Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Not all men are created equal.

Izuku first learned this lesson when he was four years old, sitting in an unassuming doctor’s office and having his dreams crushed by an unassuming doctor. He kept learning this lesson over and over again, every single day after that.

‘You can’t be a hero.’

It hurt, Izuku will admit it. It hurt when the kids at school started acting like he didn’t exist, and when the teacher’s starting calling him ‘weak’ or ‘fragile’. Izuku wasn’t weaker than the other kids, he was the same as everyone else! But no one understood that. It hurt when Kacchan decided that the worthless Deku was more useful for teasing than friendship. That nickname still stings every time he hears it. All the kids at school had taken to calling him that now. 

Sometimes he forgets that it’s not his name.

It hurt that every single person at every turn stomped on his dream. It hurt when the world turned its back on him. Everything hurts.

But he still had his mom!

He still had his Mama, who loved and cared for him, who had kind and gentle eyes. Izuku always loved her eyes. A brilliant viridian, with speckles of lighter and darker shades across the iris, filled with nothing but warmth and love. 

Until...her eyes turned dark. When she looked at him, there was just. Nothing. All Izuku could see was a cold fury and a deep hatred for him. For him. Izuku’s own mother started ignoring him too, acting like he didn’t exist. She would ‘forget’ to make enough food for Izuku, so most nights he went without dinner. She would ignore his attempts at any sort of conversation, coming home long after he fell asleep and leaving early, before he woke up. When she was home, Inko would retreat into her room, leaving Izuku alone. 

Izuku was all alone. 

It was like that for two years.

Everyday he trudged along, not living just existing. He endured the jeers and taunts at school, even when it escalated to pushing and shoving in the halls, down the stairs, graffiti on his desk, and quirk practice on his body. Their words always hurt worse than their actions anyway. He didn’t bother trying to talk to his mother anymore,  he was just drifting along, as if he was lost at sea. 

In a way, he was. 

But Izuku still held onto hope. He held onto his dream of being a hero, because it was the only thing that kept him going, that kept him from drowning even if he seemed farther and farther away from achieving it everyday. He still wrote in his notebooks and analyzed heroes, because it was the only thing that distracted him from the ache in his heart and his mind and his soul. 

Izuku’s head was bobbing up and down, just above the surface, struggling to stay afloat, struggling to keep going to breathe.

Izuku kept going, at only six years old, having already faced the harsh truths about the world and just trying to survive because he could no longer really live. 

Izuku feared that when he stopped going he would be pulled under, drowning in the ocean of his sorrow and despair. Izuku feared that he would never find a way to breathe again.

All men are not created equal. 

And then there was the science class. 

It was the first year at Aldera Primary school. A new science teacher, Tana-sensei as he liked to be referred to. A new person who looked at him with eyes burning with hatred and malice and undisguised disgust. As if he were a thing and not a human being. 

Izuku was not allowed to speak in science class. Or mumble, or mutter, or breathe too loud, or make any noise. Izuku was not allowed to exist. He is forced to be completely silent, as if he’s not even there in the first place. Izuku thinks this class is the worst of it all.

“Today we will learn about the quirkless,” he had said, staring directly at Izuku, because of course he was. Izuku’s classmates followed his teacher’s lead, casting not so subtle glances at Izuku, who was cowering in the back. Kacchan sent him a vicious glare but Izuku stared resolutely at the board.

He knew he would not like this lesson.

“Midoriya. Please come up here,” sensei says, voice suddenly cold. Izuku didn’t flinch. He was familiar with his teacher’s talking to him this way. It was really nothing new. 

Izuku stood, scraping his chair across the floor in the back, not removing his eyes from the desk. He got the worst one, which wasn’t surprising at all, in the far back corner of the classroom. One of the legs was wobbly and unstable, and there was some unidentified substance stuck to the inside of it. They made sure to give him a wide berth, so the other students weren’t infected with his disease . Today, his desk was decorated in crude and vile words, scribbled in markers and pencils alike that Izuku would be blamed for if he didn’t clean it up.

He was always blamed for it.

At least the janitor was kind enough to give him a bucket with soap and water at the end of each day. It was better than the usual treatment. And the cleaning gave him an excuse to stay behind in the school, scrubbing for an extra hour. Anything to avoid the cold, sterile, empty home. 

Maybe he should thank his classmates. 

He took slow, careful steps up to the front of the room, keeping his head locked on his bright red shoes and feeling the stares, if the hairs standing up on his nape were any indication. Izuku stopped three feet in front of the teacher, not wanting to get too close into his space as evidence from past incidents show that’s not a good idea. 

Izuku waits, letting the tense seconds tick on before he feels a nudge with the pointer stick Tana-sensei uses on his left side. It jabs painfully into his ribs, but Izuku is used to it, so he just moves to stand off to the side as directed, still leaving a couple of feet between himself and his teacher.

He doesn’t look up from where he keeps his eyes on the ground, but he hears the man hum slightly in approval. “Now,” he starts, and the foreboding sense of dread only gets stronger, “Quirkless are different to humans in many ways.” 

‘Quirkless are different to humans.’

Quirkless are not human. Izuku is subhuman. Izuku is less than. 

All men are not created equal.

“Take off your shoe,” the man snaps at Izuku, who holds back a sigh and takes off his left shoe and sock, placing them on the ground next to him. After a few moments, Izuku hears the snap of latex gloves on the teacher’s hands, and then his foot is being yanked aggressively on the counter. He stumbles a little, but catches himself as Tana squeezes just a little too tightly on his ankle. 

Izuku’s foot is twisted painfully so that the bottom faces his classmates, and he holds back a cry of anguish as it’s held there. “A quirkless has an extra toe joint in its pinkie toes. That’s how it’s most commonly diagnosed.” His foot is dropped back down onto the ground and Izuku can’t hold in the sigh of relief at the decrease of pain. 

Tana’s eyes immediately snap to Izuku, who withers under his glare. “Be quiet .”

“Yes, s-sorry sensei,” Izuku whispers meekly, waiting a couple of seconds before Tana turns back to the class. He let himself slip. He’s not allowed to make noise, or draw attention to himself, because he’s the quirkless freak and he’s lucky that they still let him breathe.

He won’t let himself forget again.

 “Put your shoe on and head back to your seat.” sensei commands him, no longer sparing Izuku a glance. The boy in question nods and takes silent steps back to his seat, slipping the shoe and sock on once he’s back at his desk. 

“Along with the extra toe joint,” Tana-sensei sighs, getting back to the lesson, “quirkless also have an appendix, a tailbone, and they get wisdom teeth. All vestigial or useless structures in the body,” he grins, “It’s quite fitting.”

Fitting. Useless organs for a useless, quirkless, waste of space. Izuku’s not surprised. He never really is anymore.

“Quirkless are weak and useless. They are less evolved than quirked people as well. They have no purpose in this world and they are good for nothing. They're a drain on society's resources and shouldn't be allowed to reproduce since they will just end up continuing to make more worthless members of society.” He finished his spiel with a vindictive smile.

Every six year old in the room took that information in, absorbed it, committed it to memory. Some shot him disgusted glares, others simply continued to act like he didn’t exist. 

Izuku knew something had changed then. He knew now, that since the teacher’s had fortified everyone’s beliefs about him, that the treatment he tolerated would only get worse. He knew now that his peers would forever see him as the quirkless waste of space. 

Izuku couldn’t help but agree. 

He wasn’t very focused for the rest of the lesson, he wasn’t really present at all. Izuku’s wide green eyes, devoid of the life they once used to carry, stayed firmly glued to the board in front of him, but he didn’t take anything in. 

There was a sort of static that filled his ears, turning the words he heard to mush. Izuku was so tired. He was tired of just existing and not living. He was tired of everyone and everything  telling him, proving to him that he was just a waste of space, waste of air, a waste.

Izuku is drowning.

So when the bell rang, and class ended, and everyone filed out, Izuku did the one thing he knew. 

He ran.

He took off, in the opposite direction of his home at a breakneck pace. Izuku didn’t really know where he was going, he just knew he wanted to be gone. They wanted him gone. Everyone else would be better off without him anyway.

Izuku twisted around curbs and winding streets and into and out of alleys. He outran his childhood tormentors, his teachers, his school bullies. He outran his mother who was simply a cold shell of what she used to be. He outran his will to stay there, to stay there drifting, just existing, forever. Izuku ran because he was tired of drowning, so he could finally breathe. 

Izuku ran until he couldn’t anymore, until his run slowed into a jog into a walk, until with burning lungs, a heaving chest, and shaking legs, he collapsed into a dark, dirty alleyway, because he simply couldn’t keep going anymore.

All men are not created equal. 

Izuku, more than anyone else, knows that.

When Izuku wakes up next, the sun is just beginning to rise in the sky. He doubts anyone had reported him missing, or even noticed he was gone. 

He picks up his school backpack and sits cross-legged near the alleyway opening, unzipping it and taking inventory. Izuku finds two of his notebooks, his gym uniform, a pencil and a granola bar in his backpack. It’s depressing, and he wishes he actually took something from the house before he left, but it’ll have to do for now. 

It’s not like he knows how to get back anyway. 

Izuku’s stomach rumbles, so he eats the granola bar. He’s still hungry afterward, but he has no food or money, and he doesn’t want to steal. Besides, he’s more than used to it at this point. Sometimes he’s had to live off of one meal a week. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. 

Izuku goes back into the corner of the alley behind a dumpster, and changes out of his gakuran into his gym uniform, if only so he’s a little bit more comfortable. The long sleeves of the school uniform rubbed painfully against the fresh burns from Kacchan’s quirk and he’d rather not aggravate those more. Izuku stretches and then winces when the bruise on his abdomen smarts. He was pushed down the stairs earlier that day. 

Not wanting to strain himself any longer, Izuku uses his backpack as a pillow and lays down behind the dumpster. He curls in on himself into a fetal position when the breeze starts to come through, making him uncomfortably cold. 

And laying there, for the first time in a long time, Izuku allows himself to cry. 

Shouta kept a steady pace as he dashed along the rooftops, silent, quick as a bullet. He was content and utterly at peace, which was a feeling only present when he was bouncing along the rooftops in the dead of night, or being cuddled by his husband and his cats in their shared apartment, their home.

Shouta enjoyed peaceful patrols like this one. Few and far between crimes to stop where he just gets to dash along the rooftops and let the wind billow through his hair and brush against his face, enjoying the utter silence. It’s exhilarating, like a drug, and Shouta can’t get enough of it. 

It’s almost three am, and Shouta’s just about to call it a night when he hears it. A small scuffle and a whimpered cry in an alleyway. 

He stops on the rooftop, taking silent and quick steps to peer over the edge. He sees two people down there, a man and a woman, the woman being the obvious victim. The man is holding a knife to her abdomen, and shows no obvious signs of a quirk, which is good for Shouta, as mutant types don’t work for him. It probably won’t escalate to that anyways. Most people don’t use their quirks for crimes, due to the fact that it will up the scale from criminal to villain. 

He wears a baggy grey sweater and dark jeans, with nothing to cover his features or identity. Oh, so a first time criminal then. Shouta shrugs. Inexperience just makes his job easier. 

The woman cowers under him in fear as he starts to touch her in...unsavory places. Shouta’s lips curl in disgust. He hates sexual harassment with his entire being. He’d seen first hand what Nemuri deals with when they go out together in their civvies (which is really the same thing for Shouta but, no harm, no foul) and it really gave him perspective. 

Shouta scales the fire escape with the help of his capture scarf in complete silence, landing in the shadows of the alleyway. Neither the man, nor the woman notice him at all, and Shouta counts it as a win for himself. He whips out the white ribbons of his scarf, snatching up the knife from his grip in one swoop, taking the guy by surprise. 

It clatters to the ground harmlessly as Shouta whips the scarf at him again, activating erasure and holding the villain tight in his bondage. He yanks him away from the woman and onto the brick wall, knocking him out. Maybe the treatment is a little harsh, but Shouta hates rapists. 

He ties the man up with a couple of zip ties and reports the crime to the local police, waiting for an officer to come around to arrest him. Only once that’s done does he turn towards the woman. 

“Are you ok, miss?” Shouta asks gently, not wanting to startle her. She’s probably shooken up after almost becoming a rape victim. She seems to snap out of her daze as he speaks to her, eyes widening for a minute before her lips turn up into a small smile. 

“I- I’m ok, thank you,” she smoothes out her shirt from where that shitbag rumpled it, “Are you a hero?”

“Yes,” he says, and then shows his hero license for proof because Shouta knows he doesn’t exactly look like a hero. She nods and the tension bleeds from her shoulders as they both stand around awkwardly in the alleyway. “You don’t have to stay,” Shouta says, breaking the admittedly awkward silence, “You can if you want to give your statement, but if not you’re free to go.” 

The woman seems to like this idea as she nods and gives her thanks one more time before leaving. Shouta doses off a bit as he waits for the police to show up, only snapping to attention when he hears the telltale signs of police sirens. 

He practically throws the guy at the two officers, who just nod to him, take his statement, and head on their way.

Shouta is just about to leave when he hears something else. He pauses in his steps and strains his ears to listen closer in the silence of the night. It sounds like rustling, behind the dumpster in the back. The pro hero’s lips tick upwards just a bit, at the telltale signs of a cat. He knows he has a bad habit of taking in the strays he finds, but he just can’t help himself. 

Shouta tiptoes towards the back of the alleyway so as not to scare the cat away, taking careful steps towards the back side of the dumpster. And when he gets there, he’s met with quite the peculiar sight.

Instead of a cat, there is a small child, who can’t be more than five or six.

When Shouta steps too hard, alerting the kid of his presence he startles and scrambles back into the shadows of the alleyway. 

Shouta’s heart breaks. Why is his first reaction to run away and hide? Why is there a kid that small alone in an alleyway? 

“It’s ok, I’m not gonna hurt you, kid,” he tries in a gentle and sincere tone as he crouches down to be eye level. After a few moments of silence the kid comes forward slowly so that he’s a foot or two away from Shouta. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening the flashlight so he could get a better look at the kid. He has wide, dull green doe eyes with fluffy hair and freckles matching in color. His cheeks are abnormally thin for a kid this young, who should still have a little bit of baby fat. 

The kid is honestly adorable, but the image is tainted with pale skin and large bags under his eyes. Both his arms are red with crinkling, burned skin. He looks almost...dead. He takes the flashlight off the kid and flashes it on himself so that the kid can get a better look at him. He doesn’t exactly have a disarming appearance, but he figures that the kid might want to know who he’s talking to. “I’m-”

“You’re Eraserhead!” he squeals at a volume that’s way too loud for three am. His eyes widen comically and they go from dull to bright in the span of seconds, a beaming smile overtaking his expression. “You’re a hero and you’re so cool, just as cool as All Might, like one of my favorite heroes! How does your capture weapon work? Does your quirk hurt your eyes? Does it help you keep your eyes open longer as a side effect? Do you-”

“Kid, how do you know who I am?” Shouta interrupts the kid, because he’s met almost no civilians who can recognize him on sight. He pauses in his rambling and blushes, shrinking in on himself, which is another cause for concern really. “I-I-I’m sorry fo-for rambl-ling. I r-recognized you be-because I’ve seen-n you around-d t-the neighbor- the neighborhood, and I d-did some re-research,” he stutters through his explanation meekly, keeping his eyes trained on the ground below him, “I-I’m sorry, I’ll leave you al-alone now I-”

Shouta holds up a hand to stop him, “No it’s fine, Kid. I was just surprised.”

