Chapter Text
Rabbit Tracks
First Sighting
He’s sleep deprived, half-awake but drifting closer to just being dead inside and reverting to zombie mode as the minutes tick by. Blearily he scrubs his eyes, to the point he wonders if the ever-increasing bags under his eyes are just bruises.
Probably not.
They’ve lasted for over a month now.
Especially with that new class of his.
He groans, shaking his head. All of them are problem children. Between loud-mouth-explosion-head, the frustratingly quiet hot-and-cold Jr. Endeaver, and his own adopted brat in there, he’s going to rip out his own hair by the end of the semester.
“Did you know the only place that sells four shots of expresso this time of night is the gin house?”
He blinks, peeling his eyes from the asphalt below him to the rooftop ledge beside him.
And honest to God he’s too tired to really care who is extending the cup of Joe to him, because he’s focusing on the words that split that silence.
Fourth shot of expresso.
Fourth shot of expresso.
Fourth shot of expresso.
He should probably see a cardiologist because he’s sure he’s going to get a heartattack in the next three years, but that is a problem for later him.
He plucks the cup from fingers too small to be a man but already too scarred to be a boy and brings the steaming cup to his lips. Ah… oh sweet sweet nectar.
Romanticists say love breathes new life into the soul. Spiritualists can argue about inner peace and connecting with a greater being shifting perspectives and granting true bliss. Parents can rage about children being the light of their word (they’re not, because he’s going to murder Hitoshi if he asks him one more time for help on his homework).
They’re all wrong.
Coffee is the life essence of the universe.
The groan that trickles out of his throat brings a chuckle out of the deliverer.
And finally, he’s awake enough to consider the figure perched on the ledge next to him.
It’s small, lithe even, more boy than man, but still male. Dressed in black, a deep hood covering the face. A bo staff holstered across his back. But the human next to him is no vigilante, or hero.
He’s much too young.
Much too fragile.
“You should look two streets over.” The boy informs him, cracking his neck as he considers the hero next to him. “And skip your usual patrol of Hitoshi Bridge tonight.” There’s a flicker of a smile there, and Aizawa’s eyebrows furrow in response.
He can’t tell if he’s getting played or not.
The boy is too young to be anyone high up in any crime organization. But the casual way he’d crept up on him makes him suspicious. He’s not new to the game of going unnoticed.
“How about I check both with backup.” He replies.
“Mmm. Overly cautious.” The boy notes. “Guess I’ll have to update your profile.” And underneath the hood emerald eyes flash as the boy stands. “I suppose that will work.” He tucks his hands into the black hoodie pocket, edging backwards. “The Ghouls will get a deal on 9th, though I’ll probably stop the rape case going to happen on 11th….” He’s mumbling now, little tidbits of information bursting out of the boy like a cracked open encyclopedia. “Drugs on 11th would influence Oni territory… Stalker’s moving in the fish market, so that would put…” he hums, then looks back up at him.
“Ah.”
Aizawa blinks, slowly setting the precious coffee down. No need to spill heaven in a cup just because the deliverer might be a crazy punk. “What’s your name kid?” He ventures, hands coming back up, tangling in his scarf.
Reaching for his quirk, feeling the burn in his eyes as he activates it.
He purses his lips when the boy doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react at all to the vanishing of his quirk.
“Your eyes flash and your hair floats when you use your quirk.” And with that short comment the boy is off, dashing across the rooftops like a bullet from a gun.
He’s fast. He’ll give him that.
But he’s still a boy, yet to grow into his prime, yet to reach his top height, his maximum stride length, his peak muscle mass.
Aizawa is after him, capture weapon lashing out to grapple passing leverage points, flinging himself forward to shrink the headstart the boy gave himself.
“Mugging on your left!” The boy calls out as he leaps over the next gap in buildings.
Aizawa freezes, flinches as he staggers to a halt at the previous buildings end. He’s not going to make it. There’s too much distance, too little speed, not enough force to make the gap.
The boy hangs, momentum halted as gravity and momentum struggle with each other. For a moment, Aizawa is scared for the kid, heart leaping into his throat as he drops into the gap, three stories high and nothing but hard asphalt to cushion the ground.
There’s a faint stretching noise, a whoosh of fabric flapping in the wind, and then the boy is bounding back up, clearing the rest of the distance and landing on the opposite roof.
“Don’t forget the bridge!” He calls back at him, like he hadn’t risked near death just to get away from him.
“Crazy little-“ He starts forward, but freezes as he notices a commotion off to his left.
A man wielding fire, pressing someone else up against the wall. A mugging.
Damn.
He leaps into action, vaulting down into the alley and landing on top of the mugger. The fire extinguishes with just a glance, leaving the mugger with only his fists. A weapon that’s ill-suited to fight him when it lacks any training.
In a span of three moves, he’s unconscious and on the ground. Aizawa growls, glancing at the mugee. “Scram.” He grumbles. “Don’t walk alone at night. It’s dangerous.” He adds as an afterthought. He bends down, ignoring the patter of feet as the idiot runs off.
