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Chapter Text

Hisashi Midoriya knew what stress was. After all, he was a government-sanctioned and hired hitman. He had been in so many life or death scrapes it was funny. But raising a kid was something of its own. 

Hisashi Midoriya reached out, cursing as his arms trembled, to gently touch the face of his beautiful baby son, Izuku. His wife, Inko, lay in the hospital bed, exhaustion plain in the deep eyebags and the slack face. But she radiated sheer joy as she cradled the tiny baby, one of her green locks gently falling onto the child's arm.

“Inko… may I hold him?” Hisashi asked quietly. His hands drew back, intertwining as he fidgeted nervously.

If anyone had seen him, the feared Dragon, in a cheesy medical mask with baby tigers on them, they would have fallen over laughing. If they had the guts to, they would probably point out that the mask, or the bright yellow hair cap he had, did not match the expensive-looking black suit he wore, or the red dragon designs on the arms and sides. They probably would have snickered as they took in his tie, secured around the fluffy black curls that the hair cap couldn’t contain.

“Hisashi dear, please take your pistol out and put it away. I don’t know how you got the thing in here.” Inko said firmly, before giggling as little Izuku held onto her thumb. “Hello, Izuku. Are you happy to see Mommy and Daddy?” She continued to coo at the baby as Hisashi hurriedly took off the ridiculous amount of weapons he had on him. Thankfully, she didn’t notice the machete or the collapsable bow. She would have had Hisashis head if she did.

“Ok, love, no more weapons,” Hisashi said, holding his arms out to prove it. Eyes widening as his wife held out the tiny, forest green bundle of blankets, Hisashi reached out with trembling arms.

Unbeknownst to him, a light trickle of smoke rose from his nose, causing Inko to chortle lightly. But he was too distracted by the shocking, vibrant green of his son's eyes. Emerald and so wonderfully elaborate, Hisashi felt as if he could look at his son forever.

“I love him…” he sniffled, hugging the child softly. Soot-black tears began to roll down his face as he started bawling. “Inko he has your eyes! I love him!” He slowly sunk to the floor, back pressed against the wall as he cradled his son and wept black tears.

“Hisashi, you’re more of a crybaby than I am…” Inko sighed. But inwardly, she was capturing the image. Her husband, looking ridiculous and frankly like an insult to fashion, crying like a baby over the somehow sleeping Izuku. (She pointedly ignored the pile of weapons in the corner of the room)

“I love him so much though!!” Hisashi Midoriya, feared assassin, wailed. “He’s so cute!”

_________

Six months old

Hisashi Midoriya loved his son. He really did. He was the best thing to happen to him since Inko.

But why did he have to cry at two in the morning?!

Groaning as he slid out of bed, Hisashi padded over to his son's room. He figured little Izuku would be crying due to needing a diaper change, or maybe a little company. As he twisted the doorknob, Hisashi could hear his wife's sleepy mumble of “Thank you love you” from his room and smiled softly. Anyone who said that taking care of children was the wife's duty could eat a bullet. 

To his surprise, Izuku had stopped crying the instant he stepped into the room. The tiny baby, in a slightly creepy display, was sitting in his crib, staring right. At. Hisashi. Happy gurgling could be heard from his crib.

“Hey little guy.” Hisashi groaned as he checked his son's horrific All Might diapers. Nothing. (why his wife chose the loud and obnoxious hero he would never know.) “Did you just want company?”

To his surprise, little Izuku nodded - or, what seemed like nodding. So, Hisashi lifted his son out of the light green crib, holding him as he sat down on the floor. He could feel the handle of the crib side table pushing unto his back as he leaned backward, but didn’t particularly care. “Ha, you're awfully smart little guy. You take after your Mum in that aspect.” Hisashi mumbled quietly, rocking Izuku. The baby looked up at him, a curious glint in his eyes. 

“Yeah, your mums a smart one…” Hisashi chuckled, watching as Izuku tried to grab hold of the embroidered HM on Hisashi’s pajamas. The baby settled for grabbing the pocket that it was embroidered on, resting his tiny head, already with a soft green fluff, on Hisashis chest. “Aw. You're too cute…”

Hisashi sat like that for a while, rambling on about various things - Inko mostly, but also random statements like “God I love you, you adorable bean.”. He also threw in a couple of his work stories - it was a baby, he couldn’t understand what his father was saying. He would probably forget it by morning.

Eventually, Hisashi felt the deep allure of sleep, pulling him in. His voice eventually trailed into barely distinguishable mutters, before turning into soft snores. His head dropped onto his chest, and a slight heat came from his breath, warming the little baby Izuku. His arms remained wrapped around Izuku, and in return, the baby refused to let go of his father's shirt.

That was how Inko found the two of them in the morning, sitting on the floor, both sound asleep. 

And if she took a picture, well, what Hisashi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

__________

One year old

Where was Izuku?!  

Hisashi wanted to scream. His son had somehow disappeared from the kitchen, where he was playing as Hisashi cooked (burnt) dinner. Inko had to work an extra shift, meaning it was just him and Izuku for the night, so she didn’t have him so where was Izuku?!

“I turn around to cook the pork for two seconds” Hisashi mumbled, dropping to his knees and scanning underneath all the furniture (at around eight months Izuku got the nasty habit of crawling underthings.) No Izuku. “I don’t get it! He can’t walk yet, so how did he disappear!”

Hisashi clutched his head in distress as he ran through all of the rooms of the apartment. “Izuku!” He called frantically. Did someone steal him? Was he tracked back home after the latest Dragon mission? If anyone had laid a finger on his son he would make sure they never laid a finger on anything else.

Hisashi flung open his weapons room door, scanning the floor although the door had been closed. No Izuku.

Hisashi crawled on the floor, searching everywhere for his son. He opened closets, checked underneath beds, even checking the drawers. No Izuku.

Finally, Hisashi sank to the floor in despair. He had lost his son. Guilt and shame running through his mind, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Inko is going to kill me.” He murmured, before flopping over onto the ground. His “I’d take a bullet for a burger” apron (Inko did not approve) flapped onto his stomach. 

Hisashi let out a low, keening whine as he lay there, before dramatically draping an arm over his eyes. The smooth and quite expensive fabric of his dress shirt cooled his eyes, and he simply groaned. “Kill me now. There’s no point in going on. Oh, woe is me! Woe is me!” He muttered.

Suddenly, a small, young voice emitted from beside him. “Dada? Wot’s wronged?” The voice, melodious and smooth, came from beside him.

Hisashi leapt to his feet. His child, as he recalled, could not talk or walk . 

And yet stood in front of him, hair ruffled to one side, after inquiring what was wrong.

Hisashi said a quick prayer to whatever gods there were, before kneeling in front of his son. “Izuku?”

“Dada!” Izuku gurgled happily, before waving his arms in the typical ‘up! Up!’ Gesture. Hisashi, shocked, complied.

“Hey, I, I, uh, I didn’t know you could, um, talk .” Hisashi stuttered. Izuku didn’t reply, instead placing his head into Hisashi’s neck and shoulder area. “Uh, squirt?”

“Want to talky and happy mommy and you” Izuku muttered, which Hisashi translated to ‘i wanted to surprise and make you and mommy happy’

“Aw, Izuku…” Hisashi cooed, patting the soft head of his son gently. He could feel his heart almost burst with sweetness.

“I wuv you Dada…” Izuku said as he drifted off to sleep.

Hisashi, unsurprising, burst into tears.

Wait.

He…

He forgot to film it .

Inko was going to murder him.

__________

Age two

“HISASHI MIDORIYA!” The thunderous yell of Inko caused Hisashi to flinch sharply, the knife he was holding flying and embedding itself into a nearby wall. It had slid into the wall easily, showing off the quality of the blade - which Hisashi would have been happy about, if not for the fact that Inko was standing in the doorway… glaring at him. 

“Hisashi fucking Midoriya” His absolutely terrifying wife glared at him with enough venom to murder ten men. And oh boy, he knew that whatever he did, he fucked up. Times ten if she was cursing.

Some people would laugh - Dragon, the assassin, trembling under his wife? Pathetic.

Yeah, that was until you got served one of her spoon whacks. Hisashi could swear that she had a strength quirk, not a telekinesis quirk. 

“Yes honey?” He said, trembling as he hid his knives behind his back. He cast an eye towards the knife in the wall, hoping she wouldn’t notice it. “What-whats wrong?”

“Hisashi Midoriya.” She repeated - and oh god, she noticed the knife. Hisashi practically wilted underneath her harsh stare. Marching over to the knife, she yanked it out of the drywall and stalked towards him. “Go into your weapons room.” He hesitated. What was going on? “Now!”

Scrambling around his furious spouse, Hisashi nearly tripped over his too-long slacks. 

Feeling quite like he was being marched at gunpoint, Hisashi walked towards his closet of “Doom and Gloom” (Inkos words)

When he arrived, Hisashi Midoriya, the man who was never surprised, stopped dead and let his jaw hit the floor.

“WHY DOES IZUKU HAVE A GUN?!”

“AND HOW DID HE HIT A BULLSEYE?!”

“Hisashi”

“HE’S TWO”

“Hisashi”

“I’M SO PROUD”

“Hisashi he has a gun”

“YOU’RE JUST LIKE PAPA!”

“The child has a gun ”

Izuku gurgled with joy, as the target with three bullseyes sat on the wall opposite them.

Izuku Midoriya, indeed.

Chapter Text

“Absolutely not,” Inko said firmly, her flour-coated hands placed firmly on her hips. “You are not teaching our three year old how to fire a gun.”

Hisashi simply hummed, before stealing a cookie off of the tray. He promptly yelped, shaking his hand violently from the heat of the treat. Cursing, he shoved it into his mouth. “These are h’owt” he complained.

“Yes, dear, I just took them out.” Inko looked at him, slight amusement fighting with disappointment. “And we were talking about your silly idea to teach Izuku how to shoot.”

“You said that last year, Inko.” Hisashi argued, “I promise I won’t give him a real gun until he’s seven. I’ll just use nerf guns!” He motioned with his hands, not noticing when his finger clipped the edge of the hot pan.

“Hisashi…” Inko squeezed the bridge of her nose, “He’s a child. He should have a childhood - not be trained to become some sort of assasin.” Sighing, she shook her head slowly, before turning to move the sweet-smelling cookies to a tray.

“He doesn’t have to be an assassin.” Hisashi said softly, taking Inko by surprise. The man adored his job - he saw himself as a… hidden hero. Taking out threats before they could do harm. So it was natural to assume he wanted his son to follow his footsteps. “I want him to be able to do anything he wants to - to be able to defend himself and defend others if need be.”

Inko turned back to Hisashi, scanning his face. His eyes were… sad, and he looked just… tired. “What is this really about, Hisashi?” Inko asked softly, putting the spatula down and gently taking his hand. 

Hisashi breathed in sharply, turning his head away. She could see a few blackened tears rolling down his face, and felt her concern grow. “It’s just…” Hisashi pauses, looking for the right words. “I’ve been doing some math…” He whispered. “About Izuku’s quirk.”

Inko’s eyes widened slightly in realization, quickly running through their family lines and genetic possibilities. “Oh… Hisashi…” she breathed.

“My mom was… quirkless.” He choked out, “and my dad could have been. I was lucky to have a quirk at all.”

“And my parents… Were quirkless… I was a mutation…” Inko finished, feeling something twist on her gut. It was a dark feeling, one that rejected the possibility of her son being quirkless. Attached to the quirkless was a stigma - they were seen as weak, freaks, a waste of space. An uncomfortable reminder of how defenseless humanity was before the evolution of quirks. 

“You know how hard the quirkless have it Inko…” Hisashi swallowed, fiddling with his hands. “If I can teach Izuku how to fight, how to shoot, then he can defend himself.” His eyes welled with tears, and he blinked them away. “i know it’s stupid but I looked at the death rates!” He suddenly cried, no longer able to keep it in. “Most quirkless kill themselves or are killed by 20 ” His voice was strangled, desperate. “I don’t want to lose him…” he trailed off, failing to hide his anguish.

“Oh, Hisashi…” Inko muttered, pulling the taller man into a tight hug, “I didn’t realize… I’m sorry…” he simply continued to cry, pathetic and small sounding. “Okay… I’ll allow it. But he cannot have a real weapon until he is eight. And you must teach him other skills too.” She said soothingly. “Like, your fighting style. Or maybe free running! He’ll be okay, Hisashi. He’s a little fighter…”

_______

Four years of age

Hisashi’s fears were confirmed with one disastrous trip to the quirk doctor. His only son was quirkless.

But… he wasn’t powerless, was he?

Many fathers would have lost their tempers. Many would have lashed out at their wives, their children, maybe even themselves. Many would have packed up and left - or maybe even turned to alcohol and abuse. 

Perhaps, in an alternate universe, he would have. Maybe, if he hadn’t known the chances, if he hadn’t seen the talent and potential his son had. 

But Hisashi knew. And he still loved his son, his brilliant little Izuku with all his heart. 

So when they walked out of the office, hand in hand as a family, Hisashi turned around and knelt down to his son's face. He felt his heart twist unpleasantly as he saw the blank, vancent, numb look on his little Izuku’s face. It was the face of people who had seen tragedies - goodness, Hisashu should know, he had seen enough of them in his job. And he couldn’t bear to see it on Izuku’s face.

“Hey little guy.” He said warmly, with his usual undertone of humor and kindness. “How are you doing, huh?”

Izuku didn’t respond, but tears welled in his eyes as he refused to look his father in the eyes. Inko reached down, and ruffled his hair gently.

“Listen, Izuku. I can’t begin to imagine how you feel right now.” Hisashi took his son's little, fragile hand. “But I just wanted to tell you that, quirked or not, you're still my little hero.”

Inko nodded - she had originally been opposed to the idea of continuing his dream of heroics. However, after Hisashi showed her videotapes of Izuku, fighting Hisashi, she was quick to agree. It was impossible not to - Izuku had picked up Hisashi’s personal fighting style with ease, seemingly reaching an advanced level of what was dubbed Draegonian within a year. Not only that, but he seemed to add his own flourishes.

“Real-really?” Izuku stuttered, clutching Hisashi’s hand, “You really think I can be a hero? Even though I’m…” 

Weak

Useless

Worthless

The words that were commonly thrown at the quirkless rang all too loudly in Hisashi’s head. He felt a calm anger build up in his soul - anger at the society that was so predjustice against his only son.

“You can do anything , Izuku.” Hisashi promised, “Heroics, police work, hell, even ballet if you wanted to.” 

Izuku let out a scandous gasp, probably out of instinct. “Daddy said a bad word!” Then, the rest of Hisashi’s words caught up to him. His lip wobbled violently, and after a few seconds, burst into tears. He rushed forward, and practically lept at his father, who staggared backwards. Izuku’s hand latched around Hisashi’s t-shirt collar, rumpling the red fabric under his tiny hand. Hisashi smiled and chuckled, holding his little boy and patting his back.

“Hey, little tyke,” Hisashi said kindly, “Do you think Mommy would let us get ice cream?” He dramaticly looked at Inko, who laughed, a high ringing sound. 

“Hisashi, you spoil him rotten!” She chided, “I swear, your activly campaigning to become his favorite!”

Izuku seemed to take personal offense at that, shaking his head violently and leaping off of Hisashi. Hisashi was left with a small footprint on the middle of his chest, as Inko nearly fell backwards as Izuku crashed into her. 

“Izuku!” She laughed, “Careful!” Izuku hugged her tightly, feet dangling. 

“I love you both! No favo-wites!” He cheered happily, before pausing and looking at her. “But can we get ice cweam?”

“Sure, Izuku.” Inko said, “But only if I can get the Nana Nutmeg!”

“I want the All Might Smash!!” Izuku declared loudly, before tilting his head backwards to look at Hisashi.

“I’ll take the… Vanilla” Hisashi thought outloud. Izuku was clearly disappointed with his choice.

“Why don’t you get the Endeavor Melt?” He asked, confused. “Daddy has a fire quirk? I’m gonna be like All Might, and Mama likes Nana!”

“Ah, Izuku.” Hisashi smiled and ruffled his sons hair, “See, some heroes are… mean. And they aren’t good - they just want to be heroes for bad reasons.” Inko frowned at him - she probably didn’t think he should be teaching Izuku this at an early age, but he disagreed. If his son was going to be a hero, he shouldn’t become one under the illusion that all heroes were good. “I don’t like Endeavor, because he’s mean. He acts a lot like a bully.”

Izuku’s face dropped, before twisting into confusion, “Why is he a bully?”

“Well, he tends to be mean to people he saves, and he accidentally hurts a lot of people. He does good, but he also hurts the villains he captured pretty badly, even if the offense is minor.” Hisashi explained, before briefly ordering the ice creams and paying for them. When he recieved them, he handed each person their order, and found a nice little table to sit at. 

Izuku licked his ice cream - Yellow, red, and blue swirls contemplativly. Hisashi waited patiently- it was a rather difficult concept. 

Finally, Izuku looked up with clarity in his eyes. “I think I get it.” He muttered - a habit he got from Hisashi. “If a person is strong, but not nice, they can be a hero. But their still mean, even if they help people.”

“Thats right!” Inko said, giving Izuku a brief hug. “I’m so proud of you, baby.” Hisashi nodded in agreement.

“I don’t ever wanna be like Endeavor!” Izuku announced, before somehow producing a notebook out of nowhere. Starting to scribble in it, Hisashi could catch little mumbles and snippits of what he was writing. 

“What are you doing?” Inko inquired, subltly looking for where on earth he got the notebook. 

“I’m tryna think about how he can make sure he doesn’t hurt anybody!” Izuku said, “He should just turn the heat down!”

Hisashi laughed loudly, ruffling his sons hair. “You’re going to make an excellent hero, Izuku.”

_______

Inko and Hisashi had decided, shortly after they discovered their son was quirkless (they would never use the word diagnose, as if it was a sickness), that they would finally send him to school.

They had kept him out as they wanted to make sure he developed and grew up well, and nurtured his growth. Plus - they decided that they should spare him the early pain of being turned on if his friends were quirkless. But now, they decided he was ready.

Hisashi and Inko dropped him off together - Inko gave him a kiss, and Hisashi gave him a nerf gun - which Inko nodded approvingly at. (God he loved his wife).

“Okay Izuku. Here’s a little gift.” Hisashi winked at him, handing him the little gun. It was black with little metallic green snakes. “It’s just a nerf gun, but a bit modified. Makes it a bit more accurate and a bit more powerful.” Hisashi also handed him a couple magazines - a perk of custom made nerf guns.

Izuku seemed unconcerned as he took the weapon, and buckled on the holster - he had been using them for ages. 

Hisashi was so fucking proud of his kid.

_______

Katsuki Bakugou was getting a new classmate - probably as useless as the other extras. 

The extra’s all had their quirks - silly little weak things. It drove Katsuki isane - no one had the balls to challange him. So he was forced to sit at the top, watching the pitiful little extras kiss his feet. Metaphorically. 

Katsuku desperatly hoped that this classmate had a good quirk, a challange, a opponent for him to crush. How was he supposed to win if everyone was weakass?

As he lounged, he watched as a lean little kid walked in the door. Eyes narrowing, he observed the confident gait the boy had, green hair glinting in the light.

Ha, Katsuku could feel that this one was dangerous, a worthy opponent. He had a weird box on his hip, but Katsuki ignored it. Baring his teeth in a grin, Katsuki kicked his feet onto the table. He ignored the extras cringing away from him.

“Hello class!” The useless teacher said cheerily, “We have a new friend!” Hah, friend . There was extras and there was opponents . Friends were fucking useless. “This is Izuku! Can you introduce yourself?”

The kid, Izuku, smiled without any emotion (Katsuki wouldn’t admit it, but he shivered as the cold eyes passed over him.) “Hello!” God, his voice was as dangerously smooth as his confidence. “I’m Izuku Midoriya! Please take care of me!” 

“Izuku?” The teacher interjected, and Katsuki scowled. Useless as ever. “Your forgetting to say… your status.”

“My status?” Izuku asked, this time genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“Izuku, dear.” The teacher tsked in disappointment, “I understand why you would want to hide it, but we have to make sure the kids don’t hurt you.”

Why was the teacher teaching the new kid like some fucking chinadoll? ‘Hurt you’? Katsuki snarled in anger and confusion.

“Okay, since Izuku doesn’t want to say, I guess I will.” The teacher took a deep breath, “I’m afraid that your classmate is quirkless. Please be gentle.”

What?

That couldn’t be right.

The quirkless were pathetic, lame. They cowered at every sound and didn’t even defend themselves. There was no way Katsuki’s opponent could be quirkless.

“Oy! Teach!” Katsuki stood up, his chair clattering to the ground, “The fuck you mean? He can’t be quirkless!”

“I am.” Izuku said, before the teacher could. Katsuki felt anger rise up in him. This… fucking Deku tricked him! He wasn’t strong at all! He was a fucking weakling! Below the other extras! “But that doesn’t make me less than you.”

“The fuck you mean? Course it does!” Katsuki shouted, “Your fucking weak! A damn Deku!” He felt his palms heat up with explosions, and the smell of nitroglycerin filled the room.

The teacher had left the room, for some reason. It gave Katsuki the perfect excuse, and he lunged forward. He would teach the fucking loser to trick him!

But before he could even get half the distance to the loser, Izuku pulled part of the box off his hip. And now Bakugou recognized it.

“IS THAT A GUN!” Someone yelled.

Smack!

Bakugou found himself laying on the floor, one ridiculously overpowered nerf bullet in the middle of his forehead. A hideously neon green one too.

“Wow.” Izuku looked at the gun, “Daddy wasn’t lying.”

“What the fuck?” Was all Katsuki could manage.

Who was this kid?!

_________

Meanwhile…

Hisashi, after consulting’s his wife, decided to call in a favor. 

His son was smart - that much he knew. Much smarter than Hisashi himself - he had started to analyze heros as a hobby, and the detail was already on par with some professional analysts. 

There was no way that the schools could ever nurture his sons intellegence correctly - and Hisashi would be damned if he didn’t make sure Izuku was grown to his full potential.

So, after a long discussion, he decided to make two decisions. One, he would quit his job, or at least take an extended break. He couldn’t be an assasin while raising a son - it simply wasn’t practical. Inko had a well-paying job, and he trusted her to be tell him if he ever needed to work again. 

The government wasn’t very happy, obviously. He was their best assasin, and had a 96% success rate - the best in history. But after pulling a few strings, he was free.

The next favor was a bit more difficult, and it required cashing in on a favor that a certain principal owed him.

_________

Nezu’s phone rang at exactly 1:43 pm. He allowed it to ring three times, before picking it up and glancing at the number. 

Nezu’s eyebrows raised - Dragon hadn’t called him in… what, years? Not after the massive favor he had done for Nezu. 

“Hello?” Nezu said cheerily, slightly apprehensive for what the assasin could be calling for. 

“Hey Nezu. It’s Dragon.” The misguidingly warm voice said. “I have to ask you a favor. It’ll make us even.”

Nezu could almost imagine the man, sitting at his desk in his infamous Dragon suit. The metallic dragon designs on the sides was a point of fear in the criminal underground. Admittedly, the man had been fairly inactive for a few years, but Nezu dismissed it as ‘No one wants to fuck with Dragon’.

(Little did he know, Hisashi was in soft pajamas with All Might’s all over them - Izuku had insisted they have matching pajamas.) 

“What is it?” Nezu asked.

“Can we meet up? Your office.” Dragon asked, and Nezu was sure he was imagining the tired tone of his voice.

“Okay!” Nezu chirped, before slamming down the phone. He hated to admit it, but Dragon was one of the only men he truely respected. Moraled, yet calculating, he was truely a fearsome opponent.

_______

When Dragon walked into his office, Nezu nearly laughed in his face and shut the door - which wouldn’t have ended well. 

The man was dressed in a clean black polo shirt, and simple tan pants. His black hair was wild and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days. Formally cold eyes shone with a light that Nezu commonly saw in men in love. It was not the steely glint of a killer. Not the confidently aloof look that Dragon wore like a calling card. 

The only thing that indicated to Nezu whose presence he was in was the classic, sleek, black and red pistol he had. A dragon insignia, making it look like the mouth of the creature was spitting the bullets that ended so many criminals.

“Dragon, welcome.” Nezu smiled, making the first move of the intricate chess game that was sure to follow.

“Nezu, I’m not playing.” Dragon said, to Nezu’s suprise. “I’m here for an honest exchange. I’ve retired.”

“What?” Nezu said impulsive - astonishing as he usually planned every word. “You… retired?”

Dragon sighed, before taking a seat in one of Nezu’s chairs. The lanky man almost didn’t fit in the chair, long legs stretching in front of him. “I had a son. Little tyke is so sweet.” He sighed. Nezu wordlessly took a seat. He didn’t even know that the man had married, much less have a child. His mind racing, Nezu calculated how old the child must be.

“Four years old?” Nezu inquired, hiding his nerves by picking up a cup of tea. Call it old instincts - but this man had helped him escape the lab where he had been trapped in his younger years. He saw firsthand how deadly he was. “He must have an impressive quirk.”

Immediately, Dragon's face melted slightly into fondness. Nezu, assuming he was right, took a small sip. “Hah, no.” Nezu nearly spit out his tea. “Little guy is quirkless.” Shaking his head, Dragon smiled softly. “He’s a little fighter, he’ll make a good hero.”

Nezu wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. The Dragon’s son was… quirkless, and Dragon himself approved of him being a hero? What next - he wanted Nezu to privately teach him because he was a genius?

“I would… be so grateful if you could teach him, Nezu. He’s intelligent and I want to nurture that.” This time, Nezu did spit his tea out.

“Hah?” He coughed

“Little Izuku is talented - i think you’ll like him.” Dragon said. “Here’s one of his notebooks. Call me back when you decide.” Standing up, Dragon slid a notebook across Nezu’s desk - it was covered in childish scribbles of crayon. On its cover, it said “Izuku!!”

“Dragon.. I…” Nezu gestured vaguely, “Why now?”

“Please, old friend.” Dragon smiled at Nezu - not the smile of a predator, but rather the smile of a kind father, “My name is Hisashi Midoriya. And, well. I never really had a reason to bother you before!” He laughed, before opening the door and slipping out.

Nezu sat there for quite a while. His mind was sprinting over everything that happened. Was it a trap? No, Drag… Hisashi wouldn’t have said his name if it was. 

‘Had the assassin gone soft?’ Nezu pondered for a second, before dismissing it. He seemed just as powerful as before - just… kinder. 

Finally, Nezu picked up the journal - he expected some sort of childish rambling, maybe some drawings.

What he did not expect was an in-depth analasis of Endeavor. Sixteen pages long, with notes on strengths, weaknesses, and possible strategies. 

Nezu smiled.

Izuku Midoriya, hmm? Intriguing.

Chapter Text

Hisashi could remember the exact moment when he learned of what would soon change his family's life forever.

He had just finished tucking Izuku in - Inko had a late shift working at the hospital, so he took change of bedtime duties. The six year old had been talking with him over what to get Inko for Christmas. Izuku wanted to get her a hero costume - with the logic that “Mommy helps people! She’s a hero!”. He even had rough sketches of it, which admittedly made Hisashi cry over how sweet his son was. He had suggested a spa trip as well, to help Inko relax. Izuku had agreed quickly, grinning at his father. (“You're so smart Daddy! I want to be just like you!”)

Hisashi had slipped out of Izuku’s room, scattered with hero merch. He made his way to the kitchen, before plopping himself down at the table. Picking up a juice box - he always hated alcohol, after he witnessed his own parents addiction - Hisashi opened his battered old laptop.

“Lets see…” Hisashi mumbled, “best spa treatment in…” clicking through various websites, Hisashi absentmindedly sipped at his juice, not noticing when it was drained.

Suddenly, a loud buzz interrupted his search for spas. His phone had gotten a news notification - something a villain attack. There was apparently a live news stream going on. Out of sheer curiousity, Hisashi clicked the link. 

Immediately, his screen was filled by a news reporter, standing in front of a burning building. Which building, he couldn’t be certain, as the canera was focused on the reporters shadowed face. Their firery red hair had little flecks of ash in them, and she looked absolutly exausted. Still, she spoke with gusto, explaining the situation.

“-villain attack!” The sound started in the middle of a sentance, “It appears that the notorious villain Brimstone has attacked again!” Brimstone, a pretty well-known villain with a fire quirk. He was infamous for his acts of arson, burning down warehouses and apartment blocks. 

Suddenly, the camera panned up to the spark-filled sky, allowing Hisashi a good look at what building it was. 

His juice clattered to the ground, forgotten as he looked at his screen in horror, grasping the device so hard a web of cracks appeared across the screen.

It was Musutafu general hospital.

Inko’s hospital.

“We have managed to rescue fifteen people from the inferno,” the reporter carried on, camera panning over a shaking group of survivors. Hisashi desperately searched for anything, a hint of green. But there was nothing. “Another seventy managed to escape on their own. However, the onsite heroes and firefighters inform us that another twenty may remain.” The camera finally returned to the reporters face, her haggard face betraying the tradgedy of the situation. 

“Inko…” Hisashi whispered, eyes flicking across the video, as if he would see his wife standing somewhere, safe and smiling. “No…”

“Brimstone has been apprehended, but the resulting fight between him and the number two, Endeavor, caused the structure of the building to become comprimised.” The reporter said gravely. “Firefighters cannot make their way in without risking the collapse of the-“ suddenly, in a twisted irony, the screaming of metal sounded loudly in the night. The reporter flinched, yelling something unintelligible, camera shaking violently. 

Hisashi watched, a pit in his stomach as he saw the building his wife could be in slowly collapsed, thick metal supports snapping like twigs. Faintly, if one listened close enough, you could hear screams coming from the inside of the building. 

In a cloud of dust, ash, and sparks, the building finally settled, now a unrecognizable pile of metal, concrete, and god knows what else.

Fingers shaking, Hisashi clicked out of the news app, and into his contacts. Hitting the call button besides the shining picture of Inko, labled “My Inko!!”, Hisashi slid out of his chair and onto the floor with a thump. ‘Please, please be okay…’ he thought. Covering his mouth with a hand, Hisashi listened to the phone ring.

Riiiinggg

Riiiinggg

Riiiinggg

Riiiingg

Click

“Hello! This is Inko Midoriya! I can’t answer the phone - i’ll call you back later!

Beep!

Hisashi called again, and again, and again. And every time, nothing but the sickeningly cheerful pre-recorded message answered his silent pleas.

___________

Two months after Inko’s death

“Hey, squirt.” Hisashi knelt before Izuku, who colored silently. He had stopped talking as much after his mother's death. The therapist explained that it was probably the trauma of losing his mother at seven, and recommended that they learn sign language. “How are you holding up?”

‘I miss Mommy’ Izuku signed back, still not meeting his father's eyes. ‘ Do you need to go to work again? ’ He asked after a moment of hesitation. 

Hisashi had been forced to return to his old job, as an assassin. He was simply too well known to get a job that would support him and a seven year old child. So, Hisashi has picked up the mantle of Dragon - much to his former co-workers delight. The department he worked fors success rate had plummeted. But now, with his return, it had picked up nicely.

Hisashi hated leaving Izuku with the Bakugous, who happened to live nearby. He couldn’t help but feel as if something could happen to his little sunshine, and that fear followed him everywhere. But it wasn’t like he could take Izuku on a assasination with him.

“Yeah…” Hisashi trailed off, guilt gnawing at him as he saw Izuku’s face drop, “but hey! I promise we can get ice cream when I get back! And have a movie marathon!”

‘ Okay ’

___________

Izuku silently checked his nerf gun, running his fingers over the metallic green snakes. Checking to make sure his magazines were fully loaded, Izuku slid one into his pistol and holstered it. Then, he knocked on the Bakugou’s door. Almost immediately, it was flung open by Katsuki, an impatient look on his face.

“Took you fucking long enough.” Katsuki grumbled, before pulling Izuku into the apartment. “The old hag just made cookies - I’ll beat your ass if you cause me to miss out.” Izuku chose not to mention the fact that Mitsuki, despite her sometimes overboard ‘tough love’ act, always left a decent amount for them. 

His and Katsuki’s relationship was oddly good. To an outsider, Katsuki was a bully, and Izuku the victim. However, the blonde was surprisingly friendly to him - or rather, his version of friendly. They had a bit of a competition, but still. Izuku wasn’t worried.

Perhaps it was because he beat Katsuki in nearly every fight.

“So yeah, Izuku,” The youngest Bakugou finished telling him about something or other, “I crushed the fucking extra.”

Izuku chose to grab a cookie instead of responding, hissing slightly as the hot chocolate burned his fingers. 

“Hey, let's go play heroes!” Katsuki said after they finished stealing all of Mitsuki’s cookies. Izuku simply nodded in agreement, and they made their way into the living room. “I’ll be the world-famous Lord Explosion Murder! Renowned for being undefeated…”

‘ Except for me ’ Izuku smirked at Katsuki, feeling the sadness that usually accompanied him lighten. ‘ I can beat your ass any day ’

“Shut the fuck up, nerd!” Katsuki laughed, “Fine, undefeatable… except for their ally, the underground hero Fuck You!”

Katsuki let out a very girlish scream as a neon dart whizzed past his head, smacking into the wall loudly. “Fine! Fine! The underground hero Kickback!”

Izuku nodded in satisfaction, re-holstering his gun. 

“God, Izuku. You're terrifying.” Katsuki grumbled, “stop shooting me.”

‘ Sorry that your head makes such a big target ’ Izuku snarked back. ‘ It’s just so shootable!’

“Shut up!” Katsuki tried to punch Izuku, but Izuku dodged out of the way.

‘ Too slow blasty !’ Izuku signed mockingly, before kicking off the wall and flipping over Katsuki’s head.

“Shit nerd, you’ve got moves .” Katsuki laughed, flopping onto the ground and giving up, “I can’t fucking predict you - you move differently from Uncle Hisashi!” 

‘ Yeah, Daddy says that I… somehow made my own fighting style?’ Izuku sat on top of Katsuki, the blonde not resisting. ‘ Like i use parkour and gymnastics as well’

“That makes sense,” Katsuku said, before wheezing and shoving Izuku off, “you tend to be… nimble. Flexible, like… a serpent! Uncle Hisashi tends to use blunt force and quick moves.” He rubbed his arm in remembrance of the one time he fought Hisashi.

He had gotten his ass beat .

The man had been on him in a split second, before basically yeeting him across the gym. Then, he just basically kept throwing Katsuki across the room until the blonde couldn’t move.

‘ Huh, makes sense I guess ’ Izuku shrugged. ‘ Dad still beats me six out of ten’

“Izuku.” Katsuki stared at his friend, “You’ve beaten Uncle Hisashi?!”

‘ I mean… yeah?’ Izuku had the audacity to look confused.

“You little bitch! I’m gonna kill you!” Katsuki roared, leaping up. “How the fuck do you beat him!”

‘ Bang ’

“Shit”

Katsuki ended up with a dart to the head.

Again.

__________

Omake as an apology for the short chapter:

Izuku is threeish

Hisashi had no fucking clue how his tiny child managed to get another fucking gun. At this point he was ready to give up and convert to whatever religion worshipped Izuku because he distinctly remembered locking his gun closet.

The tiny green toddle stood, happily waving a pistol in the air. The adorable dragon onesie drastically contrasted with the fact that the child had another gun. 

“Izuku, can you put the gun down?” Hisashi asked politely, because you don’t demand things from children who have firearms. “I’ll give you a cookie?” God, he really hoped that Inko wouldn’t find out.

Izuku looked at him for a second, before warbling something that sounded a lot like “bitch”.

“Izuku!” Hisashi gasped, offended, “That's rude!”

Izuku cocked his head, and then said in a very, very clear voice. “My gun!”

Hisashi felt the fear of god themself enter his soul as he heard the bedroom door open. Footsteps from behind him made him want to throw himself out of a window.

“Hisashi, love.” Inko said in a calm, relaxed, absolutely terrifying voice. “Why does Izuku have a gun?”

“You see, it’s an interesting story…” Hisashi rubbed his neck, eyes trained on the book in her hands. Quirk History, 2,346 pages long, five pounds. 

“Hisashi, this is the fifth time this week.” Inko said slowly, “Its Tuesday”

“Does it matter? He’s not shooting it!” Hisashi tried, shoving his hands into his pocket. 

“Hisashi Midoriya that better be a joke, or it’ll be your last words.” Inko brandished the book.

Hisashi yelped, before hurriedly stammering, “Of-of-of course it was a-a joke, dear! I’ll take it away right now!”

“No guns until he’s seven. Or else .”

Chapter Text

Hisashi decided, right then and there, that he hated waffles with a loathing passion of a thousand suns. 

Why, you ask? Simple.

He had been relaxing at the table, Izuku scribbling in his journal. The comfortable silence was occasionally broken by Izuku asking some sort of weirdly detailed question (Do you think that you could eat a firecracker that has a max temperature below your heat tolerance?) 

He had just finished giving his six year old dinner - Katsudon, when a sudden crash sounded from the door area. Hisashi had leapt to his feet, grabbing one of the two guns that lay on the table. Without bothing to check which one it was, Hisashi cautiously headed towards the door

“Izuku -go to your room.” He said, eyes darting around for the threat. His lovely door had been kicked in, wood splinters scattered across the floor. He heard the sound of Izuku shifting, and the sound of metal dragging across wood. Good, Izuku had grabbed his nerf gun. “Who’s there! Show yourself!” Hisashi swept the room, keeping his finger on the trigger.

“You're a slippery fellow, Dragon.” A cold voice came from behind. Hisashi whipped around, aiming his gun directly at the intruders head. “It took a few years to find you.”

The intruder, who stood in front of two masked men, had very light, almost blonde hair, swept to one side. His honey golden eyes met Hisashi’s, and he smirked. The cheap, off the rack suit he wore had an abomination to fashion - yellow pinstripes, and his tie wasn’t much better with yellow waffles and orange syrup.

“Who are you?” Hisashi hissed, shifting his grip on his gun a little. “How did you find me?” 

“It was hard, but one of your old friends wants you dead.” The man laughed lightly, “So, put the gun down, Dragon. Don’t make this hard for us!”

Hisashi cursed internally, noticing the two small pistols the people behind the man held. Lining the barrel of his pistol up with the man's head, Hisashi grinned, a savage, determined. “A Dragon always protects his horde!”

He fired.

A slow laughter built up in the room, a mean, scornful sound. “Hahaha!” The man, with a nauseating pop , pulled the neon green dart off of his head, and tossed it to the side, “Dragon, your fire’s grown weak! Nerf bullets?” The man cackled, almost bent over with laughter. 

Hisashi felt his stomach sink as he only just realized that the decorations on the weapon weren’t red… they were green. He must have accidentally taken Izuku’s weapon in his rush. And now, it would come back to bite him in the butt.

“Just, grab him.” Waffle man wheezed, waving his shadows forward, “A nerf bullet! Haha!”

The two figures moved forward, one of them stepping on a fallen picture with a loud crack . Guns still aimed at his gut, the goons grabbed him by the arms. One of their hands was taloned, which dug into his arm. He could feel a slight trickle of blood run down his arm, as he was forced to drop the measly weapon he did have. Within seconds, he was forced to his knees, baring his teeth at the people who invaded his home.

Waffle man stepped forward, grinning a wide smile.

“Sorry Dragon, your time is over.” He crowed, pulling a glock out of what seemed to be a jacket holster. “You should have stayed in the shadows when you left!”

Placing the cold barrel of the gun against Hisashi’s forehead, right underneath the final strand of curly black hair, the man looked him directly in the eye. 

“Dragon, huh.” He muttered, “You’re kind of pathetic.”

“Shut up!” Hisashi roared, fighting against the grips on his arms, “I’ll kill you!”

“What about your little boy, hmm?” Waffle man purred, grinning when he saw Hisashi’s eyes widen in horror. “Yes, we know about the boy. In fact, one of our agents should have him now! You should really check your window locks.” He laughed.

“Leave Izuku alone!” Hisashi lunged forward, desperation in his voice. 

The man sneered, raising the gun he held. With a sickening crack , he pistol-whipped Hisashi across the face. Hisashi’s head spun for a second, before he felt a boot hit him hard in the chest. Flailing over backwards, Hisashi’s head hit the floor.

“Don’t make demands of me.” The man said coldly, aiming his gun directly at Hisashi’s right eye. “It’s about time that we put this old dragon to rest, huh?”

Hisashi squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the warm, sticky blood run down his face. He waited for the bang of the gun, for the nothingness.

I’m sorry Izuku

I’m sorry Inko

I hope you become a hero, Izuku

Bang!

_______

Wait…

Was Hisashi dead?

He didn’t feel dead - he felt crappy and his head hurt.

Slowly, Hisashi Midoriya opened his eyes again.

In front of him, face down, was the motionless body of the waffle man. A small pool of blood already started seeping out of his head, and onto the wooden floor.

