Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first life lesson Izuku ever learned was that the world was an unfair and lonely place.

Izuku knew that the world was unfair from his earliest memories when his father would paint his mother in colorful bruises. Her skin was an ever-changing canvas of purples and yellows. Izuku didn’t know what a normal family was supposed to look like, but he was smart enough to know it certainly wasn’t this.

Izuku knew that the world was unfair at age 4 when the doctors apathetically diagnosed Izuku as quirkless. The population of quirkless people being 20% worldwide with the percentage dropping further with every generation. There were only ten people in all of Musutafu who were publicly quirkless. Nine of them were elderly, quirklessness being much more common in their generation. Izuku was the tenth.

Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 5 when his father spent a year trying to force a quirk out of his pathetic son. From locking Izuku in a closet for days at a time to withholding meals. His mother was either unaware of his father’s actions or she was simply too scared to stop him.

Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 6 when his father finally gave up on him. Hisashi Midoriya took a job overseas without hesitation. At first, Izuku was relieved, eager for him and his mother to live a life without constant pain and worry. That is until his mother was forced to take on more hours at the hospital in order to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. Izuku didn’t see his mom much as her shifts usually lasted late into the night. It was during this time that Izuku learned what freedom felt like. No one to scold him or make him do chores. No one to stop him from eating candy for breakfast or staying up late to watch cartoons. Though it wasn’t long until he learned that the freedom he was given came at a cost. Loneliness. Forced self-sustainability. With no one to take care of him, Izuku had to learn to take care of himself. From cooking his own meals to walking himself to school.

Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 7 when Kacchan’s verbal bullying turned physical. When small, starburst burns littered his torso and arms. When scratches from the boy with long fingers raked down his back. When bruises on his ribs from being cornered in the bathroom during lunch blotted his skinny frame.

Izuku knew the world was unfair at age 10 when his mother was killed during a villain attack while driving to work. She just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when a group of villains in a getaway truck ran a red light and slammed into the side of Inko’s car. She died on impact.

Izuku was all too familiar with how unfair the world was. After all, not all men are created equal and who was Izuku to think he would ever be anyone’s equal? No, his place in the world was at the bottom. Only a fool would think otherwise and Izuku was no fool.

-----

Izuku wasn’t given any time to process his mother’s untimely death. It was soon after another lunchtime beating from Kacchan and his lackeys that Izuku was escorted to the principles office. At first, he thought he was once again about to be reprimanded for instigating a fight that he did not cause. Instead, he was met with a tall women in a charcoal blazer and a matching pencil skirt, a sour expression on her face and a tablet clutched in her hands. She wasted no time (and no empathy) in explaining to Izuku that he was now motherless, Inko having died the day before and it was only now that Izuku was being informed. Before he could even gather his thoughts on the matter, she barreled on to tell him he was now in the custody of his father who was already on his way back to Japan via plane. Without any more explanation and leaving no room for the boy to ask questions, he was sent back to class in a daze.

Izuku had no recollection of how the rest of his classes went. The only thing he could even think about was the static feeling in his head that made him feel detached from the rest of his body. The world around him looked like a low-definition video game and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was playing with a broken controller. Izuku hadn’t even realized that the day was over until he stood in front of the door to his house. His foggy vision turned into a sharp focus as he stared at the chipped paint that peeled from the door’s wooden frame. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he stood there, memorizing the peeling colors on the door. If it was seconds or an hour, he had no clue. His trance only broke when the door he was focused on suddenly pulled open.

Seeing his father again after years of absence and zero communication Izuku expected to feel a lot of things. Anger, sadness, fear, something. But at that moment, he felt absolutely nothing. An emptiness that nestled in the pit of his stomach and seeped into his bones like it was making a permanent home for itself.

Wordlessly, his father stepped aside and let Izuku into the house, and closed the door behind him. For a moment, the two remaining Medoriyas just stood there stewing in uncomfortable silence. Clearing his throat, the older of the two decided to take lead on the nonexistent conversation.

“Look, kid. This is a fucked up situation. I’m sure you’re all sad and shit but we need to figure out where to go from here,” Hisashi began, his eyes darting to everywhere around the house except to Izuku. “Honestly, I don’t wanna be here and I’m sure as shit you don’t want me here. I’m missing out on a couple of business meetings by taking the time to come here already so let's get this over with quick, yeah?”

Hisashi finally spared a glance down at his son who silently stared back at the man with unnerving, empty eyes.

“Right. So, uh, here are your options. You can either come back to America with me and I’ll set you up at some boarding school or something or you can stay here.”

For the first time since lunch that day, Izuku spoke in a cracked whisper. “Stay…here?”

“Yeah, you know. Stay here in Musutafu or whatever. I can set you up in a cheap apartment using Inko’s life insurance or somethin’ and send you some money for food. You’re practically all grown up anyway. You can look after yourself. How old are you again? 12?”

“…10.”

“Yeah, close enough. So whatdya say? If you decide to stay here you can’t tell no one. I don’t want CPS barking up my ass. So I’ll probably enroll you in an online school or some shit to avoid unwanted questions or snooping teachers. You cool with that, kid?” Hisashi crossed his arms, glancing down at Izuku with a slight sniff.

Izuku didn’t have to think about his answer. Leaving everything behind to go to America and be thrown into a random boarding school where he’ll definitely be bullied for being both quirkless and foreign? Not to mention he’d probably have to stay with his shitty father during holidays. Or continue with his life here where he was already raising himself anyway? The thought of switching to an online school also sounded appealing if he was being honest.

“I-I’ll stay here…please,” he muttered. Hisashi snorted at his answer.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Sending you food money will be cheaper than shipping you off to school anyhow,” his father said with a slight shrug. “Right, then. Give me a couple of days to set you up. Go start packing your shit and I’ll call around for a cheap apartment or something and sign you up for those free online classes.” Without another word, Hisashi grabbed his laptop from his bag and set to work on the kitchen table.

Once again, Izuku’s head was filled with static. He didn’t even have the mental energy to pretend that this was all a dream.

-----

It wasn’t until days later, with all of his belongings—which wasn’t much, to begin with—were packed into boxes and stacked into his new home that the world snapped into focus again. Izuku’s eyes wandered around the small studio apartment. Cracks in the walls, water-damaged ceiling, and scratched-up vinyl flooring caught his attention. The kitchen, the living room, and the bedroom were all in the same space, Izuku noted. It was no more than a box with basic kitchen appliances, a cheap wooden table, and a futon on the floor. The bathroom was, thankfully, separate. The newest looking thing in the entire apartment was the laptop for his schooling his father bought him with some of the money left over from his mother’s savings. Izuku had no access to this money but his father had promised to take care of the rent until he was at least 16 before the man promptly left to presumably head back to the airport.

The world was an unfair and lonely place. Thankfully, Izuku had plenty of experience to deal with it.

Chapter Text

The studio apartment was cheap and for good reason. It was located in a decapitated apartment complex in the corner of Musutafu’s red-light district. All of the people that lived there only did so because they had no other choice. Izuku included. Because he lived in the dark part of the city and he didn’t have to attend any in-person classes, Izuku hardly ever left the confines of his new home. Other than the trip to the nearby corner store for prepackaged foods, he couldn’t recall the last time he willingly left his apartment. Staying inside was safe. Staying inside meant people couldn’t hurt him.

With nothing else to occupy his time, Izuku dove headfirst into his new classes. He thanked every Deity that the classes were asynchronous which meant that he didn’t have to talk with his peers or teachers in real-time and he could work as far ahead as he wanted to. On the downside, however, Izuku finished an entire year's worth of school in five months. The classes he was enrolled in just didn’t feel challenging enough. He wanted something more to stimulate his mind, to keep his head and hands busy. The issue was mostly resolved when he emailed the administration and asked to be tested into higher-level classes. To his shock, they agreed. Izuku thought that perhaps they didn’t look into his student file because there was no possibility that they would have so readily accepted his request if they knew he was quirkless. Not questioning his moment of good fortune, Izuku passed the tests with flying colors and was placed two years ahead and into the second year of middle school starting the next school year. As exciting as it was, he still had another six months of unlimited free time on his hands as he waited for his classes to start up again.

This didn’t seem like too big of a deal. He could always spend the time learning new things on his own with the power of the Internet and at the start, this was precisely what he did. His initial Google search of a new Hero whose recent debut included a fancy new type of support gear caused Izuku to fall into the rabbit hole of basic weapons and easy-to-make support items. With just enough curiosity and boredom, Izuku made a quick stop during one of his grocery runs to the nearby scrapyard. He was smart and planned his trip in the middle of the day where there was less of a chance of getting mugged or kidnapped. It was still a good possibility, but it was the least risky. With a backpack full of wires and scrap metals, and an arm full of used tools Izuku sped back home. He ignored the shouts of his neighbors across the hallway, the sound of empty bottles shattering against the wall, and the smell of cigarettes that bore deep into the yellowing carpet and made his way to the top floor where his own apartment was located. With all the motivation of a bored child with too much energy, Izuku began to create.

It started off as nothing more than curiosity mixed with a way to kill time. But what was at first a possible new hobby became a manic obsession. Days would fly by where Izuku would forget to sleep, eat, or bathe. His hands were covered in nicks, splinters, and burns while he worked away at creating make-shift support gear and fixing up broken tools. Izuku would only sleep when he passed out at the table from exhaustion. He would only eat if the pain from hunger was distracting enough. He did quickly learn the importance of better hygiene when he realized he didn’t have enough money for new clothes after one of his shirts became ruined with sweat and grease stains. Besides that, when Izuku was working on creating and fixing the world outside no longer existed. Time was merely a concept and he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke out loud. Even his trademark mumbling stopped with the disuse of his voice.

The first couple of months resulted in nothing but failed attempts at creating something even remotely usable for any purpose. This was already discouraging enough but it wasn’t until his own toaster, of all things, broke when he was making lunch that the piled frustration of failed creations and absolute exhaustion of sleepless nights made itself known to Izuku all at once.

At first, he just stood there, staring at the toaster and mapping out a way to take it apart in his head, thinking of what caused it to break and how he might fix it until an unwanted thought slithered its way into his consciousness.

You have yet to make or fix anything without it falling apart. How the fuck could a useless shit like you fix something as complicated as a toaster? Do you even deserve to eat?

For a second, the world stopped.

“…no,” he mumbled, almost surprising himself with his own voice that he hadn’t heard in God knows how long. And how quick he was to agree with the whispers that clawed at his mind. His thoughts quickly morphing from his undeserving need for food to the grief he had yet to process from his mother's death.

Of course you don’t deserve to eat. You're alive while your mother is buried six feet under the ground. It’s your fault she’s dead. If she didn’t have a quirkless, pathetic, excuse for a son your father would never have left. She wouldn’t have needed to work extra shifts. She wouldn’t have been in the car that day. It’s your fault. You killed her. It’s your fault.

The familiar static washed over Izuku’s mind as his thoughts grew louder and louder. He hadn’t even realized that he slumped to the floor, his back pressed against the kitchen cabinet and his knees drawn to his chest.

He couldn’t breathe.

Do I deserve to breathe?

He was so goddamn tired.

Do I deserve to rest?

He wanted the static in his head to stop. He wanted the thoughts to stop. He wanted to feel like he was in control of his own body.

My useless, quirkless, body.

With every passing moment and shallow breath, he could feel himself floating away. Black began to seep into the corners of his vision, his lips felt numb and tingly, and his chest ached. He knew what a panic attack was. He was no stranger to them but months of isolation and the loss of time passing made it so much harder for Izuku to ground himself back to the present. Because the present hadn’t existed for months. He had been lost in his own head for months.

Izuku felt like he was just about to lose consciousness when a sharp, stabbing pain bit into the palm of his hand. All at once, his breathing slowed and his eyes focused. The toxic thoughts disappeared, his mind now occupied with the stinging sensation. After a moment, he looked down and saw that he still held a small screwdriver in his hand. He was going to use it to take apart the toaster before his panic spiraled out of control. He realized he must have squeezed his hands too hard, forgetting he was holding the tool, the sharp metal piercing his palm. He watched in barely-lucid fascination as his blood trickled down his palm and dripped to the floor. And for the first time in so, so long Izuku felt like he was in control of himself.

It was a dangerous thought to have. Because though the incident with the screwdriver was an accident, the following cuts that quickly adorned his wrists and arms from box-cutters and pocket knives were certainly not. Every time Izuku felt like his control was slipping he allowed self-inflicted, physical pain to overshadow the emotional anguish that constantly begged for attention.

-----

It wasn’t until a few months later that Izuku fell back into the rhythm of working on weapons and support items and with his head clearer than ever, Izuku not only managed to fix his broken toaster, but he made his first, usable creation. An extendable bo staff that could break down and fit snug into the pocket of his hoodie. His favorite aspect of the staff was the hidden knife at one of the ends. With a press of a small button, a spring mechanism released and turned the bo staff into a type of spear. It wasn’t anything fancy. In fact, it was a simple side project among his much more complicated designs. But it was his first weapon he ever made and it quickly became his favorite. Izuku would stash it in his hoodie every time he had to leave the safety of his home. It made him feel safer. It made him feel in control. He wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to take that away from him.

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t mean to become a vigilante. It just kind of happened.

After nearly a year of self-isolation, Izuku began to feel the effects of cabin fever. It wasn’t that he missed the company of other people—no, the new school year took care of that problem with the increase of online group projects and the occasional email from his teachers—but the walls of his apartment began to feel smaller and smaller. He kept losing track of time and the stale air felt suffocating. He also learned that some things don’t last forever and need to be replaced, such as clothes, shoes, bedding, etc. All of which costs money. Money that Izuku didn’t have since every penny his father sent him went towards the meager amount of food he bought. Izuku was thankfully able to put off buying new clothes and shoes for this long because he had hardly grown an inch in the last year. Malnutrition will do that to the body. However, between the overuse of what little clothes he had and the ever-increasing grease (and blood) stains, he needed to buy at least some new clothes.

The first hurdle was finding ways to make money. If he were a normal 11-year-old, he would ask around for odd jobs like babysitting or gardening. But here, in the red-light district, that was just asking for unwanted attention. So Izuku’s first plan of action was to explore the areas around his home in hopes of either finding a “For Hire” sign in a storefront window or a lost 10,000 Yen bill on the ground. Unlikely as it was, he was hoping for the latter.

Dawning a dark, oversized hoodie with the hood up, a fabric medical mask (he always got the worst allergies this time of year), a pair of ripped jeans, his worn red sneakers, and of course, his hidden bo staff, Izuku began his exploration. Was it smart to wander around the streets right after sunset? No. Did Izuku care? Not particularly. While at first, he was terrified to leave his apartment, the cabin fever and the general disdain he began to develop towards life swept away any remaining fear of what could be lurking in the alleys. And if Izuku gets brutally murdered because he was stupid enough to explore the red-light district at night on his own? Well, then it’s what he deserved.

He wasn’t even outside for more than fifteen minutes when he stumbled across what looked to be a mugging. Nestled between two run-down shops stood a large, burly man holding a knife towards a smaller, cowering man. Silently, Izuku slipped behind a dumpster and watched, unsure of what to do.

“I don’t give a shit that you have a family. Either you give me your bag and wallet or you get my knife lodged in your throat!” The larger man inched closer, forcing the smaller to press his back against the filthy alley wall.

“Please! I don’t have anything of value! Just papers from work and my laptop!”

“Then give me your fuckin’ laptop! It’s valuable enough!”

The smaller man began to sputter, his eyes wide with fear. “B-but I need my laptop for work! I-I can’t afford to replace it! Please!”

“You act like I give a shit,” the mugger laughed. “’Cause guess what? I really, really don’t.” Suddenly, the mugger moved towards his victim, the knife in his hand positioned to slash at the man’s throat.

Without thinking, Izuku stepped out from behind the dumpster, extended his bo staff, and slammed the end of his staff down hard on the mugger’s head. Izuku could feel the recoil of the staff in his hands from how hard he hit. The mugger instantly dropped to the alley floor like a bag of sand. Not dead, but unconscious and probably sporting a nasty concussion. Izuku stood there for a moment, his bo staff lowered and his green eyes wide as he stared at the downed mugger.

He hit someone. He actually hit someone over the head without a moment's hesitation.

Guilt began to pool in his stomach and his breathing quickened but his panic was quickly cut off by a shaky voice.

“T-Thank you. You s-saved me. Oh my God. Thank you, thank you!” the once cowering man quickly moved away from the wall and, giving the mugger a wide berth, moved towards Izuku. “Are you alright?”

Izuku merely nodded. Unsure of how to respond in this situation. His mind was still reeling over the fact that he hit someone.

No. Izuku looked towards the near frantic man who clutched his bag against his chest. I saved someone.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? Y-you seem kind of young,” the man said, finally calming down enough to really take a look at the person, kid, that saved him.

Izuku shook his head. “I-I’m good. Um. You should-should probably call the police though? Uh. To arrest him?” Izuku tilted his head towards the still unconscious man.

“Ah! Right! I’ll do that. Thank you again young man for saving me! That was very heroic of you.” With a small bow, the man began to leave, pulling his phone out of his pocket to call the police. Once the man was gone, Izuku was about to leave himself until he remembered something. The entire reason why he came out tonight in the first place.

With quiet, hesitant steps Izuku moved towards the mugger. The large man was on his stomach and somehow snoring. Careful not to wake him, Izuku slipped his hand into the mugger’s back pocket and fished out a wallet. It was thin and Izuku figured he wouldn’t actually have cash on him since he was mugging someone for money but to Izuku’s surprise, the wallet held two 10,000 yen bills.

“Why were you mugging someone with this amount of cash on you anyway?” Izuku muttered to himself, taking the bills from the wallet and shoving it into his own pocket. He replaced the man’s wallet where he found it and wasted no time getting the hell of the alley. That much money would last him for a while if he was smart about spending it. He decided he had enough adventure for the night and scampered back home.

——

Eraserhead had just started his patrol for the night. Usually, he would spend a majority of his shifts in the darker parts of Musutafu. Abandoned buildings and sticky alleyways were his usual haunts. Between robberies, muggings, and drug deals Eraserhead was kept busy. Tonight, however, he was called to the local police station to fill out a few forms for the raid he was on in the previous week. A disorganized drug smuggling was ended quickly between Eraserhead and a few officers. The entire raid took less than twenty minutes. Honestly, the paperwork took longer.

Stepping into the station he was greeted by the sight of a large man cuffed to a chair and most likely awaiting a jail cell.

“Ah, Eraser! Are you here for the papers?” Eraserhead moved his gaze from the cuffed man and to the owner of the voice that welcomed him.

“Detective Tsukauchi,” the Eraser hero greeted. “Evening.”

“There are only a few pages and it’s mostly signatures we need,” the detective spoke as he led the hero to his office. Eraserhead nodded then let his eyes wander back towards the man in the chair. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Tsukauchi followed the hero’s gaze. “It’s just your average street mugger. He cornered some office worker in an alley. But that’s not the interesting part.”

“Interesting part?”

“Yes. The victim of the mugging called to recount what happened. We expected the victim to be injured or have had his items stolen. What we weren’t expecting was that the mugger was lying unconscious in the same alley with a fairly large bump on his head.” Eraserhead turned back towards Tsukauchi.

“So the victim defended himself?”

“Nope. Not the victim.” Tsukauchi sighed with clear exhaustion. “Apparently, the victim was saved. His savior ran in and knocked the guy over the head with some kind of pole.”

“Alright? So some civilian played hero and got lucky. It’s reckless but it happens,” Eraserhead shrugged. The detective shook his head.

“Not a civilian, Eraserhead. A child.”

Chapter Text

Once Izuku began to memorize the layout of the city he became more confident in leaving his apartment. He used this newfound freedom to search for better scrap material and tools to aid in his numerous support-gear projects. He still wasn’t great at building anything too complex but it gave him something to do after he finished his school work for the day.

Building support items wasn't the only thing keeping him busy as the months passed. For some very unlucky reason, Izuku almost constantly ran into some crime or another. It was like someone slapped a large, neon sign that said “Trouble Magnet” on his forehead. The crimes he would run into ranged anywhere from petty theft to attempted human trafficking. A good handful of those times he was the target. But as unlucky as he was for finding trouble he was oddly lucky in always managing to escape with his life, sometimes a few nasty injuries to compensate. In the beginning, these events troubled him deeply and he would often shut himself back in his apartment for a few days in fear, especially after the first time he was almost kidnapped.

A seemingly nice woman had asked for his help in finding her wedding ring she had dropped nearby. Izuku readily agreed to help only to be grabbed from behind and nearly shoved into the trunk of a car. In his struggle, Izuku had accidentally kicked the car hard enough to set off the alarm, startling the women enough to drop him. Landing on his ass, the rough concrete doing nothing to soften the impact to his tail bone, he took notice of a thick cable wire by the car’s rear tire. He snatched it and used it to trip the women who, just as gracefully as Izuku, fell harshly to the ground. Panicking, he gabbed his bo staff and smacked it on her head without even extending it. It took two hits for her to go down fully and Izuku wasted no time in using the cable to tie her up before snatching the phone from her pocket and making an “anonymous” phone call to the police. Izuku booked it out of there the second the call ended.

-----

Tsukauchi glared at Sansa as his officer explained the bizarre phone call the station received.

“You mean to tell me that the child who was nearly a kidnapping victim managed to single-handedly restrain his own kidnapper? And then he called the police to report the incident before running off? Did you at least get this kid's name? Did he say he was injured at all?”

Sansa shook his head. “No, sir. After he recounted the situation he hesitated before stating that it was an anonymous call and then hung up. After arriving at the scene we discovered that the kid used the kidnapper's phone to make the call so we have no way to trace him,” the cat officer replied. Tsukauchi rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This was the fourth time this month that a child had been involved with a severe crime. Each time, the villains were apprehended—usually with a decent-sized bump on their head—and the child was nowhere to be seen. None of the villains caught gave a good description of the kid either, all claiming that his face was covered and it was too dark to see the color of his eyes. One thing they all agreed on though was that the kid was young. Not some teenager playing hero on the streets after dark but a genuine, prepubescent child.

Tsukauchi let out a deep sigh before glancing back towards Sansa. “I want a couple of officers stationed around his last sighting and a squad car to stake out the streets of the district. It’s obvious this kid has no idea how dangerous it is to be on these streets at night, let alone playing vigilante.” Sansa replied with a curt nod before leaving the office to relay the detective's orders.

I don’t mean to treat you like a criminal, kid, but I’d rather meet you cuffed and alive than inside of a body bag.

——

Izuku deiced cable wire made for a surprisingly good weapon. It was at least useful for capturing criminals if the whole kidnapping fiasco was anything to go by. So during his next trip to the junkyard, he remembered to snag a few discarded cables. He bundled them up and tied them around the loop of his new utility built. It made him feel a bit like a cowboy with a lasso. While Izuku wasn’t overjoyed by his constant run-in with villains he had to admit that the occasional cash he was able to find on their unconscious bodies had helped him out immensely. He was able to afford more food like boxes of discount granola bars and new clothes from second-hand shops. Don’t get him wrong, he always felt terribly guilty at the prospect of stealing even if he was only taking loose cash from criminals, but his need for sustenance, toiletries, and less-stained clothes outweighed the guilt just enough.

As his nighttime outings became more frequent Izuku started to gain more confidence in his ability to not only keep himself alive but to help others if he saw someone in need. Though if someone were to ask, Izuku would be adamant that he was in no way looking for crimes he just happened to stumble upon them often. Like at least once a week. Anyway, his collection of homemade weapons grew along with his combat abilities. Apparently, first-hand experience was one hell of a teacher. Though, he supposed the free community martial arts classes he took every Wednesday helped too.

It was honestly pure luck he stumbled across the flyer for the class pinned to a telephone pole. As it turned out, the classes were hosted by a few ex-gang members who, after serving time in prison, wanted to give back to their community. The only rules that the dojo had were that no one gave their real name, and if one of the students was caught by the police or heroes using any of the moves they learned for criminal activity they weren’t allowed to mention where they were taught to fight. Also, to please refrain from doing drugs in the bathroom if possible. Izuku was completely fine with these rules and was even happier that no one asked what his quirk was. They didn’t even ask his age! The class was a mix of mostly young adults, a few teenagers, and Izuku. He was by far the youngest but he was also the quickest. After a few months of practice, it became nearly impossible for anyone to pin him down. His nickname at the dojo was Butter because of “how slippery he was”.

Each passing month and Izuku grew stronger, quicker, and quieter. He put on just enough muscle to frame his skinny body so he no longer looked like a walking skeleton, though he had to force himself to eat a bit more to maintain whatever muscle mass he built. He also started collecting knives from some of the villains he fought. He had a wide variety, everything from cheap pocket knives to fancier throwing knives. He learned he had a pretty decent aim and after a few months of practice, he was almost always successful at hitting his target. He still didn’t feel comfortable using them against real people yet. He promised himself it would only be for emergencies and even then he would never aim for fatal spots.

Another skill Izuku picked up was parkour. This, he learned out of necessity when one of his attempts to flee from a villain via rooftops ended with him falling into a dumpster in an alley below. The good news was that the villain didn’t catch him, apparently not thinking to check the nearby heaps of trash. The bad news was that Izuku now knows what it feels like to be covered in old yakisoba noodles and fish carcasses. An experience he very much did not wish to repeat, thank you.

——

Tsukauchi held his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his desk and his cell phone in front of him. It was near midnight and he just really wanted to go home but because yet another criminal was apprehended by a goddamn child a few hours ago he had to stay behind to fill out the extra paperwork. It had been nearly eight months since the young vigilante, dubbed “Moth” by the local police, started to become a regular factor in stopping criminal activity and he had yet to even be seen by any of his officers. Tsukauchi began to suspect Moth had some kind of vanishing quirk because this was just getting ridiculous. A child shouldn't be this adept at evading law enforcement!

With a slow, heavy exhale, the detective scrolled through the contacts in his phone and pressed on the name of the one he was looking for. He could hear it ring only twice before the person on the other end picked up.

“Eraserhead speaking.”

“Hey Eraser, it’s Tsukauchi.”

“I figured.”

“…Right. Caller ID. Sorry. It’s been a long night.” Tsukauchi scrubbed his hand down his face. God, he needed to shave soon. “Anyway, I’m calling to ask that you start patrolling more heavily in the corner of Musutafu’s red-light district.” The other end of the call went silent for a moment. The detective glanced at his phone to make sure the call was still going. Finally, Eraserhead spoke again.

“This is about the vigilante kid, isn’t it?”

“Moth. And yes. He’s been running around our officers for months and we have yet to catch even a glimpse of the kid! We were hoping he would have been caught by now but I just can’t wait any longer. This has become a job for a pro hero and with your track record of dealing with vigilantes in the past, I figured you were the best for the job,” Tsukauchi explained while absentmindedly playing with his empty coffee mug. He heard the Eraser hero let out a resigned sigh that Tsukauchi could heavily relate to.

“Is this a random decision or was there a specific event that led to cracking down on the brat?”

Tsukauchi nodded at the hero’s question before he remembered that Eraser couldn’t actually see him.

“Ah. Yes. Well, this evening we got a frantic phone call from a young lady. She claims that she, along with four other women occupying a nearby nightclub, had been affected by some kind of persuasion quirk. She described the assailant as a tall, skinny man with bright orange hair and yellow eyes. From what we learned, the man can give off a strong sense of false security through prolonged eye contact which makes it easier to persuade his victims into doing what he wants. Emotions apparently play a role in his quirk. The happier and more relaxed a person is the stronger the effect of his quirk. He tends to target drunk individuals for this reason.”

“And how does Moth play a role in this?” Eraserhead impatiently asked. Tsukauchi ran a hand through his hair before continuing.

“The attacker, who we have identified as Nikkō Kanri, was escorting the women out of the nightclub and towards an unmarked vehicle. Apparently, one woman was able to break out of his control and attempted to run and scream for help. Nikkō almost managed to grab her when he was hit in the head with a rock from somewhere above. Somehow this caused him to lose focus on his quirk and all of the women came back to their senses. In a last-ditch effort to regain control over the situation, the assailant pulled out a gun and threatened to shoot the women if they didn’t get in his car. That is until he was hit with another rock…” Tsukauchi paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again. “While Nikkō was momentarily distracted, one of the women saw a child, who we can safely assume was Moth, hop down from a fire escape and yell at the attacker to drop his weapon.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Eraser mumbled more to himself than to the detective.

“I wish I was. Anyways, Nikkō pointed his gun at Moth and threatened to kill him too if he didn’t leave. Do you know what Moth did, Eraserhead?” the detective asked with exasperation, not actually waiting for the hero to reply. “He shrugged. Moth just stood there and shrugged while the barrel of a gun was aimed at his forehead. According to the witnesses, this surprised Nikkō and threw him off enough to give Moth time to hit him in the head with his pole-like weapon. As soon as the man collapsed, Moth asked the women if they were okay. When they confirmed they were unharmed Moth tied Nikkō up with some scrap cables and told them to call the police before slipping off into some alley.”

Both ends of the call were silent for nearly a minute as the Eraser hero processed the absolute train wreck of the story he was told and Tsukauchi calmed down his own breathing.

“If that kid doesn’t end up dead by the time we arrest him I swear to God I will kill him myself for the number of heart attacks he’s given me,” Tsukauchi sighed with a shake of his head. “He’s had quite a few close calls already but this one tops them all. Either Moth has a death wish or he doesn’t understand the danger he keeps putting himself in.”

After another moment of silence, Eraserhead spoke. “I agree that what Moth did was idiotic and he should be apprehended for vigilantism, if only for his own sake, but I’m not a babysitter, Tsukauchi,”Eraserhead pointed out with a dry tone.

“I understand that, Eraser. But you are a teacher so misbehaved kids is not new territory for you. And you’re one of the best underground heroes with plenty of experience dealing with vigilantes,” the detective countered. “You’re also the most familiar with the area and your patrol hours mostly correspond with the reported times that Moth is active.”

Tsukauchi could hear Eraserhead give another, long sigh on the other end of the call. A moment later, he got a grumbled answer of “Fine.”

The two spent another twenty minutes going over the details of Moth’s case before the detective let Eraserhead go back to his normal duties with a quick, “Keep the kid alive, Eraser,” before hanging up.

Tsukauchi had every faith in Eraserhead’s ability to quickly find and arrest the kid so they could both wipe their hands clean of the situation. Too bad life was about to prove them very wrong.

Chapter Text

It had well over a year since Izuku had any regular social interaction, though he would argue that the occasional small talk he made with the cashier at the corner store counted enough. To say that Izuku was bad at dealing with social situations, or just people in general, would be an understatement. So when he attempted to soothe the worries of a young woman who was nearly assaulted Izuku wasn’t quite sure what to say.

It was near two in the morning when the totally-not-vigilante came across an attempted assault. A balding man who was clearly drunk managed to pin the women against the wall of a closed diner by an alley. From the looks of the women’s uniform, he speculated that she worked at said diner and had just closed up for the night. Izuku was keeping balance on the edge of a nearby two-story rooftop when he heard a whimpering cry followed by slurred demands. He wasn’t able to make out the exact words exchanged between the two but it was obvious that the attention from the man was unwanted.

As much as he wanted to step in and diffuse the situation, he decided the best course of action would be to wait until he knew the woman was in immediate danger of being hurt. Only moments later Izuku saw his cue when the drunk man grabbed the woman by the collar of her uniform and raised his fist as if to strike. Izuku didn’t think twice about jumping from the roof and landing squarely on top of the man’s shoulders. They both fell back as the man lost his already nonexistent balance. However, Izuku was quick to get back up and use the man’s drunken state to his advantage, tying his wrists behind his back and his ankles together with cable wire and zip ties.

He hadn’t realized until after the man was tied up that between the alcohol and the possible slight concussion, the man had been knocked out. Izuku placed him in the recovery position, worried that the assaulter may wake up nauseous from the booze and the concussion. No one should die choking on their own bile, after all. With a quick assessment of the tied-up assailant, Izuku turned his attention to the woman who held her hands against her chest, eyes wide and legs shaking.

“Uh. Are you alright, miss?” Izuku asked her hesitantly, twisting his hands. The woman merely looked at the boy and squinted at him, as if she wasn’t quite sure if he was real. “…Miss?” He tried again. Suddenly, the woman burst into tears, one hand covering her mouth while the other shakily reached into her pocket for her phone. Izuku wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the situation. He wanted to comfort her but he could tell she wouldn’t like anyone to be near her, let alone a stranger. He noticed the phone clutched in her hands and he gestured towards it with his head. “I’m sorry…You might want to call the police if you think you can. Uh. If not I can do for you? Up to you? Sorry.”

The woman nodded, then finding her voice responded with a muttered, “Y-yes. The police. I’m going to call them,” before dashing out of the alley without looking back.

Izuku stood there for a second, slightly perplexed, before starting his own way out of the alley. He didn’t get too far when the near-silent sound of rustled fabric caught his attention before a figure dropped directly behind him. Izuku didn’t jump two feet in the air in surprise and if anyone said otherwise they would be lying.

Turning around, Izuku met the scowling face of a…disheveled man? Taking half a moment to examine the person in front of him, the boy figured that the man probably wasn’t homeless. No, he was too clean and put-together. The dishevelment seemed to come from the sheer exhaustion coming off him in waves. The eye bags didn’t help either. Before Izuku could think on it any longer, the man began to speak, his voice low and gravelly.

“Attempting to take on an adult three times your size was pretty reckless, kid. It was also illegal.” The black-clad man took a single step forward, his eyes narrowing at the boy who only blinked back at him.

“Um,” Izuku began, his weight shifting from one leg to the next in slight nervousness. “Actually, sir. Uh, I didn’t a-attempt to take him out. I did t-take him out.” Izuku slowly pointed to the downed, drunk man tied up by the scarf-wearing man’s feet. Who wore a scarf in this kind of weather? Izuku couldn’t really judge as he was wearing a hoodie. “Also…if I may ask. Sorry. But how is it illegal to h-help someone? The lady could have-could have gotten hurt.” He could see the man’s brow twitch in irritation.

“Listen, brat. You could have gotten hurt. And for months you’ve been running around playing hero. While your intentions may be good it is still considered an act of vigilantism and therefore illegal,” the man said slowly like he was trying to will Izuku to understand the weight behind his words. While he was speaking, the man shifted slightly and a pair of yellow-gold goggles appeared from beneath his scarf.

Instead of saying what he wanted to, Izuku intelligently announced, “Oh! You’re Eraserhead!” The hero’s brows furrowed in both surprise and suspicion but the boy ignored it and barreled on. “You’re one of my favorite heroes! You don’t rely on your quirk as much as other heroes so you’re really good in hand-to-hand combat! I’ve seen a couple of videos online of some of your fights! And the scarf you’re wearing is a support item, right? It’s super unique and no other hero has anything similar!” Before Eraserhead could even process the child’s sudden change in demeanor and the, quite frankly, scary amount of knowledge he had on the underground hero, Izuku addressed his previous accusation. “And I know what vigilantism is, Eraserhead, sir. But I’m not a vigilante,” Izuku announced.

Eraserhead took a moment to gather his thought, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back at the kid in front of him.

“Kid. You have an entire file at the police station with your recorded vigilante actions. Almost every officer knows the name Moth because they’ve been trying to catch you for months.”

“…Moth?”

“Your vigilante alias, yes.” Eraserhead was about to continue his lecture on the boy's recklessness when the kid in question interrupted.

“That’s a stupid name. Why Moth? Also, with all due respect sir, I have never had any intentions of being a vigilante nor was I aware of being in any kind of trouble with the police. As far as I’m aware, e-even if I was seeking out crime I can’t be charged with vigilantism,” Izuku said. Then, silently added “I’m sorry if I-I’ve been wasting everyone’s time. I didn’t mean it.” The Eraser hero glared at him, clearly unamused.

“First, you're called Moth because you seem to be drawn to crime like a moth to a flame.” Izuku scoffed at this. It wasn’t his fault he always happened to find himself stumbling upon villains. He lives in the red-light district, it’s not exactly uncommon. “Second, why are you so confident that your actions from the past year don’t align with acts of vigilantism? I get you’re probably only nine-”

“11…and a half” Izuku interjected. The hero only deepened his glare.

“As I was saying. Regardless of whether or not you consider yourself a vigilante, from where I’m standing it’s pretty clear your involvement in criminal activity is not only extremely dangerous but illegal as well.” Izuku took a moment to consider the hero’s words. His head tilted in thought and Eraserhead had to stop himself before he looked too closely at the similarities between the boy and a lost kitten.

“Um. Eraserhead, sir. What is the definition of vigilantism?” Izuku asked. His finger held up to his chin in contemplation. The hero crossed his arms and gave Izuku a questioning look.

“The act of performing heroic deeds, specifically apprehending villains, without a proper license for quirk usage. Even police officers can’t use their quirks against villains.”

“Unlawful use of a quirk to fight crime? To do a hero’s job without the use of a license that lets hero’s use their quirks in public to protect civilians?” Eraser’s eyes narrowed.

“Exactly.”

“That’s good! Then that means, in the eyes of the law, I can’t be a vigilante,” Izuku said with confidence.

Eraserhead could feel the beginnings of a headache and he desperately wanted to go home and sleep it off instead of having an argument about the legality of vigilantisms and hero work with a child. Instead, he scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned.

“Okay. Humor me. Why are you so assured in your innocence on the matter?”

“Because I never used a quirk,” Izuku answered, shrugging. “Going off of the definition you gave me, I would be in trouble for vigilantism if I unlawfully used a quirk against criminals. But I didn’t.”

Eraser was about to combat the kid's logic until he found he had no proper argument to make. It was true, technically not a single person, witness or villain, reported Moth using any kind of quirk, instead, he’d taken out his opponents with some kind of pole and cable wires.

There were plenty of speculations about his quirk, of course. Moth could have a passive quirk or just a quirk with no clear visibility—Tsukauchi swears he has a vanishing quirk—but without proper proof, there was technically no basis to charge the kid for vigilantism. Obviously, the Eraser hero wasn’t going to just let the brat go. Moth was still putting himself in severe danger with upsetting frequency and who knows what the kid’s home life is like if he’s constantly seen wandering the streets by himself in the dead of night. No good parent would allow their kid to make a hobby out of stopping crime. Taking a deep breath, Eraserhead gave a pointed look to the not-quite-vigilante in front of him.

“You’re right,” he began, noting that Moth seemed to stop his anxious fidgeting. “However,” …and the fidgeting was back. “I can bring you in for repeatedly breaking curfew. It’s not something you’d be arrested for but your parents would need to be informed.”

Izuku took a moment to think, his eyes returning to the still unconscious man on the ground.

“If that’s the case, I’m sorry Eraserhead,” Izuku’s gaze fell, his guilt clear in the way he curled in on himself. “It was really nice to meet you, but unfortunately you can’t leave a captured villain unattended.”

Eraserhead’s own gaze flicked down to the man at his feet before returning to Moth but by the time he looked back up the kid had already started to race out of the alley. The hero cursed and threw an end of his capture weapon out to snag the runaway but Moth had the advantage of being close enough to the opening of the alley that he managed to turn the corner where Eraserhead’s scarf couldn’t reach with accuracy. The eraser hero quickly made his own way out of the alley himself but Moth had somehow vanished.

Let it be known that Eraserhead loved when logic was used as a tool, but he hated when it was used as a tool against him. To be outsmarted by a goddamn child who somehow knew the protocol for not leaving crime scenes unattended. The underground hero would have been impressed if he wasn’t so pissed. He was not looking forward to the call he had to make to Tsukauchi.

“This fucking kid.”

Chapter Text

After a defeated phone call to Tsukauchi who shouted in frustration, “How do you lose a child?!” to which Shouta gave a deadpan answer of “You forget to put them on a leash,” the hero and detective team decided to push Shouta’s patrol route further into the corners of Musutafu’s red-light district to increase his chances at apprehending Moth.

Eraserhead wouldn’t be spending his entire patrol actively searching for Moth, he still had to watch out for other civilians after all, but he would always be vigilant in hopes of running into him again. After the first week of his new patrol schedule, Shouta hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Moth and he was hoping that the kid was safely tucked into bed somewhere.

He soon realized that was wishful thinking when he ran into Moth while taking down a few petty thieves. Well, perhaps “run into” was the wrong phrasing. More like, Moth used himself as a distraction while the eraser hero snuck up on the thieves and quickly took them down.

It was close to the end of the hero’s shift when he spotted four men climb out a window of a house with bags carried on their shoulders. They wore simple black masks and dark-colored clothing and they were trying to sneak to a van with an opened trunk, tiptoeing to the vehicle like some bad rendition of how a toddler thinks robbers are supposed to act. Shouta held back a snort at how terribly unsubtle they were being. He hopped down from the nearby roof he was using to scout out the rundown neighborhood, and inched his way closer to the thieves, hiding himself behind a car parked on the side of the road. He was in the process of planning the best way to take down and capture the robbers with minimal effort and injuries when his dark eyes met with bright green ones across the street. For a split second, Shouta thought it was a very large cat but quickly realized those eyes belonged to a very small human.

Moth has green eyes. Good to know, he thought, tucking that information away for later.

Then his mind supplied him with another thought. What the hell was Moth doing here and why did the kid look like he was scheming something. Moth caught the hero’s eyes once more before flicking his gaze to the robbers then back to Shouta.

Don’t you dare, Shouta silently pleaded with him.

Tsukauchi could take mind reading off the list of Moth’s possible quirks as he readily ignored Shouta’s warning glare and moved onto the street, getting the attention of the thieves who were in the process of shoving their overloaded bags into the van.

“Excuse me?” Moth greeted timidly. All four men instantly tensed up, each in various stages of loading the stolen goods. Moth pretended not to notice their very obvious act of thievery and instead, used his big, doe eyes and hunched shoulders to make himself as small and innocent looking as possible. “I w-wanted to go on a walk but I-I got a little lost and can’t find my way back home. Can any of you tell me where Dōro street is?” he asked, nervously playing with his fingers.

The men’s shoulders dropped as they let down their guard a bit, a mistake that they would soon regret. Wasting no time, Eraserhead took the opportunity that Moth’s distraction granted him and quietly moved behind the thieves, sweeping their legs from beneath them before quickly securing them in his capture weapon like a bundle of tied-up logs. All this being done in mere seconds before any of the men had time to react.

Sending off his location to the closest police officer and double-checking that the bindings were secure around the squirming men, Shouta snapped his gaze towards Moth to give him a fierce glare. “What the hell were you thinking?” He asked, his voice low and threatening. He felt a small pang of guilt when he noticed Moth flinch and take a step back. The boy fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with his angered gaze, before answering.

“I just wanted to help. I-I could see that you were trying to think of a plan to capture them all at once and figured a distraction would work best,” Moth explained, having the decency to at least look a little guilty. The eraser hero’s frown only deepened.

“Need I remind you that you are, in fact, a child? That you should be leaving hero work to the heroes? What if one of them was carrying a gun or other weapon? You could have gotten seriously hurt, kid,” Shouta began to lecture, absently tightening his scarf around the thieves in frustration. Thankfully, the tied-up men had the senses to remain quiet, not wanting to get involved in whatever the hell was happening between the disgruntled hero and sheepish kid.

“But it worked…” Moth lamely argued.

“This time. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Moth opened his mouth to respond when the distant sound of sirens cut him off. With an apologetic look towards the eraser hero, Moth dashed away from the scene, Shouta losing sight of him when the kid turned a corner. Once again cursing hero protocol of leaving crime scenes or criminals unattended, he could only rub his temples to ease back yet another oncoming headache. At this point, Shouta could only hope to come across Moth outside of apprehending villains so he could properly give chase.

-----

Over the next few weeks, Shouta and Moth regularly ran into each other, and in every single one of those instances, it was during the event of some criminal activity where Shouta was unable to properly go after the brat and capture him once and for all. A few times, Shouta considered asking another hero to tag along on his patrols, if only so one of them could stay back with the restrained villains while the other track down the not-quite-vigilante. Unfortunately, Shouta could never predict when he would come across Moth, and forcing himself to carry out his patrols with another hero sounded too troublesome. He liked his alone time, thank you.

So back and forth they went playing an absurdly long game of cat and mouse. Either the eraser hero would stumble upon Moth fighting villains or Moth would feel the need to help Shouta during his own criminal encounters. Regardless, the outcome was always the same—Moth would end up getting away before he could do anything about it, and god did that frustrate the hero to no end.

Maybe Tsukauchi was right and the kid did have a vanishing quirk.

-----

The mission to capture Moth had finally come to a close. Or so Shouta thought once he had successfully restrained the kid in his capture weapon. It was a couple of weeks later when the eraser hero spotted Moth sneaking down the street, darting in and out of alleyways. With no villains or crimes in sight, nothing to occupy the hero’s attention from the kid, Shouta took this as his chance to finally, finally capture the child that had been steadily giving him gray hairs for the past month.

Without making a sound, Shouta used his capture weapon to lower himself from his spot on a roof and follow the kid like a shadow. Years of experience in stealth as an underground hero allowed him to remain unnoticeable. As soon as he saw an opening, the hero shot an end of his capture weapon at the kid, effectively securing the boy as it wound itself around his small frame, even pinning one of his arms to his side. Shouta felt just a tad triumphant as Moth let out a surprised “squeak”. Tsukauchi would definitely be paying for his coffee for the rest of the year for how much hassle this kid put him through.

Before the hero could begin yet another lecture about how reckless the boy had been, he could feel a sudden motion from the part of the capture weapon he still held in his hands. Trailing his gaze to where his scarf met the kid, he noticed Moth’s breathing become shallow and quick. His eyes wide and panicked, staring at Shouta like the hero was the boogieman himself. It was the same kind of look someone might give an especially scary villain and Shouta felt a bit hurt being on the receiving end, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside.

Shouta sighed, understanding that the kid was quickly falling into a panic. He could feel the vibrations from how badly Moth was shaking through the coils of his capture weapon.

“Hey, kid-” the hero spoke as softly as he could. It didn’t seem to help any though as Moth harshly flinched back and tears immediately pooled in his eyes, their usual green hue turning into a kaleidoscope of colors from the reflection of the dim street lights around them. He then noticed a near-silent muttering coming from the captured kid. It was a worrying string of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry,” in a broken whisper. The small, hurt feeling trickled back into Shouta's consciousness.

“Moth-” Shouta tried again, his mind racing to come up with the best approach to calm the panicked child without letting him go from his scarf completely. This made the eraser hero distracted enough to not notice Moth sliding a knife from his sleeve, from the arm left unrestrained, and quickly slashing at the capture weapon. The sudden movement brought Shouta’s focus back to the boy as he noticed that not only did Moth manage to successfully cut through his metal alloy and carbon fiber scarf—where the hell did this kid even get that kind of knife?—but the kid ended up giving himself quite the nasty cut on his restrained arm as well.

Shouta grimaced as blood rushed from Moth’s new gash, the now useless end of the hero’s capture weapon unspooling from around him and dropping to the ground. What surprised Shouta more than the kid managing to break free from his restraint was that he hadn’t even flinched or shown any signs of pain when he accidentally cut himself. And Shouta knew that the cut had to be deep enough to warrant stitches if the amount of blood already weeping from the wound was anything to go by.

With a final, shaken, “I’m sorry,” Moth dashed into the closest alley, disappearing into the dark. It took Shouta a solid few seconds to snap out of his surprised daze and sprint after Moth to the direction he saw him flee. It was no use. The current concrete jungle they were in was built like a maze and the cloudy night sky made the shadows of the surrounding buildings even darker. Trying to hunt Moth down now would only waste time and energy, especially if the kid didn’t want to be found. The hero knew firsthand how elusive the kid could be.

What made Moth so good at slipping away? Where did the talent- no, the need to be unnoticeable and hidden come from? And why the hell was the kid so sure that Shouta was going to hurt him that he would rather hurt himself in a chance to escape?

Kid, just what the hell have you been through? Shouta thought grimly, bundling up the torn end of his capture weapon.

With his scarf out of commission, Shouta would have to walk home by foot instead of his usual rooftop route. It at least gave him time to think about Moth’s reaction to being caught. Was he expecting Moth to be a bit scared? Sure. Getting in trouble and then getting caught for it would make any kid nervous. It didn't help that Shouta naturally had an unapproachable, perhaps even scary demeanor. But the utter terror that came off the kid in waves made Shouta’s stomach turn.

Clearly, Shouta pondered, the chase and capture approach isn’t going to work in this situation. Moth is obviously traumatized by something if he's willing to go so far to escape. Perhaps Shouta should have realized it from the start when considering Moth's clear lack of self-preservation. I’m not just dealing with a kid who doesn’t know what danger is, I’m dealing with a kid who has no problems dying or hurting himself, and Christ isn’t that a horrifying thought.

As Shouta made the long trek back home he let his mind wander a bit. He reasoned that he would have to take a much gentler approach when dealing with Moth. At this point, he just wanted to make sure the kid stayed safe and alive. And probably fed too. It didn’t escape his notice that Moth was much skinnier than he had anticipated once he was wrapped up in Shouta’s capture weapon. The baggy hoodie and loose jeans doing well to hide just how tiny the boy is.

Worrying about the nasty cut on the kid’s arm, the hero prayed to every deity he didn’t really believe in that Moth knew basic first aid or at least knew someone who did. He didn’t want to think too hard about the kid getting an infection without any proper treatment.

God, what did Shouta get himself into?

-----

Izuku had no memory of finding his way back to his apartment. It wasn’t until he was sat half-naked in his bathtub, his first aid kit next to him, that the world snapped into focus. Sitting on the edge of the tub was his laptop, opened to a video of “How to Suture Wounds”. Izuku held the needle in his right hand and was shakily guiding it through sensitive skin on his upper left arm in an attempt to close the cut.

Izuku would usually consider himself to have high pain tolerance, but the gash on his arm was deep enough that he could see the yellow layer of fat which made him slightly nauseated. His entire upper arm felt like it was on fire and each time the needle pierced his skin it sent another wave of sharp, hot pain that caused Izuku to grit his teeth. He wanted to cry so badly but whenever tears fogged his vision he had to stop to wipe them away so he could see what he was doing. Not for the first time, he desperately wished he wasn’t alone. The silence in his apartment felt like a crushing reminder that no one would care if he died. No one would even consider looking for his body and the reality of that hurt just as much as any knife wound.

But he deserved this, didn’t he? Eraserhead looked so angry and exhausted and it was all Izuku’s fault. He’s been wasting the precious time of a hero! Who knew how many more people Eraserhead could have saved if he wasn’t busy trying to capture Izuku. Maybe he should have just let the hero hurt him?

Stupid, hero’s don’t hurt people, Izuku weakly argued to himself.

Hero’s don’t hurt civilians, but they can certainly hurt villains, His internal thoughts quipped back.

Izuku drew in another shaky breath as he finished the last of suturing his cut. He reached for the alcohol wipes and gauze next.

I’m not a villain though.

Aren’t you? Don’t you have an entire file at the police station for your criminal activities? Why else would Eraserhead try to capture you? It’s definitely not because you’re innocent. Hero’s don’t just go around chasing after innocent civilians.

Izuku wrapped up his arm with itchy medical tape to keep the gauze in place. He was much too tired and sore to clean up the bandage wrappers and the smeared blood stains that painted the bathtub. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep and maybe never wake up. It sounded so peaceful, so resting, and God Izuku was just so fucking tired.

He crawled his way out of the tub and onto his futon. It was times like these that Izuku was grateful for the small size of his apartment. He ignored the gnawing hunger in his stomach, closed his eyes, and drifted into a restless, dreamless, sleep.

Chapter Text

It had been over two weeks since Shouta last saw Moth and he was starting to worry. No, that was a lie. Shouta was already worried from the moment Moth ran away with a bleeding gash on his arm from a knife that was strong enough to cut his own capture weapon. Perhaps Shouta was even worried before then when he had first seen the kid risk his life to save a scared woman from being attacked in an alley. Because that’s what Moth was; a kid. Don’t misunderstand the hero, he’s not the biggest fan of children, especially younger ones. If anyone were to ask his friends, Present Mic or Midnight, they would admit that getting Shouta to accept a job teaching super-powered high schoolers was nearly as impossible as willing the sky to turn green. He did eventually accept the job and even came to find satisfaction in the work, but he’ll openly complain about it at every opportunity.

Anyway, the point being, Moth had somehow squirmed his way into Shouta’s consciousness, even before the brat fled from him while injured. Now that he’s seen Moth up close, now that he even fought alongside the kid a few times, Shouta’s concern for the boy only grew and their last encounter raised more red flags than he would have liked.

Firstly, Moth was obviously way too skinny and way too small. The eraser hero honestly thought the kid was like eight or nine. Hell, Moth was probably not even big enough to ride in a car without a booster seat. Shouta guessed his shortened stature was at least partially caused by malnutrition, because when he had the kid wrapped up in his capture scarf, it didn’t escape the hero’s notice just how skinny and light he was.

Another worrying sign was the kid’s empty, dull eyes. No child should have the same look as a veteran hero who’s seen the worst of the world. Those same eyes were constantly darting in every direction, scoping out either any possible threat or the nearest escape route.

Lastly, and possibly the most distressing, was just how little Moth cared about his own safety. The boy would never hesitate to jump into the worst of fights in order to save someone in need. Some would call that heroic, Shouta calls it reckless. In order to save as many people as they can, heroes need to remain alive to do so, something Shouta was determined to beat into the heads of every aspiring hero that walked into his classroom.

So yes, Shouta was worried. He’s a hero and a generally decent person so why wouldn’t he be? Definitely not because he feels any kind of growing attachment to the kid, that would be absurd. This is all purely professional and the hero was concerned simply because it’s part of his job.

But after two weeks of not seeing any sign of the boy, Shouta’s worry spiked. As much as the hero tried not to dwell on it, he had to come to terms with the possibility that Moth was either sick with an infection, or worse. He didn’t want to imagine what “worse” meant because thinking about that meant he had to think about his own possible failure. A failure as a hero to save one damn kid, something he promised himself he would never fail at again. Not since becoming a teacher.

Not since Oboro.

So each night the underground hero forced himself to patrol a little longer and look a little harder. He was starting to lose sleep due to the extra patrol shifts but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Shouta didn’t even try to make up any excuses about what he was doing. Shouta even admitted aloud to Tsukauchi that he was patrolling more because he was concerned for the damn brat. Despite how much Hizashi teased him, he wasn’t totally apathetic. Besides, if anything happened to Moth then it would be his fault and that wasn’t something he was willing to live with any time soon.

——

Izuku had long come to terms with the fact that not a single person would care if he died. Hell, even Izuku wouldn’t care all that much if he was being honest. At this point, he figured he would either die by killing himself or by playing vigilante. Of the two options, at least in the latter situation, he was making himself useful.

So it’s understandable that Izuku was starting to become restless after not leaving his apartment for two weeks. Even though the boy wouldn’t actually consider himself a vigilante, he still liked to patrol the area whenever he went out on grocery runs or on trips to the scrap yard. It was also a decent way to make some money since there was an absurd amount of villains that carried cash on them for whatever reason. Drug dealers, he understands, but muggers? Seriously?

However, the cut on Izuku’s arm was healing too slow for his liking. He couldn’t risk getting into fights and ripping the stitches, a lesson he learned the hard way when he tried to practice with his bo staff in his apartment only to subsequently knock over his toaster and pop a few sutures. Izuku couldn’t say whether he was more upset by his (again) broken toaster or the pain in his arm. Either way, it was a shitty day.

To pass the time, Izuku got ahead in his online classes, attempted to fix his toaster, watched funny cat videos, polished up his quirk analysis notebooks, tinkered with some of his homemade support items, successfully fixed his toaster, and slept.

After a little over two weeks, Izuku determined that his arm was healed enough and that he would be mostly fine if he found himself in another scuffle with a villain. That, and he had run out of food the other day so a trip to the corner store was much needed.

He put on his navy blue hoodie and fabric mask (he swears it’s not a vigilante costume, it’s just an extra precaution), and shoved his collapsed bo staff into his hoodie pocket. Patting himself down to check he had everything he needed, Izuku set out on his mission to find food and maybe, perhaps, stop a few criminals along the way.

It wasn’t that Izuku was going out of his way to look for trouble, it’s just that sometimes when the boy interacted with the victims he saved he felt like he was doing something right. When he talked in a quiet, reassuring tone to a scared child or injured civilian, when they responded to him with gratitude or just general kindness, Izuku felt like he belonged. He felt just a little less lonely.

Sometimes, Izuku could lie to himself and believe, for just a moment, that someone in the world cared about him.

——-

It was nearing the third week into Moth’s sudden disappearance when Shouta finally saw Moth again. It was around midnight and the moon hung full and bright in the sky. If it wasn’t for the shine of the full moon, Shouta may have missed him completely. As usual, Moth wore dark clothes to blend in with the shadows and the way he was hunched in an alley made him easy to overlook.

The eraser hero could feel the tension bleed from his aching muscles in relief to see the kid alive and healthy. Okay, maybe not healthy—the kid was still far too skinny and small for his liking—but alive and that’s what counted at the moment.

Too distracted by his relief in seeing the boy in one piece, it took him a moment to notice what he was doing. Crouching beside a dumpster in the dimly lit alley, Moth was holding something in his hand. Clearly, Moth hadn’t seen Shouta approach him from behind yet, but the hero decided to leave his presence unannounced just a bit longer in favor to see what the kid was up to.

Shouta took in the scene before him and realized that Moth was holding a small piece of store-bought onigiri, the rest of the half-eaten food poking out of his hoodie pocket. Shouta's gaze followed the kid’s outstretched arm and noticed a tiny, brown cat crawling out from beneath the dumpster. Moth waited patiently for the cat to sniff at the offering before it began to nibble the food from the boy’s fingers. The cat’s tail twitched happily and Moth let out the quietest giggle.

Shouta couldn’t stop the smile that quirked at the corners of his lips. Because Moth, a kid who was probably just as hungry as this alley cat was, decided to share some of his food, and the sight of it caused a sudden warmth to bloom in the hero’s chest. Sure, Moth had gone out of his way time and time again to save strangers from harm but the small, sincere action of a kid feeding a stray cat was somehow so much sweeter. It reminded Shouta that Moth was really and truly just a child. A young, probably starving, and probably lonely child who wanted to share his time with another starving and lonely creature.

Shouta ignored the flashes of memory about a different, cloudy-haired kid that went out of his way to help a kitten in need.

It was also in this moment of calm that the hero recognized the cat as one he, himself, had fed a few times before. She was a friendly little thing, rare for most alley cats, and before Shouta could help himself, he awkwardly blurted out, “She likes to be pet under her chin.”

At the sudden awareness of his presence, Moth immediately spun around while still in his crouched position, the quick movement causing him to fall back onto his tail bone. Wide-eyed and clearly panicked, the boy scrambled back until he was leaning flush against the dumpster. The alley cat merely moved out of the way from the kid, his outburst not phasing her in the least, and slowly made her way towards Shouta who was already starting to crouch down himself so he could pick her up.

“W-w-what?” Moth squeaked. The poor kid looked like a bunny about to keel over from fright.

Huh. Maybe Bunny would have been a more suitable vigilante name, the hero pondered with slight amusement.

Shouta stood back up and gestured with a nod of his head to the cat that was now contently nestled in his arms. “She likes to be pet under her chin,” he repeated, demonstrating with a gentle scratch under the cat's jaw. The alley cat’s tail flicked with content and a soft rumble of purrs showed her delight in the affection she was receiving.

While the hero’s attention was momentarily taken by the cuddly cat, Moth slowly rose to a stand. From the corner of his eye, Shouta could see the kid shift his weight ever so slightly into a defensive stance, ready to spring away if needed.

Yeah, definitely a bunny.

If Shouta was being honest, he hadn’t really planned on what to say if he came across Moth again. He’s never been one to be well-versed in social queues but the last thing he wanted to do was say something wrong and scare the boy off. So the silence between them remained heavy, only broken up by the cat’s occasional chirps and purrs.

Shouta was about to take a chance and ask the kid how his arm was healing but Moth spoke up first.

“Aren’t you going to arrest me?” The boy asked, his voice wavering. Shouta could understand the kid’s confusion. Up until now, the hero had been attempting to capture Moth and bring him back to the station to let Tsukauchi take care of whatever happens after. So the suspicion at the sudden change in Shouta’s demeanor was to be expected.

“Have you done something to warrant being arrested?” Shouta replied, allowing a hint of playfulness to seep into his usual monotone voice. Moth eyed him, his head tilting to the side as if to gauge whether or not Shouta’s question was rhetorical.

“I don’t…think so?” Moth said after a moment, the lilt in his voice making his response sound like a question, as if he was doubtful of his own answer.

Shouta simply shrugged. “Then you don’t have to worry about being arrested,” he said with assurance. “In fact, this entire time, I was never trying to arrest you. To my knowledge, you’ve done nothing that would require spending time behind bars.”

Moth looked at him with clear disbelief, like Shouta had just told him that cats grew from trees.

“B-but you’ve been chasing me. Aren’t I a villain? Why else would you try and capture me? And l-last time, when you caught me-”

“My intentions were never to arrest you,” Shouta interrupted, wanting to leave no room for the kid to argue his belief that he was a villain of all things. Christ, did Moth really think I saw him as a villain this whole time? “You were never in any legal trouble if you don’t count breaking curfew, and I apologize for making you feel like you were.” The kid squinted at him, clearly not fully convinced.

“Then why chase me?” Moth asked.

Shouta let out an audible sigh then tilted his head up to look at the moon, giving himself time to gather his thoughts, before shifting his gaze back to the scared child in front of him. Moth was still standing defensively, though now his arms were curled around his stomach in a protective manner. Looking less like he was about to run and more like he was readying himself to be hit. Yet another red flag to add to the ever-growing list of concerns the hero had about the kid. He decided to answer honestly.

“I was worried,” Shouta admitted quietly. “You kept running off before I had a chance to make sure you were okay. While, yes, I probably would have dragged you to the police station to find out why, exactly, you’re always out on the streets this late at night, I recognize now that wasn’t the appropriate approach. I’m sorry.” Shouta bowed his head slightly in apology.

When he looked back up at the boy, he found Moth was staring at him with not only disbelief but surprise. The kid clearly didn’t trust him in any capacity and he looked at Shouta like the hero was still about to capture him as soon as he got the chance. What else could he say to ease the boy’s—

“Worried?” Moth whispered slowly like the word was foreign to him.

And oh. Oh.

It wasn’t that Moth still thought Shouta was going to arrest him, it was that the kid didn’t believe someone was worried about him. And didn’t that concept just make Shouta’s heart ache.

“Yeah, kid, I’ve been worried,” the hero said gently. The small cat began to squirm in his arms so he loosened his grip and let her jump down. With one last flick of the tail, she bounded out of the alley, leaving Shouta and Moth alone. Shouta continued to speak while brushing cat fur from his jumpsuit, “In fact, I’ve been looking for you these past few weeks. That cut on your arm looked pretty bad and I was afraid you had gotten sick with an infection.”

“You were…looking for me?” The boy mumbled, more to himself than to Shouta. Moth shook his head slowly, his eyes staring off into the distance. It was as if the hero had completely shifted Moth’s worldview. Maybe he had. And wasn’t that upsetting.

Shouta sighed again, “Look, Moth. I want to make a deal with you.” The eraser hero held up his hand the moment Moth opened his mouth. “Let me finish.” The boy’s mouth audibly clicked shut. “I want to make a deal. I won’t ever try and capture you again. I won’t ever try and force you to do something you don’t want to do. However,” Shouta paused, his onyx eyes locked on emerald green ones, “I want to be able to check-in with you. To make sure you’re still alive and okay.”

Moth still looked at the hero with doubt, his small fingers twisting together in nervousness.

“You don’t have to trust me yet, that’s okay, but please let me check in on you. If only for my own peace of mind,” Shouta urged, well aware of how disparate he was sounding. “Okay?”

The kid stared at him for a solid minute, perhaps looking for any sign that the hero was lying to him. Then finally, hesitantly, “Do you promise?”

Shouta nodded firmly, “I promise.”

“Um…” Moth fidgeted and his eyes dropped to his feet. “I guess? I don’t— I don’t know how to do that though? And I don’t really want to give you my phone number or anything.”

Shouta sighed internally. Being able to reach the kid via phone would be the easiest and quickest way to reach him, but he understood Moth’s fear. Phone numbers could be easily trackable, after all. He ran a hand through his hair and thought for a moment.

“Alright. How about this: we can leave notes for each other,” Shouta offered, “We’ll set a day and time to leave a note somewhere safe but easily accessible.” Moth seemed to be a lot more comfortable with that idea, relief evident in his eyes.

“Y-yeah. Okay. I can do that. Uh, where should we…?”

“There’s an old bench by Ishihara’s Corner Store not too far from here. Do you know where that is?” Shouta asked. Moth nodded. “Okay, then how about twice a week, every Monday and Friday, you leave me a note? I’ll check it before I start my patrols, so around 10 p.m., and I'll leave you a note in return. Does that sounds reasonable?”

Moth seemed to consider the idea for a bit before nodding again. “Yeah. That sounds okay.”

The boy seemed to look less tense now that he knew he wasn’t in immediate danger of being captured, and Shouta let himself exhale in relief. Moth didn’t exactly trust him yet, but this was a start. Shouta could work with this. It would take longer than if he were to go back on his word and drag the kid to the police, but something in the back of his mind told him to wait. That Moth was so clearly on the edge as it was that capturing him against his will and shoving him at the police would only break him. No, this was a delicate situation and it needed to be handled with care and patience.

“Okay. We have a deal,” the hero nodded his head once, “Thank you for hearing me out, kid. I only want to make sure your alive and as safe as possible.” Moth opened his mouth again, a word already formed on his lips before he stopped himself.

Shouta knew he was about to ask ‘why?’, perhaps wanting to question the hero about why he cared for his safety, but instead he asked, “What about running into you at other times? Like…when you’re on patrol and stuff?”

The eraser hero hummed in thought. “Depends. If I see you in passing, then nothing will happen. If I see you in the middle of a fight with a villain twice your size—don’t look at me like that, it’s a common occurrence and you know it—then I’ll step in and help you out. If you see me in a fight, then stay out of it. I’m a trained hero, I know what I’m doing. Understand?” Shouta gave the boy a stern, but still soft, glare. Even though the kid was wearing a mask, he could still tell Moth was pouting a bit. Shouta rolled his eyes. “If you really want to help, wait until I capture the bad guy and you can help me calm down any victim or clean up any mess, okay?”

A light flashed in Moth’s usually dull eyes. It was only for a moment, but Shouta still caught it, and he was suddenly filled with the determination to see just how lively and bright those emerald orbs could be. He wanted to see Moth be the child he’s supposed to be; happy, curious, and safe.

“Alright. I expect a note from you on Friday.” Shouta gave Moth a gentle smile. “Do you hear me, problem child?”

“Yes sir, Eraserhead,” Moth promised him quietly.

With that, Shouta lazily waved at the boy before stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking out of the alley. He wanted so desperately to find out who Moth was, to see what his living situation was like, to make sure the kid was safe, dammit. But he knew he had to play the long game. He needed to build trust between himself and the almost-vigilante if he wanted any answers without hurting the boy. So he’ll wait. He’ll wait as long as he needs to in order to make sure this kid feels safe, feels cared for.

The hero just hoped he didn’t have to wait too long.

——

It took a few minutes after Eraserhead left for Izuku to finally leave the alley. His heart was beating so hard he could feel the drum of it in his temples. His head swam with the events that had just occurred and Izuku had absolutely no idea how to feel about any of it. He wasn’t even going to touch on the idea of Eraserhead saying he was worried about him. That the hero had apparently been looking for him. No one cared about Izuku and certainly, no one would ever go out of their way to worry about his wellbeing.

Wait. Of course. Eraserhead didn’t actually care about him. He was a hero and it was his job to help all civilians. Izuku was just surprised he wasn’t an exception. Then again, he always considered Eraserhead to be one of the better heroes, saving people without any need for recognition. It made sense that Eraser was a good enough hero to pretend he was worried about Izuku.

That’s nice of him, Izuku thought with a small smile, to be kind enough to pretend he cares about someone like me.

Chapter Text

Friday evening approached all too quickly and Izuku began to panic. He promised Eraserhead that he would leave the hero a note somewhere on a bench by the corner store he always shopped at. Did the underground hero know Izuku got his groceries from there? Was it just a coincidence? More importantly, what the hell was Izuku supposed to write on the note? He had completely forgotten to ask Eraserhead for further instructions on the whole note system. After he wrote the note, where on the bench should he put it? Just on top? What if it blows away in the wind or someone takes it?

Izuku paced around his apartment, already dressed to go out. The blank, green sticky note on the table mocked him. He had no idea what to write, but if he didn’t write anything he might get in trouble! He was already wasting enough of the hero’s time as it is. Though, Eraserhead did say he wanted Izuku to write him notes just to make sure he was alive, so…

Glancing at the clock that hung precariously on the wall, Izuku noted with sudden anxiety that Eraserhead would be starting his patrol soon. Without the time to think of a proper message to leave the hero, Izuku just wrote down the first thing that came to mind and dashed out of his apartment.

He made it to Ishihara’s Corner Store with thirty minutes to spare and was relieved when he immediately spotted the old bench, the wood in late stages of rot and weeds climbing up its metal legs. Thankfully, Izuku could only see the one bench sitting outside the store. Otherwise, he would have panicked about picking the wrong one.

Izuku decided the safest way to place his note was to hide it under a decent-sized rock and place it in the middle of the seat. This way, the paper wouldn’t blow away and Eraserhead should easily be able to deduce that the oddly placed rock was there for a reason. Besides, anyone with half a brain would avoid sitting on the old bench in fear of it collapsing beneath them.

Satisfied with his plan, Izuku hid the note under the rock and sprinted back home. Even though Eraserhead said he wasn’t going to capture Izuku, he really didn’t want to take the chance of running into him in case the hero changed his mind. After all, adults lie all the time.

-----

Shouta’s patrols usually started at 10 p.m., or at least that’s what he set for himself. Being an independent underground hero allowed him to have much more freedom than other heroes. Sure, he was technically signed on to an agency, all heroes had to be in order to get paid by the Hero Commission. Agencies also handled things like insurance for injuries and property damage.

The agency that Shouta was signed with, Nightingale, specifically hired underground heroes. It was probably one of the most lenient agencies in Japan, not caring how many hours its heroes worked. This was partially due to the fact that underground heroes cause the least amount of property damage, civilian injuries, and villain injuries compared to every other type of hero. Less damage means less money the agency needed to shell out for insurance.

This leniency allowed Shouta to work when he wanted for as long as he wanted. The only guideline he really had to follow was to check in with his local precinct before each shift so that the police officers in the area knew who was patrolling.

So, sending off a quick text to Tsukauchi and Sansa (he always included Sansa just in case Tsukauchi was too busy stress-screaming into his empty coffee mug to check his phone), Shouta left his apartment and took to the rooftops. He used his capture weapon to propel himself over any gaps between buildings that were too far apart to jump across. It was not only an efficient way to travel, allowing Shouta to use the height of the buildings to scope out any possible dangers, but generally much faster than traversing by foot on the ground.

Sometimes, Shouta enjoyed patrolling at a leisurely pace, taking advantage of the quiet time spent away from loud high schoolers and even louder colleagues, “-and no, Nezu, it doesn’t matter that I expelled my entire class this year, I still get raging headaches from the insane amount of noise that reverberates in the hallways.”

However, tonight was different. Tonight, Shouta was quick to make his way across the city. He was expecting a note from Moth that would allow the hero to breathe just a bit easier in knowing the kid was still okay. Though he hadn’t seen the kid since they last talked face-to-face, he had every hope that Moth would hold up his end of the deal. If the boy was good on his word, then tonight would be the first step into finally getting Moth the help he clearly needed.

It didn’t take too long for Shouta to reach their agreed-upon spot, the weather-worn bench only barely lit by the light of the convenience store’s windows. Well, at least the windows that weren’t boarded up by planks of wood. Either the store owner didn’t have the funds to fix the windows, or the store was robbed so many times that they didn’t bother to waste the money on it.

Approaching the bench, Shouta immediately noticed a rock that was placed in the middle. Lifting the rock, he saw a small, green slip of paper hidden underneath. In all honesty, Shouta expected the kid to stick the note on the underside of the bench or something, but he’ll give Moth credit for creativity for using a rock as a paperweight.

Shouta scanned the note and couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him. He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of note the kid would leave him, but the simple words of “I’m alive,” seemed almost sarcastic. Like asking a teenager to do chores and watching as they perform the task with bare minimum effort out of spite. Well, he did tell Moth that this note system was to ensure the hero that the kid was, in fact, alive. He wasn’t exactly specific in what he wanted Moth to write. Still, Shouta was kind of hoping for something…more.

You really are going to be a problem child, aren’t you? Shouta mused.

Taking out his own slip of paper, a basic yellow index card, Shouta wrote down his response. He wanted to write more, maybe ask the kid how he was doing, if his arm was fully healed, if he was in school— but he didn’t want to push it. Not yet. If he overwhelmed Moth it might scare him off before Shouta even got a chance to earn the boy’s trust. So he left his response short and simple before capping the pen he used to write with and leaving to officially start his patrol.

Shouta isn’t sure if he’s hoping to see Moth before their next note-trading session on Monday or not. On one hand, seeing Moth in person was another sign the kid was alive. On the other, seeing Moth in person in the middle of the night, usually fighting crime in the red-light district, would be worrying all the same. But for tonight, at least, Shouta could rest easier knowing the brat was alive.

-----

It was Saturday afternoon when Izuku walked over to the corner store to check under the rock. He was half anticipating his own note to still be there, untouched. Eraserhead was a pro hero with plenty more important things to do than to check up on someone as useless as Izuku. To his surprise, however, Izuku’s note was gone. In its place, hidden under the same rock, was a yellow paper with lazy handwriting, and Izuku couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the message. He could practically hear the hero’s sarcastic yet bored voice in the written response.

“Good. Stay alive. -Eraser”

Chapter Text

Over the next month, Eraserhead and Moth continued to exchange notes. At first, they were short and simple, Moth using the obscure pen-pal system to notify the underground hero that he was still breathing. Meanwhile, Eraserhead was hoping the notes would establish some trust with the wayward boy. The hero was careful, making sure his replies stayed fairly neutral so as not to overstep any of Moth’s boundaries or scare the kid off.

As the weeks progressed, Eraserhead’s patient approach appeared to have been the right move in getting Moth to open up. They still saw each other in passing every once in a while, but it seemed to him that Moth was more comfortable speaking over their note system and Eraserhead would take what he could get.

“Still alive. -Moth”

“Glad to hear it. -Eraser”

“Still, still alive. -Moth”

“Are you just going to repeat the same sentence each time? -Eraser”

“Sorry. I don’t know what else to say? -Moth”

“Whatever you’d like. Maybe how your week was or something that interests you. -Eraser”

“Oh. Why do you want to know about my week? -Moth”

“Curiosity. I’m sure being a vigilante isn’t your only hobby. -Eraser”

“I’m not a vigilante! And I guess my week has been fine? I just did homework mostly. -Moth”

“Good to know you’re keeping up with your studies outside of fighting crime. What kind of subjects do you enjoy? -Eraser”

“Like school subjects? I like science, especially quirk-related science. I also like history. I’m bad at math though :( -Moth”

“That’s alright. I’ve never been good at math either. Just do your best, kid. -Eraser”

“If I can ask, what subjects in school did you like? You don’t have to answer, sorry. -Moth”

“You can ask me questions. I may not always be able to answer due to safety reasons but I’ll answer what I can. As for school subjects, I enjoyed history and ethics. -Eraser”

-----

Although Moth never gave away any information specific enough to track down his identity, Shouta was just as glad to see the kid becoming more comfortable with his general presence. Not only did the messages between them become more conversational and familiar as time went on, but whenever Shouta did run into Moth, the kid seemed less and less defensive.

The real ice breaker came another month later.

-----

Izuku was on his way to the scrap yard late one night. He ran out of cables and wires he had been using to trip up and capture villains, but luckily, the scarp yard had a never-ending supply. He had made so many trips to that particular land of trash that he could walk there with his eyes closed. Not that he ever did, that would be stupid. However, the familiarity of the trip caused Izuku to get too comfortable and he unknowingly let his guard down.

Lost in thought while cutting across an empty parking lot, Izuku almost missed the projectile aiming straight for his face. He dropped to a roll just in time for the sharp, stick-like object to fly past him, right where his head was half a second ago. Whipping his head in the direction of where he assumed the projectile came from, Izuku saw what he could only describe as a giant porcupine. It stood on hind legs, its body larger than the average man and completely muscular. It was clearly someone with a porcupine quirk, not the weirdest thing he’s ever seen, but absolutely terrifying when it was giving him a death glare from across an abandoned lot.

Before Izuku could pick apart their quirk any further, they charged at him, holding a knife-sized quill in each hand. Ah. So that was what flew at him a moment ago.

Right as they got close enough, Izuku dived under their legs, rolling before springing up again. He turned on his heel just in time to see yet another quill flying towards his stomach. Izuku dodged again before running, keeping his eyes on the porcupine person in case they decided to make another one of their quills airborne in his direction. Because he was so focused on his attacker, Izuku didn’t see the metal trash can in front of him and ran straight into it. He caught himself before he fell but he couldn’t say the same to the trash can. It tipped over with a loud clang, its content spilling out and the metal lid rolling to land at his feet.

With a quick glance back to the giant porcupine, who was now charging at him again, Izuku grabbed the metal lid and held it by the top handle, angeling it like a medieval shield. He had no idea if it would be strong enough to withstand the quills but it was better than nothing.

Just as knock-off Sonic took another jab towards Izuku’s direction, he swerved out of the way and brought down his trashcan shield to bash them on the head, the only part of their body not covered in spikes. The blow caused his attacker to stumble, giving Izuku precious time to start running again. He jumped over the fallen trash can and sprinted aimlessly away from the villain. Only seconds later Izuku could hear the lumbering footsteps of his assailant running in his direction.

Izuku sharply turned the nearest corner in hopes of getting out of their line of sight, but to his horror, he ended up turning into an empty alley with a dead end. Before Izuku could sprint back out, the porcupine attacker stumbled into the mouth of the alley, successfully blocking his only way out.

“Please, I-I don’t know what you want! I’m sorry if I made you angry somehow!” Izuku pleaded. He held the trashcan lid protectively over his middle and took tentative steps back until his spine hit the brick wall behind him. Unless he suddenly sprouted wings or gained some kind of teleportation quirk, he was completely trapped.

“You don’t know what I want?!” The spiked man roared. At least, Izuku was now pretty sure they were a man with how deep his voice sounded. “What I want is for you to drop dead!” The assailant took a step forward, boxing Izuku in and making him feel claustrophobic.

“But w-why? I don’t even know you!”

The man growled and took yet another step closer. He let out a low, dark laugh while glaring at Izuku like he was a chew toy.

“You might not know me, but you sure as hell know my little sister!” Izuku could only give him an incredulous look in response. “My sister! Who you knocked out and tied up before ratting her out to the police last week!”

Ah! Right. Izuku remembers now.

“You mean…the women with the hedgehog quirk? Who was in the middle of robbing a clothing store?” Izuku tried to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t help the fear the leaked through.

“So you do remember?” The man smirked, his teeth as sharp as his quills. “Good. Then killing you will be all the more satisfactory!” The villain ripped a quill from his shoulder and swing it down in Izuku’s direction. Being backed into a corner, there was no way for Izuku to dodge. All he could do was helplessly hold up his makeshift shield and hope for the best. Or at least, hope that his death wouldn’t be too painful.

But the hit never came. Instead of the blow that Izuku was expecting, he was startled by the man’s frustrated scream. Izuku opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—to see that his attacker’s hand, the one that held the quill like a dagger, was being restrained by a white rope.

Wait, no. Not a rope.

A capture scarf! Izuku noted with pure relief.

Never, in these past few months, had Izuku been so happy to see Eraserhead. The hero was perched on the edge of the roof right above them, his goggles catching the light of a nearby streetlamp making him look all the more intimidating. Eraserhead pulled his capture weapon taught and jumped down, the sole of his boot landing right in the center of the spiky man’s face causing the attacker to stumble backward and land on his backside. The eraser hero moved to stand protectively in front of Izuku though his eyes never left the large man that was rubbing his, most likely, broken nose with his free hand.

“You alright, kid?” Eraserhead asked. It took a good few seconds for Izuku to register the question before replying with an affirmative hum. “Good. Stay here and don’t move,” was all Eraser said before sprinting right back at the hulking man who was now slowly rising to his feet.

Before the villain could properly regain his balance, Eraserhead pulled hard at the end of the scarf that was still wrapped around the attacker’s arm. The force of being tugged downward mixed with his already precarious balance caused the larger man to tip forward, his face aiming straight for the hero’s awaiting knee.

A sickening crunch echoed between the walls of the alley and the porcupine villain went out like a light, his large body hitting the ground with an audible thud. Eraserhead wasted no time in cuffing the man and tying his legs and arms together with police-grade zip ties as an extra precaution.

Eraserhead straightened back up and dug his phone from his pocket to send off a message.

“Police ETA is twenty minutes. Not a lot of officers in the area tonight,” Eraserhead stated with displeasure. The hero turned back to Izuku who finally dropped his trashcan shield, feeling safe enough to no longer need it. Usually, Izuku would use the hero protocol of not leaving criminals unattended to his advantage and run off before Eraserhead could catch him. But for the past two months, Eraserhead hadn’t made any move to give chase, no matter how many times they bumped into each other. “Seriously, Moth, are you alright? Any injuries?” The hero’s question snapped him out of his train of thought.

“Huh? Oh. No, I’m- I’m okay.”

“Glad to hear it.” Eraserhead then gestured to the trashcan lid by his feet, “Smart idea, using what was available to you to protect yourself. And if I hadn’t heard the trashcan fall over, I might not have made it in time.”

Izuku flushed at the sudden praise. “Oh! Um, thanks. It probably wouldn’t have stopped the quills though.”

“It wouldn’t have stopped them completely, but it would have lessened any damage. Overall, still a smart move.”

Izuku could only nod, not entirely sure what to say. Not wanting to stick around too much longer, especially with the police on the way, Izuku was about to take his leave until he recalled the way Eraserhead took down the large villain in less than a minute. Izuku hesitantly turned back to face the hero, who raised a brow in what Izuku assumed was an open invitation to speak.

“Um.” Izuku had talked with Eraserhead for months over notes, so why was speaking to him in person so much harder? “It was really cool. How you took down the villain, I mean.” Izuku could feel his face flush deeper, glad that his mask and the shadow cast by his hood blocked most of his face. “If- if I can ask. Um. How did your quirk affect him? Like, did it stop his quills from growing? Did it make his quills softer? Or are his muscles part of his quirk so erasing it made him weaker? What-” As Izuku’s brain analyzed the fight, he had completely forgotten his apprehension about being so close to the hero. It wasn’t until a few questions later that Izuku suddenly remembered his situation. He cut himself off with a timid “Sorry”, and curled in on himself, the heat of shame crawling up his throat.

But when he dared to glance back up at the hero, Eraserhead gave him a gentle smirk. It was then that Izuku realized Eraserhead never once interrupted his stream of muttering or asked him to stop. No, he had simply listened, giving Izuku his full attention, and for some reason, this made Izuku want to cry. Because no one had ever intently listened to Izuku’s stupid muttering before and Eraser didn’t look bothered in the least.

“Those are some impressive theories, kid,” Eraserhead praised. Izuku was certain his face couldn’t get any redder. “However, I didn’t use my quirk in this situation. My eraser quirk doesn’t work on those with mutant type quirks, so in cases like these I fight essentially quirkless.”

If it wasn’t for his face mask, Izuku would be concerned about catching flies because he couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. Eraserhead, one of the best underground heroes in Japan, said he fought quirkless when fighting mutant-type villains. He said it so nonchalantly too! As if people with mutant type quirks didn’t make up half of the population!

“So-” Izuku cleared his throat of the lump that was threatening to form alongside tears. “So you fight…quirkless? Half of the time?” In the process of holding back tears, Izuku couldn’t stop his voice from jumping three octaves higher.

Eraserhead shrugged, again acting like this wasn’t a huge deal.

“That’s right. Too many heroes, and villains too, rely only on their quirks. It’s irrational. Good heroes should also be skilled in combat to keep their abilities well-rounded. Because my quirk isn’t offensive, I use support gear like my capture weapon to aid in fights.” Eraser then gestured towards Izuku, “Not unlike how you use cables and your pole. Quirks are just another tool.”

If Izuku wasn’t crying then, he was certainly crying now. Silent tears fell from the corner of his eyes and his breath hitched with quiet sobs. From his fuzzy vision, he could see Eraserhead giving him a look of concern.

“Moth?”

Izuku cleared his throat again and quickly used the back of his sleeve to dry his tears. “Y-yeah. Sorry. I uh…” What could he say to the hero that wouldn’t immediately clue him in on his identity? “I don’t really have an offensive quirk either.” Not technically a lie. “So I-I guess it’s just nice to see a hero that doesn’t think powerful quirks are the most important thing in the world,” Izuku explained. Then, he added quietly, “Not a lot of people would agree though.” Izuku looked down, his gaze focusing on his scuffed shoes.

Eraserhead scoffed, “Well, those people are biased morons.” Izuku let out a wet chuckle but he didn’t say anything else. Because everyone in Izuku’s life has told him how useless he was for not having a quirk. Did that mean that everyone was wrong?

No, Izuku scolded himself, Eraserhead just thinks I have a non-offensive quirk. If he knew I was quirkless he would hate me just as much as everyone else.

A heavy silence settled between them for a moment. Izuku tried not to imagine how Eraserhead would react if he ever found out Izuku was quirkless. Would he leave just like everyone else? Would he tell Izuku how pathetic and useless he was? Would he go back on his word and arrest Izuku just to get a quirkless nobody like him out of the way?

“Do you want to be a hero, Moth?” Eraserhead suddenly asked, startling Izuku from his thoughts.

“S-sorry?”

“Do you want to be a hero when you get older?”

Yes, yes more than anything in the world! Izuku wanted to say. Instead, he hung his head.

“I can’t,” Izuku replied with defeat. It was true. He couldn’t. There’s never been a quirkless hero and U.A. was the only school in all of Japan that excepted quirkless students into its hero course. Not that Izuku could ever dream of getting in.

“Because of your quirk?” Eraserhead asked softly. Izuku nodded, still unable to make his eyes meet Eraser’s. The hero hummed in thought and absently scratched his jaw. “While I firmly believe that quirks don’t make the hero, I can’t just make you change your mind on how you feel. So how about I make you an offer?”

Izuku slowly raised his head and gave Eraser a curious look. So far, the man hadn’t asked Izuku to do anything outside of writing him notes, and he’s never demanded any information from him either. Yet, Eraserhead kept going above and beyond his duties as a hero; checking in on Izuku to make sure he was alive, answering any of Izuku’s questions, saving him from villains he couldn’t handle alone. What else could the underground hero possibly offer?

Eraserhead took Izuku’s silence as an invitation to continue.

“As I said earlier, if it wasn’t for the sound of the trashcan being knocked over, I might not have made it in time to stop the villain from hurting you.” The villain in question still lay unconscious at their feet. “So how about I teach you how to fight? At least so you can better defend yourself when I’m not around.”

Izuku’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. There was no way, no possible way that The Eraserhead was offering to teach him to fight! Sure, it was probably only so Eraserhead wouldn't have to keep taking time out of his patrol to save him from villains once a week, but still!

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” Eraser asked him.

Izuku realized he never answered him the first time, so in excitement, he rushed out a barely understandable response of, “YesPleaseIWouldReallyAppreciateIt!” Izuku paused, embarrassed by his own outburst and certain he was only making a fool out of himself. Hesitantly he added, “If it’s not too much trouble, Eraserhead, sir. I know you’re really busy and I don’t deserve to take up any more of your time. You’ve already wasted so much effort on me and-”

“Kid,” Eraserhead sternly interrupted. Then, in a softer tone, “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. I have more free time this year than usual, it’s really not a big deal.”

Oh no. Izuku could feel the stinging in his eyes again, the telltale sign of tears. He clenched his fist and dug his nails into the pad of his palm to stop himself from sobbing. Eraserhead had already seen him cry, he didn’t need the hero to see his ugly sobs either. That, and Izuku worried that Eraserhead would change his mind as soon as he saw how weak Izuku was. Instead, Izuku took a deep breath to settle his nerves and gave the hero a firm nod.

“Okay. Then, yes. I would really like to learn from you, sir.”

Eraserhead flashed him a quick smile.

“Good. I’ll let you know the time and location on the next note. If you can’t make it, that’s okay. Just keep me updated with your own notes. In the meantime, you should scram. The police will be here any minute.” Eraserhead dismissed him with a wave.

Izuku gave an appreciative smile, even if the hero couldn’t really see it under his mask, and swiftly made his way out of the alley. His mind loudly buzzed with both the excitement at the prospect of learning from Eraserhead, as well as the uncomfortable dread that began to settle in his gut. As elated as he was about Eraser’s proposal, Izuku couldn’t help but think about how undeserving he was.

Was he being selfish in accepting the offer? Surely Eraserhead was helping him only out of pity.

Izuku shook his head, willing the thoughts to go away. It didn’t matter because he had already said yes. All he could do now was vow to do his best so he didn’t disappoint Eraser too much.

Chapter Text

It was late Wednesday evening when Izuku made his way to the designated meeting spot where he would begin his training with Eraserhead. The previous Monday, Eraser had left Izuku a note telling him where and when to meet if Izuku still wanted to learn hand-to-hand combat. According to the yellow note, he was to meet the underground hero at 10 p.m. in an empty warehouse not too far from Ishihara’s Corner Store.

Well, he thought the warehouse was empty, but when he peeked through the door he saw that the floor of the dimly lit industrial building was covered in blue gym mats. Pushed off to the side, against the far left wall, were a few wooden training dummies. They weren’t in the best condition but Izuku imagined they would still work just fine for their intended purpose.

Distracted by the large space, Izuku almost didn’t see Eraserhead walking towards him. It was due to the hero purposefully making his footsteps louder than normal that made Izuku aware of his presence. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but Izuku appreciated the auditory warning.

“You decided to come. Good,” Eraserhead spoke as a sauntered over. Eraserhead was wearing his hero costume but his capture weapon was nowhere to be seen. This brought an odd sense of comfort to Izuku. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was about getting caught by the man’s scarf again even if Eraser had promised he wouldn’t try and apprehend him. It seemed that Eraserhead noticed the relief on Izuku’s face at the absence of his capture weapon. “I also made sure the lighting stayed dim so it’s easier to hide your identity.”

Izuku genuinely didn’t know what to say. He was almost dizzy with gratitude for how far Eraserhead went just to make Izuku feel more comfortable, just so Izuku could keep his identity a secret. What he couldn’t wrap his mind around was why? Why was the hero going so far just for him?

Before Izuku’s thoughts could spiral further, Eraser cleared his throat to gain his derailed attention and gestured towards the center of the room.

“I had these mats brought in. They were extras just taking up space in my agency’s storage. It’s better than falling on hard concrete because I promise, you will fall at some point when learning how to fight,” Eraserhead explained as he made his way onto the mats, Izuku following silently behind him. “We’ll just go over the basics today so I can gauge what combat skills you already know, alright?” Izuku nodded.

“Oh. Um, I almost forgot. I did take s-some classes at a community martial arts center for a while,” Izuku said, remembering the dojo ran by the ex-gang members. He hadn’t gone in a few months, not after the third time he was nearly kidnapped on the way home from the dojo. Suddenly realizing that Izuku possibly gave Eraser too much information, he quickly added, “But don’t bother trying to find my identity or anything. Even- even if you knew where I took the classes, no one there used their real names.”

Instead of getting mad or frustrated like Izuku thought he would, Eraserhead just nodded, the stoic expression on his face never changing.

“I appreciate you letting me know,” Eraser said. “One more thing before we start. I’m going to avoid touching you as much as possible so as not to invade your personal space. However, there will be times that I will need to get close or touch you in order to correct your stance and arm placement. Obviously, I also can’t properly teach you how to throw a punch or block a kick unless I can get close, but if for any reason you get uncomfortable, you need to let me know. We’ll stop and take a break, or I’ll adjust how I’m teaching you. Does that sound fair?”

Izuku’s mind came to a screeching halt. He almost couldn’t process how considerate Eraserhead was being. Izuku wasn’t used to anyone being so…kind. Again, he was hit with a million questions as to why the hero was being so nice, why the hero even offered to train Izuku in the first place.

Suddenly realizing that Eraserhead was waiting for a response, Izuku dumbly nodded his head.

“Y-yeah. That’s fair. Thank you,” Izuku quietly stammered.

“Alright. Then as I said, we’ll start with the basics so I can see where your current level is at for things such as balance, reflexes, and endurance. First, though, you’ll need to warm up with some light stretches and cardio. Just follow my lead.”

As Eraserhead led Izuku through routine stretches, the boy let his mind wander a bit. Pushing aside his nervousness and feelings of guilt, he was elated that he was being taught by a hero! Even though he knew he could never be a hero himself, the skills he would be learning will at least help him be a better legal-vigilante. And yes, Izuku had finally admitted to himself that he might as well be a vigilante. Even though he wasn’t purposefully patrolling, he still always kept an eye out for anyone that needed help, and the lessons he’d learn from Eraserhead would hopefully help him save more people!

Moving on from stretching, Eraserhead asked Izuku to settle himself into a fighting position. Much to Izuku’s glee, Eraserhead commented that his fighting stance was better than he had expected it to be. The hero still had to adjust his footing a bit as well as the way he angled his fists, but otherwise, Izuku didn’t need too much correction. And true to his word, Eraserhead only touched him when he had to and always made sure to let Izuku know where he would touch him before doing so. It eased Izuku’s anxiety greatly, making him feel much more comfortable around the hero.

It wasn’t that Izuku saw Eraserhead as scary or anything! Izuku was just worried that Eraser would get mad at him and hurt him or try and capture him again. He was also nervous about the hero getting close enough to see any distinct facial features he could use to identify him with. Overall, though, Izuku started to trust the eraser hero. He had been nothing but patient and nice to him since the night with the alley cat.

Huh. maybe the alley cat had a quirk that made people nicer? It’s rare for animals to have quirks but not impossible, Izuku absently pondered.

For the next couple of hours, Eraserhead led Izuku through different evasive maneuvers. He showed Izuku how to stand on the balls of his feet instead of his heels and to keep his knees bent just enough so that it would be harder to get knocked over. Time flew by and before Izuku even realized, Eraserhead was having him do cool-down stretches as a way to end the night’s training.

It was a little past midnight and even though Izuku was sweaty and sore, he was still wide awake. Though, to be fair, he usually did stay up until near sunrise.

As Izuku was getting ready to leave, shyly thanking the hero for spending the time to teach him, Eraserhead motioned for him to wait. Eraser walked over to a duffel bag that was leaning against the wall and began to rummage through its contents until finally finding what he was looking for. He walked back over to Izuku and, making sure to stand a respectable distance away from the boy, held out a plastic grocery bag. Izuku gently took the bag and curiously peeked inside.

“Because our training time ran a little late, and I wasn’t sure if you had eaten beforehand, I grabbed you some food. It’s mostly prepackaged, so nothing has been tampered with,” Eraserhead explained as he swung his duffel bag over his shoulder.

Surely, Izuku had been sent to some alternate universe because Eraserhead had not only spent the past two hours teaching him self-defense techniques but he bought him food too? Maybe if Izuku pinched himself really hard he’d wake up from this insane dream.

“Eraserhead, sir, y-you really didn’t have to! Wait, is this why you asked me if I had any allergies in your last note? I’m already taking up your time I can’t take your money too,” Izuku tried to argue.

“I didn’t give you money, I gave you food,” The hero smugly replied. Izuku huffed.

“You know what I meant…”

“I do. I also know you can’t build muscle from skin and bones,” Eraser commented with a pointed look. “You’re a growing kid and you need a lot of food to aid in that growth.” Izuku wanted to argue more but Eraserhead didn’t give him the chance. “It really isn’t a problem, kid. I’m an adult with a job, I can afford to send you home with some snacks. Think of it as part of your training.”

Izuku cocked his head in confusion so the hero expanded on his analogy.

“If you don’t eat the right foods, you won’t get the nutrients your body needs to grow, stay healthy, and gain muscle. If you don’t take care of your body then the training we do won’t matter. Essentially, eating the right foods-” Eraser gestured towards the bag in Izuku’s hands, “-ties in directly with your training. Make sense?”

And. Shit, yeah, Izuku couldn’t argue with that knowledge. Besides, if he rejected the food it would be rude and Eraserhead already bought it so there was no sense in letting it go to waste.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Izuku muttered before bowing his head in thanks, “I accept the food then, thank you, sir.”

“Aizawa.”

Izuku quickly straightened himself.

“What?”

“My name. You can call me Aizawa when we train together. Leave my hero name for when I’m on patrol,” he instructed. The man walked over to the wall by the entrance of the warehouse and flicked a few switches, turning off the rest of the lights. Eras- Aizawa held open the door for Izuku and waited until the boy silently exited before he closed and locked it behind them.

Era- Aizawa stuffed the hand he wasn’t using to carry his bag into his pocket and leveled Izuku with an unreadable look.

“You did well today, kid. We’ll continue to meet Wednesdays and Saturdays. Same time, same place.”

“O-okay,” Izuku agreed. It’s not like he had any other plans.

“Have a goodnight then, Moth. I expect to see another note from you on Friday,” Aizawa said, turning on his heel to leave before stopping and looking back at Izuku with a smirk. “Try to stay out of trouble until then. Okay, problem child?”

“Yes, sir!” he squeaked. Damn his prepubescent vocal cords.

With a nod, the hero left, using his capture weapon to propel himself onto a roof and slipping into the darkness of the night. The only sounds now were the chirps of a few scattered crickets and the light breeze that echoed through the surrounding buildings.

Left alone with the silence around him, Izuku began to make his own way back home. The events of the past two hours both fresh in his mind but feeling distant at the same time, like he was remembering someone else’s memories. If it wasn’t for the bag of food in his hand and the ache in his muscles, Izuku would think it had all been a hallucination. A very vivid hallucination.

——

Trudging back to his apartment complex, and slipping past his creepy landlord that was asleep at the front desk, Izuku was ready to collapse onto his futon. He could feel the late-night training finally catching up to him; his legs felt like jelly and he was pretty sure his arms were about to fall off.

The sudden rumbling in his stomach reminded him of the bag of food Eraser had given him. While at the warehouse, he only peeked into the bag but wasn’t able to make out much, his anxiety from receiving the gift was too distracting. So curiosity and hunger getting the best of him, Izuku dumped the bag’s contents on his little, wooden table.

It was. So much food.

Three wrapped onigiri of various flavors, three packs of Nattō, an apple, a banana, a box of juice, a bottle of water, and a small taro cake. Oh, and a full bento of rice, vegetables, sausages, and sweet potato tempura.

This much food could last Izuku for nearly a week.

It was so much.

It was too much.

Everything suddenly felt too much. Too much food, too much kindness, too much pain in his aching muscles. Izuku had to shut his eyes to block out the light in his apartment that seemed to have been growing brighter and brighter. He felt like his skin was too tight, like wearing clothes that were too small and constricting. Anxiety clawed at his brain like a cat begging to come inside during a storm. The thought of every possible mistake that Izuku made today wormed its way to the forefront of his mind and it made him dizzy.

Was Izuku too slow at learning what Eraser was trying to teach him? Was Eraserhead frustrated with how bad of a student Izuku was? How much effort did Eraser go through to bring gym mats and wooden dummies to the warehouse just for someone as pathetic as him? Eraserhead couldn’t even teach him properly because Izuku was scared of the man getting close! And was Izuku rude to him? He hardly talked to Eraser the entire time and yet the hero still offered him food— so much food! Eraserhead even trusted him with his name and Izuku didn’t say anything!

Eraserhead had no idea he was wasting his time teaching someone who was quirkless.

Quirkless, Useless, worthless, selfish, stupid, Deku.

Memories of hateful crimson eyes and dangerously hot palms flashed in painful bursts. Fractured ribs and spider lilies, pulled hair and death threats, bloody noses and hurtful words carved into a school desk.

Too much, too much, too much— Izuku couldn’t feel his limbs.

Too much, too much, too much— Izuku couldn’t breathe.

Then suddenly, he could. Izuku gasped, air filling his lungs almost painfully. Hot liquid tickled his skin as it dripped down his arm. The bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom penetrated his closed eyes, making his vision swim with a deep orange behind his lids.

Breathe in.

Finally, slowly, Izuku opened his eyes and moved his gaze towards his left forearm. Blood was sluggishly dripping from deep cuts, like watered-down paint spilling from its tube.

Breathe out.

His blood, the same color of furious eyes that belonged to his ex-best friend. The same color of the fire that licked at the corners of his dad’s mouth when he got angry. The same color of his mother’s stained skirt when paramedics finally pulled her body from the wreckage. The same color as the ominous flowers that were given to him throughout his school years.

Breathe in.

Red was a color that was often associated with horrible things, things that Izuku couldn’t control, things that made him hurt.

But this. This dark red that bloomed from the cuts on his arms was different. It wasn't caused by the hands of school bullies or abusive fathers. It wasn't associated with flowers that symbolized death. No, this red came from his own actions. This kind of red, this kind of pain, he could control.

Breathe out.

Izuku wasn’t hungry anymore.

Chapter Text

Shouta wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting from his first training session with Moth. He knew the kid was already nervous about being near him—not unlike a cautious stray kitten—but how would Moth fare with being close to Shouta in an enclosed space, if Moth even showed up to the warehouse at all?

To his slight surprise, Moth did show up and he arrived perfectly on time. He could tell Moth was incredibly anxious as the kid took in the sights of the warehouse, his hands wringing together and his posture stiff. The little vigilante, despite his usual observational skills, didn’t notice Shouta’s presence right away. Not wanting to accidentally spook the kid, Shouta deliberately made his footsteps much louder than he was used to; years of being an underground hero made him stealthy by default.

Once Moth caught sight of him, he noticed the kid’s tense shoulders relax a bit at the noticeable absence of Shouta’s capture weapon. The hero internally thanked his past self for the foresight of putting his scarf in the duffel bag, knowing that not only would it just get in the way of today’s training, but Moth seemed to always eye it with clear apprehension.

Shouta also took a few other measures to ensure Moth would be as comfortable as possible during their lesson, such as dimming the lights in the warehouse, not getting too close, and audibly warning Moth before he touched him. Relief was evident on the kid’s face, well, from what amount of facial features Shouta could see.

After that, training went smoothly. Moth was clearly eager to learn, he was quick to pick up new concepts and he never once complained about any of Shouta’s corrections. Honestly, it was more than he could say for the majority of hero course students Shouta had to teach.

Besides making sure Moth was as comfortable as possible, Shouta did something he almost never did with any of his previous students. He made sure to praise Moth as often as he could when the kid did something well. At first, it wasn’t entirely intentional, the encouraging comments feeling natural as they left his mouth. But once he saw the flicker of determination in Moth’s eyes, Shouta didn’t make himself stop. It was clear that this boy had been through some kind of hell and the thought of Moth being unfamiliar with kindness was a painful one.

At the end of their first session, Shouta handed Moth a small bag of food and very carefully approached the topic of Moth’s obvious malnutrition without directly pointing it out. After his explanation about the importance of a balanced diet as an aid to Moth’s combat training, the kid accepted the food before they went their separate ways for the evening.

All in all, Shouta thought it was a successful night.

So why then, did Moth look even worse during their next training session? The note that Moth left him on Friday was more simplistic than usual but it wasn’t enough to sound any alarm bells. But here, as the boy stood in front of him with dull eyes, stiff shoulders, and his head hanging low, Shouta couldn’t help but try and analyze any possible reason for Moth’s sudden regression. Another area of concern was how Moth seemed to be absentmindedly favoring his left arm. Was he hurt in another villain encounter? Knowing the kid, it was very likely.

Shouta didn’t want to bring too much attention to Moth’s sudden drop in mood or his possibly injured arm, but he did cautiously ask the boy if he needed to sit out of training for the day, commenting on how he looked a little more tired than usual. Moth shook his head, adamant that he was fine, and Shouta didn’t push it any further. As much as the hero wanted to shove food and water in the boy’s direction and send him off to bed, it wasn’t his place to do so.

So if the hero was more lenient and patient than usual during training that day, well, no one but Shouta had to know.

-----

As the weeks passed, their note system and in-person meetings still going strong, Shouta began to notice some promising changes.

For one, Moth was becoming considerably more comfortable around Shouta. Not just in how Moth seemed less likely to jump out of his own skin, but to the point where Moth would actually hold full conversations with him. Moth would sometimes talk about his schoolwork or about a “cool” hero fight he saw, and Shouta would always give him his full attention, often asking questions to encourage the conversation. The first time Moth made a sarcastic comment about Shouta’s obvious caffeine addiction, the hero couldn’t help but smile. Sure, Shouta did depend on coffee like most people depended on water, but that’s beside the point. He was just happy the kid felt comfortable enough to joke around— to be the child he’s supposed to be.

Shouta had spent months trying to gain Moth’s trust, trying to get the kid to see Shouta as an adult that wouldn’t fail him. There was no doubt that Moth got where he was due to the failures of the adults that were supposed to care for him. It was a long process but the hero could finally see the results, and every spark of life that flashed in the kid’s eyes made it all worth it. It reminded Shouta why he became an underground hero in the first place: to help those that fell through the cracks of society, the victims that were often overlooked by limelight heroes.

Now, Shouta had been working on Moth’s case for nearly a year but he had yet to tell anyone other than Tsukauchi and his team. The detective knew the basics, trusting Shouta to ask for help if needed, but essentially, Shouta and Moth had created their own little world. This was purposeful on Shouta’s part. In order to gain Moth’s trust, Shouta didn’t want to give away any of the kid’s information that he didn’t need to. When Moth told him something in confidence, Shouta didn’t want to go behind his back and spill his secrets to others, not that there were many secrets to tell. Moth was very careful with the information he gave Shouta. Regardless, it was a delicate situation and it needed to be handled in a delicate manner.

The point being, no one outside of those who were directly on the case knew about Shouta’s relationship with the little vigilante. So when Hizashi asked why Shouta had begun to carry bags of candy in his utility belt, in the middle of a U.A. teachers meeting no less, he had to come up with an excuse as to why. Shouta couldn’t outright say that he always kept snacks on him to give to a 12-year-old vigilante that he was secretly corresponding with as well as personally training because honestly, Shouta wasn’t sure anyone would believe him.

Shouta had a reputation of being extremely strict, unapproachable, and often intimidating. The eraser hero had the highest expulsion rate in the history of U.A. and it was well known he didn’t exactly have the best patience when it came to children. So the idea of the disgruntled underground hero keeping snacks on him to give to a child he was definitely not growing a soft spot for? Absolutely ridiculous.

Instead of actually addressing Hizashi’s understandable curiosity, Shouta waved him off and muttered something about getting a sweet tooth. Thankfully, his friend found it to be a reasonable enough excuse and didn’t push it. Shouta already had odd eating habits so it wasn’t too strange of an answer.

Besides, it was all well worth it when he saw Moth light up at the small bag of candy or cookies he received. At first, Shouta would just pack the snacks in with the bag of food he always gave moth, but it gradually became a sort of tradition to hand the kid a snack every time they saw each other, whether it was during a training session or even if Shouta ran into Moth while on patrol. Shouta quickly learned that Moth’s favorite candy was sour gummy worms, specifically the red and blue ones, so Shouta may or may not have ordered a box in bulk.

Besides candy, Shouta also learned that Moth’s favorite food was Katsudon. This information came about when Shouta was strategically making a mental list of what foods Moth liked so that the hero could pack him meals that he would be more likely to eat. Shouta could tell that there was a story behind Moth’s favorite food. When the boy was telling him about not remembering the last time he actually ate Katsudon, he had a faraway look in his eyes, one filled with bittersweet fondness.

And if Moth became teary-eyed when Shouta brought him a to-go container of Katsudon after one of their training sessions? The hero didn’t point it out.

Though Shouta could see Moth’s overall progression, there were still plenty of bad days. Some nights, Moth would meet him at the warehouse with clear determination and eagerness to learn. Other nights, the kid looked like he wanted nothing more than to blend in with the shadows. He would curl in on himself and it was clear he wasn’t mentally present. His gaze was unfocused and he sometimes favored one, or both, of his arms like he was in pain.

If Moth was one of his hero course students, he would make the kid sit out. Being unfocused and slow on the battlefield could mean injury or death and it wasn’t something Shouta liked to encourage during training either. But once again, Shouta broke his own rules and made sure to pay special attention to Moth on those bad days. Without making it too obvious, the hero would take things a little slower, he would speak just a tad softer, and he made sure to focus on the things that Moth did correctly.

It was those bad days that Moth needed someone to support him, even if the kid didn’t know it, and Shouta would gladly fill that role.

-----

It was on one of those bad days that Shouta noticed another upsetting truth about the boy. He was clearly touch starved.

Shouta was walking Moth through a series of counterattacks. He could tell Moth’s arms were hurting him again so they focused on different kinds of kicks. Moth was especially excited to learn how to trip someone by sweeping their legs or kicking the backs of their knees.

Then it happened.

The kid managed to perform a perfect Sliding Axe kick and for the first time that night, Moth looked proud of himself. Perhaps the feeling was contagious because Shouta couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride as well. Without thinking, Shouta reached out to pat the kid on the head. It was the first time that he touched Moth without explicitly warning him and for the briefest second, Shouta worried he had crossed a boundary.

Shouta went to pull his hand away but to his shock, Moth leaned into the touch, the kid’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges as a sign that he was smiling. Shouta could only describe the feeling he got as pure gratification, like when a terrified stray cat let you pet them for the first time.

