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I. PROLOGUE
Blackened scorch marks dotted the cracked pavement, growing exponentially in size as they led up to the panting, frantic hero. Explosions fritzed from his palms, uncontrollable. Carmel-sweet nitroglycerine sweat poured from his forehead, pooling in unkempt days-old upper lip hairs. Behind a black mask, red eyes darted around, unseeing.
A torn plastic bag blew across the empty street, the rustling noise and flash of white startling the panicking hero. "DIE," he screamed, pointing a grenade forearm weapon at the bag and letting loose a huge blast. The scent of burning plastic, and another black mark on the pavement, were all that remained of the bag.
The other heroes on the scene, who had been standing as far back as possible, had just evacuated the last civilian from the area. They exchanged troubled looks, unsure of their next steps.
Despite his breakdown, the hero had enough remaining sanity to avoid civilians, and to even avoid harming the heros who surrounded him. Property damage had been kept to a minimum as well; other than the blackened street, the only casualty was a now-dented dumpster and the flaming trash that it had once contained.
Two heroes approached the young man in crisis. The older man, all in black, hair floating in the air, glowing red eyes not moving from the crazed boy, reached out with what appeared to be a ragged scarf. The woman, in a skin-tight suit topped with a body harness not appropriate for daylight, rolled up her sleeves as she sent a pink mist towards the boy.
The sparks from his palms stopped abruptly under the older man's gaze, and his eyes rolled up once the woman's mist reached him. He wavered only a second before collapsing in a heap. The other heroes closed the distance, cautiously, before calling an ambulance—and regretfully, even though it was a necessity in this situation, the Hero Public Safety Commission.
II. AT THE DOOR
The pro hero Eraserhead—known to his friends as Aizawa Shouta, and to his terrified students as Aizawa-Sensei—massaged the bridge of his nose, one white-knuckled hand on the wheel. In the passenger seat, the emaciated form of the off-duty number one hero shifted unfortunately.
“Young Aiza—”
“Nope.”
All Might cleared his throat and tried again. “Eraserhead.”
“What.” No inflection to indicate it was a question. It wasn’t a question. Aizawa really didn’t want All Might to continue talking. He just wanted to sit in the car, silent, until they reached their destination.
“What do you actually know about this man?” All Might shuffled through the file folders in his messenger bag, pulling out a single sheet of paper.
“Nothing beyond what the Hero Public Safety Commission knows.” Aizawa gestured at the paper in All Might’s hand. “21-year-old male. Office temp worker, no high school on record so he probably dropped out after middle school. No family on record, no social media presence. He’s—”
“A loser?”
“Yagi,” Aizawa sighed, though secretly he was amused by the number one hero, the symbol of hope, calling the younger man a ‘loser.’
All Might stared at the paper. “There isn’t information about his quirk here.” His inflection raised at the end, suggesting—but not demanding outright—that Aizawa chime in.
“He never submitted paperwork to the Quick Registration Office. His middle school record makes it sound like he’s quirkless.”
“What!” Blood sprayed out of All Might’s mouth.
Eraserhead grimaced as the other hero pulled out a delicate, embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at the red blotches splattering the dashboard. Aizawa wished he’d borrowed a car from the HPSC’s fleet instead of taking his own. He was definitely going to be submitting a car-detailing receipt for reimbursement.
“But—” All Might’s confusion broke through his voice. “What is—how—”
“—how is it that he’s Ground Zero’s roommate?” Aizawa charitably finished the question the hero was attempting to ask.
An oversized nod bounced spiky blonde hair, two pronounced front pieces swinging comically as they brushed against the car roof.
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
“But—”
An exasperated sigh, muffled by a grungy scarf, leaked out of Aizawa’s clenched jaw. “We’re just there to pick up the man and deliver him to the HPSC safe house. After that, he’s none of our concern.”
The rattling of the car as Aizawa turned off the road into the high-end apartment building’s parking lot split the tense mood. Aizawa wiggled his jaw, trying to loosen it. The sooner they got the man out of there and into the car, the sooner they dropped him off at the safe house—the sooner he could go home.