In the kitchen doorway stood Izuku, both hands holding up a smoking gun. His terrified eyes were blown open wide as he stared in horror at the body of the stranger. 

Hisashi didn’t waste the miracle, springing to his feet. Ruthlessly, he smashed an elbow into goon number one’s face, before driving two fingers into the solar plexus of the second. As goon number two bent over, wheezing, Hisashi slammed his knee into their face. Once, twice, he hit them. Finally, he twisted around, planted one foot on the ground, and drove his foot right into the nose of the first goon.

They were both unconscious - or dead, lying on the floor. 

Right next to their dead leader, a hole right in the middle of his head.

Besides him, Izuku puked.

_________

Hisashi wrapped his son in a hug, gently rubbing circles in his back as the small child sobbed. He understood Izuku’s anguish - it was a terrible thing to have to take someone's life, especially at such a young age. 

Hisashi could still feel the dried blood on his face - it flaked away onto his hands and onto everything he touched. The bodys of the would-be assassins had been taken away after he called his job, explaining the situation. His boss had been livid , nearly exploding with rage. Although, his boss was concerned only about losing Hisashi - not about the fact that his son was in danger too.

“It’s okay Izuku, get it all out…” Hisashi muttered. They were sitting on the couch, some aimless movie playing on the screen. “You did what you had to.” 

“I’m a monster…” Izuku sobbed, clutching his father's shirt like a lifeline. And oh, it tore at Hisashi that the first words his son spoke since the death of Inko was something so… so self hating, so cruel. “I killed him!”

“He was going to hurt us - and others Izuku… I know it feels awful, it's horrible. But you were protecting yourself.” Hisashi said gently, feeling his shirt, already bloody, begin to be weighed down by tears. 

The child just continued crying, anguished, racking sobs that shook his little body. He kept muttering the same words, over and over again. ‘ I’m a monster ’.

They remained like that throughout the night, pathetic, hiccuping sobs filling the silence of the apartment.

__________

Age seven

Izuku had… well, not recovered , but improved since the incident eight months ago. 

He still had nightmares, of course, but he no longer had the haunted, unfocused look on his face. He was starting to eat more, and while Hisashi suspected his son's sleeping habits were less than desired, he accepted it. 

To be perfectly honest, Hisashi had considered stopping his son's training. To forget any ideas of giving him a gun after the trauma of killing a man. He didn’t want his son to relieve the memories every time he fought someone. But, to his surprise, Izuku insisted that they continue. His logic being that “I… I saved you, right? So… doing bad things to protect people against bad is… sometimes necessary?”. (Hisashi nearly cried at how old Izuku seemed - oh wait. He did.)

Hisashi acknowledged his son's wishes though. So, on his seventh birthday, after the cake was consumed and Katsuki blew up way too many balloons, Hisashi sat down at the kitchen table. (They had gotten a new one. The old one seemed cursed.) Izuku sat across from him, knees pulled up to his chest.

“So, you’re seven now, huh squirt?” Hisashi said fondly, gesturing to the decent amount of gifts that sat on the table. Most of them were from Hisashi, but there were a good three or four from the Bakugou’s as well. “You know what that means?”

Izuku didn’t reply immediately, instead fiddling with a mangled eraser. His fidgeting, Hisashi had noticed, had gotten worse since the incident. (The therapists said it was from trauma). 

Finally, he looked up to meet his father's eyes. “That means… I get to have a firearm?” Izuku said slowly, picking at the eraser. Little pink bits fell onto the table. He didn’t seem upset, or excited. Just… contemplative.

“Yeah…” Hisashi smiled softly, before leaning across and ruffling his son’s hair. “Are you okay with that?”

“I think so, yeah.” Izuku muttered, “It doesn’t feel as bad as it did before, y’know?” Hisashi did know - after all, he had gone through something not quite similar, but close enough. However, he was in his late teens, around 17-18. 

“Okay, Izuku.” Hisashi said fondly, before cheering up considerably. “But before we get to that, you gotta open your other presents!” Hisashi reached over, snagging an obnoxious orange package off of the top of the stack of gifts. 

“This one’s from you, huh Dad?” Izuku smiled for the first time since Katsuki left.

“How did you know?” Hisashi said, slightly confused. He had deliberately chosen orange to mislead Izuku. (They had a tradition of guessing who the presents came from). 

“It’s neon orange, Dad. The Bakugou’s would rather die than use something so atrociously colored.” Izuku snarked, and Hisashi hated to admit it but he was right. Both of them had horrible fashion senses - Izuku’s favorite shirt was a plain white shirt that said ‘Pants’ on them. Hisashi wasn't much better as his favorite was a t-shirt with a sweater vest printed onto it.

“Oh, hush.” Hisashi chuckled, “Open it already!”

Izuku wasted no time obliging, carefully tearing the paper off of the box. Without a second glance, he chucked the hideous paper over his shoulder.

Opening the box, Izuku stared at it for a second, before promptly bursting into tears.

Inside the box was a framed photo of the Midoriya’s - mother, father, and son. Inko looked as happy and youthful as always - Hisashi wore a goofy grin on his face. In front of them, Izuku was posing in an All Might stance, smiling up at his parents.

“I found this a little while back.” Hisashi smiled, handing Izuku a tissue, “I thought you may like it.”

“I love it Dad!” Izuku sobbed, running over and tackling his father in a tight hug. “I love you!”

“I love you too, Izuku.” Hisashi said, patting his sons back, “Let's open the rest, yeah?”

In the end, Izuku got a pretty good haul of gifts. He received some fidget toys from Katsuki - his favorite of which was a forest green fidget cube - and a note that said bluntly, “ You’ve ruined eight of my erasers, Izuku. Happy birthday I guess.” . From Mitsuki, he got three notebooks and a set of pens ( I’ve never seen anyone run out of ink before you, kiddo. Have a nice b-day - thanks for putting up with the brat ;).)

The most expensive gift was probably from Masaru - a laptop. He had spent at least a month trying to persuade Hisashi to let him buy it - in the end, he pointed out that Izuku could probably overthrow a government if he wasn’t occupied. The note taped to the black cover was simple; “ You’re part of the family, Izuku! We love you” (Izuku and Hisashi totally didn’t start crying)

From Hisashi, Izuku got a couple more notebooks, a limited edition and very rare Eraserhead action figure, a pair of headphones, and a set of Present Mic pajamas. All had been received with joy and gratitude - especially the action figure and pajamas. 

Finally, it was time for the child to get a gun.

______

Hisashi picked up a tough black case from the floor, carefully placing it on the table. Izuku’s eyes followed it.

“Now, Izuku. You understand how much of a big deal this is, right?” Hisashi said, hands resting on top of the case, “This bad boy has the potential to hurt, even kill someone.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Izuku met his eyes, and Hisashi saw the burning determination behind the green orbs. “I promise I won’t hurt anyone unless I am protecting myself or someone else.” 

“Okay.” Without further ado, Hisashi flipped open the clasps, and opened the case.

Nestled in black foam was a simple black handgun, with mesmerizing and metallic green designs on the handle and sides. The designs, upon closer inspection, was a single serpent, twisting around the weapon. 

Alongside the gun were four magazines, each with a full clip in them. One had a green strip in the middle of it, one a purple, another yellow, and one a menacing red. On the top half of the case was three knives, and a single shiny card.

“That's a very nice gun.” Was all Izuku could manage.

Hisashi, putting on a serious face, walked around to Izuku’s side of the table.

“This here is a custom made Glock. It has a bigger magazine capacity, the clips are easier to load into the magazines too.” He explained to Izuku, quickly taking apart a magazine to show him. Putting it back together, Hisashi placed it back in the case. “I have plenty of ammo, just ask and I’ll give you more. Nine millimeters.”

“Now, I didn’t really want to give you all lethal bullets.” Hisashi tapped each magazine. “The green one is for warnings and stuff - it shoots rubber bullets. Hurts like hell, and you could probably break someone's ribs at close range, but not lethal. The purple one is tranqs - it’ll knock the bastards out for a good three hours. I also mixed in quirk suppressors. It’s not quite shaped like a bullet, more like a dart, so unless you shoot someone with like, ten, you won’t kill them. Yellow just tases them, it shoots something like a marble.”

“What's the red?” Izuku said softly, examining each of the magazines.

“That's the real bullets.” Hisashi said seriously. “Shoot someone with them and they’ll be hurt, or dead.”

“I understand.” Izuku picked up the card, turning it so the silver lettering caught in the light. “Is this your contact?” On the card, it said in elegant font, Half Dollar , along with a phone number.

“Yeah. I have a lot of ammo for your gun, but if you ever need anything, call them. They owe me a debt, and they’ll help you.” Hisashi shrugged. “The knives were a gift.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Izuku picked the gun up, tearing up a little when he realized his snakes matched his father's dragon.

“I love you, Kiddo.” Hisashi wrapped Izuku in a hug, “No matter what you do, you’re going to be brilliant at it.”

Chapter Text

Eight years of age

Hisashi didn’t know if it was normal for young boys to ask their fathers if they could be a hitman, but goddamn it he would support his son if he had to fight god themself.

It had started with a fairly normal dinner around what Hisashi silently dubbed the Kitchen Table of Fate. They had ordered soba from a nearby restaurant, after a catastrophic fail on Hisashi’s part to make an American dish - burgers to be exact. In the end, it resulted in a ketchup-splattered Hisashi, three burgers stuck to the window, one almost-kitchen fire, and at least three traumatized pigeons.

Hisashi didn’t want to talk about it.

“Hey, Dad?” Izuku suddenly asked, placing his chopsticks down. “Can I ask you something?” His face had shifted from mocking (Hisashi did not want to talk about the burgers) to conflict. 

“If this is about that black streak in your hair, I told you it looks fine.” Hisashi said absentmindedly, referring to the dyed black streak in Izuku's hair - the greenette had wanted his hair to symbolize both his mom and dad. 

“What? No!” Izuku spluttered, “It’s something else!”

“Hm?” Hisashi wondered if meatballs were similar to burgers - it couldn’t be that hard to make?

“Dad, please.” Izuku pinched his nose, before throwing a soba noodle at his dad. It hit him straight in the face, and stuck . 

“Whats up, Izuku?” Hisashi focused on his son, ignoring the noodle that was stuck to the side of his face. 

“How would you feel…” Izuku started, before hesitating and restarting. “Would you be okay with…” restart “I mean, what if…”

It went on for a good five minutes before Izuku finally blurted it out; “I think I want to become a hitman!”

“How come?” Hisashi asked, curious. “Do you still want to be a hero?”

“Yeah, i want to be a hero...” Izuku trailed off, before continuing, “it’s just… to save some people, you have to get rid of the bad guys, right?”

“Yeah, true. That's why I’m a hitman” Hisashi acknowledged. “But why you in particular?”

“Because I’ve killed before…” Izuku said softly, “It was horrible, and I felt disgusting… but I’d do it again.” As he talked, Izuku absentmindedly took out the fidget cube he got on his seventh birthday - Hisashi should really replace it, it was getting worn down. “I want to protect people - even if that means getting rid of the bad guys.” 

Hisashi felt an overwhelming sadness for his son - he never wanted him to learn about this sort of thing this early in life. He was proud - very, very proud - of his son. But he wished that his son could be thinking about the latest television shows, not about death.

“I don’t want anybody else to have to kill and feel the way I did!” Izuku declared confidently, a shaky sort of determination on his face. 

“Okay.” Hisashi said. Izuku obviously didn’t expect that answer, as his mouth dropped open. “So, what is your name going to be? Your method of operation? Your prices?”

“Aren’t you… disappointed?” Izuku said softly, and oh, that hurt. “I thought you would be upset…”

“Listen, Izuku,” Hisashi smiled, leaning over to ruffle his son's hair, “I love you. And I’ll support you and be there for you. I don’t think you’re suggesting this out of bad motives. So, go ahead.”

“I love you, Dad.” Izuku whispered, before bursting into tears. Hisashi sighed and handed him a tissue.

Then Hisashi promptly burst into tears as well.

________

A week after Izuku told his father about his plans, Hisashi had to go on a business trip. However, before he left, Hisashi had given Izuku a sly wink, and told him to check under his bed. Then, the man wiped away a few tears and ruffled his son's hair.

After he watched his father’s taxi drive off down the busy street, Izuku raced into his room, practically diving under his bed. Narrowly avoiding being blinded by a Present Mic action figure, Izuku rummaged around. After unearthing three socks, eighteen knives (he was looking for those), six action figures, and what looked suspiciously like a bomb, he finally managed to latch onto the cold handle of what seemed like a briefcase. 

Pulling it out with a mighty tug, the large black case slid out, with what looked like a motorcycle helmet zip-tied to it.

Izuku took a moment to investigate the helmet - it was black with green accents, and the visor was darkly tinted green. He placed it to the side for the moment, and flipped opened the latches of the briefcase. 

Inside was a note, sitting on top of a thin layer of cloth. Izuku felt a brief spark of excitement as he noted a silver font, spelling out Silver Dollar on the top of the thin fabric. Eagerly, Izuku ripped open the cheap-looking envelope. Unfolding the lined paper within, he quickly scanned over what was clearly his father’s terrible handwriting.

Izuku,

I wish I was here to present this to you, however I feel as if you needed a bit of privacy. It’s not every day you get a hitman outfit!

I pulled some strings, and managed to convince Silver to make a top of the line outfit. Thankfully not like your hero costume design - I’m sorry Izuku, but your fashion sense is atrocious. You would look like a spray painted bunny.

I hope you like it! Silver wanted me to brag to you - they say that the fabric is rare, expensive, yada yada. All I know is that it should provide basic protection against bullets, knives, etc. Also something about being heat resistant? I don’t know. 

I also have your first job, if you want it. It’s from a kid I know, he’s willing to pay a good one thousand in American money. The job description is on the flip side if this.

Anyways, I’m proud of you Izuku. Like, really proud.

Love you, now and forever.

Dad

Izuku had to take a few seconds to compose himself after the heartfelt note - okay, more like a half hour, but no one needs to know that. He checked the job description, and let a sly grin spread across his face before turning to the probably illegal contents of the briefcase.

First thing out was what looked like a leather jacket - black with metallic green snakes going up the sides and arms. Izuku could tell, however, by the lightness of the item that it wasn’t just leather though. 

The next item out was a pair of specialized trousers, with at least ten built in knife sheaths and six regular pockets. The trousers were black, and thin, perfect for stealth. Izuku took a moment to fanboy over the obviously well-crafted pants.

After that was a t-shirt, or well, what looked like one. After some close examination, Izuku could see a thin mesh of wire through the cloth, probably some high-tech version of chain mail. The shirt was, like the rest of his outfit, black. However, true to his nature, it had the words ‘Hitman’ spelled out in green on the front. (Izuku ignored the note pinned to it, complaining about the shirt choice.)

Tucked into a side compartment that Izuku nearly missed, he found a pair of good running sneakers, although upon further inspection they had steel toes. They were black with green soles - Izuku gave an affronted gasp when he saw his fathers ‘These are better than red booties’ tucked into them.

Finally, and perhaps most gloriously, Izuku pulled out the parts of a rifle. Yes. A rifle. Similarly to his handgun, there were a few color coded magazines. The stock of the rifle was a dark, glossy wood, but with what looked like green resin poured into various holes. 

If Izuku had to describe the weapon with one word, he would say that it was beautiful . 

(Of course, Inko was trying to figure out how to reincarnate, to hit Hisashi).

Quickly, and crying a little bit, Izuku changed into his outfit. The shirt was cool and comforting against his skin, and the jacket seemed to wrap around him like a comforting hug from his father. The trousers fit perfectly, and his several knives slid perfectly into the sheaths. His shoes, while not as glorious as his boots (shut up dad), were light and comfortable. Izuku felt like he could run miles, like he could dance across rooftops. He felt confident, and safe . 

Finally, Izuku slid the cushioned helmet onto his head, and looked into the mirror.

It was perfect.

_____________

Pro Hero Endeavor, not that he deserverved that title, strutted across the stage specifically fireproofed for his poor temper. Briefly, he sneered at a poor woman who asked for his autograph, before sitting down heavily in a seat behind the podium. Already, the people around him started to sweat from the heat he emitted like he did his shitty personality.

The rather foolish man who decided that having the world's worst hero make a speech was a good idea stepped onto the stage, bowing slightly to the sullen ‘hero’.

“Hello, friends, and citizens!” The man began jovially, quite the feat considering the crime to humanity sitting behind him. “It is my greatest pleasure to welcome the number two hero, Endeavor!”

For some reason, some various people clapped and cheered. “Endeavor-San is graciously here to discuss the future of heroics with us! Please, Endeavor-San, take the stage!”

Endeavor stomped to the microphone, scowling out at the crowd. Somewhere, a mirror cracked.

For about ten minutes, the poor excuse for a human being prattled on about how great he was, how his son was going to be number one, etc.

However, high up on a building opposite of the stage, a lone sniper made his final calibrations, setting up a high-quality camera. Their black and green motorcycle helmet was the only thing visible, besides the barrel of a rifle and the scope that accompanied it.

The sniper glanced at the television cameramen, scattered like ants among the crowd. He grinned.

Magazine loaded

Weapon functional

Target found

He shot

If you were watching the television, to see the famed number two heroes oh-so-eloquent speech, it was impossible to miss the comedy gold to come.

In the middle of a sentence, when Endeavor walked to the front of the stage, a bright, neon green paint splat appeared… somewhere sensitive. The mighty ‘hero’s’ face turned a pasty white, his flames sputtering out. 

Finally, with a loud shriek, Endeavor collapsed to his knees, before falling forward onto his face. He remained there, a high pitched screeching coming from what was once a distinguished ‘hero’.

The sniper chuckled quietly to themselves, before packing up and peacefully leaving the area. But not before sending a full video of the episode to their very proud father.

(Somewhere, Inko was laughing so hard she cried, inwardly thanking Hisashi for giving Izuku the mission.)

_______

Omake

“Hey, Dad.” Shoto Todoroki stared directly into what would have been his father's soul, if he had one.

“Yes?” Endeavor’s voice was still unnaturally high, and he walked with a bit of a waddle. 

“So, you're not going to have any more kids, huh?”

“...”

Slurp

Chapter Text

Age ten

“Hey, Midoriya!” Hitoshi Shinso threw his friend of one month a spray paint can, carefully balancing on the scaffolding of a new Endeavor Agency billboard. The greenette, on the other side of the tall structure, caught it flawlessly.

The two had met exactly one month, six days ago at a coffee shop. They had immediately hit it off, and within a week were close friends. Hitoshi wasn’t quite sure of what he thought of Bakugou, but the explosive blonde was tolerable at least. 

‘ Kind of a coward’ Hitoshi thought wryly, painting a wide arc onto the billboard. The blonde had refused to come with the duo on any graffiting runs, instead opting to remain at home and work. 

To be fair, it was three in the morning, and normal kids would probably be asleep. (Hitoshi was an insomniac, and Izuku apparently only tool classes once a week, as he was some crazy genius).

“Hey, Hitoshi, I’m almost done here!” Rattling could be heard as Izuku shook his canister, before the slight hissing of paint replaced it. “Just… there!”

Hitoshi nodded, before hitting the play button on his phone. Music started up in his headphones, as he drew the final line for the wonderful message they had left Endeavor, repeated on both sides. It read, one in neon green and one in purple, “Endeavor is so not baller ”.

“Time to go!” Izuku suddenly shouted - yelling could be heard from the base of the billboard. “Come on Hitoshi!”

The insomniac tugged his mask up, before joining Izuku on the other side. Glancing at the leather-clad boy, who had a crosshairs pattern on his mask, he nodded once before they dropped down onto the rooftop.

Dodging one of the indignant police officers, Hitoshi sprinted for the edge of the building before vaulting over. Izuku was already ahead of him, racing across the rooftops to safety.

Together, the pair lept, flipped, and rolled their way to the Midoriya apartment, before climbing through Izuku’s open window.

“Dude, that was amazing!” Izuku immediately yanked his mask off, grinning wildly. “Endeavor will be pissed !” Without missing a beat, the small green kickass child stuck his head out his door, shouting a quick, “Dad! We’re back! If you see his reaction, film it!” Hitoshi could hear a brief noise of agreement, and smiled. 

“Izuku, I love your dad.” Hitoshi flopped into Izuku’s bed, flinging his backpack into the corner. “I would die for him.”

“Hitoshi, you say that everytime you come over - which is every day.” Izuku laughed, throwing a pencil at the tired insomniac. Hitoshi let it bounce off his head. “But honestly, yeah. Dads the best - I’m pretty sure he wants to like, adopt you or something!” 

“Boys!” Hisashi’s warm voice called, “I have some coffee for interested parties!” The man had given up trying to get Hitoshi and Izuku to sleep a long time ago. Now, he simply insisted that they drink decaf after two am. Nonetheless, there was a large amount of racing as Hitoshi and Izuku fought their way to get there first. Hitoshi ended up winning, due to a very sneaky tripping of the smaller green headed boy. 

(That night, Izuku duct taped him to the wall while he slept.)

____________

Somewhere, in a certain ugly, glorified flamethrowers office, a fire alarm went off. The author is honestly surprised a mirror didn’t crack after the abomination looked at it. 

___________

Hitoshi never had a real dad. Even before he got his quirk, things were rough in the hell his parents insisted he call home.

His dad was a worker for some security agency, Hitoshi never bothered to learn which. After all, the rare times he was actually at home, he was either drunk or fighting with Hitoshi’s mother. So little Hitoshi grew up, alone and afraid, listening to his father blame everyone else for the grave he had dug with his own two hands.

Hitoshi’s mother wasn’t much better, bitter and self-absorbed. Instead of adult calming child, poor Hitoshi grew up telling his mother that it would all be okay, coaching her in how to deal with an absent husband (he was never a father).

It never got better, even after he got his quirk his parents still fought, still blamed him, still treated him like an adult - even though he was a child. After his father died, Hitoshi’s mother grew distant and hateful - “You could have used your quirk to save him!”. She wished for him to be more useful , more grateful for all the things she gave him. She wanted a perfect child, but Hitoshi could only give her his best. Which obviously wasn’t enough for her.

The first time Hitoshi Shinso met Hisashi Midoriya, he expected with weary resignation that the man would hate him for everything he wasn’t. He expected to be ignored at best.

But Hisashi Midoriya was like his son - bright and warm and nurturing. The very instant he saw Hitoshi’s weary posture, the man drew him into a hug and said: “You have tired eyes - I’ve got you Hitoshi.” 

The man was everything Hitoshi had wished for on long nights of screaming. He offered advice, comfort, and kindness.

Hitoshi had been struck dumb with the pure good that the Midoriya family held in their hearts. Izuku Midoriya, a boy with fire and hope and joy. Hisashi Midoriya, a man with warmth and smiles and kindness.

Hitoshi Shinso, one week after meeting Hisashi, decided that they were his family.

_________

“Hey, son?” Hisashi Midoriya stuck his head into his son’s room late one night. Izuku was sitting on his bed, knife twirling mindlessly in one hand, and book in the other. His green eyes glanced upwards, and Izuku put the book down onto the sheets, the knife continuing its movement. “Can I talk to you?”

After Izuku nodded, Hisashi shuffled in, nearly tripping over a stack of books in the middle of the floor. Eventually, he made his way to the bed and sat down besides Izuku.

“What’s up, Dad?” Izuku asked, finally putting his knife down. His hands crept up to tug on the drawstrings of his hoodie, fingers wrapping around the thin strings. Still, he smiled the same smile Hisashi loved - both on Inko and on Izuku.

“Well…” Hisashi floundered with his words for a second. He could almost feel the ghost of Inko sighing next to him in disappointment - she was always the one with an affinity for words. “Do you like Hitoshi?” He finally said, glancing at Izuku.

“Well, yeah, he’s one of my best friends! Him and Kacchan!” Izuku smiled even wider, and Hisashi felt a little bit like he was having a staring contest with the sun itself. “Why do you ask, Dad?”

“No, I mean… Do you have a crush on him?” Hisashi had suspected that his son had been crushing on the insomniac boy for a while, but only recently got the courage to ask him. “It just seems like your… happier with him. You always get so excited to see him.”

Izuku’s eyes went wide, and Hisashi could almost hear his thoughts, spiraling in long twists out of his mind. His son’s green eyes darted all over, thinking, and his lips moved slightly- a remnant of his old habit of muttering. 

“I… never thought about that?” Izuku said, voice small and meek. He shrunk into himself slightly, whispering, “I don’t know… I do like Hitoshi but I don’t know if I… like, like him.”

“That's okay!” Hisashi was quick to reassure Izuku, wrapping his long arms around the small boy. “You don’t have to know yet - you figure it out when you're ready, okay kiddo?”

For a while, the only noise Izuku made was a kind of confused mutter, sort of like the ravings of a madman. Hisashi would fight anyone who called his son insane. Finally, though, he looked up at Hisashi. “You wouldn’t be bothered if I did?”

Hisashi felt his heart break a little - he heard the stories, hell, he even met people who were homophobic. To think that anyone could hate their child for who they loved… it was simply unthinkable to him. 

“Izuku, I love you no matter what.” He said gently, giving Izuku a little squeeze. “Always remember that.”

Chapter Text

Age ten

“That is fucking bullshit, Nezu.” Izuku snapped, pushing his chair back with a scrape. His teacher, who sat on the opposite side of the desk, watched with curious eyes. However, the tapping of his paw betrayed his own agitation. “Fuck the laws! Your the principal of U-fucking-A!”

“Izuku, please, language.” Nezu smiled faintly, “Your father will not be pleased if I allow you to swear in such a crass way.”

“Whatever.” Izuku stood up, mindlessly flipping a knife in his hand. Pacing around the office, his frustration was evident.

“Izuku, I cannot do anything with the current circumstances. The law is very clear, quirkless are not allowed in hero schools and certainly not in hero courses” Nezu patiently explained for the sixth time, “The lawmakers feel as if the quirkless are too… fragile. It's for their protection.”

“Screw protection!” Izuku yelled, before quieting down with a look of guilt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. But I can take care of myself, Nezu! Please, being a hero is my dream! Surely, we can do something? You always said that there's always a way!” 

“Izuku, I never said there wasn’t a way.” Nezu said calmly, a manic fire entering his eyes. “It's just slightly immoral and a tad bit illegal.”

“I literally just said fuck the law. And I literally murdered someone last week.” Izuku scoffed, falling back into the leather chair. Kicking his feet onto the desk, he ignored Nezu’s evil-sounding laugh (he was quite used to it) and picked up a pen.

“Well, Izuku. ” Nezu cackled, always eager to break the law. “You're my star pupil, and only ten at that. Think about it, how can we circumvent the law? Or do we have to do a refresher course on it?”

“I think a refresher would be beneficial…” Izuku admitted, rubbing his neck with a guilty grin. His black shirt was quite accurate, as it read in bold text; “Pops lil troublemaker.”

Nezu only grinned wider, as he rolled back in his over sized chair. Leaping on top of his desk, Nezu rubbed his paws together. “Think about it, dear Izuku! Circumventing the law is ultimately the best option, as why?” He asked.

“You can’t be charged with as many crimes, and you can be more obvious, but how can that help?” Izuku inquired, leaning back.

“Well, Izuku, how can we circumvent the law here?” Was the fairly useless answer.

“That’s what I was asking, Nezu!” Izuku rolled his eyes, frustrated. Sliding his knife back into the belt sheath with a snap, he ran a hand through his evergreen hair.

“Izuku, please relax. I just replaced the wall panel you kindly stuck a knife in, and I don’t wish to repeat it.” Nezu raised a paw, and Izuku nodded, albeit irritated. “Use that delightful brain of yours, what is the current problem?”

“That I’m quirkless, and that lawmakers are full of bullshit?” Izuku grumbled, before his eyes widened and he sat up sharply, “Wait a second!”

“Yes?” Nezu’s grin was terrifying as he watched his personal student stand up and start to pace.

“The lawmakers!” Nezu’s grin only slightly dimmed as Izuku spoke excitedly, “If I release a series of essays, periodically over the course of, say a month to a year, each targeting the lawmakers, I can theoretically destroy their credibility, and after a while, release an editorial on the quirkism of the law! The public turns against them, and there is outrage at the quirkism. Well, not that so much as angry at the lawmakers and willing to do anything to take them down. Then, introduce a new, quirkless lawmaker, and make them the perfect politician!” Izuku tapped his foot, thinking for a second, “If we get the public, we get the world!”

“Not quite what I was thinking, but you can do that as an extra-credit assignment, dear Izuku! Brilliant thinking, by the way!” Nezu clapped, before jumping down to his chair and pulling out a sheath of documents. “I was thinking you could simply change your quirk status.”

“Oh.” Izuku sat down, blinking. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then spoke, “I think your plans for world domination are rubbing off on me.”

“Perhaps!” Nezu said cheerfully, uncapping a pen. Scribbling something in a corner, he turned a paper around and tapped the corner he wrote in. “This sign is a secret mark to fast-track any document! No questions will be asked. What will you name your quirk?”

“I don’t know, what should I say?” Izuku shrugged.

“I think you should base it on your firearm skills.” Nezu suggested, tapping the desk with the pen.

“Maybe my ‘quirk’ is that… I have to have a weapon on me, preferably a firearm, or I get really angry and go wild on people?” Izuku shrugged, “Like, if they take my gun away, I can punch them in the face and blame my quirk?”

“Sounds perfect!” Nezu snickered, always one to appreciate a good joke.

“Oh! I have a perfect name for it!” Izuku grinned, hiding a laugh, “My quirk is One Gun, Zero Fucks!”

“Izuku, I am remembering very acutely of why I decided to take you on as a student.” Nezu smiled fondly, filling in the forms. “You are brilliant, and have plenty of dedication! Plus, your innovation brings you apart from humans.”

“Thanks Nezu…” Izuku smiled softly, glancing down at his red, boot-like shoes. Suddenly, though, he remembered something. Bending over and digging in his backpack, he pushed aside a few knives, and a glock, and unearthed a poorly-wrapped box. Popping back up, the ten-year-old offered it like a sacrifice to his teacher. 

Nezu paused his writing, his brow furrowing as he scanned the neatly written “To, Nezu!”. The ribbon awkwardly circled the box, some parts frayed off in a way that suggested a stray knife got to it. Reaching over, he took the small gift from his student.

Not bothering to remove the masses of tape, Nezu simply tore the polka-dotted paper off. Tossing the paper to the side, he examined the plain white box, before opening the flap. Reaching inside, Nezu carefully extracted what appeared to be a mug.

“Worlds… best teacher…” Nezu read aloud, oddly touched. “Thank you Izuku, this is a very kind gift!”

“Only the best for my sensei!” Izuku beamed, “It explodes if you put pepsi in it!”

“Why?” Nezu asked, now far more wary.

“In case you're in danger!” Izuku handed him a can of pepsi, which Nezu was very careful in keeping far away from his prized mug. “You can ask for pepsi, and BOOM!”

“How innovative…” Nezu whispered, smiling. Placing the mug on the right corner of his desk, he made sure it was perfectly positioned. “You are a delight to teach, dear Izuku.”

“Ah, no, I’m just me!” Izuku laughed, before hesitating. “Hey Nezu?”

“Yes, Izuku?” Nezu raised an eyebrow.

“Um. You're the smartest creature i know…” Izuku mumbled, glancing down, “Can I ask you something, or rather, for advice?”

“Of course!” Nezu beamed. Perhaps it was advice on the death ray the child was building? Or maybe some suggestions for symbolism in his essay about the corruption of the hero commission?

“Dad thinks I may like Shinso…” Izuku said quietly.

“Oh.” Nezu blinked, taking out a pamphlet from his drawer. “I have no idea about human relationships, but here is the flyer I’m supposed to give out if a student is questioning. It has a bunch of information. Please don’t ask me about it, I am single for a reason.” Nezu laughed nervously.

“Thanks?” Izuku took the fairly thick pamphlet, with a matte rainbow pattern on the front.

_____________

Later that day…

Izuku flipped through the pamphlet, eyes barely skimming the definitions. None of them seemed to match… him , and the several google searches told him nothing. 

In frustration, Izuku dropped the pamphlet on the floor, picking up a knife. Lobbing it at a dartboard with Endeavor's face taped over it, Izuku watched in satisfaction as the silver blade sunk deep into the man's nose. Which frankly made him look almost bearable.

Throwing another knife, Izuku wondered for a second if Nezu’s scheme would truly work. In his distraction, the blade glanced off of a metal ring on the dartboard, bouncing back and embedding itself next to Izuku’s foot.

Izuku glanced down, but as he did, something caught his eye on the pamphlet.

It was two entries, one titles “Asexual”, the other titles “Aromantic.”

The greenette slowly crouched down, picking up the pamphlet. Eyes scanning the definitions, he thought carefully about what he knew about romantic attraction (too young for sexual, thank you very much). 

“Asexual huh… and aromantic…” he mumbled, nearly tripping over the knife as he stumbled towards his door. “I should ask dad…”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Dad?” A timid knock on Hisashi’s door brought the man's head up, clever eyes darting over to his son. The boy, still dressed in his day clothes, was clutching some sort of booklet to his chest, one hand fidgeting with the corner of the paper. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure, kiddo!” Hisashi smiled softly. He shoved his work papers to the side, shifting some on top of the more sensitive documents. His black button up was crumpled and creased, betraying his long work day, but Hisashi would always have time for his kid. “Whats up?”

Izuku padded to Hisashi’s desk, looking around for a chair before sitting on the ground. Blinking once, Hisashi joined him. 

“Do you know what the term “Asexual” means, dad? Or “Aromantic”?” Izuku jumped straight in, twisting the booklet around in his hands.

“I… don’t think I’ve heard of it, do you want to explain or do you want to look it up with me?” Hisashi admitted, mind already racing. He could infer that asexual was a sexuality, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was, or how aromantic was linked to it. Scratching his neck, he contemplated asking a friend who was more involved in the community.

“Can… Can you look it up?” Izuku mumbled, and for a second Hisashi was reminded that yes, his son was still a child. It was too easy to forget, especially with how mature the boy acted.

“Sure kiddo,” Hisashi reached up, fumbling on the desk for his phone. Once his hand grasped the cool black device, he pulled it down, entering his passcode. “Asexual and aromantic you said?”

“Yeah…” Izuku lifted his eyes a little, hands losing their death grip on the booklet. “Thanks Dad.”

“No problem, Izuku. I’m gonna sit here with you and learn what these terms mean, and help you figure it out, okay?” Hisashi promised. Izuku nodded silently.

As Hisashi scrolled through endless definitions, reading each aloud to his son, Izuku slowly inched closer to his father, eventually leaning against his shoulder to look at the screen. Smiling softly, Hisashi continued to research, occasionally asking Izuku questions. The room darkened slightly as the sun went down, ignored by the two assassins, but a lone lamp illuminated the room.

“So, Izuku,” Hisashi finally said, nudging his half-asleep son, “What I’m gathering is that being asexual and aromantic is that you just don’t experience romantic or-er, sexual style attraction.” Hisashi mumbled the last part. He had given his son “the talk” not too long ago, but it was still awkward. 

“Is that okay? Didn't you say you'd like grankids?” Izuku mumbled, snuggling into his father's warm side. His booklet had long since fallen to the ground, pages slightly crumpled from his grip.

“Of course it's okay, kiddo. You don’t have to decide, set in stone right now, but no matter what, I support you kiddo. If you want kids, it's called adoption. If not, thats perfectly fine!” Hisashi ruffled Izuku’s hair, fondly remembering the similar green locks of his mother. “Now, it’s getting late kiddo, I know you love staying up, but you should get to sleep.”

“Okay, Dad…” Izuku was already almost asleep, the warmth of his father lulling him into dreamland. It was almost funny that the only thing that worked to make the young boy sleep was his dad. “Lets just stay… stay here a while… it's comfy…” 

Hisashi huffed a laugh, shifting quietly to accommodate Izuku. The child's head drooped as he drifted off, and Hisashi wrapped an arm around his son. 

“I love you, kiddo…” Hisashi said softly, leaning back onto the side of his desk. Raising his phone again, he typed in a few keywords, careful not to wake the sleeping greenette up. 

Hisashi ended up falling asleep along with his son, waking up the next morning with a sore neck and no regrets.

___________

One week later

Izuku bent over his desk, carefully soldering two wires to a circuit board. Quietly cursing as the bead of molten metal landed in the wrong place, he put the soldering iron down to crack his knuckles.

“I just want to solder, why is that so hard!” Izuku groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, Izuku!” Hisashi called from the kitchen, “Can you come here?”

“Sure, I’m about to throw this out a window!” Izuku said cheerfully, turning his soldering iron off. Carefully making sure nothing would catch fire, he bounded out of his room and into the kitchen.

His father stood with a ridiculous pink apron on (a gift from the Bakugous) in the middle of the kitchen. Holding something behind his back, Hisashi beamed at his son. “I have a present for you, Izuku!” 

“Really?” Izuku raised an eyebrow. His father did occasionally give him small gifts, usually things like a pen that had a laser or something else Hisashi found intriguing. But usually they were dug out of pockets at dinner, handed to Izuku over a bowl of slightly burnt rice.

“Yup!” Hisashi nodded, “Listen, since we talked about it and looked into it, you’ve seemed pretty confident in being asexual and aromantic, right?”

“As confident as a ten year old can be.” Izuku laughed lightly, slightly confused.

“Well, it’s okay if that changes! But for now, I got you a small gift…” Hisashi pulled two small disaster-wrapped gifts from behind his back, handing them to Izuku. 

Izuku placed the first one on the kitchen table, before setting to work on the second. The red and blue wrapping paper was crumpled, and Izuku honestly couldn’t tell if it was covered in tape or if Hisashi had dropped it in a vat of plastic. 

Ripping the paper off, Izuku’s eyes widened slightly as he pulled out a small, packaged square of fabric. Already guessing what it was, he quickly unfolded it, revealing black, grey, white, and purple stripes.

“I got you a couple of pride flags,” Hisashi explained, wringing his hands, “One for aromantic, one for asexual. I think thats the asexual one? I hope that's okay, I just wanted to-“ Hisashi was abruptly cut off as Izuku slammed into him, throwing his arms around his dad in a tight hug.

“I love it Dad, thank you.” Izuku started crying, the famous Midoriya tears showing their face. This, of course, prompted Hisashi to start crying, lifting Izuku off his feet as he hugged him.

After Hisashi and Izuku managed to stop crying (The neighbors underneath simply sighed as water rushed past their window, marking it as another Midoriya episode. They had water flowers in their flower box for a reason), Izuku opened the next package. 

This of course prompted yet another flood.

It took all but ten minutes and some creative use of some thumb tacks for the two flags, one accented with purple and one accented with green, to be hanging up proudly on Izuku’s wall. 

Chapter Text

Izuku knew he was fucked when the three people in fancy suits knocked on his door. Nothing good ever comes from people in suits knocking on your door.

Sadly, Hisashi was out, something about assassinating a governor. He wouldn’t be back for a week, and Izuku suspected the suited people's timing wasn’t mere convenience. 

Izuku’s suspicions were confirmed as the suited people gestured for him to sit - in his own apartment, how rude!

“Izuku Midoriya.” One of them, a purple haired man with his hair gelled into a peak, said. His red eyes scanned the kitchen. “My colleagues and I would feel more comfortable if you placed your weapons on the table, where we can see them.” 

“And I would feel more comfortable if you get the fuck out, who are you?” Izuku leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Eyeing the fairly obvious handguns on each of their hips, he scoffed at their hypocrisy. 

A woman with bright red hair stepped forward, raising a shiny plastic card. Sharply defined eyebrows over cold black eyes gave her the feeling of a knife - sharp and deadly. The card itself read in bold, clear letters; “Sarah Kintz, Hero Commision Representative.” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fucked.” Izuku mumbled, before waving his hand and speaking clearly, “I don’t have to listen to you, especially with you having handguns. I’m not affiliated with the hero commission. Plus, my quirk prevents me from not having at least one weapon on me.” He bluffed.

The final member, a fairly androgonous looking person with short silver hair smirked, eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. They reached into their suit pocket, pulling a sheath of papers out… papers that gave Izuku a very bad feeling.

“Your quirk, One gun, zero fucks I believe.” Their self-assured voice scoffed, “And for someone who says you're not affiliated, having a fastpass on your papers is quite… intriguing.”

“A friend helped me.” Izuku rolled his eyes, anxiously drumming his fingers on his arm. 

“A friend, you say. It seems like you’re trying to fool us, Izuku Midoriya.” Purple hair smiled, the smile of a predator. “Or, should I say, Serpent? A very… infamous assassin. The moraled hitman.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in fear, hand jumping instinctively to his gun. It was halfway out of the holster, before the click of the pistol silver hair held up brought him back to his senses.

“Ah, yes. We were told your skills are incredible for a child. It’s a good thing that Kuikku has a quirk that allows them to draw their weapon fairly fast.” Sarah smiled, her own pistol out of it’s holster, by her side. “Let me introduce my colleges. The person who is currently prepared to shoot you dead is Kuikku, they/them please. I am Sarah, and the last of us is Ugokanai, but call him Kanai.”

