Archive of Our Own ^beta

Oh look, some beautiful art from the wonderful Vee!!!  They're both such  gorgeous sketches of my babies and I love them very, very much!!   (oh, and there's a link to her instagram in... I think either this kidilante chapter or the next one, kay?)

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Aizawa saves the report he was just typing up and emails it over to Tsukauchi, trying not to tilt his head in case it messes up the process that Izuku is partway through with braiding his hair back for him. It's been good to have his son's hand healed enough to always braid each other's hair for every patrol and spar again. Having steady, calloused fingers threading delicately through his hair is a familiar comfort for both of them, and having his kid's legs hooked over his shoulders, feet pressed atop his thighs, only adds to it. It's warm and close and brings the hero so much genuine joy, all soul-deep and heart-sure, that it's still surreal sometimes.

But surreal doesn't mean that he can't appreciate it for what it is, so he puts his laptop to the side now that he's got the most pressing reports sorted out. Instead, he curls one hand around Izuku's calf, and settles.

"No neon tonight?" He asks at some point when the kid starts braiding past his scalp, and gets a very gentle tug at the plait in response.

"Aw, but it's my favourite."  And although the kid is protesting, he also recognises that tone of voice: Izuku knows exactly why his Dad asked, and the kid would never disregard that fact, so he also gets one of his son's feet bouncing briefly against his leg in acknowledgement.

It doesn't take too much longer for Izuku to be tying off the main braid, followed by him pulling it up and around itself, working in the two smaller plaits once he's got the main bun formed, wrapping them around the already-tied section and securing them as well. Aizawa doesn't move yet though, giving Izuku the time to slip several pins in as well. The more secured it is for patrolling, the better.

"All done," the kid murmurs, leaning down enough to fold his arms atop his Dad's head, settling his chin upon his forearms, judging by the increase in weight a moment later. The man certainly doesn't mind it. No, it's just good to have the presence and pressure of his kid all around him, body heat-warm and breath-shifting. It's a blessing, frankly.

Still, they do have a patrol scheduled, so eventually Aizawa flexes his hold on the kid's calf in silent request. It's enough to have Izuku grumbling and straightening up, probing slightly at the bun once more before apparently being satisfied that it'll take the strain of patrol, and then he's slipping his legs back and off of the man's shoulders, allowing them both to rearrange until they've swapped positions, Izuku now the one sitting on the floor, Aizawa hooking his legs over his kid's shoulders and taking a gentle touch to the mad curls. Carefully pulling apart the tangles without tugging at the actual hair; soothing against his son's scalp and deciding on which pins to slot into the braid today.

It doesn't take long for Izuku to pick up a quiet, contented hum. Admittedly, Aizawa recognises it as a rather explicit song that Hizashi and Nemuri were hollering the other day, but somehow his kid is slowing it down and almost making pretty. Weird imp.

It doesn't take too long to pull Izuku's curls back into the standard French plait that Aizawa most often does for the kid - he doesn't quite have the same level of hair-styling skill as his brat does, alright? But once the locks are weaved together, he starts threading the pins through the braid, glad that when he drops one of the star-headed pins in Izuku's lap there's an appreciative murmur that pauses whatever song is now being hummed. Must've been a good choice then. Not to mention that the silver and bronze stars look very pretty in the midst of snow-threaded ivy curls.

"Happy?"

"Mmyeh. Thanks," Izuku murmurs, bopping the side of his head against his Dad's knee.

"No problem, Problem Child."  The kid giggles at that, muffling the sweet sound in the man's knee, and Aizawa just pats his head. Silly, silly, perfect kid.

"Right. We both need to get dressed, and I need to make sure the hellions aren't going to be damaging anything or each other whilst we're gone."  There's a pause, but then Izuku is literally shoving his legs away, which, rude, and is bounding to his feet, plait swaying wildly,

"Yep! Race you!"

"Fuck that, I'm too old for racing."  Doesn't stop him from snaking out a loop of capture weapon to try and trip the kid over though.

"Kid, you ready for pa-"

Aizawa, looking into his son's room ten minutes later, pauses, because Izuku is sitting on the floor, leggings halfway up his calves and hoodie on, mask still hanging above his desk, and Caitlin sprawled over his lap.

