Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Enji hadn’t actually rolled out of bed this morning with the sole intention of inciting homicidal rage in his otherwise mild-mannered wife. Really, he hadn’t. But, he thinks, staring blankly down at the tiny, quivering form at his feet, things so rarely work out in his favour. In the background, the officers from the raid are hauling a swearing Takami Asuka out, arms strapped behind his back and ragged wings sweeping the floor as he all but dangles between a pair of particularly grim detectives. He leaves a trail of dirty feathers in his wake.
“Get the fuck off me!” He snarls, twisting and snapping at the men holding his wrists. “I haven’t done shit, you can’t prove anything! I know my rights.” His eyes are wild and bloodshot, shoulder still smoking from where Enji had grabbed him and thrown him across the living room, and his shirt is spotted with blood from the grimy bottles he’d smashed beneath him when he hit the floor. It’s unfortunate, really, because Enji wasn’t even supposed to be here. Takami was a career criminal, certainly, and he had a rap sheet longer than Enji’s arm, but the vast majority of those charges had amounted to petty theft, customs violations, and public intoxication. He was a smuggler, though not a particularly smart one, but that shouldn’t have warranted the Number Two hero’s presence. Or, well, it wouldn’t have, if the officers investigating hadn’t found a child locked inside one of his shipping containers. Enji had been tapped in within the hour.
The arrest had gone smoothly enough, he thinks sourly. They’d flooded the living room before Takami had gotten off the couch, Enji leading the charge in all of his flaming glory, as was his due, and he hadn’t even scorched anything until the bastard had shot towards the window, yanking a handgun out of his hoodie pocket as he went. Only then had he released his flames. He’s grateful, now, that he’d gone for control over power, because it was only after Takami had hit the floor that they’d realized there was another person in the apartment. Takami hadn’t even blinked at the sight of wide, golden eyes peeking around the doorframe. The officer holding him down had looked sick.
He’s still shouting when the officers yank him out the door, his voice rising and fading as they head down the hall, leaving Enji with the terrified toddler curled up in a ball in the corner of the bedroom. Or, well, he thinks it's a toddler, but honestly he has absolutely no skill in differentiating kids between the ages of two and ten. It’s a problem, one which Rei judges him for. Intensely. And he’s not actually sure what he should do next, because officers don’t usually leave him with small, traumatized children. Usually, they just leave. And Enji moves on to the next villain.
So.
He clears his throat, a tad awkwardly, because even if he does have three children of his own he’s still largely uncomfortable around small children in general. Especially civilian ones. And, well, they tend to cry when he talks to them. Or looks at them. Or stands near them. So he kind of tries to avoid strollers and anyone shorter than his waist at all costs, as a rule. (Rei thinks it's absolutely hilarious. Enji just wishes more parents would invest in backpack leashes.) Still, he’s a hero. He can’t just leave the kid here. He frowns unconsciously, willing his flames to die down just a bit further, before he holds his hands out, palms up and settles into a slow, telegraphed crouch in front of the shaking ball of plumage. Red, he notes distantly, and adds it to the mental file he’s already building for the kid. Distinct colouring. It’d be useful for backtracking a missing persons report. His right knee creaks in protest, the echo of a break early in his career, and he bites back a wince with the ease of nearly a decade of pain management and bullheaded stubbornness. One large, wary eye peeks out from between the feathers, and Enji stills, keeping his hands where the (boy? girl?) child can see them.
“Hey,” Enji tries, trying to channel the same soft, cool tone Rei always uses when Natsuo falls off the porch or when Touya’s quirk control slips. It doesn’t have nearly the same effect, because the kid twitches violently and makes a soft, terrified chirping noise before disappearing deeper into his wings. Great, well, they’re off to a wonderful start. At least the kid isn’t screaming yet. “Everything’s fine now. Do you know who I am?” He pauses carefully, eyeing the brilliant, if lackluster sheen of feathers as they shift and tremble in the weak evening light peeking through the bedroom window. A long, tense moment sits between them before the kid huffs softly and shuffles forward an inch or two, wings unfurling just enough to reveal a pale, hungry face and thin, breakable wrists. The fluffy blonde curls around the kid’s face are in need of a good scrubbing, he thinks, watching the fine strands burn gold in the light of his fire. They match the eyes, staring unblinkingly up at his face. Really, the kid just needs a bath in general. There’s blood and dirt caked across every visible inch of skin, and the shirt they’re wearing falls past their knees in a patchwork of old stains and tears. One sleeve is missing. He doesn’t even know if the kid is wearing pants, which admittedly incites a whole new range of panicked fury in the back of his mind. He doesn’t know why Takami has been trafficking kids. On a personal level, he’s not sure he wants to.
On a professional note, he’ll burn this smuggling ring to the ground.
The kid suddenly lets out a soft, cooing sort of noise that Enji usually attributes to the mourning doves that terrorize his garden. Tiny, filthy hands twitch, drawing his attention to the way the child is curled around up, and Enji fights to keep his flames under control as he flushes, ever so slightly. (Rei was going to have a field day with this, he just knew it.)
The kid is clutching a goddamn Endeavor plushy.
Enji. Well. He sputters, just a bit. Which isn’t a good look for him. He’s suddenly wildly relieved that the officers had decided to leave the kid alone with him. He’s got an image to maintain, after all. But still, he’s kind of shocked, because even his own children prefer All Might toys to his hero merchandise, to his own eternal consternation.
(And, ah, Enji doesn’t actually sell a ton of his own merchandise to begin with, comparably speaking. He may be the Number Two hero, but he’s not actually anyone’s favourite.)
(He’s just dedicated.)
The doll is worn and dirty, just like the child holding it, but it’s obviously well loved. The kid curls around it like a lifeline, brilliant eyes blown wide as they stare inquisitively down at the toy in their lap and then back up at the dumbstruck, life-size version in their bedroom. “...hero,” the kid suddenly mumbles, so quietly he also misses it, and presses their face into the faded cotton of the miniaturized hero costume. It’s. Well. It’s unfairly cute, and Enji is going to have a coronary.
“Yes,” he assures the kid, still foggy on which pronouns to use. The child is grimy and thin, and Enji spots a few dark, hand-shaped splotches bleeding across their arms and legs that make his teeth clench, but they’re still frustratingly androgenous. “I’m the Number Two Hero, Endeavor. You’re safe now. Can you stand?”
The kid frowns softly, mouth set in a faint pout before they stumble to their feet, wings flapping in agitation and clutching the toy tighter to their chest. Tiny, bare feet poke out from beneath the hem of the overly large shirt, and Enji is suddenly reminded of the broken glass that litters the apartment floor. Shit.
He sighs, already reaching for the kid when they flinch back, eyes wide and alarmed, and Enji stifles a wince. Fuck, right, no sudden movements.
“Apologies,” he grunts, glancing out towards the forensic techs that were starting to flood into the apartment. They needed to move. “I’m going to pick you up now, alright?” The kid remains silent, glancing between his hands, his face, and the window, strangely enough, before finally dipping their head in a shallow nod. Enji’s just glad no one has started screaming yet. He nods and scoops the kid up without another word, already striding out of the bedroom before the child has a chance to protest. They don’t, choosing instead to sit stiffly in the cradle of his arms, surprisingly sharp eyes lingering on the broken coffee table and the strangers filling the living room. The kid doesn’t so much as chirp as Enji marches out of the apartment, eerily silent. No one stops them.
The ground floor is a mess of police cars and caution tape. In the distance, reporters and civilians alike start shouting as Enji’s distinct bulk exits the building. Cameras flash, and he adjusts the child in his arms so that they’re hidden from the film crews no doubt canvasing the scene. To his right, thankfully hidden behind another line of cruisers, a familiar, canine officer is waving off another squad car. Enji gets one long look at Takami’s slack jawed, furious expression before the car pulls away. The child in his arms doesn’t blink, even after the taillights disappear. “Officer,” Enji greets shortly, frowning as the other man spins on his heel to gape up at him in surprise. Hmm. Subpar reaction time. He should work on that.
“Ah, Endeavor! I didn’t know you were still here. What can I…” The man trails off, obviously catching sight of the tiny, winged child in his arms. His face twists in disbelief. It’s an ugly expression. Especially when combined with that snout. “Where the hell did he come from?!”