Kanai leisurely cracked his knuckles, before speaking, “As you can see, Kuikku’s quirk is quick-draw. Sara is able to track people, but how is a secret. And I am able to immobilize people. We are undoubtedly the perfect team to take the dreaded Serpent in, and I’m sure you would enjoy prison.”

“What do you want.” Izuku growled, hand still on his weapon. He knew there was no way he could take the three of them before he was either shot, or immobilized. 

“We want you to put all of your weapons away, and have a civil conversation with us.” Kanai said pleasantly. 

“Fine.” Izuku bit. Not taking his eyes off Kuikku, he took his pistol out of the holser, dropping it on the table. Then, he took the six knives off his belt, and the three out of his pockets. Out came the switchblade, and the hunting knife. He dropped each on the table. “There.”

“I said all of them, Serpent.” Kanai said calmly. This prompted an eye roll, and around sixteen more knives and a small gun to show themselves. How? Trade secrets. “There we go.

“Now, I’m disarmed, let’s talk.” Izuku bit out. Kuikku glanced at their friends, before putting their own weapon down. The others followed their lead.

“Good. Now, Izuku, my friends at the commision want to make you a deal.” Kanai explained, “We are willing to clear your quirk, and get it approved. You will face no consequences for trying to break the law.”

“And what do I have to do?” Izuku said warily. 

“Five jobs, anything we say. We’ll provide transportation, and any materials needed for the job. The jobs can be requested at any time, and you will not ask us why.” Kanai said coldly. “If you do accept, we have four of the jobs already prepared for you.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you know my rates?” Izuku scoffed, “Five jobs is too much. How will I explain this to my father?”

“You won’t. We sent him on the job he is on now, and we can do it again. He will never have to know.” Kanai smiled slightly. “And you don’t really have a choice.”

“And if I say no? I’m sure I can break out of prison.” Izuku sneered.

Kuikku tapped the table, drawing all eyes to them. Pulling another piece of paper out of their pocket, they slid it over to Izuku, who picked it up. As his eyes scanned it, they widened in horror. 

“Your pop, Hisashi Midoriya. Dragon. This is a warrant for his arrest, and it can be fulfilled dead or alive. I wrote down what he’s being convicted for.” Kuikku said softly. “We have full permission to open fire if we ever see him, and trust me we’re good at looking. Now, if you accept the deal, we can close the case file and pretend he never existed.”

“You bastards…” Izuku said softly, “This is blackmail.” His heart clenched as he imagined his father, on the receiving end of a bullet.

“Yes, it is. But the hitman can’t talk, can he.” Sarah smirked. “So, squirt. You want to agree to play nice, or do you want to see your daddy with a hole right up here?” She tapped her forehead, not taking her eyes off Izuku.

Izuku rubbed his eyes, rage and fear battling for dominance in his chest. He wanted to tear the three agents apart, but at the same time, he knew the sheer power of the hero commission. Finally, he met Sarah’s eyes.

“Fine. If you’re screwing me over, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” Izuku bit out, clenching his fists.

“Because a ten-year-old is so scary…” Kuikku mumbled, before handing Izuku a folder. “Here is your first job. Fake id, cover story, and plane ticket. You will be provided with a weapon, to be disposed of, when you arrive. Do your best to not get caught, the Americans don’t like it when we interfere.”

“What did this man do?” Izuku flipped through the papers, examining the fake passport. “He looks like a good man, two kids, one wife.”

“He’s trying to push a bill that goes against commission interests.” Kanai said, before picking up his weapon and holsering it. “That’s all you need to know.”

“I can’t kill an innocent man!” Izuku stepped forward, horror replacing the anger he felt. 

“I guess you’ll just have to adapt, snake.” Sarah smirked, picking her weapon up as well. Kuikku did so too. “Do or die, right?”

“Get the fuck out.” Izuku hissed, “Or I’ll kill you myself.” 

The three agents glanced at each other, smiling. Then, as a group they turned and left.

As he passed through the door, Kanai turned and met Izuku’s eyes. Izuku met his glare, and if looks could kill, Kanai would be as dead as a doornail. Then, Kanai scoffed, turning and following his friends, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he did, Izuku crumpled , knee’s collapsing. Tears fought their way from reluctant eyes. Unable to tear his gaze away, Izuku stared remorsefully at the man he had to kill, apologizing in his head.

__________

It was a sunny day, and congressman Haundle, not for the first time, praised whoever gave his office a big window. He could sit and bath in the sunlight as he worked, his photosynthesis quirk feeding him energy. The 24 year old was known in his office for his energetic enthusiasm, if not his coordination. He was almost universally liked, especially since he began pushing for a bill that would provide funding for young aspiring heros to go to school. 

Haundle smiled as he caught a glimpse of a picture, one of his family at a celebration. It was his favorite thing in his office, the family full of beaming smiles.

Haundle stood up, raising his arms above his head as he stretched. Joints cracking, he quietly laughed, mumbling, “I’m an old man, huh?” to himself.

Walking to his door, and nearly smacking into the doorframe, Haundle greeted his secretary. After inquiring how her fiance was doing, he made a beeline for the coffee machine. 

“New coffee types?” He said in surprise. His office had gotten the same, boring coffee k-cups for as long as he had been in office, probably longer. It was a pleasant change.

Choosing a french roast, he popped it into the coffee machine and pressed the start button, waving at a few interns. 

“Hey, are you new here?” He asked one of the interns, a small, blue-haired person. They had a black mask over the bottom half of their face, but their silvery eyes seemed intelligent enough.

“I’m just here for a tour!” The person said cheerfully, “My name’s Dai!”

“Nice to meet you, Dai! I’d shake your hand, but I was ill last week, and I don’t want you to catch it!” Haundle smiled, “I hope you have a lovely time here!”

“It’s all been very impressive.” Dai smiled, “I think your coffee is ready, sir.”

Haundle started, turning around to realize that yes, his coffee was done. Thanking Dai briefly, he stirred in his usual milk and sugar, before taking the mug back to his office.

As Haundle reclined back into his seat, he took a long sip from the caffeinated heaven, sighing in satisfaction.

It would be the last breath he would take.

_________

The next day, shocking headlines screamed the same thing; “ Beloved congressman Haundle, found dead in office, poison detected.”

The public was outraged, of course, lashing out against the heroes and police.

And one Izuku Midoriya was on a plane back home, the blue wig and silvery contacts sitting, waiting to be cremated. 

The next four jobs, spaced over a year, would each be as flawless as the first, but each left their own mark on Izuku. 

In the end, Izuku Midoriya swore that he would never take an innocent life ever again.

Chapter Text

Izuku cracked his knuckles, stretching with a satisfied smile. His black shirt, long sleeves falling to his black fingerless gloves. A few green accents lined the arms and shoulders, as well as his sides. Matching green stripes went down his long black athletic pants, taped at the bottom to avoid catching on air. He wore his - sized up, of course - black sneakers, the green sole and laces tying the look together. And, of course, he had his pistol and knives on his hip.

Izuku didn’t have a designated school, so he just wore the workout outfit his father had gifted him with. It stood out, amusingly, from the other blaringly colorful uniforms.

U.A’s recommended entrance exam - it was insanely hard to pass, even harder than the general exam. Only the best and brightest attended, people like Shoto Todoroki and Momo Yaoyorozu. And, apparently, Izuku. 

Nezu had actually refused to let him take the standard test, something about Izuku being “idiotically heroic” and “would simply shoot the robots”. Izuku was honestly kind of worried about what the recommended exam would hold, silently apologizing if he made the exam harder for everyone.

As he stretched, Izuku noticed someone was eyeing him. Their perfectly split hair immediately betrayed who they were, and Izuku briefly worried if they would hold a grudge against him for the baller job he did years ago. Then he remembered he honestly didn’t care, and walked over.

“Noticed you were eying me, hot stuff.” Izuku winked at the boy, suppressing his laugh as the startled Todoroki flinched back. “I know I am a snacc, hell, I’m the whole damn meal, but keep your eyes in your head.”

“I… who… uh…” The boy, Shoto stuttered, “Is that a reference to my father? And why would you be consumable, you shouldn’t be here if you're that foolish!”

Izuku stopped, blinked, and rebooted. ‘ This poor child’ He thought to himself. “Wow. Is your dad so much of a dick - wait no, the job - but dude, you need to socialize.”

“Socializing is a waste of valuable time. Now. If you excuse me, the test is about to begin. And I do not have time to deal with your…” Todoroki looked him up and down, “Apparently edible self.”

“Well. He’s rude.” Izuku shrugged. “Like a fiesty cat.”

_________

First section

The four recommended exam takers were collectively shoved into a room, handed a piece of paper, and a pencil. They were also given a tablet, which only accessed the internet - really, Izuku could have sworn that they came with pre-loaded apps.

The instructions were, apparently, simple. Pick one pro hero from the list, each a teacher at U.A, and analyze them. The examinees had thirty minutes to devise the best strategy they could.

Izuku could have laughed , and in fact, he did. The first section seemed to be perfectly catered to him, his notebooks had enough information to bring down all of hero society. Which was concerning, now that he reflected.

The three others, Momo Yaoyorozu, Shoto Todoroki, and one guy Izuku didn’t know, stood there for a solid minute, bickering over which hero to choose. Eventually, Todoroki chose Snipe, Yaoyorozu chose Ectolasm, Inasa chose Nezu (Izuku prayed for his soul). Meaning, Izuku got, apparently, All-Fucking-Might himself. Because, of course, the bozo joined the U.A staff.

Izuku sat down at a desk, quickly sketching a drawing before rapidly taking notes, occasionally fact-checking. Perhaps in one universe, he was an avid All Might stan, but in this, he couldn’t care less about the number one.

All Might, civilian name unknown. Strengths: Insane speed, strength, jumping power. Can change weather with one punch apparently. Weaknesses: Noted decline in stamina, starting a few years ago. Look into it. Reacted in pain when his left side was hit in a fight against Strongarm. Does not seem to have enhanced eyesight or intelligence, yet throws up dust clouds when he lands sometimes. Best option to combat at long range, place flour down as a fake for debris. Set a decoy, wait for him to land and throw up dust. Using a silencer from a decent distance, use calculations and predictions to snipe him in the left side. Use non-lethal rounds on the wound, to get him to pause. Use live rounds on the right thigh, and left shoulder. Shouldn’t die.

Izuku, with a satisfied smile, put his pencil down, finished three minutes early. His fellow examinee’s were either furiously writing, or staring despondent at their paper. Or that could have just been Todoroki’s complexion. A lone camera, high in the nearly empty room, rotated to face him. Izuku shot a thumbs up at the lens, winking. 

Soon enough, the other three finished and put their own pencils down. Almost in sync, they rose, making a beeline for the door.

But before they could exit, a pro hero Izuku recognized as Present Mic walked in, gesturing for them to sit. 

“Heya listeners!” He said exuberantly, “I know you want to go take a break, but there's one more portion of this section! Usually we don’t do this,” Present Mic glanced briefly at Izuku, brow furrowing, “but Nezu insisted! Anything to make sure the next generation is ready and roaring!”

Izuku sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course his mentor would make life harder for everyone to test him. Of course.

“Do what?” Yaoyorozu hesitantly asked, curious mumbles backing her.

“You see…” Present Mic paused, before smiling sympathetically, “Nezu wants to test your information gathering skills… by having you fight the teacher you chose.”

“I’m sorry, what?” The unnamed fourth person blurted, “I have a high respect for U.A! But sir, Nezu can thrash my ass, pardon the language!”

“Inasa, right?” The kid nodded, “I am so sorry.”

Inasa blinked, before going very, very pale. Present Mic laughed awkwardly, before continuing, “Obviously, you aren’t expected to win! The teachers will be going easy, but do your best! Plus ultra!”

“Plus ultra my ass.” Izuku sighed, checking his gun and ammo. He would have to be cautious. 

“Is that a gun?” Present Mic blinked, “I… won't ask. Anyways! Todoroki, gym alpha, Yaoyorozu , gym beta, Insasa, gym c, and Midoriya… city 3.”

“Why does he get a city?” Yaoyorozu asked.

“So I can have more room to get my ass kicked!” Izuku said cheerfully, shoving his paper into his belt and striding out of the room. Ignoring the calls, he took off at a light jog towards his assigned city.

_______

All Might was hesitant about fighting a child. A child with a useless quirk, too. He assumed it was some sort of… hazing done by the staff. Perhaps the child was secretly an adult?

But when he saw the fluffy green curls, and the dark outfit, he was assured that yes. They were a kid.

So, All Might let them lead him into the city. He let them have time to think. 

And that, my friend, was his downfall.

As soon as he landed among the piles of rubble (how did the kid create them??) he was enveloped in a thick, choking dust. Hacking and coughing, All Might waved to clear the air. However, as he did so, an agonizing pain ripped through his side, right where his old wound was. All Might cried out in pain, leaning over as the waves of agony rippled through his body. But he didn’t get any rest, as within seconds, what seemed like a bullet embedded itself in his right leg. Collapsing onto his side, All Might cursed, even more so when a matching bullet hit his left arm.

Who gave the fucking kid a gun??

______

As Izuku exited the simulation city, he passed Recovery Girl rushing in. She gave him a very disappointed look, before grumbling something about him being the death of her and going to prevent the number one from bleeding out and dying. 

Izuku made his way back to the original room, figuring Present Mic would be waiting there. And indeed, he was, nose deep in a book.

Izuku knocked on the doorframe, startling the radio show announcer. 

“Oh! Hey listener, back already?” Present Mic asked with a laugh, “I should have known, All Might doesn’t know how to go easy, there's no shame in losing!”

“I won,” Izuku proudly announced, causing Present Mic to choke on his own saliva. “I shot him! Twice!”

“You what?” Present Mic finally coughed out, face a bit blue.

“I shot. All. Might.” Izuku said slowly. 

Present Mic blinked once, then twice. Apprently decing the murder child wasnt lying he finally stuttered out, “I… I see. Um. Uh. Well, your next, uh, task! Section! Yeah, section. Your next section is stealth!” Present Mic handed Izuku a picture of a bright, neon green folder. “This folder is hidden somewhere in the school, well… yeah, somewhere in the school grounds. Your job is to find it and steal the contents without being caught. Once you come back here and hand the contents to me, you pass this stage.”

Izuku sighed, it would take forever to find a single folder. And knowing Nezu, he would have placed it somewhere incredibly hard to find.

“Thanks, Mic.” Izuku said, walking out the door. “Stealth, huh? Let's do vents.”

Chapter Text

Izuku army crawled through the vents, slightly wondering why they were so big. Making sure to be silent, he made his way to a vent exit he knew had no cameras - a closet. 

‘ Where would the folder be?” Izuku contemplated. He had the advantage of knowing Nezu’s thought process, which could help him predict locations. However, the principal wasn’t the principal for no reason, and probably could outsmart Izuku. ‘ Somewhere difficult, or well-nigh impossible to get to without being seen . Probably hard to reach as well. ’

Popping off the vent cover, Izuku slithered out of the vent. Narrowly avoiding falling into a bucket of what looked like liquid nitrogen - why was that there? - he landed softly on the floor.

“Okay, Izuku, think.” He muttered, “Where would the rat put my folder?” Poking his head out of the closet, Izuku checked both directions, before carefully sneaking out. Mapping out the camera system, Izuku pinpointed a blindzone route. “I’ll check the monitor rooms… hey, that gives me an idea…”

Quietly walking down the hall, Izuku kept an open ear out. To get to the monitor room, he would need to go down three stories. That wasn’t going to happen, especially with the camera-filled stairwells, so he needed to get above it and climb down. To his knowledge, the closest room to being directly above the monitor room was 1-C gen ed classroom. 

Hearing voices, Izuku quickly ducked into the bathrooms. To his confusion, he heard two voices pass the door, but only one set of footsteps. Instead of a second pair, there was only an odd slithering noise.

Eventually, though, the voices passed, and Izuku snuck out again. Finally arriving at the gen ed classroom, Izuku checked to make sure no one was in the room, before throwing himself into a forward roll. He quickly passed the inevitable view of the camera, ducking behind a desk. From there, he carefully picked his way to the window, prying it open with a knife. 

“Alright, lets go.” Izuku mumbled, climbing out. Undoing his belt, Izuku carefully made sure his knives and gun wouldn’t fall, before looping the buckle around a peg. Then, using his belt like a rope, he carefully lowered himself to the windowsill below. Praying no one was inside to see him, Izuku repeated the process, finally dropping to the window outside the monitor room. Thankfully, the window was open, and Izuku silently climbed inside.

Pulling up the schools cctv cameras, he looked for his folder. “Okay, so. I can’t shut the camera’s off, because Nezu will know it's me. But I don’t have time to code a cloaking program. If I turn the cameras off for the rooms I’m in, he’ll track my route and… oh that sneaky bastard.” Izuku cursed as he spotted something on the monitor. A bright, neon green folder… sitting right smack in the middle of Nezu’s desk. The principal was sitting right behind it, typing something on a tablet. 

“There is no way I can get it while he’s there, so I need to lure him out.” Izuku mumbled, “So, maybe make him think I’m going somewhere, and get him to go there first? Knowing him, he’ll want the honor of catching me. But that’s stupid, he’ll leave someone in his office. So… after he leaves, trigger the school’s defensive systems, and get the guard to leave as well?”

Typing a few things into the computer, Izuku contemplated his plan. “That could work… I’ll turn the camera’s off, and make it seem as if they are turning off as I enter a room. He’ll predict the path… I should make him think I’m coming here. And then, send a ping to his office that there is a suspected villain on the rooftops. Guard will leave, and I’ll sneak in.”

Grinning, Izuku quickly typed in some commands, before setting a timer. Finally, he scribbled something on a piece of paper, sticking it to the computer screen, and hitting enter.

_______

Not bothering to hide, Izuku ran through the corridors, avoiding all the people. Hopefully, Nezu wouldn’t notice him, too focused on the dead cameras. Flinging himself down the staircase, Izuku skidded around a corner, the principal's door coming into sight. Pressing himself to the wall, Izuku mentally counted down.

5

4

3

2

1…

Ding!

The ping sounded, loud and clear, and within seconds, what looked like a homeless man ran out of the office. Izuku muffled a snicker, sliding into the office. 

There was the folder, sitting boldly on the desk. 

Perfect.

_____ 

“Found you.” Shota Aizawa growled, standing in the doorway to Nezu’s office. The green-haired brat stood, looking like a kid with his hand in a candy jar. The folder lay, undisturbed, on the desk. The brat had his hand outstretched, almost touching it. 

Aizawa had the kid wrapped up in seconds, almost smiling at the look of defeat. Fixing the kid with a red eyed glare, he said coldly, “I always thought Nezu overestimated your abilities. You're too arrogant, and you didn’t plan an escape.”

“Fuck you too, captain clean-cut,” The brat snarked, “I had a plan, I just didn’t think your old man legs could run that fast.”

“Brat, I’m thirty-one.” Aizawa rolled his eyes, “Now, time to drag you back to Present Mic.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The kid sneered, “Better hurry, I’m getting old here.”

“You’ll never be a hero with that attitude.” Aizawa huffed, turning around and literally dragging the kid with him. The brat made a sorry form, limply lying there as Aizawa dragged him like a sack of potatoes.

Hauling the kid up the staircase, Aizawa trudged to Present Mic’s room, tuning out the kid's complaints. 

“Mic, you lost a brat.” Aizawa gestured to the kid, whom he released from his capture weapon. The kid huffed, brushing himself off and standing up, “He failed this portion.”

Turning to go, Aizawa shook his head in disdain.

“Hey, Eraserhead.” Aizawa froze, the kid’s voice was much calmer, and softer. Plus, he actually knew who Aizawa was? “I didn’t fail.”

Aizawa twisted around, eyes widening as he saw the kid hold up the sheath of papers that was in the folder. The kid smiled, handing them to Present Mic.

“I did have an escape plan, thank you for helping me enact it!” The brat bowed, more than a little sarcasm in his voice. “I had the papers in my belt, under my shirt. Thankfully your capture weapon hid it for me!”

‘ This kid… ’ Aizawa thought to himself, smiling slightly. Rolling his eyes, Aizawa turned away with a wave of his hand. “Whatever, kid.”

_________

Section three

Izuku was pissed . Not only did he have to work with the other examinee’s bullshit , but he had to fight a giant robot with their help. And two of them wouldn’t stop bickering.

“I don’t need your help, Todoroki-san!” Inasa yelled, poking his finger into the mentioned examinee’s chest. Little gravel chunks swirled behind him, as he activated his quirk in agitation.

“And I don’t need yours! So get out of my way and let me win this!” Todoroki scowled, pushing Inasa away. The giant robot, which was slowly walking towards them, went ignored.

“Guys, we all need to…” Yaoyorozu tried to interject, but was silenced by two cold glares.

Izuku sat on a streetlamp, pinching his nose. He was acutely remembering why he disliked working with people. 

“I’m going to freeze the robot. Easy as that.” Todoroki stated, turning to face the robot.

“And let us fail? You really are like your father.” Inasa spat. 

Immediately, Todoroki whipped around, fire in his eyes, “Do not compare me to him!” He hissed.

“Or what, golden boy?” Inasa snarled.

“For fucks sake, both of you shut the fuck up.” Izuku finally shouted, dropping off the lamppost, “Either you work together, or I’ll shoot you here and now.”

“What?” The other three said in sync, surprise on their faces. 

“I! Will! Shoot! You!” Izuku waved his gun around for emphasis, “Now, shut up and listen. Todoroki, you freeze the robot's legs . That way you're not useless afterwards.”

“I won’t-” Todoroki was cut off by Izuku.

“Shut! Up! Frosty!” Izuku snapped the fingers of his free hand in Todoroki’s face, “Inasa, you prevent the robot from falling onto the buildings. Yaoyorozu, I need you to build me an emp.”

“Aren’t those illegal?” Yaoyorozu asked.

“I don’t care,” Izuku shrugged, “I’m going to be on the top of that building,” He turned and pointed to a nearby building, “When Todoroki freezes this bitch, and Inasa uses his wind powers to freeze the robot, I’m going to jump onto the robot’s head, and slap the emp on. That way, we all do something.”

“Why should you plant the emp?” Inasa rolled his eyes, “You seem fairly useless here, I haven’t seen you since the first section, how badly did you fail? And how do you know our quirks?”

“Excuse me puff-boy, but that's none of your business. I know your quirks because I know everything.  And unless you can use an emp, i would shut up.” Izuku snapped. To Inasa’s credit, he actually shut up, a look of embarrassment on his face. “Todoroki can’t be subtle  for anything, and the robot will smack him. No offense, but I don’t think Yaoyorozu can jump ten feet.”

“Neither do I,” Yaoyorozu admitted, “Is there something else I can do?”

“Actually, yeah. Could you make a rope? That way, if the robot falls, and I do too, you can haul me back up.” Izuku rubbed his neck, laughing as he remembered the last time he fell off a building. It resulted in a trip to the hospital, and a few fingers that always clicked funny.

“Sure!” Yaoyorozu said.

_______

“Let’s go!” Izuku called to his team, bracing his foot against the rooftop.

Immediately, a wave of frost shot out from the youngest Todoroki, snaking its way to the robot. Ice climbed the behemoths legs, with a loud screech, it halted. The singular red eye fixed its gaze on Todoroki, gears grinding angrily. 

“Wind! Now!” Todoroki shouted, backing up a few steps. Like some sort of deity, Inasa rose up in a whirlwind, totally concentrated. Wind rippled around the robot, mixed with leaves and gravel.

Glancing back at Yaoyorozu, Izuku nodded as she shot him a thumbs up. She braced her feet against a protruding vent, the rope looped around a pole to make it easier. Izuku set off at a dead sprint, the emp sloppily tied to his belt. Launching himself off the edge of the roof, he flew towards the robot's head. Hitting hard, Izuku grunted, nearly rolling over the edge of the head. 

Quickly, he cut the rope that fastened the emp to his belt, discarding it. The device, a simplistic contraption, had a long spike on the bottom, to be driven into the robot's head. Raising his hands like he was sacrificing the emp, he slammed it into the metal. The spike, albeit reluctantly, stabbed into the robot's head. 

The emp was designed to take power from the robot itself, three little green lights indicating when it was fully charged. The first one slowly blinked on.

“One minute, you guys just need to give me one minute…” Izuku mumbled, cursing his lack of a watch. Stabilizing himself against the head, he began the mental countdown.

60, 59, 58, 57, 56…

“Greenie! Watch out!” Inasa suddenly cried, his voice nearly drowned out by a horribly loud cracking noise. With screeching of metal, the robot ripped itself free from it’s icy constraints.

Izuku’s eyes widened as the robot lurched, sending him flying. Gut churning, Izuku free-fell for longer than he was comfortable with, and he wondered where the rope was, before it tightened with an agonizing jerk. Izuku yelled as his fall was redirected towards the glass side of the building. 

Izuku smashed through the glass like a makeshift wrecking ball, rolling to a stop next to a trash can. Groaning, he lay there for a second.

“Greenie? Are you oka- WHAT THE HELL?” Inasa screamed, sounding panicked. Izuku hauled himself to his feet, limping slightly as he stumbled to the window. He got there just in time to see Inasa get shot out of the sky by what looked like a weighted net. Todoroki was lying limp on the ground, and Yaoyorozu was nowhere to be seen. 

Izuku’s eyes widened as he saw hundreds of people, each holding a different weapon, streaming down the street. It seemed like they were all ectoplasms clones.

“Shit.” He cursed, holding his ribs, “I should have brought more bullets.”

________

Inasa swore loudly as he thrashed about in the cursed net, only getting more tangled. Endeavors son was lying, useless on the ground, having been hit by some sort of taser. The creation girl, as far as he knew, could be anywhere. And greenie had been slammed through the building. 

Wind swirled around Inasa as he panicked, trying to keep an eye on both the robot and on the army of clones. 

Suddenly, Inasa saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up, his jaw dropped.

Greenie was scrambling up the side of the robot, scaling it like some manic mountain climber. His knifes glinted in the harsh sunlight, leaving behind tiny holes, or at least tiny from where Inasa was looking.

Greenie clambered onto the head, racing over to the emp. For a brief second, hand raised high in the air, time froze.

And then, he slammed his hand down, and the robot froze.

“Inasa! Catch me!” Greenie screamed, taking one step before flinging himself off the giant head like a professional diver. Inasa cursed, yet again, focusing with every fibre in his body to conjure the winds. For a moment, his heart stopped as nothing happened, and his head filled with horrific images of splattered broccoli. But then, the winds swirled to life, not exactly stopping the fall, but rather propelling the kid… right into another building. Fuck.

Inasa couldn’t worry too much about the kid, though for with a scream of metal on metal, the robot slowly fell… onto the incoming army.

Squish.

Chapter Text

Section Four (Final)

Izuku Midoriya lived through confidence. He stuck his chin up, spoke up, and acted like he knew exactly what he was doing. He acted like a man out to achieve something. For, in a world where he was nothing, he had to force everyone to see him as someone to be reckoned with. He lived in a way that lied to everyone, in a sense. 

So, although he looked perfectly confident, inside, Izuku was about to throw up. Repeating words, harsh reminders of a painful reality echoed in his head, breaking down both his patience and his energy. Standing outside Nezu’s office, waiting for his interview, Izuku could barely suppress fear in his mind.

Finally, Inasa stepped out of the office, glancing to see the last interviewee, Izuku. Inasa bowed slightly, before saying, “Midoriya, right? It’s a pleasure to have taken the exam with you. Sadly, I will not be attending U.A, but I wish you luck.” The big boy smiled slightly, his gaze drifting to a blank spot in the wall. After a second, he shook his head, and walked away.

“Izuku, please enter.” Nezu’s perfectly collected voice orders. Izuku nodded hurriedly, nearly tripping over his feet to enter the room.Nezu sat at his desk, paw’s folded, and an unusually somber expression on his face. A single sheet of paper sat in front of him, the U.A seal stamped at the bottom.

Casting a glance at the paper, Izuku took his usual seat, feeling some of his nerves slip away with the normalcy. “What is the basis of the interview going to be, Nezu?” He asked, fidgeting with one of the moldable erasers from the corner shop. 

“Izuku, we aren’t going to have an interview.” Nezu said, before taking a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, and said, “I must apologize in advance, Izuku. But-”

“I failed, didn’t I?” Izuku asked, his heart dropping into his feet, “I know I shouldn’t have shot All Might, I know I should have planned better, I know-” Izuku’s voice descended into half-panicked mutters, eyes filling with tears. 

“Failed? Dear lord, child, no!” Nezu’s shocked voice cut Izuku off from his spiraling, “You did extremely well, and frankly All Might could use being shot once or twice. No, I was apologizing for the… unusual circumstances.”

“...what?” Izuku pulled his feet onto the chair, hugging his knees, “What do you mean?”

“I… I made a mistake, years ago.” Nezu said slowly, “That mark, the one I showed you? It sped the process up, but I’m afraid it attracted unwanted attention.”

Izuku could have laughed, could have sneered and said ‘ Oh, really?’ . He could have pulled back his sleeve, showing the scar he received from his final mission from the commission. Because honestly Nezu, you only noticed? But… Izuku knew Nezu, better than anyone else. And he knew the principal would never forget, never let his own failing go. 

“The board of directors of U.A somehow found out.” Nezu finally looked up, meeting Izuku’s eyes with a somber expression, “And they have forbidden me from letting you join the official hero course. They must have guessed the truth.”

“Oh.” Was all Izuku could say. And really, what else was there to say? 

“However,” Nezu slid the paper over to Izuku, who scanned the text. Nezu waited patiently as he did so.

Dear Izuku Midoriya

Sadly, you have been rejected from the heroics course for extenuating circumstances. Currently, U.A is unable to disclose said circumstances, and asks for your patience in this matter,

However, we are fortunate to welcome you into one of our other courses! Should you accept, you will be welcome with open arms into the newly-dubbed, experimental Vanguard course! The Vanguard course is designed to teach students how to perform reconnaissance work to aid heroics-based professionals. You would be the only student, as this course is highly experimental, so you would be placed in class 1-X! We at U.A hope you accept, and are looking forward to communicating with you!

Best wishes,

U.A High School

“I’m confused, Nezu, this just seems like… an underground heroics course?” Izuku tapped the phrase ‘ highly-experimental ’ “Plus, no offence, it seems kind of sketchy?”

Nezu nodded, hauling himself onto his desk. “It is, in essence, an underground heroics course. Because the board never said I couldn’t create new courses!” 

“I see…” Izuku muttered, for indeed, he did see, and he quite liked how Nezu was bamboozling the board.

“You will sit in on any relevant hero course lessons, like basics, but you are also required to take some sort of weapons class.” Nezu explained, pressing a button on the intercom, “You won’t take academics with the rest of the hero students, instead, you will work on stealth and combat with a teacher I have taken the liberty of hiring. You will, in later years, be a student teacher.”

“So, in essence, you shot the board the middle finger and made a pseudo heroics class to navigate around their bullshit?” Izuku confirmed this to Nezu, who nodded, “You are an icon, I swear.”

“I know. “ Nezu said cheerfully, before his expression suddenly dropped. “There are a few things I must warn you about… this course is highly probational, meaning you need to be a stellar student. I know academically, you can keep up, but I’m worried about discipline. 

“What happens if I don’t?” Izuku asked, apprehension rising up again.

“The board will dissolve class 1-X and you will be expelled.” Nezu said flatly, “And you will lose your shot at being a hero.”

“Damn, mood killer…” Izuku muttered, “I’m sure I’ll be fine!”

Luckily for the reader, we all know Izuku Midoriya cannot stay out of trouble for the life of him.

________

(Note - the trio are talking in english while talking to the american boys.)

It was legitimately thirty minutes after Nezu dropped the bomb, and Izuku had gotten into another fight - but this time Hitoshi and Bakugou were by his side.

After Izuku had changed into some normal clothes, he had decided to meet up with Hitoshi and Bakugou for a midday McDonalds run - making sure to mock  each other for their ridiculous tastes (Really, Hitoshi, who put salt in their coffee? And Izuku… you don’t put caramel on fries). Bakugou had actually ordered a relatively normal meal, if not a tad boring as a salad. Izuku had nearly been blown up when he jokingly asked if McDonalds salads actually count. Hitoshi had bought a burger, a cookie, and his standard large coffee with… salt in it. Izuku, of course, asked if that was why Hitoshi was so salty all of the time, and in result he had a bit of a christmas theme, what with his green hair and red ketchup in said hair. Izuku bought the 20-piece nuggets, with fries and caramel sauce. He almost felt offended that it was his order the cashier looked surprised at.

As the trio sat on the curb in the parking lot, each doing their own thing, a dark red sports car pulled in, parking across not one but three spaces. Out spilled three high-school age boys, their varsity jackets matching the car with dark red and black colors. One of them laughed loudly, pushing another. The person who was pushed flipped the original off, before running a hand through dark brown hair. The trio caught the fairly obvious American accent, glancing at each other as the boys entered the McDonalds.

“Tourists?” Hitoshi inquired, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing as it burnt his mouth.

“Probably, or on a trip.” Izuku shrugged, preoccupied with digging a notebook out of his backpack. He wanted to show Bakugou some more notes on how to avoid hearing loss from his quirk.

“They can hippity hoppity fuck off my goddamn parking lot…” Bakugou grumbled, taking an aggressive bite. 

“It’s hippity, hoppity, get the fuck off my property, Katsuki!” Izuku corrected, “And it isn’t your parking lot.”

“Whatever, nerd.” Was the curt reply.

“Fine, I won’t show you my notes!” izuku huffed, shoving the notebook back into his bag. 

“Wait, no, Izuku!” Bakugou’s eyes widened, “I’m sorry, nerd, just lemme see! I know you have new ideas, come on!” He pleaded, the only thing he was willing to stoop for was Izuku’s meticulous notes.

Hitoshi snickered as they bickered, puffing on his coffee to cool it down. Watching as they wrestled for the notebook, Hitoshi idly tapped his fingers on the pavement. Subconsciously, he tapped an old code, one he picked out from a book of morse code. Spelling out, repeatedly, “I’m here”. 

“Hey, fuckin dweebs!” A cocky laugh broke Hitoshi out of his thoughts, glancing up at the towering, dirty-blonde American boy. Now that Hitoshi could see, his black and red jacket was a lacrosse varsity jacket, with the name “Jemmings” emblazoned on the shoulder. The McDonalds bag he held was already starting to be stained by oil, a smudge remaining on the boys sunglasses. 

“What the fuck did you say?” Bakugou snarled, jumping to his feet. He walked towards the boy, but one of his friends stepped in the way. This boy, who’s name was apparently Yarrow, ran a hand over his neatly slicked blue hair, the red highlights drastically clashing.

“Hey, kid, where do you think you’re going?” Yarrow sneered, using his considerable height to look down on Bakugou. 

“I’m going to kick your friends ass, duh, beanstalk!” Bakugou shouted, attempting to shove past. But as he shoved, Yarrow’s hand shot out, grasping him on the shoulder. Hitoshi leapt to his feet as Bakugou’s eyes widened, and the explosive blonde crumpled to the ground.

“The fuck did you do?” Hitoshi cried out, running over to Bakugou. Dropping to his knees, Hitoshi reached out, before recoiling, “He’s freezing cold!”

“That would be my quirk, losers,” Yarrow smirked, his grey eyes unapologetic, “I can drop anyone’s body temperature to about 76 degrees. Normally, you’d get really bad hypothermia, but my quirk somehow prevents that. You just get really, painfully cold. It should go away in a minute.”

“What the hell do you want?” Izuku grit. He stood on the curb, hands clenched as he stared at the third boy. Hitoshi, still next to Bakugou, quickly took off his dark purple hoodie. Wrapping it around his friend, Hitoshi hugged the shivering boy.

“This, it’s yours, yeah?” The third boy, who’s jacket stated his name as ‘Rogers’, held up something Hitoshi couldn’t see, “You left it inside, the cashier pointed you out, greenie…”

“Yeah, it’s mine, so what?” Izuku scoffed, “You’re gonna use your quirk on my friend? That’s illegal here.”

“I know,” Rogers laughed, scratching his head. His grey hair looked almost angelic in the light. “My quirk is presumed innocent, I can get away with anything. People just always assume I’m innocent.”

“How useful.” Izuku bit out, “Now, give me back my fucking pin, and scram!” 

“You know, I really hate these fucking… fake-ass ‘sexualitys’...” Rogers’ voice lowered, becoming more menacing, and more threatening, “I recognize this, ace-sexual or some bullshit.”

“Asexual, dumbass,” Izuku rolled his eyes, reaching for whatever Rogers held in his hand. 

“Whatever,” Rogers dropped what Hitoshi could now see was a pin onto the ground, before raising his foot and grinding his heel into it. The metal deformed, scraping along the asphalt.

“H-h-hey!” Bakugou stammered out, his teeth chattering violently. The blonde attempted to stumble to his feet, before his knees gave out beneath him. Hitoshi stopped him before he could get up again.

“Listen, pal. “ Hitoshi said slowly, staring at Rogers back, “Before you open your mouth again, just know you’re gonna insult all of us. I’m also ace , and blonde here is demi.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jemmings, who had been standing passively, growled. With one fluid movement, he raised his foot, before planting the sole onto Hitoshi’s side. He must have had a strength enhancer, as Hitoshi was sent tumbling over Bakugou, before rolling to a stop beside an old van.

“Hey!” Izuku exclaimed, reaching towards Hitoshi. The purple-haired schoolboy groaned, holding his ribs as he remained on the ground. “What the fuck?”

“You’re all fucking disguisting.” Rogers sneered, finally moving. He swung, as if to slap Izuku across the face. Big mistake.

Izuku ducked underneath the swing, before quickly jabbing Rogers in the stomach. The grey-haired highschooler wheezed, bending over. Without missing a beat, Izuku drove his knee up, and into his nose. A visceral crack could be heard, and Hitoshi winced as Rogers slowly crumpled to the ground.

“Fuck. You.” Izuku snarled, a splatter of blood on the knee of his jeans. “Hitoshi, are you okay? How’s Katsuki?”

Hitoshi, groaning a bit, rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. But before he could check on the still-shivering blonde, Jemmings strided over, grabbing Hitoshi by the back of his black button-up and hauling the smaller boy to his feet. Using his height, Jemmings held Hitoshi on his tippy-toes.

“What the fuck did you do to my mate?” Jemmings snarled, “You fucked his face up!”

“His face was already ugly…” Izuku mumbled. 

“Oh, you’re a fucking smart-ass, huh?” Jemmings huffed, “Maybe I should screw this pansies face up, huh?”

Hitoshi, wrestling with the collar of his shirt, finally slipped out. “God, I regret trying to dress up…” He mumbled, “Stupid dare…” 

“What the?” Jemmings scowled, grabbing at Hitoshi. The brainwasher neatly dropped down, before sweeping his leg in a wide arc. The move, which worked on Izuku and Bakugou, simply did nothing against the bigger Jemmings. Hitoshi was sent rolling with yet another kick to his ribs.

“H-h-hey, fucker!” Bakugou’s voice sounded from behind Jemmings, “Watch, y-y-our f-f-fucking b-back!” Bakugou’s fist smashed into the back of Jemming’s head, causing the lacrosse player to stumble forward.

“Look out Bakugou!” Hitoshi suddenly yelled, noticing Yarrow sneaking up behind him. But before the grey-eyed bastard could touch Bakugou, Izuku tackled him to the ground. 

“Fuck!” Izuku shouted as Yarrow’s hand closed around his shoulder. Weakly kicking the temperature manipulator in his crotch, Izuku rolled away. “Why is it so cold!” He wailed.

“Izuku!” Hitoshi cried out, stumbling to his feet as his ribs throbbed. Throwing tactics out the window, he tackled Jemming, scaling him like a ladder before throwing an arm around his neck in a choke-hold.

Izuku, gritting his teeth, staggering to his feet, before finally punching Yarrow across the jaw. Right after that, Izuku collapsed again, shivering.

“You couldn’t have just shot him?” Hitoshi grumbled as Jemming collapsed as well. Rolling off, Hitoshi sighed at the five bodys lying on the ground.

God-fucking dammit, all he wanted was a coffee.

Chapter Text

“They attacked us! The twerps attacked us!” Rogers pleaded with the detective, who sat across from the table, “I was trying to return that one's pin!” He pointed an accusing finger at Izuku. Izuku, Hitoshi, and Bakugou were handcuffed to chairs, sitting on one side of the room. The other two of the high school boys sat on the other side, with various bruises. Bakugou and Izuku each had a blanket draped across their shoulders.

“That’s not true!” Izuku exclaimed angrily, before being shushed by the detective. Izuku, of course, ignored it and barreled on, “His friend flash-floze my friend, and he tried to hit me! They initiated it! And captain blonde hair kicked my friend across the parking lot!”

