Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku blinks up at Shigaraki Tomura. Shimura Tenko. Handjob, and the host of other names he’s heard from Dabi. Sensei’s- All for One’s protégé.

He’s not much older than Izuku is.

“I-I’m so-so-sorry,” he manages, his stutter resurging with terrible timing. Or maybe good timing. It’s up in the air for now, and it’ll stay there until he’s more confident that he’s not going to die. “I do-don’t know who you’re talk-talking about.” His eyes are wide, he knows, and the nervous shiver to his shoulders helps him seem frail.

He has to look harmless.

“We’ll see about that,” Shigaraki sneers. “Kurogiri. The chair. We don’t want him trying anything stupid.”

Kurogiri — and Izuku has a sneaking, horrified suspicion he knows who they used to be — makes a polite sound of acknowledgement and gently lifts Izuku off of the ground by his upper arm.

Kurogiri is very polite in general, Izuku notices. It’s nice.

“If you will excuse my rudeness,” they intone quietly, and they guide him to a chair that looks like it’s on its last legs. Izuku sits still, mindful of the glass under his tongue, and allows himself to be tied up without any fuss.

He has to look harmless.

He has to look harmless.

-

Hizashi sits in the car with Hitoshi, and is, for once, silent.

It doesn’t feel right.

“Do you,” Hitoshi starts quietly, then pauses. Takes a shaky breath, and starts again. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Hizashi shakes his head. “No,” he replies, equally quiet. It feels like if they’re loud, something will come crashing down on their heads. Hitoshi usually walks home — he and Shouta stay after most days, so the car is mostly for them — but today was an exception. Hitoshi had stayed after and spent his time in the teacher’s lounge with Nemuri.

“Do you think Midoriya’s okay? Dad was talking to Eri. On the phone, I mean.”

His eyes are locked on the road under them, and he swallows down an uncomfortable feeling.

“I hope so,” he says. “They’re good kids, nothing too terrible could have happened.”

“Yeah.” Then, “But. Dad… sounded panicked. It. It had to have been serious. Eri wouldn’t play a prank like that, and Izuku is always right next to her.” He hears Hitoshi swallow, and a small sniffle. “I’m worried.”

He sighs. Reaches out a hand and rests it on Hitoshi’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, coffee bean. And if it’s not, we’ll get through it together, yeah? Shouta will tell us what we need to know when we get home. Don’t worry about what you can’t control, focus on what you can.”

Hitoshi sags in his seat and leans against his hand. He ruffles Hitoshi’s hair and gets batted away with a velociraptor noise, and his lips quirk up at the sides.

“We’ll order food when we get home. Delivery, okay?”

To Hizashi’s endless delight, Hitoshi murmurs under his breath, “It’s not delivery, it’s Digiorno.”

“AHHH! Your English is getting so good! I’m so proud.”

“It’s your fault. Old American memes. ‘Classics’. How much of the Bee Movie script can you recite?”

Hizashi speed-runs through what he can in his head. “Most of it. Two thirds, I’d say. Are you proud of your father, Hitoshi?”

“I mean, not for that, but I guess. A little bit.”

He squeaks, blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes. “That’s. That’s good to know.”

His voice doesn’t break. If Hitoshi heard anything, then no he didn’t.

“Yeah, whatever. We’re getting chinese, right?”

“Sounds good, coffee bean.”

-

Hitoshi can feel the small smile drop off his face as he looks at the red, puffy-eyed face of Eri, who’s sitting in his spot on the couch.

She's — she’s blank. Her eyes, the way she doesn’t have any discernible expression.

He.

He doesn’t know why she’s here.

As all the possible reasons wrap their fingers around his heart — Izuku got badly hurt, Izuku got hospitalized, Izuku was stolen, Izuku died — he starts to feel nauseous. Starts to feel autopilot kicking in, and he has to wrestle with himself to stay grounded.

He notices Dad in the kitchen almost secondarily, like an absent observation that doesn’t really click. Pops is behind him, held up in the hallway because Hitoshi stopped moving when he saw Eri.

“Hitoshi, you can’t just stop in the middle of the hall, I almost bumped into you. Come on, scooch over—”

Dad interrupts quietly. “Hitoshi. Hizashi.”

He blinks away from Eri, who doesn’t move at the sound of a voice, and his gaze lands on Dad.

“Babe, what’s up? Hitoshi, coffee bean, I’m begging you, I have papers and they’re heavy- oh.”

Pops wiggles by him, gently scooting Hitoshi over to the side, and then stops.

“Shouta?” It’s quiet, worried. Hitoshi latches onto it, because it’s a sound and he can make sense of it and it’s familiar. “Shouta, what’s going… what’s happening?”

Hitoshi swallows and his gaze slides back to Eri, who still hasn’t moved or made a sound. She doesn’t even look like she’s breathing. Pops nudges him forward gently, pushing him towards the couch. He sits down automatically. Eri sniffles.

Dad clears his throat. Hitoshi is still looking at Eri.

“Eri is staying with us for a while. Izuku… Izuku has been kidnapped. We’re looking for him. She’s here for protection, until we can find him.” Dad heaves a sigh. Quieter, he continues. “If we can’t find him, we’ll figure things out with Mrs. Midoriya.”

Eri’s face crumples.

Hitoshi’s heart falls with it.

Chapter Text

When Kurogiri woke up, they knew one thing: Sensei, All for One, had saved their life.

They owed him.

So when Sensei dropped a kid on them, one with tears in his eyes and hands only they could safely hold… they overcompensated.

Just a bit.

It took Kurogiri three parenting books, five online articles, and an online children's development course for them to even start raising Tomura correctly. And even then, it was difficult. It was incredibly, ridiculously, heartbreakingly difficult to raise him.

And it was frightening.

Because Kurogiri knew, knows, has it seared into their brain, that All for One is dangerous. That what they’re doing is illegal, and villainous. And Tomura is fervently, undyingly devoted to his Sensei.

And it scares them.

Because he wasn’t like that at first.

Kurogiri remembers when Tomura was terrified of All for One. When All for One would visit and Tomura would hide behind their legs, fists balled at his sides, shaking. When Kurogiri would have to spend hours consoling him, talking softly to him, telling him that Sensei wouldn’t hurt him. Wouldn’t hurt either of them.

And it was a lie.

Because Kurogiri knows that they had a life before they woke up. They know that whoever they were, whatever they were, they stopped being that person when All for One woke them up. And they’re thankful they’re alive, and they swore to serve and help him, but there are still days where Kurogiri just has this feeling in their gut that everything is wrong. Where they want to rip into skin that they don’t have anymore, where they come out of inky sleep with names they don’t remember running through their mind.

But still. They’d console Tomura, set him to bed and make up stories of princes and dragons and cursed swords, then head back to the bar to clean up any messes All for One asked them to.

They remember the first time All for One took Tomura for private lessons. He was eight, and terrified. And he came back pale as a sheet, puffy eyed, with tear stains on his cheeks.

There was a second time, and a third, and then all the times after that, until Tomura’s eyes had a feverish sheen and his smile was too wide for his mouth and he loved his Sensei.

Kurogiri owes All for One. But they love Tomura, as much as they are able, and they want the best for him. And if that means kidnapping a child and tying him to a chair, then so be it. They’ve done worse.

-

Izuku is tied to a chair. A really rickety chair, that feels like it’s three seconds from collapsing under him. And that’s fine, because that’s… kind of where he wants to be?

Well.

Not exactly. He wants to be at home, with Eri and Hiichan and Shouchan and Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada. But that’s not feasible right now, unless he can manage to wriggle out of the rope, incapacitate both Shigaraki and Kurogiri, and figure out where All for One is. Which he’s pretty sure he can’t, because Shigaraki is paying attention to him, and Kurogiri isn’t in the room.

And he’s also not sure where he is, location-wise. He knows the general area, because Dabi’s good on his word, but for some reason the bar doesn’t have an actual, searchable address.

And he thought he had more time.

Izuku didn’t expect things to go like this.

But there’s nothing he can do about that. He’s been given a chance to accelerate his plans, so he’ll just have to improv. As Midoriya Izuku. That’s fine. He can do that.

Probably.

As Harbinger, he’d be fine. If it was Harbinger in this chair, mask and goggles on, voice chipper and sharp, he’d be fine. He’d know how to handle this. But as Midoriya Izuku, shop owner and single dad — and that’s a wild thing to say, as a fifteen-year-old — he’s drifting. He doesn’t know how he’ll handle this, because in every scenario he’s been someone else. He’s been Harbinger, info-broker and part-time vigilante. Pain in the asses of Tsukauchi and Eraserhead, friend of Dabi and Toga, patron of the arts of gossip and intimidation. He’s never Midoriya Izuku, anxious and quirkless, when he’s doing something important.

