Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lights from the police station illuminated the sidewalk outside. Bright fluorescents painted the street an eerie blue that looked like something out of a horror movie. The people that strolled past the station stuck a little closer to the station's doors, drifting away as they passed the buildings it was nestled between. It existed as a beacon of safety amongst the unsafe city streets.

Izuku watched the station. He knew he probably looked strange. A kid with a backpack staring down at the police station with grim determination. If passersby looked closer, they might see his split lip and the bruise blossoming under his eye. They might find a starburst burn curling up his neck, just barely concealed by his bright, obnoxious All Might hoodie. 

If they looked closer, they might think that the boy intended to file an abuse or assault case.

Izuku was stupid but he wasn't stupid enough to think that would work. The moment his quirk status came to light, any case he filed would be subtly dropped. Discrimination, Izuku knew, came in angry altercations and quiet negligence. 

Besides, Izuku wasn’t there for himself.

Not anymore. 

Izuku pulled his hood up a little further, trying to drown his green curls in yellow fabric. Green hair was distinctive, a fact that wouldn't help him now but would certainly help him later. When they needed to identify him. He pulled up the surgical mask on his face.

He crossed the street.

No one paid him any mind as he approached the next detective entering the building. The man himself looked up from the file in his hand at Izuku’s approach, eyebrows furrowed. He looked like his picture on the police database. Unassuming and normal. 

Izuku held out a package, a simple box without any labels, taped closed.  "It's safe," he said, trying to make his voice sound as deep and gravelly as possible. As unidentifiable as possible. 

Tsukauchi blinked at Izuku as the kid shoved the package into his arms. He knew Izuku's words were the truth. As far as Izuku knew, at least, the package was safe.

"What is this, kid?" Tsukauchi reached for Izuku.

Izuku turned and sprinted away.

The detective gave a small chase but juggling the package and his file and chasing the kid became too much of a challenge. Izuku watched from a nearby fire escape as the detective paused in the middle of the empty sidewalk. Tsukauchi stared down at the package, heavy in his hands.

Izuku toed off his shoes, tucking the note under it neatly. It was simple, short, signed with his name. He wrote it weeks ago, when he found the spider lilies on his desk. When he had to dig through dozens of articles to get the girl’s name, seeing only the description of Quirkless over and over and over again. Her name was Yoshiko Sasaki. Not “Quirkless Girl”. Izuku knew he would be relegated to “Quirkless Boy” or “Quirkless Middle Schooler”. He knew that.

There was another similar letter stuck to the refrigerator at home. He doubted his mom would see it before the police got to her. If the police got to her. He'd wanted to write one for Kacchan but he couldn't think of any way to get it to him after the fact. Any way to get it to him without alerting him to his plans. Not that he planned for it to be today.

No, circumstances had expedited his plans.

Izuku strayed closer to the barrier, grasping the steel with shaky hands. Below, the city twinkled, always moving and alive. Oblivious to the boy at the top of the tower.

The tower All Might had left Izuku on the day before.

Izuku choked down a gasp. Frantic hands tore at his All Might hoodie as he yanked it off and threw it onto the roof. He stared down at it with a heaving chest, eyes burning, lungs burning, everything burning.

Why?

The question rattled around in Izuku’s head as it had since that day when he was four. Since the day his father packed up all of his belongings and disappeared into the night. Three little letters. One little word.

Why him?

What terrible thing did Izuku do in a past life to deserve this? To deserve being a Quirkless person in a world that hated his kind? Did he do something in this life to deserve this?

Izuku tried so hard to be good. To be a good son. A good friend. A good student. He wanted to be good. He wanted to do good. Be a hero.

But everyone was right. Kacchan was right. And Mom. And his teachers and his classmates and- And All Might was right too. Izuku was too stupid and useless and worthless.

He couldn’t be a hero.

He could barely be a person.

Izuku didn’t realize he was crying until the sobs screamed out of him. Until he was shaking and wailing. His legs gave out and he sunk to the ground, face pressed into the steel barrier. Izuku cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, his tears run dry and his sobs crushed into dry gasps for air. He cried until the panic and fear and anger and grief ebbed away. Until he was empty.

It would be quick.

He would be flying for only a moment and then he would be nothing. It’s not like he was ever anything to begin with.

He hoped that the police found his notebooks useful. Maybe pass them on to the Pros and show them their weak points so they could cover them. Probably not. They were probably nothing more than the useless, dumb scribblings of a fanatic. 

But at least he tried, right?

Izuku shoved his bag to the side, next to his shoes. He lined them up neatly. His mom paid good money for them after all. She probably couldn’t return them but maybe they could go to someone that actually needed them. She could sell his cell phone at least.

Izuku sniffled, wiping the tears from his face. He pulled himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders. He breathed out slowly, swinging a leg over the barrier. The healing burns on his torso ached with the exertion.

His body ached like it always did but some part of him felt lighter. He pulled his other leg over, leaning back against the railing. Wind tugged at his hair, drying the last sparse tears. Izuku smiled.

Soon, it would be over.

He hoped his next life would be better. 

“It’s a pretty long fall.”

Izuku’s head snapped around. His vision swam for a moment before it refocused on the figure balanced on the railing next him. Dressed in all black, shadowed against the harsh lights of the surrounding buildings. Izuku squinted.

His heart jumped into his throat and he struggled to swallow it down.

Eraserhead stared at Izuku, eyebrow raised. “What are you doing up here, kid?” he asked, sounding bored with the whole situation.

Izuku tightened his grip on the railing, looking at street below. He looked back at Eraserhead. “Stargazing?” he managed to squeak out.

Eraserhead’s eyes tilted toward the sky with a contemplative hum. “On a cloudy night? Halfway over the safety barrier?”

Heat burned in Izuku’s cheeks. He turned away with a nervous smile. “Yeah, not my best excuse.”

“Let’s brainstorm some better ones then,” Eraserhead said. “On the other side of the railing.”

Izuku could feel tears prickling at his eyes again. And gosh, wasn’t he the biggest crybaby? He looked up to blink back the sensation, knowing full well that it wouldn’t work. “Kid?” Eraserhead prompted.

“It’s no point, Eraserhead-san,” Izuku said, just barely keeping his voice from wobbling. His lip trembled as he looked back at the Underground Hero. One of Izuku’s favorite heroes. Izuku’s mind flashed back to All Might and he quickly corrected himself. His favorite hero.

A faint look of surprise etched across his features. A question lingered behind his eyes. He shook his head faintly. “What? Coming up with creative excuses?”

Izuku choked on a laugh, humorless and tight. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. He just needed to let go . “Trying to save me.”

Eraserhead huffed something that might’ve been a sigh or a grunt. Or something in between. Izuku kept his eyes closed, even as he felt something snake around his wrist. Some distant part of him acknowledged that it was Eraserhead’s capture weapon. The one that Izuku had spent months trying to figure out. 

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” Eraserhead said, his formerly bored tone somehow softer. Izuku glanced back at him but he was staring out over the cityscape.

“I’m Quirkless,” Izuku said, the word trembling out of him like it always did. “I’m sure you know the statistics. If I don’t do it now, I’m bound to do it later. So? Not worth it, right?”

“Why would that matter?”

Izuku startled at the words. His fingers lost their grip and he tilted. Panic raced through Izuku and he let out a startled shout. A weight yanked him backwards, back over the railing and onto the roof. Eraserhead’s capture weapon tangled around his torso.

Izuku planted his hands on the table, his stomach heaving out what little he’d had to eat. He released a shaky sob, pressing his forehead to the roof. A hand smoothed across his back in soothing circles. 

“Let it out, kid,” Eraserhead said.

Izuku stayed like that for what seemed like hours but might’ve been minutes. He slowly looked back at Eraserhead, who watched him with soft, sad eyes. The Pro-Hero nodded and pulled his hand away. Izuku slowly sat up, his eyes drifting back to his backpack and his shoes and his suicide note.

The two, middle schooler and Pro-Hero, sat in silence for several long minutes. Izuku looked between Eraserhead and ground, gnawing on his lip. Eventually, Eraserhead sighed. “What is it?”

“Did you mean it?” Izuku asked.

“Mean what?”

Izuku hunched in on himself, staring down at his socked feet. He was shoeless. In front of Eraserhead. “That my Quirklessness doesn’t matter?”

Eraserhead stared at Izuku for a moment, his expression contemplative. He sighed and shook his head. “Your Quirk status doesn’t define your worth, kid,” he said.

“Do you-” Izuku cut himself off, shame coursing through his chest. He’d already received one compliment. Why push for more?

“Do I?” Eraserhead questioned. “Spit it out.”

Izuku raised his shoulders before exclaiming, “DoyouthinkIcanbeahero?”

He released a long breath as Eraserhead watched him for a moment. Eventually, the Pro sighed, digging his hands into his pockets. He sighed. Izuku’s heart sank. “Yeah,” Eraserhead said with a shrug and Izuku’s eyes widened. “It would be a lot of work but I don’t see why you couldn’t be a hero.”

 Something loosened in Izuku’s chest like a coil releasing. Izuku sagged. He smiled softly to himself, “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for telling you the truth.”

“Well, no one else has ever said that to me,” Izuku stated, feeling Eraserhead bristle beside him. “So thank you anyways, Eraserhead-san.”

Now that the initial panic had worn off, a million questions bubbled to the surface. Izuku’s fingers twitched, aching for a pen and paper. He opened his mouth to ask two, maybe ten, questions.

He snapped his mouth shut when Eraserhead grunted and rose to his feet. Eraserhead held out his hand. Izuku stared at it. “C’mon,” Eraserhead said, giving his hand a small shake. “Let me walk you home.”

The warmth in Izuku’s chest caved at the thought of going home. Of returning to a cold home with an all but absent mother. He didn’t want to face Inko’s vacant stare. Or worse, face her after she found the note. She’d probably be disappointed to find Izuku still alive.

Eraserhead seemed to sense his hesitance as Izuku looked up with a tight smile. “It’s fine, Eraserhead-san,” he said. “I can walk by myself.”

“I don’t really trust you to walk yourself,” Eraserhead said. “Besides, your parents are probably worried about you.”

Heat burned in Izuku’s chest. He let out a nervous laugh. “I doubt it,” he said softly, bitterly, but the Underground Hero hardly missed the comment on an empty, silent rooftop.

“Why?” Eraserhead prodded.

“My dad is gone,” Izuku said with a small shrug. “My mom won’t even be home until midmorning tomorrow.”

They shared a small standoff as Eraserhead’s eyebrow furrowed. Eventually, the Underground Hero sighed and pulled a phone out of seemingly nowhere. He typed something quickly and Izuku seared with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. Eraserhead put the phone away and held out his hand again. “C’mon.”

Izuku sighed and reached for the outstretched hand. Eraserhead easily pulled him up. He kept his hand wrapped around Izuku’s, picking up his belongings. Izuku hurriedly put on his shoes before following Eraserhead back to the entrance to the roof. As the descended the stairs, Izuku a step behind him, Eraserhead spoke, “I have an emergency foster license,” he explained. “You can stay with me for the night and go home tomorrow, okay?”

“What?” Izuku said, sure he heard Eraserhead wrong.”

Eraserhead looked back at Izuku, standing on the step above him. From here, Izuku was level with the Pro-Hero. “You’re staying with me tonight,” he repeated.

The warmth filled Izuku again and a smile finally broke out across his face. Eraserhead blinked, looking a little surprised. The Pro-Hero turned away. “Let’s go. It’s late and you need sleep.”

Shouta, as a rule, did not like being called into the station during his patrols. He liked taking care of business and dropping villains off at the station and picking up any paperwork at the end of the night. It was efficient. Shouta liked when things were efficient. 

He especially didn’t like being called in when he was dragging a suicidal teenager through the streets of Mustafu.

But Tsukauchi, calm and steady Tsukauchi, had sounded... Off over the phone. One part shock and one part awe. Shouta wasn't sure what to think about the way he said "I have something to show you."

“Stay here,” Shouta said to the boy, Izuku as he’d finally introduced himself, as they stepped into the police station.

Izuku curled into himself a little but nodded, sitting down in one of the plastic chairs. He still looked rattled, shaking and pale. Shouta left one of the desk officers with instructions to keep an eye on the kid before heading back. He texted Hizashi on the way, asking him to come down to the station. He received a response almost immediately.

Hizashi :: Is the Little Listener ok?

Shouta :: Yeah. Tsukauchi called me on the way back. Sounded serious. Come down and pick us up. I’m already done with tonight and I have a feeling I’ll be even more done in a minute. Plus, need someone to keep an eye on the Problem Child.

Hizashi :: Already giving the kid nicknames?

Shouta :: ...Shut up.

Shouta just wanted to get home and get the kid settled in for the night. He planned on sending some officers to do a wellness check on Izuku’s house tomorrow, but that could wait. Right now, he needed to see what Tsukauchi needed to show him.

He certainly wasn't a stack of composition notebooks. There were at least two dozen and all of them were in pristine condition except for the missing cover, which had been ripped off. One sat off to the side, the edges of it burned and the ink a little watermarked. 

Shouta looked between Tsukauchi and the notebooks, a single eyebrow arching up. "Take a look," Tsukauchi said, gesturing to the books.

Shouta opened one, finding a neatly labelled table of contents. His interest piqued when he saw the names of pro-heroes. Popular ones like Hawks and Miruko were next to lesser known ones. The burned one, he noticed, had recently debuted heroes. He flipped further in, his stomach clenching in a fit of sudden panic though his face remained neutral. 

Well drawn pictures lined up with detailed descriptions. Graphs and charts next to analysis and theories. Pros and cons. Strengths and weaknesses.

"Read this one," Tsukauchi said, sliding a notebook towards Shouta, who had sat down at some point.

Shouta nearly dropped a notebook when he saw himself rendered in two dimensions, his hero name written in neat kanji at the top. He scanned the three pages dedicated to him, significantly less than most of the others. How did the author have so much information on him?

Shouta was an underground hero. He was unknown. He wasn’t supposed to be known. But the details suggested that whoever authored these analyses knew significantly more about Eraserhead than Shouta felt strictly comfortable with. His eyes lingered on a scribble in one of the corners, a hastily written note.

Married to Present Mic?

Shouta nearly choked on his spit. He shoved the book away and rose to his feet. 

Even with just a quick look, Shouta knew these books were dangerous. Every hero he could think of was the subject of at least three pages. Each one broken down to their barest bones, each one pushed the boundaries of what Shouta thought analysis could hold.

Each one carried detailed notes on how to bring every single one of those pro-heroes down. 

"What are these, Tsukauchi?" Shouta demanded, his bored and flat tone hiding the anxiety twisting in his chest. "Who wrote them?"

"I don't know," Tsukauchi said with a deep sigh. "Someone walked up to me and shoved them into my arms as I was coming into the station. Just said the notebooks were safe and disappeared."

"You didn’t follow them?" Shouta asked.

Tsukauchi leveled a flat look at Shouta before shaking his head. "Like I said, he just disappeared."

Shouta frowned, burying his face into his capture weapon. He took a deep breath of it's metallic smell before looking back at notebooks. Tsukauchi leaned back in his chair, his tired eyes taking on a mischievous edge. Shouta glared at him. "Looking for a new long-term mission, Eraserhead?"

Shouta sighed. This night was shaping up to be much longer than he anticipated.

He needed a cup of fucking coffee.

Chapter Text

Izuku saw Present Mic before Present Mic saw him. It took him a few seconds to recognize the Pro-Hero outside of his costume with his hair pulled into a bun, but when he did, he practically vibrated with excitement. He quickly tramped down the excitement though. Just because Eraserhead-san ( Aizawa , he said to call him Aizawa ) liked him didn’t mean Present Mic would. Did Aizawa like Izuku? Izuku shook that line of thoughts from his head. He was too tired to focus on something uncertain like that right now.

Wait, if Present Mic was here, did this mean that Izuku’s theory about the two of them being married was correct?

Present Mic spoke to the man at the desk for a moment before looking over the room. His eyes settled on Izuku and he smiled. Izuku blanked. When was the last time he’d been on the receiving end of such a warm smile?

He suddenly really, really hoped that Present Mic liked him.

“Midoriya?” Present Mic asked and Izuku bit back a wince at the name.

He forced himself to give Present Mic a wobbly smile. “Yes?” he said, not faking the shy tone of his voice.

He knew now why Aizawa had seemed so shocked for a moment earlier. It was because Izuku recognized him. Recognized an Underground Hero that wasn’t supposed to exist. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He knew that most normal people wouldn’t recognize any Pros out of their costumes. Izuku wanted to be normal. Maybe Aizawa and Present Mic would like him more if he seemed normal.

