Chapter Text
There were men in suits when Izuku got home. A veritable army of men surrounded his house—both obvious and hidden. It was a very different sight from what Izuku was used to, and even if he wasn't used to noticing his surroundings or analysing situations, it would have been easy to spot.
Rushing to the house, it was better to ignore these people just in case. He made it to the front door before he was intercepted. His backpack was taken, as well as his phone. A quick and thorough pat-down before he was asked to confirm his identity. He was so tired. First Kacchan, then the sludge villain, and then All-Might, it had been a thoroughly tiring couple of days - coming back from the hospital to this was nervewracking, and all he wanted to do was kiss his mother and talk to his dad.
Did All-Might send these people to ensure his silence?
The men in suits had said nothing, pushing him - none too gently - into the dining room table next to his shaking mother and shoving a letter and package into his hands. A large man with a slight green tinge to his skin gave him the package with a dark and searching look on his face, his eyes covered by large dark glasses. Was it possible that he had a plant-based mutation, with the skin colour might mean his skin cells had chlorophyll, and he would be able to photosynthesise? Taking in more of the large imposing man in front of him, Izuku noticed the gloves and crossed that idea off his mental list. If that was the case, he would want as much skin as possible on display. It was possibly a poison skin, or the skin was a secondary mutation not connected to it. Or perhaps a mutation that activates to make the quirk easier to use.
"Izuku," his mother said quietly, and Izuku's heart dropped when he heard the drop of fear in her voice, "your muttering."
Snapping his mouth shut, he hung his head in shame before the government workers in their small two-bed apartment.
"This will go a lot quicker if you open the letter, it will explain everything." The man, who had a forked tongue - so a snake quirk with a possible hand based aspect to his quirk - said sharply. And Izuku, who had tried to follow his father's advice of being more assertive and more confident, wilted under his hard stare—nodding and reaching towards the package where he had left it on the table.
It had taken a second to open the letter, but it felt like hours for him to understand.
Izuku stared at the letter in his hand. It was shaking slightly and was crinkled around his hands. Blood rushing in his ears muffling everything else in the room as he read the letter one more time.
Izuku Midoriya,
The court of the Hero commission has ruled that you will be attending the UA reformation class, or you will be interred immediately. To take precautions to ensure that you will not escape, you and your mother are being watched, and you will be pulled from school. You will be placed on house arrest, and if deemed necessary, you will have an agent move into your house to ensure you and your mother behave. If considered as likely that your father will reach out to you or physically come to the house, you will be moved to a secure location.
Your education will not suffer, and the HPSC will take any compensation for online teaching to keep you in your year.
A bracelet will be included in the package sent to you. If activated, we will know you have accepted. If you run, you will be arrested with extreme prejudice, and you will be treated and sent into the justice system as a villain. Being a minor would not mean you would be put into Juvenile detention. You must understand you will be treated as an adult villain.
We hope you accept; you have the makings of a great hero. Principle Nedzu had shown some interest in your future.
Hero Safety Public Commission.
Protecting the future for you.
P.S: You will surrender any and all of the notebooks named Quirk Analysis for the Future. If you are found creating anymore, you will be punished. These have been identified as a threat to heroes, considering your situation.
The shaking increased as he read the piece of paper for the seventh time until the sound of tearing paper shocked him into realising that his hands were the one that was shaking. It was getting harder and harder to read the writing on the paper.
The package was sitting in front of him and his mother on the dining room table, with the two suited men standing behind his chair with their hands on their weapons. He opened it carefully, letting the large chunky bracelet fall onto the table non-committally.
Izuku would have preferred it if this was about All-Might.
“Izuku, honey, what did it say? Can I? Can I read it?” His mother asked quietly, coughing into a tissue. It came away bloody. A hand of one of the men behind him slammed on his shoulder as he stood to go to his mother. Shoving him back into his seat as one of the other men gave her a glass of water.
Feeling completely out of control and weak, he placed his head in his hands, one hand still gripping the paper, and cried. Everything was going wrong; everything was happening in the wrong order. Everything he had done to be a hero was being taken away from him, even his hope. Kacchan had been right. He really was a quirkless Deku.
He cried until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I don’t understand! I’m quirkless! I’ve not done anything!”
Maybe his dad was right. Society loved heroes and loved to hate villains even more.
“Izuku, are you alright? I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this.”
Izuku watched all of his belongings packed away, sorted, and written down. The slowly accumulating pile of things that were not allowed to come with him hurt him the most. As well as the pile of confiscated goods, all of his notebooks and anything he could use to harm or communicate with people. His entire life, everything he ever cared about was being taken from him. His hobbies, his analysis, his gaming, his monitor. All gone. Everything positive he has worked towards and all the energy he has put into being a hero were stripped from him.
They had even taken his relationship with his father. Izuku also got the distinct impression that if his mother wasn't ill, he would have been separated from her as well.
And yet, he was still being sent to class 1-A, still going to a hero school, under the request of Principal Nedzu. He still had yet to wrap his head around that fact, around everything that was going on.
He couldn’t even turn his head to his mother over his shoulder, they had taken most of the personal effects out of the house already, the walls were empty of photos, and the shelves were gone of his mother's decorative glass figurines. The emptying of his bedroom, the only one he has ever had, had left him to feel hollow as he just continued to stare at his room, managing a slight nod. All of his hero merch was packed in boxes, all of his plants and notebooks and everything he was allowed to take were in boxes.
His clothes had already been packed and delivered for his stay at UA. Not long now. Going from a family unit of two/three to 21 people living in one building. He was dreading it, he was dreading school and he was dreading the hero students. And the regular students. And every one who would be able to hurt and bully and push him down.
