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Shouta hates patrolling during the day. He sticks to the dark, thank you very much, but someone needed a shift covered and he didn’t have a good rational reason to say no. So here he is wandering the sidewalks with the sun barely gracing the horizon, watching people go about their normal days and hoping no one recognizes him. People rarely do, but he can never be too careful.
He watches All Might fly off a building far in the distance, barely a yellow blob, and internally hopes he doesn’t come near. Shouta does not want to deal with his exuberance at the moment. He just wants to finish up patrol, go home, grade some probably horrendous essays, and curl up to sleep with his husband.
Over the course of the next hour he works his way over to the area All Might was in. He almost skips right through it; if the Number One was around, surely he’s taken care of any threats, and Shouta doesn’t need to do more than spot-check. Still, some instinct makes him take his time. He has the strange feeling that danger is lurking on these quiet, pleasant evening streets. It’s a frustrating ten minutes or so he spends wondering what has him so worked up, because nothing is wrong.
Maybe he needs a better view. He hates walking anyway, but it’s less conspicuous in the daylight. He uses his scarf to rappel up the nearest building, crouching on the edge to scan the streets. Nothing. Hm. The other side of the roof? No.
He has a lot of ground to cover, so he moves to the next building, and the next, swinging easily. Then, in the dying sunlight, he finally sees it. Him.
The kid.
On the edge of the roof.
Shit. Shitshitshit. Shouta swings over, landing lightly on the opposite side of the roof from the kid, who doesn’t seem to notice him. He looks young, twelve maybe, in what looks like a uniform with a yellow backpack and a pair of red sneakers next to him. Did he come straight here from school? If he didn’t have extracurriculars, that’s at least three hours for an unattended kid to be wandering around. Or sitting on rooftops.
Shouta is so not qualified for this. He’s done his mandatory mental health trainings, taken them more seriously than most heroes, but he has no idea what to do at the moment. He is absolutely fixing that the second he gets this kid safe, which he will. Somehow. The other option is unthinkable. With a deep sigh, he pulls his goggles down—no sense looking any more intimidating than he already does—and slowly crosses the roof. He makes a wide loop so he’s approaching from the side, keeping his steps heavy, but the kid still doesn’t look up.
“Hey, kid,” he says roughly when he’s a few steps away. “Mind if I sit?”
The boy startles, like he didn’t notice Shouta. What? Wait, maybe he really didn’t hear—Shouta starts to sign, praying the JSL Hizashi’s been teaching him will be good enough, but the kid interrupts him on the third word.
“Woah, you’re—E-Eraserhead! Wow, I can’t believe…um, you don’t have to worry about me, sir, I’m fine! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt your patrol-“
Shouta holds up his hand. “Kid. Relax. I didn’t ask if you were fine. I asked if I could sit with you.”
The boy blinks at him for a second. “Um. Oh! Uh, sure?”
Shouta sits down, careful to keep his capture scarf at the ready without looking too on edge (ha…), swinging his feet over the side. The kid stares at his own bare feet in silence.
“How’d you know who I am?” Shouta asks, since if he’s not mistaken that was excitement in the kid’s voice and he should build rapport, right?
Sure enough, he lights up. It is, admittedly, kind of cute. “You’re my favorite underground hero! Not many people know about you, and your quirk isn’t very flashy, but the way you use your capture weapon is incredible and you have one of the lowest kill ratios of any hero, and, and I actually have questions, because there’s no information anywhere, obviously, but it looks kind of like your quirk creates some kind of gravitational-“
“Woah, kid, breathe,” Shouta interrupts, because the kid is groping wildly for his backpack and they are still very much on the edge of a roof. He could almost certainly catch him, but he doesn’t want to test that theory.
“Sorry!” the kid blurts, shuffling away a little and ducking his head. “I know it’s weird and, a-and creepy, I just think quirks are so interesting .”
“I’m not mad you know a lot of sh—stuff about quirks,” Shouta says. “Especially mine. I’m, uh, kinda flattered, actually.”
