skin even though he knew Saku’s Quirk was limited to sight and smell. Knowing that it was fake still didn't help. Now standing a short distance away from the short-tempered woman, he huffed exasperatedly,

 “Honestly, I thought we were past the tantrums. I didn’t even do anything.”

 Saku still hadn’t turned to look at him once, eyes trained on the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the living room,

 “You’ve done plenty to earn dog shits in your face for a lifetime. If you weren’t blackmailing me, I would have left you with a knife in your throat years ago.”

 “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Titus shook his head and went to pour himself a glass of whiskey from a side table, “It’s been 11 years. If that head jacker hasn’t tried to get you back yet then he’s either dead or moved on.” He raised his full glass up high, “Forget about him already, I can give you everything you want!”

 Unseen by the drinking man, Saku rolled her eyes,

 “There is nothing that you would give me that I want.”

 Titus scoffs and pours another glass, muttering to himself. Saku reaches up and rubs a spot on her sternum with a lax thumb. The silk folds of her robe are loose but pull just enough to betray the rounded edge of a small oval object.

 Further south, within the hazy boundary where the respectable city transitioned into less reputable districts, a lone Box Gang member walked with his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the night. He’s just a bit unsteady on his feet and there is alcohol on his breath as he mutters the lyrics of two different songs in some terrible booze-funded remix. He doesn’t notice when a woman appears behind him, and he’s slow to register the man that follows. Before he can turn all the way around, there’s a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Rough skin scrapes against his own and the grip is unyielding. The remix ends abruptly and he freezes, but it’s not out of fear. The stranger behind him leans in close from behind and speaks low against his ear,

“Tell me everything you know about Titus and the Box Gang.”