Chapter Text
Things changed after his fight with Bakugou.
For one thing, UA staff and faculty are cognizant of his Little status, and they interact with him differently. Not too differently, of course, and not in a way that makes Izuku’s stomach curdle—in fact, it makes his stomach warm—but different in a way that kind of makes it obvious Izuku is Little, if one recognized the signs.
He’s pretty sure a few of his friends have figured it out—Iida already approached him about it, worried Izuku might not be getting the care he needed, Uraraka and Aoyama were giving him considering looks, and Asui had, in her blunt way, questioned if he was Little and, well, it was Asui.
Izuku couldn’t lie to her. He’d never be able to stomach the guilt.
Todoroki seems on the verge of figuring it out . . . or perhaps he’s placed the interactions to mean his theory of All Might being Izuku’s father is correct—but Izuku isn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole.
Yaoyorozu figured it out, too, but it was more of her also being Little, rather than anything else, that clued her in. She had her own reasons to keep quiet about her status, just like Izuku, and he enjoyed their bonding over tea. Hitoshi crashed those meetings sometimes, bringing the hilarious wit of another toddler hyped on apple juice and coffee, and Izuku could safely say he feels closest to those two than anyone in the entire school.
He knows his teachers don’t really understand why he’s asked to keep his designation quiet—well; most of them probably don’t. Aizawa and Yamada shared looks that Izuku pointedly ignored, and All Might looked confused, but a bit more understanding.
Point is, while they agreed to keep quiet, it’s difficult to treat a Little as anything other than, well, Little, once one is aware of their status, and it shows in the gentle-stern tones the teachers’ take with him, in the way he faces a bit more scrutiny over his mental state during practical lessons, in the way Aizawa pulls him aside to ask, in that no-nonsense way of his, if he needed help to drop.
A large part of Izuku half-expected UA to continue on as things were, memories of uncaring and distant teachers drudging to the front of his mind . . . but Aizawa, as always, far exceeded his expectations. Before Izuku could even blink, his mother had been called to campus, and they, along with Aizawa, went over a contract of sorts, to follow while Izuku was in UA’s care.
(His mother . . . hadn’t been pleased to learn about the fight he had with Bakugou or his subdrop, but had been appeased when Aizawa informed her they’d both face dorm arrest for their fight, and that UA would take further steps to ensure Izuku wouldn’t ever be placed in a situation where he subdropped like that again.
Aizawa had clearly struggled on properly disciplining Izuku about the fight. Technically, Izuku had disobeyed curfew and engaged in a fight when UA was unaware of his designation—but they became aware of it when he stress-dropped right before Aizawa’s gaze.
In the end, Izuku had asked to be given a punishment similar to Bakugou instead of one designed for a Little, and Aizawa agreed. Two days of house arrest and dorm cleaning didn’t sound as terrifying as time-out and lines (or worse, his mind had whispered, remembering the ease in which Aizawa lifted him, and sent a prayer of good luck to Hitoshi whenever he misbehaved, and Aizawa would give him a look).)
Aizawa had bowed and formally apologized for the unintentional neglect when they’d finished the meeting. Izuku had straight up gone into shock until his mother’s worried voice jolted him out of it. Teachers didn’t apologize to Izuku, much less accept responsibility for their own shortcomings and bow.
So.
UA is clearly different than any school Izuku has ever attended. He’s not sure why it still surprises him, so late into the semester. He likes to think he’s adjusted well, given all the changes, and he thinks he has.
Nothing has changed too much, after all.
Except it has. It has.
Aside from his teachers and friends, Bakugou changed how he interacted with Izuku, too. It’s one thing, Izuku guesses, to assume Izuku is Neutral like his mother and interact with him on that basis, but another for Bakugou to continue his behavior when he’s aware Izuku is Little.
Bakugou’s mere instincts as a caregiver would rebel. Not to mention, Izuku’s pretty sure Aizawa would be on the hunt for blood.
His childhood friend has been giving him — looks. It’s not anything bad; Izuku just doesn’t know what to think about them. The blond’s less likely to blow up at Izuku’s mutterings, save for a gruff reminder to “shut up”—and, that’s another thing.
Bakugou stops cursing around him.
He doesn’t know if that’s because Aizawa put the fear of retribution for cursing in front of a Little so small or what, but it’s weird. Jarring. Especially when Izuku takes note that Bakugou doesn’t curse around any Little.
