Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was cold.

He was so horribly, unbearably cold. Never mind the fact that it was almost eighty degrees outside and the middle of summer. No, he was cold. He was shivering, goosebumps rising up his arms beneath the long-sleeve shirt he wore. Yet despite his chill, the boy was sweating. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple, over his upper lip, down into his mouth. They tasted salty. It was at least a small distraction from the gaping wound in his side.

Izuku pressed down a little harder against the stab wound, grunting when a sharp lightning bolt of pain raced through his torso and arm. Warm blood was flowing over the hand that pressed against the wound, and his shirt was tacky with it. The heavy scent of iron lifted in the air, nearly gagging the teenager as he stumbled down the alleyway that would lead to his apartment complex.

He tripped over a crack in the pavement, swearing as he caught himself on a light post. His side throbbed in protest at the movement, and the nausea that had slowly been roiling up in his gut was suddenly right in the back of his throat, threatening to spew.

Swallowing down the bile, Izuku steadied himself, willing his spasms down to shivers.

He had to get home.

Home had the first aid kit.

Home had a shower.

Home had… not his dad, thank God. No, his dad would still be out with Hizashi. It was only… Izuku glanced at his blood-splattered watch. 10pm. His dad would be out until at least midnight. Izuku had two whole hours to stitch up his side, take a shower, get rid of his bloody clothes, and clean up.

Yeah. He could do that.

Izuku dragged himself over to his apartment staircase, cursing the fact that the elevator was under maintenance, and went to take a step up-

Lightning shot through his body again, even more potent than the first bolt. A cry of pain ripped from Izuku’s chest unbidden as he leaned heavily against the railing of the stairwell.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” the teenager hissed, pressing down against his steadily leaking side, “-fuck-”

“Izuku, dearie? Is that you?”

A short gasp fell from the boy’s lips, and he struggled to tug himself upright in the face of the newcomer. Ms. Fukuda, a quiet and peaceful old lady who was a full head shorter than even Izuku, exited her downstairs apartment with her walking cane, her cat mewling behind her. She frowned at Izuku in the dim lighting of the single lamppost near that corner of their complex, squinting to try and see him better. Izuku thanked whoever was watching him that his shirt was black, easily hiding the blood from the elderly lady’s view.

“Izuku, darling, you aren’t looking too well. Would you like some tea? I know your father is out this evening, and some tea may do you good.”

“I-I’m f-f-fine, Ms. F-Fukuda,” Izuku stammered out, silently cursing his stutter. It was a curse bestowed upon him by his anxiety and was worsened by his injury. “J-Just…” Izuku swallowed more bile, straightening his shoulders. “Just a little f-flu, I think…”

The woman frowned deeply, looking unconvinced. Izuku shot her his best sheepish smile, opening his eyes wide in the puppy-dog fashion Hizashi had taught him at a young age.

After a few moments, Ms. Fukuda nodded. Izuku nearly sank to the ground in relief. “Alright, dearie. I’ll bring some soup by tomorrow, alright? Just make sure you get to bed promptly, understand?”

“Y-Y-Yes, Ms. F-Fukuda…” Izuku replied politely, allowing his shoulders to slump as the woman turned back to her apartment, shutting the door behind her. He had no doubts his neighbor was still unconvinced, but at least he wasn’t pressed against the petri dish of her telescopic lens anymore.

Turning back to the stairs, Izuku took a deep breath and began his trek.

He zoned out halfway up, the herculean task of lifting one foot after the other for the fourteen steps up to his second-story apartment causing ripples of pain to shoot through him. Somehow, someway, his brain shut down for a few minutes, allowing him time enough away from the urge to vomit and curl up on the concrete sobbing to get to his front door.

It was locked. Of course it was locked, his dad would have locked it when he left. His dad was always paranoid like that, making sure walls were to his back and doors were always locked tight. Izuku’s hand on his injured side scrabbled a moment for his key, and a sigh of relief rippled through his chest as he found it in his back pocket.

Unlocking the door was another of his twelve labors for the night. His hands were both slick with blood, and he took note that he’d have to wash the doorknob once he stitched up his side and showered and got rid of the evidence…

Stumbling through the front door, Izuku turned left and came to a stuttering halt. Panda was sitting in front of him, mewling loudly in a way that almost relayed concern. Behind her, Sally was hissing up a storm, his back arched at the scent of blood.

“Shush, you t-two,” Izuku huffed out, kicking the door to the bathroom open. “I-I-I’ll f-feed you t-two later…” he promised as if bribing the cats to secrecy.