Exiting the car, the two heroes approached the building. A doorman opened the door for them moments before they reached it, and motioned towards the impressively centered desk in the grand lobby. The blue-skinned concierge working at the desk observed their approach, stood, and bowed.
“How may I help you?”
Aizawa pulled out his pro hero ID. All Might pulled out the Mustafa Police Department private consultant ID that he used in his deflated form.
“We’re here on behalf of the HPSC,” Aizawa said, noting how the concierge’s yellow eyes widened, “to talk to this man.” The Erasure hero slid the sparse file across the desk.
“Of course, sirs. Let me call up to see if he’s available.” The blue-skinned man excused himself as he stepped into a back office.
Standing in front of the desk, All Might shuffled awkwardly, looking appraisingly around the lobby. “I knew young Group Zero was doing well for himself—being the number 7 hero before 20 is incredible—but this building…” He let out an impressed whistle between his teeth.
“It’s gaudy and austentatious.” Aizawa could never afford a unit in a building like this—even working two jobs, and his husband working another three. This was the sort of building that Fortune 500 CEOs would live in; even All Might would struggle to live here. Ground Zero avoided publicity and definitely didn’t have any endorsements (or the temperament to maintain commercial partnerships), and Aizawa doubted that the part-time office temp roommate paid enough rent—if he paid any at all. It was a shame Ground Zero was living so far above his means. Eraserhead had seen enough young heroes go bankrupt in their early 20s due to their flashy lifestyles.
The concierge cleared his throat, drawing Aizawa’s dry-eyed gaze. The Erasure hero suppressed a yawn—he’d been at the Ground Zero incident the day before, and then still worked his nightly hero patrols (the downside of being an underground pro hero with a traditional agency: no last-minute replacements when he was exhausted). He needed a nap. Or a coffee. Or a coffee and a nap.
“Follow me, sirs.”
He led them towards a side marble wall partially hidden behind a potted plant. A wall panel slid open as they approached. Behind it was an elevator, smaller than the public one in the lobby. The elevator doors also slid open by themselves.
Aizawa cocked an eyebrow at the setup but entered the elevator, All Might closely behind him. He saw the concierge bow to them as the doors closed. The Erasure hero’s search for a button panel was unfruitful, but he was thrown as the elevator began moving upwards without input.
After a brief 20-second ride, the elevator doors dinged open, onto a small but elegant lobby with a single door. The two heroes approached the door, Aizawa making note of a security camera posted over the door that followed their movement.
“Identify yourselves.” A muffled man’s voice came from a hidden speaker.
“Shouta Aizawa, pro hero Eraserhead, HPSC ID 4215-62B.” He held his ID up to the camera, noting the quick red flash that scanned the barcode on the ID.
The camera turned to All Might, who shuffled forward. “Yagi Toshinori, MPD consultant.” He also held up his ID.
“Okay, one sec.” The speaker voice trailed off as the distorted-sounding man appeared to keep mumbling without remembering to turn off his microphone.
A number of clicks, beeps, and whirring mechanical noises pulled out of the door as it was unlocked. It swung open slowly, and a green head popped out.
The file the HPSC had provided the pro heroes with had included only a middle-school-ID photo; no more recent photographs existed. But Aizawa was shocked to see that the man in front of them still resembled the middle schooler—height well-below Aizawa’s collar bones, childish big eyes and round cheeks, same messy and too-long hair, same star-shaped freckles as the photo. Emphasizing his juvenile appearance, he was dressed in torn gym shorts, an oversized Hawks hoodie, and barefoot.
“Eraserhead. All Might.” The younger man tilted his head, eyes fuzzy, voice thick with phlegm. “Come in.”
Both Aizawa and All Might froze as the green haired man turned his back to them and headed into the apartment, clearly expecting the two pro heroes to follow him.
Aizawa froze because the green-haired boy—Midoriya Izuku was his name—had somehow recognized the emaciated figure of Yagi Toshinori as the alter ego of All Might. He assumed that was the same reason the older pro hero had frozen, until—
“Ah, shit.” All Might ran a massive, knobby hand through his hair. “I thought that picture looked familiar.”