But. There’s a Midoriya Izuku who is good at things.

It’s not a good idea, he thinks to himself in a soft, panicked voice.

There’s a Midoriya Izuku who knows how to do things, who knows what to say and when to say it. Who can deal with the fact that his hands are dirty, who can think about it and not cringe, not have nightmares.

There’s a Midoriya Izuku who killed Chisaki Kai.

And he can fall into that, close his eyes as one Izuku and open his eyes as another. He can use that to his advantage, take the chance to let out a little bit of the energy that’s been squirming under his skin. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s changing faces.

He shifts in the chair, testing the ropes binding his hands. His tongue brushes the vial in his cheek as a reassurance, and he lets his eyelids droop down. He’s tired, but he won’t sleep. He’ll wait for something to happen, and keep his cards close to his chest for now.

Eri, don’t worry too much.

He’ll be back soon.

Chapter Text

Shouta is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the papers in front of him and trying to figure out what the fuck he’s gonna do. Eri is going to stay with them, yeah, but everything else is fucked halfway through next week and he knows he can’t keep her forever. He doesn’t want to keep her forever, because everything that implies is awful and nauseating and just all around shit.

He looks at the couch out of the corner of his eye. Hitoshi’s sitting there, slouched, and Eri is tucked into his side. She looks like she could be sleeping, but he can see her white-knuckled grip on Hitoshi’s school jacket — fuck, Hitoshi didn’t even get a chance to take his jacket off — and he doesn’t think that’s the case. Hizashi is on the other side of the couch, feet tucked under himself, frowning at his phone as he texts someone.

He feels useless.

He can’t do anything until Naomasa has a lead, and even then he has to be called in. He’s going to get priority, because Naomasa’s good at keeping him informed with shit like this, but if his quirk isn’t suited for Midoriya’s rescue, he’s shit outta luck. That means he needs to focus on Eri, on keeping her safe and as calm as she can be until they get something.

He runs over the red marks he’s made on the essays and his eyes catch on every name, wondering if he’d be this worked up if it was one of them. It’s a sick thing to put himself through, because of course he’d be this worked up. But he also knows that each of these kids has a family around them to give them support, to keep him accountable. Midoriya Inko is with her husband somewhere in America, out of reach — and he knows, he knows she’d be here on the next plane if she knew, because she cares about her son and she wants him to be safe — and Eri doesn’t have anyone but them. It’s added misery, stress piled on small shoulders; because until they get him back, they’re all she has.

And it shouldn't fucking be that way.

There’s a lick of fire, of fury that catches him suddenly, for her biological father. For the man that put scars on the arms and legs of a six-year-old, who took safety from her and put Midoriya in charge of bringing it back. Who died before Shouta could get his hands on him, could bare his teeth and put him behind bars.

There’s relief in death, but it comes without closure. Eri’s had a dad snatched away again, and even if they get him back there’s still no telling how deep this scar will reach.

His eyes rest on Bakugou’s name.

There’s a pause in the wrath, where it turns from raging fire to the banked coals of a whirring mind, because they know each other. Them being childhood friends, there was a story about an aunt and an uncle and Bakugou’s parents might have something, might be able to contact Mrs. Midoriya or give him and Tsukauchi some kind of clue as to why Midoriya Izuku would be taken. He’s always running on empty, he’s always a step behind — first it was Shie Hassaikai, then it was Harbinger, now it’s this.

And there’s another thought.

Harbinger is the nerve center of Musutafu. If anyone knows where and why a kid would be taken, it’s him.

Last resort, he thinks. He grabs a piece of notebook paper and writes a note to remind himself to get Bakugou Mitsuki’s phone number. Only when all other options are exhausted. He spares another glance at the kids. Eri’s death-grip has loosened. They’re asleep, leaning into each other.

He goes back to marking.

-

Every time Eri blinks, she sees Papa’s face. His serious face, the one he made when he folded her hands around his phone and told her to hide in her super secret hiding spot.

She sees it when she’s not blinking, too. Out of the corner of her eye, or when she forgets to not think about it. The only time she doesn’t have to worry about it is when she falls into the fuzzy place, but Papa tells her that it’s not good when she has to fall into the fuzzy place to feel safe. He calls it ‘dissociation’ and when he says that word, he frowns and his eyes dull and she doesn’t ever want to make him look like that. Doesn’t ever want to worry him.

He’s not here, though. She doesn’t know if she can worry him if he’s not here.

She doesn’t know what the rules are, either. This isn’t Papa’s house, this isn’t the café or the compound. She doesn’t know what she has to do to stay here, doesn’t know if she has to work for food like she did with Father, or if she can just exist like she does with Papa.

Hiichan is here. Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada are nice to her. Nice to Papa. Papa wouldn’t be friends with people who would hurt her. But she doesn’t know the rules.

She doesn’t have any money, so she can’t pay them. She doesn’t know how to cook good yet, so she can’t make them food. Papa told her that cleaning with chemicals is for adults, but she doesn’t know if that’s a Papa rule or an everyone rule, and she doesn’t remember how to clean with chemicals. She can make things look nice, tidy up, but everything already looks tidy. She doesn’t want to have to use her quirk for them, but she doesn’t know. She. She doesn’t know—

What if they say they’ll only get Papa back if she uses her quirk?

Her stomach twists and she clamps her teeth down, holds her breath. She doesn’t want to throw up, throwing up makes things dirty and if things are dirty then she’ll get hurt again—

Her fingers twist and she knows that she’s holding onto Hiichan’s jacket, but now it feels like the dirty dress she used to wear, before Papa came and got her. She rips her hands away, shuddering and trying to remember the breathing exercise Papa taught her, the four-seven-eight they do sometimes—

Hiichan makes a noise when she moves, and Mr. Yamada is still sitting close to them, too close—

It’s counting her fingers and counting the seconds but someone is touching her and making noise and she can’t breathe right and she’s panicking, her eyes are getting blurry because she’s crying like Papa does, he cries all the time and she misses him, misses him so much—

She makes a strangled sound and tries to remember how to not throw up, bucks off the hand on her shoulder and slips off the couch to curl up on the ground, she can’t even cry quietly, what if Papa doesn’t want her back? But then that’s not right either, and instead of being scared of everything else now she just is angry at herself, so angry, because how could she think that about Papa, who loves her and always calms her down by petting her hair and talking about heroes and isn’t here—

It’s the raindrops of her quirk, sloshing around and shoving her full, and Eri makes a terrified half-wail as her horn pulses, scrabbling to get away get away get away—

There’s red eyes and floating black hair and Eri chokes on her wail, cutting it off, and falls asleep.

Chapter Text

More than Deku, less than Izuku, completely separate from Harbinger. Further from human than even a quirkless boy, something close to the dirt that steals water away from the flowers.

Midoriya Izuku takes his eyes-half-closed time to weave together a mask, to borrow bits and pieces from all the faces of himself and paste them together. Wide eyes, soft voice, animal focus, ripping hatred. Whip quick analysis, overwhelming empathy, an emptiness like the space between stars in the night sky.

Eri’s Papa closes his eyes and Shigaraki’s Izuku opens them.

-

Birdy doesn’t show up.

She twists her head to the side and thinks about it.

Himiko gets feelings sometimes. They don’t really separate themselves into good-feeling and bad-feeling, because every feeling is a good-feeling. Every feeling is hers, so it’s good.

But she gets feelings, and they push her sometimes. Like licking blood, rather than wiping it away. Like grabbing the knife, instead of the fork.

Like sitting on a swing, where she’d usually hang in the trees.

So it’s like the wind, a push-pull-whisper that slips around her ankles and waist. That gets her wrists all loose and unthreads her spine and gets her watchful-bouncy.

She gets a feeling for Birdy.

And Birdy, he tells her to trust-yourself-Miss-Himiko-Koko-princess, and she does. She trusts herself like she trusts her knives to be sharp, like she trusts water to keep her alive, like she trusts blood to quench her thirst. Like she trusts Birdy to tell her when something goes wrong.

Birdy doesn’t show up, and that’s as loud as a yell.

Himiko sets down the rainbow butterfly blade — gifts from Birdy, everything’s a gift from Birdy, he’s so affection-good-sweet with her — and calls Baby.

The rough-low voice of her second-ever-best friend picks up with a soft, “What?”

Himiko smiles her best danger-unhappy smile, the one that makes her eyes go dark instead of bright, and the patron closest to her draws back. The one next to him, too, so she’s getting better.

“Birdy’s flown away,” she coos, and bites back a snarl at Baby’s hiss-growl. “I think he might’ve got string caught around his foot. Find him and make sure nobody’s clipped his wings, yeah?”

