Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bitches be wildin.

Bitches also be chasing fourteen-year-olds with knives.

But.

Bitches be wildin.

To be frank, Izuku was quite fed up with Bitches lately. He wanted to take a nap. He wanted to maybe eat a cookie.

Okay—so maybe the cookie part was a stretch. Izuku could not afford a cookie.

Why? Because Bitches make it hard to swipe cash.

Honestly, Bitches be Izuku’s biggest problem right now.

Bitches be in the way.

Bitches be throwing knives.

Bitches.

Be.

Wildin.

One particular Bitch was getting on Izuku’s nerves lately. Like, this second, lately.

Hey, that reminds him—maybe he should be paying attention.

Izuku’s shoes grind across the asphalt as he takes a sharp turn around the corner. While he’s definitely not out of shape, his legs are feelin it.

“Could you maybe…uh…not?” Izuku calls over his shoulder as he darts around a corner.

Rude, Izuku thinks when he gets nothing in response.

“I’m gonna wring your neck, brat!” Bitches growls out from somewhere behind him.

“Kinky, but I don’t swing that way.” Izuku huffs out, chest heaving as he pumps air in and out of his lungs. “Well, I mean I do but maybe not your particular way.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I mean—me? Straight? Hilarious.” Izuku releases a Cardi-esque ‘skrrt’ as he slides around another corner.

The boy’s stolen left steel-toed boot catches a lift in the sidewalk, sending him sprawling across the concrete. He tumbles to a stop, arms curled around his head and neck.

Yanking himself to his feet again, he looks up to find the attacker less than five feet from his face with a wicked-looking blade aimed at him.

“Bro.” Izuku places his hands out to stop the guy, “C’mon, bro.”

The attacker hesitates. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“What, you want some dramatic monologue about how you should turn your life around and become a better person?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“I’m getting pretty tired of standing here.”

Izuku ducks just as the knife is practically sling-shotted toward his head.

Wait.

Is sling-shotted a word?

Izuku would guess so, but then again he wouldn’t really consider himself the brightest crayon in the box.

He pulls the knife out from between the bricks and holds it steady in his palm as he approaches the assaulter.

It would make sense for ‘sling-shotted’ to be a word, right? If sling-shot is the object, and therefore the noun, then the verb would be…sling-shoat?

He roundhouse kicks the guy in the side of the head.

Sling-shoat is 100% not a real word. It has to be sling-shotted.

Something pinches his shoulder, and a quick glance reveals a splatter of dark green blood across his arm.

It’s not like he could check a dictionary, he doesn’t even have a penny to his name. Even if he did have a dictionary, he’d definitely have sold it by now.

The man’s head bashes into the wall, effectively rendering him unconscious.

Final decree: ‘Sling-shotted’ until further research can be conducted.

Izuku quickly winds the guy’s hands up with some capture tape and slaps a sticky note with a smiley face on his forehead.

Which name should this one be? Let’s go with Jeff.

Izuku quickly scrawls a “Jeff” with an arrow pointing to the attacker’s face right beside the smiley.

Was the guy named Jeff? Probably not. But what can he say? He does it for the vine.

With a skip in his step, Izuku trots away from the…crime scene…and back off into the night. He doesn’t have time to dilly dally around until the cops get there.

He doesn’t trust cops anyways. They’re too tied down to the system. You can’t trust their word.

Anyways, so that’s the story of how Izuku finds himself sitting on the top of an abandoned warehouse in Musutafu orbiting around a Happy Meal.

Did Izuku skip a few steps there? Yes. Is he going to fix that? You can bet your ass he isn't.

“Oh, Ronald.” Izuku coos into the tiny box of joy, “My one true love.” In one fell swoop of a hand, Izuku scoops up his small container of fries and starts shoveling them down his throat.

Yeah…he was hungry. Thankfully, a mugger he’d stopped earlier that night had a couple of bucks on him. Luckily for Izuku, it was just enough to get him a happy meal with a coke.

Not the kind of coke Izuku was hoping for…but the look on the cashier’s face when Izuku asked was to die for.

He’s just moving on to his burger when he hears a scuffle behind him.

“If you’re here to seduce me, please, at least try to make your shuffling at least a little bit sexier.”

“I-” The person splutters. “Has someone tried to seduce you?”

“No, but it’s only inevitable. I mean—have you seen me?”

No. No, they haven’t. Izuku wears a mask for that exact reason.

“This isn’t how I imagined our first conversation would go.” The gruff, almost inaudible voice grumbles from behind Izuku. “Are you Mismatch?”

God, Izuku hates that name. He hates it with every fiber of his being.

No, none of his clothing matched in any way, shape, or form. Hence the dumbass nickname.

His shoes were mismatched, but they were both stolen. He couldn’t afford to buy a matching pair. One was a black steel-toed boot, while the other was a bright red sneaker from a pair made specifically for quirkless people’s feet.

Holes litter both shoes, and both were seemingly held together by nothing but duct tape, the sheer force of human will, and a sacrificial lamb.

On the red sneaker, a small blade popped out the toes of the shoe when Izuku stomped hard enough. The steel toe of the boot helped Izuku drop-kick thieves into next Tuesday.

His pants were practically just scraps at this point. They started out as black cargo pants Izuku had found hanging on a dryer line once, but with all the holes he’s accumulated, the pants have become nothing more than patches of different fabric haphazardly sewn on in order to keep the pants strapped to his thin legs.

His hoodie was a dark green, which fared well for all the dirt and grime that coated it. On top of the sweatshirt, Izuku had managed to score a rather worn-down dark leather jacket.

This, he had stolen. 100%. Stolen.

He still feels guilty for it, but he knew if he wanted to survive, the leather jacket would be the only thing keeping him warm enough at night.

A plain black medical mask kept his face hidden (and warm), while a cheap beanie covered the top half of his bushy head. He wore a pair of fingerless black motorcycle gloves to top it all off.

It wasn’t much of a vigilante get-up. It read more “I’m homeless and like to fuck shit up and maybe stop a crime once in a while” than anything.

All in all, his entire ‘look’ was a jumbled mess of colors and patchwork patterns. But hey—you do what you can when you’re fourteen, homeless, and starving.

So yeah, maybe everything about him was mismatched. But they didn’t need to call him out on the fact that he didn’t even have enough money to buy a matching pair of shoes.

He would if he could, trust him. He was born quirkless, so the one red shoe feels substantially less painful on his foot than the boot does. It’d be great if he could buy a fresh pair of the red ones.

But…alas.

Plus, they up-charge those shoes like crazy since they know only the quirkless need them.

“Yours truly, xoxo.” Izuku replies as he takes a bite of his burger. What do they put in these that makes them so damn good?

“Sorry if I’m…interrupting your meal.” Izuku can hear the person approaching.

“Yeah, because why would I go to the top of an abandoned building in the middle of the night if I didn’t want someone to find me?” Izuku snorts sarcastically. Of course he didn’t want to be found. Being found meant adults. Adults meant problems.

The person simply clears their throat and stands behind the ledge beside Izuku.

Izuku carefully picks up his happy meal and scoots to the right a bit, to put more distance between himself and the intruder. He doesn’t want to be so close.

It’s not like the guy made Izuku feel uncomfortable, it’s just he’s had experience with people getting too close in the past. He can’t take that risk again.

From this angle, Izuku can finally see him. The man has pitch-black hair that flows loosely in the breeze. His eyes are black as well, but Izuku knows just how blood-red they can be. A dirty white scarf is seemingly tangled around his neck, in stark contrast to his black combat suit. Buried somewhere in the mess of gray fabric, Izuku knows a pair of yellow goggles hide.

“So, what can I do you for?” Izuku starts, talking through a bite of his burger, “Need a job done? Bit of spying? Hitman? If it’s the last one, I can’t help you, but—could I interest you in a list of references?”

“You really do like to ramble, don’t you?”

Izuku blinks at the guy. A smile slowly spreads on the vigilante’s face and he bats a hand towards the man, sheepish, “Tsuki talked about me, didn’t he? He’s just obsessed with me. Not surprised. Who isn’t?”

“He mentioned how much you like to talk.” The guy replies.

“So he sent you here then? Probably trying to convince me to join the dark side?”

“Wouldn’t you be…the dark side?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

Izuku munches on his burger, occasionally taking a swig from his soda. “Damn. All out of fries.”

“You seemed hungry.” Slowly, the man sits on the ledge. He isn’t near Izuku at all, but it still makes the boy anxious.

“Yeah, that’ll happen.” Izuku retorts sarcastically. He finishes his burger, proceeding to yank the added toy out of the box. “Oh, hell yeah! Another hero figurine!”

It’s a cheap little thing. It’s an All Might figurine, which Izuku wasn’t overly jazzed about, but he’ll take what he can get at this point. The printing on it is grainy, and some of the colors bleed. You can see the serial number printed on its foot, and the only movable aspects of the toy are its arms.

Again—it’s pretty damn cheap.

“You like All Might?”

Izuku’s eyes snap up to meet the man’s, his playful exterior reduced to sheer suspicion. “What’s it to you?”

The answer was pretty much no, but Izuku felt like being particularly difficult today.

The man throws his palms up, face as expressionless as ever. “Just wondering.”

Izuku’s flippancy is back in an instant. “Say, Eraserhead-” The man splutters at hearing his hero name, “You wouldn’t happen to be willing to pass a note onto Tsuki for me, would you?”

“How do you know my hero name?” The man’s voice is stern.

“I’m not an idiot, duh.” Izuku rolls his eyes. “I work in this part of Japan, you work in this part of Japan. I need to know who I’m up against.”

“Against?”

Izuku sighs exasperatedly, tossing his toy’s wrapper into the Mcdonald's box. “Can’t you keep up?”

“I’m Underground. No one, really, is supposed to know who I am.” He grumbles.

“Well, I’m practically ‘no one’ so that works out splendidly, does it not?” Izuku hums. He slurps down the last of his coke and tosses that into the box as well. He smushes it all down and sets the container beside him.

There’s a moment of calm silence. “You sound like you’re twelve.” The hero blurts.

Ah, Izuku was waiting for that.

“Okay, first of all—not twelve. Second of all—none of your business.” Izuku pops off.

“Oh, I think it is when you’re a wanted vigilante patrolling my route.” The man glares daggers at the boy. “It’s my job to get you off my streets.”

“Well, that’s hilarious considering these have been my streets for five fucking years.” Izuku laughs, arms thrown up in the air. “Plus, I’ve been kicking it on my own for long enough. Scram, twerp.” He jaunts to his feet, Happy Meal box dangling off his index finger.

“I’m the twerp?” Eraserhead scoffs. “And just where do you think you’re going? I’m taking you to the station.”

Izuku blinks at the man, then proceeds to laugh, belly-up. He stands straight up after, face serious and tone deadly, “It’s amusing how you thought it was going to be that easy.”

In a flash, Izuku is gone.

Okay, in all reality, Izuku just jumped off the roof. But hey, he scared the hero, so all is well.

As soon as he reaches just three feet above the unforgivingly hard sidewalk, he stops midair. His quirk, Poltergeist, had managed to catch him in time.

Yeah…maybe Izuku should explain.

Something like five years ago, some shit went down with his dad, he was nomu-ified, heart stopped, yada yada yada.

Izuku doesn’t really like to reminisce on that particular memory, thank you very much. You’ll probably figure it out as you go. Or you won’t. He really doesn’t care.

Planting his feet back on the ground, Izuku books it down the street. He releases a manic cackle when he hears heavy footsteps following him.

Xx

Shouta hadn’t expected to stumble upon Mismatch tonight. It was only a few days ago that Tsukauchi had asked Shouta to keep an eye out for the kid.

First thing Shouta noticed was how…small…the vigilante was.

When Tsukauchi had mentioned he was a child, Shouta had thought he was maybe sixteen, or seventeen. Based on the reports of his fighting style, it only made sense that he’d be old enough to have experience in martial arts.

But the boy sitting on the ledge in front of him has to be, what, ten? At the youngest?

And then he heard his voice…yeah, this kid was definitely way too young to be out here.

And then…Shouta saw his eyes.

They were a piercing green, glowing dimly in the dark night that draped over them. They literally glowed.

At first, Shouta wondered why the kid didn’t just wear contacts to cover up the most apparent aspect of whatever quirk he had (they still didn’t know). Then he realized, based on the kid’s entire look and size, Mismatch was most likely homeless. He probably couldn’t afford to buy colored contacts.

After shoveling down his Happy Meal (which Shouta didn’t think was nearly enough to feed him), the kid apparently decided that that was his cue to leave.

It wasn’t until he stood up did Shouta see the deep, angry slice that cut through the kid’s left shoulder. The most surprising part was the fact that the vigilante’s blood was green. Not red, but green.

He chalked it up to it being a part of the kid’s quirk.

He would’ve helped him with the injury if he’d seen it sooner, but now the kid was…jumping off the roof?!

Shouta immediately gives chase, feet pounding against the pavement. All intents of stealth were lost, he just needed to find the vigilante.

A feral laugh echoes through the empty streets, sending a chill down Shouta’s spine.

Not a lot frightened Shouta, aside from his husband on a Monday morning (Hizashi was way too cheery to be human. Shouta was sure he was an alien). But that laugh…something about that laugh just now was terrifying.

And that lands him in Tsukauchi’s office, empty-handed, after a good two hours of searching.

“You couldn’t find him at all?” The detective sighs, facepalming.

“Well, I did. We even talked for a few minutes.” Shouta replies, “But he got away before I could capture him.”

“Evasive little cretin.” Tsukauchi grumbles, “What did you talk about?”

“He mainly just cracked a few jokes. He did say he had something for me to tell you, but he never told me what it was.”

“Any defining features?”

“Yeah, mainly his eyes. They glow.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

The detective viciously types the information into his computer. “I can’t believe you got that close to him. We have zero reports of someone getting close enough to notice his eyes before.”

“I don’t think he wanted me to find him. He was way up top on an abandoned building, so I’m surprised he didn’t run as soon as he realized I was there.”

“I’ve talked to him only once before…or rather, I talked and he made snarky comments.” The detective rolls his eyes. “So really, anything you can get on him is gold.”

“He’s definitely a kid, I guessed twelve.” Shouta adds.

“That’s what I was thinking. He’s very small.”

“Concerningly so.” Shouta runs a hand down his face exhaustedly. “We literally have a child running around Japan.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it.” Well, Shouta would have to disagree with him there.

There was a lot Shouta could do about it.

Chapter Text

Izuku’s day was going pretty good, if you ask him. He had some Mcdonald's last night, got some sleep. Now he was gathering energy outside in a park, exhausted from having spent so much of his quirk’s power during patrol.

To explain it simply (because Izuku would really rather not get into that right now), six years ago, Izuku’s mom died. Once she passed, Izuku’s dad gained legal custody of him.

It only took him six months to start the experiments.

Again, Izuku doesn’t like to think about that—it gives him…unsavory…thoughts—but Izuku knew their goal was, in the end of it all, to make him a Nomu.

Izuku was terrified of that fact. He’d seen the monsters locked up in cages, teeth bared, eyes vacant.

And Izuku was going to become one of those? No. He’d die before he let that happen.

And well…he did.

They’d messed with his brain matter a bit, which was seriously the weirdest feeling ever, but then they electrocuted him.

That part was a little less ‘weird’ and a little more ‘holy shit what the hell is going on’.

When Izuku woke up next, his entire body felt different. It felt airy, almost like what he’d imagine a cloud would feel like if clouds could…well, feel.

Then he noticed his eyes. They glowed, and fiercely so.

He found he could levitate a maximum of three feet off the ground, but that didn’t inhibit his speed one bit. However, when he uses this aspect of his quirk, a green ghost-like fire trails behind him. It was quite the calling card, which is why he tried not to levitate too much. At least in public.

A green fire also emitted from his hands when he willed it to, and Izuku quickly took a liking to arson. The fire didn’t actually burn any material unless Izuku wanted it to, which was a plus.

Leaving a trail like that behind while trying to get away was practically asking to be chased, arrested, and locked up.

He’s also noticed that if he uses his quirk too much, or if he gets too tired, his body starts disappearing. That’s the only repercussion he’s noticed so far.

The only other downside to his quirk is it needs ‘lifeforce’ to regain power. Lifeforce is basically just an energy people emit, but Izuku realized quickly after he woke up that he needed it like food or water. However, he hated taking life force with every fiber of his being.

Was it immoral? Was he like a vampire, sucking the life from one human to the next?

Every time Izuku is near someone (within hugging distance, for example), he gathers lifeforce. So far, he hasn’t noticed any repercussions on the victim at all. It was almost as if they didn’t even notice it was happening.

He could tell, just by looking at them, humans had an excess of lifeforce. They had so much that it just kind of dwindled off of them.

And Izuku…well, technically Izuku is a type of dead, so he couldn’t really generate any of his own.

But Izuku still couldn’t allow himself to take someone’s lifeforce. Even with a villain, Izuku couldn’t credit himself that right.

So, he settled on spending three hours outside in the busiest part of the park every day so he could gather some lifeforce from the crowd instead of one singular person.

He doesn’t get nearly as much lifeforce as he needed from doing this, but it’s enough to keep him alive and keep his quirk active.

Izuku knew what would happen if he didn’t get the lifeforce; It had killed him when he first got his quirk, when he didn’t realize he needed it (but that’s a whole other plot point! >:D elsewhere, the author cackles in anticipation).

He still needed to eat, seeing as he wasn’t dead. That was the frustrating part.

Anyways, so Izuku’s sitting in the park. It’s a beautiful day out, and it’s a Saturday so there are plenty of people rushing around.

The boy can feel his body recharge as he sits there, slowly seeping the excess energy from the crowd. He tries to remind himself that he isn’t hurting anyone by doing this but it still just feels so…wrong.

Small wisps of translucent green float up from the crowd and towards Izuku every so often, which is really his only real indicator that it’s working

He wears a pair of sunglasses in public to keep his eyes covered. The only person Izuku thinks knows about his wonky eyes is Eraserhead, but who knows who Izuku might pass in a day?

“Oh, don’t tell me.”

Oh, no.

Izuku knows that voice.

“It is him!”

Tsubasa.

Izuku wants to look, he wants to look so bad, but he refuses. They don’t deserve that.

He knows Tsubasa has the other kid, the one with the finger quirk, with him. He doesn’t remember his name though.

“It’s Deku!” God, Izuku hates that nickname almost as much as his vigilante name.

“I thought you died or something! Fell off the face of the earth!” Three shadows appear in front of him, partially covering his lap. “You look like shit.” They all laugh at that.

Finally, he looks. “Could say the same about you.” Izuku replies, plastering a snarky grin across his face. “Now could you all politely move your crusty, dusty, unwashed asses and get your wrinkled Endeavor t-shirt out of my face? It’s giving me a rash.”

There’s a short pause of silence.

Hands grip his sweatshirt, dragging him to somewhere else. He thinks a nearby alleyway.

“You think you have the gull?!” A hand is gripped tightly into his green curls.

Izuku chuckles through a grimace. “I do-”

And apparently that was the wrong thing to say, considering his ribcage meets a foot only three seconds later.

Izuku groans, trying desperately to curl into a ball, but the hands holding his wrists above his head aren’t helping.

He gasps for a breath. “Guys, come on, let’s just talk this out-”

A fist collides with his jaw, sending the side of his head bouncing against the brick wall. Stars dance in his vision.

“Hey!”

Izuku blinks dazedly as he tries to focus on whoever is now standing at the mouth of the alleyway.

“What’s going on here?”

“Oh, uh!” Izuku almost laughs at the frightened tone of the bully’s words. “We’re just playing, uh, sir!”

There’s a silent pause. Izuku can smell the tension. “Well, why don’t you go play something else, yeah?” Their tone is hot, angry.

“O-Okay!” The two boys blurt. They scamper off a moment later.

Izuku slumps down against the wall, head lulling to the side.

Gravel crunches under shoes as Izuku hears his savior approach. “Are you alright, little listener?”

‘Little listener’? Where does Izuku know that from?

He blinks up at the person dazedly. A hand is laid gently on his shoulder.

Izuku immediately snaps back to reality, scrambling to get away from the intruding contact. “N-No!”

“Woah, woah—okay!” Izuku notices long, blond hair. And glasses. A mustache? “You look hurt, I just want to help.”

“I-I’m fine.” God, Izuku hates his stutter. He never has it around villains, but once he’s talking to a regular person, his stutter comes right back.

The man tsks once before kneeling down. “You're bleeding.”

Izuku does not like how close the man is right now. Not that he feels threatening, it’s just that Izuku would hate himself even more than he already does if he stole this man’s lifeforce.

Gingerly, Izuku dabs at the side of his head. A forest green blood sticks to his fingers.

Wait—where’d his sunglasses go?!

“Wha-?!” In a panic, Izuku searches the area around him, keeping his eyes cast down to avoid making eye contact with the person. “My sunglasses!”

“Oh, they’re right here.” A pair of hands delicately place them in Izuku’s palm. One of the lenses seems to have popped out and shattered.

God fucking damn it.

“Shit.” Izuku curses under his breath.

“Did you need them?”

Izuku nods.

“Are they for your quirk?” Damn it, the man’s seen his eyes by now.

Izuku shakes his head. “My eyes aren’t dangerous or anything like that. I just hate them.”

His savior frowns. “I think they’re beautiful, listener. There’s nothing to hide.” Izuku looks up at him. The blonde smiles. “I’m Yamada.” He reaches his hand out for a handshake.

Izuku sniffles, rubbing his nose across his sleeve. “Izuku.” He doesn’t take the hand, knowing full well how rude it must seem, but it’s not worth the risk.

Izuku manages to get to his feet. When Yamada takes a careful step forward to help him, Izuku scoots back, arms curled in on himself.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” Yamada reiterates.

But I don’t wanna hurt you.

“We should get you to a hospital.” Yamada urges, eyebrows bunched in concern.

“N-No, I’ll be fine!” Izuku tries to smile at the man, but he’s sure it comes out as a rather feral look. “Thank you for y-your help, uh, Yamada, sir!” He starts shuffling towards the entrance of the alleyway.

“Izuku, wait!”

The boy freezes.

He hasn’t heard anyone say his name in so long.

“Can I at least walk you home? Or to…wherever you’re on your way to?”

“I-It’ll be okay, I promise.” Izuku whispers, hoping it’s loud enough for Yamada to hear him, before slithering out onto the sidewalk.

He keeps his eyes down so no one will see him.

Xx

Yamada can’t stop thinking about that kid. It’d been a few hours since their interaction, but something just felt off about it all.

First of all, the kid looked like a twig. His skin was pale and clammy, as if he’d pass out at any minute. Green tufts of hair were matted against his head, looking in dire need of a hairbrush and some conditioner.

His eyes, though…Hizashi was amazed by his eyes. They were a luminescent green, shining with an almost supernatural glow. They were beautiful.

And the listener hated them? How? Hizashi was firm in the belief that everyone should love every aspect of who they are, and he knows his belief doesn’t change the fact that people are insecure, but maybe he thought he could try to up the listener’s confidence in himself.

And his blood was green? Like? Hizashi assumes it’s a part of his quirk, considering his green eyes and green hair. Hizashi wonders what his quirk is.

He was bleeding when Hizashi left him alone.

Or rather, when Izuku scurried away like a frightened animal.

That part was…concerning.

Damn it, Hizashi could’ve offered to buy him some new sunglasses. That would’ve been a great way to keep an eye on him to make sure he was alright!

Hizashi could only hope that he’d run into the kid again.

Just to make sure he was okay.

Chapter Text

Izuku was already riding the adrenaline high.

He wasn’t even there yet and he was cackling like a maniac.

It’d been a few weeks since he’d met Eraserhead, and he found he quite enjoyed the other’s company.

Even if it was just to pick on the hero.

The extent of their relationship really only included exchanging a few words on rooftops. Izuku never stayed in his presence long, for fear of accidentally taking his lifeforce.

He knew it wouldn’t hurt Eraserhead, since living beings practically overflow with lifeforce on a constant basis. But it felt too wrong to let it happen.

Sometimes he thought he could feel a pair of eyes watching him on his patrols, and Izuku wondered if they were Eraserhead’s.

He couldn’t tell.

Anyways, so drugs!

Or—cough cough—he means the mission!

He was there.

This was it.

D r u g s.

No, Izuku wasn't a drug addict.

Yeah, he’s tried the hard stuff before but it always left him…weird. Vulnerable. So, he took it all in small test trials.

He thinks his favorite is probably weed. Izuku smokes a considerable amount of weed.

It did, however, leave him super sluggish. So he tried not to smoke it often.

Key word: tried.

“Excuse me?”

Izuku flips around, surprised. It seemed he was zoning again.

…and probably mumbling.

“One: Why are you floating? And two: What?!”

“Ah, Eraser. Nice to see you so soon.” Izuku replies sarcastically in a faulty British accent. “MaTey.”

“No, this isn’t a joke.” Eraser raises his eyebrows tightly, approaching quickly. “I need you to repeat whatever you just said.”

“MaTey?” Izuku wobbles his voice.

“No-” Eraserhead’s eyebrows rise even higher, if that was possible. “You do drugs? You’re twelve!”

Izuku scoffs. “I’m not twelve!”

Eraser squeezes his eyes shut, hands raised with frustration, “That’s not the point! You’re too young to be doing drugs.”

“Pfft.” Izuku laughs dryly, “Are you gonna stop me?” He puts on a pouty face, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He talks in a baby voice, “Are you gonna try to stop me, Eraser?”

The hero’s eyes shoot open. “You shouldn’t be doing drugs at your age, and that includes marijuana.”

“Your energy is off tonight, Eraser.” Izuku squints at the man, moving his hands in front of him as if he were giving a speech. “It’s giving very much ‘overprotective dad finds out his son does drugs in his free time’.”

Eraserhead just sighs. “And why are you floating?”

Izuku’s eyes slowly widen and he looks down.

Yeah…he was definitely levitating again. Green fire blooms from the ground directly below him.

“Oopsies.” Izuku smiles, eyes squinted at Eraser. With a swift drop, he lands on his feet.

“Is that a part of your quirk?” The man watches him carefully.

“Perchance.” Izuku shrugs.

“I don’t even know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.” Eraserhead runs a hand down his face exhaustedly. “Let me check your eyes.”

Izuku’s heart suddenly bangs against his ribcage at the request. “Okay, Eraser, just—chill.” He huffs out a weak laugh as he’s backed up against the ledge, nervous and struggling to hide it.

Eraser reaches a hand up to Izuku’s head, probably to hold it still.

And, well, it seems that was Izuku’s breaking point.

Izuku levitates up to the ledge, hanging his back foot off the drop-off as a threat. “If you come any closer, I will jump off this building.”

Izuku knew he could just levitate the second before he reached the ground, but Eraserhead didn’t know that.

Eraser’s eyes shoot up to his hairline again. “Okay, okay,” He eases, palms up. “I won’t come any closer.”

“I doubt that, but go off I guess.” Izuku quips, taking a tentative step further onto the ledge.

Eraserhead sighs. “I just wanted to check your pupils.”

“One: I’m not high. And two: What’s got your panties in a twist? You’re stressed, you need to mellow.” Izuku holds up his fingers as if he were smoking a joint.

Eraser rolls his eyes. “Tsukauchi and I have been working on catching this drug ring for months and we haven’t gotten anywhere with the case yet.”

Izuku fiddles with his nail, one arm crossed over his stomach. “Oh, you mean the drug ring that’s literally conducting a drug deal right below us in this very building?”

“I-” Eraser pauses. “You’re serious?”

“Why did you think I was here?” Izuku snorts. “For a tea party? Actually, that doesn’t sound half bad-”

“How-” Eraser interrupts him, arms open and tone incredulous, “How’d you get this information?”

“It’s not that hard.” Izuku rolls his eyes. “Follow the trails.”

The hero raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t. “Were you planning on taking them down by yourself?” Eraser asks, obviously unbelieving.

“Momma didn’t raise no bitch.” Izuku tsks, already moving to open a vent hatch.

Eraser watches him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not going in there. You’re a child.”

“I’m a child with a knife.” Izuku slings out a small dagger from his boot. “Eh? Eh?” He urges unconvincingly.

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you go in there.”

“Well, that’s perfect, because I do what I want.” Izuku gives the man a sly grin before sliding face-first down the air vent. One might hear an echoey, “Imposter sus?” from the venting unit as the boy slides down.

“Mismatch!” The hero whisper-yells after him.

Shit. Eraserhead curses to himself. Guess we’re doing this.

Chapter Text

The vents were kinda small, which Izuku hated, but didn’t hate enough to complain and choose a different route of access.

He shimmies through the venting unit, trying to remain quiet while also…shimmying through a venting unit.

He hears voices echo from somewhere nearby, so he slows down to keep quiet.

Finally, he reaches a little hatch in the floor to peep into the room below. It was the perfect setup: Izuku could go for the dealer first, leaving the buyer to make a break for it towards Eraser.

“Six million yen. No more, no less.” Someone growls out. There’s a dimly lit table somewhere on the ground, stacks of what looks to be packs of cocaine piled high on top of it.

“We’re not coughing up six.” The buyer scoffs. “We’ll do four.”

There’s a dry laugh. “Six or we’re gonna have a problem.” Izuku can spot them now—they’re standing to the left, each with a couple of cliche-looking goons standing behind them.

“You know I honestly think you could even go for, like, seven.” Izuku chips in.

The dealer nods, deep in thought. He startles, “WAIT-”

Izuku drops on them like a sack of potatoes.

He starts with the dealer, ramming an elbow into his nose before levitating to dodge a well-aimed kick to his sternum.

He crashes into the empty-headed goons in the back, immediately spinning around and tossing some green fire at their feet to get them to dance a bit.

Yeah, Izuku’s making them his bitch.

He doesn’t usually use his fire, but he figured if Eraser’s already seen it then what’s it gonna hurt?

Also—arson. Izuku loves arson. Has he mentioned that yet? Well, Izuku loves arson.

Suddenly, a meaty arm wraps around Izuku’s neck, effectively trapping him in a headlock.

Shit. Izuku hadn’t been ready for that. He figured the buyer and his goons would’ve run so they weren’t caught and Eraserhead would’ve gotten them outside.

They were supposed to run. Why didn’t they run?!

He wrangles with the attacker for a moment, struggling to even loosen his hold. He’d add in a quip about this being kinky, but he didn’t even have enough room to breathe.

He couldn’t even use his shoes, with the steel toe or the knife.

Something crunches lightly in his throat and he tastes a bit of blood.

Well, that didn’t sound good. Or feel good, frankly.

He doesn’t wanna kill this guy; he doesn’t like to kill villains if he has a choice. But Izuku really thinks he’s on the brink of death, so full stop, right?

Surging all his energy forward, he ignites his entire body in green flames, leaving his nerves buzzing with power.

The man holding him doesn’t even flinch. It was probably his quirk, flame retardancy or something horribly convenient like that.

God fucking damn it.

Tears were reflexively spilling from Izuku’s eyes now, the lack of oxygen forcing them out of him. He doesn’t think he’ll make it for much longer if he doesn’t do something.

Using a power he rarely uses, and he means rarely, he reaches a shaky hand up and telepathically pulls one of the goons' heads to smack into Izuku’s attackers’.

This seems to faze him for a moment. Just long enough for Eraserhead to come to the rescue, it seems.

The man holding Izuku by the neck is suddenly screaming, then he’s yanked off Izuku’s neck.

Izuku clatters to the ground, gasping for oxygen. He can’t seem to get enough in, but with enough breaths, he manages.

All he can do is sit there with his eyes squeezed shut for what feels like forever. Breathing is his main priority.

His neck blooms with pain, and he could only imagine the nasty bruise that’s already starting to develop.

“Mismatch!”

Izuku startles, hands flying up.

“Mismatch, can you hear me?” Absently, Izuku nods. “Can you breathe?”

Peeping his eyes open, he finds Eraserhead looking down at him, features tinged with concern yet still somehow blank. “Mismatch?”

“T-Trying-” Izuku coughs out. “H-Hurts.” His voice sounds like it was run through a meat grinder.

“Let me see your throat.” The man kneels by the boy. “I need to see how bad it is.”

Izuku doesn’t even have the capacity to scramble away when Eraser starts pulling down his hoodie to peek at his neck.

“I’m not sure if he crushed your windpipe, but it’s definitely bruised. There’s a lot of trauma.”

“Wow, just like me.” Izuku coughs out sarcastically. He notices a slight wheeze in his breaths.

Eraser looks up at him, eyes squinted. “Can you see?”

Now, this takes Izuku by surprise. Can Izuku see? Is there a reason he shouldn’t be able to?

Izuku nods.

“Your eyes,” Eraser squints at him again, “They're white. Just white.”

“Excuse me?” Izuku barks out, stumbling to his feet to find a reflective surface.

He finds one in the hubcap of a truck parked in the warehouse. His image is distorted, meaning he can make barely anything out of it, but he can see the whites of his eyes, at least.

Wow. Eraserhead really wasn’t lying. Izuku’s eyes were just pure white. Was this a side effect of his quirk?

Izuku doesn't typically use his quirk as much as he has tonight. Mainly because he doesn’t get enough lifeforce to power his quirk for very long as is.

And he’s never actually had a mirror to look in when he exhausts his quirk, so he guesses it made sense.

Wait—if this was a side effect of quirk exhaustion, then…

Izuku looks down at his left hand. He rips off his glove.

Oops. His hand is gone again. Well, invisible.

He yanks his sleeve down further to find his forearm completely transparent, stopping at just about his elbow. Where his forearm should be, instead is a green wisp emanating from where the transparency begins.

“What the hell is that.” Eraserhead deadpans, but his tone is obviously worried.

Izuku flips around, startled yet again. “Hehe…” Izuku squeezes out a casual laugh, “Surprise?”

Eraser stares at him, dumbfounded. “Don't just laugh. This isn’t a joke.” Eraserhead growls out, striding up to Izuku and kneeling down. “Let me see.”

Izuku falls back on his butt, scooting backward to avoid the unexpected contact.

“Mismatch,” Eraser starts, carefully, “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? You know I won’t. I want to help.”

“Hilarious.” The boy scoffs. “Don’t get close to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Izuku snips shortly.

“Because why?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you!” The boy blurts frustratedly.

Realization quickly dawns on Eraserhead’s face. I thought he was afraid of me hurting him. Not…

“Mismatch, let me see your arm.” Eraser asks once more, hand outstretched to hold Izuku’s own.

With the adrenaline from the fight finally beginning to dwindle down, Izuku was really starting to feel the exhaustion settling in. He can tell by the way he actually gives Eraserhead his hand. Focused Izuku would’ve never even considered it.

Eraserhead gently runs his fingers down Izuku’s invisible palm, trailing down to his elbow. His eyebrows remain bunched in thought. “Is this another effect of your quirk?”

Izuku nods.

“Quirk exhaustion, then.” Eraserhead finishes, taking a deep breath before allowing Izuku his hand back. “You can stay with me until you get your energy back.”

Izuku’s eyeballs nearly bug out of his head. “What?! You’re kidding!” He laughs out loud, immediately regretting it as pain blossoms from his neck.

“Take it easy, I’m still not sure about your windpipe. We’ll have to get you to a hospital before we head to mine-”

“There’s no way-” Izuku coughs, grimacing when blood splatters on the fist he’d used to cover his mouth with, “-I’m going with you to your house. Like what the hell.” He deadpans.

“You need help. And I won’t just leave you alone.”

“Pfft, you’re assuming I live by myself.”

“Don’t you?”

“That’s not the point!” Izuku sputters out.

“Oh, I think it is.” Eraserhead gives Izuku an almost feral look. “Now come on, your breathing sounds terrible. You need a doctor.”

“‘Need a doctor’ my ass. I’ll be fine.” Izuku insists, pushing himself to his feet. His vision swims momentarily.

“You can’t even stand straight.”

“K, but to be fair, nothing about me can necessarily be classified as ‘straight’.”

“I-”

“I’m going home.” Izuku trudges forward, steps heavy. “Peace, whores.” He gives a lazy peace sign before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mismatch, you sound like shit. You need to see a doctor and get some real rest.”

“Gasp.” Izuku flips around dramatically, immediately regretting it when his chest flares with pain. He’d forgotten about his old bullies who beat him up last week. “Did you just curse in front of a child?!”

“So you admit you’re a child.” Eraser hums. “A child who lives alone.”

“I do not live alone!” Izuku hisses, “There are, in fact, other living creatures residing in the same space as I. So, by definition, I do not live alone.”

“What creatures? Raccoons? Pigeons?” Eraser deadpans.

“I’ll have you know, raccoons actually make very good company if you give them food first.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

Eraserhead’s expression looks…hollow. “You’re twelve and you’re…homeless.”

“I’m not twelve!”

“Kid, stay at my place, at least for tonight. You deserve a roof over your head.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Izuku jabs a finger in the hero’s direction, a feral smile yanking at the corners of his mouth, “You don’t get to pity me. You don’t. So quit acting like you do.” He hisses at the man. Yeah, he hisses.

“I’m not pitying you, Mismatch-”

Something tickles Izuku’s throat and he coughs in his hand again. Green splatters against his palm, leaving a trail as it trickles through his fingers. Was he really coughing up that much blood?

“Is that-?” Izuku looks up, eyeing the concerned look Eraser’s giving him. The hero’s eyes dart from Izuku’s bloodied fist to his mouth, and Izuku now realizes he probably has blood on his lips too. “Did you just-?!”

But Izuku was already running.

“Mismatch!”

Izuku leaps into his levitation, shooting around the shelves to reach the door at the back. He bursts through it and switches his gravitational pull, now levitating up the side of a nearby building.

He can feel the strain on his muscles from overusing his quirk with so little lifeforce, but he pushes himself anyways. He was running on fumes at this point.

“Mismatch! Stop running! I can help you!”

Izuku drops to the ground and groans as the soles of his feet pound against the rooftops. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could make it for.

“Mismatch!”

Izuku quickly drops into an air vent, closing it behind him. He holds his breath to prevent coughing as Eraserhead zips right past, steps light yet his breathing rapid.

Izuku waits another ten minutes before climbing out. His joints seem to grind with the movements.

It takes him an entire forty-five minutes to get back to his ‘apartment’. By ‘apartment’, he means the corner of an abandoned building he’s claimed for himself.

He collapses on his pile of blankets as soon as he makes it in, groaning with exhaustion.

After about five minutes, a wet nose nudges his right arm.

Izuku smiles softly. “Hey, Pickles.” He runs a hand down the raccoon’s back. A chitter sounds out.

He can feel Pickles plop herself down onto his chest. He grimaces at the added weight on his injured rib cage. “I brought you a snack.”

Pickles immediately perks up.

Izuku reaches into his pocket and pulls out two granola bars. He unwraps one and passes it to the raccoon, and keeps the second one for himself.

His eyes still shut tightly, but he can hear Pickles skitter over to the water bowl he has set on the ground, dip the snack in, then completely mow it down.

Izuku can feel his eyelids start to droop, his mind starting to fray around the edges with a heavy type of exhaustion.

Welp…he sure does hope he doesn’t suffocate in his sleep.

Chapter Text

The kid is gone. He’s just gone.

“Hizashi!” Shouta barrels into their apartment, eyes red-rimmed and breath light in his lungs. “Hizashi, I can’t find him.”

In less than a second, his husband slams the bedroom door open and literally THROWS himself into the hallway. His hair is wrapped in a messy bun atop his head and his pajamas are hanging loosely off his lean frame, but by god, he was going to help his husband.

He stares Shouta dead in the eye, expression calmer than Shouta’s ever seen it, “Baby, what’s going on? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I can’t find the kid.” Shouta huffs out, face twisting into a grimace as he runs his hands through his hair. “He’s hurt—god, Hizashi, he could be really hurt.”

“Okay, okay-” Hizashi approaches him rapidly, placing his hands on Shouta’s shoulders to try to regulate his breathing. “Just take a deep breath. How hurt are we talking here?”

“I’m pretty sure his windpipe was crushed and he definitely overused his quirk.”

“How can you tell?”

“You know how we tried to guess what his quirk was?”

“Yeah?”

“We were way off. So off.” Shouta runs another hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what it is. He can levitate, I’m not sure how high, but then he has this green fire, and-and he has some sort of telekinesis. His eyes—they were just white, Hizashi, I think it’s from quirk overuse. Then the blood—he was coughing up blood. Then his arm was disappearing! I think it was just invisible since I could still feel it, but who knows how much has disappeared by now? What if he’s gone?!”

Hizashi had to admit—he’s never seen his husband so out of his wits before during their entire thirteen-year marriage. Shouta wasn’t a rambler by nature, however after having spent years with his husband, Hizashi knows that when the black-haired man actually does get panicked, he’ll lose control of himself.

To be fair, everything Shouta just relayed was cause for concern. Quirk exhaustion was a serious problem. Straining your body and your quirk like that can cause permanent damage. Not to mention the thing with his eyes, and the blood?! Coughing up blood is a huge indicator of internal bleeding. He could die within the night from that alone.

And his body was disappearing? He’s not sure what that’s from—maybe the quirk exhaustion?

“Sho, Sho-” Hizashi shushes him delicately, “Breathe. Please breathe.”

Shouta takes a few shallow breaths, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Was he taken? Did someone take him?” Hizashi asks.

He’d heard tons about the vigilante from Shouta over the past month or so. His husband was always worried about the kid; where he was, whether or not he was eating well.

Hizashi had to admit---he worried too.

Apparently, Shouta only made contact with the kid for minutes at a time. The boy was skittish, at best, and obviously had very strong physical boundaries. Whenever Shouta wanted to check out a black eye or some other injury the vigilante had, the younger one would always dodge him and make a break for it. He was like a wild animal.

It made Hizashi wonder when the last time the kid got a hug was.

“No, he just ran.” Shouta huffs out. He seemed focused again—level-headed. His usual self. “I think I lost him somewhere between the market and Nemuri’s place.”

“Okay, well let’s go look for him.” Hizashi grabs his leather jacket off the back of one of the dining room chairs. He slings his arms through it on the way out the door.

He grabs Shouta’s shoulders again as soon as they’re on their front porch. “Okay. You go west, I go east. Meet here in an hour.”

“Got it.” Shouta’s eyebrows are still scrunched up with concern.

Hizashi gives him a delicate kiss on the forehead, gently holding his face between his palms afterward. “He’s a strong kid.”

“I know.” His husband grimaces. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Hizashi lets his hands slide away as he takes off down the street, Shouta heading in the opposite direction.

Xx

They never found the kid. Not even a sign of him anywhere.

Shouta was a mess.

His eyes were an angry red, dry and tired due to overuse and lack of sleep. Hizashi could see the way exhaustion hung heavy in his body, but he knew there was nothing he could do to calm his husband down.

They’d spent three hours last night looking for the kid and didn’t even see a sign of him. It’s too bad that the fire he apparently leaves when he levitates doesn’t burn the ground when he uses it.

“Hon, you need to get some sleep. You won’t find him if you have one foot in the grave.”

“He might be dead, Zashi. What do I do then? I’m the only person who even tries to take care of this kid—what if we don’t find him?”

“We don’t even know what happened. We can’t assume he’s dead. I’m sure he’ll turn up.” Hizashi knew he was being hopeful. The kid was coughing up blood. He could have internal bleeding. If he didn’t die sometime last night, then he’d surely be dead by tonight.

“I know he’s hurt. We know that.” Shouta runs a hand down his face. “That fact alone messes me up.”

“I know, Sho, it worries me too. But I’m sure he knows his limits. He may be reckless, but he isn’t stupid.”

“You’re damn right he’s reckless.”

“He’s probably resting somewhere, trying to recuperate.”

“Yeah…” Shouta tries to reassure himself, “Probably.”

Xx

The vodka stings something fierce as it waterfalls down Izuku’s throat.

He coughs after, grimacing at the pain the sensation brings. He doesn’t usually drink alcohol, but it was the closest thing to his bed and Izuku does not have enough energy to get to his feet at the moment.

He needed a pain killer, and something that worked fast.

So, vodka it was.

He wished sorely for an ice pack to put on his throat, but he didn’t own one, let alone a freezer to freeze it in.

He could barely move as is. Pickles was worried, Izuku could tell by the way she kept nudging Izuku’s unopened granola bar closer and closer to his limp hand every thirty minutes.

She’d tried to open the wrapper by herself to hand it to him, but she must’ve found it too difficult considering the granola was...still in the wrapper. But that’s okay, Izuku didn’t think he had the appetite to eat it anyways.