But: the watching.
It makes Izuku think of how he behaved, back when they were younger. He’d always watched Bakugou, starry eyed and wondrous at the casual power the boy displayed, even when the boy made his . . . distaste very clear.
He doesn’t know what to think, if he were honest. To have Bakugou’s eyes on him like that. Those intense, narrowed eyes following him whenever he’s near—but Izuku can tell the different between malicious stares or otherwise, and Bakugou’s gaze is more curious, more pondering, than anything.
It’s like Izuku is a puzzle Bakugou doesn’t have all the pieces to, yet he’s still trying to solve it with what he’s got in his hands.
Izuku thinks he’d be a bit more frazzled at the looks had the utter clusterfuck that was the Eight Precepts of Death not have happened the way it happened.
It’s been — interesting, especially since Izuku eagerly fell back onto old coping habits. Re: ignoring everything with a smile and bright optimism until he, physically, mentally, can’t anymore.
Izuku walks on a splintering tightrope, but he’s yet to stumble and fall. It’s going to happen, sooner or later, because it always happens, and he hopes it won’t be as — drastic as the other times he’s been stressed enough to subdrop.
It’d be easier, he knows, if he tells Aizawa he’s struggling, if he takes those steps to reach out and ask for the help he needs—but even now, even when there are caregivers aware of his status, it is difficult for Izuku to swallow old habits.
He’s been cultivating them his entire life, after all.
It’s another few days of Bakugou watching him, of Izuku attempting to dodge Aizawa’s (and, at times, Yamada’s) inquisitive questions, of Hitoshi giving him knowing looks whenever he hides in the others’ dorm, when that tightrope makes him stumble.
He’s in the common room, hunched over his phone on a site he’s frequented various times before. It’s about heroes, of course—but it functions as a chat room for Hero fans who were Little. He’s in the middle of fixing some grammar for a post when footsteps head toward him.
“Oi.”
Izuku freezes. He probably looks like a startled deer as Bakugou appears in his line of sight, familiar, disgruntled sigh on his features.
“Y-Yes, Kacchan?”
Bakugou stares at him for a moment, contemplative. “You haven’t fu—dropped, have you?”
Izuku swallows and looks everywhere except those red eyes. “A-Ah, Kacchan, I, um, haven’t . . ..”
Bakugo’s frown deepen, crossing his arms over his chest. He seems impossibly tall to Izuku like that, and it makes him want to shrink back. Makes him want to start sniffling. “You know that shi—stuff harms you in the long run. You need to drop.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku barely resists snapping out. Those little parts of him shriek about being rude to a caregiver. “Why d’you even care?”
For a moment, Bakugou doesn’t speak. They stare at each other, an inexplicable impasse in the spaces between them.
“Look. I know I’m the last person you want naggin’ you about this,” Bakugou says, in a low tone Izuku has never heard him use before. “And I guess you can say I’m ten fu . . . years too late—.”
“What’s going on here?” They both jump at Aizawa’s appearance, the tired man looking between them with a cautious gaze. Izuku . . . understands. The last time he and Bakugou were alone, they had a fight. At their quiet, Aizawa repeats, firmer, “What’s going on here?”
Izuku’s stomach shrivels at the tone. “It’s no—.”
“Deku hasn’t dropped,” Bakugou speaks over him, and that makes a part of Izuku grit his teeth. It makes another part want to burrow in the ground at Aizawa’s expression. “Since . . . the last time.”
Izuku sputters. “K-Kacchan!”
“What?” Bakugou barks, eyes squinting in a way Izuku associates with danger. “You wouldn’t have said shit—anything, anyway!”
“Yes, I w—,” Izuku stops himself, frowning (re: pouting). Bakugou is right, unfortunately. Izuku wouldn’t have said anything, not until it backfired in his face.
“Izuku.” Oh, shit. He squeaks at the intensity of Aizawa’s gaze. “Is this true?”
Izuku stays quiet, and that’s a dangerous choice. He’s vaguely aware of Aizawa motioning for Bakugou to leave, and the teen obeys, satisfied that the matter of Izuku dropping is taken care of.