There’s a pause, and Thorn’s gaining ground on Baby’s spot very quickly.

Then, “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course. I’ll see what I can do. Keep me updated.”

Appeased, she clicks off the call. Baby’s position as second-ever-best-friend is safe, then. For now.

Now that Baby’s on the case, she can keep working! There’s a thought that pops up and it’s funny — she giggles at the idea of Birdy kicking her out for not working, because it just doesn’t fit with the soft-ease-big-brother-protection-care of him. If anything, he’d make sure she never had to work another day in the entirety of ever if she asked him to.

Himiko sighs. Birdy’s just too nice. Someone will take advantage of him if she doesn’t keep her knives sharp. At the thought, she pours herself a shot and slips her whetstone into her hand.

The patrons get flighty at the sound of danger, apparently.

Good, she thinks, humming.

-

Tomura… has no real idea what he’s doing. He’s played investigation games, he’s completed countless clue-finders and mystery episodics without looking at cheats or runthroughs.

None of that is… this.

It’s not the fact that the kid he’s taken is a sentient being with thoughts and a life. He doesn’t care about that. It’s the fact that he doesn’t know how to interact with someone he’s not actively trying to kill. Kurogiri is Kurogiri, and Sensei is Sensei, but other than that he’s drifting.

Dabi doesn’t count as people. Dabi came to them of his own free will, and hasn’t shut up since.

Tomura doesn’t have dialogue options for interrogations. He doesn’t have stress bars, he can’t save and reload. If he fucks this up, there’s a permadeath bad end. The kid is their only lead, because Giran fucked up and isn’t allowed back into Harbinger’s bar to spy anymore.

Tomura wants Harbinger. The kid is their only lead into Harbinger’s head. The kid is the only thing they’ll have over him.

The kid is tied to their shitty chair, blinking tiredly at the ground. Which is good, because tired people make mistakes. Sleep deprivation is the first step to manipulation.

Tomura blinks, and shakes that thought out of his head.

“Hey.” His voice is sharp. Good. Interrogators are always sharp and frightening.

It works. The kid startles and blinks at him, dull eyes going bright with attention. “Ye-ye-yes?”

First step. Learn about the suspect and establish a baseline.

“How old are you?”

“Fiftee-teen. Sixtee-teen this sum-sum-summer-er.”

Huh. Kinda young. Tomura ignores the uncomfortable twist in his gut.

“Name?”

“Mido-doriya Izuku-ku.”

“Tell me what you know about Harbinger.”

The kid blinks. Furrows his brows, tilts his head ever so slightly. Swallows, bites his lip. “Who?”

“Harbinger,” Tomura repeats. “Don’t lie. I know you know who he is. Tell me about him.”

Midoriya shakes his head, confusion turning to apology. “I’m sorry-ry, I don’t kno-know who that is-is. I’m not-not invol-volved in… wh-whatev-ever he’s involved i-in. I run a ca-café.”

Tomura scowls. “That can’t be it. There needs to be something special about you. So what is it?”

The kid gives a little hysterical giggle, and blushes like a strawberry at Tomura’s sharp look. “So-so-sorry-ry, I ju-just — the-the only sp-special thing ab-bout me is a cu-curse.”

Kurogiri, who’s always been able to figure out when he’s starting to lose his temper, speaks up. “And what do you mean by that?”

“I’m u-useless-less. Uh, qu-quirkless. Toe jo-joint and ev-ev-every-rything.”

Tomura blinks. Runs the thought through his head, like a loading bar. Sifts through data, trying to match the information to a partner. He can’t think of anything immediately, so he saves it and shifts his focus. General data gathering should turn something up, sooner or later. There are only so many dialogue options to go through before he finds a hint, so it’s just a matter of keeping the kid talking.

“I don’t give a shit,” he decides aloud. If Harbinger knows this kid, then it is what it is. Quirk or no quirk, doesn’t make a difference past how close they have to watch him. “So here’s how this is going to work. You’re going to stay here, with us, until I find out what I want to find out. Or until Harbinger comes to get you, and then you’re going to stay here until you’re not useful anymore.” He locks eyes with Midoriya past the cold fingers of Father, and the kid nods slowly. “You’re going to answer my questions, and if you don’t then I’ll hurt you.” He dusts one of Kurogiri’s glasses as a demonstration and ignores the soft sigh he hears. He’ll steal something for them later, it doesn’t matter. “Do you understand?”

“Ye-ye-yes.”

“Good.” Tomura scowls at him, trying to make the dots connect, and uncurls himself from the stool he’s sitting on. He thinks better on his feet, and he owes Kurogiri a glass now, so it looks like he’s going to the mall. “I’ll be back.”

“Shigaraki Tomura.”

He turns to Kurogiri, ignoring the kid. “What.”

“Dabi is returning soon. Please hurry back.”

Tomura rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll be back soon.”

“Very good. Be safe.”

—

“Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to invite Todoroki Shouto over. To see Eri.”

“…Do you think it will help?”

“It’s better than nothing.”

Chapter Text

Because both his husband and son are well-meaning sweethearts who want everyone to stay home today, Hizashi is the one who eventually decides that it will be Shouta staying home to take care of Eri, and that he and Hitoshi will be going to school. It’s contested for about two seconds, and then he pulls out The Eyebrow and reminds them both that they have rent to pay (well, actually they don’t, because Hizashi’s savings are nothing to sniff at), Hitoshi needs to keep up attendance (this is true, he’s going for perfect attendance this year), and Hizashi is the only reliable English teacher Nedzu has on call (also true; the last time he took time off, his little listeners came to class talking way madder shit than they could feasibly back up).

Shouta isn’t happy about it, but he relents. Hitoshi isn’t happy about it either, but he’s easily convinced by a disapproving look and a soft rebuff. 

“It’ll all be hunky-dory, coffee bean,” he says as they leave the house, walking today. He’s in his civvies until he gets to UA, and Hitoshi’s munching on one of the pastries they have on hand for the occasions they don’t have time to make breakfast.

“‘M worried,” Hitoshi mumbles, and Hizashi hums an agreement.

“Me too, kiddo. But you have to have faith in your dad, and faith in Midoriya. They’re nothing to sniff at, yeah?”

Hitoshi quirks a smile at him, sardonic and lazy. “Yeah,” he cheers quietly, and Hizashi grins at him.

“Alright, then! Let’s go and get good grades!”

“You’re a teacher.”

“Hey hey hey! I need to have a good score on my quarterly review! For all you know, I could’ve totally been neglecting my poor little listeners this year!” Hitoshi snorts and Hizashi grins brightly, relief bubbling up around his heart. Hitoshi’s too good a kid to have so many worries, and Hizashi’s glad to help him laugh more. Comedic relief is a game, and Hizashi is winning; Fukukado Emi eat his heart out, he’s the one who bagged tall, dark, and handsome.

“Pops, you couldn’t neglect your students if you tried. If nothing else, you’d hear one of them mispronounce a meme in the halls and run through a unit on the evolution of American meme culture.”

His son is a genius. His breath catches just thinking of it, and he thinks that if he could see himself, he’d have stars in his eyes. “Hey, coffee bean.”

Hitoshi stares at him, and they slow for a minute at a stoplight. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do your dishes for a month!”

“Still no.”

“I’ll get you extra dessert for a week!”

“The light’s green.” They start walking again.

“I’ll exempt you from the next two English essays!”

“You’re not allowed to do that. Also, jokes on you, I’m literally fluent,” Hitoshi says, in English. Darn.

“What if I taught you new swear words?”

Hitoshi’s eyes narrow a touch, and Hizashi just barely resists fist pumping in victory.

“How many?”

“Five, and I’ll help you figure out how to weave them into conversation.”

Hitoshi regards him for a second, mulling it over. Then, he nods and sticks out his hand. “Deal. I’ll send you a playlist.”

Taking it for the mercy it is, Hizashi shakes on it. “You’re my hero, coffee bean.”

-

“Shouto.”

Ochako glances up from her desk, just barely catching the name for how quietly it was said. It’s Shinsou and Todoroki, as it usually is, in the back corner of the room. They’ve pulled two desks together, and they’re sitting very close. She wonders how they got to be such good friends, and then dispels the thought. People can be friends, no matter what they’re like. People deserve friends, no matter what they’re like.

But it’s none of her business, what they’re talking about, so she turns back to her work.

And then the temperature fluctuates rapidly; for a second it’s near-sweltering hot, then it’s like an icebox, then it’s back to normal. She coughs from the shock of it, and whirls around to see what the heck could have warranted that — because there’s only one person who could’ve caused it, and she’s curious and worried as to why.

