Work Text:
Verse 1
Eraserhead’s breath came in ragged clouds, his fingers numb as he rubs them against his chest. It was nearing the midnight hours, and the temperature dropped to below freezing at this point. Far below freezing. He’s just straightening up, limbs protesting any movement in the sharp chill when his earpiece crackles to life.
>Radioed Eraserhead, sir<
“Yes?”
>Coast bound ice storm is scheduled to head your way in 30 minutes. All underground are to be sent home to wait it out<
“Understood. Thank you.”
>Merry Christmas<
“Merry Christmas”
Eraserhead grunts, sending out his capture scarf to a nearby building support in prep to head home. But then movement caught his eye in an alley below.
In the hours that he’d been patrolling the colder and colder city, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of anyone lingering about. No one in their right mind would be out this late. Not even the homeless lingered out of shelters or far from company.
So, following only briefly from the rooftops, where the air started to prickle his skin with the onset of the storm, he hops down into the side streets in prep for a scolding.
He didn’t expect to get a chain to the face.
Ducking down low, Eraserhead barely had time to leap out of the way of the next attack swinging at him. He dodges and jumps and moves around the chains that seem to know what he’s thinking, before he spied a fire escape only a story above him.
He got to it quickly, wincing at the resounding slam that echoed in the high wall path from the chain meeting metal stair, and finally caught a “close up” of the person.
The short person.
In a gas mask and ratty wool overcoat.
Fuck.
“Kusari Rogue!” the hero pulls his wool face mask from his mouth, hands up and palms out, “Hold off your attack kid, it’s just me.”
“What dO yOU want, ‘razzzzzer?” the vigilante’s screwy voice modulator vibrates through the air, a heavy cloud of steam hissing from the vents in his mask. Eraserhead frowns, body relaxing slightly, though he doesn’t leave his protective metal cage as he calls down.
“I should be asking you that, Rogue. Kids like you shouldn’t be out in weather like this.” As if to make his point, a particularly sharp draft of ice laden air whips through the alley, making the pro shudder and kid stumble a bit. The hero eyes the grip Rogue’s got on his chains, noting how his hands are wrapped in what looks like stripped t-shirts, and frowns.
“You have gloves, kid?”
Rogue bristles, shoulders hunching and back curving as he snaps the chains on the frozen pavement, “Stop calling meeee kid, ‘razzzer. I’m not onnne of yOUr hOpelezzzzz zzztu-u-u-udentz.” Eraserhead just raises an eyebrow at that, refusing to rise to the bait as he watches Rogue. The vigilante huffs a bit more, the ends of his chain breaking down ice and stone by his feet until another icy wind screams past. This time, Eraser sees the whole body shudder run through the kid, and they rub at their arms a bit dejected as the mutter, “NO. I gave tttthem tO Obaasan when herzz got dropped in tttthe firepit.”
Eraserhead grunts, thinking on the homeless communities scattered around the city. Musutafu has one located in an abandoned train car lot, and they have one large community ‘firepit’ they tend to every winter. The thing is loaded with burnable trash and scraped clothing that won’t serve any function anymore, and the low orange flames can heat the entire compound for the coldest nights.
Well, ‘heat’ as in everything is lukewarm and barely above freezing.
But it’s better than outside.
Another icy wind snaps him out of his thoughts, and he notices the kid starting to shift on his feet, trying to warm himself up more. An idea pops into his head, and even though he can already hear the nagging he’ll get about it, he decides to go for it. Standing up to look over the railing, he calls down, “I’m coming down, Rogue. Don’t attack.” he waits a beat, until Rogue has wound the chains back up under his sleeves, before vaulting over the railing back to the ground. He straightens, notes the wary set of the boy’s shoulders, before jerking his head to follow and turning away with a brusque, “Come on.”
Rogue jerks back, a growl in his fuzzy voice, “Like fuck am I follOwing yOU, ‘razzzzer.” Eraserhead turns at the curse, lifting a brow as he scans the shivering vigilante with waning patience. The kid huffs, vents spewing heavy steam as the lenses of his mask glow an eerie red, “I dOn’t neeeed a babysat, and I dOn’t neeed nO hOme eiiitther. You tthiiink I’ll cave tO revvvvealin’ myzzzelf just cuz zome cOld, yOU got another ttthing comin’.”
At that, Eraserhead heaves a sigh. Of course, that’s what the kid thinks. It’s been almost a year since he’s been on the streets, but only about a month since he’s allowed Eraserhead even on the same roof as him, let alone close to trusting him. He did chase him pretty hard early on, but that’s because the boy looks so young, it’s got something bitter rising in his chest thinking about it. But he shouldn’t complain. Rogue hasn’t physically lashed out at him, so that’s a plus. If anything, it’s more than he honestly expected from the vigilante.
So, instead, he pockets his frozen hands and turns to fully face the kid, keeping his face up above his scarf so he can see his expression, he starts again.
“I’m not turning you in kid, and I don’t expect you to unmask where we’re going.” He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, body trembling harder as another, heavier gust of icy wind slams into his back, “It’s an… old friends place. They help vigilantes all the time with food and clothing, especially in winter. Which you need, despite what you may think.”
With that, he turns back in the direction he needs, and starts walking. He doesn’t hurry, the place he’s thinking isn’t actually that far, but he’s also giving the kiddo time to decide while also putting him on a limit. The kid can run, go to wherever he lives and weather the storm there, or he can follow, sate his curiosity at least, and find a hot meal and warm shelter at best.
Eraserhead is just rounding the corner of the alley when he hears the shuffling of steps behind him, and he hides a triumphant smirk in his scarf.
Now for the hard part.
~o~
He met her up in Delaware in 1937.
She was wearing red lipstick
To match her pretty dress.
~o~
Aizawa and Rogue linger at the picket fence to a two story townhouse.