“He’s lying!” Rogers accused, “Officer, please, you gotta believe me! I’ve never gotten in trouble, ask my school, these sick bastards attacked us!”

“Don’t worry kid, I believe you, I just have to get the full story,” The officer assured Rogers, before turning to Izuku, his smile dropping. Hair changing to a bright red, he hissed, “Listen kid, you're only in this room because you wanted to, and you're a kid. I can book you and your pals a cell.”

“We’ve done nothing wrong!” Izuku protested, yanking at his handcuffs. Next to him, Hitoshi sat quietly, not saying anything. “Hitoshi, tell them!”

“Oh, you’re not getting the brainwasher to use his quirk.” The officer interrupted, before turning back to the smug-looking Rogers. His hair returned to his normal black, and he smiled kindly at Rogers. “Sorry about that, kid. I just need to call my supervisor in, and he’ll confirm your story. It’s just protocol, then I’ll even give you a copy of these delinquents mugshots.”

“Izuku-” Bakugou muttered to his friend, “Just… don’t say anything until your dad gets here.”

“Katsuki, we’re innocent, I’m not letting this prick incriminate us!” Hissed Izuku, “I know you want your record to be clean but this isn’t right!”

“For fucking once Izuku, calm your hero complex!” Bakugou rolled his eyes, “We’re kids.”

“You two! Quiet!” The officer barked, before getting up and walking out of the room. 

“Ha… I told you twerps I was home free!” Rogers laughed, his grey hair looking almost white in the fluorescent light. His bandaged nose made him sound almost nasal, and slightly obnoxious.

“What, freezing up?” Yarrow smirked, before rattling the loose handcuff on his coffee-shaded wrist. Izuku narrowed his eyes at them, but luckily, before he could do anything, the officer walked back in, this time with another person in tow. The new officer's long, tan coat swished as he walked, before taking a seat across from Rogers.

“Hello, Rogers-san,” The man greeted, “As well as our other detainee’s,” His warm brown eyes glanced at each of the room's inhabitants in turn, before he sat back in his chair, flipping a file open. “Rogers-san, full name Jacob Rogers, here on a foreign exchange program… quirk, presumed innocence.”

Rogers' face paled considerably as his quirk was read outloud, as did his friends. Shaking his head, Rogers attempted a smile, “Sir, my quirk is um, currently inactive, I swear, I… I’m innocent!” He said earnestly.

The officer paused, hand midway through flipping a sheet of paper. Meeting eyes with Rogers, the officer cocked his head, smiling. “Can you repeat that, please?”

“I said I’m innocent! I’m not using my quirk, I swear, sir!” Rogers widened his eyes into a pleading expression, smiling angelically. 

“Sir, I believe him-” The first officer spoke up, stepping forward from the corner of the room where he had stationed himself.

“And that, Kuyomi, is why we will be talking later,” The man smiled, snapping the case file closed. Resting it on the cold steel table, he leaned forward. Hands clasped, he didn’t waver his gaze from the increasingly nervous Rogers. “First of all, Kuyomi, suspects are not allowed to be in the same interrogation room.”

“I know sir but these guys are kids!” The officer protested, but the man just waved his hand.

“Rogers-san, my name is Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi. My quirk is called lie detector, three trys to guess what it does.” The detective said calmly.

“You… detect lies?” Rogers muttered anxiously, shifting in his chair.

Tsukauchi nodded, before saying “Yes, and you were lying when you said your quirk wasn’t activated. And when you said you were innocent.”

“Ha! Bitch!” Izuku mumbled, before the original officer silenced him with a glare.

“Now, why don’t you tell me the full story?” Tsukauchi said calmly.

“I swear! These freaks attacked us!” Rogers said shrilly, “We were defending ourselves! I was just getting some McDonalds, and tried giving their pin back! The blonde one tried to fucking hit Phil, and accidentally got froze! Then, purple went after James! He fucking strangled him! I swear!”

“Lie.” Tsukauchi said flatly, before glancing at the trio, “Do any of you want to explain?”

“Okay,” Hitoshi said, cutting off Izuku who had started to speak. Not meeting his eye, Hitoshi intoned flatly “I was eating, and Jemmings came up. He insulted me, and Katsuki reacted. He tried to walk over to Jemmings, but Yarrow grabbed his shoulder and lowered his body temp. I ran over to Katsuki. Rogers asked if the pin was Izuku’s - that part was true - and Izuku confirmed.”

“Izuku is him, right?” Tsukauchi pointed at Izuku with his pen, writing something down when Hitoshi nodded.

“Anyways, Rogers ran his mouth, and I objected, so Jemmings kicked me. Rogers swung at Izuku, and Izuku took him down, breaking his nose. Jemmings held me up by my shirt, and I slipped out and tried taking him down.” Hitoshi laughed nervously at that part, rubbing his neck with his uncuffed hand. “Katsuki hit him, then I put him in a choke hold. Izuku took down Yarrow while I did that.’

“I… see…” The detective hummed curiously, before looking up. “Truth, all of it.”

“No! I swear, they're lying!” Rogers yelled, his friends looking pale and afraid, “They fucking attacked!”

“The only thing I could possibly charge them with is excessive violence. While you used your quirks, and on a police officer too.” The detective leveled a glare with Rogers, “They would get probation and you would get jail time.”

“Sir?” Bakugou piped up, “Please, don’t write this on our permanent records - we’re trying to be heroes, I swear it was in self-defense.”

Tsukauchi considered it for a second, before nodding and making a note. “Okay, I can do that. But you and your friends are going to have to have ankle monitors to monitor where you are, okay? And I won’t be able to press charges against Rogers and the other two, so they’ll have monitors too. “

“Fine, that works.” Hitoshi agreed. Izuku sort of just sat there, like a potato. To be fair, he would have spewed out endless, justice-seeking nonsense, which both of his friends knew very well. 

___________

The man leaned on the wall, resting in the shadows. Idly flipping a coin over his scarred knuckles, he gazed at the apartment complex. He ignored the gently pulsating, silvery ripples emitting from his hands.

If anyone saw him, they would assume he was some sort of parkour expert, or perhaps an athlete. His long, thin black pants were taped to avoid air drag, and the dark red sweatshirt he had on advertised some obscure company. His dark red hair was messy and flyaway, even as his cold blue eyes scanned the building.

He watched carefully as a black haired man walked with three children into the building, the sound of him scolding them reaching across the street. The man's sharp eyes barely picked out the dull grey bands around their right ankles, and he mentally noted it.

His gaze remained on the four as they entered the building, and for a few seconds after. Then, with a sigh, he pushed away from the wall. As he walked away, ducking into a side alley, he pulled out a small bottle of pills, shaking a few into his palm and downing them dry. Shoving it back into his pocket, he quietly made his way away from the complex. 

When he was a decent distance away, he pulled out a battered flip-phone. In one smooth motion, he flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“It's Bane , reporting in,” He said quietly, glancing to either side of the street. No cars were visible. “ Midoriya arrived home per expected.”

Chapter Text

“Dad!”

“Uncle ‘Sashi!”

“Hisashi!” 

Three voices called out in one moment, excited. They were soon followed by the owners, as Izuku, Hitoshi, and Bakugou skidded around the corner and into the kitchen. Hisashi was sitting on the counter, flipping through ‘The Joy of Cooking’ - the three children backed up a step when they saw that.

In each of their arms, they cradled a large box, the official U.A stamp on the side. Hisashi could barely see their beaming faces from behind, but he could almost feel the sheer exaltation coming from the trio.

“Oh? Did your uniforms come?” Hisashi asked, his own face lighting up. Hopping off the counter, he grabbed a couple knives and handed them to the boys, who sat on the kitchen floor. Hisashi joined them, placing his book off to the side, “Here, open them up! Lets see!”

The boys wasted no time in using the uncomfortably sharp blades to slice through the packing tape - Izuku accidentally threw his knife, embedding it into the pantry door. 

Hitoshi was the first to wrestle past the absurd amount of bubble wrap, which Hisashi placed to the side for… recreational reasons. Pulling out one of the two blazers he had ordered, Hitoshi leapt to his feet and compared it to his size. His eyes watering as he ran over to the bathroom, Hitoshi quickly unbuttoned it and slipped it on. After turning a few times, he stumbled back, hugging himself and quietly crying.

“Hitoshi? Are you okay, kiddo? You aren’t picking up on the Midoriya tears, are you?” Hisashi asked kindly, patting Hitoshi on the back. In return, Hitoshi fiercely hugged Hisashi, wordless for a few seconds.

“ Thank you ” He choked out, squeezing the feared assassin. When he pulled away, the other two boys could see Hisashi’s hot pink t-shirt was stained with tears. “I… you helped me… I wouldn’t have gotten.. Have gotten into the hero… hero course without you!”

“Of course you would have, Toshi!” Izuku said, pulling his own blazer on. It was only slightly different from Hitoshi and Bakugou’s, in that the stripes were black, and there was a small X on his right shoulder. “You’re awesome!”

“Izuku’s right, dork,” Bakugou said fondly, throwing his tie around his neck and quickly tying it. “You beat me, fuck, of course you’d get in.”

Hitoshi said nothing, just pulled off his blazer and hugged it tightly.

“Why is my shirt dark green?” Izuku asked, taking out one of the six button-ups they had ordered (Hisashi knew at least four would be ruined by the next month, and ordered an extra three of each boy’s size.).

“Different course?” Hisashi suggested, watching fondly as each article of clothing was carefully taken out, inspected, compared, and placed to the side. 

“Probably…” Izuku muttered, gently tracing his fingers over the soft fabric of his black tie. He didn’t say anything, but Hisashi could tell he was thinking - about his quirk, and about the pressures he had on him.

“Hey, Hisashi?” Hitoshi said quietly, holding up his red tie, “Could you… could you teach me? I don’t know how to tie a tie?”

Hisashi beamed , jumping to his feet. “Of course! Come on! Izuku, have I showed you yet?” He asked excitedly, “I swear, I’m the luckiest dad! I have three kids to teach!”

“We’re not technically your kids, Uncle Hisashi.” Bakugou chuckled - he already knew, due to his parents, but tagged along into the bathroom.

“Irrelevant!” Hisashi said brightly, “I have three kids to teach and gosh, am I going to teach them!”

“Okay, Dad .” Hitoshi said teasingly, draping his tie around his neck. Hisashi froze in the bathroom doorway, and Hitoshi hurriedly backtracked, “I mean, I, Um, sorry?”

Hisashi said nothing, but rather turned around and wrapped Hitoshi in a hug, lifting the boy off his feet. His unique sooty tears emerged, as he incomprehensibly babbled for a good twenty seconds. Izuku wordlessly grabbed a towel and put it at their feet, letting it absorb the ridiculous amount of tears.

Finally, Hisashi stopped crying, and allowed the three to cram into the bathroom. He stood Hitoshi in front of the mirror, standing behind him.

“Okay, kiddo!” He sniffled, “So, you’re gonna wanna make the fat section longer - see?” Hisashi pulled the said fat section down further than the skinny end, “Cross it, like this.. Bring it around back… wrap this… pull it through… wrap again…” Hisashi spoke slowly as he performed the motions, “Tuck this in, and… there! One tied tie!”

Hitoshi examined the tie in the mirror, before clumsily untying it. Muttering to himself, he mirrored Hisashi’s actions, before pulling the perfectly-tied knot tight.

“Perfect!” Hisashi clapped happily, beaming, “Gosh, Hitoshi! It took me like… a year and six clip-on ties to learn!”

“Hey Dad?” Izuku stared down at the mess of his tie, tied completely wrong. Somehow, Hisashi couldn’t even see either end of the tie, “I think I did this wrong?”

“I… that’s alright Izuku!” Hisashi blinked, “I can give you a few of my old clip-ons, until you learn!”

“That's… probably for the best…” Izuku tugged at the knot, before sighing and slipping it off his head.

_________

“You know, boys, I did a couple years at U.A back in my days!” Hisashi mentioned as he bit into a cookie - courtesy of Mitsuki Bakugou. “Just gen ed, but boy did I have fun!”

“You did?” Izuku asked, making a face, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He reached over, stealing Bakugou’s glass of milk. The blonde scowled, shoving the greenette and stealing it back.

“It wasn’t too important I guess,” Hisashi laughed, rubbing his neck. Tapping a finger on the kitchen table, his gaze drifted off to a random point. “Yeah, that was a long while back… I dropped out, but while I was there, god, I met some great people… and some not so great people.”

“Wait, Dad, your Endeavors age, did you go to school with him?” Izuku asked, “What was he like? Still a dick?”

Hisashi’s face darkened slightly at the mention of the hero's name, “Yup. Still a dick. Swaggering through the hallways, talking about strength. He didn’t like me much.”

“Why did you drop out, Uncle Hisashi?” Bakugou inquired, gesturing with his cookie. Hitoshi ducked under his arm, grabbing another from the quickly-emptying plate.

“I just ran in with the wrong crowd, I guess…” Hisashi said quietly, before his face brightened, “But on the bright side, I helped rescue Nezu when I was like… 19 was it?”

“You did fuck what?” Hitoshi blurted unbelieving. 

“Yeah, long story. Where was I going with this.” Hisashi paused, before nodding triumphantly, “Right! I just wanted to tell you how proud of you I am, guys. You’ve done so great, and you got into amazing courses! I know firsthand how hard it is, but I have faith in you guys!”

“I… thank you…” Bakugou, for once, was almost speechless.

“We couldn’t have done it without you, Dad!” Izuku sniffled.

“Yeah, we really look up to you… Dad.” Hitoshi didn’t look up, instead nibbling on his cookie, “You’re so kind to us, you’re more of a Dad to me than anyone I know… thank you.”

“Oh, Hitoshi… boys…” Hisashi sniffled, “I’m so proud of you guys. You know, my dad wasn’t the… greatest, and my mom wasn’t in the picture after I turned twelve. I know you guys have your own problems, and I’m always here for you, aways. You guys are such an inspiration… You’re my own little heroes, my kids. And you’ll always be my kids.”

The boys literally couldn’t say anything through their tears, instead getting up and piling on Hisashi. 

“Promise me you guys will give me your merch for when you make it big, yeah?” Hisashi chuckled through his own tears, “I can say ‘Look at my kids! Their so great!’”

“We promise.” The boys swore, crying.

“Gosh, I remember when Izuku was small - he was so reckless -” Hisashi sniffled, “Nearly fell out the damn window… I never could get him to stop being so reckless… you two weren’t much better.”

“Dad, shut up!” Izuku laughed, before bursting into tears again.

“I love you guys… So much, I’m so freaking proud! I’m the luckiest dad in the world…” Hisashi smiled softly at the three sobbing boys, “I have three absolutely amazing kids… you guys are gonna be the best heroes the world has seen in awhile.”

“Promise you’ll be there, Dad?” Izuku sniffled, “You’ll be there to walk with us up to claim the top three spots?”

“I promise, kiddo. And I bet it won’t be too long before I do!” Hisashi laughed.

“I love you Dad…” Izuku, Hitoshi, and Bakugou said almost in sync.

Chapter Text

“First day of school, kiddo’s!” Hisashi called out - his call was soon heeded by three boys clambering out of Izuku’s room, all decked out in their respective uniforms. Hisashi could feel a tear come to his eye at the sight of his three kids  - oh wait, that was more than one tear. Oh well. 

Proudly, they stood before him, grinning. Izuku’s tie was a catastrophe (Hisashi had given him a clip-on?? How did he mess that up?), and Bakugou’s tie was nowhere to be seen. Hitoshi was the only one who looked relatively neat, and even that was offset by the bags under his eyes and his flyaway hair. Hisashi pointedly ignored what looked like a whole apple resting on Bakugou’s head.

Hisashi was so proud.

“You guys ready?” Hisashi asked, handing them each some extra yen for emergencies, “Got your handkerchief, your school things, your first aid kits, spare underwear?”

“Dad! Gross!” Izuku made a face, “But yes.”

“Izuku, my dear sweet child,” Hisashi smiled warmly, putting his hands on his son’s shoulders, “The U.A teachers are scary as shit.”

“Pfft, I’m sure they're not that bad, Dad!” Hitoshi, who had started calling Hisashi ‘Dad’, scoffed. “It’s orientation, it literally can’t be that bad?”

“Don’t jinx it, fuckin dork.” Bakugou mumbled, tugging at his already-unbuttoned collar, “Come on, I’m not gonna be late because of you two weirdos.”

“Okay Baku-hoe…” Izuku mumbled, “See you later, Dad!” 

“Okay, see you later kids! Break a leg!” Hisashi beamed as his kids walked out the door, before pausing, “Except you, Izuku. Don’t take that literally.”

“I wouldn’t have!” Izuku objected as he waved over his shoulder, before promptly jumping down half a flight of stairs. Bakugou and Hitoshi sort of just looked at each other and sighed, before following him down.

______

“I have my first class with you guys…” Izuku muttered as the trio walked through the U.A gates, “Homeroom… I wonder why that’s an entire class?”

“I don’t know, nerd. And the fuck do you mean you have the same class, what happened to the vanguard bullshit?” Bakugou huffed, although not unkindly. Hitoshi, who was busy eating a protein bar, just sort of waved in agreement.

“Since I’m the only student, I share your heroics classes with you, and I just do combat training while you're in educational classes.” Izuku shrugged, “As long as I can pass the exams for the educational classes, no one really cares.”

“Lucky bastard…” Hitoshi muttered, crumpling his wrapper up and shoving into the abyss of his pocket. 

“Which way is it?” Bakugou asked, holding his map upside down. Laughing, Izuku corrected it for him.

“This way, come on guys!” Waving his friends forward, Izuku led the way. They had arrived early, so the hallways were fairly empty.

“Why is the door so big?” Hitoshi muttered, pushing said gigantic door open. To their surprise, there was already someone in the classroom, sitting at a desk. Izuku briefly noted the straight-backed posture the boy held, dismissing him a few seconds later. However, Hitoshi and Bakugou seemed to recognize him.

“It’s you! Shitty glasses!” Bakugou exclaimed, scowling. “The asshole who yelled at Hitoshi for sleeping!”

“Oh god, Izuku, come on…” Hitoshi grumbled, trudging to the back of the room. Sitting down in a random seat, he plopped his head down on the desk. His backpack slipped off his shoulder and onto the floor, dragging Hitoshi’s arm with it.

Izuku just rolled his eyes as Bakugou and the other kid bickered, walking over to the window. He quickly glanced out, noticing the different buildings. He sighed as he noticed it was the type of window that slides open. Hard to open. Annoyed, he sat on top of the closest desk, taking his blazer off and draping it over the chair. His button down barely covered his trademark handgun at his hip, but the bulge from the holster was fairly obvious.

“You!” Izuku flinched slightly as the blue-haired kid pointed at him, taken by surprise. “You are not in uniform! If you are not going to respect U.A dress code, you may as well just get out! And what is that at your belt!”

“What’s your name?” Izuku pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m Izuku Midoriya. I am in uniform.”

“U.A dress code specifically states that you must wear the assigned uniform! The uniform for 1-A heroics course is a white button up shirt and your jacket! And I am Tenya Iida, from Somei!” The kid, apparently Iida, chopped his hand. Izuku winced as his hand hit the edge of the desk, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

“I’m not in 1-A though,” Izuku sighed, “I’m in class 1-X, Vanguard Course. I’m tagging along for your homeroom.”

“Ridiculous! There is no such thing as ‘Vanguard Course’!” Iida said sharply, “If you are going to lie at least make it believable Midoriya-san!”

“Iida-san…” Izuku was quickly losing his temper, “Read this.” Digging his letter out of his pocket, Izuku shoved it into Iida’s face. The boy looked startled, then mildly offended, and then finally read it. 

After a few seconds, he looked up. “My apologies Midoriya-san! I did not know! You must be incredibly skilled to initiate a new course!” Iida dropped into a low bow.

“Uh… Midoriya, right?” A voice sounded from behind Iida - Izuku hadn’t noticed as the class slowly filled up, most of the inhabitants watching Izuku and Iida argue. “Please don’t take offense, but what’s that on your belt?” The person who had asked - what seemed to be a floating uniform, shifted nervously.

Izuku didn’t miss Hitoshi’s chuckle as he grinned tiredly, raising his un-tucked button up to display the handgun. “It’s a gun - don’t panic, I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“Why do you have a gun, Midoriya-san? Isn’t that against school rules?” A brown-haired girl, who had been conversing with Bakugou (actually normally, to Izuku’s surprise) asked. 

“Normally, yeah, but I have to have it for my quirk,” Izuku shrugged, “One gun, Zero fucks is my quirk. I have to have at least one weapon on my person, or I’ll get really angry.”

“Why don’t you just bring a knife then? And you’re in my seat…” This time the speaker was Yaoyorozu, from the exams.

“Because knives aren't really weapons, they're just like dangerous chopsticks.” Izuku deadpanned, “Chop-chop!” Nonetheless, he still moved off her desk, grabbing his jacket. In an effort to avoid questions, Izuku made his way to the front of the class, looking for his name on the seating chart. To his surprise, his name wasn’t on it - instead, there was a half-legible sticky note that just read; “ Midoriya - I already know you're a problem child. Sit on the floor or something, I don’t really care. The custodial staff is annoying.”

“Well that's rude…” Izuku mumbled, wracking his brain to think of who the teacher of 1-A was. To his surprise, he couldn’t remember Nezu ever telling him. “I wonder who it is?”

“Shota Aizawa is the name.” Izuku screamed like a little girl, whipping around to face the sudden voice. “Ouch. Loud. Sit down and shut up.” The man, who was standing in what seemed to be a cocoon, stared at Izuku. Without a question, Izuku dropped where he was, sitting on the thankfully clean floor. “That's… not what I meant, but okay.”

The other students scrambled to sit down, tripping over each other as they slid into their seats. 

“My name, as I said, is Shota Aizawa… your teacher.” The man said, sounding exhausted. Unzipping himself from what Izuku could now identify as a bright yellow sleeping bag, he stepped out and walked to the podium in the front of the class. On his way, he stepped over Izuku. “It took you eight seconds to shut up… that won’t do.”

“Are you a pro-hero, sir?” Someone - Izuku couldn’t see who - asked from the back of the class.

“Irrelevant. Midoriya, hold these.” Aizawa dropped a pile of what seemed to be athletic uniforms on Izuku’s head. The poor green child spluttered as he drowned under polyester and spandex. “Get a uniform from Midoriya, and meet me outside. You have ten minutes.”

Izuku flailed around, trying to uncover himself. Finally, he surfaced. The students were still sitting there, openmouthed.

“Well, guys! Come on!” Izuku said, jumping up. He grabbed the closest uniform before booking it out of the classroom.

________

Shota Aizawa checked his watch. Three minutes. This batch of heroics hopefuls was a sad lot - they had just gaped at him. Maybe he should just expel the lot of them, that would give him time to take a nap.

Aizawa caught a glimpse of green, and groaned. His problem child senses were tingling - he already knew Izuku Midoriya would cause him more headaches than Present Mic when he saw a bug. Sure, he already saw his potential (The exams proved that much), but he also saw Midoriya fling himself through a building. You could excuse Aizawa if he wouldn’t trust the small green menace with a potted plant.

“Midoriya…” He grunted as the problem child walked onto the field. It seemed like he wore a belt over his tracksuit bottoms - Aizawa kind of wondered how he was going to run comfortably in that. 

“Old grey,” Midoriya nodded to him, and Aizawa wrinkled his nose at the nickname. 

“Little...green.” Aizawa gestured vaguely to Midoriya in retaliation.

“Lanky cat.” Midoriya shot back, turning slightly to face the pro-hero.

“Tiny grasshopper.”

“Caffeine addiction”

“Excuse me, trouble magnet?”

“Need a hearing aid, ancient caterpillar?”

“Need a cradle, basically-a-fetus?”

“Only if you get a cane, fossil-fuel.”

“What the fuck?” Bakugou interrupted their insult battle, giving both of them an odd look. 

“Don’t question it.” Both of them said in near unison.

After that, everyone decided to wait in silence for the rest of the class to fill in, which took a noticeably long time. If you were paying attention, you would probably see Aizawa’s face drop into a scowl as he checked his watch. The last stragglers emerged about ten minutes after Midoriya, laughing and shoving each other lightly.

Aizawa waited until everyone had settled down before starting with a frosty glare. “That took,” He pointedly glared at his watch, “About twelve minutes. I explicitly stated to be out at ten. Congrats. Whoever was in danger is now dead. I expect you will cut that time down.”

“Sir we had to find the-” A bright red-haired boy piped up, before being silenced.

“Did you not look at a map?” Aizawa rolled his eyes, “I should expel you all. Bakugou!”

The blonde stiffened at his name, caught off-guard for a second. Recovering quickly, he stepped forward. “Yeah, teach?”

“You came first in the entrance exams, right?” Aizawa confirmed, to which Bakugou nodded. Midoirya looked scandalized - Aizawa was willing to wager Bakugou hadn’t told him that. “What is your longest softball pitch in middle school?”

“57.2 meters.” Bakugou answered.

“Good, step into the circle and throw this,” Aizawa handed him the softball he had hidden in his scarf, “You can use your quirk.”

“Oh hell yes!” Bakugou grinned, before stepping into the circle. Eyeing the horizon, Bakugou wound up before releasing with a quite literally explosive pitch.

“Fuck, Katsuki!” Midoriya hollered, holding his ears. His hair had been shoved back by the blast, and the closest students to Bakugou looked vaguely traumatized. “Shut your explosions the fuck up! Get a goddamn silencer!”

“Izuku you dumbfuck, there’s no such thing as a fucking explosion silencer!” Bakugou yelled back, a satisfied look on his face.

“705.2 meters!” Aizawa announced, mildly impressed. He made a mental note to invest in silencing headphones for Bakugou’s explosions. “Now, we’re going to be testing your quirks today. Middle schools prohibit use of quirks in tests, but I say that's ridiculous. You’re only using half your potential, so full quirk use is allowed.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” The girl Aizawa vaguely remembered as being named Uraraka cheered, smiling. The rest of the brats shifted, small smiles coming to their faces as well.

“Fun?” Aizawa growled, flashing his quirk for a second, “You think this is fun? Fine. Let’s add a bit of motivation… whoever comes in last place is expelled.”

“What? You can’t do that!” A small grape-like boy whined - Aizawa immediately put his bets on him getting last.

“I can do anything I want.” Aizawa deadpanned.

“The morally ambiguous aspect of that is both inspiring and terrifying.” Midoriya quipped.

“Midoriya, you literally shot the number one. Like… twice.” Aizawa sighed, “Your moral compass is like the wheel of mis-fortune.”

_____________

Now, Izuku was fairly fit, so he did decently on each of the tests. However, Izuku grinned as Aizawa announced the long distance run. 

It was his time to shine.

“Before you start!” Izuku shouted, causing Aizawa to pause as his classmates lined up at the start, “I gotta warn you.”

“Oh fuck…” Bakugou and Hitoshi muttered, each paling as Izuku took out his gun, grinning maniacally. 

“I have 16 bullets in here! Their non-lethal but goddamn does it hurt!” Izuku announced, and a chill went down everyone's spine, “You guys won’t start running until I cross the finish line, got it?”

“Midoriya, I doubt you can hit us all, there’s twenty of us, and you’re bound to miss.” A pink-colored girl mentioned, not noticing Hitoshi and Bakugou sending her frantic ‘do not engage, do not question’ hand signals.

“You’d be surprised!” Izuku said happily, noting how Aizawa looked a mix of amused and tired. “I have a very good aim! Plus… knives!” Izuku tucked his handgun away (to the relief of literally the entire class) and pulled out some knives from god knows where, three fanned out in each hand. “Oh, don’t forget…” Izuku produced a brass knuckle.

“How many weapons do you have?” A boy with oddly large elbows exclaimed, inching away and eying the school building. 

“All of them.” Izuku grinned.

In the end, Izuku ended up with a much better score than everyone, winning by at least thirty seconds.

_______

Long jumps

“Uraraka, do me a favor and toss me over this pit.”

“S-s-sure!”

______

Grip strength

“Hey, Shoji, could you help me with this grip strength test?”

“You… you got it!”

______

Ball throw

“Hey, Yaoyorozu, could you make me a canon?” Izuku asked, smiling. The rest of the class were standing at least ten feet away from him, warily eying him.

“Why should I?” The dark-haired girl inquired.

“I have a gun?” Izuku shrugged.

Without batting an eye, Yaoyorozu pulled what looked like an AK-47 assault rifle. “So do I.” She deadpanned (Izuku could see the slight smile she had) “And mine’s bigger.”

“...fair.” Izuku shrugged, before turning and throwing the softball as hard as he could. The instant he let go, his hand drifted to his pistol, which he drew. In one smooth moment, he flicked the safety off and fired. The target, which was the softball, shuttered midair as the bullet tore through it.

Aizawa looked down at his tracker, and blinked. “I… can’t actually judge that. You shot the tracer.”

“So…?” Izuku made an awkward gesture with his hands, “What’s my score?”

“Let's… just say two hundred meters…” Aizawa sighed a long-suffering sigh.

______

Chapter Text

“Okay, Snipe, serious face, serious face…” Snipe, pro-hero and teacher said to himself, before grinning wildly and bouncing on his feet. “I said ‘serious’ face!” He schooled his expression into a calm, scholarly one… or rather, that's what he thought. If you had seen him you probably would have thought he had rather bad digestion issues. Luckily for him, he had his trademark mask on.

What was Snipe so excited about? Well, he had a very specific class marked on that day, a class with only one student. It would be a welcome break for him to teach an actually half-competent student instead of one of the elective students who had no idea what they were doing. Plus, he had heard about Izuku Midoriya from his coworkers and fellow heroes. There was even a rumor going around that the child was an assassin, although Snipe doubted that.

Picking up one of the school’s supplied handguns, Snipe checked to make sure the safety was on.

The room he was in was fairly long, and was specifically made for shooting - plexiglass barrier and everything. 

“Hello?” A young voice was accompanied by a knock on the open door, and Snipe turned around. The child looked exactly like his picture - with flyaway green hair and a smile to dazzle. Snipe literally thought he looked like a puppy, and nearly squealed.

“Ah! You must be Midoriya! Howdy!” Snipe beamed through his mask, noticing the weapon at the boy's hip. He was pleased to see it’s high quality, although he was slightly surprised by the green markings. “Ah, the rumor mill is true, I see.”

“What?” Izuku looked confused, draping his blazer over a crate.

“Pardon me, but ain’t you the kid who was an assassin? I won’t snitch, I swear!” Snipe wanted the T E A. 

“Oh, yeah. Only did like thirty or so jobs, stopped last year, but I did.” Izuku shrugged.

“Ah, I see. Y’all get more interesting each year…” Snipe muttered.

“Anyways… guns?” Izuku ventured.

“Guns!” Snipe said happily, pulling his own out. “Show me yours!”

Izuku literally didn’t need any prompting, pulling his pistol out. Snipe nodded approvingly.

“Okay, so I’m goin’ to test your skill, alright?” The pro-hero waited for Izuku to nod, before handing him some headphones and safety glasses. “Put these on, you know the drill.”

“Safety is for chumps…” Izuku muttered, reluctantly putting them on.

“Ah, we can go outside for the next lesson.” Snipe said absentmindedly, before pressing the button. Immediately, targets popped out of the ceiling, pausing for a second before folding back up. “Hit as many as you can!”

____

Snipe’s eyes widened as the kid smoothly raised his weapon, thumb flicking the safety off with ease. His eyes aligned with the sights, and the kid peered down the barrel.

Bang!

Snipe, open mouthed, checked the electric monitor mounted onto the wall. As he watched, a tally appeared in the column labeled “Bullseye”. 

Without hesitating, Izuku turned minutely to face the next target, firing and moving to the next without batting an eye.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Shot after shot sank into the specialty foam, and Snipe’s jaw dropped lower as more and more tally’s appeared in the bullseye section. The test had just begun, and the kid had scored five bullseye’s and three on-targets. Snipe himself would struggle to attain those marks without his quirk, and he was a pro.

After what Snipe counted as sixteen shots, Izuku dropped his weapon, seamlessly picking up one of the school-provided ones. Snipe went to hit the pause button, but there was no need as within seconds, the weapon was loaded and Izuku was firing.

Perfectly concentrated, perfectly serious, and perfectly talented. Izuku’s eyes were squinted, a sliver of emerald green visible. Holding the weapon in both hands, Snipe could clearly see the child was muscular and athletic. The perfect student, in other words. Snipe could see how the young boy had thrived in the underground.

Finally, after countless shots, Izuku put the completely empty weapon down, magazines littered on the ledge area. Pulling his headphones off, Izuku wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and grinned at Snipe. The harsh light of the shooting range reflected off his safety glasses, and his satisfied grin.

“How was that, Sir?” Izuku raised an eyebrow, reaching over and pulling a magazine from his blazer pocket. Not looking at his weapon, he easily reloaded it.

“Out of fifty-three targets?” Snipe breathed out in disbelief, “You hit 42 bullseyes, and seven on-targets. You only missed four times!”

“Damn!” Izuku laughed, “I guess I’m out of practice.”

“Kid, I’m gonna claim you before any of the other teachers do…” Snipe huffed a chuckle, “They ain’t gonna get their hands on you a’fore I do!”

“Why do I feel ominously threatened?” Izuku laughed nervously, leaning back.

“You can’t avoid adoption! Surprise!” Snipe smiled.

_______________

Izuku bounced on light feet to his next class - combat. He positively adored his firearms class - whilst exited, Snipe was an excellent teacher. Izuku was more used to fighting with his hands, so Snip started teaching him how to incorporate his guns into his fighting style.

“Room… 304…” Izuku muttered, noting the explosions coming from… somewhere. He knew Katsuki had heroics foundationals, so that was probably where it came from.

Oddly enough, room 304 wasn’t in between 303 and 305. Rather, it was tacked away in a corner next to 322 and 324. Izuku frowned at the oddity - he had only noticed the room after he quite literally walked into the doorframe.

The door was normal sized, surprisingly. Izuku knocked, before entering the pitch-dark room. The light from the door reflected off shining weapons ringing the far wall, casting a  shimmering glow on the simple black floor mat. The greenette slowly pulled his gun out, holding it lightly in one hand as he walked into the room. Ears perked, he listened for any noise.

“What… I know it’s 304…” He muttered to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Izuku saw a shadow move. Instinctually, he ducked and rolled, feeling something fly over him. Glancing it's direction, Izuku’s eyes widened at the sight of a sharp metallic throwing knife embedded in the wooden wall. That distracted him enough that he could barely roll out of the way of another knife, which found its home in the floor. Heart racing, Izuku made a beeline to the door. But before he could reach the knob, something grabbed his foot, hauling him back and flinging him. Izuku flew through the air before crashing into the floor, rolling into the wall of weapons. He saw a figure, silhouetted in the door’s opening, before the door swung shut. 

“Izuku Midoriya…” A honey-smooth voice mused, light footsteps tracing their way closer to Izuku. The young hero in training scrambled to his feet, aiming his gun in the direction he thought the voice was coming from. “I know your father… Dragon, was it?”

Izuku felt a cold feeling fall over him, and he tightened his grip on the weapon. “How do you know him?” Izuku hissed, before ducking. He felt a fist fly over his head, and reached up to grab it. Fingers closing around soft, thin fabric, he twisted their arm. But before he could move it an inch, a foot swept behind his knee, knocking him to the ground. He felt his gun skitter out of his hand, out of his reach.

“We used to work together… A little place called the Ring…” Izuku could hear the person’s mockery in their voice, “He was just as bad at fighting as you are.”

“I’m sorry I can’t fight blind…” Izuku muttered, grabbing a nearby sneaker. Yanking upwards, Izuku threw them to the ground before scrambling up himself.

“Weak excuse, Midoriya.” The voice grunted. 

“What do you want-” Izuku wheezed as he received a sharp jab to the stomach. Not giving him time to recover, the voice grabbed him by the collar. Izuku wrestled with their hand as they laboriously dragged him to what seemed like one of the walls. He tried reaching for one of his knives, but received a harsh jerk in response. He gagged as his shirt choked him, struggling to get to his feet.

“You’re a disgrace, Izuku Midoriya.” Izuku flinched as the lights were finally turned on, harsh white light burning into his eyes. The voice finally let go, half throwing him away from them.

Izuku struggled to get his breath back as he scrambled away on all fours, eyes wide and slightly panicked. His gaze found the source of the voice and his current breathing problem. 

Standing there casually was a slight man, who’s muscles weren’t too impressive and his height even less so. His slim black trousers had neat black tape wrapped around them from halfway up the shin down. The thin, red and black shirt he had was secured down at the waist by a thin rope, wrapped five times around his waist and tied in a simple-looking knot. Most striking of all was his wine-red hair, messy and sticking up. 

“Who the hell are you?” Izuku finally gasped, glaring at the man.

“You can call me Bane.” The man’s cold blue eyes scanned Izuku, still on the floor. “Nezu hired me to teach you how to avoid dying in a hand-to hand fight… A job that’s obviously more difficult than I wanted.”

“Nezu hired you ?” Izuku couldn’t help the scoff that left his mouth.

“Yes… And get rid of that attitude. I’m supposed to be teaching you.” Bane scowled, causing Izuku to notice a thin scar on the bridge of the man's nose. 

“Yeah, ambushing me in a dark room and strangling me, real educational.” Izuku rolled his eyes, “And if you worked with my dad in the past, you're probably a criminal. I know what he does.”

“Do you?” Bane cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at the thin, bracelet-like ankle monitor Izuku wore, “I heard you got attacked.”

“They used their quirks, my friends and I didn’t.” Izuku remembered how badly he fought.

“So you, a ‘skilled’ assassin… who could kick the crap out of some heroes… got taken down by three kids .” Bane scoffed, “You’re weak, Midoriya.”

“My style of fighting is based around closed rooms. Kicking off stuff, it was a bad situation-” Izuku tried.

“Excuses. We’re in a room, and I still beat you. You’re not used to variables , you're not adaptable enough. You’ve been sheltered by your father, you’ve been weakened by your stubborn insistence to press justice.” Bane dismissed, “You are unadaptable, untalented, clumsy, even your muscle structure is unbalanced. If I used my quirk you would be dead. You’re weak, a kid.”

“That’s why I’m here! To learn!” Izuku gestured to himself, and then to the weapons, “I admit! My fighting style is based on avoiding hits, and hitting strong and fast. I admit, I can improve, so teach me!”

“No.” Bane scoffed, “You have no potential. You should drop out, become a hitman like your daddy. At least then you’ll have the plans a month in advance, yeah?”

“Stop referencing my dad!” Izuku waved vaguely, “I’m not him, I’m Izuku, so talk to me and not to whatever you guys used to be!”

“Fine, then fight me.” Bane smirked.

“What-” Izuku was violently cut off as the young teacher lashed out with an open palm. Izuku barely got to notice the man’s palm glowing silver, before he was flung back by an odd energy. 

“My quirk. Shockwave.” Bane laughed mockingly, “I can create shockwaves in whatever my palm is touching. Air, soil… person. If I make a strong enough blast, I can either fling myself or other things.”

“Fuck!” Izuku swore, springing to his feet. Running slightly forward, Izuku vaulted over Bane, intending to kick off the wall and axe kick the man in the shoulder. But to his surprise, the teacher created a blast as Izuku planted a foot on the wall, kicking off the ground and flying towards the wall. Midair, Bane twisted to hit the wall feet first. Izuku landed with a stumble.

Easily landing, Bane aimed a kick at Izuku’s head, which he ducked. 

“You have to be on guard at all times,” Bane dropped to the ground to avoid a punch, “And you have to use what you have.” Leaning forward, he easily nicked a knife from Izuku’s belt. “You could have beat me if you had fired .”

Izuku decided, in that split moment, that he didn’t give an honest fuck anymore. Fuck Bane, fuck training, fuck following the rules.

And so, Izuku booked it out of the room,flinging the door open and sprinting away from the room with the speed of a wet cat. His feet pounded the tile silently, and he skidded around a corner. Crashing through the stairwell, he flung himself down the stairs, kicking off the wall. Taking it one floor at a time, he descended the stairs like a madman. 

“Midoriya, the fuck?” Bane’s irritated voice echoed throughout the stairwell, along with the occasional sound of a rough landing. “I thought you were going to fight, not run. Pathetic.”

“Catch me if you can, you rust-themed failure!” Izuku hollered back, before kicking open a door and taking off down a random hallway. Taking note of the room numbers as he sprinted past, Izuku carefully charted his course.

“I’m not paid enough for this…” A blast sounded from behind him, and an idea popped into Izuku’s head. Was it a bad idea? Yes. Would it probably get him expelled - definitely. Could it potentially lead to an arrest for manslaughter? Who the hell made the plan, what do you think?

Izuku grinned and changed his course as curses grew louder and louder.

_________

Bane had a headache. The damn brat had surprised him when he had taken off, although Bane supposed that he should have expected it..