Green eyes risk peeking up at him, like the kid thinks he’s lying. “Oh.”
“You must be pretty observant to pick all that up. And clever,” Shouta offers, a little awkwardly.
He’s not used to praising his students; it’s dangerous for heroes to get cocky, and there’s a level of comfort for his students in knowing he won’t placate them with lies. At least, it helped him back in the day. He’s well aware of his hardass reputation, and it doesn’t bother him, because the heroes who come out of his class stay alive, and that’s more important than their feelings.
But it means he’s far out of his depth here.
“I dunno,” the kid mumbles. “It’s not that special.”
Shouta frowns, but doesn’t know how to push the subject. And they are still on a roof, as his brain helpfully reminds him with little danger pings every thirty seconds.
“You wanna do me a favor and move back a little?” he asks.
The kid’s hands, resting on the concrete, quickly become a white-knuckle grip on the edge. Shouta clenches his jaw. Not good.
“I-I don’t, I don’t know,” the kid starts, breathing quickening, and his face looks like he really doesn’t know what he wants.
Dammit. “Hey, you don’t have to yet, if you’re not ready. I’m on patrol, I got ages.”
That does not have the desired effect. The kid goes rigid, head snapping to stare at Shouta. “You don’t have to sit with me! I’m sorry, you’ve got so many p-people who need help, you shouldn’t have to bother with me-“
“All due respect, kid, you are a person who needs help.” Shouta pauses. “And I forgot to ask your name, so…hi, I’m Eraserhead. What’s your name?”
The kid bites his lip, hesitant. Shouta frowns. “You don’t have to give me your real name, if you don’t want to. Whatever you’d like to be called.”
More lip biting. Eventually, the kid says, “N-No, that’s okay. Um…Izuku.”
Shouta nods. “Alright, Izuku. Don’t worry about my patrol. My only job is to keep people safe; I’m not gonna leave you until I’m absolutely sure that you are.”
Izuku stares at him like that is somehow shocking news. All his interest in heroes and he doesn’t know that? Hm. Shouta can almost see the gears turning in his head. He lets the kid think, which is obviously something he’s good at.
“What if…what if there was a villain?”
“There are always multiple heroes patrolling a city,” Shouta says. “I’m tuned in to police radio and the other heroes out there. If they absolutely needed me for an emergency….in all honesty I’d probably rappel you to the ground with me and send you home, which isn’t the best solution, but desperate times, desperate measures.”
“Oh.” Izuku is quiet for a second, frowning into the middle distance. “Um. Okay. So if I got back from the edge, you’d leave?”
Shouta barely stops himself from snorting. “I’m not an idiot, Izuku. As soon as I left there’d be nothing to stop you from going right back to the edge. Heroes don’t just save people from immediate harm. It’s also our job to make sure vic—people are mentally okay, too.”
“Oh,” Izuku says again, voice wobbly.
Shouta has a bad feeling about this. Yep, those are definitely tears forming, shit, what did he say wrong?
“Izuku, why are you crying?” is what he settles on, as gently as possible.
“‘m not crying, I’m sorry,” Izuku sniffs loudly and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “Sorry, you can…you should go.”
And that’s not alarming at all. “Kid, we’ve been over this. I’m not going anywhere. Why are you crying? If I did something wrong, I’d like to know.”
“No! No, it’s nothing you did, I’m fine, you’re amazing,” Izuku babbles, nearly frantic, his green eyes huge and pleading. “Just. I don’t wanna tell you why, but you should leave. You want to leave, trust me.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t,” Shouta tells him, unwinding his capture scarf a little more, just in case. “And I know myself better than you.”
“Sorry,” Izuku mumbles. “Sorry, just…”
“There is literally nothing you could tell me that would make me want to leave you here,” Shouta says firmly. “Even if you told me you were a villain, I’d still help you.”
“And what if,” Izuku starts, barely audible, before choking on the words.