But he knew there was no way he was going to get better if he didn’t go out and get some lifeforce while the crowds were thick today. He wouldn’t have the brainpower to even tend to his injuries if he didn’t get some lifeforce.

Plus, it’s been a few minutes and Izuku thinks the vodka’s kicking in. It’s either his pain or his nerves that are dulling, but either way, it’s helping.

It could also be from Pickles and her close proximity. Maybe Izuku had absorbed some of her excess lifeforce?

He heaves himself to his feet, ignoring the very apparent screaming of his ribs. His throat was a whole other fiasco, and his body, well…

Everything hurts.

“I’ll be back, Pickles.” Izuku slurs. He leaves the capped vodka bottle on his bed and makes his way to the window. “Xoxo, kisses.”

He jumps out, clumsily parkouring down the side of the building. He didn’t want to take the risk of testing his quirk by levitating, so of course, he decided that drunkenly climbing down the abandoned building must be the superior choice.

He just wasn’t sure just how exhausted his quirk was. He didn’t check to see if his transparency had infected the rest of him, but he can assume it probably kept going.

Izuku wasn’t sure how he found himself sitting at his usual bench in the middle of rush hour, but boy did he appreciate it.

He could see the lifeforce emanating from the crowd in wisps, each bit being absorbed by Izuku’s drained aura almost instantly.

Izuku briefly wonders what would happen if he passed out.

Xx

Hizashi was doing another check around the neighborhood for any sign of Mismatch.

It was rush hour, which wasn’t ideal, but any second not spent looking for the kid was a second wasted. It was also another second his husband spent not sleeping.

Shouta had described his vigilante costume as a dark green hoodie with patchwork multicolored pants and a black medical mask. Seems easy enough.

He scans the crowd, feeling a little stupid for doing this at rush hour. The vigilante was skittish around people, so why the hell would he be out here at rush hour, of all times?

Then again, he knew his husband would only get more worried if Hizashi wasn’t out here searching. Hizashi wanted to look for Mismatch too, of course, but he’d also promised his husband that he’d go out and look if Shouta promised to eat the miso soup Hizashi had made for him.

“Excuse me,” Hizashi taps the shoulder of a passing woman with a toddler on her hip, “Have you seen a kid around here anywhere, around yey high? Green hoodie? Mask?”

The woman watches him confusedly. Her eyes widen slightly before she starts asking, “Is he your kid or something?”

“Something like that. He’s hurt, so I need to find him.” Hizashi explains, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

The mother squints her eyes at him again.

Hizashi’s smile morphs into a grimace, resorting to finally just pleading at the woman. “Please, I just need to make sure he’s okay. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” The woman bites her lip in thought. “He’s over there.” She points to the other side of the street, where the park is. “I don’t think he’s okay. Please make sure he gets help.”

“Thank you so much.” Hizashi gives her a small bow before booking it across the street.

Everything is tuned out as soon as he sees Mismatch’s slumped form on the park bench.

He runs to the vigilante, giving his shoulder a gentle shake as soon as he’s within arm’s reach. “Mismatch? Mismatch!” Hizashi calls.

The listener wasn’t moving—he wasn’t even responding. Hizashi pulls his hoodie down just slightly to peek at his neck.

“Oh my god.” Hizashi gapes. Mismatch’s throat was a xanadu of colors, ranging from harsh greens to poignant yellows. Black tinges certain veins that criss cross across his neck.

He scoops the small child up into his arms, then darts back to the apartment while he simultaneously tries to make sure it doesn’t look like he’s kidnapping this kid.

“Shouta! Shouta, I got him!” Hizashi pushes the door closed with his foot.

Shouta comes barreling down the hallway, eyes trained on the small form bundled in Hizashi’s arms. “Is he okay?”

“No, I haven’t had the chance to check him out.” Hizashi explains. He lays the boy down on their couch, a worried whine bubbling from the back of his throat at the way the kid’s head just limply lulls to the side.

Shouta checks for a pulse. “He’s alive. I don’t know how well he’s breathing—can you call Chiyo?”

“On it.” Hizashi scurries off to call the old woman.

“Mismatch? Kid, hey-” Shouta gently pats the vigilante’s cheek in an effort to get him conscious. He smells something, and his nose scrunches at the scent. It’s sharp, almost like antiseptic.

He pulls off one of the kid’s gloves, staring in awe at the hand that's supposed to be there. All he’s met with is empty space.

Brushing that off for the moment, Shouta sniffs the glove. He immediately retracts it, scoffing. “Vodka? Really, kid? Are you serious?” He tosses the glove onto the coffee table. “We are having a serious conversation once you’re awake.” Shouta reprimands him.

“She’s on her way!” Hizashi comes bustling back into the room with a couple of ice packs piled in his arms. “She’ll be here in ten.”

“Let’s get those on him.” Shouta takes a few ice packs from his husband, laying one on the boy’s throat and another on his forehead. “We need to see how exhausted his quirk is.”

“How do we do that?” Hizashi raises an eyebrow at him.

Gingerly, as if the kid might break at the slightest jolt, Shouta starts taking the vigilante's heavy green sweatshirt off his skinny form. Miraculously, his mask stays on.

“Oh, Sho…” Hizashi murmurs, his voice thick, “He’s all skin and bones.”

The transparency stops at just about both of his shoulders, a bit of it leaking down around his sides. Shouta wonders if his legs are in a similar shape.

But Hizashi was right. The kid was all skin and bones. He was a little toned, but the only meat the vigilante had on his body was that lean muscle.

Shouta decides it must be a part of his quirk. There’s no way a kid as skinny and frail as Mismatch is able to eat enough protein to gain muscle but not any fat. It has to be quirk-related.

Scars litter his torso, some in odd places with odd shapes, while others Shouta recognizes as obvious torture scars. He wonders where this child got torture scars from.

In other news, it seemed almost the entirety of Mismatch’s rib cage was bruised and battered. From what? Shouta wonders.

“Damn it.” The underground hero gapes as he lays two more ice packs down on the kid’s chest. “He’s in worse shape than I thought.”

“But he’s alive, Sho. He’ll be okay.” Hizashi runs a hand up and down his husband’s back supportively.

They sit in silence for a moment, just watching Mismatch. They aren’t sure what to do. “I could take off his mask.”

Hizashi sighs quietly. “We both know how wrong that would be. You’d betray his trust, and something tells me it’s very hard for this boy to trust people.”

There’s a knock at their door. Hizashi bounces up, rushing to open it. “Shuzenji-san!”

“What did I say about calling me ‘Chiyo’?” The Youthful Heroine tuts as she scuttles over to the boy who lay unconscious on the heroes’ couch. “Now explain the situation.”

“We think his windpipe’s crushed, and his ribs are worse for the wear. I think he has a fever, most likely due to extreme quirk overuse.” Shouta runs a hand through his hair. “And he might have internal bleeding. We’re not sure.” He glances at his husband.

“You did well with the ice packs.” Recovery Girl hums, momentarily setting them aside to examine the vigilante. “You’re right, he’s extremely exhausted. I think I can begin to heal his trachea and maybe isolate whatever internal bleeding he has but nothing beyond that. It might cause more harm.”

“Anything can help, really.” Shouta huffs out.

“Mm.” The older woman places a delicate kiss on the boy’s forehead. Green power emanates off his small frame.

The kid’s face goes pale, and while Shouta didn’t think it was possible, Mismatch looks even more dead than he did before.

“His body has to rest to begin healing properly. What is his quirk?”

Hizashi and Shouta share a glance. “We don’t know. He’s a vigilante.” Hizashi grimaces.

Realization dawns on the woman, “Ah.” She nods, “Well, whatever it is, be sure he doesn’t use it again for at least the next two weeks. Assuming he’s up and moving by then, anyways.”

“He’s probably going to run as soon as he wakes up.” Hizashi replies grimly.

“Then watch him. Promise him he can go if he stays for at least a day or two.” RG advises. “For now, just let him rest. I’ll be by tomorrow to heal him again if he's gained enough energy.”

“Thank you so much, Chiyo.”

“I’m happy to help.” The old woman smiles at the two heroes. “But keep this boy out of trouble. He’s far too young to be out on the streets like that.”

“Tell me about it.” Shouta grumbles.

“Well, keep icing his ribs and his neck. That’ll help. Give him some ibuprofen once he’s awake, but be sure he’s had something liquid in his stomach beforehand. Preferably food.” The hero purses her lips. “He’s much too small.” The short woman pauses, “And may I ask where his arms went?”

Hizashi almost laughs. “Shouta explained it’s a part of his quirk exhaustion.”

RG raises an eyebrow at the black-haired man. “Must be an interesting quirk.” She barks out a laugh. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Thank you, again, Chiyo.” Shouta bows.

“No need.” She smiles at him kindly before making her way out the door.

Shouta and Hizashi stand there and watch the vigilante for maybe another ten minutes before they actually start doing anything.

“I’ll get the guest room set up.” Hizashi announces.

“I’ll put some of that miso soup on the stove.” Shouta strides for the kitchen.

What they didn’t prepare for, however, was that it would take ten hours for Mismatch to even stir.

“Mm.” The kid groans, eyes squeezed shut. He rolls his head to the side and peeps an eye open.

He thrusts himself forward, looking for anything to throw up in. He grabs the bucket conveniently placed beside the bed, haphazardly pulls his mask just below his chin, and promptly vomits something green (blood?) directly into it.

“Oh my go’.” Izuku coughs, blood splattering from his lips into the bucket again. “Wha’ the hell happen’?”

He hears footsteps rapidly approaching, so he replaces his mask quickly and blearily looks up to find a fuzzy figure of a person crouched in front of him.

“Mismatch?” The person calls.

“Don’ wear it ou’.” Izuku gives them a sloppy salute.

He blinks a few more times. Nausea seems to have rooted itself deep in his stomach, making even the slightest head movements feel like a roller coaster.

He goes to sit up, finding his arms remarkably shaky. “Take it easy.” The person looming above him eases.

He looks up again, finally able to blink away the fuzziness. “Eraserhead?!” Izuku screeches, immediately regretting the wear it does on his aching vocal cords.

“You’re safe, Mismatch. You’re resting in my apartment.”

“Like hell I am.” Izuku snorts, his voice raspy. He goes to sit up again.

“What does that mean? You’re not safe or you’re not resting in my apartment?”

“Neither, bitch.” Izuku huffs. His vision swims once his feet reach the floor. “Why the hell am I like this?”

“Because you exhausted your quirk. Badly.”

“How much of me disappeared?” Izuku asks eagerly.

“It stopped at about your chest, why?”

“Damn.” Izuku curses, snapping his fingers. “Trying to beat my record.”

Eraser stares at him with his jaw agape. “Are you insane.”

“Is a woodpecker named Tuesday?”

“Huh?”

“Bingo.” Izuku shoots a finger gun at the hero before moving to stand.

Eraser gently reaches to place his hands on Izuku’s shoulders to push him back down. “I already told you-”

Izuku falls back onto the couch before Eraser can even get near him. “What did I say about getting close to me?” Wait, where did Izuku’s sweatshirt go?

“That reminds me.” Eraser crosses his arms as he stares down at the kid. He needs to eat, Shouta reminds himself absently. “Why don’t you want people near you?”

Izuku sighs dramatically. “I have cooties, what can I say?” He scans the area for his hoodie.

Eraser groans. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Only the funny stuff.” He snags the hoodie off the back of the couch and maneuvers to put it on.

“And you consider trauma funny?”

“How else am I supposed to ’consider’ it?” Izuku snorts, words muffled by the fabric.

“Like what it is. Trauma. It’s serious.”

“Sounds like you and trauma have a lot in common. Maybe you should grab some coffee, get a room.”

“Oh my god.” Eraser facepalms.

“Yeah, I’ll be on my way.” Izuku sighs, satisfied that he’d been able to annoy Eraser enough to probably let him leave now.

In the past, Izuku has found it to be an effective tactic.

But he can’t get the damn sweatshirt on. Lifting his arms above his head feels like agony, and he can’t twist his body to get the hoodie over his head.

With the hoodie halfway on his body, Izuku groans frustratedly. He thinks he feels Eraser’s hands delicately pull the hoodie the rest of the way down, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Oh, hey, little listener!”

Izuku looks up, startled. He hadn’t realized another person was in the apartment.

He scans the newcomer. Long, blonde hair, glasses, mustache—this has gotta be Present Mic. And the guy from the other day!

“I knew it!” Izuku jabs a finger in Eraser’s direction. “I fucking knew it!”

“Knew what?” The underground hero raises an eyebrow at the teen.

“You’re fruitier than the Kool-Aid Man.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“You’re GAY.” Izuku enunciates the word.

“Oh my god, please, just stop.” Eraser grumbles, annoyed.

“No, no—I like this kid!” Present Mic cheers, dancing into the room.

Loudly, Izuku sings (read: shrieks): “BE WHO YOU ARE FOR YOUR PRIDE-”

Shouta’s husband and the kid dance silently in the living room for a whole ass minute before anyone decides to move on.

“You need to sit down, you’re supposed to be resting.” Eraser interrupts them.

“Resting is for the mentally stable.” Izuku replies casually.

“Are you saying you’re not mentally stable?”

“Well, how ‘mentally stable’ would you be if you were dead for a year?”

“WHAT.”

“Case and point.” Izuku checks his mask one more time before patting his pockets and looking around the room. “Where’d my knives go?”

“No, you can’t just say that and act like—wait, knives?!”

“Eh, I’ll come find them later once you’re asleep. Toodaloo!”

“What the fuck-”

“We have food!” Present Mic interrupts them both, palms out in an ‘I come in peace’ type manner. “We have food.”

Izuku hesitates. Everyone notices.

When was the last time Izuku got a genuinely warm meal? It must’ve been years. It had to have been.

“I’m sure it’s delicious,” Izuku starts, “But I don’t want your pity.”

Mic blinks at him. “Pity?”

“Ah yes, ears that work.” Izuku hums sarcastically.

“He’s deaf, actually.” Eraser interrupts.

Izuku goes quiet.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry.” Izuku apologizes genuinely, bowing. “I-I didn’t mean to be rude.” Izuku could swear he literally felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees at that moment.

“Oh, it’s alright, little listener.” Mic’s features soften, “You didn’t know-”

But Izuku was already halfway out the window.

“Mismatch!” Eraserhead calls, reaching for his bicep to drag him back inside.

Izuku keeps his head down, his hood up, and what’s left of his hands stuffed into his pockets once he’s out on the fire escape. He doesn’t reply to Eraser’s calls.

God, how could he say something like that to him? How stupid could Izuku be?

“Fucking Deku.” Izuku murmurs to himself as he scurries down the steps.

“Mismatch.” Ah, it seemed Eraser was catching up. “Mismatch, stop. Please.” Eraserhead’s footsteps clatter on the steps behind him.

“I can’t—why did I think-? Idiot. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve left earlier-”

Something wraps around Izuku’s arm, something tight. It pulls him backwards, somehow gently.

“You’re injured. You need to rest.”

“I need to fucking disappear--Die. What's the difference?” Izuku spits at himself, eyes cast down at his feet.

Izuku’s brain pauses. Wow. He wasn’t sure where that thought came from.

It…terrified him.

Shouta’s completely taken aback by the comment. He’s horrified. He’s never heard the teen talk about himself like this before, so degrading and self-deprecating. It’s frightening in comparison to the teen’s typically carefree attitude.

And it was so out of pocket. The vigilante was flamboyant only a moment ago, and now his entire mental status had taken a turn for the worst. Was that really all it took to set him off?

“Mismatch, your behavior is concerning.”

“Then get this stupid rope off me so I can leave.” Mismatch glares at the underground hero.

“I won’t. I don’t know what you’ll do once you’re alone.”

“I’m not gonna off myself, Eraserhead.” Izuku chuckles, “Pfft. As if it were that easy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Have you tried before?” Maybe his quirk prevented him from dying if he’d tried it?

Damn, that just makes the kid’s quirk that much more confusing.

“The first time wasn’t even my fault!” Mismatch scoffs, rolling his eyes at Eraserhead.

“That still makes zero sense.” Eraser sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just come eat. You don’t have to talk. Just eat. You need it.” Anyone with eyes can tell the kid needs to eat.

“You don’t want me back in your apartment.” Izuku laughs.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“You saw how fucking ignorant I was! I can’t go back after that.”

“So you won’t take yourself seriously, but once it comes to someone else, they’re high priority?”

“Astute observation.”

“Why won’t you prioritize yourself?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you matter just as much as everyone else.”

“If being alive has taught me anything, it’s taught me how bullshit that sentence just was. No one matters as much as the next person. No one is equal.”

“It’s soup, Mismatch! Just eat the damn soup.”

Izuku would laugh if it were any other situation. “I can’t go back there!”

“Then just come to the window! All you have to do is sit. Outside, if you want.” Eraserhead gives in. “Please just eat something.”

Izuku mulls this over for a moment. “I don’t have to go back inside?”

“Not if you don’t want to.” Eraser sighs.

Izuku grumbles out an unintelligible curse word before trudging back up the fire escape.

As much as he hates to admit it, his body is begging for fuel. He definitely didn’t get enough lifeforce from however long he spent at the park yesterday (was it yesterday?), and to pair, his stomach feels like it’s eating him from the inside out.

Eraserhead climbs in through their apartment window, only hesitating when he comes to terms with the fact that Mismatch wasn’t going to be following him that far.

Izuku sits on the fire escape, groaning at the now steady rhythm of an ache in his chest and his crushed esophagus. He’d gotten a burst of adrenaline after waking up—which is probably why he’d gotten this far in the first place—but now he was really running on fumes.

“Here.” Izuku blinks, looking up at the hand outstretched to him from inside the window. There’s a steaming wooden bowl resting in the palm of the figure. Squinting, he realizes it’s Eraserhead.

“I feel like a stray cat lol.”

“Did you just say ‘lol’ out loud?”

“Idk lol.”

“I-”

“You.”

“Eat the soup, damn it.”

A spoon is passed to him, but Izuku shakes his head at it and starts slurping from the bowl like an animal. After a large gulp, Izuku wipes his mouth with his sleeve and looks back at Eraserhead.

There’s a look in the hero’s eyes. Not contempt, but something close to it. There’s a drop of concern somewhere in his muddled brow. Detestment, too. At what, though?

Definitely not Izuku. He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s not in their home, not disturbing them. They literally won’t let him leave, so he doesn’t have a choice.

But the way Eraserhead’s mouth turns down into a sad smile at the look of a homeless vigilante slurping soup from a bowl outside like a dog, helpless to everything but breathing, turned something inside Izuku.

Something strange.

Something Izuku hoped he wouldn’t feel again. For Eraserhead’s sake.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” Izuku quips, taking another gulp.

“Why would you refuse the spoon if given the chance?”

Izuku hesitates before barking out a laugh. “Why would I use a spoon? I don’t have time to taste it and I don’t have time for utensils or whatever.”

“You have time now.”

“Not if I need to eat it fast.”

“Why would you need to eat it fast?”

Izuku’s mind shuts down. Why would he need to eat fast? What’s he running from?

Nothing. He’s fine, here, at Eraser’s window. The hero’s not going to hurt him like everyone else. At least not physically. If Izuku knows anything, it’s this.

So why did he feel the need to scarf the food down? Instinct, maybe?

Regardless, it obviously hurt something in the hero.

Mm, maybe ‘hurt’ was the wrong word. More like troubled.

“Mismatch.”

Izuku looks up, blinking out of his thoughts. When had Eraserhead started calling his name?

“You with me?” Another look in his eye. Ugh. Honestly, Izuku can’t keep up.

“I never left.” Izuku shrugs, gesturing to his seated place.

“Well, you were definitely somewhere else.” Eraserhead adds, moving to wash a dish in the sink. “So where do you live? You have to have somewhere you scurry off to at night.”

“Hilarious if you think I’m spilling the beans.” Izuku scoffs. “You’d just show up and ruin my high.”

Eraserhead freezes mid-bowl washing. “So you do use recreational drugs.”

“Pfft, like you haven’t.”

“Not when I was your age.” Eraser grumbles. “How long have you been doing them?”

“Mm…” Izuku ponders. “The first time I tried them wasn’t my choice, so if I’m gonna be legit, then I’d say two years.”

“It wasn’t your choice?” Did someone force them onto him?

“Well, not the opioids-”

Izuku yelps when Eraserhead drops a dish.

“Someone forced opioids on you?” The underground hero repeats lowly, something wicked shining in his dark eyes.

Izuku goes quiet. Carefully, he sets the bowl down between his spread-out legs, eyes cast down.

“No, kid-” Eraser starts, his voice softer, “Keep eating. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Izuku stares at his bowl.

“Can I ask who did that to you?”

Izuku stares.

“Better yet—will you tell me?”

Izuku takes a breath through his nose, struggling to keep his emotions hidden this time. “The same people who killed me the first time.” The vigilante murmurs.

Eraser tenses, but doesn’t add anything. Izuku’s glad he doesn’t.

“Who…killed you the first time?”

Izuku bites his lip to keep from crying in front of the underground hero. He tastes copper on his tongue.

“Mismatch-” Eraserhead fumbles for a napkin before reaching through the window for Izuku’s face.

“I told you not to get near me!” Izuku shouts, scooting as far back on the fire escape as his body will allow.

“You’re bleeding.” Eraser explains, gesturing to Izuku’s lip.

Was he? Izuku wipes a thumb across his bottom lip, eyes widening when he finds it stained with green afterwards.

Eraserhead squints in the darkness. “Is your blood…green?” He supposes the hero had probably initially noticed it when Izuku coughed up blood earlier (yikes), but it wasn’t really the time to ask then.

“Fuck off.” Izuku grumbles, moving to get on his feet. He stumbles once weight is put on his knees, and finds himself having to use the railing to keep upright.

“Where are you going?”

“Uh, home?”

Eraserhead sighs. “Finish your soup first.” He passes the napkin to Izuku, who takes it and sets it aside.

“What are you, my dad?”

“Might as well be.” Eraser shrugs.

“Hilarious.” Izuku scoffs. He plops himself back down in defeat and snatches up the bowl.

He wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere anyways, not with this low of lifeforce in him.

Izuku ignores the eyes on him while he eats. Eraserhead means well, regardless of how creepy he can be sometimes.

“So who did it?”

“Did what?” Izuku deflects.

“You know what.”

Izuku swirls his miso in the bowl, eyes tracking the small squares of tofu swirling in the earthy broth.

“The League.” Izuku mutters, hoping Eraserhead wouldn’t be able to hear it. But Izuku should know better.

“The League of Villains?” Eraser shoots back. “They killed you?”

“The first time lol.”

“Enough with the ‘lol’s.”

“Why lol.”

“You know what? Whatever.” Eraserhead pinches the bridge of his nose with presumed frustration. “Are they still after you? Are you in danger?”

Izuku sighs, “Would it even matter if I was?”

Eraserhead blinks, taken aback. “Of course it would matter. I want you to be safe.”

“I’m one stupid kid on the streets. It doesn’t matter.” Izuku scoffs. He sips from his bowl again.

“It matters to me.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Convince you to believe me.”

Izuku hesitates at that. “How are you going to do that?”

“Get you to finish your damn soup, to start.” Eraserhead nods at his half-full bowl of miso. “We all know you need it.”

“Rude.”

“Concerned.” The hero corrects him.

Izuku stills, then sips his soup.

“So how did they kill you the, uh, the first time?” Eraserhead clears his throat.

“Classified information.” Izuku turns his nose up.

“Oh, come on. You’ve told me this much, might as well fill in the gaps.”

Izuku sighs, nodding his head back and forth as he debates on whether or not to actually tell Eraser the story. “Mm…fine.” The vigilante sighs. “But I’m not actually sure how they did it the first time. It was either the drugs, the electrocution, or the blood loss that did it in the end. Maybe a mix of all three.” He sips.

It takes the hero a moment to actually respond. “How did you know you were dead?”

“I felt my heart stop.” Izuku replies, after a moment. “I felt the blood stop moving in my veins. I felt like a rock.” His eyebrows crease minutely. “You know, it’s weird...” He looks down at his bowl, fiddling with a rivet in the side of it, “You’re not really aware of the feeling of your blood rushing through your body till you feel what it’s like when it stops.” He gazes off into the soup for a moment before snapping his attention back up, blinking, “Then I woke up a year later.” He shrugs.

Eraser’s head pops out the window, in an effort to get closer to the teen. “A year later?” He questions. “You were actually dead for an entire year?”

“Um, yeah.” Izuku replies, his tone heavy with sass. “Speedran that eternity shit.”

Izuku raises his hand, just now realizing he was missing his gloves. Well, that wouldn’t do.

His hands and fingers get cold easily, which is why he has the gloves on constantly. They’re naturally tinted green after his quirk mutation, but it can get even worse if they can’t keep warm.

Not to mention, he can’t even tell how bad it is since his hands are still pretty much invisible.

Izuku wiggles his still-translucent fingers. “Where are my gloves, by the way?”

“Oh,” A feral smile plays on Eraserhead’s lips, “You mean the gloves drenched in vodka? Those gloves?”

A sweat breaks out on Izuku’s brow. “Oh, haha!” Izuku laughs nervously, “You know what? Forget about those!”

“Nuh-uh.” Eraser stops him, “Why the hell were you drinking vodka, Mismatch? You’re twelve!”

“Omfg, I’m not twelve!”

“USE YOUR WORDS.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, I AM NOT TWELVE YEARS OLD, GRANDPA.”

“...”

“...”

“No more vodka. Or any alcoholic substance, for that matter.” Eraserhead demands. Izuku scoffs.

“And just how are you going to stop me?

“Well, it seems to me you don’t even have the energy to move from that spot.” Eraserhead gives him a smug look, “So that means you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Pfft. Watch me.” Izuku brushes him off. His knees are weak beneath the weight of his body, but Izuku manages to reach a standing position. “See? I’m great. Perfect, even. No issues here.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eraserhead maintains his smugness. “Well, why don’t you try going down those stairs right beside you, hm? Let’s see how that works out for you.”

Izuku stares at the steps with wide eyes before blinking, replastering his confidence onto his shaky demeanor. “Piece of cake.”

He would’ve fallen smack on his face on the first step if it weren’t for Eraserhead catching him with his capture scarf.

“Yeah, no more moving for you.” Eraserhead decides after Izuku’s sat back down with his miso in hand.

Izuku leans his head back against the railing in an effort to dispel his headache. He groans softly.

“You okay, kid?”

Izuku cracks an eye open and gives Eraser a look. He shuts it again. “Head hurts.” He mumbles.

“Hm.” Eraser’s movements have paused, “Well, I didn't see you hit your head. It must be the quirk exhaustion then.”

“I hate this goddamn quirk.”

“What is your quirk, by the way?”

“Bad-ass-ery.” Izuku quips.

“Your real quirk, Mismatch.”

Izuku bites his lip again. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s freaky.” The vigilante shrugs. He sips from his bowl.

“How is it freaky?”

“Mm…” Izuku ponders for a moment, “What do you know about my quirk so far?”

“Well, there’s no way your eyes don’t have something to do with your quirk. They glow. Plus, along with your limbs, your irises disappear when you’ve exhausted yourself. You can levitate, at least two feet off the ground, and you have that green fire.” Eraser pauses. “And…well, I saw you use telekinesis during that drug raid yesterday. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for me to catch.”

“Okay, okay—you’re on the right track. Impressive.” Izuku nods along. “I actually think you have most of the parts to put it together yourself.”

Eraserhead pauses for the millionth time. He doesn’t say anything.

Izuku feels his eyes start to close against his will, sleep pulling heavily at the corners of his consciousness. “Mm, tired.” He murmurs.

Eraserhead looks up at him. “Let’s get you back on the couch, then.”

“No.” The teen whispers, “Don’t wanna go inside.” He shivers when a breeze blows past, waking him up a bit more. “See? ‘M ‘wake now.”

“You’re freezing, that’s what you are.” The underground hero laughs lightly. “Here-”

“Sho?” They both turn their attention when Present Mic calls from somewhere further inside the apartment. “Could you help me really quick? I can’t move this dresser!”

Eraserhead smiles softly to himself, setting the dish he’d been washing back down in the sink. “I’ll be right back. Zashi’s trying to set up a room for you.”

“Fruitless venture.” Izuku wiggles a bit in his spot, in a useless effort to get more comfortable. “I’m not staying.”

“Well, you’re not leaving, so we’ll see how that works out.”

Izuku hears footsteps as Eraserhead leaves. He shivers again, then wraps his arms around himself. It doesn’t help to keep the warmth in.

Something flutters nearby. A tiny chirp sounds from above him.

He feels something like warm water run through his veins, and immediately recognizes the sensation. He’s probably absorbing a bird’s excess life force.

Honestly, Izuku doesn’t have the energy to care. It doesn’t affect the animal’s lifeforce anyways, so fuck it. He’s tired of feeling bad for everything he does, regardless of whether or not it’s out of his control.

Speaking of things being out of control, Izuku was falling asleep and there was really no way for him to stop it.

So, he sleeps.

Xx

“I’m back.” Shouta starts, wiping his hands on his pants as he walks back into the kitchen. His eyes stop on the sleeping form laying on the fire escape just outside their kitchen window.

He allows a small smile.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.” He says softly, humored. He knows the kid told him he doesn’t like being touched, but Shouta figured there was only one way he was going to get the vigilante out of the cold and onto his couch.

Delicately, he scoops Mismatch up into his arms, shivering at the freezing temperature of the poor boy’s skin. The vigilante nuzzles his face into Shouta’s sweatshirt, sighing softly.

The hero goes to lay him down on the couch, but hesitates when he realizes Mismatch has a vice of a grip on his middle. He instead sits with the kid on his lap, tensing when the vigilante curls even closer in on Shouta.

The insomniac chuckles. It’s a low sound. He grabs the blanket they’d laid across the boy when he was unconscious and tucks it around Mismatch’s balled-up form.

Shouta leans his head back on the couch cushions, sighing. He keeps one hand on the boy’s back and gently runs the other through Mismatch’s green curls.

The kid’s hair was a mess, and boy was it nasty, but the fact that Mismatch was here, alive, and in his lap, was enough for Shouta to look past the grease and grime.

It seemed Mismatch was slowly getting his hands back, too. His irises had been fading back to normal as well. Shouta feared what would happen if Mismatch ever pushed himself even farther than he did the previous night.

Was there a chance all of Mismatch could turn transparent? What if the kid completely disappeared? There was no way Shouta could help him then.

He remembers the sheer panic that had plagued him this morning and all last night, when they couldn’t find the vigilante. Shouta had genuinely thought Mismatch was dead.

But he’s here now. He’s here and he’s okay.

He’s alive. At least for now.

And Shouta would be sure to keep him that way.

Chapter Text

Izuku yawns.

He starts to stretch his arms out but stops when pain blooms in his chest. He cracks an eye open.

Izuku holds back a scream when he realizes he’s in Eraserhead’s lap.

Eraserhead, who’s currently fast asleep.

Eraserhead, whose hand is gently tucked into Izuku’s hair.

Eraserhead, who Izuku’s probably been stealing lifeforce from all night.

It didn’t hurt Eraser, Izuku knew this. He knew it. But it still felt so wrong. Especially without Eraserhead’s permission.

Izuku had to admit though, his energy actually felt better than he’s remembered it feeling for years. While his entire body still thuds with a slight dull ache, it’s lessened significantly since before he fell asleep and instead of feeling like the personification of death, he actually has energy!

He wants to move! Jump around! Parkour!

Is this how people feel all the time?! This was amazing!

It was a weird, new feeling. Weird, but not unwelcome. Weird—but amazing.

As carefully as he can manage, he detangles Eraser’s fingers from his hair and slips out of his grasp. “Sorry, Eraserdad.” Izuku whispers, “Gotta blast.”

He debates closing the window after him, until he realizes Eraser now has a pretty solid grasp on Izuku’s transparency when he exhausts his quirk. So, he leaves the window open, just so Eraser knows Izuku left and didn’t just disappear into thin air, like his arms did.

“Listener?” Someone yawns from behind him. Izuku was halfway out the window.

He turns slowly, ready to dart at any moment. “Oh.” The vigilante grimaces. It’s Present Mic.

“Where are you going?”

“Shhh…” Izuku points to Eraserhead asleep on the couch.

Mic’s mouth forms an ‘O’ shape and he turns back to Izuku. “Take a snack before you leave, then.” Mic starts rummaging around in their pantry. “We have fishy crackers, jelly packs, pop-tarts-”

“Pop-tarts?” Izuku interrupts, blushing green afterward. Izuku loves pop-tarts.

“You want one?” Mic laughs quietly. “Here, take the box.” It hasn’t been opened yet.

Mic tosses the box of oreo pop-tarts into Izuku’s hands, startling the boy. He looks up from the box to the hero.

“It’s really not a problem. We won’t eat them anyways. They’d just end up getting thrown away.” The man turns away from him to the sink, waving a hand dismissively. Izuku knows Present Mic’s just trying to play it off, but boy would Pickles be excited if Izuku came home with a full box of pop-tarts…

“Um,” Izuku bites his lip, looking down at the box as he debates on whether or not to actually take it, “Thanks.”

“Happy to, listener. We know you don’t have a way to get your own food, so our window is always open. Like a drive-thru, ya dig?” Present Mic laughs as he turns to face the window again.

He’s met with a curtain blowing emptily through the morning breeze and a full box of pop-tarts resting on the window sill.

“Damn it.” Present Mic curses with a heavy sigh. The kid’s just going to go hungry again.

He walks up to the box, grabbing it with a frustrated grunt.

Wait…

The box was open, and two pop-tarts were missing.

Mic smiles softly to himself. Progress!

He freezes right then as something clicks inside his head. Mismatch’s eyes, the bright luminescent glow of green...Hizashi could swear he’s seen them somewhere before.

But where?

Xx

Honestly, Izuku is sick and tired of this shit.

Another gunshot goes off to his left, the brick wall beside him chipping from the impact of the bullet. “Aim, bitch!” Izuku barks out, darting down another alley. “Shoot me, I fucking dare you!”

Two more gunshots pop off by Izuku’s feet and the boy lets out a feral laugh, his head tipping back. He levitates up the wall, releasing his quirk once he’s about ten feet up, then dropping down behind the villain. The villain’s back pops when Izuku kicks him from behind. Using his telekinesis—which he’s been trying to train more lately—Izuku plasters the villain’s backside against the wall.

The vigilante approaches the guy slowly, a manic grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “So what do you know about the League?”

“Nothing, I swear!” The criminal cringes back when Izuku scoffs.

“Everyone knows something.” Izuku takes another step closer. He lifts his left hand, igniting the green fire in his palm. “So tell me what you know.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” The villain gives in when the fire gets a little too close to his face, “The boss is looking for some kid.”

Izuku blinks at him. “Really? It’s taken that bubble-blowing-bitch-baby five years to pony up?”

“That’s all I know, I swear!”

“Yeah,” Izuku starts, inching nearer, “I don’t believe you.” He pushes the fire even closer.

“Fine!” Sweat breaks out on his brow, “The boss is hiring people to find the fucking kid!”

“Wh-” Izuku pauses, “Why now? Of all times? Did he give you a description of the kid?”

“Uh, green hair, short—actually you kind of look like-”

Okay, this is good. Nothing about Izuku’s eyes. His luminescent green eyes are his most defining feature, after all.

That also meant that his dad doesn’t know about his quirk yet. Or at least, the specifications of Izuku’s quirk. That was a ball in Izuku’s court.

“Mismatch!”

Izuku blinks back into attention, looking around. Something like a whip cracks through the air, then a gunshot pops off right beside him. He looks down, realizing the villain still had his gun, and had managed to aim it at Izuku’s abdomen while the vigilante was distracted.

Eraserhead’s capture weapon is wrapped tightly around the weapon’s barrel, pulling it away from Izuku’s body. He definitely would’ve been shot if Eraser hadn’t redirected that gun.

“Oh, hey, ‘Raser!” Izuku laughs, smiling at the hero. “Long time, no see!”

“Focus on the gun, problem child!” Eraserhead grumbles. He yanks the weapon from the criminal’s grasp, quickly unloading it and emptying the magazine out in his palm. “He only had a few rounds left, but that could’ve cost you your life.”

“Bold of you to assume I give a shit.”

Eraserhead purses his lips at the vigilante. “You should. You’re too reckless.”

“Reckless, or cool?” Izuku lowers his imaginary sunglasses.

“Try negligent.”

“Oo, big words. Careful, I never finished middle school. I’m a little stupid.” Izuku pulls a bit of capture tape from his pocket and starts tying up the villain.

“You’re not stupid. Don’t say that about yourself.” Eraser stuffs the gun in his belt for now.

“Did you not hear the part where I mentioned never finishing middle school?”

“That is pretty stupid.” The villain murmurs.

“See? Thank you.” Izuku gestures to the criminal. “My bestie’s got my back.”

“A wanted criminal who tried to kill you calls you stupid, and you call him your ‘bestie’?” Eraserhead squints at Izuku.

“Oh my god, your humor is so dry, old man.” Izuku sighs.

“If you’re twelve, then you actually probably never started middle school.” Eraser continues thoughtfully.

“How many times do I have to tell you—I’m not twelve!” Izuku crosses his arms frustratedly.

“Then how old are you?”

“Not twelve.”

“You’re twelve until further notice, then.”

“You know what? Whatever makes you happy.” Izuku raises his palms in surrender.

Eraserhead pulls out his phone, sending a message. “You being homeless, a vigilante, and a drug abuser at twelve does not make me happy, kid.” He tucks his phone away. “Police are on their way.”

“HEY.” Izuku shouts. “I am not a drug abuser!”

“How often do you do them, then?”

“Nuh-uh, you ain’t squeezing information out of me that easily.”

“Druggie at twelve, huh?” The villain nods, amused, “Start ‘em young, that’s what I always say.”

“Shut the hell up.” Eraserhead demands without even sparing a glance at the criminal.

“No, no—he has a point.” Izuku interrupts.

“No, he does not.” Eraserhead sighs. “The police should be here any minute now, you should go. Meet me on the rooftop, got it?”

Izuku starts walking backwards toward the opposite wall. He gives Eraser a sloppy salute, “You got it, boss.”

It takes Eraser maybe ten minutes to wrap up the scene with the criminal, and in that time, Izuku had managed to break into a nearby convenience store, disarm the security, and steal a granola bar. He left what he could at the counter, which was a measly thirty yen, but Izuku figured it was better than nothing.

His feet dangle off the edge of the rooftop of Eraser’s apartment building as he toys with the granola bar in his hands. It was a peanut butter bar, with chocolate chips sprinkled on top.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” Eraser asks from behind him.

Izuku almost startles, but holds it back. “Eventually, yeah.” He rolls his eyes.

“Why not now? You have to be hungry.” The hero takes a seat beside the vigilante. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Mm, someone gave me a sandwich yesterday. This nice lady bought me some pocky this morning. Pickles found a bag of chips the other day. Your boy-toy gave me that pop-tart last week.”

“He’s my husband, not my boy-toy.” Eraserhead almost laughs. “Who’s Pickles? A friend?”

“Hilarious. You think I have friends. Pickles is my roommate.”

“Your roommate? So...a friend, then.”

“Pickles is a raccoon.” Izuku laughs.

Eraser takes a deep breath. “Interesting.” He releases it. “Is that all you’ve eaten?”

“That's all I’ve managed to find.” Izuku shrugs. They sit quietly for another moment.

“I don’t understand how your body functions.” Eraserhead runs a hand down his face exhaustedly. “That’s not nearly enough food for a boy your age to survive on. Or any person to survive on, for that matter.”

“Keep in mind I was dead for, like, a year.”

“That’s not an excuse. You look like a sack of bones." Damn. Brutal. Okay. "Where do you get your energy from?”

Izuku debates on whether or not to tell Eraser about lifeforce and Izuku’s reliance on it, but decides against it. There’s nothing the hero could do about that anyways.

“I can’t tell you. But I can write it.” Izuku turns away dramatically.

“Really? Here,” Eraserhead pulls a pen and pad from his belt. He passes it to the boy.

Gingerly, Izuku writes his answer on the paper, biting his lip for effect. He gives it back to the hero.

Eraserhead peers down at it, eyebrows bunched in concern. His head snaps up a second later, a curse flying from his lips. “God fucking damn it, kid.”

Izuku laughs, looking down at the paper again.

‘ur mom’

“Do you take anything seriously?”

“My bey-blades.” Izuku nods.

“You have bey-blades?”

“Of course I fucking don’t, I can’t even afford food. Keep up, Eraser.”

The hero drops his head in his hands. He devolves into a dry chuckle.

They sit quietly for another moment. “Let me check your wounds.” Eraserhead interrupts their casual silence.

“Ugh, fine.” Izuku knows better than to fight back. He pulls the collar of his sweatshirt down to show the hero his neck. “It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.”

Eraser moves to touch his neck, and Izuku flinches back involuntarily. The hero backs away again. “I just want to help you, kid.”

“Just don’t get too close.” Izuku mumbles.

He reminds himself that he has to be in almost direct contact with Eraser in order to steal his lifeforce. So this was fine. It was fine. God, it had to be fine.

“Well,” Eraser takes a deep breath, “The bruising is healing, which is good. How’s your breathing?”

“Pretty okay.” Izuku shrugs. “Only gets weird when I run.”

“And your rib cage?”

Damn, Izuku was hoping Eraser had forgotten about that.

“As okay as expected.”

“That’s not an answer, Mismatch. Can I see?”

“Fine, dad.” Izuku says sarcastically. He pulls his sweatshirt up to his shoulders.

Eraser sucks in a quiet breath through his teeth. “Kid…” Izuku feels fingers gently pressing against his chest, and he tries not to flinch away this time. “These need to be iced.”

“Well, I don’t have an ice pack, and I don’t have a freezer. So, you tell me.” Izuku gingerly pulls his sweatshirt back down, careful to avoid touching his body.

“Then just knock on our window. We want to help you, Mismatch.”

“I’m not some kind of moocher.” Izuku starts unwrapping the granola bar.

“Getting help isn’t ‘mooching’.” Izuku can feel Eraserhead watching him as he fiddles with the snack. “Eat. Your body needs it.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Izuku snorts. The hunger pangs were a constant in his life at this point. He bites off a chunk of the bar.

Izuku stares down at his hand while he eats, pondering the light green tinge of his freezing fingers. He knows Eraserhead is staring at them too.

They were usually tinted green like that. Izuku assumed it was because he was partially dead. The cold was a constant.

His hand shakes slightly. He hasn’t gotten a new pair of gloves since Eraser took his vodka-soaked ones off.

“You’re cold.” Eraserhead realizes. He reaches into his belt, pulling out a pair of black leather gloves. “Put these on.”

Izuku doesn’t hesitate this time. He rubs his gloved hands together to try to generate some warmth from the friction.

“Let’s go inside. You can warm up in there.” Eraserhead stands.

“No, it’s fine.” Izuku takes a deep breath. “It’s usually cold. Pickles is warm enough.”

“You’re usually this cold?”

“Not like I have a heater lol.”

Eraserhead sighs.

“I should be getting back anyway. Those nightmares aren’t gonna have themselves.”

“You have nightmares?” Eraserhead watches the teen closely.

“What person dies for a year and doesn’t?” And with that, Izuku leaps to the next rooftop, then drops to the alley below.

Chapter Text

“Mismatch!”

Izuku can barely hear his name being called before his head is plunged into the water. The grip on his neck tightens, holding him beneath the surface. Izuku kicks as hard as he can, struggling to break free.

Something tugs on the person holding him down, and the next thing he knows, he’s falling completely into the ocean. He kicks, his screams drowned out by the freezing water surrounding him.

He gives a sudden gasp, inhaling water with the involuntary response. His muscles tense immediately at the frigid temperature, making him unable to keep kicking to reach the surface.

A hand shoots down towards him, grabbing him by the hood of his sweatshirt. He’s yanked back to the deck.

Once the seemingly glacial air brushes his soaked, freezing skin, it feels like his entire body just stops working. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t think.

“Mismatch? Are you okay? Can you breathe?” Eraser’s face drops into view.

“C-C-Cold,” Izuku stutters out, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He wants to cough to get the excess water out of his lungs, but his body doesn’t have the power to do even that.