Enji frowns darkly, because obviously someone had dropped the ball. He despised incompetence. And then he pauses. Glancing curiously down at the bundle in his arms, he finds brilliant golden eyes gazing right back. The kid doesn’t correct the man, so Enji assumes he’s a boy, at the very least. Another thing to add to his file, at any rate. “He was upstairs in the bedroom,” Enji reports, mood souring further as the officer just stares at him. “Someone should have informed you. You are in charge of this case, aren’t you?”
The man starts, dark eyes widening for a second before he wipes the expression off of his face and straightens. Pointedly. Enji doesn’t particularly care. “Yes. I’m Tsuragamae Kenji. You probably don’t remember me, but we’ve worked together once before. I apologize for the trouble, Endeavor. You said he was in the bedroom?” He asks, peering worriedly at the boy in his arms. Enji doesn’t have time for this.
“Yes,” he says shortly, eyeing the rapidly darkening sky in displeasure. Rei was going to kill him. “He’s quiet. Probably in shock. Not sure where Takami got him.” He admits, glaring at Tsuragamae. The police had done most of the leg work here; honestly, they’d only tapped Enji for the raid itself after they found the other kid, but missing an entire child in the apartment was shoddy police work at best and a pint sized coffin at worst. He’s not sure who fumbled this, but he’s more than willing to spread the ire amongst the department at large. He has more than enough to go around, anyway.
Tsuragamae winces, knowingly, and nods apologetically. “Right.” He mutters, glancing warily back towards the invisible line of rabid reporters. “Well I’m grateful for all your help either way. I can take him from here, if you’d like.” Enji grunts in agreement as Tsuragamae’s hands (paws?) come up to grab the boy when suddenly the tiny, docile child in his arms lets out a distressed, markedly raptor-like screech, wings beating wildly as his hands latch onto the front of Enji’s uniform. Tsuragamae stumbles back in surprise, ears flapping, and catches a carmine wing straight to the face. Enji is, distantly, ashamed to admit that he nearly drops the kid in the ensuing chaos as the officer goes down in a flurry of feathers. Except he can’t drop the kid, because the boy won’t let go.
“Calm yourself,” Enji snaps, trying to hold the writhing tot without accidentally strangling the kid, who’s suddenly choking back sobs into his chest, and oh fuck Enji is not qualified for this at all. Well, at least the waterworks had finally made an appearance and he could stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. The boy stills, chest heaving as the tears cut a silvery path through the dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks, and his head drops down until his little chin nearly touches his chest, wings quivering with agitation. He mumbles something under his breath, and Enji releases a careful, controlled sigh even as Tsuragamae struggled back to his feet, absently clutching the side of his face. That was definitely going to bruise.
“What was that?” The man asks, eyes locked on the miniature blonde terror still clinging to his hero suit. The boy sniffled wetly, flushing hotter under their combined gazes, and finally turned to glance at Tsuragamae out of the corner of one sad, tear filled eye. “... are you going to take me away like daddy?” he murmurs, chin trembling, and Enji fucking bluescreens (thank you, Touya) because what the fuck? Across the top of the boy’s fluffy head, the dog-headed captain looked equally stunned, with a dash of white-faced, dawning horror. Tsuragamae tries to play it off with a thin, awkward smile but, well, lips; his eyes are just a bit too wide, and the kid in his arms flinches instead.
“Your daddy?” Tsuragamae asked carefully, movements deliberate and slow as he pulled out a pen and a handheld notepad. “And who would that be?”
The boy frowns, confused, and points one hesitant, shaky finger in the direction the squad car had disappeared. Takami Asuka.
Enji and Tsuragamae both turn to stare down the deserted street, up at the apartment building, and then back down at the quiet, anxious child perched on his forearm. That. Well. Huh.
The thing is, Takami hadn’t had any family listed in the registry when police had pulled his profile. His parents had died in a villain attack years prior, when the man was just a teenager, and he hadn’t had any extended family. So either Takami had kidnapped and raised the boy, or…
“Ah,” Tsuragamae murmured suddenly, dark eyes grim. “And what’s your name?”
“... Keigo.” The boy said in his thin, quavering voice, still visibly uncomfortable. “Takami Keigo.”
“And how old are you, Keigo-kun?”
“... Five. But I’ll be six soon!” The child, Keigo, says quickly, like this is especially important. Enji is unwittingly reminded of Touya, who’ll tell anyone who will listen that nine is almost ten, you know, right dad? He misses his kids so suddenly that it leaves him breathless. Tsuragamae, oblivious to his well-hidden turmoil, just nods gravely in response.
“Of course. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” He asks, shockingly at ease, and watching the way little Keigo’s feathers fluff up, just a bit, Enji can’t help but wonder if the man has kids of his own. He doesn’t care enough to ask. “Your daddy’s going to be busy for a while, so why don’t I take you back to the station with me?” He pauses curiously, and the boy tightens his hands on Enji’s shirt, gazing back in silent refusal. “I’m sure you’re hungry, Keigo-kun. My partner and I can get you dinner on the way, and we’ll have some clean clothes at the station. Would you like that?”
The silence is unnerving, suddenly, because the boy doesn’t shift a single feather. He just stares up at Tsuragamae with wide, hypnotic eyes, tears drying on his cheeks, and the skin (fur? did it matter?) around the man’s eyes tighten, just a bit, as he stares back. Enji sighed, breaking the stalemate as the pair turned in unison to frown up at him. It’s moderately discomforting, but he ignores that with the longstanding expertise of someone who’d lived as a relative stranger with Rei and her disquieting sense of humor for longer than he cares to consider, sometimes. Besides, he’s an expert at ignoring social cues.
He just pretends they don’t exist.
“You’re taking him then?” Enji asks, trying to shift the boy into a more comfortable hold before Keigo’s death grip on his shirt threatened to tear the thin fabric of his uniform. What were they feeding kids these days? Tsuragamae just nods, a subtle frown on his face as he pulls his phone out of pocket. “Yes, just let me make some calls. I’ll be back shortly, Endeavor.” With that, the other man disappears back into the building, leaving Enji and the almost-six year old. Joy.
He frowns, just slightly, at the thought. The boy was the same age as Fuyumi, yet he was markedly thinner and warier than his daughter. He was worse than Touya, Enji admitted as he watched the boy’s fingers shake, a flash of hot shame in his breast. Touya, who remembered Enji at his worst, yet still shouted and bled and burned until Enji had pulled his head out of his ass and realized that he was turning into the very goddamn thing he was supposed to protect people from. And later, when Enji had learned how to actually be a father, how to be a husband, Touya had refused to shy away from him. Wary as he was, confused and hurt and anxious, he’d still stood up and looked Enji in the eye through it all. And, well, Keigo’s terror was par for the course with abuse cases, obviously, but something about this boy bothered him, just a bit. And as he curls into Enji’s chest and shakes, he’s suddenly hyper aware of the fact that it’s unusually cold out and the boy has only a thin, ragged t-shirt for comfort. He’s probably freezing. Enji frowns slightly, eyes narrowed as he glances back in the direction Tsuragamae had disappeared before he pulls the boy tighter against his chest and lets a deliberate wisp of his quirk catch from his iron control, raising his body temperature just enough to warm the air around them. The boy starts in surprise, little mouth dropping open before he curls, ever so carefully, into Enji’s chest, his head pillowed just below his clavicle as he lets out a near-silent little chirp. Oh.
Staring down at the boy, with his bruised, bird-boned wrists and his huge eyes, Enji thinks of training rooms and blue flames and dark blood on the tatami. He thinks of Rei’s desperation and Touya’s tears and the hunger that had burned in the back of his mind, all-consuming. At any cost, that voice had whispered, and he’d nearly torched his family in the process. He’d left those bruises on Touya, once. On Rei, too. And he was going to spend the rest of his goddamn life repenting. And he wonders, suddenly, as he cradles thirty pounds of terrified, beaten little boy, if Keigo’s father regretted any of it.
Going by Takami’s lackluster reaction, probably not.
“...Keigo,” Enji says suddenly, unusually soft, and the boy’s head snaps up at the sound. “Have you ever felt safe?” The boy blinks owlishly at the non-sequitur, lips parting in surprise as his fingers curl impossibly tighter. The stitches of his uniform squeak warningly. And yet, it’s as though the air around them had stilled, the shouting reporters distant and unimportant in the face of bruised cheeks and this thin, unhappy child. Slowly, carefully, he shakes his head, limp curls bouncing against his brow before he pauses, glancing down at the plush toy still clutched in the curve of his arm.