Hanging his head, All Might headed slowly (reluctantly) into the apartment. Aizawa followed, and both heroes jumped slightly when the front door closed loudly behind them, whirring and clanking as it re-locked itself.
To the heroes’ surprise, the austere and opulent gilt-and-marble of the lobby didn’t carry into the apartment. Nor was it the cookie-cutter sleek white-and-stainless-steel aesthetic popular among the elite. Instead, warm colors, natural woods, overstuffed furniture, and plush rugs gave the living room they’d followed Midoriya into a comfortable, home-like feel. Bookcases lined one wall, filled with an eclectic mixture of leather-bound textbooks, trashy paperback thrillers, and collectible hero figurines—Aizawa briefly blue-screened when he saw what was clearly a handmade, likely commissioned Eraserhead plushie sandwiched between two quirk history texts. A large window flooded the space with an airy, warm light. The only concession to modern technology was a large wall-mounted television, tuned to (what Aizawa recognized as) a recent Hawks documentary, volume off and subtitles on.
Midoriya curled up in a blanket at one end of the couch. Aizawa sat in an armchair facing the couch and All Might perched on the edge of a still wooden side chair.
“Young Midoriya, I—”
“Save it, All Might. I’m over it.” The green-haired man’s voice trailed off, Aizawa uncertain whether he’d really heard the young man whisper, “I’m over you.”
Aizawa looked again at the bookshelves—for all the heroes covered, including quite a few unknown, underground heroes, there was zero All Might merchandise. From Midoriya’s Hawks hoodie, he assumed the office temp was the hero fanboy. Clearly there was previously bad blood between the young man and the aging hero. He furtively looked at the number one hero, who was now sweating profusely.
“I should apologize for the way I han—”
“The way you handled it, All Might?” Midoriya’s voice was thick, and a sniffle punctuated his sentence. Grabbing a tissue off the coffee table—which, Aizawa now noticed, was covered in tissues, cough syrup bottles, fever reducers, and throat lozenge wrappers—the young man blew his nose before continuing. “Not for what you actually said?”
“You need to underst—”
“Understand that you thought it appropriate to tell an already-severely-depressed middle schooler, who you were the number one idol of, that his dreams were absurd and unachievable, and that he should just give up?”
“What—” Aizawa blurted unintentionally, swiveling his full head to face All Might.
“And then leave me on top of a ten-story building, only hours after a classmate told me to kill myself by taking a swan dive off a roof. Do you know how close I—”
“Yagi.” Eraserhead butted in. “What the fuck.”
“I—”
“—‘am a quirkist’? Yes, you are. If your presence as a hero wasn’t so essential, I would have done everything in my power to discredit—no, destroy—you.”
Aizawa suppressed his amusement at the dropout office temp’s threat of somehow destroying All Might’s career. “All Might. There is absolutely nothing acceptable about what I just heard, and we are going to have a conversation after we’re done today.” Ignoring the number one hero’s nervous gulp, he turned back to the green-haired man. “Midoriya. Are you okay?”
The grateful smile he received was small but blinding.
“Common cold,” Midoriya said, waving a tissue around in the air. “I’m just camping out here, trying to get past the worst of it. I was hoping my roommate would grab me some sports drinks from the corner store on his way home, but…” The young man glanced at the front door, expression unreadable.
“That’s actually what we’re here to talk about.” Eraserhead leaned forward, placing his forearms on his thighs as he steepled his fingers.
“There was an… incident,” All Might proclaimed, nodding his head at the end of the statement.
“What—you mean he’s—” Midoriya blanched, eyes widening, tissue falling from his weakened grip.
“He’s not physically injured,” Aizawa hurried to say, glaring at All Might for the deflated hero’s painfully open-to-interpretation statement. “But it appears as if he’s having some kind of psychological break.”