“Shit.” Eraserhead curses. “You’re soaked.” The hero scoops the teenager up into his arms. “We need to hurry.”

The journey to—well, wherever they were going—goes by in a blur. All Izuku can process is ‘cold, cold, cold.’

“‘Zashi!” Eraser calls out as soon as they make it inside. He kicks the door closed with his foot. “Gonna need your help here!”

“What? What’s going on? Who’s hurt?!” Present Mic comes barreling into the room. His eyes land on a small, shivering Izuku balled up in Eraserhead’s arms. “What happened?! You know what---tell me later, I’ll grab the blankets.” He darts into the spare bedroom.

“We need to get you out of these wet clothes, kid. Alright?” Eraserhead tries to meet Izuku’s eyes.

Izuku just nods numbly. He tries to reach for his gloves to yank them off, but his muscles stop halfway. “H-H-Help?” He looks up at the hero.

Eraserhead’s brow furrows at Izuku’s feeble attempt to help himself. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll take care of everything. Just hang in there.”

His gloves are gone in an instant, then his hoodie, his shoes, socks, cargo pants. Boy, is he glad he’s wearing boxers.

“I have to get rid of your mask, Mismatch. I’m sorry, but it’s gotta go.”

Izuku can only nod fervently. He doesn’t care right now, he doesn’t care about anything right now. He just wants the cold to go away.

The next sensation he registers is a towel around his hair, and a soft blanket around his body. Another blanket is laid across him, but this one was somehow generating its own warmth.

From then on, everything is drowned out by the blood rushing in Izuku’s ears. He takes rapid breaths, and finds himself getting lightheaded.

The world starts to blur around the edges, until eventually, it fades into nothingness.

Xx

The kid was still shivering. They’d gotten him undressed and under the heating blanket about ten minutes ago, and he was still shivering.

Logically, Shouta knew this was normal. His muscles were reacting to the shock of temperature. They were trying to warm themselves.

If anything, Shouta should be glad the kid was still shivering. Once a hypothermic person stopped shivering was when you really needed to worry because that meant the body had given up on survival.

So this was good. Shivering was good.

But damn it, did it make Shouta worry.

To be honest, Shouta hadn’t expected the kid to have freckles. Nor did he expect to find electrocution scars on the back of Mismatch’s neck. He didn’t have time to take a closer look at them, considering he only saw them in passing between getting the kid from the kitchen table to the couch, but he saw them.

They’d tucked heating pads and warm water bottles wrapped in towels into Mismatch’s sides and under his arms to try to speed up the process.

Mismatch had long since passed out, so Shouta had set up camp beside the couch to keep an eye on the kid.

When Shouta had shown up to the fight and found the vigilante getting waterboarded off the side of the deck, something raged inside the hero. Something he’s not sure he wants to name.

To be honest, Shouta doesn’t even know the entire story. He’d gotten an alert from Tsukauchi about a massive gang fight on the pier, and ran there as fast as his feet could take him. He knew Mismatch would be there, and he knew how reckless the boy was.

Shouta can’t trust the kid to protect himself.

But that’s pretty obvious, judging by the fact that Mismatch is once again unconscious on his and Hizashi’s couch.

Well, Shouta guesses it’s better that he’s on their couch than someone else’s.

It’s like the universe has something out for the poor kid. It’s summer! It’s supposed to be warm outside. And sure, it’s night, but it’s not supposed to be four degrees celsius.

It was a rainy day today, which Shouta assumes could contribute to the unnaturally cold weather. And the kid is naturally cold as is!

Regardless, this accumulation of a shit storm the universe just tossed on this freezing child proves that there’s gotta be some force out there that has it out for the vigilante.

Shouta just hoped the kid would trust him enough to let him protect him from it.

“We should take him to the hospital.” Hizashi mutters from beside Shouta.

“We should.” They stare at the boy’s still form. “But he’d never trust us again.”

“And if he didn’t trust us…” Hizashi trails off.

“…then he wouldn’t have anyone.” Shouta finishes for his husband.

“Sho…” The underground hero’s husband starts, “I have something to tell you.”

Shouta looks up at the blonde. “What is it?”

Hizashi bites his lip. “I’ve seen him before. Now that he has his mask off, and his eyes-”

“Have you met him before, then?” Did Hizashi know the kid’s name? Could they actually get him help?

“Technically?” The voice hero grimaces. “I found him being bullied. It’s where he got the broken ribs.”

“Oh, kid…” Shouta drops his head in his hands. “Did you get his name?”

“Only his first name.”

Shouta stays quiet, waiting. “I should ask.”

“But we both know that’s something you should learn when he’s ready.” Hizashi lays a hand on Shouta’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “It wouldn’t make a difference anyways. He’d run, and we’d never find him then.” And there wasn’t much they could do with only a first name anyways.

All in all, it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Goddamn it, kid.” The hero groans.

Xx

Where the hell is Izuku and why the hell is it so hard to move?

The warmth surrounding him feels amazing, but it’s almost as if his muscles simply don’t have the energy to cooperate. He groans.

A bit of water sloshes in his lungs, which sends him into a violent coughing fit. Once his body’s satisfied, he lays there, numb, for another moment.

He blinks his eyes open, looking around.

Ah, Izuku almost laughs, Here we are again.

He pulls his arms out from underneath the blankets, immediately regretting it when the room-temperature air seems to suck the warmth from him.

“Shit, shit, shit-” Izuku’s curses, nuzzling under the blanket again to try to retrieve the warmth.

“Mismatch?” He hears Eraser’s muffled voice from somewhere outside his blanket cocoon. “You in there?” A quiet laugh settles on his lips.

“It’s f-freezing!” Izuku replies, voice raised. He coughs again.

Eraser’s quiet for another moment. “Let’s get you something warm to drink. It’ll help.” There’s some rustling. “Hot cocoa or hot tea? We have soup, too, if you’d like that instead.”

Izuku remains quiet under the blankets.

“Soup it is then.” Eraserhead sighs. He walks away, then there’s the clanking of dishes. He returns with slower, more deliberate footsteps. “You gonna come out?”

“It’s c-cold out there.” Izuku shoots back. He adds in a hiss at the end for extra measure.

“Quit hissing and start eating, kid. It’ll warm you up.”

Gingerly, Izuku slithers out of the blankets. He keeps them held tightly around his shoulders, with the front clasped firmly in his fists in an effort to keep the warmth in.

“Wh-What happened?” Izuku tries to keep his teeth from chattering, but finds it to be pointless.

Eraser sets the bowl of soup down on the coffee table in front of Izuku. “Are you sure you want to talk about that so soon? You should rest a little longer.”

“I remember th-the fight.” Izuku’s brows furrow. “And I remember the c-cold.” He quickly finds the constant shivering annoying.

Eraser sighs. “You were being drowned, Mismatch.”

Izuku tsks. “Damn c-criminals don’t even know h-how to commit murder right.”

“Please,” Eraser stops him, dropping his head in his hands, “Not now, kid.”

Izuku goes quiet. “Did I-I actually die again?”

“No, I got you out before it got to that. But you were hypothermic so I brought you back to the apartment. That was about an hour ago.”

“Mm.” Izuku hums. He stares at the soup.

“Eat up. You need the energy.” Eraser insists.

Reluctantly, Izuku reaches out to grab the spoon. The utensil shakes like crazy in his quivering palm, making it virtually impossible to actually ladle any of the soup into his mouth.

“C-Can’t hold it.” Izuku drops the spoon involuntarily, watching as it clatters onto the table. “Sorry, didn’t m-mean to-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Eraser stops him, “Your muscles don’t want to cooperate. They’re still in shock.” He grabs the spoon from the table. Izuku curses the hero’s unimpaired hand-eye coordination. “Do you want me to help you?”

“N-Not with the spoon, I d-don’t.” Izuku chuckles dryly. “I-I’m not a b-baby.” He coughs into his elbow.

“But you are a child.” Eraser reminds him gently. “Do you want me to lift the bowl?”

Izuku grimaces, hating how helpless this all makes him feel. “P-Please?”

Gingerly, the insomniac lifts the wooden bowl up to Izuku’s lips. He tilts it slightly, so the clear soup can gently waterfall between the boy’s blue lips.

Izuku gulps down a mouthful, sighing in relief at the warmth it brings. Eraser tilts it again.

They do this until the entire bowl is gone, leaving Izuku with an unfamiliar sensation of feeling…full.

He thinks he likes it.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you finish a meal.” Eraser hums, setting the bowl down on the table.

“First t-time I’ve finished a real meal in years.”

“Figures that I’d literally have to feed it to you in order for you to finish it, though.”

Izuku stares down at his clenched fists, marveling at their light green coloring. He wonders if his toes are the same shade, due to his body’s freezing temperature. He wiggles them.

Wait—where are his socks?

Where are his shoes?

Where are his clothes?!

Izuku claws a hand up at his face, searching for his mask. He hadn’t even realized he’d eaten a whole bowl of soup without it on!

“Hey, it’s okay,” Eraser reaches up to remove his hand from his face, “We’re not going to turn you in. It was wet, and it would’ve just made everything worse if you’d kept it on.”

Well, at least he still has his boxers on.

“Can I have my c-clothes now?”

“I think they’re still in the dryer. We ran them through the wash for you.”

Izuku buries his face in the blanket just a little bit deeper. “Th-Thanks, I guess.” He mutters.

Eraserhead sighs. “What the hell made you want to jump into a gang fight on your own? I thought we talked about this, kid. Wait for me. Don’t go in alone.”

“But they h-had a kid!” Izuku argues. “I couldn’t just stand th-there.” Another cough bubbles up from his throat.

Ah, Shouta knows what he’s talking about. It’s true, one of the gangs was holding a kid hostage during the whole throwdown.

“Yeah, and the kid is safe now, Mismatch. But we’re a team, remember?”

Izuku gently rubs his nose on the back of wrist. “Yeah…”

“And don’t forget that you’re a kid too. It’s okay to find help when you get yourself into too much trouble.” Eraserhead grabs the bowl and heads for the kitchen.

“I was doing f-fine on my own!” Izuku scoffs.

“You’ve got second degree frostbite, Mismatch. The fact that you’re naturally cold probably doesn’t help that fact.” Eraser returns with a steaming mug in his hand. He passes it to Izuku. “Can you hold it?”

Izuku takes the mug gingerly, careful not to spill it. “I think I g-got it.” He sniffles. He looks down at the mug, offering a small smile at the sight. He loves hot cocoa.

“You like hot chocolate?” Well, it seemed Eraser was reading his mind.

“Yeah, and the l-little marshmallows…” Izuku refuses to look up from the mug. The conversation was far too soft for eye contact anyways. “I l-love the little marshmallows.”

Eraser chuckles at that. “We didn’t have the big ones.”

“No, no—these are good.” Izuku sips from the mug. “Th-Thanks.”

Eraser sips from his own mug, which Izuku hadn’t realized he’d had until now.

“Let me guess, c-coffee?” Izuku asks.

“Nope. Same as yours.” Eraser hums, swirling his cocoa in his mug.

Izuku smiles. It’s a small thing.

He leaves quietly within the night.

Chapter Text

“Dare!” Izuku declares, still sprawled haphazardly on the ledge of the rooftop.

“Wh-? We’re not even playing truth or dare.” Eraser replies incredulously from his place beside Izuku on the ledge.

“Then truth!”

“What’s your name?”

“That’s not a truth, that’s just a question!”

“That’s what a truth is, Mismatch.”

“THEN DARE.”

“I-”

Eraser’s phone buzzes, distracting them both. The hero looks down at the screen. He takes off a second later, and Izuku follows curiously. “What is it?”

“I got paged for a crime just down the street from us.”

“Finally!”

The villain was…huge. Like ripped. Absolutely jacked.

And he wasn’t doing anything more than mindlessly rampaging around the alley.

Eraser turns to Izuku quickly, “You need to stay here. I know you’re extremely capable, Mismatch, but you’re thinner than a twig and he could snap you like a toothpick.”

“Hey!” Izuku scoffs. The hero was right, though. Izuku knew by the bones jutting out of his sides and the skin that was constantly taught against his joints that he probably weighed next to nothing. “Well, he could snap you like a…stronger toothpick.”

“Just stay here. Alright?”

Izuku sighs, but nods nonetheless.

Eraser leaps into action, dropping on top of the man and wrapping his capture scarf around his eyes. Izuku laughs.

He watches for a few minutes, cheering Eraser on, until the villain makes a dreadful mistake; He somehow—Izuku really isn’t sure how, since Eraser is like a fucking BOMB ASS hero—grabs Eraser by the ankle and chucks him at the brick wall to their left.

The hero smacks against the wall and crumbles onto the asphalt.

Oh…now Izuku was pissed.

The feral teenager throws himself off the roof, claws bared and a hiss scraping from his throat. He lands on top of the villain, just as Eraser had, and he claws the man’s eyes. It’s easy to do, and he’s blinded in seconds.

That was the perk of being a vigilante! If Eraser had done this, the fight would’ve been finished in minutes. But Eraser can’t do this. You know, because of ‘the law’, or whatever.

But Izuku? Izuku wasn’t held to the law's standards. So fuck it!

He wraps his arms around the thick neck of the buff man, even when the guy reaches his arms back and blindly grabs at Izuku’s body.

He manages to grab Izuku’s left leg and torso with different hands, then he pulls. Izuku screams.

Less in pain, and more in the fact that he could be ripped in half right now.

“L-Let’s talk about this!” Izuku shouts out.

The man hesitates. He grunts.

“Y-You really don’t need to rip me in half, actually!” The boy replies, as if he were presenting a marketing idea to a board of CEOs. “I have another idea!”

Another grunt.

Yeah…

Izuku didn’t have another idea.

With his free leg—his right leg—he kicks his foot, initiating his knife from his shoe, and slashes at the inside of the villain’s wrist. The tendons tear violently, and the hand holding Izuku’s left leg goes limp.

The man yells, viscerally, then tosses Izuku to the ground. Scratch that—he tosses Izuku up first.

Izuku slams against the ground, flat on his chest. The wind is completely knocked out of him.

The ground rumbles as the man stumbles around aimlessly, holding his gushing wrist. Izuku narrowly avoids being crushed under a ginormous foot.

He manages to get over to Eraser, who is still unconscious on the ground. “Eraser!” Izuku chokes, only barely having caught his breath by now. “Are you alive?”

He rolls the hero over. The man had a gash on his forehead, where bright red blood seemed to seep from.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Izuku murmurs under his breath. He realizes now that he was spreading his own blood on the hero. The green seemed to coat Izuku’s hands, dripping down his arms, and onto the hero’s arms, where Izuku was shaking him.

Where was Izuku even bleeding from? Was it his head? There’s a large, sharp sting of pain from his torso, so that could be it.

But that didn't matter right now. Eraser was unconscious. That was…bad.

“Eraser, wake the fuck up!” Izuku shakes him a bit more. He hears rumbling behind him, and he turns slowly to look at the villain still lumbering around the alleyway.

Izuku had to be quiet, now. That was their only means of getting out of this alive.

Or, you know, he could do something else.

He throws a green ball of fire at the trash can across the alleyway, knocking it over with a crash. The villain startles, growling out and ramming into the trash can. Izuku takes the opportunity to drag Eraser out of the alleyway, into another one.

He keeps dragging the hero along, until he’s sure they’re away from the monstrous villain. “Jesus Christ.” Izuku swears, huffing for breath. His chest felt horrible, but he was sure Eraser would feel worse if he were awake right now. “Wake up, damn it!”

Eraser wasn’t waking up. Even after Izuku slapped him.

Eraser could never find out about that lol.

“Okay, uh, what do I do?” When people get hurt, who do people usually call? An ambulance?

He rips Eraser’s phone from his pocket and proceeds to stare aimlessly at the touch-screen.

He doesn’t know how to use a phone! His mom never let him have one as a kid and he sure as hell doesn’t own one now!

The background of the phone was dark grey, with a tired-looking black cartoon cat in the middle holding a white cup of coffee. “How the hell am I supposed to do this?!” He shrieks, panic rising in his voice. The screen suddenly blurs, and “Face ID” appears in the middle of the screen.

“Face ID?” Izuky repeats. Did it need a face to unlock it? That’s fucking weird. He holds the screen up to Eraserhead’s face.

“Fucking finally.” The vigilante swears as the phone unlocks. There’s a list of ‘notifications’ on the screen, and there’s one recurring one that reads: “Missed Call: Zash.”

Izuku taps the ‘notification’, and startles when the phone starts dialing. Whoever’s on the other end picks up instantly. “Sho?! Why haven’t you been answering my calls? Are you okay?!”

“Uh, hello?” Izuku mutters into the phone, holding it away from his ear but close enough to still hear the tinny voice from the speaker.

“Who is this? Where’s my husband?!”

“Mic?!” Izuku gasps. “Mic! He’s, uh, hurt.”

“Mismatch?! Kiddo, where are you? How bad is it?” There’s the sound of keys jingling.

“I don’t know where we are, uh,” He checks around, noting the street sign at the end of the alleyway. “Somewhere around fourth?”

“I’ll ping the phone. Is he bleeding? Where is he hurt, listener?”

“I think it’s just his head. He was thrown against a wall.” Izuku checks him over for other injuries again.

“How’s he look? Is there a lot of blood?“

“He looks fine, I guess. Just unconscious. His forehead’s only bleeding a little bit.”

“How long has he been unconscious?”

“Around ten minutes now, probably.” But he really had no way of telling.

“Okay. Okay.” Mic takes a deep breath. “Are you hurt?”

Izuku almost scoffs. “He’s unconscious!”

“I know, kiddo, but I need to know if you’re okay.”

“I’m alright, Eraser’s the one who threw himself on top of the villain.” Izuku did that too, he guesses, but Eraser did it first!

“Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“Mm, maybe. I don’t know.” Izuku dismisses it with a shake of his head. Thinking about finding his injury was making his head hurt. Or was that just from being smacked against the asphalt?

Mic’s quiet for half a second. “Did you hit your head at all, kiddo?”

“I can’t- I don’t know. How can I help Eraser?”

“Just make sure he’s laying on his back, and try not to move him.” Mic pauses again. “Do you know where you’re bleeding from?”

“No.” Izuku lays Eraser in a prone position.

“Can you look?”

“Eraser needs help.”

“There’s nothing else you can help him with till I’m there. Can you look for your point of injury?”

Izuku grimaces, then starts feeling around his chest, where the pain is emanating from. “I think it’s my chest.”

“Okay. Are you looking at it?”

Carefully, Izuku peels his sweatshirt up to look at his chest. “Yeah…it’s my chest.”

A deepening black bruise wraps around his entire torso, a clear mark of where the villain had squeezed him. The skin around the enormous bruise was torn, probably from being pulled after being so taught against his bones already, which is where he was bleeding from.

“What’s bleeding? Talk to me, listener.”

“It’s nothing I can help. It’s not gonna kill me.”

“Mismatch, I know from personal experience that that statement can mean a lot of things coming from you. Explain the injury to me.”

“It’s just a cut. Or a…tear.”

“A tear?! What’s torn?”

“My skin? I don’t know!”

“Were you stabbed?”

“No, I was squeezed.”

“Squeezed?!” Mic shrieks. “Don’t move. You could have internal damage.”

“I’ve already dragged Eraser an entire block. If it was gonna kill me, I’d be dead by now.”

“What squeezed you?”

There’s the sound of a door slamming somewhere further down the street, then the same sound echoes out of the speaker half a second later.

That must be Mic.

That meant the police would be here any minute. And ambulances.

If Mic saw him like this, with blood dripping off his body in thick evergreen rivulets, he’d never let him leave before the cops came.

Izuku has to go. So, he goes.

Xx

“Listener? Kiddo, are you still there?” Hizashi rounds the corner into the alleyway, where the tracker was actively leading the voice hero through.

There was no response from the other end, which was extremely concerning. Did Mismatch pass out? Was he more hurt than Hizashi expected?

“Sho!” The man shouts, sprinting up to his unconscious husband. He didn’t look too terribly bad, except for the gash on his forehead that was actively leaking blood.

The rest of him, however, seemed to be covered in green.

Mismatch’s blood.

Hizashi gives a scan of the surrounding area as he dials 119. He should go looking for the kid, but he can’t just leave his husband here on the alleyway floor, unconscious.

“Mismatch!” Hizashi shouts, trying to call out to the vigilante. He probably didn’t get far, considering he was injured. “Please, we just want to help you!”

God, his husband would worry himself out of his mind if he woke up and found out that Hizashi let the kid leave while injured.

But he genuinely couldn’t do anything. His husband was unconscious.

“Mismatch?!”

By the time the ambulance arrived, the vigilante was long gone.

Xx

Izuku wasn’t able to make it all the way back to his place last night. He’d fallen asleep (read: passed out) somewhere along the way, apparently.

He’d woken up this morning on some random skyscraper, tucked into a corner and shivering beyond belief in the chilled morning air.

He hadn’t moved since then. His body ached. His head was pounding. His vision was blurry.

Everything meshed into one, and he decided that staying right here in this spot was a much better idea than trying to move again.

Just until the pain faded a bit more.

The rain, though? God, Izuku hated that he loved thunderstorms.

Xx

“He just left?” Shouta questions incredulously. His head ached, but the meds the nurses gave him seemed to be helping.

Hizashi grimaces. “Yeah.” He nods uneasily, “I think he heard me when I got there and got scared.”

“I told him to stay out of that fight.” The hero sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Was he hurt? Do you know?”

Hizashi nods again, slowly.

Shouta sighs once more. “How bad?”

“He said he was squeezed.”

“Squeezed?” Shouta echoes. “Fuck.” That villain…he definitely got to the kid.

Judging by the dry, crackling green blood caked on Shouta’s arms, Mismatch was severely injured. He definitely had broken ribs, if he was squeezed by that overpowered monster of a man.

“When’s the soonest I can be discharged?” He asks his husband. He’d woken up only ten minutes prior.

“Right now, I guess.”

“Let’s go.”

Xx

Izuku woke up again in the same spot, shivering and aching all over. His entire sweatshirt was drenched in his blood, but it was starting to dry now, which seemed promising.

He moves to lift himself into a more propped-up sitting position and feels a sharp pain in his chest, almost like another tear.

He must’ve reopened his wound. Shit.

With as much strength as the boy can manage, Izuku climbs to his feet and starts creeping his way to the ledge of the building. His head hurt, and his insides felt unnaturally warm considering the chills currently wracking his body.

He sits on the ledge, finding his legs too weak to continue on. They needed a break.

Izuku tries to take a deep breath, but he finds himself coming up short. All he can manage are shallow breaths.

God, he hopes Eraser is okay. If that old guy died on Izuku’s watch, he's not sure he could forgive himself.

He lays back against the ledge, tilting his head to face the streets below. His hair falls limply in his face, annoying him, but he doesn’t have the energy to move it out of his eyes.

Damn. This sucked. He supposed he could just roll to the left off the edge of the building and let his quirk do its job. He’d be healed by the time he woke up, anyways.

So, he tilts. Gravity grabs him and he spares a passing thought, feeling miffed by the inconvenience of being dead for a few days. Pickles would be fine, but Eraser might lose his shit if he was the one to find his corpse.

Just as he feels the familiar tug of falling, something wraps firmly around his torso and he’s yanked back to the rooftop. He yelps as the tug pulls on his bruised and battered body.

Shaking hands wrap him in a warm embrace, and Izuku falls helplessly into what he wishes was death.

Xx

Shouta’s hands shake uncontrollably as he holds the kid close to his chest, the man’s breath coming in short huffs. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

The kid was almost just dead. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

He almost tipped off the edge. He was unconscious, and clearly beaten to a pulp. His body was cold, but his forehead felt unnaturally warm.

Fuck.

“I got you, kid.” He whispers to the boy, quickly brushing a hand through the kid’s grimy hair, “I got you.”

Eraser doesn’t sleep that night.

Xx

Izuku wakes up much warmer than before. His body ached fiercely, and his head even worse.

He groans when he finds himself in Eraser’s living room again. Why would the hero help him after Izuku left him in that alleyway like that?

“Mismatch?”

Izuku tenses. It seemed Eraser had heard him and knew he had woken up.

“Good to see you awake.”

Izuku doesn’t meet his eyes, instead staring at the man’s feet as he approaches.

“Are you alright?”

Izuku takes a small breath before finally making eye contact with the hero, “Are you?”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m fine. A couple of bruises aren’t going to kill me.”

“You were passed out.” Izuku replies, deadpan.

“So were you.” Eraser counters.

Izuku bites the inside of his lip, thinking. He looks down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers, “I’m…it’s good that you’re okay.”

Eraser sits beside him on the couch. “It’s good that you’re okay, too.”

Izuku grimaces. “I-” He pauses. He starts digging at his nails, finding the pain grounding, “I’m sorry I left you there.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were-” Izuku starts, unable to find the words, “You were thrown and knocked out and bleeding and the guy was still throwing stuff and it was scary, but then Mic was talking to me and everything hurt and I thought about the cops and I-” His voice catches in his throat. “I left you.”

Eraser takes a heavy breath, leaning forward on his knees to try to get Izuku’s attention, “Kid,” He starts, “You did everything you physically could to help me. If I were conscious, I would have told you to leave when you did.”

“But you weren’t conscious. You could have died, I-” Izuku notices his hands are shaking, “I was just-” so scared.

“It’s okay to be scared. It was a scary situation.” The hero tips his head to try to meet Izuku’s downcast gaze.

Izuku takes a heavy breath, grimacing when pain spikes in his chest.

“Be careful.” Eraser advises, “You have multiple broken ribs, and we had to give you some stitches. I'll grab an ice pack for you.” Eraser stands, moving towards the kitchen again.

Something in Izuku stirs, seeing him walk away. Now was his chance---“Thank you.” Izuku blurts.

Eraser pauses. “For?”

Izuku looks at him like he’s a dumbass. “Stopping me from falling.”

“You remember that?”

Izuku nods solemnly. “I wish I didn’t.”

The hero takes a long, steadying breath. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m…” Izuku hesitates. Was he getting too attached? “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

They stay there silently for a moment, resting in the peace that right now, they’re both okay.

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe Izuku wasn’t having the best of days.

It’s not like he didn’t expect it. It happens every year.

Every time this day comes around, he ends up in the same spot doing the same thing.

Today was the six-year anniversary of his dad starting the experiments on him. He started them six months after he gained custody of Izuku, after his mom died. Izuku chalked up the half-year-long wait to his dad trying to reassure social services that everything was fine at home.

And it was. For that half year.

That half year was a very good half year, Izuku thinks. He grieved his mother (which wasn’t so good), but his father had cared for him. Izuku had believed his dad was a good guy.

Until the day his dad said they were going on a trip. Izuku packed a bag, got in the car. They drove for maybe an hour.

Izuku didn’t understand what they were doing at a bar. He wasn’t allowed at bars, he was too young. His father said it was okay this time.

Izuku really didn’t understand when his father put him in a dark cylindrical room and told him to wait there.

Izuku did not understand why he was never let out again.

His father’s entire demeanor changed as soon as he had Izuku in that room. He became cold, dark. Angry.

They started experiments that day. He was dead by the end of the month.

God, he’s spiraling again. Izuku takes another swig from his bottle. It burns like a mother going down, but the sharp pain it leaves behind helps.

It’s the same bottle he’s had for weeks now, and so far, he’s only down to half. In his right hand, he holds a joint. He’s smoked it before, so there was only about half of it left. But that half helps.

He huffs out his breath, only a little smoke blowing out.

He drops his head back against the air vent he was currently leaning against. The starry night sky was genuinely beautiful. He was grateful for his fix tonight, since it calmed his thoughts down enough to even notice things like the night sky. Or maybe the one streetlight blinking three blocks away.

Izuku sighs. He wants to see the cars. And the people.

So, he moves to sit on the ledge. Standing up was a bit of an adventure, considering how dizzy he got, but he made it.

Izuku takes another hit. He holds the bottle in his left hand between his legs, white-knuckling the neck.

“Kid?”

Izuku doesn’t startle. He stares down at the ants crawling along the sidewalks. No, not ants. People.

“Mismatch.” A hand is laid on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” Something moves into his peripheral.

“Hey, ‘Raser.” Izuku slurs.

“Wh-” The hero hesitates, “Are you drinking again?”

A hand shoots into view, snagging the bottle and ripping it out of his grasp. “Hey!” Izuku cries. “Give that back!”

“We talked about this.” Eraser replies angrily. He makes a point to tip the bottle over directly beside them, the clear liquid dumping out smoothly onto the rooftop. “I told you to stop.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Izuku replies sarcastically. “Just trying to have a good time up here.” He takes another puff.

“And what the hell are you smoking?!” Honestly, Izuku’s surprised the hero couldn't smell it. The breeze probably blew the scent away, same with the stench of the alcohol freshly poured on the ground between them.

Izuku ungracefully scoots away when Eraser tries to take his joint. “Nuh-uh!” Izuku shoots back, “Hands off the hemp!”

“You’re smoking weed?” Eraserhead raises his voice angrily. “This is unbelievable. You are unbelievable.” He runs a hand down his face exhaustedly. Absently, Izuku regrets not counting how many times Eraser’s done that since he’s met the man.

“I am pretty amazing, aren’t I?” Izuku puffs his chest up. He brings the joint back up to his lips, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

Eraser simply plucks it from his fingertips.

Izuku’s jaw drops immediately, his eyes shooting open. “Can’t you just let me be underage and smoke drugs for fuck’s sake?”

Eraser crushes the blunt beneath the heel of his boot. “Mismatch! I told you to stop with this stuff!” The hero yells at him, his face screwed up in frustration. “I don’t even know what to do with you at this point! I’m doing my best to keep you safe, and I can promise you I’m not going to stop, but god fucking damn it, kid, you make it so hard to keep track of you when you disappear like you do! How am I supposed to watch over you when I don’t know where you are or what the hell you’re doing half the time?!”

Izuku goes to interrupt him. “No!” Eraserhead shouts at him, “You don’t get to talk. Not right now. You need to understand that this stuff,” He holds up the empty bottle and gestures to the joint on the ground, “Is bad for you. You’re twelve years old.”

“I’m fifteen!”

Technically.

“You’re fourteen. Or did you forget you were dead for a year?”

Izuku goes quiet.

“That’s what I thought. What would your parents think?”

“No—fuck that!” Izuku spins around in his spot, jamming a finger in Eraser’s face, “You don’t get to pull that card! You don’t know anything about me or my life!”

“Then tell me, Mismatch! Tell me! Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

Izuku stares at his now empty palms, the light from the bustling streets below shining light on the tears easily dripping down his cheeks. He didn’t bother keeping his mask on after he got to the rooftop. It was the tallest building in Musutafu after all, and it’s not like Eraserhead hasn’t seen his face before anyways.

“I didn’t want to be like this.” Izuku starts, mumbling. “I just don’t-” A sob wracks through his body. He squints, grimacing at the tears that waterfall down his cheeks at the action. “I don’t know what else to do.” He breaks down.

It’s a pitiful thing. He devolves quickly, shoulders hunched and quaking with each wail that escapes his throat.

Eraser pauses. “Kid-”

Before Izuku can even process what he’s doing, he spins around and wraps his arms around the hero. He buries his face in the man’s shirt.

Slowly, Eraser lowers them both to the ground, with his back against the venting unit behind him and Izuku’s head cradled against his shoulder. He rubs the kid’s back gently, his other hand buried in the vigilante’s fluffy green curls. “I’m here, kid.” He whispers in Mismatch’s ear. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I just want it to stop.” Izuku cries into Eraser’s chest, “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“I got you.” Eraser reassures him, “You don’t need to worry about anything anymore.”

They stay like that for a while. A hero and a vigilante.

A father and a son.

“What happened to your hoodie?” Eraser asks gently, a hand carefully feeling around the tear in Izuku’s side.

“Just a fight.” Izuku murmurs numbly.

“Are you hurt?” Izuku can feel the concern in his voice. Izuku shakes his head, somehow burying it deeper into the hero’s shoulder. Eraser hums in acknowledgment.

After a bit, Eraser wraps an arm behind the kid, and uses the other to hold up his knees. He carries Izuku to the edge of the building, leaping off gracefully to the building over.

“Where are we going, ‘Raser?” Izuku asks, rubbing his eyes. He’d started to fall asleep.

“Home.” Eraser replies simply.

Izuku ponders that for a moment. Is he ready to go back with Eraser? For real, this time?

He thinks he is. Finally, he is.

“I need to get my stuff.” The boy rubs his nose against his sleeve gently. “You know, the rest of my weed stash.”

“There is no way in hell-”

“I’m kidding, old man.” Izuku sighs. “That was my only blunt.” He rolls his eyes.

“And your last.” Eraserhead grumbles.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Izuku laughs dryly.

The hero sighs. “Where do you live?”

Izuku bites his lip. “The abandoned factory at the back of the fabric district.”

Eraser’s eyebrows bunch together at the response. “That old place? Wasn’t that building quarantined due to health and safety hazards?”

“(╹ε╹)”

“How in the everloving fuck did you just talk in emoticon.”

“Well, the building hasn’t killed me yet.” Izuku shrugs. “If it was really thatttt dangerous, then I’d be dead by now. I mean, come on—let’s be honest with ourselves here.”

“We are so getting you checked out by Recovery Girl.” Eraserhead grumbles. “In depth, this time.”

“Pandora’s box, Eraser. Pandora’s box.”

“I have to remind myself that you’re crossfaded to hell and back right now.”

“Mm, I’d say buzzed. But yeah, I’m flying pretty high right about now.” Izuku nuzzles his face further into Eraser’s shirt. They’re quiet for the rest of the way to the warehouse.

“Which floor?”

“Penthouse.” Izuku replies. They land on the top floor of the building, entering through a giant hole in the wall. Eraser sets him on his feet. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He walks through the space backwards with arms wide, a grim look on his flushed face.

Eraser takes a look around, hands in his pockets. His face remains as unreadable as ever.

“Pickles, I’m home!” Izuku shouts out, peeping around a corner. A second later, something gray and fat comes sprinting from around the corner.

It flies at Izuku’s chest, clinging to him as soon as it makes contact.

“What the hell?” Eraser questions.

“Pickles!” Izuku laughs, hugging the raccoon back. “I know, I was gone for a while.”

Eraser gives him a look. “How long?”

“Well, I’ve been patrolling for a few days. The anniversary was coming up and I guess I wanted to distract myself.” He shrugs.

“Remind me to lecture you about giving your body a break, Mismatch.” The hero pauses, “But what anniversary?”

The vigilante freezes, eyes wide. He and Pickles share a look.

“Mismatch?”

Izuku sighs, deflating. Pickles sniffs his nose. It tickles. “It’s the six year anniversary of my dad starting his experiments.”

“The experiments that killed you? For a year?”

“Those are the ones.” Izuku clicks his tongue at him.

“Mismatch.” Eraser’s voice is stern. He approaches the vigilante, placing both hands on his shoulders to be sure he has his attention. Pickles rests in Izuku’s arms between them. “You said the League were the ones that killed you.”

The temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees instantaneously.

It feels like Izuku’s blood freezes in his veins. He just fucked up.

He fucked up bad.

“Y-Yeah!” Izuku smiles widely, amusedly. “Uh-” Izuku’s honestly not sure how he’s going to lie his way out of this one.

“Mismatch, is your father a member of the League of Villains?”

Oh, he’s way too baked for this.

Izuku’s voice gets caught in his throat. He’s not sure he remembers how to breathe anymore. “I-I don’t want to talk about i-it.” Fuck, his stutter is back.

“Are you in danger?”

Izuku turns around, feeling sudden, overwhelming relief at finding a conversation deflection. He sets Pickles down and starts tossing his stuff in a backpack. “My evening is in danger!”, A deeper voice, “You tell me where my suit is, woman! We are talking about the greater good!” A higher voice, “‘Greater good?' I am your wife! I am the greatest good you are ever gonna get-!”

“KID.”

Izuku turns back towards the hero, eyebrows raised.

“Sometimes I wonder if your attention span is a choice.” The hero pinches his brow frustratedly.

Izuku feigns a gasp, “You hurt me, Eraserdad.”

Eraser rolls his eyes amusedly, an oddly fond look on his face. “Don’t deflect the question, Mismatch. Are you in danger?”

Izuku sighs. “Well, I figure if he was after me, he’d have gotten me by now.”

“That’s not very reassuring, kid.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be.” He zips his bag up most of the way, satisfied. “Alright, Pickles. Hop in.”

The raccoon bounces off the makeshift mattress, landing in the boy’s backpack.

“Is Pickles, uh, vaccinated?” Eraser raises an eyebrow at them.

“Don’t worry, she won’t give your cats anything. Raccoons are actually super clean and I know someone who volunteers at the vet clinic. She owed me one, so she got Pickles vaccinated.”

“How the hell did you know we have cats.” Eraser asks dryly, “They hide every time you come by.”

“Hey, all I’m saying is you need stronger window locks.”

“What the actual hell?” Eraser facepalms. Eh, he figures if the kid was going to steal anything, he’d have done it by now, and either he or Hizashi would have noticed. “Are you ready? Because I’m ready to get you out of this dump and into a clean bed, problem child.”

“Hey!” Izuku points a finger at the man accusingly, “This ‘dump’ kept me safe for three years!”

“Three years? I thought you’ve been on the streets for five?” Izuku gives him the backpack containing the raccoon, and Eraser honestly wonders what the fuck is going on.

“Well, six now.” Izuku kicks a nearby empty bottle with his foot. He hopes Eraser doesn’t read the label of that particular bottle. He wouldn’t be too pleased with his findings there.

“That reminds me.” The hero starts. Izuku stops him before he’s able to continue, knowing his following question would most likely be about his father being a member of the League.

Izuku wasn’t sure Eraser was ready to hear the truth, let alone if Izuku was ready to share it.

“Your father-” The hero continues.

“Might I remind you I’m still high as a kite.” Izuku holds a finger up defiantly. “And you wouldn’t want to take advantage of a poor, innocent baked child, now would you?”

“I’m pretty sure ‘innocent’ and ‘baked’ don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“But I am poor!” Izuku exclaims triumphantly, marching towards the gaping hole in the wall with enthusiasm.

“Jesus christ.” Eraserhead facepalms. “Let’s just leave already.”

“Onwards!” Izuku jams a fist in the air right as he jumps out the window and onto the next rooftop. He lands in a roll, groaning. “Fuck.”

“Mismatch.” Eraser growls, landing gracefully behind him. “You’re both drunk and high-”

“-buzzed-”

“Drunk.” The hero corrects him sternly. “Either way, you’re in no shape for parkour. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“But I’ll do it with style.” Izuku argues, struggling to his feet. He finds his palms are now cut up from the fall, and he wonders absently where his gloves went.

“Did you hurt yourself?” The ‘again’ goes unsaid, but the tone is there.

“No!” Izuku denies with a scoff. “Just scratched myself. It’s chill.”

“Yeah, okay.” Eraser sighs in defeat. “Get on my back.”

“It’s piggyback time, bitches.” Izuku murmurs absently. His head’s starting to feel oddly empty. Eraser passes Izuku his backpack full of raccoon and the boy slips it on. He climbs onto Eraser. “Let’s roll.” Izuku mutters sleepily into Eraser’s shoulder.

Eraser chuckles lowly, the sound reverberating through his chest, and Izuku’s chest in consequence.

They’re back in what seems like seconds, but in all reality, Izuku realizes he probably just fell asleep. “Kid?” Something shakes his shoulders gently. “We’re here.”

There’s the jingle of keys then a door creaks open. Izuku buries his head further into Eraser’s shoulder, quickly deciding that ignoring the world sounds a whole lot better than facing it tonight.

Xx

“Sho?” Hizashi yawns from the hallway, per usual. “How was patrol-?” The voice hero pauses, “Is that the kid?”

Shouta nods. “He’s not feeling well.”

Hizashi places his hands on his hips, an eyebrow shooting to his hairline. “We both know he wouldn't willingly come over if it was that simple.”

“I caught him drinking again. And smoking.” Shouta grumbles. He starts moving past his husband, to the guest bedroom.

Slowly, Hizashi covers his mouth with his hand, worry etched into his expression. “Do you think it’s an addiction, Sho?”

“I don’t think he does it often enough for it to become addictive for him. I think he does do it to cope, though.”

“Like, with his emotions?” Hizashi follows him into the bedroom.

“Mhm. And his situation.” Shouta pauses before he lays Mismatch down. “Can you get the backpack off him? Careful, it’s got his raccoon.”

Hizashi raises another eyebrow at him but does it anyway. He lays it gently on the bed and starts unzipping it.

Shouta moves the comforter back, so the kid can keep warm under them while he sleeps. Delicately, Shouta lowers the kid onto the mattress. He tucks him in gently.

The raccoon zooms out of the backpack and immediately cuddles against Mismatch, making an odd purring noise. Shouta wonders if raccoons are anything like cats.

He wonders if maybe he should’ve taken the kids’ shoes off or something before putting him under the covers, but decides against it. The kid would definitely wonder how they got off him and Shouta wanted him to wake up feeling as in-control as possible considering how helpless he actually was in this situation.

Shouta sighs as he watches the kid wiggle, trying to get comfortable in the sheets. He looks peaceful, finally.

For the first time since Shouta met the kid, he feels like he can relax. The hero feels like he’s on edge constantly, always worried about the kid being out there on the streets—cold, hungry, alone.

But now the vigilante is staying with them. For good.

And that wasn’t going to change.

Chapter Text

Izuku wakes up groggy. “Mm,” He grumbles. Absently, he starts petting Pickles in his arms. It’s warmer than it typically is in the morning, and damn, does it feel nice.

His palms sting like crazy though, but he doesn’t know why. They feel almost...hot.

Izuku rubs at his eyes with his fingers, wincing when he realizes his fingers hurt a bit too. Looking down at his hands, he finds angry, green scratch marks carved into his skin.

Weird. He shakes it off, deciding to take a look around.

He was in a bedroom? How’d he get here?

Wait...this isn't just any bedroom. Izuku recognized this bedroom!

Ah, fuck...Izuku recognized this bedroom.

He groans. He remembers what day yesterday was, which meant he probably got at least a little wasted. And if he was at Eraser and Mic’s house, then…

Fuuuuuuuck—He got caught.

Eraser caught him. Oh, he’s so not gonna hear the end of this.

And Pickles was here. Izuku suddenly recalls the breakdown he had in front of Eraser last night. It was a touching moment, but it was way too soft for Izuku to ever think about again without getting embarrassed. He hopes Eraser won’t bring it up.

God, his head hurts. Why was everything so goddamn bright?

He inches out of the bed, grimacing when his feet meet the floor. He wore his shoes all night, which means he’s gonna hurt today.

Izuku’s not sure if you’ll remember, but he’s mentioned before that he’s got two different shoes. His left one was a steel-toed boot, and the right one was a bright red sneaker with a knife that pops out of the toes when he stomps his foot.

Izuku was born quirkless, so, he has wide feet. He’s got that extra toe joint the quirkless have.

His red shoe was from a specific brand that tailored to the quirkless, so that foot often hurt far less than his left foot. The steel-toed boot had always been way too narrow for his foot, and if he wore it for longer than eight hours without a break, it’d be agony to walk.

He just hopes he can make it through today without needing a break. He doesn’t want to have to guilt Eraser with another one of his issues.

That also reminds him---he’s got a huge tear in his hoodie now. He’s been patrolling for days, and he hasn’t had a chance to fix it since it tore.

Izuku meanders out into the hallway, leaving behind a snoring Pickles. Honestly, who knew raccoons could snore?

“Morning, kid.”

Izuku looks up, scratching the back of his head distractedly. He gives Eraser a nervous smile. “Uh, heyyyyy, ‘Raser.”

“How are you feeling?” The hero sips his coffee, eyes watching him carefully from over the top of his newspaper.

“Uh, good. Great.” Izuku continues to smile anxiously. In all reality, he had a raging headache that pounded ruthlessly right behind his eyes.

“Hey, little listener!” Izuku blinks, looking towards the stove. He hadn’t seen Present Mic standing there before. He seemed to be cooking eggs, or something.

“Hey, Mic.” Izuku gives him a small smile. “Thank you guys for letting me stay the night. I’m sorry if-”

“Nuh-uh.” Mic waves a spatula in his face. “No apologizing. We want you here.”

Eraserdad sets his newspaper and coffee down, leaning forward to watch Izuku closely. “Do you remember our conversation last night?”