Well, a normal as a Quirkless kid can be.

“Hi, I’m Yamada Hizashi, I’m Aizawa’s partner.”

Yes! One point for Izuku’s theories. Izuku stood and dipped into a polite bow. He tugged at the cuffs of the All Might hoodie Aizawa had forced back over his head. He desperately wanted something else but Aizawa said it was too cold to walk around without a jacket. And it wasn’t like the Underground Hero had one hidden in one of his pockets. “My name is Midoriya Izuku. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Yamada laughed, the nervous sound unusual coming from the usually exuberant voice Izuku associated with Present Mic. “No need for so much formality, Midoriya.”

Izuku flushed. He shuffled in place. Yamada leaned down and picked up his bag. “Let’s go,” he said. “I made up the guest room for you.”

Izuku looked up quickly, eyes going wide. “But Aizawa-san said-” he stopped himself when he saw Yamada’s startled expression. “Oh, um, sorry. Aizawa-san told me to stay here.”

Yamada smiled softly. “He’s probably going to be a couple of hours so he told me to go ahead,” he said, reaching out with a visibly telegraphed moment to ruffle Izuku’s curls. Izuku leaned into the gentle touch and Yamada’s eyes softened. “Let’s get you to bed, Little Listener.”

At those words, Izuku became suddenly aware of how tired he was. And what a novel thing it was to be tired when an hour ago, he’d thought it would be dead . He tried to reach for his bag but Yamada just swung it over his shoulder. He let Izuku lean into him a little too heavily as they exited the police station.

Izuku was vaguely away of being loaded into a car. He stared out at the lights flashing by until they stopped. Yamada helped Izuku out of the car and swayed on his feet. “Easy there, Little Listener,” Yamada said, his voice a soothing balm to Izuku’s encroaching exhaustion.

He followed Yamada up a set of stairs, rubbing at his eyes. They didn’t say anything as Yamada led Izuku into an apartment that seemed surprisingly mundane when it belonged to two Pro-Heroes. He took off his shoes and Yamada guided him towards a room to the side.

The door opened and Izuku nearly cried at the sight of the bed. He might’ve cried a little. If he did, Yamada didn’t say anything about it.

“I’ll be next door if you need anything,” Yamada said, shutting the door behind Izuku. “And I do mean anything.”

And Izuku was alone. He was honestly barely awake enough to process that. He kicked off his pants and crawled into the bed. They smelled nice. They were fresh and soft. They felt like home.

Izuku drifted off.

Hizashi startled awake when light flickered on in the hallway. A quick glance at his phone confirmed that it had been nearly three hours since he brought Izuku to the apartment. The sun would probably be coming up soon. 

He'd already contacted Nedzu and let the principal know that neither of them would be in for class tomorrow. Nedzu had seemed more curious than concerned and Hizashi planned on letting Shouta handle that particular conversation. Just the thought of the principal sent a shiver down Hizashi's spine. 

Hizashi sat up from the couch, rubbing at his eyes as his exhausted husband slumped into the living room.

Shouta gave Hizashi a quick wave before disappearing into his office. Hizashi sighed, trailing after him. He bit back a yawn as he pushed the door open. "What did Tsukauchi need?" Hizashi asked, forcing his voice to a whisper.

Shouta beckoned Hizashi closer. Hizashi folded himself over Shouta, draping his arms on his husband's torso and resting his chin on Shouta's shoulder. His eyes lingered on the composition notebooks.

"They are analysis," Shouta signed, his hands held out for Hizashi to see. "Of Pro Heroes. Someone left them at the police station."

"A hopeful?" Hizashi mused, reaching forward to flip it open. He frowned at the detailed notes. 

"Someone with an intelligence quirk?" Shouta suggested. He reached forward and laced his fingers together with Hizashi's. He turned around. "Bed?"

Hizashi nodded, pulling Shouta up to his feet. Shouta's eyes flickered to the door across the hall. The room where Izuku was asleep. "He passed out pretty fast," Hizashi said, reaching out with his free hand to brush back some of Shouta's hair. "You did a good thing, kitten."

Shouta released a sigh that made his shoulders shake. He dropped Hizashi's hand to sign. "He's so young, Zash. And he just seemed so… Tired."

"I know," Hizashi signed back. "But we're going to do what we can, right?"

Shouta's exhaustion blazed for the briefest moment into the intense determination that made Hizashi fall in love with him. He nodded once. Resolute. "We will," he signed. He paused. "He's Quirkless."

"Shit," Hizashi signed emphatically as he blinked in surprise. That was rare, especially for the generation Izuku was a part of. "And you're worried he won't get a proper investigation?" Hizashi confirmed, his fingers smoothing over his mustache. Over the tiny scars his mustache hid. 

Shouta nodded. "I know he won't."

"And because we're fostering him, we can't join the investigation," Hizashi signed, his frown deepening. He pulled Shouta further into the hallway, pressing a kiss to his husband's confused face. "Go sleep, Sho. I'll figure this out."

Shouta stared at Hizashi for a long moment before he rolled his eyes. "Words cannot describe how much I love you," he signed, dragging Hizashi into one more, much longer kiss.

Hizashi eventually shooed Shouta off to the bedroom, lingering in the hallway until the door clicked closed. He eased the door to the study closed before hurrying into the living room and snagging his phone off the couch. His fingers fumbled with the spare hearing aides he kept plugged in on the side table, next to the emergency home phone. 

He thumbed over to the contact as he slipped off onto the balcony. The phone only rang twice before it connected. "Zashi? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Hizashi responded automatically before he paused and shook his head. "Or well. Kinda."

"It's way too early for jokes, Zashi."

"Not a joke," Hizashi sighed. "Can you do Sho and me a favor, Nemuri?"

Nemuri stood in front of the unassuming apartment door, one of her hands curling and uncurling into a fist. She turned to lean back against the wall next to the door. According to the hospital, Midoriya Inko was slated to get home any minute now.

Nemuri's eyes slid over to the caseworker that had also been put on the case. She was an unassuming woman in her mid thirties with brown hair cut into a bob and dark gray blue eyes. Her lips were pressed into a firm line, her stoicism rivaling Shouta's. She'd introduced herself as Kanon Sasaki. She flicked through something on her phone, completely avoiding eye contact with Nemuri.

Nemuri cleared her throat and Sasaki looked over, eyebrow raised. 

"If you show any discrimination just cuz this kid is Quirkless," Nemuri said, letting her idle threat hold in the air.

Sasaki narrowed her eyes. "I can assure you that Midoriya Izuku’s Quirklessness is why I asked to be assigned to this case."

Nemuri tilted her head. "Asked to be assigned?"

Sasaki gave a short nod before looking away. Her gaze shifted to the woman ascending the stairs. The Midoriya woman looked normal enough, still dressed in her nurse's scrubs. She looked tired from her shift, clutching her purse. Her exhaustion shifted into confusion when she noticed the Hero and case worker lingering in front of her door.

"Good morning," she greeted as she took her keys out of her bag. "Can I help you?"

Nemuri opened her mouth to respond but Sasaki stepped forward with an extended business card. "Good morning,  Midoriya-san. We're with the National Center for Child Health and Development," she said in a clearly rehearsed tone. " We hoped that we might come in and ask you a few questions?"

Midoriya's eyes slid over to Nemuri, who must've looked out of place outside of her hero costume. After all, she imagined a lot of case workers didn't wear jeans and a leather jacket. Nemuri jerked her chin towards Sasaki, "What she said."

Midoriya frowned. "Is this about Izuku?" she asked, moving past then to unlock the door. "Did he get into another fight or something?"

Nemuri and Sasaki made eye contact behind Midoriya's back. They stepped in when Midoriya stepped aside to hold the door open. A quick exchange of shoes later left them standing in the small living room. Nemuri wandered into the room.

"No, Midoriya-san," Sasaki said. "We've had no reports of anything like that. Like I said, we just want to ask you a few questions."

Midoriya gave the two women a tight-lipped smile. "Please, ask away."

Sasaki opened her folder. "When was the last time you saw your son?" she asked, tapping her pen against the paper.

Nemuri moved further into the living room, peering around. She could feel Midoriya's eyes on her as she looked around. Nemuri noted the distinct lack of familial memorabilia. No pictures. No crafts or report cards. No sign that Midoriya Inko had a son at all.

"Um," Midoriya muttered, pushing her attention back to Sasaki. "Maybe a few days ago? I've been working night shifts at the hospital so our schedules tend to work against each other."

Sasaki hummed. Her eyes fluttered towards Nemuri with a nod. Nemuri wandered further into the apartment. She paused in the kitchen, finding food in the cabinets and the fridge. The sink was devoid of dishes. The fridge doors bare, save for a single note magnetized to it and a list of chores, each one neatly marked with a check. Nemuri reached for the note absently. 

"Why would you ask me that?" Midoriya exclaimed from the living room.

Nemuri inched back into the room, finding a completely calm Sasaki opposite a red-faced Midoriya. Nemuri pocketed the note.

"Like I said," Sasaki said. "Just some routine questions. Do you know where your son is now?"

"Of course I do!" Midoriya jumped to her feet. "He's at school. They would've contacted me if he skipped."

Sasaki hummed again. Midoriya's eyes flickered between Nemuri and Sasaki. "What is this actually about?" she asked.

"May we see Izuku's room?" Sasaki asked, ignoring Midoriya's question.

Midoriya made a small noise of disbelief before she waved a hand down the hall opposite to the kitchen. "It's probably a mess but why not? Make yourselves at home."

Nemuri immediately moved for the room as Sasaki gave Midoriya a shallow bow and followed. Midoriya made no move to follow them as she sat back down on her couch. 

Nemuri pushed open the door, immediately blinking against the harsh yellow and blue walls of the room inside. Her eyes darted over to the cheap Pro Hero figurines. They were the kind that a kid with even a meager allowance could pick up at a cheap shop. The kid's All Might figurines outnumbered the rest of them but there appeared to be a sizable number of them. She even spied one of herself. 

Sasaki closed the door behind them.

The room was small, the walls painted those garish colors. The bed was neatly made. Sasaki pulled open a drawer, finding only two t-shirts tucked inside next to the kid's school uniform. Nemuri didn't miss the scorch marks in the uniform coat. A quick search through the drawers produced the same results. Very few clothes.

"What do you think?" Nemuri asked as she sat down on the bed. She frowned down at it, realizing just how small it was. Smaller than an average twin, at least.

"Classic case of neglect," Sasaki replied, picking up one of the figures and examining it. She set it down and pulled open the drawers,  giving the artist supplies inside a once over. "Find anything in the kitchen?"

"There was food in the fridge. Can you claim neglect if she's feeding him?"

Sasaki nodded. "Especially since this was Midoriya’s first shift of the week."

Nemuri furrowed her eyebrows and Sasaki sighed. "She should've seen Izuku at some point in the past few days," she explained. "But she wasn't home. She was in Tokyo."

"How-" Nemuri reeled from the information. 

"Social media," Sasaki explained. She ran her hands over the textbooks stacked neatly on the desk.

Nemuri colored herself impressed. She reached into her pocket. "I also found this," she said, holding the note out.

Sasaki took the note, flipping it open. Her expression quickly shuttered before she stuffed the note into her folder. She took a measured breath, turning away from Nemuri to grab the back of the desk chair. Nemuri leaned forward, "Sasaki-san."

"It's his suicide note," Sasaki said in a trembling voice.

Cold horror bled into Nemuri and she shook out her hand. Her eyes darted to the yellow slip of paper sticking out from the edge of the folder. Her fingers tangled where she had touched it. Nemuri shoved her hands into her pockets.

 "I'm going to recommend that Izuku be removed from the Midoriya house until a formal investigation is concluded," Sasaki said as she rolled her shoulders. She turned, her blank expression slid back into place.

Nemuri bit her lip. "Will Izuku be moved to a different foster house?"

Sasaki regarded Nemuri for a moment before she pulled out Izuku's desk chair. She sat down. "You're okay with Izuku being Quirkless,  correct?" she asked. "No discrimination?"

"Of course not," Nemuri sniffed with a small scoff. "Prejudices like that have no place in my line of work."

"I'm glad we agree," Sasaki said, even as her expression remained flat and grim. "Do you trust the people fostering Izuku to feel as you do?"

"Without a doubt," Nemuri responded without hesitation. "And I know they'll keep Izuku as long as they might need to."

"Good," Sasaki stood languidly. "I trust your judgement, Midnight-san. I'm going to recommend that Izuku remain in their care until I can personally vet a more permanent placement."

Nemuri stared up at Sasaki, eyes wide. "Thank you," she said.

Sasaki looked away, some deep, fathomless emotion crossing her face. "It's the least I can do," she said before she left the room.

Izuku stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above him for a long time. So long that the light in the room shifted. He'd slept better in a stranger's bed than he'd slept in months. He knew where he was, in theory, but it still felt like something out of some kind of weird dream. Like if he climbed out of bed, the entire scenario would cease to exist. Maybe he would come to still falling to his death.

He flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar aching pull of the healing burn on his clavicle. 

Not a dream then.

His stomach growled and he flushed with embarrassment despite being the only one in the room.

Izuku wanted to lay there for just a little longer.

But he knew he needed to use the bathroom and eat and eventually trudge back to his home. He hoped his mom didn't notice his note on the fridge. He felt bad for getting her hopes up.

If Izuku’s predictions of both Yamada and Aizawa working at U.A. we're correct then they were likely already at the school. He could probably sneak and bite to eat and leave without them ever knowing.

Izuku redressed in his clothing from before and tucked his All Might hoodie under his arm. He crept out of the bedroom, pausing when he heard a clatter in the kitchen.

Izuku dove into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as possible. He leaned back against it and clicked the lock into place. They weren’t supposed to be home.

Unless his predictions were wrong, which was entirely possible. 

Izuku took care of his business and washed his face with his hands and some soapy water. His hair stuck out in every direction but he doubted there was a brush hiding in their main bathroom, especially since it seemed to mostly be a bathroom for guests.

Slowly, Izuku slid out of the bathroom. His eyes darted to the front door. He could leave. Not that Mom had any food at home that she said he could eat. His stomach growled again.

With a sigh, Izuku padded in the direction of the sound. He figured that,  at least this way, he could politely ask for something to eat. And thank whoever happened to be in the apartment.

Aizawa looked up from the papers in front of him as Izuku entered. A red pen was jammed between his lips, eyebrows furrowed. His irritated expression softened when his gaze focused on Izuku standing in the doorway. 

"Morning, kid," he said around the pen. 

Izuku threw himself into the lowest bow he could. "Thank you for last night," he exclaimed, the words spilling out from him. "It was really nice of you to let me stay here! So thanks!"

"Slow down," Aizawa said and Izuku blinked at him. "It really isn't a problem, Midoriya."

He looked back down at his papers and Izuku lingered in the doorway, staring at him. After a moment, Aizawa released a long suffering sigh. "It's like these brats don't remember a word I say," he grumbled before he stretched and stood up. "Hungry, kid? It's a little late for breakfast but I can probably heat up some miso."

"Oh, um," Izuku ducked his head. "You don't have to do that, Aizawa-san."

"I know," Aizawa replied easily. "So, miso good?"

He fixed Izuku with a questioning stare that Izuku shied away from. After a moment, Izuku gave a single hasty nod. Aizawa responded with a nod of his own. He set about cooking. "Hizashi's a better cook than I am," Aizawa said as Izuku onched towards a free chair.

"Where-" Izuku's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. Before he even spoke again, Aizawa set a glass of water down in front of him. Izuku felt the heat rush into his face. He looked down at the hardwood floor. "Where is Hiz-Yamada-san?"

"Groceries," Aizawa responded.

"Oh."

How mundane. Izuku's eyes darted down to the papers on the kitchen table. They looked like essays, marked with so much red pen that they looked like candy canes. Izuku leaned forward.

One of the less marked paper headlined with: The Legal Limitations of Quirked Flight

A faint smile crosses Izuku's lips. He was right. At least about Aizawa being a teacher. Izuku peered down at the paper and frowned. 

Izuku flinched when Aizawa placed a bowl down next to him. His green eyes darted up to Aizawa's concerned face. "Something wrong?" Aizawa asked.

"Oh, no," Izuku said quietly. His gaze slipped back over to the paper. "I just, um-"

"What is it?" Aizawa asked as he sat back down. 