“Oh,” he whispers, still looking at the ground. Now that Shouta’s looking closer, he can see that the kid is trembling from the chilly night air, and there’s a bright yellow backpack tossed haphazardly to the side. “What’s your name?”

The small child looks up at him for a second before his eyes dart back down to the gravel underneath them and whispers out, “Izuku.”

Shouta nods, “Ok, Izuku, are you lost? Do you need help getting home?” Shouta asks, determined to help the kid asleep in an alley. He can only assume that Izuku probably got lost and had no idea how to find his way back to his parents, so he just slept wherever he could find. However this doesn’t seem to be the case when the green haired boy flinches and scoots backward just an inch. 

He brings his knees up and wraps his arms around them, angling his body away from Shouta. His shoulders start to shake and Shouta hears fast shallow breaths from the kid, who seems to be on the verge of a panic attack. Shouta reaches out to touch but then thinks better of it, pulling his hand away. 

“Hey, Izuku, I need you to breathe for me, ok?” Shouta tries to coax him out of it, but it clearly doesn’t work as he sees fat tears start to stream down his face. Izuku’s eyes look distant, vacant and it’s terrifying to see that on someone so young. He starts to exaggerate his breathing, only hoping that Izuku will see it and follow him. 

His tiny hands come up to his arms, still trembling as he digs his nails into the skin of his forearms, an extremely unhealthy coping mechanism. Shouta swears under his breath and reaches out, gently removing his nails from his arms, leaving small, crescent shaped welts behind. “Izuku, you're hurting yourself,” he says, quickly letting go of his frail little hands. 

Izuku’s eyes snap to him, and he finally seems to register that Shouta is there, and the hero holds back a sigh of relief. “Can I touch you?” Shouta asks hesitantly, and after a second of consideration, Izuku nods. He slowly and carefully grabs Izuku’s hand and places it against his chest, taking deep breaths for Izuku to follow. “Match my breathing, ok?” he instructs.

They continue like this for a few minutes until Izuku’s breathing is even and he hesitantly withdraws his hand. He’s still crying, but a lot less than before. Shouta just then notices that the kid isn’t making any noise. He can’t even hear Izuku breathe. No child should ever be that silent.

“I can’t go back,” he whispers, so quiet Shouta has to strain his voice to hear it. “Why? Do you not know how?” Izuku shakes his head no and presses his lips together in a thin line. After a few tense moments of silence he speaks, and Shouta notices a couple of tears dripping onto the asphalt. “I c-can’t go back,” he repeats, “They-y don’t wa-want me. No one-e wants someone w-w- worthless like m-me.”

That sentence shatters something in Shouta. Why does a child believe that he’s worthless? That no one wants him? He feels a deep anger well up inside him on behalf of this child. “You’re not worthless, Izuku.” he tries to reassure him, even though he knows it won’t really work. 

Izuku shakes his head so fast Shouta thinks he might have whiplash, “I am. A-All the teachers a-and all t-the kid-ds and even-” his voice breaks, “e-even Mama sometimes s-says it, so it must be t-true.”

His mother says that to him? Well the kid is not going back there if Shouta has anything to say about it. Shouta wills himself to not let the anger show on his face, because he knows that the kid will think it’s directed towards him. “They’re wrong Izuku,” he says again, even though he knows that the kid doesn’t believe him, because one pro hero trying to disprove something that’s been ingrained into him for years is going to take time. 

Shouta stands up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Izuku looks up at him. Shouta holds out his hand, and Izuku stands up as well, eyeing his hand like Shouta’s holding a knife in it. “C’mon kid,” he says, not moving from his position at all, “I’m gonna take you to my place.”

Izuku still looks hesitant, but now curious as well, “Why?” he says it with genuine confusion lacing his tone, as if he can’t imagine someone would try to help him. Maybe he can’t. 

“Because you’re- what six?” Izuku nods so Shouta continues, “And I can’t leave a six year old to sleep in an alleyway.” 

Izuku stares at him for a long time, and the pro hero just waits patiently because it won’t do any good to force him. The last thing he needs is for Izuku to close off, or another panic attack. “Ok,” he mumbles, and he grabs his backpack from behind him and gingerly takes Shouta’s hand. 

Shouta takes a step forward in the direction of the mouth of the alleyway, and Izuku tries to copy his movements, only to wobble and collapse to his knees, “Looks like I’m hungrier than I thought,” he mumbles to himself, and Shouta’s sure he didn’t mean to say that outloud. 

He holds back an angry and defeated sigh, “Kid, when’s the last time you ate?” 

Izuku wilts and looks down at the floor, “I had a granola bar earlier.”

And because that’s not very helpful information, “Before that.”

Izuku looks like he’s thinking about it and that hurts. “Uh...maybe Sunday night?” Shouta stares at him for a few moments. Sunday night...was four days ago. “Oh, kid…”

“It’s fine!” he squeaks, a little too loud. “I-I’m just a l-little ti-tired. I’ll be f-fine.” Shouta wonders if they’ll revoke his hero license when he murders whoever taught this kid that not eating for four days is fine. 

Most likely his mother. And anyone else who’s ever hurt him. 

Shouta reaches down and places his hands around Izuku’s torso, but quickly pulls them away when the kid hisses and flinches away. “Izuku...are you okay?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I…” Izuku trails off and sighs. He sounds so tired. “...s-someone pushed m-me down the s-stairs,” he mumbles meekly, resolutely avoiding eye contact with the hero. Knowing what he knows about the kid from this ten minute conversation, he probably thinks that Shouta will be mad at him. 

“Ok,” Shouta says, because what else can he say? He scoops Izuku up into his arms while being mindful of the injury, and allows the kid to lay his head in the soft ribbons of his capture weapon. “You can sleep, Izuku.” he whispers quietly, and the greenette is probably too tired to protest as he wraps his arms around Shouta’s neck and rests his head on his shoulder. 

(Izuku is so light, too light, way too light to have just been starving for only four days. Shouta doesn’t want to think about the implications of that.)

”Thanks, E-Eraserhead,” the kid says quietly as Shouta starts his walk to the mouth of the alley. “Call me Aizawa,” Shouta says and Izuku just nods into his capture scarf.

By the time Shouta steps into the dim light of the sidewalk, Izuku is already fast asleep.

Chapter Text

When Shouta wakes again, it’s nearly eight am. He doesn’t think it’s a suitable time to wake up, but he has important things to do so he’s willing to make an exception. 

He rouses his partner, Hizashi, with a light jostling of his shoulders. 

“ Shou, it’s the weekend. Let me sleep,” he groans, drawing out the word in his sleepy haze. The man in question’s lips quirk up at that, but he doesn’t budge.

“It’s important ‘Zashi,” he says, making his expression neutral once more to convey the seriousness of the conversation they were going to have. The blonde blinks up at him, studying his expression before sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“What is it?”

Shouta sighs. How do you tell your husband you took in a random kid on the street? How do you tell your husband you’ve gotten attached. Shouta doesn’t get attached to people often, so this is new for both of them. The underground hero doesn’t know very much about the little boy, but he’s sure that Izuku hasn’t had an exactly easy life. And he deserves better. 

“Yesterday,” he starts, holding eye contact with his husband. “I found a kid sleeping in an alleyway at three am. He said he was six, Hizashi.” 

Hizashi gasps quietly, a stricken expression overtaking his features. “He hasn’t eaten in four days, maybe longer, and he told me that nobody wanted him. ” Shouta can feel his lips pull down into a frown as his emotions become so strong that he can’t reign them in properly. It hurts his heart that someone would do that to a child. 

“He’s asleep on the couch,” Shouta admits quietly, staring down at the sheets. When he looks back up he sees something akin to mirth in his husband’s eyes and oh no—

“You’ve gotten attached,” he practically squeals, eyes crinkling in amusement and lips quirking up into a small smile, despite the morbid situation. They had been talking about adopting for a little while now, but only in passing. This would be a big step for the couple. “Well anyone who managed to soften you has got to be worth meeting!” the blonde says, and launches out of bed. 

Shouta follows him, stretching a bit as ‘Zashi opens the door. He takes notice of all three cats spread around the room and closes the door behind him, so as not to scare the kid with them. The dark-haired man follows his husband out to the kitchen, surprised to hear the sounds of popping and the smell of something sweet wafting around the house. Shouta absentmindedly reaches for his husband’s hand in his confusion, who gives him a light squeeze in return. 

They walk into the kitchen to find Izuku standing on a chair next to the stove, struggling to flip pancakes . There’s a large stack of them on the plate next to him and ingredients scattered around the kitchen island, dishes piled up in the sink. His- the, the adorable little boy is bent over the stove, tongue peeking out of lips in concentration as he attempts to scoop the pancake onto the spatula. Hearing footsteps, Izuku looks up and both pro heroes are met with the heartwarming sight of a little freckled face covered in flour, smiling meekly. His eyes zero in on ‘Zashi immediately, who smiles brightly at him. His brows furrowed in concentration as a small frown takes over his lips.

Just as Shouta is about to ask what’s frustrating him, the expression is wiped off of Izuku’s face and his eyes light up. He whips his little hand out and points at the blonde yelling, “You’re Present Mic!” way too loud for eight in the morning. 

‘Zashi beams at him, making his way over to Izuku who completely abandons the pancake on the stove in favor of jumping off of the chair and meeting the hero halfway, talking faster than the speed of light and asking a million questions. 

“Woah, Woah there, slow down Little Listener! You can call me Hizashi, or Yamada, whatever makes you comfortable,” Hizashi says when Izuku stops to take a breath, just as Shouta finishes up the pancake for him so it doesn’t burn. The blonde turns to him and shoots a wide-eyed look that reads ‘he’s so adorable!’, earning an eye roll. Shouta watches as he kneels so he’s eye level with the six-year-old and asks, “How do you know how to make pancakes?! Most kids your age don’t know how to cook just yet.”

The implications of his question are clear. Most kids don’t have to cook for themselves at six years old. 

Izuku looks down at his feet, suddenly losing his excitement. Shouta notices that the spark in his eye can only be found when he’s rambling to or about a hero. “I-I wanted to- to t-thank you for let-letting me sleep-p here. Sometimes I would m-make pancakes for...for Mama on h-her birthdays. A-And I’d leave-e a no-note! B-But she’d usually th-throw the note a-away,” the last part was mumbled, almost to himself, but it broke both heroes’ hearts. The kid is so sweet and kind and he deserves so much better than this. 

“ Anyway,” Izuku says, oblivious to the fact that the heroes heard his admittance, “I-I’m sorry for using y-your stuff! I just w-wanted to say thank you, so. I-I’m gonna go n-now.” He takes a step back from Hizashi and starts to turn towards the door, but the blonde reaches out and grabs his shoulder before he can take a step. 

“Wait!” He calls, as Izuku flinches violently under the touch before looking at them with fear in his eyes. Shouta walks forward slowly, kneeling next to Hizashi, who instantly retracts his hand and looks at the cowering child with nothing but concern. 

“We want you to stay, Izuku,” Shouta says gently, trying to convey how he feels through his expression alone. It must do something because the kid’s shoulders relax marginally and the fear leaves his eyes, but he eyes both heroes skeptically. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, turning his gaze towards the ground. 

“Why don’t we bandage you up, and we can explain ok?” Shouta suggests, and his husband glances at him in confusion. Izuku blinks at him with his wide doe eyes. “You d-don’t have to help me, I-I can do it,” he says. 

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Hizashi says, hand twitching slightly as he holds himself back. The loud hero had always been a fan of physical contact, so it must be hard to reign himself in for the sake of Izuku, who probably had no positive physical contact in years. 

It’s one of the reasons Shouto respects Zashi so much. One of the reasons he loves him. 

“Can I touch you?” Hizashi asks tentatively, flashing a disarming smile at the greenette. After a moment of hesitation, Izuku nods. The hero telegraphs his movements as he places a gentle hand on Izuku’s back, leading him over to sit on the couch. 

Shouta goes to the bedroom and opens the door, letting all three cats wander out to hesitantly greet the newcomer. When he follows them out he sees Izuku looking down at them curiously as ‘Zashi sifts around for the first aid kit. 

He picks up the light brown Norwegian forest cat that Izuku was staring at and sits down next to the boy on the couch. “This is Fork. Hizashi named him that because he picked up a fork in his mouth and almost electrocuted himself in an outlet.” 

Izuku giggles at that and it’s such a sweet melodic sound. It makes the corners of Shouta’s lips tick up just a little. He puts Fork into Izuku’s lap and he hesitantly starts to pet the animal as Shouta grabs the Birman. “This is…” he probably shouldn’t say this name around children but aw, fuck it, “This is Bastard. I named him that because he tried to claw my eyes out when I found him.” 

‘Zashi squawks indignantly from where he opens a drawer in the side table while Izuku frowns. “That’s a bad word.” 

Shouta chuckles wryly, “Yeah, it is. But you can say it when you’re talking to the cat, ok?” Izuku nods and he moves on to the last cat, a brown and white Siamese. “This last one is Mochi, we named her that because she always tries to steal some whenever we buy it.”

Izuku starts to scratch behind Fork’s ears as ‘Zashi settles on the coffee table with the first aid kit. He glances at Izuku, then at Shouta, probably wondering what injuries he has. The scruffy pro hero nods one before turning to Izuku. Sensing eyes on him, the boy in question looks up from where he was petting the cat, his smile dropping a bit. “Izuku can you take off your shirt?” Shouta asks softly. 

He glances between the couple, hesitation clear before sighing and lifting the cat off of his lap. He takes his shirt off slowly, wincing when he stretches his arms and puts it down on the couch next to him. Bastard starts to bat at it immediately while Izuku’s gaze drops to the ground and he hunches in on himself. 

Shouta holds back a wince while Hizashi hisses quietly under his breath. A large purple and black bruise sits on Izuku’s abdomen, his back having a smaller but similar injury. His arms and chest are decorated with scars, slashes, and starburst burns but there are newer burns on the skin as well. 

Shouta says nothing as he grabs a cold washcloth and presses it against the burn, as Hizashi presses ice to the bruise on his ribs. All three of them sit in a tense sort of silence as his injuries are treated, Shouta contemplative because why does a six-year-old have so many scars—

“Thank you,” Izuku whispers, eyes on the ground again.  