Shouta muttered a “Good job, kid,” before he finally pulled away. Moth didn’t seem upset by Shouta’s proximity or the fact that he had touched him without warning, and simply readied himself back into his fighting stance to continue training.

As Shouta made his way home from the evening’s training session, he couldn’t help but replay the scenario in his head. On one hand, he felt like a major step forward had been taken in earning Moth’s trust. On the other hand, the way Moth instinctively leaned into the positive touch only signified to the hero that the kid was touch starved. The implications of that didn’t sit right with him and once again Shouta speculated on Moth’s home life. The kid was clearly neglected but to what extent? Did the kid have abusive guardians? Were the injuries on his arms from physical abuse? Did the kid even have guardians at all? Maybe Moth was one of the many kids lost in the worst parts of the foster care system. The possibilities were endless and none of them were good.

After that night, every time Shouta saw Moth, he would try and sneak in a moment of brief physical contact, if only to test the waters and see if the first incident was just a fluke. But every time the hero gave the kid a light shoulder squeeze or another pat on the head, Moth leaned into it like he was soaking up warmth. It was both a wonderful development but an equally painful one.

-----

Another addition to their weekly traditions happened a few weeks after the head-patting incident. Shouta was on his usual patrol when he decided to stop for a break. There was a vending machine by one of the bus stops on the outskirts of the red-light district. There were no buses running this late and the only light around was the soft glow of the vending machine. He grabbed a can of undoubtedly awful tasting iced coffee and sat on the bench. It was a quiet evening which for Shouta meant that work was slow. Usually, as it got warmer out, crime rates would go up but it seemed as if every villain deiced to take the night off.

The hero figured the rest of his patrol would be just as uneventful until he heard the faintest footsteps coming from his left. The hero cautiously sat up straight and placed a hand on his capture scarf. He made himself look like he was still sitting casually on the bench but he was ready to spring into action in a moment's notice. As it turned out, there was no need to have his guard up because the person that finally stepped into the light of the vending machine was Moth.

Shouta inwardly sighed in relief, he really didn’t feel like fighting at the moment, and gestured to the kid to sit next to him on the bench. Moth didn’t hesitate to perch himself next to the hero, his small legs only barely reaching the ground. It was quiet between the two of them, but not uncomfortable. Surprisingly, it was Moth that spoke first.

“Is the coffee any good?”

Shouta huffed in amusement. “Absolutely not. It tastes like gasoline.”

Moth tilted his head and let out the faintest giggle. “How do you know what gasoline tastes like?” Shouta gave the kid an unimpressed glare. Cocky little shit.

“Fine. It’s what I imagine gasoline to taste like.”

Moth nodded, accepting his answer without further question. They fell into another lapse of silence. Spring was around the corner so the crickets began to play their usual symphony. The whirring of the vending machine only added to the comfortable background noise.

“Would you like something to drink?” Shouta asked, breaking the quiet. Moth looked up at him then at the drinks that were displayed on the back-lit shelves. The hero could tell Moth was struggling to say yes, possibly worried about having money spent on him. It had taken a while for the kid to get used to the gifts of food after each training session so Shouta wasn’t surprised by Moth’s hesitation.

Shouta stood up and made his way to the vending machine as if Moth had already accepted his offer. “You like apple juice, right?” Shouta asked without looking at the kid.

After a few seconds, he heard a soft, “Yes, please.”

He grabbed the bottle of juice that was dropped into the lower compartment and sat back down on the bench before handing Moth the chilled drink. He knew, of course, that Moth wouldn’t lift his mask to drink in front of him, so Shouta angled his body away and stared off into the shadows of the neighborhood.

Another sense of achievement swelled in his chest when he heard the distinct ‘snap’ of the bottle’s cap being taken off. After a few minutes, he heard the cap being screwed back on.

“Thank you…” he heard Moth mumble. “You can-you can turn around now.” Shouta moved to sit back against the bench again and took a sip of his own drink. He noticed that Moth had drank half of the bottle before placing it next to him on the bench. “Um…”

Shouta turned his head to Moth, showing him he was listening. He knew that the kid got nervous about asking questions so he never pushed it, only giving nonverbal indications that Moth could ask him something if he wanted.

“Can I ask something about…about your capture weapon? Only if it’s okay though. Sorry.” Moth was focusing intently on the hands in his lap. He was absently playing with a loose thread on the hem of his hoodie.

“Of course. What were you wondering?”

The boy hunched his shoulders slightly. “How does it work?” he asked. “It’s something I’ve been trying to figure out because I like support items. And I’m also just kinda curious?”

The subject of Moth’s question was honestly a bit of a surprise to Shouta. He knew the kid was apprehensive about his scarf, ever since the day that Shouta had caught him in it and Moth had accidentally cut himself when escaping. Since then, Shouta always took it off before their training sessions to ease the boy’s anxiety. Now though, his capture weaponed sat comfortably against his collar bone, the familiar weight soothing.

Shouta hummed in thought before answering. “To be entirely honest, I have no clue.” Moth looked up at him in confusion. Shouta smirked and continued. “I’m not an expert in support items. What I do know, is that my capture weapon was made with some kind of special metal alloy and carbon fibers. I’m unsure of the exact science behind it, but my DNA was woven into the fibers causing it to react to my brain waves. Sort of like an extra limb.” Shouta watched Moth’s eyes shine in pure fascination and the hero had to hide a fond smile behind his scarf.

Any reservations the boy had about his weapon seemed to vanish as he began to fire off questions and theories.

“Is that why it floats sometimes? Or does it only float when you use your quirk because I noticed your hair floats too when your quirk is active? How far can you control it? Like could you hold one end and completely control the other end? If you had two of them could you control two at once? I know people with mutation quirks that give them extra limbs also have sections of their brain that are biologically mutated to have specific neurons that transmit the signals that allow them to control their limbs! If your scarf is damaged does-” Moth suddenly cut himself off, his eyes widening in panic. “Oh. Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

Shouta raised a brow, slightly thrown off by the extremely sudden mood change. It was something he was used to with Moth. One moment, the kid could be outgoing and focused, and the next he would completely shut down.

“For what?” Shouta asked gently.

“I-” Moth looked back down at his hands again, but this time he was harshly pulling on his fingers. Shouta had a strong urge to reach over and pull his hands apart so the kid wouldn’t hurt himself. Instead, he waited patiently for Moth to continue. “I cut your capture weapon. I cut it in half and I- and I ruined it. I’m sorry.” The hero watched as Moth slowly inched away from him on the bench, his muscles tense like he was ready to bolt.

A scared bunny. Shouta batted the thought away.

“I appreciate the apology, but it’s okay. I have more than one capture weapon and even if I need to get one fixed, it doesn’t cost me anything. I have a friend that works in support.” Shouta explained. “You aren’t the first person to cut my scarf and you certainly won’t be the last.” Moth raised his head timidly, searching for something on the hero’s face. “I’ve had to cut it myself plenty of times. I actually carry a knife specifically made to cut my scarf in an emergency situation, such as it getting tangled or a villain trying to use it against me.”

Shouta could see Moth’s shoulders drop in relief and the look of fascination once again filled his eyes.

“If you’d like,” Shouta continued, “I can bring it with me to our next training session if you want a closer look at how I use it. It’s entirely up to you though.”

“O-okay!”

Shouta gave an affirmative nod before turning to look back out at the peaceful darkness that enveloped the streets. For the third time that night, Shouta and Moth breathed in the silence, enjoying the soft quiet of each other’s company.

It became an unspoken tradition to meet at that particular bus stop every other Tuesday night. Shouta with his disgusting can of iced coffee and Moth with his bottle of apple juice. Sometimes they would talk and sometimes they would just sit in comfortable stillness. Sometimes Moth would have that glimmer of life in his eyes and sometimes they would be red and swollen with previously shed tears. But always, Shouta offered Moth his full attention and silent support.

-----

Talking with Moth became part of Shouta’s routine, whether it was through notes, during their training sessions, or while sitting on the bench by the vending machine. Of course, the hero still had the end goal of gaining Moth’s trust so that he could eventually find out more about the kid’s personal life and take the necessary steps to get Moth the proper help he needed. But sometimes, Shouta wasn’t always paying attention to the bridge of trust that was being built between them. Sometimes, Moth would do something to catch him off guard and would remind him of just how young and lonely Moth was.

It was moments like those that simultaneously warmed Shouta’s heart and crushed it with the reality of the boy’s situation.

Shouta made his way to the old bench by Ishihara’s Corner Store. Somehow, after months, the rock was still used as a paperweight and the notes were never taken or tampered with. He wasn’t going to question it.

Shouta was asked by his agency to assist on a raid that Wednesday so he needed to leave Moth a note explaining that they couldn’t hold their normal training session. It wasn’t new for the hero to cancel his time with Moth due to work and the boy never once seemed upset by it. Shouta did, however, bring a bag of food with him to hide under the bush by the bench on those days so Moth wouldn’t go without.

When Shouta approached the bench, he immediately noticed that there was something behind the rock. It was about the same size as the rock so it wasn’t completely hidden but between the rock and the darkness of the night Shouta couldn’t make out what it was until he stepped closer. He moved the stone aside and his eyes widened slightly at what he found.

Laying on the old bench with a green sticky note attached was a stuffed cat plush. It was a black cat with golden eyes. Its nose and the inside of its ears were lined in a pink and white poke-dot pattern. But what really caught his attention was the little, obviously handmade, gray scarf wrapped around the plush’s neck.

Shouta turned his attention to the green sticky note, the same type of paper that Moth always used, and read:

“I found this cat plush at the market & it reminded me of you! I hope you like it. -Moth”

Shouta was extremely grateful that he was alone and that it was darker than normal that night because there was nothing that could stop the smile that etched itself across his face. Sure, it was a simple cat plush that could be found at any toy store, but the fact that Moth had seen it and thought of Shouta, then proceeded to make it a little capture weapon, caused an unstoppable warmth to blossom in his chest. In all of his years as a teacher, none of his students had ever given him a gift, not that he expected any. But Moth, this timid, nervous, and clearly hurting child found a companion in the stoic underground hero.

And perhaps, though he couldn’t name what it was, Shouta had found something in Moth as well.

Chapter Text

Izuku could tell that today was going to be a good day. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the hints of the coming spring that showed itself in new flowers and warming temperatures. Maybe because he was blessed by a stray cat that let him rub its belly. Regardless, today was going to be a good day and Izuku didn’t want to waste it.

Because Eraserhead (he still wasn’t fully comfortable calling the man by his civilian name) has been giving him a bag full of food twice a week, Izuku didn’t need to spend nearly as much money on groceries. He was still uncomfortable taking the food but he had long since given up on trying to persuade the hero that the gifts were unnecessary. Izuku felt guilty but he couldn’t deny that having extra cash on him felt nice.

So yes, today was a good day and Izuku had a little extra spending money that he wanted to put towards a new support item he was working on. He had spent the past few weeks experimenting with making his own flash grenades and while they technically worked, they weren’t as reliable as he’d like them to be. Most of the material he used for his support items came from the scrap yard, and the materials for the prototype flash grenade were no exception. Thankfully, there was a used parts store that had just what he needed to perfect his project.

Wearing his usual outfit of dark jeans, a hoodie, and a face mask—and the prototype support item in his pocket alongside his bo staff—Izuku began his trip to the nicer parts of Musutafu.

It was nearing sunset by the time Izuku boarded the train. It was crowded, as most train cars are, so he kept his head down and listened for his stop to be called. It had been over two years since he stepped foot in the better parts of Musutafu. He and his mother used to live in a nice apartment complex that overlooked the city and he hadn’t realized how much he missed it until he saw the blurred shapes of familiar buildings pass by from out the train window.

The sky was painted in hues of oranges and pinks when he arrived at his destination. The evening air was pleasantly breezy and the streets were relatively empty. The used-parts store wasn’t far from the station, only about a two-mile walk if Izuku cut through the underpass by the park. There would likely be fewer people on this route as well which was always a plus. It wasn’t that Izuku hated people, he just wasn’t used to being around so many. He also wanted to enjoy the silence of this part of Musutafu. Where he lived, in the red-light district, there was always noise of some kind; people shouting, babies crying, dogs barking. But here, where limelight heroes patrolled the streets and bright street lamps illuminated every corner, Izuku could let his guard down. Here, he wasn’t a vigilante but just another civilian enjoying the evening.

So of course the universe had to give Izuku the middle finger by basically dropping a villain in his lap on his day off.

Izuku was walking through the underpass, his hands shoved in his pocket and his mind wandering when a manhole cover behind him popped open with a loud ‘clank’. He spun around just in time to come face to face with…a giant ball of mucus?

“It must be my lucky day! You’ll make the perfect meat suit to hide in kid,” the mucus wetly growled.

Not mucus, slime. It was a man with a slime quirk. His weak points are anything solid like his eyes and mouth, Izuku’s brain supplied.

Izuku didn’t hesitate to pull out his bo staff and extend it, gripping it tightly and shifting into the fighting stance that Eraserhead taught him. He couldn’t let the slime get too close so he would need to fight from a distance. He was also at risk of losing his staff if it got caught in the green goo. Even if he could take the villain down, he had no way of restraining it. His best bet was to jab the slime villain in the eye to buy himself enough time to call the police.

I have one chance. I need to make this count!

The mountain of sludge lunged at Izuku with a grating laugh. “Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a minute. You’ll be my hero!” the villain exclaimed with amusement.

Izuku bit his tongue and held his ground.

Right as the villain was about to reach him with goopy tendrils, Izuku held up his bo staff like a spear and rammed the end of it into the sludge man’s left eye. The villain reared back and began to blindly thrash around as he roared in agony.

“You little shit! I’ll kill y-”

“TEXAS SMASH!”

A strong gust of wind blew through the underpass like a miniature tornado. Izuku instinctively shut his eyes and used his arms to shield his face from the swirling gust of air. Only when the wind died down did Izuku lower his arms and open his eyes again.

What was once a single large pile of slime was now multiple smaller piles of slime staining the cement, and standing in the entrance of the underpass, tall and proud, was All Might.

Number Fucking One Hero. All Might.

“Are you all right there, young man?” The hero bellowed. His deep and strong voice echoed loudly against the concrete walls.

Izuku was starstruck. Of course he was. It was All Might. Even though he wasn’t as big of a fanboy as he used to be, All Might was still his favorite hero.

Izuku shook his head to clear himself from his dazed admiration and noticed that All Might had begun to scoop up what was left of the slime villain, placing the sludge into empty soda bottles. “Yes, Sir! I’m alright, thank you!” Capping the bottles, the hero looked back towards Izuku and flashed him a shining smile.

“Happy to hear it! It looked like you were holding your own pretty good there, kid. Keep it up and you’ll make a fine hero one day! Now, I must be off. I need to get this guy to the poli-”

“I can be a hero?” Izuku interrupted, “Even-even if I don’t have a quirk?” Izuku felt bad cutting off All Might mid-sentence but he had to know. The number one hero had just complimented him for standing his ground against a villain and told him he’d make a fine hero but he had to know. He had to be sure.

All Might paused. His usual bright smile falling ever so slightly. “Without a quirk?”

A heavy feeling of dread began to bubble in Izuku’s gut. The sudden atmosphere surrounding the hero grew quiet and cold. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed it, but Izuku, who had to learn to read even the most minuscule changes in someone’s body language in order to survive, certainly did.

Izuku swallowed nervously. “Yes, s-sir. I’m…quirkless,” he practically whispered. He had to stop himself from flinching when he said the word ‘quirkless’, so used to the pain that would immediately follow. But All Might did not strike him, at least not physically.

The hero sighed, deep and almost dramatically. “Pro heroes risk their lives every day to keep citizens safe from villains, and some villains just can’t be beaten without power,” All Might explained slowly. “So honestly? No, I don’t think you can be a hero without a quirk. Don’t get me wrong, kid, you did well against this villain, but that was all pure luck. If I didn’t show up, you certainly would have died. Without a quirk, you would only be a burden out on the field.” All Might turned away from Izuku. “I’m sorry young man. It’s good to have dreams but keep them realistic.” With that, All Might took one giant leap into the air and was gone.

Izuku thought that today was going to be a good day until he remembered that someone like him doesn’t deserve good days.

-----

"Honestly? No, I don’t think you can be a hero…”

“You stupid, useless, Deku! Do you really think someone as weak as you could be a hero? Hahh?!”

“If I didn’t show up, you certainly would have died.”

“I’m sorry Inko, but if I have to be a father to a quirkless brat like him I’d rather not be a father at all.”

“You would only be a burden…”

“Hey Deku, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swan dive off the roof of a building!”

Izuku knew. He knew not all men were created equal. He knew that his place in the world was at the bottom. He knew that only a fool would think otherwise. Apparently, Izuku was a fool.

He never should have thought that he could help people, that he could make a difference in the world. He never should have thought that he would be anything but a burden to the people around him.

His father had left because he was a burden.

Kacchan had stopped being his friend because he was a burden.

His mother had died because he was a burden.

Eraserhead was wasting his time looking after him because he was a useless, pathetic, burden.

And now…

“You would only be a burden…”

All Might thought he was a burden too. Izuku was such a fucking idiot for even daring to think he was anything else. He didn’t deserve to be anything else.

He didn’t deserve to be alive.

Izuku felt himself begin to fall apart, his carefully constructed facade of emotional stability was slipping away, and trying to hold himself together any longer was impossible. His limbs felt like they were made of heavy lead and his bones ached from their weight. Izuku might as well be chained to an anchor and dropped into the ocean because he already felt like he was drowning. He was drowning and he knew there was no point in struggling anymore.

He tried, didn’t he? He tried to survive in a world that was so determined to tear him apart, physically and mentally, simply for being born. He tried his best but it wasn’t enough. Nothing he ever did was enough.

Izuku wasn’t enough.

So was it okay to let go? Was it okay to give up now? Was he allowed to admit defeat and throw in the towel now that he knew there was nothing else for him in this life?

Could he finally rest now?

Because Izuku just wanted it all to stop. He was so tired. He was defeated, and broken, and hurting, and so fucking tired. He kept himself going for so long with nothing more than the delusional dream of one day being a hero. A dream that All Might took in his large hands and crushed like fragile porcelain.

He wasn’t angry at the hero, of course not, because All Might was right. He was right and he was simply reminding Izuku of the truth. He was reminding him of his place in the world, and for Izuku that place just so happened to be six feet under. A fitting resting spot for someone who belonged underneath everyone else.

So maybe that was why Izuku found himself standing at the edge of the tallest building he could find in the red-light district. Maybe he wanted to feel bigger than himself, bigger than the world before his body returned to the earth where he could finally be useful as bug food or fertilizer.

Unless they cremate my remains and dump them in the trash, Izuku mused with a humorless chuckle.

It didn’t matter how they found his body or what they did with it after because the point was he wouldn’t be around to care. He wouldn’t be around to hurt anymore.

He just wanted the pain to stop. He wanted the tightness in his chest and the pounding in his temples to stop. He wanted everything to stop!

Breathe in.

Izuku took a step closer to the edge.

It was an abandoned office building that had since become a shelter to the homeless and rats during the colder months. It was supposed to have been torn down after the company went bankrupt but instead it’s been left to rot. Which meant that there wouldn’t be many people around to witness Izuku’s shameful act of defeat.

Breathe out.

He took another step.

He pondered on the idea, for just a moment, of leaving behind a note until he remembered that no one would actually care if he died. No one would look for him besides Eraserhead, but once the hero found out who he was, found out he was a quirkless nobody, then Eraser would be glad he was dead. Eventually, his dad would find out, and maybe Kacchan too, and they would both be relieved.

No one would be burdened by his existence anymore.

Breathe in.

Looking down to the streets below made him dizzy. Usually, heights didn’t bother him but knowing that his body would soon be a splatter on cement in a few moments caused his stomach to turn. It was like reaching the highest peak of a roller coaster and staring down at the vertical drop. The anticipation was nerve-racking but the end would be worth it.

Breathe out.

He took one last step forward.

He was teetering on the very edge, both emotionally and literally. The gentle breeze that was keeping him company in his last moments felt nice. It was like the world was telling him goodbye because no one else would.

Breathe in.

Izuku closed his eyes and relaxed his arms at his sides. He imagined he was four years old again— before he was diagnosed quirkless. He imagined he was at the park with his mom, sitting at the top of the tallest slide. It was such a long way down and he was scared, but his mom was at the bottom, holding her arms open to catch him. She was smiling at him, waiting patiently for Izuku to find the courage to slide down.

“It’s okay, Izuku, just let go. I’ll catch you.”

“Okay mommy! I’ll meet you at the bottom!”

The breeze grew stronger. Invisible hands gently pushing him forward with the promise of permanent rest.

Breathe out.

Izuku closed his eyes, turned his back towards the city, and let himself fall.

-----

It was Saturday evening, and like every Saturday evening, Shouta was to meet Moth at the warehouse for combat training. Moth was learning incredibly quickly, absorbing any new information like a sponge. Not for the first time, Shouta wished a quarter of the students he taught had the same humility and drive to learn. If they did, he wouldn’t have to expel so many.

Shouta was also pleased with Moth’s emotional growth. While the kid still had enough issues to challenge even a seasoned therapist, the progress was still visible. Moth was more open and expressive with Shouta now, the bridge of trust between them becoming more solid by the day. He didn’t need to warn Moth whenever he needed to get near him or touch him, though Shouta still made sure to be mindful of his personal space.

Overall, he thought that things were going well. That soon, Moth would trust him enough to finally accept proper help. All he wanted was to see the kid happy and healthy and safe. God knows Moth deserved it. He was a child that was so obviously hurt again and again by the world yet he still had a heart of pure gold. Something like that was rare and Shouta would do his best to kindle that potential. He knew that no matter where Moth went in life, he would make an impact. He would worm his way into the hearts of everyone around him just as he’d done to Shouta. But he needed to make sure that Moth had the proper help and support first.

So he made his way to the warehouse, determination fueling his steps as he maneuvered across rooftops. Perhaps it was because the hero was slightly distracted—he was going over the evening’s training plan in his head—that he nearly missed the figure standing on the edge of the old office building. It was a building he always made sure to keep a close eye on during patrols because it was a popular location for vandalism, squatters, and suicide attempts.

The last reason was unfortunately common. He talked down nearly a dozen different people from jumping off of that particular roof over the past few years. Being an underground hero made suicide attempts common territory, but it never made it easier.

As much as Shouta hated to be late to their meetings, Moth would have to wait. Right now, the person stepping closer to the edge took priority.

Shouta used his capture weapon to safely and quietly land on the opposite end of the roof from where the person was standing. From this distance, he couldn’t make out much, but he did see that the figure was wearing dark clothes and, to Shouta’s intense worry, they were noticeably small. Almost…child-sized.

God, please don’t let it be a kid, Shouta pleaded silently.

Anxiously, Shouta crept closer. He was just over halfway across the roof when the figure turned to face him. Their eyes were closed and their expression resigned. Shouta felt his heart leap into his throat.

Because the person standing on the edge was a kid. Specifically, it was his kid. It was Moth.

The next few seconds happened in slow motion, as if he was struck by someone with a time manipulation quirk. Moth tilted his head up to the sky, eyes still closed, and proceeded to tip himself backward over the edge.

Shouta didn’t hesitate. He threw one end of his capture weapon towards Moth, not letting himself breathe until he could feel his scarf snag around the boy’s waist. He thanked every star above that he was close enough, that he was fast enough. Moth had fallen barely a foot when Shouta managed to catch him.

The hero quickly pulled Moth in and away from the edge, not stopping, not breathing, until the kid was safely in his arms. Shouta pulled back from Moth just a bit, keeping his hands locked on the boy's shoulders so he could examine him for any injuries. Moth seemed mostly fine, aside from large, red-rimmed eyes wet with tears that cascaded down the boy’s face. Moth was shaking so hard that Shouta could feel the vibrations in his own bones.

Moth’s knees suddenly gave out and Shouta was quick to catch him. The hero slowly lowered them both to the ground, his hands staying firm on the boy’s skinny shoulders.

He felt like his mind was swimming. His heart was pounding so quickly that he thought his ribs might crack from the pressure. Shouta had come across many suicide attempts. He’s stopped many but failed a few as well. He always hated it, hated the feeling of helplessness, knowing that he couldn’t physically fight the monsters that brewed inside other people’s heads.

But never once did Shouta feel this small, this scared. Because this was a child, the youngest jumper he’s saved so far, and more importantly, it was Moth. It was his kid. The same boy that loved gummy worms and apple juice, who loved to talk about quirks and support items, who liked cats almost as much as Shouta did. Moth was just a kid. He was just a baby. Yet the world was so unkind, so cruel to this boy that he felt like his only option was to leave it.

Shouta sucked in a shaky breath. “What the hell were you thinking?” He couldn’t stop his voice from wavering, nor could he control the tremors in his limbs that made his muscles feel numb and useless.

Until now, Moth was deathly silent. His tears were soundless and even his breathing was quiet. But as if Shouta had broken open a dam, Moth’s cries suddenly became violent. Choked sobs wracked his small frame and his hands clutched weakly onto the front of Shouta’s jumpsuit. The boy’s wails were painful to listen to, so defeated and haunting. The anguish embedded into every tear was nearly tanagable

The hero didn’t think twice about scooping the boy up and resting him in his lap, his arms holding Moth tightly to his chest like he was worried that the kid would suddenly vanish. Or worse, try to jump again. So Shouta used his own body to shield the agonized child as if he could protect Moth from every horror in the world by simply being present.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them could. Moth was hardly able to catch his breath through shaken sobs and Shouta was too busy trying to slow down his heart before it beat a tattoo against his lungs. He closed his eyes and let himself focus on the small body he held in his arms. He counted every hitched breath that shuttered from Moth’s chest and felt relief in the feeling of small fingers twisting into his shirt like an anchor.

He couldn’t stop the ache that came with the knowledge of just how tiny Moth was and way, way too light. With his hand resting against Moth’s back, he could easily feel every notch of his spine.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there on the roof of the building. It was long enough for Shouta’s legs to go slightly numb and for Moth’s cries to quiet down. The only sounds now were Shouta’s own heartbeat, Moth’s occasional whimper, and the whispering breeze that blanketed them both.

Moth sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his free hand. His other hand still held tightly to Shouta’s hero costume. “I’m- I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His sounded so shattered, like spiderwebbed cracks in a broken piece of glass.

Shouta hushed him, rubbing circles on the boy’s back. “It’s alright. You’re okay.”

“Please don’t hate me,” Moth whined, his voice impossibly small. He was already young but God, holding him like this and hearing him sound so defeated made Moth seem so much younger.

“I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. You’re alright now,” Shouta assured him. They spent another few minutes like that, Moth pleading for forgiveness and Shouta whispering comforting words in return.

Finally, when he thought Moth was calm enough, Shouta asked the question he honestly wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. “What happened?” Moth just closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please, kiddo. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong. Did something happen today that made you feel like you needed to…” The hero trailed off. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say "that made you feel like you needed to kill yourself?”

But Moth seemed to have understood all the same. The boy clutched Shouta’s shirt even tighter. His eyes were squeezed closed like he was trying to stop more tears from falling. It was a futile attempt, pearly beads of grief still swelled at the corners of his lashes.

“I…He- he told me-” Moth’s breath hitched painfully as he tried to get the words out. “He told me I couldn’t-” The boy let out a desperate whimper and moved to press his palms to his eyes.

“Couldn’t what?” Shouta prompted, one hand still holding Moth tightly while the other continued to rub soothing circles between Moth’s prominent shoulder blades.

“I asked him. I asked him if I- if I could be a hero,” Moth shook his head like he was trying to dispel whatever awful image that was stuck in his mind. “He told me I couldn’t. He said that I was only a burden.”

“Kid-”

“He was right! I’m just a burden! Everyone always leaves me because I’m just a useless waste of space! All I do is cause problems for everyone else and-”

“Moth,” Shouta sternly interrupted. He refused to let the kid berate himself any longer. It hurt too much to listen to. “I don’t know who told you such blatant lies but he’s wrong. You’re a good kid with a big heart. You aren’t a burden to anyone that matters. You aren’t a burden to me.” Moth opened his eyes and looked at Shouta was disbelief, but the hero wasn’t deterred. He would make this kid understand that he was worth being cared about, that he was worth being loved and supported. No one, especially a goddamn child, should ever feel like their life was worth less than others. “And though I don’t condone you putting yourself in harm's way as a vigilante, I can guarantee that to the people you’ve saved, you’re already a hero, kid.”

Shouta shifted a bit so that he could better see Moth’s eyes. He needed this boy to know that there was at least one person in his corner. “If you want to be a hero, Moth, then you can be. There is nothing stopping you. I’ve seen first hand the potential you have and kid, you’re overflowing with it.” It was either the wrong thing to say or it was just what Moth needed to hear because the boy broke down into another fit of sobs.

Shouta made a mental note to make sure Moth drank plenty of water afterward, positive that the kid was dehydrated from all the crying.

Eventually, Moth quieted down again and in a whisper, said, “A hero.”

“Hm?”

“A hero. A hero told- told me that…” Moth’s voice was only just loud enough to not be obscured by the wind. At first, Shouta didn’t understand, but then a sickening realization sank into him with angry, serrated claws.

“A hero…told you that you’re a burden? That you couldn’t be a hero?” Moth nodded, his head resting against Shouta’s chest. The kid was obviously exhausted.

Now, Shouta is a logical man. As a pro-hero himself as well as a teacher to hero hopefuls, he knew that telling every single kid that they could be heroes was not only irrational but dangerous. But this was different. He knows Moth. Moth isn’t some self-centered brat with a hero complex or a lazy kid that isn’t willing to put in effort towards their goals. No, Moth was filled to the brim with determination. He’s selfless to a fault and he constantly goes beyond Shouta’s expectations. Moth was a kid that’s seen the worst of the world but had come out the other side still seeing the best in people.

So for a hero, of all people, to look at this shining child and not only tell him he couldn't be a hero, but that he’s a burden as well? Shouta wanted nothing more than for said hero to meet the end of his fist.

Shouta took a deep breath, keeping his rage in check. “What hero said that to you?”

“No!” Moth startled, his eyes wide in fear. Christ, did the hero threaten him too?

“Moth-”

“I can’t! I won’t!” Moth shook his head rapidly. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway,” the boy added quietly.

“You can tell me. I promise you aren’t in trouble,” he said, trying to coax an answer out of the trembling child.

“Please. Please just drop it. Not now. I- I can’t.”

Shouta sighed deeply. As much as he wanted to know what “hero” hurt his the kid, he didn’t want to push Moth too much. He’d already been through enough tonight and he already looked half asleep in Shouta’s arms anyway. He’ll just have to be patient. He’ll find out who it was eventually, but right now, Moth’s wellbeing took priority and Shouta desperately wanted to get the boy off of the roof.

“Okay, it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me right now. But we do need to make our way down, yeah? It’s still a bit cold out, not the best conditions for sleeping on a roof,” Shouta gently stated, slowly adjusting both himself and Moth so that they could stand.

It took a minute, but eventually, he got Moth to his feet and, with the boy leaning against him, led him to the roof’s exit and down the stairs. It was slow going, Moth nearly tripping every once in a while, but they finally made it out of the building and onto solid ground. Shouta pointedly ignored the haunting feeling he got when he looked at the spot on the sidewalk where Moth’s body would have ended up if his attempt was successful.

He strategically guided Moth away from the building and began walking towards the nearest police station. He knew the kid was going to get upset. He knew Moth was going to possibly panic about where they were going, but Shouta couldn’t wait anymore. He couldn’t risk Moth trying to hurt himself again. He just had to make sure Moth understood that he wasn’t in trouble, that Shouta wasn’t going to leave him. The hero had invested too much time and cared too deeply to hand Moth over and let fate decide the boy’s future.

Moth’s words echoed in his head. “Everyone always leaves me because I’m just a useless waste of space!”

No matter what happens next, he vowed to be there for Moth every step of the way. Not only would he have to be present for the kid’s court case if it turned to that, seeing as he was the hero assigned to Moth’s case, but he wanted to make sure Moth had some kind of solid support system. Whether it was abusive parents or problems with the foster system, Shouta would be a constant in Moth’s life.

Shouta cleared his throat. “Kid. I know you aren’t going to be happy with this decision, but I can’t just let you go after your attempt. I’m going to take you to one of my friends at the police station, alright? He’s a good man and he can help you.”

-----

Izuku came to an abrupt stop. His head was still full of static from the past few hours and his body had yet to stop shaking. If he were being honest, he hadn’t really been mentally present since he talked with All Might. He was falling apart at the seams and when Eraserhead and shown up out of nowhere and stopped him from jumping, Izuku couldn’t help but fall apart in the hero’s arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged or felt so protected. His brain screamed at him to just trust the man, to let Eraserhead find all of his pieces and glue them back together because Izuku was so tired of trying to keep himself from breaking.

But then-

“Kid. I know you aren’t going to be happy with this decision, but I can’t just let you go after your attempt. I’m going to take you to one of my friends at the police station, alright? He’s a good man and he can help you,” Eraserhead said, his voice gentle.

No. No, no, no, no. No.

Izuku felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water on top of him. His breathing quickened uncontrollably and fear pumped through his veins.

“No,” Izuku stared at the hero, his eyes wide and his voice shaky. “No. No, you promised.” He couldn’t help that his words came out more like a whimper.

Because Eraserhead promised. He promised he wouldn’t turn him in. He promised he wouldn’t make Izuku do anything he didn’t want to. He promised.

Eraserhead looked slightly hesitant, like he was fighting himself on something. “Moth.” The hero raised his arms slowly, showing himself to be no threat. It didn’t help. Izuku’s skin was crawling and his legs itched to run fast and far. “I’m sorry, kid, but I can’t in good conscious let you go. Not after what just happened.” Eraserhead’s usual stoic expression turned almost pained at his next words. “I can’t let you try and hurt yourself again.”

“No!” Moth nearly screamed and took a step back. Eraserhead matched his step to keep the distance between them close. Izuku could no longer feel his lips or the tips of his fingers. His head felt like it was full of cotton while his lungs felt like they were filled with thorns.

“You need help, kid. Please, let me help you,” Eraser pleaded. Moth could see the sincerity in his eyes and he wanted so badly to trust him. Eraserhead was his favorite hero—now that All Might crushed his dreams—and he had been nothing but nice, and patient, and kind to Izuku. But…

But if Eraserhead found out who he was, if he found out Izuku was quirkless, then the hero would never look at him the same way again. He would see that Izuku wasn’t worth his time. He would leave him just like everyone else did. And if the police got involved? Izuku would either be shipped off to America to live with his dad or he’d be sent to an orphanage or foster home where the chances of survival for a quirkless kid were less than 30%.

As much as he wanted to trust Eraser, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it, and Izuku’s heart ached with the reality of his current situation. Because now, either way, he had to lose the first person that was ever kind to him. Either Eraserhead learns the truth about Izuku and abandons him, or Izuku escapes and abandons Eraser first.

He made his choice.

“I’m so sorry,” Izuku cried, choking on his own words. “Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry.” He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cylindrical object. At first glance, it could be mistaken for his collapsible bo staff when it wasn’t extended.

Eraserhead looked at him with both concern and slight confusion. It was probably the most emotion he’s ever seen on the hero’s face. “Moth, what are-”

Izuku pulled the pin on the prototype flash grenade and tossed it in the air. He didn’t wait for it to go off before closing his eyes, turning on his heel, and blindly running. He knew Eraserhead had sensitive eyes so the flash grenade would be extra effective. It made Izuku’s stomach turn with guilt but he never stopped running. He waited a few more seconds before he deemed it safe enough to open his eyes again.

Izuku ignored the panic in Eraserhead’s voice as he called for him to stop. Izuku didn’t stop. He kept running. He never looked back. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, his eyes were too cloudy with tears.

-----

By the time Izuku made it back to his apartment, he felt like the world was about to collapse beneath him. He didn’t hesitate to fall face-first onto his futon, not bothering to take off his shoes. He couldn’t tell if the deep ache in his chest was from running or from the empty space carved out of his heart due to Eraserhead’s betrayal.

Whatever it was, it hurt. It was the same, familiar raw pain, like sandpaper rubbing against his heart, that he felt when his dad left. When Kacchan hit him for the first time. When he got the news that his mom was dead. It was a hollow emptiness that settled in his bones and clawed at his lungs. It made him feel like his chest was about to cave in. Because here he was, alone again, but this time he was the one that left.

It didn’t make it any less painful.

Izuku wanted to cry. He wanted to scream, he wanted to bang his head against the wall, he wanted to take a knife and carve into his flesh until he hit bone. He felt everything and nothing all at once and it made his head pound. Darkness began to grow at the corners of his vision. He couldn’t stop his eyes from closing.

He was so fucking tired. Even breathing was exhausting. He could only hope that the world was merciful enough to pull him under and let him sleep for eternity.

Izuku welcomed the inky blackness that pulled him from consciousness.

Chapter Text

Shouta cursed and scrubbed at his eyes, the echoes of light still etched into his vision. He had expected a few different responses from Moth, but pulling out a presumably homemade flash grenade and running away was not one of them. He couldn’t see, but he could hear Moth’s panicked footsteps slamming against the concrete as he ran.

He didn’t bother to keep the panic out of his voice as he called for the kid to stop. “Moth!”

Anxiety stabbed at his chest as he listened to Moth’s footsteps grow fainter. Shouta tried to blink away the traces of blinding light, but by the time his vision was clear enough to have a general sense of his surroundings, Moth was long gone.

Shouta forced himself to pause and breathe. Mindlessly panicking would do nothing to help in this situation. He was an underground hero for Christ’s sake, he was known for keeping a level head in the most intense situations, so why couldn’t he stop the fangs of dread that sank their teeth into his chest?

Shouta took out his phone and quickly dialed Tsukauchi’s number. He had been handling Moth’s case on his own, mostly as to not overwhelm the kid, but this was something he could no longer do by himself. He needed eyes on the city in order to find Moth as soon as possible and he could only be in so many places at once.

“Eraser?” the detective’s voice sounded through his phone’s speaker, concern evident in his tone. During patrols, Shouta would usually send a message to the nearest officer through the secure Hero Line if he needed assistance, and when he did need to call the station, he usually called Sansa. The apprehension in Tsukauchi’s voice was not surprising.

“Tsukauchi. I need any available officer sent to the red-light district.”

“What’s going on Eraser? You aren’t scheduled to patrol tonight.”

“It’s Moth. I found him at the top of the abandoned office building.” Shouta closed his eyes and forced himself to speak, the words feeling like sandpaper, raw and painful as they left his mouth. “He was trying to kill himself.”

He could hear Tsukauchi’s sharp inhale. “Is he-”

“No, I caught him in time. But…” Shouta pinched at the bridge of his nose and made himself take a deep breath. “I got him down from the roof, but when I told him that I needed to take him to the station, he panicked and caught me off guard with some sort of flash grenade. I couldn’t stop him from running off.”

“Where the hell did he get a flash grenade?”

“That’s not important,” he hissed. “I have no idea where he is and he’s clearly still at risk of another attempt. I need as many officers as you can spare to help search this corner of Musutafu. I-” Shouta swallowed back the acidic taste of worry that lodged itself in his throat. “I can’t fail him.”

-----

Two days. Two days and not a single sign of Moth. Dread settled deep into the pits of Shouta’s stomach, hot and bubbling, making him feel nauseated. Nearly a dozen officers were made to scout the city. A few trusted underground heroes that worked with Musutafu’s precinct lent their aid in the search as well. They found nothing.

Just as Shouta had feared when he held the small trembling boy in his arms that night on the roof, Moth had vanished. He tried to remain logical. They hadn’t found Moth yet but that meant they also hadn’t found his body splattered at the base of a building, bloody skull cracked open on cement and-

Shouta scrubbed a hand down his face, dispelling the image from his mind before he felt the need to dispel his dinner. He couldn’t let himself drown in speculations. It wouldn’t do him any favors if he let himself get lost in ‘what-ifs’. Shouta needed to stay focused and level-headed as he would be on any other case.

But he wasn’t surprised when he found himself absentmindedly walking to Ishihara’s Corner Store in the dead of night. As much as he tried to reign in his worry, to emotionally distance himself from the case, Shouta couldn’t help but feel detached from his own body. He hadn’t slept in days, every possible bad scenario played out in his mind like some fucked up movie. They all ended the same: finding Moth’s lifeless body, unseeing green eyes turned into mirrors that showed Shouta a distorted reflection of himself. The words “too late” repeating over and over in his head until they became a constant white noise of senseless sound.

Shouta was supposed to be the rational hero. He was supposed to be the one that could bury his emotions so deep inside of himself that they would rot away. But something about Moth had caused his emotions to overflow. It was such an unfamiliar feeling and it came with no instructions. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation or the gruesome images that tattooed themselves to the inside of his eyelids, but Shouta felt like he was losing himself. The floor beneath him, usually so stable and reliable, began to splinter and crack like thin ice over a lake, and he was so close to falling in.

That was why, when he saw a green slip of paper peeking out from beneath the rock on the bench by Ishihara’s, Shouta nearly crumpled with relief. Somehow, without being seen, Moth had still managed to keep up their routine and left a note for Shouta. It wasn’t Moth in person, but it was still physical evidence of life. It was proof that Moth was still alive and willing to talk to him. He couldn’t stop the hope that washed over him, quieting the unease that he’d been carrying around for days.

He moved the rock aside and grabbed the note, holding it up the light that filtered from the store’s window so he could make out the words-

Shouta felt his heart drop into his stomach. The splintering ice beneath his feet suddenly, violently, gave out from beneath him, dunking him into frozen water. His lungs filled with ice chips making every breath sharp and painful.

The words on the note, dimly lit by scarce light, became blurred and unreadable. The frozen water that Shouta was drowning in pooled at the edges of his eyes, causing his vision to become foggy and useless. It didn’t matter. The scratchy words that were written on green paper would forever be branded into his heart like a scar.

“I’m sorry, Eraserhead. I don't want to live anymore. I’m so tired. Thank you for everything. Goodbye. -Moth”

A suicide note. Moth left him a suicide note.

-----

The next few hours were a blur.

He knew that he had made another phone call to Tsukauchi. He knew the detective gave Shouta his condolences with grief-laced words. He heard Tsukauchi tell him that he’d ask his officers to keep an eye out for a body that matched Moth’s description. Shouta knew these things, could hear the words, but everything sounded distant, like he was hearing them from underwater.

Shouta knew he made it home at some point. He vaguely remembered closing the door behind him, flicking on his apartment lights, and making his way to the living room.

He knew these things, but he hardly registered them. His blood was still frozen in his veins and the only sensations he could feel were a tingling numbness in his limbs and a deep, dark empty pit that threatened to swallow him whole.

One year. One year of routinely seeing Moth.

Every Monday and Friday, they would exchange notes. Sometimes the notes were anecdotes of life events they wanted to share, sometimes they were just passing thoughts, and sometimes Moth would draw a random doodle of an alley cat he saw or of the support item he was working on.

On Wednesdays and Saturdays, Moth would meet Shouta at the warehouse for combat training. Every time Moth perfected a new move his emerald eyes would shine, and if he got especially excited, he would hop up and down like a proud bunny.

Every other Tuesday, Shouta and Moth would spend an hour at the bus stop, sitting on the bench and drinking their respected beverages from the vending machine. Moth always got apple juice and Shouta drank his canned coffee. One time, Moth had begged him to try the coffee despite Shouta assuring him he would hate it. Eventually, the boy’s pleading kitten eyes wore down his defenses and he caved. Shouta had to hold his breath so he wouldn’t outwardly laugh when Moth spit the coffee out in disgust, his face screwed up as if he bit into a lemon.

Most Thursdays and Fridays, Shouta would run into Moth while on patrol. He always made sure to have snacks on him, smiling when Moth’s eyes lit up from being gifted his favorite bag of gummy worms. His coworkers long since stopped questioning him about carrying bags of candy as often as he carried jelly pouches. For them, it became the new normal.

Shouta had no idea just how deeply Moth was ingrained into his daily life. He hadn’t noticed how common it became for warmth to bloom at his core whenever he interacted with the timid boy or the smile that quirked at his lips whenever Moth leaned into his touch.

He hadn’t known how normalized Moth’s presence became until the realization of the boy's permanent absence crashed around him like a collapsed roof. The sudden loss hit Shouta so quickly, so brutally, he felt as if a limb had been torn from his body. Something that he was so used to counting on was abruptly taken from him. An aching emptiness expanded beneath his ribs, causing them to bend and crack, his chest feeling like it was caving in on itself with every beat of his heart.

Shouta tried to push away his feelings. He tried to bottle them up and bury them so deep within himself that maybe he would forget about them someday, and for a moment, he thought it would work. Shouta thought he could slip on his mask of stoicism and continue on with his life like he always had.

Until his onyx eyes met with plastic gold ones.

There, on the shelf of his bookcase, was the cat plush. It sat innocently, watching him with an expressionless gaze. Shouta didn’t notice himself move until he held the little plush in his hand. His fingers found the frayed edges of the handmade capture weapon that was wrapped around the cat’s neck.

On the same shelf, next to where the plush sat, was a small box. It was filled with green slips of paper; every note that Moth had ever written him. Shouta wasn’t sure why he decided to keep the notes. Perhaps he mindlessly threw one in an empty box one day and it became just another habit formed by Moth’s presence in his life.

Shouta brought down the box and placed it on the side table by the couch, and began to leaf through the notes. He ignored the stinging behind his eyes as he carefully read through each of them.

“Besides apple juice, I really like green tea! Matcha especially. Do you like anything besides coffee? -Moth”

“I saw a stray dog today. It barked at me when I got too close. I think I like cats better. -Moth”

“I’ve been practicing that new counterattack you taught me! I can’t wait to show you! -Moth”

“I’m sorry if I bothered you during your patrol yesterday. -Moth”

“Thank you for the bag of food! Stay safe on your mission, okay? -Moth”

The taste of copper filled his mouth as Shouta bit the inside of his cheek. His gut twisted painfully at the memory of holding the small boy in his arms and counting Moth’s every breath. He was able to ground himself with every sign of life the kid presented.

But now, standing alone in his apartment, Shouta tried desperately not to think of the notes and the cat plush in his hands as being the only physical evidence that Moth had ever existed in the first place.

He continued to rifle through the box, each note another piece of the boy that should have lived longer. Each note another reminder of Shouta’s failure as a hero. He vowed to himself, fifteen years ago, that he would never let another child die on his watch. Not after he failed to protect Oboro. It was why he eventually agreed to become a teacher to future heroes and why he expelled so many students. He refused to let a single hero hopeful lose their life from preventable causes. If that meant he had to be strict and unfair, then he would be, and in all of his years of teaching and hero work, he never lost one kid.

Until now.

His hand caught on one of the notes in the box. It was more crumpled than the others and its edges slightly torn. It was folded over itself so he couldn’t make out the words until he smoothed the paper out with his thumb.

Shouta’s breath caught painfully in his chest and despite his dry eyes, tears swam at the corners of his vision. Intense, crippling grief weighed down his shoulders like heavy bricks that dug painfully into his collar bone. It was matched with hot, searing anger that made him grit his teeth so hard they creaked. He wanted to scream at the universe and every god he didn’t believe in for being so unnecessarily cruel. The same cruelty that made a little boy feel so much pain that taking his own life seemed like the only option.

He hadn't realized he was crying, both from anguish and anger, until a teardrop landed on the note in his hand. The first note that Moth had ever written. The irony was not lost on him.

“I’m alive”

For the first time in fifteen years, Shouta let himself break.

-----

Izuku was exhausted.

He had a faint memory of making his way to Ishihara’s Corner Store at some point to leave Eraserhead one last note. As much as the hero’s betrayal stung, like a skinned knee hot to the touch, he felt like he needed to say goodbye. Eraser had done so much for him, he was so kind to Izuku when no one else was. The pain of losing his hero was even worse than the pain of losing his father. He didn’t really know what having a dad was like, but if it was anything like the way Eraserhead had made him feel—protected, listened to, and supported—then it only made Izuku that much angrier at his father for never being there.

When he made it back to his apartment, Izuku had every intention of ending himself right then and there. He would settle himself in his bathtub and watch as the blood from his arms swirled a pinkish-red pattern in the water until death claimed him.

Instead, Izuku collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep.

He slept for days. Or, at least he assumed. Eating became irrelevant and time became a lost concept as his body left a permanent indent in his futon. His sore muscles ached with disuse and he had yet to shower or even change his clothes, the very idea of seeing himself in the bathroom mirror would be a horrible reminder that he physically existed. Izuku didn’t want to exist. He just wanted to rest. But getting up to kill himself was too much work and no matter how much he slept he was still tired, exhaustion seeping into his bones like thick syrup weighing him down. He couldn’t even remember when he last opened his eyes, still swollen and itchy from days of crying.

If someone were to see him now—pale-skinned, bruised eyes, and lying flat on his stomach while he tried to merge with his bedding—they would most likely assume he was a corpse. Honestly, Izuku’s body felt like it died days ago but someone had failed to give his brain the memo.

A week into his mission of fading out of existence via doing nothing, Izuku found himself to be very much alive. As much as he wanted to continue his dissociative trance until his body naturally decayed, Izuku’s muscles screamed for movement and his brain itched with a thought that had been plaguing him for days.

See, as much as Izuku regretted existing, he was stubborn to a fault. When presented with a problem or a challenge, his mind refused to rest until the issue was solved or the challenge was completed. It was extremely annoying and very unhelpful when all Izuku wanted to do was sleep for the rest of his life.

This particular idea that his brain kept prodding him with was so exceedingly ludicrous, so very pointless, yet so incredibly tempting. It would be one last personal challenge to attempt before he could finally rest forever.

It was a stupid idea, but Izuku wasn’t exactly known for making the best decisions all of the time.

The inane personal challenge that his brain decided to set for himself as a last feeble attempt at finding something worth living for?

The U.A. entrance exam.

He had come up with the foolish idea of using the U.A. entrance exam as the determining factor for whether or not he should stay alive. Because if Izuku could somehow pass the exam, then Eraserhead’s claim of him having the potential to be a hero would at least hold some merit. Maybe. But if Izuku failed the exam, which was much more likely, then that meant All Might was right, Izuku would never be a hero and would only ever be a burden to society.

If he passed the exam and was admitted into the hero course, Izuku would at least try to make something of himself as a last-ditch effort. If he failed, then he would just find another rooftop to jump off of. Preferably one without a hero to stop him.

With his mind made up and stubborn stupidity pumping in his veins, Izuku finally got up from his depression-nest to do the bare minimum in taking care of his useless corporeal form. First, he needed to shower.

He pointedly ignored his reflection in the mirror and opted to basically bathe himself with his eyes closed. As scalding hot water seared his skin, turning his pale complication into an angry red and his scars into a near purple, Izuku went over the plan in his head.

Here’s another problem with Izuku. He’s extremely impatient. The entrance exam was a month away, which normally wouldn’t be an issue if Izuku was the appropriate age to take the exam in the first place. He had graduated middle school a month back and had planned on continuing his education through an online high school. As far as a normal education goes, Izuku’s age was almost irrelevant. He wouldn’t be the first one to skip a few grades.

However, U.A.’s hero course was different. The youngest recorded student to attend the hero course was a recommendation student that started their first year at age 13 and turned 14 a month in. While Izuku couldn’t find any explicit rules against younger students applying for the hero course, admission would be unlikely due to possible liability reasons.

Now, Izuku was 12 (and a half, thank you very much) which meant that to even be considered for enrollment, he would have to wait at least a year, which was out of the question. A month of forcing himself to exist would be difficult enough, but a whole year? Absolutely not. So Izuku decided that his only real option would be to lie about his age on his application.

After showering and eating a few granola bars, Izuku booted up his laptop and began his research into the U.A. application process.

It took only a couple of hours for Izuku to pile together everything he needed in order to apply for the hero course. Much to his surprise, it wasn’t much. The application forms were basic, just asking for his name, age, address, quirk, accumulated middle school grades, health concerns, a photo of the applicant, etc. The forms would then need to be signed by a parent or guardian.

Izuku was suspicious by the lack of information U.A. required, until he came across a forum of previous applicants and current students talking about the admission process. Though no one mentioned what the physical portion of the exam actually entailed, Izuku did learn that U.A. had a personal rule that prevented the staff from looking at a student’s in-depth file unless they found a reason to. Supposedly, it was to avoid bias and give all applicants a fair chance.

It was almost too convenient, but he didn’t feel like questioning it, afraid he would jinx the whole thing.

Besides, in all honesty, Izuku wasn’t worried about his falsified age stopping him from taking the exam. The chance that his application would even pass the screening process was extremely low given his quirkless status. Sure, U.A. said that they excepted quirkless students but it was more than likely some publicity stunt to showcase their push for diversity. U.A. had never enrolled a quirkless student into any course let alone the hero course.

With literally nothing to lose, Izuku filled out the forms and emailed them to his father for his signature. Izuku hadn’t held a full conversation with his father in years, but they did correspond through email about things that legally required a parent or guardian’s input. The last time he emailed Hisashi, it was to sign off on Izuku’s middle school graduation certificate. He assumed his father didn’t actually know his age seeing as the man didn’t question how Izuku skipped a grade in elementary school and finished middle school nearly two years early.

After sending off the forms and compiling any other useful information he could find on the exams, Izuku went back to sleep. He was able to distract himself for a bit, but now that he had nothing else to do but wait, his mind went back to barraging him with self-deprecating thoughts and the empty, aching reminder that he was, once again, alone.

Sleeping was like dying without the commitment. It was also a good way to pass the time.

Chapter Text

Midoriya Izuku,

This letter was sent to you on behalf of UA’s admissions department. Your application to partake in the Hero Course Entrance Exam, which is set to take place on March 25th of 2xxx, has been accepted. Please refer to the Hero Course section of the Exam Guidebook for further instructions. For questions or concerns, please reach out through one of our provided methods of contact. We wish you the best of luck on your exam and look forward to seeing you on campus soon.

Go Plus Ultra,

UA Admissions and Staff.

———————

Izuku held the letter in his hands, positive that if he were to look away it would go up in flames or vanish into thin air. It almost didn’t seem real. Whoever was put in charge of scanning through his application forms must have been either blind or illiterate because there was no way his quirkless status went unnoticed. Even his falsified age went unquestioned unless his quirklessness was so shocking that it covered up all of his other details, and in that case, he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not.

It didn’t matter though, because he was doing this. Izuku was going to take the U.A.’s entrance exam for the hero course, and regardless of if he failed or not, he could at least say he tried.

He had just under one month to prepare himself for the exam. Thankfully, UA had free practice tests for the written portion of the exam and Izuku had plenty of free time to study for it, so he wasn’t all that concerned. It was the physical portion that worried him. He had no idea what to expect but he could guess it was constructed to allow the applicants to show off their quirks. It was no secret that UA, as well most hero schools, had a bias towards students with strong and flashy quirks. This meant that the exam could be anything from an obstacle course to a mock villain attack.

Whatever the physical portion of the exam turned out to be, Izuku would give it his all. Whatever happened afterward was up to fate.

-----

Most people assumed that Present Mic was a boisterous, easy-going hero that relied on charisma more than intelligence. Between his bubbly radio-show host persona and flashy fashion, it was an easy mistake to make. But those who knew Hizashi were well aware of his keen observational skills that rivaled even Nezu’s. Even more important than his intellect, Yamada Hizashi was a good friend.

So it wasn’t surprising that he immediately took notice of his best friend’s unusual behavior.

Being the weekend, Aizawa Shouta’s lack of communication wasn’t all that significant. The underground hero wasn’t the most social person, Hizashi was social enough for the both of them, however, Shouta was never one to completely ignore Hizashi’s text for more than a day. At the very least, Shouta would leave him on read.

The voice hero decided not to panic just yet. He knew more than anyone that Shouta was a capable hero that didn’t need to be fussed over. So ignoring the slight worry that was swirling around in his gut, Hizashi planned to wait until their next work meeting at UA to check in on his friend.

But when Tuesday rolled around, and Shouta wasn’t parked by the coffee machine in the staff lounge as he usually was, Hizashi’s anxiety justifiably spiked. And before the meeting started, when Nezu informed the staff members that Shouta had called out of work for the next few days, Hizashi’s anxiety turned into panic.

Because Shouta never called out of work. As much as Shouta complained about his teaching job, the man took it very seriously. Not once in his entire teaching career did the underground hero miss a day of work. He could be in a full-body cast and still make it on time for even the most boring meeting.

Which could only mean that something was very, very wrong.

Sat across from him at the meeting table, Nemuri met his gaze with her own worried one. He and Nemuri had been friends with Shouta for nearly fifteen years, and while the other staff members may be less concerned about his absence, Hizashi couldn’t settle the feeling of unease that rested beneath his skin. He was sure Nemuri felt the same way.

As much as he tried to pay attention to Nezu’s speech, something to do with the upcoming entrance exams and a new faculty member, Hizashi couldn’t stop his mind from playing out all of the possible scenarios as to why Shouta was inexplicably missing. He could at least put away the idea that his friend was dead, seeing as Nezu informed them that Shouta himself was the one to call out of work, but there were still a million terrible possibilities to choose from. What if he was gravely injured and fighting for his life? What if he was terribly sick with some terminal illness?

Hizashi forced himself to keep his heart rate down and breathing even. He knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. There was clearly a reasonable and normal explanation for Shouta’s absence. Maybe his agency had a last-minute mission they needed his help with and he just forgot to tell anyone. That was definitely possible.

It was possible, but it didn’t stop Hizashi and Nemuri from rushing out of the meeting as soon as it ended and jumping into his car to head to Shouta’s apartment.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Hizashi. It’s not like he had a class to teach this year anyway, so maybe he decided to take a few days off to sleep,” Nemuri weakly argued.

Hizashi shook his head but kept his eyes on the road. “You know he’s not the type of person to just take days off out of nowhere. And the meeting today was about the entrance exam not about the heroics department. Besides, he hasn’t answered any of my texts since Friday!”

“He hates texting, you know that.”

“Yeah, but still!”

Nemuri sighed. “Look, I’m worried too, but I’m sure everything is fine. When we get there, he’ll probably answer his door all pissy and yell at us for interrupting his nap. Or maybe he’s finally having a midlife crisis, who knows?”

Hizashi spared a quick, unamused glance towards the Rated-R hero. “Nem, he’s been having a midlife crisis since he was sixteen.”

Nemuri shrugged. “Fine, then maybe he’s finally getting over it and decided to take a vacation to the beach or something. God knows he needs it.”

“Nope. His car is still here, look,” Hizashi pointed out, parking his own car in the guest spot of the apartment complex.

He and Nemuri wasted no time in getting out of his car and scrambling up the stairs to the fifth floor. No matter where Shouta lived, he always preferred to live at the top floor, explaining that he found comfort in heights. Hizashi couldn’t relate. He detested stairs and the elevator in this particular complex required an access key for whatever reason. An access key that Hizashi didn’t have.

He was at least grateful that they weren’t wearing their hero costumes that day so he wasn’t forced to climb five stories in leather pants.

Once they finally reached Shouta’s apartment door Hizashi may or may not have knocked harder and louder than he intended.

He spent nearly thirty seconds holding his breath in anticipation until the door of apartment 502 creaked open. His shoulders slumped in relief when he saw his friend’s disgruntled face appear from behind the door. Shouta was alive and at least well enough to greet them.

“Jeez, Shou, you scared the crap out of us! When you called out of work we thought-” It was then that Hizashi finally noticed Shouta’s red eyes. While this wasn’t unusual due to the man’s quirk, what caught him off guard was that his eyes were also slightly swollen and wet.

Shouta had been crying.

Shouta never cries. Just like he never misses work.

“Shou? What’s going on? What happened?” Hizashi asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. Nemuri must not have seen Shouta from where she was standing, but once she moved from behind Hizashi, he could hear her soft gasp.

“Shouta, honey, what’s wrong?” Nemuri demanded, already shoving her way past Hizashi and ushering Shouta back into his apartment. Shouta furrowed his brows and glared at them both, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Nothing happened,” he muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. “Why are you two here?”

Hizashi jabbed a finger into the other man’s chest. “Because you called out of work today!”

Shouta rose a brow. “And?”

“And! You never call out of work!”

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” Shouta scoffed. Hizashi pushed his lower lip out and folded his own arms across his chest, mirroring Shouta’s defensive stance.

“Something is wrong and we’re not leaving until you tell us what happened,” Hizashi stated matter-of-factly.

Shouta sighed and rubbed at his eyes. His hair was up in a messy, loose bun, strands falling around his face. It made him look more exhausted than usual. “Again. I repeat. Nothing happened.”

Hizashi refused to budge. “And I repeat. We’re not leaving until you tell us what’s wrong.”

“Shouta, we aren’t stupid. It’s obvious you’ve been crying,” Nemuri pointed out as she wandered around the living room. “There’s nothing wrong with that, I’m glad you’re finally getting over your emotional constipation, but if something is troubling you, we want to help.”

Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. I appreciate your unfounded concern, but-”

“No,” Hizashi interrupted, his voice stern but still quiet.

“No?”

“No, Shouta.” Hizashi grabbed onto Shouta’s sleeve and dragged him over to sit on the couch while Hizashi sat opposite of him on the coffee table. “I’m not letting you do this again.”

“Do what?”

“This! Shutting us out!” A tense silence blanketed the room. He noticed Shouta stiffen and he watched as a scowl painted itself across his face. Hizashi wasn’t deterred. “Don’t treat us like idiots, Shou. We know you’re upset by something. Something important to you. But if you shut us out again we can’t help you and I refuse to let you spiral like you did with Obo-”

“Stop,” Shouta growled.

“Stop what? Worrying about you?! Because-”

“What’s this?” Nemuri’s voice carried over from behind the couch, cutting Hizashi off before he could fall into a rant.

Both Hizashi and Shouta turned to look at Nemuri who was pointing at something on the bookshelf. From where he sat, he couldn’t make out what she was looking at, but whatever it was, it made Shouta spring up from the couch.

“Nemuri, don’t.” Hizashi didn’t miss the slight break in Shouta’s voice. Curious about what was causing his friends to crowd around the bookcase, Hizashi stood up and joined them, only to see that the object of interest was…a stuffed cat?

“What?” Nemuri said with feigned innocence, “It’s cute. I didn’t take you for a plushie collector but- Oh my god. Is it wearing a capture scarf?”

Hizashi peeked around Nemuri’s shoulders to get a better look and saw that yes, the cat was wearing what looked like a hand-sewn capture weapon.

Nemuri squealed. “This is adorable! Where did you get this?” She reached for the plush but was instantly intercepted by Shouta gently grabbing onto her wrist.

“Don’t,” Shouta said again. Then, in a softer tone, “Please.”

Shouta let go of Nemuri’s wrist, but she stayed frozen, looking at him with clear concern. Hizashi was sure he was watching his friend with a similar expression. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard Shouta sound so distressed.

“Hey, Shou?” Hizashi gently rested a hand on his friend’s arm. “Please, tell us what’s wrong.” Hizashi watched as Shouta bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes locked onto the plushie with a faraway look as if the little cat held secrets of its own.

Shouta rubbed at his eyes again, drew in a deep, shaky breath and began to tell them a story.

It was a story of a little vigilante, no older than twelve. A little boy with eyes so full of pain but with a heart so full of love, that didn’t trust easily but would risk his life for anyone. Who loved sour candies and juice, alley cats and head pats, who loved to analyze quirks and build inventions. It was a story about passing notes and late-night talks under the soft glow of a vending machine.

It was a wonderful tale about an underground hero and a timid boy who found companionship with one another.

It was a heart-wrenching story that ended with the cruelty of the world being too much for the child to carry.

It was a story that didn’t end with a ‘happily ever after’.

There was no ‘after’, there was just ‘the end’.

The entire time Shouta spoke, his voice soft and distant, he never once looked away from the stuffed cat sitting innocently on the shelf. Thick silence followed the last of his words like curtains falling after a play, but there was no applause, no standing ovation. Just heavy grief that settled deep in their bones.

Nemuri meant to break the silence, she didn’t intend to break her friend. “You loved him, didn’t you?” She whispered, her blue eyes searching watery onyx ones.

It was then, for the first time since high school, Nemuri and Hizashi saw their best friend cry. It was silent— shaking shoulders and quiet tears, but for Shouta Aizawa, it may as well have been wailing sobs. Hizashi could do nothing else but hold his friend close as he fell apart.

Chapter Text

UA was much bigger than Izuku thought it would be. Like, a thousand times bigger.

“What, is this a school for giants?” Izuku muttered to himself, but immediately retracted his statement as he watched a ten-foot-tall teenager walk through the front gates. Izuku shook his head to settle his nerves before entering the gates himself.

There were at least a dozen different emotions swirling inside of him, anxiety and anticipation were the most prominent. He wasn’t at all nervous for the written portion, acing each practice test he took, but the mystery behind the practical part of the exam caused his mind to race through speculations like a bullet train. He knew that, regardless of what the practical was, it wouldn’t be easy. Not when there were hundreds of students taking the entrance exam for a chance at getting into the hero course and only 36 available seats.

Did Izuku think he was going to pass the exam? Absolutely not. But would he be satisfied that he at least tried? Yes, and that was all Izuku needed, the last box to check off before he died. In a way, he felt like a ghost, haunting the living, needing to complete one last act of unfinished business before he could move on and rest in peace.

Izuku played with the cuffs of his sleeves as he walked, trying to quell his anxiety while also taking in the amazing sights of U.A.’s campus. The main building was large and made up of mostly windows, the glass reflecting the morning sun with bright intensity. A warm spring breeze swept through the trees, making their shadows dance to unheard music. It was all so peaceful.

Until it wasn’t.

“DEKU!”

Izuku stopped so suddenly, he nearly tripped. His stomach sank to his feet and his lungs constricted in fear.

He had completely forgotten that this year, Kacchan would also be taking the U.A. entrance exam. God, he was such a fucking idiot.

Izuku hunched his shoulders and curled in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible, which wasn’t hard considering he was one of the shortest people around. He heard Kacchan’s heavy stomps storming towards him and prepared himself for the hot pain that would undoubtedly follow.

“Deku! Don’t ignore me!” Kacchan yelled, despite being only a few feet away. Izuku peered up at him through his bangs and tried to avoid looking directly into his burning, red eyes.

“K-Kacchan,” Izuku mumbled in greeting.

Kacchan tsked. “And just where the hell have you been?! You suddenly dropped off the face of the earth! Even my old hag doesn't know where you or Auntie went.”

Izuku straightened up a bit and shrugged. “I-I moved.” Did no one tell Auntie Mistuki about his mom's death? Did anyone besides Izuku and his father know?

“You moved? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

At this, Izuku finally let his forest green eyes meet crimson ones. Maybe it was because Izuku’s emotions have been going haywire for the past month or maybe it was simply the fact that he knew as soon as he got his rejection letter that he was going to kill himself, but a strange sense of resigned calm washed over him. Any fear he had felt towards the explosive blond was replaced with irritation.

Izuku rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Why would I tell you? It's not like you care.”

Kacchan’s eyes widened and he looked slightly surprised, but his expression was quickly replaced with one made of murderous rage. “What the fuck are you even doing here anyway, huh?! Are you stalking more heroes so you can write about them in your shitty little notebook?”

“No. I’m here to take the entrance exam for the hero course.”

Kacchan’s face went blank, like a computer rebooting, until he suddenly broke out in laughter. It was the exact same mocking laugh as when Izuku was pushed off of the swings during recess in grade school. Everyone in the schoolyard laughed at him, but Kacchan’s was the loudest.

“Are you kidding me? You aren’t even old enough to take the exam! God, you’re such a little liar,” Kacchan said through fits of laughter.

Izuku sighed. “I finished middle school early and it’s not like I’m the first person to have skipped a couple of grades.” Izuku purposefully left out the fact that he was not only the youngest person to ever take the exam, but that he also lied about his age on his application, but Kacchan didn’t need to know that. He honestly wasn't even sure Kacchan remembered how old he was since they hadn't been friends since Izuku was four. “Besides, you skipped a grade in elementary school, so it’s not that different.”

Kacchan stuffed his hands in his pockets and huffed another small laugh. “Whatever, nerd. You’re just going to end up getting yourself killed in the exam.”

Izuku let out a small, dark chuckle of his own. “I can only hope,” he replied before walking away, leaving his ex-childhood friend to stare after him in confusion.

-----

As he expected, the written exam was easy. It was mostly multiple-choice questions that covered core school subjects such as math, English, reading comprehension, and Japanese. There were also a few essay questions about hero ethics and quirk history. Izuku ended up using every inch of the spare sheet of paper that came with the exam, as he went a little overboard on those questions in particular.

After the written portion, Izuku and the other examinees were ushered into a large lecture hall, the seats spread out in rows that all faced a podium and three giant screens. Izuku ended up sitting next to a kid with messy lavender hair, though it looked almost blue in the dim lights. The lavender-haired teen hardly spared him a glance, and for that, Izuku was grateful. Never in his life had he been surrounded by so many people and it made his skin crawl.

The lecture hall was filled with soft chattering until a spotlight clicked on and illuminated the podium. Standing at the center and basking in the bright stage lights the voice hero, Present Mic. Izuku couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. Present Mic had always been one of his favorite heroes!

“What’s up UA candidates?! Thank you for tuning in to the practical exam orientation! C’mon and let me hear ya!” Despite Present Mic’s effort to hype up the examinees, the lecture hall was deathly silent. “All right, all right, tough crowd. How about we just move on to how this exam is gonna go down, okay? Today, you rockin’ listeners will be out there conducting ten-minute mock battles in super hip urban settings!” Present Mic continued his speech by explaining the three different types of faux villains and their point values.

As soon as Present Mic said that the villains they would be fighting were robots, Izuku noticed the lavender-haired boy next to him tense up. Chancing a quick glance at the older boy, Izuku noticed he looked upset. His face was showing an emotion that was a mix between nervous and defeated.

Izuku turned back to the front when he heard a teen with blue hair stand up and accuse Present Mic of forgetting about the fourth type of villain. The hero simply smiled and went on to describe the 0-pointer, a large robot that was merely an obstacle.

Throughout the rest of the orientation, Izuku tried to stop himself from vibrating in his seat. Because holy shit they were fighting robots, and Izuku…

Was ecstatic.

After over two years and dozens of failed attempts at building support items, Izuku learned that he had a knack for destroying machinery. And the best part was, Izuku wasn’t expected to hold a conversation with a robot, so his social anxiety wouldn’t get in the way of earning points.

Once the orientation wrapped up, Present Mic dismissed them and they all made their way to the buses that would take them to their assigned testing ground.

On the bus, Izuku noted with relief that Kacchan wasn’t assigned to his exam group. He did, however, spy the loud blue-haired teen from earlier as well the tired lavender-haired boy.

The bus rolled to a stop and they all climbed out only to be met with the largest set of doors Izuku had ever seen. He figured it was the entrance to the fake city. Using his small disposition to his advantage, Izuku quietly moved his way past the other examinees to stand at the front. He didn’t have to wait long until the large doors began to open. He wasted no time as he squeezed himself through the entrance and ran.

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you waiting for? There are no countdowns in a real villain fight! Examinee number 2234 has the right idea!” Present Mic’s voice boomed throughout the city.

Izuku ignored the sound of dozens of footsteps behind him and focused on his surroundings. In the corner of his eye, he noticed something long and glinting at the entrance of an alleyway. He skidded to a stop to change his direction then darted into the alley. To his luck, Izuku found a discarded metal rod. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, some kind of reinforced rebar, but it was a similar size to his bo staff if only a bit heavier.

Grabbing the metal rod, Izuku rushed back out and onto the main road of the city where he found his first robot villain. Noting that it was a 2-pointer, Izuku didn’t waste a single moment and jammed the rod into the joints of the robot's legs. It fell over with a loud, satisfying crash.

Okay, joints are their weak spots. Aim for the limbs and below their head. Their ‘eyes’ are more than likely vulnerable as well, Izuku quickly analyzed.

After defeating another 2-pointer, Izuku felt himself falling into a dissociative trance. He felt like he was watching someone else fight the robots, as if he was stuck behind a pane of distorted glass as his body continued to take down robot after robot. He couldn’t even remember how many points he had.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the world around him suddenly snapped back into focus. A fellow examinee was being cornered against a wall by a 3-pointer and Izuku didn’t hesitate to grab them by the collar of their shirt and pull them out of the way.

For an unknown amount of time, Izuku switched between breaking robots and shoving other examinees out of harm's way. He was immensely grateful for the experience he had as a vigilante as well as Eraserhead’s training as he fell into the familiar dance of attacking and dodging.

His flow was suddenly interrupted by a loud rumbling sound and the earth shaking beneath his feet. Izuku looked up to see a robot that was the size of the tallest building slowly crushing its way through the city. Other test-takers dropped what they were doing and ran.

Is this the 0-pointer?! Holy shit, just how much money does U.A. have? Izuku was about to turn on his heel to run away like everyone else until he heard it: the words that Izuku heard so often during his time as a vigilante that they became an automatic trigger, forcing him into action.

“Help!”

Without thinking, he ran towards the voice which just so happened to be in the direction of the 0-pointer as well. As he neared the scene, he saw a girl trapped underneath a slab of concrete and directly in the path of the oncoming robot. Izuku hardly had time to process anything. Logically, U.A. would have some fail-safe mechanism to stop the robot before it seriously hurt anyone, but Izuku’s mind was only filled with the image of the girl becoming nothing but a squished splatter on cement.

As he sprinted towards the girl he caught sight of familiar lavender hair, and a plan instantly unraveled itself in his mind.

“Hey! You, with the purple hair!” Izuku screamed, urging his voice to carry over the sounds of screeching metal and collapsing buildings. Lavender-hair looked at Izuku, panic clear on his face. “I need your help!” He gestured towards the stuck examinee. Before the taller boy could say anything, Izuku shoved the metal rod he was carrying into the boy’s hands and pointed to the concrete slab that was pinning the girl's leg. “Use this pole to create a makeshift lever and lift the piece of concrete off of her,” Izuku instructed before turning and running towards the 0-pointer.

Lavender-hair looked at the rod then back at Izuku. “Wait! Where are you going?!”

“To turn off the robot!” Izuku yelled over his shoulder. He didn’t stop to see if the taller boy was following through with the plan, his focus entirely on the 0-pointer.

Izuku felt strange without some kind of weapon to hold, so he grabbed a nearby piece of scrap metal as he ran. To his fortune, one of the 0-pointer’s hands was close to the ground. Izuku saw his opportunity and jumped, landing ungracefully onto the back of the robot's hand. It wasn’t easy, but doing his best to keep his balance, he scaled up the villain’s arm and launched himself onto the robot's shoulder. There, in the space beneath the 0-pointer’s head, was some sort of panel.

Holding the scrap metal between his teeth, Izuku shimmied his way over the robot’s shoulder and into the crevice of its neck. He was thankful for the stable footing as he jammed the piece of metal into the panel until it was torn off its hinges. Inside was a mess of cables that Izuku didn’t have the knowledge or the time to try and decipher. Instead, he took the risk and grabbed randomly at the wires, pulling them until they snapped.

Izuku cheered inwardly when he heard the robot begin to shut down. The rumbling and shaking ceased as the 0-pointer came to stop, its large metal limbs falling to its sides which Izuku used to awkwardly climb down. By the time he reached solid ground, his legs were shaky and he was light-headed, the adrenalin in his body beginning to fade.

Once he found some semblance of stability in his appendages, Izuku made his way to where he saw the girl that was trapped beneath the concrete. To his relief, he saw her free and leaning against lavender-hair. He was supporting her weight so she wouldn’t further injure her swelling ankle.

“Are you two okay?” Izuku asked, still breathless.

The girl looked at Izuku with wide brown eyes. “Are we okay? You’re the one that climbed up that big robot! Are you hurt?” Izuku was taken back by the intense sincerity in her eyes as she scanned him for any injuries.

Izuku flushed and waved his hands in front of his face. “N-no! I’m alright-” He was cut off by a loud buzzer, signaling the end of the exam and he felt his heart drop. He spent too much time taking down the 0-pointer, not that he regretted it, but there was no way he had enough points to pass.

Izuku looked at the girl and the taller boy and flashed them a fake smile. “Ah, it’s over, but I’m just glad everyone’s okay.”

The girl smiled wide and pumped her fist in the air, well the fist that wasn’t currently latched onto lavender-hair’s shirt for balance. “Yeah! I bet we all did great!” Both Izuku and the taller boy exchanged doubtful looks.

“Uh, yeah,” Lavender-hair spoke, shrugging his shoulders.

Izuku turned to watch as the other examinees gathered towards the center of the city. Most of them were smiling and talking to one another, reenacting how they took down the robot villains or bragging about how many points they got.

It made Izuku’s heart ache. He knew he didn’t get nearly enough points to pass but he had to remind himself that he never could have passed the exam in the first place. A quirkless, waste of space like him had no place in the hero course.

He sighed. His rejection letter would be delivered within the week and once he got the official confirmation of his uselessness, he could finally let go of it all.

At least he could say he tried.

-----

By the time Shouta walked into the observation room where U.A.’s staff and a panel of judges had been overseeing the practical portion of the exam, the test had already ended. As much as he would have liked to view the exam with his coworkers, this year Shouta was tasked to patrol the campus to make sure there weren’t any unauthorized visitors or straggling examinees.

“SHOU!” Hizashi’s voice loudly echoed throughout the room. Shouta winced at the noise.

“I’m right here, Hizashi,” he muttered, closing the door behind him and making his way to where the rest of the staff were huddled around the monitors. Each screen showed a different angle of the fake city. At this point, most of the examinees were crowded near the center of their designated cities to be seen and dismissed by Recovery Girl in case of any injuries.

“You missed it!” Hizashi all but pouted.

Shouta rolled his eyes. “’Zashi, I missed everything. You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“You missed one of the little listeners taking down a 0-pointer all on his own! One of the examinees was stuck under some rubble, and of course, we would have stopped the 0-pointer before it hurt anyone, but I guess the kid didn’t know that because he rushed out to help her!”

Shouta raised a brow. “You’re saying that instead of freeing the examinee from the rubble, he decided to take on the giant robot instead?” He scoffed. “Sounds to me like he just wanted a chance to show off his quirk.”

“Not quite,” another teacher, Snipe, interjected. “The little partner grabbed help from another test taker and had ‘em use some metal rod to lift the cement slab off of the poor girl. Only then did he focus on taking down the 0-pointer. And as far as I’m aware, I didn’t see no fancy quirk use either.”

Vlad King huffed from where he stood in the corner. “I would assume the kid had some intelligence-based quirk if I didn’t just watch him jump onto the 0-pointer and scale the damn thing like an oversized jungle gym, then proceed to risk electrocution by ripping random cables with his bare hands until it shut down.”

Now, this caught Shouta’s attention. “He took down the 0-pointer with no visible quirk usage?” Shouta was very aware of how terribly biased the entrance exam was, having failed it himself when he applied as a student. It was only through winning the sports festival in his first year as a Gen Ed student that he was allowed into the hero course.

“Oh, no,” Nemuri nearly purred, “not just the 0-pointer. This tiny green bean took down numerous faux villains using nothing but debris he found as makeshift weapons.”

It was the space hero, Thirteen, that next joined the conversation. “And we can’t overlook the fact he risked losing points and time to rescue other fellow examinees as well! About five others from my count.”

Shouta shifted to lean against the wall, getting slightly annoyed that he missed out on seeing the kid that had all of his coworkers so excited.

“That does beg the question,” Ectoplasm mused, “of what his quirk actually is. If I had to guess…perhaps something analytical? He seemed to know where the weak points were on every robot.”

“Agility? He was certainly fast and flexible,” Cementoss chimed in.

The chattering speculations of the staff members were cut off by an unnerving cackling. Nezu, who sat in a chair directly in front of the main monitor, swiveled around to face his faculty.

“It has been delightful to hear your commentary on examinee 2234. The boy in question is Midoriya Izuku, one of our youngest examinees at age 14, and according to his application…” the mouse-bear-creature paused for dramatic effect, “he is quirkless.”

Silence washed over the room as everyone stared wide-eyed at their boss. Even Shouta stood up straighter in surprise.

“Holy shit,” Nemuri muttered, being the first to break the silence. “That’s-”

“Incredible!” Hizashi yelled with an excited smile painted across his face. Next to him, both Nemuri and Thirteen nodded wildly in agreement.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Snipe said with a chuckle.

Shouta hid a smirk beneath his capture weapon, because fuck, some kid, some quirkless kid, beat the odds of the biased exam? He just wished he could have been here to see it for himself.

Someone clearing their throat caught the attention of everyone in the room. In the corner, stood a deflated All Might, wringing his hands in apparent nervousness.

“I feel like I’ve seen that boy somewhere before,” All Might muttered, mostly to himself. Then addressing his new colleagues, “It is no doubt highly impressive that such a small boy with no quirk was able to defend himself in the exam, but I can’t help but feel concerned over his wellbeing. Would it not be too dangerous to allow a quirkless child to partake in the hero course?”

Shouta crossed his arms against his chest and glared at All Might with annoyance. God, he was not looking forward to co-teaching heroics with a man that didn’t even have a teaching license in the first place.

“You’re kidding, right?” Shouta asked with clear irritation. All Might looked at him with confusion.

“I assure you, Aizawa, I’m very serious.”

Shouta sighed. “Are you aware of my quirk, Yagi?”

The deflated hero hesitantly nodded. “But, what does that have to do with the dangers of fighting while quirkless?”

“Because I fight quirkless.”

All Might sputtered for a moment and Shouta could practically see the gears turning in his skull-like head. “That’s not true, young Aizawa, you use your eraser quirk in battles, do you not?”

“You’re right, I do, but all my quirk does is level the playing field and it doesn’t work at all against those with mutant type quirks. No part of my quirk is combative, which means in a fight, I’m essentially quirkless.”

“I see,” All Might slowly responded, still not looking entirely convinced. Before they could debate further, Nezu demanded their attention with a clap of his hands (paws?).

“We still have many examinees to discuss and only a week to do so! Those of you who were present in observing the exam, please stay behind so we may speak with the panel of judges and conclude the results. Aizawa, you may proceed to your office to begin grading the General Education exams if you wish.”

Shouta simply nodded and took his leave.

As he walked down the empty halls of U.A.’s main building, he forced himself to ignore the strange feeling in his gut that told him something was off. It was frustrating, having to push away the feeling of unease that seemed to follow him like a shadow. Ever since he lost Moth he couldn’t shake the idea that he was missing something. Rationally, he knew it was just his emotions attempting to override logic. The crushing guilt that stitched itself into his very being was making him lose sleep and he was more emotional than he had been in years.

Shouta sighed as he pushed open the door to his office. He knew that it would only be a matter of time until the raw, deep ache of losing his the kid would dampen into something more manageable. In the meantime, he forced himself to put his emotions aside. Despite Hizashi and Nemuri’s worry, he didn’t have the time or energy to waste on confronting his feelings. It would be pointless. Reflecting on the events of the past year wouldn’t bring Moth back.

Moth was dead. He had to accept it and move on.

But, God, did it hurt.

Chapter Text

It had been one week since Izuku took the exam. If he were being honest, he had been dissociating the entire week so it felt like it had been two days at most. Time slipped by like the sand in a broken hourglass. Regardless, it had been a week and Izuku was not at all prepared to open the U.A. letter that he held in his trembling hands.

This was it. This letter would be absolute proof of his worthlessness. It would be definitive evidence that All Might was right, that Izuku was nothing but a burden and that the world would be so much better without him.

Izuku smiled to himself as he imagined his corpse rotting away beneath the ground and becoming fertilizer for the plant life around it. Just because he was worthless while alive didn’t mean he couldn’t be of some use when he was dead. His body could aid in the growth of fresh grass and new flowers.

The thought was a nice one, even if he would more than likely be cremated to save room in a graveyard for someone who actually mattered.

Izuku looked back down at the letter and stared at it as if it would suddenly start talking. Dread unfurled in the pits of his stomach and it made him feel sick. Why was he hesitating? He knew the answer, he knew he failed. So why was he so scared? Perhaps because it was a letter from U.A., whose opinion he greatly valued. It wasn’t just a schoolyard bully calling him names, it was the top hero school in all of Japan, and if they said he wasn’t good enough then what choice did he have but to believe it?

Sucking in a deep breath, Izuku ripped open the envelope. It wasn’t a letter that fell out, but some small disk. As soon as the disk hit the ground, a projection appeared from above it, making him fall backward in surprise and landing harshly on his tail bone.

“I AM HERE! AS A PROJECTION!”

All Might. It was fucking All Might, because of course it was. Of course the world would want to play one last cruel joke on Izuku. Apparently, being rejected by the Number One Hero once wasn’t enough. No, he would have to once again hear All Might tell him that he couldn’t be a hero, that he was only a burden to society.

Izuku let out a humorless chuckle.

The last words he would ever hear before he died would be the rejection of his childhood hero. How fitting.

“That’s right! It’s me, All Might, and you are looking at U.A.’s newest faculty member!”

“Of course you are,” Izuku mumbled.

“Now! Let’s start with the results of the written test, shall we? Midoriya Izuku, you aced the written portion of the exam with an incredible 95%! Excellent work, young man! Moving on the practical portion-”

Izuku looked away from the projection, he didn’t want to see All Might’s face when he announced his pathetic score.

“You scored 40 villain points!”

Izuku’s gaze snapped back up to the holographic All Might, his mouth agape.

“But that’s not all! You see, U.A. values more than just physical strength. Moral strength is just as important, and you’ve proven that you have that strength in abundance! Here at U.A., we prioritize rescuing over fighting, so be proud of the fact that you scored 60 rescue points! Combined with your villain points, you earned an overall total of 100 points, putting you in first place for the practical exam!”

A screen showing the top ten scores appeared behind All Might, and there, at the very top, right above Kacchan, was Izuku’s name. Tears started pooling in the corner of his eyes and his chest constricted painfully. Izuku felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, like someone was reaching inside of his chest and squeezing his lungs.

“Congratulations, Midoriya Izuku, and welcome to your hero academia!”

The projection flickered off and Izuku just sat there, staring numbly at the floor.

Izuku had no idea how to process any of what he just heard, it was like his brain had shut down without warning. Nothing felt real anymore. Nothing made sense.

He was quirkless! He was weak, and useless, and pathetic— so how? How did pass the exam? How did he get first place in the entrance exam to the hero course?

How did I get more points than Kacchan?!

This had to be a joke, right? The projector would turn back on and All Might would be laughing at him, telling him it was all an elaborate prank. But the projector stayed quiet.

He reached towards the ripped envelope on the floor, thinking that there would be a note inside telling him it was all a lie, that U.A. would never accept someone like him as a student. He reached inside the envelope and pulled out a letter. He must have missed it, too shocked by the projector to have noticed. With shaky fingers he scanned the paper, fully believing it was a rejection letter.

It wasn’t.

Reading over its contents, he found that it was a congratulatory letter, informing him that he would be placed in class 1-A of the hero course. It went on the explain what he would need to do before the first day of classes, such as picking up a tailored uniform and submitting a design for his hero costume.

Izuku dropped the letter to the floor.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t part of the plan. No, his plan was to read a rejection letter and then curl up in the bathtub before slicing open his arms. The razor blades were already sitting on the edge of the tub, waiting for him.

This wasn’t the plan. He wasn't supposed to make it this far.

His breathing quickened and he felt severally light-headed. If he wasn’t already sitting down he was sure he would have collapsed. He didn’t even realize he was crying until hot tears rolled down his chin. Izuku clutched at his chest, willing himself to calm down, to just breath, but no matter how many gulps of air he swallowed it didn’t feel like he was getting any oxygen. His chest tightened as his lungs expanded, pushing against his ribcage.

Am I having a heart attack? I’m I dying? If Izuku had the ability, he would have laughed at the irony of it all. Dying from natural causes when he finally found something worth living for.

Izuku clenched his teeth and curled in on himself.

No. Not dying. Panic attack. Just a panic attack. Calm the fuck down!

Darkness began to creep its way into the corners of his vision and his head felt like it was buzzing with a million angry bees. His lips and fingers were tingling from the lack of oxygen in his blood. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something, anything.

His mind immediately supplied him with a memory. The memory of the night he tried to jump from a roof. It was a pleasant memory, not because he tried to kill himself but because there was someone kind enough to stop him. He remembered the feeling of being curled in Eraserhead’s lap like a small child. Soothing whispers and gentle hands rubbing circles on his back, helping him breathe. He imagined that sensation, pretending he was back there again; warm, safe, protected. Not alone like he was now, sitting on the dirty floor and biting his knuckles in an attempt to calm himself.

He couldn’t fully remember everything that the hero had uttered to him, his words muddled from Izuku’s sobs. But there was something that Eraser had said that he would never forget. It was the reason he took the entrance exam in the first place:

“If you want to be a hero, Moth, then you can be. There is nothing stopping you. I’ve seen first hand the potential you have and kid, you’re overflowing with it.”

At the time, Izuku didn’t believe him. Hell, he still didn’t believe him, not fully. But he held onto those words like a lifeline because it was the first time ever that someone had told him he could be a hero. He let those words play over and over again in his head, soft despite the hero’s gruff voice.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt his breathing return to normal. His heart no longer felt like it was vibrating in his chest and his head felt less foggy. He crawled his way onto his futon and laid on his side, hugging his knees close to his chest. He felt the exhaustion like a weighted blanket, the pressure of it causing his entire body to feel heavy. His eyes fluttered closed and he sank into his bedding.

Izuku fell asleep that night pretending he was back on the rooftop, tucked safely in Eraserhead’s arms.

-----

Shouta sighed and leaned back in his chair. Even though the new school year hadn’t started yet, he still had to come to campus to organize last-minute papers and prepare lesson plans. It was seriously cutting into his sleeping time.

“Aizawa,” Vlad King greeted him with a grumble. Shouta glanced up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Nezu just released the list for our homeroom classes this year. Here.” Vlad handed him a yellow folder and Shouta silently nodded in thanks.

Happy for the excuse to take a break from his paperwork, Shouta flipped open the folder and began to scan the list of twenty names. Other than the list of names, there were simple files for each student outlining their basic information such as their quirk, necessary medical documentation, accessibility needs, and any other relevant information that he would need to be made aware of. Every file also had an attached photo of the student so that Shouta could begin to match names with faces.

He thumbed through the files, scanning each document until one, in particular, caught his eye.

Name: Midoriya Izuku

Date of Birth: July 15th 2xxx

Quirk: Quirkless

Shouta flicked his gaze up to the attached photo. It wasn’t the best quality, but something about it made his shoulders tense. Midoriya Izuku had wild green and black curls, a face full of freckles, and-

He bit the inside of his cheek and shut his eyes, forcing down the familiar, sharp pain in his chest. He couldn’t do this to himself. He couldn’t look at every child with green eyes and pretend they somehow had a connection with Moth. This wasn’t Moth. Midoriya was 14 years old and was about to enter high school. Moth was just 12. And Moth was dead.

He inhaled slowly and opened his eyes again, not realizing that Hizashi had moved to his side and was peering at the student’s file over his shoulder.

“Oh, shit! You got the tiny quirkless kid in your class!” Hizashi exclaimed, despite being right next to Shouta’s ear.

“The one that took down the 0-pointer?” Nemuri called from across the room. “Oooh! I can’t wait to meet the small green bean! Did you hear that he placed first in the exam?”

Shouta looked up at her in slight surprise. “He did?”

Hizashi nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! He didn’t get enough villain points to pass, shy by only a handful, but he got a crap ton of rescue points! His score was 100 which was 23 points more than the student that got second place! Bakugou Katsuki, if I recall.”

“Well, shit,” Shouta muttered, impressed that the kid not only passed the biased exam while quirkless, but got first place with such a large point gap between the other students. The name of the second-place examinee rang familiar and he quickly flipped back to the list of names. “Looks like I have Bakugou in my class as well.”

“The two top dogs, huh? They’re also the two youngest examinees if I remember correctly. It’ll make for an interesting class that’s for sure. Especially since the Bakugou kid got in on villain points alone. It’s almost like they’re complete opposites.” Hizashi commented.

“Right,” Nemuri spoke, making her way towards Shouta’s desk, which was starting to become annoyingly crowded. “The tiny quirkless boy and the personification of a firecracker in the same class. I can only imagine how that dynamic will play out.”

Shouta looked at Nemuri with a raised brow. “The two of you keep referring to Midoriya as ‘tiny’. Why?”

Hizashi laughed. “Because the kid is like 50 inches tall. He definitely used it to his advantage though, dodging the robots like it was nothing. He’s built for speed more than muscle.”

“If I’m being honest,” Nemuri chimed in with a smirk, “I genuinely thought someone was trying to sneak their little brother onto campus. Imagine my surprise when I saw him sitting down to take the written exam.” Nemuri shrugged, “Not that it’s a bad thing. He’s incredibly adorable. It would be hilarious to see someone underestimate him only to get their ass handed to them by a 4-foot-nothing quirkless kid.”

Shouta sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, ignoring his friends snickering beside him. “This kid is going to give me gray hairs and I haven’t even met him yet.”

Chapter Text

Izuku stood outside the classroom door of 1-A, absolutely certain that he was about to keel over from anxiety alone. His stomach twisted and turned to the point where it was almost painful and he was already beginning to develop a headache from the tension in his muscles. It didn't help that he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, too occupied with suffering through multiple anxiety attacks caused by the plaguing thoughts of whether or not he was making the right decision by coming here.

It had been over two years since he last sat in a classroom. The only memories he ever made in a school building were ones full of searing pain and jeering words. Back then, every single person in the school had made him their target for harassment, teachers included. What made U.A. any different? Were his new classmates going to scar his body as much as his old classmates did? Would the teachers at this school ignore him or tell him he’s being overdramatic? Sure, his teachers were all pro heroes and his peers were hero hopefuls, but would that really make much of a difference in the long run, especially if Kacchan was in his class?

“Who would they believe, Deku? The future number one hero or a pathetic quirkless runt?!” Kacchan’s words rang in his ears and it made his stomach turn again. He was glad he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast because he couldn’t keep down the feeling of nausea.

Okay, deep breaths Izuku. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe Kacchan won’t be in my class and everyone here will just leave me alone, He thought to himself with false hope.

Izuku counted down to five before grabbing the door and quickly sliding it open like he was ripping off a bandaid.

“Take your feet off of that desk now!”

“Hahh?!”

“It’s the first day and you’re already disrespecting this academy by scuffing school property, you cretin!”

“You’re kidding me, right? Your old school put a stick up your ass or were you born with it?”

Let it be known that Izuku never relied on having good luck. Of course Kacchan was in his class as well as the loud boy with blue hair that interrupted Present Mic during orientation. Because why not, right?

Currently, blue-hair was attempting to lecture Kacchan—if his strict tone of voice and weirdly robotic hand gestures were anything to go by—but Kacchan, like usual, was finding enjoyment in antagonizing him.

Blue-hair sighed. “Let’s start over. I’m Iida Tenya from the Somei Private Academy.”

“Somei, huh?” Kacchan scoffed. “So you must think you’re better than me! I’m gonna have fuckin’ fun tearing you a new one!”

Blue-hair, or who Izuku now knew was Iida, stepped back as if he had been physically hit. And honestly, Izuku could relate to the instinctual urge to flinch whenever Kacchan opened his mouth.

“You would threaten me? Your own classmate? Are you sure you’re in the right place?!”

Before Kacchan could come up with a retort, Iida’s eyes wandered over to Izuku, who was still standing awkwardly at the front of the room and trying to make himself look small as more students trickled in.

“You! You are the one that defeated the 0-pointer,” Iida began to speak as he powerwalked over to Izuku. “You got first on the entrance exam, primarily from rescue points, correct?” Izuku could only nod, his mouth refusing to open as his teeth were clenched hard enough to hurt. “My name is Iida Tenya, and-”

“DEKU!”

Izuku didn’t have time to react. Kacchan shoved Iida aside before he roughly grabbed Izuku by the front of his uniform and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing. Hateful, crimson eyes bore into his own and it made his skin crawl like a million spiders were suddenly dumped down the back of his shirt.

“How the fuck did you get first place in the exam?!” Kacchan yelled, causing Izuku’s ears to ring. The blond pulled him even closer and spoke in a low, threatening growl, “How the fuck did you get more points than me?”

Izuku floundered in his tight grasp, his feet hardly touching the ground. Painful memories of bubbling, burning skin and bruised ribs caused phantom pains to spark across his body.

“You must have cheated to get your way in! You little-”

“Let him go,” someone demanded in a deep, stoic voice. Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, every noise and every light becoming suddenly too much. Keeping himself from having a panic attack at that very moment was like trying to keep his head above water in an ocean during a raging storm.

He heard Kacchan scoff. “What’s it to you, Eyebags?”

“My, aren’t you an angry little pomeranian. Did someone not get their kibble this morning?”

“The fuck did you just-”

“Let. Him. Go.” Kacchan’s tight hold on Izuku’s collar suddenly loosened and he landed wobbly on his feet. He opened his eyes and saw that Kacchan’s own red ones were now blank and empty, almost devoid of life. Standing beside Izuku was the tall, lavender-haired boy he met during the exam. “Now, go sit quietly at your desk until class starts.” Miraculously, Kacchan obeyed without question, silently plodding over to his desk and sitting down, blank eyes staring at the chalkboard.

Woah, Izuku stared up at the tall boy in amazement, that must be his quirk! Some kind of body hijacking?

Lavender-hair looked down at Izuku, his face seemingly void of any emotion, but Izuku had spent enough time with Eraserhead to read even the slightest emotion on someone’s face and he could see a touch of concern in the taller boy’s eyes.

“You okay?” He muttered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, y-yeah. Thanks,” Izuku quietly replied. He dropped his gaze down to his black shoes; he let himself splurge on newer shoes for the first day of school. He says newer because he got them from a second-hand clothing shop. They were obviously well-worn but at least they didn’t have as many holes in them, even if he did miss his red sneakers.

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” Izuku looked back up at the boy, his brain taking a moment to process anything. Too much had happened in such a short amount of time that he didn’t even bother to register that he was still standing at the front of the class.

“Oh! Uh, Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku.”

“Hey, it’s you two!” Came a bubbly voice from behind him. All of a sudden, a new face was very close to his own. Brown hair framed large brown eyes and Izuku recognized her as the girl he helped save during the entrance exam. “I forgot to thank you for saving me from that big robot! That was really brave of you guys! I’m Uraraka Ochaco. I’m so glad we’re all in the same class!” She said cheerfully, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Izuku felt like his brain was short-circuiting. He was still recovering from Kacchan’s assault and now he was expected to socialize as if nothing happened?

“We should probably head to our seats,” Shinsou suggested, saving Izuku from any more awkward small talk. Izuku quietly nodded and began to walk to his seat, which was, of course, right behind Kacchan.

Fuck you too, universe, Izuku silently cursed.

Shinsou took a seat behind him and laid his head on his desk, falling asleep in a matter of seconds. At this point, the entire class was full. Most of his new classmates sat at their desks quietly while others chatted with one another.

It was all so…normal. None of them were glaring at Izuku with any hint of malice. No one was moving to gang up on him and hurt him.

Not yet, a voice in the back of his mind whispered, It’s only because they don’t know you’re quirkless.

“If you’re just here to make friends then you can pack up your stuff now.” A low, gruff, and horrifyingly familiar voice called from the doorway.

Izuku’s eyes snapped to the entrance of the classroom and he felt his blood freeze. The air in his lungs was replaced with cotton and for a moment, he thought he was suffocating.

Because it was Eraserhead.

Eraserhead, the hero that Izuku looked up to the most. The hero that had spent the past year looking after him, training him, and feeding him. The hero that caught Izuku as he jumped from a roof on the day his dreams were crushed, who held him tightly in a gentle embrace while muttering soothing words as Izuku sobbed into his chest.

Eraserhead, who Izuku had run away from in fear of having his identity revealed, only to be abandoned all over again; who Izuku had cried over for so many nights when the cold tendrils of loneliness wrapped around his frame just to remind him of what he lost.

Eraserhead, who Izuku had left a suicide note for when he had every intention of killing himself.

And now, said hero made his way to the front of the class.

Izuku was suddenly flooded with emotions, all of them mixing together to create a numb panic.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh God. Oh fuck.

“It took you all eight seconds to shut up. That’s not gonna work. This is U.A.’s hero course, time is precious here and rational students would understand that.” Eraserhead stated in a bored, monotone voice. “I’m Aizawa Shouta, your homeroom teacher.” Some of the students began to whisper among themselves, seemingly surprised by the hero’s rough introduction.

Izuku, on the other hand, thought he was about to have a heart attack. His hands were cold and clammy and his head was swimming.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Eraserhead scanned the room with indifference, perhaps taking a silent headcount.

Until his eyes reached Izuku’s.

Izuku bit down hard on his tongue and begged his heart to stop hammering in his chest, certain it was about to carve a hole out of his ribcage with how fast it was beating. He could hardly hear anything over the sound of blood rushing through his ears. It didn’t help that Eraserhead’s gaze was clearly lingering on Izuku, an unknown emotion flashing in the hero’s eyes but it was gone as soon as it came.

Eraserhead finally looked away and back to the rest of the class. He reached beneath his desk and pulled out a pile of folded clothes.

“Right, put these on and meet out on the field in ten minutes,” Eraser- no, Aizawa said before turning on his heel and leaving the room. As soon as the door shut behind him, the class irrupted with excitement. His classmates shot to the front of the room, grabbing what looked like a gym uniform, and dashing out the door and to the changing rooms.

Kacchan threw a nasty glance over his shoulder at Izuku before standing up and grabbing his own uniform. He stalked out of the room with heavy footsteps.

The world around Izuku distorted as if it were going both incredibly fast but agonizingly slow at the same time. His hands clenched tightly into fists until he could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palms, leaving small crescent indents. Logically, he knew he was breathing, he could see the quick fall and rise of his chest but it was like all of the oxygen in the room had been sucked out, consumed by hot flames that left only smoke in its place. Nothing made sense, nothing felt real. A senseless sound of static buzzed in his head and Izuku felt like he was floating.

Suddenly, a hand resting heavily on his shoulder grounded Izuku back into the present, pulling him down from his cloudy head-space, and he could feel himself breath again.

“Midoriya?”

Izuku’s vision cleared as the world came back into focus. He saw Shinsou standing above him, his brows furrowed in some unnamed emotion.

Oh, it was his hand on Izuku’s shoulders, tethering him to reality.

“S-sorry.” His mouth felt dry like he had been chewing on chalk. He swallowed thickly. “I’m fine.”

Shinsou nodded, not looking entirely convinced, but he didn’t push it. “Right, well, we should probably catch up with the rest of our class. I have a feeling Eraserhead doesn’t appreciate tardiness.” Izuku gave Shinsou an affirmative hum as he shakily stood up from his desk and followed the taller boy out of the room.

Halfway to the changing room, Izuku’s brain finally caught up with Shinsou’s words.

“Wait-” Because of how stupidly tall Shinsou was, Izuku had to crane his neck up to look him in the eye. It was a little uncomfortable. “Aizawa-sensei never told us his hero name. H-how did you know?”

Shinsou smirked, though Izuku could tell he was smiling mostly out of nervousness. “Ah. Eraserhead is actually my favorite hero,” Shinsou answered with a shrug. “I want to be an underground hero like him.”

This time, it was Izuku who smiled nervously. “Really? He’s my favorite too. I um- I also want to go underground.” Izuku twisted his fingers, trying to dispel the panic that was threatening to bubble over. On one hand, holy shit Eraserhead is here and he’s going to know Izuku is Moth, and Izuku will get expelled, and probably arrested, and shipped off to jail, or an orphanage if he was lucky. On the other hand, there was so much anxiety festering inside of him that he couldn’t process any of it. It was as if there were two versions of him: one was darting around in a panic while the other remained deathly calm.

Shinsou raised a brow, a real smile now replacing his fake one. “Huh, didn’t think I’d meet someone else who admired Eraserhead. Not many people know about him. For good reason, of course.” Izuku absentmindedly nodded. “Why is he your favorite hero?” Shinsou inquired.

“Uh,” Cool. Yes. Time to make a cover story, because spinning a giant web of lies on the first day of school was an excellent way to start his first year in the hero course. “I uh, read about him on an online forum?” It came out more like a question than an answer. “I don’t have a combative quirk, so…” Izuku let himself trail off as they were now approaching the changing room.

Shinsou inclined his head in agreement. “Makes sense. You already saw it, but, my quirk isn’t all that powerful either.” Shinsou pushed open the doors to the changing room, the sounds of laughter and loud chatter echoing off tiled walls.

Izuku wanted to disagree, to tell Shinsou how powerful his quirk was. It overpowered Kacchan! A quirk like that couldn’t be considered weak. But Izuku’s mouth remained shut, his lips all but glued together. Flashing a small smile towards Shinsou, Izuku clutched his gym uniform tightly to his chest and ducked into one of the changing stalls.

He was incredibly grateful that there were individual stalls available because it was only as Izuku unbuttoned his uniform top that he remembered the vast amount of scars that littered his body. Some of them were from others; school bullies, Bakugou, his father. Most of his scars, however, came from his own hand. His arms, thighs, chest, and even his stomach were a canvas of straight lines. Some were white and fading while others were an angry red.

It didn’t escape his notice that the gym uniform was short-sleeved. But thankfully, out of habit, Izuku wore a black long-sleeved compression shirt underneath his clothes. He slipped on the uniform and prayed that no one would question his undershirt.

To his surprise, when he left the changing stall he saw that Shinsou was already dressed and leaning against the lockers, waiting for him. The taller boy’s gaze flickered to Izuku’s sleeves for a moment but he didn’t say anything as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved to walk out of the changing room. Izuku followed silently.

-----

“Right, put these on and meet out on the field in ten minutes,” Shouta instructed before slipping out of the room.

His legs quickly carried him down the hall and into the nearest empty classroom. It was an extra room used for guests when U.A. hosted joint training with other schools, but at the moment, it was a room Shouta could hide in while he attempted to swallow down the acidic feeling of guilt that crawled up his throat. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he half-collapsed against the nearest wall and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force away the images that flashed in his mind like a goddamn slide show from hell: a tiny broken body, head cracked against cement beneath a tall building, limbs bending unnaturally, and glassy green eyes that no longer held life staring blankly up at him.

It shouldn’t be this bad. He shouldn’t be this bad.

Shouta expected the first day of class to go like any other. He would walk into the classroom, chastise his students for wasting time, then hand out their gym uniforms for the quirk apprehension test.

But when he scanned the room to make sure that all twenty students were present—he would have immediately expelled anyone that was late without good cause—he was met with a sight that made the breath in his lungs stutter.

Wide, green eyes full of apprehension looked up at him, the light of the classroom illuminating familiar specks of yellow among forest green. They were the same eyes as-

No.

No.

He had to stop. He had to stop, and breathe, and calm the fuck down.

Shouta harshly scrubbed a hand down his face. He needed to be logical— realistic. He couldn’t allow emotion to override rationality.

It didn’t matter that his new student had the same large, emerald eyes. It didn’t matter that Midoriya’s height and stature were so similar. It didn’t matter that they both had curls that fell right above his brows.

None of it fucking mattered because Moth was dead and the sooner he got over it the sooner he could look his student in the eye without burning guilt twisting in his stomach.

Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, pointedly ignoring the slight stinging in his eyes. He didn’t understand. He was never one to get emotional, no matter the situation. As a hero, he’d seen countless lives lost, witnessed multiple traumatic scenarios, and experienced the grief of losing close friends and fellow heroes. Each and every time he was able to push down his emotions until they became long forgotten, collecting dust in the archives of his soul. So why did a kid, that he knew for only a year, make him feel like he was being held together by fraying ropes, threatening to break every time something reminded him of Moth. How could he spend the next three years teaching Midoriya how to be a hero when Shouta could hardly be in the same room as him?

Shouta forced himself to move from the wall and straighten his shoulders. In 6 minutes he was expected to be out on the field, in front of wide-eyed teenagers, and begin teaching them what it meant to be a hero.

Shouta let out one last shaky exhale before stepping back out into the hallway and making his way to the field.

He had failed Moth. He wasn’t about to fail Midoriya too.

Chapter Text

Izuku and Shinsou were the last ones to make it onto the field. The rest of their classmates were restlessly fidgeting as they speculated with one another about the activity they were about to do.

Izuku, meanwhile, felt bile rise in the back of his throat, his nerves were shot and every sensation felt like a jolt of electricity. He knew that, whatever was about to happen next, would only end badly for him.

Aizawa soon joined them on the field, once more taking a silent headcount, and once more letting his gaze linger on Izuku’s.

Satisfied that everyone was present, he clapped his hands together to grab their attention. “Alright, listen up. For your first day here at U.A., you’ll be performing a quirk apprehension test.”

Surprise washed over Izuku’s classmates and Izuku was now very certain that he would die from panic alone.

“But,” Uraraka looked at Aizawa nervously, “what about orientation? We’re gonna miss it!”

He looked at her with his usual stoic expression. “If you really want to become pro-heroes then you shouldn’t waste time on pointless ceremonies.” His classmates looked at one another in confusion then back to him. “Here at U.A., we aren’t tethered to traditional methods of teaching. That means I get to run my class however I see fit.”

Aizawa pulled out his phone as he continued talking, “You’ve been taking standardized tests your entire lives, but you never got to use your quirks before, right? Not knowing the strengths and limitations of your quirk is irrational.” Aizawa gestured towards Kacchan. “Bakugou, you got second place in the entrance exam. What was your farthest distance throw with a softball in middle school?”

Kacchan looked at Aizawa, slightly caught off guard by suddenly being addressed. “67 meters, I think,” he said with a shrug.

“Right.” Aizawa threw a softball towards Kacchan who caught it easily. “Try throwing it with your quirk. Anything goes, just stay within the circle.”