The only thing in this house for him now was his mother, currently suffering a debilitating illness, and the memory of his childhood with his father. He wasn’t allowed to contact who would not know about his enrollment, who was only working in America to fund his mother's treatment. A man everyone around him was acting like he was a villain. But he wasn't, he was just his dad.
“It's so empty,” was the first thing he said, “everything is gone. Even all the things dad got me through the years. I just want to talk to him.”
If Izuku wasn’t so focused on his room, he would have noticed his mother tense, and the eyes of the two men in suits bore into them both.
“Deku? Your alive?”
Izuku almost didn’t recognise the voice. The tone was soft and heart-breaking in that it didn’t have any anger in it. Izuku looked at Bakugou and didn’t know what to say. The explosive blond had an air of melancholy around him, an air that managed to sway the scathing words that had built on his tongue. But he had opened his mouth,
“What are you doing here? You're meant to be in the hero class?”
But before he knew it, he was being smothered in a hot and very solid hug. His brain bluescreened. Was Kacchan hugging him? He hadn’t done this in years. He hadn’t touched him in years. Why was he doing this? Is this some sort of reverse phycology or something or –
“Oh god, I would never believe I would ever say I would miss your stupid fucking mumbling." Izuku noted in the quiet of the hug that Katsuki was shaking, "They said you were dead, fuck, I thought it was my fault, I thought- fuck I should have never said that to you.”
And Izuku’s mind went back to that last conversation they had just before he had saved him from the sludge villain. All-Might called the emergency services from the rooftop when Izuku had coughed up some of the residue of the sludge quirk from his lungs and was taken to the hospital overnight to see if the sludge in his lungs would have any effects overnight. To see if it had gone into his blood, or would affect any other major working of his body. The warnings of his mother to never let his blood get taken washed away by the haze his mind had fallen into after his hero had told him that he would never be able to follow his dreams.
Just before, he had been put on house arrest and put into online classes by the Hero Commission for reasons he still had not been told about.
“I was put on house arrest, for something I don't know. I- ugh, don’t know why. They just came to my house one day and stripped me of everything. Kacchan why are you here?”
Izuku was sweating. Katsuki hadn’t gone this long without swearing at him for years. Since he missed school for a week to visit his dad in America when he had just turned 9, the last time he had seen his dad. Katsuki had shouted at him, sent explosions near his face, and had ignored him for a week.
And that week of being ignored, the small amount of protection he got around being Katsuki’s quirkless play-thing was off the table. The physical bullying that Tsubasa and Kariage typically saved for after-school and holidays was enough that Katsuki had stepped in—reminding the two that Deku was ‘his’ to play with. Not that he ever did anything other than swearing at him, he was better than most students at Aldera.
“They told me that they had pushed you off a building, that you would never do it yourself, so they took it upon themselves. I- I’m here for assault and quirk control. Aldera didn’t like that I did it for you, so they just put in as aggravated assault. Anyway, how’s Auntie Inko, is she- is she alright? The old hag hasn’t heard anything from her around the same time you went missing. We tried to visit, but your house was cleared out. We were really fucking worried. Even tried to call Hisashi, and you know how mum is about-”
“Bakugou, stand back.”
His grip tightened imperceptibly, but the dark-eyed man who Izuku kind of recognised, and he growled at the man. “Who the fuck are you?”
Izuku narrowed his eyes at the man, not in anger like Katsuki, but in contemplation. He really did recognise the black-haired man. Right down to the dark circles around his eyes and the perpetual frown lines around his eyebrows.
“Bakugou, you are not allowed to touch anyone until we have ascertained whether you’re going to go on a rampage again. Stand back. I will not be asking again, you agreed with this in your deal.”
“Fuck off. I wouldn’t hurt Deku, you stupid fuck,” his breathing increased, a flash of what looked like panic flashing through his face at the thought, and Izuku pulled back lightly, “I wouldn’t hurt hi-”
Oh, he’s Eraserhead. The thought came to him at the glowing red eyes and the fact that Kacchan was currently wrapped in his capture scarf.
“Wait! Eraserhead! It- he wasn’t hurting me. We hadn’t seen each other in 10 months, and he thought I was dead. Just- it is ok, Mr Eraserhead, sir. Please, I- we- we're friends.”
There was a flash of surprise in the man’s dark eyes, curiosity too, Izuku ignored the shock of him recognising the underground hero to look at Katsuki, who at the declaration of friendship, had gone completely still.
However, Eraserhead's mouth was set in a harsh line, his brain going through the information before he straightened suddenly drawling out lazily. “You’re the kid he nearly killed the others over. Good to know, Bakugou, no touching. Midoriya,” he had pulled Kacchan away from him, the scarf unravelling a fuming Katsuki. The rest of the class Izuku had overlooked keeping away and firmly in their seats. Many having very curious looks in their eye, “principle Nedzu wanted me to give you this. For note-taking, and yes, he knows your shorthand.”
He was handed a silver laptop. It was sleek and thin. It had not been included in his welcome pack, and frankly, he had no idea why he was given it. The confusion must have shown on his face as Eraserhead sighed.
“It’s monitored. You can’t write any kind of analysis on it. If it finds any, it wipes automatically. So if you don’t want to lose work, don’t write hero analysis, or try and hack. Now that everyone is here and calmed down, I am your homeroom teacher Aizawa Shouta, pro Hero Eraserhead, no you wouldn't have heard of me, I am underground. Welcome to 1-A. Get these on and get to ground Beta. I am assessing your quirks.”
And at that, Izuku sighed. It always came down to quirks. He was almost excited at the prospect of being taught by the man, but it seemed that he would be the same as every other teacher.
Time for the same shit as always.