Work Text:
Izuku is officially Quirkless. There are no ifs or buts or questions to be raised, no doubts to be had, because who cares about one little Quirkless boy?
What there are, however, are mistakes.
Because Izuku has no double toe joint. If one were so inclined, they could perform a full-body scan to conclude that he has no appendix, no tailbone, that his bone density is slightly different, and that, in the strands of his DNA, there does indeed lie a genetic Quirk Factor. Midoriya Izuku has a Quirk.
But nobody knows that, including Izuku himself, and he goes home with his mother after his doctor's appointment, and they cry. They weep, they hug, they cook and eat dinner, and they go to bed. Inko, fearing for her child's sleep, takes out the rarely-used candle that she has been occasionally lighting for Izuku ever since he was a baby, and she carefully places it upon a shelf that's too high for him to reach, the scents of vanilla and sandalwood settling through the room.
Far later that night, Eraserhead briefly spots a small, flickering figure, a candle in their hands, in an alleyway. However by the time he gets to them, undeniably concerned, they're gone, leaving only the faintest smell of what might be vanilla and sandalwood. He mentions an odd little ghost to Naomasa when they're both home for the night, but makes nothing else of it. Not yet at least.
It takes two months for the odd figure to be spotted again, this time by Midnight taking a particularly late Twilight patrol, and she gossips about it to her best friends, her and Mic bandying about theories whilst Eraserhead sits and ponders.
It takes a year for there to be more than a few sightings. It's always the same area and nigh-on the same appearance, as best as anyone can tell, for all that they rarely appear and even rarer again within range of the same person.
It takes a full five years for the candle ghost to become a more frequent sight. That's what they're known as now, colloquially amongst those who have seen them, and the local underground hero and police scene. They've never been a malicious presence, nor even an active one, but the point of being a presence in the first place is more than cause for curiosity, particularly over such a long timeframe. Not only that, but within such a long timeframe, it has been noted that the figure has grown and solidified, less of a tiny child and more of a small one. It's concerning, particularly as their figure begins to pop up more and more, always late at night, and always alone, not a word or explanation to be had.
(In the meanwhile, little Izuku has been growing up. He's taller now, though no less spindly, all elbows and knees and too-wild curls, and he often finds curious little burns upon his hands, a tiny polka-dot match to the starbursts already beginning to warp his shoulders and one elbow. He writes in notebooks, burn cream beneath his All Might plasters, and clutches the straps of his rucksack until his knuckles are seeping bleach-white when he runs from school bullies and stranger-bigots, never once complaining about the circle beginning to form upon his pressed side-by-side palms, flat in supplication to maybe-gods, a ring of dripped scars. So, yes, Izuku grows up, and some of the world protests, but most think nothing much of it. That, much like a false diagnosis five years ago, is a mistake.)
The candle spirit keeps on turning up, almost every night. That, however, isn't the only change, and the other is far more significant: they begin to help children. Oh, that sounds insignificant at first, something minor, except it's very much drawing attention. There's talk of a ghost or spirit or vigilante who leads lost children to their parents or a nearby police station; someone who distracts villains and abusers and bullies from their victims, and then leads the escaped children to the nearest hero or precinct.
The spirit protects Musutafu's children in silence and golden light, and Musutafu notices.
They're never caught though. No matter which hero comes after them, looking to apprehend or talk or even help, their eyes remain closed, the candle flame the only unwavering part of them, and they never say a word. Erasure does nothing, and on another occasion a shot of a glue-based Quirk passes straight them, their entire being fluctuating in place. The four children behind them squeak and whimper, but don't run away, and instead only continue to follow the candle spirit, even as they stare up at the hero crouched on the rooftop, fear blatant.
Nobody gets close enough to try and physically grab the vigilante. No, they always fade out before then, something that might be a serene smile on their face.
(Izuku wakes up most mornings with fresh burns, body aching yet heart bitterly peaceful, something like the sense of satisfaction creeping along his ribs, treacle-thick enough to almost choke him.)
This trend continues. For almost another five years, the candle spirit haunts Musutafu with kindness. There are several colloquial names for them, most of them still based around their first, but Naomasa has dubbed the candle spirit-now-vigilante the "Crandall", after a set of characters in an old pre-Quirk book that Shouta quietly adores because sometimes his husband will read it aloud for him, on nights where sleep truly alludes them both, and the soft sweetness of it matches the silent guidance of the vigilante far too well, even disregarding the more obvious similarities.
This appellation catches on, first amongst the local precinct but then beyond, from mouth to mouth and story to story. There are blog posts and news articles, hushed tales of the poor child next door being drawn away to something safe by a glimmering, firefly figure. Nothing is known, though a lot is theorised, with even more again rumoured. The children of Crandall are considered both cursed and blessed, despite and because of whatever hardships they have gone through to attract their attention, and many of their cases are those considered most carefully. (Because whilst Crandall has been nothing but kind to children, those who have hurt the children do occasionally show up with burns splattered across their face, a branded warning of what these people have done.)
And so everything is fine, if still not ideal.
Until, of course, Crandall begins to turn up during the day too, halfway translucent and flickering as ever, clearly unmeant for sunlight. (In a bed, a pale child lays beneath equally pale blankets, a steady beeping permeating the room just like the scent of vanilla and sandalwood, and twice a day a nurse applies fresh burn cream to his palms, for all of the good it will do. And Crandall wanders the streets.
But, despite all of his good, all of his kindness and dedication, there is one child that Crandall can’t save, and that child is himself.)