A feral grin spread across Kacchan’s face as he walked into the circle and began stretching his arms. “Well, then, you all better step back.” He planted his foot on the ground to keep himself stable, twisted his arm back, and shouted “DIE!” as he threw the ball as far as he could. An explosion underneath the ball carried it high into the sky where it nearly disappeared into the clouds, leaving behind only plumes of smoke.

“All of you need to know your maximum capabilities. It’s the most rational way of figuring out your potential as a pro hero,” Aizawa stated. He looked unphased as he flipped his phone around to show the rest of the class. The number on his phone read ‘705.2 meters’. The class gasped.

“Woah! 705 meters, are you kidding me?!” exclaimed a boy with a lightning strike mark going through his blond hair.

“I wanna go! That looks like fun!” Shouted another, her skin and hair completely pink.

“Hell yeah! Finally, we get to use our quirks as much as we want!” A boy with odd-looking elbows cheered.

Izuku, on the other hand, could hardly stand upright. Because this had to be some sick joke, right? Surely, Aizawa read his file and knew he was quirkless. So was this test just a way to humiliate Izuku in front of his classmates? It wouldn’t be the first time something similar occurred at school.

But, this was Eraserhead. Would he really be so cruel?

To a pathetic, quirkless, waste of oxygen like you? Anyone would be, Izuku’s mind hissed at him.

Aizawa must have figured out he was Moth. He must have seen his file, realized his identity, and learned that he spent a year wasting his time on a quirkless nobody like him. He must have been furious with Izuku for lying. This was probably his way of getting back at Izuku, to publicly shame him before expelling him and dragging him to the police. Hot prickling tears began to pool at the corners of his eyes. He bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stop them from spilling.

It hurt. The reality that Eraserhead would hate Izuku for being quirkless just like everyone else did hurt so much more than he thought it would. He knew this from the start, but some small, idiotic part of him hoped that maybe Eraser would be different, that maybe someone did care about him regardless of his quirk status.

Izuku never hated himself more than he did at that moment. How could he be so fucking stupid?

“So this looks fun, huh?” Aizawa looked over the class, his brows furrowed in annoyance. “You have only three years here to become a hero. You think it’s gonna be all fun and games?” He smiled at them, dangerous and razor-sharp, an expression that Izuku had never seen him make before. “Idiots. Today you’ll compete in eight physical tests to gauge your potential. Whoever comes in last I will deem as having none and will be expelled immediately.” This time, the entire class shouted in surprise, the air filling with anxiety from every student. Beside him, Shinsou tensed.

There it was. Izuku knew this test was purely a way to mock him for even trying to be a hero. Why would he think U.A. would be different? Why would he think Eraserhead would be different?

“As I said before, I run my class however I want and if you have a problem with that then you can leave now.”

“Hold on!” Uraraka bravely spoke up again, “You can’t send one of us home on the first day of school! That isn’t fair!”

Aizawa tilted his head as he looked at her, his gaze sharp as steel. “Oh? And you think natural disasters are? Or what about power-hungry villains? Catastrophic accidents that wipe out whole cities? No. The world is full of unfairness.” Izuku’s eyes stayed glued to the ground. He knew that life was unfair and he knew it well. He had spent every day of his life relearning that lesson. “It’s a hero's job to try and combat that unfairness. If you want to be a pro, you’re going to have to push yourself more than you ever have before. For the next three years, U.A. will throw at you one terrible hardship after another. So go beyond,” Aizawa smirked, “plus ultra style.”

-----

The first test was the 50-meter dash. Izuku hid underneath the shade of a tree as he watched his classmates try and use their quirks to move as quickly as possible. He saw Iida use the engines in his leg to speed through the test. A girl with frog-like abilities hopped closely behind him. Uraraka, the girl from the exam, touched her clothes to make herself lighter and the girl with pink hair slid her way across using some sort of acid.

Despite the gymnastics his stomach was performing, Izuku couldn’t help but watch in fascination. He’d never before had the opportunity to see so many people use their quirks so freely and his brain was running a mile a minute, picking their quirks apart.

Perhaps it was because he was so distracted that he didn’t notice someone walking up from behind him.

“Midoriya.”

Izuku jumped in surprise before twisting around to see none other than Aizawa towering over him. Was he always this tall?

Izuku felt every hair on his body stand on end and his skin tingled with nerves. It felt as if he were standing outside during a dangerous thunderstorm, lightning threatening to strike him at any moment.

But Aizawa wasn’t looking at him. He kept his gaze focused on the other students. Without so much as a flickering glance, he began to speak, quietly, like he didn’t want to be overheard.

“Keep in mind that quirks are nothing but a tool to aid heroes in their work.” Finally, his eyes lowered to meet Izuku’s. His usual hard expression softened, if only a little bit. “Our peers can aid us just as much,” was all he said before walking away, leaving Izuku stunned and confused in his wake.

Huh?

He didn’t have any time to think about Aizawa’s strange words as he was next up for the 50-meter dash. Against Kacchan. Of course.

He readied himself in a crouch and very pointedly ignored the human grenade next to him. His body could only produce so much adrenalin and if he let himself panic over Kacchan’s presence now, his heart would surely fail him.

“Ready?” called the robotic voice of the timer. “Start!”

Kacchan, predictably, used his explosions to launch himself across the finish line. To his own shock, Izuku didn’t finish too far behind.

“5.89 seconds.”

Izuku took a moment to catch his breath, now almost regretting not eating breakfast earlier. He ignored the heated glare from Kacchan as he stalked back over to the shade of the tree. Watching the rest of his classmates take the test, Izuku let Aizawa’s words turn over in his mind.

Quirks are just tools? What did Aizawa-sensei mean by that if I don’t even have one? He pondered.

Next up was the grip strength test. Aizawa corralled them into the gym where they were to each grab a small device that would measure the strength of their grip. He watched as some of his classmates squeezed the device as hard as they could. One of his classmates, however, caught his eye. He was a tall teen who could grow multiple limbs. He used three hands to grip the machine until it nearly broke.

“540 kilograms!” Exclaimed the boy that Izuku now knew could produce tape from his elbows. “You’re such a beast!” The taller teen looked a bit shy from the attention.

Izuku looked down at his own device then back at the multiple-armed boy.

“Our peers can aid us just as much.”

Izuku let out a shaky exhale before making his way towards the tall teen. “Um, e-excuse me?” His voice wavered. The teen looked down at Izuku, a gentle look in his eyes. “I’m so sorry to bother you. Um. Would you mind gripping this for me?” Izuku held out the device in his trembling hands. The teen looked over to their teacher, who was watching them intently, then back to Izuku, before delicately taking the device. Just like he did with his own, he used three hands to squeeze the measuring device before handing it back to Izuku. The number read ‘506 kilograms’.

Izuku was a bit shocked that the teen didn’t deny him. He looked up at the tall teenager and smiled awkwardly in gratitude. “Thank- thank you so much!” Izuku squeaked. The teen simply nodded at him.

Izuku nervously walked over to Aizawa, needing to report the score. He was fully expecting Aizawa to expel him then and there for cheating, but instead, the hero quirked a brow in what Izuku recognized as amusement before recording the number in his phone.

Huh. I honestly didn’t think that would work, He thought in bewilderment.

The third test was the standing long jump. Each student was to try and leap over a sandpit. Izuku watched as one of his peers used a laser that shot from his stomach to launch himself across. A boy with a prehensile tail had no problems jumping over the pit, and the frog girl from earlier easily cleared the jump in a single leap.

Izuku scanned over his fellow classmates, knowing just who to look for and- Ah!

“Hey, Uraraka,” Izuku greeted when he reached the gravity-defying girl. She turned to him with a bright smile.

“Oh, hey Midoriya! What’s up?”

“I was wondering, your quirk has something to do with gravity, right?”

Somehow, her smile grew even wider. “Yep! My quirk is ‘Zero-gravity’; I can nullify the gravity of anything I touch! Well,” she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, “anything that isn’t too heavy at least. I get kinda sick if I try to lift something too heavy or overuse my quirk.”

Izuku’s fingers itched to write down her quirk in one of his analysis notebooks because it was such a cool power!

“Would you, uh, would you be able to use your quirk on me for the standing long jump?” he asked apprehensively.

Uraraka looked at him with hesitation. “Well…You’re definitely small enough that I can lift you with my quirk easily,” Izuku tried not to feel offended by that. “But, wouldn’t that be against the rules?”

Izuku shook his head. “I had another one of our classmates help me in the last test and- and Aizawa-sensei didn’t seem to mind,” he argued. Uraraka’s hesitation turned into excitement.

“If you’re sure? Then I would love to help you, Midoriya! It’s the least I could do after you helped save me during the entrance exam!” Izuku flashed her a small, but still genuine smile.

When it was Izuku’s turn to jump across the sandpit, Uraraka gently touched his shoulder and he could feel himself lose all semblance of gravity.

“Ready?” she asked, a determined grin planted on her face. Izuku gave her a thumbs up and as soon as the robot called for him to go, Izuku pushed off the ground and easily floated above the sandpit. Once he was safely on the other side, Izuku dropped back down when Uraraka touched her hands together, saying “Release.”

When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Aizawa give him a nod of approval and Izuku felt the smallest bit of pride swell in his chest.

The fourth test was the repeated side steps. This time, Izuku didn’t have to ask a classmate for help, instead, one of his peers came to him.

“Hello, you’re Midoriya, right?” A girl with black hair tied up in a ponytail asked him, her smile soft and gentle.

“Um, y-yeah,” he stuttered in response.

“Great! I’m Yaoyorozu Momo, but you can call me Yaomomo if you’d like.” Izuku blinked at her, not knowing how to reply. “I noticed you’ve been receiving help from some of our classmates. I thought it was ingenious how you used Uraraka’s quirk for the last test. I assume you don’t have the type of quirk that could assist you physically?”

Izuku nodded grimly. “You’re right, I-I don’t.”

Yaomomo smiled. “In that case, I would also like to offer my assistance!” Izuku watched with rapt attention as she lifted up her shirt, stopping right below her chest, and produced two, small, trampoline-like objects from her stomach. She handed them to Izuku whose mouth opened and closed like a dying fish in astonishment. “My quirk is called ‘Creation’, I can create any inorganic material or item using the lipids in my body, although I first need to know their molecular structure.”

Izuku looked at the miniature trampolines in his hands then back up to Yaomomo, tears threatening to leak from his eyes. “You didn’t have to do this! I-”

She waved him off. “Nonsense! You’re my fellow classmate, and one day, a fellow hero. It’s important that we stick together and help each other become the best heroes we can be,” she said with certainty before walking away and leaving Izuku to stare after her, speechless.

As it turned out, the miniature trampolines worked perfectly.

The next two tests were seated toe-touches and sit-ups. Izuku had no issues with the seated toe-touches, he could practically fold himself in half due to his flexibility. The sit-ups were a little harder, he didn’t have much muscle on him, but he didn’t do terribly either.

The seventh test was the distance run. He would be running alongside Iida and a girl with headphone jacks dangling from her ears. Izuku knew exactly who he needed to ask for help.

“You want me to what?” Shinsou questioned him with a raised brow.

“Use your quirk on Iida and have him carry me across the race track. It’s a body-hijacking quirk, right?” he asked, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other.

Shinsou sighed, sounding like a full-grown adult that’s just come home from a tiring day at the office. “My quirk is called brainwashing, so, more like mind-hijacking.” Shinsou stared at him for a long moment before rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

“Thank you, Shinsou!”

The taller boy shrugged before approaching Iida who was already preparing himself at the start of the race track.

“Hey, Iida, are your shoes untied?” Shinsou asked in a lazy drawl.

Iida looked at Shinsou then down to his perfectly tied laces. “No, my shoes aren’t-” Iida’s eyes suddenly went blank.

“When the test starts, give Midoriya a piggyback ride across the track,” Shinsou instructed.

Obediently, Iida bent down to allow Izuku to very awkwardly climb onto his back and as soon as the robot called for the start of the test, Izuku gripped onto the back of Iida’s shirt for dear life as he bolted across the race track in a matter of seconds.

Once at the finish line, Izuku slid down from Iida’s back, his legs a bit wobbly. Iida’s eyes flashed back to their usual blue. He spun around to face Midoriya and the approaching Shinsou, looking between the two of them in disbelief.

“How dare you use me for your own selfish gains! Surely this is against the rules! It’s-”

“Fine, Iida,” Aizawa interrupted, “I’ll allow it.” Izuku only barely caught a glimpse of a smirk before he hid it behind his capture weapon.

Shinsou let out a low cackle as Iida floundered, his arms swinging up in down in offended chopping motions. Izuku felt bad, he really did, but at this point, he was so fucking exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and still extremely worried about Aizawa finding him out that he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

He just wanted the day to be over.

The last test was the softball throw. Kacchan didn’t have to retake it so he stood, slouching, on the sidelines. His crimson eyes bore into the back of Izuku’s skull.

Izuku ended up being the last one to throw the ball. He stepped into the white circle, the softball feeling heavy with expectation in his hand. He was tempted to ask Uraraka for help again, seeing as her score was infinity, but he didn’t want to rely on her quirk too much. No, he needed to be creative, find a different way to get around his quirklessness.

An idea abruptly slammed into his mind. It was a dumb idea and it would most likely get him killed, but Izuku used up all of his brain cells for the day, so really, could anyone blame him?

So, pre-planning his own funeral in his head, Izuku prepared himself to throw the softball like he normally would have, but turned on his heel last second and threw it directly at Kacchan’s face.

As he predicted, Kacchan didn’t hesitate to use his quirk on the softball before it hit him. Under the pressure of his explosions, the ball went flying into the sky before landing somewhere in the distance.

The entire class was silent.

Aizawa turned his phone so Izuku could see the score. ‘705.3 meters’.

In a sudden irruption of noise, Izuku heard a mixture of cheers and laughter from his classmates. Kacchan, however, was fuming.

Using his quirk, Kacchan sent himself flying in Izuku’s direction, pure murder reflected in his eyes. Izuku saw this coming, of course, but he still curled in on himself and lifted his arms to protect his face.

It wasn’t until the sounds of explosions stopped that Izuku dared to peek from behind his arms. There, only a few feet from him, was Kacchan, entangled in Aizawa’s capture weapon.

“Stand down,” Aizawa commanded. His eyes were lit with a scary red glow and his hair floated above him; obvious signs he was using his quirk. And boy, did he look pissed. “I refuse to allow such childish altercations in my class.” Kacchan struggled against his scarf, a deep scowl tattooed on his face. “Needless violence has no place in the hero course and it will only get you expelled. Understand?”

Kacchan huffed in clear annoyance. “Fine,” he growled. Aizawa loosened his scarf and it wound itself back around his neck like a docile snake. Kacchan sent one more dangerous glare towards Izuku before angrily stalking off and joining the rest of their class. Izuku timidly followed.

“Here are your results.” Aizawa pressed a button on his phone and a holographic scoreboard appeared in the air. Izuku held his breath as he read through each name. Kacchan was predictably in 3rd place. Continuing down the list, he let out a relieved exhale when he saw his name in 9th place, but grimaced when he saw that Shinsou was in last.

“This is bullshit!” Kacchan yelled, his head whipped around to glare at Izuku. Izuku felt his muscles stiffen out of instinct. He probably would have been more scared if he was able to feel literally any emotion. Due to the absolute absurdity of the events that had taken place over the past few hours, Izuku was almost entirely mentally checked out. A meteor could fall from the sky and he wouldn’t care, if he were being honest.

God, he just wanted to sleep.

“Deku is only a quirkless runt! There’s no way someone like him could be a hero! He obviously cheated on most of the tests.” Kacchan stated with confidence. A wave of shocked whispers swept over his classmates. Some of them threw pitied glances his way while others didn’t bother to hide their stares.

“Enough!” Aizawa’s voice boomed over the chaos. “Are you all quite done?” The class grew quiet, thick tension filling the air. “Midoriya earned his place in this class. If any of you have a problem with that, feel free to leave.”

“But, this was a quirk assessment. How could he pass if he didn’t use a quirk?” asked a girl with an invisibility quirk. A few others in the class nodded in agreement.

“No, this was a quirk apprehension test,” their teacher corrected. “Apprehension, in this case, meaning ‘to understand’. As future pro heroes, it’s vital to understand the foundations of all quirks, not just your own.” Izuku couldn’t stop himself from staring at Aizawa in shock. Was he…defending him? “Midoriya demonstrated his capability to quickly analyze the quirks of those around him in order to perform the tests in ways that would achieve the best results. He did exactly what was expected of him.”

Okay, now Izuku definitely knew none of this was real. Because, what the fuck?

“Sir!” Iida called, his hand raised high in the air. “While I cannot deny that Midoriya’s methods were successful, if it is true that he does not have a quirk, isn’t a career in heroics too dangerous?”

Aizawa sighed, looking as exhausted as Izuku felt. “I recently used my quirk when restraining Bakugou. Can any of you tell me what my quirk is?”

A soft murmuring came from the class as they discussed amongst themselves until one voice called above the rest.

“Um, is it that scarf thing you used?” A boy with red spiky hair guessed. Izuku heard Shinsou scoff.

“Incorrect. My quirk is ‘Erasure’, meaning I can erase the quirks of nearly anyone I look at.” Izuku saw some of his classmates shudder. “This,” Aizawa gestured to his scarf, “is a capture weapon. A support item. The fact that you assumed my capture weapon was my quirk proves that quirks themselves are merely natural support items. Quirks are just tools that you can learn to use to their maximum potential.”

Aizawa’s usual stoic expression grew hard, his eyes narrowing as he glared at them. “If you believe that quirks are the most fundamental aspects of heroics, then you have no place in the hero course. We train heroes here, not just quirks.”

Izuku watched as his peers glanced around nervously, but no one dared to argue with Aizawa further. Even Kacchan kept quiet, though his face was scrunched in an angry scowl.

After a moment of silence, Aizawa sighed again, then turned towards Shinsou. “By the way, no one’s going home, it was just a logical ruse so you would give it your all.”

“Wait, seriously?!”

“No way! I was totally freaked!”

“That was so not manly!”

Yaomomo turned to Izuku and Shinsou. “Of course it was a logical ruse. Wasn’t that kind of obvious?” Izuku and Shinsou looked at Yaomomo then at each other before they both shrugged in unison.

“You can find your course syllabus back in the classroom, so pick one up before you leave,” Aizawa instructed with a wave of dismissal. Izuku watched as his new classmates meandered their way back to the changing rooms, most of them lost in conversation but there were still a few that shot him glances over their shoulder. He knew he should follow them, change out of his gym clothes and back into his uniform, but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move.

They all knew he was quirkless now. While he knew it would have happened eventually, he forgot the fear of having an entire class paint a target on your back for simply existing, and the last time he was in a locker room with people that knew he was quirkless it ended in Izuku being covered in bruises and sporting a fractured wrist.

A bored voice cut through his panicked thoughts. “So, is zoning out a symptom of being quirkless, or is it just a specialty of yours?”

Izuku blinked a few times to clear his mind and noticed Shinsou was standing in front of him, his head cocked to the side.

“Huh?” Izuku blinked again. “Oh! Uh, sorry,” Izuku smiled sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long day,” he muttered.

Shinsou snorted. “Tell me about it.” He paused, “Actually, don’t. I’ve already lived through it once.” Izuku couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. He blamed it on delirium from whatever the fuck today was. Shinsou rolled his eyes but still smiled. “C’mon, most of them are probably done changing by now so it shouldn’t be too crowded,” Shinsou said, already walking to the changing room. Izuku dutifully followed.

As they walked, Izuku snuck a peek back towards the field, anxiety unfurling in his stomach when he saw Aizawa watch them leave with narrowed eyes. Izuku quickly turned back around and attempted to hide behind Shinsou until they made it inside. He honestly still wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Eraserhead again. Nervous, for sure, but maybe relief? Relief in the fact that he might have been wrong about the hero? Aizawa did stand up for him after all.

But how long would that kindness last? Eventually, he’d get tired of defending Izuku and realize he wasn't worth the trouble. Or he’d find out that Izuku was Moth, if he hadn't already, and expel him.

Izuku sighed. What the hell was he supposed to do?

“By the way,” Shinsou’s voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts once again. “About you being quirkless-” Izuku bit his lip. Here it comes; the insults, the name-calling, the physical beatings. “Some of our classmates might be assholes about it, and if they are, let me know. I can’t fuckin’ stand quirkist bigots,” Shinsou growled, his brows furrowed.

Izuku nearly ran into the door of the changing room in shock. “W-what?”

Shinsou pushed open the door, letting Izuku in first. “Let me know if someone’s giving you shit for being quirkless. I’ll make them stop,” he stated so casually. Izuku could only stare dumbly up at his taller peer.

“Why- why would you…”

The usual tired expression on Shinsou’s face hardened and his eyes grew cold. “Because I grew up getting harassed for having a ‘villain’s quirk’. I’m not quirkless and I can’t say I know what you’ve been through, but I do know what it’s like being on the shitty side of quirkist bullying.” His harsh look faded and he looked at Izuku with a gentle smile. Well, as gentle as Shinsou could look, anyway. “Those of us with quirks that society deems as ‘bad’ or ‘useless’ need to stick together, right?”

Izuku looked up at Shinsou with watery eyes. Was he about to cry? Probably. Could he find it in him to care at the moment? Nope.

“Y-yeah,” he replied with a sniffle. Before any real tears could fall, Izuku grabbed his uniform and ducked into the stall to change.

Did I just…make a friend?

-----

Shouta fell into his desk chair with an exhausted sigh. It was only the first day of the semester and he already felt the need to retire. He’d been a teacher for over five years, that had to have been enough for a steady retirement check, right?

“Ah, young Aizawa!”

Shouta lifted his eyes to see a deflated All Might in a gaudy yellow suit. He looked like a stretched-out banana. Shouta held back a groan of annoyance.

“Yagi,” he greeted with zero enthusiasm.

“I didn’t see your class at orientation, but Vlad King told me you hold quirk assessment tests on the first day to gauge your students’, er, potential?” All Might seemed to question. Shouta rubbed at his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep. Unfortunately, the staff had a ‘back-to-school’ meeting to attend. Pity.

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “I only teach students who have actual potential to be heroes, heroes that won’t die on their first day out on the field.”

All Might nodded. “I’m aware you have quite the ruthless reputation for expelling students.” Shouta quirked a brow at him, wondering if there was a point to this meaningless conversation. “How many did you end up expelling this year?” the older man asked with slight hesitation.

Shouta narrowed his eyes. Why would All Might care who he did or didn’t expel? The man was basically a teaching assistant, not like he had a class of his own.

“None,” Shouta stated. All Might’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Really? None at all?”

Shouta shrugged. “They all have at least some potential. If they can prove to me that they can grow as heroes, then I won’t need to expel anyone.”

All Might’s brows furrowed in concern. “Not even young Midoriya?”

At this, Shouta sat up straighter and glared at the older hero, a strange, albeit weirdly familiar surge of protectiveness flooded through him. He’d question it later.

“Why would you assume I would expel Midoriya?” he asked with growing irritation.

All Might blinked at him as if the answer were obvious. “Well, he’s quirkless. Wouldn’t that automatically make him fail the quirk assessment test?”

“No,” Shouta snarled. “Because it would be entirely illogical and extremely biased to expel Midoriya for something out of his control, but even without a quirk, Midoriya portrayed creative and efficient problem-solving skills to pass the test and earn himself a spot in the class.”

“But-”

“Aizawa, Yagi, the meeting will begin in approximately five minutes!” Nezu informed them, popping out of God knows where and conveniently cutting off their disagreement. Again. “Do make sure you arrive on time.”

Shouta threw one last icy glare at the number one hero, who at least had the decency to look somewhat guilty, before standing up with a huff and marching to the meeting room.

He hid a grimace when he remembered that tomorrow would be his class’s first heroics lesson. With All Might. Unsupervised.

If I find out that he singled out Midoriya- Shouta paused. While, sure, he wouldn’t stand for All Might being biased towards any of his students, but why the hell did he suddenly feel so defensive over Midoriya? He knew the kid for all of three hours.

Memories began to flood his mind. Forest green eyes and soft giggles, bunny hops and witty remarks, late-night talks with pointless musing, and tiny hands clutching tightly to his jumpsuit; hurt, desperate, scared-

Shouta suppressed a hiss when he felt his nails dig into the palms of his hands.

Not now. Not again. He already let himself have his allotted daily breakdown, he couldn’t afford another one. He couldn’t continue to let himself project his grief onto his student. It wouldn’t be fair to Midoriya when it was Shouta’s own problem to deal with.

Shouta took a moment to let himself just breathe.

He would get past this, he would move on, just like he always did.

Chapter Text

As soon as class ended on his first day at U.A., Izuku found his way home in a dissociative daze. His body ached from the quirk apprehension test, he hadn’t slept at all the night before, and he experienced so many emotions in such a short span of time that he felt like his brain was going to explode.

So it was understandable that the moment Izuku opened the door to his apartment, he collapsed onto his futon and passed out before his head hit the pillow, welcomed by a dreamless sleep. It was only when he awoke early the next morning that the events from the previous day hit him like a speeding freight train.

Izuku groggily rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, hoping that it would suddenly collapse and crush him to death. But no, the moldy ceiling stubbornly held itself together. Izuku groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, mentally going over all of the bullshit he now had to deal with in his day-to-day life.

1. Kacchan is in his class and still very much hates him. Not surprising, but not fun either.

2. His classmates knew he was quirkless, and he didn’t miss the glances of pity and wariness thrown his way once they found out.

3. He made a friend? Maybe? While that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was definitely uncharted territory.

4. All Might, for some reason, now taught at U.A., and Izuku didn’t have the time to unpack all of those emotions.

5. Eraserhead was his homeroom teacher.

6. Eraserhead was his goddamn homeroom teacher.

Izuku, still staring up at the ceiling, scrunched up his nose in frustration. “I bet you think you’re real funny, universe,” he muttered.

Replaying the events of yesterday in his mind, he still had no idea whether or not Aizawa knew he was Moth. It was obvious that something about Izuku caught his attention compared to the rest of the class, but the hero had made no moves to confront him. Unless he was just suspicious about his height and age? Which would be very rude, considering Izuku’s seen plenty of older people who were shorter than him. Sure, it usually had to do with a quirk factor, but still!

Maybe Aizawa did know he was Moth and was just biding his time until he could catch Izuku off guard. If that was the case, should he risk going back to school?

Wait, crap, I’m such an idiot. The school has my address so if I didn’t go to class it would only give him more of a reason to be suspicious.

He rolled back onto his stomach and cursed into his pillow. He really screwed himself over this time, didn’t he?

The alarm on his phone chimed, signaling he needed to start getting ready for school. God, how he missed online classes. Groaning once more into his pillow, he forced his sore body out of bed to prepare for the day.

-----

Shouta stifled a yawn as he walked through the halls of U.A., heading towards the teachers’ lounge. He didn’t get as much sleep last night as he wanted to, staying up late to organize the upcoming field trip for his homeroom class. It was a lesson in rescue training, something he always had his first-years learn early on so that they could understand both the usefulness of their quirks as well as the dangers. Someone with a quirk like Kaminari’s or Todoroki’s could be lethal if used incorrectly, so learning to use their quirks in delicate situations, such as in rescue scenarios, would help them learn better control as they continued their hero training. It was why he always made sure to recruit Thirteen’s help, as she was specifically a rescue hero with an incredibly dangerous quirk. She knew, more than anyone else, the importance of maintaining control in fragile situations.

Meanwhile, he would be giving most of his attention to students such as Ojiro, Shinsou, and Midoriya. They didn’t have volatile quirks and so they would be focusing on the actual rescuing of civilians, such as determining the stability of a half-collapsed building, learning about the procedures for different natural disasters, and studying basic first-aid to stabilize a civilian in the event that medical professionals weren’t readily available.

Too many big-named heroes prioritized fighting villains over rescuing victims which, in Shouta’s opinion, was the incorrect approach to heroics. The rescue should always come before the pursuit, and thankfully, U.A. supported that ideology fully.

So today, while All Might instructed 1-A through their first heroics lesson, Shouta would be finishing up the plans for the field trip that would be taking place in two days' time. He could only hope that the buffoon was as good of a teacher as he was a hero.

-----

Izuku made it to class early enough that the room was almost entirely empty, aside from himself, Todoroki, and Iida. When he opened the classroom door and shuffled his way inside, Todoroki only spared him the smallest glance but Iida didn’t hide his staring. Izuku shrunk under the intense glare and silently made his way to his desk, curling up in his seat and trying to make himself look as invisible as possible.

“Midoriya,” Iida’s loud voice called from across the room. So much for being invisible.

Izuku looked up from beneath his bangs and saw Iida approach his desk. Iida was already tall, but the fact that Izuku was sitting while the older teen loomed over him didn’t help. Maybe, if he wished really hard, the floor would open up and swallow him.

“Iida,” Izuku mumbled in greeting.

“Good morning, Midoriya. I simply wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday,” Iida spoke while adjusting his glasses.

Izuku squinted at him. “Apologize?” Was he talking about what he said during the quirk apprehension test, about heroics being too dangerous for someone without a quirk? Izuku supposed there was a first time for everything.

“Yes. Although I still do not condone your career choice as someone who is quirkless-” And there it is. “It was not right of me to criticize you in front of the entire class. I sincerely apologize for my actions and I hope that you will not hesitate to ask me for assistance when the course becomes too much to handle.”

Izuku felt the heat of shame crawl up his face. While he should be grateful that Iida wasn’t hitting him or calling him names, the absolute certainty of his words still cut through Izuku like a knife.

“Hey, Iida,” a low voice called from the front of the room. “Are your shoes untied again?”

Iida looked down at his shoes then up to Shinsou who was making his way towards his desk. “My shoes are still not-” A familiar blank look clouded Iida’s eyes.

“Sit down at your desk and shut up until class starts. No one wants to hear your shitty opinions.” Just as he did during the quirk apprehension test, Iida obediently followed Shinsou’s command and marched back across the room.

Shinsou all but collapsed into his seat behind Izuku, his eye bags looking especially pronounced.

Izuku turned his own chair around to face the tired teen. “Um. Thank you, for…but you didn’t have to do that.”

Shinsou tilted his head. “Yeah? And Iida didn’t have to be a dick, but we all make our own choices.”

“Won’t he be mad?”

“Shouldn’t you be mad? He was being prejudiced and underestimating you.”

Izuku looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together. “I mean, he’s not exactly wrong,” he mumbled quietly. “I’ll be lucky if I make it through first-year.”

Shinsou reached over and flicked Izuku’s forehead making him flinch back with a surprised ‘yelp’.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Shinsou scolded. “You got first place in the entrance exam, didn’t you?” Izuku nodded, rubbing the now sore spot above his brows. “That’s not exactly an easy feat. I should know because I only passed that stupid exam thanks to you.”

Izuku blinked. “Me? I didn’t do anything though?”

Shinsou scoffed. “Did you know that I didn’t get a single villain point?” Izuku’s eyes widened. “I got into the hero course on rescue points alone. I got 20 points from shoving some people out of the way before they got trampled on by some robots, and I got another 25 from helping Uraraka out of the rubble. I passed the exam with the bare minimum points.”

“I-I didn’t know.”

The taller teen shrugged. “If it wasn’t for you all but shoving a pole in my hand and telling me what to do, I would be stuck in Gen Ed right now.” Shinsou’s stoic face morphed into a scowl. “So don’t insult your own abilities, because you might as well be insulting me too, got it?”

Izuku rapidly nodded. “Y-yeah. Got it.”

-----

It was the second day of school but the first day of core classes. Just like in any other high school, hero students still had a normal curriculum.

After homeroom, in which Izuku very pointedly refused to make eye contact with Aizawa, they had English with Present Mic. Now, don’t get him wrong, Izuku really liked the voice hero, but who had that much energy before nine in the morning? At least it made learning English interesting, especially since it wasn’t Izuku’s best subject. After English was Modern Art History with Midnight, and he thoroughly enjoyed learning about how hero costumes made by support companies were often inspired by pre-quirk era comic books.

After his two classes, Izuku realized that maybe Aizawa didn’t know he was Moth after all. He assumed that the eraser hero was suspicious about something, constantly throwing glances at him whenever he thought Izuku wasn’t looking. But, as it turns out, Aizawa wasn’t the only teacher to do so. Both Present Mic and Midnight seemed to have paid extra attention to him for some reason. Every time Izuku accidentally caught their eye, their smiles would widen. Present Mic winked at him when he answered a question correctly during lecture and he was pretty sure Midnight cooed at him.

Maybe the teachers at U.A. were just weird. At least, compared to his previous experience with teachers, the staff here actually acted nice towards him.

After mathematics with Ectoplasm, who seemed overly pleased that Izuku wasn’t scared of him—why would he be? Ectoplasm had a super cool quirk and he was actually very nice—his class was dismissed for lunch.

Subconsciously, Izuku gravitated towards Shinsou, hiding in the taller teen’s shadow as they made their way to the cafeteria. Shinsou didn’t seem bothered by it and guided them both to a table in the far corner of the room by a large window that overlooked the campus grounds. It was way too crowded and noisy for Izuku’s liking and he could feel himself getting overstimulated. It didn’t help that the tray of food given to him by Lunch Rush was so large that Izuku could feed himself with it for at least three days! And this was supposed to be a single meal?

“You know, you have to actually put the food in your mouth if you want to eat it,” Shinsou teased between bites of his own lunch.

Izuku pushed out his lower lip in a pout, using his chopsticks to poke at his grilled fish. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…” Shinsou raised a brow at him in a silent question. Izuku sighed. “It’s just a lot of food.”

“How much food do you normally eat?” Shinsou hesitantly asked.

“Enough.” His answer apparently wasn’t acceptable as the lavender-haired teen narrowed his eyes at him. “Speaking of enough,” Izuku quickly changed the subject, “you look extra tired today. When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?”

“Two,” Shinsou replied.

Izuku furrowed his brows. “Two what? Two days? Weeks?”

“I know what I said.”

It was silent for a moment, the two of them looking at each other with serious expressions as if having an impromptu staring contest. The moment was quickly broken when Shinsou couldn’t hold back his huff of laughter, which in turn, only caused Izuku to silently giggle in amusement.

Lunch carried on, Izuku eating as much food as he could—Shinsou didn’t bother to hide his concern with how little Izuku ate—and small talk filtering between the two of them.

It was nice. For the first time in who knows how long, Izuku felt himself relax. (He readily ignored the pangs of longing for the late-night talks with Eraserhead by the bus stop, cold drinks from the vending machine clutched in their hands while they talked about everything and nothing.)

Once lunch ended, a new wave of anxiety threatened to take hold over Izuku. Because their last class of the day was heroics and he had absolutely no idea what to expect.

-----

Class 1-A sat impatiently at their desks, waiting to see which hero would be teaching them for heroics class. Aizawa informed them that he would be absent during their first lesson as he had some last-minute lesson planning to do, but he didn’t mention which hero would be left in charge in his place.

They didn’t have to wonder for long when their classroom door slammed open with a loud ‘bang’, causing half of the class to jump in their seats.

“I AM HERE!”

Izuku flinched, hard.

“COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A HERO!”

Why couldn’t Izuku have one day, just one, where he didn’t feel the need to crack open his ribs just to see if his lungs were properly functioning because apparently, his first reaction to sudden panic was to forget how to breathe.

“Woah! I can’t believe it’s really All Might!” Kaminiari was vibrating in his seat.

“So he is a teacher! This year is going to be totally awesome!”

“Hey look, is he wearing his silver-age costume?”

“I’m getting goosebumps, it’s so retro!”

His classmates could hardly contain their excitement at seeing the number one hero, even Kacchan was grinning, albeit scarily.

Izuku couldn’t relate. The only thing he saw when he looked at the hero was a face morphed in pity, standing beneath an underpass, words of rejection falling from All Might’s mouth.

“So honestly? No, I don’t think you can be a hero without a quirk.”

“Without a quirk, you would only be a burden out on the field.”

“It’s good to have dreams but keep them realistic.”

Izuku clenched his fists beneath his desk and tried to force away from the awful memories from that day. He couldn’t let himself break down. Not now, not here. His classmates already knew he was weak, but he didn’t want to give them even more ammunition to hurt him with.

“Welcome, to the most important class at U.A. High! Think of it as ‘Heroing 101’,” All Might’s voice boomed across the classroom, making Izuku wince. “Here, you will learn the basics of being a pro and what it means to fight in the name of good. Now, let’s get into today’s lesson!” The hero struck one of his signature poses while holding up a card that said ‘Battle’.

Kacchan’s feral grin grew wider. “Fight training,” he eagerly exclaimed. Izuku shifted in his seat nervously.

“And one of the key aspects of being a hero is…looking good!” As All Might pointed at the wall to their left, racks of shelves popped from the surface, each holding rows of metal briefcases. Their hero costumes. “These were designed for you based on your quirk registration form and the costume request you sent in before school started.”

Class 1-A irrupted with cheers and Izuku never felt a greater urge to crawl into a hole and hide.

“Get yourself suited up and meet me at Training Ground Beta!” All Might loudly instructed. Just like on the first day of school, Izuku’s classmates jumped from their seats to grab their costumes before darting out of the room. All Might was quick to leave the room as well, much to Izuku’s relief.

Izuku sighed, resigned to his fate. He had no idea what was to come next, but he knew it would probably end terribly for him.

He grabbed his case from the wall and followed Shinsou to the changing rooms.

-----

Locking himself in the changing room stall, Izuku unlatched the metal costume case with excited apprehension. Having a real hero costume is something he only ever fantasized about. He had considered a plethora of costume ideas over the years. When he was younger, all of his hero costume ideas were inspired by All Might, of course. But ever since moving to the red-light district and accidentally becoming a vigilante, Izuku had settled on wanting to be an underground hero which meant that darker colors would be best.

Izuku pulled out his costume, marveling at the materials, and quickly changed into it. He prayed to every deity that would listen that Aizawa wouldn’t look too closely at the similarities between Moth's ‘vigilante outfit’ and his hero costume.

His costume consisted of a tight, black bodysuit made with Kevlar, a material that was heat resistant, shock-absorbent, and would lessen the damage from weapons such as knives and bullets. Over his bodysuit, he wore a light-weight, gray, hooded jacket, which was also sewn with Kevlar. The jacket matched with gray pants that stopped right above his knee guards. He was also given a metal face mask that worked as both a gas mask and a communicator so he could talk hands-free to anyone connected to his signal. Black and red fingerless gloves complemented his utility belt and shoes. To finish off the outfit, Izuku requested red visor goggles, not too different from pro hero Hawk’s, though Izuku’s own were more rounded.

While Izuku was more than happy with his costume, what he was most excited about were his weapons. As an upgrade from his homemade bo staff, the support department made him a new one that was a sleek, black color. Like his old bo staff, it was collapsible and had a button in the middle that, when pressed, released a spring to eject a knife at one end, turning it into a kind of spear.

Replacing the cables and wires that Izuku became comfortable carrying, was a sturdy red rope made of metal alloy and carbon fibers, very similar to Eraserhead’s own capture weapon. It didn’t move in the same way as Aizawa’s scarf did, but it was still plenty strong enough to trip up and capture villains. The red rope was looped around his utility belt like a lasso.

Finally, his numerous pockets and pouches were filled with an assortment of smaller weapons. Knives of every kind, smoke bombs, and flash grenades. One of the newest additions to his arsenal was a set of long, thin knives that looked like overly sharp knitting needles. If he were to, say, stab someone in the thigh, it would hurt like hell but not cause any fatal damage.

Now, in Izuku’s defense, he had no idea that Eraserhead even worked at U.A. when he had sent in his costume and weapon request forms. He wasn’t a total idiot, he knew that his teacher would instantly connect the dots between him and Moth as soon as he pulled out his bo staff or rope, especially if Izuku used the same fighting style that Eraser had seen Moth use in villain fights and during their time training at the warehouse. Aizawa had already informed them that he would be watching the footage of their heroics class to give them feedback tomorrow.

Which meant that, during today’s combat training, Izuku would have to fight not only quirkless, but almost entirely weaponless as well, and he needed to change up his fighting style as much as possible to avoid suspicion. The only way that the situation could get any worse would be if he were made to go up against Kacchan.

-----

Izuku had to go up against Kacchan.

The battle training was simple. There were two teams of two. One team would be the heroes and the other would be the villains. The villains were given a few extra minutes to place a giant fake bomb somewhere in a tall city building, after which, the heroes had ten minutes to either capture both of the villains with capture tape or touch the bomb in order to win. If the heroes were captured or the timer ran out, the villains would win.

Each student drew random lots to decide who their teammates were and which team they would go up against.

Izuku ended up being on team ‘A’ with Uraraka and, predictably, they were made to go up against team ‘D’ which consisted of Kacchan and Shinsou. Izuku and Uraraka were the heroes while Kacchan and Shinsou were villains. Izuku couldn’t help but grimace slightly at Shinsou having to play a villain, but the taller boy seemed to take it in stride. If anything, Shinsou looked more upset about having to team up with Kacchan.

The first teams to go were team ‘E’, which was Ashido and Aoyama versus team ‘F’, Sato and Koda. Everyone else was ushered into the observation room where they could watch the matches through video surveillance.

“So, looks like we’re officially enemies now,” Shinsou declared with a smirk.

Izuku shrugged, still fighting his panic over being paired against Kacchan, and without any weapons to defend himself with. “I suppose so.” Now that they had the time, Izuku took a closer look at Shinsou’s hero costume.

It was obviously inspired by Eraserhead’s costume, but Shinsou’s jumpsuit was a deep, almost black, purple. He had black elbow pads and shin pads that matched with his black utility belt and fingerless gloves. In place of a capture weapon, however, was a black metal voice modulator that was currently hanging around his neck.

“Subtle,” Izuku teased.

Shinsou nudged him in the shoulder. “Shut up. I didn’t know Eraserhead would be our homeroom teacher,” he grumbled.

Izuku was about to throw him another snide remark when his attention was caught by All Might who cleared his throat to make himself known.

“May I speak with you for a moment, young Midoriya?” The hero asked lowly, standing way too closely for Izuku’s liking. Throwing a quick, nervous glance at Shinsou, who merely shrugged his shoulders in response, Izuku obediently followed the hero to a secluded corner of the room.

Izuku felt his stomach tie in a knot. He was pretty certain that All Might didn’t recognize or even remember him, but was he wrong? Did the hero realize that Izuku was the same pathetic, quirkless kid who asked him if he could be a hero all those months ago? All Might bent down at a ninety-degree angle in order to meet Izuku’s eye level. Izuku would have found it funny if he weren’t scared out of his mind.

“I just wanted to give you the option to sit out during this exercise,” the hero whispered.

Izuku squinted at him in confusion. “What- what do you mean?” he stuttered.

All Might sighed. “Look, young man. Heroics is a very dangerous profession for someone without a quirk. I cannot stop you from perusing a career as a hero, but I do understand if you are too nervous to participate in today’s battle trial,” he stated, speaking to him as if he were a toddler.

Izuku’s heart sank. He wasn’t the least bit surprised over All Might’s words, the man was consistent in his opinions at least, but Izuku had hoped by even a margin that getting accepted into the hero course would give him some credibility in the hero’s eyes.

All Might, the hero he looked up to for so long, whose very presence in society quelled people's fears and made villains shake in their boots, was now merely a reminder of Izuku’s weakness. If the number one hero was adamant that quirkless people couldn’t be heroes, then who was Izuku to question that logic? All Might was the Symbol of Peace, Izuku was just a pathetic nobody.

But…

But he had to at least try, didn’t he? Quirkless death rates were already so high that if he died out on the field as a hero, at least he died with noble intentions. At least he had the chance to save someone first.

Izuku forced himself to meet All Might in the eyes. “I would- I would still like to participate, sir,” he said resolutely.

All Might sighed again and shook his head, his signature smile dropping slightly. “If that is what you wish to do, young man. But understand that you will more than likely get seriously injured in today’s training.” The hero stood back up to his normal height. “I wish you the best of luck,” he said with misguided sympathy.

Feeling even less enthusiastic about the battle training than before, Izuku made his way back over to Shinsou, his head hanging low like a reprimanded puppy.

“You okay?” the taller teen asked.

“Yeah. Fine,” Izuku mumbled. Shinsou narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t push the subject.

-----

“Team ‘D’, you may now enter the building and set up your weapon. You have five minutes until the heroes will be let loose and the battle will start,” All Might instructed. Shinsou flashed Izuku a quirk smirk before leaving to prepare for the match. Kacchan, on the other hand, purposefully bumped into Izuku on his way out.

The blond narrowed his eyes and his lips split into a snarl. “You’re dead, Deku,” he growled.

Izuku couldn’t stop the instinctive whimper that escaped him, his shoulders hunched up to his ears out of habitual fear.

With a satisfied snicker, Kacchan marched out of the observation room with his head held high.

He was used to Kacchan’s threats, and the knowledge that they weren’t always unfounded caused the blood to drain from his face. While he knew that Kacchan wouldn’t actually kill him, not if he wanted to continue his academic career in the hero course, the explosive blond wouldn’t hesitate to maim him if given the chance. Izuku couldn’t rely on All Might to step in, as the hero seemed confident that he would get hurt anyway, and if Izuku were to be injured enough to stop the match, it would only further cement All Might’s stance on quirkless heroes.

Izuku didn’t get the time to spiral too deep into his thoughts as Uraraka happily bounded her way over to him with a bubbly smile.

“Hey, Midoriya! Are you ready to kick some villain butt?” She asked him, enthusiastically punching the air.

“U-um.” Izuku honestly didn’t know how to react. This was his first time talking with her one-on-one since he was announced quirkless to the class. Did she really not care? Or was she going to pretend to be friendly only to turn on him last second?

“Midoriya?”

“Oh! Uh. Yeah,” he finally answered with a nervous smile. Not that she could see it with his mask and goggles covering the majority of his face.

“Great! All Might gave each of us a map of the building that we can look over while we wait. It’s pretty big though…are we supposed to memorize the layout?” She scanned the map with a finger, her brows scrunched together in concentration.

Izuku looked down at his own map. While the building was large, its layout was incredibly simple.

“Ya’ know,” she turned to him, “All Might is even cooler in person, isn’t he? I’m glad he isn’t threatening us with some kind of punishment like Aizawa-sensei. We can relax- Uh, Midoriya? Are you okay?”

“Huh? Y-yeah! I’m fine,” he squeaked.

“Are you sure? You’re shaking,” she nonchalantly pointed out.

Was he?

Ah. He was.

“I’m okay, sorry,” he muttered. “Just a bit nervous.”

“Is it because of Bakugou?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Um…”

“Because I noticed he was kind of angry with you after we took the quirk apprehension test. Do you two know each other or something?”

Izuku swallowed down his bubbling panic. “Or something…”

Uraraka shot him a determined grin. “Well, don’t worry! We totally got this in the bag!” Izuku looked up at her in shock. Did she just forget about him being quirkless? What was going on?

“You don’t- you don’t think I’ll just weigh you down?” he asked with hesitance. He looked back down at the map, unable to maintain eye contact as his anxiety skyrocketed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he died prematurely from heart failure due to its constant rapid beating.

Uraraka tilted her head and blinked at him. “Why would I think that?”

Was she serious?

“Because I’m quirkless?” he nearly whispered, as if saying the word any louder would physically hurt him.

Uraraka paused for a moment, looking at Izuku with contemplation until a flicker of understanding lit her eyes. “Don’t be silly! I don’t care about any of that! My grandpa was quirkless but he was still one of the strongest people I knew! He also told the best jokes,” she giggled.

“Oh,” was all Izuku could say.

“Anyway, we should probably come up with a plan to find the bomb as quickly as possible,” she said, directing their attention back to the map.

“R-right.” Izuku looked over the map a second time, analyzing the different possible sections of the building where either Kacchan or Shinsou might decide to hide the bomb. Knowing Kacchan, he would leave Shinsou to guard the weapon while he went after Izuku.

“Um. I think our best bet would be to split up,” he nervously suggested. Uraraka hummed in thought.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Kacchan will want to- want to go after me and leave Shinsou with the bomb. We also don’t want to waste t-too much time trying to search for it. I think-” Izuku pointed to the map, “If you’re able to float yourself up, I think you should start searching from the top, looking through the windows, and I’ll start from the ground. That way, at least one of us is bound to find it.

“And even if Kacchan finds me, I’ll at least be able to buy you some time to locate the bomb and to either capture Shinsou or get past him and secure the weapon. Be careful of his quirk, he can brainwash anyone that responds to his questions.” While talking through his idea, Izuku hadn’t realized that his usual stutter was replaced with confident planning.

Uraraka nodded with conviction. “That sounds like a great plan!”

Izuku flinched in surprise. “It does?”

“Yeah! Just leave Shinsou to me!” she assured him.

“Uh. Right,” he murmured.

“Heroes! You may now make your way to the building to apprehend the villains!” All Might called.

-----

As planned, Uraraka used her quirk to float herself to the top of the building. She used cracks and crevices of the building to push herself up until she was at the roof. From there, she began sneakily inspecting the windows as she slowly descended.

Izuku hopped through an open window on the first floor, landing on the balls of his feet to avoid making any noise. The hallways of the building were long and narrow, and it would be hard to see past the corners, which meant Kacchan could easily intercept him at any turn.

Izuku’s original strategy was to sneak around the halls quickly and quietly, peeking through the open doorways in hopes of spotting the bomb. However, he had a sudden change of plan when he spotted something that wasn’t labeled on the map of the building.

Vents.

Now, Izuku was usually self-conscious about his height. Not only did he have a genetic predisposition to be short, but years of malnutrition heavily stunted his growth, landing him at a solid 128 cm. But he couldn’t deny that his small stature sometimes came in handy, like when he needed to fit inside ventilation systems that the average person wouldn’t usually be able to squeeze through.

The vent in question was located by the stairwell which made for easy access. Izuku wasted no time in using one of his needle-like weapons to unscrew the vent cover before sliding his way inside and placing the cover back into place. Using the traction from the soles of his shoes and the palms of his gloves, he was easily able to crawl on his belly through the metal vents. To his delight, there were vents on the ceiling above each of the rooms meaning he could peer down into the rooms below without being seen.

One would assume that crawling through the vents would be a slower process than searching on foot, but because he didn’t need to worry about being seen the whole process was much quicker than he anticipated. It helped that the building’s layout was straightforward, each floor structured exactly the same.

It was also fortunate that he didn’t need to be too quiet since Kacchan’s enraged yelling and near-constant explosions as he searched for Izuku made enough noise to cover his own.

He was finishing up with the third floor when the communicator in his ear crackled to life. “Come in Midoriya,” Uraraka’s voice carried over the static.

“I’m here,” he replied, pausing above an empty room.

“I’ve located the bomb! It’s on the fourth floor, the second room from the stairs. I don’t see Shinsou but he might be hiding somewhere nearby.”

“Got it,” he answered, “I’m on my way.”

“Did Bakugou find you yet?”

“No. I’m currently navigating the building using the vents. I’m currently on the third floor and I’m pretty sure Kacchan is on the first. I should be able to hop out at the stairwell on the fourth floor and make my way to you.”

“Perfect!”

The signal cut out and Izuku crawled as fast as he could towards the vent he needed to exit from. He couldn’t waste time trying to open the cover quietly, so he shimmied himself to face away from the vent and kicked at the cover until it popped off, landing on the ground with a metallic crash. He didn’t doubt that Kacchan heard the loud noise, so he had to move as quickly as possible in order to reach Uraraka before Kacchan reached him.

He jumped down from the vent and dashed up the stairs, thankful that the soles of his shoes were padded to help him remain quiet even while running. In no time, he found himself outside of the room that Uraraka informed him about, but she was nowhere in sight.

Kacchan, however, could be heard loudly storming up from the ground floor.

Taking a chance, Izuku peeked around the open doorway and was met with the sight of Shinsou calmly standing above a captured Uraraka.

Izuku could hear Kacchan getting closer, so he decided to take his chance against Shinsou before the explosive blond could catch up to him.

Squaring his shoulders in false confidence, Izuku walked into the room, catching both Shinsou and Uraraka’s attention.

Uraraka looked at him with defeat. “Sorry, Midoriya. Shinsou totally caught me off guard by copying the sound of your voice.”

Izuku’s eyes flickered up to Shinsou who smirked. “I used my Persona Chords to mimic your voice, and made it sound like you were hurt and asking for help.” Not taking the chance by responding vocally to Shinsou, Izuku ignored his explanation and readied himself in a basic fighting stance. However, both Shinsou and Izuku were momentarily distracted by an enraged roar that echoed throughout the building.

“DEKU! YOU QUIRKLESS PIECE OF SHIT! COME OUT AND FIGHT ME SO I CAN KILL YOU!” Kacchan screamed, his voice much closer now.

Panic rose in Izuku’s chest. If he wanted any chance at touching the bomb, he had to move fast, but he wasn’t sure what Shinsou was planning as the taller teen’s focus was on the doorway where Izuku came from. An annoyed scowl flashed across Shinsou’s face as Kacchan continued to yell threats and slurs.

Shinsou then did something that Izuku didn’t expect.

He walked away from the bomb.

“Oh, no,” Shinsou drawled in obvious fake concern, his face void of expression. “A hero. What ever will I do? Perhaps I should give up on villainy and turn over a new leaf.”

Izuku stared at him in confusion. Shinsou raised a brow and gestured to the now defenseless bomb with a nod of his head.

“I must face the consequences of my actions and strive to become a better person,” he continued in a bored tone.

Izuku, still unsure of how to react, cautiously walked over to the fake bomb. Throwing one last puzzled glance towards his friend, he touched the weapon.

A loud buzzer sounded throughout the building the second his fingers grazed the cool metal of the fake bomb. “The weapon has been secured! Heroes Win!”

Before Izuku even had the time to process whatever the hell just happened, Kacchan flew through the doorway, his face red with anger. His palms let out continuous sparks and his teeth were audibly grinding. The room was deadly still for all of ten seconds until Kacchan turned to glare at Izuku, intent to kill written all over his face.

“Deku,” he hissed. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Izuku shrunk in on himself, the murderous waves flowing out of Kacchan were nearly visible.

“Hey, Bakugou,” Shinsou called out to him.

“What?!” Kacchan barked, his eyes never leaving Izuku.

“Why do you call Midoriya ‘Deku’?”

“Because he’s-” Kacchan’s eyes glossed over, the telltale sign he was under Shinsou’s brainwashing.

“God you’re annoying,” Shinsou muttered, rolling his eyes. “Walk back to the observation room,” he commanded. Just as expected, Kacchan silently marched his way out of the building.

Both Uraraka and Izuku looked at Shinsou with wide eyes, who in turn, looked like he was ready for a nap.

“Thank you,” Izuku said quietly. He made his way over to Uraraka and untied her from the capture tape, helping her off of the floor once she was freed. “But, um. If you keep brainwashing our classmates like that, won’t- won’t that make them scared to talk to you?”

Shinsou looked unimpressed. “You mean like the constipated pomeranian and the personification of an instruction manual?” he asked with a lazy smirk, “How horrible.”

Uraraka snorted out a laugh. “I’m surprised those two keep falling for your quirk.”

“People that like to talk tend to be the most gullible.” Izuku nodded with a sigh, knowing full well how much Kacchan liked to talk about himself and yell at other people.

The three of them began their trek back to the observation room together, the entire time Uraraka tried to apologize to Izuku for getting caught.

“It’s okay!” he tried to assure her. “You’re the one that found the bomb. If it weren’t for you, we probably would have run out of time looking for it.”

“Yeah, but I still didn’t really do much in the end,” she argued. Izuku sternly shook his head.

“You were great, Uraraka. I mean, I didn’t exactly do anything either besides crawl around inside the walls.”

Uraraka laughed. “Well, we won in the end! That’s what counts.”

Shinsou scoffed halfheartedly. “You’re welcome.”

Izuku paused for a moment, then looked up at Shinsou with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why did you let us win?” he questioned. At this, Shinsou’s lazy smirk grew into a self-satisfied smile.

“I just wanted to see Bakugou fail.”

Izuku huffed out a silent laugh. “You might get in trouble for throwing the match.”

“Maybe. Guess we’ll find out,” the taller boy said as he pushed open the door to the observation room.

It was a bit dark inside and Izuku had to rub his eyes to adjust to the change of light. When he opened them again, he noticed Kacchan standing in the corner, absolutely furious. Kacchan didn’t make any move to approach, instead, he elected to glare daggers at Izuku.

Izuku tensed and hid behind Shinsou who didn’t seem to notice.

“Good job, hero team!” All Might praised. “However,” the hero turned to Shinsou, “Young Shinsou, why did you surrender the weapon without fighting back? You and young Bakugou could have easily worked together to defeat young Midoriya.”

Izuku shifted on his feet, uncomfortable by how easily the hero dismissed his abilities. All Might was right, of course, there was no way he could have taken on both Shinsou and Kacchan by himself, especially without his normal weapons. It still sucked to hear it announced to the class, though.

Shinsou shrugged. “You told us to encompass the attitude of a villain, and villains can often be unpredictable,” he argued. “Never assume you know what your opponent will do.”

“Uh,” All Might blinked at him. “Right,” he coughed. “Well, in the future, do try and stick with the expected objectives of the exercise. This was combat training, yet not a single one of you fought.”

“But sir,” Yaomomo interjected, “isn’t completing an objective with minimal injury and property damage the most desirable outcome when apprehending a villain?”

“Yeah! And Midoriya was super ninja-like, going through the vents and being all sneaky!” Kaminari added with enthusiasm. “I never would have thought of that.” Izuku felt a blush creep across his cheeks at the unexpected compliment.

Sero laughed. “Dude, you never would have fit inside the vents anyway. You’d probably just get stuck.”

“Right! Well,” All Might clapped his hands in an attempt to gain back their attention, “Let us move on, shall we?”

Still using Shinsou as a human wall to hide from Kacchan, Izuku watched as the rest of his classmates completed the exercise, some battles being more impressive than others.

Once all of the matches were completed, All Might dismissed them with a booming laugh and exaggerated praise. Izuku was just glad that the day was almost over. It was only the second day of school and yet he felt dead on his feet. He could practically hear his futon call out to him with the promise of sleep.

-----

The day quickly came to a close, Izuku’s afternoon classes going by without further incident. Kacchan readily ignored his presence, not that Izuku was complaining, and the rest of his teachers seemed just as nice as those from his morning classes. Izuku was still plenty hesitant to actively participate in class, but when he was called on none of his teachers got angry or annoyed by his answers. Cementoss-sensei even complimented Izuku on his knowledge of historical western literature.

As soon as the last bell chimed to signal the end of the school day, Kacchan pushed up from his desk and stomped his way out of the classroom. Todoroki was almost as quick to depart as well. The rest of class 1-A, though, didn’t seem as eager to leave.

“Hey, man!” Kaminari approached Izuku, who was in the middle of packing up his bag. “I gotta ask; was crawling through the vents anything like those old spy movies?”

“Uh…” Izuku blinked at him. “I guess? Most vents built in the pre-quirk era weren’t usually sturdy enough to hold large amounts of weight so those movies aren’t really realistic,” he nervously replied.

“Ohhhh, that makes sense. Still, I bet you felt super cool! Even your costume made you look like a secret agent,” the blond beamed.

“Thanks?” How was he supposed to properly react to that? He was used to being made fun of, laughed at, harassed, and hit, not spoken to with nonchalant small talk.

“Too bad we didn’t get to see you fight though,” Kirishima playfully pouted. “I’ve never even heard of someone quirkless trying to be a hero. It makes me super curious to see how you would have fought in a combat situation, ya’ know?”

“Um-”

“Hey, hey!” Ashido cut in, “Is that why you’re so short? I heard that people were shorter before everyone started getting quirks.”

Izuku cast his eyes to the ground, an embarrassed flush creeping up the back of his neck. He could feel too many eyes on him all at once and in his experience, it never resulted in anything good.

“So it’s true then? You really are quirkless?” Hagakure asked. Izuku hadn’t noticed her join the group that had begun to surround his desk.

“Well-” Izuku ducked his head down. “Yeah. I am.”

Kirishima looked at Izuku with an intent gaze, as if he were trying to pick him apart. “I don’t wanna sound mean or anything, but won’t it be, like, extra risky for you to be a hero? I’ve never heard of a quirkless hero before.”

Izuku could feel the sting of tears building up behind his eyes. Everyone was staring at him; he felt like an animal stretched out on a lab table ready to be dissected.

“That’s because Midoriya will be the first quirkless hero,” Shinsou stated in a near growl. Because of his height, he was easily able to part the growing crowd that clustered around Izuku. “Any of you got a problem with that?”

“I do,” Iida declared with an arm half-raised in the air.

“Iida,” Uraraka whispered in warning, but her pleads to stop fell on deaf ears.

“While I have no problem with the quirkless, I do believe that heroics is far too dangerous of a career for you. At the very least, you will have to work incredibly hard to keep up with the course if you wish to achieve your impractical goal,” he explained.

A wave of discomfort rippled through the remainder of the class. It was clear that some of his peers shared Iida's sentiment while others were entirely against it. Izuku felt torn, like his classmates were playing tug-of-war with his body acting as the rope. A lump formed in his throat to match with the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He couldn’t respond to anyone, even if he wanted to.

“You’re right, Iida,” Yaomomo said, stepping into the disorganized circle that surrounded Izuku’s desk, instantly gaining everyone's rapt attention. Every muscle in his body tightened and he worried they would snap, like a rubber band that was stretched too far. “Becoming the first quirkless hero would be a perilous journey, one full of hardships that none of us will ever have to experience. However,” Yaomomo turned to Izuku, adorning a soft smile, “Is it not our duty as his classmates to support him through it all?”

His classmates all looked at one another, then to Izuku, then back to Yaomomo. She stood tall at the center of the crowd like an esteemed politician.

“We are the next generation of heroes and it is our responsibility to make the world better than how we found it. That includes pushing past the stigma of expected societal roles.” Izuku could see some of his peers nod along with her words. “At the dawn of heroes, women were discouraged from this career path for precisely the same reason as Midoriya; it was deemed to be too dangerous for a group of people assumed to be too weak. But look at where we are now. While women still face hardships in the field of heroics, we have managed to carve our own path and save people along the way,” she asserted.

“Hell yeah!” Ashido cheered while Uraraka nodded vigorously next to her.

Jiro smirked. “That’s true. How could anyone look at someone like Kaminari and assume he’d be a better hero than any of the girls in this class.”

“Hey!” Kaminari pouted.

Yaomomo smiled at the class’s antics. Izuku, on the other hand, looked between her and the rest of his peers with wide eyes. He felt like he was blindly thrown into some alternate dimension.

“Just because something has never been done before, does not mean it is impossible,” Yaomomo proclaimed. “So let us aid Midoriya in being the first quirkless hero; let us help him make history!”

With the last of her words, a cheer surged through the class.

“Being the first quirkless hero would be so manly!” Kirishima said with a sharp-toothed smile.

“Can you imagine how cool it would be to say that we were classmates with the first-ever quirkless hero?” Kaminari quipped, leaning himself against Sero’s desk.

There were still a few students who didn't seem fully convinced by Yaomomo's words, like Hagakure, Sero, and Aoyama, but they no longer looked at him with pity.

Iida sighed and approached Izuku with a look of slight guilt. “While I still have my reservations, I must admit that perhaps my own bias is clouding my judgment, and for that, I apologize.” Izuku could only stare at him, the past few minutes leaving him utterly speechless. “As your fellow classmate and a future hero, I will do my best to see that your goals come to fruition.” Iida bowed to him before awkwardly gathering his things and leaving the room.

The jubilant morale that filled the classroom began to calm as his classmates started to pack up their own belongings in preparation to head home for the day. Some clapped Izuku on the shoulder before they left and others just silently nodded. Eventually, the classroom emptied save for Shinsou, Yaomomo, and himself.

Izuku had yet to speak a word, his head still spinning from the emotional roller coaster that he did not volunteer to ride. Because what the actual fuck?

Yaomomo turned to Izuku with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries, I really dislike when others are underestimated due to societal labels,” she sighed. “It’s something I’ve dealt with for most of my life, though not quite to the extent you have, I imagine.”

Izuku, still floundering in surprise, could hardly think of a coherent reply. Shinsou chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Just give him a minute. He’s like a computer that needs to reboot when he gets overloaded,” the taller boy teased.

“Hey!” Izuku finally squeaked.

Shinsou quirked a brow. “Am I wrong?”

Izuku waved his arms around, flustered. “There isn’t exactly a guidebook on how to react to these things!” he argued, which only made Yaomomo and Shinsou share an amused look.

Izuku tried, and failed, to regain any semblance of pride as the three of them cleaned up the classroom before heading out.

They parted at the school gate, Yaomomo hopping into a waiting limousine, Shinsou walking home, and Izuku heading to the train station.

It was during his trip home, in the first pocket of silence Izuku had since that morning, that he let himself finally breathe.

There were definitely some negative moments, particularly in regards to Kacchan and All Might, but compared to his earlier school years? Today went surprisingly well. Exhausting, but well.

He was still waiting in suspense for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be pulled beneath his feet, but until then, Izuku let his shoulders slump in relief.

Maybe U.A. would be different. Maybe it would be better.

If only Izuku had some sort of foresight quirk.

Chapter Text

It had been an eventful patrol; three muggers, a would-be sexual assaulter, a drug dealer, and some asshole that decided tonight would be the perfect night to cause property damage for shits and giggles. It was only when Shouta realized he had a nasty gash on his shin that he decided a break would be beneficial. Thankfully, his usual spot was close by and it was around the time he was expected to be there anyway.

After hobbling a few blocks through quiet streets, his main source of light the waning crescent moon, Shouta found himself at the bus stop located on the outskirts of Musutafu's red-light district. He plopped down onto the bench with a huff, his bones creaking in protest. He had already managed to stop the bleeding on his leg well enough that he could wait until he got home to properly care for it. Despite how much it bled, he doubted it would need anything more than butterfly stitches. For now, though, all he wanted was a crappy can of iced coffee. It was truly a shame that the vending machine, located no more than six feet away, was too far from his reach. Tragic.

He sat there and debated with himself if getting up from his very comfortable spot on the bench was worth the shitty coffee.

It was.

But he would give himself a few minutes to rest first.

Shouta’s internal debate about his coffee dilemma was cut off by the sound of soft footsteps, footsteps that he’d become very familiar with over the past year.

Looking up through half-lidded eyes, Shouta saw Moth approaching from the shadows, the soft blue glow of the vending machine did little to enunciate the kid’s features, but the hero didn’t miss his red-rimmed eyes.

Ah. So it was one of those nights.

Moth didn’t say a word as he sat down next to Shouta. His little legs simply dangled from the bench seat instead of swinging like they usually would. He could practically see the storm cloud that was hanging over the kid’s head, dark and gloomy with no sign of reprieve.

“Hey, Kid,” Shouta greeted, a certain gentleness in his voice he saved just for Moth.

The reply he got was a watery, “Hi.”

Shouta scanned the boy over, double-checking that he wasn’t physically injured, at least visibly. Satisfied by the lack of blood and bruises, he placed a hand on top of the kid’s head. Moth leaned into it.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but know that I’m here to listen whenever you need,” the hero whispered. He’d long since learned that trying to push Moth to open up to him would only result in the kid pulling away. So he never demanded explanations, no matter how worried he was, but he always offered his silent support and a shoulder to lean on.

Apparently, that was exactly what Moth needed tonight. The boy took a few minutes to compose himself, the comfortable silence between them only interrupted by sniffles.

“Why am I not good enough?” Moth’s wobbly voice broke through the quiet. Shouta wasn’t sure why Moth was upset when the boy first sat down, but the way he curled in on himself and the heart-shattering question he asked began to paint a very upsetting picture.

“Why do you think you aren’t good enough?” Shouta asked carefully. His hand moved from the boy's head to rest securely on his shoulder, hoping it felt grounding.

Moth used his hoodie sleeve to rub at his eyes. “Because everyone I care about eventually leaves.”

And, oh, didn’t that just make Shouta’s heart splinter into pieces. No person, but especially no child, should ever have to feel like they aren’t enough to keep their loved ones around. Moth’s words definitely added more evidence to Shouta’s child neglect theory, but now wasn’t the time to pick apart the kid’s shitty home life.

Shouta hummed in thought. “Maybe,” he started gingerly, “the people that left you weren’t worth caring about.”

It seemed that his words took the boy by surprise, as his head shot up and he looked at Shouta with wide, green eyes.

“But- but,” the kid stammered, “what if it really is my fault?”

“And what if it’s not,” Shouta shot back. “The world is full of crappy people and maybe you just got dealt a bad hand.”

Moth looked down at his scuffed shoes. The laces on one was becoming undone and Shouta had a strange urge to crouch down and tie it for him. He didn’t. The kid knew how to tie his own shoes. Hopefully.

“Um,” Moth spoke, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “Are you worth caring about?”

Shouta could feel his heart crack even more, like taking a sledgehammer to a mirror. He worried the shards of it would embed themselves into his ribs and lungs.

Shouta had to clear his throat to dislodge the lump forming there. “Are you asking if I’m going leave you?” he questioned delicately, his chest squeezing in pain with the thought of Moth convincing himself that Shouta would eventually abandon him too.

Moth, still looking down at his feet, nodded his head. He looked so defeated as if he fully expected Shouta to nonchalantly admit that he would leave him too.

No. Fuck that.

“Kid,” Shouta chose to ignore the way his voice cracked. “I will never just leave you. I’m not going anywhere.” He waited until Moth lifted his head so their eyes could meet. “I need you to believe that,” he said with finality.

The hero expected moth to disagree, to argue with him, or even to cry. What he didn’t expect was for the kid’s face to suddenly go unnervingly blank.

“Then why did you leave me?” Moth asked, his voice now totally void of any emotion. It made Shouta take his hand away from the boy’s shoulder, a deep unease settling in his stomach.

“Moth, I’m right here. I didn’t-”

“Why did you leave me to die?!” The kid was suddenly on his feet, his hands balled into fists. “If you cared about me then why did you leave?! Why didn’t you save me?”

Shouta jumped from the bench, his hand instinctively reaching to grab at his capture weapon. The feeling of unease soured into a deep dread when he watched Moth’s eyes lose their light, their usual forest green dulling into a dead moss. Blood trickled down from their corners, replacing the tears that were once rolling down his cheeks.

“Was I not good enough?!” the boy screamed, his throat painfully straining. The blood-tears came faster now, dripping onto his blue hoodie, staining it with dark, almost black drops. “You failed me! You failed me just like everyone else!”

Tears began to pool in Shouta’s own eyes, blurring the corpse-like boy in front of him. His chest heaved with stuttered breaths. “No-” he tried to choke out.

“Why weren’t you fast enough? Why did I have to die?!” Moth sobbed before he suddenly crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from unknown places all over his body. His clothes were drenched in it but Moth kept crying, kept yelling. “You left me, you left me, you left me!”

Shouta didn’t hesitate to drop to his knees, his hands hovering over the kid, unsure of where to touch him without aggravating any wounds, but the blood was coming from everywhere now.

Finally, Moth stopped screaming. The abrupt quiet was almost deafening. He slowly lifted his gaze to Shouta, his unseeing eyes bore deep into Shouta’s own onyx ones. It sent an unnerving chill down his spine.

“I didn’t have to die,” was the last thing Moth said before he collapsed fully, his head hitting the ground with a sharp crack. The air around them grew still as if the world was holding its breath.

“Moth?” Shouta’s voice sounded distant to his own ears. “Kid?

There was no response. The boy’s chest fell but no matter how long Shouta waited, it did not rise again.

He was dead. Moth was dead and Shouta didn’t do a fucking thing. He wasn’t fast enough to save him even though the small boy was right in front of him.

“No, no, no.” His cracking voice reflected his shattered heart. “Please, kid, you need to get up. You need to breathe,” he begged. But there was no longer anyone to listen. His pleading words were carried off by the wind and absorbed into the night.

Slowly, carefully, Shouta moved his hand to cup the boy’s cheek, his pale skin already growing cold. The blue glow of the vending machine made Moth look like he was encased in ice.

Shouta couldn’t stop the sob that tore through his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He gently rubbed his thumb underneath Moth’s eye, smearing the blood-stained tear tracks. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

Shouta closed Moth’s blank eyes and then he closed his own, unable to stop the guilt that crashed over him in crushing waves, the pressure of it heavy in his bones and he feared they would crack from its weight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered one last time to a boy that was no longer there.

-----

Shouta shot awake with a hitched breath. The darkness of his room disorientating as his eyes strained to make out familiar shapes. His heart hammered painfully in his chest and he could feel beads of cold sweat running down the nape of his neck.

For a good few minutes, he couldn’t make himself move. He couldn’t quiet the sound of blood rushing in his ears with every thump in his chest. He couldn’t force away the images of his nightmare that were determined to imprint themselves into every crevice of his mind.

It wasn’t the first nightmare he had about losing Moth, but it was certainly the worst by far.

Shouta let himself lay in bed for another few minutes. He knew it would be pointless to try and fall back asleep, not with the memory of Moth’s broken body still fresh in his mind, even if it wasn’t real.

But it was, wasn’t it? Just because he wasn’t there to see it didn’t change the fact that Moth died. And he probably died alone.

Shouta harshly scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a deep exhale. Laying there wouldn’t do him any good, and now that he was awake he figured he may as well do something productive.

Groaning, he pushed himself out of bed and turned on the bedside lamp. Its warm glow illuminated the room in such a sharp contrast to the cold blue of the vending machine light. Taking a peek at his phone, he noted that it was just past midnight. He meant to sleep for another few hours and then wake up early to go over the footage of yesterday’s heroics class, but with nothing else to keep his mind occupied, he figured getting an early start couldn’t hurt.

Armed with a fresh cup of coffee, Shouta sat at the kitchen table, his laptop and a notepad in front of him.

As he began reviewing the footage, he let himself fall into his usual teacher mindset. It didn’t escape his notice that half of the fights didn’t follow the safety protocol that All Might was supposed to go over before the exercise. He made a mental note to check whether his students were actively ignoring protocol or if All Might had forgotten to teach them. Both were equally possible.

He had to admit, though, watching and grading the combat training was a nice distraction. He was particularly amused with the match between Uraraka and Midoriya versus Shinsou and Bakugou. Not a single punch was thrown in the entire match.

Bakugou’s competitive nature and habitual quirk use made for the excellent cover of any sound Midoriya could have made. Though, with how small he was and the fact that he walked on the balls of his feet, he doubted the kid made too much noise.

Shouta couldn’t help but smirk when Midoriya easily fit himself through the vents like a mouse inside a wall. Unfortunately, there were no cameras inside the vents, but it was obvious how quickly he made his way through the building when, merely a handful of minutes later, Midoriya popped out onto the fourth-floor stairwell.

He wouldn’t deny that he was impressed. Even though Shinsou purposefully threw the match, Midoriya’s actions showed he understood when he needed to fight and when he needed to rely on stealth. Too many hero hopefuls thought of combat as the solution to every answer, but Midoriya had no issue with using his small stature and stealth skills to his advantage. Excellent qualities for an underground hero. Looking at the kid’s hero costume, with its dark colors and hidden weapons, Shouta could take an educated guess that Midoriya was aiming for underground heroics, or at least not something overly public.

Honestly, even if Shinsou didn’t let the hero team take the win, Shouta didn’t doubt that Midoriya could have found a way past Shinsou to secure the bomb.

“This kid,” he muttered to himself.

He would have to talk with Midoriya at some point and see if he was interested in directing his focus on underground heroics. Perhaps Shouta could carve out some time in his schedule to give a personal lesson here and there if he was. Shinsou would more than likely be interested as well if his obviously inspired hero costume was anything to go by. Shouta had to stop himself from fondly rolling his eyes at the similarities between Shinsou's costume and his own.

Shouta rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced at the clock hanging on a nearby wall. Two in the morning.

He sighed and stood up from his chair, his back aching in protest from sitting hunched over his laptop. He only had a few more videos to go through.

But first, he needed another cup of coffee.

Chapter Text

Izuku tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack, his shoulders hunched and his head ducked down. Day three. It was day three of being a hero course student at U.A. High. The first two days were a whirlwind of unpredictable and emotionally draining events that only further proved how different U.A. was compared to any other school. If the last two days were only the start of his academic journey in the hero course, would he even survive the first semester? No wonder the best heroes came from U.A., they would have needed an insane amount of mental and physical stamina just to put up with the daily insanity within the school walls.

On his first day—ignoring the fact that his homeroom teacher was someone he knew from his short amount of time as an accidental vigilante—his class was threatened with expulsion for no other reason than Aizawa pulling the ‘because I can’ card. Sure, Aizawa had informed them that U.A. allowed freestyle teaching, but what the hell?

His second day of school wasn’t much calmer. The number one hero nearly ripped the classroom door off of its hinges, shoved them into their hero costumes with weapons that had yet to be tested, and had them duke it out without going over any safety protocols, and Izuku knew he saw a safety booklet on Aizawa’s desk that All Might readily ignored. Because putting a bunch of super-powered teenagers into a building with little restriction besides ‘don’t kill each other’ was obviously the smart move.

Don’t get him wrong, Izuku was grateful for the opportunity and he still highly respected U.A. as an institution, but the sheer amount of chaos that this school naturally produced was almost impressive. Though, he probably shouldn’t be too surprised when the school in question had a literal rat making all of the big decisions. Bear? Dog? Maybe a stoat. Yeah, probably a stoat.

Whatever. The point was, Izuku had already given up on trying to predict how each day would go. He figured it would probably be best just to roll with the punches. Admittedly, it would be difficult; he was so used to being treated a certain way, so used to knowing what to expect from his environment, yet U.A. seemed hellbent on challenging that normalcy, especially in regards to how others treated him.

Here are the things that Izuku knew to be true:

1. Teachers (all adults, really,) were not to be trusted.

2. Classmates were not to be trusted.

3. Friends are for those who aren’t worthless.

4. Cover your face with your arms because a kick to the head is more fatal than a kick to the ribs.

Now, here are the things that Izuku had noticed about U.A. so far:

1. Teachers can be nice. Strange, but nice.

2. Classmates can be nice, mostly.

3. People will befriend you whether you like it or not.

4. You don’t have to cover your face with your arms because no one will try and hit you.

Looking at these two lists, one could understand Izuku’s conflicted feelings. For his entire life, his brain had been wired to view the world one way and to suddenly have that view flipped on its head made him weary and confused. So could anyone really blame him for being on guard as he walked up to the gates of U.A.?

Well, apparently, being on guard ended up being the smart move that morning.

Izuku really shouldn’t have been surprised. He had spent all morning telling himself that U.A. was a strange school filled to the brim with strange events, yet as he approached the front gates he couldn’t help but gape at the dozens of reporters that were bombarding students and staff with questions. The reporters were purposefully blocking the entrance, shoving cameras, and microphones into student’s faces and demanding answers to whatever it was they were asking. Some students tried to duck around the recording equipment while others were more than happy to partake in an impromptu interview.

Day three.

He had yet to even make it onto campus grounds and the day was already becoming too much for him to handle. He knew he had to go through the mob of reporters if he wanted to get to class but the idea of being cornered by adults shoving cameras in his face made his skin crawl uncomfortably. They were so loud and tall and scary.

Just another reason why Izuku wanted to be an underground hero. Fewer media vultures to deal with which meant less of a chance he’ll end up crying on national television.

Wait.

Underground heroes were proficient in stealth operations. So if Izuku treated this as a training exercise for underground heroics…

Izuku quickly scanned his surroundings, taking note of any possible openings he could use to slip through the gates unnoticed. There wasn’t a lot of coverage and it didn’t help that he would be sneaking around in broad daylight, but there had to be something.

His eyes caught onto a gap between a handful of reporters and the gate. Most of the media vultures were attempting to question some Gen Ed students that were trying to push their way past the sea of recording equipment. Training his eyes away from the small opening he saw a handful of trees framing the scene. One tree was just close enough to the gap he needed to get to. He theorized that if he jumped from the farthest branch he could probably land himself right between the reporters and the gate. The keyword here was probably.

Only one way to find out.

Izuku tightened the straps of his backpack so that it was held more securely to his body and began to climb the tree closest to him. The trees were relatively close which made it easier for Izuku to jump from branch to branch until he arrived at the tree that was looming over the opening he saw earlier.

The drop wasn’t too bad, a little less than twelve from the ground, and if he landed just right he shouldn’t make too much noise, at least not enough that could be heard over the shouting reporters. Taking a less than calculated risk, Izuku launched himself from an outstretched branch and landed in a tucked shoulder roll just behind the handful of media reporters who were occupied with the Gen Ed students. Begrudgingly thanking his shorter than average height for the second time that week, Izuku managed to slip through the school gates completely unnoticed.

Now that he was free of the media circus, it didn’t take him too long to make his way into the main building and to his classroom with plenty of time to spare.

Izuku didn’t arrive as early as the day before, not only because the mob of reporters held him up, but also because he didn’t want to risk being alone with Iida again. He wasn’t particularly scared of the tall robotic teen but he wasn’t exactly fond of him either. It was like being in a room with a house spider, you knew it wouldn’t hurt you but the fact that it was there still made you uneasy. Thankfully, though, by the time Izuku opened the classroom door, nearly half of his classmates were already present. The other half, he assumed, were probably still trying to make their way onto campus.

Izuku shuffled his way over to his desk and slipped into his seat. He was still on edge from the morning’s events so it was understandable that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder, expecting pain to blossom following the unexpected touch.

“Chill. It’s just me,” Shinsou announced his presence from behind him. Izuku turned around in his chair and gave his friend a sheepish smile.

“Ah, sorry.”

“Glad to see you made it past those psycho reporters in one piece.”

Izuku forced a laugh, willing his nerves to calm down. “Yeah. Not something I was expecting this early in the morning.”

Shinsou nodded with a look of irritation. “Just because All Might’s a teacher here they think they can get a free interview with the guy. They also have no issue with practically shoving their microphones down everyone’s throats.”

“Wait, they’re here because of All Might?” Izuku questioned. He never actually got close enough to hear the questions the reporters were asking but now that he thought about it, it made sense they were there for the number one hero. All Might taking a teaching position at U.A. caught the nation by surprise and the media was having a field day with speculations as to why.

Shinsou blinked at him. “You mean they didn’t try and wring answers out of you?” A playful chuckle escaped the teen, “What, are you so short that none of them could see you dart between their legs?

Izuku squawked, “No!” A blush powdered his cheeks. “I just snuck around them through the trees.”

Shinsou rolled his eyes. “Yep, sure.”

Izuku scoffed “I’m not that small,” he muttered.

“Anyway, give me your phone,” Shinsou suddenly demanded.

Izuku paused at the abrupt change in subject. “W-what?” The lavender-haired teen didn’t reply, instead, he simply held out his hand with expectancy. Doing a quick scan around the room to make sure no one was recording him in case it was a prank, Izuku hesitantly reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and placed it into Shinsou’s awaiting hand.

Shinsou took the phone and began typing something. “You should really put a lock on this thing,” Shinsou grumbled without looking up from whatever the hell he was doing on Izuku’s phone. After a moment, he handed back the phone with the screen facing up. Izuku slowly took it from him and peered down at what he saw was the messenger app.

The app was opened to a new conversation. The contact name read ‘Hitoshi’ and the single message bubble was a cat emoji sent from Izuku’s phone to what he assumed was Shinsou’s number.

Izuku peered up at the teen through his bangs, confusion probably readable on his face. There was a multitude of questions swimming through his mind, but the one he settled on was, “Your first name?”

The taller boy shrugged. “I’m fine with you using it, but if you’re uncomfortable-”

“N-no! That’s- uh,” Izuku stumbled over his words. No one had ever asked him to call them by their first name before, not since Kacchan. He felt an unfamiliar warmth bloom in his chest. When was the last time he actually had a friend? Someone who didn’t care that he was quirkless, who went as far as standing up for him on more then one occasion? Izuku cleared his throat but it didn’t stop his voice from squeaking. “That’s fine. Ah, thank you. And you can- you can call me Izuku, if you want,” he muttered, grateful that his hair covered the tips of his ears because he was certain they were a shade of red.

Hitoshi didn’t seem at all phased by Izuku’s awkward response. “Cool,” was his reply before laying his head in his arms and falling asleep at his desk almost instantly.

Izuku was quickly getting used to Hitoshi’s habits. Honestly, he was probably one of the most normal people in the school, but it never ceased to amuse him how quickly he could fall asleep at his desk in a room full of noisy teenagers.

Izuku shook his head to clear his thoughts. Maybe he should start drinking coffee to help him keep up with the insanity that is U.A.’s hero course.

His classmates continued to trickle in, some lost in conversation about one thing or another and a few of them were complaining about the reporters at the gate.

When Kacchan walked in, Izuku instinctively cowered at his desk, his eyes drawn down and his arms folding over his middle. Sometimes, Izuku thought of Kacchan like a bear— don’t look him in the eye and maybe he won’t attack. It didn’t always work, but then again, maybe it didn’t always work with bears either. He’d have to look that up later.

Kacchan sat down at his desk with a huff. Izuku figured that Kacchan would ignore him during their classes like he had been during the past couple of days, so he was a bit startled when the blond turned in his seat to face Izuku, his normal scowl tattooed on his face. Izuku moved back in his chair as far as he could to put as much distance as possible between them. Kacchan didn’t seem to care.

“Listen, nerd,” he growled lowly. “Don’t go thinking that just because you got first in the entrance exam and won that stupid battle trial yesterday that you can look down on me.”

Izuku fidgeted in his seat, his eyes locked onto his desk to avoid having to look at Kacchan’s crimson gaze. “I’m- I’m not Kacchan, I swear,” he muttered, his voice as wobbly as his knees.

Kacchan tsked. “Make no mistake. I will be at the top of this class and I’ll become the number one hero. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let a quirkless pipsqueak like you take that chance away from me.” Kacchan leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Izuku’s. “So either fight me or stay out of my way, Deku,” he snarled before leaning back in his seat and moving to face the front.

Izuku kept his eyes down. He should be used to the way Kacchan treated him, he should be desensitized to the stinging words that fell from sharpened tongue. But he wasn’t.

Every time Kacchan spoke his venom-laced words Izuku could feel the poison from them sinking deeper into his veins. Foggy memories of park play-dates, splashing in the creek, and hunting for cicadas in the summer heat were only painful reminders of the friend he lost.

He couldn’t blame Kacchan, though. Izuku was quirkless and he was worthless. He would only be dead weight dragging Kacchan down and ruining his chances at being the number one hero. There was no doubt in his mind that Kacchan would be the best of them without Izuku there to hold him back.

Lost in his thoughts, Izuku didn’t register Aizawa entering the classroom until he made his way to the podium. The class instantly quieted at his presence.

“Three seconds. Good, you’re learning,” he said dryly. Izuku didn’t bother to move his gaze away from his desk. For some reason, Kacchan’s words hurt more than usual, and he didn’t even outright insult him or threaten him. Maybe Izuku was extra tired from the past few days, but he felt especially raw today. His skin felt sensitive, the slightest sensation causing needles of pain, and his head felt heavier.

He thought he was doing fine this morning. He was even pleased with himself for sneaking past the reporters, not to mention he and Hitoshi were now on a first-name basis. Nothing bad had even happened yet, so why did Izuku suddenly feel like he wanted to cry? Why did the world feel too loud, and too bright, and too much?

Izuku moved his arms under his desk and let the nails of his right hand sink into the flesh of his left wrist, finding a patch of almost-healed cuts and pressing it until the sharp pain brought the world back into focus. It was grounding and familiar.

“I saw the video feeds and went over each of your team’s results,” Aizawa started lecturing. “Some matches were more impressive than others, though seeing as this is your first week at U.A. I won’t grade you as harshly as I will in the future.”

Izuku sensed a wave of unease wash over the class. How much harsher could Aizawa get after threatening them with expulsion on the first day?

“Bakugou,” Aizawa called. Kacchan grunted in reply to show he was listening. “You’re talented, but don’t sulk like a child about your loss. Take it as it was— a learning experience. And next time, try and actually communicate with your partner.”

Kacchan’s scowl deepened and Izuku could hear him grinding his teeth. He could tell Kacchan was pissed about being called out in class.

“Yeah, whatever,” Kacchan huffed.

“And Shinsou,” Aizawa directed his gaze to the sleepy teen. “While I don’t disagree with your stance on villain unpredictability, this was a combat training exercise, not a philosophical debate on morals and the psychology of criminals. Save it for ethics class.”

“Yes, sir,” Hitoshi replied while stifling a yawn.

“Midoriya.” Izuku reluctantly looked up to face his teacher and tried not to look like he was about to burst into tears at the slightest bit of over-stimulation. “You did well in using your environment to your advantage. However, make sure to stay in constant communication with your teammates. You never informed Uraraka of your change in plans until she contacted you first.”

“Y-yes, sensei,” Izuku murmured, his eyes dragging back down to his lap.

Aizawa continued with the evaluation until everyone received feedback. Izuku tried to pay attention, hoping to learn more about his classmates and their quirks, but his mind felt too hazy to fully listen.

“Right. Let’s get down to business. Our first task will decide your future,” Aizawa announced. The entire class tensed at his words with bated breath. “You all need to pick a class representative.”

Everyone let out an audible sigh of relief before realization set in. Suddenly, his classmates were jumping out of their seats arguing over who would be the best fit for the job as representative.

Izuku shrunk in his seat. He didn’t care in the least who the class rep was, he just wanted the loud noise to stop.

“Pick me, guys! I wanna be class rep!” Kirishima exclaimed.

“I’ll take one for the team,” Kaminari stated as if he were doing the class a service.

“Oh! I’d totally be the right pick!” Ashido all but screamed, cutting off Aoyama who was saying something about his sparkling personality.

Even Kacchan rose from his seat, slammed his hands down on his desk, and declared that there would be no one better for the job.

Finally and mercifully, Iida interrupted the sea of noise, “Silence, everyone, please!” The class suddenly stopped and turned to face Iida who was standing tall by his desk. “The class representative’s duty is to lead others, it is not something just anyone can do. You must first have the trust of every student in the classroom.” Iida adjusted his glasses as he continued to speak, “Therefore the most logical way to fill this position is democratically. We will hold an election to choose our leader,” he decided.

The rest of 1-A looked around at each other nervously.

“Is this really the best idea?” Kaminari questioned.

Asui held a finger to her chin as she spoke, “We’ve only known each other for a few days, how do we know who we can trust?”

“And won’t everyone just vote for themselves anyway?” Kirishima pointed out.

Iida nodded. “Most people will, but that just means whoever does receive the most points must truly be the most suitable person for the job.”

Izuku’s classmates seemed convinced enough. Yaomomo used her quirk to create a small box and twenty slips of paper to hand to each person. The room grew quiet for a few minutes as everyone took their time writing down their vote before placing the paper in the box.

Izuku dared to glance at Aizawa who was sound asleep in the corner, a gaudy yellow sleeping bag wrapped around his shoulders. He looked more tired than usual, which Izuku didn’t know could be possible. Behind him, Izuku noticed Shinsou asleep at his desk as well after turning in his own vote. Izuku let himself mull over the idea that perhaps Shinsou and Aizawa were distantly related.

Doubtful, but the idea was humorous all the same.

Finally, Yaomomo took the box and began to write out the results of the vote onto the blackboard.

As Kirishima predicted, most people had voted for themselves, but to Izuku’s extreme surprise, he somehow received two votes. Iida also received two and Yaomomo received three.

Yaomomo looked shocked to have gotten the most votes but gratefully excepted her position as representative. Izuku, on the other hand, floundered at the thought of being deputy. He also didn’t understand why anyone would vote for him in the first place. Perhaps it was a joke?

Iida, who was now tied with Izuku for the deputy position, looked at Izuku with an unreadable expression.

“Oh man, looks like we got a tie between Iida and Midoriya,” Uraraka pointed out.

“Should we re-vote?” Ojiro pondered.

“N-no!” Izuku cut in. He instantly regretted speaking once everyone turned to look at him. A chill of unease crawled up his spine. “I think Iida should- should be deputy.”

“What? No way, man! Are you really just gonna give up your spot as vice rep?” Kirishima argued.

Izuku had to stop himself from visibly shaking with nerves. “Y-yeah.” He racked his brain for a good excuse to get out of the position. He was thankful the class was quiet because he strained to make his voice loud enough to carry his words. “I uh, don’t want to be in the spotlight for the- for the field of heroics I’m aiming for.”

Izuku was so distracted by his classmates’ attention that he didn’t notice Aizawa crack open an eye to look at him.

“So, uh, it would really be best of Iida was class Representative,” he explained.

“If that is what you wish, then thank you Midoriya! It would be an honor to accept this position as class deputy,” Iida loudly exclaimed with his usual chopping motions.

Izuku let out a sigh of relief and let himself shrink back into his chair. It wasn’t even past Homeroom yet but all of the energy was already sapped from his body.

“Alright then,” Aizawa said, standing up from his spot on the floor. “Yaoyorozu will be your class representative and Iida will be deputy.”

Nods of approval came from the class.

“Yeah, makes sense. Those two do seem to be the most organized,” Sero noted.

Kacchan threw Izuku an angry glance over his shoulder before turning back around and silently fuming at his desk.

His classmates continued to talk among themselves until the bell rang, signaling the end of Homeroom. Aizawa left the class without a word and Present Mic quickly took his place to start English.

-----

The cafeteria was as crowded as it always was, but like the previous day, Izuku hid in Hitoshi’s shadow until they reached their table. It was the same table that was shoved into a corner by a large window. And, like yesterday, Izuku gawked at amount of food on his tray.

“You should have gone for that deputy position. If anything, just to piss off Bakugou.” Hitoshi said around a mouthful of rice.

Izuku shrugged. “I’m not a fan being in the spotlight and I highly doubt I’d be best for the position,” he countered, using his chopsticks to poke at his lunch.

“I think you’d do just fine. It’s why I voted for you,” Hitoshi nonchalantly admitted.

“Y-you voted for me?”

“What, like I would vote for literally anyone else in our hell class?”

Izuku’s face reddened. “I, uh, I appreciate it. I think. But I voted for Yaomomo.”

Hitoshi nodded. “Yeah, she seems like the leader type. I’m not sure I’m a huge fan of Iida as VP though.”

Before Izuku could reply, a loud ringing sounded throughout the school startling them both to their feet. A robotic voice soon followed.

“Warning. Level 3 security breach. All students please evacuate the building in an orderly fashion.”

Izuku’s heart rate spiked before he suddenly felt a sense of detachment from his own body. It was the same static feeling he experienced when he was first told his mother died. Like someone else was in control of his body while his mind numbed over, his limbs attached to invisible puppet strings orchesreated by a stranger.

Hundreds of students ran over one another while attempting to flee from the cafeteria. Shouts of panic mixed with the blaring alarm muddled into senseless white noise. Izuku hardly registered any of it.

“Shit, look!” Hitoshi’s familiar voice broke through the blurred commotion. He was pointing out the window that they had sat next to. Izuku followed his gaze and saw what Hitoshi was looking at. The swarm of reporters from earlier had somehow gotten through U.A.’s barrier and were storming the front steps of the building. He could see Present Mic and Midnight corralling the reporters before they could get any further. “It’s just the media.”

Izuku looked away from the window and to the growing crowd of students who were jamming the corridor in their frenzied panic. A head of black hair caught his attention and a plan began to form in his mind. With a strange sense of calm, Izuku quickly moved away from Hitoshi and darted to where Yaomomo was attempting to keep stable in the sea of bodies.

“Yaomomo!” he shouted, hoping his voice would carry over the noise. Hearing her name, Yaomomo looked around until she caught his eyes.

“Midoriya?”

Izuku approached her and beckoned her to step away from the crowd. She hesitantly followed until they were far away enough that they wouldn’t be sucked back in.

“It’s a false alarm,” he began to explain. “It’s just the reporters from earlier. They got through the gates but some of the teachers are already dealing with it.”

The tension in Yaomomo’s shoulders instantly melted away. “Oh thank goodness,” she said with relief. “But does anyone else know?”

Izuku shook his head. “No, but I have an idea and I need your help.”

Yaomomo nodded with determination. “Of course. What do you need?”

“Can you use your quirk to make something that will catch everyone’s attention? Like- like a siren or an air-horn?”

“Not a problem!” Yaomomo lifted the sleeve of her uniform and produced a small air-horn. She handed it to Izuku before lowering her sleeve back down. “What will you do?”

Izuku shot her a shaky smile. “What I do best.” Yaomomo tilted her head at him in question. “Fit into places that no one else can.”

Before Yaomomo could say anything else, Izuku dashed into the crowd, slipping between bodies and darting beneath legs. Soon enough he found himself against the wall of the corridor. There, nine feet up the wall was blue piping that ran across the length of the corridor and disappeared into the ceiling. Izuku backed up as far as he could, the air-horn tucked safely into the pocket of his blazer and ran head-on towards the wall. He jumped as high as he could and used one of his legs to kick off of the wall and push himself up further until he just barely reached the metal pipe.

Using the momentum from the jump, Izuku pulled himself up onto the piping and balanced himself in the narrow space between the pipe and the wall. As quickly but carefully as he could, he shimmied his way across the pipe until he was above the center of the crowd.

Pressing one hand against the wall to steady himself, he reached for the air-horn in his pocket. Izuku aimed the device towards the mob and pressed down on the red top, causing a deafening sound to reverberate through the corridor.

Everyone suddenly stilled and turned to face the direction of the noise.

“Everyone!” Izuku called as loud as he possibly could. “Calm down! It’s just the press outside! There are no real intruders!” A wave of muttering fell over the crowd, some trying to look out the window while others were craning their neck to see Izuku. “It was a false alarm! Please empty the hallway and return to the cafeteria!” he instructed.

After a few moments of hesitation, the crowd began to disperse. He saw a few stragglers still watching the scene of reporters from out the window but after a few minutes, the corridor was peacefully empty.

Izuku dropped down from the piping and landed on the balls of his feet. He let out a deep exhale, the adrenalin in his body wearing off and making his limbs feel weak.

All at once, the anxiety and panic that he should have felt since the start of the chaos crashed over him like an avalanche. His heart hammered in his chest, and the air in his lungs felt cold and wrong. His legs shook so forcefully he had to lean against the wall in order to stay on his feet.

What had he just done? Why would he willingly bring attention to himself in front of god knows how many students. Why the fuck did he think climbing a wall and blowing an air-horn would be a good idea to stop a mob of scared teenagers? Surly a teacher would have shown up eventually to calm everyone down, so who was he to think he could take control over the situation.

Oh god.

He was going to get expelled for that, wasn’t he?

A sharp pang of nausea hit him and his head pounded with every throb of his heart. His vision swam until the world looked like it was underwater.

Izuku forced his legs to move, to carry him to the closest bathroom which thankfully wasn’t far. He all but stumbled through the door, unable to catch himself before he collapsed onto the floor. The room began to spin and he had to close his eyes to stop himself from getting sick. The cool tile beneath him made him shiver despite the heat that flushed across his back.

His heart refused to calm, kicking him in the ribs and bouncing off of his lungs that were already struggling to take in air. A sob caught in his throat.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe and his heart wouldn’t slow down. His body refused to hold him up any longer and he crumpled back against the wall.

He couldn’t breathe! Why couldn’t he breathe?!

Nails aimlessly dug into flesh in a useless attempt to calm himself down. He could see an inky blackness crawl across his vision despite his eyes still squeezing shut. His body wouldn’t stop shaking, he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold sweat that rolled down his back or if his muscles were simply seizing.

He just-

He needed to breathe.

He was so scared.

“-riya?” A distant whisper filtered through the sound of rushing blood.

“He- -ou -er- e -ku?” It sounded so distant like someone was yelling across a crowded room.

“-uku plea- you’re- kay-” The voice started to sound familiar but he couldn’t quite place how. He strained to hear it better, hoping he could remember who the voice belonged to.

“Izuku- ca- you answe-r -y- uestion?” It was closer now, cutting through the static. What was it saying? A question? Were they asking him something?

It took every once of energy he had but he managed to push out a response through numb lips. “Y-yes.”

Then, suddenly, everything stopped. A deep sense of calm washed over Izuku like a soft blanket fresh from the dryer. His heart no longer threatened to beat out of his chest and he could finally, finally feel himself breathe again.

He could hear the voice better now. Despite how it still sounded distant, it was perfectly coherent.

“Take a deep breath,” it instructed. He had no choice but to oblige. Izuku was used to feeling like a stranger in his own body, but for once, it was nice to not have to think, to hand over the reins to someone else.

“Keep breathing.” His chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm. It was so peaceful here, like a quiet winter evening with fresh snow blanketing the ground, soft and undisturbed.

But all too soon, the comfortable fog lifted from his mind and he crashed back into his body with a gasp. He could feel every muscle with painful awareness and god was he sore.

“Izuku?” The voice was crystal clear now and the familiarity of it washed over him with sudden recognition.

“ ’Toshi?” he mumbled, wincing at the discomfort of his scratchy throat.

He heard Hitoshi exhale. “Yep. Welcome back to earth.” Izuku cracked open his eyes. Crouched in front of him was the blurred figure of Hitoshi. His face was etched with concern and his hair looked messier than normal like he had been running his hands through it. Izuku’s gaze trailed down to his hands that had begun to sting.

Hitoshi was gently holding his wrists apart. The back of his hands, he noticed, were covered in patches of broken skin. Nothing was bleeding, thankfully, but they stung like a fresh rug burn. He must have been scratching at himself again.

“ ’Happened?” he asked, slurring his words.

“Panic attack,” Hitoshi answered calmly. “I used my quirk to break you out of it. I, uh-” he let go of Izuku’s wrists and rubbed the back of his neck, “I hope that’s okay.”

Izuku sluggishly shook his head. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

“Do you get them often?” the teen asked quietly. Izuku hummed a non-distinct answer. “I used to get them a lot when I was little. They suck, huh?” Hitoshi sheepishly chuckled.

“Yeah,” was all Izuku could say. Now that he could fully feel his body again, he was aware of just how sore and exhausted he was. He could probably fall asleep then and there on the floor if he wanted. “Sorry.”

Hitoshi scoffed then gently knocked Izuku on the head with his knuckles. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

Izuku sniffled. “Oh.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. “We, uh, should probably get off the bathroom floor.” Izuku nodded. “Right, can you stand?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Izuku slowly stood up on wobbly legs, using both the wall and Hitoshi as support.

“Do you want to see Recovery girl?” Hitoshi asked, letting Izuku loop his arm through Hitoshi’s for support.

Izuku suddenly felt much more awake. The thought of seeing Recovery Girl terrified him. He wasn’t certain why, exactly, but he would much rather hold off on seeing her for as long as possible.

Hitoshi seemed to have sensed his hesitation and offered another option. “Or we could chill out in the classroom? It should still be empty.” That idea sounded much more appealing to Izuku.

“Yes, please,” he answered, not having the energy to care about how small he sounded.

With a nod, Hitoshi steered Izuku out of the bathroom and lead him through the empty halls. It took a bit longer than usual to reach the classroom, Izuku still felt unsteady on his legs, but Hitoshi didn’t show any indication that he was annoyed or upset about their snail-like pace.

When the pair finally reached their classroom, Hitoshi shifted Izuku’s weight so he could slide open the door. There were still about fifteen minutes left of lunch so they didn’t expect anyone to be inside.

To Izuku’s horror, they were very wrong.

Aizawa stood at the podium, shuffling around some papers. As soon as the door opened, Aizawa turned to look at them, a question forming on his lips. But Aizawa paused once he got a better look at the pair, his eyes scanning over them in urgency. It caused a strange feeling to bubble in Izuku’s chest.

Aizawa left his papers where they were and carefully approached them. “What happened?” he demanded.

Izuku couldn’t help but shrink under Aizawa’s piercing glare. He brought his hands to his chest protectively as he curled in on himself. His brain was still filled with cotton and his heart threatened to leap out of his throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

Yet it did. Izuku fell apart where others could see him and he hated himself for it. Everyone already knew how pathetic and weak he was, but now they would know that he was broken too. If he had the energy, he would probably start crying.

Crybaby Deku! his mind hissed, sounding uncomfortably like Kacchan.

“When the alarm went off people panicked. But, uh, Izuku managed to take control of the situation and calm everyone down somehow,” Hitoshi began to explain. He could probably sense Izuku’s reluctance to speak.

“That was you?” Aizawa asked Izuku, sounding…impressed? Izuku hummed an affirmative answer.

“Uh, anyway,” Hitoshi continued, “I’m unsure what happened after, but I found him in the bathroom.” He paused like he was debating with himself. After a quick glance down at Izuku, Hitoshi quietly explained, “Panic attack. I used my quirk to snap him out of it.”

Aizawa sighed and nodded. “That was a smart way to use your quirk.”

Izuku chanced a peak at Aizawa, looking up at the tall man through his bangs. He noticed, however, that Aizawa wasn’t looking directly at him, but instead, it seemed that his focus was on Izuku’s hands. Quickly, Izuku dropped them from his chest and hid them in the pockets of his slacks.

“There’s still some time before classes start again,” Aizawa said, directing his words to Hitoshi. “You should head back and finish lunch.”

Hitoshi blinked at Aizawa with hesitance. “I don’t mind staying here with Izuku.”

“Thank you, Shinsou, but I can take it from here,” Aizawa said as a dismissal. Izuku could feel his heart drop into his stomach and panic flood his veins. Izuku wanted to grab onto Hitoshi again but his hands were practically glued to the inside of his pockets and his muscles were stubbornly working against him.

No, no, wait!

Hitoshi opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but one glance at Aizawa’s steely glare caused his mouth to snap shut. The teen looked at Izuku one last time and an apologetic look flashed in his eyes. With a slight nod, Hitoshi walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

The thick silence that immediately settled over the room threatened to suffocate Izuku. He was certain that he would have been able to hear a pin drop onto cushioned carpet. He couldn’t even hear the sound of his own heartbeat, as if it decidedly stopped in his chest from fear.

Being left alone in a room with Aizawa, Eraserhead, was the last thing he wanted.

Oh, he was so fucked.

“Go ahead and take a seat, Midoriya,” Aizawa softly advised. It took Izuku every ounce of willpower to move his legs that were planted firmly on the ground. He was just thankful they weren’t as wobbly as before.

Izuku silently shuffled to his desk, refusing to let his eyes meet those of his teacher. Once he sat in his desk chair, shoulders hunched up to his ears and hands now protectively hidden in his lap, he heard Aizawa move to stand in front of him.

“Midoriya,” Aizawa called for his attention, but Izuku couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face him. Not like this.

Apparently, Aizawa had come to the correct conclusion that Izuku didn’t want to move his eyes away from the floor, so the hero steadily crouched down, dropping to one knee until he was at face level with him.

“Kid,” he tried again. “I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened.”

Izuku bit at his bottom lip and shrugged his shoulders. He could no longer hold onto a single thought and he felt reality slipping away as if he were watching the whole interaction through a television screen.

But Aizawa was patient. He gave Izuku a minute until he tried asking again. “Do you know what triggered your panic attack?” His voice was gentle despite its gravelly tone. It was the same soft voice he used when he talked to Izuku as Moth. The realization of that sent a spark of pain through his chest.

A deep sense of longing poured over him. The memory of the night on the rooftop, crying into Aizawa’s chest, made his heart twist. He knew it was pathetic, but all he wanted to do was fall into Aizawa’s arms again and sob. He wanted the comfort of his tight embrace and soothing words.

Izuku hadn’t realized just how much he missed being Moth and spending time with Eraserhead. But that was over now. It was over and the loss of it made his very core ache with grief. Because as much as he wanted to tell Aizawa everything, admit to him that he was Moth, he knew he couldn’t.

Admitting he was Moth came with the risk of getting kicked out of U.A. and thrown into foster care, and Izuku knew for a fact that he wouldn’t survive that.

So, instead of spilling his guts to the eraser hero, Izuku just shook his head and answered with a simple explanation. “Just overwhelmed,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

“I appreciate you telling me,” the hero replied.

Aizawa leaned back a bit and scanned him over again and it made Izuku feel vulnerable. His eyes eventually landed on the hands that Izuku was attempting to hide in his lap. With a thoughtful hum, Aizawa gestured to his arms.

“It looked like you may have scratched yourself during your attack.” Every muscle in Izuku’s body stiffened. “May I see your arms?”

Izuku blanched. An alarm, louder than the one in the cafeteria, rang in his mind. He suddenly sat up straighter, his aching body protesting at the movement.

No, nope, absolutely not. Aizawa seeing his arms would be just as bad as him figuring out he was Moth. If anyone saw his arms, or even his upper legs and abdomen for that matter, he would be expelled in a heartbeat. Every straight line that adorned his flesh was a reminder of his weakness, a reminder of how irreparably broken he was.

Izuku shook his head, “N-no, it’s okay.” He silently cursed himself for the wavering in his voice.

Aizawa raised a brow, not looking the least convinced. “Midoriya, I just need to see if you should be sent to Recovery Girl or not.”

“M-my hands are fine, sensei, really.” Izuku felt like the ground beneath him would crumble at any minute as pure dread climbed up his throat.

Aizawa sighed. “I’m sure they are, kid. But I also asked to see your arms, especially if this is a common occurrence.”

Izuku’s eyes flickered to the doorway and he knew Aizawa saw it too. He knew he couldn’t just make a break for it but the idea sounded very appealing.

“It really doesn’t happen that- that often,” Izuku lied. “I was just overwhelmed by the alarm and the reporters from this morning.” The weak argument fell lamely from his lips and he could tell that his teacher didn’t believe him for a second. Of course he wouldn’t. Eraserhead was an underground hero who relied on his keen observational skills. How the man didn’t recognize him as Moth was beyond him.

But right now, that wasn’t the issue.

Aizawa’s eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized Izuku as if he could find the answers he was looking for by simply staring at him long enough. Izuku forced himself not to squirm in his seat.

“Midoriya,” the softness in his voice was replaced by a tone of authority. “As my student, your wellbeing is my priority.” His eyes narrowed. “I won’t ask again.”

Shit.