And it’s not… it’s not something she feels like she should be seeing. Todoroki looks like he wants to murder somebody, and while that’s not really unusual, per se, but she’s never really seen that expression with any amount of gumption behind it. It’s scary.

Shinsou isn’t much better; for someone who she can count on to always have a smirk and an impressively cutting quip, he looks like someone just kicked a puppy in front of him. And then stole candy from a baby. And then made fun of a grandma, right to her face.

For two boys who are generally pretty harmless… they look scary.

“... staying with us,” Shinsou is saying, quietly. “Come see her … all the support she can get.”

She catches snippets of it, and she doesn’t even know where she might start piecing it together. She hopes, though, that whatever is going on, they’re okay.

“‘Chako, kero.” Ochako turns, and looks at Tsu, who’s very suddenly sitting next to her, homework in a neat pile on the unused corner of her desk.

“Oh! Hey, Tsu.” Her hand automatically finds Tsu’s hand, and she intertwines their fingers. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Tsu nods, and smiles wryly. “I don’t think many people were paying attention just then,” she says, with a nod at Shinsou and Todoroki, who are still talking quietly. “That was kinda surprising,” she says. “Almost threw up my stomach, kero.”

Ochako tries to imagine it, and can’t help but giggle. “One surprise, and then another, way different surprise,” she explains, prompted by a head tilt, and Tsu smiles winning at her.

“Yeah,” Tsu agrees. She turns to the Mr. Aizawa’s desk, which is empty — has been since this morning, because something called him away. Other teachers have been checking in every once in a while, to make sure they’re working on… whatever they’re supposed to be working on. Ochako is taking the time to get caught up in science, and Tsu is working on — she looks over at the other girls' work — science, as well. Physics, though, not ecology, but it’s still nice to work next to her, even if she can’t work with her.

She chances another glance back at Todoroki and Shinsou. They’ve stopped talking, and are just glaring at Todoroki’s desk. She wonders distantly what it did to them. She’ll… she’ll ask once they seem better. Or, at least, in better moods. When they’re less likely to freeze or snap at her.

Her eyes flick back to Tsu, who’s blinking patiently at her, and smiles.

“Want help with that, kero?”

“Sure!”

-

Shouto follows Shinsou home.

That, in and of itself, is strange. Shouto is not usually allowed to go into other people’s homes, because his father is near convinced that, if given the chance, he would not come out.

Endeavor, for all his faults, is not necessarily wrong in that fear. If Shouto could go into someone’s house and never leave, he probably would. Alas, Endeavor would probably buy the house, and then it would be a moot point.

But this trip is enabled, for some reason, by Mr. Yamada.

Who is also going to Shinsou’s home.

Because they live together.

Shouto believes that the emotion he is experiencing is called ‘smugness’. It is mixed with worry, and fear, and anger, though, because as much as he is glad to not go home, he has also been informed that… Izuku is missing.

Has been kidnapped.

His reaction upon hearing that news had been exaggerated, to say the least. Overkill, to the point where he almost let his control slip. He wishes, privately, that Mr. Aizawa was at school today, because he doesn’t want to chance hurting his classmates, even if they’re nosy or loud or uncomfortably bright.

He hasn’t felt like that in a long time. Or maybe he just blocked it out. It’s a terrible feeling — it’s hellfire and brimstone crawling up his left side, burning and struggling to get out. It’s different from the invading heat of boiling water (he will always remember exactly how that feels), and he can temper it with the calming chill of his right side, but it’s still sickening. No matter what Izuku said, it’s still taking time to not hate his fire.

Shinsou clears his throat, and Shouto looks at him. He inclines his head and Shouto narrows his eyes, trying to figure out what he’s trying to say, but can’t quite get it.

“We’re here,” chimes Mr. Yamada. Oh. That. Okay.

He looks up at the house they’re in front of. It’s. Smaller than his, by a lot. Endeavor pays for a lot of unnecessary land, and pays even more for the upkeep he can’t be bothered to do himself. This house is very much not that. It’s maybe two stories, and focuses more on up than out.

It looks like a nice place to live.

Shouto feels incredibly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act here. Doesn’t know if Mr. Yamada and Mr. Aizawa are good people outside of school.

Shinsou’s good, though, so they must be.

Mr. Yamada opens the door, stepping inside. Shinsou motions him in, so he steps over the threshold and hears the door shut behind him.

His shoulders tighten.

He removes his shoes and follows Mr. Yamada through the foyer, into an open space; a kind of combination kitchen, dining-room, and living room. There is a couch. There is a coffee table. There is an island in the kitchen-area. It’s nice. It’s clean, and warm. Shinsou and his family live here.

He wishes it was Izuku’s café.

Mr. Aizawa sits at the dining table, where a haggard-looking Eri is resting her head on her arms. Her back is turned towards him.

“Well hello-hello! How was your day, dears?” Mr. Yamada swings through the space like he’s a bird, spreading his arms and puffing himself up. “Did you make good choices? Did you do good deeds?” He pokes his head into the pantry and squawks. “How many of my poor pastries did you eat!?”

Mr. Aizawa grunts, and Eri raises her head. Shouto can see her face now, from where he’s standing awkwardly at the doorway. Her eyes are red-rimmed and droopy.

She looks unharmed.

“Mr. Aizawa had five, I had two. They were very yummy, Mr. Yamada.” Her voice is soft and a bit thick.

Mr. Yamada sighs heavily, dramatically, exaggerating his movements to a comical effect, and Eri smiles at him. “Oh well,” he mopes, before grinning at her. “I’m glad you liked them!”

Shinsou taps his forearm softly, and points to the couch when he looks over. This time he gets the hint.

The carpet softens his steps. He feels quiet. The couch is soft beneath him, and comfortable. He sits stiffly on it. His eye — his left eye — aches.

Shinsou sits next to him. Close, but not overly so. There’s a cushion’s worth of distance between them and Shouto is ridiculously thankful for it.

“Eri,” Shinsou calls softly. She turns at his voice and-

“Shoucchan!” Her voice is. Heartbreaking. It’s halfway between hopeful and anguished. Her sleeves are long and his eyes burn, just slightly.

“Eri,” he says back. She hops down from the table, tripping over her own feet just slightly, and patters over to him. Her hand reaches out, pauses. He nods once. She grabs onto his hand where it rests on his knee and clutches it to her face. It gets wet.

Eri is crying.

Shouto sniffles.

And he. Hugs her. Gently. Very gently. Not because she is fragile. Because she is sad.

Her unoccupied hand claims a death grip on his shirt, bunching it up and wrinkling it for sure. She shoves herself into the curve of him, and her horn is going to bruise his collarbone. He puts his free hand on her back and just rests it there and-and it’s uncomfortable, having one hand clutched to her cheek and one resting on her back, and his joints protest, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t know what his face is doing, and there are other people in the room. So he ducks into her hair, feeling her shudder with every inch of himself. She doesn’t say anything. There’s a soft, hesitant hand patting his shoulder. That is Shinsou. He appreciates it. He doesn’t think he’s the one in this situation who needs it.

Eri hugs him tighter.

There is wet on his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Eri sits on Shoucchan’s lap, holding Hiichan’s hand. Everything in the whole entire world is tired, and it’s different than sleepy because sleep is nice, and this feeling is not.

She feels like her heart is eating itself, and her eyes sting because she doesn’t have any tears left.

“Can I assume I have your discretion?”

That’s Mr. Aizawa, and his voice is different than it is at home because this isn’t her home and she doesn’t know when she’s gonna go back. If she can go back. She wonders distantly what ‘discretion’ means. Papa would explain it to her.

Shoucchan and Hiichan make yes-noises softly, and she curls further into Shoucchan because if she pretends, it feels like she’s sitting on Papa’s lap. But she can’t pretend that well, because Shoucchan’s quirk makes half of him warm and half of him cool, and she’s so very, very tired. Pretending doesn’t work when she can't find the energy for it.

“Eri, we’re working on finding Izuku. I’m really sorry to ask you this, but can you tell me what you remember?”

She doesn’t want to. She remembers, yes, but she doesn’t want to think about it. At all. Ever.

She shifts around so she can blink at Mr. Aizawa, who’s sitting on the table in front of her. They’re trying to find Papa, and they need her help.

She nods.

“Okay,” Mr. Aizawa says. He’s softer than he normally is now. Probably because she’s scared and he doesn’t want to make her more scared. She’s a big girl now, but she doesn’t mind. “I’m gonna record this, so that you don’t have to repeat it. Okay?”

She nods again.