Using his quirk, Bane carefully fired off pulses from his hands. The shockwaves in the air propelled him forward, moving much faster than he could on foot. The aerodynamic clothing he wore served it purpose, wind streaming through his hair. At that moment, he could have laughed.

Coming to a corner, Bane narrowed his eyes, twisting midair and landing feet first on the wall. Placing a hand on the surface, he released a shockwave - one that sent him flying down the hall. To his irritation, he couldn’t see the brat - they were faster than he expected. Sending a few more shockwaves, Bane accelerated.

His mistake.

A chair swung out from a doorway - right in front of him. Unable to stop, Bane crashed into the chair, agony spiking through his chest and head. He collapsed to the ground, all momentum gone as spots clouded his vision.

“The… fuck …” Bane coughed, feeling something wet rise through his throat. Spitting what tasted like blood out, Bane allowed himself a few seconds to wallow in his own pain.

“Oops.” The brats voice swam in and out of focus, “You kind of broke the chair, Bane-sensei.” 

Even though it felt like his head and chest had been stabbed by some sort of multi-legged, sword spider, Bane couldn’t help himself.

He laughed, loudly and painfully. 

The brat had potential.

Chapter Text

By the end of the day, Izuku would have gladly become a hermit in some far-away mountain peak, preferably armed to the teeth with chairs and good fashion sense (a classic All Might ward). Izuku expressed that as he collapsed back into Principal Nedzu’s chair, running a hand over his face and groaning. His entire body hurt, and so did his head.

“So, how are you and Bane-san getting along, dear Izuku?” Nedzu asked like Izuku hadn’t been chased by the maniac through the school. Knowing Nedzu, he had watched the entire thing on the security cameras. The psychopathic rodent took a polite sip of tea, shrewd eyes examining his pupil.

“It was okay, Bane-Sensei had to… uh, take a seat by the end of it.” Izuku snickered. According to Recovery Girl, Bane would have to stay overnight in the ward to monitor the nasty concussion he had received. Izuku made the executive decision to get out and go to his next class before the man woke up and decided his next lesson plan was how to get away with homicide. 

“I see…” Nedzu muttered, before pulling a few sheets of paper from his desk. “Today's lesson, Izuku, is about the body's natural enhancements to accommodate quirks, and how to factor that into fighting. Please read this article, and tell me what you think about it.” He slid the plain packet over to Izuku. The plan font, and utilitarian language gave away that it was a scientific paper.

Izuku picked the packet up, skimming over the words. Then, doubletaking, he read the first page again more carefully. Turning the page, he read, fingers twitching slightly with the desire to write down the new information and mouth moving slightly as if muttering to himself. After he finished reading, Izuku read the packet again. And then again.

“What’s confusing you, Izuku?” Nedzu hummed, taking another sip of tea and sliding a plate of shortbread biscuits over to Izuku. Mindlessly, the former assassin took one.

“This says that the body has naturally evolved to accommodate quirks, with enhanced speed, bone strength, muscle strength, and joint structure has slightly changed too to minimize risk of dislocation.” Izuku summarized, flipping the page, “In addition, the body has adaptations based on the specific quirk that it has - like Katsuki has mildly heat-resistant palms, up to temperatures of three-hundred degrees, and thicker skin that heals burns at a rate 1.345 times faster than normal. But it says that pre-quirk bodies would be more delicate, and even more prone to injury.”

“Exactly! Excellent, Izuku!” Nedzu clapped excitedly, “You are an excellent example yourself! You are what is referred to as a ‘blank slate’. Your body didn’t receive any specific instructions, so it simply enhanced everything - not to a noticeable level, but a little more than usual!”

“Because I’m quirkless…” Izuku mumbled, pinching his skin and glaring at it like he could see the enhancement.

“Precisely! Your father has informed me of the build composition of your rifle used in your first job. The paintball one?” Nedzu beamed, ‘An excellently executed one at that. You also used the same rifle for the next two years - your father mentioned that he was worried the recoil of an actual rifle could break your shoulder. I have the blueprints of the rifle, along with your current handgun! Excellent technology.”

“...Why?”

“Because Izuku, looking at this, I do not think you were in danger. Here, let us calculate recoil force, you remember the equation, right?”

“I mean yeah?” Izuku was confused. “But why does this matter?”

“Ah… I may have gotten carried away.” That was rubbish, Nedzu always knew what he was doing, “My apologies. My point was, dear Izuku, that if you were to fight a… lets say a pre-quirk, or early quirk user, their body would be much more fragile than yours!”

“I see…” Izuku mused, before running across the blatantly obvious problem. “Nedzu, they’re literally all dead.”

“True, however Izuku, you are missing the largest advantage that this study offers us.” Nedzu chided, wagging a finger at Izuku, “This is a relatively new study, people still aren’t aware of it. Due to traditions, people go by the old numbers, meaning you are tougher than someone would expect. They haven’t even updated the government numbers, instead measuring every quirked person uniquely. They think you're fragile.”

“I see…” Izuku muttered, “therefore, if someone attempted to do - say an illegal surgery, or an illegal experiment with a quirkless person, it would give said person a moment of surprise, perhaps allowing them to escape and alert authorities.”

“Precisely Izuku!” Nedzu crowed, “No person would have been able to survive the blow, for instance, Toxic Chainsaw landed on All Might! The toxins would have dissolved any ordinary person's skin in 2.5 seconds, with an exponential rate.”

“But the video’s showed All Might wiping it away after exactly 2.56 seconds, sir?” Izuku hit a metaphorical brick wall, “Maybe his physical enhancements extend to his skin... “ He mumbled.

“Yes, however, remember when he was crushed by rubble?” Nedzu prodded.

Izuku thought hard for a minute, before his eyes opened wide. Looking up, Izuku said slowly, “Sir, are you telling me you think All Might - the All Might, number one hero… is quirkless? That wol\uld mean that he’s either incredibly strong from usual methods and fakes a quirk… or he somehow acquired a quirk from somewhere… is there a quirk to pass quirks on? That would be a dangerous thing for the number one...” Izuku dissolved into mumbles.

“Bitch no.” Nedzu backtracked, waving his paws frantically, “I’m trying to tell you it’s hard to break kneecaps!”

Outside of Nedzu’s office, All Might sweat dropped and decided that perhaps he didn’t need to scold Izuku for his stunt with Bane.

_________

Bane, last name classified underneath the Japanese Intellegence Act of XXXX, unlocked his apartment with shaking hands. Small ripples of silver light emitted from his hands, pushing things away and making it difficult to grasp the key.

Slamming his hand against the light, fumbling to turn it on, Bane’s eyes were stung by the harsh white light of the cheap apartment he had leased for the year. A military cot sat in the corner, with a nearly folded set of blankets on top and a limp-looking pillow. In the center of the room was a wooden crate, with a folding chair besides it to act as his table. A simple chest, shoved to the wall, held all his worldly belongings, and a camp burner sat on top to boil water. 

Bane had snuck out of the infirmary - he couldn’t stay there, it was a waste of time. Plus he had drastically miscalculated his timing. From what Nedzu told him, he simply had to test the school's defenses, teach Hisashi’s kid, and then go home.

Yeah, he didn’t realize that apparently the kid would end up making an impromptu model of his face in a chair. 

Stumbling over to the chest, Bane pushed the campfire burner off the chest. Opening it, Bane shoved aside a few identical pairs of shirts, pulling out an almost-empty bottle of pills. The pills, almost a metallic bronze color, sat innocently in the orange container. They baited Bane’s patience as he struggled to unscrew the cap. A particularly strong pulse of silver spun the cap off, spilling the pills over the plain concrete floor.

Cursing, Bane dropped to his knees, grabbing the closest one and shoving it into his mouth. It went down reluctantly, but it still went down.

Sighing in relief, the newly hired teacher slumped against the chest, gazing at his hands as the silvery ripples lessened, before disappearing completely. After a few seconds, he carefully collected the medicine, placing it back into the container with now steady hands. Into the chest it went, underneath his clothing.

Bane - quirk; Pulse wave. He had the ability to emanate silvery pulses from his palms, which would push anything away. If the item was heavier than himself, Bane would be pushed away - speed depending on strength of the pulse. With strong pulses, Bane could even use air to propel himself, as he did in Izuku’s test.

However, the shockwaves were not merciful, especially not to his hands. Specially made gloved, tight-fitting and lined with thin copper wire prevented the pulses from completely destroying the muscle in his hands, but the prediction was by fifty Bane would lose all mobility in his hands. Rendered essentially quirkless. It didn’t help that without assistance of an expensive drug, titled only as Delta-B-6, Bane was completely unable to control his quirk. The pulses would increase in strength, even if he lost mobility of his hands. Essentially tearing him apart.

“Christ almighty…” Bane sighed, knocking his head backwards. “I didn’t like school when I had to attend, and I don’t like it any more.” 

“I’m hurt, even when I tutored you, Bane-nii?” A familiar voice said, bemused. Warm, friendly, and welcoming. Bane’s head looked at the door so fast he swore he got whiplash.

There, standing in the still-open doorway stood Hisashi Midoriya. Bane could have sworn the man hadn’t changed an ounce since the time they first met - ironically in a pharmacy when Bane literally ran into the man sheepishly buying pads for his girlfriend - now wife. Dressed in an almost garishly red shirt, with green lettering across the chest boldly stating “ Sword ”. Fortunately, he had upgraded to jeans instead of the bright pink flannel pants he wore twenty-three years ago.

“‘Sashi-nii-” Bane choked, stumbling to his feet. His mind was blank, and for a second it seemed like the entire world was based around Hisashi’s blinding smile. “How- when…”

“It’s been ten years, old friend!” Hisashi laughed, eyes crinkling. Bane noticed the crows feet around the man's eyes, a subtle pang of jealousy hitting at the obvious indication of frequent smiles. "You’re… 39! Almost a fossil, like yours truly!”

“I-” Bane stood awkwardly in the middle of his sparse room, “It’s really you?”

“Yep!” Hisashi walked in, kicking the door closed. “Imagine my surprise, Bane-nni, when my little hero came home, saying something about a Bane .” Hisashi chuckled, “After a few seconds, I just knew it was my little brother.”

“ Hisashi …” The name felt wondrous in Bane’s mouth - it had been nine years since he had uttered it. 

“We’re home, we’re safe now.” Hisashi’s smile turned sad, “Isn’t that wonderful, brother? We don’t need to be scared anymore. You don’t need to be scared - I am here .” Almost subconsciously, Bane stumbled forward, clutching onto Hisashi as traitorous tears welled up in his eyes - they didn’t fall, they stopped doing that years ago, but they were there. In the back of his mind, Bane was utterly humiliated - a grownass man, acting like a child. But he ignored that, instead focusing on how there his big brother was.

“I missed you…” Bane muttered, voice cracking. Hisashi’s warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight. “So much…”

“You’re home now…” Hisashi said soothingly, “and you're just as scrawny as always. Do you even eat?” Hisashi smelled of smoke, and of vanilla. 

Bane didn’t respond, just quietly holding onto Hisashi like he would disappear into thin air. His chest almost ached with the joy he felt, and his mind ran wild through all his memories.

Ten years ago, Hisashi and Bane had had a fight, and a big one. One that resulted with Hisashi knocked onto his back, and Bane storming out of the door with his bags. The next day, guilt worming it’s way into his mind, Bane went back, only to find a cold, empty apartment and a resignation letter. (His superiors were NOT happy, needless to say.)

 They remained there for a while, silent. But, after what seemed like only a few minutes (it was, in reality, forty-five minutes), Hisashi gently stepped away.

“Bane, how are you living like this?” He said softly, “Is your medicine still expensive?”

Bane’s face reddened, and he glanced away. Idly running a hand through his wine colored hair, he mumbled, “Yeah…”

“Doesn’t Nedzu pay for it?” Hisashi’s brow furrowed, “He should.”

“I didn’t tell him.” Bane said shortly, “He won’t hire me if I can’t control my own quirk - It’s just with that job I can afford this.”

“You’re always welcome to my house?” Hisashi suggested.

“Nah, I don’t think Izuku or Inko would like to see my face again.” Bane laughed, before cutting his laugh off when he saw Hisashi wince. 

“Inko…” Hisashi glanced away, gathering himself, “Inko is no longer with us. The hospital was- Endeavor…” Hisashi’s jaw snapped shut, gritting his teeth. A glance down showed that his fists were clenched as well.

“Oh god…” Bane said softly, “How long ago?”

“Nine years… after I left… you know.” Hisashi couldn’t help the single, pitch black tear from rolling down his cheek.

“I’m sorry…” Was all Bane could say.

“It’s okay… we’re home now…”

Chapter Text

“Bane what the fuck are you doing in my house?” Izuku asked, completely deadpan as he aimed a handgun in between Bane’s wide open eyes. To be honest, he had no idea what type of bullet was in the boys pistol, and he didn’t really find out.

Bane had come to Hisashi’s modest apartment - at the man's insistence - and went up ahead of Hisashi, who was getting some ice. Which he now suspected as a bullshit argument, considering he had a young hellion standing squarely in front of him, too far to fight, but close enough that Izuku could see his eyebrows raise. 

Bane raised his hands slowly, the sweatshirt he had thrown on sliding down his arms uncomfortably. Resting his hands on his head, Bane made no sudden movements. “Didn’t His- your dad tell you I was coming?” He asked, mentally noting to leave a scorpion in Hisashi’s shoe. This was definitely a setup.

“He told me a close friend was visiting, not a little bitch.” Izuku’s eyes narrowed, his thumb deftly swiping out to turn the safety off. “And you are definitely little.”

“Oh shut up,” Bane rolled his eyes, “I’m literally taller than you.”

“By an inch!” Izuku objected - Bane didn’t even question why the boy knew that. Knowing the Midoriya’s, he probably hacked some police databases. Got it from his mom, probably. 

“Can I please come in?” Bane asked, sweatdropping slightly. “I promised to help your dad cook dinner? Is he still a good cook?” 

Izuku paused, before lowering the weapon. He had a look of sheer disappointment in his eyes, and for some reason Bane felt like a shamed child. “My dad? A good cook? Bane, how do you cook instant ramen?”

“Uh…” Bane gulped - was this a test? Probably. “Put the ramen in a pot, with seasoning and an egg, then wait until it’s done?”

“ How much water do you put in ?” Izuku’s eyes seemed to glow an ominous green as he leaned in, knuckles white on his weapon.

“W-water?” Bane took a step back, “Don’t… a tablespoon of soy sauce?” He shivered from the aura Izuku was sending off. However, as soon as he answered, Izuku’s shoulders untensed and the menacing feeling disappeared. The look of disappointment was back, however.

“We’re going to get ramen from a shop.” Izuku said with a note of finality, directing a stare over Bane’s shoulder. With a quick look behind him, Bane confirmed that the former assassin was indeed behind him, looking terrified. “Dad’s paying - I practically lose brain cells listening to that. God, I almost saw mom about to K.O your ass, Bane.”

“Damn right, ‘Zuku.” MamaInko, in the form of a ghost, said proudly as she brandished a new weapon (a pan crossbow) above her son’s fluffy curls. “These idiots could literally burn broth - Hisashi once thought you put mayonnaise in jello - It’s not that hard ‘Sashi!”

_______

“So, Bane.” Izuku waved his chopsticks around vaguely before taking a bite of his spicy ramen, chewing before speaking again. “You didn’t answer me before, what are you doing here?” 

Bane nervously looked around the ramen shop - a simple place, with only linoleum tiles, and fake bamboo walls. The black booths were empty, except for their spot. No one to witness Bane’s murder via a small, homicidal green child. Fabulous. 

“I used to know Hisashi.” Bane started, before backtracking, “I mean, I still do, but-”

“We met when he was in high school, I was in college.” Hisashi sighed “Or when I should have been in college. Remember I told you I dropped out of U.A in my second year?”

Bane nearly spat his ramen out, slapping a hand to his mouth. “You did fuck what?” The man exclaimed, “Dude I thought you used to go to my high school! You knew like every teacher there!”

“Bane…” Hisashi pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, “I told you, I got Inko to hack into the database so I could influence the teachers to like you.” Izuku was startled, but not surprised at the revelation. Apparently, Bane wasn’t surprised either as he nodded and continued slurping down his third bowl of ramen at light speed.

“Yeah, I was gonna go to a place called Hiatsu Tech, specialized in electrical engineering.” Bane said after he finished another mouthful of noodles, “But due to financial reasons I couldn’t. I got involved in the shady organization that ‘Sashi did earlier, and well…”

“Shady organization?” Izuku wiped his mouth, taking a drink of the soda he had ordered. He had a feeling this would be a spit-take moment and hell if he wasn’t an obliging protagonist.

“Yeah, they called themselves…” Hisashi nervously looked around, before leaning in. “ The Ring .”

“They were a fighting ring, so real creative naming.” Bane frowned slightly, “Hisashi was the best fighter, but I was up-and-coming. They had some of us do assassinations to keep The Ring hidden. “

“How did they get powerful?” Izuku inquired, assuming they were powerful.

“It’s quirked fighting Izuku.” Hisashi scowled, “The most powerful were rented out for a week to the highest bidder - villains and heroes both had an interest in keeping it alive.”

“Yeah… Hisashi got out though.” Bane said proudly, “He was the strongest of them all, and one day he just disappeared. He and Inko. I stayed… I wanted…” Bane hesitated, “I wanted to destroy them from the inside out.”

Izuku didn’t notice as Hisashi sent Bane an odd look, too involved in the story. “Did you succeed?”

“Yup!” Bane snickered happily, “Basically… I blew up all the headquarters… while they were having a meeting about Hisashi.”

“You old dog!” Hisashi laughed aloud, “You didn’t ? Old iron teeth, Bag Toy, all of them?” At Bane’s smug nod, Hisashi howled aloud with laughter, slapping the table. “Of course you did! You pyromaniac.”

“Say, what did you do after leaving, ‘Sashi?” Bane went back to inhaling yet another bowl of ramen - how was he so small??

“I got a job with the government.” Hisashi tapped the side of his nose, “Taking out the trash, if you get my gist!” 

Bane snickered, before lifting his bowl up to his lips and drinking the hot broth in one go. Unbeknownst to him, a single noodle had fallen into his messy hair, a matching one dangling from Hisashi’s ear. How they got there, Izuku had no idea. 

Of course, Izuku realized that he had been too nice to Bane, and decided to rectify that mistake. Pulling a little box, hastily wrapped in cling wrap and tinfoil, from his pocket, he slid it over to his red-themed teacher. The man quirked an eyebrow at him, before tearing the covering off (how rude, that was some nice cling-wrap). Inside the box (which previously held a can of sardines), was a tiny, but perfect replica of the chair Izuku had played Bane-baseball with.

“YOU GREEN GREMLIN I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

“TRY ME YOU RUST-COLORED KARATE KID REJECT!”

_______

Meanwhile, unaware of the possible multiple homicide occuring, Hitoshi Shinso peacefully browsed the multitude of shelter cats, wondering if he could convince Hisashi to let him adopt one. At least three were napping in his hair, and a tiny black kitten was draped over his shoulder like a dramatic actress. Two more rested in his hood, which fittingly had a pawprint on the front of the purple fabric, and “ Bite me ” printed underneath. 

“ Mew! ” The one on his shoulder complained, swiping at his cheek. Curious little blue eyes peered up at him.

“Whats up?” Shinso chuckled, gently tickling the cat under their chin. “Do you want to be let down?” The cat murred in objection, so Shinso let them be. Shinso wasn’t quite sure if they were a girl or boy, and honestly neither was the staff. “I wish I could take one of these little guys home.” He sighed, running a hand through his amethyst hair. He remembered an incident when he was small, after he had been beaten by some older boys. As he lay in the alleyway, rain soaking through his thin shirt, a thin-looking cat had padded up to him, nosing about his various bruises. Then, the street cat curled up on his chest, purring loudly. The heat from that cat, Shinso was sure, was the only thing that let him slink home. He never saw it again, however. 

“Why don’t you?” A new but familiar voice inquired. Shinso stiffened, turning around with a terrified look on his face - albeit the effect was lessened by the fact that he had about half a dozen cats using him as an impromptu cat tree. “They’re all for sale, and you’re a coward if allergies stop you.” Shota Aizawa, Shinso’s homeroom teacher said as five cats poke their heads out of his scarf. “Plus, I’ve heard of the Midoriya's. Crybabies, all of them. I doubt any of them would be bothered.”

“I’m not a Midoriya.” Was Shinso’s instinctual response, before flinching. No, in name he wasn’t a Midoriya, although he liked to think the father and son combination was his true family. Sadly, his mom still occasionally called him, blaming him for abandoning her and making her life hell. 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, glancing Shinso up and down. “Sure, and I’m not a pro-hero.” He scoffed, idly petting a cat. “If those two don’t see you as family, I’ll eat my scarf. Now, pick out a cat.”

“I can’t just bring a cat home! I’m infringing enough!” Shinso exclaimed, “Plus, I’m broke .”

Aizawa rolled his eyes yet again, “Did I stutter? Pick out a cat. It would save me a headache if you and the problem child got therapy, but life hates me so a cat is the next best thing. I’ll pay.”

“Aizawa-” Shinso’s brain ground to a halt. Problem child ? That was undoubtedly Izuku. But why would Aizawa buy him a cat? Surely he wasn’t that much of a troubled child? Did he make a bad influence?

“Kid, calm down.” Aizawa cast a glare at him. “You’re not a burden. And I’m sure the Midoriya’s would love a cat too. God, do kids ever know their own worth…” He trailed into an angry mumble, occasionally rolling his eyes as he complained about teenagers “Shitty as fuck self esteem.”

“Y’know what, I’m picking for you.” Aizawa scowled. “That black one seems like it’ll murder me if I don’t pick it.”

‘ What the fuck? ’ Shinso gaped as his homeroom teacher literally plucked the cat from his shoulder, walked over, fucking paid for it, and walked back over. 

“You’re a good kid.” Aizawa gruffly said, plopping the cat in Shinso’s hair, along with an old-looking giftcard to a nearby pet store. “Don’t forget that.”

________

“ AHHHHHHHH!! ” Present Mic screamed (Thankfully without his quirk).

“ AHHHHHHHH!!” Katsuki Bakugou screamed back. He didn’t even know why they were screaming. It just sort of happened when Bakugou had busted into Present Mic’s office. They had been screaming for roughly ten minutes, and Bakugou’s throat was feeling spicy. “WHY ARE WE SCREAMING?”

“YOU SCREAMED FIRST.” Present Mic howled.

“BECAUSE I ALWAYS DO!” Bakugou complained. “THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS GIFT MICROPHONE.

“I- Wait what did you call me?” Present Mic came to a screeching halt. “Gift Microphone?”

“Shut the fuck up, static face.” Bakugou grumbled, “I just wanna fucking know if U.A has a fund for… shitty medical crap.”

“Do you have a medical concern?” Present Mic switched gears remarkably fast. “Recovery Girl-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Bakugou flared, before wincing. “Sorry. Whatever. No, I need… I need…” He trailed off in a mumble.

“What?” Present Mic leaned in, before whipping back as Bakugou released an explosion. Smoke filled the office, and Present Mic briefly considered investing in a fire extinguisher. His precious records that lined the walls were valuable - after all, they were pre-quirk. 

“I SAID I NEED HEARING AIDS, YOU FUCKING DEAF?” Bakugou roared. “THE DOC SAYS I’M GOIN’ DEAF YOU DAMN RADIO.” Bakugou’s face colored slightly at the admission.

“Actually, yes, I am hard of hearing.” Present Mic said calmly, “And why didn’t you say so? What brand do you use? How bad’s your hearing?” The man's mind whirred, mentally flipping through magazines and models that he himself had previously tried. Assuming the hearing loss was quirk-based, the boy would need some sort of sealing earpiece, and it needed to shut off at certain levels of sound. Basically the same requirements Present Mic himself needed.

“I don’t fuckin’ know.” Bakugou grumbled, aggressively swiping a handful of peppermints out of the bowl Present Mic kept on his desk. Popping one in his mouth, he crunched down on it as he chewed thoughtfully. “This shits new to me, and I ain’t asking the old hag for help. She’s got fuckin’ enough on her mind.”

Present Mic internally noted that, although he didn’t have nearly enough time to unpack everything in that sentence. “Well, I recommend a brand called Delta Tech. Basically, it has a customizable appearance, it's small, and it’s what I use.” Present Mic walked over, grabbing a thick catalogue off his desk. “I was actually planning on ordering a few more for myself,” He explained, “Here's the QR code to the customizer, but you can also choose a pre-designed model. It’s better if you visit a shop in person, so they can scan your ear canals to ensure a good fit and sound-proofing.”

“Where’s the nearest shop?” Bakugou grumbled, raising his phone and snapping a picture of the QR code. 

“Well, the nearest shop is about an hour's train from here.” Present Mic hummed, “You can choose when you want the sound to cut off - so you don’t deafen yourself even more, and although the general design is the same, you can customize the color and some various controls.”

“An hour?” Bakugou’s face fell slightly, “Fuck, whatever. I’ll just look at the catalogue.” 

“If you want, you can come with me?” Present Mic hummed, fiddling with his own hearing aid. “I was planning on stopping by anyways.” That was a lie - he had no need to visit since his information was already on file. But, it was for a student, and there was a bakery nearby that sold cat-shaped cookies. 

“I don’t have any fuckin’ cash on me.” Bakugou scowled, “Don’t waste your damn time.”

“Hey! Little listener! I’ll just bully Nedzu into forwarding me the payment!” Present Mic struck a confident pose. “We have a fund, remember!”

“Tch.” Bakugou scoffed, but his eyes shone with an odd spark of something. Present Mic, daresay, thought it may be happiness. “Whatever.”

“You like my mints, listener!” Present Mic beamed at the belligerent student, “Here, take a bag!” Unceremoniously, Mic dumped a bag that he procured from nowhere onto Bakugou. It was half as large as Bakugou - who looked like he had nearly been hit by a train.

“Whatever.” 

_______

“...You, Hitoshi, have a cat.” Hisashi sighed, “Katsuki, I don’t even want to know why you have so many mints.” He ignored his son, who had a paint-splattered piece of red fabric tied around his forehead like a war bandana. His two not-quite-but-basically sons shifted awkwardly, and Hitoshi attempted to hide his kitten in his hair - unsuccessfully as the little creature poked its head out. Katsuki rubbed his head awkwardly, inwardly thanking whatever deities there were that no one had noticed his new hearing aids (they did). Hundreds of mints caused his pockets to bulge, but to be fair they were rather good (the package advertised them as a 2-in-1 mint and cough drop).

“Dad, you have a new younger brother, you can’t talk.” Izuku said casually, checking his nails as his father spluttered indignantly. 

“I am… right here, you know?” Bane said, before yelping as Izuku pitched a mint at his head. He ducked behind the sofa again, not wanting to sacrifice any more of his clothing to augment Izuku’s war gear.

“Why do I get the feeling like I have to fight three pro-heroes for the right to be my kids father...” Hisashi inquired. His feeling was not made better by the subversive looks his kids directed at each other, or the pinging sound that his phone was making (they often forgot he was on the group chat). 

“Moving along!” Hitoshi suddenly exclaimed, causing Katsuki to jump (were people always that loud?), “I think it’s time for… a dance party!”

“My cue to leave!” Bane popped back up, making a getaway towards the door. Before he touched the handle, though, four pairs of hands grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him backwards. “Traitor…” Bane whispered to Hisashi, eyes welling up with tears at the sheer betrayal.

“If I have to sit through a trio singing Party in the U.S.a for three hours straight you do too, my dear Bane-nii.” Hisashi said with soul-dead eyes. 

“I beg!”

“ Perish. ”

Chapter Text

21 years before the current storyline
 "Wolfsbane, you son of a gun, you did  it! How did you find them?" Hisashi's voice cracked through the cheap headset the Ring afforded them. "I need to treat you to some ramen after this."
 Bane, age 18, grinned underneath his black balaclava. Flicking the safety of his pistol off, the man carefully tested the handle of the roof access to Club Viridecense. The cheap lock jiggled, but didn't turn. Unphased, Bane pulled a small roll of cloth from his hard-shell backpack. In it was several lock picks, one of which he chose along with a tension wrench. 
 "Lets get out alive first, brother." Bane whispered into his mic, "The Consuls were not very happy about the disruption, and judging from how well they covered their tracks, these guys aren't amateur's." Bane twisted the tension wrench slightly as he pressed down on the pins inside the lock, the cool metal of the handle pressing against the dollar-store gloves he had been provided with. With a quiet click, the lock disengaged.
 "I disagree. six guards, five bouncers, and two private security? They put everything into not being tracked." Hisashi murmured, the sound of music filtering through his microphone. Bane silently opened the door, lifting it slightly to avoid squeaking hinges.  Kicking a rock into the gap, he slid into the ill-lit stairwell, stepping lightly. "Guy going up your way for a smoke, eta forty-five seconds."
 "So we're against idiots. Rodger that." Bane slipped down the staircase, flexing his hands. He could hear the music thumping below - the bottom floor of the two-story building was a club. That wasn't what he was interested in, though - he was aiming for the top floor, where the marks would be.
 "Or we're going to kill three innocent men tonight." Hisashi was oddly somber-sounding. 
 "Dragon, we have too much blood on our hands to worry about innocence or guilt." Bane pressed himself against  the wall as he heard footsteps approach the door he was facing. The door swung open, and a scrawny, clearly drunk teenager stepped through. As the door closed, Bane silently stepped forward, catching the teen in a headlock. With a quick twist, Bane snapped his neck, and the teen fell to the ground. 
 "Doesn't mean I have to like it." Hisashi said quietly, the music fading as he moved upstairs.
 "You don't have to. You know who we work for, they'll kill us if we don't do it. Hell, they'll kill us if we don't do it well enough." Bane frowned, stepping over the body and through the door. "You know the rules."
 "Yeah, yeah. Kill anyone in the way, and eliminate the mark. If we get caught, we die. If we fail, we die. If we leave... we starve, and then we die." Hisashi sighed.
 "We're lucky they allow us to talk like this." Bane noted, walking down the hallway. Rich purple wallpaper lined the hall, covered in various medals and awards. 
 "I'm being lead into the office." Hisashi quieted, breathing out his words. "When I give the word..."
 Bane, quickening his pace, nodded. Realizing Hisashi couldn't see him, he voiced his affirmation.
 "My respects, Kingu-san, Sukochi-san, Mujusi-san." Hisashi could be heard greeting the three marks, "I come bearing a gift; a bottle of the finest Italian wine. The vintage is especially rare, I hear."
 "Koradu-san, I must thank you. I myself an an avid fan of fine wines." One of the marks said.
 Bane, carefully rounding the corner, noticed the two guards standing outside of the office that Hisashi was in. 
 "Noise in... 3..." Bane checked the silencer on the pistol, "2" Breathing out, he aligned both of the guards heads in the sight. "now." Two squeezes of the trigger, two bodies simultaneously dropping to the ground, and one loud crash. 
 "I'm so sorry!" Hisashi's distraught voice apologized as dark red wine seeped from under the door, mingling with the growing blood pools under the guards still bodies. "My fingers - they slipped." Bane silently moved to the door, positioning his hand on the handle. 
 "Clumsy fool!" One of the marks exclaimed angrily, "My suit is ruined - what a fine gift you brought, you idiot!"
 "Well, you do know what they say." Hisashi's voice turned more jovial, the anxious and subservent whine slipping out of his tone. "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, my friends!"
 Bane took his cue, throwing the door open and aiming his pistol at the first mark he saw - a older man with greying black hair. The last thing the man saw was Bane standing in the doorway over the bodies of the men he hired to protect himself. Hisashi, having to draw his pistol, shot the second mark - a younger man, with red wine spilt over his fine white shirt - a second after the first one dropped. 
 "Please, spare me-" The final mark pleaded, backing up against the wall. Her hands were raised, and tears were already forming in her eyes.
 "The Ring sends its regards." Both assassins' said in sync, before two bullets caused her to drop like her friends. 
 "Are these the only five?" Hisashi indicated to the bodies, before waving vaguely towards the guards. 
 "There's one more, in the stairwell." Bane ejected the clip from his pistol, tossing it into the trash. Wiping down any possible traces from the gun, he threw it away as well. Hisashi did the same with his.
 "Leave your shoes here." Hisashi tossed his own sneakers into the trash, before carefully jumping over the growing blood puddles and into the hallway. Bane followed after him.
 Silently, Bane handed Hisashi a vacuum-sealed bag, before pulling his own out and tossing the now empty backpack into the office. In each was a set of clothing, designed to match the party-goers below. Quickly, they both changed into the respective disguises.
 "Lets go up - we went for a smoke and got caught in the fire, if we're seen." Bane pointed to the stairwell, pulling on gaudy red shoes. 
 "Got it." Hisashi nodded, "Step back."
 Breathing deeply as he waited for Bane to move down the hall, Hisashi turned towards the office. Bright, scorching flames poured out of his mouth, licking the floor and setting the walls alight in seconds. Hisashi turned and ran to follow Bane as the inferno consumed any evidence they had left behind.
_________
 "Dragon, Wolfsbane, my two favorite people!" Calm, confident, and charismatic, Alec came off as a good person and a better boss. However, as the two friends knew, he was anything but. "I assume you've taken care of the marks?"
 "Yes, Consul." Hisashi dipped his head respectfully, "There were six casualties, no witnesses. It went without a hitch." After the two had arrived back at the building that housed the main portion of the Ring, they had been ushered to their rooms where they changed into the red and black uniforms required. Afterwards, they were taken directly to Consul Alec for debriefing.
 "The unexpected casualty was a no-named teenager, Consul." Bane added, "He was in the way and had to be disposed of."
 "I see." Alec paced in front of his desk, running a hand through coiffured brown hair. "Was he really a no-name, Wolfsbane?"
 Bane paled considerably, as did Hisashi. The younger man flipped through his memories, reconstructing the face in his mind and comparing it to global and nation-wide headlines. 
 "Jacob Warsaw!" Alec picked up a thin folder from his desk, handing it to Bane with a cold smile, "Not well know, of course, but the son of the American company Tera-vee."
 "Are the Americans investigating?" Hisashi asked, dreading the answer. If the Americans got involved, then the crime scene would be swarming with nosy reporters and international detectives - and the blame would lie squarely with Hisashi and Bane.
 "Lucky for you, no." Alec tilted his head, "Unless you idiots managed to kill another foreigner."
 "Consul, I-" Bane was cut off with a sharp gesture from Alec.
 "No, I apologies, it's not... totally on you two. I shouldn't have trusted you two with an operation like this." Alec sighed, "You're not skilled enough, and I should have seen that. Hell - it happened before, in the Manilla hit."
 "Consul, you said that hit was perfect!" Hisashi objected, fidgeting. 
 "Really Hisashi?" Alec tilted his head with a small smile, "I trained you myself, there's no need to make things up just because a hit went wrong."
 "He's not making it up though!" Bane protested, stepping forward. Hisashi stopped him with a warning look. 
 "Then you must be remembering wrong, I distinctly remember the friend of one of the betters being killed." Alec shook his head, "I'm worried about you two. You're sloppy, and it's making problems for me. Maybe it's time I retire you two to the Ring-"
 "No." Hisashi stated bluntly. "We are not going back to fighting in the Ring. We earned our way out, Consul!" 
 "You... earned your way?" Alec cocked an eyebrow, amusement crossing his face, "I remember two boys, untrained and unpromising. You had some luck in the Ring, I admit, but I was worried one of you would die."
 "You bastard!" Bane hissed, voice cracking, "You put us there! Dragon beat every single challenger! And I only lost three times."
 "I gave you a chance to get the medicine that's keeping you alive, Wolfsbane." Alec smiled, "And your ranking in the Ring was nothing more than luck. Maybe your brother here had a little bit of talent, but you would be dead if not for me."
 "I hate you." Bane's voice cracked, traitorous tears springing to his eyes. "I hate you."
 "Oh... little one..." Alec said fondly, "Everything I do, it's for Hisashi and you. You'll understand one day, why I do what I do."
 Bane reeled back like he had been slapped - Hisashi. Names were sacred, in the underground, they held power over people. If you had someone's name... you had a calling card for their death - after all, everyone had documents linked to their name. By name-dropping Hisashi, Alec was essentially holding the power he held over Bane's head.
 "Consul, stop." Hisashi wrapped an arm around Bane's trembling shoulders - when had he started shaking? "I take full responsibility for Warsaw's death."
 "I see." Alec's smile faded slightly, but the calculating gleam in his eye told both of the assassins' exactly how surprised he was. "Then sign here, the Consuls will decide a punishment."
 "Our payment." Hisashi put his hand out expectantly, holding his friend tightly with his other. 
 "Right, your friends medicine." Alec pulled a small bottle of pills out of his pocket, tossing it to Hisashi. "Fifteen pills, ration them well."
 "This will barely last him a week!" Hisashi objected, anger filling his voice, "We agreed on a months supply!"
 "Fifteen used to work for a month." Alec shrugged, "This medicine is expensive, boys, and after your screw-up I'm not inclined to give you more."
 "You have another job, don't you, you slimy prick." Bane hissed through gritted teeth. "You know my quirk is getting worse."
 "I've had enough out of you." Alec's mood shifted suddenly. The man's face darkened, and the soft ridges of his suit seemed to sharpen. "Hold your tongue, or I'll put you both in the Ring until you turn grey."
 It was Hisashi's turn to start forward, fury on the tip of his tongue. However, Bane pulled him back.
 "Brother - he'll kill you." Bane hissed into his ear, "I'm fine, lets just go."
 For a few tense seconds, Hisashi strained against Bane, his fury clear. Then, rather abruptly, he stopped.
 "Fine, lets... lets just go. I promised you ramen, after all." Hisashi sighed.

Chapter Text

'It wasn't supposed to be like this!' Shota Aizawa couldn't scream, couldn't even move as the world crumbled around him. Fear spread through his body as he was transported years back, an old face superimposed over a new one. He was a child once again, afraid and so alone. 'It's not supposed to end like this!'

'Why can't I be strong enough?' Katsuki Bakugou's heart tore itself apart, disintegrating as if it had been touched by the man monster in front of him. Agony burned him like fire as he flew, spiraling towards the ground like Icarus. Red, everything was so red. His vision was filled with the crimson he once found so exhilarating. For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugou screamed in fear, not rage, desperation echoing across the shattered battlefield. 

Hitoshi Shinso thought nothing, his mind almost blissfully numb. Instead, he knelt before a god of death. In his arms he cradled the broken visage of a friend, blood dripping like tears. A fallen hero, his mind supplied softly. He wondered, silently, if he would be remembered. Heroes, villains, empty souls left to rot, they all died the same. 

'Did I save them?' 

__________

Police Report: Case 2832 - The USJ attack. 

Date: XX/XX/XXXX

Detective assigned: Naomasa Tsukauchi

Victims: Class 1-A (UA HS), pro hero Eraserhead, pro hero Thirteen, Izuku Midoriya (1-X)

Suspects: N/A

Overview:

Class 1-A and Izuku Midoriya of 1-X arrived at the USJ for training supervised by UA staff Eraserhead and Thirteen. Upon arrival, those involved had approximately three minutes before a 'dark, mist-like' portal opened up on the main platform. Roughly one hundred villains emerged, with approximately another hundred more scattered around the various scenarios. According to witnesses, there were three main villains - a blue-haired man covered in what is described as 'severed hands', a mutated creature that seemed completely brain-dead as it only obeyed commands from the villains (apprehended), and a villain comprised of mist and a metallic body armour. Their respective names, as gathered by witnesses, are 'Shigiraki', 'Nomu', and 'Kurogiri'.

Upon the arrival of the villains, Eraserhead attempted to 'buy time' for the escape of the students by attacking the horde. Soon after this, Izuku Midoriya managed to escape the warp villain's trap and began to shoot at villains on the platform with non-lethal rubber rounds. (Note that several villains were found with severe injuries, typically after receiving a rubber round to the eye or head.) It is unsure what happened for a timespan of about ten minutes, as no eyewitnesses were avalible and Midoriya is currently incapacitated.

Two students were able to escape their scenario (shipwreck) and arrived at the main platform in time to see 'that monster smash [Eraserhead] into the ground'. Eraserhead is currently lucid in the hospital with several major injuries. Upon Eraserheads injury, Midoriya 'went fucking crazy'. He emptied an estimated three clips directly at the 'Nomu', and an additional clip at 'Shigaraki'. It is assumed that he ran out of rounds, as he proceeded to attack the hand villain with several knives, holding out for roughly seven minutes. 

Midoriya was attacked by the 'Nomu' at 'Shigiraki's command, and was smashed violently into the ground. In addition, he was exposed to approximately one second of 'Shigraki's quirk, a disintegration quirk. He is currently unconscious in the hospital with several major injuries. 

