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Low clouds rushed over the treetops far above as laughter faded over the ridge.
From the bottom of a gully at the base of a gnarled ash, six year-old Midoriya Izuku watched the sky through a briar cage and shivered.
He had landed on a patch of brambles, but Izuku made no move to get up. If he did, the thorns would just puncture his hands and knees, and the others had known that. Kacchan had known it. Izuku didn't feel like putting up with that yet. So he laid there, watching the clouds skim the treetops, and tried not to cry.
He failed.
Closing his eyes tight, Izuku let the tears come, leaves rustling underneath him as his small shoulders shook with sobs. His friends were gone by now; he could cry as loud as he wanted. Izuku let the hurt build in his chest until he was wailing loud enough to block out the world.
This was how he failed to notice he wasn’t alone, until it was too late.
In between sobs, while Izuku was wiping his eyes, he blinked up and froze. Instead of the flat gray sky, there was a man staring back at him through the brambles.
Every stinging cut and scrape on Izuku's body seemed to vanish as his heart shot to his throat. He hadn’t heard any footsteps, and it was too late to try and run. Even without the thorns caging him in, the man could easily reach down and grab him from where he was standing.
So Izuku remained frozen on the ground, feeling like trapped prey. He stared up at the stranger. The stranger stared back—and he was strange. Izuku had never seen anyone quite like him. What blond hair hadn’t been tucked up into the knit cap on his head looked like it was trying to explode out of the bottom of it, and his skin lay tight enough over his skull that if he smiled, Izuku was sure it would tear. The thought made him shudder.
He was so focused on the man's appearance that he didn’t notice him cover his mouth, sunken eyes blown wide with some kind of emotion. Before Izuku could look any closer, the man blinked, lowered his hand, and waved down almost shyly. The dazed look in his eyes stayed the same as he mouthed 'hi'.
Izuku blinked; unsure of what to do, but through the rush of adrenaline in his body, he found himself waving back. The man beamed then, and it wasn’t frightening in the slightest. There was something so warm—almost sad in his silver-blue eyes, that Izuku suddenly felt more curious than worried.
“Do—do you need some help?“ the man asked. He was strangely softspoken, voice wavering a bit at the end. “I can get you out if you’d like. I didn’t mean to scare you. Truly.”
Izuku hesitated, brows furrowing at the stranger, who chuckled like rolling thunder. It was a frustratingly familiar sound. Izuku was certain he knew this man from somewhere. Maybe he was family? Or a preschool teacher he couldn’t remember...?
Still, Izuku wasn't sure, so he frowned up at the man.
“You’re a stranger,” he said matter-of-factly, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. “My mom told me not to talk to strangers!”
Izuku didn’t think about the possibility of angering his visitor until the words were already out, but no such thing happened. Instead, the man’s weathered face softened into a warm smile; like how Mom looked at him when he got overexcited.
“I’m sure she did...” he sighed, eyes falling shut. “You have a good mother.”
At that, Izuku’s frown turned contemplative. He needed to think. Rolling a jacket thread between his fingers, he focused on one faraway leaf clinging to a branch and let fly.
The man was a stranger; that much was certain. Even if he was old; even if he was nice, Izuku couldn’t deny it. And aside from that, the man could still be faking. He might look old, but what if he had a quirk that made him strong? Or fast? Or put Izuku to sleep? He could carry him off easily, then.
But if Izuku refused the man’s help, he would have to figure out how to get out of the gully on his own, which sounded dreadful. His back itched. He could feel every bramble digging through his skin and clothes.
Izuku had no idea where he was, either, and it would be dark soon—even sooner than normal with all the clouds. Besides; at the end of it all, he couldn’t force the man to leave, even if he did try to climb out on his own. He also might hurt the man's feelings if he was genuinely trying to help, and he already seemed a bit sad.
At some point the rustling of leaves above caught Izuku’s attention, and he looked up to see that the man was sitting cross-legged atop the ridge. His cheek rested in his palm, smiling so fondly that Izuku flushed.