It’s a simple thing, dark wood and concrete, glass two pane windows on both levels, an awning over the front door and a small seating area left vacant in the colder winter months.
Rogue turns his mask up, lenses glaring orange in a nearby streetlamp.
“Izz a houzze.”
Eraserhead raises a brow, looking down too far down at the vigilante, “What were you expecting?”
Rogue shrugs, shoving his hands deep under his armpits in an attempt to warm them, “A Havvven HOme.”
The hero huffs, stepping into the yard as he inquires, “What are those?”
He knows what they are, and Rogue knows he knows, but the question still earns a snort and a brief moment of relaxation as they follow with a bit of snark.
“Izz where ttthe ottther hOmeless kiddO’zz are riiiight now. Fiiind ‘em yOUrzzelf.” And he can’t help but smirk at that, expecting the passive aggression, and stops under the awning. The kid stops just before it, staying in the shadows left by the awning light, as he scans the house for the umpteenth time. “ZzzO whO’z thizz friend of yOUrzz and dO ttthey actUally ex-x-x-pect yOU tO briiing home a criiiiminnal?”
Frowning, Eraserhead presses the doorbell before turning back to the kid, “You’re not a criminal kid.” There’s a shout from inside, turning the hero’s attention back to the door and away from the hunching kid, “You’re just trying your best with what you’ve got.”
Whatever argument that’s building in the kid, because the hero can feel the argument building, it’s stopped as the door opens to flood the yard with gold light.
A man towers against the door frame, shaggy indigo hair pulled back into a half bun and plum colored eyes hidden behind wire rimmed glasses. But both visitors can see him blink, then he straightens with a bemused “Shouta?”
And Aizawa can’t help the fond smile lighting his features as he greets him with a gentle, “Hey, Yuu.”
The man blinks, a small smile of his own growing as he crosses his arms lazily, “What are you…” but then his eyes flicker to behind Aizawa, and he pauses. Aizawa can hear Rogue shifting behind him, but doesn’t turn his gaze away from Yuu. And eventually, those perpetually tired eyes turn back to him, and he sighs at the raised brow he finds on the hero’s face. He steps to the side, waving further into the house, “Right, I’ll get some water on for tea.”
Then he’s walking back in, leaving the door wide open for his visitors.
Aizawa steps into the house, not looking back, but still smiling privately when he hears a grumble and a shuffle follow into the brightly lit genkan. The door closes behind Rogue, but Aizawa notes he doesn’t lock it. Good. At least the kid is still smart about it.
Not that the man would stop the kid if he wanted to leave.
Aizawa barely has time to toe off his boots and step into the hallway, though, before he’s being tackled by a blur of giggling purple.
“Sho-oji! Sho-oji!” Aizawa grunts as he lifts the squirming 7 year old onto his hip, small smile growing as the boy giggles and tugs gently at his long hair as bright lavender eyes sparkle gleefully, “You came to visit! You came to visit! How are you? Did you bring me anything? Are you here for otousan? Or kaasan? How’s Zashi and Nemi? And your kitties and–”
“Breath, Hitoshi. Let your ojiisan talk.” Aizawa turns away from the frantic child to look tiredly at Yuu, who’d returned from further in the house with two mugs in hand. The other man smiles smugly and just continues on his way into the living room, just as a female voice calls from the kitchen.
“You should have told me you were coming over, Shouta.” A lavender haired woman with silver blue eyes peeked around the corner, “I would have made sure to…” she stops, eyes flickering to the second body in the entry hall. She blinks. Then smiles warmly. “Well, hello. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
Hitoshi whips in the same direction, gravity defying purple hair smacking against Aizawa’s face as he looks over his shoulder to Rogue, who’s still lingering in the genkan.
It’s quiet a pause, the vigilante shifting from foot to foot, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm up, before he reaches up to pull at a small lip on the side of his mask. And when he speaks, the modulator had quieted to a dull white noise over his voice.
“The journals call me Kusari Rogue, ma’am.”
The woman blinks, stepping fully around the corner to show a soft grey sweater under a flour spattered apron and rabbit slippers as she smiles wider at the vigilante. “Nice to finally meet you Rogue-kun! Shouta speaks very highly of you.”
“Does he now?” Aizawa rolls his eyes at the smug grin in the boy’s voice, making his way into the living room with Hitoshi craning over his shoulder to keep his wide silver lavender eyes on the new person.
The new person who steps hesitantly further into the room.
~o~
December 24 at a quarter till 11's
When he finally gained the courage
To ask her to dance.
~o~
Aizawa sneaks quiet glances over as Rogue eats.
Sora had come out with large bowls of leftover ramen and rice, setting the steaming bowls in front of the hero and vigilante respectively, giving Rogue a gentle smile, then ordered them to eat before flitting back to the kitchen.
To his credit, Rogue only hesitated a minute before taking a tentative bite of the food.
Then a sip of the hot cocoa Yuu had brought.
Before digging in with gusto.
Aizawa was already eating by that time, keeping his dark eyes down and away to give the kid privacy as he unclipped the bottom half of his mask to eat. He didn’t want to outright stare at him, not wanting to chase him off with unwanted attention.
Hitoshi, on the other hand, held no qualms.
So, with the subtlety of any 7 year old, the purplette stared openly at Rogue as if he were an alien come to earth. And, well, seeing as the only hero’s the kids been exposed to were off duty and not really wearing outrageous outfits anyways, Rogues getup of gasmask, trench coat, and chain bandolier would look fascinating.
So much that it took the kid only 5 minutes before exploding.
“Are you a hero?” Rogue stops, chopsticks raised partway from bowl to mouth, and shakes his head.
“Are you a hero student?” another head shake, but with noodles in his mouth.
“Are you a study?” another shake, chopsticks stirring the broth in the bowl.