He shakes his head. What kind of person wanders alone down the street at night, no streetlights, no weapon to defend themselves, no training at all to protect them?
He supposes that’s what a hero-filled society encourages though. There’s always a hero looking after you, so why bother looking after yourself? He shakes his head, strapping the handcuffs onto the mugger.
“Hey,” He grumbles into the com. “Got a mugger on 5th street. Building …” He hesitates, combing the side of the wall for a reference.”
“Alley between 5 and 6.” The boy’s voice chimes in from above him, and he jerks, whirling around to find him perched on top of the building to his left, peering down at him.
“Alley 5/6.” He barks into the comm. “Got some kind of kid, maybe informant here too.”
“Don’t give me too much credit there Eraserhead.” The boy chirps back, and even underneath the hood he can see the grin spreading across his face. “I’m just passing through.” And he slips away from the ledge.
It takes only a few seconds for him to get back to the roof, a moment of handling his capture weapon to fling himself up, a few instants of bounding off walls to gain momentum, and he’s hauling himself over that same ledge. But a few seconds is apparently all the boy needs, because there’s no trace of him. He’s slipped away for the second time that night, and there isn’t a trace that he was there to begin with.
He swears softly, shaking his head as he examines the rooftop. He just… disappeared, slipped away like magic. Maybe a movement quirk? No. He would have used it to escape when he first lost sight of him.
Unless…
No. Doubtful.
Aizawa shakes his head. An unknown entity running around the streets, with information on not only his patrol route, but also the happenings of the crime in the area?
Great. He was going to have a ridiculous amount of paperwork for this.
He shakes his head again, clicking his tongue softly as he turns back to the present. There are sirens in the distance, and the car to pick up the mugger will probably be there soon. But that gives him a few minutes.
A few minutes which would be enough time to run back for the coffee the brat had given him.
And he’s already on the rooftop…
And he really wants the rest of that coffee.
Needs it if he’s going to make it through the night.
He commits to it with nary a thought more, bounding back across the rooftops he’d only just traversed. It’s only a handful of buildings, a dozen or fewer rooftops and he’s back where he started, the coffee cup perched on the edge of the roof. He hums, ambling towards it until he notices that the scene has changed.
He’d set the cup on the ledge.
It’s been shifted, moved to act as a paperweight now. It’s still on the ledge, but a slip of paper is tucked under it, delicately placed so it wouldn’t slip out, but still hanging free. As if the contents of the paper cannot be marred.
He mulls it over, picking up the cup and the page. The coffee is still warm, not scalding hot anymore, but he supposes the caffeine will have to suffice in keeping him awake. The page on the other hand it infinitely more interesting.
It’s a sketch.
Graphite, no color, and done on thick sketchpad paper. It looks a touch hurried, but still, the object of the sketch is easily discernable. It’s him, brooding on the ledge with the coffee tucked in his hands, eyes closed as he breathes in the steam.
How long had he taken to get back? Five minutes? Six? When did he loose track of the boy? Ten minutes ago? He hums, feeling the smile coil in the edges of his lips as he considers the page.
There’s no signature, but a sticky note where the coffee cup had been placed.
‘Could I get this autographed?’
He pulls a pen from his pocket, bracing the paper against his thigh as he signs off on it. He wonders how the kid will pick it up when he’s got it locked up in his office.
That might be something to consider.
He heads back to the mugger to brief the cop, give a short statement, make the arrest. He’ll have the page on his desk in the morning, get it shipped to forensics before the end of the day, and if he’s lucky. He’ll get prints off the page and a name to go with the mystery boy before the end of the week.
He folds it, tucking the page into a pocket as he moves.
The cop is waiting. The mugger in the back of the patrol car. He presents the sketch to the man. “Ever happened before?”
The cop shrugs. “Kid, dressed in black? Kinda mumbles to himself? Usually has your coffee order for some reason?”
Aizawa cocks an eyebrow.
“He’s kind of been a staple in the city for the past couple weeks. Been sighted all around but hasn’t contacted a hero till now. We’ve just been seeing him when he drops on the car.” The cop gestured to the hood.
A pair of boot prints dented into the middle, and as he slides his gaze back to the officer, the man produces a sticky note.
‘Don’t go down 8th street tonight. Someone is waiting in ambush.’
He hums, pursing his lips as he considers it.
Was the boy a vigilante after all? No… he’d know both sides of the story. Was he playing both sides?
“You ever get a name out of the kid?”
“We’ve started calling him Rabbit.” The cop replies. “Most of the time we see him, he’s jumping down from a building, usually onto our cars, and then bounding away once he drops off his note.”
Aizawa nods and can understand the nickname. It’s not… quite accurate, but he supposes you go off what you know. Rabbit.
He snorts.
If Rabbit wasn’t careful. He was going to get his little white cottontail black and filthy.