Izuku flushed, pointing to the paper he'd been looking at. "They referenced Quirk sublaw 14.26 but I think they meant to put 16.24?" Izuku whispered, pursing his lips together. 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at Izuku as he looked over the paper in question. He read over it once, twice. Something flashed across his features that Izuku didn’t understand. 

"Good catch," Aizawa said. "Not a lot of kids your age know Quirk Law."

The tension bled from Izuku's shoulders. "Not a lot of kids need to," Izuku responded quietly.

Aizawa watched Izuku for a moment before he shook his head and looked away. Izuku reached for his soup, sipping it silently as Aizawa continued to grade papers. Every so often, Izuku leaned forward to point out a minor discrepancy. 

Eventually, when the soup was gone and the papers put aside, Aizawa stood from the table. His eyes slipped over to the stove. "Well, Hizashi should be home soon," he said. "And then we can go."

And just like that, all of Izuku's calm washed away. His eyes snapped up to Aizawa. "You really don't have to walk me home, Aizawa-san," he insisted, trying to shove back the panic flooding his voice. "I can find my way. I don't want to keep bothering you."

Aizawa shook his head. "No, kid, Midoriya-"

Izuku flinched.

Aizawa made a small noise before he stepped around the table. "Izuku, hey," Aizawa said, his voice a soothing monotone. He crouched next to Izuku’s chair, a hesitant hand extended. After a moment, he simply dropped it on Izuku's knee. "You need to breathe kid."

"I am," Izuku forced out past the strangling lump in his throat. 

"You're not," Aizawa said. "C’mon. Breathe with me. In for four seconds."

He breathed in deeply and Izuku forced himself to follow, the inhale shaky and erratic. Aizawa nodded. "Hold for seven."

He counted down and Izuku focused on the numbers. "Out for eight," Aizawa said with a dramatic, slow exhale.

Izuku followed him until the tightness in his chest ebbed away. Exhaustion pushed down on him again and all he wanted was to crawl back into Aizawa and Yamada’s guest bed. But he had to go home instead. Izuku took another steadying breath.

"Good job," Aizawa said, reaching up to ruffle Izuku's curls.

Izuku looked down at his lap, twiddling his fingers together. He smiled to himself. After a moment, Aizawa stood up. "As I was saying," he said, his voice still soft. "When Hizashi gets back, we can head over to your apartment and pick up your essentials."

Izuku’s head snapped up to stare at Aizawa. "What?"

"You're going to be staying with us a little longer than we planned," Aizawa said, his lips twitching. "Unless you have somewhere else you'd rather stay?"

"I don't-" Izuku looked away as he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "I don't understand, Aizawa-san."

"You didn’t explain it, Sho?"

Izuku let out a startled yelp, whirling around to find Yamada standing in the kitchen entrance. The blonde smiled warmly at Izuku. "How did you sleep, Izuku?" he asked kindly.

"W-well," Izuku stuttered out as he looked back down at his lap. "Thank you for asking."

"Of course," Yamada said. "Anyways, Shouta was supposed to explain the situation to you but I'm sure he skipped a couple steps."

"I was getting there," Aizawa mumbled as he moved to take the groceries from his husband. 

He started to put them away as Yamada sat down in the chair next to Izuku’s. Izuku's attention flickered between them before settling on Yamada. 

"Your mother is being investigated for neglect," Yamada said. 

Izuku inhaled sharply. He gripped his wrist tightly to keep himself grounded. Yamada frowned before reaching forward and untangling Izuku's fingers. He started tapping out a repetitive rhythm as he held onto Izuku's hands. 

"But my mom isn't-" Izuku paused to swallow thickly. "She isn't neglectful. She just works a lot and is a little strict about some things. She doesn't- She isn't a bad mom and if she is, then it's my fault."

Yamada looked at Aizawa over Izuku's shoulder and Izuku hunched in on himself.

"I understand you might be a little confused," Yamada said softly. "But we just want to get everything figured out and the best way to do that is an investigation, okay?"

Izuku looked over his shoulder at Aizawa who gave him a small nod. "Okay," Izuku said after a long moment. He looked between the two Pro Heroes that gave him a place to sleep. His eyes lingered on Aizawa, Eraserhead, the man that saved him from falling. He nodded.  "I trust you."

Chapter Text

Izuku lingered in the doorway to his bedroom, aware of Aizawa’s eyes on his back from the end of the hall. Yamada was talking to the police that had waited outside. From what Izuku could understand, Mom had been asked to vacate the premises. Izuku wondered how easy it had been to convince her to leave. "Kid?" Aizawa called down.

"Ten minutes, right?" Izuku called back, his voice pitched with false cheeriness. He heaved in a deep breath, pushing the door open. 

He winced when he saw the posters on the wall, glaring against the blue and yellow walls. His gaze skipped over the All Might figurines on his desk. He should've thrown them away. He should've sold them. Or at least hid them away in his drawers. He should’ve-

Izuku closed the door, leaning up against it heavily. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked up at the ceiling. Tears burned against his eyes. He really didn't want to cry again. Not after his little freak out earlier.

Izuku slid his phone out of his pocket. Someone, meaning one of the Pro Heroes he was living with, had charged it the night before. No text messages or alerts stared up at Izuku. Not that he expected any. He didn't have any social media like the other kids at school. Well, he had one once, for about two hours before the other kids at school found it.

Izuku shoved his phone back into his pocket. Nine minutes. He figured he could pack up most, if not all, of his things in half that time. 

He slid all of his school supplies into his backpack, his hand lingering over an empty composition notebook. He'd intended to use it for his next Hero Analysis. Izuku’s eyes shot over to the door. Aizawa and Yamada seemed to like him without all his weird analysis habits. 

Would they like him if they knew about it?

He slid the notebook into the trash bin.

Izuku opened the duffel bag Aizawa had lent him. He dumped his meager clothing collection into it, folding up his uniform a little more carefully. His fingers lingered over the scorched fabric on his shoulder. He wondered if Aizawa and Yamada would be willing to buy him a new uniform. Would they ask about the old one? He tucked it into the duffel bag just to be safe.

Izuku’s eyes finally slid over to the figurines lined up on his desk. He had more, once. Well, more of All Might. Back when he wasn’t diagnosed as Quirkless. When his father had still lived with them. When his mom still bought him fun, nice things. Izuku tried to pinpoint when Midoriya Inko's affections started to wane. It hadn’t started when Izuku was diagnosed nor when his father left. It hadn’t changed overnight, from a loving, attentive mother to a distant, stoic roommate. It had been more gradual. Like a slow, dripping leak filling up a tub.

Izuku had only ever wanted to make her proud.

Izuku tried to swallow down the tears. To force them back into whatever deep well they came from. He pressed his hands to his mouth, sitting down heavily on his too-small bed and hunching in on himself.

Izuku knew it was his fault. He'd spent so many years lying about where the burns and bruises came from that Inko had no choice but to stop caring. To stop worrying. It was better that way, if Inko existed outside of her Quirkless, useless child.

A painful tightness clawed at Izuku's chest. Izuku's fingers tangled into his unruly curls. He yanked, hard. Over and over again, only distantly registering the strands as they tore from his scalp.

Distantly, he knew he was having a panic attack. Another one. But there was no Aizawa to calm him, no Yamada to soothe his nerves. He was alone. Like he always was. Like he was always destined to be.

Shouta glanced towards the entrance of the apartment, making eye contact with Hizashi as he spoke with the police. Nemuri would handle the investigation, he knew, and keep them all on task and in line. And if she was right about the caseworker, then Shouta had little to worry about. But a small prickle of anxiety still caught in his mind when he thought of leaving most of the case to complete strangers.

He refused to let them drop it. He would take the case to the ends of the world if he had to, march down to the precinct every day to remind the police to do their goddamn job. And he knew Hizashi would do the same. And, as only the unlucky came to know, Shouta and Hizashi were a force to be reckoned with when they set their minds to something. 

Hizashi signed "three" to Shota, signaling how much longer Izuku had to pack his belongings. Shouta sighed and cast a look at the door to Izuku's bedroom. He hoped to give the kid a bit more time to readjust himself to his new reality. But they needed to finish. Needed to grab his toothbrush and toiletries and move out before the police allowed Midoriya Inko anywhere near the apartment.

Shouta slumped towards the door, knocking gently. "Hey kid?"

He paused, frowning when he got no answer. "Izuku?" he tried, knowing now that the kid felt uncomfortable being referred to by his last name. 

Still no response.

"I'm coming in," Shouta declared, pushing open the unlocked door.

It took Shouta only a second to realize what he was looking at and when he did, something cracked in his chest. A panic attack, full-blown, a reflection of what the ones from that morning might’ve looked like if Shouta and Hizashi hadn't redirected them.

"Shit," Shouta hissed as he darted forward. "Zashi!"

Shouta didn't wait for his husband to respond as he crouched down in front of Izuku. He looked small normally but like this, bent over and gasping for air, he looked tiny. Tears streamed down his face and his entire form shook.

Shouta reached for Izuku’s hands as he whispered calming nonsense. He disentangled Izuku's fingers from his hair, wincing at the strands that came out with them. He pulled Izuku's hand from his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Izuku gasped out, grabbing at Shouta's hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. My fault. I'm sorry. Please. I'm sorry."

"Hey, breathe for me, Izuku," Shouta tried. He pressed Izuku's hands against his chest. "I need you to breathe."

Izuku shook his head, eyes wide with wild panic as he tried to pull away from Shouta's tight grip.

"Useless. Useless. Useless!" Izuku mumbled, half words and half gasping breaths.

"Breathe," Shouta said again, drawing in an exaggerated breath. "Breathe."

Shouta's eyes darted to Hizashi hovering in the door. Standing between Izuku and the cops no doubt telling them they needed to leave. Hizashi's face was twisted into concern, hands twitching at his sides. Shouta turned back to Izuku. He ran a hand through his curls, rubbed soothing circles into his hands. And just breathed.

Eventually, Izuku's erratic breathing slowed. His sobs calmed. There was still a glassiness to his eyes, a tired slump to his shoulders. Shouta's heart ached. 

"'M sorry," he mumbled hoarsely, wincing when he spoke.

"Don't apologize, " Shouta replied. He knew he sounded a bit too gruff but he didn't bother correcting himself. "We have to go now. Anything else you want?"

Izuku shook his head despondently. "Not even your figurines?" Hizashi asked quietly from the door. He stepped a bit closer.

A sort of hardness appeared in Izuku's eyes as he looked between the two husbands. He slowly lifted shaky fingers and, to Shouta's surprise, began to sign. "Just not the All Might ones."

Shouta blinked. He looked over at Hizashi, who was clearly fighting back a small smile. Why Izuku knew sign language was a mystery for another time. "Okay," Shouta signed back. "Not those."

Shouta picked up Izuku's duffel bag, frowning at how light it was. His frown deepened when he saw the school uniform tucked inside, collar burned and seared. He sighed. One thing at a time.

Izuku laid in his new, too big bed, limbs splayed out in every direction. Yamada mentioned something about getting new sheets, something more personal. Izuku managed to disuade them. He didn’t know why they wanted to do something like that when he would only be staying for a few weeks tops. But he liked the bed and its soft sheets, not worn from years of use. It was nice bed to think in.

Think of an excuse for why he couldn’t go back to Aldera. He thought about claiming he was sick but lying to his guardians felt icky. Which also stopped any of the other excuses. None of them would work if he couldn’t lie about it. And it wasn’t like he could just… Not go.

Aizawa and Yamada were not just Pro-Heroes, but also teachers. Izuku doubted they would let him just drop out.

“But why don’t you want to go?” Izuku muttered to himself, mimicking Yamada’s can-do voice. He threw his arm over his face with a sigh. He didn’t want to explain everything to his temporary guardians, heroes though they might be. For all Izuku knew, they would believe the teachers. That it was Izuku instigating. That Izuku was a troublemaker. A bad student. A bad person.

Heroes didn’t like bad people. 

Izuku really wanted them to keep liking him.

“Izuku?” Yamada called through the door, knocking lightly. “Breakfast is ready if you want some. And there’s a bento for your lunch.”

Izuku turned to look at the door. A bento? Made for him by Pro Heroes? The notion seemed ridiculous. Even if he had friends, they would never believe him.

“Coming!” Izuku called back and listened for Yamada’s footsteps moving back down the hall.

Izuku rolled out of the bed and dressed quickly. He frowned at the state of his shirt coat before stuffing it into his backpack.. He would put it on before he got to Aldera. When Yamada and Aizawa couldn’t see him.

Izuku slid into the kitchen. Yamada and Aizawa spoke with each other at the counter, their backs to him. He slowly sat down, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

“Rice?” Yamada asked, looking at Izuku over his shoulder.

He wasn’t wearing his hearing aides. Izuku nodded before signing, “Thank you.”

Aizawa watched him with his usual intense gaze before turning to sit at the table. He slid a bowl of rice and a cup of miso over to Izuku. Yamada skirted around his husband to set down a small plate of grilled fish. “Thank you,” Izuku signed again, quickly darting his eyes back to the table.

“Where did you learn sign language?” Aizawa asked as sat down. 

Izuku looked up quickly, startling when he found Aizawa staring at him. Izuku turned his attention to his food, sipping at his miso. “The library,” he replied, signing as he spoke. “I have a, uh, a childhood friend who is going to lose his hearing because of his Quirk.”

“So you learned together?” Yamada signed enthusiastically. “Super cool of you, Little Listener.”

“Oh, um,” Izuku flushed. “Not exactly. Kacchan doesn’t know he’s going to lose his hearing.”

The wrong thing to say. Yamada and Aizawa both paused and Izuku tried to ignore their stares as he picked at his fish. “What do you mean?” Aizawa asked.

Izuku swallowed and shrugged. No analysis. That was what he promised himself when he threw away his empty notebooks. He wanted Yamada and Aizawa to like him, not know how much of a freak he was. But even without looking up, he could tell that wasn’t a good enough answer for either of the Pro Heroes. 

“Kacchan’s Quirk makes a lot of noise,” Izuku said and signed, restraining himself. He didn’t want to mention explosions or fire at all, just in case. He didn’t want to get Kacchan in trouble. Didn’t want to risk him not getting into UA. Not becoming a hero. “And his ears weren’t mutated to withstand that side effect. He, um, talks really loud and kinda winces when he uses his Quirk?”

“But he doesn’t know he’s going deaf?” Aizawa asked. 

“He doesn’t believe me when I tell him,” Izuku responded before shrinking into himself a little. He laughed a little helplessly. “Kacchan thinks he’s invincible. And he’s amazing, of course! But I just thought I’d learn it so I can teach him when he needs it? Because I know he won’t take classes.”

Izuku shoved a bunch of fish into his mouth before he could say anything else. It felt too personal, talking about Kacchan’s weaknesses. 

“That’s still very cool of you,” Yamada said with a warm smile. 

Izuku smiled softly back. Aizawa watched Izuku for a moment longer before turning back to his food. They finished the meal in silence. It was nice, calm. Nothing like the oppressive silence of the sparing meals Izuku shared with Mom back home.

Yamada eventually stood up, stretching with his arms above his head. “Well, we all better get going,” he said, earning a small, annoyed grunt from Aizawa. He grinned at Izuku. “Want a ride to school, Little Listener?”

Izuku blinked. The idea of Eraserhead and Present Mic taking him to school almost made him giggle. He shook his head. “No, my school is in the opposite direction of U.A.,” he explained. “And not that far from here. I can walk. Thank you though.”

“Alrighty!” Yamada declared before he reached over and hauled Aizawa to his feet. “Oh! Before we forget-”

Izuku watched as Yamada hurried off back towards the door. Aizawa sighed, stepping over to the counter. He picked up a bento box, rounding the table to drop it in front of Izuku. Izuku’s chest tightened. “Don’t force yourself to eat it all,” Aizawa said and Izuku looked up at him. “We’re trying to build up your appetite, alright?”

“Right,” Izuku muttered.

Aizawa looked like he wanted to say something else, but he settled for patting Izuku’s curls. Izuku tried not to lean into the touch, despite the happiness that filled him to the brim. Yamada stumbled back into the kitchen, catching himself on his husband’s arm. He grinned as he held something out to Izuku.

A key. 

“To the apartment,” Yamada explained. “It’s Shou’s but he never uses it.”

“We have a window,” Aizawa grumbled and Yamada gave his arm a small, affectionate whack.

Izuku swallowed thickly, ignoring the ache in his eyes. He tucked the key away into a small pocket in his backpack. Somewhere Kacchan and his bullies wouldn’t be able to steal it from. “Thank you,” he said, grinning up at them. 