“How old are you?” a shrug.
“I’m 7. I’m still in grade school but I can’t wait to go to middle school soon. Are you in middle school? High school? It’s hard to tell with the mask, but you’re tall enough to be in high school? I think? Do you like school? I like school, because you can learn things and I like learning things but I also don’t like school because there are meanies there but it’s okay because my otousan’s great and my kaasan’s great and my ojisan is great and they help me and I guess that makes up for it unless you don’t have good kaasan or otousan then it wouldn’t be fun because there are a lot of meanie’s at school and—”
“Hitoshi, breathe.” Yuu looks fondly at his son as the boy chokes on his words, dragging in a breath, then two, wide eyes still locked on the frozen Rogue sitting on the couch. At some point in the interrogation, the boy had scooched closer and closer until he was gripping the arm of the couch, chin resting between his hands. Now he presses his nose against the faded blue fabric, wide eyes peeking over the edge as Rogue looks over at him with flickering yellow lenses.
It’s quiet for a bit, before Yuu clears his throat and Rogues attention snaps to the adult immediately. The man smiles sheepishly, plum eyes gentle even with the black shadows under his eyes, “You don’t have to answer anything, by the way. Hitoshi has a bit of a motor mouth on him at home, and with new people. Shouta’s talked about you a bit during visits, and Hitoshi is ever curious about you whenever your name is mentioned in the news.” The man chuckles as Hitoshi sinks further to the ground, whining as a his ears turn pink, “It’s not every day you meet a notorious vigilante like yourself.”
Rogue hums, lips pressing into a line as he shifts a bit on the couch, before he bends back down to continue eating. And Aizawa has to stifle his sigh of relief, at least the kids not running.
Hitoshi keeps watching him, though, and Rogue obviously keeps an eye on him, but doesn’t say or indicate anything that outwards says he’s uncomfortable. If anything, the vigilante relaxes more as the conversation between adults turns away from him, and leaves him with the lavender kid who watches him with rapt attention.
Then the kid perks up, eyes widening impossibly more, and he scampers away.
Rogue pauses a moment, but then keeps eating, finishing his bowl just as Sora comes back into the living room with a tray of fresh spritz cookies.
She smiles gently as she replaces Rogue and Aizawa’s empty bowls with cookies, retreating to put them in the sink before rejoining them in the warming living room. She joins in on Yuu and Aizawa’s discussion on happenings at Yuu’s hospital, inputting her own recent stories about the clinic she was assigned that month. The atmosphere is warm, gentle, familiar. And even though he remains quiet, fading into the background of chatter and chuckles and the smell of hot cocoa and cookies, Rogue seems to just… fit.
Then Hitoshi careens back into the room, a wide smile on his face and a black bundle in his arms.
“Lookit what my otousan got me!” and the boy plants himself directly in front of Rogue, holding out a small black kitten out to him with a proud grin.
It’s silent.
Then…
Mrew.
And Rogue melts.
His mask is fully on at the moment, but all lingering tension in his shoulders just flows away as he sags in the couch, leaning forward a bit, hand reaching out to gently rub a finger between the kitten’s ears, and a small sound comes from the vigilante’s mask that has Aizawa smiling secretly into his scarf.
It’s just so soft.
Hitoshi smiles wider, shuffling forward a bit more, “His name is Ko, and otousan got him for me for Christmas!” he gasps, making Rogue twitch, but then the kid leans forward to stage whisper, “I know tomorrow is actually Christmas but otousan say’s the shelters are closed so he wanted to give him to me today because he didn’t want to wrap him. I agree.”
Rogue tilts his head, curiously, fingers still brushing over the purring kittens head, and nods sagely.
“That’s a good plan. Smart.”
Hitoshi’s smile grows impossibly wider at that.
“Of course it’s smart! My otousan is the smartest, and bestest at his job, too!” Aizawa casts a smirk at Yuu, seeing the man cough behind a fist as his cheeks turn pink. “Oh! He’s also really really nice! He helps the people we pass when going to café’s who don’t have food or gloves or blankets or have coughs and he does it free and that’s even after work!” at this point, Hitoshi is vibrating where he stands, clutching Ko tightly to his chest as he stares up at Rogue with shining eyes, his father growing redder by the second behind him. Sora giggles behind her hand as Aizawa smirks at his brother’s plight, keeping one eye on Rogue and his nephew while also finishing his coffee.
The kids still going.
“Oh he’s also really strong and good and amazing especially because of everything he does because he can’t sleep!” Rogue tilts his head again, obviously confused and Hitoshi nods quickly, “Yeah that’s his quirk! He can’t sleep! Doesn’t need to either! It’s so cool! I wish I had a quirk like that!” and then those lavender eyes are lifting back to Rogue where they’d drifted to Ko, and Aizawa stills as he sees the vigilante stiffen, “Rogue-san, what’s your quirk?”
For a moment, the hero can’t heat Rogue breathing, and he feels fear creep into him.
Then Rogue is standing, slowly, resolutely, stiffly.
“It’s about time I left. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
Sora stands as well, worry in every line of her body as she moves a step to follow the vigilante, “Nonsense, dear. You can stay however long you want.”
But the boy shakes his head, already starting to wrap his hands back up in the T-shirt strips as he replies, “Thank you, but I really should be leaving. Thank you for the meal.”
But Sora isn’t listening, eyes trained on the scraps of cloth tied sloppily around calloused fingers and blunted nails. Then she holds out a hand as if to rest it on Rogue’s shoulder, but doesn’t as the boy flinches. Instead, she bites her lip, then holds up a finger, “Wait there dear, I need to get something.”
And she rushes out of the room, Aizawa mentally nodding as he guesses as to where as he stands to accompany Rogue towards the genkan. Yuu follows after as well, silent, a gentle hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder as the boy droops in disappointment. Aizawa stops in front of Rogue, nodding at the kid, and when Rogue looks down, he flinches a bit when the boy looks up with teary eyes.