He takes out a little box and presses a button on the side, then sets it down next to him. “Aizawa Shouta,” he says, talking normally. “Hero name Eraserhead. This is the witness report of Akatani Eri, minor, for case number 04791-53. In accordance with the Musutafu Guardianship law, article 9, subsection 3F, this account is permissible in a court of law, pending review.” He looks at her and he’s calm and his eyes are dark. It’s nice. “Eri, go ahead.”

—

“Hey, brat!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and gets up from his desk, sticking his head out the door. “Whadaya want, hag?” he yells down the stairs.

“Don’t fucking yell at me, you little shit! Get your ass down here!”

He scoffs, scowling. Fucking hypocrite. He makes his way downstairs, stretching his shoulders. The hag is sitting at the table with the old man, and she looks fucking weird. Her phone is in her hands.

“Whadaya want, hag? I’ve got shit to do.” He slips into the chair across from them, slouching. She sneers at him, and he sneers back.

“Katsuki,” his dad says, seriously. “When’s the last time you saw Midoriya Izuku?”

Okay, what the fuck? Did that little shit snitch on him to his fucking parents? He didn’t even hit him! There was a little kid there, for fucks sake. His glower darkens, and his lip curls.

“Saw that dumbass a while ago,” he spits, because there’s no point in lying. “He was getting groceries or some shit, had a little girl with him. The fuck you asking me for? I don’t check in on him, I don’t even like the fucker.”

His mom rolls her eyes, and he bristles. Before he can call her on it, his dad steps in again.

“We’re not accusing you of anything, Katsuki. We… Inko listed us as secondary emergency contacts for Izuku, in case something happened while she was out—”

“Did something happen to Auntie!?” There’s a rush of- something, because Auntie is baller as fuck, for all that Deku is a weak little twig.

His dad holds up a hand. “No, and please don’t interrupt me. We’re Izuku’s secondary emergency contacts, and since Inko couldn’t be contacted, we got the call. Izuku is missing.”

Katsuki blinks. Waits a second for the cameras to pop out. Waits another for them to tell him it’s a joke. They don’t.

“What.”

“Izuku is missing. It’s highly likely that he has been kidnapped.” It still doesn’t make sense, even though his dad is saying it a second time. “They wanted to know if we knew anything that might help them find him. We’re asking if you have anything that could help, or any ideas as to why someone would take him.”

“What? Why the fuck would I know anything? Who-who the fuck called you? What the fuck is this?”

His mom makes a low, angry noise, and when he looks at her she’s glaring at the table. Her knuckles are white with how hard she’s holding her phone.

“I’m so fucking angry!” she bursts out, slamming her hands on the table. Her phone drops to the floor with how hard it bounces. “Fuck! The more I think about it the worse it fucking gets! What the fuck kinda shit-balled, ass-faced motherfucker kidnaps a kid like Izuku? Son of a bitch!” She shoves out of her chair and stomps into their ‘break shit’ room, which is stocked with a bunch of tempered glass and unglazed pottery. His eyes follow her until she’s out of the room, and then his gaze snaps back to his dad.

“We were called by a Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi,” his dad tells him as they ignore the sound of the hag losing her shit on a bunch of glass baubles, “who’s been assigned to the case. He couldn’t tell us much, but he did tell us that your teacher, Eraserhead, is also working on bringing him back.”

Fucking- it figures, he seethes. It fucking figures that the shitnerd is still in his life, even when he’s not around. Katsuki is pissed — why the fuck is his teacher trying to find Deku? Why the fuck can’t Deku just go- just- why can't he just fuck off! Not get kidnapped and shit — Katsuki doesn’t fucking wanna think about what kinda lowlife sickos would take him — but just do his own shit and keep the fuck out of Katsuki’s life. The way he’s been doing, not this fucking bullshit where Mr. Aizawa gets calls in class about fucking-

His eyes go wide and he feels the blood drain from his face. He. Mr. Aizawa got a call in class. And it was- it- he-

Katsuki saw it as it happened.

(That little girl. What did Deku say her name was? Was she taken too? Is she safe? Auntie had a thing she did- the- the hidey-hole shit, that was it, and that kid was fucking tiny, could probably fit anywhere she wanted to- were they in their house or were they on the street? What was- they-)

“Katsuki?”

He just barely makes it to the toilet before throwing up.

—

Naomasa closes his eyes, running through the recording again. It’s subtle, but his quirk whispers to him in strange places, and he wants to verify.

“My ears popped. And then Papa told me to go to my hiding place, and gave me his phone so that I could call you. He, um. He looked.” There’s a pause, and the slight sound of clothes brushing against each other.

“Afraid?” Aizawa’s voice.

“Mhmm.” A ding from his quirk. He notes it down.

“And then what happened?”

“I went to my hiding place. Um, with Papa’s phone, and I waited, like he said, for an hour, but that’s so long-” There’s a sniffle, and a quiet sob.

“That’s okay, Eri. Can you tell me what you were doing before this happened?”

“We were- we were baking. And the muffins were almost done.”

“Okay. Is there anything else you remember? Before you called me? Did you hear anything from your hiding spot?”

“There was, um.” Another sniffle. “A voice, I think. I didn’t hear what it said, though.” Another ding from his quirk. He notes it down.

“Alright. Thank you, Eri. You’re very brave.”

“Okay.” She sounds exhausted.

The clip ends, and he goes through the timeline again. Baking, then a pressure shift, then hiding with a phone, then calling Aizawa, then the police arriving. Somewhere in there, Midoriya was something other than afraid, and Eri heard something she doesn’t want to talk about. Neither of these things are inherently suspicious, but Naomasa didn’t get his position by disregarding details. He’ll talk to her himself, somewhere she feels safe (and where even would that be, in a situation like this?) and he’ll see if anything pans out.

He has questions.

Why did Midoriya have Eri hide? Did he know what was going to happen, or did he just have a bad feeling? Why tell her to call Aizawa? Why have her wait an hour? Did he plan for this? If so, why? If not, then what was going through his head? Lots of things can cause sudden pressure changes, although quirks are the first thing that comes to mind. If he was expecting it, what does that mean? Is Midoriya in trouble with somebody? Does he owe someone money? Is someone after him, or Eri? He vaguely remembers that Eri is Midoriya’s cousin, and that her biological father was a real piece of work… but that’s a step too far into conjecture at the moment. He has to stick with the facts.

The pressure change. It’s familiar. There’s something he’s forgetting, something on the tip of his tongue. Naomasa sighs. He flips his notebook closed, and purses his lips. There’s a lot here, he just has to figure it out. To save Midoriya. Failure isn’t an option.

He’ll sleep on it. Clarity will come in the morning.

Chapter Text

Tomura takes a walk, and lets the world pass through him. He pretends he doesn’t exist for a solid half hour, and it calms him down. And then he starts to work. He builds a character card for the kid. The name slot is empty, because NPCs like that don’t really need names, and so are most of the stat bars. The notes are what he focuses on for now.

Age: Fifteen. Status: Quirkless. Occupation: café manager/owner(?). Known Affiliations: Harbinger(?), Heroes(?), League of Villains(?).

He’s a blank slate. Blank slates lead to mini bosses, who turn into full-blown BBEGs. Tomura fucked up once, with the Nomu, and he’s not gonna do it again. Not when Sensei is watching him, waiting for him to mess up so he can say that Tomura’s not ready, that Tomura needs to train more.

He’s done training. He’ll handle it.

He’ll deal with it.

So he just needs to fill out the character card. Get the stats, the background, the character notes, the clues that lead him to Harbinger. And then he’ll have Harbinger, and he’ll get the mission rewards. He’ll level up. He’ll do something right.

Success brings freedom. It’s time to start grinding.

-

Kurogiri is good at seeing people. Maybe it’s because they are unable to see themself — although, that’s quite philosophical, and a bit too heavy for the situation.

The situation, of course, being that Midoriya Izuku is an uncommonly strange young man.

Kurogiri has seen all manner of kidnapees. Some of them cry. Some bargain, some seethe, some roar.

Few maintain themselves like this boy does.

Of course, it could be dissociation. But Kurogiri doesn’t think so. Dissociation is dull, unfocused eyes and strange movements. Midoriya is awake — alert, for all his drooping eyelids try to convince them otherwise. The child looks tired.

Perhaps it says something about them that Kurogiri does not have to work to not feel bad. This is Tomura’s venture, and that will always take priority over the comfort and safety of others.

Unfortunate, maybe, for those that get caught up in the crossfire, but Kurogiri has other things to worry about. Like what they’re going to have for dinner. And where they’re going to keep the boy.

As usual, the details fall to them. They’ll put him in the back, in the room sandwiched between theirs and Tomura’s.