“I mumbled,” he squeaked.
The man didn’t look annoyed. Instead, his soft chuckle was pure affection.
“Yes you did,” he said wistfully. “But—but I don’t mind! Not at all.”
For some reason, that only made Izuku blush deeper.
“So you know I’m having trouble deciding what to do, then.”
The man chuckled again. “Young man, I can't force you to trust me, but I can assure you I have no intention of carrying you off. And as for my quirk, I don't have one.”
Izuku narrowed his eyes. Somehow, that was the least believable part.
“How should I know?” he contested, surprising himself with how confident he felt. The huff of laughter he got in response was much less happy this time.
“You know,” the man sighed. “That's kind of the problem right now. You... You don't.” He tugged one wiry lock of hair poking from under his hat, looking pensive. “All I have are my words, I’m afraid, but I wish…” he trailed off, pushing his hands into his eyes. “... Oh, hell. I don’t know what I’m doing, do I?”
His words were heavy. Heavier even than when Mom had to explain that Dad had left home and wouldn't be coming back. Izuku tried to sit up, wincing at brambles that pierced effortlessly through his sleeves. He settled for laying back down again, sounding the words out carefully:
“Are… you alright?”
The man’s smile looked like it hurt.
“I don’t know.”
That gave Izuku pause. A long pause. The same must have been happening to the man, because he stared quietly down at nothing in particular for a long time.
He could have grabbed me twenty times by now if he wanted, Izuku thought, mind whirling. I think I do trust him, somehow… But what if I'm wrong?
Izuku remembered watching a wildlife documentary with Mom about the pit vipers in North America. How they waited, unseen, ready to strike at just the right moment. Mom had covered his eyes right before the rabbit got bitten.
Maybe that's what this man was doing. Maybe he was a viper, just waiting for the moment Izuku let his guard down. But the more Izuku looked at him, the more the man looked like a rabbit himself.
As if he'd read his mind, the man suddenly looked at Izuku again and solemnly laid a hand over his heart.
"I swear," he said, eyes pleading. "I swear on my mother's soul. I will not harm you."
Izuku's eyes widened, and before the worrier in him could provide its input, he found himself nodding.
It took a moment for the man to react, but Izuku didn't miss the shudder in his voice when he nodded back and said, "Alright."
With frail, birdlike hands, he gingerly pried back the mesh of thorns separating them and angled himself down into the gully. At first, Izuku reached for him, expecting to be pulled up, but instead the man leaned down and carefully slid his hands under Izuku's back.
Like he was lifting a baby from a cradle, he pulled Izuku out of his bed of brambles and tucked him securely to his chest.
Mom had always said to listen for a little voice that would tell him when something wasn't right—when to run, or fight like Hell (Izuku had gasped when she’d said ‘Hell’). Mom called it an 'intuition.'
Izuku mouthed each syllable silently, listening for it in the pit of his stomach that hurt whenever he got scared. Right now, he heard nothing. Izuku felt utterly safe in the man's arms. The large, warm hand on his back was testament to that.
When they climbed back out of the gully, the man didn't immediately put Izuku down.
"Can you walk?" he asked instead. Izuku was aware of an ache in the side of his knee (the one he'd landed on), but he nodded despite.
It can't be that bad, he thought as the man slowly set him down.
It was that bad.
With an involuntary yelp of pain, long arms scooped Izuku up before he could fall to his knees. The man sighed, muttering something under his breath that sounded like 'things never change.' Izuku didn't know what that was supposed to mean.
"Alright," the man said, setting Izuku down on a rock that looked like it had grown out of the earth. "Show me where it hurts."
Izuku blinked, head cocked to the side, but hesitantly rolled up the cuff of one of his sweatpants. He whimpered when he got to his scraped knee and felt fibers unsticking from his flesh. Deep punctures and cuts from the thorns marred the rest of his leg, too.
He was so focused on this that he nearly didn't notice the man take out a pocket-sized first aid kit and start rummaging through it. Izuku frowned.