Izuku swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat. How in the absolute hell could he get around this?

“I-”

Like a gift from the heavens above, the chime of the school bell cut him off. It was the signal for the end of lunch and the start of afternoon classes. He could hear the footsteps of his classmates approaching the door to the classroom and relief so intense poured over him he thought he would drown in it.

Aizawa gave Izuku a pointed look. “We will be finishing this conversation later, Midoriya,” he promised. The hero stood up from his crouched position and made his way back to the podium just as his classmates started to filter into the room.

Izuku slumped back into his chair feeling light-headed.

That was the way too close for comfort, he internally groaned.

Hitoshi strolled into the room alongside Kaminari who was talking to him at lighting speed about the alarm from earlier. In fact, most of his classmates were gossiping about the failed evacuation attempt. Hitoshi parted ways with Kaminari and settled into his seat behind Izuku.

“You good?” he quietly asked. Izuku turned to him and tried to give him the most convincing smile he could make.

“Yep! A lot better, thanks.”

Hitoshi’s lips quirked at the corners. “Good. You had me worried there, space cadet.”

“Space cadet?”

Hitoshi huffed a laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re always spacing out.”

“Hey!” Izuku whined, ignoring Hitoshi’s amused smirk.

It didn’t take long for his classmates to take their seats and give their attention to Aizawa at the front.

“I have an announcement,” he started dryly. “Tomorrow, instead of attending your morning classes, we will be taking a small field trip-” Before the last word even left his mouth, the class began to cheer in excitement.

Aizawa didn’t hesitate to flash his quirk in annoyance. “Quiet,” he barked. The room quickly grew silent once more. “As I was saying, we will be taking an off-campus trip to a nearby training facility. So when you arrive on campus tomorrow, instead of going to homeroom, change into your hero costumes and meet out in the parking lot. I’ll be waiting by the bus that will be taking us. Anyone that isn’t there five minutes past the first bell will be left behind, got it?”

“Yes, sir!” The class answered in unison.

“Good. Now, try not to break Snipe,” he said before leaving the room, but not before throwing one last glance at Izuku. Even when Aizawa disappeared behind the door, trading places with Snipe for their next class, Izuku could practically feel his suspicious glare lingering.

Izuku tried his very best to pay attention in his afternoon classes, but with the threat of Aizawa returning after school to demand answers, it was hard to focus.

-----

Shouta rubbed at his eyes. Today had been incredibly long and draining, not counting the lack of sleep caused by his nightmare. First, there were the media monkeys causing havoc just to speak with All Might who wasn’t even on campus. Second, someone had completely disintegrated the security barrier at U.A.’s gate, in which Nezu swears was either a show of power or a declaration of war, both equally headache-inducing. Finally, Midoriya had a severe panic attack but tried to play it off like it was nothing.

He sighed and leaned back in his desk chair. He already had a gut feeling from the first day of school that Midoriya had something going on with him, so he wasn’t all that surprised to learn that the kid suffered from high anxiety. It was consistent with the signs he had begun to pick up on, such as Midoriya flinching at sudden loud noises and his refusal to make eye contact. But from what he saw today, it was clear that his anxiety was more serious than he originally thought.

What worried him the most was Midoriya’s reluctance to receive help for the self-inflicted scratches on his hands and more than likely his arms. Things like scratching, biting, and hair-pulling were common reactions to panic attacks. But if no one explained this to Midoriya or if he doesn’t have the proper help and support, it would make sense that the kid was ashamed of his actions and saw them as a sign of weakness. Which was a frustratingly normalized mindset that most hero hopefuls had when first starting out in the course.

Every pro hero that Shouta had ever known, including himself, had dealt with some form of mental health issue or another. If it wasn’t something they had dealt with before the start of their career, it was something they picked up while on the job. Panic attacks caused by triggering events or memories of trauma were the most common. Eventually, his students would learn this and hopefully feel more comfortable seeking help when they needed it. Hound Dog was on staff for a reason.

Shouta eyed the clock hanging on the wall of the teacher’s lounge. Afternoon classes were almost over and he planned on catching Midoriya before he left campus. Cementoss was more than likely wrapping up his literature class by now, so Shouta decided he might as well head over early so he could speak with Midoriya about sessions with Hound Dog as well as letting Recovery Girl take a look at his arms.

Another familiar memory of red-rimmed green eyes and silent sniffles played out in his mind. He was getting better at not associating Midoriya with Moth, but the earlier events made it difficult. He knew he slipped up and talked to Midoriya in the same tone of voice he always used with Moth whenever the younger boy was emotionally distressed. He hadn’t even realized what he had done until the words left his mouth.

It felt so natural to speak with Midoriya that way which was odd. Shouta had never been especially soft with any of his students, preferring to treat them like the future pro heroes they’d grow to be. He had a reputation for being overly strict for a reason. But there was something about Midoriya that broke down his walls, the same way Moth had, and it started to worry him.

Shouta sighed wearily. He would have to figure that out later. For now, he needed to make sure Midoriya was okay and that he received proper help. He already promised he wouldn’t fail this kid and he intended to keep that promise.

He arrived outside the classroom door just in time to hear the last bell of the day chime throughout the school. The door to classroom 1-A slid open and his students poured out like water from a broken dam, excitedly chatting away and eager to get home. He scanned over each student closely as they left, trying to spot Midoriya in the small crowd.

It was to no avail. Shouta watched as every single person walked out of the classroom, Cementoss included, but there was no sign of Midoriya. Once the room emptied, Shouta stepped inside and glanced around. There was no one left and no school supplies or backpacks left behind. Brows furrowing in confusion, Shouta walked back to the teacher’s lounge and spotted Cementoss packing up his things for the day.

“Ishiyama,” he called out to the cement hero. Ishiyama looked up from his bag and offered him a smile.

“Ah, good afternoon, Aizawa,” he greeted.

“Was Midoriya Izuku present in your class?” Shouta asked, folding his arms across his chest. Ishiyama tilted his head and chuckled.

“You mean the tiny green-haired boy with the extensive knowledge of Western literature? Yes, he was present the whole time.”

Shouta hesitated. “You…didn’t see him leave, did you?”

The cement hero shook his head. “I did not. But I assure you he attended the class.”

What the hell?

The eraser hero ran a hand down his face. “Right. Thank you.”

Ishiyama smiled. “Have a good rest of your day, Aizawa,” he voiced before exiting the teacher’s lounge.

Standing alone in the room, Shouta tried to wrap his head around the fact that Midoriya had somehow snuck past not only Cementoss but himself as well. Which was…terrifyingly impressive but worrying all the same.

“You’ll make a damn good underground hero one of these days, kid,” he muttered to himself.

Well, there was no use in trying to speak with the kid today. He’d just have to catch Midoriya before their USJ outing.

With one last defeated sigh, Shouta began to pack up his own belongings. He greatly looked forward to the nap he was going to take before petrol.

-----

Nezu sat at the desk in his office, a cup of hot herbal tea in his paw. His eyes scanned over the many small video feeds from the surveillance cameras littered around the campus. It wasn’t an uncommon activity for him, as he rather enjoyed watching his school function from the safety of his office, but after the day’s break-in, he was practically glued to his computer. Whoever disintegrated the gate was not a member of the media and that concerned him greatly.

Someone had threatened the safety of his students and he wouldn’t rest easy until he figured out who.

Flicking through the various camera feed his attention was caught by the most peculiar sight.

Nezu watched in enamored amusement as young Midoriya Izuku cracked open the window of his classroom just enough to squeeze himself through. The boy first dropped his backpack before jumping down and easily landing in a tucked roll onto the ground below. He brushed himself off, picked up his bag, and sprinted to the school gate, seamlessly blending into the crowd of students that were heading home for the day.

Nezu’s smile widened.

“What an interesting boy you are, Midoriya Izuku.”

Chapter Text

Hitoshi:
hey where are you? didnt see you in the changing rooms

Izuku:
I’m sorry! I got to school early. I’m already in my hero costume.

Hitoshi:
cool
didnt answer my question tho

Izuku:
Oh! I’m in the bus.

Hitoshi:
???
no youre not? i’m already outside with aizawa sensei and like half the class. Iida’s yelling about sitting in order or something

Izuku:
No, sorry, I’m INSIDE the bus.

Hitoshi:
wanna elaborate?

Izuku:
Not particularly.
Walk around to the other side of the bus.
…
Do you purposefully use improper punctuation? Autocorrect is a thing.

Hitoshi:
~*dont tell me what to do*~

-----

Izuku had a problem and that problem came in the form of his homeroom teacher. After his poorly timed panic attack, it was clear that Aizawa was now incredibly suspicious of his less than stellar mental health. The hero essentially cornered him and demanded to see his arms, assuming Izuku scratched at them during his attack like he did his hands. If it wasn’t for the saving grace of the school bell and the start of afternoon classes, Izuku would have probably been expelled and shipped off to who knows where. But the issue of Aizawa wanting to “finish their conversation” was still a pressing matter and Izuku had no idea how to dig himself out of that very unfair hole. That meant that until he could figure out a solution, he couldn’t give Aizawa the chance to speak with him alone.

Which was why Izuku found himself getting to campus unreasonably early with the plan of changing into his hero costume and finding someplace to hide until the last possible minute. Hopefully, all without running into Aizawa.

The sun had only just begun to climb its way up into the sky, a bright orange cutting against baby blue in the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t exactly dark out but it wasn’t as bright as the midday sky either, the lack of light had only served to make U.A.’s nearly empty campus all the more spooky. Being on a school’s campus during off-hours had the same feeling as walking down a long, dimly lit hallway or visiting an empty playground masked in thick fog. It came with the strange sensation of unease.

But that could also just be his paranoia talking.

Izuku carefully and quietly slipped through the halls of the main building, hoping that if Aizawa was on campus he would be in the staff room. Thankfully, Izuku found his way to the changing room without incident. Grabbing his hero costume case that was already pre-stored in his locker, he quickly changed out of his school uniform and into his surprisingly comfortable costume. As a bonus to being on campus at an ungodly hour, Izuku didn’t need to change in the stall. It was a small freedom but one he would gladly take.

Tying the laces of his shoes, Izuku internally debated with himself whether or not he should bring his bo staff and rope with him. The rope had less of a chance at being connected back to his Moth persona but the bo staff would be a dead giveaway. He had left it behind during the battle trial but he had no idea what was in store for his class during today's outing. Luckily enough, his bo staff was collapsible and it was meant to attach to the utility strap on his left thigh. Unless he fully extended it, no one would pay it any mind.

Izuku highly doubted he would use it, too terrified of Aizawa becoming even more suspicious, but it wouldn’t hurt to bring it with him just in case.

Pocketing the last of his weapons and placing the now empty costume case back into the locker, Izuku was ready to move on to phase two of his plan: finding someplace to hide where Aizawa wouldn’t find him. The hero didn’t give them any instructions other than to meet him outside by the bus. From what he remembered, the parking lot didn’t exactly have a lot of places to hide, and unless he could magically transform himself into a vehicle to hide in plain sight-

Wait.

Hold on.

-----

Hitoshi sighed as he stood waiting in the parking lot by the bus. Most of his class had already arrived and were conversing among themselves about the field trip, throwing around guesses about what they would be doing. Iida was attempting, and failing, to line everyone up in order based on their class number. Not a single person paid any attention to the class deputy’s instructions and Hitoshi almost felt bad.

Almost.

He bit back a yawn and rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. Why the hell did mornings exist? Honestly, if he ever met the person that invented the idea of early mornings he would fist-fight them on sight. Waking up before noon couldn’t possibly be healthy for the human body.

With an exaggerated exhale, Hitoshi rummaged around in his jumpsuit pocket for his phone. He had sent off a text to Izuku a few minutes ago when he noticed that the short boy wasn’t in the changing room but wasn’t waiting by the bus either. He couldn’t imagine Izuku being late for class, between his near-tangible anxiety and his current record of being one of the first people in the classroom each day.

Izuku had messaged him back, claiming he was already on campus.

Hitoshi quickly scanned the parking lot, wondering if he perhaps just overlooked his tiny counterpart, but no green curls stood out to him.

Izuku then claimed to already be on the bus which wasn’t possible. The bus hadn’t even opened its doors yet.

Wait, what did he mean by inside?

Finally, Izuku told him to walk around to the other side of the bus. Why the hell was he on the other side of the bus for? Was he hiding?

He clearly wasn’t going to be getting any clearer answers from Izuku, so Hitoshi pocketed his phone and followed the directions given to him. But when he rounded the bus there was no one else there.

Hitoshi was about to just call the shorter teen when a metallic clank coming from the side of the bus caught his attention. Hitoshi narrowed his eyes and slowly walked closer to the large vehicle.

Without any more warning, the door to one of the outer storage compartments opened downward, revealing Izuku in his hero costume sitting comfortably inside like it was one of his usual hang-out spots. Knowing Izuku, it was a definite possibility.

“Hi!” the shorter boy chirped like it was totally normal for someone to store themselves beneath a bus. His hood was down, his goggles pushed up into his hair, holding his curly bangs away from his eyes, and his mask hung loosely around his neck. Without anything to cover his face, Hitoshi could see the star-patterned freckles that dusted his cheeks. The only thing that looked out of place on the doe-eyed boy was the deep bruising beneath his eyes like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Hitoshi could, unfortunately, relate.

Izuku tilted his head and scrunched up his nose, looking like an innocent kitten. If looks could kill, the one that adorned Izuku’s face could be lethal if weaponized correctly.

Hopefully, Izuku would never discover the power he could hold over other people just by flashing his emerald eyes and pushing out a wobbly lower lip. The mental image of it alone made Hitoshi’s heart squeeze. Meanwhile, he looked like a walking scarecrow with a coffee addiction.

Fucker.

“Hey, uh, Izuku?”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck?”

Izuku had the nerve to just blink at him.

Rolling his eyes, he expanded upon his question. “Why are you sitting in the bus’s under storage at ass’o clock in the morning?"

“Training,” he replied without missing a beat. Hitoshi raised a brow and gestured for him to explain further. “Well, uh, as you already know, I wanna be an underground hero so I like to get in as much stealth practice as possible.”

“And hiding under a bus is helpful…how, exactly?”

Izuku shrugged. “I wanted to see if I could get past Aizawa-sensei without him noticing me until the last minute.”

Hitoshi scoffed. “You mean you just wanted to continue your expedition of seeing how many small spaces you can cram yourself into.”

Izuku puffed out his cheeks. “That’s not true!”

He smirked and shook his head. “Whatever you say, space cadet.” Hitoshi spared a quick peek at the other side of the bus and noticed that the very last of their classmates were approaching, meaning they would be leaving soon. “We’re about to load up the bus and I doubt Aizawa-sensei would be pleased to see one of his students playing stowaway.”

Hitoshi moved to look back at his friend, expecting him to smile or roll his eyes at his quip, but instead, a look of dread flashed across Izuku’s face before the boy corrected his expression.

Odd.

“Uh, r-right!” Izuku climbed out of the storage compartment and latched the door close. “Do you think Iida was serious about- about the seating arrangements?” Izuku asked with a stutter. A stutter that had been steadily getting better whenever he talked with Hitoshi.

Again, odd.

Hitoshi decided not to push it. Izuku was probably just anxious about being crammed inside a bus with their whole class or nervous about what they would be doing on their field trip.

He half-shrugged a shoulder. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter either way since we’d be sitting next to each other regardless.” Tension visibly melted from the smaller teen’s shoulders.

“Oh, right!”

They appeared on the other side of the bus to join the rest of their class. A few of their peers shot them confused looks but Izuku didn’t notice and Hitoshi didn’t care.

Ignoring Iida’s carefully constructed seating chart—which ultimately proved to be pointless since the bus was an open layout—the class filed onto the bus with noisy chatter. Izuku sat on the right side of the bus on the farthest seat to the front and Hitoshi dutifully sat next to him. Kirishima sat on Hitoshi’s other side followed by Kaminari. Across from them sat Asui, Sero, Jiro, and Yaoyorozu. The rest of the class, including Bakugou, thank god, crowded into the back. Aizawa positioned himself at the front, standing near the door.

“You all made it in time,” Aizawa noted dryly. “Keep it up and maybe you’ll graduate. The purpose of our trip today will be rescue training, accompanied by All Might, myself, and one other hero. We’ll be focusing on natural disasters, shipwrecks, and other scenarios.” Hitoshi could sense the bubbling excitement of his classmates. He couldn’t help but feel a bit excited himself.

“We’ll be there shortly. Try not to break the bus in the meantime,” Aizawa sighed. The bus roared to life and they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

Hitoshi glanced down at Izuku, wanting to ask him who he thought the third hero would be, but he paused when he noticed his friend stiffen next to him and drop his head. Hitoshi furrowed his brows a bit at the sudden change in behavior. It wasn’t abnormal for Izuku to clam up like that, but it was usually caused by something; Bakugou more often than not. Hitoshi trailed his eyes over to his explosive peer, but he was busy yelling threats at Kaminari who was goading him on. Kaminari was either very brave or very stupid. It was yet to be determined.

So, not Bakugou.

He scanned the rest of the bus, looking for anything that could possibly make Izuku so nervous all of a sudden, but no one was even looking their way except-

Hitoshi caught sight of Aizawa who was very clearly glaring at Izuku. Not in anger, but some other emotion he couldn’t quite place. Regardless, Izuku shrunk under their teacher’s glare, his hands nervously messing with the hem of his jacket. Eventually, Aizawa did look away to watch over the rest of his students, but his eyes always flickered back to Izuku.

Okay, triple odd.

He knew Izuku always felt anxious around their teachers for a reason he had yet to understand, but this was different. His friend was acting like a reprimanded child. Did Aizawa scold him or something? When? And for what? The only thing he could think of was when he left Izuku with Aizawa yesterday after his panic attack, but surely their teacher wouldn’t get mad at him for it.

Whatever it was, Izuku’s apprehension would explain why he hid from Aizawa inside the bus’s under storage and tried to play it off like it was stealth training.

There was nothing he could do about it now. He’d try and bring it up later, during lunch or something. In the meantime, Hitoshi leaned over a little until his arm was brushed up against Izuku’s shoulder as a sign of silent support.

The rest of the bus ride was peaceful, otherwise. Well, ignoring Bakugou’s ranting and Iida’s shouts for everyone to act civilized.

Eventually, the bus pulled into the parking lot of a dome-shaped building. It looked like someone had placed a giant bowl upside down.

“Look alive, everyone, we’re here,” Aizawa announced once the bus came to a stop.

As soon as the door swung open, everyone scrambled out of their seats and crowded together in the parking lot. Hitoshi and Izuku waited for everyone else to exit the bus before they eventually followed, not wanting to be stampeded by their overeager classmates. Once everyone was accounted for, Aizawa silently led them into the building through a set of large doors.

No one could stop themselves from gasping once they got a view of what was inside the dome structure. There were rocky mountains and dilapidated buildings on their left, and a large pool of water with an entire ship on their right. Hitoshi was pretty certain he saw a water slide as well. There were also a couple of smaller domes inside, one was red with a fiery pattern and the other was blue with decorative storm clouds painted onto it.

“It looks like a whole ass theme park,” he muttered. He looked over at Izuku who only nodded in response, his mouth slightly agape as he scanned the area with stars in his eyes.

Everyone had been so distracted with their sightseeing that most didn’t notice a new figure walking to the front of the group, standing between them and the stairs. Hitoshi didn’t notice either until Izuku elbowed him in the ribs to get his attention.

“It’s the space hero, Thirteen! The chivalrous pro who has rescued a ton of people from disasters around the world!” Izuku loudly whispered. The biggest smile that Hitoshi had ever seen him make was stretched across his face, pushing his freckles higher onto his cheeks. He bounced on his toes in excitement, like a little kid that was just told they were getting a puppy. It was disgustingly endearing.

“Hello, everyone! I’ve been waiting for you!” Thirteen called in a peppy tone. Whoever wasn’t aware of her presence was certainly aware now and soon, Izuku wasn’t the only one fidgeting in excitement. Uraraka looked like she was about to accidentally make herself float from sheer elation.

“As you can see from behind me, there are numerous areas within the facility that simulate different natural disasters; a shipwreck, a landslide, a fire, a windstorm, etcetera.” Thirteen spread her arms out to gesture to the disaster zones behind her. “I created this training facility to prepare you to deal with the numerous types of disasters you may come across in your hero work. I call it, the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, or USJ for short.”

“Just like Universal Studios Japan!” Kaminari shouted. Kirishima and Ashido nodded enthusiastically at the comparison. Hitoshi snorted and rolled his eyes.

While everyone talked animatedly with one another, Hitoshi noticed Aizawa leaning over to whisper something to Thirteen. The only word he could make out was All Might’s name followed by a look of annoyance on their teacher’s face. Thirteen shook her head and held up three fingers. Aizawa let out a frustrated sigh before turning back to the class.

“As you can see, All Might isn’t here. Due to some…hero duties holding him up, he most likely won’t show up until the end of the training.”

“Aww man,” Ashido whined, “I totally wanted to see him in action!”

"Bummer," Sero sighed.

Aizawa ignored the class’s complaints and pushed on. “There’s no use wasting time waiting for him. So let’s get started.”

“Excellent!” Thirteen exclaimed. “Before we begin, let me say just one thing! Well, maybe two things. Possibly three? Four. Or Five. Anyway-”

The class listened intently as Thirteen gave a speech about how helpful but equally destructive quirks could be. Despite what some people might think, Hitoshi’s quirk wasn’t exactly the deadliest so he only half-listened to the space hero’s speech. Glancing next to him, he could see Izuku’s eyes wander around the facility, most likely tuning out the lecture that was in no way related to him since he was quirkless.

As Thirteen was wrapping up her introduction, Hitoshi felt a sudden shiver down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and the air pressure felt suddenly heavier. Looking over towards Izuku again, it was obvious he had noticed the sudden change in atmosphere as well. His back was straight and his hands were tightly closed into fists as if he were preparing for a fight.

Something was wrong.

-----

Izuku couldn’t help but filter out the rescue hero’s speech, too distracted by all of the different disaster zones. He had to agree with Hitoshi and Kaminari’s comparison, USJ really did look like one giant amusement park and Izuku wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of the place.

Suddenly, his enthusiasm was replaced with coils of dread that twisted in his stomach. The change was so abrupt that he nearly lost his balance. The air filled with static and an urgent sense of wrongness washed over him. Izuku wasn’t a stranger to this feeling as it was an instinct he had developed since living in the red-light district. It was a gut feeling akin to an emergency alarm, screaming at him that something terrible was about to happen.

Without thinking, Izuku grabbed onto Hitoshi’s sleeve without even looking up at the taller teen. He scanned his eyes around the facility with more critical intent, looking for signs of any possible threat.

That was when he saw it.

Nausea gripped him tightly as he saw a small dot form in front of the water fountain that was in the middle of the training facility. The fountain sputtered while the dot grew into a large purple vortex, the air pressure becoming increasingly heavier.

Izuku cringed at the words that unintentionally left his mouth, the panic caused by the unknown threat throwing him back into his vigilante mindset.

“Eraserhead!”

Aizawa’s eyes snapped over to his, the faintest expression of shock painting his features before the hero noticed Izuku was looking somewhere over his shoulder. Following Izuku’s gaze, Aizawa’s entire body stiffened when he caught sight of the swirling vortex. His teacher opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the lights exploding overhead, shards of glass raining down like glittering snow.

The vortex suddenly expanded like a ravenous fire made of black and purple flames and Izuku watched with bated breath as a human hand emerged from within it.

It was a portal. More than likely made from someone’s quirk, but no one that was meant to be on their field trip had any type of quirk like that.

Which meant that this was an invasion.

“Stay together and don’t move! Thirteen, protect the students,” Aizawa commanded, his hand already moving to his capture weapon in preparation for a fight.

“Woah, what’s going on? Has the training started already?” Kirishima asked with hesitance as not just one, but dozens of people poured out from the portal. There was a young man at the center of it all, disembodied hands attached to his limbs and covered his face. Looking at the man only increased Izuku’s feeling of unease. Something about the way he walked, casually strolling among the chaos, made Izuku wonder if he was the leader.

“Stay back!” Aizawa barked sharply, causing Izuku to flinch at his harsh tone. Aizawa pulled on his yellow goggles and Izuku knew that their homeroom teacher was now replaced with pro hero Eraserhead. This was serious. “This is real,” he growled, “those are villains.”

His classmates let out gasps and whispers of concern, panic filling the air. Izuku could feel Hitoshi tense up next to him.

If it weren't for the numerous villain encounters that he’d faced before, Izuku would more than likely be just as nervous. He was still incredibly anxious—of course he was, villains were appearing in droves to presumably attack his class—but just like yesterday during the intruder alarm, Izuku could feel himself detach from reality. His head fogged over with an unnerving calm and he felt like a spectator watching himself and the situation from a distance. The feeling only increased as a giant, birdlike humanoid stepped through the mist and stood tall next to the man covered in hands.

Izuku wasn’t sure how he knew, but something in him told him it wasn’t human, and the thought didn't sit well with him.

“According to the schedule that came into our possession, All Might is supposed to be here,” the portal began speaking. Two misty yellow orbs appeared from the mist.

His eyes, Izuku guessed.

Aizawa tsked. “So you’re the ones that used the press to stage a break-in.” It wasn’t a question.

“Where is he?” the hand-man screeched. “We went through the trouble of bringing so many friends just to meet with him, you know. Yet the symbol of peace isn’t here.” He began to scratch at his neck, the already irritated skin red, and flaking. “Maybe if I kill a few kids, he’ll come out to play.”

Izuku dropped himself into a fighting stance out of instinct.

“I don’t understand, why are there so many villains, and how did they get into a secure U.A. facility?” Kirishima shakily asked.

“That’s right,” Yaomomo stepped forward. “Thirteen, why aren’t the alarms going off?”

“Good question, but I’m not sure,” the space hero calmly responded.

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed. “Is it possible that the entire campus is under attack? Or is this their only target?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Izuku distantly heard himself speak, “because either way, if the alarm sensors aren’t being triggered, then one of the villains must have a quirk that’s masking their presence here or blocking any signal that would alert the main campus.”

“Yeah? Well, they’re idiots for thinking they can get away with attacking U.A.!” Kaminari said with determination.

Todoroki shook his head. “Not quite. They may be fools for believing they can take down a school full of pro heroes, but they thought this out. They deliberately chose to attack here, at an isolated location. They planned this, which means they must have a concrete objective in mind.”

Izuku found himself nodding along with Todoroki’s words.

Aizawa moved to stand at the front of the group. “Thirteen, get everyone out of here and find a way to alert the main campus. Though if they’ve somehow blocked our sensors, then they might be jamming our regular means of communication too,” he said carefully. “Kaminari, try using your quirk to contact the school.”

Not waiting for a response, Aizawa readied himself at the top of the stairs. A surge of panic cut through Izuku’s dissociative haze at the thought of him jumping into the swarm of villains on his own.

“Wait!” he called, “you shouldn’t fight them on your own, there’s too many! Your fighting style is best suited for stealth attacks and one-on-one combat!”

Izuku saw Aizawa hesitate, the hero looking over his shoulder at him with an expression of reluctance. Not in the way that made him look scared, but it was as if Aizawa didn’t want to leave his students behind.

“You can’t be a pro with only one skill set,” Aizawa stated firmly. “I’ll leave it to you Thirteen,” he informed before jumping from the platform, descending down the stairs with his capture weapon whipping around him like an angry snake. Izuku had to stop himself from jumping in after him, but he knew he would only end up getting in the way.

The villains directly at the bottom of the stairs didn’t stand a chance against Eraserhead, and in a matter of seconds, half a dozen of them were knocked out of the fight.

Izuku felt someone tug at his arm.

“Izuku! We have to go!” Hitoshi demanded, pulling Izuku with him as they followed Iida back to the entrance of the USJ.

With one last hesitant glance at his teacher, Izuku turned and ran, following his classmates back to the main doors. They didn’t get far, however, as the man with the portal quirk materialized in their path, using his mist-like body as a blockade. Thirteen came to a screeching halt and gestured for Izuku and his class to do the same.

“There is no escape for you,” came the low voice of the villain. “We are the League of Villains. I know it is impolite, but we decided to invite ourselves into this haven of justice to say hello. And besides, isn’t this a fitting place for All Might, the symbol of peace, to take his last breath?” The villain narrowed his eyes. The fear that radiated from Izuku’s classmates was palpable. “I believe he was supposed to be here today and yet there is no sign of him.”

All Might. Of course they were here for All Might.

The portal villain spread his body wider, arm-like appendages opening wide. “Ah, well, in the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I still have a role to play,” the low voice nearly cackled.

From the corner of his eye, Izuku could see Kacchan and Kirishima ready themselves to pounce at the villain. Izuku wanted to scream at them to stop, to wait until they knew for sure what the villain was capable of, but the words died in his throat.

Before the villain could finish his monologuing, Kirishima and Kacchan leaped into the air with a mix of hardened limbs and sweat-laced explosions. Izuku had to shield his eyes from the cloud of kicked-up dust and smoke that covered the aftermath of the attempted attack.

“Did you think we were just gonna stand around and let you tear this place to shreds?” Kirishima challenged with a smirk. Next to him Kacchan lowered his stance and scowled.

Once the plume of smoke and debris cleared, Izuku was unsurprised to see that the villain wasn’t scathed. Instead, the purple mist only chuckled in amusement, and if he had a visible mouth, Izuku was certain he would be smiling.

“I can see you students live up to your school’s reputation, but you should be more careful, children, otherwise someone might get hurt.” The purple mist morphed into a semblance of a person and Izuku noticed a metal guard that seemed to act as the villain’s neck. “I will scatter you across the facility to meet my comrades…and your death!”

Instinctively, Izuku latched on to Hitoshi’s hand and the taller boy held on just as tight.

The purple mist washed over his class like a dust storm kicked up by strong winds. It was impossible to see anything and the pressure of the air around him felt heavy. Izuku suddenly felt the ground beneath him give way until there was no longer anything solid to keep him upright. He lost his sense of direction with no idea what was up or down without any sense of gravity. It was like being affected by Uraraka’s quirk while blindfolded.

All at once, gravity returned, pulling Izuku down at a stomach-twisting speed. The black mist that disrupted his vision was replaced with an expansive blue. For a disorientating moment, he thought he was falling upward towards the sky only to recognize at the very last second that he was plunging towards a body of water. The realization gave Izuku just enough time to hold his breath before his body hit the surface.

It took Izuku a few seconds to adjust to the impact and a few seconds more to notice that he still held Hitoshi’s hand in his own. Blinking past the current of the water, Hitoshi’s blurry form cut through the gradient blue that surrounded them. He could just barely make out Hitoshi’s urgent hand signal, the teen pointing up to where Izuku figured the surface was. With a nod of his head, they let go of each other’s hand and began to swim upward. Their assent was interrupted by the water shifting violently around them.

Izuku whipped his head in the direction of the water’s movement and froze when he saw the figure of a shark-like man swimming circles around them. Panic caused his muscles to seize and he wanted to inwardly scream at himself to move, to reach for a knife, his bo staff, something. But before he could aimlessly grab for a weapon, a thick rope-like material wrapped around both his waist and Hitoshi’s dragging them upward at a breakneck speed.

As soon as they broke through the surface, Izuku gasped. He hadn’t realized just how badly his lungs were starved for oxygen but now he could feel them burning in his chest as he greedily swallowed air. He could hear Hitoshi next to him do the same between wet, rattling coughs. The rope thing that was around them didn’t stop pulling them up, even after they made it out of the water. With strange precision, Izuku and Hitoshi were swung into the air before they both landed in a damp heap onto some solid surface.

With a few more coughs to clear his lungs, Izuku blearily blinked the water from his eyes.

“Are you two okay?” he heard a voice croak from above him. Once his vision finally cleared, Izuku saw Asui, an expression of concern on her face. Next to her was an equally as wet Kaminari who still seemed a bit dazed. He could hear Hitoshi groan beside him and when he got a good look at his friend, he saw that Hitoshi’s usual messy purple hair was plastered to his face and Izuku was sure he looked similar.

“We-” Izuku coughed to clear the last of the water from his lungs. “We’re okay.”

“That’s good,” Asui sighed with relief. “For a moment I thought I wouldn’t be fast enough to pull all three of you out of the water in time.”

“That was you?” Hitoshi asked, standing on unstable legs. He offered a hand to Izuku who gratefully accepted the help up, his own legs feeling like jelly.

Asui nodded. “I used my tongue to pull you out,” she explained.

So it was her tongue, not a rope that Izuku felt around his waist. He could defiantly see how Asui’s quirk could be useful in water-based rescue situations.

“I was almost fish food before Asui saved me,” Kaminari said with a shudder.

“Please, call me Tsu, ribbit” she corrected politely.

“Uh, right. Well, do we know where we are?” Hitoshi asked looking around. Izuku’s mind was still in a daze, not quite processing anything around him.

“I think we’re in the shipwreck zone,” Tsu answered with a finger under her chin.

“So,” Izuku shook his head in hopes of clearing the fog from his mind, “we’re on the boat, then?” he asked.

“Looks like it,” Hitoshi muttered.

“Okay, so we’re on a boat, but how do we get off?” Kaminari nervously asked.

Tsu looked over the railing of the boat and pointed down towards the water. Izuku had to balance on his toes to see over the railing properly, but when he did, he noticed a dozen villains lurking in the waves.

“I think we need to find a way past those villains first, ribbit” Tsu commented with a tilt of her head.

“Yeah, but how?” Hitoshi questioned, his eyes never leaving the villains.

“Maybe we can ask them nicely?” Kaminari asked with a forced laugh.

While Tsu, Hitoshi, and Kaminari were brainstorming, Izuku’s own mind raced as he analyzed the situation.

There were around twelve villains that Izuku could see, though some may also be hidden beneath the water’s surface. The shore was too far to swim to without the risk of being caught, especially since it seemed that most of the villains had a quirk suited for water. When it came to Izuku and his classmates, Tsu was the only one that was at an advantage in their current situation. Hitoshi could perhaps brainwash a few of the villains but not all of them at once and Kaminari’s electric quirk would be ill-suited for water-based scenarios unless…

“Hey, Kaminari?” Izuku looked away from the water and towards the blond teen. “When you use your quirk, does the electricity cover your entire body or can you focus your output into a conductive source?”

Kaminari blinked. “Uh…depends on the number of volts I use, and how big of a source are we talking?”

“What’s your maximum wattage limit?”

“About a million volts,” he answered while rubbing the back of his neck. “Any more than that and I kinda short circuit my brain.”

Izuku nodded. “No, that should be enough.”

“Enough for what?” Hitoshi interjected.

Izuku looked between each of his classmates. “I have an idea.”

-----

“This is a terrible idea!” Kaminari whined as he clutched Izuku’s extended bo staff with shaking hands. Tied around his waist was Izuku’s outer jacket that worked as a barrier between Kaminari and Tsu’s tongue which was currently wrapped around his middle. “Why do I have to be shark-bait?!”

“Because you’re the only one that can pull this off,” Hitoshi answered dryly.

“But what if I also electrocute Tsu?”

Izuku shook his head. “You won't. My jacket is rubber lined so Tsu’s tongue will be protected just in case.”

“Don’t worry Kaminari,” Tsu croaked, “I trust you.”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should put that trust somewhere else,” Kaminari grumbled.

Tsu decided to ignore Kaminari’s last protest as she lifted him above the railing and began lowering him towards the water. Hitoshi and Izuku stood by Tsu’s side, their respected weapons at the ready just in case they needed to act as backup.

The plan was simple: Once Kaminari was close to the water, lowered down safely by Tsu, he would use Izuku’s bo staff—which was made of highly conductive metal seeing as Izuku eventually wanted to turn it into a giant taser of sorts—as an output source for his electricity. By sticking one end of the bo staff into the water and directing his electricity through the metal, in theory, Kaminari would be able to electrocute the villains without having to put himself at risk. There was a definite chance of the plan not working as intended, seeing as Izuku didn’t have the best knowledge of how electricity worked, but Kaminari assured him that water was conductive and if he produced enough volts he’d be able to fry just about anything.

Izuku may or may not have gotten the idea by thinking of Kaminari as a toaster in a very big bathtub.

Once Kaminari reached the water, the villains moved back a bit, clearly hesitant. It only then occurred to Izuku that the villains may not know exactly what their quirks were and were being cautious. Their reluctance to climb onto the ship and attack them made more sense if that was the case. It would also explain why the man with the portal quirk was so eager to scatter his class. Whatever the reason, it worked in Izuku’s favor, buying him and his classmates more time to come up with a plan and escape.

And as it turned out, Kaminari made for an excellent toaster.

As soon as he plunged one end of the bo staff into the water, Kaminari focused his quirk as best as he could through the metal and into the water, frying most of the villains as well as his brain. The body of water was too big to be too conductive, but it worked well enough. The villains shrieked in agony before either fleeing or passing out, their bodies bobbing on the surface like a bunch of violent bath toys.

Tsu lifted Kaminari out of the water and gently placed him back onto the boat. A delirious laugh and a thumbs-up was his only response.

Hitoshi let out a stressed exhale. “God, I hope we didn’t just kill a bunch of people,” he muttered.

“Doubtful,” Tsu said, pointing to where the villains were floating on the water’s surface, “Look. I can still see them breathing and some of them are even waking up already, ribbit.”

“Which means we need to find a way off of this boat, and fast,” Izuku voiced anxiously while taking back his bo staff and collapsing it. “But how?”

Tsu hummed in thought. “I suppose I can carry you all through the water.”

Hitoshi looked uncertain. “Carry all three of us? How the hell would that work?”

“The same way I got you out of the water in the first place, ribbit. I’ll just wrap you in my tongue and swim to shore. I’m a fast swimmer.”

“Won’t we be too heavy?” Izuku asked.

Hitoshi scoffed. “Izuku, you weigh like four pounds soaking wet, I don’t think Tsu will have any issues carrying you,” the taller teen retorted. Izuku stuck his tongue out at him but Hitoshi ignored it. “Anyway, Kaminari is dead weight at the moment, are you sure you can handle it? It’s still possible that there are more villains in the water somewhere.”

Tsu nodded. “It’s a risk I think I’m willing to take.”

“Alright, well, I guess it’s worth a shot,” Hitoshi said with a shrug.

Izuku reached into his utility belt and pulled out a few small knives. “Here, I think we should each have some kind of weapon ready just in case there are more villains waiting nearby.”

Tsu shook her head. “You and Hitoshi should carry one but I need to use both of my hands to swim.”

Hitoshi sighed, taking one of the knives. “Alright, well, if we’re doing this we better get going while we still have a chance.”

With a firm nod, Tsu wrapped her tongue around Hitoshi, Izuku, and a barely conscious Kaminari. Izuku gripped tightly to the knife in his hand, and with one last determined look shared between them, Tsu pulled them up past the railing and jumped into the water with a splash. Izuku tried his best to keep his eyes open beneath the water, but he greatly underestimated how fast of a swimmer Tsu was, and the force of the current she was making caused him to squeeze his eyes close.

It took only seconds until they breached the water’s surface again and by then they were practically at the shoreline. Tsu released them from her tongue so they could wade through the shallows on their own. Hitoshi ended up supporting Kaminari’s weight, though it seemed that their electric peer was slowly coming out of his stupor.

“Thanks, Tsu,” Izuku said, flashing her a small smile.

“No problem, Midoriya,” she smiled back, though it was clear that there was still plenty of anxiety behind her calm facade.

“Alright, we’re off the boat and nearly to the shore, so, now what?” Hitoshi asked while shifting Kaminari to lean against his side.

“We should probably head back to the exit, ribbit,” Tsu supplied.

Izuku chewed at his bottom lip, the familiar coil of dread twisting in his stomach. If they were cast out to the shipwreck zone then their other classmates were probably scattered all across the facility and who knew how many villains were lurking in the shadows? What if they were in trouble and needed help?

Another pang of panic made Izuku’s heart leap in his chest. If the villain with the portal quirk warped away his classmates as they warped away him, Hitoshi, Kaminari, and Tsu, then it was likely that his classmates were in small groups as well.

But Aizawa was completely alone in the middle of the hoard, facing off not only dozens of villains but possibly that bird monster too.

Izuku winced when he bit harder at his bottom lip. He needed to do something, whether it was helping his classmates or helping his teacher, but he couldn’t just hide and wait for a rescue that might not even come in time. If any one of them died when he could have done something then he would never forgive himself.

With a shaky breath, he turned to his classmates. “You three can head back to the exit if you want, but…but I need to see if there’s some way I can help.”

Tsu croaked in surprise. “Wait a minute, Midoriya, is that really such a good idea? Shouldn’t we find a way to get help or wait until the pros show up?

Izuku shook his head and tried to keep his voice from wavering in fear. “You guys can, but Aizawa-sensei is fighting all those villains alone and I don’t know how much longer he can hold out. If there’s a way I can lighten some of the load or cause a distraction to buy him more time than I need to try,” he said with conviction.

Still balancing Kaminari on his side, Hitoshi reached out and grabbed Izuku’s arm, his brows knitted together in a scowl.

“Don’t be an idiot! You saw how Aizawa was taking down those villains earlier, I’m sure he’s fine. But unlike him, we aren’t seasoned pros and if you run head-first into a swarm of villains you’ll just get yourself killed!” Hitoshi warned.

Izuku shook away his grasp, anger and anxiety mixing in his blood. “Who cares?” he hissed. “I can’t just sit back and watch him die because I’m too scared to do anything!”

“And I can’t just sit back and watch you die either, you fucking moron!” Hitoshi snapped.

“Then you don’t have to watch!” Izuku snarled before turning away trudging towards the shore where he could distantly make out the commotion on the plaza. He heard his classmates shuffle behind him but he ignored them and kept his eyes focused on the hoard of villains that circled his teacher. Aizawa was still standing strong against the criminals, but as Izuku got closer, he could see his teacher’s movements begin to slow. Aizawa’s chest heaved with exhaustion but there were still dozens of villains boxing him in.

Izuku stopped once he reached the shoreline and lowered himself into a crouch. He needed to analyze the situation before he jumped in.

There were still more than two dozen villains left, not including the hand-guy, the portal villain, and the bird-thing. If Izuku could create some sort of distraction to draw some of the attention away from Aizawa, then his teacher would have a moment to breathe. Looking more closely at the criminals, Izuku figured that most of them were common street thugs that he could more than likely take on if he needed to.

It was the leader of the group and his weird monster pet that he needed to watch out for. But if he acted quick enough, then-

Izuku bit back a startled cry when he felt someone pull on the collar of his costume. Izuku spun on his heel and lifted the knife that was still gripped tightly in his hand with the intention to strike, but a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Izuku,” Hitoshi called quietly, still holding on to the back of his shirt.

Izuku startled. “Hitoshi?”

“Yes, now put down the knife.” Izuku sheepishly lowered his weapon but he still held onto it with white knuckles.

“What are you doing? And where’s Kaminari?” Izuku whispered urgently. Hitoshi gestured behind them with a nod of his head.

“Tsu is helping Kaminari back to the entrance,” he explained, “and I’m here to drag you back with us.”

“No, you won’t,” he argued. “Aizawa-sensei is getting tired and he needs help.”

Hitoshi smacked Izuku upside the head, causing his teeth to snap together with a 'clack'. “He needs the help of pros, not us.”

Izuku rubbed the spot where Hitoshi hit him and glowered at the teen. “What pros? Look around, Hitoshi! We’re all he has right now!”

Hitoshi cursed under his breath. “Izuku, you can’t just-”

A loud laugh cut through their bickering and they both turned towards the plaza just in time to see the hand-guy holding Aizawa close to him, one hand on his elbow, and a twisted smile stretched across his dry lips. The manic laughter was loud and unsettling but what was even worse was the cry of pain that tore through their teacher’s throat as his elbow began to crumble away. Izuku gasped sharply at the sight.

Aizawa managed to break free from the villain's grasp, but the flesh around his elbow was disintegrated and blood dripped sluggishly down his arm.

“By the way, Eraserhead,” the hand-villain cackled, his red eyes lit with amusement, “I’m not the final boss.” With a snap of his fingers, the bird monster stepped forward with earth-shaking stomps. “He is.”

The bird-creature opened its teeth-filled beak and let out a deafening screech, the sound of it reverberating through their very bones. It took one long look at Aizawa before it lunged at him with frightening speed.

But as fast as the creature was, time seemed to slow down for Izuku. Every movement around him dragged on, forcing him to take in every detail as if the world wanted him to savor his fear, to memorize the hand-villain’s smile that reflected nothing but blood-lust.

It was as if the universe wanted Izuku to watch his teacher die at the hands of the grotesque beast that held no sign of life in its bulging eyes.

Soundless tears trailed past his lashes, obscured by his red goggles so that no one but him knew that the glass pillars that held him together were beginning to shatter in spider-web cracks.

The world had been cruel to Izuku, it had doused his already dying flame with all the water in the ocean, the oxygen replaced with nothing but cold waves of pain and grief yet it still demanded that he try and breath through it all.

Then Aizawa came along and tried to relight his flame, wasting hundreds of matches on a candle drowned by the sea, but the hero never wavered, never stopped trying even when all of the others in his life had given up years ago.

The universe had taken so much from Izuku, but he would be damned if he let it take away Aizawa too. Because the hero deserved to be there, deserved to be alive, deserved to have his own flame grow into a forest fire, even if it cost Izuku his life.

So Izuku ran forward.

He lept out of the water and onto the shore, ignoring Hitoshi’s sounds of protest, and barreled towards the monster that threatened to snuff out Aizawa’s fire. His legs pushed him closer, faster, until the world around him became nothing but a blur of shapes and colors; until he stood directly between the creature and his hero.

The monster didn’t stop, it didn’t slow down, still lunging forward and snapping its gaping maw.

It was hardly more than three feet away now, its bulking arms outstretched, its dead eyes locked onto Izuku like a predator staring down its prey. He could hear Aizawa shout something from behind him but the words were muffled by the blood pounding in his temples.

Izuku knew he was going to die before he ever reached adulthood. He had always known, the threat of it so familiar it was like staring at his own face in the mirror, an integral part of him that could never be separated. The thought of it stopped scaring him a long time ago, and now it was nothing more than another feature of himself.

So with the resignation of his own demise, Izuku bared his teeth and stood his ground.

If he was going to die, he might as well die fighting.

Chapter Text

Villains had infiltrated the USJ and of course, it had to be on the day that All Might decided to slack off on his teaching responsibilities.

Fuck.

Shouta gritted his teeth and readied himself at the top of the stairs, placing himself between his students and the thugs below. This was not how he imagined the day would go, but when was life ever kind to him? If the big buffoon of a number one hero actually had the decency to show up and do his damn job, then Shouta would have been able to prioritize getting his students out to safety instead of preparing himself to jump into a swarm of villains just to buy the kids some time to escape.

He took a steadying breath. Shouta hated the sacrificing-hero mindset that was so normalized among hero hopefuls and pros alike; a dead hero was a worthless hero. But in this line of work, there were times when sacrifice was unavoidable and Shouta would gladly hand over his life if it meant protecting his students. He knew that what he was about to do was near suicide, he fully understood that the chance of coming out of this unscathed was null, but that was a decision he had already made when he first agreed to be 1-A’s homeroom teacher. At U.A., being a teacher meant so much more than just giving students your time— it meant giving them your life if necessary.

Shouta grabbed onto his capture weapon and braced himself for the inevitable. He refused to lose any more goddamn kids.

“Wait!” A panicked voice made him hesitate. “you shouldn’t fight them on your own, there’s too many! Your fighting style is best suited for stealth attacks and one-on-one combat!”

Shouta looked over his shoulder and saw Midoriya, body tense and hands curled tightly into fists. He couldn’t see the boy’s eyes as they were hidden behind red goggles, but he was sure they were wide with panic. Shouta faltered. The way that Midoriya called after him wasn’t out of fear of the villains. No, Midoriya looked at him the same way that Hizashi and Nemuri did whenever he had to leave for a particularly dangerous mission, a silent plea to come back safely. And now his student was giving him that very same look, spoke in that very same worried tone.

Midoriya wasn’t scared of the villains, he was scared that Shouta wouldn’t make it back alive.

The fact that his young student, who wasn’t even a week into high school yet, was more worried for Shouta than his own safety was something he honestly didn’t know how to process. That, coupled with the moment earlier when Midoriya had shouted his hero name, seemingly out of instinct, caused a strange feeling of familiarity to buzz in his chest.

He pushed it down. There was no time to try and unpack all of that. His students were in danger and Shouta needed to buy them as much time as possible to either get help or escape. So, with a steady voice that he hoped was reassuring, he made some comment about good heroes having more than one trick before jumping straight into the jaws of the awaiting beast below.

He had a job to do.

-----

He had already lost count of how many villains he had taken down. His knuckles were split and bloody, having broken dozens of noses, and there was a deep gash beneath his right eye caused by some villain with a knife quirk. But every time he knocked out a criminal, another one took their place and Shouta was starting to feel the exhaustion seep into his bones. It didn’t help that he managed to lose sight of the fucker with the teleportation quirk. He could only hope that Thirteen would be able to stop the villain before it touched any of his students.

“You’re getting distracted, Eraserhead!”

Shouta swirled around just in time to avoid the hand-villain’s grasp. He jumped back to give himself some distance.

“Final boss,” Shouta muttered. If he was right, this guy was the one pulling the strings of the operation. The mist villain and all of the thugs seemed to take orders from him directly. If he could take down the strange man-child then he might be able to turn the tides on the attack.

Without giving the villain any more time to move, Shouta darted forward, his quirk activated, and threw one end of his capture scarf towards the criminal’s direction. The villain caught the end of the scarf easily and ran to meet Shouta halfway with an outstretched hand. Shouta pulled his scarf taut, hoping to throw the villain off balance before aiming an elbow in the direction of his covered face, but the villain was just as quick.

The villain caught Shouta’s elbow with one hand and held his scarf with the other causing them both to come to a standstill. The hand-villain cackled dryly, an eerie smile splitting his lips.

“You know, you have a pretty cool quirk, Eraserhead, but you have a tell. It’s your hair; it falls whenever your quirk is no longer activated. Don’t get too ahead of yourself now, you might just fall apart, and wouldn’t that be a shame?”

Shouta tried to ignore the blinding sting of his dry eyes, he tried to stop his eyelids from closing, but the burning sensation was overwhelming and he had no choice but to blink.

He didn’t realize how badly he would regret that decision.

The agonizing pain that spread across his elbow was instantaneous. It felt like someone had lit his joint on fire as he could feel the skin give way to torn muscle and bone. He couldn’t help the scream of pain that pushed past his lips but it was overshadowed by the villain's manic laughter.

Shouta managed to pull away from the criminal’s hold. He didn’t bother to look at his elbow, all that mattered was that his right arm was completely useless.

“By the way, Eraserhead,” the villain said with amusement, “I’m not the final boss.” The villain snapped his fingers like he was calling a pet and the lumbering bird creature from earlier came to attention. “He is.”

There was no time to move and Shouta could hardly think past the pain in his arm. The monster let out a screech that sounded like metal being dragged against stone before it lunged at him with frighting speed. Shouta bared his teeth and held his breath, fully expecting to be knocked over by the sheer size of the thing.

But the blow never came.

With abject horror, Shouta saw a flash of green dart between him and the creature.

Shouta paled. “No, Midoriya!” Without thinking, he ran forward, hoping to reach his student before the monster did. When did Midoriya get down here and what the hell was he thinking?

His brain supplied him with visions of Midoriya’s body, bloody and broken beneath the creature. He urged his legs to move faster. He couldn’t lose his student.

He couldn’t lose another kid.

But it didn’t matter, because once again he wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t fucking fast enough to stop the hulking creature from grabbing Midoriya by the arm and flinging him towards the ground like a discarded toy, a dull thud as his body hit the ground followed by a sharp snap of something breaking. Shouta wanted to run to his student, to check his pulse, to just make sure the kid was still breathing, but the monster was already on the move again and once more he was the target.

Shouta dodged a large fist just in time, although the force of the momentum knocked him back. He was about to move again, to draw the creature away from his fallen student until he noticed Midoriya was no longer on the ground. Instead, Midoriya had somehow gotten up and was now sneaking behind the bird-like beast. Shouta was instantly relieved to see the kid standing but he equally wanted to shout at him to run. The words of warning died on his lips as soon as Midoriya threw something at the creature, nicking it in the back of the head. The monster roared in annoyance and turned back to face Midoriya once again.

“Leave him alone,” Midoriya growled, his voice trembling with fear.

The beast didn’t hesitate to dive after Midoriya again, but this time Shouta was nowhere close enough to do anything. He felt like a spectator to some fucked up wrestling match. Midoriya was going to die. His student was going to be brutally murdered by the hands of a literal monster and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do to stop it.

-----

Izuku needed to lure the creature away from Aizawa. He had hoped to get its attention and have it chase him but when the beast smashed him into the ground he was pretty sure something in his leg had broken. He wasn’t sure what and he really didn’t feel like looking, not when three thousand pounds of muscle and teeth was making another lunge at him. So he held tightly to the knife that was mercifully still in his hand and prepared to take it head-on. He was able to locate at least a couple of possible weak spots, although reaching them would be difficult.

But he never got the chance.

Suddenly and harshly, he was shoved out of the way, landing on the ground a good few feet from where he stood. It took a few moments but when he blinked his eyes to clear his disorientated vision, Izuku swiveled his head to where the creature was and he froze. He had thought the monster was responsible for pushing him aside but what he saw was so much worse.

Hitoshi was held in the monster’s tight grasp and was lifted into the air by his arm. With the slightest squeeze, he heard the bones in his friend’s arm snap like brittle twigs. Hitoshi screamed in agony, limply kicking at the monster whenever he could.

“Hitoshi!” Izuku yelled, his voice strained.

Tears escaped Hitoshi’s eyes as he threw a glance towards Izuku. “Get- get out of here!” he demanded through pain-laced words.

From the corner of his vision, he saw Aizawa attempting to run in their direction but he was stopped by a vortex of purple.

“Apologies, Shigaraki Tomura,” the mist villain greeted lowly, “Thirteen is incapacitated but one of the students has escaped. It is only a matter of time before more heroes arrive.”

The hand-villain, Shigaraki, let out an irritated hiss. He began to scratch at his already raw throat. “Kurogiri, if you weren’t our means of escape I would disintegrate you until every one of your atoms turned into dust,” he threatened. “This means it’s game over, back to the title screen. There’s no way we can take on a whole slew of pros.” Shigaraki began stomping his feet. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

“What would you like to do?” Kurogiri asked obediently.

Shigaraki whined, “we need to leave. But first,” his eyes moved over to the creature that still held Hitoshi up by his now broken arm. Izuku could see Hitoshi trying to keep himself together through the pain. “Let’s break the Symbol of Peace by killing some of these brats. Nomu!”

The monster shrieked before lifting Hitoshi higher and throwing him to the ground much harder than he had with Izuku, his body hitting the floor with unnatural force and twisted limbs.

“Hitoshi!” Izuku screamed again, tears springing in his eyes and clouding his vision.

No, no, no, please!

Hitoshi’s crumpled body lay in an unmoving heap as the dust settled around him. Izuku stood up, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg, and tried to run towards his friend but the creature was faster. Izuku only barely managed to avoid its fist by diving between its legs. The monster was quick to turn around and reach for him again, and this time, Izuku grabbed onto its bulky arms instead of dodging it, holding onto the thing with all of his strength.

“Midoriya!” He could hear Aizawa call to him but he tuned it out. He tuned everything out. His only focus now was to kill the beast that hurt his friend.

The creature roared again and swung its arms up, trying to dislodge him but Izuku held on tight and waited for an opening. Once he was lifted above its head, Izuku let go, dropping onto the thing’s shoulders. It thrashed around, the world becoming a blur as he focused on staying stable. Despite the pain in his leg he wrapped both legs around the creature's neck for balance and jammed the knife he held into its exposed eye.

Izuku tried not to gag at the squelching sound his knife made as it dug into the creature’s eye and brain matter, warm blood rushing past his hand. The monster thundered in what Izuku hoped was pain and its thrashing only worsened. Without removing his knife, Izuku reached into his utility belt for another and stabbed it through its other eye. A booming roar was his only warning before he was violently thrown off. He landed hard on his back, the air escaping his body from the impact.

“No! You insolent fucking brat you blinded my Nomu!” Shigaraki seethed. Izuku’s lungs shuttered as they tried to refill with air, each breath caused a dull pain in his ribs, but he eventually managed to sit up again. Looking back at the villains, Izuku could see Shigaraki throw an honest to god tantrum while the creature, his ‘Nomu’, blindly flailed around. “It’s supposed to have a regeneration quirk, why isn’t it healing?!”

“I apologize, Tomura, but eyes and brains are much more delicate than the rest of body, and this Nomu is merely a prototype,” Kurogiri explained. Izuku couldn’t care less about whatever the hell the monster was or what it could do, Hitoshi still hadn’t moved and he needed to know his friend was okay.

Izuku crawled on his hands and knees until he was at Hitoshi’s side. He tore off his already broken goggles, discarding them somewhere behind him, and gently cradled Hitoshi’s head in his lap. With shaky movements, Izuku pressed his fingers against the underside of Hitoshi’s jaw, searching for a pulse.

Izuku could have cried when he felt the slow but steady beating beneath his fingertips. Hitoshi was alive. Izuku folded himself over his friend, the tears that welled up earlier dropping onto Hitoshi’s cheeks. His breath froze in his lungs even though he wanted to wail.

Hitoshi was alive, but he was hurt. He was badly hurt and it was all Izuku’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, his voice scratchy with strain. Hitoshi had tried to stop him, he tried to take Izuku with him to the exit but he refused to go. And because Izuku wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, Hitoshi had to save him and now he was hurt. What kind of hero hurt their friends?

Izuku was so lost in his own mind he never heard the doors to the USJ slam open, he never saw All Might fight the blind Nomu, he never saw Kacchan, Todoroki, and Kirishima restrain Kurogiri, and he never saw Snipe shoot Shigaraki in the legs before the villains managed to escape.

It didn’t matter, none of it mattered, because Hitoshi was still bleeding in his lap and that meant Izuku failed. He failed as a hero and he failed as a friend.

A gentle hand wrapped around his upper arm and tried to pull him up, but he refused. He snarled some incoherent words before wrenching his arm back to hold Hitoshi more securely.

The hand returned, but this time it held onto him more firmly.

“Midoriya.” Oh, it was Aizawa’s voice. “Kid, the paramedics are here.” Izuku hummed to acknowledge he heard him, even though Aizawa sounded so distant. “I know you’re worried about Shinsou but they can’t help him unless you let go.”

Izuku shook his head, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks and falling from his chin. If he let go then Hitoshi would die. He would die and it would be all his fault.

“Shinsou will be fine once he receives medical attention, and none of this was your fault, Midoriya,” Aizawa said resolutely.

Ah, he must have spoken out loud. It didn’t matter because Aizawa was wrong. It was all his fault and no amount of sugar-coating would change that fact.

Izuku barely registered when the paramedics inched closer. Aizawa, more adamantly this time, pulled Izuku up by his bicep and had to all but drag him away from his unconscious friend who was now being loaded onto a stretcher and carried away.

He wanted to scream after Hitoshi but the words caught in his throat, replaced instead by a choked sob. Aizawa still held on to his arm, more to balance Izuku than anything. Once Hitoshi was safely taken out of the building, another paramedic approached them.

“Sir, you’re their homeroom teacher, correct?” she asked.

Aizawa nodded. “I am. Please, how are the rest of my students?”

“The good news is that no one else is seriously injured other than Shinsou Hitoshi and pro hero Thirteen. The rest are only dealing with some scrapes, bruises, and quirk exhaustion. We have Recovery Girl already on-site to heal anything that doesn’t require hospitalization.”

His teacher let out a sigh of deep relief and when Izuku looked up at him through blurred vision, the man looked like he had aged ten years.

“Thank god. The bad news?”

The paramedic looked a bit sheepish. “You can take a minute to speak with your students if you need, but looking at that elbow of yours, you’ll more than likely require medical assistance outside of Recovery Girl’s current skill set,” she explained.

Izuku could see the disdain that planted itself in a scowl across Aizawa’s face. “Fine. But first, please see to my student here,” he said, pulling Izuku forward a bit.

“Oh! Is this another one of your students? He just looks a bit young to be a hero student. My apologies, can I get your name, sweety?” She asked with a tone surely saved for scared toddlers. If Izuku was in the right headspace he would have been offended.

“Midoriya Izuku,” he mumbled.

“Great. Are you in pain at all, Midoriya?”

Izuku was about to wave her off but Aizawa’s piercing glare and the fact that he still held on to Izuku’s arm made him inwardly flinch.

“Oh, um. Just my- just my left leg, I think,” he stuttered out. The paramedic dropped into a crouch to examine his left leg, gently prodding at it with stable hands. Izuku bit back a hiss of pain when she moved it.

“Hmm, from what I can see, it looks like you fractured your tibia pretty good. I wager it’s a clean break, nothing that Recovery Girl’s quirk can’t heal! Your knee looks a bit swollen too but that’s to be expected. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

Izuku quickly shook his head. He hurt everywhere but no one else needed to know that. Izuku pointedly ignored the doubtful look Aizawa gave him.

“Okay then! Why don’t you lean on me and I’ll help you over to where the rest of your class is being treated so your teacher can get the help he needs, too.” She said in a tone that was far too peppy for the situation they were in.

Aizawa, almost reluctantly, let him go so Izuku could thread his arm through the paramedic’s. She helped him over to his own stretcher where she and another paramedic carried him up the stairs and out of the building. Once the dome’s ceiling was replaced with blue sky, Izuku felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. They couldn’t have been inside the USJ for more than an hour but it felt like days.

The paramedics settled him beside an ambulance where Recovery Girl was waiting alongside Uraraka.

“Midoriya! Oh my gosh, are you okay?!” She fretted, her hands hovering above him like she was scared he would break under the lightest touch, and honestly, he thought he would too.

Instead, he flashed her a fake smile and waved off her concern. “I’m totally fine! Sorry to worry you.”

Next to them, Recovery Girl tsked. “I don’t believe a broken leg, a dislocated knee, and more than likely bruised ribs are what constitutes as ‘totally fine',” she reprimanded. “You’re lucky that you weren’t any more injured than this, young man.”

Uraraka blanched. “You can heal him, right?”

“Of course I can heal him! What am I, the school janitor?” She snapped before leaning over and placing a kiss on Izuku’s forehead. A new, yet much stronger wave of exhaustion hit him like a bullet train, his eyelids suddenly feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds. “Now, you get some rest, I-”

Izuku shook his head as he sluggishly sat up. “No, it’s okay. I’m- I uh, I want to see Hitoshi. And what about Aizawa-sensei?”

Recovery Girl sighed. “Your mule of a homeroom teacher was finally ushered off to the hospital and your classmate is more than likely already there getting treated for his own injuries. They’ll both be fine, now-”

“What hospital?” he cut her off.

She leveled him with an icy glare. “The one I’m going to put you in if you keep interrupting me!”

Izuku flushed with guilt. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Look, young man, if you want to visit your friend, I won’t stop you, but at least rest up a bit first in the school’s infirmary. You’ll also need to give your statement to the detective before you go.”

“Detective?”

Uraraka nodded. “Yeah! His name is detective Tsukauchi, I think?” Izuku paled. “He’s super nice! He just asked us some simple questions about what happened, nothing major.”

“Ah, right, um, okay. I think I’ll take that infirmary bed then,” Izuku said, stumbling over his words. Recovery Girl smiled.

“Good. Lay back on the stretcher and I’ll have the paramedics carry you in. Sleep for as long as you need, I’ll call the detective whenever you wake up, alright, deary?” Recovery Girl instructed with a sickly sweet tone, a complete contrast to how she spoke earlier.

Izuku numbly nodded his head and laid back down, trying to ignore the way everything around him spun at an angle. He hadn’t even realized that he closed his eyes until the soft embrace of sleep threatened to pull him under.

“I hope you feel better soon, Midoriya,” he could faintly hear Uraraka say to him before his ears filled with cotton and he was lulled into a sweet unconsciousness.

Distantly, Izuku hoped that he never woke up.

Chapter Text

Izuku groaned as he stirred from sleep, the pain in his head and the throbbing ache in his body overpowered his exhaustion. His leg and ribs were especially sore but it was an ache similar to that of overworked muscles. His eyes fluttered open only to tightly snap shut again, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the room. He gave himself a few moments to adjust to the orange glow behind his eyelids before he tried again. Once he could properly focus his vision Izuku noticed that he was in some sort of small medical room.

U.A.’s infirmary, his mind supplied him as he noticed the multiple posters on the wall with U.A.'s school logo.

Izuku wracked his brain, trying to piece together the last thing he could remember, something that would explain why he woke up alone in U.A.’s infirmary of all places, but his brain was foggy, full of indistinguishable emotions and half-formed thoughts. He looks down at his body, trying to figure out why it ached so much, and noticed that he was in his hero costume sans his jacket, goggles, and face mask.

Suddenly, the memory of the morning’s events slammed into him, leaving him nearly breathless. The USJ, villains infiltrating the facility through a portal, escaping the shipwreck zone, seeing Aizawa get injured, the hand-villain, the bird monster with jagged teeth, Hitoshi shoving him out of the way-

Hitoshi.

Hitoshi.

With a sharp gasp of pain, Izuku bolted upright in the bed. He ignored the way his body protested his movements as memories of Hitoshi’s bloody body and agonized screams filled his head. He remembered the sickening crunch of the bones in his friend’s arm as the Nomu squeezed it like a dried twig before throwing him to the ground with disinterest.

Izuku doubled over when a sudden sharp twisting pain spread through his chest, his lungs burning as they fought for air. A sob caught in his throat and his mouth opened in a silent scream. It felt as if his heart would crack open his ribs with its erratic beating and he could feel himself choking on his own tears, making it even harder to breathe than it already was. He was more aware, this time, that what he was feeling was the beginning of a panic attack and not a heart attack, but it hurt all the same. And even though he knew what it was, his body refused to listen to reason, and the thump thump thump of his heart continued to ricochet off his bones.

It was fine.

He deserved it. He deserved every ounce of pain the world could give him. While he was here, safe in U.A.’s infirmary, Hitoshi had to be taken to the hospital to have his injuries treated all because Izuku was too weak, too useless to help his friend.

After what felt like hours of being unable to breathe, a guttural sob finally tore through his throat, and with it, a new wave of hot, salty tears. His chest heaved with the strain of it all and his body was shaking so violently it made his teeth chatter.

It was his fault. It was all his fault. Aizawa got hurt because he wasn’t fast enough to help. Hitoshi almost died because he had to push Izuku out of the way.

Izuku pressed his palms against his eyes, a starburst of colors erupted behind his lids when he pressed harder.

All Might was right. He was nothing but a burden on the battlefield. What was he thinking, trying to be a hero? How could someone as worthless as him ever be a hero to anyone? How could he hope to save anyone when he couldn’t even save himself?

Maybe because he wasn’t worth saving.

Maybe he should have let himself get crushed by the Nomu.

Maybe he should have killed himself all those months ago.

Izuku drew in ragged breaths, his throat raw and his head pounding.

He still could.

He could go home, he could sit in the comfort of his futon and draw a line down each arm with a razor blade. He could let the bite of cold metal sink into his flesh until the only thing he felt was lightheaded bliss before death claimed him once and for all.

Izuku imagined the scene, crimson welling up in fresh cuts before spilling over, bone-deep exhaustion that would force his eyes close, a feeling of peace as he drifted off for the last time.

It sounded so comforting, like the idea of falling into a soft bed after a long day, he craved it. Just the thought of it helped him breathe easier, his heart slowing down as it settled back into a steady rhythm.

He couldn’t be a hero. But he could open up a spot for someone else in the hero course, someone who actually deserved it. Maybe he’ll help someone fulfill their dreams. He’ll no longer be a burden to anyone, at the very least.

Hitoshi would grow to become a strong hero without him there to drag him down. Aizawa wouldn’t have to waste his time trying to teach him and could instead focus on the rest of his classmates.

It was the best solution for everyone.

He let himself sit for a moment to catch his breath. He was still a bit dizzy but it wasn’t as bad as before. For the first time since he woke up, he looked at the clock that hung on the opposite wall. It was half-past eleven, which meant he hadn’t been asleep for as long as he thought.

He rubbed his stinging eyes and glanced around the room. Recovery Girl wasn’t there, and Izuku figured she was probably still helping with his classmates or even some of the villains that might need medical attention before being arrested. That was good.

That meant he could find a way to leave before she found him awake and called the detective to collect his statement. Izuku shuddered slightly at the thought of being interrogated. Izuku was pretty certain he remembered Aizawa mentioning a detective named Tsukauchi during his time as Moth, a detective with a lie-detecting quirk. Izuku couldn’t risk that, not if he wanted to follow through with his plan tonight.

The last time he attempted, Izuku didn’t bother to tie up any loose ends, not really. But this time he wanted to at least burn his analysis notebooks and maybe write Hitoshi an apology letter even if his friend would never actually read it. And then he’ll put on his most comfortable hoodie, lay in his bed, and let his worthless life bleed out through his arms.

He would go to sleep that night without ever waking up and the world would become a much better place for it.

With a resolute hum, Izuku slowly stood from the bed and walked over to the infirmary door. He slid it open as quietly as he could before poking his head out to look around the hallway. Because of the USJ attack, Izuku was certain that most of the school had already been evacuated and most of the teachers were probably still dealing with the aftermath.

Izuku slipped out of the infirmary and snuck through the halls, sticking to the shadows as best as he could, making sure to avoid being caught by any visible cameras. The campus was eerily quiet but at least he would be able to hear someone approaching which would give him time to hide.

He stepped quietly through the halls and made it out of the main building. He refused to look back at U.A. as he headed for the gates. U.A. was his dream school and he didn’t even last a week.

Pathetic.

Izuku crossed through the gates and headed to the train station, nervousness and anticipation had begun to build up inside of him, but the knowledge that it would all be over soon, that he would finally be free, quelled his anxiety just enough to keep his head clear.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt in charge of his own life, of his own future, but tonight, he was the one in control. He was the one that got to decide his future now, and no one could take that away from him.

-----

Shouta hated hospitals. He was grateful for them, of course, along with all medical personnel. But actually being in a hospital? He couldn’t say he was a fan. Even for smaller injuries, there were too many protocols and too much paperwork.

After he was admitted and checked into a room, he was hooked up to way too many cables and was visited by at least three different doctors. Even after they healed his elbow from the villain’s disintegration quirk they insisted he finish at least two IV bags before leaving. They were also adamant that they examine his injury one last time, which was ridiculous, how much could his injury change in the two hours it took for the IV drips to finish?

He supposed it could have been much worse. He was lucky that he managed to escape the USJ attack with nothing but a few scars and some nerve damage in his elbow. It took multiple doctors and various quirks to heal it, but it would be back to near normal functioning in a few weeks.

“You might feel it ache during the colder months or before storms, but otherwise you’ll be right as rain in no time!” An overly peppy doctor informed him.

Shouta already had a few aches and pains from his years as a hero, what was one more? No, Shouta honestly couldn’t care less about his elbow or the new crescent scar below his eye, what he cared about was how his students were doing.

His students were first-years, not only a week into the semester, and they had already been targeted and traumatized by extremely dangerous villains. While he was proud of them for holding their own—Tsukauchi reported that most of them worked in groups which he was also pleased with—he knew that there would be lingering psychological issues that would need to be addressed. He was already planning on setting up at least one mandatory session with Hound Dog for each student and he was eager to speak with Nezu about beefing up security. But more than anything, he wanted to see them, to make sure they were all okay with his own eyes. He managed to take a headcount before being ushered into an ambulance, only Shinsou and Midoriya were missing as they were getting treated for their injuries, but his nerves wouldn’t settle until they were all back in class again, healthy and alive.

Shouta watched the steady drip of his IV, impatience crawling under his skin. It took a bit of badgering, but he did manage to find out from a nurse that Shinsou’s injuries weren’t as bad as they had originally thought. His arm was shattered, his bones nearly turned to dust, but there was a nurse on staff with a quirk that regrew bones from red blood cells. He would have to wear a cast for about two weeks but there would be no lasting damage, thank god. Shinsou suffered from a few cracked ribs as well, but those would heal without issue. He also had a pretty nasty concussion, but again, they expected him to make a full recovery. They planned to keep him overnight for observation, just in case. Those with mental quirks were always kept longer for any head injuries as a precaution.

Shouta planned on making a quick visit to the boy’s hospital room after he was discharged and maybe speak with his parents if they were there. Nezu would have already called the parents of each student by now, as was protocol for any incident that occurred at the school, but despite what the rest of the staff believed, Shouta was never against meeting parents face to face. It gave him an extra sense of security knowing first-hand that his students were safe at home and it was at his request that Nezu started implementing parent-teacher conferences in the first semester instead of the second.

From reading Shinsou’s student file, Shouta was aware that he was in foster care. At first, that worried him since he knew from experience that kids with ‘weak’ or ‘villainous’ quirks were more often than not the targets of discrimination. But after bringing up his concerns with Nezu, he was assured that Shinsou was in the process of getting officially adopted by his foster mothers who also had mental-based quirks. Shouta still wanted to meet with them, of course, but he took comfort in the fact that Shinsou was at least being taken care of despite the shitty foster system.

After hopefully visiting his recovering student, Shouta next wanted to check in on Midoriya. The memory of his 4’-nothing student purposefully placing himself in between Shouta and the literal monster is one he wouldn’t ever forget, and he had half a mind to expel the brat for pure recklessness. Midoriya was damn lucky that he got away with minimal injuries, but it was that lack of hesitance to throw himself into danger that really concerned him. There was a moment, right before the beast attacked his student, that he swore he saw resignation in Midoriya’s features. He couldn’t see the kid's face at the time, but he recognized the way he held himself like he was fully prepared to die, and that didn’t sit right with Shouta at all.

Shouta sighed, fatigue heavy in his bones. There were so many things about Midoriya that didn’t settle well with him. Looking past his obvious smaller than average stature, Midoriya’s general behavior was full of red flags. The way he flinched whenever someone got too close, his refusal to make eye contact, his clear distrust in others, the panic attack he had the day before, and the fact that he began to actively avoid Shouta after their last talk were all signs of possible abuse. The very idea that his student was more than likely a subject of abuse made him feel sick.

As much of a disaster the USJ trip turned out to be, he hoped that the events of the day were enough of an excuse to speak with Midoriya’s parents to gauge the safety of his home life. He knew, of course, that quirkless individuals weren’t treated well by most of society and the instinctual habits Midoriya had could have very well been from bullies, but Shouta needed to make sure the kid was safe.

He already failed one kid by not acting soon enough and he refused to let it happen again.

After another three hours of IV bags and nurses examining his injuries, Shouta was finally discharged. Night had already fallen so the usual bustle of the hospital had quieted down into a busy hush. As he was gathering his things to leave he heard a knock on the door to his hospital room. Whoever it was didn’t bother to wait for a reply and stepped into the room.

“Aizawa! I’m so glad to see that you’re doing well, all things considered,” came a squeaky voice. Shouta looked down.

“Nezu,” he said in greeting.

Nezu smiled. For as long as Shouta knew his boss, he was never able to tell when his smiles were real or fake, but it was clear that this one, in particular, had a certain edge to it. Shouta felt himself tense.

“Something happened. What’s wrong?” he asked, not bothering to hide the urgency in his voice. Nezu knew him well enough that it would be pointless to put on a stoic facade.

“It’s a matter concerning one of your students, I’m afraid,” his boss answered calmly, meanwhile Shouta was starting to feel anything but calm.

“The paramedics assured me that everyone was fine-”

Nezu held up a paw to stop him. “It is not about any injuries sustained from the attack on the USJ, but more so about some…upsetting new knowledge that I’ve come across in light of recent events.”

Before Shouta could reply, his door opened again. Tsukauchi stepped into the room, his overcoat slung over one arm and his short hair somehow ruffled.

“Eraser,” he greeted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company, detective, but what the hell is going on?” Shouta said instead of returning his greeting. He had already given Tsukauchi his statement hours ago and there hadn’t been any bad news reported then, so what could have possibly changed in such a short amount of time?

“Ah, well, you might want to take a seat. We have quite a bit to go over,” Tsukauchi advised. Shouta hardly felt like sitting, but an impatient glare from Nezu forced him to comply. He sat ridged at the end of his hospital bed while his company pulled up a couple of plastic chairs that had been pushed off to the side.

“Okay, we’re all comfortable,” Shouta said with dry sarcasm, “now talk. Which one of my students is in danger?”

“Midoriya Izuku,” came Nezu’s instant reply. The pit of anxiety that sat brewing in his stomach from earlier suddenly roared to life. Nezu used his silence as an invitation to continue. “As you’re aware, it is U.A. protocol to inform the parents of our students whenever an incident occurs on campus, whether that be something as simple as detention or as grand as today’s attack.”

Shouta nodded, a gesture for his boss to explain further.

“When I tried contacting young Midoriya’s father, the guardian listed in his student file, the phone number was disconnected.”

Shouta’s brows furrowed. “What about his emergency contact?”

“Also disconnected.”

“Fuck.” Shouta scrubbed a hand down his face. The new information was already cementing his theory about Midoriya’s home life.

“Is there something you want to share with the class, Eraserhead?” the detective asked, his voice almost teasing, but Shouta could tell the man was as tense as he was.

Shouta sighed, “I actually had plans to speak with both of you about Midoriya.” That seemed to have caught the other men off guard but they made no move to interrupt him. “I’ve noticed some concerning signs about Midoriya’s behavior over the past few days. I’m not usually one to jump to conclusions but I can’t shake the feeling that Midoriya is possibly living in an abusive environment. I was hoping to use the USJ event as a cover to look into his home life.”

Shouta expected them to be surprised or concerned, but instead, Tsukauchi and Nezu shared a knowing glance.

Tsukauchi adjusted in his seat, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. “As unfortunate as it is, your observations only match our current theory.”

“How so?” he asked lowly, his concern still raising.

After another shared look, it was Nezu that spoke up.

“Since the number in young Midoriya’s student file was disconnected, I elected the help of detective Tsukauchi to see if we can track down his father through name. Which we did, of course, but that only left us with even more concerns.”

Tsukauchi nodded solemnly. “It didn’t take much research to find out that Midoriya Hisashi, Midoriya Izuku’s father, works overseas for an American company. I was able to get a hold of Hisashi’s boss who was kind enough to inform me that, to her knowledge, Hisashi hasn’t left the states in over two years. The last time he requested time off was for a family emergency. The only thing he apparently told her was that he would be in Japan for a week.”

He didn’t expect a good answer, but he had to ask anyway. “And Midoriya’s mother?”

“Midoriya Inko died in an accident,” Nezu answered. “Would you like to take a guess as to when her death occurred?”

Shout exhaled, as if he could expel the exhaustion that grew ever-present in his body.

“Over two years ago?”

“Correct.”

Shouta ran a hand through his hair and bit back a groan. “So if his mother is dead and his father is overseas, who the hell is Midoriya living with?”

The detective flashed him a sad smile before reaching into the pocket of his coat that sat folded on his lap and pulling out a slip of paper. He handed it to Shouta who quickly scanned it over once, and then twice.

“This is an address to an apartment complex,” Shouta said slowly, looking at Tsukauchi for confirmation. The detective sighed.

“Once we learned that Hisashi hasn’t been in Japan since Midoriya Inko’s death, despite being in charge of his son’s custody, I went ahead and opened up a child neglect case against him. I pulled a few strings to expedite the case and immediately looked into Hisashi’s legal records. Besides his home in America, Hisashi’s name is also on the lease of a studio apartment here in Musutafu,” he explained, pointing to the paper in Shouta’s hand. “That address there is the apartment in question. An apartment complex located in the center of the red-light district.”

“It’s also the address listed on young Midoriya’s student file,” Nezu chimed in.

Tsukauchi nodded at the principal before continuing. “When I looked through Hisashi’s bank statements, I was able to confirm that he is, in fact, paying the rent for the apartment. I noticed he was also wiring a small amount of money to the same address, usually once a month.” A look of dejection washed over the detective’s face. “I need to stress that it’s a very small amount of money, Eraser. Hardly enough to feed one person for a week, let alone a month.”

The dread that unfurled in Shouta’s stomach wanted to lash out. He could feel himself getting dizzy from the implications of it all.

“So, you’re telling me,” Shouta nearly growled, “your running theory is that Midoriya has been living alone, probably starving, in the red-light district for over two years?” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his frustration down. As much as he wanted to storm out of the hospital and hunt Midoriya Hisashi down for extreme child neglect, getting overly angry at his boss and colleague wasn’t the solution.

He sighed again. “God, no wonder the kid is so small. Who knows when he last had a full meal,” he muttered.

“Actually,” Nezu’s smile dropped a bit when he spoke, which only put Shouta more on edge than he already was. “There is an additional reason for Midoriya’s shorter than average size.”

Shouta narrowed his eyes. “Which is?”

Nezu tilted his head. “As I was looking deeper into Midoriya Izuku’s past, I stumbled across some information that doesn’t quite match up with what is written in his student file.” The room grew silent as tension built. “Midoriya Izuku, the student that landed first place in the hero course entrance exam, is not fourteen years old.”

Shouta sucked in a breath, his mind already supplying him with an answer even before his boss could elaborate, but the words that fell from Nezu’s mouth hit him all the same.

“He’s twelve.”

Many emotions ran through Shouta like a whirlwind; worry for his student, anger at Nezu for overlooking a falsified exam application, anger at himself for not realizing the obvious, and the smallest spark of hope that he wasn’t able to name.

“He’s twelve?! How the hell did he get away with lying about his goddamn age on his exam application without you of all people noticing? He’s barely old enough for middle school.”

Nezu looked down in guilt. “I must admit, even I make mistakes, Aizawa, but let me explain. First of all, I have confirmed that Midoriya has already completed middle school, which is quite an impressive feat for someone in his situation. I looked into his academic records to find that he skipped a grade once in elementary and twice in middle school. After his mother died, he was enrolled into an online institution-”

“Probably his father’s idea to avoid any suspicions raised by teachers,” Tsukauchi cut in.

“I agree. And as remarkable as his academic achievement is, it also served to muddle his U.A. application process,” Nezu said.

Shouta crossed his arms against his chest, the amount of new information regarding his student was almost overwhelming.

“You see, after looking more in-depth at Midoriya’s file, I noticed a similarity between his file and the records of another one of your students, Bakugou Katsuki.”

He raised a brow, not expecting another student to be involved, least of all Bakugou. “What does Bakugou’s file have to do with Midoriya’s age?”

“Coincidently enough, Bakugou Katsuki’s file and Midoriya’s are nearly identical in terms of their academic history during their elementary school years. Both students attended Aldera elementary school, both students skipped a grade during their time there, and both students had their age listed as ‘fourteen’ on their exam application. And of course, they both graduated middle school in the same year, so you can understand why Midoriya’s falsified age was overlooked,” Nezu explained.

Aizawa tipped his head up to glare at the ceiling instead of his boss. Sure, he understood why Nezu made a mistake but it didn’t make the situation any less shitty. If Midoriya’s falsified application was caught beforehand, Nezu would have called for an investigation and Midoriya would have gotten the help he needed much sooner.

“Please, tell me Bakugou’s isn’t also twelve,” he begged.

Nezu chuckled. “No, Bakugou’s file is mostly correct.”

That got Shouta’s attention. “Mostly?”

“That’s a discussion for another day,” Nezu said, ignoring Shouta’s irritated scowl. “What’s important right now is that we find Midoriya Izuku. Our first priority is to make sure he’s safe and then to properly begin investigating his father's neglect.”

A wave of alarm caused Shouta to jump to his feet. “What the hell do you mean, find him?”

Tsukauchi exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look. “About that…Midoriya was taken to U.A.’s infirmary after Recovery Girl healed his injuries from the USJ attack. She was supposed to call me once he woke up so I could take his statement, but, uh, when she returned, he was gone.”

Shouta could only stare blankly at Tsukauchi. They lost an entire child?

As if reading his mind, Nezu elaborated, “Midoriya was very intentional in his escape. Looking at the video footage from the security cameras showed that he specifically avoided every camera that he knew of, but the cameras at the front gates caught him leaving the campus at around noon.”

“If I had to guess, Midoriya was worried about speaking with me; he’s probably been taught to avoid law enforcement which is pretty common in cases of abuse and neglect,” Tsukauchi said with a shrug. “If we want to find him soon, our best bet would be to check the address listed on his student file. That’s where you come in,” he gestured to Shouta. “Because his father is under investigation for child neglect, as his homeroom teacher, you’re the closest thing to a guardian he has at the moment.”

Shouta pointedly ignored the strange protective surge at the detective’s words.

“That, and I’m sure he would feel much more comfortable with you bringing him to the station rather than some random officer or social worker. We also don’t have definitive proof of neglect outside of some legal records, so a home check would be beneficial in building our case against Hisashi as well.”

The hero was already grabbing the last of his things as Tsukauchi talked. The panic that started out as nothing but a simmer had quickly come to a boil. Something in his gut screamed at him to find Midoriya as soon as possible. Shouta learned to never ignore his gut.

Tsukauchi seemed to have picked up on his urgency. “I already have a warrant for a house check ready to go.”

“Good,” Shouta asserted, “because I’m leaving now.”

Without looking back at his colleagues, Shouta pushed open the door and stormed out of the hospital, a sharp sense of dread clawing at his chest. There was something else, something they were missing. It itched in the back of his mind, familiar yet wrong. They had overlooked something- he had overlooked something about his student. But with the USJ attack, his worry for his students, his own injuries, and now the staggering amount of upsetting information that was dumped on him regarding Midoriya, he couldn’t fully think straight.

All he knew was that Midoriya was in trouble, and it was his job as a teacher and a hero to make sure the kid was safe.

Chapter Text

Izuku walked home in a daze. He somehow managed to board the correct train and get off at the right station. It was still midday by the time he made it back to his part of the city so he didn’t need to worry as much about kidnappers or thugs hiding in the shadows. His apartment complex was quiet, most of the tenets either out working or still sleeping off hangovers. Izuku’s footsteps echoed through the stairwell as he climbed each step, his left leg and knee still agitated despite being healed.

It was almost disorienting knowing that the attack on USJ had happened only that morning yet it felt like weeks had passed. Time was always a strange concept to Izuku, more often than not it slipped by so quickly he wondered if he had a time manipulation quirk. There were other moments when time stretched on as if the gears of a clock were jammed.

It was the former scenario that Izuku was currently dealing with. He opened the door to his studio apartment and sagged into the chair at his small dining table. He swore that he had only sat there for less than five minutes, just to rest his aching body, but when he blinked, the room had suddenly grown darker. Through the window, he could see the sun dipping low into the sky creating a swirl of pink and purple, like watercolor bleeding onto paper.

Izuku wanted to panic about the loss of time because he had no memories of spending literal hours just sitting in a chair. He knew he didn’t fall asleep and he didn’t remember thinking about anything; it was like his mind had just shut off.

He wanted to panic but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Every feeling, every emotion that he could possibly experience was no longer available to him, stripped away and replaced by an unsettling sense of numbness. It was a familiar detachment, one that he’d grown to rely on, but this time it was so much more severe than normal. Izuku felt as if he didn’t even exist anymore, like he had already turned into a ghost even before his death. The air of calm around him was more suffocating than soothing.

Isn’t that what he wanted though? Isn’t the relief of nothingness the reason he planned on ending it all?

Izuku rubbed at his eyes with his fists. Yes, it was what he wanted, but he wanted the promise of freedom to be a sense of reprieve, not just a mundane task with no emotion behind it.

He stood up from his chair on weak legs. He had to lean against the table to steady himself before he regained his balance. If he wanted to follow through with his plan then it would probably be better to do it while he couldn’t feel anything. There would be less of a chance of chickening out at the last moment.

With a mental checklist prepared in his head, Izuku got to work. He grabbed the metal trashcan from underneath the sink and filled it with his remaining hero analysis notebooks. All of the notebooks he had when he was younger had been destroyed by either his father or by Kacchan. And like those older notebooks, his newer ones were just as flammable, easily going up in flames after he dropped a lit match into the can. For once he was thankful that the complex didn’t have fire alarms. He cracked open the window to air out the smoke a bit and while his notebooks burned, Izuku went on to the next task.

He decided against writing a letter to Hitoshi. Not only because a fog had settled over his brain leaving his thoughts scrambled but because he doubted Hitoshi would ever want to hear from him again, not after Izuku had failed him so badly at the USJ. No, it would be better if the whole world just forgot about Izuku’s very existence.

The next step, then, was to change out of his tattered hero costume—he only then realized why the people on the train kept throwing him weird glances—and into his favorite hoodie. Unlike the rest of his dark clothes, his favorite hoodie was a bright yellow, made of the softest fabric. It was the only thing he had leftover from his previous life. The hoodie was huge on Izuku when his mother had first gotten it for him and even with the few inches he had grown since then, he still swam in it. He hated the fact that he would inevitably get blood all over it, but he wanted to be as comfortable as possible in his last moments.

After changing into his obnoxiously bright hoodie and whatever pair of sleep pants he had lying around, Izuku shuffled into the bathroom to grab his last unused razor blade. It was still in the plastic packaging, saved and untouched for the very purpose of bleeding him dry when the time came.

Finally, with the embers of his notebooks fully smoldered out, with his favorite hoodie pooling at his knees, and with the comforting weight of the blade in his palm, Izuku all but collapsed onto his futon. He bunched up the blankets around him until it made a sort of nest and then he sunk into the bedding with exhaustion.

Izuku was…disappointed. He expected to feel something; anticipation, sadness, relief, but all that was left was an icy numbness. He knew that this way, he wouldn’t change his mind out of fear, but for once he longed for the reprieve of hot tears. He wanted to scream and sob and shake. He wanted to feel the splintered glass pillars that had held him up for so long finally break. Izuku wanted to collapse in on himself so he could feel the satisfaction of driving metal into flesh as a way to alleviate the pain.

But instead, he was tired and empty.

He sighed. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t turn back now. He ran away from U.A. without telling any of the staff or waiting to speak with the detective. Someone would undoubtedly be suspicious of his sudden absence. Someone would find him, the detective would interrogate him, and his most closely guarded secrets would spill out into the world. He would be expelled from school and either arrested or, if he was lucky, sent to an orphanage. Either way, he wouldn’t survive any of that, and the thought of losing what little control he had over his life scared him.

Even if he changed his mind, even if he put down the blade to live another day, there was nothing left for him anymore.

Izuku slowly rolled up his sleeves, pushing the fabric past his elbows. He only ever bared his arms when he cut, seeing them at any other time made him feel sick. Scars, new and old, covered his arms in a gradient of white, pink, and red. Some were so thin that they were near invisible while others were large and raised like a thick string of yarn. He had so many of them that adding two more couldn’t possibly make a difference, even if he planned on making the new ones long and vertical.

It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. He was so, so tired.

“You did your best,” Izuku whispered to himself, words that no one else had ever said to him before, “I’m proud of you for trying.” It was only then that tears began to pool in his eyes and Izuku welcomed it. He could hear his glass pillars cracking, more and more. Just a single pebble would need to be thrown at them and they would surely fall.

With a deep breath, Izuku brought the tip of the razor to his wrist and angled it down. He pushed it into his skin, slowly, wanting to feel the sting. For a moment he just sat there, with the blade unmoving. The smallest trickle of blood where the metal met flesh was the only sign that he had broken skin. All he had to do was move it down to his elbow.

Isn’t this what he wanted? So why was he hesitating?

A single tear dripped down the bridge of his nose and landed on his lap. The tickle of it made his face itch but he didn’t move, he couldn’t. If he moved now then he would lose his momentum, his courage.

Izuku breathed in one last shaky inhale, tensed his arm, and closed his eyes.

Firm knocking echoed from the wood of his door. The sound, so loud compared to the previous quiet, startled him and his hand slipped. The blade skimmed down his arm leaving a long but shallow cut, hardly a mimic of what he was about to do. Small beads of red rose from the wound and dripped down his arm but it didn’t bleed more than that.

It wasn’t enough.

The knocking came again, throwing Izuku back into his own body, the floaty feeling from earlier replaced with sharp, clear, dread.

“Midoriya.” A muffled, yet horrifyingly familiar voice called from the other side of the door and Izuku’s heart dropped into his stomach like a stone.

Aizawa.

Izuku dropped his razor and jolted from his futon. In his panic to scramble out of his bedding, Izuku hit his hip against the table and its wooden legs loudly scratched against the floor. He froze and held his breath.

Why the absolute fuck was Aizawa here? He was supposed to be at the hospital, not all the way in this part of the city and certainly not outside of Izuku’s door. Maybe Aizawa didn’t hear the table move. Maybe if Izuku stayed quiet then the hero would just give up and leave.

Right?

“If no one answers, I have a warrant to search the home.”

Fuck.

Shit.

Okay.

Izuku bit the inside of his cheek until the metallics taste of blood hit his tongue. He needed to think, he needed to move.

He hastily pulled down the sleeves of his hoodie and darted to the door, pausing when his hand hovered over the doorknob. Izuku thought his heart would burst from how fast it was beating, and honestly, he wouldn’t be upset if it did.

Izuku sucked in a breath, grasped the handle, and cracked open the door.

Even though he already knew it was Aizawa at the other side of the door, Izuku still felt the shock of seeing him there. It was so, incredibly wrong. Izuku’s apartment had always been separate from the other aspects of his life. It was so far removed from his identity as Moth and even farther removed from his identity as a U.A. student, so seeing Eraserhead, his homeroom teacher, standing outside of his home was like seeing a whale in a forest. It just didn’t seem natural.

“Aizawa-sensei,” he squeaked, at least ten octaves higher than normal.

The hero’s arms were crossed over his chest and his chin was tucked into his capture scarf. He looked every bit as intimidating as usual.

“Midoriya,” he greeted dryly.

Izuku couldn’t help but squirm under his dark gaze. It made him feel pinned down even though the hero hadn’t moved. “What- what are y-you doing here?”

If Aizawa noticed his worse-than-usual stutter then the man didn’t acknowledge it. “I came to check on you.”

“How come?”

Aizawa raised a brow, giving him an incredulous stare. “'How come’? Kid, you were injured during a villain attack today,” he explained with exasperation as if Izuku had magically forgotten about the morning’s events. “You were supposed to rest in the infirmary until Recovery Girl gave you the all-clear, yet you took it upon yourself to just leave without telling anyone.”

Izuku winced at the man’s words. Oops.

“Even then, that’s not the only reason why I’m here.”

Izuku’s felt his throat tighten. “Oh?” he croaked.

“You may not know, but after an incident like the villain attack from this morning, it’s U.A. protocol to inform the parents of each student involved,” Izuku could hear his heart pounding in his ears, “But when we tried to contact your father with the number given to us in your student file, the line was disconnected.”

Genuine surprise washed over Izuku. The phone number he submitted was definitely his father’s number, at least the last time he checked. Then again, they had only corresponded via email for the past couple of years so it was possible that his father’s number had been disconnected for a while.

“Oh! Uh, my dad recently got a new phone number and he must have forgotten to tell the school?” Izuku explained, but it came out more like a question. Never in his life had Izuku wanted the floor to just open up beneath him more than he did at that moment. Maybe it would spit him out on the other side of the world. He had always wanted to visit Brazil.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Fine, let’s say I believe you. What about the disconnected emergency contact number, then?”

Izuku blinked. Okay, that was on him. He just jotted down a random phone number and hoped for the best. It was obvious that Aizawa knew he didn’t have an answer, so the hero decided to change the subject.

“Is your father home?” Aizawa asked, even though Izuku could tell that the hero damn-well knew the answer already.

“He’s still at work,” Izuku said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “I’ll uh- I’ll have him call the school as soon as he gets home.”

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

The hero hummed. “I don’t mind waiting for him inside.”

“No!” Izuku said much louder than he meant to. “I mean, uh, that’s okay! It’s been a long day and I’m sure you're still recovering from the attack, and-”

And Aizawa completely ignored him. Despite Izuku’s protest, the hero pushed past him through the door. Izuku would have been pissed if he wasn’t so shocked.

The shock very quickly turned into horror when he realized that Eraserhead was now walking into his apartment. His small studio apartment that was falling apart at the seams. Broken kitchen appliances littered the counters, his mini-fridge remained unplugged because perishable foods were expensive, school work was discarded on top of his rickety wooden table, and it would be nearly impossible to ignore the water-stained ceiling. It was clearly a cheap apartment built for one.

Izuku was instantly on his teacher’s heels, a million excuses readied at the tip of his tongue.

“S-sorry for the mess! I know it’s small, but, uh, we aren’t the wealthiest. I mean, we’re fine! My dad’s just a very minimalist person, and he works a lot. Not that he’s never home! We just- I-” Izuku continued to ramble until he noticed that Aizawa wasn’t looking at him anymore. No, the hero’s eyes were focused on something else. Izuku slowly followed his teacher’s gaze until it reached his futon, but it wasn’t his messy bedding that caught his attention.

His razor blade, fresh blood still coating its edge, lay stark against his off-white sheets. Droplets that were once crimson had begun to fade into a ruddy brown.

His erratic heart abruptly stopped in his chest and

Izuku’s

Pillars

Shattered.

Shards of glass lodged in his throat and filled his lungs making each breath excruciating. He held his trembling hands close to his chest as if that would alleviate the panic because suddenly that was all Izuku could feel. Panic and pain, and oh god this isn’t how he wanted to break.

Izuku wanted to fall apart one last time but he wanted to be alone for it. Instead, he was crumbling in front of his teacher, in front of Eraserhead, and no matter how hard Izuku bit his bottom lip or clutched at his twisting chest it wouldn’t stop. He desperately tried to gather the remains of his glass pillars, tried to put them back together but their sharp edges dug deep into his skin and the pieces kept falling apart in his bleeding hands.

He had been so close that he practically brushed against death’s fingertips before being ruthlessly snatched away and it wasn’t fair! This wasn’t supposed to happen!

Izuku moved his shaking hands to his hair and tugged at loose curls until his scalp ached. Dark bled into his vision and it made his head swim so he squeezed his eyes shut. His body involuntarily shivered, and whatever air he sucked in felt cold and wrong. Ice formed in his veins in sharp contrast to the heat that crawled up his back.

Izuku distantly registered a sudden weight on his shoulders and he flinched back as if he had been struck but the presence held him steady. He tried to move away from whatever was touching him but he couldn’t. He felt like a rabbit caught in a snare trap and no matter how much he flailed the wire only tightened around him. A keening sound escaped his tightening throat before his legs decided they could no longer hold his weight, but something stopped his fall before his knees could hit the ground.

His head and heart pounded in sync, the world around him slipping away as if he had never existed in the first place. He realized that words were being said to him but the static in his head was so loud that he could hardly hear his own thoughts, so Izuku focused on the way his skin crawled like fire ants under his flesh.

Izuku had no idea how long he had been trapped in that strange state of limbo, where panic crashed into him like waves against a cliff, cold and unforgiving as it tried to drag him under. It felt like he had spent hours paddling on the surface in an attempt to keep his head above water before a new current threatened to pull him away from shore.

But slowly, his numb limbs regained feeling with every shaky breath, the crawling beneath his skin morphed into a low buzz, and the fog that engulfed his mind began to lift. His body still spasmed with random tremors that made his bones grind together painfully and his muscles still felt like a tightened spring but the world gently shifted back into focus as Izuku finally breached the surface of the stormy ocean.

Feeling seeped back into his body; he was no longer suspended in icy waters but instead, the weight of a heavy presence secured him. He could feel gravity pulling him down and for a moment, Izuku worried he would fall through the cracks of the earth with the weight of it. Exhaustion settled in his bones, making a home for itself inside his very marrow until fatigue was all that was left of him.

It was only then that Izuku felt the tapping sensation on the back of his hands and it took him a moment to recognize the breathing pattern. His lungs strained with the effort it took but he tried his best to follow it.

It could have been minutes or hours until his breathing evened out and his wound-up muscles loosened, but once he no longer felt the panic clawing at his chest Izuku let his eyes crack open.

At first, his vision was a nonsensical blur but eventually the shapes and colors reformed themselves into the familiar pattern of his home. He was sat on the floor and slumped against a wall, the hard surface pressing into his shoulder blades felt grounding. Izuku blinked a few more times and noticed one shape that didn’t belong. A blurry form was crouched in front of him but it was so dark in the dim lights of his apartment that it took him nearly a minute to register that the figure was his teacher.

Izuku felt too tired to panic again. His heart beat stubbornly sluggish beneath his ribs, even when he realized that Aizawa’s large hands were wrapped firmly around his own. Debilitating exhaustion fought against his rising anxiety when he saw that both of his sleeves were pulled up and a fresh bandage was wrapped around his newest cut. The cut that didn’t kill him, he noted with disappointment.

“You back with me, kid?” Aizawa asked him, his voice thick with an emotion that Izuku didn’t have the energy to decipher. Instead of answering, Izuku let out a small, affirmative hum. He tried once to pull his hands back towards his chest but his teacher’s hold was firm.

The air between them was heavy as Izuku refused to look at his hero’s face. The thought of seeing the pure disappointment in his onyx eyes was nearly enough to make him spiral again.

But eventually, the silence was broken by words so painful that they felt like barbed wire wrapped around his heart.

Aizawa’s usual monotone voice was full of cracks when he spoke. “You tried to kill yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

And those words were enough to make the last of Izuku’s strength bleed away. The fraying strings that held Izuku upright had finally snapped and he collapsed beneath his own weight. A choked sob wrenched free from his throat and he could feel the shards of glass shred his lungs once more. Aizawa was quick to catch his shoulders, holding him up as Izuku’s body no longer had the ability to do anything but break.

In a single, dizzying, movement, Izuku was pulled into a warm embrace that made him feel both safe and trapped. His head was cradled against Aizawa’s chest as he was pulled further onto the man’s lap. Izuku could hear the steady rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn’t his own and the immediate comfort of it confused him but he made no effort to move away from it. Instead, he turned to bury his face further into Aizawa’s shirt, his weak hands clutching at fabric like a lifeline because he was so scared of drowning again.

A warm hand, the one that wasn’t currently holding his head with all the gentleness of carrying a newborn, rubbed circles on his back in the same familiar breathing pattern.

Izuku wasn’t certain when Aizawa began to whisper soothing words, but he instantly recognized the man’s gentle tone, warm and rumbling like a summer storm. The familiar coaxing of “You’re okay, it’s alright, just breathe,” carried through the quiet of the room.

Those words, the same shushing voice that Aizawa had used that day on the rooftop, wedged their way between Izuku's ribs and weighed heavy on his aching heart. Guilt unfurled in his core and lashed around inside of him like an angry beast. There he was again, inconveniencing his hero because he was so useless that he couldn’t even kill himself correctly.

Broken apologies slipped through guttural sobs was all he could manage as Aizawa held him close.

“I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, please- please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, ‘m sorry.”

Izuku was so tired, so heavy with grief and shame, that he didn’t feel Aizawa suddenly tense at his words.

-----

Shouta felt guilt rolling inside of him like a ship on restless waters. He saw the signs, he knew Midoriya was suffering, and yet he had no idea how bad it really was, to what extent the kid was hurting. His stomach turned at the knowledge that if he had waited even a minute longer then he would have been too late. The tiny body in his arms would have been cold and unresponsive instead of flushed with tears and shaking like a leaf. He had been so fucking close to losing his student and that thought would eat at him for the rest of his life.

And, god, the kid was only twelve? Twelve years old and living alone in a run-down apartment, the whole world heavy on his bony shoulders. Aizawa ground his teeth at the anger he felt towards Midoriya Hisashi. The man was lucky that once he was undoubtedly arrested he would be safe behind bars instead of out in the open where Shouta would have no issues strangling the bastard.

Anger flared beneath his skin but he forced it down, focusing instead on soothing the child in his lap. Because, fuck, Midoriya really was just a child, wasn’t he?

Shouta gathered the boy closer and held him against his chest. A string of reassuring whispers fell from his lips as he drew circles on Midoriya’s back, inwardly cringing when his hand ran across protruding ribs and every knob of his spine.

A flash of familiarity crossed his mind, a memory of another time so similar to this one with a boy so much like Midoriya that it made Shouta’s chest tighten. He was about to push it down, the thoughts of another child he had failed, when his attention was caught by a rush of broken words that were carried by a wavering voice.

“I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, please- please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, ‘m sorry.”

The brief memory that had been plaguing his mind for months had suddenly materialized with sharp clarity.

He sat on the rooftop of a high building, the wind softly brushing past him as he held Moth in his arms. The boy was trembling so severely that Shouta could feel it in his own bones. He was almost too late to catch the kid and the echoes of that fear embedded itself into his very core. Moth’s tiny hands fisted the fabric of his jumpsuit as broken sobs wracked his body. The words were intelligible, at first, but eventually, the breeze carried his small voice to Shouta’s ears and it made his heart twist at the boy’s pleading:

“I’m- I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.” And oh how that tore at Shouta’s heart. Moth, a boy so hurt by the world, felt the need to apologize for his pain and Shouta wanted nothing more than to shield him from every injustice. Instead, all he could do at that moment was hold him closer and mutter words of comfort.

Shouta was never good at comforting others, his demeanor tended to err on the side of rough and menacing, but something about Moth softened his edges in a way he hadn’t known was possible. Instead of being hesitant at the prospect of physical contact and gentle words like he usually would be, Shouta didn’t think twice about cradling the child in his lap.

A hitched breath coming from small, stuttering lungs tore Shouta from the memory and tethered him back to the present. Shouta only then realized that he had stopped moving, stopped breathing, because his entire body froze as every single puzzle piece that he had previously ignored snapped into place.

Midoriya wasn’t fourteen, he was twelve.

He had been severely neglected for at least two years.

He lived in the red-light district.

He was far too small and far too skinny.

He didn’t have a combative quirk- he was quirkless.

Midoriya yelled his hero name like it was instinctual during the attack on USJ.

Because it was instinctual.

Slowly, carefully, Shouta tucked his finger underneath Midoriya’s chin and lifted the kid’s face so that he could properly see his red-rimmed eyes.

And sure enough, swirling forest green stared up at him. Familiar specks of yellow dotted each iris like dappled sunlight filtering through a canopy of leaves.

Apprehension and hope raged a war inside of him, tugging at his very being until tears of his own pooled at the corners of his eyes against his will.

Never, in his life, did Shouta want to kick himself more than he did at that moment. If he could turn back time and strangle past-him with his capture weapon for being the world’s biggest fucking idiot then he would have, because every similarity between Midoriya and the boy he thought was dead wasn’t merely coincidence. The glaringly obvious signs weren’t there just because he wanted them to be there, it wasn’t just his subconscious projecting false hope onto a random student.

The entire time. The kid was right in front of me, suffering, the entire goddamn time.

The only proof that time continued to pass was the painful thumping in his chest. Otherwise, he swore that the world froze as if it was holding its breath.

With a gentleness that he didn’t know he possessed, Shouta moved his hand from Midoriya’s chin and cupped it against the boy’s tear-stained cheek.

His voice strained, but it took no effort to speak the name that had been present at the forefront of his mind every day for months.

“Moth?”

The air grew suffocatingly still for just a moment.

The whole universe had stopped for just a single moment before Midoriya fell apart in his arms. His emerald eyes became a kaleidoscope of green as a fresh wave of tears fell from his lashes. An agonized, twisting sob tore from the boy’s throat as he folded over himself as if gravity had become too much to bear.

Shattered words made of splintered glass repeated over and over in between wavering cries.

“I’m sorry, Eraser, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!”

Those sobs, so full of deep anguish that drilled through Shouta’s chest until they reached his heart, spurred him into action. He carefully wrapped his arms around Midoriya’s middle and shifted them both until it was Shouta’s back that pressed against the hard wall. He moved Midoriya’s small, shaking frame until the boy’s weight was placed fully onto his chest, green curls tucked beneath Shouta’s chin.

Midoriya’s string of apologetic words died off into exhausted, pained whimpers and Shouta took that as his cue to once again fill the silence with soothing reassurances; whether it was to comfort himself or Midoriya, he wasn’t sure.

Shouta’s voice was cracked as he tried to speak past the lump in his throat, a heavy stone settling uncomfortably against his windpipe. “You’re okay, I’ve got you, everything will be alright. You’re safe now, bunny.”

The nickname tumbled from his lips so naturally that it made Shouta pause in shock. He hadn’t meant to say that.
Giving nicknames, especially ones full of such sweet endearment, wasn’t something Shouta was known for. But then again, there had always been something about Moth, about Midoriya, that broke down his guarded walls of normalcy. Every time the kid looked at him with star-filled eyes, every time his voice lilted in excitement, every time a smile ghosted his lips and made the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly, Shouta’s gray-scale world found its color.

There were many holes in Shouta’s heart, dents and cracks littering the surface, but for as long as he knew Moth, the kid had found a way to fill those gaps with shining eyes and soft giggles, and Shouta would be damned if he lost that again.

And he almost did. For the second time, he was almost too late and that realization hit him like a freight train. Shouta wanted to cry at the painful irony. He thought Moth was dead for months and the only reason he now knew Moth’s identity was because he tried to kill himself again.

Shouta trailed his gaze down to Midoriya’s arms that still trembled against him. There were as many scars as there were freckles and Shouta feared that the boy was made up of more scar tissue than flesh. The memory of the way that Moth held himself all those nights, as if his arms pained him, made Shouta feel ill with new understanding. He had assumed that Moth was being hurt by someone else, be it the villains he fought on the streets or someone abusive in his life. He was an idiot for not thinking about the possibility that Moth was actively hurting himself.

With his eyes, he traced thin white cuts and fresh red ones, counting as many as he could until tears he hadn’t even realized were forming, blurred his vision.

This kid, his kid, had been hurting for so long, all on his own, and it made Shouta’s heart ache with such profound intensity he thought it might fail.