Shouta waits for him to calm down, and for several minutes the only noise is the wind and Izuku’s wet gasping peppered with apologies Shouta tries to shoot down. All the while nerves are twisting in his stomach. If the kid is this nervous—he looks seconds away from throwing up from sheer anxiety, god—whatever he wants to say can’t be good.
“What if I told you I-I’m quirkless?” Izuku manages at last, staring hard at his dangling feet, the busy sidewalk far below.
Fuck. Shouta scrubs a hand over his mouth, trying to figure out the best method of approach. He’d bet a month’s salary the kid is being bullied, probably abused in some fashion, and clearly that led him to this roof. Something else, something about the fact that he started crying when Shouta explained basic heroic protocol, feels very important, but he can’t figure out how it fits in.
“S-So like I said, you can leave,” Izuku says, wiping his eyes again.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Shouta blurts, and whoops, not good. Definitely got distracted trying to puzzle this out and forgot to filter himself.
Izuku flinches back a little, looking shocked again. “Um. B-Because I’m quirkless?”
Shouta stares at him blankly. “Okay, you’re gonna have to fill me in here on the exact flavor of bigotry you think I should be performing right now.”
He’s a hero. Heroes save people. Izuku is not an unintelligent child, Shouta can see that much, so why…?
“You said…you help people.” Izuku drags his legs up to curl into a ball, nearly giving Shouta a heart attack. “And I’m not. Yknow.”
It takes Shouta a second to catch on, and then: What. The actual. Fuck.
Judging by Izuku’s mildly terrified look, the growl in his head may have come out of his mouth.
“Who told you that?” he asks.
“N-No one!” Izuku yelps, and he scrambles away and to his feet. Shouta is too focused on the fact that he’s now hyperventilating to be grateful he’s moved even a few steps from the edge. “No one told me anything, no one did anything, you should just, I’m sorry, I’m wasting your time."
“You aren’t wasting my time, kid. Izuku. Calm down.” Shouta spread his hands nonthreateningly, but Izuku just trembles and shakes his head.
“B-Before you go, I kn-know it’s stupid, but, but can I ask y-you to do something?”
If Shouta isn’t getting through to the kid, he might as well play along until he calms down. “Sure, Izuku. Anything.”
His face flickers very briefly with some complicated emotion and he drops to his knees, dragging his backpack over and digging through it. “Deku,” he mutters.
Did Shouta hear that right? “What?”
“Y-You might as well, um, it’s what everyone calls me. Not Izuku. Deku.”
“Useless,” Shouta murmurs. Izuku’s shoulders hunch up to his ears. “You said you wanted me to call you Izuku. If you actually want me to call you Deku, I can, but I don’t really think you do.”
Izuku doesn’t reply, which is as good an answer as any. Absently Shouta wonders when the last time he heard his given name was. If anyone uses it. Then he snaps back to attention, watching Izuku dig out three notebooks, one of them water-damaged and burned at the edges, the other two beaten but intact. His hands shake a little as he thrusts them toward Shouta. The numbers 11, 12, and 13 glare up at him under identical titles: Quirk Analysis for the Future.
“What is this, Izuku?” Shouta asks warily.
“I-I analyze quirks. Lots of quirks, not just yours, not just heroes. But mostly heroes! I don’t, I’m not a stalker, or anything. Um. I have my other notebooks at home, and, and if I—my backpack might become evidence and I just. I want my mom to have them. So.”
Shouta does not grab the kid’s shaking wrist even though he desperately wants to. Instead, he moves back and to the side, planting himself between Izuku and the roof edge, not going near the notebooks.
“No.”
Izuku looks like he’s been punched in the gut and Shouta hates it. “What?”
“Can’t take ‘em. You need to go back downstairs and give them to your mom yourself.”
Izuku frowns, momentarily distracted. “Downstairs? I don’t—oh. Um. Yeah. I don’t live here.”