“Gotta get into the apartment somehow,” Aizawa said, though his words sounded almost affectionate.

“Now we really have to go,” Yamada declared. “Bye, Zuku, have a good day. We’ll be home later.”

They both left in a clatter of noise and talking on Yamada’s part. Izuku watched them leave, clutching his backpack to his chest. Zuku . A nickname. Izuku wondered if he deserved a nickname from Yamada. The other word caught up to him a moment later.

Home .

Izuku heaved in a deep breath.

Now he just had to get through school. And then he could come home.

Chapter Text

Bakugou Katsuki was not a patient kid. And if you ever heard anyone saying that, they were lying through their fucking teeth. Katsuki had no illusions about who he was, what his personality was. 

In the same way, he knew exactly who Deku was. 

And Deku was not the kind of person to miss school. Ever. That fucker came to class with a mask, hacking up a storm when he was sick. Deku had perfect attendance. And Katsuki knew that for a fact because he, also, had perfect attendance. Because he was perfect. Obviously.

So, when Deku didn’t show up for school at all the day before, an alarm had gone off in Katsuki’s head. A loud, blaring, insistent alarm that he struggled to ignore every time he happened to look at the empty desk.

The empty desk decorated with blood-red spider lilies.

Katsuki wasn’t sure who put them there, only that people often left them on Deku’s desk. It was a stupid taunt. Unclever. Boring. Tasteless. Katsuki tried to make his opinion on the stupid flowers known every time he saw them. But his dumb lackeys still nudged him whenever they walked past the desk. Snorted whenever they hastily saw Deku shoving them into his stupid yellow backpack. 

 Idiots.

“You think the useless fuck finally offed himself?” the idiot with sharp fingers jeered before class, looking pointedly at Deku’s still unoccupied desk. People had piled more flowers on top of the ones from the day before.

Something strange clawed at Katsuki’s throat and he turned to snarl at his lackey. “Your fucking whiny ass voice is giving me a headache. Shut up .”

The loser rolled his eyes and turned to whisper to the others. Katsuki glared ahead at the chalkboard. Class was going to begin in five minutes. Where the fuck was Deku?

Katsuki would know if he was dead, right? Auntie Inko would’ve told the old hag and the old hag would’ve told Katsuki. She still thought Katsuki was Deku’s best fucking friend, after all. The door opened and Katsuki’s eyes snapped over to it but it was just some extras, who giggled as they made their way to their desks. 

Katsuki’s hands itched as he tried to discreetly stare at the door. He bounced his leg, pretending to study his notes.

When the door opened again, the homeroom teacher stepped in and a second later, the bell rang.

Katsuki was going to fucking explode.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher droned.

No one responded. Katsuki’s class was full of mannerless fucks, after all. Deku was the only one who answered the stupid welcome and the silence yawned through the room. Unacknowledged by everyone except for Katsuki.

A moment later, the door opened and Katsuki’s breath jumped.

Deku scurried into the room, giving the teacher a harried bow. “Sorry, sensei!” he exclaimed with a wheeze.

The teacher didn’t even look at Deku, a common enough occurrence. “Sit down, Midoriya,” he said, sounding more bored than anything else.

Deku nodded and moved towards his desk. He stepped over the several pairs of legs that attempted to trip him with a practiced sort of ease. His eyes met Katsuki’s for the briefest second as he passed him but he quickly looked away.

Katsuki and the rest of the class watched Deku as he stepped up to his spider lily-ladened desk. The dumb fuck’s shoulders hitched but he simply brushed the flowers into his bag and sat down. Some groaned quietly at his lack of a reaction, including Katsuki’s stupid lackeys. They all looked away as Deku pulled out his school supplies.

But Katsuki stared for a few seconds more until the teacher started morning announcements.

“Deku!” Katsuki called out when the lunch bell rang.

Deku stiffened, his hand halfway to his stupid backpack. 

“We gonna fuck him up?” Wings asked.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Katsuki snapped back, shoving him out of the way.

He ignored the startled expressions of the extras as he approached Deku’s desk. “H-hi, Kacchan,” Deku said quietly, his eyes shooting to the side.

“We need to fucking talk,” Katsuki said before turning to go. He didn’t bother to check if Deku was following.

Katsuki stopped in an empty stairwell, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he leaned back against the wall. Deku stood across from him, his back ramrod straight. He stared down at the ground and clutched his backpack against his chest. Deku knew better than to leave his backpack behind.

Silence echoed between them, only interrupted when someone from another class hurried up the stairs. They gave the two boys a suspicious look but continued on without saying anything. 

“Deku.”

“Y-yes, Kacchan?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes at the stupid nickname. He clenched his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to wring the loser’s neck for still using it. “The fuck were you yesterday?”

Deku shifted awkwardly. Katsuki knew the movement, knew that Deku was about to lie to him. Katsuki kind of hated how well he still knew Deku. No matter how much he tried to erase the knowledge of the nerd from his memory.

“Nowhere,” Deku had the audacity to say. He took a step down to a lower stair and Katsuki realized he’d taken a step towards him. He also realized that Deku knew that for all Katsuki was willing to do to him, he wasn’t about to push Deku down the fucking stairs. “I… Have to go eat lunch, Kacchan.”

Since when did the loser have an actual lunch to eat?

“Fine,” he said with a growl. “You can eat it with me then.”

Katsuki’s own surprise at his words echoed in Deku’s widening eyes. Katsuki wasn’t even sure why he said it. And then he knew why. He wasn’t going to let Deku out of his fucking sight for the rest of the fucking day.

He stomped up the stairs, knowing Deku would follow. When he moved back into the classroom, he glared at his approaching lackeys. He grabbed his lunch and stomped back out into the hall, where Deku waited like a dumb fucking puppy.

“Come on,” Katsuki grunted.

He led Deku up to the roof, ignoring the sign that said students weren’t allowed up there. He always ignored the sign. One time, a teacher found him eating lunch alone up there and they just walked away. He all but shoved Deku through the door, noting the way the nerd’s shoulders shook a little.

“So you got fucking food or what?” Katsuki asked as he sat down in the shade of the wall. He pulled out his bento (a perfect fucking bento made by him, for him, thank you very much).

Deku blinked away from staring out at the expanse of sky in front of him. After a moment, he nodded. He sat down, as far away from Katsuki as he could without appearing obvious. Katsuki watched suspiciously as Deku pulled out a bento as well.

A very nice bento.

“What, your mom finally learn how to cook or something?” Katsuki asked with a snort, pointing his chopsticks towards Deku’s food. As far as Katsuki could remember, Midoriya Inko only knew how to make three things: rice, katsudon, and miso soup.

Not a whole ass bento lunch complete with little weenie octopi.

“Uh,” Deku’s cheeks tinged red a bit. “Um, no.”

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed at the response. Deku picked at his food. The silence was really fucking starting to piss Katsuki off.

“Where the fuck were you?” he asked again.

Deku’s shoulders slumped and his lip quivered. But he didn’t cry. Instead, he set the bento aside and buried his face in his hands. Katsuki suddenly felt so out of his fucking depth that he wanted to blow something up.

But he only had a bento and Deku. And he really wanted some fucking answers out of Deku.

“Class thought you killed yourself.”

Deku flinched violently at that. Katsuki thought that maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut for once.

After a moment, Deku took a deep breath. He continued to stare down at his lap as he quietly replied, “I moved out of my mom’s house.”

What?

Why?

What the fuck ?

“The fuck , Deku? How did you fuck up so badly that Auntie threw you out?”

Deku froze. He met Katsuki’s eyes for the briefest moment before he shook his head. “Nevermind,” he whispered. He reached for his bento and put the lid back on, leaving the food virtually untouched. “Enjoy your food, Kacchan.”

And he left.

Katsuki had to physically stop himself from going after the nerd. He stared at the empty roof, a million questions whirling through his head. Questions he knew Deku would never fucking answer for him. 

What the fuck had Katsuki missed?

When Shouta returned home, sans radio-hosting husband, he wasn’t surprised to find it silent and absent of Izuku’s presence. He saw the bento on the counter, frowning when he found most, if not all, of its contents still sitting in the trays. He’d meant what he said about building Izuku’s appetite back up but it looked as though he hadn’t eaten a single bite.

He moved deeper into the apartment, knocking on Izuku’s closed door. There was a bit of shuffling before it eased open. Izuku peered up at Shouta, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes were lined with red and his cheeks looked tacky. He sniffed a bit.

Shouta forced his expression to soften.

“How was school?”

Izuku forced a wobbling smile. “Fine.”

Shouta decided to leave it at that, for now. “You hungry?”

An expression of shame crossed Izuku’s face. “I forgot the bento on the counter,” he said softly. “Sorry, I’ll- I’m going to clean it up right now.”

He opened the door and dodged around Shouta. Shouta followed him into the kitchen, his chest aching. “Izu-”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said, a terrifying cheerfulness shoved into his voice. He looked around the kitchen. “Um, where is your dish soap?”

“Under the kitchen counter,” Shouta replied as he stepped closer. “Izuku.”

“I really am sorry. I just needed to catch up on homework and it slipped my mind,” Izuku reached for the bottle of soap and Shouta noticed the tremor in his hand. “I’ll remember next time, I promise. Not that I expect there to be a next time. I did waste all this food after all. Actually, why don’t I just eat this for dinner? Yeah, that’s a better idea.”

He grabbed the bento.

“Izuku!”

Shouta lurched forward to catch the bento as it slipped from Izuku’s shaky unstable grasp. He missed it by an inch and the entire uneaten lunch spilled across the floor. Izuku and Shouta both stared down at it. Frustration built up in Shouta’s chest as he stared down at the mess and he could feel the beginnings of a headache. He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When Shouta looked up, he found Izuku’s shoulders shaking, his breath hitching.

“Hey, Izuku,” Shouta reached forward, recoiling when the boy flinched backward.

Izuku dropped to his knees, frantic muttering escaping his lips as he reached toward the mess on the ground. Shouta crouched down with him. He gripped the kid’s hands before he touched it. Izuku looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Go sit down, I’ll clean it up.”

“But-”

“Sit, Izuku.”

Izuku mechanically walked over to a chair and sat down. His fingers curled into the fabric of his school uniform’s pants until his knuckles turned white. Shouta frowned. One thing at a time.

He swept up the food, using a towel to clean up the sauces left behind. The entire time Izuku stared at him with a silent intensity. “I’m sorry,” he said as Shouta added the last of the soiled towels to the laundry basket.

“I know,” Shouta replied. “It’s okay.”

“I understand if you guys don’t want to make my lunches anymore.”

Shouta reached out, ruffling Izuku’s green curls. Some of the tension bled out of Izuku’s shoulders. Shouta shook his head. “It was an accident,” he said. “That being said, let’s order some takeout for dinner, okay? Hizashi is going to be home a little later.”

“Because of his show, right?” Izuku asked, smiling a bit.

Shouta nodded and moved over to dig for the takeout menus he and Hisashi had stowed away over the years. “There’s a good sushi place right down the street,” he said, glancing back at Izuku. “We can go pick it up instead of having it delivered? Get some fresh air?”

Izuku gave a small nod.

Shouta nodded as he searched for the right paper menu.

“Aizawa?” Izuku said softly and Shouta hummed in lieu of a response. “I really am sorry about the bento. Dropping it and… Not eating any of it.”

“It’s fine, Izuku,” Shouta said as he pulled out the menu finally. “We’ll make you a smaller one tomorrow, okay? Or would you prefer some yen to get food at school?”

“A, uh, a bento is fine,” he said. “You don’t need to spend extra money on me.”

Shouta frowned at that. He handed Izuku the menu, already knowing what he and Hizashi usually got. “Get whatever you want,” he said, staring down at the boy. “And I do mean anything .”

Izuku stared down at the menu as Shouta dialed up the restaurant. He gave his order and repeated Izuku’s when he quietly gave it. The place was about a five-minute walk from their place so that left them plenty of time to start unwinding. “I’m going to go change,” Shouta said. “Are you caught up on your homework?” he paused. “You, uh, need any help?”

Izuku shook his head. “No, I’m done,” he said. “It wasn’t too hard.”

“Good,” Shouta replied, wincing when he realized how gruff he sounded. “You can watch TV if you want or something?”

Izuku’s fingers flexed, almost as if he’d rather be doing more homework. After a second, he gave Shouta a small smile. “I think I will, thank you.”

Shouta nodded and disappeared into his bedroom to change out of his Hero jumpsuit. When he came back out, Izuku was watching the news, sitting closer to the screen than was probably healthy. His hands twitched and he gnawed on his lip. Shouta tilted his head at the hero fight from earlier in the day.

“You ready, Izuku?”

Izuku yelped, whirling around to look at him. He looked away, a guilty expression crossing his face. Shouta frowned at the curious reaction.

“Yep, yep!” Izuku hurried to his feet. “Oh, how was your day, Aizawa? Was work at U.A. good?”

Shouta narrowed his eyes at the boy’s question. Did he tell Izuku where they worked? He mentioned it at breakfast as well. Shouta was about to ask the boy how he knew such things but Izuku was smiling at him brightly, honestly. So he decided to slot the question away for later.

“Tiresome,” he answered truthfully.

Chapter Text

Izuku found that it was easy to fall into a routine in the Aizawa-Yamada household. Comfortable, almost. School was still awful, of course, though Kacchan seemed to be keeping his distance. Well, keeping his distance and glaring at the back of Izuku’s head.

But outside of school, it was actually kind of… Nice.

When he got back to the apartment, it was always empty but Izuku was used to that and within a few hours, either one or both of the men would return. Aizawa always came home with takeout; Yamada with groceries. They both seemed to pick up on Izuku’s preferences quickly and confidently. Izuku spent a lot less time alone, for sure. He did his homework before they got home and spent the rest of his evenings just doing… Things with Aizawa and Yamada. Watching TV, doing chores, even just watching Aizawa mend Yamada’s shirt and talking.

By the time he went to bed, Aizawa would be heading out on his night patrol and Yamada would be cleaning up the kitchen. Sometimes Izuku waited around the corner to the kitchen a few minutes longer, sitting on the floor and listening to Yamada sing too loudly to himself. He didn’t want to go to his bedroom most of the time.

His bedroom.

Izuku wondered when he’d started to think of it that way. If he was allowed to think of it that way. It had only been just over a week and this was just temporary after all.

The thought tore Izuku’s mood down as he approached the front door of the apartment. He paused for a long moment, hand hovering over the doorknob, key clenched tightly in his hand.

This was all just temporary. Until they took him somewhere else or sent him back with his Mom.

He sighed, pressing his forehead to the cool wood of the door. He should enjoy it, while it lasted.

He pushed open the door, jumping when he saw Aizawa sitting in the entrance hall. Aizawa looked up as Izuku entered, a frown tugged at his lips and Izuku’s heart thundered in his chest. This was it, wasn’t it? They were sending him away today. Izuku gripped the strap of his backpack and forced himself not to cry.

Aizawa pulled on his boots. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said. He sounded… sad. Tired, moreso than usual. Izuku’s eyes flickered to the bouquet of white flowers next to Aizawa on the ground. Aizawa was also dressed nicer than usual, his hair pulled away from his face in a bun, a black button up, and dark jeans.

“Where are you going?” Izuku asked and immediately regretted it, flushing red. If Aizawa wanted to tell him, he would’ve.

Aizawa’s eyes flashed red for a moment, a stray hair next to his temple floating upward. Izuku’s hand spasmed as he wondered if Aizawa’s Quirk would pull all of his hair out of the bun in given the chance. But the flare of color faded and Aizawa’s shoulders slumped just a little bit more. Izuku regretted asking even more.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just- I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Aizawa replied, shoving a hand over his hair and tugging more strands loose. “I’m just going to visit someone, an old friend.”

“Oh,” Izuku shifted. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get home?”

Aizawa nodded as he rose to his feet with his usual lazy grace. He reached out, ruffling a gentle hand through Izuku’s curls. “There’s food in the fridge,” he said, his fingers lingering. “Hizashi made it, don’t worry.”

Izuku couldn’t help the small giggle that escape him. He offered Aizawa a tentative smile, “I’ll manage, thank you.”

Aizawa blinked down at Izuku and slowly removed his hand. He opened his mouth as if to reply before he snapped it shut and grunted an affirmative.

“Goodbye, Aizawa,” Izuku said quietly as he started to undo the laces on his sneakers.

Aizawa paused, shoulders hunching. “Stay out of trouble, problem child.”