“... he keeps me safe. Sometimes,” Keigo whispers softly, unaware that the words run like knives down Enji’s spine. “When it’s too dark and daddy’s mean.”
“Your daddy’s mean to you, Keigo?” He manages, choking back the shame and fury that tries to crawl out. “Does he hurt you, too?” The boy freezes, keening softly, the fabric of his shirt finally tearing beneath his fingers, and the horror that crosses Keigo’s face has Enji moving before he can even consider the consequences. He presses one large, warm hand against the nape of his neck, the movements careful and unpracticed even after years of soothing Fuyumi and Natsuo to sleep, and then he cards his fingers through the boy's messy curls until the impending tantrum finally disperses. Instead of wailing, Keigo stares up at him in unpracticed awe, like he’s never felt a touch of parental kindness in his life, and the expression sits like a lodestone in his chest. He doesn’t deserve it. He’d shown up too late.
“Endeavor!” Tsuragamae calls, sounding vaguely frustrated, and Enji glances back in time to catch him shooting Keigo a patently fake smile. Or attempting to, anyway, because the boy had buried his face back in Enji’s chest at the first sign of company. Which was ridiculously endearing, admittedly, but he was trying not to think about that.
“Captain,” he greets flatly. “Are we finished here?” Tsuragamae’s eye twitches, just a bit, and he nods, holding his arms out for a reluctant Keigo, but Enji just narrows his eyes and waits. The officer frowns at him for a moment before he sighs, glancing back towards the scene. “Yes,” he assures them. “We’re pulling out and leaving the forensic team here. You-know-who is being questioned as we speak.” The smile he shoots Keigo is tired and unappreciated. “Unfortunately, it appears that there are no caseworkers available with suitable clearance at the moment,” he continues softly, as though he’s hoping the boy won’t hear them. “So we’ll be putting Keigo-kun in protective custody for now.”
Keigo perks up at the sound of his name, wings stiffening, but Enji just rubs one hand down the boy’s spine to soothe the anxious, warbling sound that he lets loose. Tsuragamae blinks slowly, once, twice, before he shoots a questioning look up towards Enji, which he promptly ignores. “What about next of kin?” He asks shortly, and Tsuragamae’s lips thin in response. It’s answer enough.
“...He’ll stay with us for a while, just until we close the case.” The man admits, stilted. “But there’s no birth certificate on file, so we’ll need a blood test to confirm paternity. Either way, it could be a while. After that he’ll be a ward of the state.”
“You think that’s necessary?” Enji asks, meaning do you think he’s in danger? Tsuragamae is quick on the uptake, thankfully, and just gazes uncertainly at the top of Keigo’s blonde head. “Hard to say,” he says quietly. “We don’t have the full picture yet. Better safe than sorry. But I’ll take care of things from here, Endeavor. You’ve done more than enough.”
The other man holds out his arms, obviously waiting for Enji to drop the boy on him and leave. And he should. He absolutely should. He does this every day, so Takami Keigo shouldn’t be any different from the hundreds of children who have come before him. He’s not the first, and he certainly isn’t the last as long as Enji has the strength to stand and fight. But. Well. He hadn’t done enough. Not really. And as he gazes contemplatively down at his bundle of downy feathers and malnourished toddler, he thinks of broken bones and glass on the floor and Touya’s young, anguished voice screaming heroes don’t beat their kids. He thinks of hungry eyes and silence.
He thinks of that goddamn Endeavor doll.
And then he thinks, fuck it.
“You said you’re going back to the station?” He inquires, his own voice strange and distant as he pulls the boy out of range of the officer’s reaching hands. “I’ll accompany you.” Against his chest, Keigo tilts his head back to gape at Enji. Tsuragamae isn’t far behind.
“I—Of course. If you don’t mind.” He waffles, just a bit, and then gazes contemplatively at Keigo’s gobsmacked expression before he shoots Enji a quick, disconcerting smile. “I’m sure Keigo-kun appreciates the company. We can leave at once, if you’d like.” Enji grunts, hoisting the boy more securely in his arms, and follows Tsuragamae without another word. The fluorescent glow of the streetlights dance in Keigo’s hair, across his gaunt cheeks, and turn his feathers into a riot of reds and golds and soft shadows. He keeps his face tucked into Enji’s chest, and he smooths an absent hand down the boy’s side, under his wings.
“Tsukauchi,” Tsuragamae calls, making a beeline for the only occupied car. Inside, an especially young officer blinks up at them in surprise. He had a bland, forgettable face and the sort of bald nervousness that was part and parcel of kids fresh out of the academy. That’s probably why he was stuck driving the Captain around, at any rate. Keigo chirps, soft and inquisitive and lost to the men ahead, tilting his head curiously as he gazes at Tsuragamae’s back, but he doesn’t pull away. He wonders if Keigo has ever seen another mutation-type. He wonders if Keigo’s been to school. He doesn’t ask.
Ahead, Tsuragamae fills the rookie in, voice muted beneath the distant hum of traffic and the lingering crowd, and by the time Enji is climbing into the backseat Tsukauchi had already craned his neck around to stare at the spectacle. “Er, right.” He agrees helplessly, looking distinctly wrongfooted as Enji maneuvers his bulk into the backseat and balances Keigo in his lap. He blinks down at the boy, hands still clenched in the ruined fabric of his shirt, and ignores the way the officers glance between each other as he runs a hand through the boy’s hair.
“Keigo, can you buckle yourself in the other seat or do you need help?” He asks, eyeing the stressed expression that flashes across the child’s face. He runs a finger over the back of the boy’s hand, but the tot’s hands don’t unfurl. “It’s just for a little while. Just to be safe.” But the boy’s already shaking his head, curls flapping miserably against his cheeks.
“I can’t.” He admits, looking incredibly guilty. Enji is, well, confused.
“You can’t? Can’t what?” He prompts carefully, noting the quiet uptick in the boy’s breathing and hoping against all odds that they weren’t in for a full-blown panic attack. He tucks one massive palm against the side of the boy’s face, and he leans into Enji’s warmth without hesitation. It’s… nice. “I can’t let go.” The boy mumbles, face flushing as he glances down at the toy huddled in his lap. “‘Cause of my quirk. I’m sorry.”
“Your quirk?” Tsukauchi asks, looking about as baffled as Enji felt, but Tsuragamae’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, Keigo-kun! You’re stress gripping, right?” He pauses, winces, and then continues. “I’m sorry, but we understand. Don’t we, Endeavor?” The man shoots him a surprisingly sharp look, frowning as Keigo flushes even further, and Enji runs through everything he knows about birds in the back of his mind. Natsuo was on a nature kick, and the phrase ‘stress grip’ bounced around in his head for a moment before it clicked. Right, raptor’s tended to lock onto things in highly stressful situations and couldn’t let go until the stimuli diminished. Right. Well, he thinks ruefully, it certainly had been stressful. And at least they had a rough idea of what his quirk was based on, now.
“I don’t mind, Keigo.” Enji assures him, brushing his hair back out of his downcast eyes. The boy’s face is downtrodden and mortified, but Enji just sighs and pulls him more securely into his lap. He nods pointedly at Tsukauchi, and the other blinks uncertainly before his mouth drops open and he spins back around, finally pulling out of the space and onto the side rode they’d cordoned off. The officers manning the barrier nod cordially as they pass, and Tsuragamae leans forward in his seat to speak to Tsukauchi, taking advantage of the built-in privacy barrier and his unreadable lips to try and catch the rookie up, presumably. Enji, crunched in the backseat, wishes he’d had the foresight to call one of his sidekicks instead. But, well, at least Keigo looked a bit better. The painful flush had died down, at least, and though he hadn’t loosened his hold on Enji’s suit his eyes had taken on the hazy, drooping expression of an overtired toddler. It was remarkably reminiscent of Natsuo when he stayed up past his bedtime, and Enji finds himself humming softly as a result. Admittedly, his voice is nowhere near as calming as Rei’s, but the boy seems to like it well enough; curling his wings just a bit tighter, he coos softly as he breaths, eyes slipping closed against his will. The boy’s lashes are a deep gold, thick and longer than even Fuyumi’s, and they rest gently against the curve of his cheeks. The dark marks surrounding them, which Enji had previously mistaken for eyeliner, look even more striking up close. Part of his quirk, he assumes, and he’s suddenly, viscerally concerned for the boy if he ends up in foster care. Beneath all the grime he’s seems like an uncommonly handsome child, and, well. Enji doesn’t really want to think about the implications of that right now.