"I sat down and she came over to see me!" And dammit, there are two sets of bright kitten eyes blinking up at him, one accompanied by whiskers and the other a pout, and Caitlin is purring, pressing up into Izuku's attention. Fuck, why is he so weak for his son and cats being cute?

"Let me take her?"  The pout instantly intensifies,

"You just want cat cuddles!" Izuku protests, but he nods anyway, giving Caitlin one last chin scritch before letting his Dad very carefully scoop the baby up, and then he pulling his leggings up and over his knees, scrambling to his feet to hike them over his hips as well. Aizawa, for his part, only cradles Caitlin to his chest, close and rumbling, and passes over the kid's thigh sheathes with his free hand, earning himself a flash of a grin from his son before Izuku is ducking just enough to strap them around his thighs, knives slotting into place. Several more blades get tucked into his under-hoodie harness and utility belt, where they can't be seen or catch the light. Well, that's most of the basics for both of them,

"You ready to go?"  Izuku looks back up at him, grinning once more, Cheshire-edged, and his eyes are so very bright that it instantly melts Aizawa's heart,

"Mmhm, almost!"

Aizawa pauses for a second, forcing himself to focus on mentally checking off his list of the kid's weapons, and when Izuku clips his frying pan to his back it reminds the man of their now-regular question,

"Kidilante or Hemlock tonight?"

"Kidilante," comes the immediate reply, supported by how the kid is already reaching for his mask from where it's been hung up above his desk.

"Got it. And I grabbed you peach nutrient packs."  The kid's glare then almost has his Dad snorting, because sometimes his son is so very easy to rile up. It's good fun.

"No you did not." The deadpan tone is completely uncompromising, more than unimpressed, and the man can't help how his mouth is twitching into a toothy grin,

"No, I didn't," Aizawa agrees, teasing, and has to bend backwards enough to almost hurt his spine to stop the kid's kick from hitting him. Caitlin doesn't even pause her purring against his chest. Ah, he loves his brats, all of them.

He loves his hellspawn too, though he's unlikely to admit it aloud, and he can't help but find himself not-scowling when he comes back out to the common room to the sight of several of his hellspawn knitting together, another clump playing some racing game or another, and another eight on their phones or reading. Cadaver is sprawled between Hitoshi and Shouto's warm thigh. It's a good sight to see, honestly. They're all happy. Content. And, frankly, after the time they've had, it's more than deserved.

That fact isn't going to stop him from glaring half-heartedly at them all,

"Hellions, I refuse to come back to any fires, property damage, burnt or spilled food, new animals, confiscated homework, giant matryoshka dolls, effigies of Nedzu, restrained children, wounds from knitting needles or forks or other general household implements, wounds in general, noise complaints, dance parties, shaved cats, or knives stuck in anything. And given that I will be coming back at three, I expect either none of this to have happened or for all evidence and ramifications to have been dealt with, understood?"  Everyone is paying attention, but several of them are just rolling their eyes or blinking at him, even more of them smirking or snickering, and Uraraka, as one of the true Chaos Lords of the class, is the one to raise her hand and speak up first,

"What about broken lifts?"  Resisting the urge to sigh or pinch the bridge of his nose, Aizawa sweeps a more full-hearted glare across the room,

"If any of you break the lift, that comes under property damage."  They all pause for a moment, far too many of them genuinely thinking about it,

"Getting stuck in it?"  A good try, but an unsuccessful one.

"Restraining children, so it's a no."

"Aww," Ashido pouts, casting off of her current project.
"You sure, Dadzawa-sensei?"

"Very sure."  He knows there's zero point in trying to contest that nickname by now. Once Izuku gave his permission to the class for it, so long as it included the sensei title, Aizawa's chances of preventing them from using it are nigh-on zero. 

(The fact that it clearly makes them happy, and amuses his kid, not to mention that it's genuinely just very sweet, means that even if he thought he did have a chance of stopping them from using it, he wouldn't. Izuku really has made him too soft.)

"Toshi, Shou, d'you want Caitlin as well? She's being clingy," Izuku offers, beaming at Hitoshi's instant 'of course, Green Bean' even whilst glancing back at his Dad for the man's grumbling,

"Oh, what, I give her back to you and you pass her on? Sacrilege."  The kid only lets a coil of capture weapon whip back to try and catch his Dad across the face. Aizawa catches the strand, letting it wrap around his wrist so that he can tug the kid back over to him, content that Caitlin has been safely deposited.