They’re on an apartment building. How did Izuku get roof access without being a tenant? Hell, it doesn’t look like anyone should have access to this roof, but at least if he lived here it’s plausible.
Shouta closes his eyes briefly, savoring the last few seconds before he has to ask his next question, endure the next twist on this emotional rollercoaster, and try to keep a hold on his usually level temper.
“Izuku,” he says slowly, “if you do not live in this building, how did you get on the roof?”
Izuku looks down, fidgeting with his notebooks. “Um. I don’t want to tell you?”
Shouta just levels him with a look. The kind he gives his students for similar bullshit excuses. Izuku looks suitably cowed, fidgeting more before he finally says, “I did something stupid.”
Damn right you did. Wanna elaborate?
But this isn’t one of his students, and he’s remembering that Izuku is quirkless, remembering the packet on quirk discrimination he got at the beginning of the school year on one of the in-service days he hates. The part about quirklessness was tiny and brief, because why would that be an issue in UA, where there are no quirkless people? But. It did list a few stereotypes, a major one being lower intelligence. He thinks about Izuku’s reaction to being called smart, and he is very hesitant to even imply that he thinks this kid is stupid.
“Why don’t you tell me what you did instead of trying to tell me what I should think about it?” he asks.
Izuku looks startled at that, but nods. “Um. I was walking home from school? I…stayed late.”
“Why?” Shouta blurts without thinking, then mutters, “Sorry.”
He doesn’t take it back, though, because he does want to know. An after-school club, or maybe a sport, or even friends, those would be great news. Community, that’s important, that will help.
The little flare of hope withers and dies at the brief flash of devastation on Izuku’s face before he clamps down on it with unnerving success for a middle schooler. “I was…well, I guess I can’t tell you anything worse than you already know, right?”
Shouta nods. “I’m not here to judge you, Izuku.” He risks a joke, adding, “I don’t get paid enough to do that on top of hero work.”
Izuku cracks a smile before he clamps down on that, too, but Shouta will take anything. “I was…I was on the roof. Of the school. For a while.”
Shit. Shouta scrubs a hand over his face. So he’s not even looking at this kid’s first brush with death today. The thought is unnerving and, for a second, deeply horrifying, until he shoves it down (what, he never said he was any better than Izuku). This bright, excitable kid with whole books’ worth of quirk analysis could’ve been dead already and Shouta would never know. Maybe, maybe he would have seen it on the news, sighed sadly, and moved on with his day. If he even got to, between his patrol and sleep and school.
“But you got off the roof,” Shouta prompts, carefully. “Why?”
Izuku shrugs with one shoulder. “The other kids. They d-don’t like me, but if, if I did it, they’d see. In the morning, they’d see, maybe, I dunno, blood. And they’d know. That it was their fault, even if I chose to listen. And,” Izuku sniffs, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I dunno. I don’t want to ruin anything for them.”
“What about you?” Shouta asks, but Izuku just looks confused. He switches tactics, feeling dirty for it. “What about everyone here? The people who live here will have to see the aftermath. I’ll have to see the aftermath. This might actually be worse than an empty middle school.”
Izuku shifts so he’s sitting with his knees pulled up again, notebooks sliding out of his hands. “It’s different now,” he mumbles, barely audible. Tears are gathering in his eyes again. “I don’t care as much anymore.”
“Why not?”
Izuku buries his face in his knees, taking a deep breath, then looks up, right at Shouta with unnerving steadiness.
“I don’t have anything left.”
Shouta stares at him helplessly for one, two, three seconds, forcing his brain to produce anything but buzzing static and mounting horror, but he can’t think of a single goddamn thing to say.
“Before,” Izuku continues, looking out at the city. “I was just sad. Just…really sad. But I thought that maybe they were wrong. A-About me. So it wasn’t that bad. But now…”
The tears spill over and Shouta blinks hard to keep his own eyes dry.