Nervously, Izuku nods. The grained texture in the hardwood floor is suddenly very interesting.

“Then you know that you live here too now, right?”

Izuku gives the smallest, shortest, singular nod he thinks he’s ever given. “But if you ever need me to leave-”

“Mismatch, we will never want you to leave.”

“But if-”

“Mismatch.” Eraser scoots forward in his chair. “Come here, kid.” He stretches out a hand, waving his fingers to call him over.

Izuku scoots over.

“Can you look at me?”

Izuku lifts his eyes gradually, knowing his gaze is wide and glassy.

Eraser drops a gentle palm on Izuku’s shoulder. His head is tipped down slightly, a few strands of his dark hair falling in his eyes. It was up in a half bun at the moment, but it obviously wasn’t doing a very good job keeping the hair out of the hero’s face.

Izuku does his best not to cringe away from the contact, but he’s sure Eraser notices. Even if he does, nothing is said.

“This is your home. It always has been.” Eraser explains carefully, “That room down there?” He points down the hallway. Izuku tracks his hand. “I know it’s difficult for you to process, but that’s your room, Mismatch. That is your space. You come back here at the end of the day. We want to take care of you, kid. We want to be a part of your life now, and for the rest of it too.”

Izuku takes an uneven breath. “I don’t get why though.”

“You will, with time.” Eraser assures him. He removes his hand. “Now, Zashi made breakfast.”

“That I did, listener!” Mic waves the spatula at Izuku again. “Here you go!” A plate is placed in his hands.

Izuku yelps, dropping the plate when pain explodes from his palms. The ceramic shatters against the hardwood, making Izuku flinch uncontrollably. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to drop it!”

He drops to his knees and immediately starts picking up the pieces, struggling to ignore the pain radiating from his hands. “Listener-” He hears Mic from above him.

“Hey, hey!” Eraser grabs him by the shoulders, crouching down beside the vigilante. “It’s okay! Let it be,” Gently, he grabs Izuku’s wrists and removes his hands from the shattered ceramic on the floor. “What happened?”

Izuku feels a nervous sweat break out on the back of his neck when Eraser flips Izuku’s hands over, examining his palms. They’re cut up pretty badly, looking inflamed with an angry green. “When did you get these?”

“I don’t remember, probably sometime last night.” Izuku replies with a small voice. His headache feels ten times worse now.

Eraser squints, probably trying to remember if he was there for that. “You probably cut them up when you tumbled after trying to do parkour on your own.” The hero sighs, “You said it wasn’t that bad, Mismatch.”

“Well, it probably wasn’t!” Izuku doesn’t meet his eyes.

“They look infected.” The underground hero mutters. “Hm.” He stands, bringing Izuku with him. He guides him to the couch.

“But I need to pick up-”

“Don’t worry about it, little listener.” Mic smiles at him warmly from the kitchen. “I’m sorry for doing that, I didn’t know your hands were hurt.”

“Neither did I, really.” Izuku mumbles. Once he’s sat on the couch, Eraser disappears into the bathroom. The hero returns with a familiar first-aid kit.

He sits on the coffee table in front of the vigilante, setting the kit beside him on the table. He pulls out some disinfectant, gauze, antibiotic cream, and bandages.

“This is gonna sting.” Eraser warns him, giving the disinfectant a shake.

“I know.” Izuku murmurs disappointedly. He can’t believe he just broke one of their plates, when they were trying to do something nice for him. He just messed something up again.

He can’t believe himself. He doesn’t deserve to be here. He should go.

Yeah, after Eraser’s done, Izuku thinks he’ll go.

“I can see you spiraling, kid.” Eraser interrupts his thoughts. “Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Not really, no.” Izuku grumbles. He winces when Eraser starts dabbing the antiseptic onto his wounds.

“Sorry.” The hero grimaces. “I know this stuff stings like a bitch.”

“Quit cursing in front of the kid!” Mic scolds his husband from the kitchen.

Eraser sighs exhaustedly. “It’s not like he isn’t used to it!”

“You’re encouraging bad behavior!”

Eraser releases a quiet, gruff laugh at that. He goes back to working on Izuku’s palms, “After I introduced you to him a few months ago,” He smiles softly, “He went out and bought all these stupid parenting books. I tried to stop him but I have to admit, I did end up nose-deep in a few of them myself. I asked him why he went out and bought all that stuff when we barely knew you, but he told me it was the look in my eye. That’s how he knew.”

“Knew what?” Izuku questions.

He can see Eraser debate his next answer. Ultimately, he gives in with a light sigh, “You were gonna be our kid.”

Izuku looks down. An anxious sweat breaks out on the back of his neck, again.

Eraser finishes wrapping his hands. He starts packing up the box, but instead of putting it away in the bathroom, he sets it on the side of the table. “Do you want me to put that away?” Izuku pipes up. He feels as though it’s the least he can do to make up for shattering their plate.

Eraser bunches his eyebrows at him. “Well, won’t we have to clean your bandages tonight?”

Izuku gulps, looking down. His fingers scrunch against his legs as he struggles to make fists.

“Come on, let’s get you some breakfast.” Eraser stands and starts moving to the kitchen.

It seemed Mic had already sweeped up the broken ceramic and was back to flipping eggs again. “See? No biggie.” Mic smiles as he places a new dish on the dining table. “Here you go, listener.”

Izuku hesitates before sitting down. Does he really deserve another plate of food? After destroying the first? He’s not sure he does.

“Mismatch?”

Izuku blinks, looking up. It seemed he’d unintentionally caught the attention of both Mic and Eraser.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Eraser nods his head at the plate waiting for Izuku.

“I-I’m not sure…” God, he hates feeling so vulnerable. Where’d his carefree front go? He wants it back. Fuck you, to whatever took that away from him this morning.

“I know you’re hungry, kid.” The underground hero turns back to his own plate, taking a large bite from the dish.

Izuku’s stomach rumbles loudly. Saliva pools in his mouth.

Okay, maybe just one bite would be alright?

He sits. The chair makes an insufferable scraping noise against the hardwood flooring. He hopes it didn’t leave a mark.

Izuku takes a bite. It was delicious, he had to admit, but he still couldn’t deny the guilt he felt with each chew. He had to stop after three bites, no matter how much his stomach protested for more.

He tries to ignore Eraser’s eyes pinned on him the entire time. The hero watches him analytically for a few extra moments after Izuku stops eating.

“Are you, um, done, little listener?” Mic approaches from behind him.

Izuku nods, looking down. “Thank you for the meal.” He bows his head, almost into his lap entirely.

“You’re very welcome, kiddo.” Mic drops a hand on Izuku’s head gently, giving it a careful ruffle. Izuku cringes away from it, but Mic continues walking as if nothing had happened. “Maybe we get you into a shower now, hm? I’m sure you’ll feel better afterward.” He grabs Izuku’s plate and starts walking back to the sink.

“Oh, that’s okay.” Izuku mumbles. “I think I’m just gonna go for a w-walk.” He keeps his eyes down as he makes his way to the hallway. His aching feet were really starting to bother him now. Was he limping?

“A shower won’t take long.” Eraser insists. Izuku turns to look at him. He has this look in his eye, something persistent. “Then maybe you can go for your walk.” He watches Izuku for another moment afterwards.

“O-Okay.” Izuku gives in without a second thought. He doesn’t want to push back then make it seem like he’s trying to leave.

“Great.” Eraser hums. “Everything you’ll need is in the bathroom. Have fun.”

Izuku allows a snicker. “Sure thing, Eraserdad.”

He doesn’t look at the mirror when he gets into the bathroom. He knows better than to make that mistake.

It isn’t until he’s standing under the water, squinting through his hair, when he realizes he’s going to have to get soap in his wounds. They’re bandaged, but they’ll get soaked anyways.

The shampoo and conditioner smell nice, Izuku observes. He wonders if he’ll smell like them afterward.

It’s nice to get his body clean too, but it definitely doesn’t feel nice when he grazes over the wounds and bruises littering him. Should he tell Eraser about them?

Honestly, he’s tired of all this wallowing already. It’s when he’s able to rest that he spirals. Maybe he’s still bouncing back from yesterday’s anniversary.

After getting out of the shower, he starts doing the rest of his hygiene routine.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door. “Mismatch?” Izuku’s eyebrows raise expectantly, though he knows Mic can’t see it. “Um, I have some clean clothes for you, kiddo. Figured you might want something else to wear other than your costume.”

God fucking damn it. Why did Mic have to be so goddamn nice?

“Okay! Thanks, Mic…” Izuku’s plasters on his confident facade again. He was going to try to yank himself out of this self-deprecating pit he’s dug.

At least until he wouldn’t be burdening Eraser and Mic with it. He’ll allow it once he can wallow alone. But while he’s here? In their home? He doesn’t have the right to ruin the atmosphere here.

“I’ll set them right outside the door.” Izuku can feel him wait for a moment before shuffling away.

Izuku creaks the door open and snags the pile, hurrying to shut the door before anyone happens to walk by. It was bad enough that people had to look at his face, let alone the skeleton-like atrocity that was his body.

He changes, finding relief in the sweatpants and the graphic sweatshirt. The pants scrunch at the ankles, which is gonna make for a much easier patrol rather than loose cuffs. Both items of clothing are black, but the sweatshirt has a sleeping kitten printed on the front.

Izuku assumes it’s Eraser’s, due to the color and the fact that it’s for a cat on the front. Izuku knows how much the hero loves felines.

He’s a bit confused, but grateful that there’s a fresh change of underwear and socks in the pile. He wonders if they went out and bought clothes fit for teenagers at some point?

And what does he do with his regular clothes?

Oh god, he guesses he better put his shoes back on. It’s agony slipping his foot back into his left shoe, and he hopes his limp lets up a little so Eraser won’t get suspicious that something’s up.

After drying his hair, at least to the point where it doesn’t look like a green mop, he peels off the soaked bandages on his hands. They still hurt like crazy, but wet bandages would only make the infection worse. He tosses them in the trash and exits the bathroom. He goes back to the guest bedroom and places his clothes and the extra toothbrush in his backpack.

“Hey, Pickles.” Izuku gives the raccoon a gentle pet along her back. She stirs, looking up at him curiously. He’s always wondered if she had a mild intelligence quirk, but he also knew raccoons were naturally intelligent, so it’s hard to tell. “It’s time to go.”

Pickles rolls back over, as if ignoring Izuku. “Meet me outside?” He asks the raccoon as he unlocks and opens the window. He gets a disgruntled chitter in response.

The boy rolls his eyes. “Or don’t.” He finishes. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he slips out of the bedroom.

Maybe Mic and Eraser have already left for...whatever their day jobs are. It’s not his business, so Izuku’s never asked.

He’s almost out of the hallway when he hears Mic and Eraser talking.

“I’m worried about him, Sho.” Mic whispers. He can hear the sound of water running. He was probably doing the dishes. “Did you see how much he ate?”

“I was there, too, Zashi. I know.” There’s a pause where all that can be heard is the running of water. “I’m not even sure where to start with all of this.”

“Right?!” Mic laughs dryly. “We don’t know where he’s at medically, how much schooling he has done, who his parents are, his mental status, his quirk, his name---and he was dead for a year? Like what?!” Izuku grimaces at that.

“Yeah, there’s a lot to unpack. But he needs our help, Zash.”

“Oh, I know. I’m not complaining, not in the slightest. It just hurts my heart to see a good kid like him so lost in the world.”

“That reminds me---we need to talk with Nezu.”

“About?”

“Apparently, the kid’s dad is a member of the League.”

A pause. “The League? The League?!”

“The League.” Eraser echoes. “I think he’s in danger. But he won’t admit it.”

“So we’ll protect him.” Mic reasons, as if it’s no big deal.

“I’m not sure he wants to be protected. He doesn’t even like to be touched.”

“You carried him last night though! He’s getting closer to you, at least.”

“The only reason he let me touch him last night was because he was crossfaded to hell and back, Zash. Every other time, he was unconscious.” Glass clinks in the background.

“Hm.” Mic hums. “He’s gotta be touch-starved.”

“So touch-starved.”

Izuku shakes his head, breaking himself out of his focus. It was rude to eavesdrop (at least, that's what his mother always used to tell him), and listening to them talk about him was making him uncomfortable.

So, he hikes his backpack further up onto his shoulders and marches towards the front door. He struggles to conceal the limp in his left leg.

“Mismatch?” The water shuts off.

Izuku continues without pause. “Thanks for letting me stay over!” He opens the door.

There’re quick footsteps, and a hand gently lands on his shoulder just as he takes a step out into the stairwell. Izuku flips around, green eyes meeting black.

Eraser’s eyebrows are bunched, concern leaking through his typically neutral expression. “Where are you going?”

Izuku takes a step back, trying to ditch the hand on his shoulder. He quickly found himself missing the contact. He liked the feeling. It was warm.

But the longer he was touching another person, the more he was taking from them. It was selfish for him to enjoy it.

So, no touching.

“Uh, my job?” Izuku’s face screws up incredulously. “What else am I gonna do?”

“Rest.” Eraser replies simply. “You need to rest. And being a vigilante isn’t a job, Mismatch”

“Rest is for the mentally stable.” Izuku recycles his old joke. Eh. He doesn’t really care about the quality of his quips at the moment.

“I don’t like those jokes you make, Mismatch.” Eraser watches the boy. His eyes roam Izuku’s expression, analytical.

“What do you want me to do, say sorry?” Izuku scoffs.

“No, just stop making them. You need to start caring about yourself.”

Izuku releases an audible laugh at that. “Sure, yeah---I’ll get right on that. Thanks for letting me in on the big secret there.” He starts to leave again.

“You’re coming back.” Eraser starts. Izuku pauses. “Right?”

Izuku stares at the ground for a moment, “Um, yeah.” He turns to look at the hero, plastering a carefree smile on his face. “Where else would I go? You guys got food.”

“That we do.” Eraser nods once at him. He studies the teen for another moment. “So I can trust I’ll see you back here later, then?”

Izuku gulps. “Mhm.”

Eraser’s eyes squint minutely. “Can you promise me that?” He maintains steady eye contact, making Izuku nervous.

The boy takes a shaky breath through his nose. He nods. “Mhm.”

“Good.” Eraser relaxes slightly. “Stay safe. Please.”

“Mhm.” Izuku murmurs quickly before turning on his heel and hustling down the stairwell to the street below. God, why is he such a sucky liar?

He supposes he’ll meet up with Pickles whenever she’s done taking her nap. She’s smart.

Well, time to stop crime!

Chapter Text

Shouta sighs heavily as Mismatch closes the front door behind him, off to patrol.

“He’s coming back, right?” Hizashi worries at his lip, looking at his husband as he enters the apartment again.

“We’ll see.” Shouta runs a hand down his face. “I’d check if he left his stuff, but he had his backpack, and invading his space would totally violate whatever privacy we just gave him.”

“It really would.” Hizashi grimaces. “He’s been on the streets for years, this is probably the first taste of privacy he can remember.”

“Mm.” Shouta hums in response.

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

The underground hero takes a deep breath, “Then we go back to how we were before. Until he’s ready to come back.”

“But what if he goes out and drinks again?” Or smokes, Shouta thinks to himself.

“I’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

“Sho, I really don’t think letting him go like that was a good idea-”

“He’s been on his own for something like six years, Hizashi. We can’t expect him to adapt that fast.” Shouta explains.

Hizashi takes a steadying breath. “Then we’ll just have dinner ready for when he gets back.” That determined look Hizashi gets that Shouta loves so much gleams in the blonde’s eye.

“It’s all we can do.” Shouta agrees solemnly. They split off to do their own things now, with Hizashi leaving for a quick store run for dinner tonight and Shouta heading to his office at the end of the hallway.

On his way there, however, something catches his eye.

Bandages?

Why was there a pile of used bandages in the bathroom trash bin?

He supposed it made sense. Since Mismatch showered, his hands definitely got wet. But that meant he would’ve had to replace his bandages.

But the first aid kit wasn’t in the bathroom when Mismatch used it. It was in the living room.

Though, he supposes maybe Mismatch had his own bandages.

But then he laughs because since when would Mismatch ever care about his own wounds enough to carry supplies to dress them? And Shouta doesn’t see any gauze wrappers on top of the used bandages.

So did that mean Mismatch didn’t have any bandages on his hands? The wounds are infected, and exposing them like that is just going to make it worse.

Shit. He should’ve stopped the kid. Why didn’t he think about the bandages?

Shouta releases a heavy sigh and heads towards his office again. He had a lot of paperwork to file with social services if they were really going to start taking care of Mismatch.

He couldn’t really fill any of it out yet, besides his and Hizashi’s information and background checks, since he knew practically nothing official about the vigilante.

They don’t know his name, where he’s from, his identification number, his age was still a mystery---they knew nothing.

Well, Hizashi knew the kid’s first name, at least. But nothing past that, and they’d agreed to wait till Mismatch told them himself.

God, everything was such a mess. And the new school year was starting soon, which meant Shouta was gonna have to deal with a whole new wave of shitlins every day. Maybe Nezu would let him expel this lot too.

And apparently one of them was rather...explosive. He supposes he’ll get to see for himself during the entrance exams, though.

Now, he needs to find a way to distract himself. Otherwise, he’ll go chase the kid down, and he just knows Mismatch would take it the wrong way. He’d think Shouta was coddling him, or that he didn’t think the kid was able to handle himself.

And, well, Shouta didn’t think the kid could handle himself, but that wouldn’t go down well if the boy knew that.

He grabs a paper from the stack hanging off the corner of his desk. He’d better get to work.

Xx

You know, Izuku was having a good time. He was kicking ass, taking names, stealing fries.

Yeah, his hands hurt, but for the moment, he could forget about the whole messy situation with Eraser and Mic. For the moment, everything was just like it was before.

Or rather, he could pretend it was just like before.

His left foot was starting to get to him though, so he decided to take a break on the rooftop of the local convenience store. The last villain he’d taken down was eating a box of fries before Izuku took him down, so the boy was currently helping himself to the box.

The sun was just starting to set too, which made for a rather beautiful scene.

“Toga, if you could shut the fuck up, that’d be great.”

Izuku raises an eyebrow. It’s been a while since he’d heard that voice. And that name.

“Hey, I’m just saying, you’d be sooo hot if you painted your nails!”

“Toga, I’m gay.”

“Ew! I’m not trying to hit on you. Don’t make me puke, Dabs.” There’s the sound of someone mock-wretching. “Youuu know who I’m talking about.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not repeating myself.”

A sing-songy voice, “Hawwwwkkksss.”

Izuku blinks, shaking himself out of his focus. Ah, it was Dabi and Toga. Which meant the League.

He should probably leave...Eraser would want him to leave. Eraser would kill him if he didn’t leave.

So why isn’t he leaving?

He noms another fry. It was a crunchy one.

“Hold up---Did you hear that?”

“Hm? What?”

“It sounded like gravel or something.”

“Oh, no, that was just my fry. Sorry, y’all.”

“Oh, you’re chillin.”

"..."

"..."

“What was that?”

Izuku pops his head over the side of the ledge, “Y’all want some?”

Yeah, he knew Dabi and Toga were a part of the League. He hasn’t seen them, let alone talked to them in years, but that didn’t matter.

He was sure, unless given direct orders by his father himself, they wouldn’t try to catch him. In a twisted, gnarled way, he trusted them.

During that month of experiments between realizing his father was a villain and dying, he’d gotten significantly close with the young villains.

He remembers vividly how they used to visit him in his cell. He never understood why his father supported them, but not Izuku. It wasn’t fair.

But he also remembers the looks in their eyes when they visited. Seeing him mangled and dissociating beyond repair.

Izuku was scared. It was dark. He was alone. He wanted his mom.

It was cold in this room, and he really wished he had the jacket he put in his backpack yesterday.

His stomach hurts too.

The floor was really hard on his bottom, and the lower part of his back was starting to ache along with it.

The door creaks open, allowing a sliver of light. A very dull light bulb flicks on overhead, startling the eight year old.

“U-Um, hello?” Izuku whispers. His dad hadn’t come back after leaving him in here yesterday. He didn’t understand what was going on.

Was this supposed to be the ‘trip’ they were taking? Maybe his dad was doing something for work and Izuku had to stay here.

He didn’t like it here.

“Uhh…” A voice trails in response, “Hello!” The door swings open farther, revealing a new silhouette. “I’m Toga!” They come bouncing into the room. The door shuts loudly behind them.

From the shadows emerged a girl, with two blonde ponytails tied up with bright pink ribbons. She had a rather colorful dress on, which Izuku liked.

The boy unscrunches from his balled-up form in the corner. “I-I’m Izuku! D-Do you know where m-my dad is?”

“Your dad?” Toga tilts her head at him. Izuku notices her fangs. He thinks they’re cool. “What’s he look like?”

“Um,” Izuku’s gulps, “H-He has dark hair. F-Fluffy, like mine.” Izuku giggles quietly, “And f-freckles.”

Toga’s nose scrunches in confusion. “Nope! I don’t know, sorry!” She plops down beside Izuku. “Wanna be friends?”

Izuku smiles widely at her. “Y-Yeah!” This was good! Izuku didn’t know how long his dad was gonna have to work here, so it’d be nice to have friends to keep him company.

“Can I taste your blood?”

Izuku’s…a little taken aback by that. “U-Uh-” He stumbles over his words. “What?”

“It’s for my quirk, silly!” Toga giggles.

Izuku’s eyes light up. “What is your q-quirk?”

“Transform! I can transform into anyone, I just have to taste their blood first!” She explains with a cheery smile.

“Woah! That’s so c-cool!” Izuku stares at her in awe. “Try it!” He holds his arm out.

They were fast friends.

Xx

“Izu?” He hears Toga call as his cell door creaks open.

He’d been here for two weeks now. He’s realized he isn’t going home. He understands that his dad isn’t here for work.

He was starting to lose himself.

“O-Oh.” Izuku mutters, head lulling to the side to greet the girl. “H-Hey, Toga.”

She’d visited him maybe three other times during the past two weeks. Her visits were keeping him tethered to reality.

“Toga, what the hell are you doing?!” Someone whisper-shouts from the hallway. “You know we aren’t supposed to talk to it!”

“He isn’t an ‘it’, Dabi. Don’t be rude.”

“It’s a Nomu, dumbass.” The boy remarks.

“Not yet.” Toga tsks. “We can still talk to him!”

“Just don’t get attached.”

“Come talk to him! You’ll see.”

“Toga, no-!”

There’s a shuffling of footsteps, then the familiar sound of a steel door closing.

“Izu?”

Izuku blinks, realizing Toga was standing right in his vision now. He blinks again. “Did y-you bring a new f-friend?”

“Um, yeah, Izu.” Toga giggles. “Do you want to meet him?”

Carefully, Izuku sits up. The burns on the back of his neck pull and stretch with the movement, but he pays them no mind. His head bobbles as he steadies himself.

“I-I’m…” Izuku blinks. Who was he again?

“This is Izuku.” Toga follows up for him. “Izu, this is Dabs!”

A new friend? Friend. “Kacchan?”

“Uh, no---this is Dabs!” Toga giggles again. “Silly Izu!”

“Toga,” Dabi sighs, “It’s not even there.”

“I’m h-here!” Izuku raises his hand, “Please don’t c-count me absent again.” The teachers did that all the time.

A new face crouches into Izuku’s view. His hair is a blinding white, with a beautiful pair of blue eyes to match. Ferocious burns lay beneath his eyes, seemingly only attached to his face by some staples.

“This isn’t right.” Dabi growls out. “It’s almost our age.”

“I think about that too, sometimes…” Toga trails off, “I mean, we’ve all agreed the stuff we went through was pretty messed up. How is this any better?”

“Exactly.” Dabi purses his lips. A burnt hand reaches up and drops on top of Izuku’s head. “Izuku?”

Izuku blinks. “M-Mom?”

A bit of disappointment crosses Dabi’s face, but he keeps pushing. “We need to ground him.”

“How do we do that?”

Dabi’s hand snakes down to the burns on Izuku’s neck, and his fingers press gently into the wounds.

“No, no!” Izuku snaps to attention, “I’m sorry! Please, don’t do it again!”

“Hey, hey!” Dabi shushes him. “Shut the hell up!”

Izuku’s eyes dart around the room. He squishes himself against the wall. “What’s going on?”

“Izu!” Toga cheers. Izuku looks up, meeting eyes with the blonde.

“T-Toga, what’s going on?” Izuku mutters.

“This is Dabi!” The girl giggles.

Izuku blinks to attention, dull green eyes meeting a vibrant blue. A scowl is set on ‘Dabi’’s face.

“H-Hi.” Izuku cowers a bit. “A-Are you m-my friend?”

Dabi scoffs, moving to stand. “Whatever, kid.” But there’s something there, in Dabi’s features. He looks unsettled.

“Yeah, we’re your friends, Izu!” She takes a seat beside Izuku.

“B-But everyone else is h-here to hurt m-me?” Izuku tilts his head at her. He turns his head to Dabi.

Something breaks in the other boy’s expression.

“Izuku,” Dabi starts, features steeling, “What were you doing before you came here?”

“Wh-What do you mean?” The greenette mutters.

“Were you doing anything...bad?” Dabi seemingly rethinks his wording. “Were you a bad guy before you were brought here?”

“Oh, no!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers, eyes falling to his lap, “I’d never be a villain! I-I’m gonna be a hero someday. J-Just like All-Might!”

“Izuku, what do you think a hero is?” Dabi asks.

“W-Well,” Izuku pauses, “A hero s-sacrifices themselves for the g-good of everyone else. Th-They go beyond to m-make the world a b-better place for the p-people living in it.” At least that’s what his mama used to say.

That sits with them all for a moment.

“Do you think having a strong quirk makes someone a hero?” He’s not sure who asked it. He thinks he’s getting lost again.

“Oh, no, not at all.” Izuku laughs. It’s a feral thing. “B-Because you s-see, I’m g-gonna be a hero! Even if I-I don’t have a q-q-quirk!”

“You don’t have a quirk?” Dabi echoes.

Tears collect at the corners of Izuku’s eyes. “N-No, but that doesn’t m-matter. Right?”

Dabi takes a breath. “That was a good answer, Izuku.” Dabi sighs. “A damn good answer.”

“See?” Toga drawls. “He’s still alive!”

Dabi stares at the ground for a moment. “This is so fucked up.”

“Can we do anything about it?” Toga asks, her voice lilting at the end.

Dabi watches Izuku. “Not without Shigs.”

“Pfft!” Toga barks out a laugh, “We all know Shiggy simps over AfO wayyy too much to be on our side about this.”

‘AfO’? Absently, Izuku wonders what that name means.

“We can’t do anything about this on our own.” Dabi runs a hand down his face, “I mean, this goes against every fucking thing we stand for in this stupid League. It’s why we joined them.”

“Exactly!” Toga chirps. “Maybe we can break him out?”

“I need time to think.” Dabi growls out. He moves swiftly for the door.

“Okay! I’ll just be here with Izu!” She waves at him with a bright smile just as the door closes.

Xx

Izuku leans limply against the wall. Blood leaks from different wounds littering his body, but the numbness in his limbs seems to blind that fact.

“And what the hell do you want me to do about it?!” A shrill voice barks out. When did people enter his cell? How long have they been there?

“I don’t fucking know!” Dabi growls out. “This is inhumane! He’s innocent! This goes against every fucking thing you promised us when we joined this shitshow!”

Shigaraki watches Izuku closely. His lip curls up into a snarl. “If Master thinks this is what the Nomu deserves, then that’s what it deserves.”

“Quit acting like a fucking sheep, Shigs! I know you see what I see. You just won’t fucking admit it.”

Izuku looks around the room. “T-Toga?” All heads snap in his direction.

“Hey, Izu!” Toga smiles brightly at him. “Sorry about your wounds! We’d help, but then AfO would know something was up.”

There was that name again.

“That’s if Shigs doesn’t sell us out himself.” Dabi’s fists clench furiously. He shoots a glare at Shigaraki.

“Sell you out for doing what?” Shigaraki laughs dryly, “Talking at a puppet? As if Master would ever care to hear about that.”

There’s a moment of contemplative silence. “So you won’t tell him?”

Dabi and Shigaraki share a look. “It’s far too pointless to waste Master’s time with it.” Shigaraki’s tone has changed. Not softer, but...more careful.

“I’ve finished wasting my time here.” Shigaraki turns on his heel, shutting the door behind him with a loud slam.

“So, we need a plan, then?” Toga asks her friend.

Izuku looks between them, numb.

“We need to break him out by next week. They’re going too far with these experiments.” Dabi sighs. “I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this.”

“I can!” The blonde laughs. “So what’s our plan once we set him free? Are we going with him?”

“I don’t know, Toga.” Dabi grumbles. “We’ll figure it out.”

It’s all a blur after that.

Izuku gasps.

He’d forgotten about that. They tried to help him escape!

Fuck, how could he forget about that?!

Well, then again, the mental stress of being tortured by your own father would make you forget anything.

“Izu?!” Toga shrieks from the alleyway below him. Her eyes are surprisingly wide.

Dabi is silent, unmoving as he looks up at the boy.

“Hehe---long time, no see!” Izuku laughs awkwardly. “Anyways, you want some fries?”

Dabi’s flying up to the rooftop in an instant, his blue flames igniting the area in a bright light for a few seconds. “Risky move, Dabs!” Izuku laughs, “Wouldn’t want you get to get yourself caught-”

Dabi grabs his jaw firmly, flipping Izuku’s face from side to side to inspect him. He stares into the greenette’s eyes for a moment, analytical. “What are you?”

“A Cancer.” Izuku replies between squished lips. “But my moon sign is an Aquarius-”

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Dabi pushes his face away, satisfied with his inspection, “Are you really him?”

“That depends on what you’ll do with that information.” Izuku laughs dryly, “Just got myself a new dad,” He jokes, “And I think he’d be pretty mad if I ended up in a ditch again.”

Toga hops up from a fire escape on the far side of the rooftop. She runs, crashing into him with a hug, “Izu!” She cries.

“Hey, Toga.” Izuku laughs nervously. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He pats her head awkwardly.

“Your stutter is gone!” She cheers. “Did that happen when you died?”

“Toga, don’t be fucking stupid.” Dabi scoffs, “If he actually died then he wouldn’t be here.”

“Dabi, you of ALL people should know that when someone dies mysteriously, there’s always the chance they never died!”

“Shut the hell up!” He shouts back. He eyes Izuku. “Did you actually die?”

“Uh, yeah, for like a year.” Izuku shrugs.

“We tried to get you out, Izu. When you disappeared, we didn’t know what happened to you. Then Shiggy…”

“Dabi, Dabi!”

The boy looks up, startled by the incoming Toga. “What is it, brat?”

Her eyes are frantic. He’s never seen her look this serious before. “He’s gone.” She whispers.

Dabi’s stomach drops. “What?”

“He’s gone.” She purses her lips.

They hurry to the cell as fast as their legs can take them, while simultaneously trying not to draw attention.

The cell is covered in something...green? But other than that, the room is completely empty.

“He’s dead.” They spin on their heels, finding Shigaraki looming behind them.

Dabi takes a step forward. “No.” He growls.

“He’s dead.” Shigaraki repeats, firmer.

A silent tear slips down Toga’s cheek. “Izu?” She whimpers.

They never saw the boy again.

“I’m not sure what happened myself.” Izuku shrugs. “I remember dying. Whatever happened before that is a little blurry.” He bites the inside of his lip, “Then I woke up a year later.”

“That’s all you got?” Dabi raises his eyebrows at him. “Fuck that, it had be some kinda fucked up to kill you.”

“I really don’t remember.” Izuku shrugs. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, “Some things come back to me in, like, nightmares and stuff?”

“Well, what have you been doing since you woke up?” Toga asks, rocking back and forth on her feet.

“Living on the streets?” He runs a hand through his hair anxiously.

“For five years?” Dabi questions.

“Six, now.” Izuku takes a deep breath, “Hey, so---are you guys gonna kill me or something?”

Toga’s eyes widen dramatically. “Why would we do that, silly?”

“Uh-” Izuku starts, “A few weeks ago, I know the League sent out a bounty for my head on a fucking stick.”

“Oh, no!” Toga giggles, “He wants you alive! Not dead!”

Izuku takes an uneasy step away from the two. “Oh…”

“Oh, chill the fuck out.” Dabi grumbles, “We’re not turning you in. What the League did to you back then was a special kind of fucked up. There’s no way in hell we’re taking you back there.”

“Thank fuck.” Izuku drops his head in his hands. “Won’t he know you guys saw me, though?”

“Nope. Boss’s on a mission. Distracted with Shigs again.”

“Figures.” Izuku huffs out a laugh. “I should probably get going.”

“You got someone waiting on you?” Dabi crosses his arms over his chest, genuinely curious.

“I sort of do now.” Izuku nods.

“So you’re off the streets?” Dabi clarifies.

Izuku nods his head from side to side, debating. “It’s complicated. These people want to...adopt me? I don’t know though. I don’t think they get the baggage that comes with me.”

“Do it.” Dabi interrupts him. His eyes feel analytical as they scan Izuku’s features. “Anything’s safer than out here.”

Izuku sits with that for a minute. “I’ll think on it.”

“Do it.” Dabi repeats himself. He turns on his heel, heading for the ledge again. “See you around, twerp.”

“Byeeee, Izu!” Toga waves at him, smiling cheerily as she follows her partner.

“See you, guys.” Izuku takes a deep breath after they’ve gone, sinking into a seated position against the venting unit.

God, he’s exhausted. He’s been working for days, besides last night. He’s thinking he maybe should’ve finished that meal this morning if he wasn’t planning on going back.

Was he planning on not going back? If he was really going to live with them, he’d need to be straight up about everything.

They deserve to know what they’re getting themselves into. It feels like he’s manipulating them into caring about him if they don’t actually know what Izuku is.

So he has to tell them. He has to.

But...how?

He’ll figure it out when he’s less exhausted, how about that?

Izuku flexes his foot, grimacing when pain spikes up his leg. He really shouldn’t have worn that stupid boot for so long. They technically weren’t too small for his feet, since when he’d first found them, they were about three sizes too big for him.

It’s just his feet were built a different way because of his quirklessness as a kid. Maybe he should tell Eraser or Mic about that.

Again, he’ll figure it out when he’s less exhausted.

He takes a look at his palms. Yeah...maybe he should’ve taken care of these too. They looked an angry green, with the veins surrounding the wounds dark and apparent. Even just touching them hurt like hell.

He supposes he could go back to his place and clean them up.

But then again, it was already dark out. What time was it anyway?

A scream echoes from a nearby alleyway.

Welp, duty calls!

Xx

Izuku is absolutely exhausted by the end of the night. It was probably around one in the morning, he guesses, and he should probably be making his way back home.

Home...to where, exactly?

Was he going back to Eraser and Mic’s place?

He had to make his decision now. This was it. If he didn’t go back now, he wouldn’t ever.

“Do it.” Dabi had told him, “Anything’s safer than out here.”

Izuku supposes he was right. And they treated him well at their home. They were nice.

But they had absolutely no clue what Izuku was bringing with him. They deserve to know before he throws himself on them. He can do that much for them, at least.

So, he makes his way back to the apartment. The window was unlocked, thank god, because he wasn’t about to pick the lock on the front door.

He freezes at the sight of Eraserhead reading on the couch. He looks up at Izuku, his eyes red-rimmed and stressed, “Hey, kid.”

“Uh, hey, Eraser.” Izuku says, confused, “What are you doing up?”

“We wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

“‘We’?”

“Hey, listener!” Mic yawns. Izuku hadn’t even seen him by the fridge. “Got a sandwich ready for you if you’re hungry?”

“Oh-” Izuku stumbles over his words. He was ready to say no, to lie about not being hungry.

But if he was going to do this, then he wasn’t going to lie anymore.

“Actually, I-I am really hungry.” He grimaces at the stutter.

Mic’s face brightens at his response. “Here, lemme get a plate.” He snags a wrapped sandwich out of the fridge and plops it on a plate.

“Thanks.” Izuku purses his lips into a forced smile. He steals a glance at Eraser.

The hero looked almost...proud? Maybe proud wasn’t the right word. More like…content.

“You stay safe out there?” Eraser checks, standing. He felt so dad right now.

“When do I not?” Izuku quips. He winces afterwards, remembering his promise to be honest. “I mean, uh, I did my best.”

“Good job, kid.” Eraser reaches to gently scuff a hand through Izuku’s hair.

The boy ducks, squeaking with unease. “Sorry, I just-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Eraser stops him. “You don’t need to justify your boundaries.”

Izuku blinks at him. No one had ever told him that before.

“I apologize for breaching those boundaries.” Eraser looks him in the eye, “I’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.” Izuku takes a deep breath. He can talk about why he’s so touchy later, he guesses. It is one in the morning. “You guys should go to bed. Why are you up this late anyway?”

“We just wanted to make sure you got home okay, kiddo.” Mic smiles at him. His hair is wrapped up in a messy bun atop his head, with a few strands falling in his face. They’re both exhausted, Izuku can tell.

Eraser comes lumbering over, the first aid kit in hand.

“Oh, I’m not hurt.” Izuku shakes his head.

“Your hands?” Eraser clarifies.

Izuku tenses. Oh, yeah…

He offers his palms to the hero. They’re quiet as he works.

“Thanks.” Izuku gently clenches his fists.

“Not a problem.” Eraser moves to set the kit back on the living room table. “You don’t feel feverish at all?”

“No?” Izuku’s voice lilts at the end. Why would he feel feverish?

“That’s good.” Eraser explains, “Means the infection isn’t too bad.” The hero applies some of his eye drops.

“You should sleep.” Izuku insists, “I can take care of myself out here.”

“Are you sure, listener?” Mic’s eyebrows scrunch up.

Izuku nods, offering a small smile. “Night, guys. Thank you for...everything.”

“Happy to help, kiddo.” Eraser gives the boy a lazy salute before meandering off into the hallway. Mic follows after.

The blonde hero pops his head back in after a moment, “There’s cookies in the jar!” He whispers, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He vanishes back into the hallway.

Izuku smiles softly, after taking a bite of his sandwich. This felt nice. He felt safe here.

This felt like home.

Chapter Text

“Alright, kiddo,” Mic starts, “Sho and I have work today, so are you gonna be alright here by yourself?”

Yesterday was his first full day actually living here, and it went pretty much exactly as the day before went. They gave him food, he left to do his vigilante work, he was back late. Eraser and Mic waited up again.

But Izuku was going to do this. He was going to commit to living here.

It was Monday, which meant Eraser and Mic had their day jobs to attend to. “Yeah.” Izuku nods, fiddling with the bacon on his plate, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” Eraser checks from behind him. They were both hustling through the kitchen, probably late since they stayed up till Izuku got home again last night.

“Pfft.” Izuku scoffs, “I’ve lived on my own for six years. I can handle a day.”

“Okay,” Mic kneels down beside Izuku’s chair, “Just some rules to keep you safe: If you stay home, don’t open the door to strangers. Check the peephole just in case. Try not to use the stove, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I have some sandwiches wrapped up in the fridge if you get hungry-”

“Zash.” Eraser lays a hand on his husband’s shoulder, “He’ll be fine. It’s one day.”

“A lot can happen in one day!” Mic defends himself.

“Let’s go.” Eraser grabs a set of keys hanging off a hook on the wall. “See you in a bit, kid.”

“Have fun doing uh, whatever it is you do.” Izuku shrugs.

Mic pauses. “Have we not told you what our jobs are yet?”

Izuku shakes his head. “To be fair, I never asked.”

“Well, you shouldn’t need to. That’s basic info you gotta know, kiddo.”

Aaaand yet they still didn’t even know Izuku’s name. Just another layer of guilt to add to Izuku’s pile.

“We’re teachers.” Eraser explains. “At UA.”

Izuku’s eyes widen dramatically. “O h .”

“Yeah.” Mic nods, smiling. “Oh, and if you need anything---anything at all---I wrote our numbers down by the house phone, okay?”

“Come on, Zash.” Eraser sighs, gently pulling his husband with him towards the door.

“And you know the number for 119 right? Gotta be prepared, ya dig-!” Hizashi’s dragged outside, his sentence ending with a slam of the door.

Now, what was Izuku going to do today?

Xx

Surprise! Izuku is going to do exactly what he does every other day because he has no fucking life! Ta-da!

He stops a few villains, gets bored, and heads back home.

Woah.

He’s been living there for two days---since when did he start calling the place ’home’?

“Oh.” Izuku starts, surprised when he finds Eraser in the kitchen. “I thought you’d still be at work?”

Eraser raises his eyebrows at him. “I thought you’d still be out raising hell?”

“Touche.” Izuku nods his head at him. “Where’s Mic?”

“Still at the school. I had some errands I had to run.”

“Oo, fancy. Adulting.” Izuku hums, slipping through the window with ease.

He shuts the window, dusting his hands off when he turns back around. Hm...he’d probably have to change the bandages on his palms soon.

A small yelp squeaks out when a box is placed in his hand.

“H u h .” Izuku stares at it dumbly.

“It’s a phone.” Eraser crosses his arms. “In case you need to get in contact with Hizashi or I.”

“I-” Izuku responds intelligently. “Head empty. No thoughts.”

“It’s got our numbers in it already, so you won’t have to worry about that.” Eraser starts walking back towards the couch. Where the hell did all those bags come from?! “We got you some extra clothes too.”

“No-” Izuku sets the phone on the table, stepping away as if it might bite him. “This is way too much. This is wayyyyy too much.”

“I can understand how overwhelming this might feel.” Eraser starts, “But we couldn’t wait any longer to do this. We’re taking care of you now, and you deserve belongings.”

“Not a fucking expensive ass phone!” Izuku whisper-shrieks at him.

“You needed something to contact us with.”

“Then get me a flip phone or something---I don’t know! I-I can’t accept this.”

Eraser sighs, reaching to unbox the phone for him. He turns it on and starts swiping through the apps, the screen tilted to show Izuku. “It’s got GPS, the weather, the news---whatever you might need. Add your friends to your contacts. Do whatever. It’s yours now, kid.” He passes the phone back to Izuku.

The greenette simply stares at the device in his hands. “This has gotta be a fever dream. No, I’m high. I’m definitely high.”

Eraser shoots him a look. “Are you-?”

“No, Eraserdad.” Izuku mocks him. “I’m not, actually.” He starts swiping through the phone. “This just doesn’t feel real.”

“We know you’re gonna have your own style and everything, but we needed to get you clothes, so we got you the basics. Just until you feel comfortable enough for me or Hizashi to take you to the mall to get you more accessories.”

“Wait, what the hell is this-” Izuku holds up the phone to Eraser, showing him the screen.

“Hello?” Mic’s voice sounds out from the speaker.

“Kid,” Eraser almost laughs, “You just called Hizashi.”

Izuku’s eyes widen dramatically. “Oops.”

“Sorry, ‘Zash, the kid’s figuring out his phone.” Eraser explains before hitting the red “end” button at the bottom of the screen. “Well, at least you know how to call us now.”

Izuku stares dumbly at the phone in his hand. The gift. “Thank you.” He blurts.

“Not a problem, kid. You needed it.”

“Yeah…” Izuku trails off. He sets the phone down on the table and moves to the fridge to grab a sandwich. He pauses. “Actually, um…” Was now the time to bring it up?

Eraser looks at him. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk with you and Mic, whenever you get the chance.”

Eraser’s quiet for another moment. “Is it serious?”

“There’s just some stuff I feel like you should know.”

More silence.

“Alright. How does tonight sound?”

Izuku tenses. That soon?! How could he mentally prepare himself for a conversation like this in that short of time?

Then again, he supposes he did talk the situation down to Eraser.

“Great.” Izuku forces a smile. “Wonderful.” He mutters incredulously, turning to sit at the table.

Just perfect…

Xx

Izuku guesses he should probably leave the guest bedroom at some point.

He’s been in here since two and it’s, what, six now? He’s gotta talk to Mic and Eraser at some point.

Guess it’s now or never.

Gingerly, he makes his way out into the living room.

“Hey, kiddo.” Mic smiles at him from the couch. “How you holding up?”

Izuku offers him a weak smile. “It’s a lot to get used to, but it’s okay.”

“We ordered out tonight.” Izuku turns to see Eraser mid-bite of some ginger, moving from the kitchen to the living room. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.”

“O-Okay.” Izuku stumbles over his words.

He reaches for a plate, eyes scanning the vast array of dishes they’d bought.