All Might chimed in as Aizawa’s phone buzzed. “You have no reason to worry at this time, since he’s under protective care of the HPSC. But since you’re a civilian, and given that it’s not disruptive to your… part-time employment to miss work, we’re moving you temporarily to an HPSC safe house.” All Might glanced over at Aizawa, who was tapping away on his phone with an increasingly-distressed look on his face. “We’ll also have someone from our social work branch to assist you in permanently getting out of this living situation. Young Ground Zero, while a great hero, is… volatile and violent. You don’t have to live like this—especially being quirkless and therefore defenseless against Ground Zero’s dangerous mood swings—”
“Shit,” Aizawa said, standing abruptly. “Ground Zero just broke out.”
“I’m not—” Midoriya tried to interject, but he was broken off by a coughing fit.
“They think he might be headed here. We’ve got to get him out—now.”
“But he’s not—” Pure silence split the air, as the green-haired man’s voice disappeared completely.
Aizawa looked up from his phone just in time to see Midoriya’s body freeze up, skin blanche, eyes roll back, and finally his body sag abruptly into the couch like a marionette with its strings cut. The younger man had passed out. Reaching towards Midoriya, Aizawa’s hand brushed his forehead. It was burning up, much hotter than the man’s behavior would have suggested. The Erasure hero picked Midoriya up in a bridal carry.
“We’ve got to get him out of here—and to a hospital—immediately.”
All Might nodded and strode to the door, pausing abruptly. Aizawa ran into him, then stepped back, irritated.
“Yagi—”
“Do you know how to open the door?”
With a huff of breath, Aizawa handed the small, unconscious boy over to the sheepish number one hero. All Might’s deflated form dipped a bit as the weight entered his arms but he was determined not to drop the small man. Aizawa approached the complicated security panel next to the door, already bringing up the world’s most intelligent being’s contact in his phone. He grimaced, with his thumb hovering over the video chat button, not wanting to have to talk to Principal Nezu on a non-school day. With a glance at the dangerously sick man in All Might’s arms, Aizawa pressed the button.
III. AT THE HOSPITAL
The young man faded in and out of consciousness as Aizawa held on to him in the backseat. All Might drove them to the nearest hero hospital, reasoning (quite rightly) that it would have higher security. Once they arrived, a team of nurses brought a stretcher out, and Aizawa transferred the boy over.
“Name?”
“Aizawa Shouta, pro hero name Eraserhead. This is Yagi Toshinori, police consultant.”
“And the patient?”
“Midoriya Izuku. He said he has a cold but he appears to be running a high fever. He passed out maybe twenty minutes ago and has been only intermittently conscious.”
“Hmm,” the triage nurse said, staring at her computer. “There’s no Midoriya Izuku in our system. Do you happen to know his next of kin?”
A wiggling on the stretcher brought their attention to the half-conscious man. He dragged a cellphone from his shorts pocket and, holding down its button, spoke to it. “Phone, call Kacchan.” He handed the phone off to the triage nurse and promptly passed out again.
As she held the ringing phone to her ear, she motioned the two pro heroes—well, pro hero and police consultant—to the waiting room chairs. A team of nurses rushed the stretcher back through the swinging double doors deeper into the hospital.
As Aizawa led All Might to the chairs, he heard the triage nurse get ahold of Midoriya’s emergency contact. The pro hero wondered who it was; the boy’s file hadn’t mentioned any living family members, and there were no friends or coworkers noted. As sad as it was, and as cute as the nickname Midoriya had given the phone number, Aizawa suspected it was his manager at the temp agency.
All Might fidgeted in his seat, bony ass unable to sit comfortably. “Do you think this will take long?”
“Do you have somewhere more important to be?” Aizawa asked flatly. Even if this wasn’t how he’d wanted to spend his day, it was his job.
“No,” the blond admitted.
“Then sit still and shut up.” The black-haired pro hero pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked through his text messages.
[LoudCloud]
@NotLoud When’re you coming home?
[JustLoud]
@NotLoud
@NotLoud
@NotLoud
[NotLoud]
Running HPSC errand with Ass Might.
Not sure how long it’s going to take.
[JustLoud]
Booooooooooo
[LoudCloud]
Agreeeeeeeeed
I’m starting patrol in an hour, so I probably won’t see you until late late tonight :(
[JustLoud]
I’ve got my radio show but I’ll be home by dinner
@NotLoud think you’ll be done by then?