“I’m sorry.” And Aizawa’s heart cracks at the waver in the kids voice, the delicate strand that is that whisper. But, surprisingly, Rogue acts first, kneeling down to be eye level with the boy, and tilts his head to one side.
“Why?”
Hitoshi sniffles, burying his nose in Ko’s fur as he mumbles, “I asked you a bad question, and made you uncomfy. I’m sorry.”
Rogue pauses, body leaning a bit that told Aizawa he’s making a face under the mask. But not bad, no, especially when his answer is hesitant and pained and regretful in all the ways, “It… wasn’t a bad question. It was a smart question, and isn’t your fault.”
Hitoshi shakes his head violently, tears starting to flow as he gasps out, “But you’re leaving because of me, and –” he chokes on his words, and then there are gentle hands on his cheeks, calloused thumbs swiping under red rimmed eyes, and Rogue is just so gentle, that Aizawa is looking up at Yuu with shocked eyes and hesitant thoughts.
“It’s not because of you, kiddo.” And Hitoshi sniffles, but Rogue keeps up the gentle touch, the slight swipes under his eyes, “I just can’t stay. I have someone important I need to see, and I was on my way when your ojiisan dragged me here.” At that, Hitoshi’s eyes flicker to Aizawa, but then a gentle tap on his cheek brings his attention back to Rogue as he emphasizes, “It’s not your fault.”
And he keeps up the gentle hold on boy’s face, keeps his gaze solid even behind his goggles, until Hitoshi nods meekly. He still mutters out another, “I don’t want you to go, though.” As Rogue ruffles his hair and gently runs a finger on Ko’s head. The vigilante sighs, but Sora rounds the corner before he can say anything else.
The woman stops directly in front of the vigilante, either not noticing his obvious social barriers or not caring as she shoves a pair of thin wool gloves into the boys hands.
“Here!” he looks up at Sora’s wide but gentle grin as she curves his fingers around the cloth, “It’s too cold out there for such meager hand coverings, so you can have these.” Rogue stiffens, moving as if to protest, but Sora’s already waving a hand with a smile, “We have plenty of spares, what with my job at clinics and Yuu’s spontaneous gift giving. It’s okay.” There’s another tense silence, before Sora wraps her hands tighter around Rogues, looking at him with wide, silver blue eyes, “Please?”
And the vigilante only keeps his stance for a second, before slumping and nodding.
Sora grins triumphantly as he releases him so he can tug the gloves on, over the shirt strips, but it’s better than it was.
Once content that the boy wouldn’t lose any fingers to the cold, Sora lets the boy continue to the genkan, his lenses tilted watchfully on where Aizawa leans against the wall, until he steps out into the wind and ice lashing outside.
Aizawa is cold just looking at it, but Rogue barely reacts as he turns to the family lingering inside and bowing shallowly.
“Merry Christmas. Thank you for your kindness.” He looks down at Hitoshi, still cuddling Ko close, and tilts his head, “I’ll come visit you and Ko in a few days, and to answer your questions. At least the ones I can.”
Aizawa blinks in surprise, exchanging a glance with Yuu, but Hitoshi brighten and seems to glow as he ask hopefully, “Promise?”
Rogue reaches up, flipping the switch on his modulator again, before nodding and speaking in his glitch voice, “… Shhhhure.”
Then he turns, punching out towards the storm, a thin chain shooting from his coat sleeves, and then he vanishes into the grey without a sound.
Hitoshi gasps, and Ko lets out a tight squeak as the kid holds him a bit too tight, but then he’s bolting back into the house, socked feet thumping on the stairs as he zooms to his room with a giggle. Sora lets out a surprised hum, making her way back to the kitchen while Yuu and Aizawa linger in the doorway, looking out into the storm.
Until the older man looks down at the hero, perpetually tired eyes glittering slightly as he smirks, “Looks like you’ve picked up a Problem Child, Shou.”
“Why do you think I brought him here?” Aizawa smirks at the light scowl on his brothers face, and turns back into the house. “Now that he knows this place is kinda safe, he’s both our problems now.”
~o~
It was the night before Christmas.
It was love at first sight.
The carolers sang as they danced through the night.
~o~
Midoriya Izuku crouches silently on the rooftop, eyes turned to the house Eraserhead had brought him to three nights ago.
He hadn’t returned to the area since, but the memory of indigo hair and lavender eyes staring up at him kept him from forgetting. The kid had looked so… hopeful to see him. Him and his little kitten, Ko.
The two most adorable creatures in existence, if Izuku were being honest.
But now, looking at the peaceful house with a new snowman out front and tracks in the fresh layers…
He dives back behind the awning he’s looking over as the door opens, the woman… Sora?... walking out with a white beanie pulled low over her head and a pink scarf wrapped tight. She calls something inside, voice lost with the distance and barriers, and Izuku peaks over the awning briefly to watch her hurry away down the street, pulling a small notebook from her coat pocket to look at something within.
Now’s his chance.
Careful, quietly, careful not to be seen, Izuku makes his way down the side of the building, then crosses the street as casually as he could.
As casually as a stranger in a neighborhood not his own could do.
Then, just as casually, he slides around the house, peering into the windows until he sees purple.
Pulling his travel mask up, Izuku puts his poorly wrapped present on the sill, taps quickly on the frosted pane, then ducks and runs.
Doesn’t stop him from grinning silently as the boy squeals as he unwraps the purple cat he’d won in an arcade box.
Just for him.
~o~
She was a small town girl.
He was a traveling guy.
He never caught her name before they said their goodbyes.
~o~
“Hey, Sora!” the silver eyed woman looks up as the café waitress stops at her booth. The woman smiles, her bright orange hair blooming with chrysanthemums as she chirps, “How are the Houses going?”