He grabs some sushi, as well as some noodles, and some pork. He doesn’t want to grab too much.

He sits on the loveseat beside the couch, wanting to be far enough away to be comfortable, but not far enough for it to be weird. God, he hates this situation.

“So, how was everyone’s day?” Mic asks, taking a bite of a sushi roll. He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, with his husband on his left.

Izuku looks between the two. He’s not used to this...family-type stuff. The white-picket fence type shit.

“Fine.” Eraser starts with a sigh. “Getting ready for a whole new hoard of shits to deal with.”

“Sho! Language!” Mic slaps his arm playfully. “But yeah, some of those kids looked rather...spunky.”

Izuku takes a bite of pork, staring at his plate. He wasn’t sure how to add to their conversation.

“What about you, kiddo?” Mic turns to Izuku. “How was your day?”

Izuku gulps. “It was alright.” He murmurs. “Just did what I always do.”

“Anything interesting happen?” Mic takes a drink from his water.

Izuku ponders that for a minute. “Well, I saw some old friends the other day.”

“Oo!” Mic cheers. “Fun! From your old school?”

“Uh, no…” Izuku trails off, “But they are from way back then.”

“That must’ve been nice. Were they excited to see you?”

“You could say that.” Izuku laughs nervously.

“Wait, when you say ‘way back then’…?” Eraser pipes up.

“Yeah, I mean pre-year-long-experimental-death-siuation.” Izuku takes a deep breath, “Which is gonna be my segway into this next part...um, I kinda need to talk with you guys about something.” He sets his plate down on the table in front of him, grimacing when he sees just how little he’d actually got down.

Mic shares a look with Eraser. “Okay.” They set their plates down. “Go for it.”

He doesn’t even know where to start, really. “There’s some stuff that I think you guys should know before you really decide to let me stay here.”

“Mismatch, regardless of-”

“Please.” Izuku interrupts. “Just hear me out.” He takes a deep breath, “I was born quirkless. My dad left when I was four, after I was diagnosed. I think he was disappointed since he thought I’d inherit his quirk. ‘Fire Breath’, or whatever. My mom died three years later when our apartment complex caught on fire. Social services took me back to my dad after that.” Another deep breath, “I was with him for six months before he took me to the League of Villains base and started experimenting on me.”

Izuku notices his hands start to shake.

“I was dead a month later. It’s what all these scars are from.” Lifting his hair off the back of his neck, he shows the heroes the electrocution scars. “I’m not entirely sure what they did to me. Messed with my brain matter or something like that. Anyways, I woke up a year later in this weird warehouse underground. Not sure how I woke up, though. No one was there. I was alone in this weird cell-thing.” Izuku pauses. “I escaped. Did what I could to survive for five years, then I met Eraserdad.”

And maybe...maybe Izuku fudged a bit of the details in all of that. Maybe there were some gaps in his story. Maybe he was doing his best to be honest, but some things...

Some things you just don't tell people.

At least not yet.

“Mismatch…” Mic starts, eyebrows bunched in concern, “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.”

“And you had your quirk after waking up?”

“That’s the weird part…” Izuku grimaces. How does he even tell them he’s a monster? “It’s not really a quirk. By textbook definition, I mean.”

Eraser’s eyebrows bunch confusedly. “Then what is it?”

“It’s a forced mutation. I think my body developed it to survive. But,” Izuku gulps, “I don’t know if you know anything about this, being heroes and all, but the League’s been building these…things…for the past ten years, at least. They’re called Nomu.” He refuses to look at Mic or Eraser during this next part, “They basically kidnapped people and messed with their genetic makeup. They forced quirks onto people that really screwed them up. Some people changed…like really changed.” Izuku shivers. Those images still give him nightmares. “Some died before they could change like that. I died before I could change like that.” Izuku looks down. “I am a Nomu.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“I know I’m a freak, okay? I’m a freak of nature. I shouldn’t be here. My brain is all sorts of fucked up, probably, and I don’t even know if there’s other stuff that’s wrong with me. There's no fucking way there isn't. I don’t know the extent of my ‘quirk’, or what I'm actually capable of doing to-to myself or other people. The League is after me now, I got some intel a while back. They could show up and—and what if they hurt you guys? I can’t, in good conscience, put you guys in danger like that. And that’s not even all of it! I can’t honestly tell you what you’re going to be getting yourselves into if you let me stay.”

“Mismatch,” Mic stands, moving to kneel in front of Izuku on the couch. “Can I touch you?”

Izuku’s confused by that. He nods carefully. If it’s quick, then it should be fine.

Mic’s hand reaches up to gently brush a tear off Izuku’s cheek. When had he started crying?

“Kiddo,” Mic takes a deep breath, “That is a lot to take in. But we aren’t worried about you putting us in danger. We’re worried about you and keeping you safe. That is our top priority. Thank you so much for trusting us enough to share your story with us. It doesn’t change anything about you staying here, kiddo, at least not for us.”

“But I’m a fucking monster!” Izuku cries out, watching them both incredulously. “I’m not even supposed to be alive!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Eraser starts, moving to sit on the far end of the couch closer to Izuku, “You are a kid. A child. A human being. Alright? You deserve to be cared for just like everyone else.” The hero's eyes watch Izuku in their special analytical way, the way that makes Izuku feel like he's under a microscope.

“Exactly, Sho.” Mic nods at his husband. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. We’re gonna protect you.” But they couldn't promise that! Things happen all the time, people die every day, no one he is ever around will ever be safe. Including himself.

Izuku’s fists clench in frustration. “You don’t understand!” He starts, voice raised, “I’m not normal! I’m gonna end up giving you guys so many issues that you don’t need.”

“Then we want them, kid.” Eraser says firmly. “If they come with you, then we’ll welcome those ‘issues’ with open arms.”

Izuku breaks down right then and there. He’s an absolute mess. Always has been. “I don’t understand.” He sobs into his hands. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because you deserve it. You might not believe that now, but it’s true. You deserve to be cared about.”

Izuku is awestruck. They know what he is. They know the thick of what he’s been through.

And they still want him to be a part of their lives?

Either Izuku’s a fucking idiot, or the universe finally gave him the time of day.

Mic clears his throat, “Ah,” Izuku looks up, finding a few tears rolling down Mic’s cheeks himself. The hero laughs lightly, “Sorry. I’m a bit of an emotional disaster sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Eraser questions. Mic slaps his arm playfully.

Izuku laughs. He genuinely laughs. The heroes look at him, smiling. Eraser is genuinely smiling this time.

“Is there anything else you feel like we should know, kiddo?” Yes. Yes, so much. So many more details, so many more reasons to be afraid...but that could wait. Today was...enough.

“I don’t think so.” Izuku stares at his hands, clenching them into fists and releasing them to feel the pressure dissipate. “If I think of anything else, is it okay if-?”

“Of course.” Mic smiles at him. His eyes were still glossy with fresh tears. “You can talk to us anytime, Mismatch.”

“Ah, you should probably know my name by now…” Izuku grimaces.

“Not unless you’re comfortable enough to tell us.” Eraser adds.

Izuku takes a deep breath. He swallows his fear.

“Midoriya.” He speaks it out into the air. It feels hollow with how little he’s ever heard it being said. “Midoriya Izuku.”

“Well, Midoriya-”

“Please, no—just Izuku. Please.” The boy pleads, squeezing his eyes shut. “It reminds me of my dad.”

“Izuku it is, then.” Mic nods at him. “I like it.”

“Your name is fitting.” Eraser smirks. “You seem to love the color green.”

“Hey, half of this greenness wasn’t my choice.” Izuku chuckles. “I don’t even understand the blood thing.”

“That reminds me, is it alright if I ask about your quirk?” Eraser picks his plate back up.

“Uh, sure.” Izuku shrugs. He fiddles with a piece of pork on his plate. “It’s called Poltergeist. Well, I named it that, at least. It’s not legally registered. But to be fair, neither am I!” He laughs dryly.

“Wait-” Eraser stops him, “Are you serious? Are you not legally registered?”

“Well, I’m dead. Technically. I was documented as missing when my dad sort of kidnapped me, and they never found my body. So, legally---I’m dead.” And maybe biologically?

Izuku does not enjoy the silence that follows his explanation.

“I, uh, I checked the library’s records after I…woke up…from those experiments.” Izuku’s cheeks flush green with anxiety.

Mic breathes into a smile. “Well, we’ll just have to go and get that fixed, won’t we?” The hero takes another bite, which somehow works to relieve the tension that had built up between them all.

“Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Eraser hums. He shovels down a piece of his nigiri.

“O-Okay,” Izuku sighs. “Um, anyways, so yeah. My quirk’s what makes my eyes glow, if that wasn’t obvious. I can make that green fire, levitate, and I have a bit of telekinesis. You guys know what happens when I use Poltergeist too much, though.”

Should he tell them about the dying part?

Wait---has he told you about the dying part? Oops.

“And uh,” Izuku tenses up. “I can’t die. So there’s that.”

The energy is sucked out of the room. Did it get colder in here?

“You can’t die?” Eraser echoes him. Both heroes are now staring at him with gaping expressions.

“No…? I come back every time. Sometimes it takes longer, though. It depends.”

“Izuku,” Mic lowers his plate. “How do you know this?”

Izuku gulps. “I, uh, I’ve tested it out before.”

“You’ve tested it out?” Eraser repeats, enunciating each syllable. He gives Izuku that microscope look again. “As in you’ve taken your life before?”

Something floods through Izuku. Something he’s had tucked away for years. It’s heavy as it weighs on his thoughts, and he really wished Eraser hadn’t brought that up.

“Please,” Izuku’s voice breaks, “I can’t talk about that. I can’t. Please don’t make me-”

“Okay.” Eraser stops him mid-plead. “Okay, we won’t right now.”

Izuku takes a shaky breath. “Sometimes it takes me a day or two to come back. Weeks, at its worst. ”

“Could you explain what ‘at its worst means’, listener?” Mic’s tone is fragile.

“Like, when I die. If it’s bad, it takes me a while.”

Mic looks like he's going to throw up. "What does 'bad' mean, Mismatch?" Eraser mutters lowly. "How 'bad' has it gotten before?"

Izuku barely registers the use of his vigilante name instead of his legal name. "I-" He starts, but his voice catches in his throat. Memories ping around his head like a rock on a pond, leaving Izuku feeling nauseous. He's shot back to three years ago, and faint images of detached limbs and sprayed blood make the nausea grow.

"Messy, 'Raser'." Is all he can manage to reply with. "Bad means messy."

“Okay…” Izuku can see Eraser watching him out of his peripherals, on edge from the intensity Izuku is sure he's radiating. “Not that we’re gonna let you die anytime soon, but that’s good to know.”

Izuku takes a heavy breath, glad that Eraser is letting that be for now. If the hero had prodded any more, Izuku thinks he would've started to break.

“Anything else we need to know right now?” Mic takes a bite of pork.

Izuku’s decided they don’t need to know about the life-force. There’s nothing they could do with that information anyways. He just needs, like, an hour or two every day to go sit on the bench. Or maybe three hours. Typically, four. Whatever! He just has to sit there for a long ass time!

He's sure they wouldn't care if they knew anyways. The most they would do is try to set aside time for him so they could sit with him, and that would just burden them.

“I don’t think so?” Izuku scratches the back of his head. “Thank you both for the phone, by the way. And the clothes. I still think it’s way too much, but Eraserdad won’t take the stuff back.”

“You deserve to have ‘stuff’, kiddo.” Mic smiles at him for what feels like the millionth time. “Don’t forget about your dinner.” He nods at Izuku’s plate.

Oh, yeah. Izuku picks up his chopsticks again and continues eating. The nausea is still apparent, but he knows if he doesn't manage at least some food then Eraser and Mic will start asking questions.

They end up watching a movie together. It’s an animated one, and Izuku swears he saw a sliver of a smile on Eraser’s face during it. He doesn’t know. But it was a nice night. He felt like everything was okay.

These people knew Izuku’s worst. And they still wanted him around.

And that...that was worth smiling about.

Chapter Text

Okay, maybe Izuku should’ve gone home earlier. Maybe that would’ve been a good idea. A better idea, if you will, than staying out and chasing a serial stabber.

Especially considering the knife in his stomach.

Yeah.

You know, honestly, Izuku doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He’s been standing here for, what, twenty seconds now? The pain has yet to hit him.

The guy is long gone by now. Izuku’s just standing there. Staring at it.

The ‘it’, of course, being the four-inch-long blade sticking out of his abdomen.

But hey! Look on the bright side: “Fuck yeah, a new knife.” Izuku smiles. Way to be optimistic, dumbass.

Izuku feels like laughing. He laughs.

Eraser’s going to fucking kill him.

But what the hell is he supposed to do? He’s about ten minutes away from home. But that would include some parkour, and, uh...he’s got some metal in him right now.

He can’t walk home. He’s a small person with a knife in his gut. There’s no way at least one person isn’t going to stop him.

He could do the parkour with the knife in him, which would help with blood loss. But then all that movement is just gonna tear the wound up even more.

If he takes it out, then makes the trip, he might bleed out before he gets there.

Ahhahhahahaha, wow, what a great situation omg.

Okay, so maybe if Izuku finds a way to stabilize the knife inside him. Yeah? Yeah.

But how is he going to do that? He doesn’t have any extra fabric on him-

Wait.

As carefully as he can manage, Izuku pulls a roll of duct tape from out of his backpack. He rips the rest of his sweatshirt off, crying out at the pain the sharp movement brings.

Tossing all intents of fragility aside, Izuku brutally straps the knife to his body. It shouldn’t move now. He’s just gotta make sure the handle doesn’t hit anything or he’s sure he’ll pass out from the pain.

Okay, now time to move.

His knees almost buckle on the first step. The second is a little better. By the third, Izuku’s able to utilize the pain to his advantage.

He levitates across the gaps from rooftop to rooftop, to avoid jostling himself around too much. But he walks the rest of the way.

Izuku slides the kitchen window open. Mic and Eraser had probably gone to bed earlier when Izuku said he was hitting the hay. Turns out, insomnia was still a thing, so he decided to go patrol for a while.

Yeah—bad idea.

His knees buckle when he lowers his feet to the ground. The knife slides around inside him when he hits the floor, and he suddenly knows, with something of an animalistic instinct, he needs to take this thing out now.

So, he grabs the kitchen scissors and starts cutting away at the duct tape. He tries to ignore the ominously dark green blood that’s starting to smear across the drawers and the hardwood floor.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Izuku whispers to himself. If only he could get to the first aid kit. Maybe there’s one under the sink? No, he doesn’t have time for that.

He yanks the dish towel off the oven handle beside the sink and sits against the wall below the kitchen window. Guess it’s now or never.

With the knife now free of the tape, he grips the hilt of it with two blood-stained hands. “Why do I get put in these situations?” He mutters, voice weak.

With a swift tug, Izuku dislodges half the blade from his abdomen.

He screams.

God fucking damn it—the whole knife didn’t even come out! The edge was serrated, which meant it was latched onto him.

Blood comes gushing out of the wound, spilling over his legs and onto the poor flooring. Oh, this isn’t good at all.

“Izuku?!” Someone shouts from somewhere in the apartment. Footsteps barrel down the hallway. A door slams open. Eraser and Mic fly into the living room, Eraser with his capture scarf in hand, and Mic frantically putting his hearing aids in.

Their eyes land on Izuku, bloody on the floor.

“Crazy weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Izuku gasps out between pants for breath.

“Fuck.” Eraser starts, running to kneel by the boy. “Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck…” His voice trails off into a never-ending array of colorful curses. He lays his hands on Izuku’s wounds, fingers around the blade, and applies pressure. Stars dance in Izuku’s vision.

Mic is in quiet shock. He sprints to the bathroom and comes running back out with the first aid kit.

“What happened?” Eraser asks, panic hidden beneath his steely cold features. “You were in bed.”

“I-I couldn’t fall asleep.” Izuku explains, breathless.

Eraser removes his hands momentarily, to inspect the wound. More blood gushes out. “Did you try to pull it out yourself?”

“Momma didn’t raise no bitch.” Izuku replies with a lackluster smile.

Mic rips the first aid kit open, pulling out gauze. “He’s getting pale.” He observes.

“His arms are getting cold, too. Call 119.”

“On it.” Mic runs off to grab the house phone.

“No!” Izuku shouts, wincing as he tries to sit up farther. Mic pauses, phone in hand. “I can’t g-go to the hospital. The League knows I’m alive, but they have access to everything. If they see I’m there, they’ll come for me.”

“Izuku, you’re dying.” Eraser says firmly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” The teen shrugs the concern off. “I can’t go back there, please. Anything but the hospital.”

Eraser checks the wound one more time, quiet. Izuku can see the thoughts flooding through his head. He sighs, stressed, “Call Chiyo.”

Without hesitation, Mic starts dialing a number from memory. He places the phone against his ear. “Chiyo? Please, we need your help. It’s the kid. Yes, it’s an emergency—he was stabbed. Please—thank you.” He waits a moment then drops the phone on the counter, running back to the two to help.

There’s green blood smeared across the white tiles of the kitchen floor, making it look more like a patch of moss than anything else. Izuku had also managed to get his blood all over the cupboards, and now, all over his two favorite heroes.

The boy’s arms lay limp at his sides. His legs are sprawled out in front of him aimlessly. The world feels like molasses.

“Izuku, kid, your eyes are wandering. I need you to focus on me, okay?”

Izuku’s honestly not sure who said it, but he does his best. “‘M tired, ‘Raserdad.”

“I know, but you need to stay awake.”

“I did my best, y’know.” Izuku mumbles. “Didn’t wanna die again.”

“You’re not going to die, Mismatch.” Eraser replies sternly. “Do you understand?”

“No. Never finished middle school, remember?” Izuku wants to tap the side of his head, but his muscles aren’t responding. “‘M stupid.”

Eraser’s serious expression cracks a bit at that. “You never started it to begin with. We talked about this.”

“We did.” Izuku agrees. “Mm.”

“Keep talking to me, kid.” Eraser urges him on. Izuku remains quiet. “God fucking damn it, I can never get you to stop joking around, and the one time I need you to talk, you don’t feel like it?”

“I’m edgy like that, what can I say.” Izuku’s eyelids start to droop. He’s losing control.

“No, no, no-” Mic gently pats Izuku’s cheek. It feels cold. “Kiddo, I need you to pay attention.” His voice sounds wet, “What’s the recipe for those cookies you like? Hm? Remind me. Remind me, I need you to remind me.”

Izuku smiles numbly. “‘Like those cookies. Good.” He mumbles. “Flour. Extra vanilla.”

“Yeah, Izuku.” He can hear the tearful smile in the hero’s voice, “Extra vanilla. What else?”

“Love.” Izuku whispers.

A sob wracks through Mic.

“You want to know what I put in them that makes them so tasty?” Mic passes one of the stirrers to Izuku for him to lick.

The boy grabs it. “What?” He asks curiously.

“Extra vanilla.” Mic smiles. “But you want to know what makes them special?”

Izuku’s head tilts at him innocently.

As if telling the greatest secret the world has ever known, Mic leans all the way down and whispers to the boy, “Love!”

Izuku’s eyebrow raises comedically. That was so cheesy. "Love?”

Mic nods once, “Love.”

Izuku gives his stirrer a lick. It tastes good. “I like that ingredient.” He looks up at Mic.

He smiles.

Love.

“‘S my favorite part.” Izuku gives a small, lopsided smile.

“Mine too, Izuku.” Mic’s voice breaks. “You can have a cookie soon, okay? After you’re all better, yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘M all better.”

And with that,

he drifts.

Chapter Text

Hizashi still can’t believe what happened.

Everything was fine. Everything was supposed to be fine.

The kid was in bed, he’d eaten his dinner, the cats were fed, doors were locked—everything was okay.

Then they wake up four hours later to the most blood-curdling scream Hizashi thinks he’s ever heard.

Him and his husband shoot awake. They fly into action, grabbing whatever weapons they might need just as they run to the kid’s bedroom.

“Izuku?!”

He wasn’t there.

Where was he? Was he being kidnapped?!

They run into the living room.

Hizashi’s heart drops to his stomach. He can’t move. He can’t think.

He was supposed to be a hero! Why wasn’t he moving? He’s seen so many trauma scenes like this one, so why wasn’t he doing his job?

Damn it, Hizashi! MOVE!

He sprints to the bathroom, his mind latched onto the first aid kit.

“What happened?” He can hear his husband start to engage in preliminary conversation, to prevent the kid from drifting. “You were in bed.”

“I-I couldn’t fall asleep.” The kid already sounded breathless.

Hizashi runs back into the kitchen, sliding to a stop. Fuck, there was blood everywhere.

The poor kid probably didn’t know what to do.

Hizashi’s husband removes his hands momentarily, to inspect the wound. More blood gushes out. “Did you try to pull it out yourself?”

Hizashi yanks open the kit and starts pulling out supplies.

“Momma didn’t raise no bitch.” Izuku replies with a lackluster smile.

The blonde hero rips the first aid kit open, pulling out gauze. “He’s getting pale.” Hizashi observes. Please, please, please no…

“His arms are getting cold, too. Call 119.” He’s losing blood fast.

“On it.” Hizashi runs off to grab the house phone. He realizes his hands are shaking. He accidentally smears blood all across the screen.

“No!” Izuku shouts, startling Hizashi. He freezes momentarily, phone in hand. “I can’t g-go to the hospital. The League knows I’m alive, but they have access to everything. If they see I’m there, they’ll come for me.”

“Izuku, you’re dying.” Shouta says firmly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” The teen quips. “I can’t go back there, please. Anything but the hospital.”

They were kidding. Totally joking. They had to be. There was no way they weren’t taking the kid to the hospital? Right?

Shouta checks the wound one more time, quiet. Hizashi could see his shoulders tense, “Call Chiyo.”

Yup, they’re insane.

But he’s going to trust his husband’s judgment.

Hizashi wastes no time as he dials her number. He places the phone against his ear. It’s cold. And wet. The hero feels like puking as he tries not to acknowledge it’s from the kid’s blood.

The phone dials for a moment before he hears a quiet, “Recovery Girl.” The words flood from Hizashi’s mouth, “Chiyo? Please, we need your help.” “What’s going on? Is it serious?” The sound of shuffling from her end of the phone. “It’s the kid.” Hizashi continues. “Yes, it’s an emergency---he was stabbed.” “Give me ten minutes. I’m on my way.” “Please---thank you.” “Go help him. Put pressure on the wound. Keep him awake.” And with that, RG hangs up.

Hizashi flips back around to help the situation.

The kid looked dead.

Izuku’s arms lay limp at his sides. His legs are sprawled out in front of him aimlessly. He looks like a rag doll dipped in toxic waste.

“Izuku, kid, your eyes are wandering. I need you to focus on me, okay?” Shouta tries to meet his line of sight, but it doesn't seem to be working.

Hizashi grabs the gauze from the first aid kit and starts packing them under Shouta’s hands. “‘M tired, ‘Raserdad.” The kid mumbles.

Shouta grimaces. “I know, but you need to stay awake.”

“I did my best, y’know.” Izuku mumbles. “Didn’t wanna die again.”

Hizashi’s heart shatters. He didn’t have words. This poor, innocent child that they promised to protect was going to bleed out on their kitchen floor and they couldn’t do anything about it.

“You’re not going to die, Mismatch.” Shouta replies sternly. “Do you understand?”

“Never finished middle school, remember?” Izuku’s response shook Hizashi to his core. He technically wouldn’t even have started middle school, if his math is correct. “‘M stupid.”

Hizashi really wished the situation wasn’t so dire so he could teach the kid a lesson in learning to love himself. “You never started it to begin with. We talked about this.” Shouta huffs out a breath.

“We did.” Izuku agrees. “Mm.” His blinking becomes lethargic.

“Keep talking to me, kid.” Shouta urges him on. Izuku remains quiet. “God fucking damn it, I can never get you to stop joking around, and the one time I need you to talk, you don’t feel like it?”

Hizashi doesn’t have words. He can’t. He doesn’t deserve them.

They broke their promise.

“I’m edgy like that, what can I say.” Izuku’s eyelids start to droop. They’re losing him.

“No, no, no-” Hizashi gently pats Izuku’s cheek. Blood smears from his fingertips to the vigilante’s face. “Kiddo, I need you to pay attention.” Tears pool in Hizashi’s eyes, “What’s the recipe for those cookies you like? Hm? Remind me. Remind me, I need you to remind me.” His voice hiccups.

Izuku smiles numbly. “‘Like those cookies. Good.” He mumbles. “Flour. Extra vanilla.”

“Yeah, Izuku.” The blonde smiles shakily. “Extra vanilla. What else?”

“Love.” Izuku whispers.

A sob wracks through Hizashi’s chest. He can’t take this anymore.

“‘S my favorite part.” Izuku gives a small smile.

“Mine too, Izuku.” His voice breaks. “You can have a cookie soon, okay? After you’re all better, yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘M all better.”

Izuku’s eyes slide shut. And they don’t open.

“Kiddo?” Hizashi pats his cheek again. “Kiddo, you gotta stay awake.” No response. “Sho. Sho, I think-”

“Chiyo should be here any second.” His husband’s got his eyes pinned to the wound. He’s not looking up.

Hizashi stares at the kid’s pale, lifeless face. Another sob rumbles through him. “Sho, I think-”

“Hizashi, I’m sorry, but we really can’t afford to think like that right now.” Shouta says assertively, his voice not wavering in the slightest. He was the picture of determination.

Hizashi blinks at him, then shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts. His husband was right. There’s no time to get emotional when Izuku’s life is on the line.

“Keep talking to him. You know what to do. We’re trained for this. Focus.” Shouta talks his husband through the steps.

“You’re right. Izuku? Izuku, I don’t know if you can hear me, but focus on my voice if you can, okay? You need to hang in there.”

After what felt like hours, maybe decades, Recovery Girl arrives. Shouta had to help her kneel to get closer to the boy, but after that, Hizashi wasn’t sure what exactly happened.

He remembers more blood. So much blood. The four-inch-long knife clattering in the kitchen sink.

Mounds and mounds of used gauze being tossed in the trash bin. The smell of all the blood was overwhelming.

Chiyo ended up staying for the night, simply talking to the two heroes and giving the limp body on the couch a healing kiss every four hours. Hizashi thinks she knew how messy the situation would become if Hizashi and Shouta were left alone, traumatized, after that experience.

They all worked to clean the blood up. No one touched the knife in the sink. No one had the stomach to even look at it.

Hizashi wondered how they were going to do the dishes from now on.

The kid’s heartrate was dangerously slow. Inhuman. All three of them wondered if this was an aspect of the kid’s quirk that he didn’t know about—his body’s way of trying to keep him alive so it didn’t have to go through the stress of dying and coming back to life.

Chiyo went home, eventually, with a promise to return the next day. She hoped he’d be awake by then.

He wasn’t.

Nor was he the next day.

Or the next.

But then, on that following Saturday, Hizashi hears what he thinks is the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard–

The kid’s voice.

God, when did he get so attached? To be fair, he’s always wanted a kid.

Guess this was what Sho considered ‘adoption’.

Xx

Okay, to be fucking honest, Izuku didn’t think he was waking up this time.

No fucking cap.

It wasn’t very different from the other times he’s died, but his last memory was green and bloody hands and Eraser. If he were to actually die any time, he imagined it would be like that.

Brutal. Heart-wrenching, with Eraser. It made sense. He didn’t deserve a peaceful, trauma-less death.

So he figured he’d died.

But jk he’s good he guesses lol

He groans, reaching to run a hand down his face exhaustedly. His muscles feel sluggish and lethargic.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Someone approaches him quickly, “You need to stop moving-”

“Wha’?” Izuku asks. He blinks his eyes open, scanning the room. It’s blurry at first, but things focus after a moment. “Wha’ happened?”

Mic kneels into his line of sight. He has relief rooted deep in every last one of his features. “You got hurt, kiddo.”

“When?” Izuku moves to sit up. He winces when pain spikes from his abdomen and makes the wise decision to stay put.

“A few days ago.” Mic clears his throat. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

Izuku blinks, looking down at the bandages wrapped around his stomach. “Did I…?” Did he die again?

“No, it didn’t come to that.” Mic replies. “Thank god.” He watches Izuku closely. “But for a second, I thought it would.”

You know, it honestly would’ve been better if Izuku died. At least then he’d wake up without injuries.

But he didn’t think Eraser or Mic would appreciate that input.

Carefully, Izuku touches the green parts of his bandages with gentle fingers. “Ow.” He grumbles.

“Leave those be.” Mic chastises him gently. “You’re still healing.”

“Where’s Eraser?”

“He went to grab dinner.” Mic gestures to the door. He looks exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku apologizes, “I really didn’t mean to drag you guys into this.”

“Young man, you would have died if you hadn’t-”

“WHAT THE-” Izuku turns his head, surprised at the new voice appearing from behind him. “She did NOT have to spawn in like that.”

“You’re in very bad shape.” Recovery Girl continues. She shuffles over and sits beside him on the loveseat, “Your guardians called me at two AM three nights ago saying you were stabbed. Without proper medical equipment, it’s hard to say, but I believe the knife punctured your abdominal aorta. Eight out of ten people die in a situation like this, and you survived without a hospital. You are very lucky to have made it out alive, young man.”

“I’m so sorry for the trouble, ma’am.” Izuku apologizes, trying and failing to bow his head, “I was gonna handle it myself, I swear-”

Something similar, yet in vast contrast to anger flashes across Mic’s face. “Izuku, listen to me.” He crouches by the boy, to be at eye level, “I need you to understand that if you ever, and I mean ever, find yourself in a situation like this again, you need to come to me or Sho. We will always help you. It doesn’t matter what the problem is, whether it be a papercut or a stab wound. You will never have to go through things like this alone again. Do you understand?”

Carefully, with an embarrassed gleam in his eye, Izuku nods.

“We don’t want to lose you, kiddo.” Tears spring to Mic’s eyes. “Is it alright if I touch you, listener?”

Absently, Izuku nods. Arms are thrown across his cold frame, engulfing him in probably the warmest and most welcoming hug Izuku thinks he’s felt in years.

And Izuku holds the hero right back.

“I’m sorry, Mic.” Izuku sniffles, burying his flushed face further into Present Mic’s thick yellow sweatshirt. “I was scared.”

“And that’s okay, kiddo.” Mic gently runs a hand through Izuku’s mess of curls, “Just know that you don’t have to be scared alone.”

And that was when Izuku realized,

maybe the world wasn’t so lonely after all.

Chapter Text

It’d been a few days since the...incident. Izuku had long since removed the knife from the sink, which had earned traumatized stares from the two heroes in the room.

“It’s just a knife.” Izuku shrugs, the bloodied blade in hand.

“It almost killed you.” Mic raises his eyebrows at him. “That doesn’t scare you?”

The teen watches them both incredulously. “You guys are heroes. You probably see stuff like this all the time.”

“It’s…” Eraser pauses, breathes, “It’s a different situation when it’s someone you care about.”

Mic squeezes his husband’s hand.

“Oh.” Izuku replies intelligently, looking down to study the knife. He’ll have to wash his hands again. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, listener. I hope you don’t have the misfortune to understand that someday.”

That sits with Izuku for a while.

“Okay,” Eraser starts, sitting at the table with Izuku.

The boy looks up from his sandwich, eyes wide and mouth full of turkey, “Huh?”

“It’s time to set you up for school.” Eraser explains with a sigh. He’s got glasses on. Izuku wants to pick on him but he restrains himself, somehow.

Izuku almost chokes on his meal, “But the League can see those records! They’re gonna know-”

“I’ve considered that as well.” Eraser starts, “And I’ve come up with some options.”

“Okay…” Izuku trails off, skeptical.

“Option one is online school. But you’d be stuck in the house all school year, and I think it’d be good for you to make some friends.”

“Harsh.” Izuku bites off a chunk of his pickle.

“And option two:”

“I thought you said there were more options!”

“I said ‘some’.” Eraser raises his eyebrows at the boy. Izuku fiddles with his sandwich annoyedly. “Option two: You continue your studies at UA.”

Izuku’s jaw fucking drops. “You’re kidding.” He starts. “I haven’t even started middle school yet and you want me to go to high school?!”

“Let me finish.” Eraser watches the boy expectantly. “We won’t necessarily enroll you into high school courses. You’ll take an evaluation exam, just to gauge where you’re at mentally and academically, then we’ll then get you a tutor and you’ll take classes on UA’s campus. Yes, your records will show you attending the school and the League will probably find some way to get that information, but it’s a school surrounded by heroes. This way, we can legally enroll you back into school, and keep you completely protected.”

Izuku stares dumbly at the insomniac. “K but I hate how that kind of works out.”

“So you want to go with option two?” Eraser starts typing into his computer.

“I guess.” Izuku shrugs. He takes another bite. “When would I start?”

“The initial evaluation wouldn’t be for another week or two, at least. So you have some time to study, if you want.”

“Noice.”

“And we’ve scheduled you an actual appointment with Recovery Girl for the week after next. So be ready for that.” Eraser adjusts his glasses.

“Noice.”

“Oh, and Hizashi and I have been looking into therapists-”

“Aaaaaand that’s my cue!” Izuku stands, taking his plate with him.

“Izuku,” Eraser sighs, taking off his glasses, “It’s unhealthy to keep all the trauma you’ve been through bottled up like this.”

“Well, I talked to you and Mic about it, didn’t I?” Izuku sets his plate on the counter and crosses his arms.

“That was one time. Almost two weeks ago. And Mic—Hizashi nor I are actual professionals. We’re always here to talk, kid, but an actual therapist can provide healthy coping mechanisms.”

“Healthy coping mechanisms are-”

“-for the mentally stable, I know.” Eraser finishes for him, dropping his head in his hands. “I know the joke, kid. But I need you to start taking your mental health seriously. Hizashi and I go to therapy, it isn’t as scary as you might think.”

Izuku takes a deep breath, his eyes analytical as he glares at the hero. “Fine. I can agree to take...one hour...of my life seriously.”

Eraser exchanges the glare. “Twice per week.”

“Once.”

The hero processes the offer. “Fine.” He gives in. “Once per week.”

“Noice.” Izuku picks his sandwich back up and continues eating.

Xx

Okay, full disclosure, the only reason Izuku’s managed to avoid nightmares since moving in has been a) sleeping in one hour increments (that’s if he’s really tired at night), and b) patrolling at night and sleeping through the morning.

He’s realized he doesn’t have nightmares when it’s light in his room, but he’s sooo not about to ask Eraserdad to get him a nightlight. He’s not some kid!

But, it seemed his sleep debt had finally caught up to him at the end of his third week in the Aizawa-Yamada household.

Izuku, regrettably, finds himself face-down in his pillow at a very early 11:46 PM, with a warm Pickles curled into his side.

It’s cold in here, Izuku thinks to himself. He doesn’t have his shoes on, and the concrete floor is freezing.

Something sticky squishes between his fingers. Absently, Izuku wonders why it’s warm.

He thinks about making a joke, but then remembers this fic is rated for teenagers.

Looking down, he finds green blood seeping down his shoulders in elegant rivulets, dripping off his fingertips in large, wet dollops.

Pain explodes from the base of his skull. It feels like lightning is being conducted through his body.

He screams.

He falls to his knees.

Reaching his hands up, he struggles to grasp at the electrical devices strapped to his skull. He wants them off---he needs them off!

Tears gush down his cheeks. The pain is unbearable.

He cries--no, begs for someone, anyone to just make. it. stop.

Hands grab at his wrists, struggling to bring his fists away from the back of his neck. He can’t keep it on for any longer, or it’s going to kill him. He’s going to die.

His back hits a wall.

And then...he’s awake.

He gasps for breath, eyes immediately darting around the room.

It’s complete chaos. He’s like a cornered animal.

Eraser’s on his left, hands raised in preparation for...something?...and Mic’s on his right, in a similar position. They’re both on the other end of the room, giving him proper space, but they both look ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“What’s going on?” Izuku’s breathing is fast, too fast. His neck still aches with an ethereal type of pain, and he thinks he’s bleeding.

“Izuku, are you awake now?” Eraser’s voice is deadly calm.

“I- What?” Izuku stumbles over his words, “I don’t understand- Why does everything hurt?” He crumbles into a seated position, hands raising to gently touch at the back of his neck.

“You were having a nightmare. You’re safe, at home. In your bedroom.” Mic explains with an oddly steady tone.

Eraser takes a small step closer. “You hurt yourself.”

“No, I haven’t-” -done that in a while.

“Can I see?” The underground hero asks calmly.

Gingerly, Izuku nods. The hero creeps over, then gently moves Izuku’s hair out of the way to see his neck. “I think you just scratched-”

Eraser’s fingers graze the scars.

Izuku screams.

“Don’t touch me! Please!” Izuku cries, curling into a ball again. “I’m sorry! Dad, I’m sorry!”

It’s deafeningly quiet for a moment.

“Izuku, it’s Eraser. Your father isn’t here.”

“I want to go home! Please.” The boy sobs, his hands fisted tightly in his hair.

“I’m sorry, kid, I-” Hands grab at Izuku’s, removing them, “You’re gonna hurt yourself more.”

Something further than instinct thrusts Izuku into Shouta’s arms. He holds the hero, his face buried in the man’s sweater, his arms clutched over his shoulders.

And he cries.

“It’s okay, kid.” Erase rubs his back gently.

“It hurts so bad.” Izuku whimpers, “Please, make it stop.”

“It’s probably phantom pain from your scars.” The insomniac explains. “Do you want some medicine to help?”

Izuku nods, sniffling. “I’m sorry, guys.” He wipes his tears off on his sleeve as he finally pulls away from Eraser. “I usually wake myself up before I get nightmares but I forgot this time.”

Mic kneels beside them and drops two small pills in Izuku’s right palm. He gives the boy a glass of water in the other. “How do you usually do that, listener?”

Izuku swallows them. “I set an alarm.”

Eraser’s eyebrows bunch at him. “For how long?”

Izuku bites his lip, looking down. “An hour.”

“So you wake yourself up once every night? That’s very bad for your sleep schedule-”

“No, I wake myself up every hour.” He explains. “That, or I stay up and I sleep in the morning when it’s light. I sleep better then.”

“Izuku, that’s very bad for your health.” Eraser starts, watching him closely. “You need a full night’s rest.”

“Well, it’s either that or I get nightmares like these.” He gestures to the bed sheets haphazardly thrown about the room, dotted with blood stains.

Mic purses his lips before speaking. “You mentioned sleeping better in the morning. Do you know why that is?”

Izuku bites his lip again. “I think it’s because it’s light out. If I sleep when it’s dark, then I get nightmares.” It reminds him of his cell.

“Oh,” Mic replies softly, “So we’ll get you a light to keep-”

“I don’t need a night light.” Izuku interrupts him. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

Eraser sighs. He deflates a bit. “You are a kid, Izuku. It’s okay to want a night light, especially if you have nightmares. And some adults use night lights too, it’s not just for kids.”

“But I feel like it’s stupid to need a night light.” Izuku scans Eraser’s face for any scrutiny.

“You need sleep.” Eraser says. “And if a night light is going to help you get sleep, then we’ll go shopping for one right now if we have to.”

Izuku chuckles weakly at that. “Yeah, like they’re gonna have stores that sell night lights at two in the morning.”

“Well, why don’t we do this.” Mic stands, moves to the nightstand beside Izuku’s bed, and flicks on the small lamp. “It’s a little bright, but it’ll do until we can get you a real night light tomorrow.”

Izuku wrings his hands. The pain is still thick at the base of his skull. “And it’s not stupid?”

“Izuku,” Mic kneels by him again, eyes earnest, “It’s not stupid.”

Izuku throws his arms around the blonde hero’s neck. “Thank you, guys.”

“Thank you for letting us help, kiddo.” Mic holds him right back. “Now what do you say we take care of those scratch marks on your neck?”

“Oh, no,” Izuku starts, pulling away, “I should probably do that. If anyone else touches those scars, I freak out.”

Eraser and Mic both raise their eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a lot like what just happened. But I’m not asleep.”

“You mean a flashback?” Eraser asks.

“Flashback?” He’s only heard that term in movies before.

“Does it make you relive a memory? Usually a bad one?”

Izuku’s nose scrunches up. He nods.

Mic and Eraser share a look. “Why?” Izuku questions, looking between them. “Are flashbacks bad?”

“They usually just mean…” Eraser debates with himself, “They mean you’ve been through a lot of bad stuff.”

Izuku wished he knew more about medical things than he does now. He hasn’t taken a regular class in years, and he doesn’t necessarily talk with people on a daily basis.

“Your new therapist can explain that better than we can.” Mic reassures him, offering a soft smile. “Now why don’t we get you cleaned up and back in bed, hm?”

They wait, patient, while Izuku tends to the wounds on the back of his neck. They wait, patient, while Izuku anxiously crawls back into bed.

They wait, patient, after Izuku asks them to stay. At least till he’s asleep.

Izuku sleeps. They wait.

Patient.

Chapter Text

Now, Izuku knows he made a promise. Okay? He knows!

But he couldn’t explain it. He just needed it.

He hadn’t smoked in a few weeks, and for some reason, it was just starting to really bother him. It had bothered him over the past few weeks, sure, but it was more like an itch he felt late into the night as he tried to sleep.

But this time he was already out on the town, and near his usual corner, so…it just felt too easy.

His usual dealer was there, chilling with a book. Izuku drops down from the rooftop he’d been watching from, strolling up to the guy with his hands in his pockets. “Hey.” Izuku nods his head at him.

Without looking up, the boy smirks, “Thought you’d never be back.” Izuku could tell by the messy look of his lavender hair and the darkness of his usual eyebags that he’d been struggling without Izuku’s income.

Izuku…felt bad. “Just took a break.” The vigilante shrugs, hands still in his pockets.

Finally, the boy looks up at him. Izuku never knew his real name, but his dealer name was Mind Fuck. “You good?” The purple-haired teen bunches his eyebrows, and Izuku almost mistakes it for concern.

“Just got a lot going on.” Izuku shrugs. He plops down by the boy, legs sprawled as he lays flat on the sidewalk. “You?”

“Same.”

“Nice.” Izuku nods, shutting his eyes.

He can hear the guy start to say something before stopping, hesitating, then starting again, “Got into UA.”

Izuku’s eyes pop open and he shoots up, “UA?!” He gapes. “That’s awesome!”

Mind smirks at him. “Thanks.”

There’s a small pause. “Wanna smoke together to celebrate?” Izuku shrugs.

“Sure.”

Xx

“A-And then he just fucking stabbed me!” Izuku rolls around on the rooftop, laughing so hard he had tears trickling down his face. “I didn’t think the joke was that bad!”

“I’d stab you too if you ever made a joke that bad to my face.” Mind chuckles.

“But he was a serial stabber, dude! He’s supposed to stab people for shits and giggles but that man did it with purpose.”

“Oh my god.” The boy laughs, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back.

They were on some rooftop downtown, but Izuku wasn’t sure where. It was pretty high up, so no one could smell what they were smoking.

It was their usual spot. They’d smoked together a few times over the years, but they never talked much. Just enjoyed each other’s company.

It’s quiet for a moment, the lingering joy of their bout of laughter hanging in the air between them. “It’s good that you’re…you know.” Mind murmurs. “Safe.”

Izuku, splayed about like a starfish, turns his head to meet eyes with his friend. “It feels good to be safe. Do you…have that?”

“Sometimes.” The teen shrugs.

Izuku hesitates. “Like when?”

Izuku hears his friend take a breath. “Like now.”

Izuku tenses. He stares up at the stars above them, pondering.

“It’s Hitoshi, by the way.”

Izuku smirks. “Izuku.”

They lay there quietly for a few more minutes, taking up space together. Hitoshi’s phone dings suddenly and he checks it, red eyes squinting at the bright screen, “Shit.” He sits up.

“What is it?” Izuku sits up on his elbows, curious.

“I gotta go.”

“Oh.” Izuku mumbles, finding himself oddly disappointed. “Is everything okay?”

“Um…yeah.” Hitoshi responds distractedly, eyes not leaving his phone. He looks up after shaking his head, making eye contact with Izuku again. “I-I mean no, actually.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Hitoshi’s eyes roam his face analytically. “Meet me here Friday?”

Izuku nods immediately. “I’ll be here.”

“Cool.” Hitoshi rushes to the fire escape, starting to clamber down before popping his head back up again. “Bye.”