Upon his incapacitation, two students (Hitoshi Shinso, Katsuki Bakugou) attempted to intervene. Bakugou was warped away, and crashed into the dome. He suffered minor injuries. Hitoshi Shinso managed to use his quirk to subdue 'Shigiraki', but ultimately failed and was almost hit by the 'Nomu'. It was then revealed by the villains that the Nomu reportedly had multiple quirks - unvertified. 

All Might arrived on the scene, alerted by a student who was able to escape, and engaged the 'Nomu'. He was able to subdue the villain and the remaining villains either fled or were incapacitated. 

This is a high priority case.

________

Audio transcription; Asui Tsuyu

[Int] - Interviewer

[A.T] - Asui Tsuyu

Beginning of transcription

[Int] -Hello, my name is Detective Tsukauchi. You are Tsuyu-san, correct?

[A.T] - Call me Asui, kero. 

[Int] - This interview is recorded for legal reasons, is that alright with you?

[A.T] - Perfectly.

[Int] - Thank you. Now, can you tell me what happened? Please feel free to take a break if you need.

[A.T] - We were just going on a field trip, kero. A rescue simulation, although I suppose we were the ones being rescued in the end. Shinso-san noticed something odd in the middle of the main platform, and Midoriya-san drew his gun. I thought it was silly, after all, this was supposed to be safe... [inaudible]

[Int] - Yes, I don't blame you for being off-guard. You and your class were very brave.

[A.T] - Midoriya-san and the others were the brave ones, kero. I just sat there as Shinso-san got us out of the shipwreck. 

[Int] - Ah, yes, can you tell us what happened then?

[A.T] - We were warped there, faster than I could even think. I got Shinso-san out of the water, but the area was swarming with villains. He figured out that if he brainwashed them, I could use them like lily pads and jump to safety, kero. 

[Int] - I see. And once you reached land?

[A.T] - ...

[A.T] - Shigaraki- the hand one tried to disintegrate me. I froze, kero, but Sensei erased his quirk first. Then- [inaudible]

[Int] - It's okay, do you need a break?

[A.T] - No, no, I'm fine. The villain, Nomu, smashed Sensei into the ground again. I thought he was dead, there was so much blood.

[Int] - He's a tough cookie, Eraserhead. Now, I understand that Midoriya-san arrived shortly after?

[A.T] - Yes, he... he saw Sensei get attacked. And he just started firing, it was like it was raining bullets. For a second, I thought he would win, kero. The Nomu was screaming, Shigiraki was howling, and all I could think was 'thank god'. Because, you know, he seemed indestructible for a moment.

[Int] - And then he ran out of bullets.

[A.T] - [inaudible]. Yeah. He did. And he just - he charged, right in. He seemed so strong, like he was almost dancing. You know, he probably gave Shigraki a couple new scars. [inaudible]. But he didn't stand a chance against the Nomu. [Inaudible].

[Int] - He was thrown into the ground, correct?

[A.T] - More like slammed. The concrete even shattered a bit - god, the blood splattered onto my face, even though I wasn't near him. He didn't even scream, kero. Not even when that- [inaudible].

[Int] - I think we should take a break. Thank you for your cooperation, Tsuyu.

[A.T] - [inaudible]

End of transcription.

_______

Audio Transcription; Katsuki Bakugou

[Int] - Interviewer

[K.B] - Katsuki Bakugou

Beginning of transcription

[Int] - Hello, my name is-

[K.B] - I know who the hell you are! You're the bastard who tried to arrest me last time. And yeah, I don't care if this is recorded.

[Int] - I see. It's unfortunate that we meet again like this, can you please tell me what happened at the USJ?

[K.B] - Yeah. That misty fuck started bringing those stupid extras in.

[Int] - Extras?

[K.B] - Cannon fodder. Weak-ass villains. Easy to beat. I got warped with shitty hair - Kirishima - over some buildings, and we wrecked them. Shitty hair held his own, so I ditched him and went to check out the main fight.

[Int] - Wait, how? 

[K.B] - Cuz I'm not fucking useless. My quirk is explosions, I used it to fly. 

[Int] - I see.

[K.B] - When I got there, it was a bloodbath. Almost all of the weak extra's were on the ground, but the ones standing... It wasn't good.

[Int] - You arrived to see Aizawa-san be incapacitated, correct?

[K.B] (Note - Bakugou became erratic and violent at this point) - Don't fucking say that, he wasn't incapacitated. You make it sound so damn detached, you bastard! Izuku went fucking crazy, you should have seen it. 

[Int] - Ah, so you saw him get injured?

[K.B] - Yeah. I fucking saw it, and I couldn't stop it. He was slammed so hard into the ground that he had a crater. That fucking monster was trying to kill him. And then that warp bastard opened a portal right in front of my face, and next thing I knew I was spiraling towards the dome. 

[Int] - What did the scene look like?

[K.B] - ...it was covered in red. It was everywhere. Fucking hell -  I'm leaving.

[Int} - Bakugou-san!

[K.B] - Leave me the fuck alone, extra!

End of transcription

_______

Injury summary:

Eraserhead: Fractured orbital, four fractured ribs, broken arm, fractured leg, lacerations across the face, chest, and legs. Major bruising across the front of torso and legs. Severe concussion. Alive and stable.

Katsuki Bakugou: Sprained wrist, dislocated shoulder, heavy bruising across right side of body. Alive and discharged from the hospital.

Thirteen: Major injuries across the back - disintegrated by xyr own quirk. Alive and stable.

Izuku Midoriya: Three fractured ribs, two broken ribs. Dislocated elbow, broken nose, and fractured humerus. Major bruising across the entire front of body, and a punctured lung from a broken rib. Estimated severe concussion, and lacerations across the face and chest. Disintegrated tissue on right shoulder. Alive and stable, has not woken up yet. 

Mina Ashido: Minor burns, a fractured wrist, and a laceration across the forearm. Alive, and discharged.

Shoto Todoroki: Slight hypothermia. Alive and discharged.

Hitoshi Shinso: Moderate concussion, sprained ankle. Alive and discharged.

Asui Tsuyu: Minor lacerations from shrapnel. Alive and discharged.

It is recommended that the listed peoples receive therapy, even more so than the other victims. Circumstances show traumatic experiences by those injured.

Chapter Text

Hisashi never liked hospitals. Despite the harsh smell of antiseptic and coddling words, he could always smell the blood that permeated the buildings. A faint red tinge to the cracks in-between tiles, a spot on the floor a little too white, the hurriedly changed trash bags, hospitals were buildings in the same way that graveyards were yards. Perhaps innocent in apperance and meaning, but reeking of death and agony. 
 When he received the call late that night, Hisashi had felt his heart drop right to hell. Burning grief had flared in his heart as his mind dared consider if his sons were lost, an old rage rising in his stomach as the story was recounted to him. It had taken him fifteen of the usual twenty-five minutes to get to the hospital - the very same one that had seen Izuku's first breaths. 
 When he had seen his boys - his precious, wonderful boys - huddled together in the waiting lobby, he felt some of the weight lift off his shoulders. Not much, however - the haunted looks on both of his boys faces echoed in his mind even after he wrapped them in an tight embrace. 
 "Izuku - they..." Hitoshi's voice had cracked and stuttered as his fingers clutched onto Hisashi's shirt like a lifeline. Hitoshi rarely cried, and when he did it was through gritted teeth and averted eyes. But this time, his tears soaked into Hisashi's shoulder, turning the white fabric dark.
 "Those bastards hurt Izuku-" Katsuki had finished Hitoshi's statement, eyes hollow and face pale. He didn't hold onto Hisashi like Hitoshi did, no. Instead, his arms curled around his own shaking body, holding himself tight. One hand curled around the bandages that wrapped around his arm, as if ashamed of the injury.  His head bowed like he was bearing an unbearable weight, tears falling to the floor below. 
 When Hisashi Midoriya burst through the door to his sons room, he was not alone. Holding onto his back, his head buried into Hisashi's shoulder was Hitoshi. Katsuki had refused the same treatment, choosing instead to walk besides the man. Even so, his white-knuckled hands held tightly onto Hisashi's. 
 In front of them lay the fourth and final member of the Midoriya family, covered in impersonal bandages. The heart monitor beeped sluggishly, a sound that Hisashi wished he wasn't so familiar with. 
 Izuku Midoriya looked as if he was asleep, face peaceful despite the multitude of scraped and bruises. 
 Izuku Midoriya looked like Inko Midoriya did when Hisashi had been called to identify her corpse.
 Even as he felt the world crash against his shoulders, the man smiled bittersweetly at his son, squeezing Hitoshi and Katsuki's hands. 
 "He'll be okay," Hisashi whispered gently to the duo, "Izuku is one tough cookie, he'll be okay." He felt the tenseness slowly fade from his sons at the words, a single choked sob escaping from Hitoshi. 
 Regretfully, the man turned away from Izuku, shutting the door with a quiet click. The two boys gaze shifted to him in curiosity as he led them down the hall, back to the lobby. Carefully, Hisashi crouched down, allowing Hitoshi to slide off his back. Really, he didn't even need to do that - the boy was tall enough to just hop down. Still, it was a habit carried over from his shorter son.
 "Hey, I'm gonna give Bane a call, okay?" Hisashi smiled reassuringly at the teens, pulling the phone he had shoved hastily into his pocket out. "I'm gonna get him to get you guys a hotel room right by here, so you know Izuku is okay." It was also so he knew the two were protected, but he knew that they would protest vehemently at that. He didn't need to make them feel weak right after such a traumatic event. 
 Bane picked up on the third dial, voice clear despite the late hour. 
 "Hey?" The younger man's voice held an edge, the faint sounds of people around him.
 "Hey, it's Hisashi," Hisashi paused - he didn't think Bane had been at the USJ - "Are you okay?"
 "Yeah, I'm fine. This place is wasted, though. The rat dragged us all over in case there was villains. How are your kids doing?" Bane inquired, "Hey, fucker, I'm with UA." Bane's voice faded for a second as he berated someone who was probably some poor police officer.
 "They... they're going to need some time. I need to ask a favor of you," Hisashi ran a hand through his tangled hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a knot (or maybe the remains of a failed sandwich). "Can you come over to the hospital and get 'Toshi and Kats a hotel room?"
 "I assume your sticking me with babysitting duty," Bane said dryly, although his voice lacked the usual amount of humor. "And don't want me telling the brats that I'm there to protect their-"
 "Bane." Hisashi was a patient man, but he could only take so much. 
 "..." Bane didn't reply for a second, "It's that bad, huh?"
 "Lets just say that those bastards are damn lucky everyone's alive." Hisashi said lowly, glancing back at the boys. Hitoshi's weariness was already evident, his head drooping onto Katsuki's shoulder. Katsuki had wrapped an arm around the lanky boys shoulders, glaring at everyone who passed by.
 "Heh, yeah, lucky bastards." Bane scoffed, "Oy, what's your fuck- Ectoplasm. Yeah, whatever, tell the rat that I've got shit I need to do. No, it's none of your business. Just try and stop me."
 "I'll be there soon, 'Sashi. And don't worry, your boys are safe with me."
 "Thank you." Hisashi breathed an internal sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
 "Don't thank me. I have something to tell you."
__________
 Izuku Midoriya woke up feeling like a bag of wet cement. Exhaustion weighed down his limbs, the stony-cold fatigue seeping into his bones. For a brief, panicking second, Izuku's vision was overlaid with images of destruction and rubble, the bodies of his classmates scattered around like ragdolls. He couldn't sit up, couldn't breath, his chest felt like he had a metal pole stuck through it. 
 Then, a familiarly warm hand grasped his shaking hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The nightmarish images slowly fled as his father spoke quiet reassurances to him, replaced with the too-white ceiling of a hospital room. Blood-stained rubble faded to rumpled blue sheets.
 "Dad?" Izuku choked out, pain flaring in his head as he looked at his father. "How-" His words were cut off by a sharp pain in his side, accompanied with a burning feeling in his shoulder.
 "Just breath, okay? Everyone is okay, I've got you." Hisashi muttered quietly, his grip on Izuku's hand tightening. "Just focus on yourself, Izuku."
 Izuku wanted to argue, wanted to leap out of the damned sickbed and see his brothers and classmates for himself. But the bone-deep exhaustion was quick to reclaim him, pulling him down into a deep slumber.
__________
 "I'm scared" Katsuki was doubled over himself, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. His words struggled to escape, forehead pressed to the ground as he gasped for air. For the first time since the attack, the panic that had been slowly consuming his mind showed itself.
 It had happened quickly, too sudden for anyone to expect. He had just been heading to Izuku's room, when his eye caught on a mirror, blood-red eyes glaring back at him. And in seconds, he found his traitorous mind consumed with red. 
Blood
The villains eyes
Izuku's lifeless form
Fire
Red, red, red
 In the background, the blond heard nurses calling out, footsteps approaching. But all he could think about was that traitorous color, about the terror he had felt, about the blood that covered the entire platform like some sort of hellish art.
 "Kats!" Someone half-crashed to the ground next to him, "Hey, hey, Kats, breath."
 "I'm scared!" Katsuki clutched at himself like he was afraid that he would fade into dust, breath coming erratically.
 "Hey, Katsuki, I've got you." Uncle 'Sashi muttered, the words sounding hazy through Katsuki's panic. "I'm here, they can't hurt you, just breath." The man didn't reach out to touch Katsuki - in the part of his mind that could still think, the blond quietly thanked him. 
 They remained there for some time, as Katsuki's breath returned to him slowly. At some point, Katsuki had unfolded from himself, instead huddling against Hisashi's shoulder. 
 "Man, this is pathetic," Katsuki laugh held no mirth. He didn't notice Hisashi's mouth thin slightly, "Guess the old hag was right."
 "Katsuki, kiddo," Hisashi ruffled his hair gently, "Your old lady is a fashion designer. Pardon me if I doubt her ability to judge."
 Katsuki froze slightly, eyes turning to Hisashi.
 "Do you trust me?"
 Katsuki didn't even need to think about his response. This was the man that cried over cookies and dinosaurs and too-hard ice cream. The man who jumped up and down and clapped his hands when he got exited while watching television. Despite all that, Katsuki knew that he held steel inside of him, a steel that glimmered on rare occasions. Like a sword that only appeared to protect and defend the trio. If there was one man that Katsuki admired and trusted, it was his Uncle Hisashi. So, without hesitation, Katsuki nodded.
 "Then," Hisashi smiled warmly at Katsuki, eyes crinkling at the sides, "Trust me when I say that you are strong. It's okay to falter, it's okay to be afraid. I've seen your tenacious little soul, and god knows you aren't weak."
 Katsuki's throat closed up for the second time in an hour - this time, however, he felt a warmth blossoming in his chest. A far cry from the ripping panic.
 And oh- oh dear.
 Those were tears.

Chapter Text

There was something Izuku had always relished about how he moved. He felt like a gust of wind running across buildings, his gun an extension of his arm as he smoothly fired. He didn't wobble on the balance beam like poor Katsuki, or scrabble against the bark climbing trees like Hitoshi. Perhaps he had been a slim and small child, but he had always felt smooth and graceful. The couple of dance classes he had taken felt as natural as breathing to him.
 Perhaps that was why he gritted his teeth, choking back frustrated tears as he failed time and time again while trying to do what he used to be able to do with ease. A once-steady aim now trembled and shook as he aimed down the barrel. 
 He had been released from the hospital two days ago, after two healing sessions from Recovery Girl. She had done as much as her ability could do - it was up to Izuku to fine tune his muscles and ensure he had full athletic capacity again. 
 Izuku knew that he was lucky. He had seen plenty of people forced to relearn how to walk. His dilemma paled in comparison to theirs, his frustration caused by one goddamn trembling arm. The arm that the doctors said he was lucky to have as they showed him the scars that the villains had left on him.
 Still, Izuku couldn't help the frustration as he unloaded yet another dozen bullets into the school shooting range. And another. The amount of marks increased on the target, but then again so did the amount of missed shots. 
 Izuku swore to himself, placing his trademark handgun on the table in front of him. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he stalked away from the empty room, one hand rubbing his shoulder. 
 Shigiraki had only grasped it for a few goddamn seconds, yet still left a web of silvery crack-like scars on his shoulder. Izuku could remember the pain well, a pain that echoed faintly throughout him with every shot. Like liquid fire spreading across his arm and chest, seeping into his muscles. 
 Izuku's mind wandered back as he wandered throughout the school halls, ignoring the odd looks he got from faculty. He had lived through countless missions, had faced death far more times then he ever wanted his father to know of. Izuku had already been through the trauma that left his classmates in therapy. He could only imagine what they were going through, the sheer terror that they must have felt. A part of him felt guilty at being upset at something so trivial as an injury.
 When the villains had attacked, Izuku's first response wasn't fear or terror - his heart had leapt in anticipation. Anticipation of a fight, of that glorious adrenaline that came with dancing on the edge of life and death. He had felt a smile fighting to show itself as he watched the horde come through the portal, calculating how he could incapacitate each and every single one of them. Impossible odds, perhaps, but that didn't deter the excitement.
 And then... Izuku had seen his friends and brothers faces. And he was brought starkly back into reality. The fear that echoed across each of their faces made his own excitement shrivel up as he realized the scale of what was happening. He wasn't alone in this life-threatening scenario. He was surrounded by people who would die if he failed. 
 "Is this what you feel like, Dad?" Izuku whispered into the silent halls, "Protecting us? How can you stand it?"
 In his minds eye, Izuku could see his father. Chin up, smile warm as he glanced at Izuku. He always looked so strong to Izuku, even if he had the entire world on his shoulders. Izuku couldn't fathom seeing his father in his position, bowing under the weight of Atlas's heavy load. 
 'What would Dad say, if he saw me like this?' Izuku couldn't help but think. He couldn't help but wonder if his father would condemn him for his weakness.
 "Oh, Izuku baby..." A voice came to Izuku, unbidden. It was gentle and kind, coming from the farthest reaches of his mind. "You already know what he would say," Izuku could have sworn he felt a ghostly touch on his shoulder, the image of a dazzling smile filling his mind.
 "He would say..." Izuku felt tears run down his face as he finally recognized the voice, the voice he had thought he had forgotten. His mother, Inko Midoriya.
 "I'm so proud of my little hero," Izuku laughed tearfully, almost expecting to see Inko standing behind him as he glanced back. Still, even if the specter had been a conjuring of his own mind, Izuku felt his heart lift.
 "I'm glad your still with me, Mom." Izuku muttered softly, wiping his tears away with his sleeve. Lifting his head with a watery smile, Izuku turned back to the direction of the firing range.
 (The ghost of Inko Midoriya smiled fondly after her precious son. Around her, age old ghosts eyed the mother nervously. On the night of the attack, she had been livid with rage, attempting to commit ghostly homicide via frying pan - which now had a knife taped to it's hilt.)
__________
 Hisashi Midoriya stood before a gravestone, a single lily held lightly in one hand. The delicate flower was colored with swirls of green and black, intermingling on the white petals. The gravestone was a simple one, constructed of polished grey stone and modest writing. Dried petals lingered at the base of the stone, surrounding the silvery ring that was embedded in the gravestone. 
 'Inko Midoriya, xxxx-xxxx' The writing read. It was simplistic, yes, but Hisashi liked to think that his wife would have liked it. She always did loath being reduced to a few words, and things like 'wife' and 'mother' seemed too small to convey the immensity of her heart. 
 "Hey, Inko," Hisashi smiled softly, crouching down to brush the dried petals away. Gently, he placed the colored flower down. "How are you doing?"
 There was, of course, no reply. There never was. Still, Hisashi harbored the faintest hope in his heart, that one day he would turn around and embrace his Inko once more. 
 "Izuku taught me how to do this, a few months ago," The man's voice stuck in his throat for a second as he spoke. "How to color a flower, I mean. I thought you'd like it."
 Standing up, Hisashi walked around to the back of the gravestone. With a soft sigh, he sat down, back to the cool granite. The wind lightly ruffled his hair as he closed his eyes. 
 "I miss you, Inko." Hisashi confessed quietly, his smile bittersweet, "Some days I wake up, and I just don't know what to do. It's like the air has been snatched," He twirled his finger, "right from my lungs. And I feel so lonely, and so afraid, like a child. I just want to stay under the covers - isn't that pathetic?" 
 "Sometimes I can't help but loath my own weakness, Inko. But then I remember you, and I remember how much you told me. How much you've taught me," Hisashi chuckled softly, twisting his ring around his finger. "Remember what you told me, back when we were stupid kids? When I broke my leg and kept waving you off? You told me that it's okay to feel, to be weak and to need help." 
 "You taught me  - well, scolded me until I let you help - that it's okay to be 'weak'. It's okay to get help and cry and be all the things I considered pathetic." Hisashi couldn't help the soft smile that spread across his face at the memory, "God, I was such a fool. You made me a better man, Inko. And I miss you, so damn much."
 "I hope that I'm raising Izuku in a way that you would be proud of." Hisashi sniffed, wiping away a tear, "He's such a troublemaker, and 'Toshi and Kats are such imps. You should see them, running around the city like nothing can stop them. For a little bit, Izuku and Hitoshi were dedicated to vandalizing every Endeavor poster in this city!" He laughed, "They even tried to spray paint the big man himself."
 "And Katsuki - dear, sweet, emotionally constipated Katsuki. He looks like a headless chicken every time he gets his brothers out of some scrap!" Hisashi mimed the explosive boys hand movements as he spoke, "You damn nerds! Stop trying to get us locked up, you crazy bastards!" 
 "I know you and Mitsuki were fond of each other, but he has so much hurt inside of him." Hisashi's smile was a sad kind of fondness, "He's been thinking that if he burdens people, if he does anything wrong, he's worthless. That if he's weak he's useless. And he's not, he's the bravest boy I know. I hope one day he can see himself the way his brothers do."
 "Have I told you about his friends?" Hisashi turned his head slightly, as if his wife was there right next to him, listening to his words. He didn't open his eyes to check. "I was worried, y'know, about how competitive U.A is. That he'd get lost in winning and loosing, and that his classmates would enforce that. But today, his teacher and a classmate visited our apartment! They didn't want to eat my cookies, for some reason." Hisashi hesitated, remembering the black scorch marks on his sleeves. 
 "Okay, maybe it's because they resembled coal. But that's beyond the point." He muttered, "I think Kirishima - that's the classmates name - tried to eat them. They kind of just... turned to dust." A dust that was very hard to clean up. "Katsuki, poor kid, he... he doesn't like the color red, lets just say. And I don't know how Kirishima figured it out, but when he showed up he was wearing this dreadful orange beanie over his hair."
 "Remember the time I tried wearing a burnt orange suit? Thank god you talked me out of that." Hisashi breathed out a laugh, "His hat was the same color. Oh - and Hitoshi, he's been having nightmares. Kid barely gets a wink of sleep, and he's been going through my coffee at a dreadful rate. He looks like he's trying to imitate a racoon! Well, his teacher gave him some kind of super-gel. It looks kind of suspicious, but apparently Aizawa - the teacher - has the same problems. 
 "I'm glad the kids have people to watch out for them," Hisashi's smile widened, "Everyone deserves a hero, yeah? You were mine." He hesitated, running a hand through curly black hair, "I hope I'm doing the right thing." Hisashi confessed softly. "You'll have my head if this goings wrong."
 "I'm so proud of the kids," His voice cracked a little, "They're so... awesome, and strong, and wonderful. They're my little heroes."
 Hisashi continued talking, regaling the air with countless stories of the three until the sun went down. As he spoke, the air was filled with an unheard and ghostly laughter. Occasionally, the living and the dead would laugh together, and the graveyard would ring with the song of casual love. 
__________
 Long after Hitoshi and Katsuki had gone to bed - Hitoshi with the sound of exited slurping, Izuku remained awake, tinkering with a new project. Various springs, gears, and what looked like a taser scattered the table in the kitchen. It looked like some gears had rolled into Hisashi's newest attempt at baking, but they were almost identical to the disturbing amount of tin foil that had been accidentally baked into the not-so-sweet treats.
 Izuku almost didn't notice his father slip into the room silently - in fact, if not for the hideous pink shirt, the man could have gone unnoticed. 
 "Hey Dad!" Izuku looked up, wincing as he saw the baked 'goods'. To his surprise, Hisashi had a serious look on his face, not a trace of tiredness in his eyes despite the late hour. In his hand, he held what appeared to be a literal grenade. "I promise, that wasn't me."
 "I know," Hisashi sighed, tossing it into the trash - Izuku was pretty sure that wasn't responsible disposal. He didn't know how well trash compactors and explosives mixed, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. "Listen, Izuku, we need to talk."
 "About what?" Izuku asked, placing aside the knife-turned-screwdriver he was using to fasten a gear to a box. 
 "Someone is trying to kill me. Rather badly, but I don't expect that to keep up. I'm sorry to ask this so soon after... that, but I need your help."
 "First of all, what the fuck Dad? Secondly, I'm in."

__________

(Omake)

"Shigiraki, you dusty bitch!" The ghost of Inko Midoriya swung a transparent frying pan at the villain, cursing as it went through his head. "Put down that goddamn game controller and fight me, you chicken fried fuck!" 

"Rock his shit!" One of the many ghosts around the bar cheered enthusiastically. They didn't question how she got her hands on a frying pan. They didn't want to know.

"I swear, the INSTANT you die, I am force-feeding you Hisashi's oatmeal." The mother glared fiercely at Shigiraki's head.

That night, for some reason, one of the worlds most wanted villains had a nightmare about some kind of chunky goop. 

Chapter Text

"Students," Shota Aizawa stood at the front of his classroom, finally free of his body cast. As he spoke, he easily signed his words - a change noticed by a couple of the students, namely Koda and Bakugou. The latter scowled slightly - Present Mic must have told damn Aizawa about his hearing. The former just sat a little straighter, a small smile playing on his lips.
 "Midoriya is returning today - he has finally recovered from his injuries," Aizawa paused as the class erupted with yells and cheers, sighing. "May I continue?" He commented dryly, the classroom quieting down. "As I was saying, Midoriya is returning. But I have to warn you to be... careful. He has suffered quite a lot since the attack."
 "What do you mean?" Kaminari blurted out, before realizing he didn't raise his hand. Aizawa sent him a weary look, but didn't scold the boy. "Was he hurt that bad?"
 "I heard he didn't wake up for days!" Mina contributed, ignoring Aizawa's glare, "Those villains really did a number on Mido!"
 'Mido'? Shinso mouthed to Bakugou, who just shrugged. Both of them were oddly silent, although Aizawa figured they already knew the news. After all, the trio was practically attached at the hip - he wouldn't be suprised if they popped into existance together.
 "Shut up, I only have a few minutes before Recovery Girl sends him over," The teacher scowled, glancing at the door. He took a breath, bracing himself for the uproar that would inevitably come.
 "Hisashi Midoriya, Midoriya's father, died two days ago," He said, his voice neutral and his hands signing smoothly. "He was killed in a bombing that very nearly killed your classmate as well. I was given permission by Midoriya to disclose this information." The class was silent for a few seconds, a mixture of shock and horror on all of their faces. Shinso and Bakugou remained neutral, Aizawa noticed - although he saw Bakugou's hands flex and Shinso's jaw clench. 
 "Don't be insensitive." Aizawa finished. He couldn't help but feel pity for his three students - he knew that Bakugou and Shinso were close to the Midoriya's. 
 The classroom was deathly silent when Izuku Midoriya walked in, all eyes focusing on his as soon as they saw the fluffy green hair. The boy was unusually quiet, his eyes rimmed in red. He didn't return the greetings that his classmates hesitantly sent him, instead moving to his seat and sitting down quietly. He ignored the looks Shinso and Bakugou sent him, instead looking towards the front of the classroom.
 "Hello, Midoriya," Aizawa broke the silence, his voice betraying none of his emotions. "I'm sure you have heard of UA's plans to go ahead with the sports festival. Will you be competing?"
 "Yes." Midoriya said simply, meeting his teachers gaze. As his eyes met Aizawa's, his teacher frowned imperceptibly. The boys green eyes were alight with both grief and fury, with darker eye bags than usual. It was a startling difference from the lighthearted mirth or the determination that could usually be found on his face.
 'I should tell the others to keep an eye on his mental health' Aizawa noted to himself, eyebrows furrowing slightly. 
 "Oy, Izuku you shitbag!" Bakugou barked at his friend, "If you fuckin' push yourself, I'll fucking kill you. Hear me, you damned moron?"
 Midoriya didn't respond, instead shooting the explosive blond a look. To Aizawa's surprise, Bakugou didn't respond, instead turning and scowling at Shinso.
 "Izu..." Shinso tried to say, but he too was quickly shut down with a look.
 "Quit treating me like I'm fragile." Midoriya grumbled, "This is why I don't respond to your texts."
 'This is... more concerning that I thought.' Aizawa thought with alarm. 
__________
 "Hey Dad, how was that?" Izuku, out of sight in an abandoned classroom, muttered with a smirk. His teacher didn't even notice the almost invisible wire in Izuku's ear - a transmitter, designed to send and recieve audio transmissions. 
 "I was almost worried," Hisashi Midoriya chuckled warmly, "You three did excellently."
 "Fuck yeah we did." Katsuki's voice crackled into Izuku's ear, along with the sound of running water. He must have ducked into the bathroom to talk - Izuku had just ducked into a random classroom.
 "Phase one, complete." Hitoshi's smirk could be heard by everyone, "Congrats on your death, Midoriya-San."
 "Don't call me that, I feel so old-" Hisashi groaned.
 Izuku just smiled, exiting the classroom. The night that Hisashi had warned him of the danger, he had rushed to wake his two friends up. Around chips and mugs of hot chocolate, they thought up a plan to take down whoever was after his dad.
 "First off," Hitoshi had said with a wave of a Pringle, "You need to die." Hitoshi's logic had been simple - if Hisashi had been killed, then the people behind the threat would feel safe again. With the Midoriya's experience, it wouldn't be too hard to fake his death.
 "Then," Izuku leaned forward with a sly smile on his face, "We need to find who the enemy is." 
 "Izu will be the worst of us, logically," Katsuki had pointed out, yawning. He was dressed in baby blue pajamas, a thin mustache of chocolate on his lip.
 "I go off my rocker," Izuku had grinned cheekily, "Which gives me an excuse to poke around the underground for who 'killed' my dad."
 Hisashi, of course, opposed the plan. But in the end, he couldn't contrive a better solution - the plan had taken up the greater part of the night, with each boy piping in with the next step to the plan. It was almost frightening, how they thought of possible issues and thought up an elegant solution.
 "Are you okay with this, Izu?" Hitoshi had asked with a small frown, turning to face Izuku, "You're giving up the most here."
 "I trust you all to catch my fall!" Izuku had responded with an easy laugh. He knew the risks, and he knew the sacrifices. "Don't worry about me, Hito."
 Hisashi could only sit and watch, warmth in his heart, as his boys laid out exactly how they would rescue him from the relentless past.
__________
 "I'm so sorry for your loss, Midoriya." Nezu smiled politely at Izuku, his paws folded neatly on the desk. "Your father was a good man."
 "That he was," Izuku responded carefully - for all he knew, the rat already knew of his plan and sixty-five ways to foil it if he wanted to. 
 "Now, you are an interesting case for UA." The creature noted, flipping through some papers. It was for appearances, of course - Izuku knew that his mentor probably memorized the pages. "You have no legal guardian, and no known relatives. Same goes for Hitoshi Shinso - and I believe Bakugo-kun lives with you most days?"
 "You would be correct," Izuku nodded.
 "Currently, you have two options." Nezu explained, "You and Shinso-san can enter the foster system," Izuku stiffened noticeably, "Or, the optimal solution, you and Shinso-kun can become wards of UA.'
 "Wards?" Izuku asked, tilting his head slightly. His voice was carefully kept to the emotionless tone that he had in the classroom and throughout the day. 
 "Yes - sadly UA has seen a number of deaths, so this isn't too unusual," Nezu shrugged, "You and Shinso-kun can stay in a dorm provided by UA. You would get a small allowance, as well as guidance from the faculty and myself. Of course, UA and by extension, me, would become your legal guardian."
 "What's the catch?" Izuku inquired.
 "Can't a teacher look out for his favorite student?" Nezu asked with mock hurt, placing a paw on his chest, "Besides, it would give us more time to converse! I have quite a few things I wish to teach you!"
 "Nezu, you've been teaching me for ages," Izuku shot him a disbelieving look, "I can smell bullshit."
 The principal just smiled, unbothered by Izuku's words.
 "Fine, I will admit," Nezu said lightly, "It would be quite an advantage to be able to moniter your fathers movements."
 Izuku wasn't surprised at all that the rat knew that Hisashi was still alive. Sometimes, it seemed like Nezu was omnipotent, directing everything towards some mysterious greater goal. 
 If he was being honest though, Nezu being able to keep track of all of their coming and goings would be a good compromise. After all, it meant that they had a sort of guardian angel. 
 "My father is dead." Izuku still corrected the principal, "And fine, but I want 'Suki to stay with us as well."
 "That can be done," Nezu smiled, pressing a button on his telephone, "Ah, Cementoss, please make sure to add that third bedroom." He spoke to the phone, smile never leaving. Izuku narrowed his eyes slightly - it seemed like his mentor had already foreseen the request.
 "Oh, and Midoriya..." Nezu hummed, eyes glinting sharply, "If you do take out the trash, do me a favor and gather up UA's rubbish too. My nose is so sensitive, and if I'm not careful this place will start to reek!"
 Izuku hesitated, contemplating the words. After a second, he nodded back, allowing a small smirk to form on his face. "I can do that - just make sure the raccoons don't try anything funny."
 "Sounds like a deal, my dear pupil," Nezu smiled happily, holding his paw out to offer three key rings to Izuku. On each was a single silvery key and a small colored tag. Green, orange, and purple.
 Everything was going to plan. Izuku couldn't help but smile as he picked up the three sets of keys, already sending his two siblings a text.

Chapter Text

"Bane-sensei?" Izuku called out into the quiet room, echo muffled by the black floor mats. It was the first time he had gotten to get a good look at the room, as last time he had been battling the older man. The walls were plain, painted a dark grey. On the opposite wall was a weapons rack, although Izuku noted that they seemed dulled. "I'm here for our lesson?"
 Izuku kept his hand near his handgun as he carefully walked into the room. For all he knew, the man was hiding in the ceiling like some kind of crazy spider. The room seemed completely empty, save for the weapons.
 "Ah, brat." Bane's voice came from behind him, the doorway. His voice was oddly strained.
 Izuku turned to face his teacher, eyeing the man for any tricks. He appeared exactly how he had last time - with black slacks, a red shirt, and that same odd rope coiled around his waist. Izuku wondered what he used it for - a makeshift belt, perhaps? Or as an impromptu weapon?
 "I heard about... Hisashi." Bane's voice hesitated as he said the name, an odd look flashing through his eyes. "Don't expect me to take it easy on you, brat." He finished, almost lamely. His tone held no actual scorn, and his voice sounded almost hollow. 
 "I'd kill you if you did," Izuku responded simply, his face betraying none of his emotions. He was startled when Bane didn't react as expected - instead of being surprised, or worried, the mans eyes darkened slightly and he nodded.
 "As expected of a Midoriya," Bane muttered quietly, straightening up, "Very well. I will train you. Not because you hold any particular skill," He amended a little too hastily to be convincing, "But rather because I owe your old man." Bane's face flickered with an unknown emotion - grief, perhaps?
 "First lesson, brat." Bane's eyes sharpened, and he relaxed into a fighting stance. His eyes seemed glacier cold as he examined Izuku's form. "Don't get hit. Ever. Some morons may be able to just tank hit after hit, but you're too weak for that."
 "Well, I know that," Izuku growled, thinking back to the too-many times he had been on the receiving end of a blow. 
 "Oh?" Bane's lip curled up, and he grinned at the teenager, "Then, combat genius, your task is to evade me. All period."
 Izuku barely had time to process his words before he had to dodge a punch. A flurry of blows swiftly followed, forcing him to duck and weave around the mans uncannily fast hits.
 "Disappointing," Bane barked as Izuku failed to see the kick aimed at his calf. 
 "Shut the hell up," Izuku grumbled to himself, kicking off the wall to flip over Bane's head. His blood ran cold as the mans eyes tracked him lazily, one hand darting up to grab him by the collar and toss him to the ground. He slammed into the mat with a resounding thud.
 "I'm accustomed to fast speeds, brat." Bane grinned, holding out his palm as silvery ripples emanated off it. "Get up."
 'I have to avoid him.' Izuku's brow furrowed as he sat up.
 "I said, get up!" Bane's grin vanished, a kick just barely missing Izuku's head as he ducked. "The enemy won't wait for you to lollygag, so move!"
 "This is pathetic," Punch, hook, kick, feint, hit. The man didn't even seem to be challenged at he forced Izuku into a state of constant defense. 
 "Shut up. I bet you weren't so great when you were training!" Izuku hissed in pain as yet another hit landed home.
 "No. But your father was much better than I am." Bane flinched slightly at the admission, as if his own words had been unwilling. To Izuku's bewilderment, he ceased his relentless attacks, "He was able to protect me and many others, brat. Don't be weak."
 "Like you?" Izuku snapped, rubbing a bruise. He regretted it a second later as a dark look passed over Bane's face.
 "Move." Was all that was said in response before the attacks continued.
 At the end of the lesson, Izuku found himself feeling oddly... satisfied. By the end, he was able to dodge most of the older mans strikes, the sharp comments falling away as Izuku's moves became far more fluid and unpredictable. As much as he hated to admit it, Bane's teaching methods were working.
 "See you tomorrow, brat." Bane nodded to Izuku, stretching. Despite the laser-sharp clarity of when they were training, his eyes were now lost in thought. 
 For a second, Izuku felt a pang of guilt at how the man acted. After all, he had been one of Hisashi's closest friends, he couldn't have taken the 'death' well. As he came to that realization, he observed Bane was a much sharper eye.
 Now that he was looking, he could notice the subtle slump in his teachers shoulders, as well as the subtle red around his eyes. The shadows were well hidden with what seemed like concealer, but the makeup still left his face one shade too dark. 
 "Hey, Bane," Izuku's voice stuck in his throat for a second as the man turned to face him, "Dad's funeral is on Saturday. He would want you there."
 Bane hesitated for a moment before chuckling softly, shaking his head. He turned away, running a hand through wine-red hair.
 "Thanks, but I doubt it." He said over his shoulder, his smile all too fake.
__________
 "Hey there little listener!" Present Mic greeted Katsuki as soon as he walked into the pro-hero's office. He had invited Katsuki for after-school sign language practice, an offer that the blonde had reluctantly agreed to. It had taken a particularly big explosion and a few seconds of his ears ringing for him to see exactly how necessary the lessons were.
 Katsuki didn't respond, choosing to scowl and dump his bag near the door instead. A quick getaway, should Present Mic prove to be a shitty teacher. (Also because he had become accustomed to leaving quickly due to Izukus shenanigans).
 "Here, take this," Oddly enough, Present Mic handed him a can of what looked like soda. It had the logo of Present Mic's radio show on it, with a little cartoon of the pro drinking one. 
 "The hells this?" Katsuki frowned, examining the can. He felt his eyebrows shoot up as he turned to the nutrition label.
 "It is a drink I specially developed!" Present Mic said proudly, "Kind of like Aizawa's jelly - it's packed with nutrients and protein, plus some all-natural energy!"
 "Wow, just like on television," Katsuki muttered sarcastically - the pro seemed like he was on some kind of television advertisement.
 "Plus," Present Mic made a show of looking around, even though the office was clearly empty, "It had some stuff in it to sooth the throat!" 
 "Do all heroes have their own shitty food replacement?" Katsuki asked, more curious than anything else. He opened the can, taking a sip of the surprisingly refreshing liquid. It flowed down his throat like liquid ambrosia, soothing a days worth of yelling and screaming. He couldn't quite place the flavor, it seemed sweet yet not too sweet, with both floral and fruity hints. "Hey, this is good-"
 "Haha, no, I just found nothing worked for me!" Present Mic cheered, grinning widely. Katsuki was grateful that he wasn't too loud - he knew of the mans frequent quirk mishaps. Despite his explosive vocal habits, Katsuki wasn't very fond of loud yelling. 
 "Huh," Katsuki pondered the drink, as well as the absence of pain in his throat from yelling. "Shit, this isn't half bad. Thanks, teach."
 "My heart!" Present Mic clutched his chest dramatically, "Someone likes my awesome YEAAAAH drink?" He pretended to stagger back, eyes wide with mock surprise.
 "Is that really your name for it?" Katsuki couldn't bite back the amusement in his voice. He was surprised to find that the amusement wasn't out of malice or mockery - no, it was that rare tone reserved for his brothers or his uncle.
 "Is it that bad?" Present Mic paused in his antics, looking at Katsuki mournfully, "Sho- Well, Aizawa wouldn't stop laughing for ages! I just assumed it was him being his usual self and squashing my creativity!'
 "Nah, Aizawa-sensei was right this time," Katsuki snickered, taking another sip of the drink. He made a mental note to buy more, or ask Present Mic where to find them.
 "I'm injured," Present Mic shook his head slowly, before his eyes brightened, "Oh, right! You're here for a reason!"
 "Ok, little listener, what do you know about sign language?" The pro inquired, his hands now moving as he spoke. It looked like the actions Aizawa had been doing in class.
 "Uh, not much, just that it's how I speak without fuckin' talking," Katsuki confessed, "I think Hito and Izu know some, but they know a shit ton."
 "Thats fine! And exactly right - it's how mute or selectively mute, deaf, or hard of hearing people communicate!" Present Mic beamed at Katsuki, "It's going to take a little bit of time to learn, so in case you want it, take this."
 The pro fished a small device out of his pocket, his face scrunching up as he also pulled out a charm with Midnights trademark hero suit on it. The device was small, around four inches in length and one in width. It was as thin as Katsuki's cellphone, constructed out of sturdy looking metal with a glass screen on one side.
 "Hell is this?" Katsuki inquired curiously. Present Mic wordlessly motioned for him to press a button on the side, which he did hesitantly. The screen blinked to life.
 "That, my dear listener," Katsuki watched in astonishment as words scrolled across the screen in sync with Present Mic's words, "Is an audio transcript! Point it at whoever you wanna listen to, and the little guy give you real-life subtitles!"
 "It also saves a transcription of anything it records, which you can upload to your phone!" Present Mic grinned widely, "It took three years to harass Nezu into implementing them, but now anyone can get one from any teacher!"
 "Damn," Katsuki whistled lowly, his mind already racing for purposes. He could think of one in particular, with tricking a certain greenheaded someone into admitting something embarrassing.
 "So, little listener, you ready to learn an awesome new way to communicate?" Present Mic wiggled his eyebrows, earning a stifled chortle from the blonde. As a response, Katsuki tucked the little device into his pocket and nodded.