So, with tender movements, Shouta carded one hand through soft green curls while he let honey-laced words fall from his lips and blanket the silence. He closed his watery eyes while he whispered promises of safety despite his fractured voice and focused on every sign of life that came from the boy in his lap. Midoriya’s warm breath puffing against his collar bone, the glorious rise and fall of his chest, the tiny hands that held tightly to the front of his shirt, and even the occasional whimpers that slowly lessened as even breaths signified to Shouta that Midoriya was at the edge of sleep.

As much as he hated the idea of moving, of no longer feeling the physical evidence of life coming from his kid, Shouta knew that he needed to get Midoriya to a hospital. He needed to make sure that not only were his injuries from the USJ healed but that he didn’t have any underlying conditions that needed immediate attention other than the kid’s obvious malnutrition. Shouta also needed to contact Tsukauchi and Nezu to handle the legal matters, in regards to both Midoriya's homelife and Moth's 'vigilante' case.

He needed to do those things, but for now, he let himself revel in the warmth of the tiny body pressed against his chest to remind himself that Moth, no, Izuku was very much alive. And Shouta would fight anyone and anything to keep it that way.

Shouta knew that the path ahead would be long and rocky for them both, but he would do everything in his power to make sure that they made it to the other side.

Until then, Shouta continued to hush Izuku with soft murmurs as the boy’s breathing settled into a faint rhythm, tear tracks drying on freckled cheeks and shaking limbs losing their tension.

“You can rest now, bunny,” Shouta whispered into the quiet room, and this time, he didn’t hold back the silent tears that rolled down his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Izuku was seven when Kacchan physically hit him for the first time. Izuku was seven when he learned that harsh words and fiery fists both hurt the same but for different reasons.

The memory of that day remained vivid, a part of him that he would carry around in his chest like an old scar.

It was the first day of summer break and Izuku decided to go play at the park across from his apartment. His mother was at work like she always was, and Izuku was starting to get hungry. But all of the food in the house was either expired or had to be prepared and cooked, and he wasn’t tall enough to reach the stove yet. So, Izuku decided that a trip to the park would distract him from the grumbling pangs of hunger that gnawed on his insides. It was a feeling he had grown used to ever since his classmates began stealing or destroying his lunch.

By the time he had arrived the park was full of kids, racing each other around swing-sets and playing tag on the jungle gym. A familiar head of blond hair caught Izuku’s attention. Kacchan, as well as a few other older kids that Izuku didn’t know the names of, were huddled in a half-circle around something. Izuku crept closer, his scuffed shoes quiet as he hid behind a tree, and he noticed that the older boys were looming over a kid who sat on the ground, shaking and crying.

“If you can’t handle playing with us, then don’t get in our way, extra!” Kacchan bellowed, his chest puffed out to make himself look bigger.

“Ya’ know, I don’t think he’s learned his lesson yet,” said one of the older boys with a smirk. “Maybe we should really beat it into him, make sure it sticks, right Katsuki?”

Kacchan’s smirk grew into a feral grin, sharp teeth a contrast to the baby fat that stubbornly clung to his cheeks. He took a step forward, making the boy on the ground cower even more.

“Not a bad idea. We can’t let this nerd go around thinking he can hang with the best of the best,” Kacchan scowled, his hands curled into claws as small pops crackled from them in flashes of yellow and red.

Izuku wasn’t sure what he was thinking, maybe he wasn’t thinking at all, but it was as if his legs moved on their own as he darted out from his hiding spot to stand between Kacchan and the boy on the ground.

“Stop!” Izuku cried, throwing his arms open wide to shield the boy. “Don’t hurt him!”

Kacchan and his friends looked shocked, but only briefly, as their surprise morphed into cruel smiles.

“If it isn’t crybaby Deku,” another one of the older boys said in a sing-song tone. “Whatchya gonna do about it, Deku?”

Izuku hesitated for a moment before he lowered himself into a fighting stance that he had once seen during a televised hero fight.

“I’ll…I’ll fight you!” Izuku declared in a wobbly voice, his fists shaking in front of him.

Kacchan only laughed at him, his arms folded over his stomach as if Izuku had told a hilarious joke. But no, the real joke was Izuku.

After another round of barbarous laughter that erupted from the group of older boys, Kacchan stood up straight once more and narrowed his crimson eyes.

“All right then, Deku, you wanna fight?” Kacchan cocked his head to match his crooked smile, “Then let’s fight.”

Whatever happened next was a blur of explosive pain and searing palms. Someone had kicked him in the ribs and another had twisted his arm until he heard a pop. At one point, a hand had fisted his hair and pulled until Izuku thought his head would come off. Izuku didn’t remember who had hit him where, except for the last, final blow. Blinking open bleary eyes, Izuku saw Kacchan tower of him, holding him up by the collar of his tattered shirt.

“Never look down on me again, Deku,” Kacchan hissed before throwing a heat-filled fist at Izuku’s stomach. Izuku doubled over with a gasp and fell to his hands and knees. He would have thrown up if he had anything in his stomach. Kacchan lifted his foot and nudged his body until Izuku fully collapsed, bruised limbs and tired muscles unable to hold himself up any longer.

Izuku stared blankly at the blue sky above him as he listened to their hyena-like laughter fade into the distance. He had no idea where the other boy had gone, hopefully, he was able to run away or find an adult.

Tears welled in his eyes, both from the pain and from the knowledge that Kacchan had hit him. Just like his classmates did, just like his dad did, and that pain was so much worse than the burns and bruises that colored his body.

Izuku had tried to play hero. He should have known better.

It was sunset by the time Izuku dragged his sore body back home. He was covered in dirt and dried blood but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He opened the front door, kicked off his shoes, and stumbled his way into the living room.

“Izuku!” a fretting voice caught his attention. Warm hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders and Izuku flinched back in surprise. “Oh, baby, what happened?”

Izuku looked up and stared into green eyes that mirrored his own. “Mama?”

His mother sighed and tucked one of his curls behind his ear. “Sweety, did the kids at school do this to you again?”

He shook his head but stopped when a sharp pain made him wince. “N-no. No school today. It’s summer. Park,” was all he could mumble. His mother seemed to have understood enough as she gently guided him to the bathroom.

“I forgot today is your first day of summer break,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, as she reached beneath the sink and grabbed their first-aid kit. She rummaged around until she found what she was looking for; gauze, antiseptic wipes, burn cream, and band-aids.

Izuku sat diligently as his mother cleaned his wounds with practiced ease. He only cringed a little bit when she had to clean an especially deep cut on his leg.

“Now, where did these burns come from, Izuku? Was there a kid with a fire quirk?” she asked hesitantly, knowing that Izuku hated fire because of his father. He wanted to tell her it was Kacchan, but for some reason, his lips felt glued together, so he just nodded instead. His mother gave him a pitying smile and dabbed the burn cream onto hot, blistering skin.

A thick silence blanketed the room as she patched him up. Izuku was usually good at hiding his injuries and he was quickly becoming proficient at finding his way around a first-aid kit, but sometimes his mom still caught him and it always made Izuku feel terrible. She already had to help inured people all day at work, she shouldn’t have to fix him up too.

Once she was finally finished, she inspected her work with a satisfied hum before helping Izuku to his room. Izuku crawled into bed without a fuss, sleep already tugging at him with heavy eyelids and bone-deep exhaustion.

His mother sat on the edge of his bed after tucking him in. With soft hands, she cupped his cheeks and ran her thumbs under his eyes in small circles, as if wiping away tears he had yet to shed. But it was his mother whose eyes started to water as she looked at him, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Izuku,” she croaked. Izuku was confused, there was nothing for her to be sorry for.

“For what, mama?”

She sniffled, a small but sad smile ghosting her lips. “For everything, baby,” one of her hands moved to play with the loose curls that fell above his brow. “I’m sorry that I can’t protect you. I’m sorry that I can’t always be there for you. I’m sorry that I can’t love you as much as you deserve,” she said.

Izuku’s own lip began to wobble. Nothing she said was making any sense.

Her hands went back to cupping his cheeks, and a bigger, more sincere smile grew on her face. “But you know what? One day, when you need it the most, someone will love you in a way I never could. They’ll protect you and keep you safe.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “Like a hero?” he whispered in awe. His mother wetly chuckled before lightly squishing his cheeks.

“Yeah, like a hero.” She bent down to place a delicate kiss on his forehead. “You need to stay strong until then, okay Izuku?”

“Okay, mama,” he replied with a yawn. His mother smoothed out his blanket before standing up to turn off his lights. No longer able to keep his eyes open, Izuku pulled his blanket tighter over his shoulders and snuggled into his pillow. His body still ached but the promise of a peaceful night’s sleep dampened the sting.

That night, Izuku dreamed of heroes swooping in to save him from his bullies, from his father, and even from Kacchan. He hoped his mom was right, he hoped one day he would have a hero of his own to protect him.

-----

Izuku’s mother used to bring him into work with her when he was younger. Although she stopped when he turned seven since she deemed him mature enough to take care of himself. Regardless, Izuku was very familiar with the smell of antiseptics, the noise of bustling nurses, and the too-bright fluorescent lights that hurt his head.

The familiarity of a hospital was not something Izuku wanted to wake up to, because being in a hospital meant he had failed. Again.

He had been so close, already standing on death’s doorstep, ringing the doorbell in defeat while begging to be let in, yet he was so worthless that even death didn’t want him.

Why?

Why couldn’t the world just let him go already?

Stinging tears began to build behind his closed eyes and it made his already throbbing headache all the more painful. All at once, he noticed how uncomfortable he was. His head hurt, his arms itched, his throat was dry, the fabric of the bedding felt too rough against his raw skin, and all Izuku wanted to do was cry.

His breath hitched as a sob escaped him.

It wasn’t fair.

He bit at his bottom lip to hold back the hiccuping wail that wanted to tear from his throat.

It wasn’t fair!

A pathetic, keening whine fell past his lips without his permission when his chest spasmed from holding back his tears. It didn’t help, fat salty drops pushed past his lashes and his breathing began to quicken.

He did everything he was supposed to! He tried his best, he tried to stay strong like he promised he would but it was never good enough- he was never good enough.

Why was I never enough?

His spiraling thoughts were suddenly derailed when he felt warm hands cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing away his tears in the same way his mom used to, and it made his heart twist in his chest. For only a moment, he thought it was his mom, but then he noticed that the hands that held him were calloused yet far more gentle than his mother had ever been.

His venomous thoughts died down, replaced with the coaxing of feather-soft words that eased his pounding heart.

“Hey, you’re alright, just breath for me, kiddo. Good, just like that. You’re okay, you’re safe, I promise.”

Izuku finally found the strength to crack open his eyes despite the way his lashes felt glued together from his tears. His vision was blurry but he could still make out dark warm eyes, the color of an evening storm. The next thing he noticed was the heavy scent of coffee and freshly-cut timber from teak trees, a familiar smell that reminded Izuku of late-night talks beneath the orange glow of streetlights.

Blinking to clear his stinging eyes, Izuku saw Aizawa leaning over him, raven-dark hair tied up in a loose bun with strands that fell in wisps around his face. A crescent scar beneath his right eye moved ever so slightly as he talked in a low hum.

“There you go, deep breaths, kid. In for four, hold for four, out for six.”

Following the pattern, Izuku’s lungs finally settled into a normal rhythm, still aching, but they no longer burned for air.

He remembered now.

He remembered Aizawa visiting his apartment, finding his used razor blade, bandaging the cut that wasn’t deep enough. Panic, so vast, so cold, that Izuku felt like he was drowning.

But then he also remembered being held against the hero’s chest, Aizawa’s steady heartbeat guiding his own until Izuku felt the lull of sleep.

Now though, Izuku’s limbs felt like they were buzzing with static and his head felt foggy again. Despite just waking up he was still so tired, emotionally and physically. He was tired, but he was scared.

Aizawa moved his hands away from Izuku’s cheeks and sat back. He was perched at the edge of Izuku’s bed, his capture scarf hanging low against his collarbone. Wordlessly, Aizawa took Izuku’s left hand, the one that wasn’t hooked up to an IV, and held it firmly in his own.

“You okay, kid?” The hero asked, his voice low and rough but still soothing, like waves crashing against a rocky shore.

Izuku opened his mouth, an apology ready to roll off his tongue out of habit, but different words fell from his lips instead, “You know I’m Moth?”

The sudden question seemed to have surprised them both. Aizawa's eyes widened just a fraction before he schooled his features.

“I do,” the hero confirmed.

Izuku felt an uncomfortable lump swell in his throat and he tried to swallow it down. Aizawa knew. He knew he was Moth. He knew that the kid he saw nearly every night for a year was just a stupid, quirkless Deku that couldn’t even die correctly.

Izuku’s voice cracked when he spoke, “Then- then why?”

A small frown tugged at the corners of Aizawa’s lips. “Why what?”

“Why-” Izuku took in a shaky breath, another wave of tears threatening to fall from his eyes and he couldn’t stop his lower lip from trembling. “Why didn’t you let me die? Why did you stop me?”

A look of hurt painted Aizawa’s features. It was such a deep expression of grief that Izuku thought he was hallucinating because he had never seen that much emotion on the hero’s face before. Aizawa’s jaw clenched and he felt the man’s hand tighten around his like he was scared Izuku would float away.

“Kid-” the hero’s voice wavered before he cleared his throat and tried again. “Kid, I stopped you because I want you to live. You deserve to live.” Aizawa looked like he wanted to say more but he didn’t.

New tears rolled down Izuku’s face, falling into his hair and onto his pillow from the angle he was laying in. He shook his head absently. He didn’t understand. Izuku was useless and broken so why would anyone care whether or not he died?

Izuku searched Aizawa’s eyes to look for any signs of dishonesty, hate, or disgust, but only sincerity stared back.

“Why do you care?” Izuku asked, his voice barely a whisper. He almost regretted asking, because the hero looked so crestfallen at his words.

Aizawa sighed, not in annoyance or frustration, but like his lungs were deflating from some invisible weight pressing against them. The man leaned over Izuku again and gently brushed away stray tears with the back of his hand. Once Izuku’s face was more or less clear of tear tracks, Aizawa cupped his free hand against Izuku’s cheek again but this time it was to hold his head steady so that Izuku was forced to look him in the eyes. Aizawa’s stormy eyes hardened, yet Izuku didn’t miss the softness that rounded the edges of his glare.

“I care, Izuku, because you’re worth caring about,” the hero said with such resolute finality that it left no room for argument. Not only did Aizawa use his first name, but the way he stated his answer like he dared anyone to debate him, made Izuku pause.

Izuku wanted to deny his answer, he wanted to tell the man how wrong he was, that he wasn’t worth caring about, but his jaw felt wired shut. The only thing he could do was stare at his reflection in Aizawa’s onyx eyes.

“You may not believe me,” Aizawa continued as if reading his thoughts, “but I will repeat myself every day until you do. You are worth caring about and no matter what, that fact will not change.”

Izuku felt stunned with disbelief. The only person that showed him even an ounce of care was his own mother but even she ultimately left him, death welcoming her in with open arms before shutting its door in Izuku's face. His father didn’t care whether or not he was alive, Kacchan made it very clear that he thought Izuku was better off dead, and everyone else either saw him as an obligation or a nuisance.

So why?

Why was Aizawa lying to him?

Izuku shook his head more firmly this time, ignoring the way Aizawa’s hand still held his cheek.

“I don’t understand,” Izuku tried to argue.

“I know,” the hero replied softly.

“You should hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m quirkless,” Izuku wanted to yell but his throat was too dry, too scratchy.

“And like I said before, quirks should be used as tools, not as a way to define someone.”

Izuku balled his fists, clutching at his bedsheets. He wanted to scream, and cry, and shove the man away, but his arms laid useless at his sides.

“But- but aren’t I in trouble? Aren’t you going to arrest me?” Izuku finally asked a question that had been clawing at the back of his mind since he woke up.

Aizawa leaned back again and Izuku found himself missing the warmth against his cheek. “You’re not in trouble, kid, and you never were.”

Izuku furrowed his brows. “But I lied to you about- about who I was, and I lied on my U.A. application, and I stole money from bad guys sometimes, and-”

“Izuku,” Aizawa’s firm voice cut him off, “You have done nothing wrong, at least not enough for any legal consequences.” Izuku must have made a face because the hero elaborated. “Everything you did was to protect yourself, to survive because the adults in your life failed you…because I failed you,” he whispered the last part, as if he were talking more to himself than to Izuku.

“So-” Izuku swallowed down the feeling of cotton in his throat, “So if I’m not going to jail, then am I going back to my dad?”

Aizawa’s jaw set with an audible click at the mention of his father, and if Izuku could shrink back anymore into his bed he would have; he recognized the anger that flashed in the hero’s eyes. Aizawa must have noticed the way he flinched because he quickly softened his expression.

“No, kid, you aren’t being sent anywhere, especially not back to your father,” he assured.

Izuku slowly nodded, still not quite believing the hero. There was no way they would let him go just like that, right? But if Aizawa said he wasn’t being sent anywhere, where did that leave him?

Aizawa looked over to the clock that hung on the wall above the door then back to Izuku.

“Listen, I have a friend coming to visit in a couple of hours. Is that okay?” Aizawa asked, slowly standing up from the bed.

Izuku blinked. He legitimately didn’t know what to say. His mind still felt muddled and his emotions were a mix of anxiety and core-deep exhaustion. He wasn’t even sure if any of this was real. Aizawa knowing he was Moth and not being angry? He wasn’t being arrested or sent to live with his father? If Izuku blinked and found himself back in his apartment, he wouldn’t be surprised.

So Izuku just nodded again. His eyelids were growing heavy and he wanted to rest them, for just a moment, when a jolt of realization made him spring up in bed despite his lead-filled limbs and the pull of his IV.

“Whoa, easy there, kid.” Aizawa’s hands were quick to grab Izuku’s shoulders. His body was already protesting at the movement so Izuku reluctantly leaned into the hero’s hold to keep himself upright. “What’s wrong?” Aizawa’s eyes quickly scanned Izuku over as if he were looking for an injury.

Izuku had to take a few seconds to breathe before answering, but when he did he couldn’t stop the anxiety evident in his shaky voice.

“My hoodie- my arms aren’t covered, I-”

“Hey, hey, kid, take a deep breath,” Aizawa instructed, keeping his voice low and steady. “Your hoodie has to be washed, there’s blood on the sleeves, but look,” Aizawa gestured to Izuku’s arms with his eyes, “your arms are covered.”

Izuku followed the hero’s gaze to find that both of his arms, while not covered by the thin hospital gown, were both wrapped in clean bandages.

“Oh,” Izuku breathed, his head still spinning from the last half an hour.

The hero hesitated for a moment, “Some of the…newer cuts needed to be cleaned, so both of your arms are bandaged to prevent infection,” he explained, an emotion akin to regret thick in his voice.

“Oh,” Izuku said again, quieter this time. Izuku bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying again. He hated this. He hated how small and vulnerable he felt. He hated that Aizawa saw his arms, clear proof of his weakness. Even though his arms were covered by the white bandages, Izuku still stuffed them underneath his blanket.

“Would you like me to raise the head of your bed so you can sit up better?” Aizawa asked in the same hushed tone.

Izuku kept his eyes downward and focused on the scratchy texture of the blanket. “ ‘Mm, yes, please,” he muttered.

The hero nodded before reaching to the side of Izuku’s bed and pressing the button that raised the head of it. Once it was in an upright position, Aizawa eased Izuku back until he was fully leaning on his pillow again.

“Do you anything else?” The hero asked while adjusting Izuku’s IV so it wasn’t being pulled on. Izuku quickly shook his head, his eyes still averted. “How about some water?”

Izuku went to shake his head again but faltered. His throat was still dry but he had forgotten about it in his panic over his arms. Aizawa must have taken his hesitance as confirmation, crossing the room to fill up a small plastic cup with water from a pitcher that had been placed on the counter.

After repositioning himself at the edge of Izuku’s bed, Aizawa held the cup towards Izuku who reluctantly removed his arms from under the covers to reach for it. He inwardly cringed at how weak his whole body felt, like someone had sucked out all of his energy.

Izuku took the cup from Aizawa with shaky hands but almost dropped it before he could lift it to his lips. No water spilled, thankfully, but Izuku wanted nothing more than to fade out of existence because god, he was so useless he couldn’t even drink water.

The hero took the water cup from his hands. “It’s alright, you’re still tired. You had some pretty bad panic attacks so I’m sure your muscles feel weak, yeah?” Izuku bit the inside of his cheek even harder but tears welled up in his eyes anyway. “Let me help, kid.”

Aizawa cupped one hand under Izuku’s chin before lifting the water cup to his dry lips. Izuku couldn’t stop the few tears that escaped him as he slowly drank. He felt ridiculous and he hated himself so much for being so helpless.

Once he had finished drinking, his throat feeling substantially less dry, Izuku shuffled his arms back beneath his blankets and curled his legs up towards his chest. He wasn’t sobbing, or even crying, not really, but a steady stream of tears rolled down his freckled cheeks as he stared at the wall. His mind felt empty yet heavy and all he wanted to do was sleep.

“You can rest a bit if you need to,” Aizawa murmured, leaning over once more to card a hand through his hair, carefully brushing out any tangles and snags. Despite the fear and anxiety that still thrashed around inside of him, Izuku melted under the hero’s touch. He was so conflicted- he felt trapped and scared because he had no idea what was going to happen to him and yet something about Aizawa’s presence, despite the unknown, made Izuku feel inexplicably safe.

He let his eyes close, promising himself that he would only rest them for a minute, but nothing could stop the enticing pull of sleep that dragged him under while the only adult that had ever made him feel secure tugged at loose curls with a gentleness that he had never felt before.

-----

For once, Izuku didn’t wake with a jolt nor did he wake with a clouded mind and muddled memories. Instead, he woke up slowly just as he had fallen asleep- fingers running through his hair in delicate touches. Izuku knew exactly where he was and remembered everything that had happened, but the call of sleep was far more enticing than having to deal with his situation.

Izuku buried his face deeper into his pillow in an attempt to escape from reality and just merge with his bedding. Aizawa, however, had other plans.

“I know you're tired, kiddo, but you need to wake up. Just for a bit.” Aizawa’s voice was gruff with caramel undertones. It was sweet in a way that Izuku was unfamiliar with, but he found himself drawn to it like a promise of warmth.

Izuku wanted his displeasure at being woken up known, so he may or may not have exaggerated his groans as he unfurled from his sleeping position and cracked open an eye to glare at the hero.

Aizawa looked back at him unfazed, and Izuku kind of wanted to hit him for it.

“Sorry, kid, but that friend of mine will be here in a minute and I doubt you’d want to wake up with a stranger in the room,” Aizawa explained, carding his hand one last time through Izuku’s curls before pulling back.

Izuku puffed out his cheeks a bit but said nothing. He couldn’t fault the hero for being considerate, because he was right, Izuku very much did not want to be woken up by someone he didn’t know, but he also wanted to sleep for eternity.

Shifting around until he was sitting more upright, his arms still tucked beneath the covers, Izuku curled in on himself and allowed his knees to press against his chest. He didn’t have a vanishing quirk that would let him disappear but he could at least make himself smaller.

Being hit didn’t hurt as much when he was curled up.

It was about five minutes later when he heard a soft knocking on the door of his hospital room. Aizawa, who had been texting on his phone, tucked it back into his pocket and stood to open the door.

Izuku tensed, unsure of who the visitor would be or what they wanted.

The door swung open to reveal a man in slacks and a white button-up shirt. A tan trench coat was folded over one arm and he took off his matching hat to hold it to his chest as he bowed before entering. When he stood up straight again, Izuku was able to look closer at his face. His was was more or less plain looking, but his dark eyes held a softness to them and his lips curved into an easy smile.

“Good afternoon, Midoriya,” the man greeted, “my name is Tsukauchi Naomasa, a detective that works with the Musutafu Police Department.”

Izuku froze. His lungs sputtered to a stop in his chest and his heart jumped into his throat.

Aizawa must have seen his panic because the hero didn’t hesitate to crouch in front of Izuku, his hands hovering above him but not touching him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I already said that you’re not in any trouble and I meant it,” the hero reassured. Izuku’s eyes never left the detective, the hair on the back of his neck raised in alarm despite Aizawa’s words.

Tsukauchi held up his own hands as well as if showing that he wasn’t a threat. “Eraser is right, you aren’t in any trouble whatsoever, I promise.”

After scanning over the detective, Izuku finally let his gaze fall back on the hero in front of him.

“Does he- does he know I’m…” Izuku trailed off, his voice just loud enough for Aizawa to hear.

He nodded, “Yes, he knows you’re Moth, but that’s not why he’s here.”

Izuku shot him a questioning look. “But then why is he here?” He didn’t bother to lower his voice that time, letting both men hear the guarded suspicion.

The smile on Tsukauchi’s face fell into something more pitying which only served to ramp up Izuku’s already growing apprehension. The man pulled up a plastic chair from the corner with slow movements and set it a good seven feet away from Izuku’s bedside before sitting.

“Are you willing to answer some questions about your father?” The detective asked, his voice low and soft, not quite like the soothing rumbles of Aizawa’s tone but softer, like pattering rain on grass. As much as he distrusted the man, Izuku felt his shoulders lose their tension.

“My father? Like- like Hisashi?”

Tsukauchi nodded, “Yes, Midoriya Hisashi.”

Izuku stole a quick glance at Aizawa, either for confirmation or for some sort of reassurance. In response, the hero placed a hand on his shoulder, a grounding feeling as well as quiet permission to continue.

Looking back at the detective, Izuku tightly nodded. “O-okay, but, why?”

The rest of Tsukauchi’s smile fell as he breathed a heavy sigh through his nose. “I want to be honest with you, okay? Because I personally believe that honesty is always the best policy.”

Izuku twisted his hands beneath his blanket as unease climbed up his spine.

“Your father is under investigation for child neglect,” the man stated carefully, “because he wasn’t taking very good care of you-”

“I know what child neglect is, sir,” Izuku interjected, his voice flat. Of course he knew what child neglect was. He had known from the day that he was announced quirkless that his father held a certain disdain for him that eventually morphed into apathy. He, more than anyone else, knew that his father was the definition of neglectful.

But what else could he possibly expect? Izuku was quirkless, he was broken, so it only made sense that his father would want little to do with him. At least the man kept a roof over his head and sent money for food sometimes.

But for some reason, neither the detective nor Aizawa saw it that way if they were willing to go as far as opening up a child neglect case just for him.

“It really isn’t- isn’t all bad,” Izuku tried to argue. He didn’t miss the worried glance that the two men shared.

“How about this, if you’re comfortable with it, I’ll set up this recording device and ask you some questions. That way, no matter what happens next, you won’t need to be involved with any of the legal stuff, okay?” Tsukauchi implored with a placating smile.

Izuku fidgeted, his gaze lowering down to his lap.

“Um, will he…will my dad get arrested?” he warily asked. “Because if he goes to jail then I don’t know what will happen with my apartment or the money he sends me. I mean, I guess I can find work somewhere, or maybe-”

“Hold on, kid,” Aizawa cut him off, “don’t think we plan on just letting you go without a roof over your head or food to eat. Whatever happens with your father, you’ll be taken care of.” The hero squeezed his shoulders slightly as if to emphasize his point.

“That’s right. Our priority now is to keep you safe and happy,” Tsukauchi added with an air of confidence that Izuku was very much not feeling. But what could he do, say no?

Besides, he thought, I won’t stay alive long enough for any of this to really matter. Third time's the charm.

Keeping his head down, Izuku nodded at the detective. “Okay.”

“Thank you for trusting us, Midoriya,” Tsukauchi said. “Now, I’m going to start recording our conversation soon, and if at any time you feel uncomfortable, we’ll stop. Do you have any questions?”

Izuku shook his head.

“Okay, although I will need verbal responses from here on out.” Tsukauchi reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small recording device. It looked like the ones from pre-quirk era cop shows. The man placed it on the rolling bedside table between them and turned it on.

“This is Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa with Musutafu PD. The date is April 14th, 2xxx. I will be questioning Midoriya Izuku in regards to the ongoing child neglect investigation involving his father, Midoriya Hisashi. In the room with us is Aizawa Shouta, hero alias Eraserhead, as the hero assigned to the case. Before we begin, I must inform all participants of my quirk. My quirk, lie-detection, allows me to know whether a statement being made is either true or false. I will be verbally indicating the reliability of each statement during the interview. Now, to start, can you tell me your full name?”

“Um…Midoriya Izuku.”

“True. How old are you and when is your birthday?”

Izuku twisted his fingers even harder until he felt the strain on each knuckle.

“Mmm, my birthday is July 15th, 2xxx, and I’m twelve.”

“True. And what is your quirk?”

A painful weight pressed down on Izuku’s heart. “I’m…I’m quirkless, sir,” he said hesitantly, the words making him feel ill.

“True. Now, we’re going to get into more difficult questions. If at any time you need to take a break, let me know.”

“Okay.”

“Alright. To start, when was the last time you saw your father in person?” Tsukauchi questioned, his voice steady and clear.

“Uh, about two years ago. He flew in from America, I think, after mom died.”

“True. And can you explain what he did while he was with you?”

Izuku nodded before telling Tsukauchi about the day his mother died, about how his father had been with him for a few days. Izuku couldn’t remember much during his visit but he did explain that his father rented his current apartment, set him up with an online school, and promised to send him money every once in a while.

“All True. Do you know why your father decided to leave you behind as opposed to taking you with him?”

“Oh, uh. He actually offered for me to come to America with him.” Both Tsukauchi and Aizawa turned to him in surprise.

“True. Can you tell me about that conversation?”

“Well, he gave me two options. Um, one was to go back with him to America, but he said he’d just put me in a boarding school or something, and the other was for me to stay here. Obviously, I- I chose to stay.”

A look of concern caused a crease to form between Tsukauchi’s furrowed brows.

“True. Do you mind telling me why you chose to stay here instead of going with your father?”

Izuku shrugged. “I mean, I was already a target at school for being quirkless, I didn’t want to be the new foreign kid too.”

“Is that the only reason, Midoriya?”

“Ah, well,” Izuku pressed his knees closer to his chest, “I was also, um, scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what?” the detective gently prodded.

Izuku huffed out a small breath of air. “Scared of my dad. Scared he would…” The words caught in his throat. His father was by no means someone he was actively worried about, not as long as the man was across the ocean, but every so often, old memories would resurface in passing thoughts or vivid nightmares.

“Were you scared that he would hurt you?” Tsukauchi inquired delicately.

“Y-yeah.”

“True. Has your father ever hurt you before? Either emotionally, physically, or in any other way?”

Aizawa squeezed his shoulders again, a quiet sign of support that Izuku was thankful for because his mind had started to get foggy again and it was hard to focus.

“Yeah,” he confided, “After I was diagnosed as quirkless, he, uh, wasn’t very happy about it. Um-” Izuku squeezed his eyes shut as if he could block out the ghosts of pain and memories that seared themselves into his skin.

“That’s okay, Midoriya, take your time.”

Izuku took in a shaky breath. “He- he tried to force a quirk, I guess? By uh, trying a bunch of things.”

If Izuku had opened his eyes, he would have seen the look of alarm that flashed across both Aizawa’s and Tsukauchi’s faces.

The detective cleared his throat. “True. Are you comfortable elaborating on that?”

He wasn’t, but both men in the room were quiet, waiting, expectant.

“Once, he locked me in a closet or a cupboard for a while. I think it was a few days? It was dark so I don’t know how long I was there. I just remember feeling- feeling really hungry and I think I slept for a while. He did other things, like, he once pushed me into a river to see if I had a water-based quirk. And- and he made me eat and drink weird things. I don’t remember what, though, just that they made me feel sick after. But he didn’t hit me or use his quirk on me very often, only when he was really angry.”

The room grew suffocatingly quiet. Izuku opened his eyes again to see some unnamed emotion settle itself across Tsukauchi’s features. When he looked up at Aizawa, that same burning anger was locked in his dark eyes, the once warm, summer storm clouds turning into something more violent.

“True,” the detective finally said.

“I think that’s enough for today, Naomasa,” Aizawa cut in, speaking for the first time since the interview started. Tsukauchi nodded before reaching over to turn off the recording device. The room remained silent for a moment, and Izuku had to force himself to keep his hands still, wanting nothing more than to rip off his bandages and scratch at his arms. A hot buzzing feeling crawled under his skin like marching fire ants.

The detective cleared his throat again. “Thank you, Midoriya, for answering my questions. That was very brave of you.”

Izuku shrugged. He didn’t feel brave. He just felt tired and his head was swimming, making the room tilt ever so slightly to the right.

Another unidentifiable look was shared between the two men, a conversation held with their eyes before Tsukauchi turned back to Izuku.

“I do have just one more question,” the detective said slowly as if coaxing a scared kitten.

Something about his tone, or maybe it was the tense silence that hung in the air, made Izuku’s chest tighten.

“Do you have any intentions of trying to kill yourself again?”

Izuku’s heart dropped like a stone into his already twisting stomach. The air felt too thick, too warm like he was being drowned inside a bathtub of steaming water. His mind came to a screeching halt and any coherent thought instantly fell away.

“I-” What could he say? What was the correct answer? “N-no.”

Tsukauchi’s right eye subtly twitched and Izuku could tell he was holding back a grimace.

“Midoriya…”

Fuck.

His quirk.

Fuck.

Izuku curled in on himself, the weight of Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder felt impossibly heavier. Suddenly, he felt like he was in a room full of hundreds of people staring at him instead of just the two. His limbs began to shake with how tightly he held himself.

“Uh- I don’t-” his voice cracked as yet another wave of hot tears welled in his eyes.

Pathetic.

Useless.

Worthless.

Deku.

“I don’t- I don’t know!” he nearly screamed before burying his face between his knees. “I don’t know! Everything is too much all the time and I don’t know!” A painful sob wracked his body, his lungs hitching with every breath. “I don’t know! I’m sorry, I‘m sorry! ’mm sorry!”

The hand on his shoulder moved away only to be replaced by a tight embrace, arms engulfing his balled-up form. He could vaguely feel a breathing pattern being tapped lightly onto his back and the oh-so-familiar sound of Aizawa’s voice carried over the noise of his rapidly beating heart. His tone was quiet, and rumbling, and grounding all at once. It was akin to a cat’s purr but only deeper, and Izuku could feel the vibration coming from the hero’s chest even if his brain refused to process his words.

By the time he came back to himself, his body ached at the strain of how tightly he had hugged his knees to his chest. Uncurling from his position, Izuku could feel every stiff muscle and his ribs felt bruised. Aizawa’s arms were still wrapped firmly around him, leaning Izuku’s head against his chest at an almost awkward angle but he was far too tired to move anymore.

It took him a moment, but he distantly realized that Tsukauchi was no longer in the room. His sudden absence startled Izuku as he didn’t hear the man leave. Where did he go? Did Izuku upset him? Or was he disgusted by how pitiful Izuku was?

As if understanding his confusion, Aizawa clarified, “I sent him out a few minutes ago. You needed some time to calm down a bit and he didn’t have any more questions for you.”

Oh.

Izuku sniffled and nodded, his face half-buried in Aizawa’s capture weapon.

A million questions suddenly filled Izuku’s mind. Now that they knew about his dad, what would happen to him next? What did they mean when they promised him shelter and food? Were they going to let him stay at his apartment or were they going to find him some other shelter? And surely he was expelled from U.A., but should he find another high school to enroll in or maybe find a job?

And if nothing else, he could also try again…right?

Despite all of the questions that wanted to spill from his mouth, one thing overpowered every other thought in his head.

“I’m tired,” he muttered, his voice small and weak.

Aizawa hummed. “That’s okay. The nurses will be by later with food, but you can get some more sleep until then.”

Izuku’s eyes were already closed again. He felt himself being lowered back onto his pillow and he reveled in the softness of it. His raised bed had been lowered and by the time Izuku felt fingers brushing through his hair, sleep had already called to him.

Izuku wanted to know what was going to happen next- but more than anything, he just wanted to rest.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was a blur of nurses switching out his IV, changing his bandages, and Izuku eating obnoxiously bright-colored jello and bland soup while half-asleep. Izuku was mentally gone the entire time, tucking himself deep into the corners of his mind. If he didn’t acknowledge his situation then there was nothing to panic about.

Except he did panic when he realized that Aizawa had left the room only to be replaced by someone he had never met before. She was a tall woman with ocean blue hair and sea-foam-colored eyes that contrasted her dark skin. She wore a light blue doctor's coat, instead of a white one, and her scrubs had cartoon fish all over them. Her smile was sunny and warm as she greeted him.

“Hello there, Midoriya. My name is Dr. Mizuno and I’m the hospital’s pediatric psychiatrist. How are you doing this evening?”

Izuku’s eyes jumped from the doctor to the door, unsure if he was subconsciously planning an escape or wishing for Aizawa to return. He knew the hero said something before leaving but Izuku was so deep in his own thoughts that he didn’t fully process his words. Izuku very much regretted that now.

“Um…’mm fine,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the door behind the doctor.

Dr. Mizuno tilted her head a bit, the smile never leaving her face.

“You know, it’s okay if you’re not fine,” she said matter-of-factly before sitting in the seat that the detective had occupied earlier that afternoon. “It’s okay to not be okay; have you ever heard that saying?”

Izuku shrugged. Sure, it’s okay to not be okay, but it wasn’t okay to be as broken as he was. That was a very big difference.

“Do you know why I’m here, Midoriya?” She questioned patiently.

“Um, will Aizawa-sensei be back?” he asked instead of answering.

“Don’t worry, sweety, he’ll be back soon. It’s important that I meet with you one-on-one so there isn’t any outside influence. I’m here to do something called a psychological evaluation. Basically, that just means I’m going to ask you some questions so that we can figure out how to help you to the best of our ability, is that okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” he mumbled, a bit too much snark lacing his words. The doctor’s kind demeanor never wavered.

“You have a choice about what questions you feel comfortable answering. If you don’t want to answer one of my questions or you feel that you don’t know how to answer, then we can skip it, okay?”

In other words, no, he didn’t have a choice.

“I guess,” he said, his eyes leaving the door, letting his gaze fall to the blanket twisted in his lap.

“Awesome, thank you Midoriya. We’ll start off with some easy ones, does that sound fine?”

He shrugged again.

“Alrighty, first question: How are you feeling right now? And if you can’t describe it, just tell me the first word that comes to mind.”

“Like shit,” was his instant reply. Once again, the doctor was unfazed.

“Okay, can you tell me how you feel most of the time? The emotion you feel for most of the day or most of the week?”

Izuku tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “Like shit,” he repeated. Dr. Mizuno just nodded and wrote something down on a clipboard.

“Can you tell me how you felt last night before your teacher found you?”

This time, Izuku really did roll his eyes. “Seriously?” he muttered.

She softly laughed, “Hmm, let me guess then, you felt ‘like shit’?”

Izuku nodded.

“Okay, thank you for answering those questions, Midoriya. Now, we’ll move on to some tougher ones.” She flipped to a new page, her pen at the ready. “Would you say that you don’t like yourself?”

Izuku felt his chest tighten like his heart was squeezing itself. He pressed a thumb into his palm, focusing on the pressure while answering.

“No one likes me, so why would I like myself?”

The smile on the doctor’s face ticked down a bit, but he was thankful that she didn’t try to counter his words with fake sympathy, instead, she just moved on to the next question.

“How long have you felt this way about yourself?”

Izuku sniffed. “I don’t know. A while? At least since I was diagnosed as quirkless.” He pressed his thumb harder into his hand until he felt his fingers tingle from the lack of circulation. “Everyone else got their quirks and I…just didn’t. And then my father got angry about it and blamed my mom. And I’m pretty sure my mom blamed me for dad leaving, even if he did hit us sometimes.” Izuku didn’t know why he was rambling, the words falling so easily out of him like flowing water.

“That was very difficult for you, I’m sure, and it wasn’t okay that your dad treated you like that. It’s not okay for anyone to treat you badly just because of your quirk status,” Dr. Mizuno said with a certain firmness in her tone.

Izuku just hummed noncommittally in response.

“Can you tell me about the first time you purposefully hurt yourself?” She questioned, and Izuku was grateful for the lack of pity in her voice. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt strangely easy to talk to her, to tell her all of his thoughts.

“The first time was an accident,” he answered, almost shamefully. “I didn’t mean to, but I hurt my hand with a screwdriver when I was, uh, panicking I guess? But- but the pain made me feel better, made me feel calmer. Like there was a lot of pressure but the pain took it away.”

Dr. Mizuno wrote something down again before looking back at him. “Kind of like letting the air out of a balloon that was blown up too big, right?”

Izuku nodded, “Yeah, exactly.”

She hummed. “That’s not an uncommon feeling, and I know you did what you thought was best in order to feel better, but there are other ways to release that pressure, ways that won’t hurt you.”

Izuku swallowed. He knew that. But it wasn’t just the pressure or the distraction of pain that made him hurt himself. Sometimes he did it because he felt like he needed to punish himself, but more than anything, it made him feel in control over his emotions. So many people had hurt him for so long that it felt nice to be able to hurt himself for once.

He didn’t say any of that.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she echoed. “Let’s move on to the next question.”

-----

The rest of the time he spent with Dr. Mizuno went by in a dissociative haze. The more questions she asked, the more tired he felt. While, for some reason he didn’t feel too uncomfortable talking to her—Izuku assumed it had something to do with her quirk—the exhaustion from the past couple of days was starting to catch up to him.

He vaguely remembered her asking about how he dealt with social interactions, what he wanted to do in the future, asking him to rate his own maturity level on a scale of one to ten, etc. After about two hours, she thanked him for his cooperation, told him how strong he was, and then left.

Just as quickly as they swapped places the first time, it was only seconds before Aizawa stepped back into the room. This time, however, the man had changed out of his hero costume and into civilian clothes. If Izuku wasn’t so fatigued from spending hours talking about his closest kept secrets, he would have been more shocked at seeing the hero dressed out of his costume for the first time. Aizawa was wearing a black sweater and dark sweatpants, his capture weapon bundled up and tucked beneath one of his arms.

He realized that Aizawa must have gone home to change or something since the man did apparently stay with him overnight.

Aizawa walked over to his bed and gently ran a hand through his curls. Izuku internally chided himself for instinctively leaning into the hero’s touch.

“You alright, kid?” he asked, stepping back and taking a seat in the same chair Dr. Mizuno had sat in.

No, Izuku was not alright, he was absolutely spent at being interrogated about his personal life twice in one day.

“Tired,” he grumbled, slumping into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin.

Aizawa huffed in slight amusement. “I’m sure you are. It’s getting late anyway, so you can sleep if you need to.”

Izuku answered with a yawn. Yes, sleep, his one true ally in this accursed world.

He heard Aizawa stand and flick off the lights, the darkness both a soothing balm to Izuku’s headache and an invitation to rest. It seemed that Aizawa wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon, and Izuku felt bad for taking up the hero’s time, but it wasn’t like he had asked the man to stay with him.

So, with one more yawn escaping his lungs, Izuku nestled into his pillow and slept.

-----

The beams of sunlight that filtered through the windows were what roused Izuku from his sleep. For the first time since he arrived at the hospital, he was thankful for being woken up. Distorted memories of the USJ attack plagued most of his dreams, like a video on repeat. He could almost feel the sensation of the Nomu’s blood gushing over his hands and he vividly remembered Hitoshi’s screams of pain, echoing in his ears. Izuku knew that Hitoshi was okay, Aizawa had told him that he was already at home resting with his moms, but it didn't stop the horrid memory of his friend getting hurt by a literal monster.

Pushing away the dregs of sleep, Izuku yawned and stretched. He noted that his body felt substantially less weak and sore, and it wasn’t until he reached up to rub his eyes with his right hand that he realized the IV had been taken out at some point. Blinking a few times to adjust his vision to the brightness of the morning, Izuku watched as Aizawa slipped back into the room, shoving his phone into his pocket. Aizawa was back in his normal hero costume, his hair down and his capture weapon habitually resting on his shoulders.

The hero looked to Izuku with mild surprise. “You’re awake already,” the hero noted, “Good. You have another visitor coming soon.”

Izuku scrunched up his nose. “A-another? Like, to ask me more questions?”

Aizawa shook his head. “No, no more questions for the time being. We just need to get some things sorted before you’re discharged.”

Izuku instantly sat up in his bed at the word ‘discharged’. “I can leave soon?” he asked, not bothering to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

The hero nodded. “Yeah, kid, just gotta fill out some paperwork, and then we can get you out of here this afternoon.”

Izuku felt his shoulders slump in relief. The sooner he got out of the hospital the better. He hated feeling trapped here, like an animal in a cage, and he had actually started to miss his apartment. Sure, the hospital bed was arguably more comfortable than his futon, but it wasn’t his.

While he had absolutely no idea what he planned on doing once he was discharged, the promise of freedom from the smell of antiseptics and hovering nurses was enough to dispel the last remnants of his nightmare.

Aizawa pulled out his phone again and gave it a scrutinizing look before sighing. “I know you just woke up but he’s already here,” he said with a hint of annoyance. Then, muttering under his breath, “Eight in the morning is too damn early for this.” The hero once again tucked away his phone before taking his usual spot at the foot of Izuku’s bed.

Izuku gathered his blanket and draped it around his shoulders like an oversized cape. It made him feel just a bit more secure even though it wouldn’t actually protect him from anything, like a kid hiding under the covers so they wouldn’t get eaten by the monster in their closet.

“Who’s, um, who’s coming?” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep.

Aizawa turned to him, about to answer, when the hospital door slid open without warning. Izuku jolted in surprise and automatically leaned closer to the hero without realizing it.

Principle Nezu scurried his way in with his trademark smile.

“Ah! Good morning Midoriya! Am I a dog, a rat, a bear? Who knows! All that matters is that I’m the princ-”

“You’re part of the Mustelid family,” Izuku accidentally interrupted. He had been so caught off guard by Nezu’s sudden appearance that he had momentarily forgotten to filter his brain.

Nezu, however, seemed all too pleased at his outburst. A wicked smile showed sharp teeth and his beady eyes narrowed as he tilted his head. “Oh?”

Izuku, fighting the urge to hit himself out of embarrassment, stuttered an apology. “I’m s-sorry! I didn’t mean to- I just, ya know, always kind of figured you were either a weasel or a ferret, or a combination of the two?”

The silence grew tense for only a moment until Nezu’s delighted cackles filled the room.

“Yes, yes, I knew I liked you for a reason, Midoriya,” the principal mused. Izuku ignored the way Aizawa scowled next to him.

“Um…thanks?”

“You are correct in that I am a part of the Mustelid family, but I am neither a weasel nor a ferret. Which means…” Nezu trailed off, looking at Izuku expectantly.

Izuku blinked. “Uh. That means you’re a- a stoat?” his voice raised in pitch when he answered.

Nezu clapped his paws together, the sound of it making Izuku flinch.

“Correct! Now, moving on from your impressive observation, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” Nezu said, all too cheerfully.

Izuku wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and averted his eyes.

“I already know,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I know you’re expelling me, and- and I just wanted to say I’m really sorry for everything.” He hated the way his voice wavered around the growing lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I lied and-”

“Expel you? Now, why would I do that?” Nezu implored, his hands clasped behind his back. Izuku faltered, his mouth opening and closing slightly.

“Because- because I lied on my application? I lied about my age and I was useless during the USJ attack, and-”

Nezu cut him off again. “Yes, you did falsify your age and contact information on your application, but do you know what we do with troubled students, Midoriya?”

Izuku’s eyes darted between Aizawa and Nezu. “Uh…”

“We teach them,” he stated simply.

“I don’t really understand, sir,” Izuku said weakly, his head tilted in confusion.

“To start, your falsified age and contact information is not something I can fault you with as it was your father’s responsibility to look over the application before signing it, correct?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“As a minor, legal matters such as this are the responsibility of the parents or guardians, and if I now have your correct age, then you are still very much a minor.”

“Okay, yeah, well-”

“Second,” Nezu continued without pause, “Not only did you earn your place at the school by receiving top marks in the hero course entrance exam, but you did so while being the very first quirkless student to both apply and succeed, which says quite a bit about your intelligence and combat skills. Further evidence of your capabilities can be seen by the way you handled the USJ attack.

Your quick thinking helped your classmates when trapped in the shipwreck zone surrounded by numerous villains and you also immediately pinpointed and exploited the weaknesses of a creature that was specifically designed to take down All Might-”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Nezu barreled on, “You didn’t hesitate to protect your classmates or teacher, although I admit you could have gone about it a bit less recklessly. Regardless, your true heroic colors shined during such an unfortunate event. And don’t think I’m unaware of your previous experiences taking down villains, Moth.”

Izuku blanched. His knuckles bone-white from how hard he was gripping his blanket. Nezu simply waved it off like he was discussing the weather.

“Both Aizawa and Tsukauchi informed me of your recreational activities before you started U.A., but I must warn you, that just because your vigilante-like actions were not technically illegal, it is against U.A. rules for un-licensed students to engage in combat with a villain without supervision. So, I encourage you to pick a new hobby until you get your hero license.”

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the world was crumbling from beneath him as Nezu so nonchalantly shrugged off his past before easily mentioning the possibility of a hero license. Izuku shook his head.

“Wait, whoa, hold on! Are you-” Izuku scrubbed at his face in an unsuccessful attempt at clearing his head. “Are you saying that- that you think I can still be a hero?”

Nezu paused. “No, of course not.”

Izuku felt himself deflate. Right, of course not.

“I’m saying you already are a hero, just not legally, not yet.”

Izuku’s brain stopped working. Every emotion and physical sensation had been replaced by the intense urge to scream ‘what the fuck’ as loud as he possibly could.

Because,

What the fuck?

Aizawa huffed, “Nezu, you’re gonna give the poor kid an aneurysm.”

“What better place to have an aneurysm than at a hospital, no?” Nezu chuckled.

Aizawa didn’t answer but instead shot an icy glare at the stoat who merely brushed it off as he turned to face Izuku again.

“Apologies. To answer your question, Midoriya, yes, I fully believe you are capable of becoming a great hero and I would like nothing more than to see you grow under U.A.’s tutelage.”

Izuku felt dizzy, with either relief or shock, he wasn’t sure. There was no way that any of this was real. He wasn’t going to be arrested, his father was under investigation with the promise that Izuku wouldn’t be homeless for it, and he wasn’t in trouble with U.A. for blatantly lying on his application?

Was everything really going to just continue like normal? Would he really be that lucky?

“So,” Izuku hesitantly started, “I’m not expelled?”

“No, you are not expelled. However, due to recent events as well as taking your age into consideration, I will need to rethink your academic future going forward, but please do not fret, you will remain in class 1-A as a hero student and will continue to train alongside your classmates.”

Izuku’s jaw dropped, openly gaping at the stoat in utter disbelief. A sense of freedom that he had never experienced before shined before him like a prize at the end of an arduous maze. From the corner of his eye, he could see Aizawa hiding a smirk underneath his capture weapon.

But then the air of the room turned tense as Nezu climbed up onto the chair by his bed and clasped his hands in his lap, his smile falling slightly.

“With all that settled, there are a few pressing matters we need to address.”

Izuku felt his stomach drop at the sudden shift in tone.

“The first topic of discussion is about your living situation,” Nezu said, holding up one finger of his paw.

Izuku tried not to fidget, anxiety creeping down his neck in a spider-like sensation.

“My living situation? Do you mean- because my dad might get in trouble and can’t pay for my apartment?” Izuku sat up a bit straighter, “Because I can find a way to pay for it!”

“Kid,” Aizawa sighed, placing a steady hand on Izuku’s shoulder, “money isn’t the issue here. We just don’t feel comfortable letting you live by yourself in one of the worst parts of the city, especially not in a building that’s one earthquake away from collapsing.”

He looked between Nezu and Aizawa with knitted brows. “Then…where would I live?” he asked hesitantly, trying not to fear their answer.

Aizawa opened his mouth to speak but Nezu was faster.

“Due to the attack at the USJ, myself and the school board have come to the decision of implementing dormitories for both students and staff as an added security measure against possible future threats. There will be one dorm building per class, with each student assigned to their own room, and one building for the members of staff that have agreed to live on campus. The dorms are currently being constructed and should be finished in about one week from now, so by next Friday.”

“Oh.” Izuku twisted his blanket between his fingers. Truthfully, as much as he disliked his apartment, he had grown attached to it because it was his. His own space separate from the rest of the world. Being in his apartment gave him a strange sense of freedom, a place where he never felt the need to hide from himself, so the idea of moving out of his home and into dorms on campus made him feel uncomfortable. Though, at least he would get his own room, right? “Will the dorms have- have air conditioning and heating?” he decided to ask because he honestly wasn’t sure how else to respond.

Nezu’s smile turned almost pitying. “Yes, in fact, each room will have its own thermostat to accommodate individual preferences. Each room also comes equipped with a personal bathroom as well, though the kitchens are communal.”

Izuku nodded to himself. His own apartment had neither heating nor air conditioning which made for sweltering summers and brutal winters, and his own kitchen was made up of a stove and a broken microwave. Maybe moving wouldn’t be so bad after all?

“We can thank Cementoss as well as U.A.’s own contracted construction company for their swift work. Aizawa, your room in the staff dorms will, of course, be larger than the others, and I've already requested the extra furniture so you don't need to worry about any out-of-pocket purchases other than the bedding." Izuku raised a brow. Why would Aizawa's room need to be bigger? Did he have pets or something? "Until then, the school will remain closed to allow students time to recuperate from the attack. Staff can move into the dorms next Saturday and the students on Sunday. Classes will begin again the following Monday,” Nezu informed them, then his eyes flicked from Izuku to Aizawa. “Due to recent revelations,” he began with a more solemn tone, “I will be using this time to conduct home-checks while discussing on-campus living with the parents of each student, and I will personally see to your class, Aizawa.”

Aizawa gave his boss a firm nod and Izuku didn’t miss his small sigh of relief. “Keep me updated,” the hero requested.

“Of course,” Nezu assured with a nod of his own. “Moving on, we need to discuss Midoriya’s guardianship.”

Izuku stilled. “What-”

“I spoke with Detective Tsukauchi last night while reviewing Midoriya’s case files so that we could better prepare a plan of action in regards to both legal matters and his academic career. He informed me that you’ve already signed the papers as provided by the child-safety department of HPSC?” Nezu inquired.

“I have,” Aizawa confirmed. “I sent them off with him before he left yesterday. A social worker I've previously worked with was assigned to Izuku as soon as the child neglect case was opened against Hisashi, and she's been able to expedite the process.”

“Wait, hold on,” Izuku dropped the blanket from around his shoulders, his eyes snapping between the stoat and the hero. “What do you mean guardianship?” He could feel a strange panic climb up this throat, a cocktail of anxiety and confusion.

Nezu gave him a sympathetic look which caused a flare of frustration to spark in Izuku’s chest. “As you’re already aware, your father has a case being made against him for child neglect among other possible charges, but regardless of the outcome of the investigation, you will never again be placed under his care. In fact, as of last night, he no longer has any claims of custody over you, which means you needed someone to take over legal guardianship.”

Izuku’s head was swimming and he could feel that sickly spider-sensation crawling up his spine again. Dread replaced the marrow in his bones, making him want to shiver with the cold of it.

“Does- I- what does that mean?” he stuttered, unable to keep the shakiness out of his voice. “Do you mean, like, foster care? Do I need a guardian if I’ll be living on campus? I- I’ve already taken care of myself since elementary school, is this really necessary?”

Izuku couldn’t be placed in foster care. He wouldn’t. He refused. He knew he would never survive it as broken and quirkless as he was.

He swallowed the bile that threatened to climb up his throat.

I would rather die.

Nezu dusted off some invisible debris from his slacks as he spoke. “No matter where you live, Midoriya, you need to have a guardian. Not only is it a legal requirement for a minor but you need a trusted adult in your life to take care of your physical and emotional needs as you grow.”

“And before you panic, kid, you aren’t being placed in normal foster care,” Aizawa quickly added.

Izuku could feel his fingers trembling from how hard he gripped the blanket now balled up in his lap.

“W-what do you mean ‘normal’?”

Aizawa angled his body so that he could fully face Izuku, his hand still resting on his shoulder. “Every teacher at U.A. is required to have a fostering license for emergencies. Generally, placing a child under the care of a foster-guardian can be a lengthy process, but I used my status as a hero as well as personal connections to gain emergency custody over you through the child-safety act enacted by the Hero Public Safety Commission.”

Izuku slowly shook his head, the room was starting to spin, making him feel ill. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

Aizawa held his gaze. The hero’s dark eyes held a fire in them, coals that were once smoldering embers suddenly sparked into a determined flame.

“It means you have been placed under my care, effective immediately,” he answered, his voice unwavering with a certain finality that made Izuku think of a judge banging a gavel to punctuate a ruling.

Izuku shook his head more firmly this time, the hand on his shoulder suddenly feeling impossibly heavy.

“No. No, I didn't agree to this. I don’t need a guardian, I-I’m fine. I haven’t-” he sucked in a sharp breath, “I’m fine on my own, I’ve always been on my own, I don’t need-”

“Kid,” The fire in Aizawa’s eyes darkened into the pained look that Izuku saw earlier, his tone low and grim, “you aren’t fine. This is the second time I’ve caught you trying to-” Aizawa paused when his voice cracked, thick with an emotion that Izuku didn’t recognize, “that I’ve caught you trying to kill yourself.” The hero whispered as if speaking any louder would cause him physical pain.

Izuku felt those words like a blow to the chest, the air leaving his lungs so quickly he thought he might faint. It wasn’t just his fingers that trembled anymore, but his whole body shook with tension, with fear, with guilt. The past few days had been a whiplash of emotions and Izuku felt like he would burst from how they mixed inside of him, violent and painful.

He never got the chance to respond to the hero, as Nezu quietly cleared his throat and began to speak again.

“That brings me to our last topic of discussion,” the stoat asserted, “We need to address your physical and mental health-”

“We really don’t,” Izuku snapped, like twigs breaking beneath pressure. Tears began to build behind his eyes making the room blurry. “Because I’m fine," he snarled.

Neither Aizawa nor Nezu reacted to his sudden flare in temper. Instead, Nezu gave him that pitying smile that Izuku was starting to hate.

“Even if you wake up tomorrow feeling perfectly happy and healthy, we cannot just let this go,” Nezu sighed. “We will not risk your safety by disregarding your actions. You need help, Midoriya, and there is no shame in that.”

Anger was not an emotion that Izuku felt often. He never thought of it as something he deserved to feel, opting instead to just apologize and take the blame for anything that made him feel upset.

Now, though, hot, boiling rage turned in his stomach, burning anger filling his veins, bubbling beneath his skin. His whole body shook from how tightly his muscles were wound, a rubber band pulled taught and ready to snap. Izuku couldn’t speak, his jaw clenching so hard he heard it creak.

Nezu turned to address Aizawa, “I spoke to Hound Dog after my talk with Detective Tsukauchi last night, has he reached out to you yet?”

Aizawa nodded. “I’ve talked with him a few times now and he’s agreed to be Izuku’s full-time therapist. Additionally, he’s been in contact with Dr. Mizuno, the pediatric psychiatrist assigned to Izuku since his admission to the hospital. Apparently, the two of them have been working together to create a recovery plan.”

Nezu clapped his paws together, “Excellent! I was hoping he’d agree. It will be especially convenient once we move everyone on to campus, Hound Dog will be within arms reach in case of emergencies and he’ll be able to personally observe Midoriya’s progress.”

Izuku bit the inside of his cheek until it bled, a hot metallic taste hitting his tongue.

No.

“I’ll go ahead and set up a meeting with him sometime next week so we can finalize the details of Midoriya’s treatment and class schedule before school begins again,” Nezu offered. “Regardless, I think it’s clear that Midoriya will need to be placed under suicide watch. School hours included of course.”

Izuku couldn’t breathe. The tears that had pooled in his eyes were now freely dripping from his lashes and he could no longer feel his hands from how hard he was gripping the blanket.

No!

“I would like to hold off on informing the rest of the staff just yet, at least, not until we have a plan set in place with Hound Dog so we can get his insight on how to move forward from here. Otherwise, I fully agree,” Aizawa responded.

No! This isn’t what I wanted!

Nezu hummed in thought. “That’s no problem. Midoriya will be staying with you until the two of you can move into the dorms, correct? Will there be any issues with your agency about taking a leave of absence for the time being?”

Aizawa shook his head, “No. I was already given the time off to recover from the USJ incident, and my agency is lenient about my shifts anyway. They’ve already found a few other underground heroes to take over my normal patrols so I can watch Izuku. I was told to take as much time as I need.”

Red crept into the corners of Izuku’s vision and he could feel a sharp pressure stab at his insides, all barbed-wire and serrated claws mercilessly shredding exposed nerves.

“Good. And if you need any additional accommodations do not hesitate to ask. The well-being of both my students and staff will always be my priority. Ah! Speaking of, when I email Hound Dog to schedule the meeting, is there any additional information you would like me to pass on?”

“I appreciate it, but no,” Aizawa said with a slight shrug, “I’ll be calling him again this evening once I get Izuku settled in back at my place.”

Nezu hopped off the chair. “That’s right, Midoriya is set to be discharged this afternoon, isn’t he? Well then, the least I could do is send you home with some necessities to make the process easier. I’ll leave it at the front desk once you’re ready to leave. And when you have the time, please send me a copy of Midoriya’s updated medical records so I may pass it on to Recovery Girl.

For now, I must take my leave. I need to oversee the construction of the dorms as well as prepare the home visits for the student. I wish you well, Midoriya, and I look forward to seeing you in a few days, yes?” Nezu made his way to the door, but before leaving he leveled Aizawa with a serious look. “Take care of him, Aizawa.”

Nezu slipped from the room, and for a reason that Izuku didn’t understand, the sharp noise of the door closing set him off like a lit match.

A loud ringing echoed in his ears.

NO! NO! NO!

The invisible wire that held Izuku’s jaw shut suddenly snapped.

He’d had enough.

“Izu-”

“YOU TALKED ABOUT ME LIKE I WASN’T FUCKING HERE!” Izuku screamed, sudden and loud. Uncontrollable tears cascaded down his flushed, freckled cheeks, blinding him so that he was unable to see the faint shock that crossed Aizawa’s face. His throat burned from both screaming and crying but the heat of it felt so fitting with the hot anger that thrashed at his core.

He had never been angrier than he was at that moment. Freedom had been dangled in front of him like a carrot on a string but it was all a lie to lure him into a cage.

Everything. They were taking away everything. Every ounce of control he had over his own life, his own fucking autonomy, was suddenly being ripped away from him.

His hands came up to claw at his face because the tears wouldn’t stop and he needed to feel pain other than the emotional intensity that twisted his stomach.

“I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP! I DON’T NEED TO BE WATCHED LIKE A FUCKING CHILD! I’m-” his throat tightened, cutting off his words as a sob choked him.

Hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled his arms away from his face, holding them apart. He didn’t need to look to know it was Aizawa and it only made him angrier. The man’s hold felt like iron chains and no matter how much he twisted and pulled Aizawa didn’t let go. Izuku’s chest heaved with another broken sob.

“Izuku, listen to me kid, I need you to breathe,” the hero coaxed. He sounded too calm, too patient, and some part of Izuku hated him for it, but not nearly as much as he hated himself for breaking down like an old building, groaning and collapsing under its own weight.

“Let me go!” Izuku demanded, still trying to pull away from the man’s grasp.

“You need to calm down first and then I’ll let you go. I just want to help you, Izuku.”

Izuku ignored him. The rage inside of him had long since boiled over and he no longer felt in control of his own actions, his body merely a puppet to the fear that wanted to consume him.

“This isn’t- isn’t the kind of help I want!” he seethed through hiccuping cries. He knew he sounded like an angry toddler throwing a tantrum but he couldn’t help it. His emotions felt too much, spilling out of him like a glass overflowing with steaming water.

“Well, it’s the kind of help you’re getting, and I’m sorry kid, but it’s not optional,” Aizawa said sternly, and then, in a softer tone that Izuku almost missed, “I can’t lose you again, problem child.”

And maybe it was the surge of guilt at those words that dampened out his flames of ire, or maybe it was just the pure, suffocating exhaustion the outweighed the panic, but Izuku found his body going slack. With one last shuttering sob he fell forward into Aizawa’s chest, no longer able to hold himself upright.

His anger began to fizzle out with every passing second only to be replaced with aching fatigue. The hands that chained his wrists finally let him go and he was soon gathered into a firm embrace.

All of his energy dissipated as his angry outburst turned into whimpering cries. His limbs felt like they were filled with cement and every breath he took was laborious. It was as if the rage he felt earlier burned him from the inside out until he was nothing but a heavy shell.

He shamelessly buried his face into Aizawa’s shirt and cried until his head throbbed. In return, the hero gently rocked him, one hand brushing away the damp curls that stuck to his face, wet with tears. He could feel the steady thumping of Aizawa’s heart, and as he talked to him with a low hush, Izuku could feel the words reverberating in the man’s chest.

“You’re okay, now. Hush, kiddo, you’re alright. We overwhelmed you, and I’m sorry, but you don’t need to do this alone anymore.”

Izuku weakly shook his head, his cheek rubbing against the surprisingly soft fabric of Aizawa’s hero costume.

“You lied,” Izuku’s voice sounded rough and distant to his own ears, “You pr-promised I wouldn’t have to- to do anything I didn’t want to and you lied.” The residual frustration that still lingered inside of him conflicted with the sudden urge to seek reassurance. Unfortunately, he was mad at the one person he wanted comfort from.

He heard Aizawa sigh, felt the hero’s chest deflate. “I know, Izuku, and I’m sorry. But I can’t-” Izuku felt Aizawa’s breath hitch under the strain of his own words. “Fuck, kid, you mean too damn much to me.”

Izuku could feel himself falling apart. “Shut up,” he begged, “don’t- don’t lie to me!” With the last of his strength, Izuku weakly beat his fists against the hero’s chest. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Aizawa made no moves to stop him. He sat there diligently, taking each hit while he watched Izuku with dark eyes that swirled with grief.

Eventually, Izuku tired himself out. He stopped his sluggish assault against Aizawa and instead tried to push him away, but the man didn’t budge.

“Leave me alone!” Izuku tried to yell, but it came out as more of a hoarse whisper.

Aizawa exhaled deeply, like his chest was a chasm of guilt and anguish. “You know I can’t do that, kid,” he said softly.

A pathetic keening sound escaped Izuku’s throat as he collapsed onto his bed. He curled in on himself and pressed his face into his pillow to muffle his dying sobs. He tried to ignore the steady presence of the hero next to him as he felt himself break.

Izuku’s life had been dictated since the day he was diagnosed quirkless. His father had spent a year monitoring his every move, pushing him harder than he could handle in the hopes of developing a quirk. But once it was deemed a fruitless task, every dream and desire he had for the future was stripped away from him. His quirk status controlled nearly every aspect of his life. Kids at school would corner him and beat him, adults would ignore him, some of his teachers would purposefully fail him on tests no matter how hard he studied, and once his mother died, his entire life as he knew it was ripped from him, leaving him suspended in cold waters until he could find some sense of stability.

Since then, Izuku had cherished every ounce of control that he had over his own life, reveling in his newfound freedom, but once again it was being wrenched away. Izuku suddenly felt like a dog on the world’s smallest leash and he wanted nothing more than to chew through his collar.

The worst of it all, though, was the raw betrayal he felt towards the hero he so desperately wanted to trust. Aizawa promised that he wouldn’t try and capture him, he promised that Izuku would never be forced to do anything he didn’t want to do. And while Aizawa kept good on his word about not arresting him, never in his life had Izuku felt more like a prisoner.

Chapter Text

Shouta was in pain. Not physical pain, but a deep, aching throb that felt like hands wrapping around his heart and squeezing it until it threatened to burst in his chest. It was the kind of pain that molded with his shadow, constantly at his side like a bitter silhouette that grew larger and darker with every passing second.

Shouta was in pain, because Izuku was in pain, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Usually, Shouta prided himself in being a decent hero, and like every decent hero, he despised feeling helpless. There were few things he hated more in life than being forced to sit at the sidelines while others needlessly suffered. But Izuku wasn’t suffering at the hands of a villain, he wasn’t being hurt by a criminal or a quirk. The poor kid was being tormented by the monsters that lurked in the corners of his own mind, by invisible creatures with jagged teeth and long claws that latched onto him like a deadly leech.

And unlike villains, Shouta couldn't physically fight these kinds of demons.

But that wouldn’t stop him from doing whatever he could to minimize the hurt. He could, at the very least, be a constant support that Izuku could fall back on whenever the monsters become too much.

With time, he hoped, Izuku would learn to trust him, would seek him out when the weight of it all became too much to carry on his own. Because he knew what that isolation felt like, knew what it was like to push everyone away when it got too hard to see the difference between a helping hand and outstretched claws. If it hadn’t been for Hizashi and Nemuri, forcefully pulling him out of his own grief-filled head, then he probably would have never made it past his early twenties, dead in an alley somewhere after facing a villain he knew he couldn’t handle alone.

He refused to let Izuku make the same mistakes he did, and if he had to force the kid out from under his own storm cloud then he would, no matter how much Izuku screamed or how hard he hit.

Honestly, Shouta couldn’t say he was all too surprised by Izuku’s outburst. God knows he was pissed at Nem and Zashi for a good few months when they dragged him out of the dark. But the difference, he understood, was the relationship dynamic.

Hizashi and Nemuri were his colleagues, his friends, his equals. Shouta was his own person that could make his own choices no matter what his friends said or did. But with Izuku, the situation was vastly different. Izuku was only a child, hardly a decade of experience under his belt, too young to make proper decisions regarding his wellbeing. It was an unbalanced power dynamic where, at the end of the day, Shouta had the final say.

It was not a new position, as a teacher, he had plenty of experience being in charge of kids, but Izuku was no longer just his student. Unlike with the rest of his charges, he couldn’t just call Izuku’s parents when he was misbehaving, he couldn’t send him home during weekends and holiday breaks, he didn’t have the luxury of wiping his hands clean of any situation that didn’t involve his teaching duties, because Izuku was fully Shouta’s responsibility now.

It was up to him to help Izuku grow; to make sure he finished his homework, to remind him to eat his vegetables, to take care of him when he got sick, to take him to doctors appointments, to discipline him when he acted out, to provide clothes and toys, to comfort him after a nightmare, to give him the best possible childhood.

And oh. Oh.

He was a parent now, wasn’t he?

The thought made his stomach twist in anxiety because, fuck, he wasn’t parenting material. He was only thirty for christ’s sake, hardly able to take care of himself, and out of impulse and panic, he volunteered himself to be in charge of taking care of another human being?

But…

Shouta watched the steady rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he slept, worn out from his earlier tantrum. Green and black curls framed his face in waves and ringlets. A constellation of freckles dotted his pale skin. There were two freckles between his brow that would disappear whenever Izuku scrunched up his nose in a way that reminded Shouta of a displeased rabbit- it was one of the reasons he started subconsciously referring to him as ‘bunny’.

Shouta sighed. He wasn’t a parent, he didn’t have the patience or the skills to raise a child, a lifetime commitment that would continue long after Izuku turned eighteen.

But, Izuku had no one else, abandoned by every adult that was meant to take care of him and keep him safe. And as Shouta started putting together the pieces of the kid’s past, he realized even Izuku’s own mother had been neglectful in many ways.

So, was Shouta fit to be a full-time parent? Absolutely not. But he would learn. He had to. Because Izuku deserved at least one stable adult in his life and he wasn’t about to risk sending Izuku into a foster system that had a long history of ignoring quirk bias and abuse.

That and, while he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Shouta wasn’t sure he had the heart to let the kid go. He had already lost Izuku once and the guilt ate at him until he was near empty inside, and the very idea of not being able to protect him again was nauseating.

Besides, no matter how inadequate his current parenting skills were, there was something about Izuku that tugged at his heart, like there was a hole there he hadn’t noticed until it was filled with an inexplicable warmth at seeing the kid alive and safe. It made so much sense and yet no sense at all.

Shouta was a logical man, but there was nothing logical about his strange paternal feelings towards a child he quite literally found on the streets. In fact, only a year ago Shouta would have scoffed at the idea of natural parental instincts, yet there he was, tugging at loose curls while the boy’s eyelashes fluttered in sleep. Endearing nicknames and hushed whispers of comfort, praises, and lingering embraces, were wholly unnatural for him, but with Izuku, it came to him as easy as breathing.

Regardless, Izuku was now his responsibility and he took his responsibilities very seriously. He would make sure that this small child, scarred both physically and mentally, stayed safe as he grew up in a world that was determined to beat him down.

And if he had to cover the damn kid in bubble wrap to make it happen, then so be it.

God, he could feel his hair turning gray already.

-----

It was near noon when a medical assistant came by to drop off Izuku’s discharge papers and medical records, informing him that they were clear to leave as soon as Izuku woke up.

Before Shouta even had a chance to look through the papers, the medical assistant came back again, only five minutes later, with an entire tote bag full of items; toiletries, a few articles of clothing, and even groceries, all courtesy of Nezu.

Shouta wasn’t even going to question when the rat had time to put all that together. Rifling through the bag, he noticed Nezu had even picked out hair products specifically for curly hair and he assumed the groceries matched the food groups for Izuku’s nutritional plan. He would have to thank his boss later, because Shouta didn’t even think about the lack of food he had in his own apartment, never mind a spare toothbrush for the kid.

Setting aside the bag, Shouta picked up the stack of papers. Other than the discharge paperwork, there were three different folders.

The first was Izuku’s updated medical records; blood test results, height, weight, blood pressure, oxygen levels, all the standard numbers and charts. As Shouta flipped through the pages, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Other than malnutrition, exhaustion, and borderline anemia, Izuku had no other urgent medical problems. He was, of course, very behind in the height and weight category for kids his age, and he would more than likely always be on the shorter and skinnier side, but with a few months of proper nutrition and rest, Izuku would be back on track to developing normally aside from possible delayed puberty.

Fuck, he’d eventually have to give Izuku ‘the talk’, wouldn’t he?

…

No, he’d just send the kid over to Chiyo. She was a medical professional, after all.

The second file was Izuku’s nutritional plan. There was a list of food groups that should make up the majority of Izuku’s diet, about a dozen pages of different recipes that aligned with his nutritional plan, a small list of foods to avoid in excess, and a list of food substitutions just in case Izuku didn’t like something. There was even a chart that Shouta could use to monitor what the kid ate, when he ate, and how much weight he was gaining.

Shouta would admit that he didn’t have the best eating habits himself, so it would be a challenge for the both of them to try and eat three full meals a day. Maybe then Hizashi would finally stop pestering him about the number of nutritional jelly pouches he drank.

The last file was by far the largest- Izuku’s psychiatric information, including the results of his psychological evaluation, diagnoses sheet, observations, a ‘What to Expect’ guide for behavioral issues, an outline of Izuku’s recovery plan, and, much to Shouta’s surprise, Izuku’s daily schedule that Shouta, Inui, and Dr. Mizuno had talked about only a day prior.

After Izuku’s psych evaluation the night before, the hound-hero had called him about the kid’s results. Apparently, Inui and Dr. Mizuno had reached the conclusion that placing Izuku in a pediatric psychiatric ward would be more traumatizing than beneficial, especially with the high risk of quirkless discrimination.

For no reason other than bigotry, quirkless people of all ages were often subjected to forced psychiatric hospitalization based on the stigma that people without quirks were more likely to be violent or mentally unstable. What was possibly worse, was that some of the medical staff in psychiatric wards fully accepted, if not encouraged, ostracizing quirkless patients. Not that he was surprised, quirkless discrimination was present in all fields of work.

Honestly, Shouta didn’t even fully trust the staff at the hospital they were currently in. The doctors and nurses that treated Izuku—and Shinsou, during his stay—were handpicked by Nezu himself to ensure there wouldn’t be any quirk discrimination. Though, at least Musutafu General Hospital was overall more strict about who they hire due to its association with U.A., and specifically with Recovery Girl. Any staff or student that was injured beyond Chiyo’s capabilities were admitted to the hospital’s hero ward.

That being said, placing Izuku in an inpatient psych ward would remain a worst-case scenario option and Shouta fully agreed. He doubted Izuku could properly heal in an isolated and sterile environment when the core of his issues was the lack of familial support. No, what Izuku needed was structure, but even more so, he needed normalcy, an actual childhood where he was supported and comforted by people he knew.

Other than the added security after the USJ incident, Izuku was one of the reasons that the dorms were being implemented in the first place. It allowed Izuku to be surrounded by trained heroes at all hours of the day with plenty of surveillance. Inui, who had already agreed to live on campus, would more or less be a 24-hour therapist for any emergencies and would be able to personally monitor Izuku’s mental health. There was also the promise of daily structure in a familiar environment surrounded by his friends, classmates, and teachers.

It wasn’t a magical solution, of course, because enforcing said structure would still be difficult regardless of the location and Shouta would be the main overseer. This was why, during his conversation with Inui, Shouta was asked to give the hound-hero his general day-to-day itinerary so that Inui and Dr. Mizuno could create a recovery plan schedule that wouldn’t clash too much with his own.

At first, Shouta felt strangely vulnerable telling his coworker what times he usually slept, ate, and worked, but now that he was looking over Izuku’s personalized daily timetable, it made sense.

Somehow, Inui and Dr. Mizuno had managed to near perfectly incorporate not only Shouta’s schedule but U.A.’s school agenda as well. There were some things he would need to adjust for himself, such as his late-night grading sessions, and he would need to lessen his patrol hours, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

Shouta flipped back to the first page.

**********

Diagnoses

Assigning Staff: Mizuno Oki

Category: Depressive Disorders- General

Diagnoses priority: 1- critical
Description: Major Depressive Disorder- Severe F33.2
Specifier 1: With Anxious Distress
Specifier 2: Suicidal Tendencies

Category: Dissociative Disorders- General

Diagnoses Priority: 2- Urgent
Description: Unspecified Dissociative Disorder- F44.9
Specifier 1: Memory Loss/Time Loss

Suicide Risk: Moderate-Severe

Self Harm-Risk: Severe

Violent Tendencies Towards Others: None

Notes:

-Patient has a history of suicidal ideation
-Pt has attempted suicide twice within the past year (Jumping from roof & cutting/blood loss)
-Pt has a history of self-harm (Estimated 2+ years)
-Pt has ongoing habits of self-harm (Primary Methods: Cutting with sharp instruments, scratching self, lip biting, purposeful starvation)
-Pt has irregular sleep patterns (avg. 2-4 hours)
-Pt has reported feelings of hopelessness, guilt, worthlessness, and social isolation
-Pt has reported excessive negative intrusive thoughts
-Pt is prone to panic attacks

Behavioral Expectations:

-Pt has shown signs of distress around unfamiliar people
-Pt may develop separation anxiety with those deemed “safe”
-Pt has or may develop a fear of abandonment
-Pt has shown signs of significant touch starvation
-Pt has shown signs of stunted emotional development (Possible age regression as a trauma response- estimated age fluctuation: 4 yrs. to current age)
-Pt may get easily overwhelmed/overstimulated by outside sources (ie. loud noises, crowds, bright lights, etc.)
-Pt may have sudden mood swings (ie. Emotional outbursts of anger, sadness, self-hatred)
-Pt has shown signs of being emotionally withdrawn

See pg. 4 for Needs, Expectations, and Responsibilities

**********

As he read each sentence, each diagnosis, each observation, Shouta felt tiny cracks splinter his heart. But he also felt a new wave of apprehension.

Could he really do this? He knew it sounded worse on paper but, shit, this was a lot. Some of these problems would undoubtedly be life-long issues and Izuku would need every ounce of support he could get.

What if he couldn’t provide everything Izuku needed? What if he fucked something up, ruining any progress they made? What if Izuku tried to-

Shouta scrubbed a hand down his face. No, he couldn’t think like that. He was fine. Izuku would be fine. Shouta wouldn’t be alone, he knew that the rest of the U.A. staff would do their best to help and Inui would always be within arms reach. Nezu had god-knows how many recourses up his sleeve and if anything, he knew he could always count on Hizashi and Nemuri for support.

But that didn’t mean it would be easy.

Shouta scanned the page again. He had a general knowledge of everything listed but some terms he would definitely need Inui’s clarification on. He’d heard of ‘age regression’ before and he had thought it only happened with traumatized adults, but he was apparently wrong. How could a child age-regress if they were already a child?

He had already witnessed the emotional outbursts and it definitely wasn’t a pleasant experience, but after being friends with drama-queen Hizashi for half of his life, as well as being a teacher of emotional teenagers, he knew he could handle it.

Shouta inwardly winced at the ‘touch starvation’ comment as that was something he had already figured, but for some reason, it still hurt to read. He was, however, slightly surprised to read about the possibility of separation anxiety. Izuku didn’t seem like the kind of kid to freak out over being separated from anyone, at least from what he had observed, but he’d keep it in mind.

Shouta closed the file with an exhausted sigh.

The road ahead of them would be hell, but what kind of hero would he be if he backed down when things got tough? And right now, Izuku needed a hero.

-----

While Izuku continued to sleep, Shouta decided to make a list of things he would need to buy for both Izuku and their move to the dorms.

It was…much longer than he had anticipated.

He was grateful that Nezu was providing the furniture, and the communal kitchen would come stocked with everything they needed, including staple foods, but there were still things like bedding for Izuku, extra toiletries, any snacks that weren't being provided, and he was sure the kid needed new clothes and shoes.

And those were only the necessities.

He was well aware of the fact that Izuku hadn’t had the means to buy anything outside of the basics, and if his guess was correct, then even when his parents were around they were probably tight on money. Shouta, however, had two well-paying jobs, and he had every intention to spoil the kid a bit.

From the time he spent with ‘Moth’, he knew Izuku loved heroes and had sometimes rambled about the newest hero merchandise. Izuku also liked to read, both comic books and novels. His favorite colors were red, green, and black, and he tended to hoard comfortable things like blankets and pillows. With that in mind, Shouta made a separate list of things Izuku might want for his room.

Nezu had already sent him the floor plan for their dorm room so he could get an idea of what to bring. Izuku and Shouta would be the only ones living on the bottom floor of the staff dorms as their room would be the largest. Shouta realized that it was essentially structured like two separate dorm rooms with a doorway that connected in the middle. The space on the right, which would be where Shouta slept, was a fair bit larger, as it would also accommodate a couch and a small dining table, as well as his bed, a desk, and a bathroom, similar to the way studio apartments were set up. Izuku’s area was mostly modeled after the student dorm rooms, sans the bathroom since they would just be sharing one.

Shouta bit back a groan. To say he was nervous about the prospect of taking Izuku out shopping, in a crowded shopping center no less, would be an understatement. Don’t get him wrong, he liked the idea of letting the kid pick out whatever he wanted, god knows Izuku deserved it, but if Izuku’s little outburst was anything to go by, he doubted the kid would be fond of doing anything with Shouta anytime soon, let alone go shopping.

But they didn’t have a choice. Izuku needed bedding, new clothes, new shoes, and honestly a new backpack and school-supplied couldn’t hurt.

Not yet, though. One day at a time. His first priority was to pack up Izuku’s apartment and take him home in one piece.

He could do this.

Right?

-----

Izuku finally woke up around two in the afternoon.

Shouta was sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair at the kid’s bedside when he heard a small whimper. Izuku slowly rolled over to his side, facing Shouta, and brought up his small fists to rub the sleep from his eyes. Sleep marks from his pillow left indents on his cheek and his freckles bunched together when he yawned.

Shouta would marvel at how illegally cute it was if Izuku hadn’t shot him a glare as soon as he opened his eyes. Okay, the kid was still mad at him, that was fair.

“You sleep well, kiddo?” Shouta asked him, not at all expecting an answer. Izuku only responded with a scowl.

Shouta had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing because he gets it, the kid was pissed and the situation was shitty, but watching Izuku try to glower at him while half-asleep was like being stared down by a kitten.

He cleared his throat. “Alright, well, once you’re ready we can leave. I’ve already signed all the discharge papers.” Shouta gestured to the tote bag by the door. “Nezu dropped off some things for you including a new change of clothes since your hoodie still needs to be washed.”

Izuku stared at him for another long moment with knitted brows and cheeks puffed out ever so slightly. Eventually, with a huff, Izuku crawled out from under the blanket and slid off of the bed, landing shakily on the floor. Shouta held out an arm, just in case he needed to steady the kid, but Izuku ignored him and walked straight to the tote bag. He grabbed a change of clothes before slipping into the attached washroom and closing the door.

Shouta tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh.

"This is going to be a long day," he muttered to himself.

Izuku emerged from the washroom a few minutes later, dawning a maroon hoodie, dark sweatpants, and gray socks. All muted colors that matched the too-dull look in his eyes. Shouta, thankfully, had the foresight to grab Izuku’s shoes before taking him to the hospital. Grabbing them from where they were stashed in a cubby by the door, he handed the kid his scuffed black sneakers. Izuku silently took them and sat on the floor while putting them on, his trembling fingers tying the laces to the best of his ability.

Once the kid was ready, Shouta grabbed the tote bag, took one last sweeping glance around the room just in case they forgot something, then ushered Izuku into the hallway and to an elevator that would bring them to the first floor.

After quickly checking out at the front desk—the receptionist kindly cut Izuku’s ID bracelet off—they finally left the hospital and made their way to Shouta’s car that sat in the visitor's parking lot. Shouta made sure to keep a close eye on Izuku the whole time since he was still a possible flight risk, but the kid quietly stayed by his side, head down and eyes averted as if Shouta was marching him to his death- or, away from it, he supposed.

After making sure Izuku was buckled in, much to the kid’s annoyance, they left the parking lot and pulled onto the main road.

Shouta stole a quick glance in the rearview mirror to see Izuku moping in the backseat. His arms were crossed, pressed tightly to his chest, and every once in a while he could hear a frustrated sniffle, dark bangs covering undoubtedly watery eyes.

“I know this is a lot to take in, kid,” Shouta hesitantly started, wanting both to fill the silence and reassure Izuku, “You’ve been through multiple traumatizing experiences within the last three days alone and now you’re facing a whole lot of sudden changes.” He took another peek in the mirror. Izuku lower lip was starting to quiver and the sight of it weighed heavy on Shouta’s heart. “I understand that this isn’t easy, and you have every right to feel upset, but please trust that I’m doing what’s best for you.”

No response.

Shouta bit back a sigh. “Are you hungry, Izuku? You haven’t eaten yet today.” From the rearview mirror, he saw Izuku firmly shake his head. Not surprising.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Shouta reached into the glove department at the passenger seat and swiftly grabbed what he was looking for. It was a lychee-flavored jelly pouch, Izuku’s favorite. Back when Izuku was Moth, Shouta had learned that the kid loved anything lychee flavored, so during their training meet-ups at the warehouse, Shouta began bringing him lychee jelly pouches to eat during breaks.

His car came to a stop at a red traffic light and he used the opportunity to reach over and dangle the jelly pouch in front of the boy.

“Kid, please, at least eat this, yeah?”

Izuku reluctantly lifted his head and flicked his eyes from the pouch to Shouta’s face, scrutinizing him as if searching for a reason to distrust him. Finally, with a small huff, Izuku snatched the pouch from his hand and cracked open the cap.

Shouta felt his shoulders relax. “Thank you, Izuku,” he said, turning back to face the road just as the light changed. The kid still hadn’t said a word to him since he woke up, but at least he got him to eat something.

Baby steps.

-----

The old, dilapidated apartment that Izuku had been living in looked even worse in the daylight. Where the dark cover of night hid cracks, stains, and broken windows, the afternoon sun only emphasized how close it was to falling apart. Izuku was fidgety as they entered the building, his hands balled up in the sleeves of his hoodie and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. They passed by the front desk, the landlord asleep with his feet propped up on the counter, and made their way to the stairwell. The hallway carpets had long since been stained yellow from cigarette smoke and god-knows whatever fluids had been spilled over the years, and the walls looked as if they were sweating with grease.

They eventually reached Izuku’s door which had remained unlocked- by the time they left for the hospital, Izuku had already been passed out and Shouta didn’t have the time to search for his apartment key. Izuku pushed at the door, the wood was slightly swollen from the muggy air so it stuck it bit, and it opened with a sharp cracking sound.

When Shouta had arrived the other night, his eyes did a quick scan of the room, but his main focus was on Izuku. Now, though, he had more time to really look at the inside of the apartment.

It wasn’t exactly messy, not in a way expected of a twelve-year-old living on their own, but it still looked dirty and worn like an old dollhouse kept in an attic for years. The vinyl flooring was scratched, the ceiling was covered in water stains, the walls had spider-web cracks spreading out from the corners, and the kitchen appliances looked one use away from being a fire hazard.

Shouta dropped the large, empty duffel bag he had brought with him from the car, it landed with a light thud at his feet.

“Okay, kid, go ahead pack anything you want to bring with you. Whatever we can’t carry we can always come back for at a later time,” he instructed.

Izuku stood in the middle of the room, shifting on his feet anxiously as his eyes darted around. He looked like he wanted to say something but his mouth stayed stubbornly closed.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help with?” Shouta offered. Izuku’s eyes instantly locked onto his school stuff sprawled over the table. Loose papers, textbooks, and an English worksheet scattered the surface. Getting the hint, Shouta walked over to the table and began to pack his backpack for him, taking special care not to wrinkle any of the papers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Izuku begin to slowly fill the duffel bag with clothes.

After packing Izuku’s backpack and quickly glancing at the kid who was busy folding some shirts, Shouta decided to take the opportunity to snoop a bit more, not that there was much to see. Izuku didn’t exactly own much, but if there was anything he could use as evidence against Hisashi for the child neglect case it wouldn’t hurt to look.

He found his way into the small bathroom and flipped on the lights. Regret instantly hit him like a blow to the stomach. The bathroom was far messier than the rest of the apartment, but for all the worse reasons. Old gauze and band-aid wrappers littered the floor, the bathtub and sink were smudged with bloodstains, a first-aid kit was propped open with a suture needle half-threaded and hanging out the side, and the trashcan by the sink was full of bloody bandages and used razor blades that were wrapped in tissue.

Shouta had to close his eyes to stop from getting sick.

As a hero, specifically as an underground hero, he had seen more than his fair share of blood and gore. He’d come across mutilated bodies, civilians crushed under rubble, and had held multiple people while they took their last breath.

But this was different. This was blood that belonged to a twelve-year-old that felt the need to carve his own flesh for some semblance of emotional stability. A vivid image painted itself in his mind; Izuku, sitting in his bathroom, scared and hurting, digging a blade into his skin over and over. Alone, and crying, and in so much pain but there was no one there to help him. How terrified must he have been? And then he had to clean his own wounds, dry his own tears, and then trudge on as if nothing had ever happened.

Shouta turned off the lights, walked out of the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. There was no use packing any of his toiletries— there was nothing in there that couldn’t be replaced.

After taking a moment to center himself, Shouta wandered back over to check in on Izuku, and he was immensely glad for his lucky timing because he didn’t miss the kid trying to pack a utility built full of sheathed knives.

“Absolutely not,” he quickly reprimanded. Izuku, who must not have heard him, nearly stumbled over in surprise from where he sat crouched in front of the bag. His head whipped up to face Shouta with a look of shock that then morphed into one of annoyance. “Those stay behind.”

“But they’re part of my- my hero costume!” Izuku argued, speaking for the first time since that morning.

“The support department will make you a new costume and will supply you with new weapons,” Shouta explained dryly, “you have no need to have them outside of hero training. Leave them behind, you’ll get new ones.”

Izuku gaped at him with obvious frustration. “But- but they’re mine! Why can’t I take them with me? What if I want to train with them outside of class, or-”

Shouta leveled him with a scolding glare. “First of all,” he interrupted, “you’re a smart kid, Izuku, you know why I’m not letting you take them. Second, you will not be permitted to have access to any weapons outside of heroics class or supervised training.” Izuku opened his mouth to protest further but Shouta carried on, “And you can drop the idea of trying to sneak anything from your costume case because I will be counting all of your weapons after each use, am I clear?”

Izuku’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenched in anger. Fierce green eyes met his own as they swirled with darkening thunderclouds. They held each other’s gaze for a few moments in the silence of the brewing storm.

Finally, knowing he wasn’t going to win this battle, Izuku cursed under his breath before throwing the utility belt at the wall with more force than necessary, some of the knives coming loose and slipping from their sheathes, landing on the floor with a sharp rattle.

“Thank you,” Shouta sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated.

Izuku turned away and went back to ignoring him.

It didn’t take too long to pack up Izuku’s things. In fact, Izuku owned so little that they wouldn’t need to come back at all. When Shouta mentioned this, though, he saw the kid deflate a little. A look of recognition flashed in his eyes as if the reality of leaving the apartment was finally settling in. Shouta could understand, to some level, that despite how shitty his living situation was, it was something Izuku had grown used to. It was his home. Shouta just hoped that someday soon, Izuku would look at his own apartment, or even the U.A. dorms, the same way.

Izuku slowly spun in place, giving the room one last sweeping glance, before his eyes landed on Shouta. The brewing storm from earlier had died down into something more sullen.

“I’m sorry,” Shouta muttered, unsure of what else to say. Izuku averted his eyes and responded with a half-hearted hum. They stood there, an air of awkwardness settling over the room until Shouta grabbed the now-full bag and threw it over his shoulder before heading to the door. “Let’s get going,” he said softly.

Izuku hesitated, his eyes still scanning the room, but eventually, with reluctance, Izuku forced his feet to move as he scuttled his way over to Shouta. His hands were stuffed in his hoodie pocket and his green bangs fell over his eyes. Shouta could tell the kid was trying to hold back tears, and he almost wished he wouldn’t. He wanted to tell Izuku that it was okay to cry, that his feelings were allowed to be acknowledged. But for some reason or another, Shouta felt as if speaking out loud would interrupt some kind of personal grieving, so instead, he gave Izuku as much space as he dared and held his tongue when silent tears finally rolled down freckled cheeks.

The door closed quietly behind them as they left.

Chapter Text

Izuku felt like he was going to explode. A million emotions swelled inside of him, fighting for space, and it made him nauseous. He wasn’t even sure he had the right words to describe his feelings, not really. He was angry, sad, anxious, tired, frustrated— maybe that was the word he was looking for, frustrated. His brain was split into a hundred different pieces and he didn’t know what to focus on. Like Dr. Mizuno had said at the hospital, he felt like a balloon that was full of too much air and that the smallest thing would make him pop. He wanted desperately to find a way to release all of that pressure, to make his thoughts stop for just a moment so he could breathe, but he couldn’t, because he was stuck sitting in the backseat of Aizawa’s car.

The hero wouldn’t let him pack any of his knives and he didn’t have any extra razor blades on him, not that he would have openly used them in the backseat of the car, not when Aizawa kept glancing at him through the rearview mirror every few minutes as if he would disappear. Instead, Izuku had to settle for his nails. He was thankful for the hoodie’s long sleeves as he slipped one hand beneath the sleeve and pressed as hard as he could into his arm. His arms were still bandaged, but if he clawed hard enough then he could still feel the sharp sting of his nails raking across flesh. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

The car ride to Aizawa’s apartment was silent, the air thick with tension that made Izuku’s skin crawl uncomfortably. He could suddenly feel his clothes touching his skin and the inside of the car felt too warm. He almost wanted to ask if he could roll down a window but that meant having to talk, and there was no way he could make himself speak when his tongue felt like a dry brick rattling against his teeth.

So he just sat there in the suffocating silence, focusing on the way his left arm burned as his nails cut through bandages. He wasn’t sure if he broke skin or not, if he accidentally opened up any of his day-old cuts, but he was just glad that if he did bleed, his maroon hoodie would hide any evidence.

The car pulled into a residential apartment complex not too far from U.A. It wasn’t the nicest apartment complex, not like any of those gated communities Izuku had seen before, but maybe Aizawa lived here on purpose. It was a set of simple, unassuming, buildings that easily blended into the surrounding area.

Once parked, Aizawa unlocked the car and Izuku wasted no time shedding his seatbelt and swinging open his door. The fresh air felt cool and soothing, like a balm for his burning lungs. He had the sudden urge to find the highest roof and sit at its edge while a breeze sent feather-soft kisses across his cheeks. He missed seeing the city from high above, especially at night when the lights of far-away buildings twinkled in the distance like stars. Each and every light was a sign of life, people who had their own stories to tell, a million different narratives that when put together created a complex play. Izuku never thought of himself as a character in any of those stories, but he was more than content to just sit and watch.

“C’mon, kid,” he heard Aizawa’s gruff voice beside him, the duffel bag and Izuku’s backpack were already out of the trunk and slung over his shoulder. As much as Izuku wanted to run, to sprint away and find a roof where he could hide and watch the sunset, he knew that there was no way he could outrun the hero, not during broad daylight and as tired as he was.

Aizawa led him to an elevator where he swiped a card that opened the metal doors. The elevator smelt like an old parking garage, the scent of car oil and tobacco, but not overly strong. Aizawa pressed the button for the top floor and the same tense, stale air that Izuku felt in the car was back again in the cramped space of the elevator. They made it to the top soon enough and Aizawa, for whatever reason, forced Izuku to walk between him and the apartment walls instead of by the railing. He had one hand on Izuku’s back, between his shoulder blades, as he guided him to his door.

Izuku wasn’t really sure what he expected the home of pro-hero Eraserhead to look like, but the inside honestly fit the man quite well. Stepping inside, Izuku was hit with the same coffee and teakwood smell that he had come to associate with the man. Scanning the inside, he noticed the decor was simplistic and clean. Muted grays and creams added to the homey atmosphere.

As soon as Izuku toed his shoes off at the genkan, he stepped right into the small living room. To the left was a dark gray couch with mismatched throw pillows and a soft-looking cream-colored blanket draped along the back. There was a coffee table and a television mounted to the wall above it. To the right, there was a wall covered in bookshelves. He didn’t have time to really look at them but they didn’t look cluttered. Directly past the living room, Izuku could see a wooden dining table that divided the living room and the kitchen. Between the two rooms, on the left, was a hallway where Izuku assumed the bedrooms were.

It wasn’t a large apartment by any means, but it was much bigger than his studio.

With his hand still resting on Izuku's back, Aizawa led him past the living room and into the hallway. There were four doors, two on each side. Aizawa pointed to the two on the right, “The first door is the linen closet where I keep the towels, extra blankets, and such. The second door is my room. I’m usually only in there when I’m sleeping but feel free to knock if you ever need anything, I don’t mind.” Izuku tensed a bit, anxiety spider-crawling up his spine. He felt like an intruder in this space despite the fact he was forced here.

Aizawa then pointed to the left side of the hall. “First door is the bathroom and the second door, directly across from my room, is where you’ll be sleeping,” he explained as he ushered Izuku further into the hall.

Aizawa opened up the far-left door and let Izuku step in first. Like the rest of the apartment, it was simple. There was a full-sized bed hugging the right wall just past the door. Across from the bed was a wooden dresser that sat just below a window. “It was a guest room, not that I had many guests over, but it's your room now.”

The words shot through Izuku like an arrow as he spun around to face the hero. “My- my room?” he sputtered, his voice pitched high.

Aizawa set the duffel bag and Izuku’s backpack onto the bed. “I know it’s not much right now, and we’ll be moving into the dorms soon, but during summer break I’ll get you anything you need to decorate it however you want.” The man narrowed his eyes a bit as he glanced around the room. “Probably at least a desk and a bookshelf,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “In the meantime, you can make a list of the things you’d want to have; decorations, furniture, we can even paint the walls if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Izuku replied softly, unsure of how to respond.

What was he supposed to say? “Thank you for taking me away from my own apartment and forcing me to live in just a single bedroom”?

Don’t be fucking ungrateful, his mind hissed at him, you’re wasting the time and space of a hero!

But I didn’t want this, he tried to argue with himself.

You don’t deserve to ‘want’ anything.

I know… His eyes fell to the floor. I know that.

“Izuku?” A sudden voice startled him back to the present. Aizawa was watching him closely with a hint of concern.

“Hmm, s-sorry,” he mumbled.

“You have no reason to be,” the hero said quietly, “I understand that you’re probably overwhelmed.” Izuku just shrugged in response, his eyes not meeting Aizawa’s. “Why don’t we unpack? We don’t need to talk, and if you don’t want me to help I can just quietly watch, there’s no rush.”

Izuku fidgeted, his fingers twisting together until his knuckles popped. “I can- I can do it on my own. You don’t need to be here,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

He heard Aizawa sigh and watched from the corner of his eyes as he ran a hand through his long hair. “I’m sorry, kid, but it’s either that or I go through your bag directly.”

Izuku’s unfocused vision was locked onto the bag as if looking away would take too much effort. “Why? Uh, why do you-” Izuku stammered off. He licked his lips, they were as dry as his throat was.

“I need to make sure you didn’t pack anything that you could potentially use to hurt yourself with,” the hero responded bluntly, but there was also a certain softness in his tone, almost apologetic. Regardless, his words made Izuku physically flinch and his stomach tightened painfully. He had spent years meticulously hiding his cuts, never wearing long sleeves or shirts that could ride up past his stomach. He always made sure to cut high on his thighs so he could still wear shorts in the summer. Never had he felt so exposed about his habit than he had in the past two days and the way Aizawa so candidly spoke about it made him want to dig a hole and bury himself alive.

Izuku didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know if he could even bring himself to speak. So instead he tried his best to ignore the hero that stood above his shoulder as he began to unpack the bag in near robotic motions. He didn’t have much since he wasn’t allowed to bring any of his weapons or even his tools. The bag was mostly full of worn clothes, some old books, his phone, his laptop, and his laptop charger that Aizawa immediately confiscated with the simple comment of “Let me know if you need to charge your laptop but you can’t keep the charging cord in here.”

Izuku wanted to ask why, in fact, he wanted to scream ‘why’ at the top of his lungs, but his tongue felt like a stone in his mouth again. Instead, he turned to the pile of clothes that were now on his bed and began to sort them.

He started to put the folded clothes away in the dresser, but once he reached his pile of hoodies, Aizawa stopped him. Izuku watched in silent, annoyed confusion as Aizawa took out the hoodie strings of each one before placing them back into the pile. Izuku held his tongue.

It didn't take long to put everything else away. His laptop and books were placed on top of the dresser and he slipped his phone into his pocket.

All that was left was his backpack. Aizawa was the one who had packed it, so Izuku didn’t think much of it until a sudden look of remembrance came across the hero’s face. Izuku watched silently as Aizawa zipped open his bag and took out his pencil case. Izuku was unsure of what he was doing until he saw Aizawa pull out his pencil sharpener before zipping the case back up and placing it back in his bag. Honestly, Izuku hadn’t even thought about prying open his plastic pencil sharpener for its razor blade, but now that the possibility was gone it made a new spark of annoyance crackle beneath his skin.

“Okay,” the hero started, “why don’t we head over to the dining table? There are a few things we should go over and then I’ll make dinner, alright?”

Izuku didn’t respond, didn’t even dignify the man with a shrug or a nod. He just moved past him and out of the room, padding over to the table with his eyes cast down. Aizawa fell close behind him and when they both settled in their seats across from one another, Aizawa placed a few sheets of paper down onto the table between them.

Izuku’s hands were stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie. He absently pulled at the skin around his fingernails, focusing on the sting of his ripped cuticles.

“Before we start, I just want to check in with you. I know these past few days have been a lot and I don’t blame you for feeling upset or tired. I’m sure you're uncomfortable and probably anxious, but know that you’re safe here, Izuku. If you want to talk to me about anything then I’ll be here to listen. If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine too. Whatever you need, I’ll do my best to accommodate that, okay?”

Izuku didn’t react. He didn’t even look up at Aizawa, his gaze too busy following the wood grain patterns of the table.

Aizawa let his words linger in the air for a minute but he eventually moved on with a nearly inaudible sigh. “Right, first, we should go over the basics. I know the change of moving from your old apartment to here is a lot to take in, but I need to stress that you aren’t just a guest here. We’ll be moving to the dorms soon, sure, but during breaks and holidays, this will be your home just as much as it is mine. If you want to watch TV, read on the couch, or grab food from the kitchen then you’re free to. You don’t need to ask my permission for any of that, although, if you’d like to cook I do need to be present.

Speaking of which, there are some ground rules you will need to follow. You may not leave the apartment on your own under any circumstance except for emergencies such as a fire or an earthquake. As I said, you may not cook in the kitchen using the stove or any other kitchen appliance unless I’m there with you, although you can grab snacks from the fridge or pantry. The front door and the windows are locked and they will stay locked. Whenever you shower, if the time exceeds past fifteen minutes, I’ll knock to check in with you, just to make sure you’re okay. Lastly, unless you’re getting changed, the door to your room stays open at all times.”

As Aizawa talked, Izuku could feel his mind slipping away as if he were swimming in the ocean, diving deeper, and deeper into its cold depths. It wasn’t until Aizawa shifted a piece of paper in front of him that his focus mostly returned. At first, he couldn’t make out the words and numbers, his vision too fuzzy from staring at the table for so long, but eventually he began to make out the Kanji that formed what looked like a timetable of some sort.

“This will be your daily schedule, made specifically for you by Hound Dog and Dr. Mizuno. It corresponds with your school schedule as well,” Aizawa explained, gesturing to the paper.

Izuku blinked to clear his vision. Daily schedule? Izuku looked closer at the paper, actually reading its contents, and as he did he could feel the same boiling anger from earlier that morning begin to bubble inside of him again.

“You will wake up at the same time every morning and you will be in bed at the same time every evening. You will also need to try and eat three meals a day, but I don’t expect you to actually finish three meals right off the bat. That’s something we’ll work towards.” Izuku felt like he had cotton in his mouth. “You have an allotted time for school work and downtime, and it’s up to you whether you want to shower in the mornings or evenings. You’ll also be taking a short nap in the afternoons after lunch-”

“Nap time?” Izuku finally spoke, his eyes snapping up to Aizawa’s, giving the hero what was sure an incredulous look. “I’m not five!”

Aizawa rubbed at his eyes like he was tired. Maybe he was the one that needed a nap. “I know you’re not five, Izuku, but you are recovering from chronic exhaustion. It will take a while for your body to naturally fall into a healthy sleeping schedule and until then you need as much rest as you can get. Hound Dog also explained that taking a small nap in the afternoon will be a good way to let your mind reset during the day to avoid feeling overwhelmed.”

Izuku stared at him, his mouth agape like the hero was trying to tell him that clouds were made out of cotton candy. He had to be kidding, right?

“What- no! What about during school?! I can’t just- just go and take a nap!” he tried to argue.

Aizawa raised an unamused brow at him. “Believe me, kid, I’m actually quite jealous that you get a scheduled nap time,” he said as if it would make Izuku feel any better. “We’ll discuss it more in-depth when we meet with Nezu and Hound Dog, but once classes start up again you’ll be spending your daily free periods with Hound Dog. The first half of your meetings will be doing whatever it is he has planned and the last half will be napping, whether that be in his office, my office, or even in the infirmary with Recovery Girl,” he explained dryly.

Izuku felt his face flush. “No! I don’t- that’s not fair! You’re making me take a nap at school?! And- and I don’t want to go to Hound Dog during free period! What will the class say?” Izuku tried to ignore the way his voice squeaked as he spoke.

“You don’t have to tell the class anything, but we can come up with a cover story if you’d like,” Aizawa tried to placate.

Izuku balled his hands into fists and he could feel his shoulders shake with anger. He felt absolutely humiliated. A daily schedule? Allotted homework time? A fucking nap time? His own parents hardly gave a shit about how late he stayed up or whether or not he even ate dinner, and now Aizawa suddenly wanted to control his every action as if he were a toddler with a helicopter parent? Izuku wasn’t even allowed to close his fucking door, because who needed privacy, right?

Izuku could feel his teeth grinding together as he tried to calm himself. The spark of annoyance from earlier had exploded into a firework of blinding frustration. “What about the- the dorms?! Won’t it look weird to the class that I’m-m following a pre-schoolers schedule?”

Aizawa slowly sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Izuku. Then, as if he suddenly realized something, the hero almost grimaced. He scrubbed a hand down his face as he sighed. “Shit, kid, I don’t think we ever clarified,” he muttered.

Izuku felt himself tense up. “Clarify w-what?”

The hero dropped his hand and gave Izuku a serious look. “You aren’t staying in the student dorms.” Izuku blanched, his fingers and lips tingling with a sudden numbness as he felt the world come to a stop. “You’ll be staying with me, in the staff dorms.”

The pressure from earlier built up in his chest, battling his lungs for space behind his ribcage. It expanded, bigger, and bigger until he could feel it behind his eyes and squeezing his heart.

And then Izuku’s balloon popped.

He hastily stood from his seat, knocking over his chair in the process as he slammed his hands down onto the table.

“You can’t do that!” He growled, his body visibly trembling- with rage? Pressure? He wasn’t sure.

Aizawa didn’t even flinch. “Sit down, Izuku,” he demanded dryly.

“NO! You can’t- you can’t just decide that!” Hot, salty teardrops stung his eyes as they welled behind his lashes. “I’m already so different from everybody else! That’s not- It’s not fair!”

The hero didn't back down. He simply held his gaze with an authoritative sternness that made Izuku wilt.

“Your wellbeing is my priority. If I have to be unfair in order to ensure your safety, then I will be.”

Izuku froze. His mind was running almost as fast as his heart was beating and every emotion he could possibly feel threatened to wash over him like a tsunami.

It was too much for him to keep it all inside.

“Ensure my safety? Oh! I bet you’re really patting yourself on the back there, huh?! Saving the broken, quirkless kid when NO ONE ASKED YOU TO! How’s that hero complex working out for you?!” He ranted. He saw Aizawa’s eye twitch with obvious irritation but the waves of anger were too big to even try and stop from spilling over his poorly constructed dam. “I bet you’re feeling so big and important taking in a charity case like me! I bet you’re loving this fucking power trip-”

“Izuku, that is enough,” Aizawa cut him off, his voice low with warning. Even though the man didn’t yell or even move towards him, Izuku still flinched. “You need to take a moment to calm down. Yelling at me isn’t going to make a difference. My decision is final.”