"Should've known better, hobo."

"We live together, brat."  Izuku only shrugs in return, perfectly careless,

"And I mean, I was basically homeless before, so maybe I still am now."  The thought of that always scrapes another little hollow in Aizawa's heart, and there are a few alarmed noises from throughout the room. But he knows that not keeping the light tone will only make Izuku feel bad, so he simply pokes one of his son's freckles, squishing at the round of his cheek,

"Kid, that isn't how it works."  Izuku only grins at him, impish and bright,

"True."

Then the teen falters, starting to pout again,

"You didn't really get me peach pouches, did you?" Aizawa can't help but roll his eyes, pulling a nutrient pack out of his utility belt. Watermelon flavour.

"No, kid, I didn't. But if you harp on about it I might just have them myself."  A dramatic gasp follows his teasing,

"You wouldn't!"

But Aizawa only leers at his son, Cheshire-edged, and ignores the laughter throughout the room,

"Wanna try me?" He gets a finger poking rather sharply into his cheek in return,

"Meanie."  The easy answer is to scoop the kid up in a bear hug, standing straight enough to lift the kid's feet right off the floor, even if it's a hold that he could undoubtedly wriggle out of if he really tried, and so starts walking them both through the common area,

"Always."  Izuku huffs, but also lets his head settle in amongst his hero's capture weapon, his next words muffled,

"Wanna go?"

"You got it kiddo, let's get gone,"  Aizawa glances over his shoulder a few steps later, not far from the genkan,
"Hellspawn, behave, look after each other, all that shit, got it?"

"Yes, Sensei!"

With that, the two leave, Izuku getting a kisses blown at him before Aizawa dumps him in the genkan and they can both get their boots on, ready to go.

Then they're out in the dim light and crisp air of an evening laden with anticipation, and Izuku jumps straight on his Dad's back, legs kicking gently in tandem with his hero's steps, a steady pace that's comfortable and easy as they amble along, leaving the dorms and then UA behind. Neither of them talk, quite content in just spending time with each other before the inevitable chaos of actually patrolling.

Of course, before the patrol itself, they take the time to drop by the precinct, a full set of coffee in hand for who Izuku may or may not have checked are on-shift right now. And if Izuku immediately steals a mouthful of his Dad's, then the man can only huff and kick him rather half-heartedly in the shin for it. But, equally, by the time they're halfway down the street, Izuku is holding his own cup of coffee up to the man's mouth. Sweet kid.

If Aizawa only takes a relatively small sip of it, then that's for him to know and Izuku to, well, not.

They're greeted with jeers and cheers, gratitude for the coffee and teasing for the fact that it's not even ten o'clock at night yet, so what are they doing up so early? It's all light-hearted, familiar and easy, and utterly delightful. Izuku, his mask clipped to his belt again now that they're in a room with only familiar people, ones that they both feel safe with, makes his usual rounds to hang off of various people, offering up their coffees and questions about families and work and any new Quirks that are interesting? It's a strange sort of domestic and, even through his conversation with Kanakawa, Aizawa is able to keep half a softly amused ear on his kid. 

But then the coffees have been delivered, and the bulk of the conversations have finished up, so the pair head into Tsukauchi's office, offering up the appropriate knock before they go whirling in with enthusiastic babbling and half-grumbled warnings about a hyperactive child. Despite their rather busy entrance, the pair are quick to take their usual places. Aizawa gives his back a break by sprawling out on the sofa pressed against one wall, even if he has to move two piles of papers and an empty pack of crackers to do so, whilst his son perches on the edge of the desk, taking a swig of coffee because the detective even gets his hands on it.

Before anything can devolve into bickering though, the hero waves a hand lazily in the air to get attention, a genuine question on his tongue,

"Did you get those reports earlier?"  Tsukauchi, unbeknownst to Aizawa, cuts off a staring competition with Izuku at that, and has to bat at the kid's hands when he tries to celebrate his victory by messing up the man's short hair,

"Yes, thank you. Didn't realise it was you who had dealt with that serial robber over near Setagaya."  The hero hums, eyes closing, and Izuku and Tsuka exchange a glance, because there is far too strong of a chance that Aizawa might just fall asleep on the sofa there. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. At least he's still answering for now:

"Oh, that one. Two men, three women. Some fair quirks, two decent strategic minds, but too reliant on their Quirks. Easy enough as I found them in the act, even though I wasn't on patrol."  Matching snorts greet that,

"Good. Guess it was precinct seven that responded?"