“It’s no problem Little Listener!” ‘Zashi reassures him, smiling. Shouta takes it upon himself to put the first aid kit away as his husband leads Izuku back to the table for breakfast.  

When he joins them again, the blonde is serving the now warm pancakes onto three separate plates and putting them on the dining room table. They eat in mostly silence, with the two adults studying the child before them.

Izuku doesn’t look either of them in the eye once while he eats, but Shouta notices that he’s acutely aware of every single movement they make, and he flinches if they’re too sudden. He also barely eats a third of his portion before claiming that he’s full. Shouta can’t even fault him, as if his suspicions are correct, his stomach can’t handle too much anyway. 

Izuku doesn’t make a single sound , while he eats or after as he waits for the other two to finish. He sits completely still, so still that they can just barely see the rise and fall of his chest. Shouta can’t hear him chew, can’t hear him put the fork down on the plate, can’t hear anything. As if he’s purposefully making himself silent. As if he’s trying to remain unnoticed. 

It’s sad really, to see a child that young have those habits so ingrained in their everyday lives. 

When they finish, no one moves. “Izuku,” Shouta calls, softly so he doesn’t startle. 

The boy looks up, ever so slowly, looking just over Shouta’s shoulder, in the space between the two husbands. “Izuku, you don’t want to go back to your Mom right?” he asks, holding back from reaching out.  

The green-haired boy pales and quickly shakes his head, so fast that Shouta wonders for a split second if it’ll fall off. “Mama sa-said I’m w-w-worthless. Sh-She’d be better off w-wi-without me-e,” he mumbles, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. 

‘Zashi and Shouta exchange sullen looks, fueled by rage. They’ll make that woman pay . “We want you to stay here, Izuku,” Hizashi tells the kid, their kid, still smiling gently. 

Izuku’s already wide doe eyes become so much wider, and the tears start to drip down his freckled cheeks as he opens his mouth, but no words are coming out. “N-No!” he gasps for breath, tears still free flowing. “N-No, you don’t w-want me!” he exclaims, shifting his position on the chair so he’s hugging his knees to his chest. 

Shouta sighs, “Izuku, yes we – ”

“NO!” he shouts, rocking back and forth in his position and gasping for breath. He looks back and forth between the heroes, panic in his expression and fear in his eyes. “No, no, no, no, no,” he mumbles, starting to press his nails into the bandages covering the skin of the opposite forearm again. “ No, they don’t want me, no one wants me, no one wants a useless, worthless, stupid little kid– ” 

Shouta reaches out a hand, pulling back Izuku’s hands back down so he doesn’t hurt himself. As soon as Shouta touches him though, he flinches and pales, bringing his arms up to protect his face as if he’s- as if he’s expecting an attack. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry, I-I’m sorry! I won’t do it a-again, I’m sorry! Please, please don’t hurt me,” he begs, and he looks at Shouta and Hizashi but his eyes are distant and he’s not really seeing them. 

“Hey,” Hizashi calls, moving slowly towards the shaking child. “ Izuku. Izuku, you are safe. No one is going to hurt you.” 

He doesn’t hear them though, that much is clear as he doesn’t move an inch from his defensive stance, breathing ragged and heavy. “Izuku,” Shouta tries, moving to sit on the ground in front of the chair next to his husband. “Izuku, it’s me, Eraserhead.” he tries his hero name, because he seems to respond kindly to heroes. 

Izuku moves his arms away from his face slowly, the cloudy haze of vacancy disappearing from his eyes just a bit as he looks between the heroes. “E-Eraserhead?” he asks, voice quiet and raspy as he looks down at Shouta. The hero in question nods, and after a moment, the boy drops his hands to wrap around his knees once again.

“Izuku, I need you to breathe with me, ok?” Hizashi takes the reins, and the child nods to him. 

“Ok, breathe in for four,” The voice hero counts to four, watching as Izuku inhales with him. “Hold for five,” and he holds his breath. “Out for six. One, two, three, four, five, six.” 

They repeat the exercise until Izuku’s breathing is less ragged and broken and more even and normal. His cheeks are pink tinged and streaked with tear tracks, his eyes are red rimmed, and he’s frowning heavily. “Y-You don’t w-want me,” he whispers again. 

“Why wouldn’t we want you, Izuku?” Shouta asks, confused as to why this wonderful kid can think such bad things about himself. “You’re not worthless, kid. You’r –”

“I’m quirkless !” he exclaims, then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth in shock. Shouta blinks at him, gritting his teeth in anger. That explains a lot. He knows that his life wasn’t exactly good with a quirk that everyone had instantly labelled villainous. He doesn’t want to think about having no quirk at all. 

It angers him though, that this poor kid, this child, has suffered so much because of something that he couldn’t control. It angers him that nobody did anything about it. “I’m s-sorry for not telling you-u earlier, I can leave now if you w-want–”

 “That’s fine , Izuku.” he says, because he realized neither of them said anything and the kid is starting to panic. “We still want you to stay.” Izuku blinks down at them, looking absolutely bewildered by the prospect of people sticking around after they found out about his quirk status. the 

“Even though I’m q-quirkless?” he asks quietly, for once looking Shouta directly in the eyes. There’s a glint of something there, something oh so small, but it’s there. Hope. “Even though you’re quirkless.” Shouta reaffirms for him. 

Izuku stares at him for about three seconds, seemingly searching for something before jumping off the chair into Shouta's arms, bursting into loud sobs. “ T-Thank you ,” he says between hiccups, burying his face into the dark-haired man’s chest. Shouta feels tears start to seep through his shirt but he ignores them as he hesitantly wraps his arms around the sobbing six-year-old. 

Shouta looks up at his husband to see him smiling genuinely and cooing at the pair, to which Shouta responds by rolling his eyes and allowing a small smile to appear on his lips. When Izuku removes his face from his chest to look up at him, Shouta is happy to find some of the light has returned to viridian irises and a wide, real smile on his face. 

After the hugging and crying session on the kitchen floor, the trio moves to the couch and settles in for a long conversation. Izuku keeps himself glued to Aizawa’s side, thoroughly embarrassed about having not one but two mental breakdowns in front of Pro Heroes. 

He settles himself down and absentmindedly picks up Fork to pet, and to comfort, while Bastard (still a bad word, but Aizawa said to make an exception) leaps onto the couch and snuggles into his side. 

It’s weird, Izuku thinks, to be sitting on a couch snuggling with cats and sitting across from heroes who want to take care of him . 

Just yesterday he was sleeping in an alley, sore and thoroughly bruised, not only with a broken body but a broken mind, a broken spirit. 

And now, after a somewhat emotional conversation, Izuku feels... safe. He feels safe here. He knows these people aren’t going to hurt him, they actually like him, even though he’s quirkless, a useless burden—

No. Stop. Stop Izuku . Aizawa and Yamada told him that what Mama said wasn’t true, and they obviously care a lot more than she did, so he should listen to them. 

He should try. 

All of a sudden the feeling of drowning isn’t so suffocating anymore. 

After all, both of them have been nothing but kind to him, and he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe that care is genuine. 

It’s nice. 

“Izuku, we have to talk about your mom,” Aizawa says carefully, and Izuku looks up at the man. 

He’s known that Mama didn’t love him anymore for a long while, but having this conversation with Yamada and Aizawa will really cement it for him. 

If he admits that Mama doesn’t like him, maybe never liked him, then it’ll be real. The hard truths that Izuku has been tuning out for the past two years will be real . 

Izuku doesn’t know if he can handle that just yet. 

But he has to. He has to be strong. If not for himself, for the heroes. They want to help. So Izuku will be strong for them. “Ok,” he says with a firm nod, eyes sparking in determination. 

Aizawa nods back at him and Yamada smiles, big and bright and genuine and it makes him feel at ease. Present Mic has always had that effect on him, even before his quirk diagnosis. His eccentric but genuine personality had always been a sort of calming presence for Izuku, something that indicates that he’s safe. 

“Izuku...how does your mother normally treat you?” Aizawa asks hesitantly, as if struggling to find the right wording. 

Izuku shrugs because, now that he thinks about it, how much of what Mama does to him is normal? He has no one to base it off of, so there’s no way for him to tell what’s important and not important information. He’ll just have to tell them everything, he guesses. 

“Uhm...I guess s-she-'' Izuku takes a deep breath struggling for words. Yamada slowly reaches out and places a comforting hand on his knee, making sure to telegraph his movements, which Izuku is grateful for. He’s not exactly a super big fan of touching, but his hand is keeping him grounded, so he shoots the man a grateful smile. “Most of the time, Mama would just ignore me. Sometimes she would uh-” his voice cracks, and Izuku feels tears prick the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision, but he pushes them back. 

“She would s-scream at me and uhm- s-she would come into my room and rip up all my st-stuff,” Izuku internally pats himself on the back for the minimal stuttering, even when he feels the tears start to drip down his cheeks. 

He reaches up and tugs at his hair slightly, if only to ground himself, to remind himself that he’s not there. He’s safe. Izuku squeezes his eyes shut tightly, only to blow them wide open again and flinch when nimble fingers gently take his hand out of his hair. He looks around, feeling the panic start to settle back in because they’re going to hurt you again, they’re going to hit you, get away, get AWAY–

But then his eyes land on Aizawa’s, who holds eye contact as he threads their fingers together and squeezes his hand gently, and Izuku lets the tension bleed from his shoulders because he’s safe. 

“She just acted like I d-didn’t exist,” he finishes, looking down at his lap and watching the tear drops stain his sweatpants. The admittance stung a lot more than he’d like to admit. 

“Can I hug you?” he hears a voice ask, and Izuku slowly looks up to see Yamada looking at him with a concerned expression. Izuku stares at him for a long moment before nodding and letting strong arms encircle his waist and envelope him into a hug. It was warm, and the voice hero smelled like leather and faintly of apples, and Izuku let the scent surround him. 

Izuku slowly hugged the man back, slowly quelling the steady stream of tears. When they finally pulled away, Aizawa was waiting with a water bottle and a small smile, which Izuku was grateful for. 

“We’ll do everything we can to help you, Izuku,” Aizawa said as Izuku cuddled Mochi close to his chest, idly wondering where Bastard and Fork had run off to. The greenette just nodded, suddenly exhausted from the events of the morning. He leaned his head against Yamada’s shoulder, feeling safe enough to let his guard down, if only a little bit, and too tired to care about being scared. His eyelids started to droop a little, and his strokes on the cat slowed. 

“Are you tired?” Aizawa asked, and Izuku held his eyes closed for a moment before trying to respond, but getting cut off by a loud yawn. He felt Yamada’s shoulder shake as he chuckled and then, “Let’s show you to your bedroom Little Listener.”

Izuku stood, slowly opening his eyes and still clutching Mochi protectively to his chest as he followed the two adults to the back hallway of the home. They opened a door and stepped inside, and he followed them in, too tired to be aware of his surroundings.

He recognized a plain white bedroom with a queen size bed in the corner, a desk next to the door, and a wardrobe and closet on the left wall. Izuku climbed into the bed with the cat, smiling a little when he felt the weight of another cat pressed against his side. 

Izuku felt like he could nap for a century, which is weird for him, because he never felt safe enough anywhere to sleep for longer than a couple of hours. His thoughts were too loud, too much for sleep to properly take him. It dawns on him once again that Izuku feels completely comfortable here, and safe. It’s an odd feeling. 

The bone deep fatigue that had settled into his bones was an ever present fixture in his everyday life, but it scarcely had anything to do with his lack of sleep, and more with the fact that he was never really living. 

Today though, those thoughts and feelings are quelled as Izuku drifts off.

He feels soft lips press against his forehead and the last thing he hears is a soft, “Sleep well, Izuku,” and the door shutting behind them. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Shouta does after he’s sure Izuku is asleep is call up Tsukauchi. Izuku deserves more than what his mother gave him or didn’t give him in this case. He deserves a home, someplace to be happy, someplace to be safe, feel safe, and loved. Shouta wants so badly to be able to provide that for him. 

Plus, from what the little boy had told them, there was no doubt that Inko was, at the very least, neglectful at worst abusive. He didn’t really want to think about what the boy wasn’t telling them. 

Shouta moves into their bedroom, closing the door softly behind him, and picks up the phone from the nightstand. He dials the detective because if there’s one person who he knows can and will help, it would be Tsukauchi. They have a solid friendship, and from what Shouta can gauge, the man is trustworthy and genuine, and kind . 

It rings once, twice, three times before it connects, and Shouta hears his normal greeting from the detective’s personal number. “Hey, Eraser what’s up,” he sighs, and Tsukauchi sounds tired, but he always does really, so that’s nothing really new. 

“I’ve got a situation,” is how Shouta chooses to start. Vague. “Which is…?” The man prompts because Shouta is usually one to get to the point. He sits down on the edge of his bed, watching the blanket crinkle and the mattress fold under his weight. 

“Case of child neglect and abuse,” Shouta says, blunt and to the point as always. And he holds his breath and waits for the man to say something as there’s a small hitch of breath from the other end of the line. “Gonna need more details than that Eraser.”

And the man speaks in a tone laced with righteous indignation for a child in need and Shouta remembers why he respects him so much. So he sighs and does as asked. “His name is Midoriya Izuku, and he’s quirkless. It’s just his mother with him I think.”

A sigh on the other end. Quirk discrimination is so prominent these days and Tsukauchi has probably seen it firsthand. “I’ll try to see what I can find in the database. Do you want me to come to yours for a statement?” 

And the tension that Shouta didn’t even know he was holding bleeds out of his shoulders and he slumps into the mattress, sighing. He didn’t really know how the kid would adjust to the situation, let alone a police station. It would be better if they kept him in an environment he’s familiar with, especially with something that could bring back so many bad memories. Shouta nods, then remembers Tsukauchi can’t see him and mumbles an affirmative over the phone. 

“Also,” Shouta adds as an afterthought, because he did notice the way the child sported too many injuries and scars that couldn’t have come from his mother, “Potential discrimination at his school as well.”

There’s a soft hiss on the other end. “Right. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon?” Tsukauchi offers carefully, the sounds of typing heard faintly in the background. Shouta grunts a confirmation and says his goodbyes, promising to call if his kid needs more time, and hanging up and closing his eyes for a few seconds to just think.

It’s been barely twelve hours since this all started, and Shouta’s already painfully attached to the kid. Even if he doesn’t want to be a permanent fixture in their family, the underground hero just wants to see him happy. Kami knows the kid got a shitty hand in life that he didn’t even deserve. And if Izuku doesn’t think Shouta can give him that then he’ll be sad, and it’ll hurt like hell, but he’ll respect it. 

(And by respect it, he means to vet the people that Izuku wants to be with, background checks, maybe some light stalking, just to make sure that the kid, his kid, can be safe and happy wherever he thinks is best. That’s what matters.)