He’ll speak to Tsuragamae privately.
The ride to the station goes quickly, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when they roll to a stop and Keigo jerks awake in his arms, tiny fingers still locked in place. Tsukauchi jumps out to open the door for them, which he’s grateful for when he’s got an armful of freshly stressed, winged child with a penchant for property damage. He slides out, careful not to pull any feathers, and shoots the rookie a shallow nod before he follows Tsuragamae inside. He resolutely ignores the way the station just sort of… pauses, around them, the general chaotic hum of the bullpen hitching and slowing unnaturally as Enji and his tiny charge step through. Tsuragamae bulldozes past it with a combination of unflappable good cheer and a flash of pearly canines, which works for him, surprisingly enough. Enji just keeps his eye on the office door and silently dares anyone to make something of it. They don’t. Which is probably a wise decision, really, and the door shuts behind them just as the noise level skyrockets once more, muting the redoubled mayhem. Tsuragamae makes his way across the room, flicking on a floor lamp as he goes before abruptly dropping to his knees to dig through the tiny fridge behind his overcrowded desk. Enji wrinkles his nose, vaguely insulted by the mess. Evidence boxes and case files litter the floor, the couch, and the small coffee table that sat kitty corner to it. All things considered, it’s surprisingly disheveled given the officer’s otherwise tidy mannerisms, especially for a captain, and he’s not quite sure what to make of the dichotomy just yet.
Tsuragamae suddenly lets out a satisfied hum, shutting the fridge with a soft tinkling of bottles and soda cans, and turns to settle fully behind his desk. “Please, take a seat,” he gestures towards the open seat on the right, and Enji drops into it without further prompting, stretching his legs out from the uncomfortable car ride. Against his chest, Keigo blinks, glancing around the office with a dubious pout before he zeroes in on the juice box that Tsuragamae produces, holding it out to the tiny boy like an olive branch. Strangely enough, he doesn’t move to take it.
“It’s alright, Keigo-kun. It’s for you.”
The tot tilts his head, considering, and then cranes his neck to catch Enji’s eyes. The pair blink flatly at one another for a long moment, Tsuragamae’s hand still outstretched, and he’s at a loss for what the boy really wants but he inclines his head approvingly anyway. Keigo’s eyes light up, wings flapping uncertainly, and then Enji remembers that the kid can’t let go, because they’re both morons, obviously, and he plucks the juice pouch out of Tsuragamae’s hands without another word. He fumbles the tiny straw out and, without further ado, simply holds it in front of the boy’s mouth, which had formed a perfect little ‘o’ of surprise. The captain groans softly, looking vaguely embarrassed for having offered the stress gripping bird child anything in the first place, and shoots Enji a grateful look that he pretends not to see. Instead, he busies himself with making sure Keigo doesn’t choke as he sucks down fruit punch with a happy little hum. Natsuo had been known to drink a little too quickly when he was excited, so Rei had gotten them both into the habit of keeping an eye on the boy when he was anywhere near the kitchen.
“You said something about protective custody,” Enji prompts, keeping one eye on the tiny boy in his arms. Honestly, he might’ve been almost six, but he looked more like a four year old, and he couldn’t be sure if that as a result of the malnutrition or genetics. Touya was tiny for his age, after all, though Enji privately hoped he’d grow out of that as he got older. For his own sake, if nothing else. Tsuragamae nods, tearing his eyes away from the boy to start flipping through some of the files on his desk, seemingly at random. Enji fought a twitch.
“Yes, well, the agency claimed that they were sending a specialist over to evaluate him first.” Tsuragamae admitted, frowning distantly down at a handful of blacked out documents before he shook himself. “Since they don’t have anyone available as a long term caseworker and this is sort of a delicate case, he’ll have to be placed with a suitable hero for the time being. I should probably try to call the Bureau of Wardship affairs and start ironing out the details.” He trailed off contemplatively, glancing at Keigo before slipping his cell phone out of his coat pocket. “Do you mind watching him a bit longer?” He asks, pausing at the edge of his desk. Enji nods dismissively, and Tsuragamae sweeps out of the room without another word. The room is quiet, save for the soft rattle of the near-empty juice box, and Enji sighs, glancing away from the curls bouncing beneath his nose to the strip of night-dark wall visible outside of the sole dingy window. Well, Rei would understand, but he was definitely missing bedtime, and the thought put a warm longing in his chest.
“...I’m not going home, am I?”
Enji blinks, long and slow, and then drops his head to stare into infinitely sad golden eyes. Keigo’s face is blank and painfully unreadable, especially for a child barely of school age, but Enji catches the resignation in the corners of his mouth and in the resolute set of his jaw. He doesn’t look surprised, really. Just tired. Something twists painfully in Enji’s chest in response.
“No.” He says quietly, strangely unwilling to lie to the boy. “No, I don’t think so, Keigo.” The silence that greets him isn’t unexpected, but his face softens slightly anyway. “Your daddy hurts people, kid. Just like he hurts you. It’s my job to help them. To help you. And sometimes that means people like your dad go away for a while. To protect you. Do you understand?”
Keigo frowns, sucking in a stuttering, tearful breath, and Enji tucks him just a bit closer in response. “But… But what about me?”
He pauses, considering. He doesn’t want to give the kid false hope, because he’ll be safe with whatever hero he’s assigned to, but, ah, that wasn’t a guarantee for what came after. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, the foster care system wasn’t always the safest place for a child. Sometimes prospective parents were overwhelmed. Sometimes kids went hungry. Sometimes people just didn’t care. But…
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He answers slowly, a strange echo of All Might’s thricedamned catchphrase. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Keigo. I’ll make sure of it.” And maybe it isn’t the right thing to say, maybe it’s a promise he can’t keep, but it’s enough for now. Keigo settles back against his chest, little fingers finally unfurling as a sniffles softly into the silence of the office. In the distance, car horns blare. Laughter from the street below rises and falls, beckoning and fleeing in equal measure, and the soft neon glow illuminating the alleyway outside the window paints strange shadows across the floor where the light of the lamp doesn’t quite reach. Distilled pinks and greens lend little Keigo an almost fae-like quality, his eyes striking and luminescent in the half-light. It’s strangely peaceful, all things considered, and Enji’s grateful for it all the same. This is the longest he’s ever held a stranger's child without tears, or Rei’s guiding hand on his shoulder. He thinks it will also be the last.
They sit like that for what feels like hours, Keigo limp and compliant as he unfurls his wings and leans further into Enji’s unnatural warmth. He suckles absently at his fingers, eyes soft and unfocused, and Enji pulls them away from his mouth without a word. It’s a bad habit he’s been trying to break Fuyumi of, truth be told, and the boy doesn’t protest. He simply drops his hands back into his lap, fumbling idly with the soft, greying cotton of his doll. He’ll need a new one, soon…
The door flies open with a suddenness that sends Enji whirling, and the boy in his arms lets out a stifled squawk of protest as he goes. He smoothes a hand down his spine, quieting the child, and frowns thunderously at Tsuragamae’s harried expression. The bastard looks vaguely sheepish, for a moment, before he shoots an uncharacteristically venomous look to his left, and a woman steps into view. The door snaps closed behind them.
“Ah, good. Is this the boy, then?” She asks, ignoring both Enji and Tsuragamae and good fucking sense as she breezes forward to peer at Keigo’s small face, eyes lingering strangely on the vibrant wings on his back. Something itches in the back of his mind, painful and familiar, but Enji just steps back and angles the child away from her laser focused gaze. Her eyes finally snap to his, and she steps back demurely. “Endeavor,” she greets, professional and cool. “A pleasure to meet you. Thank you very much for your time this evening but I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit.” She pauses, eyes crinkling like they’re sharing some kind of joke, but Enji’s obviously missed the memo. He also has no fucking clue who she is.