All but collapsing to his knees in front of the bathroom cabinet, Izuku cursed when he noticed blood dribbling onto the floor. Their tile was unfortunately white, and the red blood against it stuck out like a fly in milk.

Izuku swore again, fully knowing his dad would give him a frown over the amount of cursing he’d done that night. Then again, his dad would do more than give him a disappointed look if he found out about Izuku’s nightly escapades…

The first aid kit beneath the sink was extensive, but still not their full kit. The full kit was in his father’s bedroom, but Izuku wasn’t going to risk dripping blood on the carpet in order to grab a few painkillers. He’d just have to do without.

Dragging himself to sit up on the toilet, Izuku’s shaking hands tugged a curved needle and surgical thread out of the kit. What with all of his shaking, the boy had to lean his arms up against the sink to his left in order to thread the needle. Once it was done, he focused on taking off his shirt-

White hot pain lanced through his entire body when he tried to lift up his shirt, and the gasp that ripped from Izuku’s lungs was accompanied by a sob.

“N-No. No, Izuku,” he told himself firmly. “W-We c-c-can’t start c-crying n-n-now…” Because if he started, he wasn’t going to stop until he passed out. And his side really needed some tending to.

And so, tugging the hem of his shirt in between his teeth to hold it up, Izuku looked down at his side. He winced at the sight of bloody red flesh, sliced open for everyone to see. And… was that a rib? Izuku really, really hoped not.

Pinching the flesh around the actual stab wound, Izuku pressed the needle to his skin, piercing the first layer with a grunt. Then, the needle stabbed through the second layer. Finally, the third- and it popped out on the other side of his flesh, inside the wound. Izuku went about piercing the other side of the wound, tugging it closed as tight as he could without sobbing.

And really, he made it further than most would have. At three stitches, halfway down the length of the wound, Izuku finally blacked out, slipping off the toilet and smacking his head right against the porcelain of the bathtub.

And darkness overcame him.

…

“You’re an asshole,” Hizashi giggled even as he swore, kicking Shouta under their usual corner table in the dimly-lit restaurant.

“Hm,” Shouta responded eloquently, sipping at his wine. He was nowhere near tipsy, and neither was Hizashi, but the warmth spreading throughout his chest due to alcohol and good company was welcomed.

Hizashi glanced at his watch. “They’re closing up soon. Did you still want to head to the park to walk around? I know they finally finished painting the gazebo…” Hizashi trailed off at the sound of high-pitched ringing. “Ah. I’ll get the check while you get that,” Hizashi nodded towards Shouta’s phone that laid facedown on the table as he stood to go pay the check.

Shouta sighed, wondering what someone could want at 10 o’clock at night. It was his night off, so Tsukauchi knew better than to ring for him. Nemuri and Tensei knew it was his and Hizashi’s date night, so they were off the table as well. Reaching for his phone, Shouta turned it upright and frowned pointedly.

Why was his downstairs neighbor calling?

“Aizawa,” Shouta answered the phone.

“Oh, Shouta, dear,” Ms. Fukuda’s voice sounded worried. “I know you’re out with your boyfriend, but I must admit I’m quite concerned about your little boy.”

Ms. Fukuda had been calling Izuku “Shouta’s little boy” ever since the four-year-old came home with him. Even now, with Izuku’s fourteenth birthday mere days away, Ms. Fukuda kept up the habit. It honestly warmed something inside of Shouta, the knowledge that somebody else saw Izuku as his little kid, his baby boy, even if Shouta himself would never admit aloud to still seeing his teenager as such.

“What’s wrong?” Shouta inquired, frowning. He couldn’t imagine his kid getting up to any trouble, not unless he’d invited Hitoshi and Tenya over without Shouta’s knowledge. Tenya was normally the voice of reason with Izuku’s hairbrained schemes, even as well-intended as they usually were. But something about adding Hitoshi in and getting all three of the friends together seemed to make Tenya’s good sense fly right out the window. So, yes, Shouta could see those three getting into trouble enough that may concern Ms. Fukuda. But they wouldn’t have done anything too dangerous, Shouta was sure of it.

“He seemed rather ill when he came home tonight-” the woman started, shocking Shouta. He’d given Izuku explicit directions to be home by dark, and the boy had been in his room when Hizashi had picked Shouta up that night. “-shaking like a leaf in a storm, the little dear. I offered him some tea, but he declined. The poor thing hardly made it up the stairs on his own. I… I’m concerned, Shouta. I heard some thudding around upstairs, and- well- I know your boy is a good one, Shouta, but I’m concerned about him.”