Shouta walks back out into the living room where Hizashi was already ready and waiting for him, steps purposeful as he sits down next to his husband, sighing. He leans his head on the blonde’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of leather and the cats, lips ticking upwards when Mochi jumps up and makes herself comfortable on his lap. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, simply enjoying the presence of one another, the TV playing at a low volume as background noise. It’s nice in their little bubble, surrounded by love and warmth and words that don’t really need to be said but are communicated anyway, through warm, comforting touches and small smiles and just being there. 

It’s Hizashi who breaks the silence, which is unsurprising given his quirk and personality. “What’s the plan?” he asks. Three little words with a whole lot of meaning. So many questions asked, conveyed, through that one small sentence, so many unspoken words. 

Shouta reaches out and brushes a hand over the brown patches of Mochi’s soft fur, then scratches behind her ears gently. The cat purrs softly and snuggles further into the low point of his stomach, closing her eyes contently. The dark haired man doesn’t speak for a long moment, not wanting to break the silence, the warm but apprehensive atmosphere he’s found himself in, even though he knows he has to. 

‘Zashi doesn’t pressure him — he never does. He just waits, patient and painstakingly kind, absentmindedly running his nimble fingers through the waves on Shouta’s head, gently working through the knots and tangles and pulling back when Shouta flinches or hisses under his breath. Even when he’s done he doesn’t remove his fingers, stroking the hair softly and leaving his scalp tingling. 

Eventually, Shouta sighs, closing his eyes for a long moment before answering. “Detective is coming to take his statement tomorrow, and we will go from there.” He wishes he had more. Wishes he could reassure his husband with something other than empty promises if he were to try, wishes he could take the kid, their kid, and bundle him up, warm and safe in their arms, wishes he could promise Hizashi that Izuku won’t leave. But he can’t, because at this point they just don’t know. 

Even though Izuku said he would stay, he could easily change his mind about it if he had somewhere better. 

But the blonde, his lovely, amazing husband, his sunshine takes the answer with a smile and reads between the lines, and doesn’t ask for more, even though they both know he wants something Shouta can’t give him. He wants the hero to promise the kid, Izuku, he’ll stay here, he’ll be safe, he’s ours. But he won’t. Can’t. So they lapse into silence again, more contemplative this time but equally as warm.

“I just want him to be happy,” ‘Zashi whispers, quiet, quieter than Shouta’s ever heard him be like someone has taken the shine out of him and muffled it, covered it, snuffed it out. And he hates it, hates the quiet, because for all he complains, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if his ‘Zashi, his light, his sunshine wasn’t bright anymore. 

So Shouta says the only thing that makes sense, the only thing he can say. Because he can’t guarantee that it will get better, but he can sure as hell try. 

“I know Hizashi. Me too.”

It’s dark. Too dark. Way too dark for it to be normal, and Izuku doesn’t know where he is, but he knows that it’s dark, pitch black, like the sun just disappeared, and eerily quiet, and vacant. 

Where are Aizawa and Yamada? Where is he? What happened?

Izuku repeats these questions in his head, trying to make sense of the situation because he’s scared and cold and alone and it’s quiet, so quiet, so quiet that all he can hear are his own stuttering breaths and his fingers tap, tap, tapping against the ground beneath him. 

Izuku sits there alone in the dark and the quiet. Maybe it was only a couple of minutes, or a few hours. Maybe it was days, weeks, months, years, he doesn’t know. He only knows that it’s dark, pitch black, and he can’t see anything, and it’s quiet, too quiet, like his empty home with his vacant mother, and it’s cold, so very cold, so unlike the Aizawa-Yamada home, the home that was blanketed in a warm bubble, but he’s not there anymore and he’s scared . 

The fear is all consuming, all encompassing, because he was safe and he hadn’t felt safe in a long time and now it’s gone and he doesn’t know what to do, where to go, he just knows that it’s too dark and too quiet and he wants to go home.

Unless it was all a lie. Unless he doesn’t have any right to feel safe, feel warm because they left him and they’re gone and Izuku is all alone again. Of course, of course, they didn’t really want a worthless child like him, of course, it was all a lie, just some pity or sympathy or some sick cruel joke. No one could ever love him, no one would ever love him. He was a worthless, quirkless waste of space, and he deserves to be cold and alone and afraid. 

They don’t want him. They never wanted him. 

Izuku’s head snaps up when he hears footsteps, rhythmic tapping against the ground, and Izuku doesn’t know who it is but he’s afraid . And now, Izuku can’t move from his spot on the ground. He tries, tries to thrash or struggle or break free of his metaphorical chains but he can’t move from the ground and it’s terrifying. 

Fear consumes him, fills up his lungs with thick sludge, like tar, through his bones making them vibrate, onto his skin, into his heart, eyes, mind. It feels like it’s physically choking him and Izuku heaves for air, gasping and bringing two small hands to wrap gently around his throat as he struggles to breathe. 

The footsteps are getting closer now, louder, and Izuku can only watch on in fear as something like a shadow comes out of the darkness, a grey-black and yet somehow visible, like it’s glowing. The mist doesn’t touch the ground, but the footsteps are there, and he cowers, still struggling for a breath because he feels like he’s drowning. 

The mist billows and shifts, taking shape into something vaguely person-shaped, shaped unsurprisingly like one Midoriya Inko, and it towers over Izuku, choking him with its very presence. 

“They never wanted you. They would never want someone as worthless as you,” the voice bellows, pitch deep and dark and low but somehow blank and empty as if it’s stating a simple fact. It feels like the words are physical blows, punching into the boy with every syllable and knocking the warmth out of his chest, the air out of his lungs, snuffing out the light inside of him. 

And then the mist is gone, but there are more voices now, surrounding him, trapping him in a prison of poisonous words. Some are loud, some quiet, whispers and shouts, all equally malicious and vile. They scream at him or the words are barely above a whisper, but he can hear every single one, every single ‘worthless, useless, quirkless’ every reminder of how he deserves pain, every single sentiment about how he’s better off dead.

The words are burned into his skin like a branding, marring his flesh with poisonous black scars, physical reminders of the words he has memorized already. His skin stings, burns something vicious, the pain so unbearable at times that his vision whites out, and Izuku doesn’t know what to do. 

He can’t find it in himself to scream or fight or try to break free because it’s too dark and too cold and it’s no longer quiet, but Izuku desperately wishes it was. 

So he lies on the ground and curls in on himself, shutting his eyes tight and ignoring the searing pain and trying and failing to tune out the vitriol words, his cries and pleads going unheard to his abusers. 

“Izuku!” It’s faint, and it sounds a lot like Aizawa’s voice and it makes him cry harder, because he knows already, he knows it was all a lie and they don’t really want him, but he doesn’t want to add salt in the wound by having them repeat what he already knows.

Useless, worthless, quirkless, waste of spac —

“IZUKU!” 

And his eyes snap open but Izuku can’t see, because it’s still too dark, but it’s not quiet or cold, and that helps just the smallest bit. He turns his head a fraction and he sees shaggy dark waves and a tall blonde head and he startles, scrambling out from under the covers and scooching towards the corner of the bed, as far away as physically possible.

Black spots are in the corners of his vision as he struggles, heaves in a breath, fighting with the tar like black sludge filling up his lungs, fighting the feeling of drowning because he knows, he knows, it was all their pity and their sympathy, all a lie, they don’t want him, nobody wants him —

“ —zuk—”

— and he was stupid, stupid, stupid to think he was safe here because no where is safe for someone as worthless as Izuku, stupid little quirkless Izuku who would be better off dead—

“ —Izu—”

— why did they have to lie to him? Aizawa should have left him out there in the streets where he was before, where he belonged because that’s all he deserves. Izuku’s head is no longer bobbing over the water, but he’s been pulled under, drowning, free falling to the bottom of his pit of despair because he doesn’t deserve to be happy, to be safe—

“Izuku!”

A voice filters in and his head snaps up, but Izuku is still hyperventilating even as he stares at Aizawa with wide frightened eyes and tear stained cheeks and a wobbling lip. 

“Izuku, we weren’t lying, you are safe here. We want you here, we want you to be happy, ok?” Aizawa says and Izuku looks at him, really looks at him, searches for the pity and the sympathy or the hatred that he’s accustomed to, but when he finds none he allows himself to relax just the smallest bit. 

“It was just a dream, Izuku,” Yamada says and Izuku’s head snaps to him. “It was just a dream,” he repeats, a warm tentative smile on his face, concern in his expression. “We would never abandon you.” 

Something about that, the way he said it, as if he was trying to convey his sincerity through his voice allows Izuku to breathe again, allows him to let the gasps and shallow breaths of air fill his lungs and see the heroes clearly once more. Phantom pains of burns on his skin still sting but he ignores it in favor of letting his breathing even out and studying the two heroes before him. 

“Can I,” Izuku starts, because he’s so tired, and emotionally raw right now, and they said they would keep him safe and he wants to believe that. “Can I ha-ve a h-hug?” And he winces slightly as his voice cracks, but he gets the message across because the two heroes, his heroes scramble up onto the large bed from where they knelt on the ground next to it and wrap him up into a hug, Aizawa with his arms around Izuku’s waist and Yamada from the back wrapped around the both. 

Izuku is enveloped in their arms and he feels warm and safe and he lets out a choked sob, burying his head into the crook of Aizawa’s neck and crying, relishing in the contact, positive physical contact that’s still so foreign to him. “I-I’m sorry,” he hiccups, and he is, sorry for doubting them, these heroes, because of a stupid dream, even though he knew they just wanted to help. But they’re so kind and they offer small reassurances like, “It’s ok, kiddo, let it all out,” and “You’re safe here, I promise,” and “You have nothing to be sorry for”, and Izuku believes it. 

It’s a long moment later when his tears dry and he leans back a little, and the blonde hero takes the hint, pushing back and leaning against the headboard so Izuku can sit down next to him with Aizawa on the other side. After a moment, he takes both of their hands, one in each of his own and he smiles a small little smile to himself, but it’s real, and that’s what matters. 

Aizawa gives a small squeeze of reassurance and Yamada rubs small circles over the back of his hand, and Izuku lets the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he relaxes between the two heroes. 

“Are you back with us?” Aizawa asks after a moment’s hesitation, and Izuku hums an affirmative, and they lapse into silence once more. 

“Izuku,” The underground hero starts, tone firm but not angry and Izuku turns to look up at him meeting dark brown almost black eyes staring at him, brows furrowed in concern. “Hm,” Izuku  hums to show he’s listening and the man continues, “Would you be up for giving your statement about your mom tomorrow?” and he holds up a hand before Izuku can interrupt. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can always do it tomorrow or sometime later in the week, but it does have to get done. I don’t want you to push yourself into doing it early, just— whenever you’re ready. ”

And that statement really does it for Izuku for some reason. So he looks up, eyes blazing with determination and says, “I’ll do it tomorrow. I want to get it over with.” And yes, he’s scared, terrified out of his mind actually but he— he really wants this. He wants to feel safe, he wants a family. 

Aizawa nods once, solidifying Izuku’s decision. “Hey, Izuku?” Yamada asks, and the boy in question turns to him to signify that he’s listening. “We’ll start dinner, why don’t you go shower? I’m sure you want to change out of those clothes.” 

He looks down at his wrinkled gym uniform, sporting various stains and dirt, and he nods, scooching off the bed.  

Izuku showers quickly enough, being mindful of his injuries and returns back to the bedroom to find a fresh set of clothes on the bed, folded neatly and wrinkle free.

He slips on the slightly too large white tee shirt and gray sweatpants, and right away Izuku notices that these are children’s clothes, much too small to be borrowed from the adults. Izuku almost cried right then and there because they went out of their way for him. Did something nice for him. 

He wonders if it’s a normal thing others do for the people they care about. 

Yeah, maybe this whole family thing won’t be bad at all. 

The next afternoon finds Shouta sitting with Izuku and his husband on the sofa, Detective Tsukauchi across from them. He will admit, he’s nervous about this questioning. Izuku is so young, and he just came out of a traumatic experience, and this might be too much for him. And Shouta is worried that the kid will push himself too far because he thinks he has to, but he doesn’t want to take this decision away from him because this is something Izuku needs. So he’ll sit and wait it out for Izuku’s sake, but if it becomes too much he will stop and help his kid, consequences be damned. 

They run the pleasantries as per usual, ‘Zashi and Shouta trying to look happy and relaxed to help Izuku stay calm. For the most part, the kid is holding it together well — he looks nervous but he’s not panicking, so for now, they’re ok. 

“Midoriya-kun, do you consent to me recording this?” the detective asks as he brings out a small recorder and a notepad, placing it on the coffee table. Izuku flinches slightly at his last name and seems to be thinking something over before he speaks, “Y-Yes. Can you c-call me I-Izuku? Please?” 

Tsukauchi smiles kindly and nods, turning on his recording device. “If at any point you would like to stop or take a break, please don’t hesitate to ask alright?” Izuku nods at this, and Aizawa lets some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders. 

The detective states their names, the reasons for the investigation and other standard procedures before actually beginning. 

“Alright, Izuku-kun, when was the last time you saw your mother, Midoriya Inko?” 

He seems to be thinking about it and oh, doesn’t that just break Shouta’s heart. “Ten— t-ten days ago, I think .” 

“True,” the detective verifies, “Izuku-kun, has your mother ever physically abused you?”

“No,” Izuku shakes his head. 

“Has she ever verbally abused you?” 

“Uhm, s-she,” he takes a deep breath, “She would y-yell at m-me sometimes. Called me w-worthless, and a w-waste of money-y and stuff.” And doesn’t that just make Shouta’s blood boil. 

Tsukauchi grimaces. “True. Sorry, I have to ask this. Has she ever sexually abused you?”

“N-No!” Izuku cries, shock written all over his face. Shouta gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, if only in an attempt to ground the other boy. 

“True. Izuku-kun, can you please describe your relationship and interactions with your mother?”

Ah. So this is the part where it gets hard. Shouta wordlessly reaches over and grabs Izuku’s hand in a show of support. He makes sure to keep his grip loose so the kid can easily let go if he pleases, but the hero is happy to see that he holds on like a lifeline and grabs Hizashi’s hand with his other. 

“S-She didn’t really t-talk to m-m-me. And when s-she did it w-was mostly y-yelling about how w-w-worthless and use-less-s I am. I di-didn’t really e-eat either-r be— be-because she didn’t gi-give me food or buy gro-groceries very often. Mama acted like I didn’t e-exist.” 

It’s silent for a moment when Izuku finishes speaking. Tsukauchi has a frown etching his features and Hizashi is looking on in horror and sadness. Shouta tries desperately to keep his emotions from showing in his expression, because all he feels is pure unadulterated rage. 

“True,” Tsukauchi says sadly.

Izuku was squeezing his hand in a death grip and tears were dripping down his cheeks, but his gaze was mostly blank. “Izuku, do you need a break?” Shouta asks quietly, turning towards his kid and watching multiple different emotions flit across his expressionless face before he settles upon a blank gaze once more, steely determination in his eyes. “N-No. I can do it.” Shouta nods, albeit reluctantly and turns back toward the detective. 