"Why do you have all of that?"
The man's movements slowed, just barely.
"Just… in case," he finally muttered, not meeting Izuku's eyes. He picked out a small aerosol tin and began to shake it. "Would you give me your arm, please?"
Izuku bit his lip. He knew well the sting of saline spray, but he held out his arm resolutely. He'd had worse burns from Kacchan before. He could handle this.
"In... case?" Izuku asked, wincing as the vapor settled in his scrapes.
"… Yes," the man said, avoiding his eyes still. "In this world, you can never be too careful."
Once he finished doctoring the cut on his arm, the man moved on to his knees, dabbing the still-oozing gashes with cotton balls and alcohol. Izuku's fists curled into his shorts at the sting, and the man gave a displeased hum.
"Jeez, kiddo," he said sadly. "How'd you get so banged up, hm?" Izuku winced at the first touch of gauze, wringing the hem of his shirt.
“My… friends kicked me into the ditch,” he mumbled finally, tucking his chin. "They… I kept messing up our game. Every time I thought I had all the rules right, there were more…" In his heart of hearts, Izuku suspected they were just making up new ones to trip him up. He didn't say that, though. "I guess I'm just not good enough at playing…"
The man was quiet for a long time.
“They don’t sound like friends to me,” he finally said, something heavy and dangerous thrumming in his voice. Izuku's eyes widened.
“I—They didn’t mean—!” he stammered, clamping his mouth shut. Well, that was a lie. They had meant it. “They—They were just messing around! It was me! I’m the one who can’t keep up!”
If Izuku had blinked, he'd never have noticed the split second the man looked hurt. Then his brows furrowed in anger.
“They were not,” he growled, “just messing around. If they had been, they wouldn’t have lured you out here where no one could hear you, or changed the rules to make fun of you. To bully you. And to make you feel like you were deserving of it!” He paused, some of the steel melting from his voice. “And don’t say that about yourself,” he urged. “You're obviously a smart kid, and if anyone ever hurts or makes fun of you for any reason, they are not your friends.”
Despite himself, Izuku found himself nodding along obediently to what the man was saying, mouth agape.
Tirade over, the man sighed and stood from where he'd wrapped Izuku's leg in gauze.
"Can you walk?"
Izuku wrung his shirt again, but managed to slide off the rock. Thankfully, all he felt was a dull ache in his knee. He smiled, nodding. The man sighed.
"That's… good," he said, not sounding happy in the least. "Come on. I bet you came from that schoolyard east of here, right?"
Izuku's eyes widened, and he nodded again. At least school was over, so he wouldn't be getting in trouble for getting back so late. Bitterly, he knew that even if he vanished in the middle of the school day, it wasn't like the teachers would come looking for him.
The pair had been walking for a few minutes already, and the trees didn't seem to be thinning out at all. Izuku had no idea Kacchan and the others had led him so far out. Even if someone had come searching, they might not have found him.
But he found me, Izuku thought, glancing up at the man walking beside him. At the same time, the man looked away, shoulders hunched. Izuku's brows furrowed in thought.
Why? Why this man, who felt safe and comforting, even when they'd never met before?
Maybe that was it—maybe Izuku had seen him. Something about the man was infuriatingly familiar, though he couldn't place it. He assumed that maybe he'd seen the man somewhere and forgot it, but he was starting to doubt it. Izuku didn't think he would just forget someone as tall and odd-looking as this stranger.
But maybe he's not a stranger.
The thought caught Izuku off guard. It shouldn't have, but it did.
How many years has it been..?
It would explain a lot, but—
No, stop. That's stupid, he thought.
It couldn't be that, and besides—it would be terribly awkward if he was mistaken.
But Izuku looked up at the man—his wild hair and comforting, uncanny familiarity—and he couldn't help but wonder.
Oh well, he thought. If I am wrong, at least we'll be saying goodbye soon.