The old woman sounded so sincere that it sent both a pang of fondness and worry through Shouta’s gut. “Thank you, Ms. Fukuda,” Shouta replied to her, glancing over at Hizashi at the front counter. His partner was laughing with the waiter there as he paid the bill, tipping generously, as he typically did, before turning back to their table. “I’ll have Hizashi bring me home now.”

“Oh, good. And I told little Izuku, but I’ll bring some soup around in the morning for him. He still likes tomato bisque, yes? I hear that’s a good one for upset stomachs.”

Shouta smiled softly even through his nerves. “Yes, Ms. Fukuda.” Across from him, Hizashi frowned in concern at the mention of Shouta’s neighbor. “And thank you very much for calling me.”

“Not a problem, dearie. Just take care of that little boy for me, alright?”

“Of course.”

Ms. Fukuda said her goodbye, and Shouta hung up the phone even as he stood and pulled on his jacket. “We need to go home,” he told Hizashi, fighting to keep his concern to a minimum.

“I gathered that,” Hizashi replied, having no issues in relaying his own worries through the tenseness in his voice. “Izuku?” he inquired, and Shouta shrugged.

“Don’t know. She just said that he looked unwell, and that she was worried.”

Hizashi’s frown deepened, his green and brown eyes narrowing under furrowed brows as he fiddled with his hearing aid. “That’s… unusual.”

“Hm.”

“Okay, let’s get going, then.”

It was fortunate that they had been friends for so long, because, as on the same wavelength as they were, Shouta had no need to tell Hizashi to speed. The voice hero went above the speed limit on a daily basis but pressed the gas a little harder to get them back to Shouta’s apartment in a measly few minutes.

Shouta took the steps up two at a time, Hizashi hot on his heels.

The first thing he noticed was the front door was open.

It was only a crack, but it was still open.

And then, reaching for the handle, Shouta realized with a start that there were smears of blood on the weathered gold.

“Fuck,” he hissed, grabbing at his capture scarf. Behind him, Hizashi tensed up into a defensive position.

Pushing the door open, cursing its old age and creaky nature, Shouta called into the apartment, "Izuku? Kid, you home?”

There was no response.

Heart beating into his throat- because this was his kid, dammit, and who knew what was going on inside the dark apartment before him- Shouta crept inside.

Trash Panda and Sally greeted him immediately, curling up around his legs and mewling loudly. Hizashi crouched down to stroke Panda, ignoring Sally’s loud hisses, and gently tugged the cats away from Shouta’s ankles so the man could walk deeper into the apartment.

There was a single light on, coming from Izuku’s bathroom. Pressing his back against the wall, Shouta pushed the door open and glanced around the corner-

Abruptly, he gagged.

The smell was overwhelming, reminiscent of a bucket of old, wet pennies. There was a trail of blood smeared against the bathroom cabinet and the white tile flooring, leading over to the toilet and bathtub-

“No.”

The hiss left Shouta’s lungs unbidden, and, in a flurry of action, he raced into the bathroom and dropped to his knees, methodically reaching to check Izuku’s neck and wrist for a pulse. It was a practiced motion, but not one that Shouta had ever thought he’d have to use on his own son.

Please, please, please, God please- Shouta’s thoughts ran frantic as his body remained calm, reaching and searching for a pulse-

It was there. God, the pulse was there.

Shouta breathed out a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was holding, crouching over his son to get a better view of the child’s wounds.

There was an obvious head wound, one that had nearly stopped bleeding but had still leaked a pool of blood on the white tile. Izuku’s sweat-soaked curls were matted with it, and Shouta ran a hand over the boy’s head, ignoring his own shaking in favor of making sure the wound was actually slowing in its flow. Roving his eyes over the rest of his kid, Shouta choked on a gag when he saw Izuku’s torso.

The kid had tried to sew himself up.

Shouta’s eyes fluttered shut, and he fought to breathe steadily through his nose.

“Sho? What’s- holy shiT-”

“Hospital,” Shouta croaked, cursing his vocal cords for failing him. “Zashi, we need to get him to the-”

“H-Hospital, yeah, yeah,” Hizashi repeated. “Yeah, yes, yes. Of course. Hospital. Holy fuck, Sho, is he-”

“He’s breathing,” Shouta replied, checking his son’s neck for any signs of breakage or fracturing. Satisfied with what he found, the man tugged his kid into a bridal carry, biting the inside of his cheek when he noted Izuku didn’t react at all to the movement. “Zashi, the car-”

“I’m going now,” Hizashi replied, darting out of the apartment to start up and back out his vehicle.

