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Detective Tsukauchi wanted to quit.
He was done.
So done.
If they wouldn’t let him quit, then he’d demand a transfer.
Because this was bullshit.
“How the fuck haven’t you caught them yet?”
The officers standing before him shift slightly, sheepish looks passing between them like school children caught playing hooky. Tsukauchi continued rubbing his temples, screwing his face up in a sour expression as he watched the patrol feed for the tenth time in 5 minutes.
Finally, one of the braver, or more foolish, officers clears his throat, “To be fair, they’re pretty fast, Detective.”
Tsukauchi stops his rubbing.
He looks up.
The officer winces and ducks his head at the look he sends him.
Then, in a growingly aggressive voice, Tsukauchi growls, “They. Are. Literally. Jumping over your squad cars!” just as he say’s it, the looped patrol feed shows the two newly debuted vigilante’s vaulting over aforementioned patrol cars, hands skimming the roofs while flashing peace signs to the gawping officers before disappearing down a side street a few yards away. Tsukauchi snarls at the screen, knowing those gestures were for him specifically, before turning his glare back to his fidgeting men, “Put up a net and catch them like fish, for Kami’s sake!”
Someone in the back coughs, obviously catching a laugh, and the Detective’s face grows feral.
Seeing this, the officers part to make a direct path to the poor fool who dared giggle at the man’s plight. Seeing the sheepish look on the young officers face, Tsukauchi feels an eyebrow twitch in annoyance before snapping a waspish “What?!”
“Well,” the officer chuckles a little, “we tried that sir.”
His partner, who stands beside him, shrugs, “They just jumped higher.”
Its quiet a beat.
Then…
“GET OUT!”
___
Tsukauchi stares up at the building vacantly, face slack and hands limp at his sides. Squad cars are blocking off both sides of the streets, making sure no news crews could make their way to the scene. That was for the best, considering the shitshow this was going to be without the media’s input.
Not to mention the paperwork…
Turning away from the bright neon lights and still dripping metallic paint, Tsukauchi speaks in a deadened tone to his cat-headed partner standing a few inches to his right.
“How…”
Sansa blinks long and slow at him, ears set at an exhausted angle, “We don’t know sir.”
“…” Tsukauchi turns back to look up at the Hero’s Commission billboard set on the office building, this one featuring Endeavor in all his flaming glory.
Except now there’s a crude, cartoonish dumpster painted around him in glittering silver spray paint with the words ‘a dumpster fire with a consciousness’ along with other paraphernalia plastered all across the board, the edges of which are decked out in flashing neon Christmas lights that point a blinking arrow straight to the vandalized property without a problem.
There’s a moment of silence, in regard to their now nonexistent break time, before Sansa speaks up again.
Hesitantly.
“Should we…?”
“That would be expected.”
___
It’s a mild day at the office, various officers at their desks filling out patrol reports while the com center creates a general hum in the background of street names and incident numbers for patrolling vehicles. It’s comfortable. Quiet. Calm.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!”
At least it was…
Heads pop up around and over cubicle walls across the floor like meerkats, all looking towards the break room where their lead Detective is cursing and growling as he mops up his spilled coffee and proceeds to dump his mug out.
Sansa watches with mild interest from the doorway, left ear twitching back as he asks, “What happened this time?”
But Tsukauchi doesn’t answer, just continues to mop up his ruined drink before throwing a plastic container at the cat officer.
Curious, and feeling similar looks burning into his back, Sansa opens the container (which is labeled Sugar) and takes a sniff.
Ah, salt.
That explains it.
But also raises another question…
“How the fuck did they even fucking GET IN HERE???”
___
“How can you tolerate them, Eraser?”
Pausing, to-go coffee an inch from his lips, the Erasure Hero turns curiously to the Detective, “Who says I do?”
Tsukauchi blinks, looking over at his long time stake-out partner from where he sits in the driver’s seat. They were currently on watch over a supposed smuggling warehouse, and were waiting for the signal from two trouble makers dressed as illegal heroes. The Detective blinks again as the hero takes a long, loud, slurp of his coffee, never breaking eye contact as he asks in a dead voice, “What?”
Eraser just huffs at that, shaking his head, “You’ll learn, with Jump and Punch,” he shrugs, “can’t catch them, join them.” At Tsukauchi’s incredulous look, the hero ducks a chuckle into his scarf before continuing, “They’re pretty tolerable when they don’t feel threatened.” He hums, nodding towards the warehouse out the front window, “And must I say, they feel quite threatened by you.”
Something about how he says it draws the Detective’s attention back to the warehouse. Where he sees two dark figures sneaking through the top windows to the building, carrying what looks like…
“How the fuck did they even get that???”
___
The Detective grits his teeth painfully as he guns the engine of his patrol car. He forces his grip on the steering wheel to be loose and malleable, knowing that too firm a grip would impair his ability for quick decisions as he focuses solely on the tail-lights of that damned motorcycle.
Yes, motorcycle.
The bastards have a motorcycle now!
>Detective< Tsukauchi twitches at the crackle, grip jerking on the wheel slightly in surprise, >requested ETA for blockade<
“30 seconds. Have the shield up as soon as you have a visual!” Kami, today might be it…
>Copy that, sir<
His grip tightens on the wheel as the street turn comes up, the police blockade directly in front of the two’s path forcing them to turn…
… just a bit more…
The rev of the motorcycle and the vigilante’s are careening to the right.