The bell at the door rings, and Tomura steps back into the bar. Kurogiri cleans the glasses from the bar, more out of habit than necessity, and watches him. He’s clearer, now; after years of raising him, Kurogiri is familiar with his tells.

“Alright,” Tomura says, and Midoriya blinks sluggishly at him. “Tell me everything about yourself. Starting with your family.”

Midoriya blinks again, brows creasing. “Um… we-well, my mom and da-dad live in Ame-merica-ca. I had-had an aunt… oh! I live with my co-cousin. I’m her le-legal guar-guardi-dian. When you-you um, came,” and he sends a furtive, fleeting glance at Kurogiri, “I told-told her to hi-hide.”

Kurogiri shifts, slightly startled. “I did not see anyone else in the house.” They hadn’t looked, of course, but it’s the principle of the matter.

The smile Midoriya sends them would not stop them on the street, but here it is… unnerving. A slightly tilted head, tired, empty eyes and a barely-there smile.

“I guess she hid we-well.”

Tomura snickers at their oversight, amused, and they resist the urge to sigh. Oh well. Quirkless children aren’t exactly priority cases, so they don’t have to worry about police interference anytime soon.

“Alright,” Tomura snaps at Midoriya, amusement quickly waning. “What else? Siblings? What’s your cousin’s deal?”

“N-no siblings, my cous-cousin is an or-orphan. I’m not…” Midoriya hunches his shoulders and swallows. “I’m no-not re-re-really anythi-thing special.”

Kurogiri turns back to polishing the glasses, picking them up and away from Tomura’s twitching fingers.

“You can’t just be you. There’s gotta be something more, something Harbinger would pay attention to. What else?”

Midoriya huffs an anxious laugh, and tries to shrug his shoulders. “I do-don’t know what you’re loo-looking fo-for. I ma-make coffee, and help my fr-friends with ma-math, and te-tell Eri bedti-time sto-stories, and do quir-quirk analys-ses someti-times.”

Tomura perks up.

“Quirk analyses?”

Midoriya nods once, slowly. He looks apprehensive.

“Do one. Now.”

Kurogiri doesn’t sigh. At all. Not even a little bit. They don't sigh, and they don’t explain that quirk analysis doesn’t work like that, because Tomura won’t listen. They prepare to divert his hands away from Midoriya when the boy isn’t able to pull an analysis out of thin air.

And then they don’t need to.

“Oh. Um, okay. Do you wa-want me to do-do one for y-you? Or—”

“Both of us,” Tomura interrupts. “Do one for both of us.”

Kurogiri wonders if they should be flattered, then dismisses the thought, setting down the glass and rag to rest their elbows on the bar counter.

“Okay. Well, um,” Midoriya looks at Kurogiri, brow furrowed in concentration. “Warp quirk, obviously. Atmospheric effect, mist-like physiology.” His voice loses all hesitation and anxiety, and the weariness in his eyes drains slightly. “You probably have a physical anchor, something that keeps you from dissipating, and I’d bet you have the ability to alter the size of your… portals.” His head tilts to the side and Kurogiri almost mirrors him, catching themself at the last second. This is fascinating. “Storage possibilities maybe, a slight delay so it’s not a portal, just a fold. Can’t be sight based, I’d have noticed you in the house before. So… location? Ooh, coordinates? That would mean… and the way you perceive distance? But it’d also mean… hmm. Yeah. Okay. So, warp is accurate, but distance shortening would be more precise. Maybe… pocket folding? Depends on if you’d need to keep one open all the time, and where. How many can you make at once, by the way?”

Kurogiri blinks.

And blinks again.

Tomura is vibrating in his seat, pulling his feet up and grinning under Father. “Me next, me next!”

Midoriya’s pinpoint attention is drawn from them and the room feels lighter somehow.

Unnerving certainly is the correct word to use. They watch in fascination as that focus is directed at Tomura, to much the same effect.

“So… emitter, through motif I’d guess five point contact activation? The way you hold things, I’d guess involuntary activation, too. Um, half-gloves might help, like the type digital artists use… hmm. Something that interferes with daily activities and possibly hygiene, so probably something considered harmful? Close hand combat, you’re built for speed and dexterity — combat apparent, maybe destructive? Depending on how the destruction takes place, you might be good for rescue work. The hands are for fashion? Intimidation, maybe even… lore? Um, they probably don’t actually affect the usage of your quirk. There’s a film of some sort on your clothes, it looks like… dust? Oh. Oh, okay your quirk turns things into dust. Five-point contact corrosion quirk probably, you dust things. Literally.”

Tomura blinks.

The door to the bar opens.

-

Dabi returns to fuckery, because of course he does.

There’s a kid, maybe Shouto’s age, probably younger by the looks of it, trussed up in one of the shittier chairs. That’s maybe the first thing to cue him off.

The second is Handjob and ‘Giri, both silent and leaning toward the kid — ‘Giri from behind the bar, Shigaraki sitting like a contortionist on a barstool, one hand on his opposite ankle and a knee drawn up to his cheek.

Third is the kid again, because he says, “Did I get it right?” And Shiggy looks like he just got smacked over the head with a fish. It’d be entertaining if Dabi had context, he’s sure.

“Heyo,” he says, breaking them out of whatever funk they found themselves in. “Is this what it looks like or can I hold off on calling Chris Hansen?”

The kid chokes on half a laugh as Shiggy whips his head around to glare at him.

“No. Absolutely not, fuck you. Go die,” he spits, and Dabi snickers.

“Just making sure, can’t be too careful. Mind telling me why the poster child for Cinnabon is in the shitty chair? Thought the new budget meant we could dump those.”

Said poster child for Cinnabon looks up at him and woah, them’s some doe eyes. He turns back to Shiggy.

“Dude. Where’d you even find this kid?” 

Kurogiri decides to take the lead, bless them. “This is Midoriya Izuku. He has been kidnapped to further the goals of the league. We believe him to have connections with Harbinger, although we haven’t yet discerned just what those connections are. He is also quite astute regarding quirks.”

Huh. Well, fuck. Alright, guess he gets to do damage control. Recon, actually, but whatever.

“Okay, so why’s he tied up? ‘S he dangerous or something?”

“No, he’s quirkless, and poses no threat to us physically.”

That didn’t answer his question. “Cool, why’s he tied up?”

“Um,” the kid says, quietly. “I thi-think it’s for in-intim-timi-da-dation. It’s okay though, I’m fi-fine where I am-am.”

“You be quiet,” Dabi says, pointing at the kid and still looking at Shigaraki. “He’s tiny. I could snap him in half like a twig with my pinky finger. Stop wasting good rope.”

Handjob scoffs. “Fuck off. Do what you want,” he says, turning away.

Dabi sends him a phantom of a winning smile, the type that pulls at his staples and makes him look more grotesque than usual. “I will.”

He turns to ‘Giri. “Where’re you planning on putting him? He looks exhausted.”

“The third room down the hall, if you don’t mind. The rope can go back in the closet, if you’re planning on untying him. We were done here anyway.”

“Cool, thanks.” He hauls the kid out of the chair by the back of his shirt and ignores the squeak he makes. “Come on, twig, it’s naptime.” He isn’t rough in shucking off the ropes, but he isn’t particularly gentle either. Greenie doesn't complain, so he doesn’t care. He prods the kid to the appropriate room and shoves the rope in the hall closet, like Kurogiri asked, and then slips into the room and shuts the door behind him.

“Alright, brat, what’s up with you and Harbinger?” He gets a winning smile instead of an answer and narrows his eyes. “Answer my question.”

“You never let me have any fun,” the kid drawls quietly, pouting. That tone is familiar. Dabi narrows his eyes more, suspicion creeping resting its hands on his shoulders.

“Excuse me?”

Greenie sits on the shitty bed and swings his legs back and forth. It makes him look like a kid. “How’s Koko? I didn’t mean to leave so suddenly, but I promise it wasn’t my fault. Kind of.”

Dabi blinks. Feels his worldview shift a couple inches to the left, and slot back into place.

“What the fuck?”

Chapter Text

“Shh,” Izuku says, drawing a sleepy finger to his mouth. “I don’t know how thin the walls are, and I’d rather not have to deal with that specific strain of chaos right now.”

Dabi just blinks at him. If Izuku wasn’t so tired right now, it’d probably be a lot funnier.

“Sorry for springing that on you, bluebell. It’s nice to see you.”

A swift breath in, and a long-suffering sigh. “Whatever. I can’t even right now.” Long, warm arms draw him into a hug and he sags against his friend, exhaustion washing over him like a wave. “Nice to see you too, you fuckin’ gremlin.” He shoves his face into Dabi’s chest as fingers brush through his hair, breathing in a deeply familiar scent.