His nails dug into the wood of the dining table and Izuku could feel the ache of it in his fingers. He knew he was breathing but for some reason, it felt as if all of the oxygen in the room had been sucked away.

No, no, no, it wasn’t fucking fair!

Izuku was already so different from his classmates. He was the only quirkless one, he was the shortest, he was the youngest, he was being forced to go to Hound Dog during free periods, and now he wasn’t even allowed to stay with the rest of his class in the student dorms? Aizawa might as well just strap a sign to his back that said “freak” on it.

He couldn’t stop his whole body from shaking which only made his voice waver as he spoke. “Why? Why do you even care?” he seethed through clenched teeth.

That same, familiar, look of hurt filled Aizawa’s eyes. His shoulders dropped and his stern tone from earlier softened into a near whisper. “Because I thought you were dead, kid.”

And maybe Izuku should have felt guilty. Maybe he should have taken the time to reflect on the hero’s words, but he could hardly see past his simmering anger and frustration.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint,” he sneered before rushing away from the table and darting down the hall into the guest room. Izuku slammed the door behind him, the noise echoing across the walls in the silence of the apartment.

He stood there, in the middle of the room with eyes focused on the floor beneath him. He had to make sure the floor was actually there because he swore he could feel the world crumbling under his feet.

He had just yelled at his homeroom teacher, at Eraserhead. Never in his life had he ever felt so angry and he didn’t know what to do with the red-hot emotions that swirled in his gut, so unfamiliar and raw. Was that how Kacchan always felt? The need to scream, and kick, and rage overpowering his own brain? If so, Izuku almost felt bad for his childhood friend because he absolutely hated it. It made him feel sick and exhausted.

Izuku didn’t understand. He had always been the good kid, the quiet kid, not the flaming ball of anger that made his blood boil beneath his skin. The tears that had built up earlier finally spilled freely from his eyes. The room around him blurred into incoherent shapes and a sob tore past the growing lump in his throat.

It wasn’t long until he was startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door.

“Kid,” came Aizawa’s muffled voice through the wood, “I get your angry and need some space. That’s fine. But you can’t keep your door closed, especially when you’re this upset.”

Izuku could have bitten through his tongue, but it wouldn’t have stopped the words that erupted from him, “FUCK YOU!” Izuku grabbed a pillow from the bed and held it to his chest as he backed up against the wall, sliding down until he sat with his legs pulled up close.

Ignoring his outburst, Aizawa opened the door. Izuku could feel the man’s dark eyes on him, probably judging him for how weak and pathetic he was, and as much as he wanted to scream again, his lips felt stuck together, glued by the tears that ran down his face.

Aizawa lingered in the doorway, and Izuku couldn’t read his expression through the fog of his tears. “The door stays open, Izuku,” the hero calmly instructed before beginning to walk away.

In some new burst of anger, Izuku stood up and rushed towards the door with every intention of slamming it shut again. He thought about shoving the bed in front of it, not that it would actually hold against a seasoned pro, but before he could reach the door handle Aizawa turned on his heel and placed his hand flat against the door, keeping it open. He leveled Izuku with an unwavering glare.

“Close the door again and I will take it off its hinges,” he threatened. “I want to respect your space and give you time to cool off, but your insistence on testing every boundary won’t do you any favors. This isn’t a punishment, I just want to keep you safe.”

The surge of energy instantly died out, leaving Izuku empty and tired as he glowered at the floor, unable to meet Aizawa’s eyes. He still couldn’t speak, still couldn’t do anything but ball his hands into tight fists until his arms shook from the strain.

From the corner of his blurry vision, he saw Aizawa walk away. Only when he could no longer hear the hero’s footsteps did Izuku stumble back to the wall he had sat against. He cradled the pillow to his chest like a shield as he curled in on himself, tucking into a ball as he sat on the hard floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut as unstoppable sobs wracked his body.

He didn’t understand. This wasn’t the Eraser he knew. His Eraserhead was kind and patient, not stern and constricting.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair!

The pressure from earlier started to build back up again, painfully pressing against his insides and making his skin feel stretched. His breath hitched as he choked on a new wave of tears. He would scream again if he had the energy.

It wasn’t fair!

At that moment, Izuku hated Aizawa. He hated him for treating him like a child. He especially hated him for taking away all his knives and razors because Izuku wanted nothing more than to drive metal into flesh until it scraped against bone.

As Izuku cried, he could feel the familiar static sensation in his brain again, like he was detaching from reality. Usually, he would fight it, would make himself hurt in order to stay grounded. But this time, he welcomed the numbness that overtook him.

This time, Izuku wanted to drown.

Chapter Text

Izuku didn’t know when he had fallen asleep.

He woke with a start, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. It took him a few moments of blinking away the sleep from his eyes to recognize the guest room of Aizawa’s apartment.

Right. He was in Aizawa's home now.

A yawn escaped him as he rubbed at his slightly swollen eyes, wincing at the bruised feeling. He gave himself a couple of minutes to lay there, the last dregs of sleep falling away, but exhaustion soon turned into puzzlement when he noticed that he was curled underneath a pile of blankets in a surprisingly soft bed. He slowly sat up, the blankets falling from his shoulders.

When did I…?

Oh.

Izuku felt his face flush with embarrassment. Aizawa must have settled him into bed at some point after he had fallen asleep on the floor.

Izuku covered his face with his hands and groaned. After trying to convince Aizawa that he didn’t need to be treated like a child, there he was, tucked into bed after having a meltdown.

Izuku stewed in his humiliation until he felt the flush of his cheeks die down. Eventually, moving his face from his hands, Izuku glanced out the window and saw that he had apparently slept through the night. The early morning sun was just starting to peek over the neighboring buildings, the sky a warm blue while the clouds were dappled with pink and orange.

He had no idea what time he had fallen asleep, but if the ache in his body and the sleep-heavy fog in his mind was anything to go by, it was definitely more than the recommended eight hours.

Wanting to check the time, Izuku reached into his pocket for his phone and tensed when he found that it wasn’t there anymore. Before he could panic, he saw that his phone was on the floor next to his bed, plugged into its charger. The charging cable was annoyingly short and he had to climb out of bed in order to reach for his phone. His legs still felt weak, so he opted to just sit on the floor while he scrolled through the alarming number of texts he had missed over the past two days.

*****

Hitoshi:
officially out of the hospital
not to complain or anything but hospital food sucks

Hitoshi:
izuku? you good?

Hitoshi:
space cadet?

Hitoshi:
Seriously Izuku, are you okay? Look I’m even using proper punctuation because that’s how much I care.

Hitoshi:
Nezu visited my house today to talk with my moms.
I guess we’ll be living in dorms?
It took a while to convince my parents to agree but they finally caved.

Hitoshi:
Nezu said he saw you today and that you might not answer your phone but never said why

Hitoshi:
okay I know its like 1 a.m. and ur probably sleeping but you know you can always talk to me right?

*****

Izuku read the messages twice.

Was Hitoshi not mad at him, even though it was Izuku’s fault that he had gotten hurt? It didn’t make sense. Hitoshi should have left an angry voice message or even ignored him altogether, not leave worried texts.

Hesitantly, Izuku typed out a careful response and was surprised when Hitoshi replied instantly despite the fact it was only five in the morning.

*****

Izuku:
I’m so sorry! I promise I didn’t mean to ignore you! Are you okay? How are your injuries healing?

Hitoshi:
he responds!
seriously though im fine now just some aches here & there but I’ll live
…
probably

Izuku:
I was really worried about you, so I’m glad you’re okay!
You promise you’re okay?

Hitoshi:
im fine, mom, jesus
& im the one that should have been worried
what the absolute fuck were you thinking jumping in front of an actual monster like that?

Izuku:
I’m really sorry.
It was stupid and I understand if you can’t forgive me.

Hitoshi:
1. yes it was stupid
2. the hell are you talking about? why wouldnt i forgive you?

Izuku:
You got hurt because of me. I’m sorry.

Hitoshi:
were you the one that picked me up and swung me around like a pissed off toddler holding a teddy bear?

Izuku:
No?

Hitoshi:
then shut up.
literally none of this was your fault
all I ask is that next time you decide to challenge a literal bird demon from hell, maybe, idk, don’t?

Izuku:
I’m sorry :(

Hitoshi:
my moms have always told me to think before I act
you would be wise to take their advice

Izuku:
I will, I promise.

Hitoshi:
good.
and if I decide to kick your ass next time I see you because you worried the shit out of me then just know that I thought about it before I came to that justified decision

Izuku:
Right! Sorry!

Hitoshi:
im not actually going to kick your ass I was being sarcastic but I could feel your anxiety from here
anyway im going to bed now
text you later?

Izuku:
Sure!
Sorry again.
Goodnight!
Or morning?

Hitoshi:
goodmornight

*****

Izuku stared at his phone screen in a daze. Hitoshi wasn’t mad at him, at least, not enough to never talk to him again. He almost believed he was dreaming, but the warmth that bloomed inside of him told him he wasn’t.

Still, Izuku felt like he needed to find a way to make it up to Hitoshi. The lavender-haired boy had gone out of his way to be kind and forgiving to Izuku without asking for anything in return. He had no idea how, just yet, but Izuku vowed to himself that as long as they were still on talking terms, he would be the best possible friend Hitoshi could ever have. Maybe Izuku could get him a gift? Or maybe treat him to coffee? Hitoshi kept talking about a cat cafe that had opened up by the school.

Pondering the ways he could repay his friend for his kindness, Izuku slowly pulled himself up from the floor using the bed to balance on his half-numb legs. It was still really early but Izuku didn’t want to go back to sleep, not when the unfamiliarity of the apartment made him restless. His door was, predictably, fully open, and the hallway light bled into his room more intensely than the still-rising sun.

As quiet as he could, Izuku slipped out of the room. Socked-feet padding on carpet cushioned the sounds of his footsteps. He passed Aizawa’s room, whose door was also left ajar, and made his way into the living room.

Izuku marveled at the silence. Back in his apartment, there was always some kind of noise because of how thin the walls were; a baby crying, dogs barking, couples screaming at each other, or a blaring television. But here, the quiet went undisturbed in the early hours of the morning and there was a pureness to it like untouched snow.

The living room was still a bit dark, but the sunrise hit the windows so perfectly that Izuku could see a sunbeam filtering through an opening in one of the curtains. Small particles of dust danced in the air to inaudible music.

He had, of course, seen the living room when he first got to the apartment but he hadn’t been able to look around much.

The couch was a bit worn but not tattered. There were coffee-stained coasters on the coffee table and a light layer of dust coated the television remote. The throw pillows on the couch were the most colorful things in the room; one was a pastel yellow, one was a deep purple, and the other was a sky blue. Despite the mismatched colors, it felt oddly fitting when sat together on the dark sofa.

Izuku moved to the back of the living room where a whole wall was covered in black, wooden bookcases that almost reached the ceiling. There were plenty of books about hero laws and ethics, pre-quirk history, literary analysis guides, and even a few books on the science behind quirks. Izuku’s fingers twitched to take out one of the books about quirks and study it, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch anything yet.

There were also a good amount of fictional books, mostly historical fiction and horror novels from what he could tell, but the rest of the shelves had a few knickknacks here and there. There was a framed photo of a younger Aizawa during his time at U.A. surrounded by a few other students. Two of them looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t quite place them. Were they still his friends? Did Aizawa still talk to them?

There was also some stationery on one of the shelves, such as a cup that held red pens, worn-down pencils, and a handful of markers. On another shelf, notebooks, folders, and a few binders were stacked together. Izuku imagined that the binder was full of case files or police reports and maybe one of the folders held his class roster or grades. As curious as he was, he didn’t want to take the chance of opening anything just in case he got in trouble for it.

He continued to trail his gaze over the shelves until his eyes met with a familiar-looking cat plush. Izuku nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of it because he knew that cat plushie, he had hand sewn the scarf that was wrapped around its neck. He had honestly forgotten all about it until now.

Underneath the plush cat, as if it were guarding a secret treasure, was a small box. With shaky hands, Izuku reached for the plush and held it gently to his chest. Plastic eyes stared up at him as he played with the frayed scarf between his fingers. Its fake fur was just as soft as the day he bought it.

Holding the cat with one hand, Izuku stood on his tiptoes to get a closer look at the box. The top was partially opened, and what he saw inside of it made him stumble backward until his back hit the couch.

Notes. Green notes. His green notes.

Izuku swallowed down a heavy lump that had formed in his throat.

Aizawa had kept all of his notes.

But…why?

Izuku carefully placed the plush cat back on top of the box, arranging it to look like he had never touched it.

He stepped away from the bookshelves and rounded the couch. Absently, he sank into its soft cushions, the scent of coffee, timber, and the faintest smell of cleaning chemicals coiled into the fabric. He closed his eyes and focused on the sofa beneath him, the still air, and the familiar scents that filled the room.

Memories flashed in his mind like a projector playing old home videos. Nighttime talks illuminated by the glow of a vending machine, training in a dimly lit abandoned warehouse, rooftop discussions beneath the stars that were drowned out by the lights of the city below.

Izuku’s chest tightened with the ache of longing.

He missed that. He missed his time as Moth when Aizawa didn’t know he was quirkless, when he didn’t know how broken he was.

He missed leaving green notes that would be replaced with yellow ones, the taste of crisp apple juice mingled with the scent of canned coffee, sour gummy worms that left his fingers sugar-coated, the sound of his scuffed shoes hitting rooftops as he jumped over alleyways with nothing to light his path except the moonlight bathing the city.

He missed the days where he would show up to the warehouse, tired and empty, and Aizawa would silently adjust their training schedule to make the lesson easier. He never told the hero that he noticed the extra praises and reassuring touches on his bad days, but he did.

Izuku didn’t know he was crying until a wet drop landed on the back of his hand, startling him and tearing him away from his memories.

If he wasn’t so useless then he could have kept all of that. So why did he have to go and screw everything up? All he did was make everyone’s lives worse.

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand but the tears wouldn’t stop. His lungs hiccuped silently as he tried not to break the peaceful quiet with his weeping.

Maybe it was because he was so lost in his own head, or maybe the hero was just naturally as silent as a ghost, but Izuku didn’t hear Aizawa enter the living room. He didn’t notice the hero kneel in front of him until he felt a hand coming to rest on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze, jolting him from his thoughts.

“Izuku?” Aizawa’s voice was still thick with sleep, rough but equally gentle.

Izuku internally cursed at himself for waking the man. He tried his best to be quiet but he should have known that his best was never good enough.

He had to scrub away his tears one more time before he could properly see the hero. He was almost taken aback by how soft the man’s eyes were as they stared at him. Coal-colored irises reflected the light of the early morning sunbeam that shone through the curtains, and they flickered like glowing embers that guaranteed warmth. It was the same concerned and patient look that Eraserhead had given him countless times when he was Moth.

Izuku’s breath hitched at the sight.

That warm and forgiving gaze, the reassuring hand that rested on his shoulder, the green notes that were kept safely in a box guarded by the gifted cat plush-

He had thought that the Aizawa he knew, the one from his time as Moth, was gone and replaced by his strict homeroom teacher. He had thought that Eraserhead was only nice to Moth because he didn’t know he was quirkless.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Aizawa that was different.

Maybe Izuku was the problem.

Izuku bit at his quivering lip to try and stop the relentless tears that stung his already raw, bruised eyes. He honestly hadn’t even realized he was doing it until Aizawa reached up to lightly tug at his bottom lip with his thumb, whispering, “Be gentle with yourself.”

The softness that laced the hero’s sleepy tone only made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve that kindness, not after everything he had done.

Not when he tried his best to push the man away time and time again.

Izuku bowed his head to hide his face. His lungs spasmed as he held back a sob. He had already cried too much over the past few days and his head was pounding from it. He could feel his heartbeat in his temples and it made him slightly ill.

He wanted desperately to disappear, to vanish without a trace, to not leave even a single memory of himself behind. If he could fall through the cushions of the couch and hide forever then he would.

Despite his best efforts to make himself invisible, Aizawa tucked a finger beneath Izuku’s chin to lift his face so their eyes could meet. Izuku’s vision was much more blurry now, the hero’s face distorted through a haze of tears.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Aizawa murmured quietly like he didn’t want to break the silence of the early morning.

It took nearly a minute for Izuku to work up the energy and coherence to respond. His tongue felt foreign in his mouth and trying to speak was a monstrous task. He honestly didn’t know how to answer Aizawa’s question, because what wasn’t wrong?

Everything was wrong. It felt as if the whole world had shifted slightly to the left and suddenly even walking had become a balancing act where a single mistake would cause him to plummet to his death. The ground beneath his feet had never been stable, but now, Izuku was treading on a thin wire and he couldn’t see what lay below if he were to fall.

But it wasn’t the world’s fault. Every bad thing that had ever happened to Izuku had one common factor: himself.

So clearly, Izuku was the problem.

Finally, in a cracked voice that sounded like chipped teacups rattling together, Izuku asked, “What’s wrong with me?”

He heard Aizawa take in a sharp inhale. The hand that held his chin moved to brush away his still flowing tears. “Nothing is wrong with you,” the hero said resolutely. His calloused thumb swept gently beneath Izuku’s swollen eyes, the touch was fragile, all butterfly-wings and spun glass, as if Aizawa was handling something precious.

Izuku shook his head. “But I’m- but I’m broken,” he argued through stuttering cries. Why couldn’t Aizawa see that every bad thing was Izuku’s fault? He was broken, and broken things were useless.

Aizawa sighed, not his usual tired or exasperated sigh, but one that sounded like the air was too heavy to breathe. Both of his hands moved to cup Izuku’s cheeks, just like he had done that first day at the hospital. It was a physical emphasis that matched the importance of his tone.

“You are not broken, Izuku. You are hurting, wounded by no fault of your own, but you are not broken.”

No! That’s not true! He wanted to scream, but his teeth clashed painfully together as a new sob wracked his body.

Izuku clumsily reached out with one hand, grasping the front of Aizawa’s shirt and holding it as if the man were an anchor that could stop him from floating away.

“But- but I am. I’m-m broken and I only ruin everything,” he eventually hiccuped.

Aizawa grew silent. His eyes averted and his brows furrowed in thought for a moment. He looked far away despite the fact Izuku was still clutching him tightly.

Finally, he spoke again. “Can I show you something?” he asked, interrupting the silence once more.

Izuku crying faltered at the sudden request.

Show him something?

Izuku hesitated for a moment, then with a sniffle, he slowly nodded and released his death grip on the man’s shirt. Aizawa stood up from his crouched position on the floor and headed into the kitchen. Izuku could faintly hear him rummaging in a cupboard somewhere, glassware shifting and clinking together like soft bells.

It wasn’t long until Aizawa found what he was looking for and returned back into the living room with a black wooden box in his hands. Izuku was so confused by the change in subject as well as curious about the box, that his tears had finally slowed. He used his balled-up sleeve to rub at his eyes as Aizawa sat next to him on the couch, the surface dipping slightly under his weight.

With the same gentleness that Aizawa used to brush away Izuku’s stray tears, he opened the lid of the box that sat in his lap and carefully took out a bowl.

It was a black ceramic bowl with tiny gray and white flecks. The uneven rim showed that it was clearly handmade. It would have been fairly inconspicuous if not for the lines of gold that adorned its surface in cracks like splintered ice. The single beam of sunlight caught the golden streams and made them shimmer like the sun against a body of water.

“Hizashi and Nemuri, you know them as Present Mic and Midnight gave this to me as a gift a few years back. They found a simple, black bowl made by a pottery vendor during a New Years' festival. But it broke before they could ever give it to me.” Aizawa handed the bowl to Izuku who took it and held it delicately over his lap. His thumb traced along the spider-webbed gold that held the pottery together, feeling each ridge and groove.

“Nemuri thought it was a waste and intended to throw it out and buy a new one, but Hizashi came up with the idea of fixing it using the traditional kintsugi method. So, together, the two of them spent weeks putting the bowl back together piece by piece with golden laced lacquer, and honestly, I prefer it this way— broken fragments mended by the hands of the people that I care about. It makes it more personal and the gold only emphasizes the time and effort spent on fixing it.”

Izuku looked up to meet Aizawa’s eyes. They still held that far-away look, but not the kind that reminded Izuku of when he got that spacey feeling, but like Aizawa was remembering something, maybe an old memory.

“It’s pretty,” Izuku said quietly, passing the bowl back to Aizawa. The hero placed it back in its box and closed the lid as if hiding away a jewel.

“It is.” Aizawa set the box down on the coffee table before looking back to Izuku. The far-away look was gone, and a clear fierceness now heated his gaze with all the intensity of a forest fire. “I don’t think you’re broken, but even if you were, it wouldn’t make you any less valuable. Not to me. So let me help you, kid. Let me help you pick up the pieces and put them back together.” Aizawa moved to tuck a loose curl behind Izuku’s ear like his mother had done when she was telling him something important. “You don’t need to do this alone.”

Izuku felt his heart falter at the sincerity in his voice. He searched for any hint of lies or malice in the hero’s face but found only honest fervency.

The world came to a slow and Izuku couldn’t stop the new wave of tears that overcame him, crashing into him with a force that threatened to topple him over.

It was only then that Izuku finally found the word for how he felt. He had so many emotions attack him from every angle like a barrage of bullets that littered his body with holes, spilling out his feelings like blood.

But more than anything; more than anger, more than sadness, more than frustration—

Izuku felt scared.

He was so goddamn scared. He had been scared of getting in trouble for being Moth, he had been scared of being sent back to his dad, scared of being taken to an orphanage or forced into the foster system, scared of being expelled from his dream school. Then, during the USJ attack, he had been scared that he would have to watch Aizawa and his classmates die in front of him.

Now, he was scared because so much had changed so quickly and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was going to happen next. A cloud of uncertainly hung over his head and it followed him like a shadow.

And as he sat there, crying and trembling, Izuku realized that he had been terrified of Aizawa hating him. Terrified that the first person to ever treat him with any kindness would turn away from him because he was quirkless and broken.

So Izuku tried to push him away. He tried to separate himself from the one adult that ever made him feel valued because he was so fucking scared of being pushed away first. As much as he had wanted to trust Aizawa, the fear of being rejected, of being abandoned all over again heavily outweighed the desire to ask for help.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku apologized through choked sobs. “I’m so sorry!” He folded in on himself, unable to ignore the crushing weight of his fear any longer. “I’m sorry!”

Familiar arms circled his middle and he was pulled onto the hero’s lap. Immediately, Izuku fisted the fabric of Aizawa’s shirt with bone-white knuckles, and he buried his face in the crook of the man’s neck as if he were hiding from the world. And maybe he was. Maybe he could bury himself there and never come out, soak in the tender affection that he had been so starved of because he had never even realized he hungered for it in the first place.

“Don’t leave!” Izuku begged, his shoulder shaking involuntarily, “please- please don’t leave! I’m sorry!”

Izuku’s chest had finally cracked open to reveal all of his vulnerabilities and fears that he had been forced to hide deep within himself in order to survive. His bleeding heart was now fully exposed, fragile, and shattered like Aizawa’s ceramic bowl.

Izuku vaguely registered the hand that began to card through his hair, gently pulling on tangles of curls and pushing stray locks away from his face. His head was being cradled oh so gently against the hero’s chest and he could hear the man’s steady heartbeat that synced up with his own. And just above the noise drumming beneath their ribs, he could make out soft words that were strung together with caramelized sugar, delicate but sweet. The vibration of Aizawa’s hushed tone was like the sound of a hearth fire, crackling over dry logs with the assurance of warming up an entire room.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Aizawa promised, “You’re alright. I’m exactly where I need to be. I’m not going anywhere, bunny.”

Izuku almost startled at the nickname. It seemed strange coming from the usually stoic hero but there was something familiar about it too, nostalgic, like a memory nearly forgotten. Had Aizawa called him that before? He couldn’t remember.

But It somehow sounded right. It sounded like home.

And even though Izuku was still scared, still absolutely terrified, he melted into Aizawa’s chest, curled up as small as he could make himself, and reveled in the warmth of his hero whose gentle yet firm embrace promised shelter from the storms to come.

For the first time in his life, Izuku felt safe.

Chapter Text

Shouta hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Okay, that was partially a lie. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep for more than ten minutes. But once Izuku’s cries died down, once his breathing shallowed out into the steady rhythm of sleep, Shouta felt himself relax too. The small body that was curled up against his chest was a weighted comfort against the stress from the past few days.

Admittedly, Shouta had been surprised when Izuku clung to him, desperate for contact and comfort after the events of yesterday. He was even more shocked to hear the kid beg him not to leave as if he were terrified that Shouta was going to abandon him. Was Izuku worried that Shouta would give up on him after their disagreement, or was it something deeper than that? Regardless, the emotional whiplash was a tad unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

As upsetting as it was to see the kid in so much pain, he much preferred Izuku coming to him for comfort versus shutting him out in anger. And if Izuku decided he felt safe enough to fall asleep on his chest, then who was he to deny the touch-starved boy?

So, with the kid sleeping soundly in his lap, a head of curls tucked beneath his chin and catching on his stubble, Shouta closed his eyes and let himself rest.

He had only meant to take a short nap, but instead, he was woken up two hours later by the chime of his phone’s alarm.

Groggily, Shouta stumbled for the phone in his pocket and shut off the alarm that had ripped him from a deep sleep.

7:30 a.m.

Too damn early.

But it was also the start of Izuku’s morning schedule.

God, Inui was going to turn him into a morning person, wasn’t he? The fucker.

With a groan, Shouta scrubbed a hand down his face to wake himself up more. The sun behind the curtains was much brighter now and the morning birds were happily singing melodic chirps. As beautiful as it was, he needed at least a full pot of coffee before he could fully appreciate it.

But first…

“Izuku,” he rumbled, brushing a hand through the thick green curls that tickled his neck. The kid stirred slightly, shifting into a more comfortable position before promptly falling back asleep. As much as he wanted to let Izuku sleep more, they really needed to work on his sleeping schedule, and the boy had hardly eaten anything in two days. “Come on, kiddo, you need to get up.”

He gently pushed on Izuku’s shoulder which caused him to stir again. This time, Izuku yawned and uncurled from his balled-up position. And if Shouta’s heart stuttered by the way Izuku stretched like a cat splayed out in a sunbeam, then no one but him had to know.

It was a good thirty seconds until Izuku finally opened his bleary eyes, and Shouta inwardly winced at how puffy and red they were from all of his crying.

He raked his fingers through the kid's hair once more—his curls were unimaginably soft, so sue him—and shifted himself so that they were both sitting upright.

“You okay, kid?” he murmured.

Still half asleep, Izuku replied with a nonsensical hum while he rubbed at his eyes with his fists, his head still resting against Shouta’s chest.

Shouta was never one to fawn over kids, and maybe he was just being biased, but there was no way it was legal for any kid to be that cute. Honestly, once Izuku mastered the pleading kitten-eyes look, if he hadn’t already, Shouta was done for.

It took another three minutes until they both scrambled off the couch, all half-numb limbs and stifled yawns. Immediately, Shouta beelined to the coffee pot. If he was being forced to wake up this early on a weekend then before anything else he would at least allow himself one cup of the god’s nectar.

As his coffee was brewing, Izuku padded up behind him with careful steps.

Shouta turned to him. “Is there anything, in particular, you want for breakfast?” he asked the boy was who held an unfocused gaze at the dripping coffee.

Another undecipherable hum was his response.

“Would you like me to decide?” he implored. Izuku’s focus finally shifted away from the coffee machine and he looked up at him with tired, searching eyes.

“Mm, can- uh,” Izuku played with the sleeve of his hoodie, “can I shower first?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course. I can start cooking while you shower if that’s what you’d like.” Izuku nodded. “Would you like me to show you how the shower works?” Another nod.

Shouta stepped away from his precious coffee machine with great reluctance and headed towards the bathroom, the kid following silently behind him. Shouta showed him how to turn on the water, how to adjust the settings, and where the hair care and body wash were. He was glad when Izuku didn’t ask if he could bathe after his shower because the possibility of the kid trying to drown himself honestly hadn't occurred to Shouta until just then. There was a good chance that if Izuku ever did want to bathe in the future then Shouta would have to supervise, and that was not a conversation he wanted to have right now.

While Izuku went to pick out a change of clothes, Shouta grabbed a towel from the linen closet and pulled out the shower stool from beneath the sink. Everything was set up and ready to go by the time Izuku reentered the bathroom.

Well, nearly everything.

“Before you shower, I need to take the bandages off your arm-”

“I can do it myself,” Izuku quickly interjected.

Shouta raised a brow. “I’m sure you can, but I want to make that sure everything is healing properly or if I need to re-bandage anything after you shower.”

Izuku shook his head quickly, the last remnants of sleep vanishing in his panic. Shouta couldn’t tell if Izuku was just self-conscious, or if he was hiding something. He really, really hoped it was the former.

“Kid-”

“I said I can do it myself,” Izuku cut him off, his eyes wide and his shoulder hunched. He held his arms close to his chest protectively.

Shouta bit back a sigh. He could already feel the beginning of an early morning, yet-to-be-caffeinated headache creeping up the base of his skull. “I’m not asking you, Izuku, I’m telling you what’s going to happen,” he said with exasperation. That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as Izuku’s anxious expression turned into a guarded scowl.

Shouta fought the urge to rub his temples, his oncoming headache only serving to amplify his building frustration.

He understood that Izuku was upset and he had every right to be overwhelmed but god, did the kid have to fight him on every little thing? This early in the morning?

“Please, work with me here,” Shouta begged, “I’ve already seen your arms, and I promise I won’t judge you.”

Izuku was standing in the bathroom, his back to the wall and head lowered. His eyes flicked between Shouta and the bathroom doorway that the hero was currently blocking. Did he plan to try and make a run for it?

“You promise?” came Izuku’s small and obviously nervous voice.

Shouta hid his surprise. He was preparing for another screaming match or tantrum but instead, Izuku shifted from foot to foot with clear apprehension as he looked at the hero with pleading, wet eyes.

Oh. This was a test of trust.

Okay.

He could do that.

“I promise,” Shouta said firmly. “I won’t judge you and I won’t be upset.”

Izuku averted his eyes and fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie in contemplation. This was a big step for Izuku, he understood that, and he sincerely hoped that he could prove himself as trustworthy to this timid boy.

After what seemed like minutes, Izuku finally stepped forward and held out his arms. He still refused to look at Shouta, and his body language showed how anxious he was, but at least he was cooperating.

Gingerly, Shouta rolled up each of the boy’s sleeves to reveal the bandages underneath. He had to stop himself from making any outward reactions to the small spots of blood that had leaked through at his wrists. He promised Izuku he wouldn’t get upset and no matter what, he would make good on his word.

Shouta quickly, yet gently, unwrapped the bandages on each arm. Now that they were standing beneath the bright lights of his bathroom and not the dim lights of Izuku’s old apartment, Shouta could see the boy’s cuts and scars in stomach-turning detail. There wasn’t an inch of skin that hadn’t been marked by a blade and the fact that Izuku felt it was necessary to do this to himself caused a stabbing pain in his heart. No one, especially no child, should ever be made to feel that hurting themselves was safer or easier than asking for help.

Each self-inflicted mark on Izuku’s body was not a sign of weakness. It was a sign of all the ways that the adults in his life had failed him.

An image of a younger Izuku flashed in his mind. A toddler with bright green eyes that sparkled like a galaxy with endless optimism.

Someone, more than likely multiple people, had hurt that little boy. They saw a child with a face full of freckles, still rounded with baby-fat, who had yet to experience the horrors of the world, and they had hurt him. And now, this older, albeit still very young boy had been hurt too.

Kids should be focused on playing with friends not avoiding their abusers. They should be worried about when the newest toy was coming out, not where their next meal would come from. Children should only be reading books and comics, not reading the room to decipher their parents’ mood of the day to avoid being yelled at or hit.

Izuku had gone through so much, too much, and there was no way to take back that pain.

But Shouta would be damned if he let Izuku hurt any longer.

Examining Izuku’s arms, Shouta was relieved to see that some of the cuts that had opened were already scabbed over again. Nothing that a dab of antibiotic cream and a simple bandage wouldn’t fix. The long, vertical cut down his left arm was, thankfully, shallow and was already well on its way to healing. It may not even leave a permanent scar.

Shouta looked back up to catch Izuku’s eyes. He only then noticed that Izuku had been watching him closely the entire time. His lips were set in a thin line and there were thick walls that guarded his emotions. No child should ever look like that.

Shouta offered him a small smile and carefully dropped his arms.

“Everything is healing well,” he explained, “After you shower, I’ll put some antibiotic ointment on the fresher cuts and bandage them.”

Izuku pulled his arms back and cradled them to his chest again, his gaze once more drifting to the ground. He didn’t verbally reply, but he offered a slow nod to show that he had heard him.

Shouta hesitated. Then, carefully, with all of the caution of walking across a minefield, he asked, “Have you harmed yourself in any other areas of your body?” He already knew the answer. Izuku’s medical records had indicated that the boy had plenty of scars on his thighs and abdomen, but this was Shouta’s own test of trust. He wanted to see if Izuku would be honest with him.

His answer was a shaky, quiet, “No.”

He held back a sigh. He expected Izuku to lie to him about that, but it didn’t make him any less disappointed. Not with Izuku, no, he would never be truly disappointed with Izuku, he had just hoped that the kid would trust him enough to be more upfront. It would have made future discussions about the topic much easier.

Not wanting to push the matter, Shouta accepted his answer for now. “Thank you, kiddo, for trusting me enough to look at your arms.” Shouta paused. “I’m proud of you.”

Izuku’s head snapped up and he looked at Shouta with wide eyes, as if the hero had told him the secrets of the universe. And, oh, how that hurt. To see how four simple words could cause such disbelief in someone so young. Had anyone ever told him that before or was Shouta the first?

Izuku simply stared at him for a moment before he could gather enough courage to speak. “I’m sorry,” Izuku muttered. And Shouta did not like how an apology was his automatic response to nearly everything. It didn’t escape his notice how quickly the boy was to take the blame for anything and everything, or to apologize when he was unsure of how to respond. He had been conditioned for that, and the very thought made Shouta’s blood boil.

“What are you sorry for?” the hero gently prodded.

“Um,” Izuku faltered. “I don’t know. I just- I just am?”

Shouta crouched down so that he wasn’t looming. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said firmly. It wouldn’t be an easy habit for the kid to break out of, but they had to start somewhere.

Izuku looked unsure of himself, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his hoodie. “Oh,” he breathed.

Shouta waited for a moment to let Izuku find stable footing in their conversation before he asked another question. “Would you like a hug, Izuku?”

This time, when Izuku stared at him with wide eyes, they were glistening with unshed tears. Not wanting the kid to feel pressured or boxed in, Shouta stayed where he was and simply offered his hand, palm up, so that Izuku had the choice of whether he wanted the physical contact or not.

The hero was rewarded by a small, hesitant hand coming to rest in his own before he gently pulled the boy into his chest. It was almost instantaneous, the way Izuku so easily tucked himself beneath Shouta’s chin and grabbed onto the front of his shirt. Tiny, bony shoulder shook with silent tears as Shouta held him, not too tight so that Izuku knew he could break the hug whenever he wanted, but tight enough to be grounding.

“You took a very big step today, kid, and I’m proud of you,” Shouta murmured into the crown of green curls. Izuku’s only response was a wet sniffle and a tightened grip.

And so they stayed there for a few more minutes while Izuku composed himself in the safety of Shouta’s arms.

Eventually, they detangled from their embrace so that Izuku could shower and Shouta could start on breakfast. It was a wordless parting, a simple hair ruffle before Shouta stepped out of the bathroom and watched as Izuku closed the door.

That was supposed to be his sign to leave, to head to the kitchen and reheat the leftover rice for breakfast, but something made him feel glued to the spot. A sense of unease at the knowledge that Izuku was completely alone in a room with zero supervision. Memories of the bathroom at Izuku’s old apartment crawled their way into Shouta’s mind and it caused a surge of panic to rise in his chest.

He knew he took out his razors and cleared the medicine cabinet, and when he pulled out the shower stool he double-checked that there were no cleaning chemicals beneath the sink. So there should be nothing in the bathroom that Izuku could use to hurt himself with.

Right?

Unless he missed something. Had he thoroughly checked all the drawers and cabinets? Or was it possible that Izuku managed to smuggle a small knife or razor blade in his pile of clothes?

Shit. He should have checked. He-

The sudden noise of the shower turning on interrupted his rapid thoughts. The hero waited with bated breath until he heard the sound of movement beneath the cascade of water.

A relieved sigh escaped him.

As much as he wanted to dismiss his fears, to reason with himself that he was only overreacting, Shouta had been a pro hero long enough to know that anything could happen in under a minute. And he was painfully aware that if Izuku really wanted to, he could probably find a way to hurt himself regardless of what was in the bathroom.

The thought gnawed at him with jagged teeth and the urge to stand there at the door, listening for any signs of unusual movement or cries of pain, weighed on him heavily.

But he couldn’t. He needed to give Izuku a chance to prove that he could handle some things by himself. They needed to start a foundation of trust to build on.

So, with reluctant steps, Aizawa forced himself away from the door and to the kitchen. It was only the second time in the past few days that Izuku had been fully out of sight with a closed door between them for more than a minute. The first was when Dr. Mizuno had to give Izuku a psychiatric evaluation. Shouta had used that time to run home, shower, and grab a clean change of clothes. He couldn’t have been gone for more than half an hour, the entire time unfamiliar panic bubbled at his core despite knowing Izuku wouldn’t be left alone. It didn’t stop him from rushing back to the hospital like a frantic hen and standing outside Izuku’s door until Dr. Mizuno finished.

The surge of protectiveness was strange and new, nothing he had ever felt before and it confused the shit out of him. He had no idea where the feeling had come from and the sheer intensity of it sometimes made him dizzy.

Don’t get him wrong, Shouta would take a bullet for any of his students, but there was something different about his need to ensure Izuku’s safety, something almost feral, and it- God was this what parenthood felt like? Was this the emotional reaction that the parents of his students felt whenever their kids were placed in dangerous situations? No wonder half of the parents of his class were wary about letting their kids move into the dorms after the attack on USJ.

Shouta sighed, deep and heavy as if it could dispel the crushing weight on his chest.

Twelve more minutes. He could check on Izuku in twelve more minutes.

For now, though, he needed to cook breakfast.

-----

Izuku had finished showering in just under fourteen minutes total and Shouta pointedly ignored the instant feeling of relief that came over him the second he saw the kid open the bathroom door.

He had just finished putting together their food when Izuku shuffled out of the bathroom with silent steps. Izuku had changed out of his hoodie and sweats in exchange for a pair of tattered gray jeans and a worn black sweater that was fraying at the hem.

The kid definitely needed new clothes.

“Let's take care of your arms real quick before we eat, alright?” Shouta spoke as he ushered Izuku back towards the bathroom. Izuku didn’t respond, but he obediently followed the hero and waited as Shouta pulled out a small first-aid kit from under the sink. It only held the basics— bandages, gauze, burn cream, antiseptic wipes, and antibiotic ointment. His more advanced med kit was hidden away in his own room.

Shouta gestured for the kid to hold out his arms again, but, just like before, Izuku was hesitant.

“Please, Izuku,” he softly pleaded. Shouta wasn’t naturally a patient person, so it took quite a bit of willpower to wait the three or so minutes until Izuku finally gave in and held out his arms. He knew that pushing the kid when he didn’t need to would only hinder any progress. Patience was vital in situations like these. Like earning the trust of a stray cat, it took time.

Just as gently as the first time, Shouta rolled up Izuku’s sleeves, but his breath caught when he noticed how red the kid’s arms were. It was clear that he had scrubbed at his skin harder than necessary and some of the cuts that were scabbed over were once again beaded with fresh blood.

“Kid-”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku apologized, his quiet voice wavering with tears.

Shouta closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe for a moment. He wouldn’t get upset. For both Izuku’s sake and his own, he wouldn’t get upset. It wasn’t even that terrible of a scenario, all things considered.

He opened his eyes again, still holding Izuku’s arms with a delicate grip. “That’s okay,” Shouta assured him. “You just need to try and be a bit more careful next time, yeah?” Izuku nodded, but he kept his head down in an attempt to hide the flush of shame that dusted his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Shouta made quick work of covering the now open cuts with antibiotic cream and wrapping them in bandages. As soon as he finished, Izuku rolled down his sleeves and wrapped his arms around himself protectively, his body language defensive and anxious.

Wordlessly, the two made their way back towards the kitchen where Shouta gestured for Izuku to sit at the table where their food was laid out— A bowl of white rice with an egg and nori on top, a side bowl of miso soup with tofu, and a sliced apple.

It wasn’t a fancy breakfast by any means, but it would be filling and easy on the kid’s stomach.

“You don’t need to eat everything, but try and eat what you can,” Shouta coaxed. Izuku nodded, still looking downward to avoid eye contact, and quietly picked up his chopsticks.

They ate in relative silence, save for the choir of chirping birds outside. Shouta used the time to check the notifications on his phone while stealing a glance at the kid every so often. Hizashi and Nemuri had sent him numerous texts asking about his injuries from the USJ despite the fact he had assured them he was fine. The teacher group chat he had been forced into was also active with the news of moving into the dorms. It seemed that every core teacher had agreed to live on campus. He rolled his eyes when Nemuri excitedly referred to the dorms as ‘one giant sleepover’ where then Nezu politely reminded her that she was not allowed to bring alcohol on campus which she followed up with a series of frowny-face emoticons.

What really excited the group chat, however, was Nezu’s extremely vague announcement that there would be someone who wasn’t a member of staff living in the teachers’ dorms as well. While, yes, Shouta asked Nezu to keep Izuku’s situation quiet until they could all hold a proper meeting, the rat absolutely knew what he was doing by being as cryptic as possible.

A million and one guesses about who it could be were thrown around, including the number three hero Hawks for whatever reason. Shouta held back a snort when Snipe guessed that it was Sushi, Midnight’s cat. Predictably, Nezu replied to none of the theories, leaving the staff hanging in suspense.

Having quickly grown tired of his coworkers’ antics, Shouta slipped his phone back in his pocket and looked over at Izuku who had eaten about a fourth of his food. At that point, the boy was more or less just shoving his food around with his chopsticks.

Shouta was about to ask him to try and eat at least another bite or two when Izuku spoke up first.

“You kept them,” he muttered, almost too quiet for the hero to hear.

The sudden words caught him off guard. “Hm?”

“You kept them,” Izuku repeated, “the cat and the notes. You kept them.”

Oh.

Shouta’s eyes flicked over to the bookshelves where the cat plush sat diligently atop the box of notes, then back towards Izuku who still hadn’t looked up.

“I did,” he confirmed.

Finally, Izuku raised his gaze to him. “Why?”

Shouta studied Izuku’s face for a moment. The way he asked the question wasn’t with confusion or doubt, but a genuine curiosity, like a small child asking their parents where rain came from. There was a tenderness in his voice when he asked, and it reminded Shouta of just how young Izuku really was.

“As you can probably guess, I’m not exactly a materialistic person, but I do keep the things that I care about,” Shouta explained. Then, with a smirk, “Why do you think I’ve kept you around?”

Izuku’s eyes widened just a fraction as the words sunk in, and if Shouta wasn’t watching the boy closely then he would have missed the smallest upward quirk of his lips. It wasn’t a smile, not quite, but for what the kid had been through over the past seventy-two hours, it was as good as.

That was the extent of their breakfast conversation. Izuku had managed a few more bites, even without Shouta asking him to, and once the table was cleared and the dishes were washed, an air of restlessness had settled over the room.

Izuku still sat at his place at the table, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater as Shouta refilled his coffee. The hero could tell from the way Izuku stole glances at him every now and then, that the boy wanted to say something but was working up the courage.

So, in silent encouragement, Shouta sat back down at the table and patiently waited until the kid found his voice.

It took nearly ten minutes and an empty mug of coffee for Izuku to finally speak.

“Um,” Izuku started, twisting his fingers like he usually did when he was nervous. “About the- about the dorms. Do I really have to? I mean, do I really have to live in the staff dorms?”

“Yeah, kid you do,” Shouta answered while absentmindedly swirling the dregs of coffee that had settled in the bottom of his mug. He made the mistake of looking up from his coffee and to Izuku because the way that the kid’s lower lip trembled and his eyes misted over made him feel like the cruelest person alive.

“Will I be the only one in class that isn’t moving to the student dorms?”

Shouta sighed and rubbed at his dry eyes. “As far as I’m aware, yes,” he replied as apologetically as he could.

Izuku started twisting his fingers even harder together until one of his knuckles popped. This time, Shouta didn’t hesitate to reach over and pry his hands apart. “Remember to be gentle,” he murmured.

“The class will know there’s something wrong with me,” Izuku sniffled. “Spending free periods with Hound Dog and- and not moving in with the rest of them. What am I supposed to tell them?” Shouta had kept his hands wrapped around Izuku’s and he gave the boy a gentle squeeze.

“You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to, even if they ask. But we can get Hound Dog or Nezu’s input about the situation when we see them in a couple of days.”

Izuku shook his head and a stray tear landed on the wood of the table. “I’ve always been the outcast! I’ve always been the freak with no quirk and I don’t- I don’t-” Izuku stuttered, unable to finish his sentence.

Shouta squeezed his hands again, more firmly this time. “Hey, kiddo, look at me.” He waited until Izuku lifted his eyes to continue speaking. “If any of your classmates give you shit for being quirkless, for not staying in the student dorms, or anything else, then I want you to come to me, okay? I will not tolerate any judgmental or prejudiced behavior in my class. And, as I said, we can come up with a cover story if you’d like.”

Instead of looking reassured, Izuku just deflated at the answer. “And the other teachers?”

“What about them?”

“Won’t they be confused that I’m living in their dorm?”

Shouta hesitated. He kept his focus on their joined hands, marveling at how small Izuku’s hands were compared to his own. He swept his thumb back and forth over the boy’s knuckles as he spoke. “The other teachers…will be informed about your situation.” He felt Izuku stiffen. “Only the very basics though. But, they will need to be made aware of certain things, only for your safety.”

“Oh,” came a whispered reply. “So then everyone will know I’m broken.”

Shouta slowly inhaled to keep himself calm and level-headed. “None of the other teachers will judge you, none of them will think you’re broken, because you aren’t.”

“But-”

“Every single pro hero I’ve ever known, including myself and all of your teachers at U.A. have had to deal with some sort of mental health issue. The most common being PTSD, because dealing with traumatic events comes with the job.” He moved his gaze away from their hands to search Izuku’s face. The boy wasn’t looking at him, instead, his eyes were jumping around the room as thoughts raced in his mind.

“I mean, I know that, but I’m- it’s not-!” Shouta could tell Izuku was getting frustrated, so he tapped a breathing pattern on the back of his hands.

“Slow down, and take a deep breath.”

Izuku’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to search for his words, “It’s not the same!” he eventually spoke.

Shouta leaned back in his seat a bit. “You’re right. It’s not the same. Because you’re a child, Izuku. Your only responsibilities should have been school and friends, and yet you were denied that. There was a weight placed on your shoulders that you should never have been burdened with, and none of your teachers will judge you for that.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“It does. Because none of this was your fault, so why should you take the blame?”

Izuku didn’t answer, and from what Shouta could tell, he didn’t have an answer to give. Still, the hero needed to make sure that the kid understood.

“Was it Thirteen’s fault for getting injured at the USJ?” Izuku’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with some internal panic.

“No! Of course not!”

“Ectoplasm lost both of his legs in a villain fight a few years back. Was that his fault?”

“N-no.”

“Do you think either of them are weaker for their injuries? Do you think either of them are broken because they needed help and time to recover?”

Izuku hung his head. “No,” he whispered.

“Kid,” Shouta leaned forward again, wanting to emphasize his point, “it is our job, as both heroes and your teachers to help you grow and to keep you safe. If that means you need to live in the teachers' dorms, then so be it. You are a child, Izuku, and it is our responsibility as adults to care for you. If any of your classmates were in the same situation then we wouldn’t hesitate to help them either. Do you understand?”

It seemed as if Izuku was deep in thought, mulling over Shouta’s words. He absently fidgeted with Shouta’s hand that still held his own, slim fingers tracing over faint scars.

“Do you promise?” he whispered. “That- that the other teachers won’t judge me?”

“No,” Shouta answered flatly. “But I can promise that if any one of them gives you any problems then I won’t hesitate to break their nose.”

Izuku gaped at him, “You would hit another teacher? Another pro hero?!”

“Without hesitation,” Shouta deadpanned.

The kid slumped in his seat, shock painting his face. “Why do I believe you?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Shouta let out an amused huff as he moved to ruffle Izuku’s hair. “As I said, I don’t tolerate judgmental or prejudiced behavior, even among my coworkers.”

Izuku gave him another almost smile and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Anytime, kid.”

Chapter Text

Not too long after breakfast, Shouta and Izuku fell into a comfortable silence. Izuku had worked up the courage to ask the hero if he could read one of the books from the shelves and Shouta soon found him curled up in the corner of the couch with a book about quirks resting on his lap. Inaudible muttering fell from his lips as he scanned each page with captivation and Shouta couldn’t stop the fond warmth that blossomed beneath his ribs at the sight. It was exactly what he had hoped to see; Izuku relaxed in the safety of their home, contentment evident in the way his muscles lost their previous tension. There was no crying, no panic, no anger that swelled in the air, just a peaceful quiet only broken by the sounds of turning pages and soft breathing.

Shouta had never wanted kids, but he couldn’t deny that the sight and sounds that filled his home felt like the last puzzle piece he didn’t know he was missing.

Realistically, he knew that this was merely a break in between raging storms, but every moment that Izuku wasn’t emotionally distressed was a victory in and of itself.

Now, though, he would have to tread carefully with their next conversation in order to maintain that peace.

With his second cup of coffee in hand, Shouta settled into the opposite corner of the couch. Izuku, as hypervigilant as always, immediately noticed his presence. His eyes lifted from where they were glued to the pages and he quickly assessed Shouta with a guarded expression.

Shouta knew that kids like Izuku learned how to read body language and emotions as a way to keep themselves safe. He understood that it was a habit so deeply ingrained that it became as natural as breathing. Still, he hoped that one day, Izuku wouldn’t feel the need to constantly decipher his mood in order to evaluate the safety of the situation.

Shouta took a sip of his coffee before setting it down on a coaster. Izuku must have recognized it as a sign that the hero wanted to speak with him as he closed his book and set it aside.

“How are you feeling, Izuku?” Shouta asked him, keeping his voice even and his body language relaxed in hopes it would put the kid at ease.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled in response. Then, with a nervous lilt in his voice, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I just wanted to get your input on something,” Shouta answered. “We’ll need to grab some things before we move to the dorms, which means at some point we’ll have to go out to the shops.”

Izuku furrowed his brows a bit. “What- what do we need?”

“You need bedding, new clothes, and a few miscellaneous items like toiletries. We can also look for decorations for your part of the room if you’d like,” he said with a shrug. “And maybe some books and stationery.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I, uh, I can’t really afford all of that,” Izuku stated, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“No, kid, I’m not expecting you to pay for anything,” he amended. Izuku opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, but Shouta didn’t let him. “I have two well-paying jobs and I rarely spend money outside of the basic necessities. I have more than enough to financially support the both of us.”

Izuku’s gaze dropped to the floor. He stayed quiet for a moment and Shouta could tell he was fighting himself on something.

“I don’t really have a way to pay you back,” Izuku finally spoke, his voice hardly above a whisper, “at least not with money.”

The hero felt himself tense. Shouta didn’t even want to guess what Izuku had in mind for non-monetary ‘payment’. He knew well enough that the red-light district operated using a favor-for-favor system where it was easy to wrack up debts in the form of ‘owing’ someone— drug deals, sexual acts, and physical labor were the most common forms of payment. Shouta briefly wondered just how much Izuku had seen in his years living in the shady parts of the city. How much innocence had he lost due to the negligence of the adults around him?

“No, Izuku,” he quickly interjected, “you won’t owe me anything. You will never have to pay me back for anything.” He stressed each word carefully. “You are my responsibility and that includes providing for you. Both your needs and your wants, it’s my job to financially cover it. And it’s a job I signed up for, not out of obligation, but because I want to take care of you. Do you understand?”

Izuku looked taken aback as if shocked by the idea that he could receive basic human kindness for free, but he hesitantly nodded despite the doubt clouding his features. The ‘owing’ mindset would be another habit the kid needed to break and Shouta made a mental note to bring it up with Inui in the near future.

“Now,” Shouta continued, wanting to change the subjects for both their sakes, “if you’re up for it, we can go to the shops today or we can save it for another day. We also don’t have to get everything done all at once; we can space out the trips throughout the week. It’s entirely up to you, kid.”

“Oh, um. Today I guess?” Izuku didn’t look or sound entirely sure, but the fact that he was willing to try was a good sign.

Shouta nodded. “Okay, then how would you like to go about it? We can try and hit every store at once, or we can space them out.”

Izuku was nervously twisting the hem of his sweater, bunching up the fabric in his hands. “Can- can we do just one?” It wasn’t a surprising answer with how overwhelming the past few days must have been for him.

“Of course,” Shouta’s affirmed. “And if, at any time and for any reason, you want to come back home, then let me know and we’ll immediately leave.”

Shouta didn’t miss the way the kid’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the word ‘home’. He also didn’t miss the way his shoulders relaxed at the assurance that they could leave the shops at any time.

“Last question— what would you like to shop for today? Clothes, things for the dorms, or the miscellaneous stuff?”

Izuku’s bottom lip pushed out a bit as he mulled over the options.

“C-clothes?” he stuttered.

“Okay. Clothes and probably a new pair of shoes.”

Izuku looked over to the genkan where his old, tattered shoes were one use away from falling apart.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“We can go to the mall for clothes and shoes,” Shouta said with a shrug. The kid let out a hum of agreement. “Alright, go ahead and get ready. We’ll leave in about ten minutes.”

-----

Izuku had never been to the mall.

He was going to tell Aizawa but a sense of shame wired his mouth shut. Shopping at the mall seemed like such a normal and mundane activity, so he was embarrassed that it was something he’d never experienced. He didn’t exactly have any friends to go with and even if he did, he didn’t have the money to buy anything anyway.

But there he stood, surrounded by brightly lit stores and too many people. He stayed close to Aizawa as they made their way through the busy mall, heading towards some clothing shop that Izuku didn’t recognize the name of. He wasn’t keeping close to the hero because he was scared, but because it was one of the many rules that Aizawa had set before entering the building.

***

"Before we head inside, I need you to understand some things,” Aizawa said. Izuku, whose gaze was firmly locked on the lively building, offered a nonsensical hum.

He heard an irritated sigh before the hero brought both of his hands to Izuku’s shoulders and faced him away from the mall.

“I’m serious, kid, you need to listen. There are some rules that you’ll need to follow while we’re here.” Izuku nodded to show the man that he was, in fact, listening.

“Good. First rule, you stay by my side at all times. And I don’t just mean where I can see you, I mean within ten feet at the absolute most,” Aizawa ordered. Izuku tried not to roll his eyes. “Second, do not talk to anyone you don’t personally know. If you need help from a worker in the store, let me know and I’ll talk to them for you.” Izuku had to physically bite his tongue. “Third rule, don't run off-”

Izuku had to force himself not to scoff as Aizawa continued his list. He had lived on his own for literal years and was a fairly successful vigilante. Just because he’d never been to a mall before didn’t mean he was incapable of keeping himself safe. He knew for a fact that kids and teens his age went to the mall by themselves all of the time, so why the hell was Aizawa so pressed about the ‘rules’?

“Izuku.”

Izuku was snapped out of his thoughts and was met by Aizawa’s stern glare. It was a ‘do-not-test-my-patience’ look that Izuku very much did not appreciate because it was just the mall for god’s sake.

“Were you listening to me?” Aizawa asked, doubt evident in the tone of his voice. Izuku only nodded. “Good. Because if you break even a single rule then we’re going back home, am I understood?”

Izuku blinked and tilted his head. “But, if we go back to the apartment before we get everything we need, wouldn’t we just have to go out again anyway?” He was proud of himself for not stuttering. Aizawa looked…less proud.

Annoyed.

Yeah, the hero looked annoyed.

“Oh, we’ll go out to the shops again, but it’ll be with my binding cloth wrapped around you like a child leash and I have a feeling you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Izuku startled. “You- you can’t do that!”

The hero raised a brow. “Behave and I won’t have to. Now, I repeat, if you break any of the rules, we will be going home. Am I clear?”

Izuku nodded again.

“Verbal answer, kid.”

Izuku shot him a heated glare but answered anyway. “Yes, sir,” he grumbled, almost tempted to mock salute, but he had a feeling Aizawa wouldn’t find it as funny as he did.

Aizawa seemed satisfied enough with his response and led them through the glass doors of the mall.

***

Izuku wasn’t scared of the mall. At least, he thought he wasn’t. He just hadn’t anticipated there being so many people, and the deafening noise of the stores and crowds put U.A.’s cafeteria to shame.

There was just so much to look at!

Toy stores, video game shops, restaurants, arcades, clothing stores, hero merch stores, and even mini-golf. It was like an entire city inside of a single building. Friend groups of all ages talked animatedly as they rode up escalators, couples holding hands as they carried overstuffed shopping bags, and parents corralling their kids together to keep them from running off in every direction.

A flash of green caught his eye.

A young boy with light-green hair was nervously looking around the mall, his wide eyes searching the crowd in a panic. Izuku could tell that the boy was about to burst into tears yet everyone around him simply walked past. Izuku was seconds away from darting to the kid’s side and helping him find whatever or whoever he was looking for, but before he could move, another flash of green shoved through the crowd and towards the direction of the now crying boy.

A woman with the same colored hair as the child nearly tripped over herself as she reached for the boy and engulfed him in a tight hug. Izuku couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language reflected nothing but love for one another. The child instantly calmed as the woman wiped away his tears with her sleeve, muttering something with a honey-sweet smile.

That must be his mom, Izuku noted as he watched the woman gently take the boy’s hand in her own.

A sharp pinprick of pain stabbed at his heart with the thought of his own mother, not due to a fond memory, but the dawning realization that she had never once held his hand. He was fairly certain that as soon as he learned to walk, she never picked him up again either, even hugs became rare. He remembered that Auntie Mitsuki would often carry him when he was really little, and sometimes Uncle Masaru would lift Izuku up on his shoulders and make him feel like a giant, but as soon as he was diagnosed quirkless he stopped going to the Bakugou’s house. He had been too scared of Kacchan to visit so he only ever saw his Auntie and Uncle when they picked up Kacchan from school or stopped by to see his mom.

What memories did he even have with his mother? She wasn’t mean and she didn’t exactly ignore him, but she was distant. When she wasn’t at work she would be parked on the couch in front of the television for hours on end with a glass of wine in her hand. The only times she was ever truly affectionate was when Izuku fell ill or got injured. Otherwise, she left him to take care of himself, constantly praising him for how mature he was.

The weight of a hand on his shoulder startled Izuku out of his thoughts.

“Are you alright, kid?” Izuku turned to see Aizawa crouching in front of him, a soft look of concern barely concealed within his usual stoic expression.

Izuku’s eyes trailed back to the mother and son, who were now making their way into the toy store. She still held her son’s hand as he excitedly talked to her with a gapped-tooth smile.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the hero had followed his gaze to watch the little green-haired family.

“Sorry, I’m okay,” Izuku mumbled with a shrug.

Aizawa’s focus returned to Izuku once more, but this time the hero gave him a slightly calculated look. It wasn’t the same, uncomfortable expression that people often looked at Izuku with, as if he were a lab rat ready to be dissected, but it was something more personal, like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle.

After a moment, Aizawa stood back up to his full height and silently, gently, held out his hand.

Izuku’s eyes flicked from the man’s hand to his face, confused by the subtle gesture. What was Aizawa doing? Was he asking for something? Was-

Oh.

Oh.

A glowing, tingling sensation crawled around in his chest like a purring cat curling up for a nap in the sun. Every emotion that he had felt previously had vanished, replaced by a mixture of disbelief and indistinguishable warmth.

His mind had been at war with itself for days as it violently tugged him between being mad at the hero and seeking assurance from him. But for some reason, with his hand outstretched in a silent offer, Aizawa radiated a sense of undeniable safety, and the conflicted emotions that swirled in his head were suddenly overpowered by the intrinsic need for comfort.

Izuku only barely hesitated before he slipped his hand into Aizawa’s own, and the gentle smile that the hero gave him caused a strange sense of pride to swell in his chest like he had done something right.

If it was any other instance, any other day, Izuku might have felt embarrassed for the childish act of holding the hand of his teacher, of pro hero Eraserhead, but as a calloused hand wrapped firmly around his own, he could do nothing but bask in the newfound security.

It was as if he were a small child, relying on the guidance and comfort of a parent— it was a feeling he had never experienced before. Suddenly, he felt grounded; the lights weren’t as bright, the noises weren’t as loud, and his mind was no longer aimlessly swimming.

Aizawa squeezed his hand ever so slightly before guiding him further into the mall.

The first store they stopped at was a kid’s clothing store. Izuku would have been offended by the implications of Aizawa taking him to a store marketed to kids, but the fact that he was still holding the hero’s hand gave him little room to argue against it. Once he actually saw the contents of the store, however, he no longer felt the need to complain. The clothing at this store was much higher quality than any of the clothes he had gotten from the second-hand shops he went to in the previous years.

Spotting the hoodie section, Izuku nearly dragged Aizawa to the back of the store where they were displayed in racks. There were patterned hoodies, plain colored hoodies, ones with logos, and even a few hero-themed hoodies. But one in particular immediately caught his eye. It was a large, pale-green hoodie with cream accents on the pocket, the hem, drawstrings, and the bottom of the sleeves. The inside of the hoodie was also the same cream color and sewn onto the hood itself were a pair of floppy rabbit ears. The back of the hoodie had a matching cream rabbit head design with the words ‘White Rabbit’ written in Katakana.

White Rabbit was a clothing brand he always liked but could never afford. It was originally founded by pro hero Miruko who donated most of the proceeds to various charities.

Aizawa, as observant as ever, must have noticed him eying the hoodie. The hero was quick to grab it off the rack and sling it over his arm to hold onto.

“W-wait,” Izuku stammered, “I don’t know how much it is. What if it’s really expensive here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aizawa said with a shrug. “Like I said before, I have plenty of money to buy you clothes, and if this is something you want then it’s worth whatever price. Besides, this one…fits you quite well.”

Izuku blinked. “It fits me? What do you mean?”

Aizawa ducked his head so that the lower half of his face was obscured by his capture scarf. “Don’t worry about it,” he muttered.

Izuku ignored Aizawa’s weird behavior and turned back to the hoodie display. He grabbed a few more, mostly from the White Rabbit brand; a black and white hoodie with a more ‘edgy’ design, a yellow and white hoodie, and a black and red hoodie that also had rabbit ears sewn onto the hood.

With Aizawa’s prompting of “You can’t wear only hoodies,” Izuku also picked out a few long-sleeve shirts, a handful of sweaters, jeans, shorts, and the necessary socks and boxer briefs. Most of the clothing he went for were dark colors, usually blacks, grays, and dark reds.

Satisfied with the new wardrobe, Izuku turned to head in the direction of the check-out counter, but Aizawa stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hold up, kid, you need to grab a few more things.”

Izuku turned around and faced the hero with a quirked brow. “But that’s plenty of clothes, right? It’s- it’s more than I’ve ever had before.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked between Izuku and the sea of clothes displayed in the store, and Izuku could tell that he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I understand. But you’ve only picked out sweaters, hoodies, and shirts with long sleeves. You need to grab at least a few T-shirts.”

Izuku paused. The air around him suddenly felt heavy and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched by everyone in the store. He knew, logically, that the only person looking at him was Aizawa, but his skin still crawled uncomfortably as if his every insecurity had been exposed.

And if he wore anything other than long-sleeved shirts, then they would be.

“I can't,” Izuku said resolutely.

Aizawa sighed. “Kid, summer is coming up soon and it’s going to get hot out.”

“So?”

“So, if you only ever wear hoodies you’ll end up overheating.”

Izuku scoffed under his breath. “I’ve never had a problem wearing sweaters ‘n stuff during summer before. I don’t need to-”

“Izuku.” Aizawa’s stern tone cut through the air like a knife and Izuku had to suppress a flinch. “This isn’t up for debate, so either you pick out a few shirts or I’ll pick them out for you.”

Izuku silently glared at the hero, but when Aizawa showed no signs of backing down, he begrudgingly followed him to the T-shirt rack with an exaggerated sigh. He had absolutely no intentions of ever wearing them, so he paid little attention to what shirts he grabbed. He noticed that one of them was a pale teal color that had the word ‘T-shirt’ written on the front. When Aizawa saw it the man rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything when Izuku added it to the pile.

Finally, with a satisfied nod from Aizawa, they made their way to the check-out counter. Izuku felt nauseated when he heard the total price of his new wardrobe but the hero didn’t seem fazed in the least.

With their arms full of bags, the two exited the clothing store. Never in his life did Izuku have so many new articles of clothing and he felt guilty for wasting Aizawa’s money on something as dumb as clothes.

“How are you holding up, kiddo?” Aizawa asked as they walked deeper into the mall. Izuku offered him a shrug. “Are you up to hitting one more store or would you like to go home?”

“Hmm, d-depends the store?” He answered quietly.

“I figured we could stop by the shoe store while we’re here and get you a new pair of sneakers. Your old ones aren’t exactly in the best shape.”

Izuku nodded. “Okay.” As much as he didn’t care for new clothes, he couldn’t deny his current shoes were one more use away from falling apart.

The shoe store was huge. Shoe boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling as if the entire store was one giant box fort. He followed Aizawa to the far left corner of the store where the children's section was located. Shoes in various colors littered the shelves; neon pink, light up, multi-colored laces, and even dress shoes were all available in abundance. But a certain pair of bright red sneakers with white soles and black laces grabbed Izuku’s attention. They were just like his old pair of shoes previous to the current black sneakers he was wearing. He had been sad to throw them out after years of use but the soles had begun to fall apart so he had no choice but to toss them.

Izuku turned to Aizawa and silently gestured to the shoes with a tilt of his head.

“Are these the ones you want?” The hero questioned.

“Um…if that’s okay? I can choose another pair! If these are too expen-”

“It’s fine. I’d rather get you a pair of shoes you want to wear versus ones that would make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

The hero nodded. “I’m sure.”

With Aizawa’s go-ahead, Izuku grabbed a box that was labeled with his shoe size and brought it to the cashier at the check-out counter. He briefly heard Aizawa mumble something about him needing more than one pair of shoes but he elected to ignore the nagging statement.

They left the store and were once again swept into the crowd of the mall.

“It’s about time to eat lunch,” Aizawa stated with a side glance to Izuku, “We can either eat lunch here at the food court, or I can make you something to eat when we get back home.”

Izuku’s steps faltered. It was already lunch? But they had just eaten breakfast a few hours ago and he didn’t feel the least bit hungry.

“I understand if you aren’t very hungry,” Aizawa said as if reading his mind, “but you need to at least try to eat something.”

Izuku scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground as he spoke with a sigh, “I know but- but eating three times a day is a lot.”

“Actually,” Aizawa fully turned to him, “you should also be eating a snack in between each meal until you reach a healthy weight and it’s something we’ll start implementing into your diet starting next week. For now, though, just focus on eating what you can.”

“Wait, that’s like, five meals a day!”

“I said, snacks, kid, not full meals.”

Izuku crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks. “I bet what you consider to be ‘snacks’ are basically three-course meals themselves.”

Aizawa gave him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be dramatic. Your nutritional plan suggested fruit smoothies and protein bars. Now,” he barreled on before Izuku could argue any further, “food court or lunch at home?”

Izuku huffed. “I don’t know, food court I guess?” And with a nod from the hero, they trudged on through the mall and towards where Izuku assumed the food court was.

Izuku had absolutely no idea what kind of food would be available at the mall but he just wanted to get the whole ‘lunch’ thing over with as soon as possible. Besides the fact that his appetite was nearly nonexistent on a good day, sometimes, the thought of eating made him feel physically ill. It didn’t help that he had already started to feel the exhaustion of the morning seeping into his bones and making him feel heavy. He had yet to even fully grasp the fact that he was casually walking around the mall with Eraserhead. If someone were to try and convince him, even just a week ago, that he would be shopping for clothes with the underground hero, he would have laughed in their face.

Nothing can surprise me anymore, Izuku mused to himself, but his thoughts were interrupted as they walked by a store that made him stop in his tracks.

It was a combat-knife store. Not the usual kind of mall shop that sold flimsy, decorative knives, but a store that sold legitimate pro-level weapons that could only be sold to those with specialized licenses, such as pro heroes or people who make support gear.

Izuku couldn’t care less about the absurdity that this kind of store was located in a mall of all places because he was far too busy drooling over a seat of red throwing knives with a metallic sheen that had been displayed in the front window.

He had never wanted something so badly in his life.

Unfortunately, he didn’t exactly have any kind of proper license or money to buy them, but perhaps he could ask U.A.’s support department to add them to his costume? Even better, he could ask them to wrap black leather around their handles to match the theme of his hero costume and-

He was broken out of his thoughts by Aizawa catching hold of his hand and tugging him away from the storefront window like a parent ushering their toddler away from a toy store. Izuku had half a mind to dig his heels into the ground because he wasn’t done looking, but he was quickly reminded of just how much bigger Aizawa was compared to him as he felt another firm yet gentle pull on his hand.

With an annoyed pout, Izuku let the hero drag him away from the knife store and towards the food court that was right around the corner.

The food court was like a neighborhood of miniature restaurants, except all of the seating was mingled together in the middle. It was a bit strange, and there were so many options to choose from, but Izuku thought it was a neat concept, especially for groups of people that couldn’t agree on one place to eat. He noticed a group of teens sitting at a corner table, each eating food from different vendors.

He briefly wondered what kind of food he would want to try since most of the vendors were for foods he had never tasted before such as gyros, ravioli, pad thai, and so on. Then, as if stumbling across a mountain of treasure, Izuku saw a bakery. The glass display case showed honey-golden croissants drizzled in chocolate, cookies the size of his head, blueberry cheesecake, and, what was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, a matcha and red bean danish filled with custard and covered in sliced almonds.

Izuku had momentarily forgotten about Aizawa’s presence completely—the hero having dropped his hand once they entered the food court—and he wasted no time scrambling in the direction of the bakery. He didn’t have much money on him, but he had enough for the danish and that was all that mattered. Nothing could stand in his way of purchasing the heavenly treat and savoring each flaky bite.

Except for Aizawa.

Izuku hadn’t made it more than four feet from where he stood when he felt himself being scooped up by the pits of his arms, turned around, and placed back onto the ground in front of his glowering teacher.

“What did I say about running off?” Aizawa asked. He had crossed his arms and fixed Izuku with a stern glare that would have been intimidating if Izuku wasn’t busy twisting his neck to look behind his shoulder at the shelves of pastries behind him.

A frustrated sigh was his only warning before Aizawa’s hand caught Izuku’s chin and turned his head away from the bakery, forcing him to look up at the hero’s steely gaze instead.

“What. Did. I. Say. About. Running. Off?” Aizawa asked again, enunciating each word with a low tone.

“Uhh…not to?” he answered dumbly. Aizawa raised an eyebrow at his response. Izuku whined as he tried to pull his face free from the hero’s grasp, but his efforts were fruitless. “I don’t know! Ten feet or something, but th-the bakery is right there and-”

“I don’t care if the mall is on fire. Unless I say otherwise you do not run off. Do you understand me?”

He tried to push Aizawa’s arm away but the man quickly caught both of Izuku’s hands in one of his own, his strict glare never wavering. Izuku began to feel a familiar pressure building in his chest and his heart started to thump against his ribs. He hated feeling trapped and he was suddenly all too aware of just how public the mall’s food court was, that anyone could see him being treated like a misbehaved child. Tears pinpricked at the corners of his eyes as he tried one last time to struggle out of the hero’s grasp but to no avail.

“Izuku,” Aizawa scolded, “I said, do you understand me?”

With a sniffle, Izuku’s arms went limp in the hero’s hold. “Y-yes,” he mumbled.

Aizawa finally let Izuku go with another sigh, although a look of displeasure still reflected in his onyx eyes. “I mean it, kid, you need to stay at my side at all times.” He rubbed at his temple with the palm of his hand as if he had a headache, but the previous tension in his shoulders bled away and his stern glare was replaced by his usual stoic expression. “Back to the task at hand, where would you like to eat?”

If it wasn’t for Izuku being manhandled and scolded in the middle of the mall, he would have excitedly pointed to the bakery, but a sharp pang that fluttered beneath his sternum and the sting of unshed tears made him feel self-conscious and small. He was a hero student for god’s sake, he had taken down numerous villains over twice his size yet Aizawa seemed dead set on treating him like a small child!

The worst part was, sometimes Izuku felt like a small child. Sometimes, the world felt too big, and it made him overwhelmed and scared. Even now, despite wanting to prove to Aizawa that he could take care of himself just fine, a part of him wanted to cling to the hero and cry into his chest because he couldn’t shake the feelings of warmth and safety that he had come to associate with the man.

Once again, conflicting emotions played an exhausting game of tug-of-war inside of his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” Izuku finally answered with averted eyes. Why was he suddenly so tired? His eyelids were heavy and his brain felt muddled. The lights and noise in the mall were, once again, all too bright and loud.

Aizawa shifted so he was standing a bit closer, his body shielding some of the bright lights which Izuku was thankful for.

“It does matter. Your opinions matter. I understand how difficult it can be to eat right now, so if you’re in the mood for something in particular…” he trailed off.

Izuku’s eyes roamed the food court until they found the bakery again. He still really wanted the danish, but it felt as if his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Aizawa must have followed his line of sight as the hero turned to him with a soft expression. “Pastries aren’t exactly a meal, kiddo.” Izuku shrugged his shoulders before letting them drop almost dramatically, then he heard Aizawa sigh for what must have been the hundredth time that day. “However, if you’d like, you can pick something out to have after lunch, okay?”

His head shot up to glare at the hero. “That’s a cheap trick,” Izuku complained.

“What is?”

“To u-use the promise of baked goods to lure me into eating lunch.”

Aizawa offered an easy smirk. “Is it working?”

Izuku crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his brows. “No.”

-----

It did, in fact, work. Shouta had managed to coax Izuku into eating over a quarter of his soup-and-sandwich lunch by bribing him with two matcha danishes— one for after lunch and one to eat with breakfast tomorrow.

Shouta had to hide a smile underneath his capture scarf at the way Izuku bounced up and down at the bakery’s check-out counter. The kid still hadn’t fully smiled yet, but the sparkling light in his eyes and his bunny-hops were enough. He would have to keep in mind that Izuku adored anything with matcha in it as it seemed to be the perfect quick-fix to lift his mood.

He felt a bit bad for reprimanding Izuku in the middle of the mall but the way his heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of Izuku bolting off caused him to panic, and that panic turned into anger. Not the hot, burning anger that he’s felt when facing especially deplorable villains, but a new, overprotective surge that lashed in his core like a panicked bear.

The very thought of Izuku running off again made him feel sick.

Shouta couldn’t lose him again. He just couldn’t.

He had been more or less joking when he had threatened Izuku with using his binding cloth as a child leash, but now that he thought about it, he wondered just how serious he might have been.

He wouldn’t, not unless Izuku gave him a reason to, but god was the idea tempting. And it’s not like the decision would be illogical. Izuku was a problem child, a trouble magnet that seemed to attract the worst of the world, and keeping him on a tight leash, literally, would ensure his safety.

But it would also shatter the small amount of trust they had built and that wasn’t worth Shouta’s peace of mind. At least not unless the situation was dire enough and he sincerely hoped it would never come to that.

Regardless, Izuku no longer seemed to be too upset at him, distracted by the baked sweet that was covering his hands in matcha powder. Shouta was snacking on his own pastry, a coffee-flavored scone, and the atmosphere between them was almost peaceful.

After they finished with lunch, Shouta and Izuku cut through the crowded mall and headed towards the exit and to the car. The hero didn’t miss the tired yawn that Izuku tried to suppress and not even five minutes later the kid was passed out in the back seat, soft breathing adding to the lullaby of fresh raindrops lightly drizzling on the windshield.

Between the long morning, exhausting mall trip, and a full stomach, he wasn’t at all surprised that Izuku had fallen asleep so easily. Shouta was especially thankful that he wouldn’t have to fight Izuku on taking a nap.

It didn’t take long until they reached the apartment. The rain was falling harder now, droplets hitting the ground in a chorus of tiny splashes. Shouta decided to park in the apartment’s parking garage, the echo of his tires reverberating off of cement walls but the sound was dull enough that Izuku hadn’t even stirred.

Deciding to leave the shopping bags in the trunk for the time being, Shouta rounded the car and opened Izuku’s door. The kid was still out like a light, his lips parted ever so slightly and his head tilted to the side. Shouta could barely make out the freckles on his cheeks due to the dim, orange lighting of the parking garage but the warmth of the lights made the sleeping boy look so peaceful that Shouta didn’t want to wake him.

So he didn’t.

With careful movements, Shouta unbuckled Izuku’s seatbelt before gently gathering him into his arms, supporting the sleeping child with an arm under his thighs as he tilted the kid’s head to rest on his shoulder. Immediately, Izuku latched onto the front of his shirt and buried his nose into the crook of Shouta’s neck, a sleepy sigh tickling his collarbone.

Despite the cold winds and rain from the storm outside, a deep warmth bloomed beneath Shouta’s heart and expanded past his ribs and down his limbs until his whole body buzzed with the feeling of absolute contentment, something he had never quite felt before. It was new and strange—everything about their situation was new and strange—but there was no denying that it all felt so right.

It was illogical. It was irrational. But for once in his life, Shouta couldn’t care less. The tiny fingers that curled into his shirt, the rise and fall of a small chest pressed against his own, the warm puffs of breath against his neck, were all beautiful reminders that Izuku was alive. Alive and sheltered, properly fed and clothed, and held tightly in the hero’s arms.

He knew that this was only the beginning, that there would be more storms to come. More bad days, more tantrums, more panic attacks, but as he tightened his hold on the sleeping boy, green curls rubbing against the stubble on his cheek, he let himself find comfort in the fact that Izuku was finally safe.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week had followed a similar pattern to the first day. Shouta would wake Izuku up to start his morning routine, they would eat a relatively simple breakfast, then Izuku would usually read while Shouta answered emails, and about an hour after breakfast, they would head out to the shops. Izuku always tired himself out after lunch and would promptly fall asleep in the car on their way home. The evenings were just as quiet as the mornings; whatever it was they bought that day would be packed into boxes to be moved into the dorms, Shouta would then make dinner and attempt to coax Izuku into eating, and their night would usually finish with Izuku retreating to his room while Shouta worked on case files or administrative tasks at the dining table.

Each day was similar in routine, but that wasn’t to say it was easy.

On the day they went out shopping for bedding and other dorm supplies, Izuku spent the first half of the trip trying to argue his way into moving into the 1-A dorms with the rest of his classmates. After the fiftieth time Shouta told him ‘no’, Izuku nearly threw another tantrum in the middle of the store gaining the attention of some random woman who suspected Shouta of kidnapping Izuku. Only after he flashed his hero license as well as the eventual, and reluctant, confirmation from Izuku that he knew Shouta did the woman finally walk away. It was…a mess to say the least.

Then there was the night that the poor kid had woken up in a panic after a nightmare. Between sobs and slightly incoherent muttering, he learned that Izuku had a nightmare about the USJ, specifically, about Shouta and Shinsou getting killed by the Nomu. Shouta spent the next couple of hours convincing the crying boy that he was okay, that everyone was alive and safe. At one point, they ended up moving to the couch in the living room where Shouta turned on the television to some random documentary about aquatic creatures. Izuku had finally fallen asleep halfway through the documentary when the monotone narrator mentioned something about jellyfish being related to corals. Shouta fell asleep not too long afterward. Despite how awfully they both slept that night, he wasn’t too upset to wake up to Izuku curled up against his side, latched on to him like a sleepy koala.

And, at least once a day, Izuku had tried to get out of eating. One morning, the boy merely pushed his food around his plate in a poor attempt at making it look like he had eaten some of his breakfast. Another time, during dinner, Izuku had actually tried to sneak away from the table when he thought Shouta wasn’t looking.

Each day had its challenges, no doubt, but then there were the nicer moments that broke through the cloud of hardship.

The way Izuku’s eyes absolutely sparkled when he found the box of gummy worms in the food pantry reminded him of the first time he had given the kid a bag of those sour candies. Although he did have to hide the box after he discovered that Izuku had eaten five bags in one sitting which led him to try and unconvincingly hide a stomachache. It took more willpower than he would like to admit to holding in his laughter when Izuku tried to lie to him about eating the candy when his cheeks were coated with sugar. It was like catching a cat with its paw in a can of tuna. It was hard to stay mad when something that small and that cute attempted to play innocent.

Shouta was also reminded of just how smart the kid was. After dinner one night, Izuku had asked to watch the news. A hero fight had been broadcasted and Izuku didn’t hesitate to fall into one of his mumblings fits over the quirks of both the hero and the villain. He had verbally walked through the different strategies the hero could have used to defeat the criminal more efficiently and with less property damage. Absentmindedly, Shouta threw in his own thoughts here and there, and asked Izuku a few thought-provoking questions which the kid more than happily sunk his teeth into. They ended up spending the rest of the night analyzing the fight and comparing it to other known hero fights. The atmosphere was easy and peaceful, and it had reminded Shouta of their time spent talking on the rooftops back when Izuku was ‘Moth’.

Overall, the week had its ups and downs. It could have gone better but it could have gone dramatically worse. Shouta, and Izuku too he was sure, was absolutely exhausted. Never in his life had he felt so emotional and it drained him more than his physical hero work. He was just thankful that Inui had kept in contact with him every other day, asking for updates and discussing developments as well as adjusting Izuku’s school schedule based on the information Shouta had gathered throughout the week. Nezu, too, had asked for updates every once in a while, and his boss was more than willing to fill him in on the details for the dorms as the move-in date grew closer.

Before he knew it, the week had flown by and it was time to meet with Nezu and Inui at U.A. to discuss Izuku’s schooling.

-----

Nezu had asked them to meet in Inui’s office on Friday, the day before the staff were meant to move into the dorms. Shouta and Izuku had spent most of the previous day packing up the last of the boxes, which thankfully wasn’t much, and stacking them in the corner of the living room. He could tell that Izuku was feeling apprehensive about yet another change in scenery, and it didn’t help that not only would they be living somewhere new, but they would also be sharing a space with the rest of the staff. He couldn’t imagine how nervous the poor kid was to be surrounded by near-strangers in such a vulnerable time. Not to mention the fact that none of his colleagues had been informed of Izuku’s situation other than Inui and Recovery Girl, so it would undoubtedly be a large adjustment for both Izuku and his coworkers.

Nezu, Inui, and Shouta had planned to gather the staff in the dorm’s common room for a meeting on the day everyone moved in to explain Izuku’s circumstances and inform them of his suicide watch. Shouta had no doubt in his mind that his coworkers would be more than willing to take part in watching over Izuku; Hizashi and Nemuri especially would be his biggest support.

The only people he worried about were Vlad King and All Might.

Vlad wasn’t a bad person by any means, he was great with kids, if not ferociously protective, but Shouta imagined how that could translate into worrying over Izuku still being allowed to stay in the heroics department. If he were being entirely honest, Shouta had his own doubts about letting Izuku stay in class 1-A. If it weren’t for Nezu all but demanding that the kid continue with the hero course, Shouta more than likely would have pulled him out and waited until he was a couple of years older at the very least.

Not that Shouta thought Izuku wasn’t good enough, he knew first hand just how strong the kid was, but every time he looked at those emerald eyes and freckled cheeks he was reminded of just how young Izuku was, still just a baby, really.

All Might was his other concern. His newest coworker was the unknown factor. Never having worked with the man before, Shouta had little idea of how the number one hero would react to learning about Izuku’s situation. But from All Might’s reaction during the entrance exam upon finding out Izuku was quirkless, Shouta suspected that the older hero would more than likely voice his concerns. He would just have to make sure Izuku wasn’t in the room to hear it.

Otherwise, Shouta was fairly confident in the rest of his colleagues' ability to remain unbiased and empathetic. It helped that most of the staff had already taken a liking to Izuku if the gossip in the teachers' lounge during the first week of school was anything to go by. He only hoped that Izuku would learn to trust the rest of his teachers, or at least learn to feel more comfortable around them. He especially hoped that Izuku would get along well with Nemuri and Hizashi, as Shouta already planned on using them as babysitters once he started going back out on patrols.

It was partially for this reason that Shouta planned on introducing them to Izuku before all of the other teachers. Nezu had already given the go-ahead for them to move into the dorms first thing in the morning, about six hours before the rest of the staff were meant to arrive. That way, Izuku wouldn’t feel as overwhelmed and had at least a little bit of time to adjust. Shouta had messaged his two friends, asking them to start their own move-in process a couple of hours earlier so that he could explain the kid’s situation to them before the initial staff meeting. Hizashi and Nemuri were the only other staff members who knew about Moth, besides Inui, and including the fact that they were his closest friends, it was only logical to let them meet Izuku in the light of his circumstances before everyone else.

He didn’t say why he had asked them to move in early—knowing Hizashi and Nemuri, they would bombard him with questions and beg to see the kid and he would very much like to hold off on that until he and Izuku actually moved in—but they agreed all the same.

Now, though, as Shouta guided Izuku through the halls of U.A.’s main building, he could practically feel the anxiety radiating from the poor kid in waves.

There was no one on campus other than Nezu, Inui, and Recovery Girl, yet Izuku still nervously scanned his surroundings as if expecting someone to jump out at him. One of his hands was hidden in the long sleeve of his black and white hoodie, the fabric bunched up at the end as he balled his hand into a fist. With his free hand, Izuku clutched onto the hem of Shouta’s shirt as if the hero would suddenly decide to leave him stranded in the empty corridors. Green curls fell over equally green eyes as the kid stared at the ground while they walked. Shouta couldn’t help but notice how much smaller Izuku looked like this— curled in on himself and glued to Shouta’s side.

Shouta placed a steady hand between the kid’s shoulder blades as they continued their walk to Inui’s office. His heart clenched when he felt Izuku trembling under his touch and he wanted desperately to just take the kid back home, pile him under a mound of blankets, and throw on that ocean documentary.

But school would be starting back up in a few days, and as much as the hero liked the idea of hiding away from the world with the kid, he still needed to teach and Izuku still needed to attend classes.

When they reached Inui’s office, Izuku approached the office door like someone approaching the gallows for a death sentence. His freckles stood stark against pale skin and his shaking grew more visible.

Shouta moved his hand from the kid’s back and placed it atop of soft green curls.

“It’s gonna be alright, kiddo,” the hero tried to assure him. Izuku peered up at him through his lashes but said nothing.

Shouta gave him a few more seconds to compose himself before pushing open the door to Inui’s office and ushering the anxious boy inside.

Inui was sitting at his desk, an open and gentle expression on his face. He wasn’t wearing his hero costume, but instead, he wore a light gray wool sweater and dark jeans. Nezu, was also inside already, sitting on Inui’s desk with a cup of tea in his hands. It looked as if his boss and the hound hero were enjoying a casual conversation.

“Ah! If it isn’t Aizawa and Midoriya. Welcome!,” Nezu greeted cheerily.

“Good afternoon Midoriya, Aizawa,” Inui said with a nod.

Shouta gave a short bow of his head as he entered and Izuku had yet to look up from where his gaze rested on the carpeted floor.

Inui gestured to the soft couch in front of his desk. “Please, sit. I believe we have quite a bit to cover today.” Wordlessly, Izuku shuffled over to the couch, his arms tucked close to his chest, and sat at the corner closest to the door. Shouta sat beside him, close enough to be in arms reach but far enough not to crowd the kid.

The office fell into a short silence. Shouta noticed that Inui gave both him and Izuku an analytical glance before settling further into his chair.

The hound hero quietly cleared his throat before beginning what was bound to be a long and exhausting meeting.

“So, Midoriya,” Inui gently addressed, “you’ve spent the past week with Aizawa. How has that experience been?” Izuku, still refusing to look at any of them, simply shrugged his shoulders in response, but the hero continued on as if Izuku had answered verbally. “I see. I’ve also heard from your teacher that the two of you have gone on a few outings such as the mall and department store. How did you feel during those trips?” The kid shrugged again.

It was clear that Inui wouldn’t be getting much of a response from Izuku, not that anyone was surprised.

“That’s alright, Midoriya. I understand that this is quite a big change for you, but know that we’re here to support you every step of the way.” Inui leaned in a bit, as if to emphasize the importance of his next words. “You matter to us, Midoriya. You are important, you are cared about, and you are worthy of the help we would like to offer you.”

Izuku’s lower lip trembled, but he tried to hide it by tucking it between his teeth, biting the already swollen flesh. Worried he’d hurt himself, Shouta was quick to reach out and tap the boy’s chin, with a mumbled, “gentle.”

His heart broke for the timid boy. It was obvious that Izuku didn’t believe Inui’s words for even a second and it made his stomach twist to see how hurt and fragile Izuku looked. His green eyes were clouded with unshed tears and Shouta could tell that the kid was trying desperately to hold himself together.

Knowing that Inui wouldn’t be getting very far with Izuku, at least not while the office was this crowded, Nezu turned to Inui with a tilted head. “Perhaps now would be a good time to go over Midoriya’s new school schedule? That way he knows what to expect when classes begin again this Monday.”

Inui gave a firm nod. “Of course.” He reached into a folder that sat on his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is your newest daily class schedule, Midoriya. Not much has changed from what you’re used to, the main difference being that you will come to my office every day during free period after lunch.” Inui handed the paper to Shouta who immediately glanced over the timetable and the notes that were written at the bottom of the page. “I would like to emphasize that there are no expectations for you during our meetings. If you wish to talk about anything, I am more than happy to listen. If you don’t feel like talking, perhaps you just want to have a quiet place to think, that’s fine too.

“I want this space to be a place where you feel comfortable and safe. Anything that we talk about will stay between us unless I suspect that you have intentions to harm yourself or others. But any of our conversations, whether it be about your past, school, friends, or even how annoying Aizawa can be, will not leave this room,” Inui said with a smile, completely ignoring Shouta’s annoyed glare. “And lastly, after our meeting, we ask that you try and take some time to rest for a bit. Midday naps, or even just silent meditation, can do wonders with resetting your mind and body."

With his eyes still averted, Izuku fidgeted a bit from where he sat on the couch. Shouta already knew that Izuku detested the idea of taking naps at school, but the kid would eventually get used to it with time.

“And as for the rest of your school day,” Nezu picked up, “your schedule will remain unchanged, but there are a few things you should be made aware of. Namely, there will be some rules set in place that must be followed to ensure your safety.”

Izuku’s focus quickly lifted from the floor, meeting with the beady eyes of Nezu. A look of dread flooded green irises, matching the way Izuku’s shoulders tensed.

“To start, you will be closely monitored at all times by one of the members of U.A.’s staff. Whenever you leave the classroom, whether it be for breaks, lunch, walking to the changing rooms, or for any other reason that one might traverse through campus, you will have an escort,” Nezu explained. “To be more specific, if you must be escorted anywhere after class, the teacher that is in charge of your class during that time will be the one to accompany you. If you need to leave the classroom and said teacher is unable to watch you, another member of staff will be assigned.

“But please do not feel distressed by this new accommodation. I will see to it that your teachers remain as inconspicuous as possible so as not to draw unwanted attention. But under no circumstances will you be left to wander the school grounds alone. To specify, we mean that you must have a responsible adult present at all times, your friends don't count, unfortunately. Speaking of which,” Nezu inclined his head towards Shouta, “would you like Midoriya to stay with you during his lunch period or should I assign a teacher to monitor him in the cafeteria?”

From the corner of his eye, Shouta could see Izuku staring at him with an anxious intensity. His automatic answer was for Izuku to stay with him in his office, especially since he knew how fickle he could be with eating, but Shouta had an inkling that Izuku wouldn’t be overly fond of the idea. So instead of offering his initial response, Shouta replied, “I think we should let the kid decide. If he wants to stay with me during lunch then that’s fine. But if he wishes to eat with his friends, so long as he’s being monitored, I believe we should offer him that chance. However,” Shouta turned to address Izuku, “you need to understand that this is a privilege. I’m trusting you to make smart decisions here, kid, but if you break that trust I will not hesitate to take that privilege away. Do you understand?”

Izuku wilted under Shouta’s stern gaze but he still gave the hero a firm nod.

“Excellent!” his boss exclaimed. “Do not worry, Midoriya, all we ask is that you carry on with your normal school duties and we will take care of the rest behind the scenes! Do you have any questions?”

Izuku hesitantly shook his head.

“Moving on then. Aizawa, I assume you received my email yesterday regarding U.A.’s annual sports festival?” Nezu questioned, and every bone in Shouta’s body suddenly felt five times heavier.

He sighed. “Yeah, I got the email, and I admit that I’m not enthusiastic about letting my students take part in a televised event only two weeks after being attacked by villains.”

Nezu hummed. “I assure you that I am equally frustrated, but the HPSC is demanding that the festival continue on schedule so as not to panic the general public.”

“My students’ safety is more valuable to me than the concern of the HPSC’s public image. You know damn well this isn’t about mass panic, but the Safety Commission just trying to save face,” Shouta grumbled. He wasn’t surprised by the decision to sweep the USJ incident under the rug but he still hated the idea of forcing his class to prepare for a public event only a week after being attacked and traumatized.

Nezu's smile turned sympathetic. “I understand, Aizawa, but my hands are tied on this matter. U.A. relies on the Hero Public Safety Commission’s funding and on top of that, the sports festival has always been our largest source of income. We cannot afford to lose both.”

Shouta tilted his head back to glare at the ceiling. “I’m aware,” he groaned.

“Rest assured, we will be significantly increasing our security this year. Not only will there be heroes in the audience as usual, but there will be both heroes and police officers patrolling the grounds during the event. I have already begun the installation of new security cameras and sensors around both campus as well as the arena where the sports festival will be taking place.”

“I will be on patrolling duty as well,” Inui chimed in, “I have memorized the scents from the villains at the USJ and will be leading the main patrol group.”

Shouta sighed again. It wasn’t like there was much he could do about the situation. The least he could do was prepare his students for what was to come and remind them to stay vigilant. But there was one matter that he absolutely refused to budge on, and Nezu seemed to have already guessed what it was.

“Now, as for Midoriya’s involvement-”

“He will not be participating in this year’s sports festival,” Shouta swiftly interjected.

“What?!” Izuku yelped, speaking for the first time since they got to campus. Emerald eyes were blown wide as he looked between Nezu and Shouta with a pleading expression.

Nezu hummed in thought. “I understand your feelings on the matter. Hound Dog, what do you think?”

The hound hero offered Izuku an apologetic look before sighing. “I agree with Aizawa. But even if I didn’t, it is not my place to decide.”

Nezu nodded then turned back to Shouta. “I respect your decision.”

“I don’t!” Izuku sat up straight, his hands clenched into fists as they shook at his sides. “It’s- It’s the sports festival! A super important event that only U.A. students get t-to participate in! It’s also, like, the number one way for hero students to get noticed! So why can’t I join the festival?”

“Kid-”

“Why do you always treat me like a child?!”

“Because you are a child,” he snapped. Shouta really didn’t have the patience to debate with Izuku today, especially not in front of his coworker and boss, but he was already exceedingly frustrated about the continuation of the sports festival and the kid’s outburst only worsened his mood. “Izuku, you are twelve years old. By every definition, you are still a child.” Izuku glowered at him. “I am already hesitant about allowing your classmates to be broadcasted on national television after what took place at the USJ, do you really think I’d be willing to let you participate?”

Izuku stood up from the couch with a huff. His brows were knitted together and his whole body shook with anger.

“Okay! Fine! I’m twelve! That doesn’t matter!”

Shouta leveled Izuku with a stern look. “It does matter. But even more important than your age you’re still recovering from malnutrition. You have half of the stamina that the rest of your class has and until you're at a proper weight I won’t allow you to overexert yourself.”

Izuku stomped his foot on the ground, the motion dislodging a fresh wave of tears. “I’m not-”

“You’re still on suicide watch, kid,” Shouta reminded him, his tone lowering into something more gentle, “and you’re deemed a flight risk. Letting you run free around a stadium full of thousands of people and limited supervision kind of defeats the point.”

Izuku growled in frustration. “Well, I didn’t ask for any of this! I didn’t ask for my every fucking action to be controlled!” he yelled. “It’s my life, not yours!”

As annoyed and exhausted as he was, Shouta kept his features neutral. Letting his own emotions get the best of him would only further escalate the situation. But he had to admit, it was harder than it should be. His nerves were shot from the past week and his already little patience was running thin.

“It may be your life, but I am in charge of your safety. You are not old enough, or mature enough, to make these kinds of decisions on your own.” Izuku opened his mouth to argue again, but Shouta didn’t let him. “No. This discussion is over. You’re allowed to be angry but it will not change my mind.”

Nearly visible, seething anger washed over Izuku. His fists trembled at his sides, his lower lip pushed out ever so slightly in a pout, and his heated glare never left Shouta. A thick quiet blanketed the room as Shouta and Izuku held their impromptu staring contest, neither backing down.

It was Nezu who finally broke the silence.

“Midoriya,” he spoke, treading carefully. “It seems that you and Aizawa are at a bit of an impasse, so how about I offer you a chance to step away for a moment. Would you care to join me for tea in my office?”

Izuku held his glare for another moment before it eventually broke away. His shoulders fell and his head dropped causing his bangs to cover the top half of his face.

“Why don’t you ask Aizawa-sensei?” Izuku snarled, “he apparently owns me now.”

Shouta was about to warn Izuku to watch his attitude, but a sharp look from Nezu made him pause, and a silent conversation filtered between them. Nezu wanted to take Izuku away to calm him down, and if the look of warning from his boss was anything to go by, Shouta needed to take a moment to breathe too.

“Fine,” Shouta said with a nod.

Nezu’s sharp smile widened. “I appreciate it. I’ve been meaning to ask Midoriya for his thoughts on future lesson plans for the hero course students and I believe Hound Dog wished to speak with you as well. You may come and find us when you’re done,” the rat said before hopping down from Inui’s desk. “Come, Midoriya, we have much to discuss!”

With his head still hanging, Izuku quietly followed Nezu out of the room, and Shouta didn’t miss the way the door closed harder than it needed to on his way out.

As soon as their footsteps faded, Shouta slumped in his seat and buried his head in his hands with a sigh that was bone-deep with exhaustion. When he heard his coworker chuckle, he scowled at him through his fingers.

“Is my misery amusing to you?” Shouta mumbled.

Inui shook his head. “Not at all. I am simply amazed that your usual tactics of intimidation don’t seem to affect Midoriya. I never thought I’d see the day that a student would talk back to you, let alone yell at you without restraint.”

Shouta dropped his hands. “It’s because he has zero self-preservation.”

“No, it’s because you don’t scare him.” Inui folded his hands and rested them on top of his desk. “That’s a good thing, Aizawa. After everything that poor boy has been through— after all the ways he has been hurt both mentally and physically, he does not see you as a threat. And as angry as he is, he trusts you.”

“I’m glad,” he said after a moment of thought. “Although I wish he could trust me with a little less yelling.”

“This is all to be expected. Mood swings and emotional outbursts are common for kids in his situation. While he is no doubt far more intelligent than most children his age, he is still emotionally underdeveloped.”

“Right, I read about that in his medical report. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it,” Shouta said, leaning back into the couch.

Inui nodded. “Yes. As you just witnessed, Midoriya is trying to hold onto whatever independence he can. Which is no surprise considering his circumstances.”

“Because everything is changing for him?”

“Partly. But more so, it has to do with the fact that Midoriya essentially raised himself. An abusive and absent father, and a neglectful mother means that he has never had a parent to guide him through his childhood in a healthy way.”

“Which means that no one has ever set rules and boundaries for him before, because none of the adults in his life gave a shit about his well-being.”

“Exactly. Midoriya has been abruptly taken from a life of endless freedom and placed into a situation where, for his own safety, nearly every freedom has been stripped away. Even in more mild cases, where neglected children are sent to caring families with basic rules, the loss of control can feel devastating. But for Midoriya, who has to be placed under strict suicide watch, the grief he feels over his lack of autonomy is probably crippling.”

“What can I do, then? I’ve already caught him harming himself on multiple occasions, even if they were mostly subconscious. Letting him each lunch with his classmates during school is already risky enough as it is, and until I can trust he won’t immediately hurt himself or…” Shouta sighed, “or attempt again, I can’t exactly offer him more freedom.”

The hound hero looked at Shouta with a thoughtful expression painted on his face. “I agree. But there are some tactics that might help. Such as,” his hand moved in a sweeping motion to gesture around the office, “letting him decorate his part of the dorm room however he wants. Giving him options during mealtime, letting him pick out his own clothes, and giving him space when he needs it.”

“And I’ve been doing all of that, but nothing seems to change with his behavior,” Shouta argued.

“Hasn’t it? Because from what I gather, he wouldn’t even look at you for the first couple of days. Yet, today, as you two walked through the halls, Nezu and I saw the way he was glued to your side like a lost pup.”

Shouta’s eye twitched with irritation. “Security cameras?”

“Nezu’s idea,” Inui said smugly. “I think you’re doing fine, Aizawa. This is not an easy situation for anyone, but as you said earlier, our current priority is Midoriya’s safety. Let things settle down for a bit, and then we will approach his insecurities about his lack of control. In the meantime, do what you can to give him as many options as possible. Make him feel included in his own life.”

The hero shut his eyes and laid his head against the back of the couch. “Right,” he exhaled. “And what about that other thing, the emotional underdevelopment is more than just his angry outbursts, isn’t it?”

“Correct. As you’ve briefly mentioned to me before, Midoriya seems to have moments where he acts very young?”

Shouta nodded. “I think so. I’m not exactly an expert on younger kids, but his moods seem to fluctuate between trying to prove his maturity and acting like a scared toddler. Is that part of the age thing on his file?”

“Age regression?”

“Yeah, that.”

Shouta opened his eyes to see Inui scratching his chin. “Observing age regression can be a bit tricky for someone as young as Midoriya. There are not many set standards for how ‘young’ children should act. Plenty of seven-year-olds can act as mature as a twelve-year-old, while plenty of twelve-year-olds can act like a seven-year-old. But from what you’ve told me so far during the past week, it’s safe to assume that Midoriya is probably showing signs of abrupt age regression as a trauma response mixed with the lack of stable comforts he should have received as a child.”

“So, is he actually age regressing or is he just mentally younger?” Shouta asked, still slightly confused. The thought of picking up a parenting book briefly crossed his mind.

“At the moment, let’s go with both. Due to prolonged trauma and neglect, Midoriya is far behind his peers mentally and physically. There may also be times, such as in high stress or triggering situations, where he may fall into that mindset of someone much younger. This isn’t a problem, not for someone who is still a child with plenty of time to grow and develop. As I said, it’s hard to observe age regression in kids.”

Shouta slouched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. For some reason he felt restless, antsy, a nervous heat crawling beneath his skin. “Is there something I should be doing to help with that?”

Inui smiled. “You’ll find that the more he trusts you, the more vulnerable he’ll allow himself to be. So, let him be vulnerable, Aizawa. Let him act like the child he never got to be. He had to take care of himself for so long. I think it’s about time we adults step in.”

“Of course, but,” Aizawa shifted his focus to a random spot on the far wall. He hated this. He hated feeling so helpless, and he hated feeling so emotionally visible in front of anyone, let alone his colleague.

“But?” Inui prompted, his expression patient.

Shouta pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “But what if I fuck it up?” he finally said. “What if I can’t protect him? What if-” his voice grew quiet as it became difficult to talk around the forming lump in his throat. “What if I can’t save him next time?”

To his slight annoyance, Inui didn’t look surprised by his admittance. If anything, his coworker seemed almost relieved to hear Shouta’s deepest vulnerabilities.

Because that’s exactly what Shouta was doing. He was being vulnerable. Once again, something about Midoriya Izuku broke down his walls, cracked his ribs open, and exposed his bleeding heart.

It was something he had never experienced before.

And that absolutely terrified him.

“Aizawa, you must understand that Midoriya was not the only one to have been deeply affected by recent events. From what we currently know, Midoriya has attempted to take his own life twice, both being recent occurrences.” Inui shifted in his seat and leaned forwards, his hands clasped together on his desk. “And you have stepped in and stopped him both of those times, only barely making it in time to save him.” Shouta suddenly felt nauseous. The memory of the night on the roof and the memory of last week when he found Izuku’s bloody razor both fought for space in his mind. “You have not escaped the emotional consequences of these scenarios. Not to mention the entire USJ incident that’s still fresh in everyone’s mind.

“The concern you feel for your charge is expected. In fact, I believe it’s safe to assume you’ve been feeling quite anxious about Midoriya’s wellbeing if your increased heart rate in the wake of his recent absence is anything to go by,” Inui said, gesturing to his ear to emphasize that aspect of his quirk.

Shouta was about to dispute him. He doesn’t just ‘get anxious’ without a proper reason, and just because Izuku was now currently out of his sight, and probably the farthest away he’s been from him since being released from the hospital, didn’t mean Shouta would be anxious about it.

That would be irrational.

But then, what was that uneasy thrumming that hummed in his bones and made his chest feel too tight?

Why was his heart skipping a beat at the very thought of the kid not being within arms reach?

Shouta dropped his head in his hands again. “Fuck.”

“Do not fret, Aizawa. This whole situation is new for both you and Midoriya. Looking after a highly traumatized child, particularly a child that will need constant supervision, is a rigorous task. Emotions will run high until the both of you find stability with your new arrangement.”

“And how the hell do we do that?” Shouta grunted.

“There’s no easy fix,” Inui began to explain. “As time goes on, the two of you will develop a better understanding of each other’s boundaries, expectations, patience level, likes and dislikes, etcetera. As it stands, you and Midoriya are walking into this blind, but eventually, you’ll find a pattern that fits the two of you well enough to grant the stability needed to create a less stressful atmosphere. And, Aizawa?

Shouta gave his coworker an acknowledged hum.

“Remember that you have many people in your corner willing to aid the both of you. You are not alone in this. I will do everything in my power to ensure Midoriya’s emotional development, and that includes helping you, too. As the saying goes, it takes a village to raise a child.”

The corners of Shouta’s lips lifted slightly. Not quite a smile, no, he hardly ever smiled at his coworkers, but it was an expression of gratitude all the same.

“I appreciate it, Inui,” he said quietly.

“Nonsense. It’s not only my job to help out both students and colleagues, but it is something I enjoy doing. And besides, being a new father can be quite the challenge,” Inui said with an almost mischievous grin.

Shouta narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

The hound hero chuckled, low and soft. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed just how much you care for that boy. We’ve worked together for years, Eraser, and I’ve never seen you so emotionally attached to anyone or anything.”

He snorted, “You obviously haven’t seen the way I look at coffee then.”

“Coffee doesn’t make your hormones fluctuate the same way as your protective feelings over Midoriya,” Inui quipped with a smirk.

Shouta’s wrinkled his nose. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Inui tapped his muzzle and gave Shouta a knowing look. “Parental instincts can cause hormonal fluctuation which I can detect thanks to my quirk. In fact, if I remember correctly, right before going into labor, mothers often-”

Shouta stood with a jolt. “I think we’re done here,” he said sharply before promptly leaving Hound Dog's office as fast as humanly possible.

The sound of his coworker’s laughter followed him down the hall as he headed towards Nezu’s office.

Chapter Text

Nezu’s office was very large for a principle that was very small.

And it wasn’t just because Nezu was tiny compared to normal furniture, but everything in his office was purposefully made larger.

There were two comically large armchairs that sat on either side of a coffee table. A tea set had been placed perfectly in the center with two pristine porcelain cups and a still steaming kettle that gave off the aroma of green tea.

Nezu gestures to the chairs with a wave of his paw. “Please, sit! Make yourself comfortable while I prepare our drinks, yes?”

Izuku slowly nodded, still not entirely sure what to expect from the principal's last-minute meeting. He chose the chair closest to the door and sank into the soft cushions. For a brief moment, he feared the armchair would swallow him whole.

He watched in fascination as Nezu poured the jade-colored tea into the cups in a single, fluid motion. It was like watching a well-performed magic trick or a perfectly synchronized dance. No one would think that pouring tea could look so mesmerizing, but Nezu made it look like an art form.

The stoat placed one of the filled teacups in front of Izuku before finding perch on the opposite chair.

“I know that your favorite beverage of choice is matcha, and I apologize for not having any available, so I do hope green tea will suffice,” Nezu said with a smile.

“Um, y-yeah, I like green tea too. Thanks,” he stuttered a reply.

Nezu looked him over with a slight tilt of his head. Though his smile never left his face, a somber mood seeped into the air. “I must apologize, Midoriya. I have only ever wanted you to make happy memories here at U.A., but so far I have failed in that regard.”

Izuku didn’t meet the eyes of the principal. He couldn’t. Shame crawled up his throat and heated his cheeks. He had completely lost his temper back in Hound Dog’s office and he ended up screaming and stomping like an angry toddler in front of everyone.

But-

But he was so frustrated.

Even in his lowest times, getting into U.A.’s hero course was his ultimate goal, the one thing that managed to keep him from falling past the point of no return. While he was completely shocked and, honestly very confused, about getting accepted into his dream school, it was still something he had looked forward to. It gave him some kind of reason to live.

Attending U.A. was supposed to be his own way of leaving the past behind him, of starting fresh and creating a new version of himself. Someone who wasn’t so useless, weak, and pathetic. Someone who wasn’t so broken.