“I just really want to die,” Izuku says, starting to tremble again, shudders wracking his whole frame, and he sounds so scared. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry you’re trying so hard to help me but you can’t. I think, I think I’m broken? I think, I don’t know, I think I just need to die, and, a-and restart, and everything will be better-“
Shouta is expecting it, but he’s still somehow caught off guard when Izuku launches himself toward the edge. He catches the kid, still, of course, but it’s way too close for his liking as he pushes him back.
“Izuku, stop. Hold on. Just listen to me, okay? Give me…give me thirty seconds. The edge isn’t going anywhere.”
It feels ugly and terrible to keep letting him use death as a safety net. Shouta’s got too much experience with victims to protest it, though. One of the first things he learned about rescue: People in crisis are irrational. Your job is to balance their logic with reality until you can get them safe.
Izuku nods, still trembling, so Shouta talks fast.
“You’re not broken, kid. Trust me, I’ve seen broken people. And even if you were, that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed. Got it?”
Izuku gives him the smallest nod.
“Good. I’d really like to hear the rest of your story, though. After you left school. Because clearly something changed, and it brought you up here. If I know what that was, maybe I can help better.”
The suggestion has the opposite effect Shouta intended. Izuku looks stricken. “You’ll be mad.”
“I won’t get mad.” He’s not sure it’s physically possible to feel something so small as annoyance with this fragile, wounded boy.
“Not at me. At…someone else.”
Well, probably. Given the way this conversation has gone so far. Shouta just shrugs. “Like I said. Stop telling me how to feel and start telling the story. I’ll decide what to do.”
“You can’t be mad at him. Y-You’re not allowed. He’s too…I’m just quirkless, it’s not his fault, it’s mine.”
“Kid,” Shouta says. “Izuku. Who are you talking about?”
Izuku looks firmly away, jaw clenched tight.
“Okay, okay. Don’t tell me. Just…tell me what happened. You can be as vague as you need to to…conceal his identity.”
Protect the person who nearly made you fling yourself off a roof. He corrects himself bitterly.
“There was a villain,” Izuku begins hesitantly. “Kind of…sludgy? But I think he could possess bodies, um, he tried to take control of me, wrapped around me and tried to go in my m-mouth—“
“Shit,” Shouta breathes. Izuku twitches, staring at him, and he quickly gestures for the kid to continue.
“Um. Then, uh, this hero showed up. He took the sludge villain down and captured him in a bottle. He was gonna take him to the police, so he sort of started to leave, but I wanted to talk to him.” Izuku’s grip on his legs is white-knuckled. “It was really stupid, but I wanted to talk and he barely looked at me and I knew I was never gonna get another chance, not a quirkless little Deku, so-“
“Wait,” Shouta interrupts, uncomfortable pieces falling into place. “Did the hero give you any medical attention? Did he call the police, take your statement? Did he even bother to ask if you were okay?”
Izuku flinches. “He was…he was busy. He had to take care of the villain, and I didn’t really get hurt, so-“
Shouta hisses a sharp breath, cutting him off. “That’s extremely against protocol, Izuku. He should not have done that. I’m very sorry he neglected you.”
He doesn’t bother asking if Izuku is okay now. He damn well knows that answer.
“I told you you’d get mad,” Izuku mumbles.
Shouta reins himself in as best he can. “You’re right. I’m sorry, kid, I’m calm. What happened after that? How’d you get here?”
Izuku goes stiff, hiding his face again. After a long moment he admits, “He was sort of…jumping…and I really wanted to talk to him, so I, uh, grabbed him. And we landed up here.”
Shouta wants so much to throw something. He’s already mentally running through his list of pros with jumping or floating or flying-related quirks.
“What then?” he asks. Maybe Izuku will let some more identifying information slip.
“I just wanted to ask…I’ve always wanted to be a hero.” Izuku’s eyes well with fresh tears. “I thought…UA doesn’t have rules against quirkless students, so it’d be hard, but, but possible, maybe. But…I asked him if it was possible, for someone like me to be a hero. And he said no. And then he, um, left. To take the villain to the police.”