Shouta preferred to walk to the small house on the outskirts of Musutafu. If only to clear his head. And today he needed to clear it more than usual. Too much had happened in the past week and he needed a moment to just… Process it.

His investigation into the notebooks had led nowhere in recent days. Just dead end after dead end. It was unnerving, to think that someone with that much information was just… Out there. But it didn’t seem like they had given that information to anyone else. Or that they were selling it to villains. 

The investigation into Izuku’s mom was progressing. Progressing very slowly, but progressing faster than Shouta’s investigation at least. Finding Izuku a suitable foster home, however. Nemuri and that social worker appeared to be on a warpath to find the best home for him. Shouta was sure they’d ended up exposing more abusive homes in the past few days than the entire government had in months. But that also meant that Izuku still had no place to go.

Did Shouta even want him to have a place to go? It was nice, having Izuku in the house. Hizashi seemed happier with him around too. And Izuku seemed- If not good, then better. He smiled more and laughed more.

A little inkling of thought spread in his mind.

Shouta clenched the flowers a little tighter as he approached the house. It wasn’t anything fancy or even necessarily nice, but to Shouta, it looked like home. He climbed the rickety stairs and knocked on the door.

The door swung open to reveal the gentle face of Miss Shirakumo. Shouta’s hand spasmed in his pocket. It still caught him off guard, sometimes, how much she looked like Oboro. Bright blue hair and smiling blue eyes. She laughed when she saw Shouta, a light sound tinged with familiar grief. “Why do you still knock, you silly boy?” she asked as she stepped out onto the small deck with him. She locked the door with shaky hands. “You should just come in, eat a cookie or two.”

“Did you make cookies?” Shouta asked as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

They started their walk and Shouta kept his steps small so the smaller woman could keep up with him. She leaned into his side a bit more than usual, staring up at the sky as Shouta guided them down the familiar path.

“Of course not,” Miss Shirakumo replied. “I bought them at the kobini , like a logical person. Do you make cookies, Shouta?”

“Hizashi does, sometimes,” Shouta admitted quietly. “He’s sorry he couldn’t make it this time.”

Miss Shirakumo patted his arm. “I understand. Your jobs keep you boys quite busy. I hope Hizashi is up to something interesting at least?”

“Just covering for someone else’s patrol,” Shouta replied.

“Oh, boo.”

They continued in companionable silence for a few minutes until Miss Shirakumo sighed. She glanced over at Shouta, eyes twinkling. “You seem… Lighter than usual,” she stated with her usual confidence. “Something good happen?”

Shouta looked away, his gaze wandering to a couple on the other side of the road. They swung a laughing child between them. What was Izuku like, when he was that small? “Shouta?” Miss Shirakumo prompted gently with a squeeze on his arm.

“We’re fostering a kid,” Shouta answered as he turned back to him.

Miss Shirakumo’s face lit up with the same motherly warmth that Shouta had associated with her his entire life. “How wonderful,” she said then frowned. “His parents?”

“Are alive,” Shouta said, matching her expression. “They’re not good people.”

“Poor kid.”

Shouta nodded his agreement.

“How long have you had him?” she questioned.

“Little over a week,” Shouta paused, considering his next words carefully. “We want to keep him, I think. I’m worried about that. Hizashi and I don’t have the safest or most stable jobs, or lives. And if Izuku needs anything, it’s stability.”

“Have you talked to Izuku about that?” Miss Shirakumo asked.

“No,” Shouta admitted. “I don’t want to overwhelm him. He’s… Been through a lot.”

Miss Shirakumo hummed in thought and opened her mouth to respond. She closed it when they slowed to a stop in front of the wrought iron gates of the cemetery. She heaved in a deep sigh, as if suddenly remembering where they were going, why they were here. Shouta adjusted the flowers. 

“You should give him some time,” Miss Shirakumo said quietly and it took Shouta a moment to remember that they were talking about Izuku, not Oboro. “But even if he doesn’t stay, I’m sure he’ll still want you in his life.”

“He wants to be a hero,” Shouta whispered.

He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe it was because he was here, confronted with the reality of heroics. With the mother of a dead hero at his side. Some part of him knew that Izuku wanted it, wanted it badly enough to ask about it on the brink of his own suicide. They hadn’t spoken about it since then. Izuku hadn’t breathed a word about heroes to Shouta or Hizashi in the past week. 

But Shouta saw how his eyes lingered on the heroes on TV before he changed the channel. How he looked at Shouta’s student’s papers over his shoulder and never interrupted when Hizashi mentioned something about work.

He also knew exactly where heroics led.

To widows. And orphans. And childless mothers.

Miss Shirakumo considered the gates to the cemetery in silence. There was gray streaked through her blue hair, wrinkles gathered around her eyes and mouth. Shouta could almost imagine what Oboro would like, if he’d lived to be her age. If he’d lived to have children of his own, a house of his own, maybe a spouse. A life. 

“He sounds like a good kid,” she said softly before she looked up at Shouta.

“He is,” Shouta said and it sounded like an absolute. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and Izuku was a good kid. A kid who deserved better than what the world had given him. 

“You could help him. Teach him now, give him the tools he needs to live, to survive,” Miss Shirakumo smiled, a soft, sad smile that betrayed her age, the weight of her grief. “Oboro would want more heroes in the world.”

“Yeah,” Shouta agreed before nodding to the gates. “Come on, let’s go say hello.”

When Shouta returned home, Izuku was sitting alone at the kitchen table, papers spread out around him. He looked deep in thought as he flicked through a battered notebook. He hadn’t noticed Shouta entering. The fact of it twisted something in Shouta’s chest. Knowing that Izuku felt comfortable enough, safe enough, to let his guard down.

Shouta leaned against the entrance to the kitchen and just watched for a couple of minutes. Izuku’s attention seemed to bounce from paper to paper, from notebook to notebook. He highlighted something on one page, and erased something else on the other. He mumbled too, a string of incomprehensible words that muddled together in a whispered frenzy.

It was endearing. Shouta reflected on his afternoon with Miss Shirakumo. On her words. She wanted to meet him when he was settled. Shouta wanted Izuku to meet her too. She was, perhaps, the closest thing he had to a mother, after all. Izuku frowned, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

Shouta wondered if he could help, if he should help. If this was overstepping a boundary. He’d never seen Izuku do his homework before, had never asked for help.

Had anyone ever offered him help before?

“Homework?”

Izuku yelped, spinning around in his seat with wide eyes to stare at Shouta. His eyes skittered over to the papers then back to Shouta. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, reaching to stuff his pencils back into their case. “I usually do this in my room, I can go back. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, kid,” Shouta moved forward, gently touching Izuku’s shoulder to slow his hurried actions. Tension bled from the kid’s body. Shouta squinted down at the notebooks. Then blinked. “What are you working on?”

“Just studying,” Izuku said, too quickly, though he stopped trying to put his stuff away.

“‘Just studying’ algebraic number theory?” Shouta asked incredulously. His eyes flickered over the notes, a little bewildered. Numbers had always been Hizashi’s strong suit, not Shouta’s, but Shouta had seen enough of Hizashi’s weird math books over his shoulder to know what he was looking at.

What a middle schooler was, apparently, looking at. “Is this what they teach in middle school now?” he muttered, more to himself than to Izuku.

Izuku shifted in his seat, staring down at his lap. He twisted his hands into his shirt. “I, uh, printed it off at the library,” he said softly and Shouta raised an eyebrow at him. “For self-study?”

Self-study . As if it was perfectly normal for a fourteen-year-old to pick up a hobby like advanced mathematics. “Did you…” Shouta tried to process what was happening to him. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes,” Izuku replied, his voice a little strained.

Izuku mechanically leaned down to his backpack, digging through the mess of papers and pulling out some notebooks. Shouta’s eyes lingered on the singed mark on one of the shoulder straps. His eyes turned back to Izuku as pushed his algebraic number theory out of the way to lay out his schoolwork. “We had some English reading and conjunctions,” Izuku explained. He hunched over the homework almost protectively. “And some algebra. And I finished the science essay they assigned yesterday.”

“The entire essay?” Shouta wondered, eyes skimming over the first few words of the essay.

“Just the second draft,” Izuku murmured. He looked up at Shouta. “Do you… Want to look it over? I swear it’s all my own work. I just- I got bored. And I saw some of these equations in a book at the library and it looked like more fun. I also got some quantum mechanics. Oh, and I thought about you when I saw it so I copied a few pages from this book about law theory.”

He dug through his bag again and produced a stack of stapled, photocopied papers, already highlighted and marked up with questions and ideas. Izuku’s messy handwriting covered the margins. He held it out to Shouta, still staring down at the floor. Shouta accepted it, his bewilderment finally settling into understanding.

It was a book that Shouta recognized. One that he had on his reading list, actually. “Oh, and I got some stuff on-” Izuku turned back to his bag then paused. A breath hitched in his chest. He stopped, shaking his head with an indistinguishable mutter on his lips. 

“On?” Shouta prompted as gently as he could.

Izuku shook his head again, more firmly. “It doesn’t matter,” he said and there was an odd sort of resignment to his tone. He looked up at Shouta before looking away again. “Sorry. I bet this is boring. I promise my homework’s done though.”

“Yeah,” Shouta mumbled. “I can see that. Izuku, do you often… Self-study?”

Izuku frowned. “Um, whenever I get bored with my homework,” he said, suddenly sounding more worried.

“And how often is that?”

“Most of the time,” Izuku whispered. “Is that, um, is that okay? The teachers at school, they… Well, they say we shouldn’t work ahead of the units so I usually try to do something else instead that they don’t teach? Well, I already read the units, but that was stupid of me. Now I’m just bored at school too. But, um, yeah. That’s okay, right? To… Learn?”

Shouta’s heart ached at how unsure he sounded. He gave Izuku a nod. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s really good actually. Good job, kid.”

Izuku blinked at Shouta, an unmistakable sheen in his eyes. Shouta braced himself for the kid to burst out into sobs but Izuku just smiled before staring down at his lap. “That’s…” he took a deep, shaky breath. “That’s good.”

Shouta spared one more glance at Izuku’s work before skirting around the table. “Did you eat?” he asked.

Izuku gasped, “Oh no, I forgot! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Shouta reached for the fridge. “We can just eat Hizashi’s food together.”

Izuku’s eyes flickered over to the clock on the wall and then toward the door. “Is Hizashi staying late tonight?” he asked.

“He’s covering for someone else. He should be home soon.” Shouta explained as he started to heat up the food. “I don’t work tonight either. Maybe you can help me grade some essays tonight?”

“Really?” Izuku beamed at Shouta and Shouta couldn’t help but offer him a small smile back. 

His day had been heavy, laced with the sharp sting of grief that never truly left. But this, making dinner and talking with a smiling, animated Izuku? This felt light, easy.

It felt… Right.

Izuku woke up with his heart pounding in his chest. The memory of the nightmare faded with his consciousness like all of them did, but the strain of it lingered. He swallowed thickly, head turning to look at the clock flickering by the side of his bed. A little past one in the morning. He should go back to sleep. It was Saturday but Yamada had planned on taking him out to buy some decorations for his room and Izuku would feel bad if he slept in and messed up Hizashi’s plans.

He swallowed again, his throat like sandpaper. A glass of water, he decided. Then sleep.

He got up and stepped out into the quiet, darkened hallway. The light in the kitchen was still on but Izuku didn’t hear any clinking of dishes. Aizawa was likely still grading then, fixing whatever mistakes Izuku had made when he went through them with a pencil.

Izuku paused when he saw both Hizashi and Shouta sitting at the table, bent over something, their backs to Izuku. His heart leaped into his mouth when he saw them looking over some of the work Izuku had shown Aizawa earlier. He remembered with sudden, dawning horror that he hadn’t put it away like he was supposed to.

He shrunk back, water forgotten, but paused when Yamada’s hands raised, fingers falling into sign. “He’s a genius,” Yamada signed. “I wasn’t doing stuff like this until I was in my twenties. And even then, I learned it from a professor. I can’t imagine teaching it to myself.”

“It’s remarkable,” Aizawa signed back. “I don’t understand why he’s still taking middle school classes. He’s advanced far beyond them.”

Izuku frowned, taking a tentative step forward. 

“We should talk to the rat,” Aizawa signed.

The rat? Izuku ran through the nickname in his memory. He faltered. Did Aizawa mean Nedzu? He gasped and Aizawa spun around. Hizashi followed a beat behind him and Izuku stumbled backward.

“Zuku?” Yamada mumbled quietly, his alertness fading into something more gentle. He pushed away from the table. Izuku’s eyes flickered over to Aizawa, whose expression had also softened though there was something questioning, something analytical in his stare. “Are you okay?”

Izuku leaned into Yamada’s soft touch on the top of his head. Yamada’s frown deepened before he pressed a hand to Izuku’s forehead. “You’re burning up,” he mumbled and Izuku tilted his head. Was he?

Izuku forced himself not to pull away from Yamada’s worried hands. “I just-” he said hoarsely then coughed. Then coughed harder. All at once, a wave of fatigue and discomfort flooded Izuku. He bit back the whine that tried to force itself out of him.

Aizawa stood up, all of his suspicion replaced with blatant concern. The sudden motion sent Izuku’s vision swimming. A moment later, a cold glass of water was pressed into his hands. He drank it automatically, regretting it when his stomach roiled uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before he threw up.

Chapter Text

Chiyo didn't often get phone calls at one in the morning. She was, after all, an older woman (and still in her prime, mind you). And while she was a hero, she wasn't the only person in the world with a healing Quirk. So the call jolted her awake quite suddenly and a small panic twisted when she saw Shouta Aizawa's name on the brightly illuminated screen.

"Hello?" she muttered into the phone, a split second away from jumping out of her bed to go wherever Shouta was.

"Chiyo?" Shouta said as if he wasn't the one to call her. "I'm sorry. I didn't know who else to call."

"Are you bleeding out in a ditch somewhere, Shouta? Thought you were off tonight."

"I-" Shouta exhaled shakily and Chiyo sat up a little straighter. His next words were strained. "It's Izuku."

Understanding dawned on Chiyo at the mention of Shouta and Hizashi's foster kid. 

Hizashi had yet to shut up about him, about how smart he was, how polite and sweet and kind he was. "Izuku likes the same music I do," he'd told Chiyo in a cheery voice just the other day. "And he listens to my show!"

Shouta didn't talk about him, though Shouta didn't talk about much. But Chiyo didn't miss the fondness that crossed Shouta's face whenever Hizashi mentioned the boy. The way he seemed softer, somehow even more domestic than when he married Hizashi three years ago. Chiyo had also noticed that he appeared to be more careful on his patrols. He showed up with less bruises in the morning for Chiyo to kiss away.

It seemed a good change for them and she hoped it was a good change for the kid too.

"Is Izuku okay?" she asked, still ready to head towards the Aizawa-Yamada apartment if she needed to.

"How high of a temperature is too high?" Shouta asked.

Chiyo relaxed, her worry replaced with bemusement. This was easy. She could deal with this over the phone.

"It's at like 38 right now? But he feels really hot and he just threw up… a lot. And he keeps coughing and-"

"Take a deep breath, Shouta," Chiyo said and Shouta audibly gasped on the other side of the line. "There’s been a bug going around lately. He probably just caught it, poor thing."

"So he doesn't need to go to the hospital?"

"Not right now," Chiyo answered with confidence. "If he can't hold down liquids by tomorrow then maybe."

"Oh, okay," Shouta pulled away from the receiver, likely to relay the information to Hizashi. Then he sighed. "We have no clue what we're doing, Chiyo."

"I can tell," Chiyo chirped and Shouta huffed a tired laugh in response. "He's just sick, Shouta. Kids get sick. Just get him some water, a cold compress, maybe some cough medicine and a fever reducer. Something light like miso and rice if he gets hungry. And just watch his temperature. Maybe put a bowl by his bed in case he throws up. You can take him to the doctor in the morning if you're really worried."

There was a pause on the other side of the line and for a moment, Chiyo thought that Shouta accidentally hung up. But then he let out a slightly hysterical chuckle. "Of course. Yeah," he exhaled heavily. "Sorry to call so late."

"It's okay," Chiyo said. "Not like I need my beauty sleep. Let me know how he feels later, at a reasonable person hour, okay?"

"I will," Shouta said. "Goodnight, Chiyo."

"Goodnight, Shouta. Give your boys a smooch for me!"

Shouta hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes. He stared down at his phone, feeling a little ridiculous all of a sudden. Izuku was just sick. Of course, he was. He was a kid who went to a middle school and he'd had a stressful week. The combination was a recipe for something like the flu.