“Captain,” he says, summarily ignoring the woman even if he doesn’t quite take his eyes off her. Her hands tighten briefly at her sides. Her nails are short and clean, just like the starched, fresh press of her suit. Her smile doesn’t waver. “Care to explain?”
Tsuragamae sends him a curt nod, ears sliding back against his skull. “She was—,” he begins, stepping forward pointedly, when the woman holds up a hand to halt him. She doesn’t even glance at him.
“Kobayashi Koharu,” she introduces herself, flashing a badge that he doesn’t have time to read. “I’m with the Hero Public Safety Commission. I was called in to handle the boy’s case, considering the extenuating circumstances.” She pauses, glances disdainfully around the office, and then looks back at Keigo. “We’ll be taking custody of him from here on out, so please hand the boy over and you can be on your way.” She’s already reaching for him, fingers brushing his feathers as the boy shakes, but Enji shoots her a blistering look that has her flinching back in surprise, eyes widening ever so slightly before she glances back up, a flat, calculating expression on her face.
“His name is Keigo.” Enji intones lowly, because something about Tsuragamae’s face and this woman’s eyes are setting off alarm bells left, right, and center. His instincts haven’t sat up like this in years, and he doesn’t know why. “And the Commission doesn’t usually get involved in wardship affairs. This is out of your jurisdiction.” He argues, stalling for time. He’s running through the HSPC custody laws in his mind, trying to figure out what this woman, with her coiffed hair and her shiny heels, is even doing here. The case was a suspected leak for a trafficking ring, certainly, but that didn’t explain her interest in Keigo. Enji’s face darkened further, flames flaring hungrily, but he keeps them well away from bright, flammable feathers and peach-soft toddler skin.
"You’re correct,” she agrees blithely, eyeing the flames. “But the child could be a material witness in the case should it prove a significant threat to society. Seeing as there are no next of kin, and many of our more competent heroes are… unsuited to the task of child rearing, the Commission has graciously agreed to house the child instead.” Her smile widens, just a tad, teeth flashing, and Enji has the disconcerting impression of staring down a shark. His fingers tighten unconsciously around Keigo’s waist. “Now that that’s all figured out, I really do need to leave. I’m a busy woman, Endeavor, I’m sure you understand. I’ll just take the little hero with me and we’ll fax you the transfer papers, Officer.” She beckons impatiently, glancing down at her watch, and Tsuragamae bares his teeth behind her back. He opens his mouth, sputters incredulously, and begins to argue that you can’t just take the boy, or something equally droll and accurate, but Enji had tuned them both out approximately six sentences ago. There was something he wasn’t seeing. Something he’d missed. He glares at her glossy curls, at the broken clock on the wall, and then he narrows his eyes down at Keigo’s silent form, the curls at the base of his neck bouncing softly with every breath.
Something… something.
Little hero.
Enji sucks in a quiet breath, eyes snapping open, and he refocuses on the bland indignity on the woman’s face with a vengeance.
Little hero.
“What did you mean?” Enji asks flatly, voice low and furious. He cuts Tsuragamae off, and the man stutters to a halt while the woman, Kobayashi, turns to frown at him for the first time since she walked in the room.
“What?”
“You called him a little hero.” He says and her mouth twitches, an uncomfortable expression flashing across her face. If he’d blinked he would have missed it. Tsuragamae looks, abruptly, like he’d sucked on a lemon.
“I—,” She starts, pauses, and then rallies. “You must have misunderstood me. He may very well be our little hero in this case, of course. Slip of the tongue.” She assures him. And it might have been convincing, if it were anyone else, but the captain had gone unnaturally still and Enji’s been a pro for longer than this woman had been out of high school.
If they’d wanted to pull this off, they shouldn’t have sent an amateur.
“No,” he says shortly. “You said that like it meant something. What exactly does this custody transfer entail for the boy? Specifically.”
She opens her mouth, a flash of righteous indignation in her eyes, but Tsuragamae’s voice cuts through the room like a javelin.
“I suggest you stick to the truth,” he says, voice deceptively mild and incredibly at odds with the restrained fury settling into the lines of his face. “If you lie, I will know. And I will not hesitate. This is my department, Kobayashi. You’d do well to remember that.” Kobayashi’s mouth opens, closes, and opens again, but she doesn’t make a sound. The rising flush on her face could be from anger or embarrassment, admittedly, but either way it shatters the cold façade she’d been projecting from the moment she’d wandered into the room. Probably from the moment she’d hopped out of bed this morning, really, and he’s viciously pleased to see her falter if he’s being completely honest with himself. Kobayashi glares at the room at large, eyes aflame in her thin face, before she finally heaves a put upon sigh and yanks her phone out of her pocket.
“This stays between us.” She snaps unhappily, and pulls up a video file. Enji and Tsuragamae lean forward simultaneously, both intrigued and wary, and the click of her nails against the screen settles in his subconscious like crinkling styrofoam, annoying and unpleasant in equal measure.
The video is obviously from a traffic cam of some sort, alternating between washed out and grainy. Cars trundle by a monotonous haze of evening exhaust and lackluster paint jobs, and Enji’s about to melt the goddamn thing when a sudden, muted screech echoes from somewhere offscreen. Keigo stiffens in his arms. He notes, absently, that the video quality jumps from baseline shitty to crystal clear in an instant, and obviously the Commission had enhanced it. The thought settles like a knot in the base of his throat. He sees the impending collision before it even occurs, face carefully blank as a car careens into the opposite lane, and he clocks the driver’s wide, horrified eyes as he and his family stare down two tons of high speed steel with no hero in sight, and he reflexively covers Keigo’s eyes, pressing one arm over his ear and the other against his chest. She’s showing them this for a reason, he knows. Maybe his dad was the driver, maybe they’d been tied to the case during the investigation, but either way the kid shouldn’t have to see—
A red flash catches his eye, and that’s all the warning he gets before dozens of brilliant red streaks spear through the car seconds before the collision. Tsuragamae makes a horrified, choked sort of ‘woofing’ sound, and Enji half expects the scene to end with a grisly arterial spurt of some sort, but just as abruptly figures begin to emerge from within the smokescreen cloaking the flaming wreckage. They’re moving oddly, limp and misshapen, and Enji has only the barest moment of oh shit before the shadows resolve themselves into the passengers from the collision, dangling curiously for a moment or two before the little red shapes deposit them safely on the ground, and only then does Enji clock the fact that they’re actually very familiar feathers.
His eyes snap to the boy in his arms, even as the people on screen begin to scream, and the video ends with a close up from the very corner of the screen, where a tiny, winged figure has turned and disappeared, and Enji doesn’t have to look to know that he’d see blonde curls and wide golden eyes to accompany the crimson plumage.
He feels sick.
“Keigo?!” Tsuragamae demands, white-faced, disbelief dripping from every syllable. The boy jerks in response, tries to turn his head towards the noise, but Enji just holds him in place until he stops struggling because he’s never seen anyone quite that pale before and he thinks the man may need to sit down, now. On the other hand, Enji’s pretty sure he’s about the same behind his mask, and he’s never been quite so grateful for his ironclad quirk control in his entire life. Kobayashi looks strangely smug, sliding the phone back in her pocket and clapping her hands together with a brisk sounding snap.
“The occupants of both vehicles were perfectly fine,” she announces, brushing down the front of her blouse. “Not a scratch on them, but they all wanted to thank the hero who saved their lives. Obviously, we had no one on record who matched the description, but we’ve been looking. He has incredible potential, don’t you think?” She pauses, eyes dark and insistent as she looks at Keigo. Or, more specifically, at his wings. They’re brown, he notes suddenly, and familiar, but he can’t figure out why. He’s never met her before in his life.
“Obviously it would be an incredible waste to just drop him in foster care,” she adds. “He has such a bright future. It’s unfortunate, but the Commission has decided to take him in as a ward instead. He’ll have everything he needs: the best education, hot meals, a room to call his own.” She’s ostensibly speaking to them, Enji thinks, but the longer she talks the more it seems she’s talking to Keigo, specifically, and for all that she’s claiming to care about his wellbeing it still sounds strange and impersonal. It sounds like she pulled each word out of a brochure.
It sounds like a sales pitch.
Keigo twitches with each word, feathers ruffling uncomfortably, and he curls just a bit closer to Enji the longer she stares at him, bare feet curling and uncurling.