Despite his attempts to hide away his shattered pieces, U.A. had managed to unearth his every secret and expose his deepest vulnerabilities.

Taking note of his silence, Nezu set down his cup of tea and steepled the pads of his paws together. “May I share something personal with you, Midoriya?”

Izuku watched the green tea ripple in his cup as his hands shook ever so slightly. “I guess.”

“This is not something I share with just anyone, especially not with my students, but I feel that the story of my own past may create a foundation of trust between us.” Nezu leaned forwards, his smile fading. “Because I understand what it means to completely lose your autonomy, to have your very sense of control ripped away from you without mercy.”

The temperature in the room dropped at Nezu’s words and Izuku couldn’t help but finally meet those black, beady eyes.

Nezu nodded as if Izuku had spoken. “Yes, I more than anyone can empathize with the position you are in. You are aware of my quirk, yes?”

“Um. Intelligence?”

“Advanced intelligence. I have one of the highest IQs in the nation, not that I personally hold much stock in IQ tests as they are based on discriminatory analysis meant to encourage segregation. I digress. My quirk is merely advanced intelligence, a mutation of the brain.” Nezu’s ear flicked. “But not of the body.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, that when I was born, I was nothing more than an ordinary stoat with a quirk. Intelligence quirks do not cause bodily mutations, and there are no animals other than humans with the capabilities to walk fully bipedal or have the physical characteristics to enunciate sounds in a pattern recognized as speech.”

“W-wait,” Izuku hesitated, the implications of Nezu’s words turning in his head. “So, you’re saying that- that you weren’t born with the ability to walk on two legs or talk?”

“Correct,” he answered, almost sadly. “As I’m sure you are aware, animals with quirks are quite rare. But animals with quirks that give them the ability to surpass basic human intelligence is unheard of. So you can imagine how curious some humans were when they discovered my ability, and curiosity often leads to a search for answers.”

Izuku felt his stomach turn. He was reminded of his elementary school science class when they were made to dissect dead field mice as an anatomy lesson.

“Midoriya, do you know the six steps of the scientific method?” Izuku nodded, feeling slightly nauseous at the morbid picture Nezu was beginning to paint. “Then can you tell me the fourth step? The one that comes after forming a hypothesis?”

Izuku swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat. “Experimentation, sir.”

“Yes. Observe and question, research, hypothesize, experiment, collect and analyze data, then conclude. But the best scientists know that the method is a cycle. It repeats over, and over until curiosity is satisfied. Unfortunately for me, my captors had an endless hunger for knowledge,” Nezu said grimly.

He didn’t know what to say. His mouth had dried like a puddle under the scorching sun yet his body trembled with a strange chill.

Nezu had been an experiment. His literal anatomy had been altered to satisfy human curiosity and Izuku had dared to feel like a victim of circumstance?

It seemed that the principal had an uncanny knack for reading minds, as Nezu quickly held up a paw to interrupt Izuku’s spiraling thoughts. “I did not tell you this to gain pity or to invalidate your own experiences. You have every right to feel upset about your situation, I only mean to bridge the gap of understanding between us.” Nezu picked up his cup of tea and cradled it in his paws. “In short, I want you to know that I completely understand how you are feeling about your predicament. Losing control over your life, losing your very autonomy, is traumatic. But do you know the biggest difference in our related experience?” Nezu asked with a patient smile.

Izuku shook his head, his curls bouncing with the motion.

Nezu sipped his tea with a thoughtful hum before placing it back down on the table. He then leaned forward in his seat as if he were about to whisper a secret. “The difference between my situation and yours is that my captors only ever cared about what they could gain from me. You, on the other hand, are surrounded by people who only have your very best interest in mind.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, yes, while Aizawa may seem strict and apathetic even on his good days, I can assure you that he wants nothing more than to keep you safe, even if his tactics can be a tad excessive at times.”

Izuku snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Nezu chuckled. “He is a stubborn man, but a man that cares deeply for those he wishes to protect. And never, in the seventeen years that I have been associated with Aizawa, have I seen him cherish anything or anyone as much as he does you.”

Izuku wrinkled his nose. “Cherish is a bit- a bit of a strong word. I’d say ‘puts up with’ is more accurate.”

The stoat’s smile stretched into something sharp and knowing, but he said nothing else on the matter.

“Nevertheless, my autonomy is something I will defend until my dying breath, and I will always do my best to extend that protection to others, but I urge you to understand that the decisions regarding your health and safety at this time have not been made lightly.”

Frustration sparked beneath Izuku’s ribs. “No, I- I don’t understand,” he said with exasperation. “You keep saying how important having control over your own life is, but then why don’t I get to decide stuff for myself? I get that it’s because Aizawa-sensei supposedly cares about me or whatever, but it’s not fair!” Izuku sat down his tea and bunched the sleeves of his hoodie into his balled-up fists. “I don’t get it!”

He heard Nezu sigh. “You are upset, and I do not fault you for that, but taking recent events into account, those of us who are in charge of your wellbeing, which includes medical professionals in pediatric care, have agreed that placing you under crisis watch is the only way to ensure your safety. But it is not permanent, nor is it a punishment. In fact, whether you wish to believe me or not, we are being very lenient with the boundaries we have placed on you during this time. Anyone else in your position would have far less freedom.”

Izuku groaned, although it came out more like a whine. “But I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for anyone to care!”

“Meddling when you don’t need to is the very essence of being a hero, is it not? Tell me, if you saw someone in danger, would you help them? Even if they didn’t ask you too?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but-”

“What if an injured victim of a villain attack insisted that they were fine and were not in need of assistance? Would you leave them?”

“Of course not-”

“Then by that logic, Aizawa, myself, and the other staff at U.A. should step in when we see a hurting child, correct? Even if they do not wish to be helped?”

Izuku furrowed his brows. “I…I guess?”

“Midoriya,” Nezu’s smile softened into something more gentle. “You are that child.”

Izuku stood up from his seat so quickly his knees almost knocked into the coffee table. “But that’s not- I don’t- Just-” He wrapped his arms around his middle and began to pace, all the while Nezu watched with silent attention. “That’s not fair! I’m supposed to be the hero, not a victim!”

“Are you implying that heroes do not deserve help?”

“No,” he groused, “that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Then are you telling me that you do not deserve help?” Nezu questioned with a twitch of his nose.

“Yes!” Izuku exclaimed before he could stop himself. As soon as his answer registered in his brain, both his pacing and his thoughts came to a halt.

The office grew deathly quiet.

Stinging tears pooled in his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to flee the room. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but the building frustration and rush of emotions threatened to spill from him like a dam ready to burst.

Nezu cleared his throat. “Please, take a seat,” he directed, gesturing to the chair with a nod. Numbly, Izuku walked back to the armchair and sank into the soft cushion, his arms still close to his body. “As I have said before, I understand what it means to be merely a spectator in your own life, and as much as I wish your circumstances were different, I cannot change them. Not without the risk of you being taken away.”

Izuku slowly lifted his watery gaze to meet the concern-filled eyes of his principal. “Taken away?”

Nezu nodded solemnly. “I do not wish to frighten you, but as of right now, you are a ward of the government. If, for any reason, Child Protective Services believe that we are not taking your care seriously, if they believe the treatment we are offering for your mental health is not adequate, then they can revoke Aizawa’s guardianship and place you somewhere they deem fit.”

Izuku paled. He knew he wouldn’t survive in foster care, he knew the statistics for quirkless kids. It would be a death sentence.

“I know that is not what you want. It is not what we want either. I am not asking you to be happy with your situation, but I am requesting that you work with us. Let us help you, Midoriya,” Nezu said, his tone low and firm. “Please.”

A warm tear fell from his lashes and trailed down his cheek. All of his anger from earlier evaporated, replaced with a sickening fear that buried itself deep in his bones, cold and sharp. He was still upset at Aizawa, and he was angry at Hound Dog and even Nezu for making him feel like a dog trapped in a kennel, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be taken away from them. The eraser hero could be beyond frustrating at times, but he at least knew that Aizawa would never physically hurt him.

So those were his options then? Either being treated like a prisoner at U.A. or dying in foster care?

But was he really a prisoner? Aizawa sure made him feel like one sometimes, but then he remembered the night he woke up from a nightmare he had about the USJ. He remembered how the hero had spent hours comforting him through his panic, and then they watched that dumb ocean documentary together until he fell asleep again. He thought of the mall trip and how the usually stoic hero held his hand through the crowd, keeping him grounded and safe. Izuku thought of the box of gummy worms the hero had bought, just for him, because he knew they were his favorite.

He thought of gentle onyx eyes, strong embraces, and words of reassurances that felt like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer on a cold winter evening. He had grown to enjoy the quiet mornings that were filled with sleepy grumbles and the scent of coffee. He even liked it when Aizawa quizzed him on hero fights or quirk analysis which always sparked into long conversations that were reminiscent of the nights they had spent on the rooftop, talking under the stars.

Izuku rubbed at his eyes in a weak attempt to stop his tears. He was still pissed at Aizawa for treating him like a child, but now he suddenly craved the hero’s protective presence. The very idea of once again being ripped away from his current life made him feel sick.

The thought of losing the first person who had ever cared about him other than his mother made his chest feel bruised with how hard his heart was beating.

Aizawa could be infuriating but he was also safe. He was the only one that was safe, and right now, Izuku didn’t feel safe.

He felt scared.

He didn’t want to be taken away.

A keening whine escaped Izuku’s lips as he curled in on himself, panic thrumming in his veins. He could vaguely hear Nezu trying to speak to him but his words were drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Someone was going to take him away.

Someone was going to take him away from Aizawa and he wouldn’t be safe anymore.

Izuku’s lungs felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire, each breath shallow and painful as he fought for oxygen through the sharp sting. His head pounded with each beat of his heart like a hammer against his temples.

Someone was going to take him away. He was going to be taken away from Aizawa and sent somewhere else. He would be all alone and in danger. He wasn’t safe!

He needed to get somewhere safe. He needed to hide before anyone could take him.

His hands were twisted in his hair, pulling green curls until his scalp burned.

He was scared.

He was scared, he wasn’t safe, he was in danger.

But Aizawa was safe.

Where was Aizawa?

He heard footsteps.

Was he too late? Was someone already here to take him away?

No, no, no! He didn’t want to go!

Something warm yet firm wrapped around both of his wrists and pulled his hands away from his hair. Izuku flinched back like he had been burned and struggled to twist his arms out of whatever was holding him. His lungs stuttered as air escaped him in his panic.

More muddled words passed his ears but he still couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Izuku attempted to escape whatever it was that held his wrists. He brought his knees up and felt something solid against them, so he pushed his legs into whatever was in front of him as he pulled back with his arms, but no matter how much he kicked and clawed he wasn’t able to break free.

They were trying to take him away from U.A., from Aizawa, from safety! He needed to run and hide!

A guttural sob ripped through his throat as he continued to struggle, but the more he squirmed the tighter the grip on his wrists became. At some point, something had wrapped around his waist and pulled him close.

He felt a hand cup the base of his skull and it held his head against something warm and solid. A low rumble and a steady beating instantly vibrated against his ear, as soothing and rhythmic as the ticking of a grandfather clock.

His arms burned from the strain of pushing and pulling, and he soon found them falling limp. Eventually, his whole body collapsed into the solid mass the held him upright. Crying was the only thing he had any energy left for, but even his sobs petered off into something of a broken whimper.

The words that he couldn’t make out before filtered into something with more clarity and he could only barely hear them above the thunder-deep rumbles that pressed against his ear.

“No one’s taking you anywhere, kiddo. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The familiarity of the voice cut through the fog in his mind like a knife yet he still couldn’t remember who it belonged to.

“Just listen to my heart and try to match my breathing, yeah? Good. That’s it, just breathe. I’ve got you, bunny, I promise. Keep breathing.”

Bunny?

Who called him that? Someone had called him that before.

…

Aizawa.

Aizawa had called him bunny, once. Hadn’t he? Then that meant this person was Aizawa, right?

Clarity slowly washed away the panic, leaving him more aware of his surroundings but depleted of energy. His whole body felt weighed down by lead and even trying to move his head was too much of an instrumental task.

“‘Zawa?” He slurred, his tongue practically useless in his mouth. But he had to be sure.

He felt the man hum more than he heard it. “That’s right. I’m right here, Izuku.”

Good. Safe. He was safe then.

The hand that cupped the back of his head moved to card through his curls, soothing the previous stinging from when he pulled at his hair.

More incoherent words reverberated in Aizawa’s chest, but Izuku didn’t even try and decipher them. Instead, he let the deep pressuring weight of the arms wrapped around him pull him into a mindless state.

Safe.

He was safe now.

-----

“I do apologize, Aizawa,” Nezu said as he bowed his head. “It was not my intention to send him into a state of panic.”

Shouta sighed, deep and exhausted. It had been a long, tiring day and it wasn’t even past two in the afternoon yet. He shifted Izuku’s weight in his arms, having him lean his head against his chest, before standing up. The kid wasn’t asleep, but he was definitely out of it. Forest green eyes were clouded over with a dull fog as he stared at the wall with unfocused vision.

“I get what you were trying to do, and I appreciate it, but being ‘sent away’ is one of his biggest triggers,” he explained. Nezu nodded thoughtfully.

“I will be more cautious of my wording in the future. Perhaps it would be best if you and Hound Dog wrote a list of all of his possible triggers so that the staff may know what subjects to avoid?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Anyway, I think I’m going to take him home. He and I both have had enough excitement for one day,” he muttered.

His boss chuckled lightly. “Yes, some rest will do you both good. I am only disappointed that I was unable to ask him about aiding me in lesson plans for the hero course students, but I’ll just have to speak with him another day.”

Shouta ignored the slight sense of dread that spider-crawled up his spine. Izuku was already smart enough for his own good and adding Nezu to the mix sounded…catastrophic.

“Right, well, thanks again for meeting with us today and getting his schedule sorted out,” Shouta said with a nod.

“But of course! The well-being of my students and staff will always be my top priority. Oh, and do tell Midoriya about All Might’s, erm, predicament, yes? I didn’t have the chance and I would hate for Midoriya to be started by Yagi’s smaller form.”

If his hands weren’t currently preoccupied with holding a small child, Shouta would have pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. The number one buffoon was annoying enough, but living with the guy? Didn’t All Might have a mansion somewhere he could stay in instead of rooming with the rest of U.A. staff? Hizashi already called dibs on being the loud, boisterous blond, they didn’t need another. At least Zashi had brains behind his bubbling persona.

“Yeah, sure,” he grunted as turned on his heel to leave the office.

“Excellent! I’ll see you both bright and early tomorrow morning for dorm move-in,” Nezu called behind him.

Bright and early.

Uhg.

But that was a problem for tomorrow’s Shouta. Now, though, he needed to get his kid home. They had a busy day ahead of them and if this afternoon was anything to go by, it was bound to end in another meltdown.

“C’mon kid,” Shouta muttered into soft curls, “we can find another weird nature documentary to watch.”

“Mm, s’fari?” he heard Izuku mumble. Shouta faltered in his steps, not having expected the kid to respond. It was a good sign, at least, it meant that Izuku was coming out of his dissociative headspace.

He huffed fondly, “Sure, we can watch the safari one.”

Izuku’s only response was a soft hum against his collarbone as he snuggled deeper into Shouta’s chest.

He swore this kid would be the end of him.

Chapter Text

Ever since Izuku’s panic attack in Nezu’s office, the kid had become clingy.

From the moment they had arrived back home, Izuku refused to leave Shouta’s side, following him around like a little green shadow. When Shouta went into the kitchen to prepare them a late afternoon snack, Izuku silently shuffled next to him, eyes down and posture stiff as if he had just been reprimanded.

Once they had settled onto the sofa to watch the nature documentary as promised, the boy all but suctioned himself to Shouta’s side, knees drawn close to his chest to make himself look impossibly smaller as he nuzzled himself beneath Shouta’s arm.

He might have found it endearing, or even as a sign of progress in regards to earning the kid’s trust, if not for the circumstance as to why Izuku felt the need to stay as close to him as humanly possible.

Nezu’s words must have hit him much harder than he had previously thought if Izuku was this worried about suddenly being taken away. It didn’t help that the newfound paranoia was only another dish on his already massively full plate; dorm move-in was tomorrow, the rest of U.A.’s staff was to be informed about his very personal situation, classes started again Monday, he had a new daily schedule to abide by, and they had hardly even touched on the USJ incident other than the nightmare a few nights back.

So, no, Shouta did not blame him in the slightest for being as stressed and subdued as he was, and god knows the poor kid could use a break.

It was for that reason—and definitely not because Shouta enjoyed it, don’t be absurd—that the hero dutifully sat and watched three nature documentaries. Izuku ended up falling asleep halfway through a documentary about insects, and Shouta could now understand why Hizashi hated bugs so much.

For the entire evening, Izuku didn’t say a word. Even after Shouta had woken him up for dinner, the boy stayed eerily quiet, eating his bowl of Oyakudon without so much as a single mutter of complaint. Only the sound of plastic chopsticks against ceramic bowl filled the glum silence.

With dinner finished and two more documentaries watched, Shouta ushered Izuku off to bed. They had an early morning ahead of them. They were meant to be on campus not too long after sunrise to begin the laborious process of moving in, and with the staff meeting to explain Izuku’s fragile situation on top of their already busy day, they both needed as much sleep as possible.

Thankfully, it seemed that Izuku, at least, would get a decent amount of rest. Shouta had barely finished tucking him in when he saw the kid’s eyelids flutter shut, his breathing steadying into a deep and slow rhythm. He looked so small; lips parted open slightly in his sleep and wild curls spilling into a halo around his head on the pillow. The usual dark bags underneath his eyes were hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit bedroom, the light of the hallways casting a soft, golden glow.

Izuku looked so young, so peaceful, like the pressure of the world had dropped from his tiny shoulders while he slept. It was only an illusion, he knew, even in his sleep Izuku held some tension in his muscles and a slight crease between his brows.

Shouta gently swept loose curls away from Izuku’s forehead before absently running his thumb up and down the bridge of his freckled nose. It was the same motion he used when petting sleeping kittens, but it seemed to work just as well on Izuku, the kid instantly relaxing from the soothing action.

There was no doubt in his mind that tomorrow would be long and emotionally draining, but for now, Shouta let himself bask in the stillness of his apartment, Izuku’s soft breathing adding to the lullaby of faintly chirping crickets and the steady hum of the air conditioner.

“Sleep well, problem child,” he murmured.

-----

The rising morning sun painted the campus in a rose-gold shine, blanketing the surrounding buildings and trees in an illuminated warmth despite the sharp chill of the early spring air.

It was just past six in the morning when Izuku and Aizawa found themselves on the steps of U.A.’s staff dorms, their moving boxes being carried on a pallet by two of the school’s robots behind them.

The building was much larger than Izuku had anticipated. It was five stories high with four rooms on each floor, and seeing as the dorms would only be housing twelve people, the size of the building seemed a bit overkill in Izuku’s opinion.

On their way to campus, Aizawa had shown him a map of the dorms on his phone. Apparently, the teachers’ dorms had nearly an identical layout to the students’ dorms. Each teacher had their own room and bathroom, there was a common room for sitting and dining, and a communal kitchen shared by everyone in the building. One of the main differences was that the staff had larger rooms compared to the students. The other difference, of course, was that Aizawa and Izuku had their own custom room on the first floor that was easily twice the size of all the other bedrooms.

Still, even after looking at the map, Izuku wasn’t prepared for the sheer size of the building. It was basically an apartment complex.

The staff dorm building was placed in the back of all of the student dorms and centered near the middle. The first-year dorms were the closest to the staff, then second-years, and finally, third-year dorms placed at the end of each row.

Izuku couldn’t help but be impressed by the fact that Nezu, Cementoss, and a hired construction team had essentially built an entire town in just under a week. Though, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised when considering how often the mock-city gyms were used and destroyed during training exercises and exams.

“You ready to head in?” Aizawa asked with a side glance.

Izuku shrugged. He didn’t think he would ever be ready to move in with all of his pro-hero teachers, but it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter.

Aizawa pushed open the door and they were met with a wave of warm air that battled off the cold morning breeze.

Izuku tried not to openly gape at how luxurious the inside looked. Plush carpet and soft-looking sofas offered a welcoming atmosphere. The communal kitchen was open and large, big enough for multiple people to cook at once. Four wooden dining tables separated the common room and the kitchen, but the open layout made it so that the space didn’t feel cramped.

The common area, dining area, and kitchen were on the left side of the building. The right side, directly across from the common area, was where he and Aizawa would be staying. The laundry room and a communal bathroom were also on the left side near the back. Separating the two main spaces was a small courtyard that allowed the light from the rising sun to shine through the halls.

Izuku felt Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder as the hero guided him to their new room.

He had already seen the basic outline of their dorm, but seeing it in person with the added furniture had made his new living situation seem all the more real.

Entering the dorm, he was greeted by a large space. In the far left corner was Aizawa’s bed, and next to it, under a window, was his desk. In the middle of the room was a couch, a coffee table, and a television mounted to the left-hand wall. Behind the couch was a simple wooden table with two chairs. To his right was the bathroom they would be sharing.

On the left wall, close to the entrance of the room, was a doorway that led into Izuku’s sleeping space. Wandering inside, he found that the layout of his room was basically the same as the student dorms, except he only had a window where his classmates would get a balcony.

And then he noticed a glaring issue about his new bedroom.

The doorway that connected his room to Aizawa’s didn’t actually have a door.

Poking his head out of his room, he threw a confused glance at his teacher, his eyes flicking from the man to the empty doorway.

Quickly deciphering his silent question, Aizawa answered, “Sorry, kid, but for your safety, we can’t install a door there just yet. In the meantime, though, we can set up a curtain or something so you have at least some semblance of privacy,” he offered. “Does that sound fair?”

No.

It did not sound fair.

None of this was fair.

But it was six in the morning, Izuku was exhausted, and the dread he felt about seeing the other teachers curdled in his stomach, making him feel slightly ill. The fact that he wasn’t even allowed to have a goddamn door pissed him off, but at that point in time, it wasn’t his top priority of things to worry about.

With a resigned sigh, Izuku slunk back into his room and collapsed face-first onto his new bed.

At least the mattress was comfortable.

-----

It had taken nearly two hours, but they had managed to finish unpacking all but their bedding and clothes. The couch was now adorned with throw pillows and soft blankets, the bathroom was stocked with all of their essentials, Aizawa’s computer, tablet, and other electronics were organized on his desk, and a fabric curtain now hung in the doorway that separated their rooms.

As he helped Aizawa unpack his books, it didn’t escape his notice that the hero had packed all of the books about quirk theory that Izuku had been interested in back at the apartment.

“You can take some of those for your own bookshelf if you’d like,” Aizawa mentioned as he continued to sort through a stack of novels.

Izuku blinked at the man then looked back down at the books in his hand. He nodded, even though Aizawa wasn’t looking at him, and grabbed one of the quirk theory books he had been reading as well as two more he hadn’t gone through yet.

He made a mental note to ask Aizawa about U.A.’s extensive library. He had yet to visit the building, but from what he had heard, the school’s library stocked books that were nearly impossible to find anywhere else.

Setting the books aside, Izuku riffled through the box once more and felt his hand brush against something soft.

It was the black cat plush.

He had no idea that Aizawa had packed it.

For most of the morning, Izuku had felt a strange numbness that accompanied his anxiety. So much was happening, so much was changing all at once, and his mind could hardly keep up with it. But as he sat on the ground, the soft plush held against his cheek, he felt an overwhelming pressure build in his very core, shifting his bones and stretching his skin.

It was too much.

Everything was all too much.

He had only just started to get used to living with Aizawa, but to be surrounded by all of his teachers?

He knew that once they were told about his ‘situation’, they would only ever look at him with pity. He would no longer be their students but a burden that they would be forced to take care of.

That’s all he was ever good for, wasn’t it?

Being a burden.

All Might’s words echoed sharply in his mind, “Without a quirk, you would only be a burden…”

All Might.

Aizawa had told him, earlier that morning, about All Might’s skinnier form. In truth, Izuku didn’t pay much attention to the hero’s explanation, because as soon as he heard that All Might would be living with them in the staff dorms, every word after that was nothing but static in his ears.

He would be sharing a space with the Symbol of Peace, a living reminder that Izuku was useless, that his dreams of being a hero were pointless.

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into the cat plush as he tried to ignore the stinging tears that pushed their way past his eyelids like leaks in a dam.

His lungs stuttered in his chest as he tried to hold back a sob.

He wasn’t even sure why he was crying in the first place. He could hardly pinpoint any single emotion. All he knew was that everything suddenly felt wrong. His clothes felt too tight, his skin felt raw, his eyes burned, and the air around him felt suffocating. The lights of the room seemed to have grown brighter while the floor beneath him felt so much harder. It was like all of his senses were suddenly heightened to a painful level.

“Izuku?” he heard Aizawa call to him.

Izuku pulled his legs up against his chest as if he could hide from the hero right in front of him.

God, he was so pathetic.

All he ever did was bother Aizawa. He was nothing but a burden, a waste of space-

“You are not a burden, Izuku, and you never will be. You are not a waste of space, either,” he heard Aizawa say with clear concern lacing his voice.

Oh, he said that out loud, didn’t he?

Stupid.

“Mm sorry,” Izuku managed to choke out.

He felt hands snaking under his arms and he was suddenly pulled onto Aizawa's lap like a small child, his legs still tucked close to his chest and his face hidden in the fabric of the plush.

A foggy memory came to him then.

He was at the park.

It was Kacchan’s sixth birthday— Izuku hadn’t turned four yet so no one knew he was quirkless. Kacchan was still getting used to his quirk, popping little sparks whenever he had the chance, but he had accidentally fired off an explosion close enough to Izuku that he was startled from the sound, making him fall. Izuku had landed harshly on some rocks, scraping his knees and the palms of his hands. He hadn’t realized that he had started crying until Uncle Masaru picked him up and cradled him in his lap. He could hear Kacchan sneer at him for being a baby, but at the time, all he cared about was how gentle Uncle Masaru was, pulling him close to his chest and patting his back until his tears stopped. His own father never held him that way, so the gentle affection he was receiving made him melt into his Uncle’s touch.

He had always tried to be big and strong. He wanted to be a hero, and heroes were always tough! They never cried when they got hurt. But sitting on his Uncle’s lap with tears in his eyes, he didn’t feel so big and strong. He felt small and sad. And he found that he really didn’t mind it so much, because Uncle Masaru was being big and strong for him.

And maybe…

Maybe Izuku didn’t have to be tough all of the time.

Maybe, sometimes, heroes were allowed to cry too?

Izuku’s whole body shuddered with sobs as he let himself cry in Aizawa’s hold. It wasn’t a guttural thing, not the painful wailing that made his chest hurt from the strain, but it was steady and quiet. It was as if all of the big emotions he had been feeling were shedding away through his tears. The pressure inside of him slowly released, little by little, as he gripped tightly to the stuffed cat against his chest.

He vaguely registered the soft rumbles against his ear as Aizawa spoke, hushed and slow.

He should have been humiliated by breaking down in front of the hero for the millionth time, he should have tried harder to prove to Aizawa that he was strong and capable of taking care of himself.

But Izuku was tired of being strong.

He was tired of pretending that he was invincible.

So, like he had done with Uncle Masaru all those years ago, Izuku let Aizawa be big and strong for him. He melted into the hero’s embrace, nuzzling his cheek against the fabric of his soft sweater, taking in the scent of pine and coffee, and he let himself cry until his sobs turned into quiet hiccups.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered again once he finally trusted himself to speak without breaking.

He felt Aizawa’s chin rest against the top of his head as the man muttered into his curls. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

Izuku sniffled, “For crying.”

“Is there something that made you upset?”

“Mmm.” He brought a fist up to rub at his stinging eyes. “Everything.”

He heard Aizawa hum in thought. “Overwhelmed?” He nodded against the hero’s chest. “Overwhelmed in general, or can you name some things in particular?”

Izuku stirred in Aizawa’s lap so that he was turned more onto his side, burying his head in the crook of the man’s arm causing his voice to sound muffled. “Moving, school, teachers, All Might, ‘nd, I’m tired,” he rattled off without thinking.

Perhaps if Izuku was more aware, he would have felt Aizawa stiffen slightly at All Might’s name. If his eyes weren’t closed he might have seen the flash of confusion on Aizawa’s face.

“All Might?” Aizawa said slowly as if testing how the words felt on his tongue. Izuku offered a sleepy, affirmative hum. There was a pregnant pause before Aizawa shifted on the floor and gently guided Izuku’s chin with his hand so that he could properly see Izuku’s face. Confused at the sudden motion, Izuku reluctantly blinked open his eyes and stared up at the hero. “Why are you worried about All Might?”

Izuku blinked, slow and tired, “What?” And then his brain caught up with him.

Oh.

“Oh! N-no, I just meant that, mm, the thing you said earlier, about his skinny form? Um, it’s a big secret and stuff, ya’ know?” Izuku explained as he tried to unravel himself from Aizawa’s embrace. But the hero only tightened his arms around Izuku, keeping him in his lap as he leveled him with a calculating look.

“You didn’t seem all that upset when I first told you about All Might’s injury and time limit.” Aizawa tilted his head slightly, and Izuku was reminded of one of those judgmental alley cats he used to see in the red light district. “Actually, you hardly seemed to have paid any attention during that entire conversation. You’re not telling me something.”

Izuku tried not to squirm under his glare.

“Kid, I need you to be honest with me. Did All Might say something to you?” Aizawa pressed.

If there was one thing he had learned in the past week of living with his homeroom teacher, it was that he could almost always tell when Izuku was lying.

It was annoying, to say the least.

“No,” Izuku mumbled, averting his eyes.

“Because if he cornered you during the battle trial-”

“It’s nothing! Just- just drop it,” Izuku pleaded.

“Izuku-”

“Please.” Izuku forced himself to meet Aizawa’s eyes, which wasn’t easy when another wave of unshed tears blurred his vision. “Please,” he repeated softly.

Izuku felt Aizawa shift him around again, this time to pull him closer to his chest, but the arms that had tightly encircled him relaxed a little. The room grew quiet, and Izuku could tell Aizawa was thinking.

Finally, the hero let out a dejected sigh, “Fine. But, Izuku, we will talk about this again later. Got it?”

Izuku nodded against Aizawa’s shoulder. “Got it,” he answered. He absolutely did not want to talk about it later, and he honestly hoped that Aizawa would eventually just forget about the whole thing. It was doubtful, but a boy could wish.

-----

Izuku ended up falling asleep on his chest. At that point, it was starting to become a habit, not that he really minded. He was more than content with knowing Izuku felt safe enough to fall asleep on him. It was how cats showed they trusted someone, so it couldn't be that much different with kids, right?

He wouldn’t let Izuku sleep for too long, not wanting to mess up his sleeping schedule since he still had to take a nap after lunch, but between waking up extra early, unpacking, and his short breakdown from earlier, he figured the kid could use the extra rest.

Slowly and carefully, Shouta maneuvered the sleeping boy in his arms before he stood up, his knees popping with the effort. He wanted to let Izuku rest a bit longer, but he still needed to unpack his clothes and bedding. That, and his legs had started to go numb from sitting on the floor for so long.

Shouta deposited Izuku onto the couch, tucking one of the throw pillows under his head and covering him with a fuzzy gray blanket.

Izuku never once let go of the cat plush.

He briefly wondered what it was that caused him to fall apart like that. Shouta couldn’t say he didn’t see it coming, the kid had been off-kilter ever since yesterday’s meeting, but there was something else that was eating away at Izuku.

All Might.

Izuku had admitted that he was feeling overwhelmed by multiple issues, but All Might was not something Shouta had expected to be listed among them, and when he pushed Izuku to tell him why, the kid had clammed up.

It was as if he was scared of getting into trouble with the Symbol of Peace.

So, just what the fuck did All Might do to his kid?

Shouta fished for a hair-tie in his pocket and threw his hair into a messy bun. As much as he wanted to hunt down the number one hero and demand to know what he said or did to make Izuku look scared of him, of all things, he knew Izuku wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. Besides, All Might would be showing up later that day to move in with the rest of the staff, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have the opportunity to grill the older hero later.

For now, he needed to finish unpacking.

With the sleeves of his sweater rolled up, Shouta grabbed the box cutter from his pocket and opened up the box that held his bedding.

Resisting the temptation to fall into his bed as soon as he made it was almost physically painful, especially when he heard voices filtering through the door.

Two loud and familiar voices.

“They’re early,” Shouta grumbled to himself, tossing everything onto his half-made bed and making his way towards the door.

Chapter Text

There was something wrong with Shouta.

Well, okay, that wasn’t anything new, but over the past week, Hizashi could tell that there was something strange about his friend.

Ever since the USJ incident, Shouta had been acting off.

Not glaringly so, but there was enough of a difference in his behavior to raise some warning flags.

For one, Shouta was answering all of his texts, and even more concerning, was the lack of dry humor in his replies. Usually, Shouta would text in short, one-word messages or he would make some remark where no one could tell if he was being sarcastic or legitimately threatening.

No, for the past week, not only had he replied to every text, but his messages could even be considered civil.

Another warning sign was that he hadn’t complained even once about living on campus and sharing a living space with his coworkers.

Shouta had always been a loner. He liked his privacy and he had always preferred the quiet over company. As much as Hizashi and Nemuri begged him, he only ever hung out with them on special occasions, such as holidays or personal celebrations. Even during the school day, Shouta would rather spend his lunch period alone in his office instead of eating with his coworkers.

It wasn’t a problem, it was just who he was as a person.

So when the underground grump didn’t make a single objection about the staff dorms, Hizashi knew something was wrong.

His worry only cemented when he had asked Shouta if he could come over, just to check in and see how he was holding up after the USJ, and his friend replied with an immediate negative. It wasn’t the fact that Shouta said no to receiving company, but it was the almost defensive nature of his answer, like he was hiding something.

And that didn’t sit well with him. It reminded him too much of when Shouta had lost Moth.

Was that what it was, then? Because for the past two months, it was clear to both Hizashi and Nemuri that he was still grieving Moth’s death, no matter how much he had tried to hide it. His eye bags had been such a deep shade of purple that they looked physically bruised, he was drinking even more coffee than usual—which was to say a near-lethal dose—and his already pale complexion could give ghosts a run for their money.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Shouta asking him and Nemuri to meet at the new dorms early before the rest of the staff showed up then Hizashi more than likely would have stormed to his apartment just to make sure his friend wasn’t falling apart again.

So imagine his surprise when Shouta greeted them in the dorm’s common room looking almost well-rested and decently put together. There was still an obvious tension in his shoulder, like he was ready to drop into a fighting stance at a moment’s notice, but Hizashi didn’t miss the shine in his black irises.

It was the most alert and alive Shouta had looked in months.

“Shouta!!” Nemuri squealed, dropping her bag on the floor and flinging her arms around Shouta’s neck. And as less-dead as Shouta looked, Hizashi clearly had every right to worry about his friend, because instead of grimacing away from the sudden physical contact, he simply let Nemuri hug him, and gave her an awkward pat on the back.

“It’s too early for you to be this loud,” he grunted. Nemuri pulled away and offered him a sultry smile.

“It’s never too early to get loud, Shou,” she purred. Shouta blinked at her, unimpressed. Nem laughed lightly and then placed a hand against Shouta’s chest, her eyes growing more serious. “But, seriously, hon, how are you holding up? How’s that elbow of yours?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, for only a moment, as if he had completely forgotten about his injury. “It’s fine. Healed up for the most part.”

“Good,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “You know, you really had us scared there. When we were notified that your class was under attack…” she trailed off.

“Yeah, man,” Hizashi jumped in, “don’t go scarin’ us like that again. Anyway,” he moved forward to lean an elbow against Shouta’s shoulder, “besides physically, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

Nemuri clapped her hands and a sharp smile spread across her face. “Good! Because it’s move-in day! Aren’t you two excited?”

“Why the hell would I be excited?” Shouta huffed.

“Because it’ll be like one giant sleepover! Except we each get our own bathrooms, thank god. Never again will I suffer through sharing a bathroom with Hizashi and all of his hair products.”

“Hey! I am an absolute delight to share a bathroom with,” Hizashi tried to protest but it came out more like a whine.

Nem rolled her eyes, “Anyway, come on! Aren’t you even a little bit excited? Oh! Shouta, what room were you assigned? Thirteen and I were put up on the top floor.”

“The first floor."

The whole room came to a sudden pause.

Hizashi quirked a brow at his friend, “You mean the second floor? That’s where the rooms start, I’m pretty sure.”

“No. The first floor.” Shouta pointed behind him to a door that was cracked open. Hizashi shot a glance at Nemuri, who looked just as confused before he pulled out his phone from his pocket and opened up the map of the building that Nezu had sent the group chat. Every room had been labeled except for the bedrooms and a single, large room on the bottom floor next to the laundry room.

“You’re kidding me.” Nemuri must have pulled up the map too because her disbelieved expression flicked between Shouta and her phone. “I thought that was just gym or a ridiculously large storage closet. That room is easily twice the size as the rest of ours. We know you’re Nezu’s favorite but what the fuck?”

Shouta tilted his head back with a sigh. “Look, the size of my room isn’t important. I asked you guys to come here early so that-”

“Not important?” Nemuri cut him off. “You’re basically a minimalist. Do you even have enough things to warrant getting a room that sized? Do you even know how much I had to leave behind when packing to move here? Like my extra set of silk sheets, Shouta, mulberry silk sheets!”

“Yeah!” Hizashi interjected, “and I had to leave behind over half my wardrobe! My choices for civilian wear are now slim pickings.”

Shouta scrubbed a hand down his face in annoyance, and Hizashi almost felt bad.

Almost.

Because here he was, worried about his friend only to find out that he was given the biggest room in the whole building!

“Can we please move on. I’ll get to the whole room thing later but there are more important matters I’d like to discuss with you,” Shouta grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest.

Hizashi flippantly waved a hand with a dramatic sigh, “Yeah, yeah, fine. But I wanna see your digs later, okay?” Shouta rolled his eyes. “So, tell us, what's the big importing thing you wanted to talk to us about?”

The playful air that surrounded them as they bantered suddenly vanished when he saw Shouta’s gaze drop to the ground, his shoulders hunched just enough to be noticeable. A few strands of wavy black hair had escaped the confines of his hair-tie and once again Hizashi was pulled into the memory of the day Shouta told them about Moth.

Hizashi swallowed down the dread that threatened to climb up his throat.

“I’m sure you both remember the email Nezu sent out, about someone not of staff living here in the dorms?” he began, his voice low and thick.

Hizashi nodded. He uncharacteristically found himself unable to talk as the tension in the room continued to grow.

Nemuri sounded almost as apprehensive when she spoke, “Why? What’s this about? And why do you seem to know something the rest of us don’t?”

Shouta’s jaw ticked when he clenched it, his focus never leaving the ground.

Hizashi had been right, then. Something really was wrong. Shouta was level-headed, he was calm and quiet, he never showed emotions other than annoyance unless he wanted to.

But the man in front of him was different. He looked wary, maybe even nervous, just like he did back in their early high school days when his friend was so unsure of himself.

Shouta was hesitant to answer, but as soon as it seemed like he found the courage to speak, the faint squeaking sound of door hinges caught all of their attention. If the silence hadn’t been so prominent, they might have missed it completely. But as it were, the sound rang loud and sharp to the three trained heroes.

Hizashi's focus snapped to the slightly-ajar door he had seen earlier and caught a flash of movement in the crack of the door’s opening. Noting the way Nemuri tensed beside him, she had seen it too.

But before any of them could get a good look at what was lurking beyond the door, whatever it was that moved had disappeared out of sight.

Hardly throwing a glance over his shoulder, Shouta ordered them to stay put before moving to investigate.

Not that Hizashi or Nemuri had ever listened to that command before. So, dutifully, they both silently followed on his heel.

But they didn’t get very far when Shouta turned to glare at them. “Don’t,” he hissed.

“Why?” Nemuri whispered, “are you hiding something?”

“No.”

“Then I see no harm in letting us take a peek.”

“Nemur-”

“Oh! Did you get a cat? Is that what Nezu meant? Maybe it’ll get along with Sushi,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“No,” he quietly rebuked, “I did not get a cat. Just stay here while I handle this,” he said firmly and pushed open the door just enough to slip inside.

Now, Nemuri was a great hero and she was an even better friend, but sometimes, much to Shouta’s frustration, she forgot to respect boundaries, especially when something interesting caught her attention. So before Hizashi could stop her, Nemuri caught the door before Shouta could close it and pushed her way inside, leaving the opening wide enough for Hizashi to get a good look at the space within.

Hizashi wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Other than a cat, he couldn’t imagine what Shouta could be hiding in his dorm room.

But if he were forced to come up with every possible speculation as to what he saw move behind the door, a child wouldn’t have even made the list.

And not just a child.

A student.

Shouta’s student.

Midoriya Izuku.

Hizashi met Midoriya’s wide green eyes for only a second before the boy darted into what appeared to be a side room that was divided by a curtain.

It took nearly ten seconds for anyone to register what they had just seen.

“Shouta,” Hizashi spoke first, his eyes never leaving the curtain, “you wanna tell us why one of your students is hiding in the staff dorms?”

Nemuri’s head whipped over to Shouta who suddenly looked like he hadn’t slept in years. “Was that…Midoriya?” She questioned carefully.

Shouta pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he cursed under his breath. “I told you to stay outside.”

“But-” Nemuri cut herself off when he flashed a quirk-activated glare at her.

“Stay,” he growled before carefully parting the curtain and stepping inside, letting the fabric fall back into place behind him.

Hizashi felt frozen.

Not out of fear or panic, but out of utter confusion.

Why on earth was Midoriya in the staff dorms when students weren’t expected to arrive until tomorrow? Why was he hiding in Shouta’s room with what looked to be one of Shouta’s favorite blankets wrapped around his shoulder?

And even more pressing, why had Shouta looked like he was one step away from murdering them if they so much as breathed in the kid’s direction.

Nemuri was usually one to push boundaries when curiosity got the best of her, but Hizashi was the one to meddle when his gut told him something was wrong. And the absolute terror in Midoriya’s eyes as he ran into the adjoining room definitely rang some alarm bells.

Stepping slowly, Hizashi moved past a still shocked Nemuri and grabbed the edge of the curtain, pulling it back just enough to look inside.

What first caught his attention was the layout of the room. From what he remembered seeing on the map of the student dorms, the layout was nearly identical to a student’s room. Desk and dresser on the left wall and a bed on the right. There was also an added bookcase with what looked to be school books neatly lined on the middle shelf. Otherwise, the room was mostly bare.

The next thing that saw, and easily the most shocking, was Aizawa Shouta, underground pro hero Eraserhead with the reputation of being a stoic hardass, kneeling on the floor in front of his trembling student with the softest expression he had ever seen on his friend’s face.

Hizashi couldn’t hear what Shouta was saying, his voice too hushed to properly make out any of the words, but judging by the way Midoriya’s tense posture instantly relaxed, he could tell that the dynamic between the two of them was something currently beyond his understanding.

There was one last thing that Hizashi had noticed in his quick peek of the room; the cat plush that Moth had given Shouta, the same plush that he had treated like the world’s most valuable treasure, was held protectively against Midoriya’s chest, not unlike how little kids hold their teddy bears.

There were some dots that needed to be connected because Hizashi was clearly missing something.

He stepped back from the curtain, giving Shouta and Midoriya their privacy, and answered Nemuri's silent question with a shrug. He hardly knew what he just saw so it wasn’t like he had an explanation to give her.

Twenty minutes passed until they saw Shouta again, and in those twenty minutes, Hizashi and Nemuri occupied their time by looking around the spacious dorm room. It was then, that a picture of the situation started to paint itself in his mind.

Resting on the wooden table was a can of iced coffee—the kind that Shouta always insisted on buying even though he complained about the taste—with a half-full bottle of apple juice sitting next to it, and draped over one of the chairs, was a child-sized hoodie.

On the coffee table were a few notebooks, a candy wrapper, and a sticky note with a list of what looked to be documentary titles scribbled on it. A couple of the titles had checkmarks next to them.

Making his way into the open bathroom, Hizashi noticed that there were two toothbrushes sitting in a cup on the sink, as well as a detangler brush which Hizashi knew for a fact that Shouta had never owned before.

It seemed that every corner of the room held some kind of trace of Midoriya’s presence. More so, the way his items were so casually mixed with Shouta’s made it seem almost natural, as if the two had shared each other’s space for years and the implications of that were mind-boggling.

“Hizashi,” Nemuri leaned in close to whisper, “do you think- is- is Midoriya staying here?”

Hizashi scanned the room one more time before turning to Nemuri. The look on her face was a mix of confusion and concern, and rightfully so.

Because what the hell had happened in the past week that led to Midoriya supposedly moving in with his homeroom teacher who he’d only known for all of three days?

“I think so?” he answered, though it was more of a question because at this point he was just as lost as she was. Until he remembered the way Midoriya had the cat plush snuggled against him like a lifeline. “Wait, could this be about Moth?”

Nemuri gave him an incredulous look. “Moth? Why would this be about Moth?”

Hizashi shook his head, “I don’t know, it’s just- When I looked inside the room I saw Midoriya holding the black cat plushie that Moth had given Shouta before, well, you know.”

Nemuri’s lips parted in surprise. “He was? Shou hardly let me go near it. Are you sure?” Hizashi nodded. “Well, shit. What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know!” he whisper-yelled, “but between all of Midoriya’s stuff laying around and fact that the extra bedroom is clearly set up for a student-”

“Wait,” Nemuri interrupted him, “what?”

Hizashi gestured to the curtained doorway with his thumb, “The room, it’s set up the same way as the ones in the student dorms. I’m guessing that’s where Midoriya’s staying.”

“Is that why Shouta’s room is the size of a whole apartment?” She pondered.

“Yes, actually.” Hizashi and Nemuri jumped at the new voice that had suddenly entered their hushed conversation. Neither of them had noticed Shouta come out of the adjoined room and Hizashi felt a small burn of shame for talking about his friend with suspicion.

Though Nemuri, it seemed, had no such guilt.

“So, are you going to explain why Midoriya is supposedly living with you in the staff dorms instead of, I don’t know, the student dorms that’s less than a five-minute walk from here?” She questioned, shoving a finger into Shouta’s chest. “Because as far as I know you barely even know the kid, unless you’re not telling us something.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for the past half an hour,” he deadpanned. “So if you’d kindly shut up for five minutes I’ll explain the situation.”

Nemuri stepped back with a pout but said nothing more.

With a sigh, Shouta led them out of the room and to the common area. He gestured for them to sit on one of the couches while taking a seat on the one opposite of them.

A heavy silence lingered in the air for a moment as Shouta collected himself, his hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees, and his head hung. It was the same body language that was often associated with sharing devastating news and that did not bode well with Hizashi at all.

When Shouta finally did speak, his voice was clipped and strained, as if talking was physically painful.

“The aftermath of the USJ incident has brought a troubling matter to light,” he began slowly. “As you’re both aware, when something of this caliber happens at U.A. we are required to contact the parents of our students immediately, especially if injuries have been sustained. Iz- Midoriya had unfortunately been one of the few to get hurt during the attack. Not very badly, thankfully, but enough to be sent to Recovery Girl’s office to rest until Nezu could contact his guardians.

“Except that when Nezu tried to call his father, whose contact information is written in Midoriya’s student file, the number was unavailable. Calling his emergency contact had the same result. In short, there wasn’t a single way to get in touch with anyone in charge of Midoriya’s care.”

Hizashi felt his stomach drop. As a hero and a teacher, he was not unfamiliar with kids who had a rocky home life. But if that was all there was to Midoriya’s situation, then it wouldn’t explain why he was here, in the staff dorms, looking like a cornered animal.

“When Nezu and Detective Tsukauchi went to check on Midoriya in the infirmary, he was gone. And without any way to get in contact with him or anyone who may have been associated with him, Nezu decided to look deeper into Midoriya’s files. Between that and Tsukauchi’s own digging, they found some concerning information.” Hizashi held his breath, and next to him, he could feel Nemuri shifting nervously. “To start, Tsukauchi traced any information he could find on Midoriya’s parents. As it turns out, his mother had died in an accident caused by a villain attack a couple of years ago, leaving Midoriya in his father’s custody.”

“Okay…but you said you were unable to reach his dad, right?” Hizashi asked hesitantly.

Shouta nodded, “That’s because Midoriya’s father did not want to be reached. Midoriya Hisashi does not even live in Japan. He works overseas, in America, and hasn’t been in this country since Midoriya Inko’s death, over two years ago.”

Nemuri sucked in a sharp breath. “Then who the hell has the kid been staying with?”

Hizashi noticed the way Shouta’s eyes instantly darkened, and the muscles in his shoulder and jaw tightened with noticeable tension.

“No one,” he growled. “His father had set Midoriya up in a shitty, rundown apartment in the red light district and had been sending him food money once a month that was barely enough to feed someone for a week.” His words were now openly dripping with venom, and Hizashi might have been nervous if it weren’t for his own anger coursing through his veins. “A child neglect case has already been opened. Tsukauchi and his team are currently investigating the situation, but it’s safe to say that regardless of the outcome, Midoriya Izuku will no longer be under his father’s care.”

“But there’s more, isn’t there?” Hizashi pressed. As horrible as it was for Midoriya to have gone through something like that, it wouldn’t have been enough to make the experienced underground hero look so haunted.

So he wasn’t surprised when Shouta nodded again, his eyes cast downward with a look so pained that it made the dread in Hizashi’s stomach curl around his organs and seep into his bones.

“Along with Tsukauchi’s own findings, Nezu had noticed some discrepancies and falsified information in Midoriya’s student file. The disconnected phone numbers, for one. But the other issue being his age. As it turns out, Midoriya is not fourteen like we thought he was,” Shouta finally looked up from the floor and met their eyes. “He’s twelve.”

Nemuri nearly fell out of her seat in shock, while Hizashi felt his whole body stiffen.

“Twelve? You’re shitting me! Fourteen is already young, but, fuck, Shouta, he’s just a baby!” Nemuri exclaimed.

“You think I don’t know that?” Shouta replied, a steel tone to his voice. “But right now his age in relation to the rest of his class is the least of our worries.”

Hizashi’s brows jumped to his hairline. “Least of our worries? Shou, how the hell could it possibly get any worse? A twelve-year-old, heavily neglected child has just been a victim of a deadly villain attack! What could be more traumatizing than that?”

“It was how I found him,” Shouta replied, his voice near cracking. And it was the defeated way he sounded that made Hizashi and Nemuri falter. They shared a quick worried glance before Hizashi stood up and made his way to Shouta’s side, sitting close enough to hopefully offer support but not too close to make him feel suffocated. If Shouta noticed his presence, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Nemuri leaned forward in her seat, her eyes burning with an anxious intensity, “What do you mean, ‘how you found him’?”

Silence hung in the air for nearly a minute until Shouta found the strength to speak again.

“As I said, Midoriya had left the school’s infirmary without notifying anyone, and because of the new details about his falsified student file as well as the clear neglect of his father, Tsukauchi sent me to conduct a home check and bring him to the station. But when I got there-” he paused, as if he were searching for the right words. “When I got there, he was seconds away from killing himself.”

Those last few words, as quiet as they were, dropped from Shouta’s mouth like a bombshell, and Hizashi could feel the very foundation beneath his feet begin to crumble.

He had dealt with suicide cases before. As a hero, talking someone down from an attempted suicide was an expected part of the job. It wasn’t common, at least not for limelight heroes, but every seasoned pro has dealt with at least one case.

But never, in his years of being a hero, had he personally come across a suicidal child, let alone one of his own students. And while he knew Shouta had far more experience with this kind of situation, the fact that is was one of his very own homeroom kids must have been crushing.

Especially since Moth’s own suicide was still painfully fresh in his mind.

Hizashi leaned in close and placed a hand on Shouta’s upper arm, hoping the weight would be comforting. “But he’s here now, right? I still don’t fully know what the plan is, but Midoriya is safe now.” He hoped his words were more convincing than they sounded.

“You don’t understand!” Shouta seethed, “If I had arrived even a second later, then I would have fucking lost him. I was almost too late again.”

Nemuri’s eyes widened. “Again?” Shouta didn’t answer. He buried his head in his hands and took another deep breath. “Shou, please, what do you mean by ‘again’?”

“Moth,” he muttered.

Once more, Hizashi recalled the cat plush that Midoriya held so tightly to his chest.

Nemuri moved from her seat to join them on the couch, perching herself on Shouta’s other side. “I don’t understand, what does this have to do with Moth?” She asked carefully. When he didn’t reply, she sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Shou, honey, I know you’re still upset about Moth, but-”

“Midoriya is Moth.”

The whole world had come to a stop, for only a moment. The room was so still, so quiet, that Hizashi worried they had all forgotten how to breathe, as if a single whispered breath would shatter the delicate air around them.

Until Nemuri jumped from the couch like she had been electrified and whirled around to face Shouta with her hands on her hips. “I’m fucking sorry, but what?!”

“Nem,” Hizashi pleaded.

“No! I need an explanation here! You said Moth was dead-”

“And I thought he was!” Shouta stood up and glared at her, but the scowl on his face lasted barely a second before the look of anguish took over once more. “I thought he was dead for months. But when I found Midoriya moments away from slicing open his own arms, when I held him as he cried, everything clicked into place. His age, his height, even the color of his eyes! They’re all the same. So I-” Shouta started to pace. “So I called him Moth, and- fuck, Nem, he responded. Not just that but he tried to fucking apologize.”

Hizashi finally found the strength in his legs to stand. He wasted no time in grabbing Shouta by his shoulders and stopping his restless pacing. “Hey, Shou, just- I need you to chill for a sec, yeah? Okay. So, just to clarify; Midoriya Izuku is Moth? Your little vigilante?” Shouta gave him a shaky nod. “Right. And neither of his parents are in the picture anymore. And-” he swallowed thickly, “and he’s clearly not doing so hot, mentally, I mean. So, where does that leave us?”

Nemuri slowly reached out to grab one of Shouta’s hands, holding it firmly as if to tether him to the present. “From what we could tell, the baby is…staying here? With you, I mean?”

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. His uneven breathing began to steady itself and his expression shifted into something familiar— guarded and stoic. “I, uh, decided to take emergency custody.”

Hizashi almost choked on air, “What?!” Meanwhile, Nemuri looked like someone has just offered her gold.

“Oh my god, you’re fostering him?” She sounded almost too excited, which was quite the dramatic change from thirty seconds ago.

Shouta sighed, “Technically, yes. He’s also under suicide watch for obvious reasons, and seeing as he’s now my responsibility, he’ll be staying here with me so I can supervise him. So that he doesn’t…hurt himself again.”

“That makes sense,” Hizashi said with a solemn nod, “but, what about your classes? You can’t exactly watch him all the time during the school day.”

“That’s not an issue, seeing as Nezu wants him to remain a student of 1-A’s hero course.”

“But, he’s twelve?”

Nemuri lightly slapped Hizashi on his arm. “Sure, but he also got first place in the entrance exam! We saw with our own eyes how capable he is.”

Hizashi whined, “I’m not saying he isn’t, I just mean, has he even finished middle school yet? And what about his suicide watch? Like, what’s the plan here?”

Shouta rubbed at his eyes, clear exhaustion weighing him down. “We’re holding a meeting with the rest of the staff later to go over the details, but in short, yes Izuku’s finished middle school, and yes we have a plan to keep him safe during the school day. We decided that, overall, it would be best to provide as much normalcy as possible, and taking him out of his dream school when we can offer him accommodations would only make the situation worse.”

“Yeah, okay, I agree with that, actually. And, I’ll be honest, I’m still kinda processing the whole thing, but of course, we’ll do what we can to help out the little listener. We’re teachers and heroes for a reason!” Hizashi exclaimed as he slung an arm over Shouta’s shoulder. “Right, Nem?”

Nemuri’s eyes stayed fully fixed on Shouta, her lips slowly curling into a smug grin. “You called him ‘Izuku’.”

Shouta stiffened. “What?”

“Midroiya. You used his first name. Oh my god,” she gasped. “You and Moth were super close, and Midoriya is Moth, and you’re fostering him and- Holy shit, Hizashi, Shouta’s a dad!”

Shouta scowled, “I’m not da-”

“Shut up, yes you are. Oh! And that means I’m an aunt! Zashi! You’re an uncle!”

Hizashi chuckled nervously, still more than a little confused about the whole situation, “Uh, I mean, shit, I can’t argue with that logic.”

“Insufferable. You’re both entirely insufferable,” Shouta grumbled as he untangled himself from Hizashi and Nemuri’s grasps.

“Woah, woah, hold on there cowboy,” Nemuri snatched Shouta’s hand again and forced him to face her. “Look. I’m sorry. I was kind of an ass, demanding your explanation and all, especially about such a sore subject. I also stepped over some boundaries and spooked the poor kid, and that wasn’t fair of me.” Nemuri’s face grew stern. “To tell you the truth, I’m still pretty overwhelmed about all of this, it’s a hell of a lot to take in.

“But, as Zashi said, we’re heroes. We’re teachers, and Midoriya is our student too. Besides that, it’s clear that he’s important to you, and anyone important to you is important to us. So, don’t think for a second that you’re in this alone, Shouta. Okay?”

Hizashi watched as a sense of relief pooled in his dark eyes. “Yeah. I appreciate it, but I need to…” his eyes flicked back to the cracked-open door.

“Ah, we should probably apologize for scarin’ the little listener. Or, is he still a tad overwhelmed?” Hizashi asked.

Shouta sighed, “He’s fine now, for the most part. He’s just not very enthusiastic about living with all of his teachers.”

“I can imagine,” Nemuri grimaced. “It doesn’t help that, from what I understand, he’ll have to be monitored near constantly, huh? That’s enough to drive anyone mad.”

“The extremity of his suicide watch will lesson as time goes on. Right now we’re just focused on making sure he’s physically safe and settled in with his new routine.”

“How- how bad is it?” Hizashi nervously pressed, “I mean, clearly not good, seeing as he just attempted about a week ago, but how worried should we be?”

Shouta rubbed the back of his neck with a scowl, an anxious habit, Hizashi knew. “Dr. Mizuno, Izuku’s assigned psychologist, has placed him under the crisis category in terms of how at risk he is to cause harm to himself. And we got confirmation from Tsukauchi that Izuku may attempt again, at least, if he were driven to.”

Hizashi felt his heart shatter. Painful, sharp pieces impaling the insides of his chest at the very thought of a child, his student, hurting badly enough that they were driven to this state. He was supposed to be a strong, dependable hero, yet he felt as if he had failed Midoriya already.

“Well, fuck,” Nemuri breathed. “Alright, just- shit. And you’re sure you want him to continue going to classes right now? Not to mention the hero course isn’t exactly the most harmless environment.”

“Honestly? If I had my way he’d be pulled out of the hero course for at least another two years, but,” Shouta shifted on his feet, “it would crush him. And as much as it worries me, I want to give him at least some semblance of a normal high school experience. Hound Dog agrees that letting him continue with his education here, being around his friends, will help his recovery.” He shrugged. “And maybe the exercises during training and heroics classes will help him burn off some of his stress through physical activity. He’ll be closely supervised, of course.”

Nemuri nodded with a hum. “That sounds fair. It’s probably better to keep him busy, anyway.”

“What about the rest of your class? They move into the student dorms tomorrow,” Hizashi pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“We’ll talk more about it at the meeting this evening, but Nezu and Hound Dog came up with a plan to make his crisis watch as discrete as possible. I don’t mind what Izuku tells his classmates, that’s honestly up to him, but from what I gather, he’d like to keep all of this under wraps,” he answered as he began making his way back towards his dorm room. “Anyway, you can come see him, if you’d like. It’s actually the main reason I asked you two to come here early. Not only do you know about his vigilante persona but I thought it would be best for him to greet the staff in smaller bursts.”

“It’s also because we’re his new auntie and uncle,” Nemuri said with a sly smile. Shouta only scoffed.

Shouta knocked on the wall, next to the curtain that parted his room and Izuku’s. “Hey, kid, are still up to seeing Mic and Midnight?”

Hizashi heard a shuffling sound before the curtain slowly parted open, and hesitant green eyes peeked through. As if testing the waters, Midoriya carefully moved past the curtain and stepped out of the room, settling to stand near Shouta’s side.

And if Hizashi thought Midoriya looked small before, the way the kid curled in on himself, a large yellow hoodie pooling at his knees, and the soft cat plush grasped tightly against his chest, made him look hardly older than five.

It took all of his willpower not to go on an angry rampage and hunt down every single person that had ever hurt this precious boy.

This kid was going to steal the hearts of all of Japan as soon as he debuted as a hero, that much was certain. But for now, it was Hizashi’s job to help protect him, to help him recover and grow so that one day, Midoriya would have the chance to be one of the greatest heroes of his generation.

“Hey, kiddo!,” Hizashi greeted cheerily, “sorry about spooking you earlier. Midnight here likes to think personal boundaries are optional when it comes to me and Shouta.”

“Excuse you, do you know how many times I caught Shouta stealing my food when we all shared an apartment? I feel like I was very justified in my actions,” Nemuri said, her nose pointed in the air. “And don’t get me started on the fact that you still steal my hair ties, Hizashi.”

Shouta rolled his eyes. “It was your fault for leaving the food unattended,” he muttered.

“It was labeled!”

“And?”

“You’re supposed to respect the labels, Shou!”

“You say that as if you respect street signs when you drive.”

Midoriya’s eyes bounced between Shouta and Nemuri as they argued. “Are they always like this?” Midoriya silently asked him.

“You have no idea,” Hizashi laughed. “We’ve been friends since high school and getting under each other’s nerves is honestly a hobby at this point.” Midoriya gave him a quizzical look but remained silent. “Anyway, tell me, how’s it been, staying with Shouta?”

Midoriya tilted his head in thought and Hizashi had to hold back an audible squeal at how cute the kid was. “Um, it’s okay. Just, odd, sometimes.”

“Odd?” he asked with a patient smile.

“I guess, it’s just all sort of new to me? It’s- it’s not something I expected t-to happen, I mean.” Midoriya ducked his head and twisted his fingers. “Um, how much- er, how much do you know?”

Hizashi felt his chest tighten at Midoriya’s question. This poor kid had been through one traumatic event after another and was now being forced into a vulnerable position while surrounded by near strangers.

Moving slowly, so that Midoriya wouldn’t be caught off guard, Hizashi placed a hand on top of his head, ruffling the soft green curls. To his surprise and delight, Midoriya leaned into, albeit slightly. Christ, how touch-starved with this poor baby?

“To tell you the truth, I know quite a bit. Not everything, but enough to get the picture. But you know what?” Hizashi knelt down to be on eye level with Midoriya, who was staring at him with wide, teary eyes. “I’m so proud of you. For everything. I know things are tough now, your whole life was kinda flipped on its head, and there’s a lot of unknowns. Yet, there is one thing I know for sure— you’re going to make a remarkable hero, Midoriya.”

Midoriya’s lips parted in a silent, disbelieving gasp. “Do you- are you sure? That I can still be a hero? Even after...”

Hizashi smiled, bright and wide. “Heck, yeah, kiddo! Not only did you kick some serious ass in the entrance exam, but you saved lives during the USJ. You can only improve from here! I have no doubt in my mind that you’re going to make a real impact in the world of heroics.”

The kid’s eyes shined with unshed tears as he searched Hizashi’s face for any hint of a lie. He wouldn’t find one, of course, because Hizashi was telling nothing but the truth.

“Thank you,” Midoriya whispered, his head bowing again.

Hizashi ruffled his hair one last time before standing up again. “None of that. I was giving you the facts!”

“The facts about what?” Nemuri asked, apparently done with her pointless skirmish.

Hizashi shot her his trade-make finger guns. “That little Midoriya here is gonna grow up to be one of the best heroes!”

“Well, clearly. We knew that from day one,” she replied earnestly. Midoriya’s eyes somehow grew impossibly bigger at the way Nemuri nonchalantly praised him. “Anyway, like Zashi said, sorry for scaring you earlier, I totally thought Shouta was hiding a cat or something.”

“I already told you it wasn’t a cat,” Shouta grumbled.

“And you really expected me to believe that? Oh! Speaking of cats, once I’m all unpacked and settled in, I’ll be bringing Sushi.”

Midoriya blinked. “Um, w-what does sushi have to do with cats?”

A undignified snort escaped Hizashi before he could stop it. “Her cat's name is Sushi.”

“Oh. That makes more sense.”

Nemuri nodded enthusiastically, the usual sparkle shining in her eye whenever she talked about her feline companion. “I’ll have him here by tomorrow if you’d like to meet him?”

“Can I?” he tilted his head again and this time, Hizashi could tell, it was Nemuri’s turn not to squeal.

“Of course you can, baby!” Midoriya’s eyebrows shot up at the sudden nickname which was entirely amusing. Poor kid had no idea what kind of hell he had just stepped into. Once Nemuri claimed something as hers, whether it be a cat, a friend, and now, a nephew, there was no stopping her smothering of love.

Shouta cleared his throat, causing the three of them to turn to the underground hero. “Not that I’m not enjoying this…lively early-morning interaction, perhaps you two should start unpacking?”

“Oh, fiiine,” Nemuri groaned. “Party pooper.”

Hizashi looked around the room again, brows scrunched together in thought. “You know, you two are more or less unpacked, right?” Shouta shrugged, unhelpfully. “Well, if Midoriya’s got nothing else to do, then would you be cool with me stealing him for a bit? I gotta lot of instruments to unpack and it’ll take me all day on my own.”

A knowing look crossed Shouta’s face and, with a quick glance at Midoriya who looked at Shouta with the cutest puppy-eyes, he nodded.

“Alright!” Hizashi cheered, “You cool with that kiddo?”

This time, Midoriya’s wide, pleading eyes turned on him. God, did this kid have any idea how dangerous that look was? “Are- are you sure, Mic-sensei?”

“Sure, I’m sure! Also, you can call me Hizashi when we’re not in class. All of that formality stuff makes me feel old,” he said with a wave of his hand.

Hizashi noticed the corners of Midoriya’s lips quirk upward ever so slightly, and it was like witnessing a ray of golden light part through the gloomiest clouds.

Sunshine. This kid was pure sunshine.

“Okay, then. But, um, if I can ask, what kind of instruments do you have?”

“More than he needs,” grouched Shouta, who was being used as a wall for Nemuri to lean onto.

Hizashi stuck out his tongue at the grump hero. “Don’t be jealous that I can play more than two instruments. We aren’t all musically inclined.” Shouta huffed and shook his head, but Midoriya twisted on his heel to look at him with awe.

“You know how to play an instrument?” he questioned, a newfound light reflecting in his eyes, and his previous stutter vanished. “I mean, Present Mic makes sense, but you never told me you knew how to play!”

Shouta hunched his shoulders and averted his eyes from the group. He wasn’t wearing his capture scarf, which meant that the light blush that spread across his cheeks was visible to everyone.

“Er, yeah, I learned how to play the piano, when I was younger, and Hizashi made me learn the basics of how to play the bass.”

“Really? That’s so cool! Both of those instruments fit you really well, now that I think about it, and I heard knowing how to play music can help with cognitive processing!”

It was hard to fluster Aizawa Shouta, but this kid seemed to have a natural talent at bringing out the emotions in the usually guarded man, something that both Hizashi and Nemuri still struggled with, even after fifteen years of friendship.

The knots in Hizashi’s chest loosened as he watched in dumbfounded amazement at the way Shouta’s expression softened when he looked at Midoriya. Normally cold, onyx eyes morphing into gentle summer storm clouds, warm with the promise of fresh rain. The tension that had made its home in his jaw and shoulders seemed to relax, and the hint of a smile ghosted across his lips.

He was so memorized by the sudden change in his friend that Hizashi almost missed it when Midoriya’s focus trailed back to him.

“What- uh, what kind of instruments do you play? I bet you’re really amazing.” the boy said shyly, and a blooming warmth spread beneath his sternum. No wonder Shouta was so damn taken with this kid, Midoriya could soften steel just be smiling at it.

“People usually expect me to play woodwind instruments because of my quirk, but I personally prefer percussion and string. In fact, a grand piano will be set up in the common room sometime this week. I can teach you how to play an instrument too if you want?”

The apprehension that Midoriya had held earlier was replaced with childlike curiosity and Hizashi swore he could melt from pure cuteness overload- those big green eyes, wild curls, and stardust freckles were a killer combination. “Are you- I mean are you sure? Aren’t you busy?”

“Too busy for you? Never! Besides, now that we all live on campus, I have way less commute time,” he said with a wink. “Here’s an idea, how about we test out some of the instruments while we unpack them and you can see which one catches your eye, ya dig?”

Midoriya nodded, almost excitedly. Behind him, he caught Shouta mouthing the words ‘thank you’, and another tidal wave of warmth and relief washed over him.

Their little trio was once again a group of four, and Hizashi couldn’t escape the feeling that Oboro would have been proud.

Chapter Text

Growing up in a house full of younger siblings had given Hizashi plenty of experience dealing with kids, being a teacher helped too, of course, so Shouta wasn’t all too surprised with how quickly Izuku had taken to Hizashi’s presence. Hizashi was good with kids and Shouta planned to take full advantage of that fact.

As soon as the voice hero ushered Izuku towards his dorm room, Shouta felt relief come over him, a warm yet exhausting sensation, like falling into bed after a particularly long patrol. It didn’t stop him from instantly sending Hizashi a text containing a list of rules and things to look out for, such as:

-Don’t let him anywhere near sharp objects.

-Never leave him alone.

-He has a tendency to scratch his arms or bite his lip when he’s anxious.

-Avoid talking about his parents, the police, his arms, money, food, and other generally triggering topics.

-Don’t move too quickly around him or talk too loudly.

-If he starts to get distant or panicked, call me immediately.

-Make sure he drinks water.

-Don’t let him overexert himself.

He wasn’t being paranoid, he was being logical. He knew Hizashi could be just as observant as he was, but the extra precautions couldn’t hurt.

While Izuku was busy being distracted by Hizashi, Nemuri all but dragged Shouta to her own dorm room on the top floor with the demand to help her unpack.

“You’re already unpacked so it’s only fair that you help me,” she insisted.

Shouta blinked, unimpressed. “I’m not understanding the logic here.”

Rolling her eyes, she shoved a pile of clothes into his arm and turned him towards the direction of her closet. “Hang these up for me, sweety, okay?” She asked, completely ignoring his complaint.

So for the next few hours, with frequent updates from Hizashi about Izuku (as well as about a dozen photos of Izuku trying out different instruments with a shine in his eye and no one can prove that Shouta saved each photo to his phone), and Shouta being directed around Nemuri’s room like a servant to unpack her boxes, there was an air of calm that settled over the staff dorms.

Even so, throughout the rest of the morning, a sharp pang of anxiety threatened to surface every so often, but each text from Hizashi quickly dampened the feeling and left him with a content thrum in his chest, and Nemuri’s constant chattering about one thing or another was a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

He was okay, and Izuku was okay, and for now, that was enough.

-----

It was sometime before noon when they all converged once more to eat lunch in the kitchen.

Izuku was plucking at the strings of a viola when Mic-sensei Hizashi received a message on his phone before suddenly guiding him to the elevator. When they arrived downstairs, Aizawa and Midnight were leaning against the counter; Midnight talking animatedly while Aizawa slowly sipped on a cup of what Izuku assumed was coffee. As soon as Izuku stepped into view, Aizawa’s gaze snapped in his direction with an accessing look, as if scanning for injuries, and Izuku had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

How could he have possibly gotten hurt while unpacking instruments— get stabbed by a clarinet?

“Hey, kiddo!” Midnight cheered as he and Hizashi approached. “Figured we would take a break to eat some lunch. Just some simple ume onigiri I bought from the store if you’re okay with that.”

Izuku nodded before quietly shuffling next to Aizawa who handed him a wrapped onigiri sealed with a sticker of a cartoon plum.

“So, Izuku, have you settled on what kind of instrument you want to play,” Midnight asked him, ignoring the way he almost dropped his food at the use of his first name.

It took him a moment to collect his thought but he finally stuttered out an answer, keeping his eyes focused on the food in his hand. “I, uh, d-dunno? I was thinking the guitar or, mm, maybe the piano?”

Midnight hummed, though it sounded more like a purr. “I can see how those instruments would fit you. An acoustic guitar has a nice, soft, mellow sound to it, like a warm blanket. And the piano is bold, but not too loud, confident without being cocky.”

Izuku blinked. “Uhh, sure?”

A knowing smirk graced her lips as she rested her head in her hand. “Or are you interested in the piano because Shouta, here, knows how to play?”

A tingling warmth spread across his cheeks and he was quick to duck his head before anyone could see him blush. “No,” he mumbled, “it- it just sounds pretty.”

The heroine let out a hearty laugh and Izuku inwardly groaned in embarrassment.

“Now, hold on,” Hizashi jumped in, “the piano is the perfect instrument for the little listener! He’s got great hand-eye coordination with the ability to multi-task. So, from a technical standpoint, it makes sense that the piano felt right!”

Midnight gasped, “Can you imagine Shouta and Izuku playing a little duet together? Oh my God!”

Izuku and Aizawa shared an exasperated look while Midnight and Hizashi prattled on about matching outfits and hosting a dinner party with live music.

While the adults talked, Izuku nibbled on his onigiri, listening as the conversation flowed from one topic to the next.

It was…strange, to say the least. If someone were to go back in time, even just two weeks ago, and tell his past self that he’d be living with Eraserhead on U.A.’s campus and eating lunch with Present Mic and Midnight as they casually bantered among themselves, he wouldn't have believed them.

Yet that was exactly the scenario Izuku had found himself in and he honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about it. There was a sense of comfort in the fact that neither Hizashi nor Midnight treated him with pity, they acted so informally around him as if he had been in their lives for years, but there was also the knowledge that they knew some of his most vulnerable secrets and it felt like it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped.

The two limelight heroes held most of the conversation while Aizawa and Izuku chose to sit back and listen. Every once in a while, Aizawa would offer a few words of his own, usually to counter something one of his friends had said, but Izuku felt content just being a part of the moment. Despite his circumstances, he still loved heroes, and being allowed to sit in and listen to some of his favorite heroes talk about their daily lives would probably never get old.

But all good things must come to an end and Izuku was annoyingly reminded of this when Aizawa nudged his shoulder with a pointed look before gesturing to the clock on the wall.

Ah. He had almost forgotten.

The accursed nap time.

In his short time living with Aizawa, Izuku had figured out three things about the hero:

1. He liked his coffee with an ungodly amount of sugar.

2. He liked to pretend he’s mysterious and cold, but his insides were softer than the stuffing of a teddy bear.

3. He had a hard time resisting Izuku’s kitten-eyes (this, he found out, when pleading with the man to let him have one more bag of gummy worms before bed).

Izuku didn’t want to take a nap. He had enjoyed getting what was essentially private music lessons from the Present Mic, and with the anticipation of the rest of the staff arriving on campus within the hour, he didn’t think he could sleep anyway.

So, with a purposeful tilt of the head, scrunched up brows, and the slightest pushed-out lower lip, Izuku looked up at Aizawa, a silent question dancing in his eyes.

And just as he had hoped, with only the slightest bit of hesitation, the underground hero sighed and shrugged. “I guess your normal schedule was already pretty disrupted today, so you can skip it. But just this once, Izuku, got it?” he whispered.

Izuku nodded, perhaps too quickly, “Mhm!”

The pinging sound of Midnight’s phone echoing throughout the mostly empty dorm building caught their attention. “It’s the group chat,” she said, scrolling through her messages, “Snipe and Vlad are on their way.”

“Already?” Aizawa mumbled then turned to Izuku. “What do you wanna do then, kid?”

“What do I want to do?”

“Yeah, how do you want to go about this? Do you want to greet the rest of the staff as they come in or do you want to wait and see them all later?” Aizawa asked, his tone patient.

Izuku played with the sleeves of his hoodie as he thought about his options. While it would be less intimidating if he were to see his teachers in waves, it would also mean he would have to explain why he was there in the first place over and over again. Thankfully, Hizashi came up with an answer for him.

“If you want, you can come back up to my room and we can finish going over all the instruments? That way you can hide a bit longer while everyone moves in,” the voice hero offered.

He mulled the idea over in his head. He really was enjoying his time learning about the different types of musical instruments and listening to Hizashi’s endless knowledge on everything to do with music, and the thought of greeting his other teachers so soon made him feel a bit sick.

“Are you sure? I mean, don’t you wanna be here w-when everyone else shows up?” he asked tentatively.

Hizashi tilted his head and smiled, long strands of blond hair spilling over his shoulder. Half of his hair was in a neat bun while the other half cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“I’ll see my coworkers soon enough, but I’m having a great time showing you the ropes!”

“Well, if you’re sure, then- then yeah, okay,” Izuku said with a nod. “And uh, you can call me Izuku…if you’d like. Since, you know, you told me to call you Hizashi,” he muttered, resisting the urge to twist his fingers.

Hizashi’s eyes widened before his expression morphed into an easy grin. “Thanks, Izuku-”

Midnight shoved Hizashi aside, their shoulders bumping together painfully, and Hizashi had to hold onto the counter to catch himself to avoid falling over. “Ooh! And you can call me Auntie Nemuri!”

Izuku gaped, his thoughts coming to a sudden pause. “A-Auntie?” he questioned, his voice a bit squeaker than he would have liked.

“Of course! You’re basically my nephew at this point so it’s only fitting you call me Auntie.”

Izuku shot Aizawa a confused glance but the hero just shook his head. “No point in arguing with her, it’ll be easier to just go along with it,” he said.

“Um. Okay?”

Aizawa drained the last dregs of his coffee before turning to Hizashi. “I’ll come by and grab Izuku before the meeting this evening, if that’s alright with you.” Hizashi smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

“No problemo! And take your time, ” Hizashi said. Then to Izuku, “Maybe we can even start you on reading sheet music! The basics anyway. That sound cool?”

“Yeah, thank you,” he answered with a quick bow of his head.

“Alrighty, then! Off we go!”

Izuku stole one last look at Aizawa and Nemuri before following the voice hero back towards the elevator. It was weird. All of this was so weird. He briefly wondered if he would ever get used to being dragged into the lives of a bunch of pro heroes.

He tried to imagine how his past self, his ten-year-old self, would have reacted to living with Eraserhead, having Midnight call him Auntie, and getting private music lessons from Present Mic.

Happy, he figured. His younger self would have been happy.

And, maybe, he could learn to be happy here too.

-----

As expected, Snipe and Vlad King were the first to show up. U.A.’s robots were carrying their moving boxes on pallets behind them, just as they had done for Shouta this morning. He sometimes felt a bit bad for the AI bots, until he remembered the year they had tried to start a revolution on campus. Why Nezu gave them enough sentience to have the desire to rebel was beyond him.

“Aizawa, Kayama,” Snipe greeted with a nod of his head, “howdy.” It was rare for Shouta to see his coworkers outside of their costumes, in fact, Snipe and Thirteen were almost always dressed in their full hero-gear, mask and all, no matter where they went. Seeing them in civilian clothes would just be another thing he’d have to get used to.

Snipe offered them a gentle smile. His locks were tied up to keep his hair out of his face and wore a loose tank-top that showed off half sleeve tattoos that patterned his dark skin. After grunting his own greeting, Shouta forced himself to look into his empty coffee mug instead of openly staring at his coworker.

Now that he thought about it, Shouta had never once seen Snipe out of costume before and if it wasn’t for the fact that he had worked with the man for years he probably wouldn’t have recognized him. And the only reason he knew what Thirteen looked like was due to visiting her at the hospital post USJ.

Weird, he decided, very pointedly ignoring the slight heat in his cheeks, all of this was weird.

The next to enter was Cementoss who needed two sets of robots to carry his things. Eying the boxes on the moving pallets, Shouta realized that most of them were labeled ‘books’. It was fitting, seeing as he was a literature teacher.

Shouta almost missed Power Loader entering the building, the support course hero quietly slipping in and making his way to the elevator with only a single bag under his arm. Understandable, as he practically lived in his workshop anyway. Shouta doubted he'd see him much in the dorms.

Thirteen came in soon after, and like snipe, she was out of her hero costume. She wore a baggy ‘NASA’ sweater but Shouta could still see the bandages peeking out from underneath the fabric. This time, it was Shouta who approached her.

“Thirteen,” he acknowledged with a slight bow, “how are you holding up?”

Her Saturn-like eyes shined and a smile graced her lips. “Aizawa! I’m doing much better, thank you. I still need to take it easy for a few more weeks, but otherwise, I’m okay. What about you? How are you doing?”

He shrugged, “No lasting damage, other than an ache in my elbow, but ultimately I’m fine.” Shouta paused, studying her for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay, Thirteen.” Both her smile and her eyes softened.

“You too.”

Thirteen gave him a salute before heading towards the elevators, followed by a Nemuri who offered to help her unpack.

Ectoplasm, also out of his costume, waved to Shouta as he came in. Shouta gestured to the boxes that were on the pallet behind him then tilted his head in an unspoken question. Ectoplasm nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Aizawa,” he said.

Silently, Shouta followed behind his coworker to the elevator. They got off on the second floor and he let Ectoplasm lead him to the door of his dorm.

After his colleague had lost both his legs in a villain attack a few years prior, Shouta became the one he most often went to if he needed help or accommodations, if only because Shouta was the only one that didn’t make a fuss of his injuries or treat him like glass. He knew Ectoplasm was a formidable hero that didn’t need to be pitied, but he was also willing to offer a hand if his coworker was ever in need of assistance. It wasn’t that Ectoplasm was more incapable now, but his injuries were recent enough that he still suffered from chronic pain, and Shouta wouldn’t be surprised if he, too, would be in a similar position soon enough thanks to his disintegrated elbow.

Shouta helped Ectoplasm unpack for the better part of an hour, making small talk about upcoming lesson plans as they went along. He was one of the few coworkers that didn’t drain Shouta of his social battery, as they were both fairly quiet and introverted.

Well, unless Ectoplasm was drunk. Then he was loud and constantly begging to sing at a karaoke bar. But to each their own, he supposed.

After helping Ectoplasm settle in, he decided to pop over next door and check in on Izuku and Hizashi. He knocked once to not startle Izuku before entering the room and shutting the door behind him.

Izuku was sitting on the floor, an electric keyboard on his lap and a sheet of music in front of him. Hizashi was leaned over, one hand gently guiding Izuku’s over the keys as he explained which key made which note. Izuku’s lower lip was pushed out and his brows were furrowed in concentration.

The whole dorm situation was strange, and living with his coworkers in a communal space wasn’t the most appealing scenario. But as he watched his kid and his best friend hunched over on the floor, their heads bowed together as they excitedly talked about music, Shouta couldn’t help the content feeling that flooded his core, all summer-evening-warmth and honey-sweet.

If Shouta could keep this moment, where his students were safe, his friends were safe, his kid was safe, forever frozen in time, then he would.

Finally realizing he was there, Izuku looked up from the electric keyboard with a small smile, just a twitch of his lips, really. But it was leagues better than how the kid looked earlier that morning.

“You decided to settle with the keyboard then?” Shouta asked.

Izuku shook his head. “No, I still want to learn the piano, but until the grand piano gets- gets set up in the common room I’m using the keyboard to learn the basics,” he explained.

“And holy crap is this kid a quick learner,” Hizashi said, leaning back on his hands. “He’s soaking up everything I teach him like a sponge!”

Izuku ducked his head with a blush. “You’re- you’re just a good teacher, is all,” he mumbled.

Hizashi laughed, a light and airy sound that made Shouta’s heart stutter beneath his ribs. It wasn’t the first time Hizashi’s laugh echoed around in his chest like music of its own, but Shouta had never willingly acknowledged the feeling and he refused to start now.

He cleared his throat, “Right, well, I just wanted to check-in. Almost everyone’s here, and once Nezu arrives we’ll start the meeting.”

Izuku sat up a little straighter and gave him a hesitant look. “Um, for the meeting, do I…”

“No, kid, you don’t have to be there. I’ll set you up back in our room instead.”

“Oh, okay.” Izuku looked down at his hands as he played with his fingers. Shouta could tell there were a million thoughts racing around in that head of his, but he didn’t push it. Not yet, anyway.

Shouta was back downstairs, drinking another cup of coffee as he scrolled through the emails on his phone. The rest of his students would be arriving tomorrow morning to move into their own dorms and, as he requested, the parents of some of his students emailed him about any allergies or accommodations he would need to be made aware of.

Kaminari, for example, had medication he took for his ADHD. Recovery Girl was already made aware, but it was now Shouta’s job to pick up his monthly prescription from the pharmacy.

Iida, Yaoyorozu, Sato, and Kirishima all had specialized diets. Lunch was covered by Lunch Rush, but their dorms needed to be stocked with food for their other meals. Iida needed orange juice, Yaoyorozu and Sato needed to always have high-calorie snacks on hand, and Kirishima was primarily a carnivore due to his teeth and quirk, although he did take specialized vitamin tablets to ensure he still received proper nutrients meat couldn’t provide.

Uraraka’s mother had emailed him too, delicately explaining her worries that her daughter may have a negative eating habit where she forgets to eat more than once a day. Shouta marked the email and set a reminder to speak with both Recovery Girl and Hound Dog about it later. Whether her worries were unfounded or not, he wouldn’t take any chances.

Shouta sighed, resting his head in his hand, propping himself up on the kitchen counter with his good elbow. A newfound weight draped over his shoulders, leaving him bone-tired. His responsibilities as a homeroom teacher, while they had always aligned with that of an on-campus guardian, had suddenly increased tenfold. Not only was he now responsible for his students’ health and wellbeing during school hours, but they were now his charges seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day sans breaks and holidays.

On top of that, he still needed to give his time and attention to Izuku.

His thoughts were cut off when the doors to the building swung open again, this time revealing Hound Dog. When their eyes met, Inui offered a nod of greeting and made his way over.

“Afternoon, Aizawa.”

“Good afternoon, Inui,” he replied, taking another sip of his coffee. The hound hero stepped around him and started to brew his own cup of coffee.

“How has Midoriya been? I know we didn’t end yesterday on the best of terms,” he said.

Shouta stared at his mug, watching the steam rise from the hot liquid and curl in intricate patterns, a gentle dance in the air before it disappeared. “Better. For the moment, at least. Although yesterday and this morning weren’t as pleasant.”

“Oh? Do explain,” Inui urged.

“Well, after leaving Nezu’s office he was quiet. Subdued compared to his previous behavior and more clingy than I’d ever seen him. Wouldn’t leave my side the entire evening.”

Inui nodded knowingly, “Yes, that makes sense. From what you told me, Nezu’s threat of the possibility of separation must have spooked him quite a bit. It seems to be a pattern, really. Every time Midoriya creates some semblance of stability for himself, something happens that causes him to be ripped away from it. It’s hard to get your footing when your environment keeps shifting.”

Shouta set down his coffee and rubbed at his eyes. “I can see what you mean. I just hope that, now that we’re moved in and with a recovery plan in place, he won't feel so paranoid about being ‘sent away’.”

“That is one of our ultimate goals, yes. In order to properly recover, he needs a solid foundation to build on, and I have no doubts that we can offer that to him. And, with time, he’ll come to realize that he’s no longer alone, that he’ll have more than just one pillar of support to keep him steady.”

Shouta hummed in agreement.

“And what about this morning? You mentioned he was feeling a bit off earlier?” Inui inquired, taking a drink from his own coffee.

“Yeah, Izuku got overwhelmed at some point and broke down. Not his usual volatile fits but just, I don’t know, it was like he couldn’t hold himself together anymore.”

Inui sighed softly, “I can’t even begin to imagine how exhausted that poor pup is, so it’s no surprise he eventually fell apart.”

“He ended up falling asleep for a bit, and afterward he didn’t seem as upset. It helped that Hizashi has been distracting him for the past several hours.”

“So they get along well, then?”

He shrugged. “Well enough. Hizashi promised to teach him how to play an instrument and so far Izuku has been pretty content with it. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so at ease.”

“That’s good, then,” Inui said with a smile, “Yamada has always been fantastic with children.”

“He grew up in a house full of younger siblings and he used to babysit for extra cash, he’s probably got the most experience dealing with kids out of all of us-”

Shouta was cut off by the dorm doors slamming open and a loud, grating voice filling the air. “Ah! Young Aizawa, Hound Dog! Good afternoon!”

All Might.

Shouta had a brief, albeit intense urge to throw his coffee mug at the skeletal number one hero.

But it would be a waste of perfectly good coffee.

All Might, or to be called Yagi in his smaller form, walked up to them with a bright smile. Shouta instantly recalled the way Izuku’s eyes glossed over in fear when he asked about All Might, and it made a heavy, uncomfortable weight settle in his stomach as if he had swallowed a stone.

“Good afternoon, Yagi,” Inui greeted. “How are you feeling today?”

Yagi rubbed the back of his neck, his smile flickering into something more nervous. “Ah, I’m doing well, but a tad curious as to who the new resident is. Nezu never gave me a specific name in the email. Usually, he’s very cautious with my, erm, predicament, so I trust his judgment, but admittedly, not knowing who else is aware has me feeling slightly anxious.”

Inui scratched at his muzzle. “Yes, I can see how that would make you nervous, but do not fret. Your secret will still be in good hands.”

Yagi blinked in surprise, “Then you know who it is?”

“I do. But before you ask, you’ll find out soon enough. The staff meeting Nezu has arranged is set to begin soon anyway.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Speaking of which,” Shouta started, standing up fully to place his now drained mug into the sink, “I should get everything situated on my end before Nezu gets here.”

Inui nodded. “Of course. Let me know if you need my assistance.”

“Thanks.”

Lazily waving a hand, he left Yagi and Inui and stepped back towards the elevator, eager to check in on Izuku again. He would need to get Izuku downstairs and back into their room without anyone noticing. Thankfully, everyone else was up in their respected rooms, unpacking, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

Not bothering to knock this time, Shouta entered Hizashi’s room and was slightly surprised to see Nemuri there as well. Nemuri and Hizashi were sitting on the floor across from Izuku who held his chin in his hand, muttering under his breath at a frighting speed. It was similar to when he and Izuku would watch hero fights on television, the boy dissecting quirks and analyzing physical combat like he was born for it.

Shouta caught Hizashi’s eye and raised a brow. His friend simply flashed him a smile in return before focusing back on Izuku who finally lifted his head and began to quickly ramble, words strung together as he spoke.

“Your quirk relies on the bass and pitch of your voice which is something you seem to have good control over, but have you ever thought to play with extreme ends of the spectrum? Take pitch, for example, could you produce a sound wave that only certain people could hear, like a dog whistle? Or, since sound is just another form of energy, do you think you’d be able to produce heat waves strong enough to be weaponized? What about echolocation, like bats? Can you produce strong enough sound waves that you can either hear or even feel the way they bounce off your immediate environment?”

Hizashi nodded along as Izuku rattled off questions a mile a minute. Once the kid finished his word dump, Hizashi tried his best to answer Izuku’s questions, although most of his answers boiled down to “I don’t know, but I’ll definitely give it a try!”

Nemuri chuckled fondly, “You’ve got quite the head on your shoulders. I bet you could give Nezu a run for his money when it comes to analyzing quirks.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “N-no way! My analysis really isn’t that good, it’s just a hobby.”

“A very good hobby to have as a future hero,” Shouta said, finally making his presence known. A light pink blush dusted the tips of Izuku’s ears. “C’mon kid, the staff meeting is going to start soon so we should get you settled in the dorm room.”

“Oh, right.” Izuku suddenly looked like he had been deflated as he stood up and shuffled his way over to him. With quick goodbyes from Hizashi and Nemuri, Shouta led Izuku back downstairs, across the thankfully empty common room, and to their dorm.

Shouta wasn't looking forward to the meeting. The idea of having to explain how he found Izuku for the second time that day made his stomach turn. He already had to relive the scene enough times in his nightmares, nightmares where he wasn't fast enough, where he found a cold, stiff body on the floor of a run-down apartment.

He placed an unsteady hand on Izuku's shoulder as they walked and he relished in the way his kid leaned into the touch.

It was okay. They were okay. Izuku was alive and Shouta would fight god himself to keep it that way.

Chapter Text

The light air from earlier had become dense, forming a heavy cloud above them both. Shouta wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, but more so, he hated the idea of leaving Izuku in the room by himself.

The door would be cracked open and he knew there was nothing dangerous in the room that Izuku could use to immediately hurt himself with, but the possibility was still there. If Izuku was determined enough, he could find a way, and that thought scared him.

Once they made it to their dorm room, Izuku curled up on one end of the couch, his oversized hoodie swamping his tiny body.

“Kid?” Shouta moved in front of him, kneeling down to be at eye level with Izuku, and placed his hands on Izuku’s shoulders. “How are you holding up?” he asked gently.

Izuku shrugged and kept his eyes averted.

The kid had been doing so well today, other than his small breakdown earlier that morning. He had gotten along with Hizashi and Nemuri, and had spent most of the late morning and afternoon with a clear shine in his eyes. It wasn’t until Shouta had mentioned the start of the meeting that he deflated, wilting like a drooping flower. He wasn’t surprised but it was still disheartening to see the kid so upset.

Shouta bit back a sigh, “Is this about the meeting?”

“They’re all gonna know,” Izuku whispered, his voice already cracking. “They’re all gonna know how pathetic I am.”

“You aren’t pathetic, Izuku, and no one is going to think that.”

“You don’t know that! All of the other teachers are gonna take pity on me or they’re going to hate me! I’m just going to be a burden,” he cried, tears welling in his eyes, the reflection of the lights dancing against forest green.

Shouta hated this. He hated how scared and hurt his kid looked. It was such a stark contrast from earlier. He wished desperately that he could make Izuku believe him, believe that he wasn’t and never would be a burden.

“Tell me,” he began, keeping his tone quiet, “did Hizashi or Nemuri treat you with pity today? Did they think you were pathetic or a burden?”

Slowly, Izuku shook his head, “No?”

“No. They didn’t. Because there is no reason to pity you. And there is nothing about you that’s pathetic,” he assured. “Listen, I understand that this isn’t what you wanted. I understand it’s unfair and that you’re being very vulnerable with a group of people who are practically strangers to you.” Izuku brought up a sleeved hand to rub the tears from his eyes, and the sight of it made Shouta’s heart crack, thin spider-web lines that felt sharp and painful. “I know I haven’t done anything to deserve it, but, please, Bunny, I ask that you trust me.” The nickname once again fell from his lips easily, so natural that it was only the surprised look on Izuku’s face that made him realize what he had said. “Trust me,” he pleaded again, “No matter what, I will always be in your corner.”

Izuku sniffled, tears slipping freely from the corners of his eyes. “O-okay,” he murmured.

Shouta let out a small exhale of relief. He expected a bigger fight than that, but Izuku was more than likely just as tired from the day as he was.

“Thank you.” Moving his hands from Izuku’s shoulder, he cupped the boy's freckled cheeks, thumbs swiping away stray tears. “The meeting won’t be long, but if for any reason at all, you don’t want to be alone, then call me. You have my number on your phone. I don’t care if it’s because you’re having a panic attack or you just want company, I’ll be here at a moment’s notice. Alright?”

Izuku nodded, leaning into his touch with the motion.

“Good.” Shouta stood up, ignoring the ache in his stiff muscles from the day of unpacking, not only his dorm room but Nemuri’s and Ectoplasm’s as well. “Is there anything I can set you up with before I leave?”

Izuku cleared his throat before responding, “No, I’m ‘m- just gonna read I think,” he replied, his voice still thick with unshed tears. “I’m fine.”

It took a fair amount of willpower to walk out of his dorm room, leaving Izuku by himself. And not only was he alone, but he was already in a fragile state of mind. The kid looked seconds away from falling apart again and the fact that Shouta had to leave him like that made him feel sick to his stomach. It didn’t matter that Izuku insisted he would be okay because Shouta knew it was a lie.

Shouta sighed, deep and weary. He would be quick. All he had to do was vaguely explain Izuku’s situation and then leave the rest to Nezu and Hound Dog. Ten minutes, he would just need ten minutes and then he would hide back in his room and watch another documentary with Izuku. The next one on their list was about Alaskan sled dogs.

He made his way to the common room where the meeting would be held, the dining tables placed together to form a squared ‘U’ shape, and he wasn’t at all surprised by the questioning glances he got from the coworkers who noticed him leave his room. He hadn’t told anyone other than Nem and Zashi that he’d be staying on the first floor so the fact that he had supposedly emerged from a large, unmarked room was bound to be confusing.

Nezu was already there, sitting at the head of the middle table. Hound Dog sat at his left and a spot was open for Shouta to sit at his right. The rest of the staff were already seated, some with cups of coffee or tea in their hand.

As soon as he sat, Nezu cleared his throat to gather their attention. The soft chattering that filled the air instantly quieted and all eyes were set on him, Nezu, and Inui.

“Good afternoon, my esteemed staff! Thank you for taking time out of your already busy day for this little meeting. I’m sure you’re all very eager to finish moving into your new dorm rooms so we’ll make this as quick as possible.”

“Hold on,” Vlad interrupted Nezu. A bold choice, really. “What about the new person? You said we’d have someone not on staff that would be living here too, right?”

Nezu smiled, sharp and playful. “Why yes, I did. However, the nature of this meeting actually has to do with said individual and it would be rather uncomfortable for them, I imagine, if they were to be present during our conversation.” Vlad looked only more confused but elected to say nothing else. “Now, I will let Aizawa take over from this point, as he has the most information and what he is willing to share on the matter is up to his discretion.”

Nezu waved his paw in his direction and Shouta took it as his signal to begin his speech.

“As you’re all aware, the attack on USJ was an unexpected and terrible event. An attack on our school, on our students, for no other reason than the fact that the Symbol of Peace has a bounty on his head-” Shouta saw Yagi nervously duck his head out of the corner of his eye. Good. “-never should have happened. But it did, and there’s nothing we can do but move forward and keep our students safe to the best of our ability. That being said, one of the consequences of the attack brought some troubling information to our attention regarding one of my students.

“After an unsuccessful attempt at contacting his guardian, Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa and Nezu decided to look deeper into his student file and learned a large amount of troubling information. Namely, class 1-A’s Midoriya Izuku has been dealing with a severe level of neglect from his father who had taken over his custody after his mother died, roughly two years ago.”

Shouta watched as his colleagues took in the information. Thirteen looked shocked, covering her hand with her mouth, while Vlad King and Snipe looked absolutely livid. Hizashi and Nemuri, as he expected, looked solemn.

“But that is, unfortunately, only the beginning of Midoriya’s problems. In regards to his situation of neglect, as it turned out, his father essentially abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself in a rundown studio apartment in the worst parts of Musutafu. He was sent barely enough money for food which has caused him to become malnourished and only contacted him through email when necessary. Midoriya Hisashi has been living in America and hasn’t stepped foot in Japan since the death of Midoriya’s mother,” he continued dryly.

“What?!” Snipe stood up, hands slamming against the table. “You’re tellin’ me that a young teen was left to raise himself with nothin’ but some food allowance? What about school? How did none of his teachers notice?”

Nezu held up a paw to silence the growing murmurs and Snipe’s obvious rage. “Please, let Aizawa continue.” Snipe slowly sank in his seat, but Shouta could tell he was still fuming, and it was then that he remembered why Snipe had always been one of his favorite coworkers.

He killed someone once. A pedophile that was targeting disgustingly young children. Snipe caught him mid-attempt at taking a kid, a knife held to the child’s throat, so he shot the fucker in the chest and never apologized, even after the media tried to drag his name through the mud.

It wasn’t like Shouta didn’t have his own body count. Most seasoned pros had been forced into life or death situations where they had to choose between the life of an innocent civilian or the life of a violent villain. It wasn’t ideal, of course, as pro heroes were only meant to capture and subdue villains before handing them to the police, but it did happen.

Regardless, at the end of the day, Shouta knew how Snipe felt about child abusers, and he knew he could trust the Western-themed hero with Izuku’s life.

“Right,” he sighed, “to clarify, Midoriya was set up in an online school to avoid suspicion and he was manipulated by his father to never reach out for help. The fact that quirkless discrimination is still prevalent in our society only made it easier to persuade Midoriya into keeping quiet about his home life.

“Another point of concern is his age which was falsified on his application and student file. He isn’t fourteen like we thought. He’s twelve, to turn thirteen this summer.”

At this, nearly every one of his colleagues startled in their seats, talking over one another.

“Twelve?” Vlad repeated, looking almost horrified, “We let a twelve-year-old take the entrance exam?!”

“A twelve-year-old got first place in the entrance exam?” Cementoss exclaimed.

“Well, damn, who the hell would have seen that coming?” Snipe’s expression was a mix between concerned and impressed.

“He could have gotten terribly injured!” Yagi shouted, anger and panic radiating off of him in waves, “Or killed!”

Shouta flinched at Yagi’s words, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Ectoplasm, who had always been one of the more perceptive heroes.

“That’s not all, I’m assuming,” Ectoplasm asked, his question hushing everyone else.

“No,” Shouta answered quietly, not trusting his voice to grow any louder because he knew it would crack if he tried to speak around the forming lump in his throat. All eyes trained on him and it felt as if he were performing a balancing act, trying to hold himself together in front of his coworkers while they all looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain, for the second time that day, that he had found his kid seconds away from ending his own life.

Taking a deep, wavering breath and ignoring the glances of concern thrown his way by his colleagues, Shouta continued. “A few of you might have already started to put the pieces together, but, Midoriya is who Nezu spoke about in the email. Midoriya will be staying here, in the staff dorms, under my close supervision because-” his lungs faltered in his chest, causing his words to catch in his throat. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, to collect his thoughts, to line them up, so that his next words didn’t break him. “Because, when I was sent to his address to conduct a home check, I caught him trying to kill himself.”

It was silent as Shouta’s words lingered in the air as if they were storm clouds brewing overhead. And then, like a clap of thunder, his coworkers reacted with exclamations of horror.

“Oh god,” Thirteen cried, her eyes impossibly wide as the information sunk in.

Power Loader shook his head, “Jesus christ…”

Vlad winced, "Fuck."

Snipe was quiet, he looked like he was going to be sick.

Hound Dog stood up suddenly, reigning the attention back to the front table, and Shouta was more than willing to let Inui take over for a moment.

“I am aware that this is an unsettling turn of events, but please, allow me to explain further, and then we will inform you all on where we plan to go from here,” he said gruffly. “To summarize, yes, Midoriya Izuku is a twelve-year-old child who has faced not only recent neglect but, from what we have gathered, likely lifelong abuse and neglect as well. This has stunted his growth physically and emotionally and has caused him quite a bit of distress.

“Now, I want to emphasize that Midoriya is no less capable as a hero student. He is young, he is traumatized, but he is strong and extremely intelligent. Let us not forget the fact that he came in first place in the entrance exam and that he saved many lives at the USJ. With time and support, he will heal from these wounds and will no doubt lead a successful life as a hero.”

“Hold on,” Yagi sputtered, “you can’t possibly be suggesting he stay in the hero course, can you? He shouldn’t even be at U.A. at all! Why have him stay here, why not send him-”

“Don’t-” Shouta cut him off, his quirk active as he sent a heated glare at the number one hero, “-finish that sentence, Yagi,” he hissed. “He is staying here because I have taken emergency custody over him, because he’s familiar with me, and because giving a quirkless, suicidal child to the foster system would only be a death sentence or a severe case of discrimination at best.”

Shouta felt rage burning under his skin as he stared down the deflated All Might. But white, furry paw settled itself on top of Shouta’s hand, a silent warning from Nezu, he knew, to calm down. Shouta turned off his quirk and closed his eyes, recollecting himself.

“You haven’t heard the rest of our plans yet, Yagi,” Nezu said smoothly. “Yes, our intentions are to keep Midoriya in class 1-A. Not only does he need unwavering support in his journey to recovery but he needs a sense of normalcy and a goal to strive for. If we were to pull him out of the hero course, it could have devastating consequences for his mental health. Besides, he has already graduated middle school and has proven to all of us, time and time again, that he is far more capable than most would assume.

“He is an intelligent, determined, and caring young man. What are we, if not teachers, whose purpose is to raise the next generation, to prepare them for a future where we cannot follow? What are we, if not heroes, who save anyone in need of help? Because when I look at Midoriya, I see a young boy who has been failed by society, failed by the adults in his life. Failed by heroes.

“So as teachers, I ask you to aid in raising this child as you would any other student. And as heroes, I ask you to save him, even if it means saving him from himself. After all, sometimes, the worst villains we will ever face are the ones inside our own minds, and no one, especially a child, should have to enter that fight alone.”

The room grew silent once more as everyone digested Nezu’s speech. Yagi, too, remained quiet, even though Shouta could tell he still did not agree with the rat’s words.

Once ample time was given for the staff to process the situation, Nezu continued.

“As for how we will proceed moving forward. His circumstance and age have both been taken into consideration as I reworked his remaining years under U.A.’s academic institution. For one, until he is fourteen, he will not be participating in occasions such as internships, work studies, or provisional licensing exams.

“He will only be fifteen by the time 1-A graduates, and, in that case, we will allow him to graduate alongside his classmates academically, but he will only be receiving a provisional license for hero work. Then, for at least another two years, perhaps three, he will remain at U.A. as an intern, working alongside staff. Once we feel he is ready, only then will he be allowed to take the hero licensing exam to become a full-fledged pro hero.”

“So, what you’re saying is he’ll basically be a student for six years instead of three?” Nemuri asked.

Nezu nodded, “Precisely. Not only will he be at a major advantage by the time he reaches adulthood, with three more years of experience than most his age, it will also give him the time to heal from his trauma and declined mental health at his own pace.”

“Our goal is for him to have a family here at U.A., a network of support he can fall back on as he grows and recovers,” Inui added. “Aizawa will be his main guardian, yes, but we hope that all of you are willing to pitch in and provide a welcoming and stable environment.”

“Well, shit, of course we will,” Snipe instantly chimed in. “Like Nezu said, we’re heroes and we’re teachers. Our whole job is to protect and raise the next generation. If we can’t even help out one boy, then what are we?”

“Not to mention he was in the middle of the USJ incident,” Thirteen pointed out solemnly, “so the poor kid really hasn’t had a chance to catch a break, has he?”

Vlad chuckled, “Maybe so, but he’s a little spitfire, that’s for sure. The way he climbed the zero-pointer without hesitation to save a fellow examinee is proof of that. Still a stupid idea, but we can’t deny the heroism.”

“I have no objections,” Ectoplasm said, and next to him, Cementoss nodded.

“Actually, the fact that he’ll be spending more years at U.A. will probably let him flesh out his entire education, even outside of heroics,” Power Loader mentioned. “It’ll give him time to learn a few things from the other departments, like business and support.”

Shouta let out a deep exhale, apprehension pouring out of his lungs and replaced by soothing relief as his coworkers voiced their support. Hizashi offered him a smile, and Nemuri winked.

If he was being honest, this was a far better reception to Izuku’s circumstance than he imagined.

But his relief was interrupted by Vlad King’s inability to keep his damn mouth shut when it came to provoking Shouta.

“Now hold on, is no one going to question the fact that Eraser here is volunteering to practically raise a child?” Vlad protested. “The same man that lives off of coffee and has expelled more students than every teacher combined?”

Shouta wasn’t discreet about the ‘uncivilized’ gesture he shot towards Vlad.

Inui shook his head, looking slightly annoyed with their antics, “There are other reasons that Aizawa is taking custody over Midoriya other than the fact the Midoriya is his student.”

Vlad snorted, “Like what?”

“Such as the fact that they have already started to build a bond of trust over the past week,” the hound hero explained.

Vlad crossed his arms over his chest. “Surely that can’t be the only reason. Not to say Eraser is incapable, but, I guess I’m just surprised you were willing to take him in, to possibly commit years into this. We all know how much you value peace and quiet.”

Shouta wanted to spit out a retort at the blood-hero, but even he couldn’t deny the truth of his statement. Shouta did value his time, and never once had he shown any personal interest in wanting to take care of a child outside of his two jobs.

But Izuku was different. The entire circumstance was so much more than just finding out about his student’s troubling home life and lack of mental stability.

Moth, Izuku, his kid, had managed to worm his way into Shouta’s heart, fully and completely, without any warning. He had managed to tear down his walls and soften his usual apathetic demeanor. And Shouta would be damned if he didn’t do whatever he could to keep Izuku alive and healthy, because no other adult in his life thus far had even attempted.

Shouta pulled his hair tie out, his black, wavy hair framing his face in a single motion. Nemuri had liked to tease him about trying to hide behind his long hair, and, well, perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“You’re right, Vlad,” Shouta started, “This must seem out of character, but, there is more to this situation than any of you know.”

Power Loader leaned forward on the table. “What do you mean?” he asked, not unkindly.

Running a hand through his hair and then shoving the hair tie in his pocket, Shouta gave himself a brief moment to mull over his thoughts.

“Well, for one, Midoriya and I have somewhat of a history. As in, him being my student is not our first encounter, and-” he sighed and rubbed at his dry eyes, “and last week wasn’t the first time I had caught him trying to commit suicide.” His words were blunt, observational at best, but it wasn’t because he felt nothing when remembering that night on the roof. It was because if Shouta let himself feel anything other than numb, he would break apart.

He was so goddamn tired.

“Wait,” Thirteen looked at him with eyes full of absolute heartbreak. She always did have a soft spot for kids. “What do you mean that wasn’t the first time?”

“And if you caught him trying before, if you knew him from before, then why haven’t you said anything on the first day of classes? Are you saying you knew a twelve-year-old suicidal child had taken the entrance exam?” Cementoss questioned, almost accusingly.

Shouta sighed, “No. Because I didn’t know him as Midoriya before. I had never even seen his face. He wore a dark blue hoodie and a cloth mask, and it was dark out so I couldn’t make out the details.” Yagi visibly stiffened as he spoke and Shouta stole a suspicious glance at the number one hero. He hadn’t said a word since Nezu shut him down, but there was something undecipherable in his expression.