“Izuku-kun can you please tell me the name of your school?” Tsukauchi asks, looking at the little boy with something like concern. 

Izuku looks physically pained as he answers. “A-Aldera Primary School.”

“True. Can you describe how you’re treated at school please?” 

He takes a long pause, and all three adults wait patiently for the small child to gather himself. Shouta braces for the worst and he can tell that his husband is doing the same. 

And it really was far worse than any of them could have imagined. 

Izuku gave them a detailed explanation of how the teachers, the ones who were supposed to protect him, encouraged the others to use Izuku as quirk practice. “To help learn control,” he says, was the excuse they gave. Shouta calls bullshit . And what’s more is that those teachers also encouraged bullying, marked down the kid unfairly, and participated in the discrimination themselves. Izuku had told them that they said he was “a quirkless waste of space that would be better off dead.” To his face . 

Kami, this kid deserves so much better. 

And those kids, the other kids, the soldiers of society’s bias, who can’t really be blamed because they are six and they don’t know any better but still. Do their parents not teach right from wrong? They hurt Izuku, his kid , and for that they pay. 

“Do I—“ Izuku speaks up after a long silence, now playing with the rings on Hizashi’s hand, most likely to distract himself. “Do I have to go b-back?” 

“No, no of course not.” Shouta says and he means it because he’ll be dead before he lets his kid go back to that hellhole. Aldera will burn to the ground. 

Metaphorically of course. Yeah. Metaphorically. 

Izuku audibly sighs in relief at that, looking the smallest bit more relaxed. “We will do everything we can to help Izuku-kun.” Tsukauchi says, promises, because he sounds so genuine and sincere that it can’t really be anything else. 

With that, he clicks off the recorder and packs up his things, exiting their home in only a couple of minutes. The three of them relax into the couch, Izuku between the two and looking sad but okay. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” ‘Zashi offers, bless him, because he knows just the way to lift the heavy

mood and get everyone comfortable and in good spirits. 

Izuku smiles and nods and so the newfound family of three spend the night buried in blankets and cats and binging Disney movies, content in each other’s company, surrounded by warmth and love. 

Chapter Text

Shouta gets word that Inko’s been arrested the next afternoon. He’s a little upset that he can’t be there to grill the woman himself, but his kid needs him, so it’s ok. 

They had strategically timed everything so that they would be heading over to Izuku’s old place to get his things when Inko is out, so now he just has to ask Izuku to go. If he wants to go. Shouta won’t force him to go back to a place filled with so many bad memories, not if it will cause the kid more emotional distress. Kami knows he doesn’t need anymore .

It was Monday, meaning Hizashi had to go to work at UA (a job that Shouta was preparing for himself) leaving him and Izuku alone for the day. Then, Shouta would go out on patrol sometime after his husband came home. Currently, Izuku was sitting across from him at the dining room table, drawing and coloring as Shouta finished up some paperwork. 

They were quiet, but it was nice. Comfortable. Neither of them felt very inclined to fill the silence. Shouta liked the quiet, and he had a feeling that Izuku felt safer in it. 

Still, he was wondering how he should broach the topic. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm his kid, but this was something that had to be done. 

“Izuku,” he calls, looking up from his paperwork as his crayon stops and Izuku looks up into his eyes. He can see the fear there clear as day before the tension slowly bleeds out of his shoulders and the fear smooths out into something more relaxed. Shouta’s lips tick up into a tiny smile, happy that he can, at the very least, make the kid feel safe. 

“We need to get your stuff from your Mom’s house,” he starts, glossing over the small flinch it elicits from the child. “Inko won’t be there. You can come with me, or you can make a list and I can go get the stuff for you.” 

Shouta is silent as he waits for Izuku to process. He looks worried and hesitant, and he’s quiet when he speaks. “You would do that? For me?” Izuku asks. As if he’s not worth Shouta’s time. The hero resists the urge to sigh, knowing it will give the boy the wrong impression about how he feels. “Yeah, of course, kid. You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.” 

Izuku looks like he’s deliberating for a second. “She won’t be there?” 

Shouta nods in an affirmative. Izuku steels himself, determination coating his expression. “I’ll go. It was my house too and...and I wanna go see it one last time.” 

Shouta nods, once again stunned by the emotional maturity of this six-year-old. It’s sad really, that he had to grow up so fast. To keep himself safe. 

“I’ll be ok,” Izuku says, giving the man a small smile. 

Shouta chooses to believe him. 

Izuku was nervous. 

He was trembling, clutching Aizawa’s hand like a lifeline as they stood in front of an unassuming red door into his only home for the past six years. Izuku closed his eyes, pictured Aizawa and Yamada, the cats, their home, the feeling of being warm and safe. He opened them and he was once again facing the red door. 

“You can always back out,” Aizawa reminds him, squeezing Izuku’s hand in a reassuring gesture. It helps to ground him as he shakes his head, determined not to let the nerves get the best of him. “No. I can do it.” 

The hero unlocks the door with a key he said he got from the detective, pushing it open slowly. Izuku doesn’t let go of the hand as he steps into the house, using it as a tether back to the feeling of warmth and safety. Like a lifeline. 

He pauses briefly at the genkan before remembering that he isn’t staying, and continuing down the short hallway to the last door, to his room. 

There used to be a sign there , he thinks absentmindedly. 

Izuku runs into his room and closes the door behind him, locking it and climbing under the bed. The house is cold and Mama is yelling. Mama’s never yelled before and Izuku doesn’t really like it. Izuku has never seen her this angry.

Izuku pushes open the door to his bedroom, looking around at the barren and empty blue walls. Mama had told him they were painted baby blue when he was born, for a nursery. Now there are lighter patches where posters used to hang, the shelves empty, the drawers shut tight. Everything is closed off and emptied out. He didn’t want to keep anything out in the open, for fear of it being destroyed or taken. 

Fear eats at him as he looks around the dark crawl space, burrowing back against the wall. Something about the way Mama is yelling, the look that was on her face — it made Izuku’s instincts scream at him to run, to hide, to get away—

He didn’t know this feeling. He didn’t like this feeling at all. 

Izuku lets go of Aizawa’s hand, going down on his hands and knees and grabbing his books out from under the bed. Comics and manga, his hero notebooks, books on science and chemistry that had been a gift from the quirkless old lady that lived two doors down. All belongings that Izuku needed to protect. He knows what happens when he leaves his things out and around — they were taken or they were destroyed. 

There are bangs on his door along with screaming, and Izuku whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut so tight it almost hurts. He hears his All-Might-themed nameplate clatter on the ground. There’s a snapping sound, and then the door slamming open, and Izuku holds his breath. 

Mama screams, yells, shouts about how worthless he is, about how he’s a runt and a burden and she hates him. Tears prick the corners of Izuku’s eyes. He just doesn’t understand! He was quirkless before, and so were all the other kids! What’s so different about it now? 

He delicately places everything on his bed and moves to the closet, pulling out the small suitcase in there. Aizawa helps him fill it quickly and efficiently, fold up his minuscule amount of clothes and tuck them into the bag. Almost all of them just barely fit, as they were leftover from when he was four years old. He hasn’t gotten anything new since then. 

There are ripping sounds. His books and toys being torn apart with Mama’s quirk an dropped to the ground. Papers fall to the floor, All Might plushies and superhero action figures are dented and disfigured. Mama is still yelling. 

Izuku carefully puts all his books into his backpack, making sure not to crumble or rip them up. He looks around again, doing one last sweep. It took them barely ten minutes to get all of his belongings. Izuku is startled by the thought of just how empty the room is, despite them taking almost nothing from it. 

Empty. That’s a good word to describe Izuku’s life. 

She storms out and Izuku releases a small shaky breath of relief. Only for her to storm back in a moment later, and from his perch under the bed Izuku can see that she’s dragging the garbage bin. He cries silently as she throws away all his belongings. His hero merch, his posters, his toys — everything. All while muttering curses and crying about how he doesn’t deserve it. 

It’s not fair! Why is Izuku being punished for something he has no control over?

He turns, taking a deep breath and facing his new guardian. “That’s it.” Aizawa just nods and grabs the suitcase, wordlessly holding out a hand for Izuku to take. He smiles slightly and puts on his backpack, grabbing the hand, the lifeline, leading him back to safety. 

They exit the house that’s not quite a home, leaving behind the biting cold, empty feeling, stepping out into the midday sun and closing the unassuming red door. 

It’s a goodbye.

She leaves soon after that, slamming the door shut behind her even though it barely stays closed since the lock is broken. 

Even though it’s just a closed door, it feels strangely final for Izuku, like he was cut off from something. Like his mother hasn’t just done the minuscule task of closing the door. 

Like his mother has closed off her heart.

Hizashi strolls into the house to find his husband and their kid (their kid!) in his new bedroom, sorting through a small suitcase. 

He had decided to come home early from work, skipping his usual patrol after school and going home instead so he would be there for the shopping trip with Izuku. Kami knows Shouta has no sense of style, so they’ll need all the help they can get. (And can you really blame him? Who would wanna miss this?)

Izuku is filling up the shelves with books from his backpack, and Shouta is hanging up clothes, both working diligently in the silence. 

“Hey!” he calls out, walking over and giving the underground hero a peck on the cheek. He almost moves to hug Izuku but thinks better of it as the kid seems averse to physical contact. So he reluctantly settles for a small wave instead. He’s pleased when Izuku smiles back and greets him quietly. 

“We’re almost done here, then we can go,” Shouta comments, pulling out the last T-shirt from the bag. Hizashi doesn’t comment on how small they look. Izuku is still dressed clad in his small sweatpants and a slightly oversized T-shirt, but they don’t have anything else so it will have to do.

“Where are we going?” Izuku asks quietly, sitting on the bed and wringing his hands together in his lap. His wide doe-eyes have a lot more life in them than they did a few days ago, and they’re shining with curiosity as he slowly makes eye contact. Then he quickly looks down, shoulders hunching up and eyes darting around the room as if looking for an attack. This poor kid, Hizashi, can't help but think. As quickly as it happened the reaction is done and Izuku relaxes again, this time looking just over Hizashi’s shoulder. 

“To the mall Little Listener!” the blonde hero chants excitedly, making sure to keep his volume as normal as possible. “You’ll need some clothes and things to customize your room!” 

Izuku looks around the room curiously and he meets Hizashi’s eyes hesitantly, this time glinting with a small bit of excitement and hope . “I can pick anything?” And really, how can Hizashi deny that? “Anything.” 

They leave soon after that, the car ride being quiet, but in a nice way. Hizashi lets the radio play softly in the background as he drives, not feeling the need to fill it with words. He glances at Izuku every so often from the mirror, watching as he stares out the window looking lost in his own head. He’s like Shouta in that way — content in the quiet, comfortable. 

When they arrive at the mall Shouta calls out to him, snapping the boy from his musings. They exit the car swiftly, and Hizashi is utterly delighted when Izuku grabs onto both their hands, squeezing a bit as they enter the mall. 

It’s late on a Monday afternoon so it’s not terribly busy but it’s not exactly desolate either. Hizashi isn’t recognized in his civilian attire, long hair in a half bun half down style and sunglasses replaced with black square frames. Izuku looks slightly overwhelmed by the medium-sized crowd, so Hizashi takes it upon himself to give the boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze and gently drag both him and Shouta to a quiet side area of the mall. 

“Do you want to do clothes first or stuff for your room?” Hizashi asks, kneeling in front of Izuku and telegraphing his movements as he places a hand on his shoulder. “M-My room,” Izuku says quietly, still hanging onto Shouta’s hand in a vice grip. 

The blonde just smiles, not one to be discouraged by shyness — he’s married to Shouta after all. “Ok!” he cheers, keeping enthusiasm high but voice soothing and low. A light bulb goes off in his head. “You like heroes, right?” 

And his efforts are rewarded when Izuku lights up, smiling big and bright like the sun and nodding eagerly. “Yeah!” he says. It’s absolutely adorable and in other news, Hizashi wants to cry. 

“There’s a hero merch store not far from here,” Shouta comments, tugging on Izuku’s hand lightly so he looks up at him. “Can we go? Please?” Izuku asks, and Hizashi idly realizes this is the most childlike thing he’s done since they’ve met him. But he doesn’t let that thought sour the mood as he stands and grabs the hand once more, leading his family to the hero merch store. 

By the time the store is only a few meters away Izuku is practically vibrating with excitement, letting go of their hands and almost bouncing into the place. Hizashi smiles at that and he glances over to see Shouta smiling too, though he’s trying (and failing) to hide it with his scarf. His husband is just as cute as Izuku. 

They follow along as he dances down the aisles, forgetting his shyness as he grabs posters, toys, action figures, and outfits from different heroes. He chooses mostly top ten heroes like All Might ( a lot of All Might) and Edgeshot and Ryukyu, but he also picks smaller, lesser-known heroes like the Wild Wild Pussycats and Thirteen.

“Hey, Izuku?” Hizashi probes as he grabs another Thirteen hoodie. He’s been excited about shopping but extremely hesitant to actually ask them to buy anything. Every time he picks something up he asks if it’s ok, no matter how many times the two adults assure him they have more than enough to pay, and they’re more than happy too.

The green-haired boy looks up at him, curiosity shining in his expression as Shouta does the same from where he was examining the Present Mic merch with a critical eye (he always said that the merchandise didn’t live up to the real version. Hizashi thinks it’s adorable. ) “How come you didn’t get any Endeavor stuff?” he asks, because, sue him, he's curious. The kid loves heroes but he’s avoiding Endeavor like the plague. 

Izuku’s expression sours slightly and he clutches the hoodie just a little bit tighter. “He’s kinda mean. To everyone.” Izuku says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Even the other heroes! And he always hurts the villains. Like, way more than normal. He’s scary.”

It’s not like Izuku doesn’t have a point. From the singular interaction Hizashi had with Endeavor, he can tell that the man was brash and rude, and he had a blatant disregard for everyone around him. And most villains barely survived encounters with the flame hero. So the blonde just nods understandingly and gently tugs the hoodie from Izuku’s grasp, placing it into the cart. 

Izuku gets shy when he grabs a small Present Mic bobblehead, blushing bright pink as he mumbles out something along the lines of “Can I get this too please?” Shouta was grinning as Hizashi cooed at him, placing it into their cart. 

They leave soon after that, with Shouta volunteering to bring all five overflowing bags of merch to the car while Izuku and Hizashi went on ahead to the furniture store. 

As soon as they are out of the store Hizashi notices how Izuku gets nervous again, shuffling his feet and holding his hand in a death grip. The hero looks around, worried, and realizes that the mall is slightly more crowded than before, and Izuku is probably more anxious. 