Izuku chuckles, “Bye.”

The dealer climbs down, Izuku listening to the light clattering of the metal staircase, Hitoshi’s feet planting on the asphalt, then the pitter-patter as he runs off.

Izuku…Izuku kind of had fun just now.

He’d always found Hitoshi interesting, but understood the importance of keeping dealing under wraps.

Izuku made a friend! He’s made a friend out of his drug dealer!

He has to tell Eraser!

…wait.

Fuck…he can never tell Eraser.

Xx

Hold up. The law was still a thing?

Since when?

Izuku’s been prancing around this fuck-show for years and no one’s managed to catch him yet, so why now—of all times—did a cop give a single fuck about him?

“You can see me?” Izuku replies to the policeman from his place perched on the rooftop. He’d only finished smoking with Hitoshi around an hour ago, and made the terrible decision of patrolling to try to work off his high.

“Did you think you were invisible?” The policeman replies, seeming genuinely curious.

“No.” Izuku replies lamely. “Y’all just ignore me all the time so I thought we were chill.”

“You’re very obviously running across rooftops up there, how could I not notice you?”

“I mean I’m being quiet-”

“You’re also wearing sort of bright shoes—shoe? Why do you only have one of those on?—and you’ve got a lot of patches on your pants, so-”

“Hey.” Izuku starts defensively, hopping off the rooftop to meet the cop in the dark alleyway. There was still distance between them, but Izuku was close enough to truly radiate his sass. “Speak for yourself, your uniform is bright as fuck. Ultramarine blue lookin’ ass-”

“This is royal, at best.” The office defends, looking offended now. “You’re just a little prick, aren’t you?”

“I prefer ‘pest’. ‘Pest’ implies the plague.” Izuku grins slyly at the man. “But whatever, I guess.” He spins on his heel, moving to walk away.

“Hey, you're coming with me-”

Izuku slowly spins back around, "Yeah, that's what I told your mom last night."

The cop gapes at him, then looks around as if he had no idea what to do with this situation. “What the hell is going on?! I'm arresting you!” The man shouts, alarmed when Izuku suddenly starts drifting towards him, legs unmoving.

“Your mom is what’s going on, just like she was last night-”

In a moment, electricity is coursing through his body. His scars light up with pain, then he’s out like a light.

Xx

Izuku wakes with a groan. His head was killing him, and the scars at the base of his skull somehow ached with both sharp pain and dull pressure at the same time. The pain reminded him of how he got the scars in the first place, but he did his best to shove those thoughts to the side for now.

He blinks his eyes open, grimacing at the bright fluorescent lights above him.

He was caged.

Well, detained. In a cell. At the police station?

But he prefers to call it ‘caged’. It implied he was feral.

“Hello?” Izuku groans out. He struggles to his feet, only to find that his hands were cuffed behind his back. His wrists ached and he wondered how long he had been unconscious for. His stomach also hurt, so he was probably hungry.

But he wasn’t very good at determining what ‘hungry’ felt like. Mic had been helping him with that recently.

He crosses to the bars of his cell, trying and failing to look past them for whoever was down the hall, probably on guard. “Hellooooo?” He calls out again.

“Shut your damn mouth.” A harsh voice bites back.

“Exsqueeze me?” Izuku almost laughs at the officer’s attitude. “I am a guest at your fine establishment.”

“Go back to sleep before I knock you out myself.”

Something ticks away in Izuku at that. Surely the pain of his scars wasn’t helping.

A familiar sort of fear sparks in his chest. It felt like static, somehow full yet empty at the same time. “H-Hey.” Izuku starts, voice breaking, “Don’t I get a phone call or some shit?”

He needs to call Eraser. Right now.

“Feral little shits like you don’t get that right.” The angry voice responds.

Izuku’s heartrate picks up. “You don’t get to decide that, asswhipe.”

“Oh, really?” There are heavy footsteps, then a hand reaches through the bars and grasps Izuku’s shirtfront. They pull him against the cold bars, smashing his face against the metal. “Well it doesn’t seem like you get a choice here, now does it?”

He’s suddenly thrown back and he falls against the floor, gasping for air.

“Waste of space.” The guard mutters as he walks off.

Izuku can’t seem to get enough air. He was back there, with the League, locked away in his cell. Waiting to be tortured, just for some means of attention.

Izuku vomits in the corner. Once. Twice. Four times.

Eventually, it stops. He finds himself balled in the corner, curling in on himself as much as he’s able.

Xx

Finally Eraser had caught the fucker.

And boy oh boy was he not nice about it.

The man had a broken nose, a sprained ankle (at best), and a dislocated shoulder. He had multiple abrasions and lacerations across his body, not including the thick gash running across his calf.

And that was just what Eraser could evaluate. Who knew what other internal injuries he could have.

But at least this man would know to never fuck with his kid again.

Eraser makes it to the station in record time, eager to get the shitstain behind bars and rotting as fast as he’s able. He approaches a police officer, and almost rolls his eyes when the cop stands, ready to greet the hero. “Hello, Eraserhead! I-”

“Serial stabber case.” He shoves the villain in the cop’s direction. “Make sure he’s taken care of.” He goes to step away before hesitating, turning back to the guy, “Might want to call an ambulance for him.”

The other cop pauses, confused, before he nods vehemently and immediately takes the villain by the cuffs. “You got it, sir!” He bustles away, looking far too eager to do his job.

Eraserhead wants to throw up. Damn go-getters.

His phone suddenly dings. He checks it, eyebrows bunching when he sees it’s a text from Tsukauchi.

Just got news that Nakamura brought your kid in. Might want to check on that. Let me know if you need anything.
- Tsukauchi

Eraser pauses.

His kid was here? At the station?

Detained?

A flood of rage passes right into the hero, and he feels his eyes go red as his quirk activates instinctually.

Well where the hell was he?

Xx

His hands won’t stop shaking. His body won’t stop shaking. It felt like shivering, but he didn’t feel cold.

At least he didn’t before. But this interrogation room was colder than a witch’s tit.

“Okay, before we s-start-” The vigilante begins, “Let me guess how this is going to go.” He points to the blonde cop to the left, “You’re going to be Good Cop.” The cop’s eyebrows bunch up as if she were confused, “You already have the damn cup of water you’re going to offer me in your hand, dumbass.” He turns to the brunette guy to the right, “And you’re just going to be a fucking idiot because I can’t even give you the compliment of being Bad Cop. I mean, have you seen your haircut? It looks like you lost a fight with a magic bullet blender.”

“Hey-” Good Cop starts, looking frustrated.

“Uh oh, already breaking character, buddy? Is the role too hard? Here, let’s switch.” Izuku moves to stand up, but Bad Cop holds him down by the shoulder. Izuku drops, eager to remove the touch from his arm. He looks Bad Cop right in the eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

Something flashes in the cop’s eyes, as if he’d found an advantage.

Good Cop takes a heavy breath before speaking up again. “What we’re here to do is question you, alright? We’re not here to fight. You’re a minor, and we found traces of illegal drugs in your system.”

Oh, right. That.

Fuck.

“Traces?” Izuku echoes. He and Hitoshi had smoked a ton, there was no way there was only a trace of Mary J in him.

Good Cop raises her eyebrow. “Yes, traces. Have anything to say about that?”

Izuku clears his throat and raises his eyebrows lethargically. He figured the dryness of his eyes and roughness of his voice already gave away that he’d been smoking, but he also figured that could be attributed to his crying.

So, he steels his features, “Do you have anything to say about that?” Good Cop seems confused for a moment, which was right where Izuku wanted her.

“I- What?”

“I’m just saying, you can’t be sure it wasn’t you two who smoked it.” He looks between the two cops, eyes squinted.

They share a look, visibly baffled. “That’s ridiculous.” Good Cop shakes her head.

“Of course it wasn’t us.” Bad Cop shoots back.

Izuku raises his eyebrows at the two. “Marijuana is a memory-loss drug, so maybe you just don’t remember.”

“We would remember.”

“Well, how could you if it just erased your memory?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Now how would you know how it works?” Izuku looks between them.

“Okay,” Bad Cop starts, standing up and pointing a finger down at Izuku. “I’m the one conducting the interrogation here!”

“NO!” Izuku stands up, meeting his height not with his body but with his tone, “YOU told ME that I’D be conducting the interrogation when I walked in here, now HOW MUCH POT DID YOU SMOKE?”

Good Cop’s mouth opens and closes absentmindedly, reminding Izuku of a fish.

“OKAY-” Bad Cop shouts over Izuku, “That is enough!” He starts walking slowly around the table, to Izuku’s side. Izuku smirks snarkily at the guy. “I am over getting pushed around by a pesky little vigilante brat.”

Good Cop bunches her eyebrows at the guy, “Hey, he’s just a kid-”

“No, he isn’t, Emica.” He replies without breaking eye contact with Izuku. “If he wants to act like a shitty adult, we can treat him like one.”

“Actually, legally-” Izuku starts, but he stops when Bad Cop looms behind him and slowly drops his hands on Izuku’s shoulders. “Woah, hey-” The boy squirms, “Get your hands off me.”

“I’m just touching your shoulders.” Bad Cop shrugs, “Nothing I wouldn’t do to any other interrogates.”

“Well I don’t like it.” Izuku bites back. There's a rush of energy, and Izuku feels the guy's life-force start to seep into him.

“Haru, stop.” Emica says softly, looking torn as her eyes roam Izuku’s face. “This isn’t right.”

Haru’s hands gently squeeze Izuku, then a hand is gone and the crackle of a taser buzzes beside his ear.

“STOP!” Izuku starts thrashing. “Let me go!” Izuku shouts, tossing Haru around with him. He manages to fall out of the chair, scooting away from the two and into the corner. “Get away from me!” He feels the urge to start crying, but doesn’t. Instead, he snarls at the two, and they jump back.

“Feral little monster.” Bad Cop mutters under his breath, taser still in hand.

The name strikes Izuku.

Monster.

“What the fuck did you just call him?”

…Eraser?

Izuku’s eyes trail up to the door behind the two cops and he meets eyes with his favorite hero. “Eraser!” Izuku shouts, pleading.

The erasure hero steps into the room, visibly fuming. The cops turn to him, confused, “Eraserhead?! Uh, we were just interrogating-!”

“You know vigilantes are not your jurisdiction.” Eraser bites back, moving past them to crouch by his kid, “Get out.” He barks at the two as he stares into Izuku’s face, eyes roaming for any sign of injury.

The two are gone in an instant, and Izuku hears a clatter as Bad Cop drops the taser.

“Come here, kid.”

Izuku throws himself into Eraser’s arms, sobbing against his chest. The hero holds him close, cradling his head.

“It’s okay, kid…” Eraser whispers to the boy, running a hand through his hair gently, “We’re gonna go home and Zashi’s gonna make those cookies, okay? The kind you like. With the extra vanilla.”

“O-Okay.” Izuku mumbles, barely intelligible under his face full of tears. Eraser slips his hands over the cuffs keeping Izuku’s hands tied, and with a small click, his wrists are freed. He helps Izuku stand, but his knees give out before he’s even able to put his weight on them. He tips forward, and finds himself facing the taser laying still on the concrete floor.

Izuku yelps, crawling backward away from the device. He throws his hands up to the back of his neck, shielding it. Pain pulses from the scars and Izuku finds himself crying even harder. “It hurts so bad, ‘Raser.” He whimpers.

“Fuck, you poor kid-” Eraser murmurs under his breath. He kicks the taser across the room, away from the two. “Come here,” He scoops Izuku up into his arms, and Izuku buries his head in the hero’s chest again. “Just keep your eyes closed, okay? We’ll be home soon.”

They start moving. Izuku starts crying harder when he hears the quiet casual conversation in the police station as they pass through the bullpen. He didn’t want to be around people.

“Breathe, kid.” Eraser tells him, the rumble of his voice calming Izuku.

An officer approaches him quickly, a file in hand and a question on his expression, “Eraserhead, sir-”

“Not now.” He replies without stopping.

There’s the opening of a door, then he feels a breeze as they exit the station. They don’t take to the rooftops, like Izuku had expected, but instead they walk along the street. It only takes them a few minutes to get back home, which Izuku is more than thankful for.

“Hizashi?” Eraser calls out.

“What’s up, Sho?” His husband responds, turning away from the oven as he pulls mitts off. His eyes land on the kid and he tenses immediately, “Kiddo?” He rushes up, concern etched into his features. “What happened?”

“Izuku?” Eraser tries to get Izuku to look at him, but Izuku just can’t. He doesn’t want to see anyone and he doesn’t want anyone to see him.

He doesn’t want anyone to have to see a monster.

Nausea rolls through his stomach. Izuku lifts his head immediately, pawing at the hero to let him go, “Eraser, I’m gonna throw up-”

In a matter of seconds, Izuku’s by the toilet. He dips his head down, vomiting for probably the sixth time that night. Nothing comes up but stomach acid.

A warm hand rubs Izuku’s back gently, running up and down his shoulder blades. Izuku gags one more time before falling back, leaning his head against the wall.

He blinks lazily at the black-haired hero seated on the floor beside him, worry furrowing his brow as he watches his kid suffer. “I’m sorry, ‘Raserdad.”

Eraser tenses for a moment, then blinks, “For what, kid?”

“I broke my promise.” He runs his sleeve against his nose, “I-I met up with a friend and we smoked.”

“Is that what got you arrested?”

“N-No, but I promised you I’d stop.”

Eraser takes a long, steady breath. “I used to smoke in high school, too.” He starts, leaning back against the wall with Izuku, “Hizashi got me to stop.”

“H-How’d you manage to quit?”

“I didn’t.”

Izuku’s eyebrows bunch. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I take edibles, sometimes. When I need it. It’s medicinal.”

“So…you do it for medicine?”

“Mhm.”

A smirk tugs at Izuku’s lip. “Can I do it for medicine?”

“No.” Eraser says firmly, a small smile easing onto his face, “I’m telling you this because recovery wasn’t straightforward for me, and I never expected it to be straightforward for you. Relapsing happens. What matters is you told me, kid. That means Hizashi and I can help you.”

“A-And you’re not mad?” Izuku checks.

“Oh, I’m pissed. But not at you.”

“Who?”

Eraser takes a steadying breath. “You don’t have to tell me, but I need to ask. What did those police officers do in that interrogation room, kid?”

Izuku turns away from the hero, to stare at the bathroom wall instead. “Touched my shoulders. S-Squeezed-” And Izuku can’t even finish it because even thinking of the word ‘squeezed’ reminds him of the incomprehensible pressure of that villain that had almost squeezed him to death a few weeks ago. “Th-They had a taser.”

“A taser?” Eraser’s voice is quiet, but cold. “They threatened you with a taser?”

“When they first arrested me, th-they-” Izuku lifts the right side of his shirt, revealing the two puncture wounds of the taser surrounded by mottled dark green and black bruising.

“Oh my god, kid-” Eraser takes the edge of the shirt from Izuku, holding it up for himself. “Hizashi, grab an ice pack!” He tosses the words over his shoulder without removing his eyes from the wound.

“I-I keep feeling like I can feel the electricity buzzing through me again. It makes my neck hurt, and I-” Izuku feels more tears coming on, so he stops talking to try to prevent more waterworks.

“I’m going to kill them.” Eraser murmurs to himself as he delicately traces the bruising with his fingertips.

Hizashi steps into the room at that moment, eyebrows raised at his husband, “Sho, we’re not gonna kill-” His eyes land on Izuku’s wound. He stills. “We’re going to kill them.”

Izuku goes to pull his shirt down, but Eraser stops him. He takes the wrapped ice pack from Mic and gently places it over the wound, “Does that hurt?”

Izuku shakes his head. “Th-Thanks.” He pauses. “I-I was so scared when they put me in that cell. They wouldn't let me call you.”

“What?” Eraser bites, “That’s your legal right-”

“That’s what I told him, but he told me ‘feral little shits like you don’t get that right.’” Izuku sniffles, “Then he called me a waste of space.” Izuku snickers. The guard’s words had bothered him so much at the time and in the moment, but now, Izuku just found it funny.

“Kid,” Eraser interrupts his laughter with a grim look, “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Izuku’s giggle dies in his throat, his smile falling, “Okay.”

He’s carried to bed and curls up into the sheets as soon as he feels the warm bundle of fur that was his raccoon placed on his chest.

Xx

Shouta was fuming. As soon as he and Hizashi were alone in the living room, with Izuku sound asleep in his bedroom with the door shut, he just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them.” The hero runs his hands through his hair, a feral smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “Who does that to a child?”

“Sho,” Hizashi starts, trying to calm him, “We’re not killing anyone. No one is dying. We will, however, be taking both those officers to court. We will be suing their asses till kingdom come. Got it?”

“No!” Shouta bites back. “They treated our kid like an animal, Hizashi. Izuku already has so much trauma, this is only going to reinforce what he’s been trained to believe.”

“He starts therapy next week, Sho. We can work through this with him.” Hizashi eases. “And you really think those two aren’t going to get jail time for what they did?”

Shouta ponders that for a moment. He supposed his husband was right. Aggravated assault of a minor, intentional infliction of emotional distress—so many laws were broken.

It would be an open and shut case. They probably wouldn’t even need Izuku to testify. The video footage of the interrogation room would be more than enough.

Shouta takes a deep breath and feels some of the tension melt away from his muscles. “You’re right.”

Hizashi takes his hand in his and brings his other hand to cup his husband’s cheek. “We can protect our kid without hurting anyone else in the process, Sho.”

“We’ll have to tell him.”

“Of course. But he doesn’t have to be involved.”

Shouta nods slowly, processing. “Okay. This is okay.”

There’s a creak of the floorboards by the hallway and they both tense. “Izuku?” Shouta calls out. Another creak. "You know, for a kid who can levitate you make an awful lot of noise while trying to be sneaky."

Looking as small as ever, Izuku scoots into view. His hands were wringing together, and he refused to look up to meet eyes with Shouta.

“Did you hear all of that?” Hizashi asks gently, without pulling away from his husband.

Izuku nods.

“And what do you think of it?” Shouta asks.

Izuku pauses before his eyes dart up, looking fierce and determined, “I say let’s get their asses locked up.”

A grin slides onto Shouta’s face. “Come here, kid.” Izuku barrels between them and they hold the kid and each other close.

Everyone Shouta loved was safe, here. In his arms.

God, this was Shouta’s favorite place to be.

Right in the middle of the universe.

Chapter Text

Okay, okay, okay—Izuku was gonna try something new today.

Now he knowwwwwsssss Mic said not to use the oven…but this was a special occasion!

Today—Izuku was going to cook. Dinner, specifically!

For Eraser and Mic!

*cue the applause*

However Izuku realized after the first step, that he has no fucking clue how to cook.

“Preheat? The hell is a ‘preheat’?” He mutters to himself, scrolling through a recipe on his phone.

Preheat the oven to 350.

Yeah, he doesn’t know what that means—next recipe!

Okay. This can’t be too hard. It’s just udon!

He’s gotta make a broth though. Wait! No, he can just use miso! They have some leftover miso!

Oh, this is going so well.

So, he’s gotta cut some chicken. They have leftovers of that too.

Cut some vegetables. ‘Sauté’ them?

Why the fuck would Izuku need to seduce a vegetable.

Boil the udon in the miso? Okay, that seems simple enough. Add vegetables and chicken. Then boom! He’s done!

Okay. Izuku’s got this. He’s totally got this.

It’s big brain time.

First, he puts their leftover miso in a pot and puts it over a warm burner. That way it won’t be cold. *insert cool-guy sunglasses here*

Then he heats up the skillet (who knew a heavy metal band would make for good cooking ware?) and drops the washed vegetables on it.

Oh, wait, he’s supposed to add oil.

He panics when the oil starts attacking him from the pan. “Feisty bitch.” He shields himself with the kitchen towel.

He warms the chicken in the microwave, then grabs a knife to get ready to cut the chicken up. He fiddles with it in his hands as he waits, twiddling it between his fingers. There’s a sharp pain on his pointer finger and he realizes with a grimace that he’s somehow managed to cut it.

“God fucking damn it.” He curses as he holds the wounded digit. After wrapping a bandaid around his finger, he washes the knife then retrieves the chicken from the microwave.

He drops the chicken in the simmering miso, then adds the udon noodles. They boil. Exciting.

Then, in go the temperamental vegetables that tried to take Izuku’s life. “Eat shit.” He curses at the greens as they slide into the pot.

And voila! Dinner is served!

He washes the dishes while the soup simmers and starts to set the table.

Eraser and Mic had said this morning that they’d be back later than usual, since today was the first day of actual classes for them.

It had only been three days since the whole arresting-incident and Eraser and Mic were working double-time to get the paperwork filed with their lawyer to sue the officers. Eraser had promised Izuku didn’t need to be involved and the hero was keeping his word. He’d taken a picture of the wound on Izuku’s side and the bruising on his face and wrists, and that was apparently all they needed from him. Something to do with trauma and him being a minor…?

All that’s to say, since they do so much for Izuku, Izuku figured he could do something nice for them.

They walk in the door just as Izuku finishes putting the last bowl down. “Well, I don’t think it’s Endeavor’s resolve, so much as-” Eraser freezes mid-sentence, eyes landing on the meal set out on the table.

Mic gasps quietly. “Listener…” He starts, hand rising to his chest, “Did you make this yourself?”

Izuku nods, smiling. “You guys do so much for me. I wanted to do something for you, too.”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry.” Mic blinks repeatedly, fanning his face. “I’m gonna cry, you’re the sweetest kid ever. I- Can I hug you?”

Without giving a response, Izuku simply wraps his arms around Hizashi. He’ll allow himself this much contact, since he spent a good two hours on the bench earlier.

It takes the voice hero a few minutes to finally pull himself together, but when he does, it seems to be Eraserdad’s turn.

The underground hero turns to Izuku with fondness in his eyes. “Thank you, Izuku. This is very sweet.” He smiles at the boy, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Carefully, as if Izuku might startle, Eraser gently drops a hand on Izuku’s head and ruffles his hair a bit.

Izuku’s starting to worry about how much he actually enjoys the contact. He can’t get this used to it.

They all sit, plate their dishes, and chow down. “This is soooo good, kiddo!” Mic slurps down another noodle.

“Were you careful using the range?” Eraser nods his head to the stovetop.

Izuku nods, looking down. “I know you said not to use it, sorry.”

“Oh, listener, that’s okay.” Mic smiles at him. “We just don’t want you to hurt yourself or catch something on fire. Maybe just ask one of us to help you next time, yeah?”

Izuku nods, smiling back at him. “I only ended up hurting my finger a bit with the knives.” He admits.

“Oh?” Eraser replies, “Is it bad?”

“Nah, I just needed a bandaid.” Izuku shrugs it off. He takes a sip of his soup. “How was work?” He asks after a moment. Izuku really wants to learn how to do this whole ‘domesticity’ thing, so he figured he’d give it a shot.

Mic looks surprised. “It was great! Thank you for asking, listener.” He takes a breath, “We met some new kiddos today.”

“Some more…rambunctious…than others.” Eraser adds.

Izuku chuckles, “What are their quirks?”

“Oh, there’s a whole bunch.” Hizashi waves his chopsticks in dismissal, “There is this one student with a Brain Washing quirk that I think you’d like.”

“Yeah, and I got an angry pomeranian with an explosion quirk in my homeroom.” Eraser grumbles.

“An explosion quirk?” Dangerous, from Izuku’s experience.

“Mhm.” Mic nods at him. “I think you’ll make some great friends going to UA.”

Izuku grimaces a bit. He’s never been one for making friends.

Before he ‘died’, he was quirkless. So, no friends growing up. The closest thing to a ‘friend’ he had was Kacchan, and even he treated Izuku like shit most of the time.

Then post-mortem, Izuku was homeless and legally declared dead for six years. The closest thing to ‘friends’ he’s made since coming back to life is a fucking raccoon and his drug dealer.

So, he doesn’t have much hope for friends at UA.

“How was your day, Izuku?” Mic interrupts his thoughts.

“Uh, good. I sat on the bench for a while.” Izuku replies, playing with his noodles in the bowl.

“I notice you do that a lot.” Mic tilts his head at the boy. “Do you like the outdoors?”

Izuku stiffens. He shrugs. “It’s nice outside.”

“Do you wear a jacket when you go out? It’s getting to be fall, and I know you get cold easily.” Eraser observes. He eats a piece of chicken.

Izuku shrugs again. “I usually just wear what I have on.” Which is usually a sweatshirt and his jeans. It’s been nice wearing matching clothing for once.

“You should be wearing a jacket, kiddo. You’ll catch a cold.” Mic’s eyebrows bunch up with concern.

On the other side of the table, Shouta thinks, Honestly, the kid should probably stop sitting outside for hours on end. He’s going to freeze again, and the League’s still after him. But then again, Shouta really doesn’t want to take away one of the kid’s few sources of joy in his life.

Izuku nods. “I’ll try to remember next time.”

Xx

Izuku did not remember the next time.

It started raining halfway into it too.

Izuku’d been sitting on his bench at the park for about an hour. It was cold, and he could feel it in his toes. He wished he’d thought about the jacket.

But then he’d have to make the walk back through the park and across the street...which kind of doesn’t seem like that long of a walk when he really thinks about it but still! Just another hour! He can do this for just another hour.

Izuku honestly hates how inefficient this method is. It takes him three hours to absorb just enough life-force to function, and that’s with rarely using his quirk. If Izuku actually exercised his quirk, he’d probably need a total of over four hours on the bench.

And it’s not like he could just not use his quirk and not need life-force. He needs the stuff like he needs food, since he can’t produce the energy himself (you know, because he died).

He wonders how quick the process would go if he was able to get closer. But that would be weird.

So, this was his only option.

But it really felt like the icing on top of the cake when it started raining.

“Fuckin’ A.” Izuku curses, wrapping his arms further around himself. He was almost just a complete ball of Izuku at this point

His hair starts matting against his head, but he refuses to move his hands to wipe his bangs out of his eyes. That would mean losing the bit of warmth he’s managed to capture between his arms.

He tucks his face into his knees.

“What are you, fucking homeless?” A gruff voice asks from somewhere in front of him.

“Not anymore!” Izuku replies, sarcastically cheery. It’s starting to rain harder, and Izuku’s hoping the person can hear him with his face tucked into his knees. “You?”

“No.” The person scoffs. “You look like you’re dead.”

“Maybe I am, shithead.” Izuku shifts in his spot.

“You’re annoying.”

“Then leave.” Izuku raises his shoulders for emphasis.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” The person growls out. “Who are you, anyways?”

“Your mom.” Izuku shoots back.

“Well, you’re not a hag, so.”

Izuku barks out a laugh. “Who are you?”

“Your mom.” They reply, snark heavy in their tone.

“Well, you’re not dead, so.” Izuku smiles when they bark out a laugh, too.

Izuku can feel the person sit beside him on the bench, but they still keep their distance. “It’s fucking freezing out here. Go to a homeless shelter or some shit.”

“Hey, I told you, I’m not homeless anymore.” Izuku curls into a tighter ball as another chill dances up his spine.

“Hm.” The person grumbles. “Then go home.”

“Why do you care?” Izuku debates taking a look at the person, but refrains for fear of losing his warmth.

“Because it’s fucking cold.” The person almost shouts it.

“Bruh. Chill.” Izuku rolls his eyes. “And that’s not an answer.”

“Fine. I’ve been trying to be a...better person.” Honestly, Izuku’s surprised that the guy gave him a legit answer. “And I figured why the fuck not talk to a random homeless kid on the park bench.”

“I told you---I’m not homeless!” Izuku snaps his head up to glare at the person.

He freezes in place. His eyes go abnormally wide.

Izuku stumbles off the bench, falling on his ass in an attempt to put space between him and the person.

“Deku?!” Kacchan shrieks at him, also backing away.

“Kacchan?!” Izuku screams right back.

“How the fuck-?!” The blonde falls right on his ass too, face screwed up as he analyzes the greenette. “I thought you were fucking dead!”

“I was!” Izuku retorts. He realizes he’s shivering.

“WHAT?” Katsuki barks out. “But you---and Auntie-?! Oh, fuck-”

“I can’t do this right now.” Izuku stands, his knees feeling weak from shock. He hasn’t seen Katsuki in years. Since before he died!

He turns to run.

“No!” Izuku flinches when a hand grips his wrist firmly. “You’re not fucking dissapearing again!”

The vigilante turns to face the blonde, eyebrows raised. “Like you gave a shit the first time!” He rips his arm away.

“I DID!” Katsuki shouts at him. By now, the crowd had thinned out, but those that were still passing by were sending the two some pretty interesting looks. “I did, Deku!”

“The sheer fact that you’re still calling me ‘deku’ speaks volumes-"

Kacchan huffs, indignant. "Where have you been?!”

Izuku’s quiet for a moment. The pitter-patter of raindrops fills the silence. “I don’t think you deserve to know.”

Katsuki hesitates, leaning back a bit. “I don’t. I really don’t, Deku.” He purses his lips. “But how the fuck are you alive? After all this time?”

“Honestly, I have no clue.” Izuku’s hands start to shake. From the cold? From fear? “And what the hell are you doing on this side of town? You don’t even live over here.”

“Quit deflecting!” Katsuki shouts at him.

“Oo, big words.” Izuku jokes anxiously. “Since when did Bakugou Katsuki become aware of other people’s mental health?”

“Since I started therapy, dickhead.”

Izuku’s surprised by this response. “And when was that?”

“Six years ago.” He says it like it’s a bullet, aimed for Izuku. “When my best friend fucking dissapeared.”

“Your best friend? Oh, that’s rich.” Izuku laughs. “You treated me like shit.”

“But everyday regardless of how fucking shitty I treated you, you were always nice to me! I’ll never understand why. I don’t fucking get it. But you were nicer to me than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Izuku watches him with something fierce in his eyes. He breaks after a moment, sighing in aggravation, “Come on.” He starts to walk away. He stops after a moment, turning to look at Katsuki.

Katsuki hadn’t moved from his spot. “Huh?” The explosive blonde raises an eyebrow at the vigilante, unmoving.

“Come on!” Izuku repeats. “I’m not saying it again.”

So, Katsuki follows him. Silent.

They climb the fire escape up to Eraser and Mic’s kitchen window, and Izuku leads them through. “Hey, ‘Raserdad!” He smiles at his dad on the couch.

“Uh-” Eraser looks up from his laptop. He slides his glasses off his face as he takes in the scene of his kid-vigilante crawling through the window, soaked to the bone and shivering, with...one of his students? “What’s going on, kid?”

“I hope it’s okay that I brought…” ...a friend?... “...another human with me.”

“Yeah, that’s fine---but you’re soaked.” Eraser moves to the kitchen to start boiling a pot of water for some tea, probably. Or hot cocoa. Izuku hopes he’ll make hot cocoa. “I thought we talked about this?”

“We did…” Izuku fidgets with his freezing fingers. “Sorry. I forgot to grab a jacket before I left.”

“And you do realize you can use the door, right?” Eraser gestures to their front door.

Izuku shrugs.

“Go change.” Eraser takes a deep breath. “I need to talk with....your friend...really quick.”

Izuku debates correcting him, but just shrugs it off. “Okay.” He hurries off to his bedroom, happily leaving Katsuki to the wolves.

Xx

Katsuki did not know what the fuck was going on. His best friend, who literally died six fucking years ago was alive?!

And he lived with Katsuki’s fucking homeroom teacher?! Was this a fever dream?

Deku practically skips away, to somewhere further into the apartment. Leaving Katsuki to deal with this mess on his own.

“So, Bakugou…” Aizawa starts, face just as emotionless as it always is, “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Ask fucking Deku.” He gestures to the hallway.

Aizawa’s eyes go cold. Chills run down Katsuki’s spine. “I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from referring to the kid as ‘useless’.”

Katsuki grumbles, running a hand down his face. “It’s a habit. I haven’t seen the bastard in six years! I thought he was dead!”

“That’s not an excuse to insult my kid like that.” Aizawa orders. “If I hear it again, we’re going to have a problem.” Not that they don’t have one already…

“Got it.” Katsuki mumbles. “So you’re, what, his dad?”

“Something like that.” Aizawa replies. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “So you knew him before…?”

“Before he was legally declared dead? Yeah.” Katsuki nods. “Where has he been this entire time? With you?”

“I think that’s something Izuku should explain.” His teacher sighs. “It’s not my story to share.”

Izuku comes shuffling back into the room just as the teapot starts whistling quietly.

“You warmed up a bit?” Aizawa tilts his head at the boy as he starts mixing some hot cocoa mix into a mug full of the steaming water. Izuku nods. He drops some marshmallows in each mug and passes one mug to the kid, then passes the other to Katsuki. “You both should talk.”

Aizawa sets the pot down, then grabs his computer from the couch.

“Thanks, ‘Raserdad.” Izuku smiles at the man.

The hero ruffles the greenette’s hair fondly before disappearing into the hallway. “Let me know if either of you need anything.”

Aaaaand that leaves Izuku and Katsuki.

“Let’s, uh, go to my room, I guess.” Izuku leads them both through the hallway, to a bedroom. It’s a pretty simple set up, with the only splashes of color being from his blue bedspread and dark oak bedroom furniture.

The greenette plops himself down on the bed, and gestures for the other boy to take a seat at his desk. They’re quiet as Katsuki shrugs off his jacket and sits.

The blonde almost smirks curiously at the Eraserhead nightlight in the corner.

Wait...no, it wasn’t Eraserhead. It’s...Eraserhead and Present Mic?

“I wanted one with both of them, but the store didn’t have that. So they got me both and I attached them.” Izuku laughs halfheartedly, obviously nervous.

“‘They’?” Katsuki echoes.

“Uh, Mic and Eraser.” Izuku clarifies, but only manages to make the blonde even more confused. “They’re sort of like...my dads? Parents?”

“Hold up---Aizawa and Yamada-sensei are married?” Katsuki raises his eyebrows at him.

Izuku grimaces. “Was I not supposed to tell people that? Oops.”

“I don’t give a shit, I won’t tell anyone. I was just surprised.” Katsuki sips his cocoa quietly. “This is fucking weird.”

“Yeah…” Izuku trails off. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about the fucking beginning?” Katsuki says snarkily.

“Hey, keep in mind---I don’t need to tell you any of this. This is a privilege, asswhipe.”

Katsuki quiets again. Deku was right. Or, Izuku was right. Katsuki doesn’t even deserve to know the whole story, not after how he used to treat him.

“But I guess the beginning is a pretty okay place to start.” Izuku takes a breath, “I’m just gonna speedrun this. Uh, so my mom died when I was, like, seven---but you know that---then I went to my dad’s. We were chill for like half a year, then he kidnapped me, tried to turn me into one of these freaky quirk-monster-things---that ended up killing me---then I woke up, like, a year later? Met a raccoon, fucked some shit up, smoked an asston of grass---and here we are.”

Katsuki’s brain explodes.

“Questions?”

“I-” The blonde is honestly speechless. He has zero words. Head completely empty. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Izuku shakes his head dismissively, taking a sip of his hot cocoa.

“I always…” Katsuki swallows around the lump in his throat. “I always knew your dad was fucked in the head, but…”

“Really? I never noticed. Like, actually.” Izuku chuckles. “To be fair, I was kind of an idiot who just wanted everyone to like him.”

“Yeah, he always just had this coldness about him. Freaky.” Katsuki shrugs. “You and your dad were reported missing after you disappeared. People wondered if he took you, but nothing was ever, like, investigated because...well, you know.”

“Because of my fucking ‘disability’?” Izuku snorts. “Really love that it still bit me in the ass after I was dead.”

“So your dad’s a villain, then? Was he caught?”

Izuku shakes his head. “He works for the League. I don’t know what his position is though.”

Katsuki’s eyebrows bunch up confusedly. “What ‘League’?”

“The League of Villains?”

“There’s a fucking league for that?!” Katsuki shrieks.

Izuku looks surprised that he didn’t already know. “Yeah?”

“Damn.” Katsuki takes a drink from his mug. “So how’d you come back to life?”

“A quirk mutation.” Izuku shrugs. “I know they messed with my brain, so I think that year was just my body trying to fix itself so I could wake up.”

“Wait, so you’re not quirkless anymore?”

Izuku shakes his head. Technically, he was. But he wasn’t about to take that L. “Ta-da. You hate me less now?” The joke is dry, and it falls flat between them.

It leaves a bitter taste in Katsuki’s mouth. “And you’ve been homeless for six years?” He tries to move the conversation onwards.

“Pretty much.” Izuku sighs, “It’s had its ups and downs. I met Eraserdad about three months ago, and I’ve only been staying here for like four weeks.”

“How’d you survive six years by yourself?”

“Well, I didn’t lol.”

Katsuki blinks at the verbal use of an acronym, but shakes it off. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, let’s be honest with ourselves---we’ve all died a few times, am I right?”

“Dek-” Katsuki stops himself. “Are you saying you’ve died more than once?”

Izuku grimaces. “Does five times count as ‘more than once’?”

Katsuki facepalms. “You’re a fucking idiot. Does Aizawa know about this?”

“No? And he doesn’t need to know.”

“Yeah, he kinda does. He’s your...dad, or whatever.”

“Well, he knows I can’t stay dead, at least.” Izuku shrugs. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Deku, dying five times is a special kind of fucked up. Tell him.”

“Mm. Maybe.” He sets his mug down and falls back against his bed, sighing. “So are you in high school now?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Katsuki clears his throat. “Got accepted to UA last week.”

Izuku sits up, alert. “UA? I’m going to UA! Well, not, like, going to UA, but I’m going to UA.”

Katsuki blinks at him. “I don’t know what the fuck that means. But wait, haven’t you been declared dead for the past six fucking years? How are you in high school?”

“Uh, I’m not technically in high school. I’m taking a test next week and I’ve got a tutor or whatever. I’m just taking my classes at UA so the League doesn’t find me and wrack up my death toll.”

“Oh.” Katsuki replies intelligently. “Hold up---so if we’re both supposed to be the same age, and you were dead for a year…?”

Izuku fiddles with his fingers. “Shut up.”

“You’re fourteen!” Katsuki jams a finger in his direction.

“I’m fifteen!” Izuku shoots back.

“HA!” Katsuki barks out a laugh. “I’m older than you!”

“No, you’re not!” Izuku climbs to his feet on the bed, looming over the blonde. “We’re the same age!”

“You’re a little kid. Fuck!” Katsuki laughs, his voice gravelly.

“It’s one year, shithead!” Izuku laughs with him, plopping back down on his butt again. “Hey, if anything, I’m ahead of you. I’m younger and going to UA.”

“You aren’t fucking better than me, shitty Deku!” Katsuki shouts at him.

Izuku laughs harder, rolling around on his bedspread. Someone knocks on the door.

Izuku sits up, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “Uh, come in?”

Present Mic pops his head in through the door. “Hey, kiddo. Just checking in! I heard some shouting and-” His eyes land on Katsuki sitting at his desk. “Bakugou?”

“Hey, Mic!” Izuku smiles at the blonde hero. “How was work?” That seemed to be the typical thing he asks either Eraser or Mic after they get home. He isn’t sure what else to ask.

“Uh, great! Thanks, listener.” He replies, distracted. “Can I ask what, uh, what Bakugou’s doing in your bedroom?”

“Oh, yeah!” Izuku looks between them. “I guess Kacchan would be your student, since he goes to UA.”

“Are you two friends?”

Katsuki and Izuku share a look. “Something like that.” Izuku shrugs. “I can explain more later.”

“Okay!” Present Mic smiles uneasily. “Sounds great. Um, will you be staying for dinner, Bakugou?”

“Uhh…” The blonde boy looks to Izuku. “Depends on how much Deku’s gonna hate my guts by the time dinner comes around.”

Present Mic takes a step further inside, eyes curious. “Who’s ‘Deku’?” He looks between the two.

“Uh, that’s me.” Izuku nods once.

“No, it’s not.” Present Mic says assertively, smile falling. “Bakugou, I recommend finding a new nickname for Izuku or we’re gonna have a problem, yeah?”

Okay, Katsuki didn’t think Present Mic was capable of being that fucking scary.

“Aizawa already gave me the lecture.” Katsuki grumbles.

“Then learn from it.” Mic blinks, taking a breath. “Maybe call him by his name.”

Katsuki gulps. “Y-Yeah, I’ll try that.”

Another smile breaks out on the hero’s face. “Great!” He claps his hands together, “So, dinner?”

“Uh, sure!” Izuku smiles at the hero. “Kacchan’ll stay for dinner, I guess.”

“Wonderful. You two have fun now!” Mic closes the door behind him almost forcefully.

The two boys sit in silence for a minute. “He can be-” Katsuki tries to find the right word.

“Protective?” Izuku tries.

“-terrifying.” Katsuki laughs breathlessly.

Meanwhile, outside the door:

“Shouta!” Hizashi whisper-yells from down the hallway, marching to their bedroom. “Get me my heels!” Hizashi rarely wore his heels, but he had them in the back of his closet just in case.

“You’re not beating up a teenager with your heels, ‘Zash!” Shouta yells back from his office.

“WATCH ME.”

He...didn’t end up beating up a teenager.

Xx

“So, how do you and Izuku know each other?” Mic asks after they’ve all sat down. Izuku talked with Katsuki for hours, only interrupted once by Pickles scratching at his window and Mic eventually calling for dinner.

“Um,” Izuku swallows his mouthful of fried chicken, “We actually grew up together.”

“Oh?” Eraser looks between the two boys.

“Yeah, our moms were best friends.” Katsuki nods.

“So you two were friends, then?”

Izuku looks at Katsuki. “Yeah…” His voice trails off. “Sort of.”

“If by ‘friends’, you mean I treated Dek- Izuku like shit, then sure.”

Mic’s eyebrows gradually raise at that. “And what’s that mean?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you guys, I bullied Izuku for years before he went missing.” Katsuki puts his chicken down.

“Well, we were best friends when we were little. Then we turned four…” Izuku scratches the back of his head uneasily.

“What happened when you turned four?” Mic forces the smile to remain tight on his face. It’s an unsettling look.

Katsuki grimaces. “Quirks happened.” He looks at Izuku.

“Or a lack thereof.” Izuku looks at Katsuki.

It’s quiet before realization hits the two heroes.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” Mic sounds breathless, “I’m gonna have to remove myself from the situation, if you’ll excuse me.” The sound his chair makes scooting against the ground earns cringes from everyone at the table.

Eraser follows after his husband quickly. “Zashi, Zash---hey.” The two boys can still hear them whispering from the hallway.

“He’s quirkest, Sho!” Mic seethes. “He treated Izuku---our kid---like crap because he was quirkless!”

Izuku and Katsuki share a grimace.

“I know, I know.” Eraser tries to calm him, “I’m angry too, don’t get me wrong. But we don’t know how Izuku feels about that now. All we can do is wait and talk to him about it later, okay?”

Mic takes a few deep breaths, “Okay, okay. You’re right. I don’t even have a right to be angry, I wasn’t the one who went through it.”

“Well, we do have a right to be angry. Our kid was hurt.” Eraser pauses, “But we need to think rationally until we have all the information.”

“Yeah---Yes.” Mic’s voice gets a bit louder. “You’re right. Okay. Thanks, Sho.”

“Let’s head back in.” They enter a second later. They sit.

The air is stiff.

Izuku shifts uncomfortably. “Crazy weather we’re having.” He quips. More silence. “Um, Kacchan and I are gonna go on a walk.” The greenette quickly scoots out of his chair, grabs Katsuki’s wrist, and pulls him to the kitchen window.

Izuku slides his shoe and boot back on quickly while Katsuki ties his sneakers on.

Mic scoots out of his chair a bit. “Wait, I didn’t mean to make-”

“We’ll, uh…” Izuku slides the window open. “We’ll be back. Or, I’ll be back.”

And with that, Izuku drags Katsuki out the window. They clamber down the fire escape.

Izuku’s glad it isn’t raining anymore, considering he doesn’t have his jacket...again. Oops. He’s sure Eraser and Mic are freaking out about that right now.

“I’m sorry about that…” Izuku mumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. Katsuki walks beside him. There’s a chill in the air, but it isn't uncomfortable. It’s almost refreshing.

“It’s fine.” Katsuki sighs. “What I did to you was fucked, the least I deserve is your dad hating my guts.”

“Mic doesn’t hate your guts.” Izuku smirks. “He just cares a lot about the people he loves.”