And the woman can’t help but let out a groan, “As well as they can, given the season and all.”
“Oh, dear.” A second waitress wanders up, her three eyes filled with equal levels of concern as she folds her hands against her lips, “How many have quit this time?”
“No one yet, thank Kami.” And the other two sigh, relieved, until Sora continues hopelessly, “But with the new year coming up, it’s starting to look like we won’t be getting the grant this year.”
“What?!” the orange haired woman hushes her companion, but she just continues with her hands planted solidly on the booth Sora sits at, eyes wide and intense, “Why? You’re the most successful place to deal with those kids!”
“We would be,” Sora nods empathically, eyes wide and desperate as she looks between both women, “if the kids actually came.”
“Oh no,” the chrysanthemums are replaced by dragon snaps, and the waitress’ shoulders droop, “are they avoiding the houses again?”
Sora fiddles with the napkin on the table for something to do, eyes blurring slightly with frustrated tears, “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s just not as many kids coming into the Houses, and now we might be getting booted.”
“Maybe they all found places to finally settle?” but Sora shakes her head, and winces as the other waitress’ face falls.
“I saw a group of them staying under xxx bridge just the other day. When I went to offer them some cider, they scattered!” she sighed, defeated, and looked out into the lightly falling snow out the window. “I’m just so… so worried!”
And while the two waitress’ go to comfort their friend, pulling out handkerchiefs and rubbing soothing circles on her back, the three of them miss the green haired boy zipping closed his ratty backpack a booth away, and leaving the café after leaving a generous tip behind.
~o~
A couple years later
He was out on the road,
Having Christmas dinner in a diner alone.
~o~
“But everyone says—”
“I know what everyone says,” twenty pairs of hungry eyes turn onto one, vibrant green pair, and the boy leans forward with a smile, “but do you trust so-called ‘everyone’ or do you trust me?”
~o~
When he saw a young waitress with a gleam in her eye.
Her favorite day of the year.
She showed her spirits were high.
~o~
“Shisou-san?”
“I don’t know”
“… Should I call Chisa-chan?”
“Please?”
~o~
She said, "Sir, can you shed a little holiday cheer?"
A simple Christmas story's all she wanted to hear.
~o~
It’s been a month, for the Haven House team, but Sora couldn’t help the warm feeling blooming in her chest as she looks around the filled Home. All of the beds were full, futons and cots filling up spaces between the mattresses and careful feet finding bare inches of floor space for the workers to walk with.
But all of the kids had blankets, all of them had new clothes including socks, and currently the workers were making their rounds with hot porridge and tea as the wind battered the House walls from the winter storm outside.
And after two hours of making phone calls and waiting for emails, all of the other houses were as packed as this one.
All of the kids were inside.
All of the kids were safe.
So Sora didn’t care that she now sported eyebags to rival her husbands, and instead keeps a warm smile on her face as she moves from bed to bed with a tray of covered bowls for each and every child under her roof.
“Hello, little one.” The small blonde child sitting in the center of her mattress looks up, amber eyes widening as Sora smiles and kneels to her level, “Do you want some porridge?”
The girl nods rapidly, squeezing her stuffed rabbit tighter as Sora sets the bowl beside her along with a plastic spoon. The girl watches her hands the whole time, every movement, and it makes the woman’s heart ache at the thought as to why. So, she keeps her hands in view, her movements telegraphed, and then goes to stand. But before she can, her sweater is snagged by a little dirt stained hand.
“Are you the silver lady?”
What? Sora tilts her head curiously, bending down to look at the girl again, “What was that, sweetheart?”
The girl holds her tattered rabbit closer, gold eyes wide as she looks up at her, “Kusari-oniisan said that the silver lady at the Houses is nice, and would give us warm things when we were cold. He said we can trust you.” She blinks, tilting her head to the side, eyes widening impossibly further as she whispers, “Are you the silver lady?”
~o~
He looked prepared with a smile as he started to say,
"Here's my favorite Christmas story 'bout a girl with no name."
~o~
And Sora remembers… last Christmas during an ice storm… a boy in a gasmask who never returned.
But still remembered their kindness.
So, Sora smiles, gently, and places a soft hand on top of the girls head, “Yes. I’m Silver Lady. And your oniisan sounds very smart indeed.”
~o~
He said, "I met her up in Delaware in 1937.
She was wearing red lipstick
To match her pretty dress.
December 24 at a quarter till 11's
When I finally gained the courage
To ask her to dance."
Verse 2
“Kusari-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“Where did you get these?”
“A frieeend.”
“Do you think they’d want to be friends with me?”
“I beeeet they’d love toooo be frieeendzzzz with you.”
~o~
Every holiday season as he traveled he'd tell
'Bout his Christmas dance partner that he never knew well.
He shared his favorite story with the locals he met.
He was called the Christmas Story-Telling Traveling Man.
~o~
Shinsou Yuu was having… a day.
This wasn’t unusual, to be honest. When one physically cannot sleep, and whose brain doesn’t feel fatigue, then others tend to put one on a schedule for all the shittiest hours possible. But, he digresses. He’d rather someone capable be working in the area than someone with no experience.
And honestly, when working with those failed by the system, you needed as much experience with them as possible.
But today was… different.
“Hello, Shinsou-kun. How’s life treatin’ ya?”
The indigo haired man looks up, eyes heavy behind his wire glasses as he closes the file he’s working on, “Hello, Roji-san. Life’s been alright. The holiday rush is a bit much this year, but it’s almost over so it’s best not to complain.”
Roji-san chuckles, hopping up on the portable hospital cot Shinsou had set up in the tent, folding his ratty overcoat to the side as he grins with yellowing teeth at the doctor, “I’m so lucky not to deal with that.”