Do not scream. Do not scream. Do not fucking react badly, Shouta, this kid needs you to be calm.
“He was wrong,” Shouta says. “Izuku, look at me. He was wrong. There’s no precedent, sure, but a quirkless person could become a hero.”
“But-“
“Why do I carry this?” Shouta interrupts, holding up his capture scarf.
Izuku frowns, thrown off by the non-sequitur. “T-To help you catch villains?”
“Mhm. Why do I need that help?”
“Um…” Izuku's gaze flickers away, wary, like he’s afraid to be wrong.
“I fight quirkless, Izuku. That is quite literally my job description. I erase quirks and I fight without them. Sometimes I still fight with them because there’s too many enemies. But my quirk does not affect my body at all. If you blindfolded me, I’d be exactly the same as you.”
Izuku is just staring at him, mouth slightly open, all but swaying in the brisk night wind.
“Let me guess. You never thought of it like that?” Shouta asks.
Wordlessly, Izuku shakes his head.
“Figures.” Shouta glances casually out at the city. “What kind of idiot hero would tell you something so obviously wrong, anyway?”
Izuku’s silence is very pointed. I'm not going to fall for that. Well, he tried. Shouta doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching the kid and trying to figure out their next step.
“So if you don’t live here,” he begins, well aware this could make things worse but hardly having a choice, “where do you live?”
“Um. Not that far? Maybe, uh, ten minute walk that way.” Izuku points off to his left. Then he blanches. “Oh, my mom’s probably freaking out right now.” He fumbles around for his phone.
That’s a good sign, worrying about his mom. Izuku taps frantically on his phone, chewing on his lip. While he’s distracted Shouta carefully brings his shoes and his backpack farther from the edge and collects his notebooks, putting them back in the bag. He hesitates with number 12 in his hands, but Izuku isn’t looking at him. Quickly, he flips it open, easily recognizing a sketch of a wide wing and a detailed feather, the words Wing Hero: Hawks (Civilian Name Unknown) across the top. Izuku has the basics of his quirk in the first paragraph, then analyses of different fights, devolving into theories about his strengths and weaknesses, some of which he confirms or corrects in more paragraphs about other battles.
Damn. This kid is a better quirk analyst than any of Shouta’s students have been, better than most adults, and he hasn’t even been trained.
A thought starts to form in the back of his mind. A brain like that, the ability to take in new information and apply it that quickly…it would be a huge advantage in a fight.
Shouta glances up and finds Izuku looking at him anxiously. He snaps the notebook closed and puts it in the bag with the others.
“That’s some really good analysis, Izuku,” he says quietly. “Really good. You have thirteen of these?”
Izuku shifts uncomfortably. “Um. Yeah? I thought, maybe, if I learned enough it would help…if I ever got to try being a hero. But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does matter,” Shouta says fiercely. “I told you, you can be a hero. You don’t need a quirk.”
“But there’s less than a year until UA’s entrance exam and I don’t even know-“
“You want to go to UA?”
Izuku gives him a look like it should be obvious. “UA is the best hero school. Of course I want to go there.”
“I teach there,” Shouta says. “I’m not saying I could guarantee you a spot, and I’m not saying it wouldn’t be extremely difficult, but I know how the tests and the scoring work. I know how to fight without a quirk. I could…help you.”
Izuku’s eyes shine. “Really? B-But aren’t you busy, being a hero and a teacher? Do you really have time to-?”
“I don’t offer things if I can’t follow through,” Shouta tells him. “You don’t have to answer right away. I’ll give you my number, and if you think you’re still interested in becoming a hero, you can let me know and we’ll work out a training schedule.”
Izuku is still just sort of staring, but he relinquishes his phone easily enough, and Shouta puts his contact information in. Feeling a little creepy, he swipes over to Izuku’s messages with his mother, skimming them briefly before going back to his contact and handing the phone over. As far as he can tell, Izuku’s mother is just the usual worried parent, which at least lessens the probability that he’s being hurt at home.