“Izuku do you want me to carry you?” he asks, leaning down so Izuku can hear him over the crowd. At the very least he can hide his face in Hizashi’s hair. Izuku looked up at him, bit his lip, and nodded slowly. So Hizashi slowly crouched down and scooped up the small child, smiling as Izuku rested his head on his shoulder and hid his face behind long blond hair. 

Hizashi started walking towards the furniture store, relieved to see that it was almost completely empty. “Do you want me to put you down here?” Hizashi asked, and Izuku quickly shook his head no but lifted it up so he could see as they walked through the store. 

Shouta arrived a couple of minutes later as they were touring the store, pointing out items and things for Izuku to use. Since the guest room already had furniture in all black, Izuku ended up going with a black rug and glowing stars for his ceiling. Shouta managed to convince Izuku to get a miscellaneous hero pattern design bedspread instead of a sheet with a giant All Might face on it. He looked practically scandalized when Izuku pointed it out and Hizashi almost laughed out loud. 

The next store they went to was a department store, so they could knock out toys and clothes in one go, and hopefully their last stop of the day. Surprisingly though, Izuku stopped them in the books section, and after examining it, picked one up and held it out. “Can I get this one?” he asks politely. 

Hizashi squints to read the title. Molecular Biology 101. What the fuck—

“Izuku, you know what this is?” Shouta asks, voicing his thoughts. “I like science,” Izuku says, shrugging as if this is a completely normal study for a six-year-old. They let him get the books of course and he grabs three more, each on physics, neuroscience, and chemistry respectively. Just how smart is this kid? 

He completely ignores the toy section, and when they steer him back because all kids should have at least some toys, Izuku only picks out some hero playsets and a “Build a Hero!” clay sculpture kit, along with a small chemistry set and a large box that reads ‘Build Your Own Robot’. He wants to build a robot. Ok. That’s fine. Hizashi is completely fine. 

They make it to the clothing section soon enough and Izuku goes with mostly graphic tees with heroes or says ironic words like ‘dress shirt’ and ‘pants’. His fashion sense is absolutely terrible but Hizashi thinks he might die of a cuteness overload. 

It went off without a hitch, even when Hizashi insisted that they get Shouta and Izuku matching cat-eared hoodies and pajama pants. ( No, his heart did not melt when Izuku asked if he would match them as well. It didn’t. )

Soon enough, it was time for the family to leave, loading up the car and picking up takeout on the way home, as it was already nearing seven pm. Dinner was a quiet affair, with the news playing in the background and everyone focused on the food. 

Then Izuku was watching the fight on the TV screen and mumbling under his breath and Hizashi, ever curious, decided to ask him to speak up. He blushed brightly and ducked his head. “It’s nothing, I was just talking about the heroes on TV. You probably don’t w-wanna hear it.”

“We want to hear what you have to say Izuku,” Shouta reassures him immediately, as Hizashi nods and smiles. Izuku eyes them suspiciously for a moment before going off on a tangent, his mutters now audible to both of them, gradually getting more confident the longer he speaks.

“W-Well, I was just saying that the hero— Pyro, I think? He could have handled the situation way better. His quirk was some kind of pyrokinesis that relies on his breath intake, obviously, and that didn’t work well against the villain’s waterbending, so he just sat back and didn’t do anything. Even when there were people in danger. Even before he stopped trying and let the other pros handle it he wasn’t actually helping just causing more property damage in the surrounding area. He could have easily stopped the villain’s tirade if he just looked closely and saw that the villain had something on— strapped to their back, most likely storing water that they use to control instead of creating it from their hands. Even when they ran out they still were winning because they started gravitating towards water sources like buildings with pipings and sewers and the fire hydrants. All Pyro had to do was stop using their quirk for a second and back the villain into a corner where there were no civilians and they had no water access, wait for them to run out, and trap them in a wall of fire. This way they would have limited injuries, property damage, and potential casualties. But instead, he just stood back and let the other heroes do the work for him.” Izuku ended his word vomit and took a deep breath, looking back to see the two heroes’ reactions. 

Hizashi was gaping like a fish and even though Shouta was better at hiding it, Hizashi could tell his reaction was similar from the way his eyes widened ever so slightly. Izuku quickly blushed again, ducking his head. “I’m sorry I rambled, I’ll shut up now.”

“No, we’re not mad!” Hizashi said, quick to placate the boy. “Just surprised is all. You’re really smart, Izuku.” 

He quickly looked up, surprised, but shook his head. “It’s nothing really.” Hizashi knew that no matter what they said the kid wouldn’t really believe he was smart. He once again found himself cursing whoever hurt this sweet little kid. 

“How did you know Pyro’s quirk relied on his breathing? And the mechanics of the villain’s quirk as well?” Shouta asks, and Hizashi can sense that this question has a purpose. 

Izuku shrugged. “Well, he kept taking really big breaths every time he did his super moves, and he was doing breathing exercises the entire fight. And the villain would get really close to the buildings before the walls would explode with water. Although it was kind of hard to see that part because of the fires and the rubble.”

Hizashi will admit, he didn’t even see a wall exploding, he just thought the holes were a result of the property damage from the hero. Shouta just nods. “Both me and Hizashi didn’t notice that. But you did. That means you’re smart, Izuku.”  

The blonde nods along. “Exactly!” Izuku blushes again, nodding meekly and resembling a strawberry with his fluffy green hair and freckled red cheeks. It’s adorable. 

The three of them finish up dinner quickly after that, with Izuku making idle comments on what he sees on the news, with both heroes listening intently, occasionally adding observations of their own. 

Later that evening finds Hizashi and Izuku in the living room, with Shouta getting ready for his patrol. Izuku was sitting on the floor, scribbling away in one of his notebooks while watching another fight on herotube broadcasted on the screen, Hizashi alternating between watching him and scrolling through his phone.

Eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he puts down the device. “Whatcha writing?” Izuku turns around to look at him, wringing his hands together, most likely a nervous tick. “N-Notes on that hero.” Hizashi smiles. If it’s anything like what they heard at dinner, then it’s bound to be good. “Can I read it? Do you have one about me?” 

Izuku frowns just the smallest bit as he nods. “Most people think it’s creepy. S-Sorry.” 

Hizashi just wants to smother him with love and affection. And hugs. Lots of hugs. “I don’t think it’s creepy, little one! Please? Can I read it? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Hizashi says, not wanting to pressure him. Izuku stares for a moment longer before picking up the small book and flipping it a couple of pages, then handing it over quietly. 

And the hero is... impressed . The notes are detailed, going in about his strengths and weaknesses, ways they can be improved, better support items, and the literal mechanics of his quirk, down to how his vocal cords are modified. It’s. Wow. Just wow. 

“This is amazing, Izuku!” Hizashi says, smiling big and bright. Izuku looks hopeful when he smiles back. “You really think so?” Hizashi nods eagerly. 

“Do you want to be a hero, kid?” Shouta asks, causing both of them to startle and turn to him. He’s standing in the doorway, watching the two with an almost-but-not-quite-smile. He turns back towards the kid to see him looking nervous once more. “Y-Yes,” he whispers quietly, curling in on himself. He’s waiting for rejection, Hizashi thinks, and doesn’t that just break his heart. 

“It’s going to be tough, but you can do it if you put in the effort,” Shouta says nonchalantly, as if he’s talking about the weather. “Of course, little one! I think you can do it,” Hizashi agrees, enthusiastic as ever. Izuku looks surprised before he practically lights up, nodding rapidly and smiling like a golden retriever. “Of course I will!” he exclaims happily. Oh my — he’s sunshine incarnate. 

Izuku is a literal ball of sunshine. 

Hizashi wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Chapter Text

“What is it, Tsukauchi?” 

There’s a long, pregnant pause on the other end of the line while Shouta waits patiently for the man to continue with what he wants to say. He feels a sense of trepidation almost, wondering what the detective is calling him about—he never calls, not unless it’s really important, or an emergency. 

“Someone reported Izuku and Inko as missing.” 

It sucks the breath out of Shouta and he hisses slightly under his breath—there’s no doubt that Tsukauchi heard it due to the proximity between his mouth and the speaker. Shouta grits his teeth and focuses on breathing properly as he replies. “Who? Why?” Izuku has been missing for days and they just now noticed? 

“A, uh—Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou. They claim to be family friends.” Shouta’s eye twitches ever so slightly. Family friends. Family friends that either didn’t see the abuse or actively ignored it. Or encouraged it. “I told them that Inko was taken into custody and—” he continued, ignorant to Shouta’s inner turmoil. “—they didn’t take it well.” Tsukauchi stops again, and Shouta almost sighs. But he holds in his irritation and his trepidation and he— 

“They want to see Izuku.”

The onslaught of feelings—confusion, annoyance, a fierce protectiveness—hit Shouta at once and he takes deep, calming breaths. “It’s up to you—you don’t have to if you don’t want to. You can come meet them at the station if you want.” 

This time, Shouta actually sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it, he should at least check them out. They reported Izuku as missing—he could give them the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll talk to the kid, and call you back.” With a grunt of affirmative, the detective hangs up, and Shouta is alone with his thoughts once more. 

He walks out of the bedroom, letting the voices of his husband and his kid filter in once more. 

He appears in the doorway to find Hizashi shielding the project on the table with his body, the Build Your Own Hero kit box thrown off to the side on the floor. Izuku is sitting next to Hizashi, also hiding whatever is on the table and smiling brightly. He eyes them both for a moment before shrugging and deciding to leave it be. 

Shouta meanders into the kitchen and fixes a quick cup of coffee in his to-go mug, then walks back out into the living room and leans over the back of the couch to watch them. Hizashi, apparently deeming it safe for Shouta to see, moves off to the side, while Izuku is sorting through the clay by color, lining them up in rainbow order on the coffee table.

His brows are pinched in concentration as he places every little ball in just the right spot with an even amount of space between each and every one. It’s adorable. 

“Izuku, do you know anybody with the name ‘Bakugou’?” Shouta asks carefully, taking a long sip of coffee. A little green head snaps up to look at Shouta, confused, before there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes. “Uh. Yes.” he says, pursing his lips slightly. “Auntie Mitsi and Uncle ‘Saru were Mama’s friends.”

Shouta frowns slightly. The ‘auntie’ and ‘uncle’ title indicate some semblance of a close relationship, but if they were friends with Inko then he really can’t be too sure. He glances at his husband to see Hizashi’s eyebrows pinched and his lips pressed into a thin line, likely coming to a similar conclusion to Shouta.  

“Were they nice?” Shouta presses on, because he needs to know the circumstances before he lets these people anywhere near Izuku. The boy in question looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding slowly. “They were always nice to me. Uhm, Ma-Mama didn’t let me see them after—after the di-diag—diagnoasisis,” he fumbles on the last word, and Shouta resists the urge to chuckle. Hizashi cracks a smile. 

“Diagnosis,” Shouta corrects gently. Then, after a pause, “They want to see you.” 

Izuku practically lights up. “Really?! They want to see me?”  And the way he asks—like nobody in their right mind would want to talk to the little ball of sunshine that is Izuku —it hurts Shouta’s heart, just a little bit. Nonetheless, he nods. “They’re waiting for you, at the police station. We can go now, if you want. No pressure though.” 

He jumps up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, almost running towards Shouta before stopping and glancing down at his abandoned project. He frowns a bit, “Yamada, can we—”

“We can finish when you get back little one!” he exclaims, enthusiastic as ever as he starts to wrap the clay up so it doesn’t dry out. “I’ll start dinner while you guys are gone.” The smile is back in an instant and there’s a brief bout of hesitation before Izuku darts forward, wrapping his arms around Hizashi for a quick hug. “Thank you!” he chirps, clinging to Hizashi’s neck. Then he’s letting go, fast as lightning and leaving Hizashi sitting on the ground gaping, eyes suspiciously shiny. 

“C’mon, ‘Zawa let’s go!” Izuku calls from the entryway and Hizashi turns a beaming smile on him, mouthing ‘Zawa' with unsuppressed glee. Shouta rolls his eyes and ignores the way his chest warms at the nickname, following Izuku to the genkan for shoes. 

The drive to the station is short, and Izuku is bouncing in his seat in the back the entire time. He guesses that the extra excitement is coming from the fact that Izuku hasn’t seen them in two years, and lets it go.

They walk hand in hand, the receptionist pointing him back to one of the interrogation rooms for the meeting. It’s not an interrogation of course ( but it’s convenient , parental instincts he didn’t know he had screamed). However, Izuku stops short when they open the door. 

Shouta examines them. Two adults, one blonde female, one brunette male. They stand as he enters with Izuku, smiling upon sight. What surprises the hero, however, is the child sitting in between them, a disgruntled snarl on his face as he crosses his arms. He has ash blonde spiky hair, similar to the woman’s and he looks similar in age to Izuku. 

Shouta tries to step into the room but Izuku’s feet are planted firmly to the ground, and one look at his expression shows the clear fear practically radiating off of him in waves. Shouta follows his line of sight to—the kid. Of fucking course it’s the kid. 

Shouta tugs lightly on his hand to get his attention, holding up the other hand to stop the Bakugou’s from getting any closer. “Izuku, are you okay?” he asks softly, kneeling down to face the kid. 

He seems to snap back into focus as if he was somewhere else, and puts on a smile that’s a lot dimmer than the one he wore to the station. He nods and let’s go of Shouta’s hand, running over to the closest of the other adults—the man. 

“Hi, Uncle ‘Saru!” he says, hugging the man as he scoops Izuku into his arms. His expression is warm and gentle, and even Shouta can see the love there. It’s very clear how much they care. 

“Hello, Izuku. It’s been a while,” he says, smiling small but genuine. Izuku nods into his shoulder and Shouta takes that as his cue to step in, closing the door behind him. 

“I’m Aizawa Shouta. The pro hero who’s fostering Izuku.” he says, holding out his hero license. Out of the corner of his eyes’ he notices the boy’s eyes widen slightly. The woman steps up, giving him a skeptical glance before taking and inspecting his license. She seems to relax slightly when she deems it real, holding out a hand to shake. “Bakugou Mitsuki. Glad Izuku’s in good hands.”

Bakugou turns slightly, towards her family. “This is my husband, Masaru, and this little brat,” she ruffles the little boy’s hair with a sharp grin, but he swats her hand away. Mitsuki doesn’t even bat an eye, “Is Katsuki. You can call us by our first names for now, if that’s easier.” Katsuki scoffs. 

At this point, the hushed conversation Masaru and Izuku were having comes to a close, and he puts the green-haired boy back down to greet Mitsuki. Shouta watches the interaction carefully—Mitsuki is rough around the edges, sometimes touching Izuku too harshly and making him flinch slightly, but it’s clear she means well. He also notices that Izuku studiously avoids even looking in the boy’s direction. 

Unfortunately, Mitsuki does not pick up on this. “Katsuki!” she snaps, tapping him on the head. “Come say hi to Izuku!” 