"Sir?" Izuku piped up. The man stopped short, blinking like he'd just woken from a dream.
"Yes, my boy?"
His eyes were kind. Izuku worried at his lip, looking sheepishly at the ground.
This is so stupid.
"Are…" he hedged regardless, finally blurting it out: "Are you my dad?"
Izuku instantly regretted asking when the man stumbled backwards and abruptly turned away. For several seconds he stayed like that, shoulders shaking. At one point, he pulled out a tissue and coughed violently into it.
Izuku thought of leaving, then—of finding his own way home, but something kept him rooted to the spot, like one of the trees surrounding them. When the man finally turned around, his eyes were wet.
Guilt slammed into Izuku. He had clearly said something wrong— but disbelief followed.
Was... Was he right?
But with a watery, agonized smile, the man shook his head.
"I am… not your biological father," he said in that almost-whisper people used when they were trying not to cry.
Izuku didn't know the exact definition of "biological" yet, but he understood the rest. With a faint pang of disappointment, Izuku's eyes returned to the ground.
"Oh... I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize, my boy." The man's voice was shaking so badly. "Don't apologize for anything."
They continued in silence, the man occasionally helping him through rougher parts of the woods. Izuku kept stealing glances at him, trying to see if he'd cheer up, but his heartbroken expression never wavered. Izuku couldn't remember seeing anyone so sad in his life.
“Sir?” he asked again.
The man’s eyes instantly softened when he turned back to Izuku—head cocked to the side inquisitively, and Izuku suddenly didn’t know how to ask the question burning in his mind. Adults had this way of making things sound better; more complex. Refined. Izuku didn’t have that skill yet, so he put it as delicately as he could.
“Why are you so sad?”
The man sputtered, clapping a hand over his mouth as a cough or two shook him. His smile was nervous when he pulled it away, and Izuku thought he saw red on his palm before he crammed it in his pocket.
“Ah… I’m that obvious, am I?” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with the other. Izuku just looked at him.
With a sigh so deep it rattled at the end, the man stepped over a fallen pine, turning to offer a hand. Without a second thought, Izuku grabbed it; following suit over the log. The man smiled, but the sadness returned to his face just as quickly.
They were quiet for a long while afterwards, leaves and pine needles crunching underfoot while deep lines formed between the man's darkened eyes. It occurred to Izuku that maybe the man was having as much trouble answering what he'd struggled to ask, and that made him feel just a little bit better. A bit less alone in his not-knowing what to do.
“Well,” the man finally said, drawing Izuku out of his thoughts. “I am sad because I—I’ve… lost someone.”
“In the woods?” Izuku queried.
The man huffed a weak laugh, ruffling Izuku’s hair with one giant hand before his smile fell again.
“No,” he said. “No, not quite.. He—They… passed away.”
A cold feeling spread through Izuku’s lungs. There was something almost worse about the way adults said ‘passed away’ instead of merely ‘died,’ as if what had happened was too awful to say out loud.
“Oh,” Izuku said quietly.
"Yeah..."
They went on.
Izuku didn’t know what it was like, death. He definitely knew what it looked like—had seen the urn Mom had pointed out at his grandmother's wake while people he didn’t know sniffled and sobbed all around them—but Izuku hadn’t felt death. No one he'd ever really known had died. And their apartment didn’t allow pets, so he hadn’t even experienced it that way—as some of his classmates had.
Izuku stole a glance at the man walking beside him, blue eyes looking very far away at something he couldn’t see.
Whatever death feels like, Izuku pondered, feeling increasingly sad himself, it must hurt a whole lot.
The man started when Izuku shyly reached up and took his hand, but the tearful smile he got in return could melt glaciers. Izuku had to look away before bony fingers squeezed and wove through his in kind.
That’s when it chimed in his head.
He loves me, Izuku realized with a sudden strangeness.
It was an unbidden thought—but once he thought it, it was hard to forget. Not when the man held Izuku's hand like this, or looked at him with a tenderness to rival Mom's. Timidly, Izuku squeezed back.