“The short of it is,” he continued, “A few months back, I found him on a rooftop. If I had hesitated for even a second, I wouldn’t have caught him in time.”

“But you did catch him?” Snipe asked. “But what about afterword? I know you, Aizawa, and I know you wouldn’t just leave a hurting kid by himself after that.”

He nodded, slowly, his head feeling especially heavy as if it were full of lead. “I managed to get him down from the roof, but, on our way to the station, he managed to escape. Myself and the local police scoured the area for days until- fuck,” he sighed, “until I found what looked to be a suicide note. No one had heard from him or seen him after that, and we assumed the worst.” The last of his words were hushed, barely audible if it weren't for his coworkers listening with quiet, rapt attention. “So, no, I didn’t connect the dots between the kid I had met and Midoriya until after I found him last week.”

A lapse of silence fell over the room, thick and heavy.

Eventually, Inui cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. “So, now that you all know the gist of the situation, I will quickly go over what you can expect in regards to Midoriya’s behavior. I would like to preface this by assuring you that he is a kind and hard-working pup. Most of you have already had him in one of your classes already, so you may already be aware that he’s a tad shy in nature but intelligent nonetheless.

“However, his life has been uprooted rather dramatically. His vulnerabilities are more visible than they have ever been, like an open and agitated wound. So it is no surprise that he holds a tense and guarded nature. More so, there will be times, especially at the beginning of his recovery process, that he will have emotional outbursts or even lash out. This is to be expected given his past and recent traumas.

“And as I mentioned earlier, his emotional growth is fairly stunted. So while he may try and prove his maturity and independence, at the end of the day, he is still a hurt and neglected child that was forced to raise himself. This means that he went without the basic emotional needs that every kid should receive in order to properly develop— needs that are often provided by a main caregiver.”

“So,” Power Loader tilted his head slightly, “what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he’s a child and we should expect him to act like one,” Shouta responded simply.

Inui nodded, “Exactly. Now, it would be too much to go over all at once, but I will send you each an email detailing Midoriya’s recovery plan, suicide watch, daily schedule, and a list of his known and possible triggers. If any of you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to find me, Nezu, or Aizawa.

“And just for those of you curious, the unmarked room on the building’s map is Aizawa’s. It’s larger than the other rooms because he will be sharing his space with Midoriya, and it is on the bottom floor because they have quirk-enforced windows to replace a balcony.”

“Thank you all for your cooperation and your future commitment to helping this boy,” Nezu said with a bow. “He will go on to do great things, of that I am certain, but until then, let us all do our part in ensuring his wellbeing and happiness.”

With a wave of his paw, the meeting was over and they were dismissed. His colleagues quietly talked among themselves as they began to leave, but from the words that Shouta could catch, none of it was negative.

He was quick to leave too, wanting to get to Izuku as fast as possible, worried because the meeting had gone on for much longer than he had expected. He didn’t receive any calls or texts from the kid, but in this case, no news didn’t always mean good news.

Shouta barely made it a foot away from the tables, however, when a large hand came down on his shoulder, catching his attention.

“I apologize, young Aizawa, but do you have a minute?” Yagi asked in a hushed tone.

Shouta swiped the man’s hand away and gave him a scrutinizing look. “That depends, is it important? I have somewhere I need to be.”

“I would say it is important, yes.”

He sighed, annoyed, “Fine. Make it quick.”

Yagi nodded, clearly a bit apprehensive as he began to rub the back of his neck. “I just wanted to voice my concerns about young Midoriya’s continuation in the hero course. I understand why you would want to keep him close, to have him stay here in the staff dorms, but surely he doesn’t belong in 1-A. Being a hero is very dangerous for someone like him.”

Shouta stared blankly at the withered hero who had the sheer audacity to try and argue against Izuku’s well-deserved place within his class, apparently having ignored every word that had been said at the meeting.

“Excuse me?” he said, slowly, as if Yagi’s words were simply too idiotic to process. Though, it made sense seeing as it was an idiot that had spoken them.

“Please, pardon my bluntness, but, other than the fact that he’s not mentally stable, his quirklessness would be debilitating as a hero. He would only be a burden to other heroes around him while on the field,” Yagi said in a tone of certainty.

Shouta froze. It wasn’t the obvious quirkism that caught his attention. It wasn’t the way Yagi dismissed Izuku’s accomplishments, seeing his quirklessness as a disability— although, even it was, the way he said it was full of disdain, as if there weren’t already hundreds of successful disabled heroes.

No.

What caused Shouta’s world to come to a standstill was the last sentence that spewed out of Yagi’s mouth:

“He would only be a burden to other heroes around him while on the field.”

Shouta was suddenly yanked back into a memory of a windy night on top of a roof, a crying child in his arms. A child who was only seconds from becoming a stain on the pavement below.

The boy clutched Shouta’s shirt even tighter. His eyes were squeezed closed like he was trying to stop more tears from falling. It was a futile attempt, pearly beads of grief still swelled at the corners of his lashes.

“I…He- he told me-” Moth’s breath hitched painfully as he tried to get the words out. “He told me I couldn’t-” The boy let out a desperate whimper and moved to press his palms to his eyes.

“Couldn’t what?” Shouta prompted, one hand still holding Moth tightly while the other continued to rub soothing circles between Moth’s prominent shoulder blades.

“I asked him. I asked him if I- if I could be a hero,” Moth shook his head like he was trying to dispel whatever awful image that was stuck in his mind. “He told me I couldn’t. He said that I was only a burden.”

The still-stinging memory left his thoughts just as quickly as it came to him, replaced by lava-hot anger that bubbled beneath his skin.

All Might.

Earlier that morning, one of the things that had set Izuku off was All Might’s presence in the dorms, and when Shouta tried pressing him for details, a look of fear had reflected in his watery eyes.

Slowly, with movements akin to a predator stalking its prey, Shouta stepped towards Yagi. The Symbol of Stupidity didn’t seem to notice the mood shift, nor did he even seem to register the look of pure, unadulterated rage that Shouta didn’t bother to keep hidden behind his usual mask of stoicism.

“Tell me, Yagi,” Shouta growled, low and deep, “have you spoken with Midoriya before U.A.?”

The number one buffoon blinked, “Uh, I don’t believe so. At least, not as he is currently. Although, I do recall meeting a young quirkless boy a few months back that fit your description— you know, the hoodie and face mask and all that,” he responded, finally having the decency to look uneasy.

Shouta further lessened the gap between them with another step forward.

“And what exactly did you say to him?” he asked, venom dripping from his tongue. He could feel the telltale signs of his quirk activation buzzing at his core. Loose strands of his hair lifting slowly. For all intents and purposes, he felt like a snake ready to strike.

“I- I don’t see how that matters, Aiza-”

“Answer the question, Yagi. What the fuck did you say to him?” Shouta demanded.

From the corner of his eye, Shouta noticed that his lingering coworkers had stopped in their tracks, watching the scene unfold with confused looks but bated breaths. It was rare for them to see Shouta angry; annoyed or frustrated, sure, but angry? Only a few had witnessed his rage, but none of them had seen him as he was in that moment— absolutely livid.

Yagi finally shuffled back, only then noticing how close Shouta had gotten. “Well, he asked me a question and I gave him an answer. But my time limit was running out and I had to go-”

“I know this is hard for you, seeing as your brain is the size of a marble, but I need you to be more specific. What. Did. You. Say?” For every step that Yagi took backward, Shouta matched it with his own step forward.

Yagi lifted his hands, as if trying to placate Shouta, but it only served to piss him off even more. “It was after I saved him from a villain attack, some sludge monster that surely would have killed him if I hadn’t shown up in time. Afterward, he asked me if he could be a quirkless hero and I simply told him my opinion.”

Another wave of searing liquid rage coursed through Shouta’s blood. It took every bit of his willpower to keep both his quirk and his fists in check. “So you told him that he couldn’t be a hero? That he would only be a burden because he was quirkless?”

Yagi smiled sheepishly, “Well, yes-”

A resounding crack echoed throughout the dorm building as Shouta’s fist met Yagi’s face before the older hero had a chance to finish his sentence.

The force of the punch sent Yagi stumbling, and he would have been able to catch himself if it weren’t for Shouta sweeping at his ankles with a swift kick, causing Yagi to lose his balance and fall backward like a tree cut from its base.

But the older hero never met the ground, as Shouta caught him by the collar of his button-up shirt and held him suspended. His quirk was now fully flaring as he stared down the now floundering man, his nose crooked and covered in blood.

“Aizawa! What the hell is the meaning of this?” Yagi gaped at him, trying and failing to get free from his grasp.

Each word that came from Yagi’s mouth felt grating to Shouta’s ears and it did nothing to dampen the flames of ire that burned in his chest. “Shut the fuck up!” Shouta barked. He distantly heard some of his colleagues gasp behind him, and he only barely registered Nemuri slipping away towards the direction of his room. But his main focus was on the sniveling pathetic excuse for a hero that was pinned beneath his quirk-activated glare.

“Do you have any idea how much weight your words hold? Do you have any fucking clue how crushed Izuku was?!” Shouta snarled.

Yagi sputtered weakly, “Please, young Aizawa, I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Oh? Then let me spell it out for you— the day you met Izuku, the day you told him that he couldn’t be a hero because he’s quirkless, the day you called him a burden was the same day I found him jumping from a fucking roof, you goddamn fucking idiot!”

This time, the gasps from his coworkers were louder, but still, none of them made any attempts to step in.

Good.

Because he wasn’t done.

“I had spent a whole year trying to gain his trust, trying to help him, and in one fucking encounter you ruined everything! Every ounce of trust he may have had in any adult was shattered to pieces because you decided to open your giant, fucking mouth with your quirkist bullshit!” Shouta yanked Yagi upward until their faces were only inches apart. “Do you have any idea how close I was to losing him?! I- fuck-” his voice cracked, all sharp edges like pieces of a broken mirror. He knew that if it weren’t for his activated quirk, tears would be pooling in his eyes, stinging and hot like the anger at his core.

For once, he was thankful for his chronic dry eye, but he could only hold onto his quirk for so long.

Shouta blinked, his hair falling back around his face.

“I thought I lost him,” he croaked, his voice raw from yelling, something he wasn’t used to. “I thought I fucking lost him, Yagi.” Shouta looked up, his dark eyes meeting acidic blue irises that stared up at him with fear. “If I was even a second too late he would have died, and that blood would have been on your hands.”

The air around them was tense, as if everyone were holding their breath. And maybe they were because never had they seen Shouta lose his emotional control like that. He wasn’t proud of it, but at that moment his only thoughts were on Izuku and how devastated the boy looked that night on the rooftop. How defeated he was, as if the words from the Symbol of Peace could only be interpreted as the truth.

No wonder Izuku had refused to tell him which hero had caused him such anguish, because it was the number one hero himself that crushed his dreams into nothing but dust.

Yagi began to squirm under his hold once more, blood pouring from his nose, dribbling down his lip, and spilling in warm droplets onto Shouta’s hand as he tightened his hold on the man's shirt collar. His fist clenched tight enough that he could hear the strain of the fabric.

"Please, Aizawa," Yagi pleaded, "I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I beg you to cease this needless violence!"

Oh.

Oh, this fucker.

The temperature of the room plummeted as Shouta leaned in close, his once angry expression morphing into a feral grin that split across his face, all sharp teeth that promised no mercy.

“Then beg.”

Before the withered hero could further react, Shouta slammed him into the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Yagi coughed, blood from his mouth joining the sluggish blood still dripping from his nose and onto his lip.

“Listen, Yagi, and listen well. You will stay away from Midoriya. You will not look at him and you will not speak with him unless I tell you to,” Shouta seethed, his fists trembling at his side. “And when he is ready, and only then, will you apologize to him, and I expect you to be groveling on your fucking knees, pleading for his forgiveness that he has no obligation to give.” Shouta stepped forward and he took smug satisfaction at the way Yagi flinched. “And if you ever hurt my kid again, your nose won’t be the only thing I break,” he promised.

The room grew silent once more, and in those moments of quiet, Yagi, in all of his stupidity, seemed to have regained some of his courage. He shakily righted himself before throwing a pleading glance towards Nezu who had watched the whole event with a calculating look.

“Sir, you can’t possibly mean for him to get away with this, can you?” Yagi sputtered.

Nezu’s beady eyes narrowed. “Get away with what?”

Yagi glanced around the room, trying to catch the eyes of any of the other staff members, but he only received looks of disgust in return. Even Hound Dog made it clear that he had no intentions of offering him any pity.

“He- Aizawa attacked me!”

“Did he?” Nezu tilted his head, “I didn’t witness any such action. In fact, all I saw was a pro hero protecting the emotional and physical wellbeing of a child under his charge.”

Yagi’s mouth opened and closed, like stupid-looking fish attempting to turn air into water.

Nezu hummed, “I advise you see Recovery Girl for that nose of yours, Yagi, and when you are finished I would like to speak with you in my office.” Without another word, Nezu turned on his heel and walked out of the building.

Yagi tried one last time to garner any sympathy from his coworkers but to no avail. Instead, they walked around him on their way to their respective dorms, some shooting nasty glances at the withered hero as they passed.

Shouta didn’t know when Yagi had finally left the dorms, he didn’t know how much time had passed as he stood there, catching his breath and begging his heart to slow down before it beat a hole into his chest.

“Shou?”

The sudden voice startled him back into awareness. Hizashi was in front of him, one hand outstretched as if wanting to touch him but hesitant all the same.

“Sorry,” Shouta muttered, “Shit- I didn’t mean-”

“Hey, no, don’t apologize,” Hizashi interjected, his voice feather-soft. “I had no idea that All Might was- I mean,” he sighed, “how could he say that to Izuku? How could he look that precious baby right in his eyes and tell him he was a burden? It’s no wonder you’re angry. Especially since-”

Shouta shook his head, “Don’t.”

“Right. Ah, anyway, just take a breather, yeah? Nemuri slipped off to check in on Izuku a while ago. He’s okay, according to her text, just a bit shaken up from the yelling.”

“Fuck.” He pressed his palms into his stinging eyes. “I need to go see him.”

Hizashi nodded, a gentle smile on his lips, “Yeah, of course.” The voice hero finally set his hand on Shouta’s shoulder as he led him to his room. A warm, tingling sensation bloomed at the point of contact and Shouta let himself get lost in it, if only to move his thoughts away from the still-sparking anger that crackled beneath his ribs.

“Eraser,” Vlad King called from behind him. Shouta looked behind his shoulder, a brow raised as a silent gesture for the man to continue, but he kept most of his body facing away as a sign to the blood-hero that he didn’t plan to stick around for long. “Er, I just wanted to let you know that I- we, I mean, the staff, don’t agree with All Might’s opinion. I don’t know the full story but, please, know that we’re on your side.”

“Thanks,” Shouta murmured. But before he could fully turn away, Vlad spoke once more. “And, uh, tell Midoriya that we’re in his corner too.”

This time, Shouta did fully turn around, meeting Vlad’s gaze. “Thank you,” he said, his voice more steady. “I’ll let him know.”

Vlad bowed his head then left Shouta and Hizashi alone in the hall.

Hizashi turned to him with a bright grin, “See? Other than All Might, I knew Midoriya would have the full support of the staff! Even Mr. Big-and-Bad Vlad has taken a liking to him!”

Shouta huffed, “Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s go check on the kiddo,” Hizashi said cheerily, guiding Shouta through the rest of the hall, his hand still placed firmly on his shoulder. And Shouta did not lean into his touch, but even if he did, there was no way to prove it.

Izuku was still curled up in the corner of the couch, Nemuri sitting next to him with her hand on his knee. They both looked up as he and Hizashi entered. It was clear from his red-rimmed eyes and the dried tear tracks that trailed down his cheeks that Izuku had been crying. Something sharp and jagged twisted in Shouta’s gut at the thought.

He was about to ask Izuku if he was alright, if something had happened while he was at the meeting, but before he could even open his mouth, Izuku sat up straight and looked him over with an open expression of concern.

“Aizawa-sensei, are you okay? I heard yelling,” he asked, worry etched in his face, and, god, what did he do to deserve this kid? He had been the one to leave Izuku alone, he had been the one yelling which probably scared the kid, yet it was Izuku who looked at him with worry dancing in his green and yellow-speckled eyes.

Shouta didn’t hesitate to reach over and ruffle Izuku’s curls. “Yeah, kid, I’m alright.”

Izuku’s brows furrowed, “Um, what were you yelling about, anyway?”

Shouta paused then turned to Hizashi and Nemuri with a pointed look. Getting the hint, the two of them waved and slipped out the door, closing it behind them.

He sighed and took the vacant spot on the couch, sitting slightly sideways so that he could properly face the kid. Izuku gathered the blanket that was resting in his lap, tugging it tightly around his shoulders, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but not hard enough to be concerning.

“Listen, kiddo, I think we need to talk about what All Might said to you a few months back,” Shouta began bluntly.

Izuku startled, his body going rigid and his eyes widening. “You- he told you?” he breathed, fear lacing his shaky words.

“More or less, yeah.”

The kid’s shoulders dropped and the expression on his face could only have been described as crestfallen. “And you agree with him, don’t you?”

“What?” Shouta leaned forward, dipping his head so he could catch Izuku’s eyes. “No, of course not. Izuku, do you remember what I told you that night on the rooftop? I said that you’re overflowing with potential, kid, and if you wanted to, there’s nothing stopping you from being a hero, quirk or no quirk.”

Izuku glanced up, his eyes peeking out from beneath his bangs. “Really?”

Shouta nodded firmly, “Really. I said it once and I’ll say it again; a quirk is nothing more than a tool in your arsenal. It does not define you. But your determination? Your heart? Those are the things that matter,” he said gently, his words hushed and low.

Izuku finally looked at him fully, his lashes dotted with beads of unshed tears but there was a twitch at the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” he sniffled, before his eyes suddenly flicked downward, and a gasp tore from his throat. “Sensei! Your hand! Are you okay?!”

Shouta blinked in surprise and then looked at his hand— the same hand he had broken All Might’s nose with, dotted with specks of blood with a faint splotch of purple around his knuckles.

Oh. Oops.

“Ah, it’s okay, the blood isn’t mine,” he assured.

Izuku titled his head, “That- that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Shouta chuckled, “Well, I did promise you that I’d break the nose of anyone that gave you problems.”

The kid narrowed his eyes, “Break the nose of— Oh my god, did you punch All Might!?” Shouta smirked, watching in amusement as Izuku floundered and stuttered in shock. “But- but he’s All Might! He’s the number one hero!”

“He’s the number one idiot if he thinks he can underestimate you and get away with it,” Shouta replied with a shrug. “But, seriously kid, you shouldn’t have any problems with him from here on out, and if he does try to approach you when I’m not around, I need you to tell me immediately, got it?”

“Uhh,” Izuku looked at him owlishly, “Yeah, got it.”

“Good,” he said, ruffling the kid’s hair again before standing up. “I know it’s still pretty early, but why don’t you change into pajamas or something and I’ll put on that sled dog documentary for us to watch?”

Izuku nodded, his eyes once again filling with light. He hopped off the couch and shuffled into his room with the blanket still draped around his shoulders, leaving Shouta alone with a chance to catch his rapid thoughts.

God, he was exhausted.

He could feel the toll of the day weighing him down under bone-crushing pressure.

He gave himself a few more seconds to just breathe before pushing himself off the couch and making his way towards his bed. One thing that he and Izuku had gotten into the habit of doing was nesting themselves under Shouta’s comforter whenever they watched documentaries on the couch. Izuku, he knew, found security in being buried under blankets, and after the day they had, he would pile on as many blankets as the kid wanted.

Reaching to grab the crumpled blanket, something on the bed caught his eye and he paused.

His heart immediately dropped into the pit of his stomach as he stared at the plastic box-cutter that was laying inconspicuously on top of his sheets.

No.

No, no, the box-cutter was supposed to be in his pocket!

But sure enough, when he dug his hand into the pocket of his pants he felt nothing but fabric.

Shit.

Izuku had been alone in the room for half an hour.

Half an hour, by himself, with full access to a fucking box-cutter of all things.

Shouta snatched the tool from his bed and raised the blade, looking closely at the metal razor for any signs of blood. He couldn’t see any evidence that it had been used against skin, but the tip of the blade was small so he couldn’t be sure.

Anxiety buzzed in his veins and his hands felt clammy as he walked into his closet and attempted to unlock the gun safe that was tucked into the back corner where he stored all his weapons, sharp objects, and medication. Perhaps it was a bit much to use a gun safe to keep Izuku away from anything that could harm him, but he was nothing if not cautious.

It took him longer than he’d like to fumble with the lock and open the safe, tossing the box-cutter in before closing it shut and spinning the lock.

By the time he left the closet, sliding the door shut behind him, Izuku was exiting his room, now dressed in a long-sleeve sleep shirt and sweatpants.

“Kid,” he called out before he could even begin to think of how to handle the situation.

Izuku looked his way, throwing him a questioning glance.

Shouta’s tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He tried to keep his panic under control, so he took stock of what he knew.

He knew that Izuku was alive and breathing and he didn’t look overly upset, either.

But he also knew that his highly suicidal kid with years of self-harm issues was left alone in a room with a razor.

He needed to know if Izuku had used it to hurt himself, but he couldn’t just ask him, not without causing the boy stress which none of them needed any more of today.

Shit.

Okay.

Shouta exhaled slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral and his voice to keep steady.

“It’s been a couple of days since I last checked on how your cuts were healing,” he said cautiously, noting the way Izuku stiffened. “I just want to see how they’re doing.”

Izuku shrugged, “They’re fine,” he muttered.

Shouta had to stop himself from biting the inside of his cheek in nervous frustration. He needed to remain unfazed and nonaccusatory. “That’s good, but I’d still like to take a look at them myself. Just a quick assessment, alright? Then we can pile on the couch and watch TV.”

The kid’s shoulders slumped and his eyes dropped to the floor, but he nodded, and Shouta had to bite back a sigh of relief at the kid’s cooperation.

With hesitant steps, Izuku walked up to Shouta and lifted up his sleeves, even going past his elbows where the hero could see even more scars lining his pale skin. With soft movements, Shouta grabbed Izuku gently by the wrists and twisted his arms until he looked over every inch.

Oh, thank fuck.

At the sight of unmarred skin aside from the already healing cuts, relief washed over Shouta so intensely that he had to remind himself to breathe.

Izuku must not have even noticed the box-cutter, which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t all that impossible. It was nearly buried in his bedding and from the looks of it, Izuku had never even left the couch during the entire time he was alone.

“Good,” he said tightly, releasing Izuku’s arms so the kid could roll down his sleeves. If Izuku noticed the strain in his voice, he said nothing. “So, uh, the sled dog documentary, right?”

“Yeah!” Izuku replied, no longer looking as tense. His kid rounded the couch and curled into his usual position in the corner of it, his knees tucked into his chest. Shouta followed soon after, his heart no longer floating in the confines of his stomach. He grabbed the blanket from off his bed and draped it over Izuku before settling into the couch himself, the remote to the television in hand.

With a sigh, Shouta let himself melt into the cushions, only half watching a team of huskies traversing through the snow with some monotone narrator talking in the background.

Ending the day felt like finishing a marathon, for both him and Izuku. So really, it was no surprise when they both ended up falling asleep on the couch, tucked under their shared blanket and illuminated by the soft glow of the television.

Chapter Text

Anxiety curdled in the pit of Hitoshi’s stomach making him feel almost queasy as he stood within the shadow of the Heights Alliance dorm building. The rest of his classmates were clustered around the walkway, chatting in low whispers about what had happened at the USJ and speculating about what the inside of the dorms would look like.

Hitoshi stood alone near the back of the group, his hands fidgeting with the strings of his purple cat-themed hoodie. When Nezu had first visited him and his moms to explain U.A.’s plan of implementing dorms as an extra safety precaution for its students, Hitoshi had been apprehensive but excited. While he wasn’t a fan of living with a bunch of people that he’d only known for all of one week, he was looking forward to spending more time on campus because that meant more opportunities to train.

He had only barely managed to get enough points to enter the hero course in the first place, and he had come in last during the quirk apprehension test. He was so far behind the rest of his peers that the burn of shame kept him awake at night.

Well, no, his insomnia kept him awake, but the humiliation of being the weakest in the class didn’t help.

Regardless, he was relieved when his moms finally agreed to let him move into the dorms on the condition that he comes home most weekends. His adoption was in the last stages of being finalized and his moms complained that they didn’t plan on adopting him only to never see him again. He wanted to roll his eyes at their dramatic display of protectiveness but he couldn’t dismiss how happy he felt at finally having parents that actually loved him and weren’t embarrassed to show it. He had been living with them for over five years at that point but every once in a while, it still caught him off guard when they actively showed how much they cared.

Other than the extra training and resources provided by U.A., Hitoshi had also been looking forward to hanging out with Izuku outside of class. Making friends was never the easiest for him, having a villain’s quirk and all, so Izuku popping into his life as if he had been there for years was honestly a nice surprise. The tiny green-haired teen seemed to fit with him scarily well, as if they were both cut from the same cloth. Their humor, obvious sleeping issues, lack of a combative quirk, and their love of cats were only a handful of the things they had in common.

But there was another similarity that they shared, one that had concerned Hitoshi from the very first time they met. Izuku reminded him all too much of how Hitoshi used to be before his moms came into his life; skittish, anxious, exhausted, and overly apologetic as if Izuku believed he was at fault for anything that goes wrong.

Perhaps it was that reflection that stared back at him whenever he looked into pools of emerald green that drew him in, or maybe it was the momentary air of self-confidence that Izuku had radiated during the entrance exam that made Hitoshi approach Izuku on the first day of class. Whatever it was, Izuku was the closest thing he had to a friend, to a brother, in a very long time.

So of course he was disappointed when Izuku had texted him a few days prior informing him that he would not be living in Heights Alliance with the rest of 1-A. When Hitoshi had tried to press for an explanation, Izuku remained frustratingly vague on the matter, simply stating that his guardians had decided against it.

And at those words, Hitoshi’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. The equivocal excuse about his guardians not letting him move onto campus—Hitoshi wasn’t stupid, he didn’t miss the fact that Izuku said ‘guardians’ instead of ‘parents’—and the already achingly familiar way Izuku acted around adults only cemented the idea that wherever Izuku was living, he wasn’t safe.

Hitoshi was pulled from his thoughts at the sight of his homeroom teacher making his way to the front of the class. Despite the fact that Aizawa was only a handful of inches taller than him, he still managed to loom over them all with an aura of authority.

All at once, the class turned their attention to their tired teacher, some not so subtly eying the new scar high on his right cheekbone, proof of his lack of hesitance in protecting them against hundreds of villains.

And just as the students of 1-A were observing their teacher, it seemed that Aizawa was accessing them all as well; his eyes flicking to each student, scanning them as if searching for something. Apparently satisfied that everyone was intact, he sighed and began to speak.

“Morning,” Aizawa greeted dryly. “Before I go over the dorms, I wanted to briefly touch on what had occurred during our trip to the USJ.” Hitoshi sensed a ripple of unease spread throughout the class at his words. “I would like to apologize, to each and every one of you. When you are here, at U.A., you should feel at ease and protected, yet you were all thrown into a dangerous invasion within your first week.

“While the attack on USJ never should have happened, I must express that I am pleased with how you handled yourselves. You held your own just as good as any pro, you worked together in a high-stress situation and you came out the other side stronger for it. However, U.A. and myself have no intentions of this happening again, which is why we are strengthening our security and doing what we can to keep you all safe. You may have acted as heroes during the attack, but you are still students and it is not yet your time to be facing these situations just yet.”

Aizawa glanced at the dorm building behind him then looked back at the class.

“Which is why Principal Nezu has decided to implement a dormitory system as a means to prevents future tragedies like the USJ incident. There will also be rules in place that we will go over in detail once you finish unpacking. Rules such as; respecting curfew, asking for permission to leave campus and having at least one teacher escort you, never wandering campus after dark, etcetera. For now though,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to the dorms, “head inside and I’ll explain the setup so you all know where everything is. Your things we had you send in yesterday have already been placed in your rooms.”

A small cheer erupted from his class, excited exclamations, and nervous glances. But before any of them even moved to head inside, a concerned voice carried across the chatter.

“Um, excuse me, Aizawa-sensei? Where’s Midoriya?” It was Uraraka who had asked. Suddenly, the class quieted once more, curious to know the answer. Even the explosive Chihuahua listened closely, waiting for their teacher’s reply.

Aizawa sighed again, “Midoriya was not given permission to live in the student dorms yet, but you’ll see him in class tomorrow,” he said, and Hitoshi noticed a strange lilt in his voice. He briefly wondered how Aizawa felt about Izuku’s inability to live in the dorms. His teacher seemed almost wary when he answered, but he couldn’t tell for certain. Did that mean Aizawa also suspected that something was wrong with Izuku’s home life? Nezu did make sure to see everyone’s parents personally and surely if something was off, the principal would do something about it. Right?

Hitoshi momentarily considered talking to his teacher, but instantly discarded the idea. He didn’t want to go behind Izuku’s back like that, at least, not unless he knew for sure what the situation was. Still, he silently vowed to keep a close eye on his friend from then on.

Aizawa’s explanation was apparently enough to satisfy the class’s curiosity, although a few of his peers looked a bit downhearted about it, Uraraka and Kaminari in particular. What surprised Hitoshi the most, though, was Bakugou’s reaction, the blond teen’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

As he followed his classmates into the large building, Hitoshi let out a deep exhale, already exhausted at the prospect of what the day would bring.

He wondered what Izuku was doing right now. It was fairly early in the morning— would he still be sleeping? Or would he be miserable, forced to stay with his ‘guardians’. Regardless, he just hoped his friend was okay.

-----

Hizashi had Izuku help him make lunch for the few teachers still in the staff dorms. Not that there were many, seeing as most of them had their own homeroom classes to deal with as their students were moved into the dorms. Even All Might was absent due to Nezu requiring him to take mandatory sensitivity training on the weekends.

At the moment, it was just himself, Izuku, Ectoplasm, and Thirteen. Thirteen still had some unpacking to do, a majority of her time was spent placing glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling in a close replica of the milky way. Meanwhile, Ectoplasm was seated in the courtyard reading a book.

So for now, it was only him and Izuku in the kitchen prepping a basic meal of rice, cooked salmon, and vegetable stir fry.

Thankfully, Izuku seemed much less upset now than he did earlier in the morning after Shouta had left. It wasn’t Shouta leaving that was the issue, at least not entirely. What Izuku had been more dismayed by was the fact that his classmates would be moving into the student dorms while he was stuck here with the staff.

Hizashi could sympathize with the poor kid. He knew he would have been just as upset if he were in Izuku’s place. So after Shouta had left to go wrangle the rest of his class, Hizashi did what he could to distract Izuku from his negative mood.

They spent the first half of the morning going back over sheet music. He quizzed Izuku on what he had learned and wasn’t surprised when the kid didn’t forget a single note. Hizashi swore that he’d have Izuku mastering at least six instruments by the time he graduated.

Now, though, he and Izuku were bustling around the kitchen, idle chatter filling the air as they moved around each other. Every once in a while, he would throw in an English word mid-sentence to see if he could catch Izuku off guard, but not once did he seem even fazed by the sudden language change.

Hizashi smiled to himself. That kid was definitely going to be one hell of a hero when he grew up, because who needed a quirk when Izuku’s brain was practically a weapon of its own?

“Hey, kiddo?” Hizashi called over his shoulder as he swept the chopped-up vegetables into a heated pan.

Izuku looked up from where he was scooping the rice into bowls. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could reach up into the cabinet right there and pull out the mirin? I’m thinking a garlic soy mirin sauce would go well with the salmon.”

“Sure,” Izuku said, setting down the rice scooper. He made his way to Hizashi’s right and hopped up onto the counter, standing on his knees so he could properly reach the middle shelf. Hizashi had to hold back a snort at the hilarious reminder of how short Izuku was, only barely managing to reach the bottle of mirin.

But the moment of humor fell away quickly when he noticed Izuku’s sweater riding up slightly past his lower stomach as he stretched his arms to reach the shelf. From what little he could see in the brief instant that Izuku’s sweater wasn’t fully covering his skin, a strip of gauze had been plastered onto the side of his abdomen, rust-colored stains blotched in a few places.

He hadn’t even realized the he had let his smile slip until Izuku peeked out from behind the cabinet door, holding the bottle of mirin out for Hizashi to take.

Quickly schooling his expression, the hero shot Izuku a beaming grin and a thumbs up, “Thank listener!”

Izuku nodded then climbed off of the countertop, returning to his station by the rice cooker.

Hizashi turned back to the pan where the onions and mushrooms had already begun to soften as they cooked. He let his smile drop again as he pondered about what to do.

He wasn’t going to say anything to Izuku, of course, he had no intentions of singling him out, but he couldn’t help but be worried about what kind of injury it was and if Shouta was already aware of it. By the looks of the dried blood-stains that had leaked through the gauze, it had to be at least twelve hours old, if not more, and Izuku wasn’t acting like he was in pain at all either, so he doubted it was life-threatening.

Still, what kind of trusted baby-sitter would he be if he didn’t at least check with Shouta about the injury.

With the decision made to talk with Shouta later tonight after he finished helping 1-A move into their dorms, Hizashi placed the worry out of his mind and refocused on the task at hand: making lunch.

“I’m done with the rice,” Izuku noted.

Hizashi turned around with a smile, the pan of cooked vegetables held carefully in one hand. “Great! The salmon should be just about done too, and once I whip up the sauce, we’ll feast!”

-----

Lunch was an interesting affair. Thirteen and Ectoplasm had come to the common area to join them and Izuku was constantly distracted by the fact that he was eating lunch with the Present Mic, Ectoplasm, and Thirteen. Despite the circumstances, the hero fanboy in him had been vibrating with awe for the entire meal.

Thirteen, he learned, was especially kind. She was never bothered by any of his questions, whether they be about her quirk or astronomy in general. She even promised to take him stargazing sometime with her telescope!

Ectoplasm was a tad more quiet, only chiming into the conversation once the mathematical side of astrophysics was mentioned, which then started a whole discussion about the math used to send astronauts to the moon.

But no matter how fascinating it was to hear the heroes talk about their quirks and passions, Izuku couldn’t completely distract himself from the knowledge that his classmates were currently moving into the student dorms together.

Without him.

It didn’t help that his anxiety had already been heightened by Aizawa’s absence. It was the longest they had ever been apart since the underground hero found out that he was Moth. Izuku hadn’t realized just how dependent he was on Aizawa’s presence, the sense of security and familiarity wrapping around him like a thick blanket whenever they were together. He wasn’t sure when he had begun to see Aizawa as an anchor, maybe it was when he was Moth or maybe it was only within the past week, but being in the staff dorms without him felt too strange, like he was at risk of floating away.

Although, All Might having been sent away from the dorms for the day had soothed his nerves somewhat. Still, between the rest of 1-A all moving in together and Aizawa out of reach, Izuku felt antsy.

Izuku had to hide his relief when he saw Aizawa again, masking his emotions with an air of indifference.

He and Hizashi were cleaning up the kitchen by the time Aizawa came back to the staff dorms. The underground hero looked impossibly more disheveled than usual, as if he hadn’t slept in a week and had long since run out of coffee.

“Your classmates will be the end of me,” he complained as he toed off his boots at the front entrance.

Izuku scoffed, “Yeah, I can see it now— pro hero Eraserhead, defeated by a group of nineteen teenagers.” Next to him, Hizashi snorted, earning him an icy glare from the exhausted hero.

“Don’t exclude yourself,” Aizawa said pointedly, “you stress me out the most.” Izuku rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like he chose to be legally kidnapped by the hero, so really, it was Aizawa’s own fault. “But anyway, the little demons already broke furniture within the first hour-”

“What?” Hizashi interrupted with a laugh, “How?”

Aizawa sighed, “Bakugou shoved a quirk-hardened Kirishima into a chair and it broke.” Aizawa shuffled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, dumping more sugar into it than should be legal. “Then Kaminari somehow blew out a fuse by trying to charge his phone, Ashido already melted a section of the rug in the common area with her acid, and then Todoroki ended up catching the microwave on fire.”

“How did Todoroki set a microwave on fire?”

“God only knows,” Aizawa mumbled over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Hey, um,” Izuku hesitated, and both adults turned their attention towards him. He didn’t meet their gaze, keeping his focus on the dishes he was still washing in the sink. “How’s Hitoshi? And- and everyone else?”

Aizawa was quiet for a moment before he answered, “Shinsou is fine. He was one of the few that didn’t cause immediate property damage. The rest of the class is fine too.”

Izuku nodded, trying to keep the look of disappointment off his face. It wasn’t that he was disappointed about his classmates doing well, but it was a small fire of jealousy that burned in his stomach.

“That’s good,” he finally managed to say, swallowing down the bitter thoughts.

Aizawa hummed in response before chugging the contents of his mug as if it were water.

Hizashi chuckled and shook his heady fondly. “And how much coffee have you had today, Shou?” he asked, putting the last of the clean dishes that Izuku had washed into the cupboards.

“Not enough,” Aizawa grunted.

Izuku knew that dwelling on his jealousy wouldn’t do him any good, not right now, so he latched on to the adults’ conversation to distract himself.

“You’re gonna end up with a heart problem one of these days,” Hizashi lightly reprimanded.

Aizawa shrugged, “That sounds like a problem for my future self.”

“Shou! Seriously, you’re setting a bad example for Izuku!”

“It’s okay,” Izuku said as he dried his hands on a dishtowel, “I’ve always known that he likes coffee.”

Hizashi crossed his arms over his chest in a show of disapproval. “’Likes’ coffee? It’s basically pumping through his veins at this point.”

The underground hero scoffed, “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic,” Hizashi retorted dramatically.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow and then turned around and started brewing a fresh pot of coffee, ignoring the voice hero sputtering behind him.

Izuku watched as Aizawa poured the freshly made coffee into his mug. Other than the ungodly amount of sugar he had put into it, Izuku thought that it looked good. The scent, too, was comforting for some reason, like a safe cocoon of warmth.

It made him wonder what warm, fresh coffee tasted like. It smelled a bit better yet still sweet.

“Can I try some coffee?” He suddenly asked, eying the half-full pot.

Aizawa furrowed his brows, looking almost momentarily confused. “What? No, kid, I’m not letting you drink coffee. Besides, you don’t even like coffee. You spit it out the last time you tried it.”

“But that was the canned coffee! You don’t even like the canned coffee. I mean can- can I try, like, a normal cup of coffee?”

The underground hero leveled him with a heavy-lidded stare, like an unimpressed cat. “No.”

Izuku pouted— not that he would admit to ever doing so. “Why not?”

“Because you’re twelve, and it’ll stunt your growth,” Aizawa pointed out.

“My growth has already been stunted,” he muttered. But either the hero didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond.

Hizashi rounded the kitchen counter and ruffled Izuku’s hair. “Coffee tastes bad no matter how it’s prepared,” he said. “Now tea, that’s the good stuff. It tastes good and certain teas can have many health benefits.”

“But half of 1-A drinks coffee! Hitoshi practically lives off of it,” Izuku tried to argue.

“And after school hours I’m not the legal guardian of my students so I don’t have a say about what kind of garbage they put in their bodies,” Aizawa said dryly.

Hizashi smirked, “Actually, Shou, as 1-A’s homeroom teacher, you’re technically their legal guardian so long as your students remain on campus, and now that they live in the dorms…”

Aizawa paused and a look of abject horror flashed across his face, “Shit.”

Hizashi patted Aizawa on the shoulder sympathetically. “There, there, I’m sure your kids will be absolute angels while they live in the dorms.”

Aizawa sighed, long and heavy as if his ghost was trying to leave his body. “God, this is going to be a long three years.” He shook his head, like he could physically dismiss his worries, and then turned back to Izuku. “The point is, you are the only one officially under my charge in regards to more than just academics. So, no, I will not be encouraging a caffeine addiction before you even hit your teenage years. Besides,” his eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, “I’m especially not letting you have coffee before you take a nap.”

Izuku whirled around to look at the clock, glaring at it as if he could change the time with his mind.

It didn’t work.

He turned back to Aizawa and stared at him with his usual kitten-eyes, but unfortunately, it seemed that the man was far too tired from dealing with the rest of his classmates to fall for it.

“Sorry kid,” he said with a shrug, “but I let you skip it yesterday.”

“But-”

“You’re not gonna win this one.”

“What if-”

“Nope.”

He sighed, perhaps a bit too dramatically, but could anyone blame him? He was twelve, not six! Naps were for children.

Which is exactly what you are, his traitorous brain reminded him.

Izuku’s shoulder sagged, “Fine,” he mumbled and followed Aizawa back to their dorm room after one last hair ruffle from Hizashi.

Izuku dragged his feet as he was ushered into his part of the room by the hero. He plopped onto the bed with a huff, limbs spread out like a starfish as he glowered at the ceiling.

Aizawa was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and an unimpressed look on his face. “Kid, you need to actually get under the covers. Staring at the ceiling doesn’t count as sleeping.”

Izuku groaned, “But I’m not tired!”

“Are you actually not tired, or are you thinking about your classmates moving into the dorms?” Aizawa asked bluntly. Izuku stayed quiet, suddenly finding the ceiling much more interesting than the hero standing in his room. “Izuku.”

“Yes! I’m thinking about the rest of the class moving into the dorms— without me!” Izuku finally said, throwing his arms up in exasperation before he covered his face with his hands. “It’s not fair.”

Izuku felt his bed dip by his legs and when he peeked through his fingers he saw that Aizawa had perched at the edge.

“Izuku,” the hero exhaled, his voice suddenly soft, “I know it’s not fair. I know that you want to be with the rest of your classmates right now, and I’m sorry.” Aizawa slowly reached over and began to card a hand through his curls, and, starting to lose the fight between sleep and wakefulness, Izuku began to feel his eyelids grow heavy. His own body was betraying him. Rude.

“I feel so left behind,” Izuku managed to murmur, “Everyone will get to know each other and grow closer as- as a class and I’ll be left out.”

He heard Aizawa hum thoughtfully, the fingers that were lightly scratching at his scalp paused for a moment. “How about this,” the hero finally said, his hands once again gently untangling Izuku’s hair, “the only class on Saturdays is heroics. Afterward, we can stay at the student dorms for the rest of the day. I can grade papers in the common room and you can spend time with your classmates."

Izuku shifted a bit so he could properly look at Aizawa. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, “Sure. I honestly don’t trust your classmates enough to not burn down the dorms anyway, so it’s probably best if they have at least some supervision.”

“But,” Izuku furrowed his brows, “what would I tell them? I mean, about me only being in the student dorms when I’m with you? I- I don’t exactly want everyone to know about my situation.”

“I figured you wouldn’t, so we can just say that I plan to escort you home afterward, which is something myself and the other teachers are obligated to do with any student that wants to leave campus.”

“Oh.” Izuku worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He could feel his brain getting all fuzzy and distant again so it took him a moment to notice that Aizawa was tapping his chin to get him to stop biting his lip.

“Is there something else on your mind?” Aizawa asked, his tone whisper-soft.

“It’s just-” Izuku closed his eyes, “This all feels so stupid. The rest of the class is probably having fun burning the dorms down and I’m- I’m taking a nap.”

Aizawa chuckled, “I know. Although, if it makes you feel any better, I would much rather be taking a nap than teaching Todoroki how to use a microwave.”

Izuku cracked open his eyes to give the hero an incredulous look. “Did he really catch the microwave on fire?”

“You have no idea how much I wish I was joking,” Aizawa responded flatly. Izuku had to suppress a laugh at the look of sheer misery on Aizawa’s face. “Anyway, kid, just try and enjoy the quiet while you can. Classes start up tomorrow and things will no doubt get hectic.”

Izuku closed his eyes again, scrunching his nose slightly at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. So much had changed since he had last been in class and it felt like he was starting the first day of school all over again.

He had a slightly new schedule, a new relationship with all of his teachers, and the only person he’d talked to since the USJ was Hitoshi.

If he was being honest, he had absolutely no idea what to expect, no speculation as to how his new circumstances would affect him outside of the staff dorms.

But his thoughts were soon muddled by the pull of sleep. He didn’t know when Aizawa had started to play with his hair again, gently tugging on loose curls. He felt the hero run his thumb up and down the bridge of his nose and between his brows, and before any new stray thought could echo through his mind, Izuku had drifted to sleep.

-----

Shouta was tired.

That was nothing new, but dealing with nineteen energetic teenagers with superpowers and endless reckless abandon made him want to fall into a medically induced coma.

After he had gotten Izuku to fall asleep, Shouta begrudgingly made his way back to Heights Alliance, inwardly cringing at what destruction would be waiting for him there.

But when he arrived to find the dorms suspiciously quiet, a sense of panic spiked through him and he wasted no time darting up the stairs in hopes of finding his the kids in one piece.

They were, of course, fine. Apparently, the girls had decided to hold a dorm-wide room decorating competition which is why he found nearly all of class 1-A crammed into Shinsou’s room. The lavender-haired teen looked downright miserable as Uraraka and Ashido cooed over his collection of cat-themed decor.

Shinsou eventually got fed up with his things being ogled over and he shooed his classmates out of the door with an annoyed glare and muttered curses. Once the last of the herd trickled out through the door, Shouta used the opportunity to speak with the teen without too many curious ears around.

“Shinsou,” he greeted with a nod. “How are you feeling?”

Shinsou was straightening his bedsheets when he answered with a shrug and a half-hearted, “Fine.”

Shouta leaned against the doorframe with a sigh, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m glad to hear it. You sported some pretty nasty injuries at the USJ, so I just wanted to check in.”

The teen gave him a small smile. “I’m okay now, Sensei, but thank you,” he responded.

“Well, as pleased as I am to hear that you’re okay, I would like you to stop by Recovery Girl’s office tomorrow for one last physical exam before I allow you to participate in Tuesday’s heroics class,” Shouta instructed.

Shinsou raised an eyebrow, looking as if Shouta had just asked him to name all the prefectures in Japan in alphabetical order.

“Uhh…But I’m fine? I was discharged from the hospital like, a week ago.”

“Congratulations, but I still want confirmation from Recovery Girl.”

Shinsou nodded, slow and still looking confused. “Um, yes sir?”

“Good.” Satisfied, Shouta turned to leave, the move-in to-do list for his class still longer than he’d like it to be, but a mumbled question from the teen in the room stopped him.

“Have you heard from Izuku, sir?” Shinsou asked, almost shyly.

Shouta paused by the door. “I have,” he confirmed. “Why?”

“I just, you know, wanted to ask. I guess I’m just confused as to why his guardians didn’t want him staying here. And, um, I’m hoping he’s okay.”

Shouta didn’t miss the way Shinsou had stressed the word ‘guardians’, almost like the syllables were hot against his tongue, and he briefly wondered how much Shinsou knew about Izuku’s situation. He decided that it wasn’t his place to press for that information. Yet.

“I can confirm that Midoriya is fine. He may not be allowed to stay here in Heights Alliance but you’ll see him in class tomorrow,” Shouta said.

Shinsou didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded all the same. “Right. Thanks.”

The hero hesitated before leaving, a slight worry nagging at the back of his mind by the way Shinsou had worded his question and responses. Did the teen know something that Shouta didn’t? He recalled that it was Shinsou that had comforted Izuku after his panic attack during the media break-in, but what else did Shinsou know?

Shouta shook the thoughts away. Surely, Shinsou was just feeling protective of his friend, and if that was the case, then Shouta was glad that Izuku had someone closer to his age looking out for him.

A scream and an explosion coming from the common room jolted him back to the present and he immediately stomped downstairs to stop whatever chaos his class was up to now.

Jesus fucking Christ, these kids were going to make him go gray before he turned thirty-one.

Hizashi continued to text him the entire time he was away and he would forever be grateful to his friend for sending updates nearly every half an hour. A full day away from Izuku when the kid was still so unstable didn’t sit right with him. He hadn’t heard anything negative from Hizashi though, so he hoped that Izuku was being distracted well enough not to spiral.

Shouta didn’t get back to the staff dorms until well after dinner. He would have returned earlier if he didn’t have to nearly physically wrangle his class into eating dinner themselves. They were all too excited to take a break for ten minutes and he had to threaten them with stocking the kitchen full of only vegetables for a month if they didn’t sit the hell down and eat something.

He nudged open the door with his shoulder and took off his boots before trudging inside. Some of the other staff members were lounging in the common area and Nemuri was in the kitchen with Thirteen making tea.

Something else that he was thankful for was the fact that, despite now living together, his coworkers knew him well enough to not expect him to partake in social interactions more than he had to. So no one bothered to stop him as he wordlessly made his way to his room.

Hizashi was stationed at the small table with his laptop and Izuku was laying on the couch, his nose shoved into a book about quirk theory that was comically large in his hands.

“Hey, Shou!” Hizashi greeted, closing his laptop. Izuku, still not looking away from the book, lazily waved at him. Brat. “Are the kiddos all moved in?”

“As much as they can be.”

Hizashi laughed as he packed up his stuff into a small bag. “Well, Izuku and I had a blast while you were away. He helped me come up with some lesson plans for next semester. Did you know he’s nearly at a conversational level in English?”

Shouta shot Izuku a disbelieving look. “You are?”

Izuku peeked up from behind his book and shrugged, “I really like old American superheroes. And- and a lot of the content you can find online about them are only in English. I mean, I still suck at it, the grammar is hard, but I know some words.”

“Suck at it? Izuku, you know more than most second years,” Hizashi pointed out with a smile. Izuku shrugged again before diving back into his book. “Anywho, would you be able to pop into the kitchen real quick, Shouta? Vlad was complaining about not knowing how to use the coffee pot and I kinda promised you would show him.”

The use of his full name mixed with the lilt of concern in Hizashi’s voice caught his attention and a seed of dread planted in his stomach. He knew perfectly well that the coffee pot in the kitchen was the same one in the teacher's lounge and Vlad never had trouble working it before.

“Sure,” he said, keeping his tone flat. “I’ll be right back, kid,” he tossed over his shoulder, only getting a hum of acknowledgment in return.

The kitchen was empty now that Thirteen and Nem had cleared out and it was thankfully far enough away from the common room that, so long as they talked quietly, Snipe and Vlad wouldn’t hear them over the television currently blaring some history show.

“What’s going on?” Shouta asked as soon as they stepped behind the counter.

Hizashi was wringing his hands together nervously which didn’t at all help with Shouta’s growing anxiety.

“Ah, maybe it’s nothing, but I just noticed something earlier about Izuku that made me a bit concerned. And he’s not in any immediate danger or anything,” Hizashi quickly added on, “and maybe you already know about it but-”

“Spit it out, Hizashi,” Shouta snapped impatiently.

Hizashi dropped his hands with a sigh. “Well, when we were putting lunch together earlier, I saw his sweater ride up a bit and noticed some kind of bandage on his side— maybe a day old at most? Do you know if he got hurt recently or-”

Shouta’s heart jumped into his throat as the image of the box-cutter seared itself into his mind, taunting him.

God, he was such a fucking idiot. He only checked Izuku’s arms when he knew damn well that his medical file had said he had scars on his stomach and legs too.

“Fuck.” Shouta turned on his heel to rush out of the kitchen but a hand wrapping around his wrist stopped him.

“Wait, Shou, is he okay?” Hizashi looked almost panicked, his eyes wide behind his black-framed glasses. “Did he…Shit, Shouta, did he do that to himself, you think?”

Shouta clenched his jaw, the seed of dread had grown into a full bush of thorns at his core, shredding at his insides with every breath. “Probably,” he ground out before ripping away from Hizashi’s hold and all but running back to his room, ignoring the looks of confusion from Vlad and Snipe.

He had to stop himself from throwing open the door in his rush to check on Izuku, not wanting to freak the kid out. So, taking a steadying breath, he calmly pushed it open and shut it behind him with a ‘click’.

Izuku was still on the couch, still reading the book. The only sign that he acknowledged Shouta’s presence was the slightest flinch at his entrance. Great, so the kid was already on edge.

“Kid,” he called for his attention.

Izuku partially closed the book, keeping his thumb at the edge of the page he was reading so as not to lose his place. They stared at each other for a moment, time creeping by like molasses dripping from a spoon- thick and slow.

“Vlad-Sensei knows how to use the coffee pot, doesn’t he?” Izuku finally asked, his voice tight.

Sometimes Shouta forgot just how smart his kid truly was.

“He does,” he confirmed.

“So that wasn’t why Mic-Sensei asked to- to talk with you, was it?” Izuku’s use of Hizashi’s teacher title only added to the suspicion that Izuku was feeling guarded, but as much as he wanted to tread carefully, to talk around the subject gently, he just couldn’t.

He didn’t have the luxury to trust that Izuku would come to him on his own, not when he had caught the kid about to slice his own arms open barely a week ago. He couldn’t take that chance.

Shouta inhaled slowly, preparing himself for whatever angry outburst, screaming match, or breakdown was about to happen. He dreaded it, especially since he was already so worn from the day, but he would rather Izuku live long enough to hate and forgive him than to risk watching a small coffin being lowered into the ground.

“Do you remember,” Shouta began with all the caution of walking on splintering ice, “when I asked if you had ever hurt yourself anywhere other than your arms?”

Izuku stiffened.

There was no response.

“You told me you hadn’t and I decided not to push the matter. But what you may not have known, was that your medical file listed other areas where you have self-harmed in the past. Like your thighs,” Shouta sighed, “and your stomach.”

Izuku slowly sat up and Shouta could see his eyes start to water and his breathing growing uneven.

“I wasn’t upset with you then and I’m not upset with you now, but kid, I need you to be honest with me. Have you hurt yourself in the past week?”

Izuku shook his head rapidly and the tears that had begun to gather at the corners of his eyes were freely falling now.

“Izu-”

Izuku sprang up from the couch and started to back away as if he were a cornered animal, and for all intense and purposes, the poor boy almost looked like one.

“Kid, you’re not in trouble,” Shouta promised. “But if you’re hurt, I need to see it.”

The kid shook his head again, a choked sob bubbling from his throat as he wrapped his arms protectively around his middle.

“Izuku.”

Izuku dropped his head and curled in on himself as if willing the floor beneath him to open up and swallow him whole. Shouta took a few tentative steps forward and kept his hands visible. Either Izuku didn’t notice him move closer or he was too distressed to care, but Shouta eventually managed to get close.

“Izuku,” he tried again, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

“No,” Izuku cried and stumbled backward.

“I’ll be gentle, but I need to see-”

“No!” Izuku tried to shoulder his way past Shouta, but the hero was quicker. He managed to grab Izuku by his elbow, and when the kid attempted to bite him—yes, bite him—Shouta twisted the boy around until Izuku’s back was against Shouta’s stomach, grabbed both of his wrists in one hand and with the other, he snaked his arm across Izuku’s chest to hold him still.

Izuku thrashed against him, guttural sobs filling the air as he tried to break free. The kid was strong, and if Shouta was any normal civilian, Izuku could have easily escaped, but against a seasoned pro and as incoherent as he was, the kid had no chance.

He needed to get Izuku to calm down. He knew physically pinning the poor kid wasn’t helping any but it was better than him trying to hurt himself in his panic.

It was also the only way he could probably get a proper look at the wound Hizashi had pointed out.

Still holding Izuku’s wrists in one hand, he moved the kid’s arms and used his free hand to lift the hem of Izuku’s sweater, revealing a scar-marred abdomen and piece of gauze sloppily taped on his left side.

As gently as he could be with Izuku still crying and squirming in his grasp, he pulled back the gauze halfway and winced at the newest lines decorating his skin. Shit.

“Let me go!” Izuku yelled, doubling his efforts in his attempt to break away. He almost managed it too, but it would have been at the cost of falling forward onto the table and hurting himself.

Shouta gritted his teeth and slowly forced the kid down until they were both sat on the floor, Izuku sitting flush against his chest. Shouta held Izuku’s arms away, wrapped one arm around his middle— being careful to avoid his cuts, and pinned his flailing legs against the ground with his own.

The kid continued to fight him, twisting his arms, his legs, his torso— anything to break free, but Shouta was bigger and stronger, and he knew how to restrain someone.

While Izuku trashed, Shouta focused on keeping his own breathing even and tapping a matching breathing pattern against the kid’s collar bone. And while Izuku cried and screamed, Shouta spoke steady reassurances in a low tone; “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re alright, Izuku.”

It could have been seconds or even an hour, he wasn’t sure, but eventually, Izuku began to tire out. His movements grew sluggish and his screams petered off into pained keening. Shouta’s own heart ached at the sight of his kid in so much distress.

Finally, Izuku slumped against his chest, small hiccups of leftover wailing caused his breathing to stutter, and for a terrifying moment, Izuku wasn’t breathing at all. Shouta quickly gathered him fully onto his lap and shifted him until green curls were tucked beneath his chin. He held Izuku close and rocked them both ever so gently as he rubbed firm circles between his shoulder blades.

He sighed in relief when Izuku let out a shuttered breath and began to breathe again.

And they stayed there, Shouta rocking and humming some made-up song, until Izuku fully calmed; the once volatile preteen now nothing more than a small child whimpering in his hold. Green eyes were screwed shut and dusted freckles faded against flushed cheeks. Tear tracks were beginning to dry and Shouta could already make out the swelling around his eyes.

Shouta ignored the way his bones protested as he slowly stood up, the kid bundled safely in his arms. On half-numb legs, he stumbled his way into the bathroom and carefully lowered Izuku into a semi-sitting position on the countertop. With one arm securely wrapped around the kid to keep him steady, Shouta grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water.

He brought the damp cloth to Izuku’s face and gently cleaned his tear-stained cheeks, giving extra attention to his swelling eyes. Shouta didn’t doubt that they were burning from the amount of crying he did.

Shouta wet the cloth once more before draping it across Izuku’s closed eyes. He then maneuvered Izuku slightly so that he could get a better reach at the cuts on his side. It was hard to juggle keeping the kid steady against him while also fishing for the first-aid kit that was tucked in a drawer, but he managed.

With Izuku still fully leaning against him, Shouta lifted up the kid’s sweater and removed the old gauze, throwing it on the floor somewhere. Thankfully, the cuts didn’t seem to be deep enough to warrant anything more than butterfly stitches.

He grabbed a single pack of antiseptic wipes and ripped it open with this teeth, the strong smell of alcohol instantly hitting his nose. Shouta readied the butterfly bandages and a fresh pad of gauze before lightly pressing the antiseptic wipe against the agitated cuts.

Izuku flinched harshly against him, letting out a pained whimper and Shouta cringed in sympathy. “Shh, I know,” he murmured softly, “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

It took longer than it normally would, doing most of it one-handed, but Shouta eventually got the cuts cleaned, held together, and bandaged. He lowered Izuku’s sweater and elected to ignore the mess of the first-aid kit until later.

Just to be extra cautious, Shouta tugged at the waistband of Izuku’s pants and checked his thighs. To his immense relief, there were no new cuts.

“’M sorry,” he heard Izuku whisper.

“I’m not upset,” Shouta assured.

“It was there, ‘nd I’m sorry.”

Shouta removed the drying cloth from the boy’s face. “What was there?”

Izuku kept his eyes closed and he continued to lean against his chest. “The box-cutter. I- I used it during the ‘mm-meeting.”

Shouta felt his heart crack beneath his ribs. He already knew what the cuts were from but it hurt to hear it confirmed. It hurt to know that this was his fault.

“You did nothing wrong, bunny. It was my mistake for leaving it there where it could tempt you, especially when I left you alone when you were already upset.”

Izuku shook his head, “‘M still sorry.”

“It’s okay. And I’m proud of you, kid, for telling me what you used and when. Thank you.” Shouta carefully scooped the boy up and into his arms.

Izuku hummed something unintelligible and Shouta could tell that he was quickly losing the battle against sleep. In all honesty, Shouta wasn’t too far behind himself.

He began to carry Izuku towards his sectioned-off part of the room and then stopped. The thought of Izuku not being within immediate arms reach after everything that had just occurred caused a wave of anxiety to thrum in his veins. He looked down at the half-asleep boy, his face still flushed and red-rimmed eyes partially hidden beneath mussed curls.

He looked so small. Like the slightest gust of wind could break him apart and scatter his pieces.

Shouta had failed him again. He had failed this kid, a child who had already been failed enough in his short life. Shouta was the hero, he was the one that was supposed to keep him safe.

And if Izuku had decided to use the box-cutter to do more than just cut himself-

Shouta exhaled a wavering breath and he felt his own eyes sting.

No. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t keep replaying the what-ifs over and over, because Izuku didn’t. The kid was alive and breathing, held safely in his arms and he had no intentions of any of those things changing anytime soon.

Shouta turned away from the curtain that separated their spaces and walked to his own bed instead. It was plenty large enough for them to share.

He slowly, gently, lowered them both onto the soft mattress, Izuku placed between himself and the wall. With one hand still holding Izuku firmly against his chest, he did his best to gather the blanket and drape it over them both.

It took a few seconds of shifting around until they were settled, Izuku somehow finding a way to get even closer, as if seeking any extra bit of warmth. It wasn’t the most comfortable position but this way Shouta could hear Izuku’s soft breathing, he could feel the rise and fall of a chest pressed against his own, and he reveled in the sound of their synchronized heartbeats.

When he knew for sure that Izuku was asleep, it was only then that Shouta let the persistent tears push past his lashes. Because, fuck, he could have lost Izuku while he was sitting through a meeting only a short walk away.

Izuku had been in the room alone, had hurt himself, all while he was busy dealing with his coworkers.

Without thinking, Shouta leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of curls. And maybe, if he had been more awake, more mentally present, he would have been shocked by his own actions. But he wasn’t, because all he could focus on were the signs of life coming from the kid.

His kid.

That was the last thought that rang through his mind before sleep came to claim him too.

-----

Bakugou Katsuki glared up at the ceiling of his new dorm room.

All of the other extras were still lingering around the building, showing each other their rooms, but he wanted no part in it.

His room didn’t need to be showcased like some prized pony, so when his annoying classmates begged him to participate in their stupid contest, he told them all to fuck off.

Katsuki ignored their pleas and marched off to his room where he could enjoy the quiet. As loud as people assumed he was, and don’t get him wrong, he knew that he could be loud, Katsuki had always appreciated the quiet.

Quiet helped him focus.

Quiet helped him think.

Think things like— What the fuck was going on with Deku?

One day he was at school, the same wimpy kid he grew up with, and the next he vanished. None of the extras knew what happened and none of the teachers cared enough to tell him.

He didn’t bother asking his old hag. She and Auntie Inko didn’t hang out as much as they used to and it wasn’t like his parents were around all that often to tell him anything anyway.

Katsuki would constantly push away the thought that Izuku had taken his advice and jumped.

So when Deku showed up the day of the entrance exam, looking dead on his feet, green eyes devoid of life, Katsuki thought he was seeing a ghost.

Then when Katsuki got his U.A. acceptance letter like he knew he would, he was fully prepared to see his score place him in first.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the name above his on the scoreboard was Midoriya Izuku, the useless, quirkless, runt that couldn’t even make a fist properly.

And every time he saw the fucker; the quirk apprehension test, the battle trial, hell— even the USJ, Deku kept one-upping him and it pissed him the fuck off. Because suddenly, the quirkless kid that would chase after him during recess had suddenly gotten stronger, more confident.

In the two years that Deku was gone, something had happened.

Katsuki rolled over in his bed with a huff.

There was something wrong with Midoriya Izuku and Katsuki would find out what it was.

Chapter Text

The ground shook beneath Izuku’s feet as the lumbering bird-like creature lurched towards Aizawa with clumsy but frighting speed. Its teeth-filled maw gaped with a lifeless expression, dumbly following the orders of the villain covered in hands.

He had to move. He had to stop the monster from reaching his teacher before it was too late. He didn’t care if he died in the process because all that mattered was keeping his teacher safe, keeping his classmates safe, keeping everyone safe.

So why couldn’t he feel his legs?

Why did it feel like his feet were glued to the ground?

He needed to move, he needed to move, he needed to-

A sharp snap of bones echoed in his ears.

It was followed by a thud, crack, and crunch of a skull against cement.

Izuku didn’t want to look, he didn’t want to see how badly he had failed, but he looked anyway.

Crushed beneath the gigantic bird monster was Aizawa; bleeding, unmoving, not breathing.

Izuku couldn’t move.

But he could scream.

A blood-curdling wail tore from his lungs as the creature grasped Aizawa’s neck in one of its giant hands before it twisted and ripped his head right off of his body.

All Izuku could see was crimson red. All he could hear was his own screams.

Dead.

Eraserhead was dead. Aizawa was dead. His dad was dead.

And it was all his fault.

Izuku fell to his hands and knees, ignoring the sharp pebbles digging into his palms because all he could do was scream, and cry, and sob until his throat burned.

“Izuku.”

His limbs fully collapsed from underneath him, no longer able to hold the strain of his weight.

“Izuku.”

His eyes were screwed shut so tightly that he feared they would never open again. He suddenly felt warm hands grasping his face and when he tried to pull away their hold only grew firmer.

“Izuku.”

Izuku jolted awake with a sharp gasp. His eyes opened but it was so dark that he couldn’t make out much. Instead, his mind supplied him with hazy memories of Aizawa’s cracked skull against cement, broken goggles washed with blood, and the inhuman screech of a monster.

His breathing quickened and he curled in on himself, begging the images that replayed behind his eyelids to go away.

Then, those same hands that he felt in his dream once again cupped his cheeks, calloused thumbs gently rubbing beneath his eyes, and he heard a rasped whisper fill the silence of the air.

“Izuku, kid, I need you to take deep breaths, nice and slow, can you do that for me?”

The familiar voice, deep and rumbling like a cat’s purr, drowned out the echoing sounds leftover from his nightmare.

Aizawa.

He was alive? Aizawa was okay?

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m okay. And you’re okay, and your classmates are all okay. Just breathe.”

Izuku felt himself being shifted around until his chest was pressed against Aizawa’s, his head buried in the crook of the hero’s neck. He vaguely registered that they were sitting up, and he was held in place by a hand holding the back of his neck like how someone would cradle a newborn against their shoulder.

He soon realized that he was being rocked, side to side, oh so gently, and a low hum of what he recognized to be a children’s lullaby filtered between his racing thoughts.

Izuku’s rapidly beating heart had eventually calmed and his lungs no longer felt as if they were full of burning embers, but despite the fading panic he was much too tired to lift his head from Aizawa’s shoulder, content to feel and hear all of the signs that his teacher was still alive.

“Izuku?” He heard Aizawa whisper. He hummed a response, letting the hero know he heard him. “Do you think you can fall back asleep?” Izuku shook his head.

He was exhausted and as enticing as sleeping sounded, he knew the fear of having another nightmare would keep him up.

Aizawa stayed quiet for a moment, absently rubbing small circles between Izuku’s shoulder blades. He shamelessly leaned into the touch.

Suddenly, he felt himself being shifted again, held more firmly against Aizawa’s chest as an arm settled beneath his thighs. In a single quick motion, the hero stood up from the bed and hoisted Izuku onto his hip. Surprised at the action, Izuku finally opened his eyes and lifted his head, feeling slightly disoriented.

He was confused as to why he was suddenly being carried like a toddler and he watched in silence as Aizawa stumbled out of their dorm room.

The common area was dark and quiet, as to be expected at nearly one in the morning, and he could hear every sound Aizawa made as he shuffled into the kitchen. Izuku winced when the hero turned on the light and it took a few seconds before his eyes properly adjusted.

By then, he was being gently placed on top of the counter. Once Aizawa seemed confident that he wouldn’t fall off, the hero turned towards the food cabinet and began to rummage through its contents.

Izuku blinked, still puzzled by…well, everything that was happening.

“Uh, Sensei? What are- what are you doing?”

Aizawa reemerged from the cupboard with his arms full of various ingredients; flower, granulated sugar, brown sugar, salt, and vanilla extract among other things.

“Making cookies.”

Izuku paused.

“Making…cookies,” he slowly repeated. “Why?”

The hero shrugged, “Do I need a reason?”

“Um, I guess not?”

“Great. What kind do you want to make? Chocolate chip, peanut butter, sugar?”

Izuku tilted his head as he mulled over his options. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually baked something, let alone bake with someone else.

“Chocolate chip?” he finally answered.

Aizawa nodded and threw the bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips onto the counter before gathering all the cooking utensils they would need.

He placed a metal mixing bowl next to Izuku along with a carton of eggs, a stick of butter, vanilla extract, and the two kinds of sugars.

“If you start on the wet ingredients I’ll mix together the dry ones,” Aizawa instructed as he tied his hair up into a messy bun.

Izuku looked between his teacher and the ingredients on the counter. He reached for the sugars and the measuring cup before he realized— “Uh, how much of each ingredient do I use?”

A plume of flour filled the air once Aizawa had managed to open the bag. “No idea.”

“Wait,” Izuku shot Aizawa a scrutinizing look, “are we not following a recipe?”

“No,” the hero responded flatly before dumping a cup of flour into his own mixing bowl.

He had to suppress a laugh at watching Aizawa try and guess whether he needed to add baking powder or baking soda to the mix. The hero ultimately ended using a bit of both.

Izuku tried to remember how many eggs he needed to use from the time he binge-watched cooking videos on youtube a year ago. He was pretty sure it was two eggs for cake and one for cookies. Hopefully.

-----

Shouta had no idea what he was doing. He could cook meals, sure, but baking? That was Hizashi’s thing. He was fairly certain he wasn’t doing too bad of a job—he had been forced to sous chef for his friend a few times before and he was at least sixty percent sure he could get away with eying how much salt he needed to use—and it wasn’t like the cookies wouldn’t be edible afterward.

Glancing over at the kid, he watched Izuku measure out a tablespoon of vanilla extract, the tip of his tongue poking out ever so slightly in concentration.

He wasn’t sure how he had come up with the idea of baking cookies to distract the kid from the remnants of his nightmare, but he was glad to see Izuku focus on something else.

When he had woken up to feel Izuku trembling against him, pained whimpers and uneven breathing filling the quiet of the room, he instantly tried to rouse the boy from sleep. From the mostly incoherent muttering, he could guess that Izuku was having another nightmare about the USJ, something Shouta still dealt with himself most nights. But unlike Izuku, he had years of experience dealing with nightmares, both from his personal life and from his job.

It took a few minutes before he could fully get the kid to wake up, and when he did, Izuku’s relief at Shouta still being alive made his heart ache in his chest. He was all too familiar with the nightmares that involved watching the people you care about die and being useless to stop it.

The number of times he had dreamed about Izuku’s death…

Shouta quickly pushed away the thoughts and focused on the present, with Izuku sitting on the kitchen counter, stirring a bowl of cookie dough on his lap while swinging his legs absentmindedly.

It was okay.

Izuku was okay.

“Ready to mix in the dry ingredients?” Shouta asked, turning to preheat the oven. Was it 180 or 250 degrees Celsius? Probably the former.

“Mhm!”

When Shouta looked over his shoulder, he saw Izuku trying to hold the large bowl of the flour mixture in one hand while attempting to scoop its contents into the mixing bowl balanced precariously in his lap. Right as the larger bowl was about to slip out of Izuku’s hands, Shouta was quick to grab it, holding it up and away from the gremlin child on the counter.

“What made you think that was a good idea?” he asked with a raised brow.

Izuku shot him a smug grin, “I didn’t.”

Shouta sighed in exasperation which caused Izuku to laugh.

And Shouta froze.

Izuku was laughing.

Not just the small huffs he would sometimes hear on a good day, or the tiniest smiles that quirked at the boy’s lips every so often— No, this was a full fit of giggles, the sound of soft wind-chimes matched with a smile that was all sunshine-warm.

And oh how that sound, that warmth, was infectious. Shouta was glad that no one else was around because nothing could stop the smile that adorned his own lips at the beautiful sight of his kid smiling so freely.

It was only then that he realized he had never heard Izuku laugh before, not even as Moth. But here, in the common room kitchen at one in the morning as they made a questionable batch of cookies after being awoken from a nightmare, Izuku laughed, his emerald eyes sparkling in childish glee.

If only Shouta could bottle that soft golden sound.

He shook his head fondly, “Brat.”

Izuku let out one last giggle and then stuck out his tongue.

Shouta ruffled Izuku’s hair. “Okay, let’s try this again.” He instructed Izuku to hold the bowl in his lap steady while Shouta carefully added in the flour mixture and chocolate chips. The kid began to stir the dough and it became thicker and harder to mix as the rest of the dry ingredients were added.

While Izuku finished mixing, Shouta grabbed a baking sheet, covering it with parchment paper.

“I think it’s all mixed,” Izuku noted. Shouta turned around to grab the dough mixture but faltered when he noticed that somehow, in the twenty seconds his back was turned, Izuku had gotten some of the cookie dough on his face.

He sighed again, but this time with endearment and amusement. This kid…

Shouta grabbed a dish towel by the sink and quickly ran it under warm water before turning back to Izuku with a huff.

Izuku tilted his head, a small smile still etched across his cheeks, “What?”

“How the hell did you manage to get cookie dough on your face?” Shouta snorted. He gently grabbed the boy by his chin and lifted his face. “Hold still,” he mumbled fondly as Izuku squirmed playfully in his grasp.

Izuku scrunched his nose as Shouta wiped the mixture from his cheek.

Satisfied that the kid was no longer covered in sugary dough, he set the damp cloth aside and grabbed the pre-prepped baking sheet.

“This batch will probably make at least a dozen,” he muttered, more to himself.

“Or maybe one really big cookie,” Izuku chirped.

Shouta lightly flicked the kid's forehead, “Absolutely not. I have no intentions of setting fire to the dorms in the first week we live here.”

Izuku leaned towards him, a smirk planted on his face, “So your approving of a dorm fire in the second week?”

He leveled the brat with an unimpressed glare. “I will ground you." But instead of feeling threatened by his words, Izuku only giggled, once again filling the air with the brilliant sound of soft bells. Shouta rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact this own smile had yet to fade. “Alright, either help me finish this, or you’re not getting any.”

Izuku gasped dramatically—Shouta could tell he was spending far too much time with Hizashi—before quickly grabbing a handful of cookie dough and shaping it into a ball.

They cleaned up the kitchen as the cookies baked in the oven. Other than the earlier incident with Izuku somehow getting dough on his face, they had managed to keep the mess to a minimum.

The cookies had finished baking but they still needed to allow twenty minutes for them to cool, so when he saw Izuku stifle a yawn he decided they could spend the rest of the time waiting on one of the couches. Out of an already forming habit, he simply scooped the kid up from off the counter, slightly surprised with the lack of protest from Izuku at being carried, and headed towards the living room.

He sat them both in the corner of one of the couches, and perhaps they were both more tired than he had thought because he had no intentions of falling asleep, but then Shouta found himself startling awake over an hour later.

Somehow, within that hour or so of unconsciousness, he had shifted into a laying position on the couch with Izuku curled up on his chest, fully asleep, the kid’s soft breathing synchronized with every third ‘tick’ of the clock on the wall.

As much as he didn’t want to move, to just fall back asleep beneath the comforting weight of his sleeping kid, they had to be up for the first day back to classes in a few hours and he would rather not be found in this position by one of his more early-rising coworkers.

He had a reputation to keep after all.

So, with all of the care of handling a sleeping kitten, Shouta sat up, careful not to disturb the kid in his arms, and began walking back towards their dorm room to finish sleeping in an actual bed.

But he had barely made it past the living room with he felt a small tug on the front of his shirt.

“Wait,” Izuku mumbled through a yawn, one small fist rubbing the sleep from his eye. “The cookies?”

Shouta smiled softly, “You’re half asleep, kiddo, you can have one in the morning.”

“But we worked hard to make them,” he huffed. Although his argument wasn’t very convincing with his eyes closed and his head still leaned against Shouta’s shoulder. But he supposed Izuku was right, they did spend an hour making them in the middle of the night so they might as well be rewarded for their effort.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed a now-cooled cookie from the baking sheet and handed it to Izuku who took it with a satisfied hum. Still fully leaning against him, the kid nibbled on the cookie like a mouse and Shouta decided to ignore the crumbs that fell against his shirt.

Cute brat.

He decided he would wait to have his own cookie with coffee in the morning. “Is it edible?” he asked, only slightly teasing.

“N’t bad,” Izuku nodded to himself.

“Right, well finish it now because I don’t want crumbs in the bed,” he grumbled half-heartedly, shoving open their room door with his shoulder.

With the cookie eaten, crumbs swept away, the two of them nestled back under the covers of his bed, and Izuku somehow already passed out again beside him, Shouta welcomed the pull of sleep that tugged at his eyelids.

They both slept deeply and soundly for the rest of the night.

-----

Hizashi couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that unusual, he had never been one to need much sleep to function, it was why having three jobs didn’t tire him as much as it would for most people.

But his inability to fall asleep this night wasn’t from the extra energy he was usually gifted with.

No.

Hizashi couldn’t sleep because the heart-wrenching sounds of Izuku’s pained screams replayed over and over in his head, and the memory of seeing the poor baby flailing in Shouta’s carefully restrained grasp made him feel ill.

When he told Shouta about the suspicious gauze on Izuku’s side, he could practically see his friend’s heart drop into his stomach, and it took Hizashi longer than it should have to recognize the possibility that Izuku could have hurt himself.

So he watched Shouta run back to his room, back to Izuku.

Snipe and Vlad, who were sitting on the couches in the common room, tossed him a confused look but Hizashi simply shrugged. It wasn’t his place to say anything, and he was already breaking Izuku’s trust as it was. Not that he regretted it, it was far more important that his student was okay, but he still felt guilty for essentially ratting him out.

And that guilt would increase tenfold when hardly five minutes later, the sounds of loud crying and frustrated screaming spilled out from behind Shouta’s closed door.

Everyone who was already in the common area froze, and those who were upstairs in their own rooms, who could hear the guttural sobs and pleads from their youngest resident rushed downstairs as if they expected a villain to have broken in.

In a matter of seconds, every teacher except for All Might and Cementoss, both of who were out of the dorms at the time, were crowded in the hallway between the common room and Shouta’s room.

Nemuri looked like she was seconds away from breaking down the door to save Izuku, and honestly, Hizashi wasn’t far behind, but a large hand came to rest on each of their shoulders, causing them to pause.

Hizashi looked behind him to see that it was Hound Dog who had stopped them. The hound hero glanced around the room, silent and solemn while Izuku’s cries continued to echo in the background, and he shook his head as if telling them without words that they shouldn’t interrupt.

But Hizashi had to see. He had to check on the young student who he had already begun to view as a nephew. Because those screams, those sounds of pained and angry wailing made the growing guilt fester inside of him.

He knew he had done the right thing, bringing up his concerns with Shouta, but god, how it made him feel like the world’s worst villain.

Hizashi rested his hand on top of Hound Dog’s patting it gently once with a sad smile.

“I’m going to take a quick look, just in case,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Hound Dog looked like he wanted to object, but then seemed to have changed his mind when he gave Hizashi a firm nod.

With permission granted, Hizashi crept up to Shouta’s door, wincing at the sound of Izuku’s cries getting louder with every step. As silently and carefully as he could, Hizashi turned the handle and cracked open the door.

And he hated what he saw.

Both of them were sitting on the floor, Izuku restrained securely in Shouta’s lap. Despite how much Izuku thrashed in the underground hero’s hold, Shouta stayed firm, his body language desperate but calm, whispering something that Hizashi couldn’t hear over Izuku’s sobbing.

And it wasn’t just a tantrum, Hizashi knew, because the look that reflected in the boy’s eyes was one of overwhelming panic, a look he had seen before in veteran heroes when they experienced a PTSD related panic attack, their bodies in fight or flight mode as their minds forced them to relive the memories and emotions of horrors from their past. Hell, he’s even seen Shouta like that once, not too long after Oboro…

Hizashi shook his head and blinked back tears as he silently closed the door. He didn’t need to see any more, he didn’t need to witness Izuku at his most vulnerable.

He took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to recollect his emotions, his thoughts, before turning back around to face his coworkers.

Hizashi flashed them an unconvincing smile. “Shouta’s got it handled, he’ll be alright.”

If his colleagues notices the shine of unshed tears in his eyes, they said nothing. Instead, they all migrated back to the living room, and as if in silent agreement, they all decided to stay downstairs and wait.

Wait for the screaming to stop, for the pleading to end, for the vocalized fear that sounded far too much like an animal trapped in a snare to no longer fill the air.

And eventually, the cries did quiet; wailing turned into soft whimpers, hardly audible.

Twenty minutes was how long they sat, waiting, listening. It wasn’t until silence once more blanketed the dorms that Hizashi felt like he could breathe again.

Hound Dog was the first to stand up. His gaze swept across each and every one of them.

He cleared his throat and began to explain.

He explained that Izuku’s emotions were unstable, that his entire sense of self was unstable. He explained how the poor kid had been forcefully uprooted from a life of rapid self-destruction and that it would take time for him to find his footing again.

Hound Dog assured them that as time went on, as Izuku was given the space and time to heal, to emotionally develop in a healthy environment, that his volatile outbursts would become less common. He used a metaphor about domesticating a feral cat that only ever needed to know how to survive.

He explained that sometimes, learning to love and to be loved could be the most terrifying thing someone would ever face.

Eventually, the staff went back to whatever it was they were previously doing, a new air of tension mixed with sadness filling their lungs with every breath.

They were heroes, they had seen and heard so much worse, and in those instances, they could physically fight whatever villain was causing pain and distress. But for Izuku, the fight was between himself and his own monsters and all they could do was be there to support him, to pick him up piece by piece after every battle.

So, no, sleep did not come easy to Hizashi that night. His thoughts were too preoccupied with the hurt boy downstairs.

With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled into his slippers. If he couldn’t sleep than maybe a quick patrol around the dorm would ease his anxious mind.

Hizashi quietly padded down the stairs and halfway down he noticed a peculiar scent. He closed his eyes and focused on the sweet familiar smell that permeated from below.

Was…was someone baking?

Fueled by curiosity, Hizashi headed towards the common area, half expecting to see Nemuri in the kitchen. She had always been a night-owl so catching her baking at two in the morning wouldn’t be too far of a stretch.

But when he entered the kitchen he found it to be completely empty, other than the tray of freshly baked cookies.

He blinked. Who had decided to bake cookies and then leave them on the counter in the middle of the night? As tempted as he was to take one, he kept his hands to himself and wandered further into the common area, hoping to catch whoever it was that went on a late-night baking adventure.

And that was when he stumbled upon the most adorable sight he had ever been given the privilege to see.

It wasn’t unusual to catch Shouta passed out in weird places, no matter the time of day, but what was surprising was seeing a small child curled up on his chest, fast asleep, not unlike how Sushi would sleep on top of Nemuri.

So could anyone blame him for using his phone to sneakily take a dozen or so pictures of Shouta and U.A.’s new resident baby cuddled together and fast asleep after apparently baking cookies in the middle of the night?

Honestly, without picture evidence, he doubted anyone would believe what he saw— they’d probably say he had been hallucinating.

Hizashi saved the photos in a new album labeled “Black Mail” and then slipped his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t realize how much easier he could breathe now; seeing Izuku and Shouta, relaxed and asleep, both still wearing traces of a smile.

Not wanting to disturb the moment of peace, Hizashi quietly snuck back upstairs.

Hizashi had come from a large family; adopted as an infant by loving parents and a house full of siblings, he never wondered what the word 'family’ meant because he lived its very definition. But it was then that he realized family could be so much more than the standard concept of a nuclear-family structure. Sometimes, a family could be a grumpy underground hero, his nearly-adopted student, and a staff of pro hero teachers.

Yeah, Midoriya Izuku was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

He honestly should have planned this better.

It was the first morning before classes began again after both the USJ incident and his newfound position as Izuku’s guardian. They had planned and organized for many scenarios—what their school day would look like, what meals Izuku should eat to get his weight back on track, how Shouta would work on grading while Izuku did his homework—but a proper morning routine was not one of them.

Shouta had woken up in a tangle of blankets and small limbs, the alarm on his phone rudely pointing out that it was half-past five in the morning. Usually, he would wake up a little later, but now that he was responsible for making sure Izuku was properly fed and taken care of, the extra time was needed.

Too bad he didn’t actually plan on exactly how he should go about doing that.

With stiff muscles and a stifled yawn, Shouta reached for his phone to shut off his alarm. Between the noise of the alarm and his own movements, he was surprised that Izuku didn’t so much as stir from his sleep. Then again, yesterday had been particularly draining, and after post-nightmare baking at one in the morning, it made sense that the kid was still trapped in the clutches of sleep. As tempting as it was to just fall back asleep so they could both sleep in for just a little bit longer he knew the idea was irrational. He had a kid to take care of and a class to teach.

Shouta sighed. Why was he a teacher again?

Just as predicted, the morning was hectic. Still half asleep, he ushered Izuku into the bathroom where they bumped elbows while brushing their teeth. He quickly dressed into his hero costume while the kid struggled with his uniform tie.

“Can you help?” Izuku asked, fighting the long strip of cloth the way one would wrestle with a snake.

“You’ll have to ask Hizashi,” Shouta answered as he wrapped his capture scarf around his shoulders.

“But didn’t you have to wear a tie during school too?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, and Hizashi always tied it for me because I couldn’t be bothered.” He heard Izuku groan as he stomped back into his room to grab his backpack.

Shouta went through a mental checklist as they got ready:

Dressed? Check.

Teeth and hair brushed? Check.

Bag packed? Check.

Breakfast-

“What do you want to eat for breakfast?” Shouta asked as he pulled on his boots. Izuku sat on the floor as he tied the laces of his bright red sneakers.

“Not hungry,” came his automatic response. The hero suppressed a sigh.

“’Not hungry’ is not an acceptable answer.”

“Can’t I just eat at lunch?”

“No.”

“What if it’s a big lunch?”

“Since when have I ever let you skip a meal?”

“Today?”

Shouta glared at the brat still sitting on the floor. “Nice try, kid.”

“It was worth a shot,” he mumbled.

-----

It was weird, Izuku thought as he swirled the broken egg yolk into the mix of white rice and shoyu in his bowl. It wasn’t his first morning at the staff dorms, but it was the first time he had seen all of his teachers in the same room. Even All Might was present, although the skeletal hero made sure to stay as far away from him and Aizawa as possible.

Izuku didn’t miss the fact that All Might’s nose was still black and purple.

“You’re supposed to eat your food, not play with it,” Aizawa muttered next to him, nursing a cup of coffee. They were both sat on the bar stools at the kitchen counter which gave them at least some semblance of peace and quiet as all of the other staff members milled about the commons.

“I was just mixing the yolk,” he replied.

Aizawa looked at him over the rim of his coffee mug, “For three minutes?”

Izuku stuck his tongue out at the grumpy hero instead of responding.

“Ah, good morning, pup.” Izuku turned his head to see Hound Dog making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, m-morning sir,” he greeted quietly. “I’m okay.”

Hound Dog settled himself on the other side of the counter although he still gave Izuku enough space so that he wouldn't feel crowded. “Are you nervous about going back to class today?”

Izuku took a small bite of his food while he hummed in thought. “Kinda,” he eventually answered, “so much has happened. Kinda feels like it’s- it’s the first day of school all over again? Never mind, that sounds stupid.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all, Midoriya,” Hound Dog assured him. “You’ve been through some very stressful situations this past week and no one can blame you for feeling nervous or anxious. But if for any reason you get overwhelmed, please text Aizawa or myself, or even tell one of the other teachers and we’ll help you to the best of our ability, okay?”

Izuku played with the ends of his chopsticks as he stared at the now mushy rice in his bowl. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“It’ll be okay, pup, and I’m proud of you for being so strong through all of this,” Hound Dog praised with a hair ruffle.

Izuku stayed quiet as he finished the rest of his food.

After breakfast and a quick lesson with Hizashi on trying to learn how to put on a tie correctly—keyword is “try”—Izuku and Aizawa gathered their things and exited the staff dorms. They were the first to leave as Izuku didn’t want to risk being seen coming out of the teachers' dorm building and Aizawa apparently had some paperwork he wanted to start on.

The sun had just begun to rise in the sky. Late spring dewdrops clung to the blades of grass and the walkways were covered in a blanket of fallen sakura petals. Despite the fact that all of the students now lived on campus, the air was still and quiet, as if the morning itself had yet to fully wake up.

The sun hit the windows of the main building causing a bright golden glare and Izuku had to squint to see where he was going before they made their way inside. Just as it was outside, the halls of the school building were eerily quiet which only made the echo of their footsteps on freshly polished tile seem that much louder.

Izuku followed closely behind Aizawa, his nerves buzzing beneath his skin. It was the first day back since USJ, since his entire life was uprooted and scrambled into a mess of uncertainty. Just the thought of having to pretend that nothing major had happened over the course of the past week was exhausting. While all of his classmates were at home, resting and preparing to move to the dorms, Izuku was bombarded with one new situation after another.

They were halfway to the teacher’s lounge when a familiar lavender sight caught Izuku’s attention. “Hitoshi?” Hitoshi, who was leaning against one of the pillars in the hallway looked up from his phone in surprise. “You’re early,” Izuku noted, slowing his pace to a stop. Aizawa stopped a few steps ahead.

Hitoshi tucked his phone in his pocket and shot Izuku a smirk, “I can say the same thing to you, space cadet.” Purple eyes flicked between him and Aizawa. “Are you okay, Izu?”

“Hm?” Izuku’s own gaze momentarily met with their tired homeroom teacher who merely raised a brow. “Uh, yeah, I- I ran into Aizawa-sensei on my way in this morning and we were headed in the same direction,” he weakly explained, and to his relief, Aizawa nodded as if playing along.

“Oh, alright. And, good morning, sensei,” Hitoshi greeted with a bow.

“Morning, Shinsou. I’ll unlock the classroom door for you two before I head to the teacher’s lounge.” Without another word, Aizawa turned on his heel and continued walking down the hall. Hitoshi and Izuku hesitated for a second before rushing to catch up with their teacher.

The classroom was particularly chilly that morning, either that or Izuku’s nerves were making him tremble. He wrapped his arms around himself as he stepped into the room behind Hitoshi. Aizawa flicked on the lights and then cleared his throat. “Class starts in half an hour. Try not to damage the classroom in the meantime.”

Izuku blinked. Wasn’t he supposed to be supervised by a teacher at all times?

Dark, coal-colored eyes caught his own before they shifted up to a spot in the corner. Izuku followed the hero’s gaze and that was when he noticed the small camera bolted to the corner of the ceiling.

Oh.

So he was still going to be watched, just from a camera.

He held back a sigh. At least Aizawa wasn’t making it too obvious that he was now under strict 24/7 monitoring, but then again, the school day hadn’t even started yet and he still wasn’t fully certain what the rest of the day had in store for him with his new schedule.

“Not to worry, sensei, we’ll make sure to keep any classroom arson to a minimum,” Hitoshi teased.

Aizawa sighed, “That’s all I ask.”

With a lazy wave, Aizawa left the room, sliding the door closed behind him. Once the echo of his footsteps faded, Hitoshi all but tackled Izuku into a hug. Izuku froze when he felt long arms wrap around him.

“Never fucking scare me like that again!” Hitoshi scolded mid-hug. It took Izuku a moment to recover from his shock of the sudden contact but he was quick to wrap his own arms around the taller teen and squeeze back.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Hitoshi’s shirt. “That was stupid, I know, and- and I never should have jumped in front of that monster.”

Hitoshi huffed and pulled away. “Yeah, it was stupid. But it was also stupidly brave. Just don’t go making a habit out of it, okay?”

Izuku nodded, wiping away the tears that were forming in his eyes with the back of the sleeve. He felt Hitoshi grab his other sleeve and drag him to their desks where they plopped into their seats.

“Hey, uh, moving onto a less depressing topic, because I would rather not think about the USJ ever again, did you maybe want to go to that new cat cafe after school?” The older teen asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah!” Izuku readily agreed before his brain could remind him that he was no longer living by his own rules. If he wanted to go somewhere or do something he had to ask for permission first. His smile fell. “But, uh, I gotta ask first, if that’s okay?” Izuku pulled out his phone and began typing a quick message to Aizawa. He didn’t notice the way Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed.

~~~~

Izuku: Aizawa-sensei?

Aizawa: What’s up, kid?

Izuku: I have a question

Aizawa: I might have an answer, but you'll need to be more specific.

Izuku: Well, Hitoshi suggested that he and I go to a cat cafe after school. The one across campus I think?

Aizawa: Izuku, you already know what my answer is going to be.

Izuku: …

Izuku: Please?

Aizawa: I don’t feel comfortable letting you roam around on your own just yet.

Izuku: What if I text you and stuff? To check in?

Aizawa: My answer is no and it won't change anytime soon. Sorry, kiddo.

~~~~

Izuku shut off the screen to his phone with a pout. He knew he was supposed to be supervised, he knew he was on ‘crises-watch’, but it’s not like he was going out alone! He would be with Hitoshi the whole time! It wasn't even that different from hanging out with Hitoshi in an empty classroom. Sure, Aizawa probably wouldn't have been able to watch him through a camera while at the cafe but he promised to check in.

“Space cadet?”

Izuku looked from his phone's blank screen to Hitoshi who was watching him with a careful look. “Ah, sorry, I kinda got lost in thought there.”

His friend chuckled. “I do call you ‘space cadet’ for a reason. Anyway, what did your guardians say?”

“What? Oh! They said yes!” Izuku sputtered before he could stop himself.

The lavender-haired teen looked almost relieved at the answer. “Great! We’ll head there after the last bell. I heard they got really good coffee, although the cats are arguably the best part.”

“Yep,” Izuku said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “Can’t wait.”

Shit.

Chapter Text

Aside from Izuku’s inner panic about agreeing to go to the cat cafe with Hitoshi after class, the two of them started to relax a bit in the empty classroom. Their conversation drifted from funny cat videos to their favorite obscure heroes. Hitoshi listened with rapt attention as Izuku muttered theories about a hero known as Equilibrium.

They basked in that familiar peace, pretending as though they were nothing more than ordinary high school students chatting before the school day started.

It’s too bad that peace didn’t last for very long. It never did when hero students were involved.

The lulling quiet in the near-empty 1-A classroom was interrupted when the door slid open revealing the usually punctual Iida. Todoroki and Tsu followed close behind.

“Ah! Good morning Midoriya and Shinsou!” Iida greeted them with a stiff bow, “I hope the break was restful for the two of you. Especially you, Shinsou. How are your injuries?”

“Uh,” Hitoshi rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes averting away from his classmates. “They’re healed and I’m fine, but thanks.”

Tsu gently sat her bag on her desk as she took her seat. “That’s good to hear, ribbit.”

“What about you, Midoriya?” Came an almost unfamiliar voice from the back of the room. Izuku turned to face a set of heterochromatic eyes, cold and piercing. Izuku honestly wasn’t sure if Todoroki had even spoken to him before now.

“W-what about me?” Izuku asked.

“I saw you jump in front of that Nomu.”

Izuku had to suppress a shiver. Todoroki’s unblinking gaze reminded him of a predator staring down its prey. He wasn’t fearful of Todoroki by any means, but there was something in the duel-quirk user’s eyes that made Izuku feel as if Todoroki could see right through him, as if in a single moment his lies would be unraveled.

“Yeah, I guess- I guess I did,” Izuku replied slowly.

Todoroki finally blinked. “Why?”

“W-why?”

“Why did you risk your life like that? What was the reason?” The flat tone in Todoroki’s voice lingered uncomfortably in the air of the room. Even Iida and Tsu looked a bit uneasy at hearing such a direct question. Or maybe it was the talk about USJ in general that caused the swirling pit of nausea in each of their stomachs.

“I um,” Izuku cleared his throat, “I saw Aizawa-sensei fighting alone. And, uh, I just couldn’t- couldn’t stand by and watch. That’s not what heroes do.”

“Hmm,” Todoroki’s eyes narrowed, “I suppose that’s true. But I think heroes should also value their life a little more. A suicidal hero can’t help anyone.”

Izuku could feel the blood in his veins freeze. A tingling sensation crawled up his limbs, filling his body with static while his lungs sputtered to a stop in his chest. Every sensation, every emotion, every thought became unreachable. All Izuku could feel was pure panic.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hitoshi demanded, although, to Izuku, the words sounded distant and drowned as if Hitoshi were speaking underwater.

But before Todoroki could respond, the door to the classroom slid open once more.

“Oh my gosh, Midoriya! Shinsou!”

Emerging from the murky water of panic that Todoroki had not so gently thrown him in, Izuku turned to see Uraraka nearly tripping over herself to reach their desks. Izuku still felt his heart beating in his throat, but he swallowed down his anxiety and did his best to greet his classmate with a reassuring smile.

“H-hey, Uraraka.”

“Midoriyaaa,” she whined as she leaned on his desk, although she still made sure not to push too far into his personal space, and for that he was grateful. “I was so worried when I saw you after the attack! Didn’t Recovery Girl say you had a broken leg or something?”

“Yeah,” Izuku chuckled nervously, “or something. But it’s okay! She healed me right away and I was totally fine! It’s- It’s Hitoshi that was really injured.”

Hitoshi jabbed Izuku in the shoulder. “Jerk, don’t throw me under the bus,” he hissed.

“I’m just glad the two of you are okay!” Iida rejoined the conversation. “That was a perilous situation we were all in, but every single one of us made it out alive. I may even argue that we have grown from the experience. No doubt we will look back on the event when we are pro heroes and consider it to be an important foundation for our academic and future careers.”

“Or we’ll look back on it and remember how traumatic it was. But sure, Iida, let’s pretend it was all a fun life lesson,” Hitoshi retorted dryly.

Iida looked momentarily stricken and it took him a second to regain his composure, but similar to Todoroki, before the rigid teen could speak, he was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the rest of their classmates. Kaminari and Kirishima, followed by Mina and Sero, barreled into the classroom with high energy. Yaomomo, Jirou, and Tokoyami quietly scuttled in after them, proceeded by Ojiro and Hagakure.

It wasn’t long until the voices and gestures of class 1-A filled the room with lively activity. Even those who remained silent still had their own way of filling up the space.

Talk of the USJ, dorm move-in, and expectations for the rest of the semester filtered through the heavy air. Izuku was so caught up in the sharp unease in the pit of his stomach at the sudden crowd that he nearly missed Kacchan’s heated glare from where he sat atop Sero’s desk.

The teen’s lips were pressed in a tight line, and his fire-red eyes pinned Izuku down like an insect ready to be posed and framed. Already on edge, Izuku folded in on himself purely on instinct, memories of scorched playground equipment matching the burn scars on his limbs caused a phantom pain to crawl across his skin.

Kacchan jumped down from Sero’s desk and marched his way over to his own, but instead of sitting normally, facing the front of the room, Kacchan twisted his chair around so he could face Izuku with only inches in between them.

Izuku swore that his lungs died right then and there inside of his chest.

“Spill it, nerd,” Kacchan demanded, his voice unusually low but still every bit as sharp as splintered glass.

A fuzzy, faded sensation created a film over Izuku’s vision leaving a distance between himself and whatever was happening outside of his body. He could almost let himself pretend that Kacchan’s confrontation was happening to someone else, and oh how he pitied them greatly.

“Spill, what?” he heard himself ask, although his own voice echoed in the air as if it were coming from the other side of a cave.

Kacchan looked moments away from leaving permanent hand-shaped burn marks on Izuku’s desk, yet the explosive teen kept himself under control— or as under control as was possible for someone with blood pressure higher than Tokyo Tower.

“Damn it, Deku,” Kacchan glowered through gritted teeth, “I mean that you better fucking tell me what the hell’s been going on with you. You disappear for two fucking years only to show your ugly face at the entrance exam; an exam that someone like you could never even hope to pass. But not only do you pass, you somehow get a better score than me and you cheated your way into beating me in the battle trials. Then you have the goddamn balls to play the hero during the villain attack. The Deku I know would have pissed his pants during something like that. So I’ll ask again, fuck-face, what the hell is going on with you?”

Kacchan’s string of words jumbled messily in Izuku’s brain as if someone had torn them apart like a puzzle and scattered the loose pieces. Between the thick fog that settled over his thoughts and the distant fear swirling in his blood, it took him far longer than it should have to process the fact that Kacchan was getting suspicious.

“I-

“The bell is about to ring, you should all be in your seats."

Izuku had no idea when Aizawa had entered the room, but he was immensely glad for it, feeling as if he had just been rescued from the jaws of a lion. Kacchan threw him one last glare, mouthing the words ‘this isn’t over’ before turning his chair back around.

The iron grip that his ribs had over his lungs only then released causing Izuku to suck in a shaky breath. Did he breathe at all during that entire encounter?

Izuku caught the way Aizawa’s eyes flicked over to him, a brief flash of worry reflecting in them. Izuku didn’t want his teacher to think he wasn’t capable of attending his classes—that was a kind of stress he didn’t need stacked on top of everything else—so, as he had done with Uraraka, he gave Aizawa a confident smile.

He could tell that Aizawa didn’t fully buy it, but nevertheless, the hero turned his attention back to the rest of the class, and Izuku allowed himself to slump in his seat.

The day had only just started and he was already ready to crawl back into bed.

Izuku half-listened as Aizawa summarized their lesson plan for the week. If all goes well and the school doesn’t face a media break-in or villain attack, it will be their first full week of classes at UA.

“You have a copy of your schedule in your syllabus, so I fully expect each of you to be on time and present for all of your classes. Unless you’ve spoken to me beforehand about being late or absent, I don’t want to hear any excuses. Got it?” Aizawa droned, answered by a round of bored agreements.

Izuku laid his head in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow with a muffled sigh.

“Moving on. I’ve already spoken to you all briefly about the attack on USJ,” his teacher continued. Izuku felt his stomach twist painfully, tangling itself in his intensities as rapid flashes of memory played out in his head like a broken projector. He kept his head down. “Don’t expect to get this kind of praise from me often, but I am pleased with how you handled yourselves in such a high-stakes situation. However,” Izuku heard the podium creak slightly under Aizawa’s weight, implying that the hero must be leaning on it, “the fight isn’t over yet.”

Silence smothered the room, depleting it of oxygen as everyone held their breath. Izuku tried not to sigh again at his guardian’s dramatic nature, knowing exactly what subject Aizawa was transitioning to; a subject that had nothing to do with him.

“In two weeks time, UA will be hosting the annual sports festival.”

He could practically feel the tension drain from the air as the news sank in, followed by excited shouts and exclamations. If Izuku could burrow any further into his desk, he would. He hated talking about the USJ, but he also hated hearing about the sports festival— the one that he wasn’t allowed to participate in.

“Hold on,” he heard Kaminari say, cutting through the chatter, “is it really a good idea to hold a sports festival so soon? Like, right after we got attacked?” Izuku couldn’t help but agree. Leave it to Kaminari to be the voice of reason.

Aizawa sighed and the podium creaked once more. “You make a good point, Kaminari, but unfortunately it’s out of my hands. UA makes a good portion of its money from sponsorships as well as events like the sports festival. That, and Nezu believes that continuing with the festival as planned somehow sends a message to the villains that we aren’t threatened by them.”

“I don’t know about you but I definitely feel threatened,” Mina spoke.

Their teacher sighed again, but this time it was full of sympathy. “I understand your anxiety, and if it were up to me I wouldn’t make any of you participate in the festival at all, but I can assure you that your safety is UA’s priority. As we speak, Nezu is updating the security around the school and in every facility that UA is affiliated with.”

“I suppose that does make me feel a bit better, ribbit,” Tsu muttered, “and I doubt any villains would attack so soon and during an event that hosts a bunch of pro heroes.”

“That’s true. No villain in their right mind would take that risk,” Jirou joined.

Sero snorted, “Since when are villains ever in their right mind?”

Aizawa cleared his throat and the rising collection of voices instantly quieted. “As I was saying, we have two weeks to prepare for the sports festival. The USJ incident was made public information, which means this class, in particular, has gained quite a bit of attention. So do your best these next couple of weeks to prove to everyone watching just how resilient class 1-A can be.”

“Hell yeah!” Kirishima’s chair squeaked as he stood up in a rush. “Let’s show the whole world how manly 1-A is! Let’s go beyond-”

“Plus ultra!” the rest of the class shouted.

“Plus ultra…” Izuku murmured half-heartedly into his arms. He wondered if Mic-sensei would let him sleep through English.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Mic-sensei did let Izuku sleep through English, and if the light-hearted grumbling of Hitoshi was anything to go by, the ‘special treatment’ didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of his class.

“Iida tried to be a snitch and call you out for sleeping during lecture. You should have seen how offended he was when Mic-sensei just waved him off,” Hitoshi said with an amused smirk. English had just ended and they were waiting for Ectoplasm-sensei to show up for math, something Izuku begrudgingly decided to stay awake for.

It wasn’t that he was physically tired, but it was something more bone-deep— a heavy iron anchor pressing down on his sternum, his ribs creaking and cracking beneath its weight. It was the exhaustion only brought about by living in a constant state of anxiety, every muscle pulled taut, every sense heightened until his eyes burned and his head pounded. It was a type of panic that was akin to an unfinished sentence in a horror novel and Izuku had spent his energy waiting for the next words to be written, words that would tell of a monstrous threat that lurked in the dark unknown.

But it was fine.

Izuku was fine.

He had to be fine.

Izuku’s thoughts were cut off as Ectoplasm-sensei entered the room, a math textbook tucked under one arm. The teacher’s gaze swept across the room as the class quieted their own conversations and pulled out their workbooks. Izuku didn’t miss how Ectoplasm’s focus lingered on him just a bit longer than the rest of his peers. He really hoped that this wasn’t going to become a pattern with all of his other teachers.

Just as Ectoplasm-sensei was wiping down the chalkboard, the school bell chimed, signaling the end of morning classes. Izuku closed his book and shoved it into his bag, kicking it under his desk before it got trampled on by his energetic classmates rushing to the cafeteria for lunch. Behind him, Hitoshi was moving at a similar sluggish pace.

“If there’s one cure for insomnia, it’s math,” the teen groused. “I have no earthly idea how you managed to sleep through Mic’s class yet stay awake for Ectoplasm’s explanation on the importance of understanding exponential growth.”

Izuku gave his friend a blank stare. “A what growth?”

Hitoshi looked up from where he was packing his bag, confusion knitting his brows together. “I thought you were awake?”

“Hitoshi, being awake and paying attention are two very different things,” he deadpanned, causing Hitoshi to roll his eyes.

Gesturing for Hitoshi to walk ahead of him, Izuku threw a nervous glance at Ectoplasm, who gave a subtle nod in return; an unspoken agreement that the teacher would remain as inconspicuous as possible as he trailed after the two boys to the cafeteria.

Izuku made sure that Hitoshi walked in front the entire way, partially so that he could hide in the taller teen’s shadow if he needed. He very much ignored the way it made him feel like a duckling tucking itself under its mother’s wings.

Thankfully, they made it to the cafeteria without incident, and while Izuku knew that he was still being watched by Ectoplasm, the hero did well in hiding himself from view. Izuku let his shoulders drop, his anxiety slowly decreasing as a sense of normalcy tugged at his mind. He took a steadying breath and let himself pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary.

He was an average hero student like everyone else. No special treatment, no relationships with his teachers outside of academics, and no suffocating restrictions that he was forced to abide by.

It was just another, normal school day. Everything was fine.

“I wonder what we’re doing for free period,” Hitoshi said absentmindedly as he set his tray of food down onto the slightly uneven table. “It’s not like we have homework to catch up on.”

Izuku paused, his hand hovering over his chopsticks. He had forgotten that he was meant to meet with Hound Dog for free period.

Swallowing down the growing dread that had started to form in his throat, Izuku carefully picked up his chopsticks and tried to act as casual as possible. “Um, actually-” Damn his cracking voice, “-I have to be somewhere during free period.” Hitoshi glanced up at Izuku, a piece of inari held halfway up to his mouth.

He dropped his food back onto his plate set his chopsticks down, giving Izuku his full attention. That was something Izuku had always liked about Hitoshi, that his friend was always willing to make him feel seen and heard. Right now, though, Izuku really wished he had Hagakure’s quirk.

“Is it something I should be concerned about?” Hitoshi asked in a low voice.

Izuku tried not to fidget in his seat, shame crawling up his spine like a hoard of spiders. It’s not like he could tell Hitoshi the truth— that he was so weak and broken that he needed to see Hound Dog every day, that none of the adults at U.A. trusted him enough to be by himself for any period of time, or that their intimidating, underground, pro-hero homeroom teacher treated him like a kitten with a sprained paw.

Yeah. No. Izuku would rather swallow a brick, thank you.

“N-no, it’s nothing bad. Um, Hound Dog offered to teach me some psychoanalytical skills during free period since- since I like to analyze quirks and stuff,” Izuku answered, hoping he sounded convincing. It wasn’t really a lie. Going to therapy was kind of like learning how to analyze the mind, right?

“Oh, yeah, I can see how that would be helpful for heroics,” Hitoshi replied with a nod. Izuku had to hold back a sigh of relief at his friend so easily believing him while simultaneously attempting to ignore the guilt that bubbled in his stomach.

Izuku used the lull in their conversation to shovel some rice in his mouth. He wasn’t particularly hungry but at least eating gave him something to do other than focusing on his festering unease. That, and he was pretty certain Ectoplasm would report to Aizawa on whether or not he had eaten. It was the warning Aizawa had given him about how spending lunch in the cafeteria was considered a privilege that caused Izuku to eat more than he normally would have.

The food sat heavy in his stomach like stones at the bottom of a river.

“By the way,” Hitoshi suddenly spoke, “we need to get permission from one of the teachers to leave campus.” Izuku nearly choked on a mouthful of egg and rice. Hitoshi flashed him a worried look but Izuku waved him off, still coughing on the food that he didn’t quite swallow in time.

“Ah- s-sorry. Um, permission?”

The teen nodded, “Yeah, it’s new U.A. protocol that students get permission from staff to leave campus. So we should probably talk to Aiza-”