The blonde boy sneers, eyeing Izuku in something like annoyance. Izuku shrivels back and away, coming to stand next to Shouta but staring resolutely at the floor. “Hi, Kac-Kacchan,” he stutters meekly. 

“Deku.” the boy grumbles, and Izuku flinches harshly. Deku? Like Dekunobou, like good-for-nothing? Like useless? Shouta has to physically stop himself from curb stomping a six year old. 

Mitsuki looks just as disgruntled as Shouta, and Masaru looks irritated. “Katsuki! Why are you calling him that?” Shouta is just a bit taken aback—the man certainly doesn’t seem like the type to raise his voice, and this assumption seems to be correct when he notices the shell shocked expression Katsuki wears. He recovers quickly though, and balls his hands into fists. 

“Because that’s what he is!” he says, voice raising. “Useless, crybaby Deku!” 

The adults recoil in shock while Izuku is shrinking in on himself further, tears drip dropping steadily on his freckled cheeks. Shouta scoops him up and lets him hide his face in Shouta’s long hair while he eyes the child skeptically. 

“Who told you that?” he asks, tone firm and stopping the boy’s parents from reprimanding him. 

Katsuki looks him up and down before scoffing and rolling his eyes. “Everyone! All the teachers at school say Deku’s a useless waste of space!” Masaru’s eyes widen slightly before he seems to remember something and sighs, resigned. “Let’s go Katsuki. We need to talk.” is all he says before ushering his son out of the room. 

When the two are gone, Mitsuki is left with Shouta, Izuku still sniffling softly on his shoulder. They both sit once more, across from each other at the table. Her lips are pulled into a tight frown, and she seems slightly shaken. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Mitsuki starts, glancing briefly at Izuku. “I didn’t know he—thought that way.” There’s an awkward pause. “Inko stopped bringing Izuku around—to our weekly meetups—when they figured out he was quirkless. She said it was because he didn’t want to come, and I believed her since that was around the time Katsuki and Izuku stopped being friends. But turns out they weren’t just not friends they were—”

“Bully and victim,” Shouta finishes, and after a slight hesitation, Mitsuki nods as Izuku flinches almost imperceptibly. “If I had known that she did that shit—what kind of mother abandons their child?” Her expression is pinched and when she looks down at Izuku she winces slightly—clearly she had forgotten he was in the room due to how quiet he’d become. 

“Sorry squirt,” she apologizes, and Izuku lifts his head slightly to give her a small smile. “‘S okay.”

But Mitsuki just shakes her head, adamant. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry—to both of you. Clearly I haven’t raised him right. It’s my fault Katsuki thinks that way. Ever since he got his quirk he’s been going on and on about how he’s better than everyone else, and we didn’t really do shit to combat it.”

“Maybe,” Shouta says, blunt and truthful. “But the school has been enforcing that negative mindset into all the children. There’s nothing you can do to combat that when he hears that kind of stuff everyday.” Shouta adjusts Izuku slightly in his arms. “The detective and I are working on a case against the entire school district, so I recommend enrolling your son somewhere else.”

Mitsuki looked pensive, before recognition flashed in her eyes. “Masaru told me about a notice from the school—they had to close for a few days, but didn't say why.” 

Shouta nods, and they fall into an awkward silence for a moment. “Do you want a moment alone?” he asks, mainly to Izuku. If he isn’t comfortable, Shouta will gladly whisk him out of the station, no questions asked.

But Izuku just nods, sliding out of Shouta’s lap and moving to the other side of the table to talk to his auntie. Shouta lips quirk upwards and he stands, going to step outside for a bit. He finds Masaru standing beside a disgruntled looking Katsuki. The little boy looks sort of confused, but he’s hiding it behind a mask of anger. 

“If you want,” Shouta offers, trying to seem nonchalant, “you can go and talk to him. I’ll watch your son.” Masaru looks up at him as Shouta leans against the wall before giving him a grateful nod and a calm smile. 

“Be good,” he murmurs to his son, going into the interrogation room and shutting the door behind him. Shouta looks back at Katsuki, who’s eyeing him warily, but makes no attempts at conversation—that’s fine, Shouta doesn’t either. 

The hallway is quiet, but Shouta doesn’t mind it. However, Katsuki does because he caves a moment later. “ You’re a hero?” He wrinkles his nose. 

“Yep,” he says flippantly, looking down on Katsuki. He normally bends down to be on eyelevel with kids, but he figures this one’s had enough of being treated like an equal by people he should respect. Apparently, this does not go unnoticed by Katsuki, who looks increasingly irritated. 

Good, the sadistic part of Shouta can’t help but think.

“So why the hell are you taking care of stupid Deku?” He says the name like an insult, like he’s referring to something repulsive and disgusting. Shouta feigns confusion. “I don’t know anyone named Deku.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and stays silent for a moment. “ Izuku.” Shouta blinks. “What?” .

“You fuckin’ heard me,” Katsuki snaps, crossing his arms. Shouta ignores the language, feeling he definitely got it from his mother and throws the kid a bone. He’s not a monster. 

“I’m taking care of Izuku because he doesn’t have that and he deserves to be taken care of.” Shouta answers, completely and unapologetically sincere. “I don’t know what that school told you but they’re wrong. Izuku isn’t useless because he’s quirkless—a quirk is just a tool.”

“Not true!” Katsuki shouts. “My quirk makes me the best! It’s not just some tool!” As if to prove his point he holds his hands out, showcasing tiny sparks that dance across his palms. Out of reflex, Shouta flashes his quirk, stopping Katsuki in his tracks. He blinks down at his hands in confusion, then looks up at Shouta’s red eyes and floating hair and visibly startles. 

“What the fuck did you do?” he yells, stomping his foot like the petulant child he is. Shouta raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. Katsuki turns faintly pink in embarrassment at the nonverbal callout and stops, leaning against the wall again. 

“Unlicensed quirk usage is illegal, kid.” Shouta starts, and Katsuki narrows his eyes. “And your quirk doesn’t make you the best at anything. It just makes you a kid with a quirk. You’re not special.” That may have been a little too blunt if the hurt look from the blonde is anything to go by, but it’s gone as soon as it came and replaced by anger once more. “And what you know, you stupid hoboman!” 

Shouta scoffs. He did not sign up to be some brat’s therapist today. In any case, he’s stuck here now, so he decides to go for a metaphor the kid can understand. “What do heroes do?” 

Katsuki masks his bewilderment poorly. “They beat the bad guys.” 

“No, they save people,” Shouta sighs. “What do villains do?” 

“Bad stuff, so the heroes can beat them!” he cheers. Kami, just how thick is this kid’s skull?

“No.” Shouta states. Katsuki frowns. “Villains hurt people. Heroes save people. Get it so far?”

Katsuki nods after a moment, albeit reluctantly. “You hurt Izuku,” Shouta says firmly, and Katsuki, predictably, gets mad. “I was putting him in his place! Beneath me!” 

“ You hurt Izuku,” Shouta repeats in a more no nonsense tone, the one he uses on the villains he arrests. It leaves no room for argument, and Katsuki, hearing the threat in his tone, does not argue. “So what does that make you?” 

Shouta can see the gears turning in his little blonde head, and then the realization dawns on him. He turns slightly pale, and looks very disgruntled. “I’m the villain…” he murmurs softly. Shouta leaves him to his thoughts, because clearly the kid has a lot of things to think over.

The hallway remains silent. 

Shouta leaves the police station hand in hand with his kid and with two new phone numbers in his phone, with a promise for monthly visits with Izuku—it goes unspoken that Katsuki will not be in attendance. 

Izuku, someone's coming over to meet you today.” Aizawa says. 

Izuku looks up from his coloring. “Is it Auntie and Uncle?” he asks, excited. ‘Zawa said they would be visiting every month but it hasn’t even been a month yet! It’s only been a couple days! 

“No, it’s someone else,” he says from his spot on the couch. “Someone new—a kid your age.” 

Izuku frowns slightly, almost imperceptibly. Other kids don’t usually like him. He prefers adults. Adults—like ‘Zawa, and Yamada, and Uncle and Auntie—are nice. Aizawa must sense his apprehension, because he speaks again. “He’s nice, don’t worry. His brother is a hero.” 

At this Izuku perks up. “A hero? Who? Can I meet them?” 

‘Zawa cracks a smile. “Yeah. Two heroes are coming today, and a kid.” Now Izuku is ecstatic. Heroes are coming! And a kid his age who has to be nice because he’s related to a hero and heroes are always nice. That’s so cool! 

He’s practically bouncing around the apartment when the doorbell rings and ‘Zawa goes to answer it, guiding three people to the living room. The first is a tall woman with red framed glasses and indigo hair tied in a high ponytail. The second is a man, with a square shaped face and a happy smile, chatting happily with ‘Zawa. The third and last guest is a boy, who also has blue hair and glasses, and a square head like the man—and he’s holding the man’s hand. These two must be brothers then. 

They spot him coloring at the table and smile, but Izuku’s already analyzing. Then it comes to him. “You’re Ingenium!” he says, pointing at the man. He purses his lips into a pout when he lands on the woman. “But I don’t know you.” 

She laughs and comes to sit on the couch, Ingenium and his brother following close behind. “Don’t worry about it sweetie, I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Izuku frowns but doesn’t protest. “Just call me Auntie Nemuri!” 

Izuku beams at them. “Ok! I’m Izuku!” She coos at him and mumbles something to ‘Zawa that Izuku doesn’t catch. 

“Yes, I’m Ingenium, but you can call me Tensei.” Ingenium—Tensei says with an easy smile. At this point, his little brother gets up from the couch and wanders over, holding a hand out to shake. “I’m Iida Tenya! It’s nice to meet you Izuku!” 

Izuku smiles and after a moment’s hesitation, shakes his hand. Tenya seems nice, albeit stern. “Tenya goes to Somei Private Academy, where you’ll be going soon!” Yamada says as he enters the living room, nursing a cup of tea. 

Tenya nods stiffly. “I’ll do my best to help you get settled at your new school, Izuku!” 

“Thanks, Tenya!” Izuku says. “Do you want to color with me?” 

He nods and it doesn’t take long for them to tune out the adults' conversations, engaged in a heated debate about different heroes' battle stats. 

It’s the start of a new friendship. 

Shouta comes home from his patrol later that night exhausted, and ready to collapse in bed with Hizashi, only to find the living room lights on, TV still playing. 

Curious, he stops there, and smiles fondly at the sight he sees. 

Hizashi and Izuku collapsed on the coffee table, fast asleep. The blonde’s hair is cascading down his back and almost touching the floor, while Izuku is face down on the table, arms outstretched. 

In between them is the Build Your Own Hero kit, and an almost finished Eraserhead sculpture sits between them. All that’s missing are the goggles, which are off to the side in Hizashi’s outstretched palm.

He remembered Izuku mentioning something about wanting Eraserhead merchandise, but there wasn’t any he could find at the mall. When asked why by Hizashi, all he had said was, “‘Cus he’s my hero,” with the most blinding smile. Shouta sighs at the memory, completely content. 

He loves this little family. He always will.

Chapter Text

Shouta swiped his keys off the dining room table, giving Hizashi a kiss on his way towards the door. “C’mon Izuku! Let’s go!” he called, moving to the genkan to put on his shoes.

He heard a crash, some shuffling and then a muffled “Coming!” from the direction of Izuku’s room. The two were heading out to the Somei open house, open for all the kids and parents who attend. It was an annual event for the prestigious private school, but Izuku’s first one. 

It has been almost a year since Izuku moved in, and their lives have changed for the better. Izuku fit perfectly into their little family, brightening up the house even further. By now, Shouta was used to the three foot tall robot scurrying about (named Soupy by Izuku), playing with or cleaning up after the cats, the books and notebooks scattered all around the house, and the drawings stuck on the fridge. Izuku made their house louder, brighter, better, and Shouta loved every second of it. 

He’s slowly come out of his shell, becoming less afraid to speak up and more confident in his ideas. He seems genuinely happy, and the panic attacks and nightmares have become a lot less frequent, something they’re all immensely grateful for. Izuku doesn’t flinch away from their touch anymore, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to bolt everytime somebody enters the room, at least when Shouta or Hizashi are there. They make him feel safe and Shouta thinks that’s the best feeling in the world.

About halfway through the year, when Shouta had officially started teaching at UA, both him and his husband had gotten new upgrades to their gear, courtesy of Izuku’s notes and analysis. Naturally, Nedzu had his curiosity peaked, and they’ve been having weekly lessons ever since.

Shouta’s still not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

He’s snapped out of his reminiscing by Bastard, rubbing up against his legs and meowing loudly, demanding pets. “Asshole cat,” Shouta mutters as he scoops the thing up, gently stroking his fur and giving Bastard an unimpressed raised eyebrow when he practically melts under the touch. 

Shouta indulges him for a minute or two before Soupy comes to his rescue, dangling a cat toy from his robotic fingers and beeping periodically. Bastard jumps down from his arms and Soupy zooms away, leaving the cat to trail behind it. Shouta shakes his head fondly before sighing, suddenly remembering what he was doing.

“Izuku! Where are you?” Shouta asks, moving towards the seven year old’s bedroom. He tends to get sidetracked a lot, whether it’s with a hero fight on the TV, a book open on his desk or a gadget he was working on, Izuku’s mind tends to go off the rails often. 

There’s more shuffling, and then, “Coming, Dad!”

Shouta trips over air and falls flat on his face. Hizashi snorts from the kitchen, before moving to help Shouta up, whispering ‘He called you Dad!’ over and over again with the biggest grin. Shouta’s left with that warm fuzzy feeling again as he processes the words.

Dad. Izuku called him dad. For the first time.

Now it would be a huge leap to say Shouta’s an emotional person. But right now? Right now he has to hold back tears. 

Instead, he decides not to mention it, so as not to overwhelm the little boy, who judging by the silence that has overtaken the apartment, has probably realized what he said and is a nervous wreck in his room. 

But if Shouta’s normal deadpan expression has dissolved into a small, happy smile under the scarf, then that’s for him to know, and him to know only. 

Auntie Mitsuki and Uncle ‘Saru come over for their monthly visit. It is the first time they brought Kacchan with them. 

It’s been only a week since Izuku started calling ‘Zawa dad (and boy, was that embarrassing), and a year since he’s last seen Kacchan, but that feels like it was a lifetime ago. 

He doesn’t know why the other boy came along —he never usually comes and Auntie and Uncle never mention him. But Izuku is curious, and if the half-glare half-questioning look from Dad is any indication, then he is too. ‘Zashi is out at the moment, running errands, so it’s just the Bakugou’s, plus Izuku and his dad in the house. 

The adults sit them down in the living room and move into the kitchen, where Izuku has no doubt they’re listening in to the entire conversation. He goes back to what he was doing before, drawing and coloring, but this time wordlessly offers Kacchan a paper as well.