All too soon, the trees began to thin out, and the unbroken grass of the schoolyard peeked out between them.
"There it is!" Izuku cried, making to pull his new friend along, but was halted when the man suddenly stopped. When Izuku turned back, he looked sadder than ever.
"What's wrong?"
The man flinched.
"I… can't go any further," he said quietly, still holding tight to Izuku's hand. Maybe even tighter than before. The sudden bolt of sadness in his chest shocked him.
"What? Why not?" Izuku cried.
For a moment, the man closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. When he opened them again, something a bit harder lay behind his tears. "I just can't," he rasped thickly. "I have to go now, Izuku."
As soon as he said it, the man covered his mouth, eyes wide. He gasped something that sounded like a swearword.
Izuku was silent, staring up at him with his mouth open. He was certain he hadn’t told this man his name.
Izuku didn't think about it for long, though. For some reason, the thought of the stranger leaving made his chest hurt; like his heart was saying no.
"...Will I see you again?" Izuku asked.
"I can't tell you that."
"Then how do you know my name? What's your name?"
The man wavered. "I… can't tell you that, either."
"Then what can you tell me?" he pleaded, yanking the man's arm by his hand. Hot tears of frustration finally broke loose, rolling down his cheeks along with an unwelcome hiccup.
Izuku didn’t want the man to leave; he’d just met him. And yet—and yet—he felt like he’d known him forever. Something about the shape of his face, the gentleness in his eyes, the warm, rumbling comfort of his voice. Though Izuku hadn’t talked to him for even an hour, he couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving.
“… What can you tell me?” he whimpered, grabbing his friend's shirt.
The man's eyes widened, looking directly at Izuku for the first time in a few minutes. Then he looked away, but not fast enough for Izuku to miss the tear that traced down his bony cheek.
Wiping his eyes, the man let go of Izuku's hand and knelt with a shaky sigh. Even then, Izuku had to look up to see his face. Up close, it was easier to see how red and puffy his shadowed eyes were; dark circles beneath them vying for room. Izuku's stomach dropped. How long had this man been crying?
His heart quickened when two giant hands came up to cup his face, gently thumbing the tears from his cheeks. That achingly soft look was back, and his voice was somehow softer.
"I can tell you that if anyone says you shouldn't dream, they are a fool." His eyes harden a bit, beneath the pain. "And I mean anyone. Even..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "Even your heroes. You deserve to chase dreams, Izuku. No one can ever deny you that."
Izuku blinked, staring incredulously at the man whose hands were still gently caressing his cheeks.
"… And," he continued, looking down as his shoulders began to shake again. "And I can tell you that… that you're loved. I…" His voice broke, and he bit his lip so hard it turned white. "There are so… so many people who love you, Izuku."
Eyes stinging again, Izuku made the final push forward, closing the scant distance between them. If his mom were here, she’d probably say he was being rude, but Izuku didn’t care. The man's torso was thin enough to wrap his arms all the way around, and it shuddered with a startled sob against his cheek. Then long arms wrapped around him like a safety blanket, pulling him closer, and something fit into place in Izuku's chest.
He could feel it when the man burst into tears, blubbering fragments of sentences Izuku could only half-understand. The rest was either English or too distraught to make out. Izuku squeezed harder around his middle, feeling the man's heartbeat through his dampening shirt. Then Izuku felt him pull away, gently pushing back his bangs.
The man hesitated for a moment before leaning down to kiss Izuku's forehead. When he eventually stood, only one hand remained, cupping his tear-stained cheek.
Stunned, Izuku stared up at his not-father—this stranger who felt nothing like a stranger at all—who looked back with such grief and love in his eyes that it hurt.
One last tear rolled down Izuku's cheek, and the man brushed it away without hesitation.
Then he was gone.
Izuku blinked, gasping at the wind on his face where the man's warm hand was resting a moment ago. He spun around, scanning frantically through the trees, but part of him knew it was useless to look. The man was gone, just as he'd said, and Izuku knew deep in his heart that it was to a place he couldn't follow.