“Reminds me of someone.” Katsuki mumbles. Izuku smiles.

“I’ll talk to him later. He’ll come around after I explain things.”

“What is there to explain?” The blonde scoffs. “I beat you up because I was quirkist.”

“No, you had a complex because of the environment you were raised in-”

“Don’t you dare fucking justify what I did to you. I know you look for the best in people, but I’ve gotta draw the line there.”

Izuku goes quiet. The silence is filled with their wet footsteps falling lightly in the puddles littering the sidewalk and the ongoing rustle of their clothes.

“Listen,” Katsuki stops, turning to Izuku. “I’m sorry. And I know that doesn’t fix a damn thing, but I need you to hear it.”

“Kacchan.” Izuku interrupts him. “I forgive you.” And Izuku wasn’t entirely sure if he did forgive him, or if this was just the only way to leave it all in the past.

A pause. “Can, uh,” Katsuki looks down, kicking at a pebble with his foot, “Can we still be best friends?”

Izuku's jaw drops and he laughs, “What are you, five?” He keeps walking, hands in his pockets.

Katsuki scoffs, then jogs to catch up, “I’m not five, you shithead!” He laughs.

They walk together, laughing, for what feels like forever.

“I’ll bring your jacket when we hang out tomorrow.” Izuku sighs.

“Do you still want to hang out?” Katsuki raises an eyebrow at him. “Will your dad want you to?”

“Mic doesn’t hate you, Kacchan. Besides, he can’t stop me.” The greenette nudges the blonde’s shoulder with his own. “I’m a bad bitch.”

Katsuki snorts, marching onwards through his yard to his front door. Izuku had already told him not to tell anyone (read: Katsuki’s mother) he’s alive.

“See you tomorrow, dickhead!” Izuku shouts, waving to Katsuki’s back.

Katsuki simply raises his finger to his right, flipping off his best friend.

Izuku smirks. It was nice to have a friend again.

Xx

Izuku took the long way home that night. He just needed to clear his thoughts.

He wasn’t upset with Mic---not at all. He understood how the hero was feeling. Or, well---he could understand why the situation was frustrating, at least.

It was almost midnight before Izuku made it back home. He was usually home by midnight, but this time, he wasn’t patrolling. Just walking.

...in the cold...without a jacket…again...

But he did some parkour while he was out, so that kept him warm.

Mic stopped Izuku before he made it to his bedroom. “Izuku!”

Izuku turns, surprised. He hadn’t noticed the hero dozing off on the couch. Had Eraserdad already gone to bed?

“Oh, hey, Mic.” Izuku smiles at him, waving.

“Can we talk for a second?” Mic grimaces, sitting up. Izuku takes a seat beside him on the couch.

Izuku fidgets a bit. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. It was uncalled for, and I didn’t have the right to act like I did without talking to you first, kiddo.”

“Well, you can’t help how you feel.” Izuku defends the voice hero, “It...feels nice that you cared, though.”

Mic smiles softly at him. “But I shouldn’t have made you or Bakugou feel uncomfortable like that.”

“It’s okay. He was an ass when we were kids.” Izuku looks down at his lap.

“About that…” Mic leans down a bit, trying to meet the boy’s eyes. “Did Bakugou really call you ‘useless’ when you two were little?”

Without making eye contact, Izuku nods.

“Did you believe him? When he used to say that?”

Izuku nods. He wishes he were smaller. So he could take up less space.

“Do you believe it now?”

A pause.

Izuku nods. He feels a few tears drip off the tip of his nose.

“Oh, kiddo…” Gently, Hizashi runs a hand up and down Izuku’s back. “I’m sorry your friend made you believe that about yourself.”

“It’s true.” Izuku shrugs. He sniffles. “I’ll never be a hero like you, or Eraserdad. I’ll never be more than what I am now. I’ll probably end up a complete Nomu or dead in a ditch by the time I’m twenty. So it’s pointless. It’s stupid.”

“Hey, hey---no, no, no-” Mic sets his hand on Izuku’s, “Your dad- Sho and I are gonna protect you, Izuku---okay? Nothing’s gonna happen to you. We’ll get you re-registered, and enroll you in school. You can be a hero, Izuku, if that’s what you want. There’s nothing in the world that can stand between you and that dream, okay?”

“The League is gonna find me eventually, Mic.” Izuku leans into the hero’s shoulder. “And it’s okay. I have to expect it. I just don’t like to think about it all that much.”

“Izuku,” Mic holds the boy close to his side. “I promise, we’re not gonna let them hurt you, okay? You’re safe with us.”

And that was where Izuku often found the difference between Eraser and Mic. Mic promised him the League would never hurt him, probably as a means to comfort Izuku. But if anything, Izuku thinks it did the opposite.

Mic was an optimist. Eraser was a realist. Best case scenario, Mic was right; They would never lay a finger on him again

But both Izuku and Eraser knew that that was an unreasonable promise. No one could ensure the future. Without any spoken words, Izuku and Eraser both knew what was to come.

Izuku’s really not sure what he’s supposed to say to convince Mic his death or eventual capture was inevitable, so he lets it be for now.

Mic pauses. “Can I touch you? I’m sorry, I know I hug you all the time, and you set a boundary. I’m sorry-” Izuku was already touching him, but he figured the hero asked to be sure it was okay.

The teen nods. He thinks. “I think it’s okay...from now on, I mean. You don’t have to ask.” Izuku mutters. He decides that quick contact is okay. He can allow that. Just not for a long time.

“Are you sure?” Mic asks gently.

Izuku nods. He feels the hero pull him into a hug, the blonde’s chin resting on top of Izuku’s head. He thinks he can feel something wet on the top of his head.

Absently, he wonders if Mic is crying.

They sit quietly for a moment. “What---all this wholesome Dad-Mic content in an Eraserdad fic?” Eraser stands at the front of the hallway, hands on his hips.

Izuku laughs, then grabs Eraser’s hand. He tugs the man onto the couch.

"We feelin' like a movie?" Mic asks, grabbing the remote.

A movie! Izuku can't remember the last time he watched a movie.

They decide on Finding Nemo, and Izuku ends up falling asleep tucked between the heroes. The warmness of the blankets, the soft noises from the television, and the delicate life-force unknowingly trickling from the oblivious heroes into oblivious Izuku lulled him right to sleep.

It was a good night in the Yamada-Aizawa household.

Chapter Text

The boredom had finally convinced Izuku to download one of those games on his phone. It was a little first-person shooter with zombies in it. A time-killer, at best.

But Hitoshi was taking foreverrrrr. Izuku had been waiting for an hour now, and he knew his dads were probably wondering where he’d gone off to.

He’d spent the entire day studying with Kacchan though, so they let him go off to parkour to relieve some stress. Izuku…might’ve just forgot to mention that he was meeting up with his drug dealer! No biggie!

They weren’t even going to smoke!

…probably.

He shuts the screen off, bored, and stares into the reflection for a moment. His glowing viridian eyes staring back at him ominously. Getting shivers from how freaky they look, he turns his phone back on to get rid of his reflection. He swipes around the homescreen a few more times before finally giving up and choosing to balance along the rooftop ledge as distraction, instead.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Izuku jumps, almost falling off the rooftop. He spins around, finding Hitoshi on the other end of the roof, hands on his hips. “Are you a fucking idiot?”

Izuku looks past himself, off the ledge of the rooftop, then back to his friend. “Are you talking to me?”

“Get off the ledge.” Hitoshi says sternly.

Izuku raises his eyebrows at him, confused. “What? We were just up here on Monday. Why are you so worried about it now?”

“Because climbing the fire escape to get up here is one thing, but carelessly balancing back and forth on the ledge like a reckless idiot is different.”

“Okay, fine!” Izuku chuckles, hopping off the side onto the roof. He shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Happy?”

Hitoshi stares back at him, face deadpan, “Does this look like the face of a happy person?”

“Ecstatic.” Izuku responds with a cheesy smile on his face. He lets it fall, “But seriously, are you good? You left kinda quickly the other night.”

“Yeah, just some issues with some buyers.”

“And you had to leave in a rush at 1 AM because…?”

Hitoshi sighs heavily, slumping as he sits on the ledge. “I forgot I made a big deal with some other guys and I was supposed to meet them. I was late, and they…”

Izuku moves to sit beside him, keeping some distance. “They what?”

Hitoshi tilts his head from side to side, debating. “They messed me up a little bit.” He holds a hand to his side, as if to gesture where his injuries were.

Izuku’s fists clench. “They attacked you?”

“I’m fine, but they want to meet again tonight to finish the deal.”

“Do you want to finish the deal?”

“Not after last time.” He huffs out a laugh.

Izuku thinks for a moment. “We could scare ‘em shitless?”

Hitoshi turns to him, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lip. “How?”

Izuku squints at his friend. “Have I ever told you my quirk?”

Xx

Hitoshi stands in the dim light of the alleyway, leaning against the wall. His hood was up, hiding his unruly lavender hair.

A group of three men, probably in their early 20s, walk casually into the alleyway. They had their hoods up too, but walked with purpose. They weren’t trying to hide a thing.

The middle of the three approaches Hitoshi, hands in his pockets. “You learned from last time.” He pulls a phone from his pocket, shoving the screen in Hitoshi’s face to show him the time. “After we showed you your place.”

“Sorry, it was my first deal.” Hitoshi lies easily. “I’m new to this kinda stuff, you know? Just delivering for my uncle.”

“Look, kid, I don’t give a rat’s ass-” There’s a loud clatter behind the three and they whip around, startled. A bottle had tipped off the edge of a dumpster, shattering against the asphalt. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.” Hitoshi shrugs carelessly.

The main guy turns to Hitoshi and jabs a finger in his face. “Listen, brat. If you’re trying to pull some-”

A cold breeze blows through the alleyway. They shiver, glancing around. A green glow slowly starts building from the rooftop to their left, and they stumble back, falling on their asses.

Izuku’s black sillhouette rises from the rooftop and the green glows brighter, and viridian flames grow, licking off the edge. Slowly, Izuku opens his eyes, revealing his glowing irises peering down at the group.

The three men scream in unison, then sprint out of the alleyway, stumbling over each other.

Hitoshi explodes into laughter, tipping forward with his hands on his knees. Izuku laughs with him from his place still poised above the rooftop, looming over the alleway.

The green fire dims to nothing and Izuku floats his way down to his friend. “They ran away so early!” Izuku whines, “I had so much cool shit planned!”

“That was still fucking awesome.” Hitoshi reaches for a high five, and Izuku gladly accepts it.

As he leans forward to make contact with Hitoshi, he lets his feet hit the ground and he releases his levitation. The force thrusts him forward and he looses his balance, finding his legs too weak to carry him.

“Woah,” Hitoshi starts, catching Izuku as the boy falls into him, “Are you okay?”

A wave of lightheadedness crashes through Izuku and he shakes his head to try to rid himself of it. “Yeah, I just think I, um—I don’t usually use my quirk that much.”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows bunch and he stares at Izuku for a moment, his forearms clasped in his hands to help him stand. The purple-haired boy slaps him upside the head, “You are a fucking idiot!”

Izuku gapes at him. “It was for the joke!”

Hitoshi scoffs, “Messing with a couple of jackasses is not worth overusing your goddamn quirk!”

“But it was funny-!” Hitoshi slaps him upside the head again.

“Do not finish that sentence.” Hitoshi grumbles as he starts to lead Izuku out of the alleyway.

“Where are we going now?” Izuku sighs, defeated. His muscles felt like jello, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to walk for much longer without his body giving in.

“I don’t even know!” Hitoshi shrugs. “And what the hell happened to your eyes?”

“It’s a quirk thing!” Izuku huffs. “Just-” The boy sighs, feeling a bit frustrated. Where was there anywhere with enough people to collect more life-force? The park was sure to be completely empty.

Maybe somewhere near the club? It was a Friday night.

“Take me to the club.”

Hitoshi stops, turning to Izuku. “What?!”

“Just trust me!” Izuku grumbles.

The other boy watches him closely, obviously judging him, before dragging him that direction.

Xx

Much to Izuku’s satisfaction, there happened to be a fire escape right above the door to the club down ninety-sixth street and a long line of people waiting outside.

“You can just leave me here. Meet again Monday?”

Hitoshi gapes at him for a moment before sitting beside him on the fire escape. “You think I’m just going to leave you here? You can’t even walk on your own.”

“I just need to sit here for a while and I’ll be fine.”

“What about your dads? They’re gonna start to wonder where you’re at. And why here specifically? Above the club?”

“No reason.” Izuku responds, leaning back and closing his eyes. “But leave or don’t, I don’t care.”

“Are…your arms supposed to be disappearing?”

Izuku sighs. “Yeah.” But it seemed to be happening fast, which only made Izuku worry a little bit.

It’s quiet for another moment.

“What the hell is that?” Hitoshi whispers to himself. “What is happening to you?!”

Izuku peeps an eye open. “What?” He could see the glowing streams of life-force trickling from the crowd of people lined up outside the club, and his arms were gone up to his elbows, but everything else seemed normal.

“What is…going into you?!”

Izuku’s eyes shoot open fully and he sits up. “You can see it?!”

“What the hell is it?!”

“Fuck!” Izuku swears loudly. A few people from the line look up, curious as to what made the noise. But Izuku and Hitoshi were hidden enough by the darkness, he was sure they couldn't make anything out. “I didn’t know other people could see it.”

There probably weren’t enough people out for Kacchan to see it when he caught Izuku in the rain a few days ago. Other than that, no one’s ever sat through the process with him before.

“What. Is it.” Hitoshi questions sternly.

“It’s like-” God, no one was supposed to know about it! “I’m sort of dead, and this stuff,” He gestures to the air, “Keeps me alive.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know what it is! I call it life-force. It’s just like…energy? That keeps people alive? I don’t make my own like other people do because I’m ‘sort-of-dead’ so I have to collect it from other people.”

“So you, what, feed off of other people?”

“No!” Izuku practically shouts. “It doesn’t affect them! I’ve…experimented.”

“Okay…” Hitoshi pauses, processing. “So-” He pauses. He blinks, glancing at the air around himself, “Are you taking mine?”

Izuku’s eyes widen as he realizes that yes, his quirk was feeding off Hitoshi. “I told you to leave!”

But Hitoshi wasn’t panicking like Izuku figured he’d be. He was calm, curious, if anything. “It feels…” He trails off. “Good?”

“Good?” Izuku echoes. “Like how?”

The boy takes a deep breath as he watches the energy flow from himself to Izuku. “Refreshing? Like…like a weight is being lifted that I didn’t know was there.”

Izuku…Izuku hadn’t expected that response “Oh.” He responds, feeling numb.

“And you need this stuff? To live? Like food, or water?” Hitoshi looks up at him again, analytical.

“Yeah.” Izuku murmurs.

“Why don’t you go home and do this? Why do it with a big crowd?”

“Because then I’m not feeding off one person. If it’s a big crowd, I feel less guilty.”

“But can’t your dads help you with it?” Izuku averts his eyes from Hitoshi. “Izuku. Your dads know about it, right?”

“...”

“Right?”

“...”

“Oh my god!” Hitoshi laughs, obviously unamused. “You do this every day? Sit by a crowd and eat their scraps like a—like a dog?!”

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?!” Izuku whisper-shouts back, “‘Hey, dad! I know I’ve been living with you for almost four weeks now and promised I’d stop lying, but I’ve actually been hiding something from you the entire time and I can’t—and never will be able to—maintain life on my own! Can I feed off you and your husband like a vampire now?’” Izuku mocks, turning to Hitoshi with a deadpan face afterward. “Do you see how crazy that sounds?!”

“It only sounds like that because you made it sound like that!” Hitoshi whisper-yells back. “What you say is, ‘Hey, dad! I know it’s taken me a while to tell you, but I actually have a need that’s based on my quirk! Can we sit down and talk about it?’”

“It’s not that easy!” Izuku shoots back. “They already help me so much, I don’t want to be more of a burden on them!”

Hitoshi pauses, face blanking out as he takes in the response. “You think you’re a burden to them?”

Izuku blinks. He hadn’t expected Hitoshi to focus on that part. “Yeah, of course I am.”

“That’s…” Without breaking eye contact, Hitoshi purses his lips, contemplating. “Come here.” He shuffles closer to Izuku.

Izuku immediately scoffs at him, trying and failing to scooch away. “No! Get away! I’m just going to-”

“-do what you’ve been unconsciously doing for the past five minutes?” He runs his hands through the wisps of energy in the air, “I don’t feel any different. If you’re closer to me, you’ll probably absorb it faster.”

“But what if it has long-term effects? What if it effects you tomorrow, or something?”

“Then we’ll find another way for you to get your energy. But for now, this is the only option you have.”

Izuku watches him for another moment, debating. “You’re sure?”

Hitoshi nods. “If you need it to live, then of course I’m sure.”

Izuku smiles softly at his (albeit rather new) friend. “Why do you care?”

Hitoshi shrugs. He scootches close so his and Izuku’s sides are touching.

There’s a quiet pause before Izuku feels energy begin to flood into him. It washes over his body like a cool wave, leaving his muscles relaxed and his mind calmer than it was only moments before.

After a few moments of quiet, Izuku cracks his eyes open and looks over at Hitoshi again. The boy was alert, observing Izuku with a concerned closeness. Had he been watching Izuku this whole time? “Hello?” Izuku chuckles.

“I’ve never seen you without your guard up before.”

Izuku shrugs. “I’ve never done…” He gestures to the air, “...this, before. It’s…”

Hitoshi’s aready bunched brow creases further, “You already look healthier. Before, you looked like a walking corpse, but now…you actually look like a person?”

“Wow, thanks.” Izuku replies sarcastically, only mildly offended. His eyes shut easily.

“No, I’m serious. I mean, yeah, you still look like shit, but…less dead shit.”

“Great.” More sarcasm.

“Your eyes are coming back, too.” Hitoshi relays.

Izuku’s eyes shoot open again and he faces his friend. “Okay—Can you stop looking at me like I’m some sort of creature?! Look that way or something!” He gestures off into the street before shutting his eyes again.

After a few minutes Izuku smells the familiar, strong scent of weed and he glances over at Hitoshi. The boy looks back at him, shrugging, “I never made that deal earlier so now I just have all this weed. What else am I supposed to do with it?”

Izuku chuckles, then lifts his hand, wordlessly asking to take a hit.

Hitoshi stares at him like the dumbass he is. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you smoke when you were almost passed out five minutes ago.”

Izuku’s smile drops. “What?! But that was five minutes ago! This is now.”

“No.” Hitoshi says sternly.

Izuku pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. He pulls his phone out, checking the time. It was nearing midnight, when he’d promised his dads he’d be back. “I gotta go.”

Hitoshi gives him an indecipherable look. “Can you walk?”

“Well, you said I looked healthier.” Izuku clambers to his feet, but his knees were still too weak to carry his weight.

“Stop,” Hitoshi starts, sounding fed up. He stands to help support the other teen, “You’re gonna fall off the fire escape, and then who am I supposed to smoke with?”

A smile breaks out on Izuku’s face. “You only smoke with me?”

Hitoshi stutters. “Whatever.” He mumbles. He pinches off the burning end of the joint and tosses it away, into the street. “Oops.” He looks down. “Eh, no one got hit.” He stuffs the rest of it into his pocket. “Come on.”

Hitoshi helps Izuku up the stairs, to the rooftop. Once there, Izuku has to pause to catch his breath. He was starting to feel nauseous.

“Can you call your dads or something? Maybe they can come pick you up?”

Izuku ponders the idea. “Yeah, I guess I could. You’re probably going to want to leave before they get here, though.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me.” Izuku sits against the ledge. “Thanks, um…for your help. I guess. Meet again next Friday?”

Hitoshi smirks at him. “Don’t die before then.” He starts to walk off to the other end of the building to clamber down.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Izuku mutters to himself as he watches his friend go. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Eraser, asking him to come get him. There was a bit of concerned texting back and forth as the hero realized Izuku was too weak to walk on his own, but Eraserdad was on his way.

Izuku puts his phone back in his pocket and looks down at his hands, noticing how they’ve only disappeared up till his mid-forearms now. He’d been sitting and touching sides with Hitoshi for maybe fifteen minutes altogether, and he collected more energy in that time than two hours next to a crowd would have.

Izuku…was amazed. While he was still reeling from the flood of energy, he actually had energy.

Yeah, he felt pretty nauseous and a little dizzy, which he guessed could be attributed to his body not being used to collecting that much energy that quickly. He’s never collected it that quickly before.

It made him wonder, what other stuff could he do with his powers if his ‘battery’ was full? Did he have powers he didn’t even know about just because he’s never been ‘charged’ enough to unlock them?

Would his body even be able to handle more abilities? He knew he was small and frail, even with having consistent meals now. Years of not eating right will do that to you.

But he also guessed that was quirk theory. His body created a quirk for protection in its most dire moments. He was dead. His body did what it had to do to survive, which probably meant some overcompensation.

In Izuku’s case, maybe a ton of overcompensation. Enough to be…uncontrollable.

But there was only one way to find out.

Collect enough life-force to push himself to his limits. To max himself out.

But that would have to wait for another time. After he’s trained more, maybe.

But soon. His dad was after him. Izuku has to protect his new family. And if that meant breaking himself, and his body along with it, then so be it.

Chapter Text

Today, Izuku was supposed to take this stupid test. He hadn’t been too averse to the idea initially, but after having to think about it for an extra week (Eraser had moved the test forward a week so Izuku had time to ‘process’ the whole thing with the police), he realized just how much he doesn’t want to take it.

“Ready, kid?” Eraser comes meandering into the living room, keys jingling as his arm swings at his side.

Izuku looks up from his spot on the living room floor. He closes his notebook. “Uh, for what?” He laughs nervously. Eraser raises his eyebrow knowingly. “Eh, let’s just forget about whatever it was! Probably not a big deal anyways…”

Eraser sighs. “Izuku. You’ve known about this for weeks. No pressure, but did you have the chance to study?”

“Okay, actually yes! Kacchan helped me.” Izuku smiles proudly at his Eraserdad. “It’s just…” The boy wrings his hands against each other, eyes falling to his lap.

The hero is quiet for a moment before he moves to sit by the vigilante. “What’s up?” He asks quietly. Calmly.

“What if I fail it or something?”

“Izuku, it’s an evaluation test. You aren’t required to know anything on it. Your tutor’s just going to use it to organize your curriculum.”

“But what if I, like…bomb it?”

“Kid,” Eraser takes a breath, shifting in his seat, “First of all, regardless of how the test goes, you’ll always be the smartest kid I know. As insane as you might be, you’re very strategic, and you’re a genius at assessing a situation and developing a plan based on your circumstances. I would know---we’ve taken down a lot of villains together. Now, being physically capable of executing that plan is another story...but that’s what I’m there for, kid. I have no doubt you’re going to do great on the evaluation.”

Izuku smiles softly at the hero. “Thanks for the pep talk, Eraserdad.” Izuku gently nudges the man’s shoulder with his own. He sighs, then stands. “Welp, guess it’s now or never!” He stretches.

Eraser takes a breath before standing. “Let’s hop in the car.”

Xx

“Uh, excuse me?” Izuku raises his hand, pencil locked between his fingers. His Eraserdad was in class at the moment, which meant Izuku was on his own with the test proctor.

And it’s not like Izuku wasn’t fine on his own. He’s been on his own for years, so it’s chill. It’s just it’s his first time at UA. He was...a little nervous, to say the least.

His proctor for these next two hours was Cementoss since he wasn’t teaching a class, but they told Izuku if he took longer than that (which they assured him was fine), then they’d just get another teacher to sit in when Cementoss leaves.

The cement hero looks up from his computer. “Yes?”

Izuku bites his lip anxiously. “What’s…” He squints at the paper again, “...a ‘Real’ Zero?” Were there fake zeroes?

Ugh. Why. In the ever. Loving. Fuck. Did the test have to start with the fucking math section?!

Cementoss hesitates. “I’m sorry, but I am unable to provide that sort of information during the test. However, this is an evaluation of what you know now, so it is perfectly acceptable if you do not know the answer.”

Izuku grimaces. That wasn’t the answer he’d hoped he’d get.

So, he stumbles through the math portion. The literature, history, and quirk-science sections, though? Izuku was excited for those.

He hesitated a bit when it came to the questions regarding specific novels, but when the short or long answer questions provided background, he wrote until his hand hurt. Pages upon pages of quirk ethics and quirk singularity theory, the moral standards of modern-day heroes regarding quirk usage-

Okay. Maybe Izuku should focus on the rest of the test too.

He plows through the science part, having studied almost all of it with Kaccahn. He caught onto the information quickly when his friend taught it to him, as it all seemed pretty straightforward to him.

Now, the essay portion of the test. By this point, another teacher had come and gone, meaning Izuku was taking well over four hours to finish this goddamn test.

What was he going to write about? The prompt had simply said to write about something he’s passionate about.

Heroes? He wants to be one, but he does see way too many imperfections within the HPSC and the hero society itself. There’s prejudice, and a hierarchy due to the Hero Billboard Chart and its imbalance of ranking in accordance with administered authority.

For example, people like Endeavor should not be granted exclusive access to scenes and pardons for most of the destruction he causes in fights just because he’s the fucking “Number Two Hero!™”. It made Izuku want to puke.

And as much as he used to look up to All Might, he completely ditched that obsession when his dad kidnapped him, and the “Greatest Hero of All Time ＼(*^▽^*)/™” never showed up to help. Yeah, it was stupid of him to expect the number one hero to come to save a poor little kidnapped quirkless boy. But he still hoped.

But after waking up in that warehouse. Alone. Absolutely freezing and confused. He grew up in a matter of two days. Learned that there wasn’t the time or the room for childish expectations and obsessions over people who are only going to let you down.

He thinks of his mindset back then. Has he grown? Or gone backward, perhaps?

Has he started relying on Eraser and Mic too much?

Wow. Okay. Izuku blinks.

So, he spiraled again. In the middle of a test, for fuck’s sake.

Okay, Izuku---focus! What are you passionate about?

Wait. He had it right there!

That was perfect!

“Um,” He starts, looking up from his paper. The new teacher, a woman with dark bluish hair looks up from her phone. “Is this test confidential?”

She gives him a sweet smile, “Of course! No one but our principal will be reading it, sweetheart.”

Izuku nods, feeling reassured.

So, he writes until he’s sharpened his pencil at least five times. Writes until his eraser is worn down to nothing. He writes until there are no more words left in his little Izuku brain.

Then he waits five minutes, and writes some more.

Xx

Izuku walks out of the room feeling drained. He’d been in there for six hours.

They’d given him a snack break, thank fuck, but he was still starving and all the joints in his right hand were killing him.

“Hey, kid.” Erased greets him as he leaves the classroom, dragging his feet as he walks. “How did it go?”

Izuku shrugs. “I really don’t know.”

“You worked hard on it. Six hours? That’s dedication.”

“Yeah, my wrist hurts like crazy.” He lifts the hand, showing the swollen joint to the hero.

“Oh,” Eraser hums, grabbing Izuku’s hand in his own to observe it. “We’ll ice it when we get home.”

Izuku nods, taking the limb back and rubbing at it methodically. “How was your class?”

“Intense.” Eraser grumbles. “Too intense.”

Izuku chuckles, but doesn’t really find the humor in it. He was still lost in his thoughts, his mind trained on the essay he’d just poured his soul into.

It put him into a rut. He didn’t want to think about his dad anymore, about how his quirk would probably one day become his own actual death.

Someday the League was going to find him again, and Izuku wasn’t sure if he could handle that thought.

Shaking his head from the test, he looks around the hallway. Class was still in session, which meant Kacchan should be around here somewhere, right? He goes to UA.

Maybe Izuku could go fuck around with him. That’d be fun.

“Do you know what class Kacchan is in right now?”

Eraser raises an eyebrow at the kid as they start to walk through the hall. “Class is out, kid. But he did tell me he'd be waiting for you in the library to see how the test went."

“Aye aye.” Izuku nods once at his dad.

Eraser sighs, but still smirks nonetheless. “Meet me in my office by five. Got it?”

A sly grin stretches across the boy’s face. “Got it.”

Xx

Nedzu had been having a particularly fabulous day today. He had accidentally steeped his tea a minute more than he usually did, and found he liked it better that way.

Everything else had been relatively the same as any other day.

Happy accidents is what they called it, no?

But now he was moments away from receiving the test results of one Eraserhead and Present Mic’s son. He wasn’t sure why he was so excited to see, but something in him wiggled with the possibility of his results. From what he’d heard from Aizawa, the boy was a puzzle. His quirk was unconventional, to say the least, and his case was one Nedzu enjoyed pondering.

A victim of the League, dead for a year, develops a quirk that alters his entire brain matter. Beyond that, Nedzu hadn’t been told more, no matter how much he pried.

But this test would provide the answers the principal had been waiting for. “Write a three-page essay on a topic you are passionate about.”, the final prompt had read.

The boy would no doubt write about quirks. Quirk ethics, most likely, which would unquestionably include his own. Nedzu predicts the boy had written—at the very least—ten whole pages on the matter.

Aizawa appears no more than a moment later, test in hand. He enters wordlessly, dropping it on the principal’s desk. “Ah, Aizawa! The test, I presume?”

The teacher levels him with an unamused glare. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

A smirk pulls at the principal’s lips. “You know me too well, young hero.”

The man starts to leave, but hesitates for a moment. “Whatever those results say…” He starts, “Or whatever you do with them, rather.” He takes a slight breath, “He’s just a kid, Nedzu. Don’t push him.”

Excitement lights up in the principal’s eyes. “I remember what we discussed, Aizawa. No need to worry!”

Aizawa groans, huffing half an incredulous laugh, “Just…wait till you read the test.” He stalks out of the room, no doubt in search of his gremlin.

Nedzu runs his paws along the test lying flat on the desk in front of him. It was rather not flat, actually. The paper was well-worn. Crinkled and covered in erased pencil markings. A bit of eraser residue was still scattered along the paper, so Nedzu gave it a good shake before flipping it open.

The crease along the staple was near tearing, so he was sure to turn the pages carefully. It was obvious that whatever the boy had written had been a masterpiece, so the last thing Nedzu wanted to do was ruin it.

He quickly scored the math section. Below par, for sure, but who needed math in a hero school anyways? That skill was only required by a handful of heroes, mainly heroes in flight. Calculating angles and depths and the like.

It was obvious the boy hadn't read most of the books from the literature section, but he had read a few, as it turns out. A few Midoriya had prompted with, “While I haven't had the opportunity to read this novel first-hand, I was given a second-hand rendition of the material by a friend and would like to offer as much of a response as I am capable of with the information I have now.”

Nedzu would count that as a pass in his book. The boy was trying, and did fantastic work with what he did know. It would be easy to simply assign the required texts.

The hero history section was a breeze for the boy, it was clear. This section was the least tattered and none of the bubbles had been erased and re-filled in.

He’d also blown through the science section, it seemed. He had the equations memorized, and just inputted the information when necessary.

By all accounts, Nedzu thought the boy was extremely intelligent. He simply lacked the tools in other sections to complete the questions.

Now...Nedzu’s favorite part.

The essay portion.

The student had written a hefty twenty pages.

Twenty pages.

No student he had evaluated had ever cared enough to write that much about something they were passionate about. The pages were soft with wear, as paper often became when it was well loved, and the extra notebook paper that had been stapled to the back had been torn in some sections already.

Needless to say, by the time Nedzu finished reading the essay, he was struck.

The boy had written pages upon pages on hero ethics, how quirks had become intertwined in the question of ethics, and most of all—how his own quirk defied those ethics.

Izuku’s quirk was nothing like Nedzu had ever heard of. It defied basic physics, more than any quirk ever had, and manipulated biology in a way that could only be described as inhuman.

Midoriya Izuku was an enigma. He was extremely intelligent, and street-smart. A clear glass book shut and locked with a key.

This boy had a quirk that defied humanity.

A quirk that preserves life. Prevents death.

Midoriya Izuku was immortal.

And boy, was Nedzu excited to teach him.

Chapter Text

Aizawa…had no words.

Izuku was still suffering. In silence.

And he’d told him and Hizashi nothing about it.

He needed ‘life-force’? Energy? The power that keeps souls alive, Izuku couldn’t make his own. He needed it like food, or water, and had been essentially starving himself of it this whole time.

And he hadn't even tried telling either of his dads about it.

Not only that, but Izuku had died before?

Five times?!

His kid had died five different times and was simply 'waiting for number six'.

Shouta had to clench and unclench his fists, eyes squeezed shut, in order to not punch the wall nearest him.

Would his kid ever trust him enough to tell him himself?

No. Shouta had to remind himself that trust was built. He and Hizashi had been doing all they could to develop a lasting, trusting relationship with the boy. They couldn’t push him. It was at his pace.

But Shouta couldn’t let Izuku continue to suffer, now that he knew. He had to do something to help. His kid was barely alive; barely wanted tobe alive.

And Izuku was under the impression that only Nedzu would be reading the paper. He had no clue that Shouta had (broken more than a few rules and) read it himself before passing it along to his superior.

So, unless Shouta wanted to completely destroy all the trust he’s built with the kid, he couldn’t say anything about this.

But…fuck his kid needed help. He needed it desperately.

It seemed—based on the thorough description in his essay—that Izuku thrived when in direct contact with a 'living being'. This ‘energy’ passed quicker to him if he was in physical contact with them.

But Izuku hated physical contact. He hated touching, even so much as a head scratch-

Unless he didn’t.

Unless Izuku only kept everyone around him at a distance because he felt…guilty.

Holy fuck.

This entire time…Izuku’s shoved everyone in his life away in order to preserve them. He’s made himself lonely and isolated, hungry and fasting, to ensure that no one had to suffer due to his own needs.

His kid had the heart of a hero; The heart of a self-sacrificing, brainwashed product of their screwed-up society.

And just how the hell was Shouta supposed to help his kid?

Xx

Izuku slides his shoes on begrudgingly, preparing for patrol. It’d only been a few days since the test and Izuku was ready to get the fuck up and back to helping people again.

He was still waiting on his test results. Whether Eraser was still waiting, Izuku was prepared to debate. The hero had been weird around him lately. Very helicopter-esque. He wouldn’t even let Izuku be by himself unless it was for the bathroom or sleeping.

It was creeping the kid out a bit.

He needed air.

“Izuku,” He turns when he hears Eraser’s voice from the hallway. “It’s too dangerous for you to patrol on your own. Your father is still after you.”

And just what the hell was that logic? Izuku’s patrolled by himself tons of times since they figured that out!

“I haven’t let that rat bastard stop me yet, I’m not gonna start now.” He laces up his boot. “Bye, ‘Raser!” He steps out the kitchen window, onto the fire escape.

“Kid, wait-” Izuku hesitates. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Let’s patrol together.”

Izuku takes a heavy breath, still not turning. “Trying to be as nice as possible when I say this, I swear, but I just…need a night by myself.”

Aizawa is quiet. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” Izuku assures him. He eyes the skyline.

Honest, He reminds himself, I promised Eraser I’d be honest.

Izuku purses his lips. “I mean…no, actually.” He finally turns to face the hero. “Why have you been acting so weird lately?”

The hero shifts, taking a small breath. “I’ve just been worried, kid.”

“Worried?” Izuku echoes. “About what?”

There’s a brief moment of silence between the two. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Anything. No matter what you say, I’m always going to support you, kid. Do you know that?”

Izuku’s eyebrows bunch minutely. What was the hero even saying? “Yeah, of course, ‘Raserdad.”

The hero only looks more frustrated, obviously not receiving the response he had expected from the vigilante. “Do you…have anything you want to tell me now?”

Something heavy thuds in Izuku’s stomach, making him feel ten times heavier. “What does that mean?” His voice shakes a bit, but he holds eye contact.

“Come back inside. We can talk in here.”

Eraser wanted him away from the window. Why? Was he afraid he was going to jump or something?

“Why?” Izuku asks aloud.

“Like I said.” The hero eases, “I’ve been worried, kid.”

Eraser knew something. That much was obvious.

Something Izuku didn’t want him to know, apparently. But what the fuck could it be? Which secret of Izuku's was being held over him right now?

How would he even know about anything? Izuku had only ever told Hitoshi, and Hitoshi didn’t even know all of it! Other than that, he hadn’t told-

A sharp breath shoots through Izuku.

“The essay.” The boy whispers, eyes wide as he watches the hero. “You read my fucking essay.”

Eraser’s brow pinches. Concern fills his features, but Izuku refuses to acknowledge it. “But they told me-” Izuku’s voice breaks. He steels his features, “Did they lie, or you?”

Eraser raises his palms, obviously trying to pacify the angry vigilante, “Just come back inside and we can talk, okay?”

“No, fuck that.” Izuku huffs, but it comes out more like a laugh. “You lied to me.”

“I never lied, I promise.” Eraser counters, “I just...needed some answers. Some time to think before I-”

“No one was supposed to read that essay but the principal.” Izuku grinds out, voice low and steady. “You did anyways. And you’re telling me you didn’t lie?”

“I was worried, kid. And for good reason, too. The ‘energy’ you have to collect? The deaths? Izuku, dying five times is cause for concern, especially-”

“Stop!” Izuku shouts, voice tight. “I-I can’t do this right now. I can’t be here.”

Eraser’s features still. With an uneasy amount of calm, he starts creeping toward Izuku, “Kid. Please. Let’s talk, okay? I only read it because I wanted to help you.”

Help him? Izuku clambers down from the window sill back into the kitchen, keeping eye contact with the hero all the while, “You wanted to help me?” Izuku outright laughs. “The way to ‘help me’ would’ve been to wait until I was ready to talk about this.”

“But what if that was too late?” Eraser shoots back. “You’re reckless, Izuku, and frankly, I’d call you suicidal. What if waiting till you were ready was too late?”

“I’m sorry, did you not read the essay or what?” Izuku sneers, “I don’t fucking die. Even if I managed to kill myself, I’d be kicking it again in days!”

“No one is immortal, kid. Everyone dies. Even you.” Eraser shakes his head gently, eyes soft as he looks down at the vigilante.

Izuku’s lip quivers with rage as he looks up at his hero. “And you know what, dad?” He shrugs, tears brimming, “I wish you were right.”

With near silent movement, Izuku is darting out the kitchen window, tears freely flowing down his cheeks.

Fuck. He needs a drink.

Chapter Text

Izuku was fuming.

He hadn't stopped moving since he ran from Eraser's apartment, leaping from rooftop to rooftop until his legs got too tired to carry him anymore. He'd found his way to an old, abandoned factory by the shoreline.

Good thing, too, because apparently, it'd been an old window factory. Which made for a lot of glass.

Glass that was good for throwing.

He throws another chunk, arm swinging as he shouts with frustration. The glass shatters against the brick wall, spraying what looks like glitter all over the ground.

Izuku stands, huffing, sleeves rolled up, as he glares at the wall.

"Fuck!" He yells, turning around to pace again.

Kacchan had called him four times now. Eraser, nine. His phone was blowing up with texts.

He knew he shouldn't ignore his best friend. He hadn't done anything wrong.

But he was just so angry, he was worried he'd say something wrong at this point.

His phone buzzes from his pocket again and he yanks it out, staring down at the screen. Blood had smeared across his phone, from the many cuts the shards of glass had given his hands.

Kacchan's contact lights up the screen, the blurry icon of his enraged snarl calming Izuku by a fraction. With a huff, he answers the call.

"Zu, where the FUCK are you?!

"Kacchan-"

"Aizawa is saying you ran away. Upset."

"He read my goddamn essay, Kats. The one for the exam you helped me study for. The one that was supposed to be confidential, so I talked about my quirk in it, and my deaths and-"

"Shit." Katsuki hisses, "Just...tell me where you are."

"No. You'll bring Eraser."

"That bastard was just holding me back so I ditched him to search for you myself. Now give me a goddamn address."

Izuku takes a heavy breath, still feeling winded. "I'm in the factory on the shoreline. By all the garbage."

"That fucking hazard of a building? That dump is 20 minutes outside of town, Zu. How the fuck did you make it all the way out there?!"

"I ran." The vigilante replies shortly.

Katsuki pauses. "Well, good thing I've always been faster than your sorry ass, right? Don't do anything fucking stupid till I get there, got it, nerd?"

"No promises." Izuku hangs up, tossing his phone on a nearby table. The buzzing in his pocket was starting to annoy him from all Aizawa's calls.

He huffs once more, wiping the sweat off his brow, before reaching to grab another broken piece of glass off the grimy warehouse floor to chuck.

He goes on for a while, throwing anything he can find at anything he can see. Eventually, he finds his way to the rooftop, his anger reduced to a crackling simmer. He lays flat on the roof, limbs spread out a he stares up at the stars.

"FUCK." He shouts one more time, just for good measure.

"Didn't realize you were one for language there, pipsqueak."

Izuku screams, leaping up. He relaxes after a moment, "Dabi."

"And Toga!" The blonde pops up from behind the other villain, a wide smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

"Toga!" Izuku grins at her, the tension in his shoulders melting a bit when she runs up to him and wraps him in a hug. "It's good to see you too."

"We haven't seen you in ages!"

"Been off the streets, like we told you." Dabi observes, watching them with arms crossed.

"Trying." Izuku grumbles. "People keep fucking it up."

"People like...?" Dabi trails, yanking Toga off of the green-haired boy.

"Like someone who's supposed to be my dad. I had this exam, and it was supposed to be confidential, so I wrote about..." He takes a breath, "My deaths. And the way I die. And...a little bit about what it was like with you guys, in the beginning of it all."

Dabi's eyes widen slightly. "Oh. That's a lot of shit."

"Yeah!" Izuku laughs dryly. "So now he just knows all of it, and he tried to confront me about it, so I ran. And here I am."

Dabi and Toga are quiet for a moment. “Are you planning on going back?” Dabi asks almost gently.

Izuku takes a breath, crossing his arms and turning around to stand on the ledge of the building, gazing out at the skyline.

It was about 3 AM now, and the silence was almost palpable in this part of town. He balances on the edge, focusing on teetering his weight as a means to fidget.

“I’m not sure.” Izuku replies, finally. “It’s not like they did anything to hurt me.” He glances down, biting the inside of his lip, “Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though.”

“And think about it.” Dabi starts, taking a step closer to Izuku. “It’s either them.” He jabs his finger at the ground, “Or it’s out here.”

Izuku takes a heavy breath. Dabi had a point.

He could go back and try to forgive Eraser, or spend the rest of his days on the streets again—starving, freezing, and hunted by his father.

The lesser of two evils?

A moment later, there’s a BOOM, and next thing Izuku knows, Katsuki is bursting through the rooftop door. “IZUKU, FUCKING RUN!”

“What?!” Izuku starts, confused, as he takes in the sweating, enraged face of his best friend. “Kacchan-!”

“Get the FUCK away from him!” Katsuki practically screams, rushing forward to tackle Dabi.

Dabi steps back, alarmed, and stumbles directly into Izuku.

Who was standing.

On the ledge.

“SHIT—Kacchan!” Izuku shouts, hands reaching as he falls backward, heel slipping off the ledge.

Katsuki’s eyes widen, expression frenzied as he sees his best friend tip back. “Zu, NO-“ He screams, reaching.

Their fingertips graze, eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. Izuku tries to reassure him with his eyes, to remind him that he’ll be back. Just give him time.

But all he can see in the blonde’s eyes is terror.

In mere seconds, Izuku is falling, hair flying past his face, before a split second of blood-curdling pain, then…nothing.

It was always a familiar nothing.

Chapter Text

Izuku realizes he has become very well acquainted with the nothing during his time alive. And dead.

It was familiar. Like a sort of home. It was chilly and crisp, sort of like a rooftop at 3 AM. One of his favorite places to be.

But this was not the nothing he knew.

He was seeing…something. His eyes were half lidded, gazing off somewhere dark. He could barely see, only colors blurred together mix in front of him.

Almost burning arms were holding him by his chest, wrapped firmly around his arms and holding him against an inferno of a body.

Someone was breathing harshly. Muttering. Whispering? Beside his head.

“Zu. I’m so sorry. Please. Come back to me. Holy fuck. Holy shit. I can’t fucking-“

The voice was murmuring. It was barely intelligible, slurred through heaving pants for breath.

The breathing beside him made it difficult not to focus on his own. Which was interesting.

Because he wasn’t. Breathing, that is.

In fact, he didn’t even think his heart was beating. What had happened again?