Also, Izuku completely lied to her about his entire afternoon. Shouta decides to give him the benefit of the doubt that he wants to tell her the truth in person.
“The stone’s probably hurting your feet,” Shouta says, gesturing at the red sneakers.
Izuku takes the hint and painstakingly tugs them on, throwing little glances at the edge of the roof ever so often. Shouta leans subtly into his line of vision.
“Can I ask why you took them off, kid?”
Izuku shrugs. “I don’t know. It made sense a-at the time. For some reason.”
That’s fair.
“Eraserhead?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. You’re…not what I expected, I guess.”
Shouta tilts his head. “What did you expect?”
“Well. I guess before today I would’ve expected a hero to freak out and treat me like a baby and drag me downstairs,” Izuku mumbles. “Which makes sense, I mean. If you’re scared I’m gonna…yeah. But teachers…um, not you, I guess, just…others. Teachers and A—that hero. You could just as easily have ignored me. But you didn’t. You asked to sit next to me and talked to me about quirks and…other stuff. It was. You were nice."
Don't let my class hear you say that. But Shouta nods. “Some heroes see people as tasks to complete. I don’t.” He pauses, thinking back. “Did you say teachers?”
Kids can be cruel, but the adults in charge are supposed to mitigate and if they aren’t, if they’re only adding to the abuse…Shouta can’t say he blames Izuku for being on the roof.
Izuku’s shoulders go up to his ears. “No.”
“What school do you go to, kid?”
Izuku shakes his head, mouth pressed firmly shut. Fine. They’re so close to getting down, Shouta’s hesitant to press his luck. He does his best to memorize the kid’s uniform and makes a note to look up the schools in the area later.
“Alright, Izuku. Grab your bag, I’ll walk you downstairs.” He says it casually but firmly, no room for argument.
Izuku looks at the roof edge one more time and takes a deep breath before grabbing his bag. When he swings it over his shoulders, he winces. Shouta’s eyes narrow.
“Are you hurt?”
Izuku’s hand jumps to his right shoulder, under the backpack strap. “N-No, it’s fine, it’s nothing-“
“If you were hurt by the sludge villain, that should’ve been reported-“
“I’m fine!” Izuku yelps. “It’s not from the sludge guy!”
“Then who is it from?” Shouta asks.
“I-I fell.”
“Izuku, we’ve gone a long time not lying to each other. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start now,” he says, as gently as he can.
“Someone at school,” he says quietly. “But it’s not bad, I can tell, it’s not even gonna blister-“
“Is it a burn? ” Shouta asks, horrified. I can tell. Does Izuku have that much experience to feel the difference?
Unauthorized underage quirk use is illegal. With lots of wiggle room for accidents, but…still.
“It’s not bad!”
“How many times do I have to ask you to let me decide things for myself?” Shouta asks, a little too harshly. Izuku freezes. He sighs. “Can I take a look, kid?”
He’s actually surprised when Izuku sets his backpack down and works his uniform jacket and shirt over his shoulder. He’s right; the skin is an angry red in the rough size and shape of a handprint, but it won’t blister or scar, just be tender for a day or two.
The little starbursts and thin lines near it, though, are old injuries. Old scars. Shouta has no doubt there’s more all over.
He’s heard the horror stories, done the training. But he’s never seen society fail a kid this completely.
“I think you’re okay. Can I ask who did it?”
Izuku abruptly looks terrified, scrambling back so fast he trips and falls, then righting himself before Shouta can reach to help. “No. No. He’s gonna, he has to be a hero, I can’t ruin his life, and it’s mostly my fault anyway- “
“If he’s willing to hurt someone he perceives as weaker than him, he’s not going to make a good hero,” Shouta says. “How do you think he’ll treat a civilian in need of rescue?”
Izuku shakes his head. “He’s going to be a great hero. You don’t understand. He…he wasn’t always like this.”
“People change.”