Maybe he’s dead, too, he thought morosely. Maybe he was never here to begin with.
Fresh tears stung his eyes, but Izuku blinked them away, turning back to the treeline with his back straight. The man's electric eyes and wild hair were fresh in his mind. He'd draw him when he got home... and then draw him again. Maybe when he was older, too—when he could get it right. Izuku wanted to get it right.
Whoever he was, that man had obviously loved him. The least Izuku could do was love him a little bit back.
And if he was dead, well… Izuku just hoped he found whoever he was looking for.
"I held him," Yagi murmured again, disbelief in his voice as he smiled tearfully into a tissue.
"You did far more than that," Shouta grumbled. The stormy looks his other colleagues shot him bounced off. "Oh don't look at me like that! You can't all stand there and pretend that this might not have consequences."
Yagi hung his head, and Shouta saw Nemuri bend to touch his shoulder.
"You can't blame him, man," Hizashi mumbled in his ear. Shouta's brow ticked.
"The hell I can't."
"Shouta, for God's sake," Nemuri finally huffed, standing to step between him and Yagi. "Are you physically incapable of showing some sympath—"
"I'm the one trying to save the damn kid!" Shouta shot back, ignoring her flinch. "I can't help it if the rest of you don't see how this is a problem!"
"Then tell me, O wise one, what the hell are we supposed to do about it?" Nemuri crowed. Then she sobered, heaving a sigh. "All he wanted was to see his kid..."
"Well let's hope that same kid's still around ten years after this stunt," Shouta growled, spitting the last word as he paced the asphalt.
Just pull him out of a briar patch. Couldn't follow one goddamn…
"He asked me if I was his father."
Yagi's hoarse rasp was almost too quiet to hear. Silence, save the wind, slammed down like a hammer.
"You didn't," Shouta said, eyes wide enough to sting. Yagi's ghost of a smile fell slightly, but it didn't disappear. It hadn’t for much of the conversation; plastered on the man’s bony face simply because he didn't know what else to do. Shouta had only witnessed the man break down once.
Yagi shook his head, and two slow tears rolled regardless.
"No," he sighed, voice on the verge of breaking. "I didn't. But there was a moment before I answered… where I thought, maybe…" he trailed off and hiccupped, shaking his head again. He covered his eyes with a trembling hand. "It was nice. For a moment, it…" Yagi’s smile fell as his voice finally broke, more tears trailing down. “It nearly killed me,” he wept.
A fourth person on the rooftop stood then; long tail uncurling from around his folded legs.
"That's quite enough," Nezu said, clipped and monotone as ever. His dark eyes fixed briefly on Shouta before turning to address the rest of them. "I've evaluated this, and I can say with confidence that Toshinori's mistake should not endanger the mission."
A ripple of relieved sighs spread throughout the group. Against the wall, Yagi sagged with a shuddering sob.
"Oh thank God," he whispered brokenly. "Thank God..."
Shouta wasn't going to pretend he wasn't guilty. Hell, all of them were drowning in regret right now, but damn it—he was worried, too. Why did everyone have to demonize him because he could shelve his emotions for the task at hand?
More guilt strangled him. More grief. Shouta stamped it all down. He wasn't about to lose himself to mourning; not yet.
Not while there's still a chance, he thought.
Against the wall, Yagi held his head in his hands, and the three of them watched as Nezu crossed the rooftop to lay a reserved paw on his arm. The man didn't even flinch.
"We'll save him," was all Nezu offered. "But we must keep going, Toshinori. And we must be careful." Yagi peeked up at him from between his frail arms. Shouta could see it plainly; Yagi knew as well as any of them that the chimera was right.
They had to keep going.
Shaking and devastated, Yagi scrubbed his eyes and nodded.
"I'm alright now," he said. "I'll be alright. Let's go."
A minute later, the rooftop stood empty, save the tears left behind.