“So what do you say, Takami-kun? How would you like to be a hero?”
“Wait a minute.” Tsuragamae snaps, and his neck makes an awful cracking sound when he jerks around to snarl back at her. “What is that supposed to mean? He’s a child! You can’t— You can’t just walk in here and whisk him off to god-knows-where just because you think he’s interesting!”
The outburst is uncommon and shockingly impassioned for the otherwise temperate man, Enji thinks, but Kobayashi doesn’t even blink. “Well it’s out of your hands, Tsubame.” She snarks back, and she either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care that she’s butchered his name. The man looks as close to apoplectic as Enji has ever seen him. “His father already signed away his parental rights. As of now, Takami Keigo is a ward of the state, and he will be coming with me.” She snaps out a hand, likely intending to yank him out of Enji’s, but he’s already smacking her hand away from the boy, flames flaring menacingly along his fingers. Kobayashi hisses, drawing her hand back with a grimace, and the irritation flaring in her eyes twists her face into an ugly caricature of the mild woman who’d entered the room.
“This is ridiculous.” She snaps, jerking her phone back out of her pocket. “What the hell do you want, a court order? I can have one hand delivered within the hour.”
“No,” Tsuragamae replies, voice level and well beyond furious, “What I want, is to know why the hell you wired Keigo’s father five million yen two hours before his arrest. What I want—,” his voice raises with each word, Kobayashi’s well-groomed brows climbing higher and higher as Enji’s flames burn. “—is to know what you’re actually planning to do to this kid. What I want is for you to get the hell out of my station.”
The words end in a roar, Tsuragamae’s chest heaving, and the door flies open to reveal the greenhorn who’d driven them to the station. Tsukauchi frowns at the room at large, a handful of other officers lingering in the room beyond, and he glances cooly at Kobayashi and her pressed pants before turning back towards his captain. “Everything alright in here, sir?” He asks, voice deceptively mild, and Tsuragamae jerks his head impatiently.
“Tsukauchi, perfect timing.” He assures him, rolling his shoulders beneath the clean lines of his suit. Tsuragamae is a tall man, though not quite as broad as Enji himself, but Enji realizes, rather abruptly, that they both dwarf this woman. It hadn’t seemed quite so obvious when she walked in. “Our visitor here was just leaving. Please escort her to her car.” Tsukauchi nods, stepping back to clear the doorway, but the woman doesn’t move, fingers clenching and unclenching against her side. It’s an obvious tell, one Enji might have advised her to work on if she were one of his sidekicks. Keigo breaks the stalemate in the end, letting out a startled whimper as his shoots a wild-eyed look between the official, the officers, and the window, and Enji turns to put himself between the boy and the rest of the room. Kobayashi looks harried, eyes darting between Enji and Tsugamae and the doorway where Tsukauchi loomed before she snarls and spins on her heel. “Fine,” she spits furiously, slamming her purse into the captain’s leg as she moves. “Fine. Pawn the kid off on some other hero, see if I care. But I’ll be back for him eventually. And you’ll be hearing from us.” She adds, lips parted in the facsimile of a smile, and her eyes dart unerringly to Keigo’s thin frame, eyes peeking out from under Enji’s arm. “I’ll see you soon, Takami-kun.”
“Not without a warrant you won’t—,” Tsugamae starts thunderously, and Tsukauchi waves the others back as he finally steps fully into the room, but the shouting turns strange and distant in his ears. There’s a roaring sound, a buzzing in his skull that sounds like rushing blood and synapses firing, like the heat of his flames boiling him alive from the inside out. Keigo tugs insistently on his sleeve, the sensation muted, but he zeroes in on the subtle terror in the boy's eyes. On the doll clenched in his hand, because he’s probably stress-gripping again, on the woman’s eyes as they shoot to Keigo’s wings, and oh, that’s why they look familiar.
They look like greed, and up until a few years ago he’d seen them every time he’d looked in the mirror.
“That won’t be necessary.”
Keigo’s wings flap hard, once, and then fall perfectly still. The words drop like rocks between them, and it takes Enji a moment before he realizes they’d come out of his mouth. He’s just as surprised as they are.
But he rolls with it.
“Excuse me?” Kobayashi demands incredulously, agog. “Are you refusing a direct order from the Commission?” Behind her, Tsukauchi gapes in unison, too green and unpracticed to hide it. He’d have to mention that to Tsuragamae.
“Did I stutter?” Enji asks mildly, absently running one hand up and down Keigo’s spine as the woman chokes. “And I don’t actually take orders from you. But you don’t need to concern yourself with Keigo any further. He’ll be coming home with me.” The boy in question trembles, eyes blown wide, and Enji presses one large finger beneath his chin to pop his mouth shut again, under the guise of stroking his hand across the apple of one tiny cheek. Keigo flushes, ever so slightly, and ducks his head.
“The captain was just drawing up the paperwork for me.” He continues blithely, and the man starts at the sound of his name. Enji is, abruptly, a bit concerned that he’s going to blow the entire bluff, but Tsuragamae shoots a surprisingly sharp look at Naomasa and a softer, lingering glance at Keigo before he nods decisively.
“Of course, Endeavor. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. We have everything handled here, Kobayashi, so Officer Tsukauchi will see you out.” He jerks his head dismissively and turns on his heel to rifle through the filing cabinet to his left, and the other man is already stepping forward to place one heavy hand on her shoulder when she finally finds her voice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t going to work. It’s a waste,” she growls, eyes wild as she shrugs him off. Enji sneers disdainfully. “You can’t retain a ward indefinitely. You know that as well as I do. When this case is finished he’ll be removed from your custody, as protocol dictates. You cannot circumvent the Commission.” She grins, triumphant, and it looks especially grotesque in the poorly lit room, because she really thinks she’s won, but Enji isn’t the Number Two Hero for nothing.
“You’re right, I can’t. But my wife and I have been looking to adopt anyway, and Keigo’s a perfect match for us.” He lies, just a bit there at the end, but that’s fine. He’ll talk to Rei about it tonight. And maybe it’s the deadpan delivery, maybe it’s the double shift they’ve all been working, or maybe it’s the way Keigo squeaks in surprise, but the room erupts into pandemonium before the last word has even left his mouth. Kobayashi’s patience snaps, audibly, and she flies forward to try and shove her finger in his face. In another life, Enji might have been impressed. In this one, he simply curls one massive hand up to cup Keigo’s face against his chest, hoping to mute the cacophony of political displeasure as the woman hisses, face twisted and ugly in her fury. She doesn’t get very far, however, because Tsukauchi and another unnamed companion surge forward to restrain her, tugging the woman back towards the door and, presumably, out of the station, just as he’d originally intended.
“You won’t get away with this,” she calls, looking nearly rabid as her heels drag across the linoleum, and Enji wonders how she’s going to explain this very public outburst to her superiors. She really must be new. “You’ll be hearing from us soon, Endeavor.”
Enji shrugs, unconcerned, and the movement jolts a few stray feathers from Keigo’s wings. Kobayashi follows them hungerily. “You can direct any complaints to my lawyer.” He assures her, and he allows the barest hint of a smirk to grace his lips just before she’s yanked out of sight. The white-lipped, furious expression she rewards him is unconscionably satisfying. Across the room, still digging through his cabinets, Tsuragamae’s shoulders shake.
“Well,” he says idly, a curious combination of haggard and amused. “You certainly don’t pull any punches, but at least you bought us some time. I’m sure she’ll be back by morning, but I’ll cash in some favors and see if I can push a wardship request through tonight, at the very least. That is if you don’t actually mind watching him a bit longer, Endeavor.” Enji frowns, though Tsuragamae misses it. The man emerges from the depths of the cabinet with a file, sliding the drawer shut with his foot, and tilts his head back towards Keigo. “Would you like another drink, Keigo-kun?” The boy wavers, looking torn, so Enji just nods and settles back into his seat. Keigo’s hands are free of Enji’s shirt, this time, so tiny fingers wrap around the pouch, leaving his hands free to brush through matted feathers. The boy really is in desperate need of a bath, and Enji adds it to the mental catalogue he’s compiling in descending order of importance. Getting Keigo clean, fed, and settled is at the top of the list. Ensuring Rei doesn’t summarily decapitate him runs a close second. “I can have Tsukauchi run and grab him dinner if you’d like to complete this now,” Tsuragamae continues blithely. “If we’re going to beat the Commission to the judge, anyway.”