[NotLoud]
I really hope so.
The triage nurse came out and handed Midoriya’s phone off to Aizawa. “I wasn’t able to get through but I did leave a message.”
“Who was it?” the black-haired man asked, wanting to know who the young man’s emergency contact ended up being, in case they needed to get them into protective custody as well.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I only got voicemail, with a generic pre-programmed greeting. I left a message but we won’t know if they got it until they call back or show up.”
If they showed up, they’d be stopped at the lobby until either Aizawa or All Might went down to fetch them. As a hero hospital, only heroes and accompanied guests were allowed in.
“Fair enough,” Aizawa said, pocketing the boy’s phone as the nurse returned to her station. He returned to his own device, sending off a few more texts.
[Eraserhead]
We picked up the roommate but had to take him to the hospital.
We’ll be heading to the safe house as soon as he’s released.
Can someone make sure to stock it with clothing and cold medicine? We weren’t able to grab anything from the apartment.
[HPSC Handler]
It’ll be done.
The pro hero yawned and stretched, avoiding All Might’s gaze. Luckily, their awkwardness was soon broken up by a doctor coming out to talk to them.
“You’re here for Midoriya Izuku, right?” At Aizawa’s nod, the woman continued. “He’s suffering severe dehydration, which isn’t uncommon for high fevers. We gave him some high-grade fever relievers and his temperature is starting to fall, but it’s good you brought him in when you did.”
“How much longer do you need to keep him?” All Might asked.
“No more than a few more hours. If you’d like, one of the nurses can give you a call once he’s ready to be picked up.”
“That’d be great,” the deflated number-one hero said.
Aizawa grumbled, “I’ll stick around.” Unlike All Might, he knew what protocol required and was willing to do it, no matter how unpleasant or boring it was. Besides, he could always catch a nap in the waiting room chair; it wasn’t overly uncomfortable.
“Ah, then you can just send me a text, Young Aiz—uh, Eraserhead, and I shall return.”
“Fine, whatever Yagi.” Aizawa waved the blond off. “Thanks, doc.”
“My pleasure.”
“So then, I’ll—”
“See you later,” Aizawa said curtly.
“Right.” All Might left without fanfare.
The black-haired pro hero tilted his head back, sliding down slightly in the seat. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift off.
Some time later—Aizawa wasn’t sure how long, but he knew he’d been asleep—a rumble split the hospital wing.
“Where is he?” the familiar voice growled. “Take me to him—NOW!”
Instantly alert, Aizawa was on his feet. He saw the retreating back of the rampaging pro hero Ground Zero. The black-haired man slaps his own head—they’d picked the one hospital that the blond would be able to get into; after all, Ground Zero was a top-ten pro hero, and the HPSC had kept his breakdown quiet. Aizawa shot off a quick text to All Might and stealthily followed the younger hero.
“IZUKU YOU LOSER,” the blond screamed. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
To Aizawa’s relief, the other hero wasn’t destroying the hospital as he had the street earlier. Though the fact that Ground Zero didn’t even notice when his quirk got erased—when the small palm-sized explosions stopped abruptly—was extremely concerning.
“Kacchan?” A weak voice piped up from behind a curtain, punctuated by harsh coughing.
“Oh thank fuck,” Ground Zero said roughly, flinging open the separating fabric.
Midoriya was in a hospital bed, IV pumping fluids in his arm, blood pressure cuff and heart rate monitor on his other side. His color was closer to normal, no longer feverishly pale and sweaty, though he still looked obviously sick.
“They called to tell me you were in the FUCKING HOSPITAL and it’s ALL MY FAULT. I should’ve tried harder with those HPSC FUCKS to get out of work.”
“Kacchan…”
“Sorry, sorry,” Ground Zero said, voice getting quieter. “I just hate seeing you sick. And then… the hospital! I wish you’d told me how bad it was.”
“Didn’t think—” Midoriya coughed “—it was this bad.”
“How’d you get here anyw—HEY, what’s the big idea?”