His heart still clenched every time Izuku's rattling cough echoed from the bathroom. Shouta glanced at the hallway. He still needed to clean the vomit up.

He needed to see Izuku and talk to Hizashi first. 

Hizashi looked up as Shouta stepped up to the door. His husband's face was pained as if he was the sick one and not the boy crouched over the toilet. Hizashi's hands moved in a soothing circle against Izuku's back. "What did Chiyo say?"

Izuku's head snapped up before he promptly dropped it back down.

"She told me to calm down," Shouta muttered.

Hizashi let out a small, awkward laugh and Izuku giggled before erupting into another coughing fit. Hizashi leaned forward to card his fingers through Izuku's curls. 

Shouta crossed his arms tighter over his chest. "Let's get you some medicine, Izuku," he said once the fit abated, staring at a point above Izuku’s head. "Get you back to bed."

Hizashi nodded in agreement and rose slowly to his feet. "I know where some cough medicine is," he said as he ran his fingers over Izuku's head one more time. "I'll be right back."

Shouta stepped into the bathroom to let Hizashi hurry past. Hizashi pressed a quick kiss to Shouta's temple.

Shouta looked down at Izuku. His arms were wound around his stomach, forehead pressed to the porcelain of the toilet. Shouta's eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

"Think you can make it back to your room? Or will you throw up again?"

Izuku's shoulders were hunched forward. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I can clean up the mess if you want. I didn’t… It was an accident."

Shouta's lungs spasmed painfully and his feet moved forward on his own accord. He sank down next to Izuku. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he said softly.

Izuku turned his head to look at Shouta, leaning his face on his arm. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said again, voice hitched on a sob. "I'm really sorry. I'm not trying to be a bother."

Shouta reached out, ran a tentative hand down Izuku's back. He still felt warm, too warm. Shouta reached out to push some damp curls away from his face. He desperately needed a haircut and Shouta mentally added it to their growing list of Izuku errands. "You're not a bother, kid," Shouta murmured and Izuku closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"I'm back," Hizashi announced.

The next minute passed in a whirl of thrusting medicine at Izuku and him taking it without any fuss. By the time they were done, Izuku's eyes were drooping and he swayed a little as he sat on the toilet seat. Hizashi and Shouta shared a glance over his head. Without a word, Shouta bent down, heaving the teenager into his arms. His stomach sank at just how light Izuku was.

Shouta and Hizashi awkwardly shuffled into Izuku's room. Hizashi pulled back the sheets and Shouta lowered Izuku down. When he let go, Izuku's hand suddenly shot out, grasping at Shouta's wrist weakly.

Izuku just let out a pathetic whine and tugged at Shouta's arm. 

"It's okay," Shouta said, shooting Hizashi a slightly panicked look. "I'm right here."

"I gotta clean it up," Izuku mumbled, face half-buried in his pillow. His grip loosened. "I gotta-"

"Go to sleep, Izuku," Shouta soothed as Hizashi combed through his curls again.

"Call us if you need us, Little Listener," Hizashi whispered. "We're right here."

Izuku said something, his words muffled completely by his pillow. His grip on Shouta eased before he dropped it completely. Hizashi tucked his hand under the covers, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Goodnight, Zuku," he said.

Shouta tugged the sheets up a little bit more. "Sleep well, Izuku," he said.

"G'night," Izuku slurred, clearly more asleep than awake. "Dads."

Izuku woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a bus. Vague memories of the night before floated on the surface of his consciousness but they were chased away as a cough wracked his body. He groaned when it subsided. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until he saw spots before slowly forcing himself out of bed.

He found Yamada in the kitchen, humming to himself. Aizawa was nowhere to be seen. Izuku hovered in the entrance, his balance a little off kilter. He leaned towards the wall. 

Yamada turned, startling a little when he saw Izuku but his expression quickly turned to one of concern. He stepped forward and Izuku quickly took notice that he wasn't wearing his hearing aids. 

"Are you feeling any better?" Yamada asked, quickly pressing a cold hand to Izuku's burning forehead. 

Izuku went to nod but caught the concerned look Yamada gave him and paused. He shook his head. Embarrassment flooded him as he remembered that he practically threw up on Yamada the night before. Any evidence of that incident had been cleaned up. Izuku hated that he hadn't even been able to help with that after bothering them in the middle of the night.

"Well, I managed to make an appointment with our doctor in a few hours," Yamada said as he steered Izuku toward the table. 

Izuku blinked. Somehow, it never occurred to him that Pro-Heroes would have primary doctors like civilians did. Then he felt a little silly for thinking that at all. As if Pro-Heroes only went to the hospital. 

"In the meantime, let's get some food in you," Yamada set a couple of bowls down in front of Izuku and a cup of tea that smelled strongly of ginger. "Just eat what you can, okay?"

The smell of the miso turned Izuku’s stomach so he ate some of the plain rice instead. Yamada disappeared for a moment before returning with his hearing aids. Izuku watched as he returned to cleaning the kitchen, humming the same tune. "Where's-" Izuku flinched at how hoarse his own voice sounded.

"The tea will help," Yamada said softly, pushing the cup a little closer as he sat down across from Izuku. "I use it when I strain my voice."

Izuku's fingers twitched with the need to write that information down. Did Yamada strain his voice at a certain decibel? Or just from overuse? How often? He shoved the questions away, his heart like lead.

Izuku took a few tentative sips of the hot tea. It tasted pleasant and soothed some of the ache in his throat. His stomach also eased enough that he managed a few more bites of rice. Yamada flipped through his phone with a quiet sort of patience.

"Where's Aizawa?" Izuku signed instead of testing his voice again.

"Working," Yamada signed back. "He'll be back by the time we're done at the doctor."

The reminder of the doctor set Izuku’s nerves aflame. He stared down at his tea and bit his lip. "Do I have to go to the doctor?" he signed, gaze flickering up to Yamada. 

Yamada frowned and Izuku barely had time to panic before his eyes softened. "Doctor Sugiyama is very cool," he signed. "I've known them since we were kids. They learned sign language for me."

"Are they-" Izuku started to sign then paused. He didn't want to insult Yamada’s friend.

Yamada seemed to consider Izuku for a moment before he reached across the table. He gave Izuku's hand a small squeeze, his smile soft. "I wouldn't let them anywhere near you if I thought they would hurt you," he said, his words almost like a vow. 

Izuku blinked back the tears itching in his eyes. He gave Yamada a watery smile. "Thank you," he signed.

Yamada just shook his head. He gave Izuku's hand another gentle pat before standing. "More tea?" he asked, already moving towards the kettle. 

Izuku nodded.

Shouta glared up at the clock, tapping his fingers lightly against his knee. This was the plan for the day, it had always been the plan for the day. Hizashi had Izuku and Shouta was supposed to work. Shouta always liked their plans.

That fact appeared to change when Izuku was sick, though. He swung his eyes back towards the woman hunched over the metal desk. Her eyes darted to the glass over and over again, a frown pulling at her mouth as she spoke to Tsukauchi. “I don’t-” she paused and cleared her throat. “I don’t anything about this, Tsukauchi.”

“Come on, Kuroki,” Tsukauchi said with his usual pleasant demeanor. Shouta could see the frustration in his stare though. The woman, Yuri Kuroki, was telling the truth. “Nothing at all? No new information brokers running around?”

Yuri Kuroki was also an information broker and a damn good one at that. Shouta had used her for several missions, the police trusted her more than they trusted most of the know-it-alls running around the city. But Shouta knew where the information came from. Where some other information went. He also knew that her name was not actually Yuri Kuroki, though he had no clue what it was. She disappeared when she needed to before popping up with another morsel of knowledge. And then she was gone again.

If anyone knew anything about the author of the journals, it was definitely her.

But she didn’t. She didn’t know anything.

She stared down at the photocopied journal entries. Nothing too telling, nothing too definitive. Shouta had gone through with Tsukauchi and censored more than half of the analyses. But there was still enough to be recognizable, for Kuroki to see just how much information the journals held. Kuroki’s eyes flickered back to the window again, nothing more than a mirror to her. But Shouta could feel her stare at him. It occurred to him, then, that he had no idea what her Quirk actually was.

“You should just be grateful that the analyst gave these to you,” she said, turning back to the detective. “And no one else.”

Tsukauchi raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure about that?”

Kuroki’s lips flickered into a smirk and she gave a small laugh. “Who do you take me for, detective?” she asked but Tsukauchi kept his blank stare on her. She huffed a sigh. “If this kind of information was floating around, even if it was censored like this, it would be everywhere by now. The Heroes would be over with within a week. Something like this would mean war.”

Shouta’s fingers curled into a fist as Tsukauchi blinked at Kuroki’s words. Kuroki pushed the analyses back towards Tsukauchi. She hadn’t even looked past the first page. “I don’t want anything to do with this, detective,” she said, suddenly more serious than Shouta had ever known her to be. Shouta didn’t miss the flash of surprise that covered Tsukauchi’s face before it was gone. Kuroki never rejected information. “This kind of knowledge shouldn’t be in anyone’s hands.”

“Right,” Tsukauchi gathered up the papers. “Okay then. I’ll have a deputy release you out the back door.”

Kuroki nodded. Her eyes lingered on the journal entries as Tsukauchi left the room. When he was gone, she slumped back, lolling her head around lazily to stare at the glass again. “You should burn them,” she said and somehow, Shouta knew she was speaking directly to him , that she knew it was Eraserhead behind the glass. “Burn them and kill whoever wrote them.”

Shouta walked away.

Tsukauchi stood in the hall, staring down at the papers as if he could make them disappear with a glare. His eyes flickered up to Shouta as he approached. “Another dead end,” he said with a tired smile.

“It’s only been a week,” Shouta said. “People don’t just disappear, Tsukauchi. Especially people who know this much.”

“Right,” Tsukauchi sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Do you think Kuroki’s right? About how dangerous this, all of this could be?”

Some part of Shouta wanted to reassure Tsukauchi that it wasn’t. But Shouta knew how dangerous knowledge could be, especially if delivered into the wrong hands. These journals could end lives, and put countless people in danger. They contained step-by-step guides on weaknesses, on strengths. Information on old injuries, analyses on fights, on how they won and how they could’ve lost. And they contained personal information too. Most of it speculation. A lot of it fact. All of it kind of terrified Shouta.

Whoever authored these journals could tear down the Commission, tear down hero society as a whole, with a quarter of the information they had.

And Shouta couldn’t even say with a definite fact that this was all the information the author had. 

What if they were selling information to villains? What if the journals were just a taste of it all?

Shouta gave Tsukauchi a small nod, his lips thinned into a frown. “She’s right,” he said. “We need to make sure this information doesn’t get out. But I think we also might need more hands. Are there any other Heroes you think we can trust with this? I can bring Nedzu in on it.”

“What about Yamada?” Tsukauchi asked.

Shouta paused. Usually, he would agree to ask his husband for help on a case. Hell, Hizashi had already gone over most of the journals with Shouta. But then Shouta remembered Izuku, thought about him spending more time alone in the apartment than he already did. Thought about the quiet, delirious way he had called them “dads”. His hand spasmed at his side and Tsukauchi’s eyes flickered to the movement.

If Shouta brought Hizashi on, it would double his workload. He and Shouta would never be home and when they would be, all of their focus would be on the journals, and work. And not on Izuku.

How would that make them any better than Inko Midoriya?

“I’ll ask him,” Shouta said.

Tsukauchi knew he was lying but he said nothing about it. Instead, he gave a small nod. “I know someone we should bring in as well,” he said and Shouta looked over at him with a questioning stare. Tsukauchi sighed. “I mean he has an entire journal about him so he should know either way.”

“Oh,” Shouta grunted, already feeling a headache grow behind his eyes. “Him.”

Izuku tried not to stare at the boy seated across from him in the waiting room. But it was difficult to keep his eyes away from the thin scars that lined the boy’s cheeks, spanning from his mouth to his cheekbones. Izuku knew the shape of the lines, what they formed. And he had a fairly good idea of why they might be there. He wanted to ask, knew he shouldn’t. His eyes flickered over to Yamada as he checked them in.

The boy glared down at his phone, his jaw shifting before his purple eyes flashed up to Izuku’s face. “ What ?” he growled.

Izuku squeaked, tearing his eyes away to stare down at his fingers. He twisted them together, still feeling the boy’s angry stare on him. “Do you just stare at random strangers all the time?” the boy asked. “Or am I just that special?”

“Sorry,” Izuku murmured, his words still scratchy against his throat. His gaze flickered back to the boy’s face. To his purple hair and the heavy bags under his eyes that made Izuku think about Aizawa. Izuku glanced at Yamada, still talking to the receptionist. “Your scars… They’re from a muzzle right?”

If possible, the boy’s expression twisted into something even angrier. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Izuku shifted in his seat, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is your Quirk something do with your voice?”

“Will you leave me alone?” the boy snapped.

“My p-” Izuku looked over at Yamada. “Yamada has scars like that too.”

The boy followed Izuku’s gaze and something in him thawed a little bit. It turned cold again when he turned back to Izuku though. “So?”

“Sorry,” Izuku said again on reflex. “I’m just- I’m glad that you’re not wearing it anymore.”

The boy stared at Izuku, a look of clear bewilderment overtaking the anger on his face. Izuku looked back at him, mind flickering through an analysis faster than he could stop it. He wasn’t sure if he could help it. It was the first time in nearly a week that he’d encountered someone with a new quirk, at least a Quirkso visible. Or rather, the response to it so visible.

“You don’t even know who I am?” the boy said.

Another question. A strange way to phrase the sentence. Izuku opened his mouth to ask another question but he fell silent when Yamada came over. He passed a hand through Izuku’s hair and Izuku turned to stare at him. “I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick,” he said softly. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay,” Izuku murmured, leaning into the touch until Yamada pulled away.

When Izuku looked back at the boy, he was still staring at Izuku. “What’s your quirk?” he asked, frowning. His frown deepened when Izuku flinched back from the question. “Not so nice to be on the receiving end, is it?”

“I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Izuku whispered.

“Well you were?” the boy said flatly. “So leave me alone?”

“Yeah,” Izuku replied. “I will. Sorry again.”

He turned his stare back to his hands until Yamada returned and slid into the chair next to Izuku. A nurse popped her head out a moment later. “Shinsou Hitoshi?” she called and the boy languidly rose to his feet. He gave Izuku one more glare before he shuffled over to the nurse. Izuku shrunk into his chair a little more.

“Izuku?” Yamada questioned and Izuku felt ashamed that he had witnessed the tail end of the interaction. “Who was that?”

Izuku shrugged and was, for once, thankful when a nurse called his name a moment later. “Do you want me to go with you?” Yamada asked.

A sudden panic gripped Izuku at the thought of seeing a doctor he didn’t know alone. His hand snapped out to catch the sleeve of Yamada’s leather jacket. He gave it a small tug and Yamada reached down to give his fingers a small squeeze. “I’ll come,” he said and Izuku nodded.

His head spun a bit when he stood up. He coughed into his face mask and followed behind Yamada to the nurse.

The nurse went through the quick routine of checking Izuku’s height and weight. She frowned a little bit at the weight but said nothing. In a whirl, Izuku suddenly found himself sitting on an examination table while Yamada sat in a chair next to him.

It didn’t take long for Doctor Sugiyama to sweep into the room. They smiled warmly at both Yamada and Izuku before they washed their hands and sat down. Izuku tried not to squirm under their gaze.

“Hiya, Izuku,” they greeted, signing as they spoke. “How are you feeling?”

Izuku looked over at Yamada and he gave him an encouraging nod. “Sick,” Izuku muttered, still not quite ready to meet their eyes. He realized they probably needed more information than that. “Um, sore throat, nausea, achy. A cough?”

As if on cue, another coughing fit wracked his body. Yamada jumped from his chair to stand behind Izuku and rub his back. Guilt and appreciation warred in Izuku at the gesture.

“That sucks,” Sugiyama said. “Well, this should only take a quick minute, kay? Then you can go home and rest.”

Izuku nodded and finally looked up, a little startled to find a pair of solid white eyes staring at him. No pupils. No irises. Just white. If Sugiyama noticed his little jump, they didn’t say anything, just kept that flat white stare on Izuku. A moment later, their eyebrows knitted together and they swung their gaze over to Yamada.

“Did Izuku fall into any dirty water lately?” they asked.