"Yeh," the hero groans, sounding so very, very done,
"Double the reports."

"There there," the detective sympathises, only an edge of sarcasm to it. None of them like paperwork after all.

Still, with everything official confirmed, the three settle down to finish their coffee, exchanging various tidbits of gossip and underground information, all of varying importance, and agree on a few things that might be worth looking into the next few weeks, groups to keep their eye on and areas that are fluctuating from their usual crime patterns. It's good to catch up on it, and the occasional joke or nudge only keeps their collective mood up, particularly once the hero joins his companions at the desk to look over some files.

However, their coffee runs out eventually, and Izuku and Aizawa - Kidilante and Eraserhead - leave their friend's office via the window, pulling themselves up to the roofs and fanning out towards the east, starting on their patrol itself. The faint stars above are as familiar as the blur of roads beneath their jumps, the rhythm of each other breathing and rolling and running, thudding footsteps felt more than heard, the arc and curl of capture weapon coils. It's a beat, the heartbeat in their veins and the syllables of gratitude and teasing and love racing through their souls, and that beat is one that they're helpless but to follow, to dance around each other in the night, smiles hidden behind masks and fabric-alloy but the light in their eyes impossible to hinder. They follow the beat, and it leads them to restrained villains and comforted victims and the knowledge that they're heroes, together and true. 

They follow the beat, and it leads them home.

Three hours in, and therefore halfway through their patrol shift, they stop for a short break. Aizawa swings down from their current rooftop to a twenty-four hour convenience store, grabbing them both some shitty coffee and, as it turns out when he gets back up to perch next to Izuku once more, a cheese and onion sandwich each. If they happen to share out of the same packet anyway, taking two halves from each of them, then nobody else is there to call them out for the slightly unorthodox ritual that they've had for years now.

By the time they've spent twenty minutes sipping bad coffee that's only just got enough caffeine in it to justify the effort and eating sandwiches and nutrient pouches to give them energy for the last few hours, they're both cooled down and beginning to shiver from the cold night air.

"Spar?"  Aizawa doesn't even deign to reply, only flinging their rubbish at one of the bins on the streets below, a far too practiced manoeuvre that has the empty packaging actually landing in the bin, and pushing back and up onto his feet, already kicking out. Izuku, grinning, isn't distracted by the discarded rubbish at all, and catches the kick, deflecting it off of the frying pan that is suddenly in his hand, and they're both moving. Aizawa, capture weapon lashing out, bounds backwards, towards the centre of their roof, in perfect timing for Izuku to duck and roll, pan up to deflect the few strands that twist in time to get close to his rapidly-moving ball of limbs. 

Then the kid pops up from his roll, pan swinging and the glimpses of what might be at-the-ready capture weapon behind it. The half-glimpse is enough to have Eraserhead raising loops of his own support gear around him in defence. A good thing too, because whilst he manages a strong kick to redirect the swing of the frying pan, the several strands that dart out for his arms and chest directly afterwards would have caught him otherwise.

The next two minutes is a furious blur of strikes and dodges and reflections, mirrored kicks and knots of capture weapon, metal against metal and palm against flesh. It's the gleam of blades under starlight and the glint of unmasked teeth in Cheshire grins. Yellow-painted nails and scars and freckles grasping at handles and fabric-alloy in ways learnt from the man in front of him, except then Aizawa is behind him because they flipped and rolled all at once, Izuku now flinging himself to the side to dodge the swipe of a knife, and they're both on their feet, facing each other with adrenaline-joy rushing through them, analysing the aches and strains of their opponent, analytical.

One breath, two, before they're moving again. One knife is thrown, only to be caught, and two whips of capture weapon lash out only be tugged upon, two combatants twisting and turning and-

They both stop then, for no reason at all except that their eyes met for a second and suddenly Izuku is smiling, tiny and soft and achingly sweet, his Dad is reaching out, and Izuku's on his tiptoes, burying his face in a capture weapon that smells like catscoffeeDadcityatnight and feels like home to match with the strong arms that are wrapped around him, hot breaths and stubble against his braid, a mirror to how he's clutching onto the familiar texture of a jumpsuit and maybe their flat or the dorms are home, but here is truly where Izuku is happiest and safest and most loved. 