After the lesson

 "Oh, hey kiddo," For the first time that lesson, the teacher sounded uncertain. Katsuki hesitated from where he stood, about to pick his backpack up. 
 "Yeah? What's up, teach?" 
 "How are you doing? I know you suffered a loss recently, and..." Present Mic trailed off, shrugging his shoulders helplessly, "That's not easy."
 Katsuki froze a little, his mind leaping for what to say. He had never been as good of an actor as his brothers, always acting on his emotions and bulldozing through peoples expectations. 
 Finally, he straightened up and tried his approximation of a sad smile, not meeting the pro's eyes.
 "Well, I'm gonna miss Uncle 'Sashi," Katsuki forced his voice to become soft, "But his death is gonna hit Izu the hardest. I'd be a shitty person if I didn't mourn Uncle 'Sashi, but... I'll be okay." Internally, he cringed at the speech. It seemed far to faked, far too sentimental for someone like him. But the teacher seemed to accept his words.
 "Well, I'm here for you, Bakugou," Present Mic smiled kindly at him - and good god, Katsuki felt his resolve wavering. "And not just because it's my job, okay kiddo? If you ever want to rant or anything, my door is open."
 "Thanks, teach." Katsuki choked out. The fucking world was ending, Katsuki was getting along with a teacher, he felt respect for the damn teacher. Had hell frozen over? He would have to ask Izuku to ask Nezu. (Katsuki was convinced the rat was a demon). 
 "Stay jazzy, listener!" Present Mic called after him as Katsuki booked it down the hall, frantically texting his brothers. The traitors just laughed at him, calling him a nerd. Hitoshi commented something about 'Dadmic', but he was very quickly silenced when Izuku responded with a 'Dadzawa'. 
 Goddamn, his brothers were weird. 

Chapter Text

 Izuku stood on top of his apartment building, enjoying the breeze. The sun was setting, dusk filled with sounds of construction fixing the damage the bomb had done to the apartment complex. It hadn't been hard to sneak into the building - he just wandered in with a orange jacket and a hardhat. A few lockpicks and a faked accent, and he was standing on top of the building. 
 At his feet lay a case, constructed of lightweight aluminum. His fathers 'final' gift to him. Izuku didn't open it just yet though - this was his final night with the same amounts of freedom. Tomorrow, he would move into the dorms hastily created. He had visited the little building, tucked away behind one of the fake cities. It looked like a block of tofu, completely made of concrete with windows and a door pressed into the surface. The inside was lackluster, for UA at least, furnished with generic items and furniture.
 Hitoshi and Katsuki would move in a few days after he did - they had some forms to tackle, since their parents were in the land of the living. Or well, the legal land of the living. They had expressed excitement - the three had already been practically living together, but now it was official. They had their own base of operations to execute their plan from. 
 Izuku sighed quietly, watching the people pass below on the streets below him. He imagined being one of them, living ordinary lives without schemes of murder and mayhem. Something inside of him resisted the idea, pulling away from normalcy and urging him towards the knifes edge of danger. He was a realistic person - he knew it wasn't normal. But he couldn't imagine living without risk and danger.
 Finally, Izuku knelt down and flipped open the latches of the case, which he had found tucked into an airduct as he was told. He flipped the lid open, closing his eyes for a count of three. 
 "Face your fears, Izuku," He mumbled to himself, opening his eyes. 
 The first layer of the case, laying in black foam, was his clothing. It was almost exactly like the clothing he had gotten when he had originally became a hitman (although he mainly used paintballs for the first few years). A black leather-like jacket with metallic snakes going up the arms and sides. The only difference to his now battered jacket, which was a bit too small, was several extra sheaths and pockets. It felt heavier too - which was for extra protection, he guessed.
 Then, three pairs of the trousers. Same design, just sized up. Izuku noticed that the positioning of the sheathes and pockets had changed minutely to account for where he could easily reach. 
 Instead of a cheesy t-shirt, Izuku found a few pairs of button up shirts, colored a dark forest green. They were heavier than standard shirts, denoting the fact that they were modified. Izuku rolled his eyes slightly - he had enjoyed the 'hitman' shirt he had gotten so many years ago. But he supposed it was time to grow up. There was also a small enamel pin, with a metallic serpent on it. 
 Of course, there was also a duplicate of the black-and-green shoes that he had gotten the first time, sized up and with a spare pair of shoelaces. Izuku didn't miss the scrap of red fabric tucked into one of them, remembering the quip his father had made about his red boots years ago. He smiled fondly, tucking the fabric into his pocket.
 Removing the clothing from the thick case, Izuku placed it to the side in a duffel bag. Carefully, he lifted the layer of foam below the clothing to reveal three things. A box of his handgun cartridges, labeled as tranq, tracker, and lethal. Izuku noticed the rather obvious absence of the rubber bullets he so frequently used. 
 There was another box, which was revealed to be a copious amount of knives. They were silver, with green rope wrapped around the handle. Throwing knives, Izuku noted, mixed in with a couple black balisongs. He tucked the balisongs into his pocket, and the knives and bullets into the duffel bag. 
 Finally, the main star. Izuku almost reverently lifted the pair of black headphones out of the case, placing them around his neck. He already knew what it was and how it worked, having been informed by his father. 
 His fingers brushed against the cool metal of the headphones, finding an invisible bump. He pressed on the bump, and the piece sprung into action. Thin metal plates expanded out, soft cushioning expanding. The pieces clicked and whirred, moving to cover his head. Finally, a tinted visor slid down, finishing the transformation.
 It was his old motorcycle helmet, complete with green accents and the dark green visor. However, this time, it was engineered to disguise itself as headphones. The visor was no longer dark and hard to see through in the night, instead it brightened the fading light so it looked as bright as day. Comms built into the side of it cracked to life, options lining up along the side of the visor. It was a police radio scanner.
 With a whispered command, the helmet retracted into the innocent pair of headphones, sitting around Izuku's neck. Izuku breathed out calmly, pulling the new jacket out and slinging it over his shoulders. The familiar weight calmed him, bringing about a sense of clarity and confidence. 
 He couldn't help the smile that grew on his face as he stood on top of the building, sun glinting in his eyes. 
 'It's time for a new game,' Izuku looked up at the sky, his grin sharpening, 'Your move, enemy'
__________
 "Sir, Hisashi Midoriya was pronounced dead just a few days ago." A disembodied voice floated over the speaker. 
 "I am aware," The man responded, smiling lazily as he leaned back in his chair. 
 "Don't play with me." The voice snapped angrily, before falling silent. After a few seconds, they spoke again, "You used me." The voice said coldly.
 "Me?" The man wanted to laugh, imagining the face of the person on the other end of the line, "Oh, child. You jump to accuse me?" He feigned hurt, "You know the things Hisashi Midoriya stuck his nose into."
 The other person didn't respond, cold anger brewing over the telephone.
 "I heard," The man spun a pen in his fingers lazily, colors of the sunset gleaming in his eyes, "That the Hero Commission was investigating a hitman," He trailed off, allowing the person on the other end to make their own conclusions.
 "Are you saying you didn't kill him?" The voice was pure fury, vitriol and skepticism almost leaking from the speaker. The man wanted to laugh in amusement.
 "All I'm saying," The man glanced at a piece of paper, "Is that I have a report on my desk. About how they... forced a certain child to commit crimes so they could blackmail a certain hitman."
 "It would have been a brilliant plan," He snickered, "Except the Midoriya's never act according to expectations, eh?"
 "If I find that you're lying to me..." The voice trailed off, tone almost trembling with anger.
 "Please, child." The mans smile glinted as he leaned forward, "You can't do anything to me. And why would I bother with killing him? I know better to invoke his wrath."
 The click on the other end made the man throw his head back, roaring with laughter. Yes, the game had started. He just hoped his enemy was clever enough to beat all the players.
__________
 The barkeep was a reasonable person, she liked to think. Sure, she ran a bar in the seedier parts of town, but a few smashed bottles and the patrons stopped causing trouble. Sure, she knew of many deals whispered under peoples breaths, or threats shouted from drunken lips. It was only reasonable that she knew what went on, and if she told a few people some gossip, who cares?
 When the short guy walked in, his face traced with a type of look she usually associated with grief and anger, it was only reasonable that she slide him a drink. On the house, of course, and not because she could tell that he was itching for secrets. Secrets only she could hold. 
 As she puttered around the bar, she kept an eye out for his dark hair. Was it green? Or was that the broken lights acting up again, casting shadows where they didn't belong and voices where there should be silence. His jacket's green accents shone in the dull light, and the barkeep idly wondered how much it would sell for. It looked fancy, she thought, a nice jacket attached to a nice wallet.
 Finally, the guy leaned forward, swirling the alcohol in his cup around. His eyes sharped, hungry for something that she didn't quite care to know. It was only reasonable that she was there in a flash - after all, he was a patron and it was her bar.
 "You the one they call the watcher?" The guy muttered, his voice soft and still maturing. The barkeep nodded, after all, it wasn't a crime to have a nickname. She didn't mention his youth, reasoning that the weariness in his eyes was enough to testify for his experience. 
 "Have you heard any guys celebrating, or planning anything?" The guy asked, eyes not meeting hers. They were focused on the swirling liquid instead.
 "It'll cost," She whispered, her own voice bringing a deep sense of discomfort. She lowered her voice. "The drink, I mean."
 The guy smiled mirthlessly, already sliding a crisp envelope across the smooth wood bar. She was a reasonable person, it only made sense to count out the money in private. She was sure he was a smart fellow who knew how much to pay for a drink.
 "I heard Giran was happy about a new deal," She whispered, voice lost over the rowdy conversation of the patrons, "He really liked the scotch we carry." She paused, pondering.
 "Does he now," The guy muttered, almost to himself, "Anyone else?"
 "Well," She hesitated, unsure if she should speak. Her throat was awfully parched. The guy slid over another bill, and she found her throat was just moist enough to say one more sentence, "I heard the... hall monitors were upset."
 The guy nodded to himself, placing his glass on the table with a light hand. With a tip of the head as goodbye, the guy slipped away into the crowd.
 The barkeep was a reasonable woman. And it was only reasonable for her to ignore the fury that she had seen in the boys gaze, as well as the knives concealed by heavy fabric and lies. After all, she was a simple woman. Just a barkeep, nothing more. 
 (She kept an extra eye out for green in the upcoming months)

Chapter Text

 "Today, class, we're training your frankly abysmal quirkless hand to hand skills." Aizawa announced, his eyes sweeping over the class. As he expected, a few faces lit up (namely Oijiro and Sato) and a few faces twisted into puzzled confusion. The latter mostly comprised of those with emitter quirks, such as Kaminari, Aoyama, and even Todoroki. Aizawa wasn't too surprised that Bakugou carried a look of indifference, although Uraraka started shaking in what he presumed was excitement. 
 "Why?" Aoyama inquired, striking yet another one of his poses. The French-speaking boy looked off to a random direction and winked, to Aizawa's annoyance. 
 "'Cuz you're useless in a fight." A voice piped in frostily. Aizawa felt his gut drop as he looked over at his student, observing the glint in the boys eyes. Midoriya was eyeing Aoyama with irritation, his pencil creaking in his grip, "Improve yourself in all aspects, go beyond. Plus Ultra, and all that, right?" He commented sardonically.
 Midoriya had dark circles under his eyes, his usual carefree smile traded for a grim line. There was a slight purple hue on his cheekbone reminiscent of a bruise and his shoulders were tensed. Aizawa mentally noted to check the security footage, although he had a gut feeling that he wouldn't find anything.
 "Izuku," Bakugou looked at his friend pointedly, an unspoken conversation passing between them. After a few seconds, the green haired boy deflated, muttering an apology to his classmate. He turned his head towards his desk, refusing to look up.
 "What the nerd means, twinkle-toes," Bakugou looked at Aoyama, rolling his eyes, "Is that a noodle-armed child could take you down when you break that damned belt. Power ain't an excuse for complacency."
 "How is that better than what I said?" Midoriya's head shot up, although his tone was more playfully hurt than the anger he had demonstrated a second ago. 
 "Cuz I'm fuckin' awesome, nerd!" Bakugou smirked, flipping his childhood friend off. Aizawa pretended not to notice. 
 "What your classmates said," Aizawa explained dryly, "Although they said it a bit more... colorfully than I would. There's always a place when your quirk can't help, or it'll hurt more than help. In those situations, you need to adapt. No hero is a one-trick pony."
 "Oui, I suppose you are right, monsieur," Aoyama was quick to bounce back, twinkling slightly as he winked at Aizawa. The teacher felt his soul die a little bit as he watched the boy sprinkle glitter onto himself and his desk.
 "Get to field gamma in seven minutes." Aizawa grumbled, slouching out of the classroom.
__________
 "Midoriya, I bet you're awesome at this!" Kirishima cheered, standing opposite the tired looking boy. Midoriya just tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the redhead analytically. Kirishima couldn't help but shiver under his scrutiny.
 "I'm not going down easy, though!" Kirishima grinned, slamming his fists together. He winced as Aizawa sent him a glare, quieting down and straightening his back. Kirishima looked down, a bit abashed, and studied the dusty dirt below their feet.
 "Alright, now that you're paired off..." Aizawa glanced at each of the duos neutrally, letting his sentence trail off into uncomfortable silence. His gaze seemed to hesitate on Midoriya before passing onto Kirishima. "Spar until one of you wins best out of three. You lose by being restrained or being thrown out of your circle." Kirishima glanced down at the spray-painted circle surrounding the two of them, roughly ten feet in diameter. Each duo had the circle around them, scatted across the dirt field. 
 "Then, move on, and find another winner." The mans smile widened until he was almost bearing his teeth at them, "Whoever wins the least gets special training with me."
 "Oh shit..." Mina whispered loudly from across the field. Kirishima was inclined to agree with her. Without another word, Aizawa waved his hand dismissively and went to sit underneath a nearby tree. Kirishima, silently hyping himself up, turned back to his opponent.
 "May the best man win- arg!" Kirishima shrieked, voice cracking, as he barely ducked a fist the the face. He had barely seen Midoriya move, leaping towards the redhead. "Woah woah woah-" Kirishima resisted the urge to harden his arms as he blocked a kick, wincing as the blow left his arms stinging and red. "We can talk about this!" Kirishima stepped back, nervously eyeing the boundary. 
 Midoriya just fixed him with a dry stare, crouching down low. The boy darted towards Kirishima, who yelped and jumped to the side. His mistake, for he felt a hand close around his wrist. With uncanny strength, Midoriya wrenched his arm behind his back and kicked his legs from under him, slamming Kirishima's face into the dirt. 
 "Ow..." Kirishima groaned, feeling his shoulder twinge and pebbles press into his face. The weight holding him down disappeared, but he remained there for a few seconds. Finally, he pushed himself up. Midoriya stood across from him without a single scratch or mark on him. He almost looked bored as he cracked his knuckles.
 "Dude, you are so terrifying," Kirishima mumbled, rubbing his arm. His moms would never let him hear the end of it if he broke an arm. The three of them already teased him enough for the amount of milk he liked to drink! 
 "Alright!" Kirishima smiled, brushing the dirt off his face, "I'm ready now!"
 He was absolutely not ready. Midoriya descended upon him in a flurry of green and blue, his strikes leaving behind countless marks that would no doubt evolve into bruises. Kirishima was hard pressed to even keep up with blocking, gritting his teeth as he blocked too many hits to count. Finally, a stray punch slipped through his guard, landing on his unprotected stomach. Kirishima coughed in pain, his hands slipping down to clutch his stomach. He had no chance to block the light hit to the throat that left him choking for air. By the time Midoriya slammed his knee into Kirishima's cheek (thankfully not his nose - he was sure that would have left significant damage), the redhead was ready to keel over.
 Kirishima just laid in the dirt, every inch of him hurting. He had little desire to get up, even as he heard footsteps approaching. 
 "Really, problem child?" He heard Aizawa say. Kirishima's face burned with shame, and he tried to push himself back up. His arms trembled and gave out from under him. 
 "I was going easy..." Midoriya mumbled, and wow, Kirishima would have been offended if he had not already gotten his ass handed to him on a silver platter. 
 "Twenty seconds, problem child. He lasted twenty seconds." Aizawa groaned, "You know, nevermind. Sero!"
 "Yes Aizawa-sensei?" Kirishima heard his friend jog over, sounding far better off that Kirishima felt. 
 "Take Kirishima to the nurse." Aizawa hesitated, "Kirishima, are you still conscience?" The redhead just groaned in confirmation.
 "Oh shit man, what happened?" Sero exclaimed in suprise, before yelping an apology for the curse.
 "Midoriya. Midoriya happened." Aizawa sighed, "Oh, and Sero? Ask Recovery Girl to help you."
 "With what?" Sero's voice was almost hilariously guilty.
 "Exercising, especially sparring, with a binder is incredibly unsafe. UA will provide a special one for you." Aizawa said, sounding exhausted. "You're not that sneaky. Now take him to the nurses office."
 "Yes sir!" Sero answered. Kirishima felt Sero's hand wrap around his arm, pulling him up.
 "Man, you look rough!" Sero laughed nervously, slinging Kirishima's arm around his shoulders. The redhead glanced blearily around, noticing that Midoriya was waiting by another circle, presumably for a new opponent. 
 "He's so manly," Kirishima couldn't help but shed a single tear in respect for his classmate. 
 "Yeah, yeah," Sero rolled his eyes affectionately, tugging Kirishima along with him. Together, they made their way back to the main building.
__________
 Aizawa wanted to retire. Forty minutes had gone by, and half of his class had been sent to the infirmary by the manic problem child. The other hand were shuffling away from the ring Midoriya and Oijiro were sparring in, glancing pleadingly at Aizawa.
 Finally, Oijiro was sent out of bounds by a particularly nasty kick to the behind. He slid a few feet, lying on the ground in defeat.
 "Five minutes, that's the best yet," Shinso commented as he glanced at the timer he had stolen off Aizawa. 
 "Who's next?" Midoriya turned to the rest of the class. His curly hair was covered in dust, a darkening mark on his forearms where he had nearly been hit out of the ring by Oijiro. His grin was touched with something feral, eyes shining with glee. 
 "No one, nerd." Bakugou stepped forward, "Look at your hands, damned moron." His voice, despite his words, was trembling. 
 "Huh?" Midoriya frowned, looking down. His eyes widened marginally as he noticed the blood dripping from his knuckles. Aizawa frowned as well - he hadn't noticed the injury either. Midoriya laughed, his voice a little bit shaky, and he tried to hide his hands behind his back.
 "Dumbass," Bakugou snapped, marching over and grabbing his friends hand. He was followed closely by Shinso. The two of them were fairly unscathed, having won most of their spars.
 "You've shredded your hands, fucking dumbass!" Bakugou's voice raised, anger mixing with concern. Oddly enough, Bakugou's hands were shaking as well. The blond boy turned to Aizawa, eyebrows furrowed. "Oy, teach, I'm taking this dumbass to the nurse."
 Aizawa nodded, glancing over at Oijiro. He noticed with a sinking feeling that the dark marks on his uniform wasn't just dirt. 
 "Go." Was the only thing he said in reply. 
 "Izuku's an idiot," Shinso said quietly, walking back to Aizawa. "But he wouldn't hurt his classmate that bad. The bloods probably from Izuku."
 "What a problem child..." Aizawa muttered, waving for yet another one of his students to drag the latest Midoriya victim to the infirmary. 
 "He's... upset. About Dad." Shinso's voice lowered, shaking slightly. Aizawa turned a little bit more to face his young student, examining his face. He looked exhausted, grief deep in his eyes. "He's been really obsessed with becoming stronger, sending a message to those bastards."
 "Why are you telling me this?" Aizawa flinched at his own words, the insensitivity of them hitting him the instant they left his mouth. Shinso seemed to understand him though.
 "He's strong, in the most unconventional ways," Shinso hesitated, an unknown look flashing in his eyes, "Keep an eye on him, please?"
 "I..." Aizawa paused, remembering the look in his students eyes. How Midoriya's warmth and charisma had seemed far less warm than before, grief and fury warring for dominance in his gaze. Aizawa couldn't help but remember when his own eyes looked like that. "I will, I promise."
 "Thank you," Shinso muttered quietly, bowing slightly to him before moving to spar some more. 
__________
 "Izuku, you dumbass!" Hitoshi yelled the instant he stepped into the shared dorm, looking for any hint of green. He found it in the kitchen, guiltily eating some ramen on the counter.
 "Sorry?" Izuku tried, offering Hitoshi a pair of chopsticks. The brainwashers eyes twitched, and his brother retracted the chopsticks hastily. Izuku's hands were wrapped in bandages, smudges of red peeking through in certain places. 
 "That was not the plan!" Hitoshi scolded him, "Beat their asses all you want, and use that damn acting class you took last year-"
 "You took it too!" Izuku interrupted indignantly, fumbling with his chopsticks.
 "Not the point!" Hitoshi rolled his eyes, "We said you could act like a grief-consumed moron! Not become one!" 
 "I forgot!" Izuku defended himself. A lousy argument, considering the fact that he was struggling to eat his ramen.
 "Forgot, my ass." Hitoshi muttered, "You do that again, and I'll sic Dad on you!"
 "You wouldn't!" Izuku gasped in both mock and real horror.
 "Try me, bitch." Hitoshi finally snatched the chopsticks Izuku had offered him off the table, pointing them at his brother. "Where's Katsuki?"
 At that, Izuku's face dropped with guilt. 
 "He started hyperventilating..." Izuku said quietly, gesturing to his hands. Hitoshi's stomach dropped - he had forgotten about that. "Outside the nurses office. Kirishima was heading out, so he took him to Hound Dog."
 "Kirishima? Red hair?" Hitoshi frowned.
 "He had a beanie," Izuku explained, "In his pocket."
 "So that's why he wears it around Katsuki..." Hitoshi muttered, already feeling the redhead go up on his 'People I don't hate' list. 
 "I am sorry," Izuku said, voice quiet and guilty, "I didn't mean to, and I forgot about Katsuki until it was too late. So, I really am sorry. I really didn't mean to get hurt."
 "Dumbass," Hitoshi sighed, reaching over to ruffle his brothers hair. "I know you didn't. And as far as Katsuki, we've just gotta keep an eye out for him."
 "Yeah," Izuku muttered, "Dumbass doesn't know when to ask for help."
 "Sounds like someone I know, huh?" Hitoshi said fondly.

________

Omake

Katsuki felt a heavy awkwardness settle in-between Kirishima and him as they wandered around the corridors. Katsuki hadn't wanted to go to Hound Dog just yet, and was paying for it. Finally, he couldn't bear the silence anymore.

"Your hat looks dumb," Katsuki muttered, casting a glance at the others head. Covering his hair was a stunningly ugly beanie - black and orange tie-died. It looked like someone had spilled bleach on a black hat and thought Cheeto dust could fix it. Katsuki felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach as he was reminded of why Kirishima was wearing the hat.

"I think it's pretty awesome!" Kirishima laughed, the side of his eyes crinkling. It almost reminded Katsuki of Uncle 'Sashi's eyes when he laughed. 

"Sorry you have to wear it." Katsuki mumbled, shoving his hands further into his pockets. He felt himself tense up, closing in on himself.

"Hey, no problem, man!" Kirishima smiled at him, and Katsuki couldn't find a single trace of deception in his face. "I bought a nightlight the other day," Kirishima confessed, "I can't stand the dark, looks too much like..." He trailed off, smile faltering slightly.

"Shitty warp gate?" Katsuki offered.

"Yeah," Kirishima chuckle sounded a little bit strained, "My moms made me get the one with stars! It's really manly!"

"Seriously?" Katsuki couldn't but laugh. Not at the fact that Kirishima had gotten one, but the fact that his favorite word of 'manly' extended to the light as well. 

"Hell yeah!" Kirishima beamed, "And I like my hat! It reminds me of your..." The boy mimed Katsuki's explosions and his walk, swaggering down the hallway, "I'm Katsuki Bakugou and I ain't scared of nothin!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Katsuki laughed, hitting Kirishima's shoulder.

"You're pretty manly, dude! My hat makes me feel as brave as you!" Kirishima grinned.

"Fuck off," Katsuki fruitlessly tried to contain his amused smile.

Chapter Text

It's a baby! With a gun! (Set around age 3)

 Kayo Aiko had xeir sights set on a new bike, one that could take xem all around the city with xeir friends. So when xe had seen the sleek and shining chrome frame in a shop window, xe knew exactly what xe wanted to get. Even if that required xem putting out a sheet advertising their services as a babysitter.
 Xe had gotten a call late on a Thursday night responding to xeir advertisement, a tired sounding man on the other end of the phone. After some discussion of xeir rates and the hours xe could work, xe scheduled for xem to go to their apartment on Saturday night, so the man and his wife could go out for a little bit. Kayo nearly vibrated out of xeir seat in joy, much to xeir mothers bemusement.
 The teenager had arrived at the mans apartment ten minutes earlier than xe said, dressed in a nice but practical outfit - jeans and a polo shirt, just like xeir mom suggested. Xe was determined to be the best babysitter ever, clutching a small box of crayons in xeir hand. After a few seconds of the doorbell ringing, the door swung open to reveal the man who had hired Kayo.
 "Ah, Aiko-san?" The man, who had introduced himself as Hisashi Midoriya on the phone, smiled at Kayo. The teenager felt xeir previous confidence drain to his feet as xe saw how the man was dressed. Kayo felt almost scruffy next to the sharply dressed Midoriya, xeir baby-blue polo shirt not even coming close to the pressed crimson shirt that the man wore. A black jacket draped over Midoriya's shoulders, a black tie hanging untied around his neck.
 "Uh, hi! Yes, that's me. Kayo Aiko, that's me!" Kayo winced as xe fumbled with xeir words, shooting the man an awkward thumbs up. Xe winced at xeir lack of tact, avoiding Midoriya's look.
 "Welcome in!" Midoriya beamed at xem, his smile warm and welcoming. Kayo blinked at the friendly display. "My wife and I are almost finished getting ready, but you should meet 'Zuku!"
 Kayo stepped through the threshold, noting the simple yet homey accommodations. Xe could hear a woman singing quietly, her voice sweet and melodious. There was the sound of a toddler babbling happily to the woman, the childish voice talking about something involving 'big fireflies'. 
 "Inko, our babysitter is here!" Midoriya called, ushering Kayo to a table. There was a neat stack of sugar cookies on a plate, frosted with little stars and dots. Xe could just make out the misshapen lumps that were hidden underneath the prettier cookies, although there was one particularly deformed stick-man glaring out from underneath a polka-dotted cookie. Xe supposed that it was the childs work.
 "Hello, help yourself to some cookies!" The woman called, pausing for a second before elaborating, "Avoid Hisashi's cookies though, they're the lumpy looking ones!"
 "Inko!" Midoriya wailed dramatically, clutching his chest in mock hurt, "Those are my masterpieces! They are my life's work! You are a harsh critic, Madame!"
 "Hisashi, I love you dearest, but your cooking is lethal," The woman emerged from what Kayo assumed was her bedroom. Kayo felt increasingly sloppy as xe blinked at her dress. It was a dark green color, complimenting her hair well and perfectly styled. 
 "You look beautiful, oh cruel one," Midoriya smiled at her, his eyes warm and loving. Kayo could swear that xe saw a blackened tear run down his cheek, before he turned away.
 "Izuku!" The woman called, glancing back to her room, "Come say hi to your babysitter! Xe-" She shot a quick look at Kayo to confirm, smiling as xe nodded back. "Xe're here to watch you while we go out!"
 Kayo didn't get a chance to blink before a small blur of green hurtled out of the room, crashing into Inko. A little head of curly green hair peeked around her legs, bright green eyes inspecting the teenager. Inko just laughed fondly, reaching down to pick her son up. The toddler gave her a toothy grin.
 "Have fun, Mommy!" Kayo's heart melted as the child beamed at his mother, wrapping his little arms around her neck in a hug. He saw Midoriya's eyes water, his hands clutching his chest out of the corner of xeir eye. 
 "Izuku, you're too cute!" Midoriya sniffled, walking over to ruffle the boys hair. 
 "Hisashi, your tie," Inko reminded him. Midoriya blinked, looking down as if he had forgotten about it. 
 "Thanks, dear!" He beamed at her, "Can you do it for me?" 
 "You're hopeless," Inko rolled her eyes, "Let's go, I'll tie it on the way." The mother placed her child on the ground, ruffling his hair. Then, she straightened and turned to Kayo.
 "Izuku's a dear, but he's also a handful," She smiled apologetically to xem, "Just call Hisashi if he does anything, alright? Help yourself to anything in the fridge, and make sure he's in bed by seven, okay?'
 "I've got it!" Kayo smiled at her, "Thank you, have a lovely night Midoriya-san!"
__________
 The bike wasn't worth it.
 The bike wasn't worth this!
 Kayo stood, frozen, in the doorway of the bathroom. Xe had gone to use the restroom, leaving the little boy to watch a movie about some hero. When xe had opened the door, xe was greeted with a very small, very green child point an honest to god gun at xem. 
 "Hiya!" The boy said cheerfully, not at all matching the oversized gun in his little hands. Despite the size difference, he didn't seem to have any issue holding it steady. 
 "Hiya..." Kayo smiled nervously at Izuku, putting xeir hands up, "Can you, uh, put the gun down?" How did the child even find a pistol? 
 "What's your qui...rk?" The boy fumbled over the word quirk, eyes narrowing in concentration.
 "I have a very good memory," Kayo sweated as the boy waved the pistol around in excitement, "It let's me remember things about people," Kayo didn't mention how xe could add 'notes' to a person, which xe could access by mentally 'clicking' on them. Xe felt as if that was a very long winded explanation for a small child.
 "Cool!" Izuku cheered happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
 "Hey, can you put that down buddy?" Kayo asked the boy nervously, "I'll... give you some chocolate?" Xe had it in their pocket, intending to eat it after Izuku went to bed. Xe pulled it out slowly.
 Izuku lit up, his thumb pressing against the back of the gun as he waved it around in excitement. To Kayo's horror, there was a click as the hammer moved back into position.
 "Or I guess you can keep it! This is a mugging now!" Kayo wasn't proud of how xeir voice cracked as xe flung the chocolate bar at the child in panic. As Izuku went to pick the bar up, Kayo pulled xeir phone out, quickly punching in Midoriya's phone number. He picked up after three rings.
 "Hello?" Midoriya answered, the sounds of a restaurant in the background, "Hisashi speaking?"
 "There's a baby with a gun!" Kayo whisper-screamed, keeping an eye on the child, who was struggling to open the chocolate bar with one hand.
 "What?" Midoriya, to Kayo's dismay, only sounded a little surprised.
 "It's a baby!" Kayo throttled xeir phone, "With a gun! Help me!"
 "Oh, again?" Midoriya sighed, "Inko, Izuku found a gun again - can't we just have him do target practice- Ow! Fine, fine!" Midoriya yelped, the sound of a woman speaking angrily in the background, "We'll be home in fifteen minutes, just don't get shot."
 "Easier said than done!" Kayo eyed Izuku nervously, "I gave him a chocolate bar as a bribe but it turned into a mugging."
 "Oh, then you're screwed!" Midoriya said uncomfortably nonchalantly, "Izuku gets very hyper on sugar, he may try to extort you for more."
 "What is he?" Kayo wanted to cry, "A fucking mafioso?"
 "Probably!" Midoriya said cheerfully before hanging up.
 "Please don't hurt me," Kayo turned to the child, xeir smile nervous, "I'm too young to die!"
 Izuku giggled.
__________
All men are born equal, motherfucker! (Around six)

 "Where the hell is that Deku!" Katsuki Bakugou's eye twitched as he and several others searched the playground. He felt his palms spark with fury as the green of his classmate evaded him, the anger hiding the guilt he felt at hunting for his friend. The little shit had forced him to back down from a fight, dragging him away from the older child by the back of the collar. The extras that followed Katsuki were all too happy to gang up on the quirkless boy, a fact that made Katsuki silently uncomfortable.
 "Don't worry, Bakugou!" An extra assured him, grinning hungrily at him, "We'll find Deku no problem, that quirkless loser can't hide forever!" 
 'He doesn't need to hide' Something inside of Katsuki reminded him, 'He isn't an extra.'
 "Shut the fuck up and find him already!" Katsuki snapped instead, shoving the extra away from him.
 "Deeekuuu!" Another extra crooned, searching the slide for the green haired boy, "You can't run forever, freak!"
 "We just want to teach you your place, Deku!" Some loser who could pop their eyes out punched his hand, imitating Katsuki's own move. Katsuki's eye twitched as he watched the band of idiots sweep the playground with startling efficiency. He wondered if they had done it before. 
 "Yeah, and that place is the trash, loser!" The entire gang laughed as if it was the best joke they had ever heard. 
 'Where would Izuku hide?' Katsuki grimaced, 'The woods...' He looked at the woods that ringed the playground, eye twitching. The green foliage was the perfect place for the nerd to hide, his hair blending right in. 
 "You don't even stand on the same level as me, you little shit!" Katsuki roared, marching over to the woods to search for the green haired boy, "Stop hiding and fight me!"
 "That's our Bakugou!" One of the extras cheered from behind him, "Finally, he's stopped trying to play nice with the loser!"
 'Play nice?' Katsuki scowled at the lackeys words. Did they seriously think he was playing nice? They were stupider than he had thought.
 Katsuki, caught off guard, didn't hear the rustling above him. He didn't hear the starting of alarmed shouts from behind him either. 
 "All men are born equal, motherfucker!" Was the only thing he heard, a defiant yell as something hit him from above. He crumpled to the ground like a soggy tissue, feeling the impossible weight of two feet on his shoulders. Katsuki hit the ground, hard, followed soon after by a familiar set of sneakers.
 "It's him!" The extras yelled, fear leaking through their bravado, "Get him, Bakugou!"
 'You do it!' Katsuki mentally yelled, groaning on the ground. He felt a weight settle onto his back, one that he recognized as Izuku's. 'I'm so dead,' He thought, feeling the pride and anger drain out of him.
 "Fancy seeing you here, Katsuki!" Izuku said cheerfully, digging his heels into Katsuki's back. 
 "D- Izuku," Katsuki turned his head to look the boy in the eyes, "Get the fuck off me,"
 "Hm, okay!" Izuku smiled, hopping off his back. With a groan, Katsuki pushed himself up, brushing the dirt and leaves off his back.
 "Will this ever happen again? Still think you're better?" Izuku beamed at him, looking deceptively innocent. Katsuki looked at him for a second, then looked at the Katsuki-shaped impression on the ground, and then back at him.
 "...no." Katsuki grumbled, "Sorry, 'Zuku."