Shouta looked down at his son’s face, the boy so blissfully unconscious and unaware of what was happening to him. His freckles stuck out brightly against his drained, ashen face. Dark green eyelashes laid against greying cheeks. Shouta quickly tamped down the urge to tap Izuku’s nose, knowing that he wouldn’t like the lack of response he would get.

As quickly as he could, because his kid had actually put on quite a bit of muscle weight recently, Shouta carried Izuku down the stairs. He dimly noticed Ms. Fukuda staring out the window, a hand covering her open mouth, but there were other more pressing matters for Shouta to be concerned with. Namely, situating himself in the back of Hizashi’s car with his son in his lap.

With Izuku curled up, limp, against his chest, Shouta pressed as hard as he dared onto the sluggishly bleeding stab wound. “Zashi-” he started, but his partner was already whirling them out of the parking lot. And if Hizashi had been speeding before, he was absolutely flooring it now. Shouta could see the man’s eyes glancing in between the street and the rearview mirror, his teeth worrying over his lower lip as he asked, “Sho, is he- He’s gonna be- What happened?”

“Stab wound, upper left torso. Likely punctured or scraped a lung. There’s excessive bleeding and-”

“Sho, babe…” Hizashi’s voice was soft, but it still cut Shouta off in his tracks. “He’s gonna be okay, babe, alright? I prom-”

“Don’t,” Shouta snapped. “Don’t- don’t promise me anything, Hizashi.”

Biting his lower lip, Hizashi fixated his gaze on the street in front of him and didn’t say anything else.

Shouta looked down at his son, fighting the urge to be violently ill out the window.

Because his son was bleeding out in his arms.

His son was dying.

And Shouta was helpless.

…

Chapter Text

“Who’re you?”

Two wide, emerald eyes- larger than any Shouta had ever seen before- stared up at the man. The child’s head and neck were craned back as far as they could go in order to see the six-foot man’s face. Realizing the position may be uncomfortable, Shouta crouched down in front of the child on his haunches. The boy’s head tilted to the side like a curious puppy’s, and Shouta had to fight to keep the smile off his face.

“My name is Shouta Aizawa.”

“Oh. I’m Izuku Midoriya!” the child chirped happily. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Aizawa-san.”

An odd blend of honorifics, but Shouta would ignore it for the time being. He wasn’t sure how Izuku would want to address him when he heard the news, anyways.

“Izuku, do you remember what happened?”

“With Mama and Daddy?”

Slowly, Shouta nodded.

Izuku’s face screwed up in concentration, and Shouta eyed the bandages still wrapped around the child’s head of curly green hair. “I… I remember… Daddy was really, really angry, and then Mama started yelling at me to run and then- and then…” The child shook his head. “I don’t remember anything else.”

“That’s okay,” Shouta immediately responded. It was probably for the best that Izuku had a bit of amnesia anyways. The concussion Hisashi Midoriya gave Izuku was almost a blessing in that regard.

Shouta had been the first hero on the scene of the apartment blaze. He’d swept Izuku into his arms, escorting him to the medics. And then, later at the hospital, Shouta had been the one to fight on Izuku’s behalf for treatment when the doctors found out the boy was Quirkless. They were monsters, the lot of them, that decided Izuku didn’t deserve to be happy and healthy just because of something- something inconsequential and insignificant, in Shouta’s opinion- he couldn’t control. Shouta had promised to have their licenses, and Nedzu was fast at work at tearing down the hospital Izuku had been transferred out of.

Over the past several weeks, Shouta had found himself drawn again and again to the hospital Izuku had been transferred to. The nurses at the children’s ward knew his name and face, and they greeted his grunts with wide grins and jokes. Shouta would sit with Izuku for hours on end, doing paperwork when the child was sleeping and entertaining the boy with his capture scarf and talk of quirk theory when the boy was awake.

Shouta didn’t have many empty spaces in his heart. Currently, his heart contained space for his three friends, his mentor, and the stray kitten he’d adopted and had yet to name.

But somehow, someway, little Izuku Midoriya wormed his way into Shouta’s heart. Whether it was the big eyes or the open curiosity- maybe it was the blatant hope and love that shone through the child’s gaze- Izuku became part of Shouta’s life intrinsically.

It wasn’t a hard decision, signing the adoption papers.