Aizawa had caught up to the slightly-calmer hero and snagged him with his capture weapon. “Bakugo Katsuki, you are under arrest for threatening—”
“He’s not threatening me!” Midoriya spoke as loud as his phlegm-filled voice would allow.
“What.” Aizawa slightly loosened the fabric around Ground Zero’s mouth in surprise.
The blond growled. “Why would they think I was threatening you?”
“They were—” cough “—trying to get me to a safe house to get away from you. A rampage, really, Kacchan?”
The pro hero Ground Zero, popular but known widely for his brash and rough nature, grimaced sheepishly. “You know I don’t deal well with you being sick.”
“That’s what this is about?” Aizawa asked deadpan. “Seriously? Your roommate gets sick, so you explode a street?”
“Kacchan!”
“First of all, Deku is my husband. Just ‘cuz the HPSC don’t know shit doesn’t mean I’d hurt anyone who ain’t a villain, so fuck them for thinking that.”
Aizawa dropped the capture weapon fully. Ground Zero was married, and to this civilian? “Why doesn’t the HPSC know you’re married to a civilian?” This should have been in both of their records.
Ground Zero snorted. “‘Civilian.’ Deku’s got higher security clearance than the HPSC board combined.”
Deku. Aizawa knew that name: the name of the most prolific quirk analyst and intelligence broker in all of Japan. No wonder they could afford that penthouse—Deku was likely one of the wealthiest men in the country; he operated on a sliding scale so even underground heroes could get consults, but rumor was he’d once charged Endeavor 135 million yen per page of analysis.
“You’re Deku?”
“Don’t tell anyone, you hobo fuck.”
“Kacchan, be nice. He’s just doing his—” cough “—job.”
“Then his job sucks!”
“No shit.” Aizawa looked down the hallway to see the deflated All Might scurrying towards them, and sighed. “Let me deal with this for now; I’ll keep the HPSC off your back for a few days. But Ground Zero—once Midoriya is feeling better, you are going to have so much paperwork.”
“Thanks,” the younger hero growled, having eyes only for his sick husband. He’d taken the chair next to the bed and was holding the green-haired man’s hand.
“And you owe me.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll figure something out.”
“Thank you, Eraserhead,” Midoriya added softly.
Aizawa just nodded curtly and left to intercept All Might, shutting the curtain behind him.
“False alarm,” he said, walking past the emancipated blond as he headed towards the door.
“Ground Zero isn’t here?”
“No, he is, but I’m calling off the manhunt. There were… extenuating circumstances, and the rampage is over.”
“…if you’re sure,” Yagi said uncertainly.
The black-haired pro hero sighed; he hoped he was sure. He’d gone through something similar—though much less destructive—the one time both of his partners were in the hospital. And that wasn’t even mentioning the time he had to patrol while his best friend was in labor.
[Eraserhead]
Call off the manhunt for Ground Zero, the situation has been resolved.
[HSPC Handler]
You caught him?
[Eraserhead]
There was a misunderstanding. His roommate is in no danger from him and he is under control.
He will be in later this week to fill out paperwork.
[HSPC Handler]
And the incident report?
[Eraserhead]
I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
Aizawa sighed, but at least he’d still make it home before dinner.
IV. EPILOGUE
Blackened scorch marks dotted the cracked pavement, growing exponentially in size as they led up to the panting, frantic hero. Explosions fritzed from his palms, uncontrollable. Carmel-sweet nitroglycerine sweat poured from his forehead, pooling in unkempt days-old upper lip hairs. Behind a black mask, red eyes darted around, unseeing.
A torn plastic bag blew across the empty street, the rustling noise and flash of white startling the panicking hero. "DIE," he screamed, pointing a grenade forearm weapon at the bag and letting loose a huge blast. The scent of burning plastic, and another black mark on the pavement, were all that remained of the bag.
The black-haired pro hero whipped out his cellphone.
[Eraserhead]
Are you sick again?
[Deku]
Just a small stomach bug, it’s already almost passed. Why?
No, don’t tell me.
I’ll call him.
An upbeat pop song sprung from the rampaging blond hero’s pocket, stopping the man in his tracks. He fished out the cellphone with trembling hands.
“Deku?”