And, well, Enji’s confused and more than a bit frustrated.
“That won’t be necessary.” He assures him. “My lawyer will handle all of the paperwork. I’ll just have her craft a press release tonight. It’s more public than I’d prefer, but the Commission won’t be able to contest the adoption without risking their public approval dropping. I’ll tighten security,” he adds, and gods he’s got a long night ahead. Tomorrow was going to be hell. “Just in case anyone gets any ideas, but with Keigo’s face plastered across every newspaper in Japan I sincerely doubt they’ll risk touching a single hair on his head. Or any of my other children, for that matter.”
He pauses, uncertainly, and he ignores the captain’s frozen face in favor of gazing down at Keigo’s tawny head. “Unless you’d prefer something else, Keigo. Would you like that?”
The boy pauses, tilting his head back as he sucked on the straw, and he releases the empty pouch with a little ‘pop,’ wings shivering. “What’s uh’doption?” He inquires curiously, sounding the unfamiliar word out, and Enji hears the barest hint of a lisp. Rei was going to combust.
“Adoption,” Enji corrects him gently, enunciating each syllable slowly, and Keigo’s mouth moves as he copies him. “It means that I’d be your new dad. A new family. It means I get to take care of you.” The explanation is a bit sloppy, mayhaps, and he’s not quite sure if that’s too confusing for a five year old, but the boy’s eyes light up in response.
“But what about my daddy?” He asks carefully, shifting around until he could kneel in Enji’s lap, fingers twisted in the collar of his suit. He was still too small to see eye-to-eye without standing, but it brings them just a bit closer, which seems to satisfy the boy, and Enji’s hands hover carefully behind his back just in case. Rei would kill him if their first meeting was in the emergency room. “Was I bad? Is that why he went away?”
“Sometimes,” he starts carefully, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. “Parents can’t take care of their kids. It doesn’t mean you’ve been bad, Keigo. It just means that you get to make a new family. You’ll have a mom, and siblings, and a new house and new toys. I know it’s scary, but I promise you’ll be safe. Doesn’t that sound nice?” The boy is still, eyes wide and unblinking in his tiny face, and beyond the halo of his curls Enji catches the naked disbelief on Tsuragamae’s face. Which is ridiculous, because he’d already told the man he was planning to adopt Keigo, so why did he look so surprised?
“... You’ll be my new daddy?” Keigo asks softly, drawing Enji’s attention back to his dirty cheeks and his cool, curious fingers. His face is curiously blank, Enji thinks, heart sinking. Maybe he’d spoken too soon? “You— You want me?” Oh, nope, that wasn’t rejection, but the naked insecurity on Keigo’s face lights something intense and painful in Enji’s chest. He pulls the boy back against him without a word, folding his arms gently around delicate wings and breakable bones until he can’t see anything beyond the feathers pressing against his face and the little boy in his arms has started to cry. Enji shushes him, channeling Rei, and it’s a little awkward and unpracticed so he's not wholly surprised when the child in his arms just curls closer and wails, overwrought and overtired. Enji is ready to take this boy home, now.
“I would be very, very happy if you’d let me be your new daddy, Keigo.” He assures him fiercely, eyes burning, and he’s suddenly grateful that Tsuragamae can’t see his face. He’s never going to live this down, really, but. Well. Worth it. Enji curls his hand against the back of the boy’s skull, cradling and carding his fingers through the matted strands until his sobs begin to quiet, and finally Keigo sits back to scrub his small hands across his wet, flushed face. Enji tuts and brushes his hands away, wiping his eyes gently with the pads of his thumbs. The boy ducks his head, mumbling into his chest, and Enji taps him softly on the crown of his head until he looks back up, watery eyes and all. He nudges one finger beneath his chin, until Keigo finally meets his eyes.
“What was that?” He asks patiently, and the boy flushes even darker, tears dripping down his face again, and Enji’s just wondering whether he should just call it a night and table this discussion when the boy leans his head into his hand.
“I’d like that, if you were my dad.” Keigo murmurs shyly. “Yes please.”
Well. That’s that, he supposes.
Enji’s face softens, still hidden by the downy curve of one brilliant wing, and he hides a smile in Keigo’s hair. “Thank you, Keigo.” He murmurs, voice low enough that not even Tsuragamae could have heard it, and Keigo hums happily in response. When Enji finally pulls back and looks up, the other man is still frozen, blinking and gobsmacked. Enji clears his throat insistently once, twice, and then reaches over and knocks sarcastically on the desktop when that garners no response. The captain startles violently, knocking no less than six case files to the floor as he flails, and then gazes down at the pages in open dismay. Enji doesn’t feel a shred of sympathy.
“If that’s everything,” He tells the man, less of a question and more a demand. “I’ve got to get back to my wife.”
Tsuragamae dips his head in a shallow, mindless nod, and then pauses. He eyes Keigo uncertainly for the first time all evening, the earlier softness hidden behind a veneer of professional courtesy. “Of course, Endeavor. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep in touch with Keigo-kun. Until this case is put to bed at least. Just to make sure he’s settling in properly.” The other man pauses, head cocked in a vaguely menacing and distinctly canine fashion, and Enji agrees wholeheartedly. He understands the captain’s concern, obviously. Enji has the power and the money to make this happen, just like the Commission does, and he’s obviously uncomfortable with actually leaving the child with anyone after such a close encounter with Kobayashi and her manicured, child-stealing fingers. Unfortunately, nothing Enji says will put those worries to rest. The affection he feels for Keigo is inexplicable, and he has no doubt that he’ll soon feel just as strongly for the boy as he does the rest of his children, but would Tsuragamae understand that? Probably not. So, until then, Enji will just have to show him. Keigo will be safe, loved, and happy, come hell or high water, so letting the other man drop by to check on him was just a means towards that end. A small price to pay in exchange for actually taking the boy home.
“Of course,” Enji assures him, grabbing a pen off the desk and scribbling his personal number and his address on a blank pink post-it note. “I’ll call you in the morning to schedule our next meeting. Feel free to drop by and see the kids whenever you have a free moment.”
Tsuragamae nods, a contemplative expression on his face as he tucks the note in his breast pocket, and he digs through the small fridge to pass Keigo yet another fruit punch. The boy makes an especially happy little trilling sound, and Enji notes the brand is one that Touya favors. He’ll have to restock the fridge tomorrow. “Alright then, I think that's enough for today then.” The dog-headed man agrees, letting out a long breath. “I’ll walk you out.”
Enji hoists Keigo more securely in his arms as he sweeps out after Tsuragamae, head held high with as much dignity as he could muster with a sleepy five year old half-dozing against his chest. The handful of officers still lingering in the bullpen call soft greetings as they pass, and Tsukauchi blinks blandly from where he’s standing near the front doors.
“Captain, Endeavor,” the man greets cordially. He shoots Keigo a swift, quicksilver smile but keeps his mouth shut, otherwise, and Enji reevaluates the man’s future on the force. He was quick on the uptake, if nothing else, and he appreciates the man’s tacit discretion.
“Tsukauchi, good work.” Tsuragamae says, scanning the room. The other man brightens, just a bit, at the offhand praise.
“Don’t mention it, sir.”
“Now, I know you’re about to clock out, but I’d appreciate it if you’d run these two home on your way out.” The captain continues, blatantly ignoring Enji’s scowl, because he can call his own ride, thank you very much, but Tsukauchi’s already nodding and pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders.
“No trouble at all,” the younger man assures them, grinning gently at Keigo’s limp form. Gods he really was young, wasn’t he? Cradle robbing bastards, the lot of them. “After you, sir.” Enji blinks, disbelievingly, as Tsukauchi props the door open expectantly, and Tsuragamae shrugs blandly in response, hands splayed as if to say what can you do. He sighs, bids the captain a quick goodbye (and a promise to call him right after breakfast, the conniving fucker), and levels the man (boy?) a flat look as he steps out into the evening chill. Keigo shivers and presses tight against his chest, and Enji heats the surface of his skin without a thought.