And Shinsou can’t help but sigh at the dark humor, already grabbing his supplies to start the check up as he replies, “So, after the check up, what do you need to tide you over?”
“A blanket and bread, please.” the Roji-san chirps, holding an arm out obediently for the pressure cuff. After writing down his results, going through simple routine check-up, Shinsou sends out the information to get a proper prescription and goes to the supply chest in the corner of the tent. When he opens it though, he hears a whistle from behind him, “Yeesh, stores a bit low, huh?”
Shinsou-kun hums, pulling out one of the three left over blankets from the chest and grabbing a small bag of bagels set beside them. “Yeah, but that’s because there are more people in the Houses this year than any previously.” He hands the blanket and bread to Roji-san, going back to his computer to print the new prescription report, “That then translates over to the mobile clinics, as we share resources constantly. So does the food bank.”
Roji-san hums in surprise, rubbing the blanket fabric between his fingers, “Really?”
“Yeah. Especially with the kiddo’s. There’s been more stopping by than I’ve seen… ever.” Shinsou-kun hums, holding out Roji-san’s medicine bag for the man to take. “Makes me wonder what’s going on out there.”
“I can answer that one, Shinsou-sensei.” Both men look over to the tent entrance, seeing a pink haired teen leaning through the flaps, with a crooked grin on his face, “KR-san told us about you giving out things for winter, and said to make sure to get to the Houses early just in case.”
Shinsou-kun blinks, brow furrowing in confusion, “KR-san…” but then the faint image of a gasmask flickers to his mind, and he blinks, “Kusari Rogue?”
“What other KR do you know?” Roji-kun teases, looking into his medicine bag to take stock.
At that, Shinsou-kun winces, knowing that ‘ignorance’ isn’t the best in this case seeing how the vigilante was becoming a fast favorite in the underground, “I’m just surprised he… said anything?”
The pink haired kid snickered, hopping up on the cot beside Roji-san, “He said you helped him out last year, said you hand out gloves to the wall sitters and your lady brings food to the fire pits.” He turns white eyes to the doctor with a smug tilt to his lips, “He’s pretty fond of you, though he’s not been back according to his stories.”
Shinsou-kun sighs, “No, he’s not been back. But…” and he stops, not sure how much he should say about his relationship with the teen, but instead opts for a different truth. A safer one. “Toshi says KR visits him to say hi a lot.”
At that, the two homeless men exchange a soft glance, the teen grinning wider as the adult huffs a laugh, “He’s soft for the kiddos. He’s called oniisan by all the shelter kiddos, and seems to glow when they do.”
And Shinsou-kun smiles at that, filing away Roji-san’s report while sterilizing his tools. They were right about that, the boy sure enjoyed hanging around the kiddo’s.
And it was always seemed the highlight of his day whenever Hitoshi also called him oniisan.
~o~
By age 53 he had done settled down.
All the neighborhood kids liked to gather around
~o~
“You want a job here?”
“Why not?”
“How about you’re too young?”
“Oh, come on old man. You don’t even have to file me under ‘official’ employee if you don’t want to.”
“That’s also illegal, kid.”
“You and your rules. You’re as bad as your brother.”
“If I were, you wouldn’t have shared your name with me.”
“Heh, he still bitter about that?”
“He’s sharing his lunches with you. Yes it bothers him he doesn’t know your name.”
“Oho? You haven’t told him?”
“Why would I? He needs to work for his rewards.”
“I love your family.”
“Thanks, so do I.”
“… so about that job…”
“You brat…”
~o~
Just to listen to the stories 'bout his life on the road.
All he had now were these children he told.
~o~
Aizawa sighs as he steps up to his brother’s house, exhaustion weighing down his shoulders from the event he just escaped. Hizashi and Nemuri thought it would be fun to drag him to a teacher’s Christmas party at UA.
The following chaos resulted in drunk karaoke, a broken desk, a small kitchen fire, and all the windows of the third year hall being blown out from Hizashi’s enthusiasm.
Needless to say, he escaped as soon as he could, and found himself wandering here. To a quieter place. Yes, Hitoshi could be a rascal, but he was a quiet rascal. He’d chatter and tell stories and ask questions, as his parents insisted he do, especially at home, but he was quiet about it. He mumbled, and whispered, and Aizawa couldn’t think of a time he’d ever raised his voice above a low cheer.
The man knew he shouldn’t compare his nephew to a white noise machine, but when that analogy is accurate…
Shaking his head, Aizawa knocks on his brothers’ door, waiting patiently as thumps and muffled voices echo within until the door is yanked open. Then he blinks. Because his brother looks… ruffled.
And very very glittery.
“Shouta! You didn’t say you were stopping by?”
Aizawa quirks a brow, looking his brother up and down slowly, “Thought I’d come over and say Happy Holiday.” A crash echoes from the living room, followed by hysterical laughter, and his brow rises further. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Yuu chuckles wearily, waving a hand before stepping aside to let Aizawa through, “No no, you’re fine Shou.” Another crash, a muffled yelp, “Just doing some arts and crafts with… a friend of Toshi’s.”
“A friend…?” but the hero’s inquiry is interrupted as the living room door slams open, a hooded figure streaking from the room with a mad cackle as Hitoshi follows, bright green glitter packed into his hair along with glitter glue doodles across his face.
“Rogue, get your ass back here!”
And the first figure, Rogue, just wiggles his fingers back at the boy with a sing song, “Language, Hito-chan~” before he vaults up the stairs as Hitoshi gives chase.
Aizawa blinks, then turns to Yuu sharply. The taller man winces, rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly, “Sorry, but if you’re here to escape chaos…”
“Why is Rogue here.”