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Izuku cursed loudly as emerged into the same clearing that he had stumbled upon several times. He had arrived for his class with Bane, only to find a note telling him to report to one of the fake environments that UA kept - this time it was their forest area. Conveniently, Bane neglected to inform him of where to go, leaving Izuku to wander around the bramble and thorn filled landscape. 
 Finally, with a defeated sigh, Izuku gave up on finding the elusive man, running his hand through his hair. He grimaced as several leaves came out with his hand, already knowing that he probably looked like a bush. Still, the free time provided by his teachers absence gave him a few precious minutes to think about his father.
 'The hall monitors were upset' Izuku thought to himself, recalling the hushed conversation between him and and the Watcher. She hadn't been what he expected, although he supposed that must be a bonus when it came to avoiding the wrath of those she informed on. The bar had been crowded - it was a hot spot for anyone who wanted a job done. He used to go there occasionally to pick up new jobs, although his father usually went for him. 
 Izuku frowned as he thought on her words and the anxious glances she was sending the people in the room. 'Who could the hall monitors be?' Izuku mused, pacing across the grassy clearing, 'Hall monitors, hall monitors. Education-based? No, too literal. Some kind of authority or rule followers?' Izuku cursed his lack of knowledge of street lingo, glaring at a tree like it was responsible. Having his father act as an intermediary was serving as more of a curse than a blessing now.
 'Who watches? What do they watch?' He sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand. Maybe he would have to go back to the bar. 
 "Stupid 'hall monitor' people. Why can't they have normal, easy to find names?" Izuku groaned, kicking at the ground. He watched a clod of dirt fly a few feet before smashing on a rock.
 "Hall monitor?" A new voice caused Izuku to start, sending a knife flying in the direction of the threat as he whipped around. The small knife was thrown aside by a silvery ripple, skidding to a halt in the grass. Bane stood there, unimpressed, with one hand outstretched to Izuku. The silver power still emitted from his palm, although not quite as powerful as the one that had deflected the knife. The black gloves that Bane always wore in training sessions had a small cut on the palm.
 "Good reflexes, if I didn't have my quirk that would have hit me right here," Bane tapped his chest with one finger, the dark red material of his sweatshirt crinkling under the tap. "Now, why didn't you find me, and why are you muttering about the hero commission?"
 "What-?" Izuku tilted his head, confused. Then, like a strike of lightning, realization ran through him. His jaw snapped shut, eyes widening as he considered the implications of the new discovery. 
 "Unless you have a grudge against the janitors, then you're talking about the hero commission, right?" Bane drawled, "That is what 'hall monitor' means, or at least it's an old name for it. I'm surprised you've heard of it."
 "What... do you think of them?" Izuku risked asking, crossing his fingers that he seemed like a normal curious student. 
 "A bunch of power-tripping bastards, but that's between you and me," Bane said dryly, before glancing off in the distance, his gaze sharpening into a glare, "And the rat. God knows he probably had a camera somewhere."
 Izuku frowned, startled by the candid answer. 
 "Come on, we only have twenty minutes left, since someone wasted half an hour wandering in a circle." Bane cocked an eyebrow, obviously motioning for Izuku to attack. 
 "That's your fault," Izuku didn't have to pretend to be annoyed, launching himself at Bane. The man dodged easily, but Izuku had expected the quick movement. His shoe dug into the ground as he quickly changed directions, ducking underneath a kick that would have broken his jaw. 
 "Come on, kid," Bane grinned at him. The man pointed one palm at the ground, bracing his elbow with the other hand. With an explosive power surge, he sent himself flying backwards and dirt flying into the air. Izuku cursed, batting aside the clumps of dirt that flew towards his eyes as he sprinted after his teacher.
 "How will you ever get stronger if you're too slow?" Bane yelled, twisting midair so his feet hit a tree trunk. Kicking off, he twisted and flipped, aiding the movement with a carefully times power surge. Izuku yelped as the redhead kicked off another tree, flipping over Izuku's head. The student whirled around, barely blocking a fierce punch with his arm. Deflecting another punch, he went to hit the man in the unprotected stomach. Bane simply laughed, twisting out of the way of the blow. 
 "You're so annoying!" Izuku yelled, spinning in a vicious roundhouse kick. Bane's eyes widened slightly, crossing his forearms to block the hit. Izuku grinned ferally as the man grunted, feinting to the left. He dropped to the ground as his teacher went right, trying to kick his legs out from under him. Instead, he received a shockwave right to the leg as Bane blasted himself upwards. Izuku resisted the urge to scream as the shockwave hit his leg, feeling like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. 
 "Sorry, kid!" Bane called from above. Izuku looked up, seeing the man dangling from a tree branch, his feet braced against the tree trunk. "Acted on reflex, your leg isn't broken, is it?"
 "You wish," Izuku grumbled, wincing as he stood up. Bane hit the ground a second later, rolling to absorb the fall. 
 "You react faster," He noted, running a hand through his wine-red hair, "And you're getting harder to predict."
 "Is that good or bad? I can never land a hit on you." Izuku scowled, although he felt no real annoyance. He wanted to add a quiet 'I have to get stronger', but he suspected that his teacher wouldn't have bought the act. He wasn't sure why, but his gut told him that acting wouldn't go as well as it had been. 
 "You could probably take, oh, five or six of your classmates. Three with quirks, maybe?" Bane shrugged, "I do my job very well."
 "I'm sure," Izuku responded dryly, rubbing at his leg. The pain was beginning to fade away, much to his relief. "Are we going to continue?"
 To his suprise, Bane shook his head. At a questioning look, the man held his hand up for Izuku to see. For a second, it looked normal, black fabric covering Banes hand. However, a closer look revealed distortions in the air around the hand.
 "It's why I hit you, and nearly impaled myself on a tree branch," Bane sighed, "The copper wire got cut earlier, so my hands hurt now. Which means I can't control my quirk as well. Thanks for that, you annoying child. I'm living on a teachers salary!" 
 "Oh no, I feel so guilty," Izuku deadpanned, "Now we get to spend twenty minutes walking back." Banes face paled as he realized that Izuku was right - he had obviously used his quirk to traverse the forest. 
__________
 Izuku stumbled as he walked to his next class, cursing softly. The long walk back hadn't helped the pain in his leg, and he had several scrapes from brambles as well as an ache from his shoulder. The adrenaline from the fight had hidden the pain, but it was rearing its ugly head in full force now. He would have stopped at Recovery Girls office, but he had arrived to the main building ten minutes later than he should have. 
 Plus, other things were on his mind.
 'Kid... I know that look in your eye,' Bane had said to him as they walked back, avoiding his gaze. 'You're going to try to hunt those bastards down, yeah?' He didn't explain what bastards he meant, and didn't need to. Izuku didn't reply, but a sharp intake of breath had easily given him away.
 'Be careful. You're not weak, but you're not Hisashi.' Bane had told him, tapping his shoulder in an almost friendly manner before picking up the pace. He said nothing else after that, aside from yelling at various foliage and fauna. 
 'Bane thinks it's the commission too...' Izuku thought to himself, turning down another hallway. 
 Against his will, memories rose to the surface of his memory. He flinched as he remembered his first encounter with agents of the Hero Commission. 
 'If they blackmail a kid, they would have no problem killing an assassin.' He thought darkly, finger twitching as he remembered the guilt he had felt complying with them. Anger accompanied it, the faces of the agents that the commission had sent to threaten him entering his mind. After all, they had already threatened Hisashi.
 'We have full permission to open fire if we ever see him, and trust me we’re good at looking' The quiet agent had said, the others smirking at Izuku. 
 "They've been causing nothing but problems," Izuku muttered angrily, "There's no way it wasn't them." The blackmail, the jobs they had forced him to do, forcing him into the Vanguard course? It all pointed to one inevitable conclusion, and that was that they were determined to stamp him and his father out.
 His heart and mind settled, Izuku limped off to his English class, plans and schemes running through his mind.
__________
 Hisashi Midoriya leaned against the cold cement wall, his usual warm smile nowhere to be seen. The bare room he had rented was in the basement of an old lady's apartment building, the best he could get without any identification. He had a small cot in the corner, similar to the one that Bane had been sleeping on before Hisashi had found him. 
 Hisashi looked at the simple metal shelving that was shoved into the corner of the room, the few possessions he had kept sitting on it. Two whole shelves were taken up by his weapons and gear. Next to it was a cheap mini-fridge and a box full of instant noodles. 
 "Oh, how the mighty have fallen..." Hisashi mumbled, staring at the instant noodles. He knew deep inside that he would somehow manage to mess them up. 
 Hisashi sighed, walking over to the shelving and pulling out his laptop, as well as a small memory card. Not bothering to go back to the sad little cot, which had a sleeping bag neatly rolled up on it, he simply sat on the floor next to the shelf. The wooden floor creaked as he did so.
 He slid the memory card into the laptop, turning it on and clicking on the file that popped up. Inside of the folder was a list of videos, the length and date of each varying. Still, all of them were nine years old or older. He clicked on the oldest one, a video file popping up.
 'Baby, say hi to your Daddy!' A heart-wrenchingly familiar voice said from behind the camera, which was focused on a small baby. The little child's head was covered in small green curles, his face illuminated with a happy smile. The boy, Izuku, looked at the woman behind the camera with stars in his eyes, making grabby hands towards her. The woman, Inko, cooed, 'Hi, baby!' 
 Hisashi smiled as the voice of his wife filled the small room. He remembered how Inko kept calling Izuku 'baby' for the first few months after he was born.
 'Izuku misses you, dear,' The camera shook for a second as Inko placed it against something, and she moved into frame to pick the little boy up. For a second, all you could see was her legs, before she sat down. She held Izuku in her arms, turning him to face the camera. 'And I do too. Have a good trip, I love you!' And with that, the video ended, frozen on Inko's smiling face. 
 Hisashi shook his head fondly, blinking away the tears that were forming in his eyes. His heart ached as he thought of his wife. Closing out of the video, he clicked on the next one.
 This time, Inko was standing in the middle of the kitchen, the camera perched somewhere on the counter. She was glaring playfully at the camera, a wood spoon in one hand.
 'Hisashi, you lump!' She tried to scowl, before giving up, 'This is episode one of 'teach my helpless husband how to cook!'. The season ends when he stops burning the eggs in the morning!' Hisashi laughed softly at her fondly annoyed words, watching her move gracefully around the kitchen.
 He remembered the series she had tried to make, instructing him how to cook and do basic tasks such as making soup. She had recorded them when he went away on business trips, and showed them to him when he got back, declaring proudly that she would teach him how to cook. 
 Hisashi never did learn how to cook. After all, he had loved seeing Inko's videos, and her playful insults to his culinary skills. His best kept secret was that he wasn't actually as hopeless as he seemed - he just never wanted her to stop making the videos. He knew that she loved making them as much as he loved watching them. After her death, he couldn't bring himself to learn how to cook. Because he had wanted her to teach him.
 'Ahh, Izuku! Help!' The next video had a grinning Inko hiding underneath a blanket, several stuffed animals piled on top of her. The camera was positioned so the viewer could see the door - and Inko poking her face out of the blanket to wink at the camera. 
 'Smaaash!' Izuku skidded down the hall in his old All Might onesie, posing as if he had punched a villain down the hall. Izuku leapt into the room, gasping loudly as he saw his mother underneath the stuffed animals and blanket. "Mama! I'll save you!'
 'Izukuuu!' Inko wailed dramatically, wriggling to look like she was struggling. Hisashi could see her trying not to laugh as she tried to avoid kicking the stuffed animals off herself.
 'Bam! Pow! Hiya!' Izuku shouted, punching the stuffed animals off of the blanket. With a dramatic yell, he pulled the blanket off Inko, 'Mama!'
 'Oh, noble hero!' Inko laughed, pulling Izuku into a hug, 'You saved me!'
 'Mama!' Izuku exclaimed happily, breaking character to hug her tightly. He bounced on his feet in joy, his little face completely lit up by his smile. 
 'Look - Hisashi's watching!' Inko turned to point to the camera.
 'Daddy!' Izuku's smile widened, waving enthusiastically at the camera. Then, forcing his face into a more serious one, he pointed at the camera. 'I'll save you too, Daddy! From the nef... ne... nafer..." Izuku frowned as he fumbled with his words.
 'Nefarious?' Inko giggled, ruffling his hair.
 'That! I'll save you from the neferer... from the evil villains!' Inko slapped her hand over her mouth to stop her laugh as Izuku completely gave up at saying the words, his serious little face looking straight into the camera.

 Hisashi remained there for a long time, the voices of his wife and son washing over him. Eventually, his eyes closed, and he slipped into a peaceful slumber.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27
 The arcade was filled with the sounds of laughter and sound effects, the late afternoon sun streaming through the front windows, casting a rainbow on the patterned carpet that was littered with tickets and forgotten trinkets. Gathered around two machines, a small group of high-schoolers watched two players intently, drinks and snacks forgotten in their hands.
 Hitoshi drummed his fingers on the rubber handles, watching the countdown slowly tick down. His eyes were narrowed, scanning the road ahead of him as he leaned forwards intently. Besides him sat Katsuki, perched on a battered black motorcycle, his hands clenched around the rubber handlebars. His hair was pulled back with one of Kirishima's many bandanas - this one was orange, with little dinosaurs on it. 
 Finally, 'Go!' flashed onto the screen, and the two boys wrenched the gas forward, taking off in a pixelated cloud of smoke and burnt rubber. 
 Hitoshi weaved in and out of traffic, tilting from side to side on the blue plastic motorcycle. Slowing down just enough to avoid a car, Hitoshi veered to the right, hitting a ramp at the perfect angle to send himself soaring over the next section of the map, eyes intently focused on the screen in front of him.
 "Bastard!" Katsuki cursed, gunning his own motorcycle as he was nearly sideswiped by a semi. His jaw was tense as he increased his speed steadily, racing through the section of the map that Hitoshi had launched himself over. 
 "Eat shit, Kats!" Hitoshi's lip twisted up in a small grin as his bike touched back down, not slowing down as he barreled through traffic. "Wait-Fuck!" He cursed as he clipped another car, wobbling dangerously as the animated driver waved their fist at him.
 "Time to die!" Katsuki roared in return, catching up to Hitoshi's point. Neck in neck the two raced for the finish line, jostling with each other in both real life and in the game. Only a hundred before the finish line Hitoshi slapped his hand over Katsuki's eyes for a precious few seconds, causing the explosive blond to slow down just enough for Hitoshi to pull ahead. By the time Katsuki pushed Hitoshi off the motorcycle, Hitoshi had already passed the finish line and won.
 "Bastard!" Katsuki jumped off his own motorcycle, although there was no real animosity in his voice. He aimed a few kicks at the downed Hitoshi, who just laughed and tried to grab his foot.
 "I am never driving with them..." Sero whispered to Kirishima nervously, eyeing the 'new high score' that blinked on both of their screens. The last ten entries were composed entirely of the usernames 'KingExplosion' and "ShinCat".
 "That was so manly!" Kirishima responded in a loud whisper, grinning as he watched Katsuki try to drag Hitoshi to a trash bin. Before long, a frazzled looking employee came over, their eye twitching. A small raincloud hovered over their head, although the water didn't seem to be affecting anything.
 "Please, you've been here for three hours," The employee pleaded miserably, little illusions of raindrops running down their face. "Take whatever prizes you want, please don't make me count all those tickets."
 The group looked guiltily at the trash bag full of tickets they had - courtesy of Kaminari, who had intended to clean his room but ended up forgetting to take the bag out of his back pocket. 
 "Sorry, man!" Kirishima finally piped up, laughing nervously as he grabbed Katsuki by the back of the hood. The blond twisted around to fix him with a glare, but allowed himself to be pulled away from the laughing Hitoshi. 
 "I wanna get the switch!" Kaminari's eyes practically sparkled as he offered Hitoshi a hand up.
 "Ooh!" Mina grinned, "I'll get one too! That way we can play together!"
 "What about you, Bakugou?" Kirishima asked, still holding onto Katsuki's hood like a child leash, "I think that those Fatgum-themed weights looked super manly! I think they had some All Might boxing gloves - weren't you talking about needing some?"
 "Thats childish," Katsuki rolled his eyes, "I don't need a prize for being the best!" Still, everyone could see him side-eyeing the gloves that Kirishima had mentioned - along with the trading card that was taped to the side of the box they came in. His edgy anger wasn't enough to cover up the child-like sparkle in his eyes.
 "I want the car!" Sero's voice came from behind the group, drawing the stares of all of them. He was grinning widely as he met each of their eyes challengingly. "They have one of those toy cars for kids! Can you blame me?"
 "Sero..." Katsuki said, completely neutrally. The others leaned away slightly, watching Sero meet Katsuki's eyes. 
 "Lets hook a car battery to it!" Katsuki's face finally broke into a wide grin, "A guy I know has a spare, let's make it go fast!"
 "How fast?" Kaminari asked, eyes wide. Mina nodded her head enthusiastically beside him. 
 As one, Sero and Katsuki looked at each other, and then back at Kaminari.
 "Hella" They said in tandem.
 "You better invite me-" Kirishima pointed at them threateningly.
 "Of course, crash dummy!" Sero teased, turning to poke Hitoshi, "You're not escaping this either, Mr. anti-social." At that, Hitoshi pretended to scowl, crossing his arms.
 "If you wanna sit in the corner, go ahead," Kaminari grinned, "But you should get a switch too! I think they have a cat game!"
 "Really?" Hitoshi's head tilted, intrigued.
 "Are you guys done yet?" The poor employee, who hadn't left, was now standing under several illusionary rainclouds. 
 "What?" Kaminari turned to them, but his brain caught up to the words before they could repeat them, "Oh, yeah! Let's go guys!"
 In the end, Katsuki walked out with the boxing gloves and to his embarrassment, a romance manga. Kirishima had chosen the weights that he had talked about, as well as some Present Mic hand wraps (he refused to consider what would happen if the English teacher saw them).
 Mina had gotten a switch as well, although she had opted for the pastel pink version they offered instead of Kaminari's red and blue. She had also discovered - to her delight - that she could get several dozen sticky hands, which were crammed into her backpack besides Aizawa's homework.
 Kaminari had gotten his switch, of course, plus an assortment of candy and drinks that he had required a shopping bag for. Similarly, Hitoshi had gotten a pastel purple switch, which Sero had offered to paint for him. He also had gotten candy and drinks, although he had also gotten a crop top - a dare from Katsuki. 
 Sero had the biggest haul by far however, carrying a giant box that contained his toy car. He had given up trying to wrestle with it, simply punching a hole through the cardboard and using that as a handhold. The others were helping him, getting weird looks from passersby's.
 Eventually, the group made it back to UA, separating to go their own separate ways with friendly waves (and panicked mumbles of how much homework they had to do), leaving Katsuki and Hitoshi to wander back to the shared dorm. 
 "You reckon we can make Sero's car go fast without it exploding?" Hitoshi inquired idly, pulling a bag of gummy worms out of his pocket. He offered Katsuki one, but the boy just shook his head with a fond eyeroll.
 "You have such a sweet tooth, 'Toshi," Katsuki harrumphed with a slight smile. Hitoshi just shook his head in mock hurt, and the duo fell silent, the only sound being Hitoshi's snacking and their footsteps. It was a peaceful evening, with the sunset bathing everything in a warm golden glow. The light breeze felt cool and relaxing.
 Finally, they arrived at the plain building that UA had provided for them, unlocking and opening the door. 
 Hitoshi and Katsuki's smiles faded as they saw Izuku - who had stayed behind to keep up his 'sad and angry' act. His head was tucked into the crook of his arm, which was on several pieces of paper that the other two recognized as homework. Besides him was a long-cold bowl of katsudon, and a small pile of pencil shavings. The two dropped their backpacks and prizes next to the door.
 "How hard have you been working, 'Zuku?" Katsuki muttered, his voice wavering as he glanced guiltily back at his arcade winnings. 
 Gently, Katsuki tugged Izuku's chair back, picking him up. Hitoshi moved on quiet feet to open Izuku's bedroom door, a troubled look on his face as he watched Katsuki carry the smaller boy in. Together, they pulled the blanket over him, and turned the light off with one last glance.
 Wordlessly, the two boys slipped back out of the dorm. They didn't speak again until they had clambered onto the roof of the doom, using a window sill and a well-placed gutter to scale the side of the building.
 "I forgot how much stress he's under," Hitoshi was the first to break the silence, not meeting Katsuki's eyes as he sat down on the concrete roof. 
 "Me too," Katsuki sat down besides him with a defeated huff, "Which is a shitty excuse - fuck, I should be helping him." The blond balled his hand into a fist, jaw tightening as he stared off into the distance. "Uncle 'Sashi's in deep shit, 'Zuku's diving head-first into danger, and I'm..."
 "Slacking off," Hitoshi completed the thought, "Yeah." For a few moments they sat there, watching the suns golden rays slowly start to taper off. They could hear joyful shouts, carried to them by the wind.
 "We can't let him go through this alone," Katsuki said softly, anger melting away as his shoulders slumped back down. Katsuki sat back, staring up at the orange and gold streaked sky as his hair gently waved in the wind. He raised his hand to the sky, as if he was grasping for something that he couldn't quite reach.
 "United we stand," Hitoshi quoted, more to himself than to Katsuki, "And divided we fall." His eyes were lost in thought, hand unconsciously rubbing his jaw. 
 "Izuku can't fall," Katsuki agreed quietly, "None of us can, if this half-baked plan is to succeed."
 "Well, shit, when you put it that way," Hitoshi's lip quirked upwards in some melancholy imitation of a smile, glancing over at his brother. Tired violet eyes made unflinching contact with the burning red in a tacit promise. 
 "I'm a fucking good orator," Katsuki smiled faintly back.
 

Chapter Text

Charlie was a nice boy, a smart kid who got good grades. He had a decent quirk, and all his teachers whispered that he was on the fast track to success - that was why he had transferred to Japan, after all. So he could work at All Might's agency - the best in the world - in hopes that he could work his way up to become someone. Not a hero, no, that was far too dangerous for Charlies tastes, but something glorious. 
 When the offer to intern at the hero commission rolled into his mailbox, Charlie had nearly imploded in joy. This was his future, the first chapter to becoming one of the monuments in history books. Perhaps his joy had been tainted a little at being assigned to just sorting through mail the first week, but he had been certain that he could work his way up. His parents back in America had been ecstatic as well, so proud of their little boy. 
 Charlie had always been a nice boy - perhaps too nice. When the stranger had begged him for money to get back on his feet, Charlie had felt a deep pang in his heart and gave him anything in his pockets. One thing lead to another, and Charlie found himself doing drugs on the tiled floor of the mans bathroom, never noticing that the man had never been in need at all. The bastard just wanted a new client.
 That was why Charlie was huddled up against the cold brick wall, his face gaunt and bones aching from exhaustion. Why he clutched a single letter like a lifeline, prepared to trade secrets for blood money. 
 The minutes ticked by like syrup, every tick causing Charlies eyes to dart around nervously. He scanned everything around him, from the rusted dumpster to the too-clean windows to the shattered glass on the ground. Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, Charlie felt his shoulders slump. The buyer wasn't coming.
 Grabbing his cane from where it leaned against the wall, Charlie started to walk away, pain echoing up his bad leg with every step. However, before he could get more than a few steps, the glass crunched from behind him. 
 "Messenger?" An unfamiliar voice said from behind him. Charlie stumbled as he turned around, fingers flying up to the bandanna tied loosely around his face. "Don't worry, I'm not interested in you." The figure that stood in the shadows laughed calmly - Charlie didn't like it. Something about the laugh set him on edge. 
 "Yeah, that's me," Charlie nodded a little too quickly, his hood slipping down a little over his eyes.
 "Do you have what you said you did?" The figure stepped forward just enough for the moonlight to illuminate the helmet they wore. Charlie frowned as he inspected it - it was a motorcycle helmet, an odd choice for such a meeting. His heart sank as he realized that this man was not like the eager gangsters he usually sold to - this man was far too put-together for that. 
 "Yes," Charlie nodded, not taking the letter out from his jacket, "Do you have what you promised me?"
 The man paused, an uneasy feeling rising in Charlies gut. He stepped forward again, and this time Charlie was far too panicked to notice the designs on his jacket. Instead, he focused on the blocky shape in the mans hand - a shape Charlie had seen often in America, and had hoped to never be on the receiving end. A gun.
 "I have something better, friend," The buyer sounded friendly, despite the gun he held at his side. "Give me the letter." His tone held no room to argue, a far cry from the anxious boy Charlie had heard over the telephone. The only sign that this was actually his buyer was the small stature. Either way, he had no choice, and so reluctantly held out the letter. 
 "Thank you," The buyer took the letter from his hand, peeking into it to check it was what it had been sold as. Charlie edged backwards nervously, wondering if he could make a break for it. Probably not - the man had all the signs of being a trained elite. A nineteen-year-old with no experience and chronic pain in his leg had no hope to outrun someone like that.
 "I'm just gonna-" Charlie pointed over his shoulder, voice shaking with a nervous laugh. His cane crunched on the glass that lay on the floor, his fingers drumming along the handle anxiously.
 "The hero commission will know you sold them out," The visor of the helmet looked straight at Charlie, who was feeling more than a bit creeped out. He could see his own poorly disguised face in the visor, pale and wide-eyed.
 "That's my problem," Charlie tried to reply bravely, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.
 "Is it, Charlie Williams?" At the utterance of his name, Charlie felt an inexplicable terror seize him. It was if he could see his life crashing down around him, as the stranger calmly walked towards him like some kind of reaper. "Is it only your problem?"
 "Stay away!" Charlie all but screamed, trying to back up. Faster than he could react, the man shot forwards, one hand snatching the front of Charlies battered jacket. Somehow, the man had swapped the gun out for a knife - which was being held to Charlies neck.
 "Sorry, friend," The helmet tilted slightly, sounding so kind that Charlie felt sick, "I can't risk the wrong people finding out." 
 Charlie felt a burning pain at his neck as the man pressed the blade into his neck, eyes widening with panic.
 "No-no, you can't do this!" Charlie whimpered, his leg collapsing underneath him. "I don't want to die!"
 The man just looked at him, head tilted, with that same awful and detached kindness. Even as blackness filled Charlies vision, he stood as if he had just done Charlie a great favor. Like he had fixed the wreckage that had become the young mans life.
 Finally, the darkness overtook Charlie, and he faded into the black.
__________
 Sarah wanted to scream as she tore through the office, desperately searching for the letter that should have arrived yesterday. Her subordinates searched just as frantically, but they had no idea just how important that single piece of paper was. 
 "Fuck!" She finally cried, slamming the thick bundle of papers down on the desk. Pressure built in her head until it formed a raging headache, every muscle tense with worry. 
 The first sign that something had gone awry was when her studious intern had failed to show up. The second sign was when she had checked her mailbox, expecting that letter to be there, stamped with the bright red confidential mark, only for it to be missing. It had taken a single police report of a potential murder to finish the puzzle - the blood that stained a flimsy bandanna had matched her interns. 
 It had been the weakest link of the entire thing, and of course it had broken. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Sarah had gotten far too complacent.
 "All of you, get out!' Sarah commanded her subordinates, who scurried out the door like bates out of hell. She pulled out her phone, hitting the call button as soon as she unlocked it.
 "Kuikku? Kanai? We've got a problem."
__________
 Dear Agent Kintz,
 Regarding the case we discussed, we have recently received intelligence that Hisashi Midoriya is deceased. How do you wish to proceed on this case? We have not received enough intelligence to proceed with the plan, and we fear that the target has been alerted to our offensive action. In addition, we have lost the one lead that we had to successfully move against the target, and we may have to resort to the second operation. 
 Hisashi Midoriya's death was unfortunate, and we are still investigating the perpetrator. We suspect it is a trigger-happy agent who discovered the nature of our case and desired to be a 'hero'. 
 The target is a clever one, so be wary Agent Kintz. They have an extensive history - as you know, and most likely hold a grudge against us. Act with cation.
 - Agent XXXX
__________
 Hisashi Midoriya, not for the first time, wanted to rip the wig off his head and set it on fire. He wouldn't mind burning the god-awful lilac contacts he wore either, or tearing off the damn fake beard. He was a respectable father, not the kind of person to have a goatee!
 "You looking for somethin', pal?" A sleazy looking store worker asked him, eyes telling Hisashi that he had no real desire to help. 
 "No," Hisashi sighed, resisting the urge to scratch his head. Reaching out, he plopped a couple boxes of pasta and some alfredo sauce into his basket. The brands were generic, of course, but he didn't really expect anything else from the dark corner store tucked into a dangerous neighborhood. A few cans of soda went into the basket as well, followed by a head of lettuce. After a moments consideration of Hisashi's culinary skills, the lettuce went back, replaced with a couple pre-made salads.
 "Strong painkillers," Hisashi mumbled, trailing through the isles, "Oh, some chocolate wouldn't hurt. Lunchables? Sure, whatever. Ramen!" At least a dozen of the instant-ramen went into his basket. "A couple bento boxes - jeez, these are bare-bones. I should get some pork? Can I cook?" Hisashi moved past the pork. "No, I can't. Microwave meals! My savior!"
 "Dude, shut up," The store worker called, sounding more than a little irritated. Hisashi just waved back awkwardly.
 "Sorry!" He called, going back to look at bottles of painkillers. There was nothing but generic brands. Oh well, they would have to do. 
_________
 Snipe was more than a little worried about his young student - the boy had been coming into class and lessons looking progressively more and more exhausted. Even now, as he darted through a course with a grace even Snipe's third-years couldn't challenge, Midoriya seemed off. His movements were sharper, more aggressive, and he started hesitating to take a kill shot less. It was a concerning development, for sure, especially considering what had happened to the poor kid in a short amount of time.
 It took Midoriya stumbling for Snipe to make a snap decision to end the lesson twenty minutes early and send a quick 'Fuck you, I'm stealing the kid' text to Yamada (the kid was already decent in English, Yamada would understand). Snipe tucked his phone away as the kid walked back to him, scowling.
 "That was terrible, I know," Midoriya sighed, not meeting Snipe's eye, "I'll do the course again, just give me a second."
 "Nah," Snipe resisted a grin as Midoriya's head whipped up to face him, "We're endin' early, kiddo. Let's have some fun."
 "But it's class?" Midoriya frowned, gesturing to the empty room, "You're taking time to personally train me, aren't we going to train?" 
 "I'm teachin' the Vanguard class 1-X," Snipe gave in and grinned from underneath his mask, "And I think today, we're gonna make a game outta tryna' 'Snipe' some teachers." 
 "Eh?" Midoriya's eyebrows shot up, "I'm not getting murdered by Aizawa, Snipe." (Snipe never did understand why his co-workers used their real names. He preferred being Snipe on the job.)
 "Then don't get caught," Snipe replied easily, digging through some old dusty bins. Finally, he pulled out two very dusty and yet familiar weapons and tossed one to Midoriya.
 "Painball guns?" Midoriya asked, quirking an eyebrow as he took the bag of paintballs that Snipe handed him. 
 "Here's the rules, kiddo," Snipe gestured vaguely to himself and the surroundings, "Officially? This is a war between you and me - you're green, I'm red. The official goal is to hit each other in a dynamic combat exercise." Snipe let himself pause dramatically, watching hopefully as the kid put the pieces together. He smiled as a glittering light began to emerge in the kids eyes - something he hadn't seen since the USJ.
 "Unofficially, our goal is to hit as many teachers as possible. Teachers are two points, three if you don't get caught. Students are half a point each," Snipe explained happily, imagining the chaos that they would sow. "If you hit your buddies in that there enhanced kiddie car, then that's four points but you can only hit them once."
 "In the what?" Midoriya interrupted, taken aback. In response, Snipe pulled out his phone and showed Midoriya the video Nezu had sent him of Sero sitting in a kid's toy car. Kaminari was precariously perched on the hood, wires in his mouth, and Bakugou was sitting in the back boosting them with explosions. Shinso and Kirishima were both sitting on a skateboard, precariously duct-taped to the side of the car. The group was barreling around one of UA's racing tracks, their inaudible screams apparent through the video.
 "What the hell?" Midoriya asked, and Snipe was inclined to agree with him. As far as he could tell, they had somehow convinced Midnight to excuse them from art history.
 "Dunno. Let's go shoot them, though!" Snipe shrugged, loading his paintball gun. Across from him, Midoriya had a small smile on his face as he did the same.
 "Locked and loaded, teach," Midoriya nodded to him, right before he kicked the shooting range door open and opened fire on the poor unsuspecting management students that had been skipping class outside.
__________
 "Shiiiiit!" Sero screamed, his voice lost to the wind as he drifted around a corner, the wheels of the kiddie car leaving black marks on the track. Red and green paint splattered the track just behind the car, as well as the sides of the neon pink car. The explosions told Sero that Bakugou was still holding on, and the screams from besides him told him that Kirishima and Shinso were there too.
 "What the fuck?" Kaminari yelled, the car slowing slightly as a wire fell out of his mouth. With zero hesitation, Sero reached out and stuck it back in.
 "We can't stop! Go, go, go!" Kirishima chanted from the side, trying to keep an eye on the menacing figures chasing them. Sero screamed again in terror, not wanting to look back. How the hell did Snipe get a fucking motorcycle? And why was Midoriya standing on the back of it, holding on with spite and duct tape, firing rapidly at the fleeing kiddie car?
 "This is your fault, soy sauce!" Bakugou shrieked, his voice going up an octave as he was nearly hit by a paintball. 
 "Is that Aizawa?" Shinso's voice was almost lost to the wind, but Sero risked a quick glance to the side. Standing on the side of the track, looking murderous, was Aizawa, splattered in green and red paint.
 "We're so dead" Sero whimpered, twisting the steering wheel to turn around a sharp corner. It was then that everything went to shit. The tires, which had been heavily used, finally gave out and fell off. As a result, the car came to a grinding halt, flinging Kaminari off the hood and Bakugou after him. The skateboard Kirishima and Shinso were on ripped free of the duct tape, continuing to fly forward until they hit a wall of tires - Kirishima ended up with his upper body stuck in one of the tire stacks. Sero himself folded like paper, slamming into the hood.
 "Mercy?" Sero groaned, turning to look pleadingly at Midoriya, who had somehow gotten free of the motorcycle and walked over. Snipe was stashing the motorcycle behind the tire wall, motioning for Midoriya to hurry up as Aizawa's sprinting form approched.
 "No hard feelings, friend," Midoriya met Sero's eyes, right before he fired a paintball right into his stomach. Sero groaned in pain (still, he was thankful that Midoriya didn't aim for his chest or ribs) as Midoriya and Snipe absolutely booked it, running wildly from the furious Aizawa.
 "Detention for all of you!" Aizawa called, not even slowing down as he ran past.

Chapter Text

      Inhale
      Exhale
      Shift your weight, relax your hands. Look for the right moment… there! Twist your hips, explode into movement. Clench your fist, guard your face, brace for the pain of the punch. Carry through, don’t let them recover!
      The sound of a falling body crashed through the abandoned halls of the old mall, the distinctive sound of flesh hitting well-worn linoleum shattering the furious silence that had ruled the space. Izuku’s opponent was quick to rise to his feet again, sweaty hands pushing a tired body up from the ground. 
      “Goddamn it, Izuku,” Katsuki panted, one hand swiping the sweat from his brow, “How the hell did you throw me with a straight?”
      “Maybe stop relying on your quirk to help you balance,” Izuku rolled his eyes fondly, waiting for the other boy to raise his hands again. 
      “I think it’s unfair that your wraps are dark green,” Katsuki complained, his tone lacking any real bite, “It makes it hard to see your punches,” The blond punctuated his words with a jab, aiming right for his friend's left eye. 
       “It’s not my fault you chose fluorescent orange for yours,” Izuku deflected the punch easily, ducking underneath the vicious hook that followed. With a laugh, Izuku flung himself into a forward roll, exploding back up behind Katsuki. The blond’s eyes widened comically as he leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding what would have been a brutal kick to the knee. 
       “Watch it, Izuku, I’m not trying to actually go to the hospital!” Katsuki yelped as he backpedaled, doing his best to avoid the flurry of punches that Izuku rained upon him. 
      “Trust yourself, Kats, your instincts are better than you give them credit for,” Izuku coached, his smile only slightly insufferable as he drove Katsuki backwards. 
      “Fuck you too, Zuku!” Katsuki couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped him. He knew that Izuku could beat him in hand-to-hand any day of the week, but he had forgotten just how large the disparity was. Even with Katsuki’s quirk, the blond found himself losing more fights than he won against the terrifyingly quirkless boy. 
       “Dad told me,” Izuku mentioned casually, barely sounding out of breath, “that when you fight someone, you should watch their shoulders and not just their hands. ‘cuz hands move so fast, and all that,”
      “Yeah, I know that,” Katsuki dodged a particularly lazy left hook, skipping to the side and retaliating with his attempt at an ax kick. The other boy just rolled his eyes fondly, sidestepping the kick. “Why is it important now?”
       “Well, I figured that if you look for someone's quirk, it makes predicting them easier too,” Izuku stepped in, aiming a well-timed elbow strike at the jut of Katsuki’s jaw. 
       “Huh? What do you mean?” Katsuki barely managed to block the strike, his forearm smarting from the blow. In a moment of idiotic genius, Katsuki’s hand darted forward, giving the shorter boy a shove. Izuku stumbled backwards, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. The speed at which Izuku recovered was a testament to the young assassin's training, shifting his feet to regain his balance. Katsuki didn’t wait for Izuku to retaliate, shooting his friend a sharp grin and taking off into a dead sprint. 
       “Well, let's use you for an example,” Izuku pelted after Katsuki, bright red sneakers squeaking on the cheap linoleum. Katsuki laughed nervously, skirting around a giant pot that had once held a plant. He didn’t need to look back to know that Izuku had simply vaulted over the pot.
       “Lets not?” Katsuki slid around a corner, sprinting towards the now-broken escalator. He took the steps three at a time, palms itching to give him an nitroglycerin-fueled boost. 
       “Your quirk is based on your palms, yeah?” Izuku mused. The smaller boy, with a running start, leaped off a nearby column. Katsuki let out a very undignified scream as Izuku managed to catch himself on the escalator railing, about halfway up. Casually, the young boy clambered over the railing, continuing the chase with barely a break in his speech. “You have a habit of flexing your palms before trying anything new, kind of like a nervous habit. It makes predicting you a little easier,”
      “Well, how do I stop doing that?” Katsuki shouted over his shoulder, running away from the escalator. He pelted through empty clothing racks, weaving his way through the cheap aluminum metal. On a split-second impulse, Katsuki threw himself to the floor, sliding nearly underneath a table. The tablecloth, fluttering from his movement, quickly settled back down.
       “There's a few different tactics,” Izuku’s voice came closer to Katsuki’s hiding place, still sounding infuriatingly nonchalant. The blond boy held his breath, watching as red sneakers stalked through the clothing racks. “For one, you can train and practice it out. But I really don’t think that's the best idea, ‘cuz it will weaken your instincts to use your quirk.” Katsuki flinched as a rack crashed to the floor, “Oh, you weren’t there… oopsies.”
       ‘The fuck you mean ‘oopsies’, you terrifying little goblin?’ Katsuki thought, wide-eyed. His plan, albeit half-baked, was to spring out from underneath the table when Izuku got close enough. Maybe land a good hit or two before he was inevitably put on his ass again. 
       “As important as hand-to-hand is, your quirk is more important. It’s not an end-all-be-all, of course, but it’s kind of like my gun. Just enough to tip the scales, so to speak,” Izuku hummed, his footsteps getting closer, "as long as you don’t rely on it too much. Maybe you could pretend like you’re going to explode someone, and then HIYA! you punch them in the throat?”
        ‘Not a bad idea,’ Katsuki considered from underneath the table. Quietly, he looked at his hands. The orange hand wraps - a gift from Hisashi - were neatly wrapped around his fingers. He had been incredibly reluctant to use them at first, convinced that they would render his quirk unusable. However, after a particularly poorly-thrown punch, he had been swiftly convinced of their necessity. 
       “Also, Katsuki, you have really got to be more self-aware,” The abrupt change in topic was the only warning the blond had before something landed heavily on top of the table. Moving more on instinct than anything else, Katsuki rolled over onto his back. Bracing his hands against the underside of the table, he activated his quirk.
__________
      “I’m sorry-”
       “I don’t wanna hear it, Katsuki,” Izuku sighed, feebly rubbing at his soot-covered face yet again. 
      “Listen, how would I know that the sweat in my wraps would ignite?” Katsuki argued from where he laid, right next to his old friend. Both of their faces were covered in soot, half-burnt wood chips tangled in their hair and clothing. The remains of Katsuki’s hand wraps laid around them like scorched confetti.
       “This is literally the fifth time this has happened,” Izuku did his best to sound put-out, failing miserably as laughter began to bubble up in his throat. 
      “A moment of silence for that poor damn mannequin,” Katsuki quipped. For a brief moment, the two boys looked at each other, struggling to appear deadpan. 
      “It went flying,” Izuku finally gave in, howling with laughter as he pointed at the ceiling. There, resting above both of them, was a mannequin embedded in the ceiling. One hand was lazily pointing down, its legs bent in a way that looked like it was flailing around in the ceiling. 
 “Just be grateful you didn’t try to jump onto the table, or that would have been you!” Katsuki snickered, brushing soot-filled hair from his eyes.
       “I was going to, that's the thing!” Izuku grinned, doing his best to imitate the posture of the mannequin. “Do I look like it?”
      “Not even close, nerd,” Katsuki rolled his eyes, “For one, it has like a foot on you,”
      “I’m still growing!” Izuku cried in outrage, turning over to smack his friend in indignation, “Dad says that if I drink more milk, then I’ll get taller!”
      “Your dad also said that if I eat more ice cream, my explosions will get more powerful because of the sugar in it,” Katsuki retorted fondly.
       “And you did eat more,” Izuku wiggled around, laughing to himself as he left clean marks on the soot-covered floor. Katsuki watched, amused, as his friend attempted to make a snow-angel on the floor. (Soot-angel?)
      “Yeah, cuz your dad is awesome and I love ice cream?” He scoffed. He ignored the temptation to join Izuku in making soot-angels on the floor, instead focusing on the mannequin up above. 
      “Sure,” Izuku teased him, flicking a piece of burnt wood at his forehead. Katsuki batted it away easily. reaching out to poke the other boy in the forehead. Izuku squawked, indignant at the attack. Rolling away from the blond, he sprung to his feet, hand going to the side of his belt that his gun resided on. Katsuki’s eyes widened with alarm, only just managing to dodge the first nerf shot. The little foam bullet skidded off the floor and towards god-knows-where, swiftly followed by two other shots. 
       “Hey, hey!” Katsuki snatched up a nearby chair, using it to defend himself against the attack.
       “It’s nerf or nothin’, baby!” Izuku sang, another shot ricocheting off of the chair's seat and towards the ceiling.
      “I’m going to kick your ass, Izuku!” Katsuki, reaching blindly behind him, flung the nearest item at his friend. It just so happened to be a dusty telephone, the machine and the receiver twirling like a bastardization of a bolas. It didn’t even phase the smaller boy, a knife appearing in his hands faster than the eye could track. With one smooth motion, Izuku sliced the telephone cord in two, sending the machine and receiver in two different directions. “Showoff,” Katsuki mumbled.
       “This is my fight song,” Izuku warbled with a cheeky grin, spinning his knife dramatically, “take back my life song!”
      “Make it stop,” Katsuki groaned, opting to just hurl his chair at his friend. Izuku didn’t even bother to move, his head turning to watch as the chair slid past him. 
       “Prove I’m alright song, my powers turned on,” Izuku snickered, raising his pistol to aim at the blond. 
       “There is no fucking way that you’re holding me at gunpoint to listen to your shitty song, Izuku,” Katsuki gaped. With a well-timed blast, he sent himself hurtling towards Izuku, giving his path a slight spin to make aiming at him harder. 
       “Starting right now, I’ll be strong, I’ll sing my fight song,” Izuku wheezed as the blond crashed into him, sending both of them flying. 
      “You idiot, it’s ‘I’ll play my fight song’” Katsuki coughed, trying to shove his hand over the other boy's mouth. 
      “Mrph mrr mph” Izuku responded, his voice muffled beyond comprehension. 
      “I don’t care that you heard a cooler remixed version,” Katsuki yelped as Izuku flung him off, hitting the ground with a muffled ‘oomph’. “It’s a dumb song,”
      “I know that,” Izuku laughed, “But it’s funny to sing when we’re fighting!”
       “One of these days I am going to toss you into a pond,” Katsuki threatened, getting to his feet with a groan. 
       “Today is not that day, though,” Izuku teased, offering his hand to help his friend get up. “Dad promised to make cookies for us to eat after training,”
       “So, should we stop at the store and grab some cookies? Those shitty sugar cookie ones that you like so much?” Katsuki inquired, brushing himself off. 
       “Oh, absolutely. I was thinking that we could also snag some popcorn, maybe put on that one documentary about All Might?” Izuku suggested.
       “The one where it spends half an hour talking about the design of his costume, or the one with the really funny thumbnails?” Katsuki considered the suggestion, picking up the scattered remains of his hand wraps and throwing them in the trash. 
      “The first one, obviously,” Izuku helped the blond find the last scraps of cloth, tossing them into the bin and clapping the soot from his hands. “Don’t even pretend that you aren’t geeking out during that entire segment.”
      “I would never. Come on, let's blow this pop stand and go home.”
       “The only thing that was blown up is Mrs Mannequin, Katsuki,”