Bringing Izuku home had been stressful, and it had taken a while to get the child adjusted, but Shouta wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

And the first time Izuku called him “Dad”?

Well, only Hizashi was privy to Shouta’s tears that day.

Now, though, Shouta was blinking tears away for a different reason.

Pressing as tightly as he dared to Izuku’s gaping side, Shouta took his eyes off his child for a moment to look up and assess where they were on their route to the hospital.

It had only been a moment.

It was only a moment.

But when he looked back down, Shouta choked on a gasp.

Because Izuku’s lips were turning blue.

“Fuck,” the man hissed, pressing his hand once more to the boy’s neck, trying in vain to feel for a pulse.

A pulse that didn’t exist.

“No-” Shouta croaked out, voice cracking on the word.

As swiftly as he could, Shouta maneuvered his son to where the teen was lying on his back across the seats of Hizashi’s car. In the front, Hizashi called out to Shouta, asking what was going on. Shouta snapped for Hizashi to drive faster even as he measured out where to place his hands on Izuku’s small chest.

Small, small. He was so small. He was so young.

Straddling the boy, Shouta began chest compressions. Hizashi must have seen him in the rearview mirror because the hero cursed with a panic-induced quirked voice, leaning forward as if that would help the already racing car move faster.

“Don’t you do it, kid,” Shouta croaked out. “Don’t you fucking die on me, kiddo. Not today, okay? Not today, not ever-”

Children should always outlive their parents.

This was wrong.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong-

Leaning forward, Shouta felt one of his son’s ribs crack under his hands. Although horror and nausea ripped through him, Shouta continued with the compressions.

His vision was getting blurry.

Why was it getting blurry?

He needed to see his son one last time-

No.

Izuku was not going to die here.

He wasn’t.

Shouta wouldn’t allow it.

The car came to a screeching halt, and Hizashi threw open the driver’s side door, sprinting into the emergency entrance of the hospital he’d haphazardly parked by, screaming all the way for help. It was only moments later that a stretcher and medics were filing out the same doorway, racing towards Hizashi’s car and ripping open the back doors.

Hands were on Shouta’s shoulders.

Hands were tugging Shouta away from his son.

“No-” he grit out. “Izuku! Izuku-”

“Shouta!” Hizashi called to him, wrapping his arms around his partner’s chest from behind. “Shouta, please, let the medics work. Okay, baby? Let them help him-”

Hizashi’s voice was ripped from his throat by the sound of a defibrillator charging up, followed by a shout of “Clear!”. Both men watched, utterly horrified, as Izuku’s small body- small small small so fucking small- arched up off the stretcher.

“No pulse!”

“Go again.”

“Clear!”

Shouta and Hizashi stumbled after the medics for as far as they could. It was at a swinging doorway that someone intercepted them- a nurse? Secretary? Shouta didn’t care. They were keeping him from his son-

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay out here while the doctors operate-”

Shouta knew the rules and regulations of hospitals. It was a basic knowledge that all pro heroes should have. And he had it. But part of him- the terrified, furious, father side of him- wanted to throw all caution and civilities out the window. He opened his mouth to snap at the nurse to step aside, but Hizashi’s voice stopped him.

“Yes, of course. Do you have anything free we could change into? Scrubs, or-”

Shouta’s eyes flickered down to his own body, and the sudden realization that he was coated in his son’s blood hit him. He gagged, bringing a hand up to his mouth. Fortunately, Hizashi stopped his reach before he could get any of Izuku’s blood on his face. Because that would have ended horribly.

“I’ll go get something,” the nurse spoke calmly, quietly. “And I’ll show you to the bathrooms when I get back, yes?”

After they walked off, Hizashi turned to Shouta, supporting his partner by either bicep. “Sho? Baby? Can you tell me what you need right now?”

For my fucking son to be okay-

“I- I don’t-” but Shouta’s voice was suddenly failing him. His vision was still blurry, and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest at any moment. Bile was still rising in the back of his throat, and Shouta had to shut his eyes tight and grit his teeth to keep from throwing up. “Z-Zashi…”

“I’m here, baby,” Hizashi crooned, hugging Shouta to his chest- ignoring the blood that was spreading from his partner to him- and running a finger through the other man’s hair. “I’m here. I promise I won’t leave, all right?”

Shouta hummed, his eyes fluttering.

For all that he was panicking and for all the chaos, Shouta felt exhausted.

“Close your eyes for a minute, baby, okay? I’ll be here when you open them again.”

And with Hizashi’s permission, everything Shouta knew quickly faded to black.