“Drop the sir,” he grumbles into the creeping silence of deserted city streets, and Tsukauchi hums in response, lips curving and vicariously familiar. It was the same expression Touya wore when he was being a little shit. “Of course, Endeavor-san.” The man smiles disarmingly, and honestly Enji might’ve just walked home if it weren’t for the tiny, shivering toddler in his arms. As it is, Keigo makes a soft, chirping sound as the breeze kicks up around them and Enji lengthens his stride, leaving the officer to trot along beside him as he heads for the nearby car. A soft huff of amusement reaches his ears, and Enji rolls his eyes so hard that he half-fears he’s going to strain something.
Kids these days.
At a loss for how to maneuver Keigo’s wings without injuring the boy (or himself, for that matter, given the bruise that had been darkening on Tsuragamae’s face all evening), Enji resigns himself to the backseat one more. He crams himself into the leather, knees creaking as he gently manhandles Keigo onto his lap, and Tsukauchi slides into the driver’s seat, blessedly silent. The road is empty save for their car and the occasional, distant pedestrian, and Enji is thankful for the relative anonymity of the moment. The circus would start tomorrow, really, and he’d like one more night of peace before the press gets a whiff of everything. In his lap, Keigo twists around to watch the storefronts fly past the window, and the streetlights flashing by turn his eyes and his hair into vibrant pools of liquid gold. He looks strangely out of place, stuffed in the backseat of a squad car. With those wings and those fine cheekbones he looks like he stepped out of a painting. It’s a disquieting thought. Enji’s going to be beating people off the boy with a stick. Or. Well. Maybe not.
First they’d have to get through Rei.
Tsuragamae must have text his rookie the address, because Tsukauchi takes all the right turns without prompting. The illuminated clock on the dash reads 11:52, which makes him wince, but there was little he could do about that now. Instead he watches the shadows play in Keigo’s hair, imagines the face Touya’s going to make when he wakes up tomorrow and sees the cherubic boy in the living room, and denies Tsukauchi’s quiet assurance that they could stop somewhere for dinner. Keigo’s doubtlessly starving, obviously, and Enji’d worked through lunch, but he’s reluctant to make any pit stops now that they’re finally heading home. Besides, even if Rei was already asleep he was a fair hand in the kitchen, if he did say so himself. It would be simple enough to whip up a few sandwiches and some soup once they got home, and while that simmered he’d be able to at least run Keigo a bath before he put the boy to bed. He’d sleep in one of the spare rooms for now, Enji decided, unwilling to wake the rest of his kids just yet. Keigo could pick a more permanent option later, and then he and Rei could go nuts furnishing it and filling his new closet. They’d definitely have to go shopping tomorrow or the day after, at the very least, but for now he could glean the essentials from Touya’s wardrobe and worry about the rest later. Or maybe Fuyumi’s, he thinks, eyeing Keigo’s waiflike stature. Yes, that would work.
The drive passes quickly. Admittedly, Enji is half-lost in his own head for most of it. He shoots his lawyer a quick, succinct text with the bare bones of the situation. He’s sure that the woman is going to make him pay for this, but Fukushima responds within moments with a sarcastic-sounding congratulations and an assurance that she’ll have a draft on his desk by 7 a.m., at the very least. He adds a link for sleep aids to the simple ‘thank you’ he sends back. The middle finger emoji that pops up on screen is unwelcome, if not expected, and after a moment he sends an email to his account to double her holiday bonus and increase her hazard pay. Enji had hired her for a reason, after all, and he doesn’t want to risk trying his luck with her good will just yet.
He’s in the middle of messaging one of his scant government contacts when Naomasa clears his throat, jerking Enji back to the present as he rolls to a stop by the front gate. The Todoroki nameplate glitters in the dark, street awash with the clean white glow of Tsukauchi’s headlights. Slumped in his lap, Keigo stirs tiredly, eyes half-lidded as he tilts his head back to stare out the window at the new surrounding. He makes a soft, inquisitive noise at the sight of the white stone walls and the cobbled walkway but doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled against his chest. Enji heaves a relieved sigh, mostly hidden in Keigo’s hair, and fumbles for the door handle. Tsukauchi immediately hops out and hauls it open, much to Enji’s silent consternation, but he busies himself with trying not to drop thirty pounds of deadweight and feathery appendages in lieu of bitching at the man.
He’s learning to pick and choose his fights, alright?
“You have my thanks,” Enji mutters finally, hoisting Keigo high enough to rest his head on his shoulder, and Tsukauchi half-swallows a fond-sounding laugh at the motion. “Anytime,” the young man assures him. The hand that claps down on his shoulder is a surprise, there and gone in a flash, and by the time Enji turns around Tsukauchi is already back in the car. “See you around, Endeavor-san.” The guy calls softly, in deference of Keigo’s dozing form, and rolls the window back up without waiting for a reply. Enji stays on the sidewalk, watching the man’s car until he’s well and truly out of sight, and only then does he let his shoulders sag.
Gods, he’s exhausted.
“Welcome home, Keigo.” He intones softly, mostly to himself as the boy’s eyes slide fully shut, hot baby breath against his neck. Cleaning him up was going to be an uphill battle. Maybe Enji’d stick with canned soup, just for tonight. That way the boy could just drink it and go straight to bed, warm and mostly sated, and Enji wouldn’t spend the rest of the night feeling like a neglectful dick. Again. The breeze slides cool and clear against his overheated skin as he makes his way up the drive, and he lets his flaming beard die out completely. Shadows creep forward and swallow the yard, until only the distant glow of the neighboring house and the moon light the way. Not a single light is on inside, and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed to see that everyone is already well and truly asleep. He’d just have to introduce Keigo in the morning, then.
“Come on, son.” He murmurs absently, jostling Keigo gently as he slips inside without bothering to turn on the hall light. He leaves his boots by the door and pads forward without bothering with his house slippers. Enji’s made this journey thousands of times, feet sliding across the tatami in the dark, and it’s always just a tad lonely. Even with the precious new addition to his family clinging to his side, listening to the near-silent scuff of his feet across the floor still leaves a scowl tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’d forgotten that feeling, these last few years; ever since he’d started really trying to be the man his family deserved. He had gotten used to the clatter of tiny feet as he walked in the door, to the sun at his back and the sound of Rei humming in the kitchen. The space around him felt hollow and foreboding in their absence. Would Keigo feel like that when Enji put him to bed tonight? The thought made his throat constrict. Maybe Keigo could just sleep in their room tonight. But, well, he didn’t want to wake Rei up, so maybe Enji would just stay in the guest room with Keigo instead. Yes, he thinks, recalling the silent, vibrating ball of feathers curled up in the corner of Takami’s apartment. Just for tonight.
“Alright Keigo, up and at ‘em.” He mumbles, stepping into the kitchen. There’s a lightswitch around here somewhere, he knows that much. “You’ve just gotta drink some soup for me, okay? Then a quick bath and we’ll head to bed. That sounds good, right? You with me, kid?” Keigo shuffles, wings shifting in the weak moonlight streaming through the window, and he mumbles incoherently, breath puffing across his cheek. Enji fights a fond, tired smile in response. “Alright, hold on then.” He advises him, trying to balance the boy with one hand while he fumbles along the wall with the other. He could just release his own flames, admittedly, but he’s exhausted and he’s not willing to risk an accident with the tiny, particularly flammable child in his arms. And he pays for electricity for a reason, damn it all; he’s not a walking lantern, so where the fuck was the switch—?
A quiet ‘click,’ is all the warning he gets before the kitchen floods with light. He flinches, pressing Keigo reflexively against his chest when the boy lets loose a startled squawk, and he’s already spinning around defensively before his eyes have finished adjusting. Blinking spots away, he comes face to face with his wife’s beautiful, impassive face and her Displeased Eyebrows as her eyes dart between Enji’s haggard expression, the wriggling little boy in his arms, and the clock on the wall. She cocks her head deliberately to the left, silver strands sliding across her shoulder.
“Enji, darling,” she greets him pleasantly, and he feels a swooping sense of vertigo as her eyes zero in on his hands, stroking mindlessly down Keigo’s back. Her robe hangs open, dragging across the floor, and it takes him a second to recognize that it's his. “Hungry?”
Her smile is wide and warm. Her eyes are not. And Enji, in a moment of startling, uncharacteristic clarity, realizes that Keigo’s wings really are a strikingly familiar shade of red.
Oh shit.