“This is nice,” he mumbles.

“It better be, I showered today.” It’s nice. Dabi smells nice.

“You shower every day.” It was one of the draws of working for Izuku. A place to sleep and eat and bathe.

“Shut up, I don’t have to take shit from you right now.”

“Mmm. Yeah you do.”

“... Yeah, I do. What the fuck even, you brat?”

Izuku makes a noise of protest, warm and comfortable. “‘M not a brat.”

“You look like you’re 12, you’re a brat. I get to call you a brat, too.”

“Mm.”

Dabi snickers. “Do you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Got kidnapped.”

Dabi pokes him in the side mercilessly, uncaring and evil. Izuku squirms and whines, to no avail. “No shit. You need me to get you outta here?” Izuku shakes his head slowly. It takes a lot of energy to move, now that he’s not in immediate danger.

“No, I can work with this. Just gotta… move some stuff around in my head. Plans and stuff.” His eyelids are heavy and he knows he’s probably drifting off. He works a hand up to his mouth and pulls the tiny vial of quirk suppressant out from under his tongue, wiping it off on his shirt. “Can’t lose this.”

“Was that in your mouth? That’s so nasty. Give it here, I’ll keep it for now.” Izuku’s fingers are gently pried open and the vial is whisked away into one of Dabi’s many pockets. “Hawks came by the other day.”

Izuku makes a soft noise of surprise and interest.

“Yup, he wants you to take down the Hero Commission. Should I tell him to fuck off?”

“Nah. I’ll take them down after… after the dumpster fire. And this one. Sensei. Bye-bye,” he says, nodding off a bit.

“Okay, brat. We’ll talk in depth later, when you know what you’re saying.”

“Mhmm.” He’s comfortable. Dabi moves him bodily over to the bed, shoves the covers back. Puts him down, tucks him in. He probably says thanks, but he’s out like a light before he knows for sure.

-

Eri clenches her hands in the skirt of her dress. It’s one Papa got her. Mr. Aizawa got her clothes from Papa’s house. She focuses on her reflection, and grabs the hairbrush. She can do this. She’s a big girl now. She doesn’t need help brushing her hair.

The brush catches on a snarl. Her eyes burn. She takes a breath.

“Start from the bottom, bug. Bottom up, then a few more passes through to make sure you didn’t miss anything.”

She starts from the bottom. The handle of the brush is awkward in her hand, and she struggles to get it through the knots. She can't reach all of it, so she ignores the back and brushes through the sides.

She doesn’t know how to braid. It’s not. It’s not the same.

She hiccups, eyes filling. She shoves her sleeves at her eyes, frantically drying her tears. She takes deep, shaky breaths, sniffling quietly. She already cried once in this house, and Mr. Aizawa had to use his quirk on her. She doesn’t want to do it again. She doesn’t want- she doesn’t-

She wants to stay here. Until Papa comes back. So she’ll be good. She’ll be quiet, and she’ll listen to the rules, and she’ll make sure her quirk doesn’t flash up, and she won’t cry.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Eri startles and drops the hairbrush.

“Eri? You okay in there, kiddo?” That’s Mr. Yamada. His hair is long, too.

She opens the door, rubbing at her eyes. “Hello,” she says quietly.

“Well hello and good morning to you, little listener. Do you need any help with that hairbrush of yours?” He’s smiling, like Papa does. It’s soft and nice. He doesn’t say anything about her eyes.

“Yes, please.”

Mr. Yamada smiles brighter and picks up the hairbrush from the ground. And he kneels on the ground and says, “May I?”

She pauses. She wants Papa to brush her hair. But he’s not here, and Mr. Yamada is, and he’s not mean. (None of them are mean, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be. Father wasn’t always mean.)

Eri nods and slowly turns around, fidgeting. There’s a soft tug on her hair, in the back where she missed, and-

Mr. Yamada starts at the bottom. Gently, like Papa does, and he sections out the parts before he tugs on them with the brush. He’s humming something she doesn’t know, and she scrunches her dress in her hands to distract herself.

“All done, beansprout! Do you want me to put your hair up? I can do pigtails, I can do braids, I can do a rockin’ fishtail, or should I just leave it down?”

“Braid, please.”

“Coming right up!”

She can hear the smile in his voice. As he starts to braid her hair, he chatters at her.

“I like doing hair, you know? Hitoshi doesn’t have quite enough for me to braid braid, but once he let me put all his hair in little pigtail spikes and it was the highlight of my life. Shouta, on the other hand, has so much hair. You look at him and you think, ‘that’s a regular amount of hair,’ but it’s not, because he has, like, secret hair. It’s fine and it's thick, so it’s got heft to it, and I love messing with it. Once I put it up in milkmaid braids, and I took pictures. He’s so pretty, and his hair is so soft, and he looked kinda ridiculous with his stubble but he pulled it off! I think my favorite was the time I put his hair up in a ribcage braid, that was fun. And impressive. And it took longer than I thought it was going to take, actually. All done, would you like to see in the mirror?”

Eri startles, then catches herself and nods. Mr. Yamada stands up behind her, making an old man noise as he does it — she giggles very softly, because it’s funny — and helps her onto the stool. She looks in the mirror and blinks.

“Oh.” She’s pretty.

It’s not like the regular pretty, where she washes her face and Papa brushes her hair. It’s a new pretty, where her hair is fancier and her face is still washed, but she can see it better.

Mr. Yamada is better at braids than Papa, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. Bad, maybe, but she also likes her hair right now.

Papa would say she looks like a princess. She swallows.

“Eri,” Mr. Yamada says softly. Her eyes flick towards him in the mirror, and his face is warm. “Do you like it?”

She nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

“No need for thanks, little listener! I’ll braid your hair whenever you want me to.” He stretches his arms above his head and sighs happily, then relaxes with a hum. “Would the beautiful lady walk with me to the kitchen for some breakfast?” He offers her a hand, grinning.

She smiles back, hesitant, and takes his hand.

—

Hizashi sets the places, like he does every morning, and it’s a little strange to be setting out four plates instead of three. It reminds him of when Hitoshi came home — he always made breakfast, and it was easy to adjust for another mouth, but it was strange.

Not unwelcome. Never unwelcome.

It’s basically the same here, just more rice and another egg. But it’s also not, because Eri isn’t here the way Hitoshi is. She has someone else she should be with, and he can see that it’s draining her. She looks… tired and run down, the way no child should ever look.

Hitoshi had that look too.

“So, Eri, what do you want to do today? You can stay here, like you did yesterday, or you could come with one of us.” He glances back at her, and she’s watching him with round eyes. He smiles. The eggs won’t burn. “Yup! I’d love to have you in my classroom if you’d like, my students need to go back over the basics. Or you could go with Shouta and Hitoshi, and stay with them for the day. Or you could hang out in the staff room, and we could get you some books or toys. Or you could stay here with Shouta, and hang out with him.”

She blinks at him, looking lost, and he resists the urge to coo or wrap her up in a blanket.

“Any option is okay, little listener. If you don’t feel up to people, you don’t have to see any of ‘em. There isn’t a choice you can make that would inconvenience us.”

She swallows, and nods slowly. “Can… can I.” She looks down at the table. “Hiichan,” he hears her mumble.

“You wanna stay with Hitoshi for today?”

She nods.

“Okie dokie, that sounds fine. And you’ll get to see Todoroki, too! Lucky!” She perks up at that, and fiddles with her hands. Ah, he’ll get her a fidget toy, maybe she’d like that? He turns back to the pan and plates the omelette, filling up one of Hitoshi’s old kid rice bowls as well.

“Here you go,” he says, as Hitoshi walks into the space, yawning. “Oh, g’morning coffee bean! I’ll have food for you in just a sec.”

Hitoshi mumbles something incomprehensible and sinks into the chair beside Eri, falling right back asleep on the table.

“‘Toshi, do you mind if Eri goes to class with you today? Shouta will make sure nobody crowds you two, and we think it’d be nice for her to be around people for a bit.”

Hitoshi perks up the smallest bit and sends him a thumbs up, still halfway asleep.

“Awesome-sauce! Alrighty, once your dad wakes up we’ll tell him too. I started the coffee machine, we’ve got about five minutes.”

“Mmmm. ‘Kay.”

Hizashi grins, breaking an egg into the pan. Now all he’s gotta do is make sure to remember to give Hitoshi Eri’s bento before they leave, because he’s been planning this since last night.

Yes, he thinks to himself. Everything will be fine.

Chapter Text

Eri is sitting on Shinsou’s lap when Shouto walks in the classroom. He is early today — as he is every day, because Father allows this much at least — and even Iida is not here yet. She looks up at the sound of the door and he is relieved to see that she is not crying. She does not look like she has been crying, either, which soothes something in him.