Another wince, and a chuckle as Yuu glances around the hallway for an escape, “Well…”
A body drops at Aizawa’s feet, and he flinches back as Rogue rights himself to standing a few feet away, arms crossed as they cock their regular masked face up in petulance, “I’m a regular patient for the ol’ man, so he invited me for family dinner.”
Yuu sighs, poking Rogue in the shoulder as he moves past the vigilante into the kitchen, “You’re technically not a patient, Rogue.”
The boy huffs, the toxic green face mask billowing out with the action as he bounces around Yuu while jabbing him in the ribs, “And you’re technically not my boss either, ol’ man.”
“Touché.”
Then the two round the corner, Hitoshi zooming down the stairs to join them in the kitchen, leaving Aizawa alone in the hallway.
What… the fuck?
~o~
And every Christmas Eve they showed up before dark.
He'd tell them all the story but they knew it by heart.
~o~
The clink of retracting chains is what tips Eraserhead off moments before Kusari Rogue lights on the wall beside him. However, he knew from experience the kid left the sound damper off when coming to a meet. Otherwise he was as silent as the hero was.
Nodding at the kid as they start taking off their main voice modulator, Eraserhead pulls out the customary thermos he shares regularly as the kid chirps out, “Hey, Eraser. How’s this holiday treating you?”
The hero huffs, pouring hot cocoa into a folding plastic cup and passing it over before replying, “Fine, Rogue. How about yourself?”
“Well enough.” He takes a sip from his cup, shivering slightly as an icy wind passes, “I got a couple kids to go to the HH earlier this week. Gotta tell the Shinsou’s they’ve got more customers.”
Eraserhead blinks at this, looking over in surprise as he lowers his own mug to stare at him, “Hell, kid. They’re packed to the rafters already.”
But Rogue just hums, swinging his feet as he takes another sip of cocoa, “I heard they’re opening another location soon.”
Glaring slightly at the topic change, Eraser turns back to look over the city rooftops as he replies, “Yeh. The Government finally approved their grant and updated their status to ‘official shelter location’ or whatever they’re calling it.”
Rogue sighs, some lingering tension draining from his shoulders, “Good. They deserve to see it grow.”
And that… breaks something in Eraserhead.
A kid shouldn’t be worried about the livelihood of so many, shouldn’t feel responsible for others barely younger than him, shouldn’t be so relieved when someone finally reaches out and offers help.
A kid shouldn’t feel the need to grow up so fast.
Gently, telegraphing his movements as much as possible, Eraserhead reaches over and puts a hand on Rogues head. He pats the kids hood once, twice, then moves the hand down to the kids shoulder. He keeps his touch loose, light, able to pull away whenever but also grounding and present as he mumbles.
“They have no small part to thank you for it, Kiddo. The others are still singing your praises at the shelters.”
Rogue breathes out something light, watery, as he leans lightly into the hero’s side, “That a fact…”
“It is.” The hero hums, holding the small vigilante closer as he passes a thumb soothingly along his shoulder, “Which makes your choice to keep doing this anonymously a bit illogical.” The kid stiffens, but doesn’t pull away, which tells Eraser to move forward carefully, delicately. He didn’t want to scare the kid off now.
But this was a truth that he needed to say.
Because it was simply that. A truth.
“You’d make a great hero.”
And the kid stops, breathing falters, body stills, even the slight white noise his voice changer makes seems to peter out. And Eraserhead dreads that he’s said something horribly wrong… when…
“Human decency cost you nothing, so why not give it freely.”
And Eraser can’t help but huff at that, pulling the kid in closer, reveling in how he allows it, and puts his cheek on the rough hood as he breathes steadily, “Yeah, kid. I guess you’ve got a point there.”
~o~
They could quote it word-for-word.
He always told it the same.
~o~
Sora leans around the wall dividing the kitchen and living room of her home, silver eyes lighting on the two boys sitting under the kotatsu chattering about something over hot cocoa. Hitoshi’s eyes are bright and expressive, a wide grin on his face and a flush to his skin despite the chill lingering outside. He’s stopped smiling as much these days, eyes growing shadows and getting a weight to them that breaks Sora’s heart to see.
If only because it’s the weight she sees every day in the kids that wander into the Homes battered and bleeding.
She and Yuu have taken him from 3 schools already for the bullying. But no matter what, no one seems to see the beautiful mind and shining personality that her child. No one saw the wit and loyalty that was in that heart.
Everyone only saw a quirk.
And hated him for it.
Well…
Almost everyone.
A laugh crackles through the house, and Sora is pulled from her thoughts to the other boy sitting at her table. A thick red masks covers the boys lower face, a plain black domino mask covering the upper half along with a heavy green hood over his hair. But the light in those emerald eyes, the glee in his voice, his willingness to talk and debate and just answer her son…
The boy had literally wandered into their lives behind the weary steps of a hero.
And oh.
How Sora is so grateful they’d taken the stray into their hearts.
~o~
It was his favorite Christmas story called "The Girl With No Name."
~o~
Yuu looked up at a particularly loud snore from the couch. He huffs a laugh at the sight that greets him, the room dimly lit by the colored lights strung around a small Christmas tree, small reflections glittering off bows and torn wrapping paper to cast a warm glow around the space. And, laying on a futon in the middle of the mess, is his son and… almost kid.
Izuku, still wearing his “incognito mask”, is curled up around Hitoshi as the boy sleeps, the purple haired 11 year old using his chest as a pillow as he drools on the front of the older’s hoodie. But Izuku doesn’t complain, simply running gentle fingers through Hitoshi’s ratty hair as he sleeps, gaze fond and soft even under the domino mask, and breathing deep and steady even when he doesn’t sleep himself.
Yuu thinks to the papers he has stacked neatly in his office desk drawer, filled out all bar a few personal details and a finalized signature. He thinks about the greet sprite of a kid skittering around the hospital calling bright “hello”s to the old curmudgeon patients or making weird faces at the kids staying there, or helping frazzled nurses with little errands and being a silent comfort to doctors who lost patients.