Aizawa crouches in front of him, much like he’d done before they charged into Overhaul’s base and saved Eri, and says, in a tone that definitely makes those little parts of him whine, “I asked you a question, Izuku.”
Much to his dismay, his bottom lip wobbles. “Y-Yes, Sensei. It’s—Kacchan’s right.”
Aizawa’s quiet for a moment, observing the way Izuku shoes away from the attention, and comes to a conclusion, nodding. “Do you have any supplies in your dorm you’d like to take?” At Izuku’s owlish blink, Aizawa adds, “Items you like to have when you drop?”
“I—but,” Izuku hears himself say, “I’m not dropping?”
“You will drop into your headspace today,” Aizawa informs him in an unyielding tone. “I cannot allow you to continue this neglect any longer. I cannot allow myself.” After a pause, he continues, softer, “I promised both you and your mother that I would do my best to make sure another subdrop doesn’t happen when you’re in my care, and I intend to keep that promise.”
There’s a ball in Izuku’s throat, and he nods, his cheeks burning at the slight scolding.
“I’m aware you’re uncomfortable with the rest of the class knowing your status,” Aizawa continues, “so you’ll be dropping in the teachers’ dorms.”
Izuku worries his bottom lip, murmuring, “Is, is Hitoshi there?”
“He is,” Aizawa nods, and then rises to his feet. He holds out a hand for Izuku to take. “If you don’t have anything you’d like to bring, then we’ll head out now.”
His thoughts offer no resistance when he slips his hand into Aizawa’s. He exists in an odd space where he’s not fully dropped, not quite so small, but not big, either. It makes him quiet and compliant as Aizawa guides him to the teachers’ dorms, and then into his own dorm.
The first thing Izuku takes note of is that Hitoshi is in the living room, lying down as a cat, yawning, sits on his stomach. He looks half asleep, a pacifier snug in his mouth and a blanket nestled around his legs.
He opens one eye when Izuku steps further into the room, a slurred “Izu?” around the pacifier.
Aizawa raises an eyebrow at Hitoshi’s choice of rest. “Hitoshi, don’t you want to sleep in your bed? Or the couch?”
“M’comfy,” Hitoshi murmurs.
The cat meows their content, as well.
“Sure you are, honey.” Aizawa sighs, but it’s dripping in fondness, and then turns to Izuku, who isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. “Make yourself comfortable, Izuku. I’m going to make you both some formula.”
Izuku isn’t sure the man sees his nod, but he nods anyway. He sits on the couch, stiff and rigid as he watches Hitoshi tiredly scratch the cat on his stomach. “Are you really comfy?” He asks before he can stop himself.
It takes Hitoshi a minute. “Mhm. S’cold.”
Izuku tilts his head. Cold? “Are you feeling warm?”
“Mm.” Hitoshi opens his eyes a bit. “Shh; no tell.”
“No tell what?” Izuku startles when Yamada sweeps into the room, hair down in a top bun. His smile is just as bright, though. “Are we keepin’ secrets~?”
Hitoshi scrunches his nose. “Too lou’, Papa.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Yamada softens his voice, and then raises an eyebrow. “Toshi, baby, don’t you want to sleep on your bed?”
“No,” Hitoshi replies. “Col’.”
Yamada blinks, echoing, “You’re cold?”
“No,” says Hitoshi. The Little closes his eyes and turns his head, pressing a cheek to the floor. It’s clear he’s finished with the conversation.
Aizawa enters the living room at that moment, two bottles in his hands. He shares a silent conversation with Yamada, and Izuku tries to not look so nervous. He probably fails. Miserably.
“Alright!” Yamada claps once, and then reaches for Hitoshi. “Let’s get you settled for a nap~, hmm?”
Hitoshi whines when he’s scooped up from the floor, squirming futilely in Yamada’s grip. “Papa, Papa, no.”
“Papa, yes,” Yamada responds, tone light but firm, as he walks toward the bedrooms. “Littles take naps on beds . . ..” His voice fades as he enters the farthest bedroom, one Izuku remembers belongs to him and Aizawa.
“. . . Izuku?” Aizawa rests a hand on Izuku’s knee, calming and grounding and gentle. It makes his breath hitch in his throat. He swallows back tears, almost instinctively. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What are you thinking right now?”
Izuku doesn’t know what he’s thinking. “I don’t know,” he whispers, yet it feels as though he’s shouted. “I . . . I don’t know, Sensei.”