She should not be sad, he thinks.

“Shoucchan,” she says, and he makes his way over to her. He greets Shinsou with a soft hello, then focuses his attention on Eri, who is wiggling around to face him. She holds out a small hand and he takes it, sets it against his cheek. Sensation is dulled along the edge of his scar, but he imagines that her fingers are warm and gentle.

“Eri,” he says. She leans forward, slowly, and wraps her arms around his neck in a hug. He pats her head once, careful of her hair, and she withdraws. “Your hair looks nice.”

She smiles at him, shaky but present, and reaches back to bring the braid over her shoulder. “Mr. Yamada did it for me.”

“Mn.”

Her hand finds his again and he lets it rest there, soft and gentle. He raises his head to look at Shinsou, who nods an acknowledgment at him.

He will sit next to Shinsou today. Mr. Aizawa isn’t currently in the room, but Shouto believes that this will be allowed. For Eri. He slides into Sero’s seat and keeps Eri’s hand loosely in his, drawing soft circles on her skin with his thumb.

The door slides open and Shouto does not look away from Eri, though she looks away from him. The voices of Iida and Yaoyorozu stutter, pause, and fall away as they hang in the doorway, audibly hesitant. Shouto’s eyes flick up to gauge Shinsou’s expression, who is looking at their classmates, and he finds nothing to be concerned about. He goes back to fiddling gently with Eri’s hand, and her fingers curl into his.

“Hello,” Yaoyorozu says. “Are you… um, will you be joining us today?”

Eri nods, and turns to hide her face in Shinsou’s chest.

“Ah. Well, um, welcome.” And that is the extent of that interaction, apparently. Yaoyorozu takes her seat, and Iida is unusually quiet as he takes his own seat.

The class slowly fills up. His classmates are loud, and then the doors open, and they take point from everyone who’s seated and become quiet, even if they don’t see Eri immediately. He can feel their eyes on his back, all of their questions, and he ignores them. Eri isn’t something to gawk at, and he won’t be the one who indulges their nosiness.

Shinsou straightens, and Shouto looks up at him, sees him looking at the door. He turns as it slides open.

Bakugou slouches in, looking like death warmed over. He is pale, scowling fiercely, and visibly already incensed. Shouto wonders what happened that Bakugou looks like this, and promptly remembers that he doesn’t care. Unfortunately, their eyes meet, which means Bakugou notices his outstretched arm, and therefore sees Eri, sitting in Shinsou’s lap.

He bristles, and Shouto can't stop his quirk from chilling the air in preparation for violence.

That means Eri notices, because she’s holding his warmer hand, and she blinks and looks up to search for whatever Shouto is looking at. Which is Bakugou.

“Oh,” he hears her whisper. “Kacchan.”

It is as though the air itself takes notice as she speaks. Shouto hears a choked, “Kacchan?” and then Mr. Aizawa walks in.

“Good morning, class.”

The class, as one, responds back, “Good morning, Mr. Aizawa.”

“Newcomer is Akatani Eri, she’ll be shadowing us for the day. Don’t bother her, or you’re expelled.” The room is near silent. “Eri.” She shifts in Shinsou’s lap, hand twitching in his. “If you want, Shinsou or Todoroki can take you to the teacher’s lounge any time.”

Eri nods.

“Alright. Roll call, then we’ll start with sparring.”

-

Eri sits at Shouta’s side, watching his class spar. Today is a quirkless day, and Shouta is getting tired of having to erase Bakugou’s explosions and Kaminari’s sparks.

“Mr. Aizawa, what are they doing?”

He blinks his quirk off and sighs. “They’re sparring. Training to get better at hand-to-hand combat. They’re supposed to be doing it without their quirks, but some of them are having a hard time with that.” She makes a small, inquisitive noise, and looks up at him.

“Do they fight other people? Like, outside of school?”

He looks at his students. Considers how they’re doing against each other.

“Nah,” he says. “I’d be surprised if they’ve fought against anything stronger than a pickle jar.” But they’ll learn.

Eri’s hand curls into his jacket. He looks down at her, and her expression is pensive. “Father used to fight people,” she says quietly. He blinks, and feels cold. “They always lost. But he isn’t here anymore. Papa told me his ghost fell out, so he won’t hurt me anymore.” Her free hand fiddles with her long sleeves. “Papa comes home with bruises sometimes. I think people try and fight him, but he’s good. He always comes home. When Father fought people, they didn’t look like people anymore. But Papa always comes home.” She leans into his side a bit, warm through his jacket. “I want Papa to come home soon.”

He rests a hand on her shoulder, mind stuck someplace between frantic racing and predator still.

“We’ll find him soon, kiddo.”

She doesn’t say anything. He looks back out at his class, and thinks, What have you gotten yourself into, Shouta?

-

Kyouka likes minding her own business, when she can. ‘Cause she hears shit, a lotta shit, and most of it is just uncomfortable, but the rest could get her in trouble. She’s learned to keep her mouth shut and her ears open, and she’s good at redirecting people’s attention. She’s the worried high school girl who heard something frightening in the alley, asking the policeman to check it out. She’s the anonymous caller getting involved in the domestic two floors down, trying desperately to figure out how to wrap foam around her ear jacks because she can hear every smack and snarl. And it sucks, most of the time, and it’s overwhelming. Being a hero is kinda for the money, kinda for the saving people thing, but it’s mostly so that she can prove to herself that her quirk is worth it.

Uraraka is in it for the money, the absolute queen, so Kyouka has no reason to feel ashamed. Even Momo, who is every square inch of her perfection, is here because it’s a family thing.

She thinks this might be a saving people thing kind of moment.

It’s not on purpose, is the thing. It’s always hearing things on accident, but that’s what she’s trying to do. What she’s training herself to do, because now catching snippets of conversation can help her help other people.

Kyouka knows exactly the type of guys who like to beat on little girls, and even sparring with Tsu can’t take her mind off the Akatani kid’s words. Her first dad’s dead, and it sounds like a good thing, but now her second dad’s missing and it sounds kinda like he got shanked in an alley outside a fighting ring. Kyouka knows about some of the fighting rings around the town, and-

Tsu pops her on the nose, and she flails and hits the mat on her ass.

“Ah- sorry, kero.” Tsu extends a hand to help her back up, and she takes it. She didn’t get hit hard enough to break anything, so she wipes her watering eyes and huffs.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Wasn’t paying attention.” They get back into position, and start trading light blows again.

“Something on your mind, kero?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Tsu’s good people, solid and logical, but Kyouka doesn’t share the things she hears with people she wants to be friends with.

But, well… if they’re gonna be heroes, their job is to save people. This might be the place to start.

“Akatani’s dad is missing, I think. Sounds like he was caught up in a fight, Mr. Aizawa’s looking for him.”

“Hm. That’s unfortunate, kero. What will you do about it?”

Kyouka ducks under a jab and tries to swipe Tsu’s feet out from under her. It doesn’t work. “Ah, I dunno. What can I do about it?”

“When I’m sad I eat things I like, kero.” A brutal knee just misses her ribs, and she grapples with Tsu’s leg before letting go to protect her face. “If you can’t find her dad, maybe try to make her feel better. If it were my younger siblings, I’d want someone to make them smile, kero.”

Damn, Tsu really is the best person for this. “You’re totally right. Thanks, Tsu.”

Tsu opens her mouth to reply and gets cut off by explosions — jeez, Bakugou, they’re not supposed to be using their quirks — and, as soon as the explosions cut off, equally loud shouting. Kyouka rolls her eyes and holds her hand out for a time-out.

“Need some water, one sec.”

“You know, kero, Bakugou recognized her.” Kyouka looks up from her water bottle. Tsu’s looking over at Bakugou’s mat, where he’s trying to dismember Kirishima without his quirk. “This morning, when she called him ‘Kacchan,’ kero.”

“Yeah, I was kinda wondering about that.” She snorts. “Not gonna ask him about it, though. I like my head where it’s at, thanks.” Tsu huffs something like a laugh, and Kyouka feels inordinately pleased with herself. “If he says anything about it I’ll probably pick it up anyways.” She gestures to her earjacks when Tsu tilts her head in question. Tsu nods.

“Well, good luck with that, kero.”

“Switch!” Mr. Aizawa calls. She and Tsu shake hands, and she heads over to Yaomomo, who’s smiling at a retreating Tokoyami. She’s met with a grin that makes her heart beat a little faster, and smiles back in return.

“You ready?”

Yaomomo clenches her fists and settles into position. “Yes!”

Kyouka’s smile grows, and she hops on the balls of her feet. “Alright, let's go.”