He thinks to the bruised knuckles and broken noses. The black eyes and cracked ribs. The bloody smiles and limping steps.
And the gentle hugs his broken body gave to a heartbroken child told he’d never be anything but a villain.
It was a slow process, getting Izuku out of his chained box.
But a process he’d remain making until the boy could finally take his mask off, and smile unfettered within his home among his family.
~o~
He said, "I met her up in Delaware in 1937.
She was wearing red lipstick
To match her pretty dress.
December 24 at a quarter till 11's
When I finally gained the courage
To ask her to dance."
Verse 3
The beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the dark room.
A green haired teen sits on a cold chair beside the bed, face turned to the uncovered window, eyes tracking the light snowfall glinting silver in the dark. He makes patterns in the frost creeping at the edges of the window. His mind wanders and swirls with the snow’s graceful fall.
Beep… beep… beep…
The teen turns away from the window, looking tiredly at the body laying prone beside him. He traces the breathing tubes to their machines, counting the beeps as he watches the lights flicker rhythmically with the rise and fall of the man’s chest. His eyes trace the IV tubing down to arms placed limp over the covers, to the tape holding needles in place and wires sensing things he’s spent the better part of his life learning about. Every medical tome he could rent from the library he could. Every medical test he could take on those online courses he took. He knew what was wrong. He knew what was helping. He knew what the machines said and what the charts conveyed.
He knew the man wouldn’t wake up, no matter how long he waited.
But…
Beep… beep… beep…
Breathe in… breathe out…
The boy reaches forward gently, looping his pinky the only finger yet to bare a scar a blemish a kink in the bones around the pointer finger of the man’s right left hand. Holding his finger without holding it, giving a scrap of his warmth to the empty chill that once held an inferno.
The son looks at his father’s face, counting the breaths, the heartbeats, the scarce signs of life that linger where flamboyancy and exuberant living had once been.
After however many heartbeats, however many breaths, the teen stands. He leans over to press gentle lips to the man’s forehead, whispering quietly to deaf ears before backing away. He pulls out a blank envelope, bulging with the contents inside, and sets it on the table beside the patient, right beside the small pot of drooping leucojum, before stepping away.
Walking to the door.
And he silently leaves, his whispered Merry Christmas still floating like a drifting snowflake through the room.
~o~
20 years later as he took his last breath,
Saw a cold Christmas morning in a hospital bed.
~o~
The teen walks out of the hospital, giving the barest of nods to the receptionist before exiting into the growing snowdrifts and icy paths. He shoves his hands deep into his oversized jacket, his nose ducking underneath the thick wool of his scarf as he makes his way down the sidewalk.
He keeps his eyes down, ears ringing in the silence the snow brings. Little flakes decorate his dark green hair, lighting on the curls and gleaming like bits of confetti as he moves under street lights. And though he moves resolutely without direction, his eyes still stray to familiar sights. Corners that had multiple bodies huddled together, alleys that were darker from the bodies packed within. Benches surrounded by mounds as still forms gathered snow.
Except… there weren’t bodies around the benches. No one huddled in corners. No sign of the desperate huddles for warmth.
No one was out this night.
And when the teen wanders past one of the multistoried buildings, rundown and shackled with renovation ladders and boards, he sees the lights and feels the warmth and knows.
After years of telling stories of a certain giving family…
Of soft voices and caring smiles…
Of warm food and open arms…
They all finally made it home.
~o~
The children had grown.
He had nobody left,
Except the little old nurse who was holding his hand.
~o~
The teen wanders past the Haven House, away from the warmth and the sound of laughter. He wanders the streets aimlessly, eyes checking corners and alleys for anyone forgotten. Anyone left behind.
He finds no one, but instead finds himself at a home.
Well… a different home.
This one small, only two story, with a picket fence and a snowman in the front yard, windows glowing honey onto the falling flakes and giving the resounding silence a gentler edge.
A home.
~o~
He said, "Ma'am, could you share a little holiday cheer?"
A simple Christmas story's all he wanted to hear,
~o~
The teen lingers outside the fence, breath clouding in front of him without his usual mask to deny it exit. His pocket is heavy with the gift he’d carried for days now, waiting for a moment respite where he could give it.
He had stopped wandering by this place recently, knuckles too bruised to wave off concern and face bloody to insist it was nothing.
His phone ringing more and more with times and dates and numbers to meet by a handler he wants to spit at and leave behind.
The latch to the gate snaps him out of his thoughts, propelling his feet forward until he’s on the porch of the home, pulling the poorly wrapped gift from his coat to set down beside the door. Out of the way of an unsuspecting boot but just to the edge of awareness for anyone leaving.
He straightens, turns to leave, heart a dull thud in his chest as the resounding beep… beep… fill the silence of his world.
~o~
But his eyes filled with tears at the words she spoke,
Because his favorite Christmas story was the one that she told.
~o~
click
The teen turns at the sound, looking over the honeyed light flooding the lawn to the indigo haired man leaning on the door frame. He’s wearing glasses tonight, and his brow is pinched in worry as he reaches down to pick up the small parcel. He looks back up at the kid, something soft and familiar and different but not unwelcome turning his lips up at the corners as the two stand there.
No words.
Just the silence of the snow fall.
A gentle song drifts out of the house, growing louder as the silence persists.
Then, the man steps back, turning his body to widen the doorway, tilting his head a bit in obvious invitation.
A familiar one, without strings or insistence or expectation.
Just an invitation. A choice.
~o~
She said, "I met him up in Delaware in 1937,
Though I never caught his name.
He was a traveling man.
December 24 at a quarter till 11.
I'm so glad he got the courage to ask me to dance.”
~o~
And the teen takes a step forward.