After a moment of hesitation he takes it, starting to color his own page with an All Might design. They sit quietly for a while, just coloring, and Izuku is content with it until Kacchan speaks up, mumbling something under his breath.

“Huh?” Izuku asks, putting his crayon down, “What’d you say?”

“I said sorry,” Kacchan grumbles, looking away. “Sorry for being mean to you when we went to school. I was acting like a villain.”

Izuku is momentarily shocked—he’s never heard Kacchan apologize in all the years they’ve known each other. He was too prideful for it, too lost in his thoughts of being the best there ever was. But he recovers quickly, smiling brightly at the other boy.

“It’s ok, Kacchan! I forgive you!” he says, going to pick up his crayon again. “Does this make us friends again?”

Kacchan shrugs. “I guess.”

The answer was lackluster at best, but it made Izuku beam. “Ok!” Now he has two close friends, Kacchan and Tenya!

The Bakugou’s left the house, and Izuku made a new friend. 

“I’ve decided I don’t want to be a hero anymore,” Izuku says one day during dinner. His eyes are glued to his plate as he picks at the rice, pointedly avoiding eye contact. 

Shouta is momentarily stunned as he exchanges glances with ‘Zashi. Izuku has been talking about heroes since the day they met him two years ago, so it’s quite a surprise that he’s changing his mind now. Still, they both recover quickly, and Shouta speaks first, recognizing Izuku’s body language for what it is. “Ok. It’s your decision, we won’t ever be disappointed in you. Can I ask why?”

His shoulders slump in relief, and he looks up with a small smile. “I’ve actually been thinking about this for a while. I was talking to Nedzu-sensei about how the hero commission is corrupt, and the ways he’s trying to take it down,” And wasn’t that a scary thought, “And it got me thinking. Heroes help a lot of people, but they can’t save everyone. They can’t save people who were broken by the system that heroes use to help. They can’t save themselves . I think I can save a lot more people from the background, you know, like Nedzu! Taking down corrupt government facilities, fixing the system from the inside.”

“I think that’s great, Izuku!” Hizashi says from his place at the table, smiling brightly as always. Izuku nods enthusiastically. “I want to go into support, because Nedzu-sensei says having a certificate in that field, plus the analytics class he wants me to join, could help in the long run. Heroes help a lot of people, but there’s not a lot of people who help the heroes! So I wanted to be the one to do that.”

Shouta smiles warmly, a feeling of pride welling up in his chest. He is such an amazing kid. “Well if anyone could do it, it would be you.” he replies sincerely, and he revels in the sunshine smile Izuku sends his way. 

Every word he said was completely sincere. If anyone could do it, it would be Izuku.

“Dad, Papa! C’mon, it’s time to go!” Izuku calls, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. “The entrance exam is starting soon!” 

Papa comes into the entryway, moving to the genkan to grab his shoes. “Izuku, you remember you’re not actually taking it right?” Nedzu had already approved of his admittance into the UA support course, due to being his personal student for almost a decade. Still, Izuku nods, “Yeah, but I wanna watch the hero exams! Tenya and Kacchan are testing today!” 

Papa chuckles goodnaturedly as Dad comes in, bright yellow sleeping bag tucked under his arm. Izuku had gotten it for him as a joke for his birthday last year, claiming it reminds him of Papa, and Dad had been using it ever since. (It definitely didn’t hurt that he had added extra features, like coating the inside with a thin layer of Auntie Nemuri’s quirk, to help with Dad’s insomnia, and a bunch of different pouches for snacks, plus a pillow headrest.) 

“Alright, let’s go,” Dad ushers them all out the door, taking a long chug of his coffee as they all clamber into the car. The ride is relaxed and easy, with Papa humming along to different tunes on the radio, and Dad, unsurprisingly, sleeping, while Izuku tinkered with the watch he built. 

It was synced up to his phone, and he rigged it to project a hologram version of his phone screen, as well as play music directly into his wireless earbuds. At the moment, he was adding in emergency tracking features and ways to directly contact his parents in urgent situations. He didn’t really think he needed it, but Papa recommended it, and it never hurt to be prepared. 

They arrived at UA soon enough, entering the school through the underground teachers only parking lot, and moving directly to the auditorium to watch the hero course entrance exams. Papa left, since he was proctoring the exams, along with Ectoplasm and Shuzenji-san to help with injured students and emergencies on the grounds. 

Izuku went around saying hi to the teachers, who he’s already known for years, and ended up in a detailed discussion with Powerloader about his watch, before sitting next to Nedzu to watch the tests. 

“Hello, Izuku!” he chirped, already sipping on his customary cup of tea. Izuku greeted him back, crossing his legs under him on the seat and leaning forward. Kacchan and Tenya were in different testing grounds, so he was constantly switching his focus between two different screens. 

“Any thoughts?” Nedzu asks after the test begins. 

Izuku switches his focus from the two screens he’d been watching to the other testing grounds, looking around. “That girl’s quirk is really cool!” he pointed at a brunette, running around tapping robots to make them float. “It looks like some kind of telekinesis or gravity nullification, most likely five point activated if her finger pads are any indication.” 

Nedzu tapped something on his tablet, pulling up a student file. “Uraraka Ochako, quirk; gravity nullification.” 

Izuku studied her for a moment before frowning. “That’s wrong.”

The other teachers looked at him curiously for a moment while Nedzu grinned, prompting him to explain his thinking. “If she simply nullified gravity, the robots would just float off into space, but they just hover above the ground. I think she actually manipulates the mass of the object, which makes them float. Which then brings up the point if she could actually do the opposite as well, adding more mass to objects as well as taking it away.” 

“That is quite the interesting point, Izuku!” Nedzu exclaimed, handing over another tablet that he seemingly pulled out of nowhere. “Why don’t you write down some notes so that you can give them to the students if they make it in?” 

Izuku did just that, rapidly typing as he watched the screens and making notes on different examinees. Every so often he’d glance over at Tenya and Kacchan, and see them doing just fine in their own testing ground. Then he noticed another kid and was frowning again. “Why isn’t he doing anything?” 

The kid has gravity defying purple hair and he was running around the testing grounds desperately, not really making any effort to hit the robots. A couple taps from Nedzu on his tablet and he had an answer. “Shinsou Hitoshi; brainwashing quirk.”

Izuku sighed. “That quirk would be incredible for hero work, it’s a shame that it doesn’t work on robots. Although he might have stood a better chance with some physical training.”

Nedzu nodded. “Perhaps. Although, students are eligible to transfer if they place high enough during the Sports Festival.” Izuku considered it for a moment. Shinsou would be a great hero with some training, and a quirk like that shouldn’t go to waste. He grinned, not noticing how everyone but Nedzu and his dad took a step back. “Nedzu-sensei. Can I do an extra credit project?”

Nedzu’s grin showed his kanines, “That can be arranged.” 

The UA staff collectively shivered in sympathy for the poor boy, unknowing of what’s to come.

Izuku arrived in the support class early on his first day, with a large skip in his step. The classroom was split into two sections, a classroom setting on one side, and then double doors leading to a large workshop on the other.

Class 1-H had two testing rooms, one ginormous storage room, a section for costumes, a lab for testing with chemicals, and a main workspot, where each student had their own work station. Izuku ignored it all for the most part, moving into the small room in the back designed specifically for him. As the only student in the analytics and invention track, he got his own room to work in. It had a desktop with multiple large monitors on one side, and on the other was his workstation, already covered in his various inventions from over the years. 

Izuku was already way ahead of the regular school curriculum, so while the other support students were in their regular academi classes, Izuku would be having his regular lessons with Nedzu, or working in his room.

He dropped his bag on the floor and moved back out into the main classroom, nodding to Powerloader and taking a seat in the back. He had requested a station in the main room as well in case he wanted to work with the class. There were only five students in support class H, with three support classes in total, so there were two rows of two stations, with one seat in the back for Izuku. 

As the other students filed in he observed them. The first in the class was a boy, medium build with wild, fluffy brown hair. The only physical quirk indicator they had were they’re eyes, that seemed to be glowing and reflective. They took a seat at the left middle station. 

About three minutes later there was another person, with long hair that seemed to be made of smoke. Along with that, their eyes were completely white, with no pupils. Izuku wondered if they could see as they sat in the front, diagonal from the other boy. 

The third student to enter the room was a girl with long white hair with flowers spread throughout it and bright green eyes, smiling happily as they bounced to the other seat in the front. 

The last student to enter was a girl with bright pink hair stained with grease and googles pushing it out of her face, already messing with something in her hands as she took the only remaining seat. 

As she sat Powerloader stood up, looking over his new crop with a small smile. “All right, my name is Majima Higari, you may call me Majima-sensei. We can go around and do introductions, and then we’ll head off to orientation.” Majima-sensei pointed to the girl in the first row, who stood up and turned to face the crowd. “Hi! I’m Nakamura Hana, my pronouns are she and her. And my quirk is plant manipulation!”  she demonstrated by holding out a hand and letting a flower blossom directly from her fingertip. The girl giggled as she sat down.

Next was the person with the smoke for hair, and they stood up with a neutral, almost bored expression. “I’m Matsumoto Haichi, and I’m nonbinary, so please refer to me as they/them. My quirk is matter manipulation; I can manipulate the state of matter of nonliving things.” As they sat down Izuku was already thinking of millions of applications for they’re quirk. 

“My name is Hayami Dai.” Izuku zoned back in as the boy introduced himself. “My pronouns are he/him, and my quirk helps me see in the dark.” 

Next was the girl in pink, who stood up excitedly. “Hatsume Mei, future CEO of Hatsume Industries! My pronouns are she/they, and my quirk is zoom.” Her pupils dilated as she demonstrated before sitting down. 

Finally, it was Izuku’s turn, and as he stood up, he smiled. “I’m Yamazawa Izuku, pronouns are he and him. And I’m quirkless!” Then he sat down as he waited for Power loader to continue. He long stopped caring about what other people had to say about his quirk status, considering the fact that Nedzu himself had drilled some self confidence in him.

“Ok, let’s head to orientation. Yamazawa, you’re free to go.” Izuku stood with a smile, grabbing his tablet where he had transferred all his notes. Nedzu had told him he was free to watch the quirk apprehension test that his dad did every year, since he’s seen orientation three times already, and Izuku really couldn’t resist. The other students gave him odd looks as he skipped off, but didn’t question it.

He turned the corner and pressed a couple of keys on his tablet, causing the floor to drop out from under him. Nedzu had designed a sort of tunnel around the school, with access only granted to certain users. Izuku was keyed into the system by Nedzu, along with his dad, who likes to nap in there. 

He walks through the tunnels with ease, no longer needing a map after exploring them for so long. He pops up right next to the door that leads into the field where the tests are given, just as his dad walks out as well. He makes sure there are no students around before he calls out, “Hey, Dad!” and strolls right next to him. 

“Nedzu sent you to watch?” he asks, glancing down at Izuku who was already tapping away at his tablet. Izuku nods, then after a moment. “Can I call you dad here?” They never properly discussed whether or not they were going to reveal their relationship to the class, so Izuku didn’t want to do anything too early. His dad seemed to consider it for a moment, before answering. “Wait till after the test, after the expelled ones are already gone.”

Izuku gave an affirmative just as the students began to filter in, Tenya nodding in greeting and Kacchan grunting in his general direction. 

Izuku mostly tuned his dad out as he gave the usual speech, talking about the dangers of hero work, and how his teaching style eliminates things that aren’t necessities. He only tunes back in when his name is mentioned. “...and this is Yamazawa Izuku, from support. He’ll be observing your tests today for future references. Do your best.”

Izuku sat down on the ground with criss-crossed legs as the students ran through the tests, amazed at all the creative applications of their quirks. One kid used a laser to propel himself over the long jump, another boy completely crushed grip strength with all six of his arms, and one girl got infinity on the ball toss with the gravity quirk Izuku noticed during the exams. One boy (who was very handsome—not that that’s important!) created ice from his left side. There was even a student who created a motorcycle out of her freaking stomach! He had so many questions for her. They were all so cool! 

Except for one kid. One kid in particular was getting on his nerves, constantly getting a little too close for comfort to the girls and trying to touch them. He was practically drooling when the creation girl, Yaoyorozu, opened her shirt to use her quirk. It was starting to get on his nerves. But when he slapped Ashido’s bottom, Izuku’s patience snapped. 

He stood abruptly, ignoring the questioning glances from everyone, seeing as his dad was announcing the scores. The expression on his face must have been terrifying if the way the crowd parted for him was any indication.

Wordlessly, he picked up the purple midget by the back of his neck and drop kicked him across the field. Dusting his hands off when he was done. Kacchan snorted quietly to himself. Izuku turned to Ashido, who looked like she was about to cry. “Are you ok?” he asked softly, worried. She nodded and managed a small smile, and Izuku turned back to his dad, ignoring the gaping hero students. 

“He was touching the female students inappropriately. I strongly recommend you expel him.” Izuku’s expression was serious, and his father nodded. “Of course. Mineta, and Agawa are expelled.” he said, referencing the last person on the score charts. There was an outcry, but Izuku ignored it, smiling brightly. 

“Great, thanks dad!” and gave him a quick hug before dashing off, leaving a calamity in his wake.

“Can I have Shinsou Hitoshi?” Izuku asked, poking his head into class 1-C on the second day of school. The students looked bewildered. 

His papa, who already knew what was going on, grinned and nodded. “Yup! He’s in the back!”

Izuku didn’t waste a second, moving to the back and throwing the boy over his shoulder, ignoring his yelp. (Izuku has been doing physical training with his dad for seven years—of course he can lift Shinsou ‘no meat on his bones’ Hitoshi, regardless of the fact that the other boy is taller.)

He ran out of the room and back to the support labs, shutting a frazzled looking Shinsou in his lab. Matsumoto gave them an odd look, but turned back to what they were doing. Hatsume was already waiting there for them, since Izuku had recruited her as a business partner. “Why did you kidnap me?” the purple-haired boy asked, bewildered. 

Hatsume was already on him, measuring him and mumbling to herself. She turns to Izuku. “He needs more physical training.”

Izuku nods. “Yeah, that much was obvious.” he gives Shinsou a quick once over before turning back to Hatsume. “What do you recommend for support items?”

“Well, I—“

“Is anyone gonna answer me?” Shinsou asked, deadpan.

Izuku grinned, pulling out the formal contracts Nedzu helped him type and slamming them down on the table. “I’d like to propose a deal.”

Later, if Shinsou Hitoshi walked out of the support labs with a copy of the contract that practically guarantees his spot in the hero course, then that was his business, and his business only. 

(There are lots of ups and downs in being a family. Lots of trials and tribulations and mishaps that comes with learning how to grow together. 

Scary moments when Izuku fears one of parents won’t come home that night. That fierce protectiveness that comes into play when Izuku is being treated unfairly for his quirk status.

From first crushes to arguments and fights, there are plenty of bumps in the road. But they’ll figure it out. 

Together.)