Izuku’s stomach twisted. He wondered if he was going to throw up again. Yamada glanced at Izuku. “Have you?” he asked then looked at Sugiyama. “Sorry, Mayu, we just got Izuku this last week.”

Sugiyama hummed in understanding but the concerned confusion on their expression lingered. Izuku shook his head. They seemed to stare at Izuku more intently, their eyes flickering over where Izuku’s lungs were located. Izuku wanted to curl away from the intense gaze. But he also wanted to know why they were just staring at him.

“What’s your quirk?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He slammed his mouth closed as soon as he said it. “Sorry- I just- I-”

Sugiyama just smiled. “I can diagnose people by looking at them,” they explained, still looking between Izuku’s lungs. “Good thing I always wanted to be a doctor, right?”

A million questions bubbled up in Izuku but he managed to shove them down. Deep down. So deep down he wouldn’t even think about them anymore. He was still thinking about them.

Sugiyama sighed, writing something down on their clipboard. “Izuku, have you ever drowned before?”

Izuku’s mind suddenly flashed back to That Day. His breath hitched, his throat closed up as sludge climbed down his throat, into his nose. And he couldn’t breathe- He couldn’t breathe- He couldn’t-

A hand touched Izuku’s shoulder and he swung his head up to look at Yamada. Yamada. Present Mic. Yamada smoothed back some of the curls from Izuku’s forehead. Something settled in Izuku’s chest. Something that had been settling in very quickly, too quickly for Izuku to even really realize it. Papa. He wanted Aizawa here too. He wanted both of his parents right now. Izuku swallowed down that particular thought, blinking back the sudden tears in his eyes.

“Izuku,” Sugiyama questioned again, their voice so gentle. “I just want to help, sweetheart. And I can’t help if I don’t have the whole picture.”

Izuku knew that. He knew that. He rubbed at the skin on his fingers. “I, um,” he whispered then shook his head. “I was attacked by a villain a couple of weeks ago?”

Yamada’s hand spasmed on Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku instinctively hunched in on himself, grasping at the fabric of his t-shirt. “Oh,” Sugiyama murmured, making another note on their clipboard. “Well, I can pull the police report and-”

“There,” Izuku swallowed. “I mean, I- There’s not one? Not for me anyway?”

Sugiyama’s scribbling paused and Izuku missed the sound of the pen on the paper. The sudden silence of the room felt oppressive. He forced himself to focus on the grounding feeling of Yamada’s hand on his shoulder. Yamada was shaking. Izuku wanted to ask him what was wrong but he suddenly found the words stuck in his throat.

He coughed and Yamada didn’t miss a beat to soothe Izuku through the fit. His hand lingered between Izuku’s shoulderblades. Sugiyama tapped their pen against the clipboard. “Is there a hospital record?” they asked in a way that suggested they already knew the answer.

Izuku shook his head and Yamada made a small pained noise behind him. “Okay,” Sugiyama said, a sudden edge to their voice. “Okay then. Um, maybe it was on TV? What Hero saved you?”

The best one . Izuku just shook his head again. He wanted nothing to do with All Might, wanted to forget him, forget all about That Day. He didn’t want to get All Might into trouble though. So what if he forgot to take one Quirkless kid to the hospital? Or left them on a roof with no way down? It hadn’t killed Izuku.

No, that had been Izuku’s job. 

Izuku flinched violently, his fingers twisting into his hair before he realized what had happened. He gave a sharp pull. Yamada gave a shout and caught Izuku’s hands. He gently untangled them, holding them away from his head. Izuku leaned back into Yamada, shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” Izuku cried and didn’t manage another word before he lurched forward with another fit of coughing. 

When it abated, Sugiyama stood in front of him with a paper cup of water. Izuku accepted it with trembling hands. He sipped it quietly, watching as Yamada and Sugiyama stepped outside the room to talk. He watched them through the small window on the door, unsure if they knew that he could read their lips.

“There are traces of something toxic in his lungs, probably from that villain attack. We’ll have to do more tests,” Sugiyama said.

Yamada nodded with his eyes closed. He looked so tired and guilt curled in Izuku’s stomach when he remembered that Yamada was tired because of him . 

“Will it,” Yamada started before biting his lip. “Can we fix it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure out as much as I can. See if I can find out what villain it was? Definitely which Hero it was.”

She spat out the word as if it disgusted them. As if they weren’t talking to Present Mic, another Hero. Yamada’s expression twisted into something Izuku had never seen on his usually kind face. Izuku took another sip of his water.

“For now,” Sugiyama continued with a pause for a sigh. “I’ll get him some antibiotics and nausea medication. It looks like we caught it in time? I didn’t see any permanent damage.”

“If we hadn’t-”

Yamada’s face fell when Sugiyama just shook their head. Izuku pressed a hand to his abdomen as if he could feel the remnants of the sludge there. Sugiyama pursed their lips before they continued. “I also think you might need to get Izuku into therapy,” they said. “I mean, just based on what you told me and this whole thing… Well, all of that would be traumatic for anyone.”

“Yeah,” Yamada agreed. “I think you’re right. I’ll talk it over with Shouta.”

“How long do you think you’ll have him?”

Yamada’s shoulder slumped and Izuku dropped his gaze to the now-empty cup. He didn’t want the answer to that question. He only looked up when Yamada reenter, giving Izuku a gentle, sad smile. “The doctor is going to get you some antibiotics,” he said, stepping forward. “And then we can go home, okay?”

Home . Izuku nodded. When would they realize Izuku was more trouble than he was worth? And when they noticed, how much longer would he be able to call them home?

The coffee cup in Shouta’s hand exploded. It took him a long moment to realize that he’d been the one that crushed it in his hand. He stared down at it as the pain from the burn started to catch up to him. “I’ll see you and Izuku at home, Zashi,” he said calmly as he shook off the excess liquid. 

“Okay,” Hizashi replied and Shouta knew his husband well enough to know the pure rage shaking his vocal cords. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Shouta slowly hung up the phone and reached for the napkins. The deputy at the coffee station with him stared at him with wide eyes.

“What?” Shouta asked and the deputy hurried away without a word and without a coffee.

Shouta mopped up the mess with shaking hands. 

He was going to find the Hero that left Izuku, that forgot to take a child to the hospital after a violent villain attack. He was going to find them.

And was going to rip them limb from limb.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up the next morning with a mild headache and a sore throat. He was a little surprised, to be honest. When he got sick, it usually took him days, if not weeks, to recover. He looked at the little bottle of antibiotics on his bedside table and marveled at them. Medicine. Even with his mom being a nurse, Izuku had grown up with such little access to such things. Inko hardly saw him after all, why would she notice he was sick?

Izuku’s stomach twisted, a little from lingering nausea but mostly from a stark, cold realization.

That wasn’t normal, was it? Inko should’ve noticed, at least every once in a while.

Izuku sighed and slowly pulled himself out of bed. He reached for the bottle of pills, glancing over the instructions. After a quick glance at the clock on his phone and a little mental calculation, he took another dosage. He winced a little at the late hour despite knowing it was Sunday.

He didn’t want to make Aizawa and Yamada worry any more than they already did.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he was a little surprised to find both of the Pros sitting at the table. They worked such different hours outside of school; it was a little strange to see both of them together outside of breakfast.

Yamada smiled when he entered and though Aizawa’s expression was soft, there was also something calculating behind it. Izuku had a feeling they were talking about him before he entered. The thought set him on edge.

“Good… Afternoon?” he greeted, grimacing at how hoarse he sounded. No coughs tried to shake his body apart though, so he figured that was a good sign.

“We were about to have lunch. Are you hungry?” Yamada asked. 

Izuku nodded and Yamada set about throwing together a light meal. Aizawa still hadn’t looked away from Izuku even after Izuku slowly sat down in his chair.

Anxiously, Izuku looked between the two men. He twiddled his fingers in his lap. “Am I… In trouble?”

Aizawa blinked and Yamada slowed in his movements, glancing back at Izuku. “No,” Aizawa replied in a tone that brokered no argument. He sighed and slumped a little in his seat. “We’re just worried.”

“About?”

Aizawa’s frown deepened. “You?”

“Oh.”

Izuku directed his gaze to his lap. He twisted and untwisted his fingers, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m okay though,” he whispered. It sounded like a lie, even to him.

“You’re not,” Aizawa said and Izuku flinched.

Yamada sighed from his spot by the counters. He set down his cutting knife and turned around, crossing his arms. “What Shou means is that we’ve wanted to give you space and time to talk to us about… Everything. And we don’t want to push you about anything but in this case, we-”

“We have to,” Aizawa finished. “This villain attack is a imminent phsyical problem and we just need to know more so we can address it before it hurts you further.”

Izuku nodded slowly. He supposed, logically, that made sense. He pursed his lips. He didn’t want to tell them the whole truth. Aizawa and Yamada were stubborn, Izuku had gleaned that much in his time with them. If he implicated All Might, well, he wasn’t sure how that would end.

It wasn’t All Might’s fault.

None of it.

Izuku caused him to run out his time limit because he had a stupid question.

“Um,” he swallowed thickly and Yamada set down a mug of his special throat tea. Izuku took a few minutes to sip it quietly. Neither of the Pros hurried him along or demanded more answers. Izuku knew they weren’t going to let him shrug this one off but they seemed content to let him move at his own pace about this.

“The day before I met Aizawa,” Izuku started softly, staring down at his drink. “I was attacked on my way home from school by a villain. He had a Quirk that made him sludgy? I think it might’ve allowed him to take over people’s bodies if he infected them. I don’t really remember but he was trying to… To drown me. I was saved by a hero but when they tried to leave, I grabbed onto them and we landed on a nearby skyscraper. The villain escaped so they didn’t have time to, well, help me.”

Izuku spared a glanced at his guardians. Yamada was, uncharacteristically, quiet, a hand pressed over his mouth as he stared at some spot over Izuku’s shoulder. Aizawa gripped his own mug, his knuckles white, his eyes intense on Izuku’s face. 

“There’s something else,” Aizawa said. It wasn’t a question, just a statement.

Izuku shrunk into his seat. He knew that he had to tell them. That it would come out eventually. Maybe in this “therapy” Sugiyama mentioned. But he had to tell them, didn’t he?

“I also asked this hero if I could be a hero too even though I was Quirkless,” Izuku said. The memory of the conversation made him want to rip his skin off from how it crawled. But he just kept his hands in his lap. “They said no.”

Yamada made a soft noise. Aizawa took a sip of his coffee.

“Did you recognize the hero?” Aizawa asked quietly.

Izuku didn’t answer. He didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to confirm. He just wanted to… What did he want?

The lack of an answer seemed to just confirm whatever suspicion Aizawa already had though. He nodded once. “Who was it?”

Izuku shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Izuku,” Yamada tried, his expression heartbreakingly gentle. “Of course it-”

“It doesn’t though,” Izuku snapped then shrunk in on himself in shame. Who the fuck did he think he was to talk back to Yamada when the man had never done anything but help Izuku? “Sorry, I just- Even if I tell you, you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

All Might was untouchable. Even someone as stupid as Izuku could recognize that.

There was a flicker of something in Aizawa’s unwavering stare. Abruptly, he stood and left the kitchen, ignoring Yamada’s calls for him to come back. Yamada glanced between Izuku and Aizawa as if he wasn’t sure where to go. Izuku swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling a sob building in his chest. “I made him angry-”

“No,” Yamada said, shaking his head. He moved forward, burying a hand in Izuku’s curls. Something unfurled in Izuku’s chest as he let his forehead fall against Yamada’s side. “No, he’s not angry at you, Zuku.”

“I made him leave though,” Izuku mumbled.

“Sometimes, even adults need a moment to figure out their emotions,” Yamada soothed. He pulled away and Izuku resisted the urge to catch his sleeve. “Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

Izuku nodded. While Yamada finished cooking lunch, Izuku darted his gaze between Yamada and the hall towards the adults’ room. The silence was tense but somehow, not uncomfortable. He relaxed a bit when Yamada set down a bowl of ramen for Aizawa as well as the two of them. Yamada, obviously, knew his husband best so he must expected Aizawa to be back soon. The two of them ate their ramen in silence.

Shouta, on principle, hated not knowing things. He liked to learn things, pick them apart. It was probably what made him such a good Underground Hero. He cared about the smallest details, no matter how insignificant they seemed to others. Sometimes, that got him into trouble. Usually, it didn’t. 

Izuku’s words rang through his hair as he opened up his laptop. As he started a search, as he delved into something he could understand: research.

Because he couldn’t understand why any “hero” would be so fucking negligent, especially when an attack involved a child. It was basics. It was the easiest part of the job to call the paramedics and the police. Civilians did that every single day with no issues. Even if the Pro needed to get away for some reason, it was literally children’s play to direct authorities in the proper direction. 

Shouta typed in the date of Izuku’s attack into the attack database all Pros had access to. He was unsurprised to find anything with Izuku’s name on it. Furious, but unsurprised.

Then he saw it.

Bakugou Katsuki, attacked by one Soma Tatsui, Quirk Sludge Body. 

Shouta frowned as he opened the report. It appeared that several heroes were present for the attack on the middle schooler but not really anyone of note. Only one person was listed to have apprehended Soma Tatsui.

Even if I tell you, you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

“All Might,” Aizawa hissed, feeling a familiar ember of hatred growing in his chest.

Despite his demeanor, Aizawa was a pretty easygoing person. He resented a lot of people, sure. Thought even more people were worth less than the dirt on his boots. But he rarely hated people. When he did, it burned hot and angry.

He’d been indifferent to All Might before this moment, had only met the boisterous, obnoxious Number One a handful of times. But now?

It made too much sense. Izuku’s reluctance to put the All Might hoodie back on (the way he’d stopped wearing it altogether after Shouta gifted him a plain black one). The way he left all of his All Might figures behind. The kid even flipped away from any channels that showed the Number One’s fights, even as a back reel. He didn’t do that with any other hero fights.

Japan’s Number One hero left Shouta’s son, his suicidal Quirkless son, on a rooftop after shattering his dreams.

He was the reason Izuku had been there that night. The reason Izuku asked him that, at the time, mundane question.

Shouta refrained from jumping out the window to track down the man and kill him in cold blood. Shouta knew he could get away with it, easily. All Might wouldn’t even see it coming. It would be so… Easy.

But his husband had made lunch and Izuku had just told him something traumatic. The thought of his family soothed some of the rage in his heart. So Shouta closed his laptop and stood with stretch, returning to the table. Izuku looked up as he entered and Hizashi offered him a small smile, a question in his eyes. Shouta ruffled Izuku’s curls as he passed and sat down to eat. He pressed a kiss to Hizashi’s temple, a way of telling him that they’d discuss it later.

There were a million other things they needed to address with Izuku. The scorch marks on his backpack and clothes. His “self-study”. Any number of his traumas. But Shouta knew exactly what happened when someone pressed a traumatized kid too far, too quickly. The other things could wait. For now.

“Now,” he said as he sat and Izuku set his spoon down, complete attention on Shouta. “Originally, our plan was for Hizashi to take you shopping yesterday. Do you feel well enough for that?”

“Shopping?” Izuku furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head. “For what?”

Everything. Shouta would buy the kid a damn luxury car if he wanted it. Hizashi grinned. “Clothes. Decorations for your room. Some school stuff. Just the necessities.”

Izuku blinked, his eyes a little glassy. “You don’t have to do that.”

“We know,” Hizashi’s smile softened. “But we want to. Besides, between our salaries, we honestly have more money than we know what to do with.”

It was true. Hizashi and Shouta both had several jobs between them and several incomes. Most of it sat in a savings account with no destination. Although, Shouta wondered if it could have a destination now. A house maybe. A fund for Izuku’s future. He pushed the thoughts away before they got too out of hand. They were still just fostering Izuku for now. They hadn’t discussed the possibility of adoption with him.

Still, the hope simmered in his chest.

Izuku seemed to consider this for a moment before he nodded cautiously. “Um, okay, if you’re sure it’s not a bother?”

As if anything Izuku could be a bother.

A problem, maybe, but never a bother.

Shinsou Hitoshi was tired. Well, he was always tired. Insomnia did that to people unfortunately. 

But he was more tired than usual right now. His week had been hell. Well, again, no more so than usual. If anything, it had kinda been a bit better than usual. But being moved out of his shitty foster house into a nicer, more caring foster home was a enough to make his head spin. And Hitoshi hated when things made his head spin. Even when they were good things.