He should feel victorious and relieved that Eri is safe, that Uraraka, Kirishima, and Asui are safe, that Aizawa and Mirio and Amajiki are safe . . . that majority of the heroes are safe and accounted for, that the villains, that Chisaki, are locked up. He should feel . . . proud because this was his first mission with an Agency, with his provisional license and an upgraded costume, and yet.
And yet.
Aizawa presses a hand on Izuku’s head. “That’s alright,” he says, quietly, and there’s an entire world on the mans’ tongue. Izuku is too tired to try and make sense of it. “It’s okay if you don’t know what you’re thinking of right now.”
His teacher shifts, as if to move, and Izuku’s breath is seized in his throat, captured by some unknown entity in a vicious grasp.
Is he . . . leaving?
Izuku grips the edge of Aizawa’s sleeve, heart thudding in his chest at the mere thought, whispering, “Please . . . don’t leave me ‘lone.”
“I’m right here,” Aizawa says, tone firm and unyielding as always, a grounding hand on the back of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere, Izuku. I’m right here.”
Well.
That’s all Izuku needs, if he were honest.
It’s a different feeling than the typical subdrops Izuku weathers through. He floats down, a gentle descent rather than a headfirst, overwhelming crash. He finds he likes it; prefers it, even.
Aizawa guides him down with gentle words and assurances, quick to soothe any of Izuku’s building cries, and tucks him close. Izuku feels small, and tiny, and supported, tucked against Aizawa’s side.
He’s warm. He’s safe.
(Izuku hasn’t felt this safe in a while.)
He quietly nurses his bottle, humming around it as Aizawa cards gentle fingers through his hair. He’s vaguely aware of Yamada exiting the bedroom, the two of them discussing Hitoshi’s sudden fever, but they use words too big to hold Izuku’s interest for long.
At some point, he ends up staring toward Hitoshi’s toy chest, a small chest-like box in the far corner of the room . He spies the edges of a coloring book and a few markers, his interest rising. Aizawa, of course, notices the moment Izuku pauses too long, the bottle almost falling out of his mouth.
“Izuku?” Aizawa rests a grounding hand on his back. “Is something wrong?”
Izuku tilts his head. “. . . Color?”
“You want to color?” Aizawa clarifies, and Izuku nods, brightening. Aizawa then points toward the box. “There are coloring books and crayons in there. How about you pick one for the two of us?”
Izuku loves that idea. “Mkay!”
He sets the bottle down in Aizawa’s waiting hands, taking off the moment his feet touch the ground. Aizawa warns him to be careful, to which is a chirped I will in response. Izuku picks out one the brighter color books, the bright yellow reminding him of All Might, and grabs a crayon set that has enough for them both.
Aizawa helps him spread out their items on the coffee table, resting a pillow on the ground for Izuku to sit on. Izuku opens the book eagerly, flipping to an area where both pages haven’t been colored in. Izuku chooses the one with the bunny, of course, which leaves Aizawa to color in the turtle on the next page. Izuku makes the executive decision that the bunny is going to be yellow and green.
His fingers inch toward his mouth unknowingly, but Aizawa presses a pacifier into his mouth before it happens. He pouts slightly—seriously, what’s so wrong about his fingers?—but gets distracted by coloring the bunnies’ ears.
A quiet click draws his attention, though it’s Aizawa’s growled, “Delete that, Hizashi,” that makes Izuku blink up from the page.
“Pic?” Izuku asks around the pacifier. When Yamada stares at him, he repeats, “Picture?”
“Yup~!” Hizashi cheers, though it’s slightly muted as they’re all aware of Hitoshi’s fever. “You two looked so cute~, I couldn’t help myself.”
Aizawa’s mouth twitches to a frown. “I’ll get you for that later,” he warns.
Hizashi squeaks in an exaggerated manner. “You hear that, Zu-chan~?” Hizashi says with a frowned pout. “You’ll save me, though, right?”
Izuku carefully picks up the green crayon to color the ground. “No.”
Aizawa bursts into laughter, jarring Izuku enough to drop the crayon, while Hizashi sinks to the floor, hand clutching the front of his shirt at the ‘betrayal’. Izuku wrinkles his nose at the two. Caregivers were interesting people, that’s for sure.