Just a bit more…
The final blockade comes into view…
JUST A BIT MORE…
The scream of the engine echoes in the high rise street.
And before Tsukauchi can process it, the motorcycle is swerving to the side, kicking off the curb onto a bench, onto a trash can, off the wall, over the blockade…
Tsukauchi hits the brakes, cursing up a storm as maniacal laughter echoes around the street as the quirk cast net comes up a second too late to catch them. The squeal of tires is louder as they hit the ground beyond the blockade, and speed away.
Jumpsuit laughing all the way.
___
It’s during one of his designated breaks at the station, and Tsukauchi is worn thin.
The holiday season is always like this, with more robberies and muggings happening with the shopping rush and sudden influx of street accidents and disturbances. His men are being worn just as thin, many not returning to the station for reports between each call, simply taking notes of incidents on government issued phones or even sticky notes they put on the dashboard to be compiled later after their shift.
Not to mention the stress of late night shopping for their own families that have to be made after or before the rushes, wearing down their resolve and energy every holiday season.
And so, like a good boss, Tsukauchi makes it his own responsibility to take care of his men, and take on shifts they can’t due to burn out or familial obligations.
So, here he is, walking down a park pathway a few blocks from the station, trying to wind down and take a break from the rush so he can focus more into his late night shift coming up in about an hour.
Sighing, the Detective settles himself heavily onto a park bench, trench coat protecting him from the damp coldness of the metal, and lets his head fall back to look at the sky.
It’s overcast tonight. Chance of snow is 80%.
His stomach growls, reminding him he’s only had an egg over a bowl of rice today in the wee hours of morning. But it’s too late to go get food, all the shops closed for the holiday, and he’s too far from a convenience store or vending machine to want to go get something.
Oh well.
The shuffle of footsteps reach his ears, but he doesn’t open his eyes, instincts telling him it isn’t a threat, and just continues to rest his eyes for the spare minutes he’s allowed.
“H’yellow, Tsuka!” He groans at the familiar, static filled voice, “Enjoyin’ this crispy weather?”
Tsukauchi doesn’t even open his eyes. “Not to seem rude, but can you leave?” his voice is raw from radioing incident reports, his limbs feel heavy from constantly switching between standing and sitting and driving and moving… “I’d like to ignore your existence and just sit without stress right now, thank you very much.”
“Awwww,” a body settles heavily into the space to Tsukauchi’s right, cloth sleeves snagging on his leather jacket, “and when I went to get ya a X-mas present early? Such dis-re-gard!”
That makes the Detective pause, blinking open his eyes to look over at the blue and black vigilante sitting beside him warily, “A present?” at his prompting, the vigilante seems to perk up, before brandishing a to-go coffee cup out in front of his face. Going cross-eyed briefly, Tsukauchi snatches the cup out of Jumpsuits hand and holds it suspiciously in his lap. Another body settles down to his left, but he doesn’t look up as he mumbles, “What did you put in this?”
“Nothin’!” the Detective turns distrusting eyes to the vigilante even as his quirk pings truth in the back of his mind, and they put their hands up quickly, “Honest! The barista was too stressed for me to feel justified in screwing with their hard work.”
Sucker Punch chuckles from where they lounge in their seat, arm thrown over the back of the bench across Tsukauchi’s shoulders and nods along with their partner, “Poor thing looked like they were going to pass out from the rush.” With that, they rummage in their coat for a moment, the green fabric making a scratchy sound against their leather clad hands, before they pull out a grease stained paper bag.
They hold it out to the Detective, who eyes it like it’s a venomous snake.
“What’s that?”
Sucker Punch pauses, hand wavering slightly as they tilt their helmeted head slightly, “Sandwiches?”
Before Tsukauchi can say anything to that, Jumpsuit is reaching around him to snatch the bag from their partner, ripping the paper open to grab the foil wrapped bundles inside. They pass one bundle to Sucker Punch, who unlatches the bottom of their helmet to start chewing on what looks like a cheese and onion sandwich inside, before handing a second one to Tsukauchi.
Tentatively, the Detective takes the sandwich, which he notices is still warm, and the blue vigilante hops quietly in their seat as they take the last sandwich and start munching on it.
Feeling a bit bewildered, Tsukauchi unwraps his foil bundle, finding it to be a ham, turkey, and swiss grill pressed sandwich on sourdough his favorite before taking a small bite out of it.
It’s delicious.
He takes a hesitant sip from his cup.
Hot cider with cinnamon.
It’s delicious.
So, there he sits, Jumpsuit humming Christmas tunes as they munch on their sandwich to his right, swinging their feet and dancing lightly in place, Sucker Punch taking sips of their own cider as they lounge deeper into the bench with their helmet tilted up to watch the sky on his left.
He’s finished his sandwich, cider half gone, when there’s an excited chirp from Jumpsuit, prompting the Detective to look up from his hands to the sky.
Where the first little flurries of Christmas snow is starting to fall.
And, filled with warm food and drink, sandwiched on both sides by familiar bodies and peaceful silence, Naomasa can’t help but smile gently at the sight.
“Thanks, you two.”
Jumpsuit cheers quietly, leaning over to bump shoulder gently with the man, “Merry Christmas!”
And, letting out his own chuckle, he leans to bump shoulders back, letting a wide, contented smile crease his eyes as he looks back up to the opening sky.
“Merry Christmas.”