There’s a scuffle somewhere to the side (directions were difficult at the moment) and the hands clasp his body tighter, pulling them further into darkness.

“Dont worry, Zu. I’ll protect you. I’ll-I’ll keep you safe till- Till I can reach a phone or something. Fuck.” The voice grinds out, voice harsh and grating to Izuku’s ears. “At least we got away. I won’t let a fucking person try to hurt you again, Zu, fucking got it?”

Izuku…was he dead? This felt like death. He just usually wasn’t…alive for it.

Was he alive? He wasn’t breathing. His heart wasn’t beating. Those are usually the two requirements to be considered ‘alive’.

And this wasn’t what usually happened when he died. He didn’t…do this. Half alive. Half dead. A sentient corpse.

“Just need a phone. But it isn’t safe. They’re still looking.”

Who?

“Fuck.” The voice breaks, and Izuku quickly realizes they’re crying, “I-I don’t know what to do.”

Izuku gasps for breath, suddenly. His chest heaves forward and his back arches, a pain shooting like a lightning bolt through his body as he feels his heart bang back into rhythm like a drum.

“Zu?!” The voice shrieks, hands grabbing at him again.

Izuku heaves for breath still, hands sloppily reaching up to clasp at his chest. Everything hurt.

“Mm-“ Izuku hums, mouth refusing to remember how to speak. “Ah!” He shrieks as a sharp pain cracks through his sternum, knocking something into place.

“What the fuck?!” The hands refuse to let him go.

The pain subsides, and Izuku pants, leaning against the burning hot body behind him.

“Zu?!” The voice calls, turning him around. The world was too blurry still, only a mixture of blonde and dark green and pale skin. “Izuku, are you fucking alive?!”

“K-“ His voice refuses to corporate, resorting to a mumble. “Kacch-“

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.” Katsuki breaths, tugging Izuku closer to his chest. He holds him there, engulfed in the blonde’s arms. “I’m never letting you fucking do that again. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”

Izuku was still freezing, and the sweating body beside him was making his skin hurt. “I-I-“

“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna let them find us. You’re gonna be fine, got it? You’re gonna be fine.”

Who?! Who the fuck could Katsuki think-

Oh.

Dabi and Toga?! Izuku honestly would laugh if he physically could at the moment.

Izuku takes a few more breaths, finally catching it, and focuses on finding his voice next. He blinks a few more times, trying to clear his vision.

“I can’t believe-“ Katsuki starts, and Izuku can tell he’s making eye contact with him. “You were dead, Izu.”

Izuku blinks a few more times. “C-Came back.” He mutters.

“I didn’t realize-” Katsuki starts, “That…that’s what it fucking looked like. It- You-“ He pauses, takes a steadying breath, “That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen before in my life.”

A pang of sympathy courses through the greenette. Fuck. He just traumatized his best friend, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry.” Izuku manages, eyebrows bunching as his eyes roam the other’s face.

“Don’t you fucking apologize to me.” Katsuki almost barks at him, hands still holding him firmly, “It wasn’t your fault. You fell. You didn’t even jump. If anything, the fucking bastard shoved you off.”

“No- Dabi-“ Izuku stutters. He realizes his mouth is remarkably wet, and tastes like copper and something else oddly tangy. “He wasn’t-“

“Stop talking. Focus on fucking breathing. We should be safe here.”

If only Izuku could see where the fuck they even were.

Izuku glances down at himself, blinking harshly again as his eyes struggle to focus. He waits a few moments, focusing on the sensation of Katsuki’s chest rising and falling beneath him, and finally, he manages to zero in on Katsuki’s hands clasped in front of him.

One arm was wrapped around his left side, under Izuku’s arm, and was keeping a hand pressed to Izuku’s left ribcage. The other arm was wrapped over Izuku’s right arm, holding it in place as he touched fingers across Izuku’s stomach with his left hand.

Izuku squints, noticing the stark redness covering Katsuki’s arms. Were those burns?

Dread settles into Izuku’s stomach as he realizes Dabi and Katsuki probably fought. Or at least attacked each other? Izuku would have to ask Katsuki once they were out of this situation.

The vigilante reaches down, lethargically laying his hands across Katsuki’s. It takes Izuku a moment to even recognize the abundance of green in his vision. All over Katsuki’s hands, Izuku’s body, the ground around them. In fact, it seemed the green mostly covered Katsuki’s burns on his arms.

“O-Okay.” Izuku breaths. “I-I think I’m back.” He stutters. He turns his head, meeting eyes with his best friend again.

Katsuki is watching him closely, brows knit together and lips pursed in a fully unveiled show of stark concern. “Zu?”

“I’m…I’m sorry you had to see that, Kats.” Izuku mumbles, working the words around (what he now recognizes as) the sharp taste of blood in his mouth.

Katsuki stares at him, eyes almost hollow, “You came back to me.”

Izuku smiles softly. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Katsuki holds him a bit tighter at that. “Fuck. You were dead.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I didn’t warn you.” Izuku chuckles grimly, chest aching from the movement. “How long have I been dead?”

The blonde purses his lips again, “I think an hour.”

It feels like a sucker punch to the gut. “An hour?!”

“You told me it takes days for you to come back, right?”

“Yeah! My record is two days. And that was just from starvation, not falling off a fucking building!”

“And I thought you said you came back healed.” Katsuki asks incredulously, hand pressing harder to Izuku’s side.

“What?” Izuku looks down at himself. Yeah, he was covered in blood, but he didn’t have any-

Oh.

“Kacchan. Move your hand.”

“Are you sure.”

“Yes.”

Gingerly, Katsuki lifts his hand from Izuku’s chest.

Izuku could throw up.

His rib was jutting out from his side, the bone coated in green with streaks of eggshell white peeking through from the bone itself. His flesh was marred around it, angry and bleeding.

“Fuck. Uh. Shit.” Izuku hisses. “That’s not supposed to be there.”

“No shit.” Katsuki retorts.

“It’s supposed to be healed!”

“Maybe you weren’t…under…long enough.”

Izuku contemplates that, eyebrows bunching slowly as he stares at the wound. “That could be it. My quirk sacrificed me healing completely for reviving me earlier.”

“Why would it wake you up earlier then?”

What was different this time, from the rest?

“Kats.” Izuku pauses, “It was you.”

“What?”

“You holding me close to you.” Izuku gestures between them, “Your energy. It was direct contact. Practically skin to skin.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen. “It was enough energy to bring you back.”

“Exactly!” Izuku practically beams. “Like an epi pen! Doesn’t solve the whole problem but solves it enough in an emergency!”

“Holy shit.” Katsuki mumbles. “So is your quirk gonna finish healing you, or do we need a hospital?”

“Uh…” Izuku trails. “I mean, I think it did something when I first woke up? There was this pain in my chest and then something popped back into place.”

“It was your sternum.” Katsuki explains, eyes distant as he stares at the point in Izuku’s chest, “I saw it- Um. Move.”

Izuku grimaces. “You’re gonna need therapy after this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah and you’re paying my damn bills.”

Izuku laughs, stopping when it only makes his body ache more. “Everything…hurts.”

“Yeah, you just fell off a damn building.”

“Where are we, anyways?” Izuku asks, glancing around. He could see down to his chest and up to Katsuki’s face, but anything further away was still a blurry mess to him.

“I carried you as far as I could. We’re somewhere downtown, in someone’s greenhouse.”

“Greenhouse?” Izuku echos. Now that he mentioned it, Izuku could smell the earthy scent of wet soil.

“Yeah, can’t you see the fucking plants?”

“No.” Izuku replies, honestly, “I can’t see past your face.”

Katsuki’s quiet for a moment. “Is that…normal? With…how this usually works?”

“Not really. Things would be blurry before, but not like this.”

“We need to call your dad. Where’s your phone? I couldn’t find it in your pockets.”

Fuck. Eraser.

At this point, he couldn’t even care about the essay. Izuku had died again. For the first time in years.

He wanted his dad.

“I left it at the warehouse.”

“Fuck. I dropped mine running.”

“You said we’re downtown?”

“Yeah.”

Izuku thinks. “Then we might be close to mine and Hitoshi’s spot.”

“Who’s Hitoshi?”

“My friend.” Izuku hesitates. “And also drug dealer?”

“Zu.” Katsuki starts, tone flat.

“We can use his phone! He’s cool, I promise!”

“We’d have to go out there though, wouldn’t we?” Katsuki questions incredulously, “And I’m not taking that risk.”

“What?” Izuku shoots back, confused, “Dabi and Toga aren’t-“

“I- stop—I can’t talk about that. Not right now.” Katsuki interrupts.

Izuku breathes softly. “Alright. But we have to get help.”

Katsuki thinks for a moment. “Fine.” The blonde finally grumbles. He starts to stand, looping his hands under Izuku’s arms to try to help him up. “Do you think you can stand like this?”

Izuku rests the balls of his feet against the ground, testing his weight. Pain sparks up his body and his knees give, Katsuki immediately catching him before he can fall. “Fuck.”

“I got you.” Katsuki murmurs, voice gravelly, as he scoops Izuku up bridal-style. “Just tell me where to go.”

Xx

After exiting the greenhouse, Izuku was easily able to recognize it as a spot he used to frequently patrol. Which meant—he knew the area like the back of his hand.

His and Hitoshi’s meeting spot was about fifteen minutes away, not that both the boys hadn’t been praying during the entire walk over that they’d stumble across the erasure hero.

They turn the corner into the alleyway. “It should be right here.”

“Is that him?” Katsuki questions, nodding his head somewhere in front of them.

“Where?” Izuku squints, but his eyes still hadn’t really focused in.

“Izuku?” Hitoshi’s voice calls out. “Is that you?”

“Hitoshi!” Izuku calls back, smile widening.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” There are quick footsteps, and a vaguely purple head of hair moves into the light of the street lamp above them. “Oh my god-?!”

“Yeah, I kind of fell off a building.” Izuku tries to explain.

“We need your phone.” Katsuki states bluntly. “His quirk...“ He glances at Izuku, silently asking for permission to explain.

Izuku considers his next words carefully. "My quirk...revived me."

Hitoshi's eyes widen. “You fucking died?” The boy gapes, already fishing through his pocket for his phone, “Call your dad, fucking hell.”

Izuku reaches for the phone, hand swiping past it with poor coordination before Katsuki grunts, laying Izuku on the ground and grabbing the phone himself. He sits on the ground, gently laying Izuku’s head in his lap.

The blonde dials the number, holding the phone up to his ear. The call goes through, the volume up just loud enough that Izuku can eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Bakugou?!” Eraser answers, voice raised. “Did you find him?”

He holds his breath for a moment before releasing it, “Yeah. I found him.”

“Where are you both? Is he hurt?”

“Sensei.” Katsuki interrupts him, voice sharp. “Just fucking come pick us up. He’ll have to explain himself. But he needs to get somewhere safe.”

“Where are you?”

“Downtown. About a block away from the nightclub. The street is Sixth, I think.”

“On my way. Give the phone to Izuku.”

Izuku glances up, meeting eyes with his friend. He passes him the phone.

“Dad.” Izuku’s voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be there in…I can be there in ten minutes. Got it? Ten.”

“Got it.” Izuku murmurs. Katsuki’s phone slips out of his hand, clattering to the asphalt. His hands were too wet from the blood, and too shaky from the pain, “Kats-“

“I got it.” Katsuki mumbles, picking the phone back up for him. “How long till you’re here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Got it.” Katsuki replies, “We’ll be here.” He hangs up, handing the phone back to Hitoshi. “Thanks, uh…”

“You can just call me Hitoshi.” The lavender-haired boy replies, eyes not leaving Izuku’s limp form. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better.” Izuku admits, trying to laugh through it. “It’s never been like this before. And I can’t even feel the-“ He glances down at the broken rib protruding from his side. “It’s like it’s not even there.”

“But the rest of your body hurts?” Katsuki checks. Izuku nods. “Hm.” He grunts.

Hitoshi kneels by the vigilante, glancing between him and Katsuki, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” Izuku glances across his body, wondering what other injuries he has that his body is refusing to make him aware of.

He lifts his hand, flipping it over and back again as he takes in the stark green coating it. “You kind of lost a ton of blood.” Katsuki explains. “I tried to stop the bleeding but it was so fast. The back of your head, your ears, your side…”

Ears? Izuku guessed that made sense, if he cracked his head open when he hit the ground.

They wait a few more minutes, until the awkward nature of the silence gets the best of them.

“You’re in General Studies, aren’t you?” Katsuki asks suddenly, squinting at the lavender-haired boy.

Hitoshi nods. “I thought I recognized you. You’re in the hero course?”

“1A.”

“That's Aizawa's class, isn't it? I hear he's pretty intense."

“Oh.” Izuku starts, "He's my dad, too."

"What?!"

“Izuku!” The three startle, turning to the mouth of the alleyway. Eraser is running, capture scarf flowing behind him, towards the boys. “Are you okay?”

“Eraser.” Izuku’s voice softens as the hero rushes up to him, kneeling.

Izuku reaches up and Eraser engulfs Izuku in his arms, holding him tight. “I’m so sorry, kid. I’m so sorry you felt like you had to run like that. Betraying your trust was never my intent, I promise.”

“I believe you.” Izuku sniffles, burying his face in his dad’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I ran. I just got scared and felt cornered.”

“It’s okay. It's going to be alright.”

“Uh," Hitoshi interrupts, grimacing, “Actually, he may still need a hospital.”

“What?!” Eraser pulls back, eyes immediately scanning the vigilante. His eyes land on the rib jutting out of the boy’s side. “Holy-“

“I can’t feel it!” Izuku blurts, trying to stop the hero from panicking.

“And that makes it better?!” Eraser shoots back.

“No! I just mean, if I can’t feel it, my quirk is probably doing something! Which means my quirk will probably heal it, right?”

“Or it’s shock, you fucking nerd!” Katsuki bites back.

Izuku grimaces. So maybe his best friend had a point…

“What else is injured? What happened?” Eraser asks quickly, eyes continuing to scan the rest of Izuku’s form. “Kid, you are covered in blood.”

Izuku glances at Katsuki. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

Eraser’s eyes light up, brows bunching. He glances between the two teens. “Tell me what?”

Izuku’s quiet for a moment. “There was a situation…”

“He was pushed off a building.” Katsuki barks.

“It was an accident!” Izuku shoots back. “You make it sound like murder!”

“It WAS murder, you fucker! That bastard pushed you off the roof-!”

“Stop!” Eraser shouts. “You were pushed off a building?! And you survived?!”

Izuku goes quiet, shrinking in on himself.

Eraser stills, his expression melting. “No. Oh, no, kid-“ His breathing goes a bit shallow, “You didn’t. Please tell me what I think happened didn’t.”

“It did.” Katsuki replies for him. “I tried to-“ His voice catches, hitching before he goes monotone to try to avoid the emotion in his tone, “I couldn’t get to him in time. He was corned by villains when one of them stepped back and knocked him off.”

“There’s no way.” Eraser denies, tone sharp. He holds eye contact with his kid, “You’ve only been gone for three hours. There’s no way you-“ He cuts himself off.

“Something was different this time.” Izuku starts, still feeling small, “After it happened, Katsuki carried me away. Right?”

The blonde nods. “I-I panicked. The way he hit the-“ His breath halts. “I tried to keep the villains off of him. Fought as much as I could. I tried to carry him to safety, but my legs gave out and we ended up in this greenhouse in someone’s backyard. I held him for what felt like forever. Tried to protect him.”

Eraser’s eyes flit over his student’s expression, “You protected him?”

Katsuki glances up, expression hard. “I did everything I could. But I’d dropped my phone and I couldn’t find Izuku’s anywhere.”

“But the difference is, I was with someone this time, Eraser.” Izuku explains, “It was basically skin-to-skin contact.”

Realization dawns on the hero. “The energy.”

“Exactly!”

“Like an epi pen, right, Izu?” Katsuki questions.

“Yeah! I got just enough energy from being close to Kacchan to come back to life, even if I’m not really completely put together yet.”

Katsuki adjusts in his spot, moving Izuku’s head to lay more comfortably on his lap. “And we’re not gonna fucking stop until you’re fully charged, asshole.”

“Kid.” Eraser starts, voice low. “You died today.”

Izuku glances down, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to scrape his dried blood off. “For the first time in years.”

Eraser watches him carefully. “We’re gonna get you a therapist, okay? It’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

Izuku smiles sadly, eyes flitting up to the hero’s face and then back down again. “Thanks for coming when we called, dad.” Tears build in his eyes, his voice breaking.

“Fuck, kid-“ The man starts, reaching to pull Izuku back into a hug. They hold each other for a few moments before Eraser pulls back. “Alright, let’s get you to a hospital.”

“Dad, I really think my quirk is gonna heal it. Look-“ Izuku shows him the backs of his arms, where small cuts and bruises had been mere minutes ago. “My quirk is healing the small things. It healed my sternum once I woke up.”

Eraser things for a moment, silently. “You’re sure?”

Izuku nods. “And if by morning, it doesn’t heal, then we can…go to a hospital.”

“Deal. Let's go home, then.”

Izuku tries to stand, he really does, but just when he puts his weight down, the pain in his bones makes him feel like jello. "Woah," Eraser catches him, holding his arms while Katsuki grabs his shoulders from behind, "Easy."

"Sorry." Izuku murmurs, grimacing. "My whole body hurts."

"Your whole body?" Eraser echoes.

"Probably because of how I died." Izuku mumbles as Eraser reaches to scoop him up.

"Wait." Katsuki stops the hero, "Um." He pauses, blushing a bit when all three of them glance at him curiously. "Can. Can I carry him?"

"Aw, Kacchan!" Izuku beams, his smile weighed down by his exhaustion.

"Not-" Katsuki takes a breath, "I'm...not ready to let him go yet." He tries to explain, choosing each of his words carefully. HIs fists were clenched at his sides.

Eraser stares at the blonde for another moment, eyes analytical. "If that's what you need, then of course."

He scoops Izuku up gently, wordlessly.

"Um," Hitoshi interrupts. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Izuku tries to look reassuring. "I should be, yeah. If everything goes as I think it will."

"That's not very reassuring."

Well, fuck.

"How about I call you, okay?" Izuku offers instead, "You called my dad, so he has your number."

Hitoshi nods slowly. "That works."

"Cool." Izuku smiles softly at him. "Thank you for your help, Hitoshi. Really."

"Anytime, Izuku." He smiles back at him. "Don't die, yeah?"

Izuku barks out a laugh as they turn to start walking, "No promises."

Eraser stops Katsuki before they leave, "I'm gonna be a second, but I'll catch up."

Katsuki nods, carrying Izuku out of the alley as the hero starts quietly talking to the lavender-haired boy.

"What's he saying, Kats?" Izuku asks curiously as they round the corner onto the street.

"I don't fucking know. Probably thanking him or some shit."

They walk in silence for a few more moments, Katsuki's footsteps heavy against the sidewalk. "Kats." Izuku starts, taking a small breath, "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

"Don't." Katsuki bites out, "I can't talk about that right now."

They go quiet again.

Eraser catches up a minute or two later, jogging into step with them.

Something pinches Izuku's side, and his brow twitches at the pain. "Um." He starts, uneasy.

Eraser's eyes flit over. "What is it?"

Another pinch. Right where his rib is jutting out.

"Okay. Put me down."

"What?"

"Put me down!" Izuku practically shouts, panicking slightly as the pinching sensation grows. "Fuck!" Katsuki lowers him to the sidewalk, laying him down again.

"What's going on?!" Eraser kneels, hands hovering around in search of some way to help.

The pain grows thicker, and Izuku grasps at his side. "I don't know!"

Then, with one crunching, drawn-out snap, Izuku feels his rib grind back into place inside of him, the bone disappearing through the marred wound. He screams, the noise echoing down the street.

"Holy fucking shit-" The blood drains from his best friend's face.

Izuku lays, panting, as the pain roars into a dull thunder. "This is why I'm supposed to be fucking dead during this!"

Eraser stares at his side, his eyes slightly wide but Izuku can tell he's trying hard to conceal his reaction. "Just keep breathing, kid."

"You're telling me!" Izuku laughs, the pain earning a whine from the boy. "Fuck!" Katsuki was still staring at his side, looking like he could pass out at any moment. "Kats?" Izuku catches his attention. "Are you okay?" He pants, "You look-"

"I don't give fuck-all how I look." His best friend growls out, "Your broken bone just snapped back into your goddamn body."

"By itself." Izuku emphasizes, a feral smile growing on his expression. "Which is cool as fuck."

"That..." Katsuki's face screws up, looking almost disgusted at Izuku's reaction, "You're a freak. You know that, nerd?"

Izuku bristles at the term, but grins at the blonde nonetheless. "It's why you love me!"

"Are there any other injuries we should be paying attention to before we start walking again? We're almost home." Eraser questions, eyes glancing around the street. No doubt someone just heard Izuku's scream and called the cops because of it.

"Maybe? If I do, I can't feel them yet." Izuku replies, shrugging. The wound was still open and raw on his side, but his rib was out of sight now. "Let's keep going. I'll tell you if anything starts...happening again."

Eraser huffs once, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "We're getting you a quirk counselor first thing in the morning."

Usually, Izuku would hate even the idea of seeing a quirk counselor. But with these new...developments...he felt a little in over his head.

They make it to the apartment only a few minutes later. "Kiddo?!" Mic shrieks, quirk only deactivated thanks to Eraser's glowing red eyes and his goal to not get their neighbors to hate them. "What happened to you, sweetheart?!"

"Mic, Mic--I'm okay." Izuku tries to reassure him from his place in Katsuki's arms still. Katsuki growls quietly, snarling at Izuku. "Okay, maybe I'm not okay. But I'm getting better. I promise!"

Mic, dreadfully confused and looking it, turns to his husband for answers, eyes wide. Eraser sighs softly, "I'll explain." He looks to Izuku, "Let's get you resting somewhere first."

"I got it." Katsuki grumbles, "You talk."

Eraser nods his head at his student. He looks down at his kid, dropping a hand on his head to ruffle his hair gently. "We'll talk in the morning, okay? If either of you need anything, don't hesitate to come get me."

"Thanks, dad." Izuku replies, a bit of the tension in his shoulders melting at the affectionate touch. "I'll see you in the morning."

Katsuki carries him towards the hallway, but not before Mic starts the conversation with his husband, "Sho, you better give me some answers or I swear to-"

Their voices fade as he carries his best friend into his bedroom. He lays him on the pillows gently, and Izuku tilts his head to look up at the other boy. "Can you-?"

Katsuki scoffs, trying hard to look annoyed, "Don't even ask. I wasn't going to just leave you here." He walks to the other side of the bed and crawls on, tucking Izuku against his side and adjusting the vigilante's head to lay across his shoulder. "So that you...you know. Get your energy."

"Mhm." Izuku replies sarcastically, his eyelids drooping. "Definitely."

"Sleep, nerd." Katsuki grumbles, his low, gravelly voice resonating through his chest. "I won't let anything happen. I promise."

"Thank you, Kacchan." Izuku mumbles, eyes slipping shut. "For protecting me."

He falls asleep, his breathing evening out as his head lulls to the side. Katsuki sighs softly, the tension just slightly melting from his own shoulders now.

Katsuki was gonna need a fuckton of therapy after this, wasn't he?

Chapter Text

Shouta had never felt at such a loss for words. How do you explain to your husband that you let your kid die? Even though the kid is now alive and asleep in the room over?

How could he let this happen? He was a shit father, wasn’t he? All he’s done is make empty promises to the kid.

“Sho?” Hizashi’s gentle—always gentle—tone cuts through his thoughts. “Please. I need to know how he got hurt, hon.”

Shouta takes a heavy breath, his shoulders tensing as he sits up further. He stares into the coffee table, mind-mapping his words. They’d settled on the couch, because frankly, Shouta didn’t want to have to traumatize his own husband in their bedroom of all places. Some place they’re supposed to relax and sleep and not have nightmares for the rest of their lives.

“I-“ His voice catches already, and he clears it, brows bunching together. “I wasn’t there for it.”

A pause. “Okay.” Hizashi responds, urging him a bit more.

“And Bakugou hasn’t had the chance to tell me the full story yet.”

“Mhm?”

“Izuku and I had had an argument. I read his essay, the one for the UA eval. The confidential one, rather.”

His husband adjusts his posture, sitting up a bit more, and to Shouta it screams disapproval. “Okay.” His husband replies shortly, graciously—always so forgiving.

“He ran off. Was gone for hours. I looked for him all night. That’s when I called you, I had-“ Another breath, caught between words, “I was worried.”

“So was I. I mean, he could’ve been anywhere.” Mic tries to catch his husband’s eyes, tilting his head down. “But you found him?”

A tightness pulls at the hero’s chest, making it remarkably hard to breathe. “Bakugou found him, I guess. I don’t really know yet. Something happened with a group of villains. They were on a rooftop, and the villains started fighting, or something, and Izuku got caught in it. He got-“ A huff, “Shoved. Bumped. They were vague describing it.”

Mic is silent for a moment. “Then what happened, Sho?”

“He was-“ The tightness begins to feel like a buzzing in his chest, in his head, “He fell off the building, ‘Zash.”

His husband’s breath hitches immediately, his hands moving up to cover his mouth. “No.” He stands from the couch, slowly backing away with one hand guiding him back, “Sho, I swear to god, if you say what I think-“

“It killed him.” Shouta rumbles, voice low and tired, head tilted down with his face shrouded by his messy black hair.

Mic is silent. He crouches down, one arm wrapped around his middle with the other hand covering his mouth in what looks like silent shock.

“I let him die, ‘Zash. After everything I promised him-“ His voice breaks again, a sob thumping through him unexpectedly.

Hizashi stands immediately, expression morphing from shock into something close to anger, “Sho, Sho- Honey-“ He sits by his husband again, “No, no, no—baby-“ He wraps his arms around his husband firmly, burying his husband’s face in his shoulder.

But Shouta doesn't cry. Tears stream down his face, his chest constricting with what feels like utter pain, but he doesn’t let himself cry.

“You can’t blame yourself. Oh my god, please don’t blame yourself, Sho.” His husband whispers, tears streaming down his face. “You weren’t even there.”

Shouta pulls away, looking up to finally make eye contact with his husband. “You don’t blame me?”

His husband’s expression melts, tears spilling from his glassy eyes, “You can’t stop accidents, Sho. No matter the consequence.”

“But I promised him- I promised you-”

“The only reason promises exist is fear of risk, honey. There was always a risk. You can’t protect everyone always.” His husband reminds him, cupping his face in his hands. “Our kid died. But it’s not your fault.” His head tips forward, his forehead connecting with Shouta’s. Shouta reaches up, clasping his husband’s wrists where his hands are wrapped around his face. “He died, Sho.” His husband whispers, sobs wracking his chest.

Shouta reaches forward, sliding his hands down his husband’s arms to pull him into his chest, “But he’s alive.” He reminds him, squeezing his eyes shut, “We got lucky.”

“God, we shouldn’t have to rely on his quirk.” Hizashi murmurs, voice uneasy, “To keep him alive, I mean. That’s our job.”

“I know.” Shouta sighs, “I know.”

Hizashi pulls away a moment later, looking up at his husband again. Shouta wipes his husband’s tears with his thumb, gentle. “Okay.” He takes a steadying breath, “What do we do now?”

Shouta smiles tiredly at his husband. Hizashi, ever the optimist. “I’m gonna call around to enroll him in quirk counseling tomorrow morning. We should also see about getting him a therapist.”

“Okay.” Hizashi nods, taking that in.

“Bakugou—we should probably call his mother, honestly. There’s no way that kid is walking out of tonight without needing someone to talk to.” Shouta sighs again, sitting back to run a hand down his face exhaustedly, “Then we’ll have to get his story, figure out who the villains were that attacked them. Which opens up a whole other issue of-“

“Hey.” Hizashi starts, gently, “One step at a time. Tomorrow, we find a counselor for him. Step one. Okay?”

Shouta nods slowly. “Okay. Yeah. We can do that.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they both take a breath, processing. “Come on, hon. We should get some sleep.”

They didn't sleep.

Xx

Izuku woke slowly, head groggy as he tries to roll over. Arms have him caged in place, wrapped firmly around his shoulders and keeping his head buried in the other person’s shoulder.

“Mm…” He hums quietly, as the arms seem to grip him tighter. “Kacchan.” He calls, already recognizing the body beside him by the faint burnt caramel smell of his nitroglycerin sweat.

“What, nerd?” Katsuki grumbles back, head buried in Izuku’s hair.

Izuku waits a moment, expecting Katsuki to pop up in a bright blush at having realized he was cuddling with Izuku, but finds himself surprised when Katsuki only adjusts a bit in his spot.

“You realize what’s happening right now, right?”

“Don’t make it weird.” Katsuki sighs, obviously already aggravated. “You’re my best friend and you fucking need this to live.”

Izuku smiles softly against his best friend’s shoulder. They sit like that for another moment before Izuku sighs, trying to sit up again. This time, Katsuki lets him slip out of his arms, if only for the other boy to sit up. “Be careful.” Katsuki grumbles.

“I am.” Izuku assures him, assessing himself. His rib seemed fully healed now, nothing more than a fading green bruise where the wound had been the previous night. The small bruises and cuts along his arms were gone too, so he assumes any serious injuries he’d sustained were healed as well. “I feel…good.” How he usually felt after dying, really.

Katsuki rubs at his eyes harshly, blinking at his friend. “Good. You look…” Less dead? “More alive.”

“My head hurts less.” He realizes, “And my vision is fine now.”

“Why was it fucked up in the first place?”

“Probably because of how I died? I fell straight back against asphalt from, like, three stories up. Probably fucked my brain up.”

“So…if you die by something else, does that change?”

Izuku bites the inside of his lip, thinking, “You know, probably. Like if I died by drowning, maybe breathing would be more difficult when I woke up because of the trauma to my lungs. Or like if I died by starvation, my stomach would-“

“Okay, stop.” Katsuki interrupts. “I don’t want to sit here fucking speculating about your hypothetical deaths, nerd.”

“Hypothetical?” Izuku retorts. “We have to test these out, don’t we?”

Katsuki’s eyebrows raise at the vigilante. “Are you shitting my dick right now? You want to die for fun?”

“Not for fun!” Izuku waves him off. “For science! I need to know my limits, don’t I?”

“You can use your quirk without dying. You remember that, right?”

Izuku huffs, rolling his eyes. “And not use my quirk to its full potential?”

Katsuki eyes him cautiously, an aura of concern in his expression. “Just wait till your dad hears you fucking say that.”

Izuku shrugs, taking a small breath before moving to climb out of bed. “Let’s just get up before Eraser starts thinking we died in our sleep or something.”

His best friend growls quietly. “Not funny, nerd.”

Izuku stands, stretching his arms up and testing his balance. He felt fine, if not a little sore, but his skin itched like crazy from all the dried blood still caked onto his skin. It had peeled off in his bed too, so he’d have to wash those later.

He glances over at his friend, sat at the edge of his bed with his hands on his knees. He has his head tipped forward, but Izuku can’t see his expression from this angle. “Kacchan? You alright?”

Katsuki huffs. “Fine, nerd.” But he stays sitting.

Izuku crosses over, sitting beside him. “What’s wrong?”

Katsuki’s eyes are shut tightly, expression a bit twisted. “Zu. I watched you fucking splatter on the asphalt like a bug on a windshield then had to fight a living flamethrower and a chick with a blood kink to keep them from kidnapping your lifeless corpse.” He pauses. “Give me a damn second to get out of this bed.”

Izuku quiets, biting the inside of his lip as he looks away. He hadn’t realized just how much this would affect his friend, did he?

Well, it’s not like he wanted Kacchan to ever have to see that. His goal was for no one to ever be there when he was dead in the first place. Not Kacchan, not Eraser—not anyone.

But he hadn’t really had a choice this time.

Izuku glances down at his friend's hands, which were gripping his knees with some sort of fury. The greenette’s brow twists slightly as he sees the angry redness hiding beneath the green coating his friend’s arms and clothes. “Kacchan, did you get burned?”

His best friend huffs again, through his nose.

“Kacchan.” Izuku starts. “Come on, my dad can help.”

“I’ve been burned before, nerd. Kind of comes with the territory.” Katsuki mumbles, gesturing to the many starburst-shaped burns on his arms and shoulders. Izuku knew, he had some of his own hidden under his torn up shirt.

“That doesn’t mean you have to just let them hurt. Come on.” He pulls his friend to his feet, dragging him to the door and out into the hall. “‘Raser?”

“Kid?” Eraser calls back from the living room. “Are you alright?”

Izuku tugs Katsuki into view. “He burned his arms fighting last night. I’d help him with them, but I have no idea how.”

Eraser sighs softly. “Come here, kid.” He grabs the first aid hit he already had prepped on the coffee table. Izuku drags his friend over again, shoving him to sit on the couch beside his dad. “These look painful.”

Katsuki grunts, eyes averted. Izuku could tell he hated everything about this.

Eraser treats the burns, applying some salve and then bandaging them gently. “You’re all good. Be sure to replace them tonight though. Got it?”

Katsuki grunts again.

“How are you doing, kid?” Eraser looks to the other boy. “Anything still hurt?”

“No, not really. My body feels sore but that’s it. My vision is better.”

“Your vision?” Eraser echos.

“Yeah. It was all fucked up last night. We think it’s because when I died, my head probably split-“

“Stop.” Eraser interrupts him. “I can’t have that mental visual right now.”

Izuku quiets again. “Sorry.” A pause. “Did you talk to Mic?”

Eraser nods, shutting his eyes. “Yeah. He…didn’t take it well.”

“Did you tell him that I…?”

The hero nods solemnly. “He had a right to know.”

Izuku purses his lips, nodding along. “Yeah. I would’ve told him too.”

“He’s been trying to sleep. He’ll probably smother you when he gets up though, so be ready for that.”

Izuku chuckles. “With Mic, I’m always ready for that.”

Eraser takes a breath, pushing himself up to his feet . “I’m gonna call to see about getting you a quirk counselor, yeah?”

Izuku nods. “Okay. Do you want me there?”

“Sure.” They sit in the kitchen, with Katsuki sat beside his best friend and Eraser across the table with his phone on speaker. The vigilante looks to his best friend, “Don’t you wanna go home or something? Isn’t your mom wondering where you are?”

Katsuki scoffs. “She doesn’t care. And I’d rather be here right now anyways.”

Izuku glances away, brows quirking. The phone rings as Eraser dials the number of a quirk counseling office.

They answer. “Hi, Quirk Counseling of the Northern Musutafu Prefecture, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, I just wanted to see about getting my son enrolled in your counseling program.” Eraser starts, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Of course. Name?”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

“Age?”

“Fourteen.”

She pauses. “I see. Most of our patients are significantly younger.” Izuku grimaces.

“Yeah, he’s a late bloomer.” Eraser rolls his eyes at the woman.

“Okay. Let’s see here…quirk?”

“Uh.” Eraser pauses. “It’s complicated.”

She laughs lightheartedly. “When is it not?” She pauses, typing something, “Can I just get a brief description of what you’ve noted of it so far?”

Eraser raises his eyebrows at his kid, silently asking if he’d like to describe it. “Um. Its name is Poltergeist.” Izuku says into the phone, “It’s essentially a resurrection quirk.”

She pauses, the audible typing coming to a stop. “Can you define that for me?”

“Like. It resurrects me.”

More silence. “From what?”

Izuku almost laughs, incredulous. “The dead?”

The silence grows for a moment longer before the call ends. “What the fuck? Did I say something wrong?” Izuku questions, looking to his dad.

Eraser looks just as confused, picking his phone back up and typing something into it. “Maybe she thought it was a prank call or something.”

“Who prank calls a quirk counseling office?” Katsuki scoffs. “Fucking degenerate.”

“It’s alright.” Eraser starts, “We’ll just call another office. There’s plenty to choose from.”

They call the next office on the list Eraser had (at some point) created. They go through the same initial questions until Izuku is asked about his quirk again.

“Resurrection?” The man echos into the phone. “What does that mean?”

“It revives me.”

“From being dead?”

“What do you think?!” Izuku retorts, frustrated.

Eraser places a placating hand up before opening his mouth to say something into the phone. “That’s impossible.” The receptionist almost laughs. “No quirk has ever made a person immortal. You must be confused.”

“Obviously we’re confused. Why else would we be calling a quirk counselor?” Eraser bites back. He takes a breath, “Can we just schedule an appointment please?”

“Not with us. Even if you were telling the truth about this ‘immortality’ quirk, there aren't any guidelines for counseling a power like that. The HPSC would be on you like flies on-“ He pauses. Sighs. “Have a good day.” He hangs up.

Izuku groans loudly. “This is pointless.” They call a few more offices, each one telling them the same thing:

”Immortality is impossible.”

“That’s not even human anymore.”

“So…a zombie?”

“I recommend you keep quiet about a quirk like this.”

“Stay safe.”

“How’d you even discover this quirk?”

“Are you sure it’s a resurrection quirk? How can you know?”

“Inhuman.”

“Wrong.”

“Monst-”

“Okay!” Izuku blurts, frustrated, slamming his finger down on the red ‘END CALL’ button. “Obviously no one wants to fucking counsel me!”

“It’s like they’re scared.” Katsuki observes, still staring at the blank phone screen.

Eraser sighs softly. “We’ll find someone. I promise.”

“Dad, my quirk isn’t natural. They’re right.” The vigilante retorts, “It goes against fucking nature. Of course they’re not gonna know how to deal with someone with a goddamn immortality quirk!”

“Okay. Calm down.” Eraser eases, palms up, “I have one other idea. But it’ll have to wait till Monday.”

“Alright. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.” Izuku murmurs, burying his face in his arms.

Xx

Mic waking up had gone exactly as Izuku had expected. Lots of tears, lots of hugging, and lots of apologizing. Followed by a lot of reprimands for apologizing.

“You’re just a kiddo, god- and we let you d- We let you down, sweetheart, don’t you understand that?”

Izuku smiles softly at his dad, “You could never let me down, Mic.”

Mic held him in his arms for longer than Izuku would have preferred, but he knew Mic needed it. Even if the guilt continued to claw Izuku from the inside out.

Xx

Today was the day.

Izuku’s first day of real school.

It had only been two days since the whole death incident, but Izuku had insisted he’d rather hit the ground running than spend another day doing nothing. He was already healed, he wasn’t, like, grieving himself or anything. He’d died before! This wasn’t new.

But sometimes Izuku would wake up in the late hours of the night for the bathroom, and when walking down the hall, would pause at the sound of quiet crying coming from his dads’ bedroom.

Or when he received texts from Kacchan at 3 AM, at around the same time he had died, asking if he could talk for a bit. Izuku always answered.

It was odd. Everyone around him was…different. Talked to him different. Treated him different.

Not as if he was fragile, per se. But every time they looked at him it was as if they were seeing the ghost he could be right now.

The only person who hadn't looked at him different in days had been none other than the principal of UA high school.

“Please, come in!” The principal gestures them inside with a wide smile.

The hero pops the door open, revealing the office. It's a rather normal layout for an office, with bookshelves lining the back wall and a desk smack in the center. There are two chairs positioned facing the desk, with uncomfortable looking arm rests.

Eraser scowls at his boss slightly, holding the door open for his kid. Izuku walks in, thumbs looped in his backpack straps.

“Hello! My name is Principal Nedzu.” He holds out his paw to shake. “Young Mismatch! Lovely to finally meet you.”

Izuku turns his head to gape at his dad. “You know who I am?” He asks the principal while still looking away, sitting in one of the guest chairs while his dad sits in the opposing chair.

“Of course I do! Reading the essay you wrote for your evaluation was the most fun I’ve had in weeks!” He grins, climbing atop his desk. He stands on neatly organized stacks of papers, creating almost the perfect pedestal for himself.

“Wow.” Izuku chuckles, “Glad something good came of that essay.”

“Mismatch, the way you describe your quirk is unlike any I’ve ever heard of. Not to mention the story of how you came to acquire it, and your dedication to furthering your studies.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to UA.” Izuku beams, “The fact that I still could someday is...” He trails, unsure of the words to describe it.

“Well, I actually wanted to talk with you about just that.” He sits in his chair finally, crossing his paws on top of the desk, “I, primarily, will be overseeing your general studies here as you progress into UA’s hero course.”

Izuku’s smile falters. “…what?” He looks to his dad.

"Nedzu." Eraser starts, jaw set, his expression cold. "We never talked about enrolling him in UA. Let alone the goddamn hero course.”

Nedzu waves him off, clicking his tongue, “Discussion is a mere formality. The only way for Mismatch to achieve his full potential here is by furthering his studies into our most prestigious course!”

“Nedzu-“

“After assessing Mismatch via his evaluation, I have concluded that he is an extraordinarily intelligent young student, who only seems to be lacking in resources. Which is a mere technicality! With his abilities and his work ethic, we could maximize the capabilities of his quirk and truly get to the root of what he is capable of-!”

“Nedzu!” Eraser barks, interrupting him. “His name is Izuku.”

Izuku’s struck. Frozen in his seat. “You think…” He swallows around the sudden dryness in his mouth, “I could still be a hero?”

“Fuck.” Eraser swears, dropping his head in his hands.

“Of COURSE, you can!” Nedzu beams, “In fact, I think you could be one of the strongest heroes this school has seen. Your background, while it may be dark, has brought you to where you are today, Izuku. Use it to your advantage! Don’t let it drag you down!”

“But won’t people ask questions? About how my quirk...happened? It’s not natural, it’s not how quirks manifest.” As they learned with their many, many calls to quirk counselors across the city.

The principal shakes his head, waving a paw dismissively. “We have PR teams here at the school who can handle that sort of thing.”

“Nedzu! In no way is this safe!” Eraser shouts, standing now, “The League of Villains has been after him for years. If they catch wind that he’s a student here, they’ll attack the school.”

“And we will be prepared.”

“No. You’ll be endangering not only his life, but the lives of the other students-“

Nedzu suddenly stands, brows drawn together, “Are you trying to tell me they won’t come after him anyways? While you’re at your home? Asleep in your bed? While he’s on a walk at night? Where else is it safest for him to understand himself other than UA’s campus, guarded by the strongest heroes in the country?”

Eraser is silent.

“You see my point.” Nedzu observes. “Additionally, I can’t imagine the search for a quirk counselor has been very fruitful?”

Izuku grimaces. “None of them will take me.”

Nedzu sighs softly. “I worried as much.” He takes a breath, “However, I am prepared to volunteer my time as your counselor.”

“No.” Eraser blurts. “No way. You don’t know when to stop.”

“But-” Nedzu stops him, “Unfortunately, it seems the HPSC has already caught wind of Izuku’s quirk.

Eraser's expression stills. "What does this mean?"

"It means," Nedzu takes a breath, crossing his hands in front of his chest, "They want more information. What his quirk does exactly, whether he knows to control it."

"I-I don't know any of that." Izuku blurts, eyes darting between his dad and the principal.

"Which the HPSC doesn't need to know." Nedzu calms him, eyes softer, "I am cleared to counsel you on your quirk, however, the HPSC has required that they send an agent to be present during our counseling sessions. To...monitor your progress."

Eraser stands immediately, "No way in hell. My kid is not going to become one of their-"

"Aizawa, stay calm." Nedzu eases, "I will be with him at all times. You are welcome to join us as well. The HPSC simply wants to make sure Izuku isn't a danger to others."

"That is bullshit and you know it, Nedzu!" Eraser shoots back, eyes glowing red now, "I refuse to let my kid become another tool for the Commission to throw into their next war."

"Aizawa." Nedzu repeats, "I know. But if this is the only way for him to learn about his quirk, then we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

There's a pause before Nedzu turns to face Izuku again, a small smile on his face, "Now, Mismatch-"

Eraser huffs.

"How does all of this sound to you?"

Izuku swallows, slowly. He looks down at his lap, thinking. "If this is the only way I can figure out how to use my quirk, then I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Eraser keeps his head down, listening, but seemingly refusing to engage.

Nedzu pauses, eyeing Izuku, "Oh, but you do, Mismatch."

Izuku glances at his dad, then back at the principal. He takes a small breath. "And you won't...hold me back? You'll let me actually train my quirk?" Eraser stiffens.

Nedzu gives him a small smile, the look sliding onto his face with ease, "Our goal at this school is to find your limit, and exceed that. Even Aizawa here can agree with that philosophy."

Izuku grins right back at him, "Then I'm in."