“You like purple, right, Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi dragged his gaze from the cat plushies he’d been staring at back to Miss Sasaki. She seemed a little haggard. Which made sense since Hitoshi knew she’d been up all night working alongside that Nemuri woman. Hitoshi might’ve been one of the first kids that the two had pulled out of bad foster houses in the past week but he was far from the last. The two women seemed hellbent on moving heaven and earth to expose abusive homes in the system. He wondered why they were on a rampage. He wasn’t going to complain though.

“Um, yeah?” Hitoshi said with a small shrug. He looked at the sheet set that Miss Sasaki held out for his opinion. “I like dark stuff?”

Easier to clean. And when he had bloodstains from his muzzle, it was easier to hide on darker pillowcases.

Now that he thought about it, Hitoshi hadn’t seen a single trace of his muzzle since Miss Sasaki took him in. His new doctor mentioned the scabbing scars and gave him some antibiotic cream for them but didn’t talk about it beyond that.

The realization put a wary but light feeling in Hitoshi’s chest. He picked through the lighter purple options.

“Oh hello.”

Hitoshi looked up as Miss Sasaki greeted someone. He blinked hard. It was the annoying kid from the doctor’s office. And his… Dads? The blonde one was definitely the man that had been with him at the office.

“Sasaki,” the blonde man greeted with a warm smile. He stepped forward and they shared a polite handshake. The other dark-haired man gave her a nod of acknowledgement. The green-haired boy just stared at Hitoshi. Hitoshi stared back, albeit with way more sass. “Izuku, this is your caseworker, Sasaki Kanon.”

The kid, Izuku, seemed to shake himself out of his staring. He turned to the woman with a polite smile and an outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Sasaki. Thank you for all your help.”

Miss Sasaki softened in the way that Hitoshi had seen her do with literally every kid, including him. “It’s my pleasure, Izuku.”

“Actually,” the dark-haired man said suddenly. “Can we speak with you about something really quick, Sasaki?”

The blonde man sighed in exasperation. “Sho, she’s not at work right now.”

“No, no, that’s alright,” Miss Sasaki waved a hand through the air. “Let’s step over here though.”

The blonde man gave Hitoshi an apologetic look as the dark-haired man ruffled his hand through Izuku’s hair. And then suddenly, there were two. Izuku and Hitoshi shifted awkwardly. Hitoshi turned back to the sheet option. He wanted to just walk away but he didn’t want Miss Sasaki to worry about him.

“Hey, um-” Izuku started and Hitoshi frowned, glaring at the sheets. “I’m sorry about prying yesterday.”

Hitoshi just grunted in response.

They stood awkwardly for several more minutes.

“Is that your mom?” Izuku asked.

Right back to prying it seemed.

“No.”

A pause.

“She’s my foster mom,” Hitoshi continued, shooting a look over at Izuku. If Miss Sasaki was Izuku’s caseworker then he was probably in a similar situation to Hitoshi. “Those your foster dads?”

Izuku’s cheeks pinked and he looked down at the ground. “Um, yeah.”

Hitoshi glanced over to where the adults were still talking. Miss Sasaki looked furious but she caught Hitoshi’s stare and she softened just a bit. 

“It’s not right,” Izuku said suddenly. Hitoshi swung a glare back to him and Izuku shrunk back a bit. “Just um, the muzzle. Whoever did that to you was wrong to do it.”

Hitoshi’s glare dropped and he frowned. “You don’t even know what my Quirk is? So how can you determine that?”

“Nobody deserves that.”

He said it was such conviction. Like there was no other answer in the world. Hitoshi stared at the obnoxious kid, baffled. He kinda wanted to believe him. But Hitoshi knew his Quirk was evil, villainous. The adults that put the muzzle on him were just being cautious.

He told Izuku as much, so confused that he even forgot to phrase his words as a question.

Izuku returned an equally baffled, confused look. “Villainous Quirks don’t exist,” he said. “It all depends on how you use your Quirk. Do you use it for evil?”

“No,” Hitoshi said softly. He was good. He wanted to be good. He wanted to be a Hero.

“Then what makes it villainous?”

“I can brainwash people,” Hitoshi said bluntly and then immediately regretted it, staring down at his shoes. 

Izuku was going to change his opinion now. How could brainwashing possibly be a good thing? He glanced up at Izuku, expecting disgust.

All he found was awe.

“Really?” Izuku shuffled closer, eyes wide. “That’s amazing. Think about the applications! Can you get people to tell you things? That would be great a law setting or a medical setting. What do you want to do? I bet it would be good for any job.”

“I want to be a Pro Hero,” Hitoshi admitted quietly.

Izuku’s green eyes got, impossibly, wider. “Oh my God, you would be the best Pro. How does it work? You could literally stop fights before they stop? You could calm down injured civilians! Or you could-” Izuku fell silent, something shuttering over his eyes. And Hitoshi didn’t understand why. He wanted to ask Izuku for more. People tried to tell him he wasn’t evil all the time, usually out of pity, but no one had told him he could be a hero. Let alone the best Pro. There was that wary but light feeling again, bursting in his chest.

“Izuku?” he prompted, feeling a little embarrassed about using the boy’s given name.

Izuku blinked then smiled. “Sorry, got carried away there. Anyways, I think you’d be a great hero, Shinsou.”

Hitoshi blinked. Did he ever introduce himself to Izuku? 

“You can call me Hitoshi,” he said instead and then wanted to punch himself in the face. “Since I called you Izuku, that is. It’s only fair.”

“Right,” Izuku said as his smile turned into a full-on grin. Hitoshi was a little stunned by it. He’d never seen anyone that truly fitted the description of “sunshine”. Hitoshi knew he was an insomniac but he suddenly realized he’d never truly felt the sun, not like this.

“Uh, what’s…” Hitoshi searched for anything to keep the conversation going. “What’s your Quirk?”

Izuku’s smile dropped just a suddenly as it appeared and Hitoshi felt its loss like a black hole opening in his chest. Izuku said something quietly, under his breath.

“What?” Hitoshi asked.

“I’m…” Izuku took a deep breath. “Quirkless.”

Hitoshi blinked. 

He didn’t know any Quirkless people. They were rare. Hitoshi had heard awful things about them, seen things about them in the news. It was all vitriolic, violent junk that Hitoshi tried to avoid. People also said awful things about him all the time.

“Okay,” he said. He wasn’t sure what else to say. 

Izuku frowned. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Izuku smiled again but this one was small, private. He played with the sleeves on his black hoodie. “Okay.”

“Sorry about that,” Miss Sasaki said as the three adults approached them again. “Did you find a set you like, Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi startled before reaching forward and grabbing the set he liked the best. “This one?”

“Good choice,” the blonde man from earlier said and Hitoshi ducked his head in embarrassment. “You find anything, Izuku?”

Izuku shook his head, turning to look at the sheets as Hitoshi had been doing a moment before. The dark-haired man crouched down next to him, whispering something that made Izuku giggle. Miss Sasaki nudged Hitoshi and he swung his gaze over to her, realizing that she had started to push the cart away.

Hitoshi turned to follow her when he felt a hand catch his sleeve. He followed the freckled hand up to Izuku’s face, eyebrow raised. Hitoshi ignored the way that all of the adults watched them in bemusement. Silently, Izuku held up his phone. “Um, if you want…” he trailed off, dropping Hitoshi’s sleeve.

Did Izuku want to be… Friends?

Hitoshi didn’t have friends.

He supposed it would make sense if Izuku didn’t either.

“Yeah,” Hitoshi said and Izuku’s shoulders slumped in relief. He typed his information in quickly, handing Izuku’s phone back. “We should- um. Hang out soon. My summer break is coming up.”

“Me too!” Izuku beamed. “We totally should!”

Hitoshi nodded awkwardly before giving Izuku, and his foster dads, a small wave goodbye. As they walked away, Miss Sasaki gave him a knowing smile. “Not a word,” Hitoshi muttered. He froze when he realized he hadn’t said that as a question. He looked up at her with wide, anxious eyes.

Miss Sasaki bit her lip but her smile was still obvious. “I wasn’t going to say anything anyways,” she said then turned them towards the aisle of stuffed animals. “Now where’s that cat you were looking at earlier?”

Hitoshi blinked. Then he smiled, dipping his head to hide it.

He recognized the feeling in his chest now.

Hope.

The feeling was hope.

Chapter Text

On Tuesdays, Shouta was blessedly free from his teaching responsibilities. He didn’t have a homeroom this year, which only left him with his Law and Ethics classes. And somehow, he ended up with Tuesdays completely open. Normally, he took the time to catch up on grading or to work on his cases. But he had a lot of other things that needed to be taken care of, things that he could only really take care of on a school day.

So that was how he found himself at Aldera Middle School on a Tuesday morning about to rip a man’s head off.

The school looked nice enough. It boasted good amenities and top grades. Nothing like UA, of course, and only as good as any public school could really be but it did seem like a good school.

Shouta expected that he would be in and out. He would register himself and Hizashi as Izuku’s primary contacts, talk to the principal about Izuku’s situation, and check Izuku’s grades. All easy, simple tasks.

Nothing about this was easy or simple.

“So as you can see, Midoriya is really quite the troublemaker,” the principal (Shouta wasn’t going to bother to learn his name) continued on his tirade about Izuku, oblivious to Shouta’s growing rage.

Shouta clutched Izuku’s file so tightly that the paper started to tear. It was less of a file and more of compilation of the most minor of infractions. Shouta was a hardass of a teacher, he knew this. He expelled students for the pettiest of reasons. And even he thought Izuku’s “file” was completely overkill.

And completely falsified.

One look at Izuku’s grades told him that much.

He’d seen Izuku’s work before. The boy should be passing with flying colors, not flunking out of the most basic of classes.

“And-”

“Where’s Midoriya right now?” Shouta asked, uncaring of how mannerless he might seem.

The principal blinked. “In class, of course.”

“Bring him here.”

Shouta felt a flicker of joy as he watched the blood drain from the principal’s face. “What?”

“Call Midoriya Izuku to this office right this second.”

“We shouldn’t interrupt class-”

“Now.”

The principal squeaked and hurriedly called for an administrator to get Izuku from his class.

Izuku stared out the window of his classroom. It was his favorite pastime when he got bored in class. His teachers hardly cared, they didn’t even glance at Izuku unless they needed to patronize him, and it was a lot less boring than laying his head on the desk. Not much happened outside of Aldera. It wasn’t on a particularly busy street and there weren’t a lot of trees.

But watching the clouds was better than doing nothing.

And it wasn’t like Izuku had his notebooks to keep him occupied anymore.

He ignored the ache in his chest at that thought.

Katsuki was watching him again. He hadn’t really bothered Izuku since that day on the roof but he wouldn’t stop staring. Izuku kinda hated it more than when Katsuki beat him everyday. At least then he knew what the blonde wanted.

Izuku was staring out the window so he noticed when Aizawa walked through the front gates. Izuku blinked, squinted. And yes, there was Aizawa, dressed in his civilian clothing and walking up to Izuku’s school.

Panic pooled in Izuku’s stomach.

He knew what his record looked like. How could he not when he watched teachers drag it out every time they punished him? He knew how many reprimands and detentions were shoved into the manilla folder. How many red marks were drawn on his papers.

His guardians did not know any of that.

He had hoped to keep it that way. Aizawa and Hizashi were under the impression that Izuku was a good, smart kid. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when someone told them the contrary.

Aizawa disappeared into the administrative door and Izuku dug his nails into his palms. He barely paid attention to the rest of the lesson and the lesson after that. Halfway through the third period since Aizawa entered Aldera Middle School, an administrative assistant popped their head in. They walked up to current teacher and whispered something before stepping back outside.

“Midoriya Izuku,” the teacher called and Izuku stiffened as all eyes swung to him with varying degrees of cruelty and mirth. Katsuki just stared. “You’re wanted in the principal’s office. Bring your bag.”

Izuku rose slowly. He packed up his materials and ignored his classmate’s jeers. The teacher frowned at him as he passed. Katsuki stared.

Izuku was unsurprised to find Aizawa in the office when he arrived. Aizawa seemed surprised that he wasn’t surprised.

“Ah, Midoriya,” the principal greeted and Izuku stared pointedly at the ground. “Have a seat.”

“No need,” Aizawa said.

Izuku’s head snapped up to look at his guardian. Aizawa was already rising from his own seat.

“We’re leaving,” Aizawa said.

“Trust me,” he signed.

Izuku nodded. He did trust Aizawa. Which was an odd feeling in and of itself. Trusting adults had never really gone well for him.

“What?” the principal wheezed, rising to his feet. “Mister Aizawa-”

“Don’t expect Izuku to return,” Aizawa said as he turned to the principal. “We’ll be completing his education elsewhere.”

“How dare you-”

“How dare I?” Aizawa whirled around completely, slamming a thick file, Izuku’s file, down on the desk. The principal jumped about five feet into the air and Izuku bit his cheek to hide his amusement. And his awe. “How dare you think I am stupid enough to believe this nonsense! Chewing too loudly? What kind of fucking infraction is that? And the red marks next to correct answers? Either you willingly let my child be discriminated against on school grounds or you are the single most incompetent man on the fucking planet. And honestly, I don’t know which answer is worse. Either way, I have absolutely no faith in this school or its capabilities. So yes, we will be leaving and we will not be returning.”

Izuku blinked, a little too stunned to react. The principal seemed to have the same reaction. Izuku let Aizawa place a hand on his back and steer him out of the office and out of the school. It was only once they were in Aizawa and Hizashi’s car that the entire situation caught up to Izuku.

He let out a slightly unhinged laugh.

Aizawa shot him a concerned glance. “Kid?”

Izuku cackled again, turning his wide eyes to Aizawa. He grinned at him. “That was awesome!” he nearly shouted. “I’ve never seen the principal so… So flabbergasted.”

“Flabbergasted?”

Izuku reconsidered his words for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah!”

Aizawa shook his head before he snorted and broke off into a small chuckle. Izuku wondered if it was the first time he’d ever heard Aizawa laugh. He tightened his grip on his backpack. “Are you really pulling me out?” he asked softly.

How was he supposed to get into UA if he dropped out of middle school? Nevermind UA. How was he going to get into any reputable school?

Aizawa seemed to understand his worries though because he just reached over with his free hand to pat Izuku’s head. “I’ve got a plan, kid, don’t worry.”

Izuku still worried but he didn’t panic. And that was enough. He turned to look out the window, expecting to find the familiar buildings that led to home. It only took him a few seconds to realize that they were going in a completely different direction.

He was a little, well, flabbergasted when Aizawa pulled up in front of UA. Izuku continued to stare as Aizawa guided the car into some kind of faculty parking. He continued to stare asbAizawa stopped the car and climbed out. As Aizawa tapped on Izuku’s window.

Aizawa pulled the door open. “You coming?”

“We’re at UA,” Izuku said numbly.

Aizawa sighed and crouched next to the car, placing a hand on Izuku’s knee. “Yes, where Hizashi and I work.”

“Why are we at UA?” Izuku whispered.

“It’s my plan.”

“What does that mean?” Izuku questioned a little hysterically.

Aizawa just smiled and that was a lot more unsettling than his laugh. But Izuku tripped out of the car after him and into the hallowed halls of UA. The same halls All Might had once walked; Izuku’s chest tightened at that thought and he gripped the straps of his backpack.

They were the halls Hizashi and Aizawa had walked. The ones they walked everyday now. That was a better way of looking at it. His new favorite heroes walked the halls of UA.

The school itself was… Well… Big. Clearly built to accommodate all kinds of Quirks.

“Where are we going?” Izuku whispered. Even that seemed too loud amongst the quiet halls, a clock ticking on the wall.

“You’ll see,” Aizawa replied evenly.

Izuku glanced into classrooms as they passed, forcing himself not to gawk at the students his saw beyond the windows on the doors.

Something happy and warm pooled in his stomach. Something giddy. Even if he didn’t understand why he was here, he at least got to see inside the school. That was more than enough to be grateful for. He wondered if Aizawa would bring him to the school more often if he asked.

Aizawa led Izuku through the wide, winding corridors until they came to a nondescript door. Izuku didn’t have time to read the placard before he was ushered inside of spacious office space.

He blinked at the small creature sitting at the desk that raised its head. And it blinked back curiously. Izuku screamed internally. Principal Nedzu. The Principal Nedzu. He shook out his hands a little to keep himself from fanboying.

“Nedzu, this is Midoriya Izuku,” Aizawa said simply.

Nedzu took a slow sip from the teacup on his desk before he tilted his head a little. He nodded and clapped his hands. “Perfect, Midoriya Izuku, welcome to UA!”

A violent cough startled out of Izuku. “What?!”