He has his Dad, and there's nothing better in the entire universe.

However, they do have to return to their actual patrol sooner or later, and they do so gladly, spending a minute stretching together first, then heading out once more to follow up a potential lead, given that their area seems relatively quiet so far tonight.

Apparently some of Izuku's recent hacking has been more than worth it, because they settle on the roof of an apartment building in the slums, a location with three other, similar buildings around it that are all condemned. Two of them are still occupied, albeit unofficially. And by unofficially, what's actually meant is that a branch of some new upstart group has overtaken them, one that is attempting to take up some of the power vacuum left by the League subsiding from their more overt actions. Tonight isn't the time for a raid, not with minimal planning and only the two of them here, regardless of potential back-up arriving, because one of the buildings, according to both Izuku's information gathering and what they're seeing now, is being used as a residence for a fair number of the villains. That means that there's a good dozen or two here right now, at this time of night.

And, if they keep an eye on this building for a good period of time, then hopefully they'll be able to put together a raid to storm the place whenever there are the maximum number of people there. Even better, Izuku can even join in on said raid thanks to his Provisional Licence, a fact which both of them are admittedly glad for. It's helped a lot to be able to patrol together without fail in recent months.

After a fair hour or so, they've been able to assess that there does seem to be activity, and judging by the volume of smokers and people with the general air of traffickers or yakuza, all sleazy suits and slick-short haircuts, lots of hints of Quirk use and various books, card games and what looks like mahjong or the like. Normal people under certain circumstances, but in a large group and in a condemned building? Just a little more than suspicious.

"Set up a camera?"

"I reckon so," Eraserhead acknowledges, and Kidilante pulls out some of his own more recent support gear additions: one of three, tiny adhesive cameras. One that may or may not have the option for thermal imaging during the night, which is ideal for surveying buildings for potential activity.

It only takes a few minutes to stick to the ledge of the roof, mostly in the shadow of the lip so that it shouldn't catch the light regardless of the time of day, and to make sure that it has a memory card in it along with the feed transmitting to the teen's phone. It is, and all seems to be working fine, not to mention that it's already just past three o'clock, so the pair nod to each other, and crawl back from the edge of the roof until there's no chance of being seen from the two buildings. Aizawa, rolling his shoulders to work out some of the ache, glances back at his companion,

"Ready to head back?"  A half-breath hum and nod would have been enough, but they're jumping the relatively short distance to another roof, giving themselves a bit more distance even as Izuku replies,

"Yeh. Mind if we stop for another drink somewhere though?"

"Sure. We can detour to that newer twenty-four hour place."

"Cool!" Izuku chirps, still in an undertone but eyes bright, and Aizawa can't help but dislodge the kid's mask slightly in the name of running an affectionate touch down the side of his son's face, all gentle calluses and fond warmth.

"C'mon then, brat."  And so they're off once more.

They come to a pause not upon a rooftop but, instead, a crane, because Izuku had seen it and had such a wide-eyed look of yearning that his Dad had been helpless but to agree that they could climb up quickly. And so they had, spending fifteen minutes just clambering up metal criss-crosses and the frame, perching up high for a few minutes of breathing, shoulder to shoulder and staring up at the stars that feel so very in-reach when they're together like this, and they simply exist.

Neither of them talk again until they have climbed down by tacit agreement, ordered a coffee each, and have returned to their more familiar rooftops, the distant walls and treetops of UA itself visible a good ten minutes further away yet. Father and son settle down, their sides pressed together once more, and they sip at drinks that warm them through much like their contentment does, marrow-deep and joy-thick, simply happy to be here together in this moment, not needing words or further actions to appreciate it for the simple, all-consuming pleasure it is.

That being said, they both finish their coffees eventually, and Izuku leans back to look more easily at the stars, then turns to his Dad, revelling in the obvious happiness in the man's soft expression. He really is so incredibly lucky, isn't he?

"Hey, Dad."  The words aren't quite intentionally-spoken but they feel right all the same, both of them looking up at the sky once more.

"Hm?"

"Thank you for loving me."