“So he can change back! ” Izuku snaps, then claps both hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, kid.” Shouta sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll stop pushing. Just know that none of the people you’re protecting deserve you. And none of them are right, either.”
“Okay,” Izuku says hollowly.
“Let’s get you home,” Shouta says.
He doesn’t touch Izuku, but hovers a little closer than strictly necessary as they head for the stairwell.
The door is locked.
Shouta leans his head against it, closes his eyes, and slowly counts to five.
“A-Are you okay, Eraserhead?”
“Fine,” he mutters, drawing out a set of lockpicks. No good underground hero goes without them.
What he’s thinking is: This day was designed to kill Izuku.
He already knows he’s adopting this kid, same as most of his students. Izuku is his now, and he’s prepared to track down everyone and everything that ever hurt him and make them all pay.
For now, though, he unlocks the door and follows Izuku into the stairwell. The kid makes it down five steps before he staggers and grabs for the wall.
“Izuku?”
Shouta jumps two steps below him so they can stand eye-to-eye. The kid is trembling, eyes huge, and on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Hey, shh, breathe, what’s going on?”
“I-I can’t, I don’t, I don’t know, I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Shh, sit down before you pass out, there you go.” Shouta gingerly takes Izuku’s hands and lowers him to sit on the stairs. “Just breathe, you’re safe.”
Izuku puts his head between his knees, interlacing his fingers on the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he grits out. “There’s. There’s a lot.”
“I can imagine,” Shouta says softly. He takes a risk and cards his fingers through Izuku’s hair. The kid tenses a little in surprise, but when he does it a few more times his shoulders slump. “Take your time.”
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you, I promise I’m t-trying, and you’re trying so hard, and being so n-nice , and I really really really don’t want to be broken but I really want-“ Izuku’s body jerks, like half of him wants to go somewhere and half doesn’t, and he bites down on the rest of his words with a shuddering, choked cry.
“You’re not broken, Izuku, and you’re not going to magically feel better with one conversation. It’s okay if you’re not ready to go yet. I’ll make you a deal, okay? We can go forward however fast you want. I’m here until midnight. I can stay longer than that, even, I don’t care. Whenever you’re ready, you can step forward. What you can’t do is go back. Think you can handle that?”
After a moment, Izuku nods. Shouta sits back a little and waits, one hand resting on Izuku’s knee. Maybe five minutes slide past while he composes himself. Finally, he uncurls, hands still shaky but breathing steady. He clings to the wall, pulling himself upright, and stumbles down three more steps before he sits down, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“I’m sorry, this is so stupid-“
“It’s not stupid, Izuku. You’re just having a hard day. That’s allowed.”
“N-Not for h-heroes…”
“Hell yes for heroes,” Shouta says firmly, making Izuku peek up at him. “Let me tell you a story. I lost someone, in high school, during a villain attack. He was…he was c-crushed under a collapsed building.” Shouta grits his teeth until his voice stops threatening to break. “It took me a week to be able to go indoors without having a panic attack. My, uh, best friend at the time slept outside with me in his backyard. Even then, it took a long time to get over all the nuances. I still find it hard to do structural collapse rescues.”
“You had panic attacks?” Izuku asks, small.
“Most heroes have. Most heroes still do. My best friend? Can’t deal with things covering his face. He’s got a voice quirk, was muzzled as a kid. We deal with a lot of really terrible stuff, and some of it sticks. Most of the heroes I know are in therapy or on meds, or both. Having panic attacks, being depressed, having trauma…none of it makes you less of a hero. None of it makes you less of a person, either. So if you’re worried I’m going to suddenly drop my offer to train you because you’re having a rough time walking away from a safe place, stop worrying.”
“It’s not safe,” Izuku mumbles. “Thought that was the point.”
“Sure. But in your brain it’s safer. Easier, too. I’m not saying that’s healthy. I’m just saying I get it.” Shouta holds out his hand. “Feel like another few steps?”
Izuku nods and takes it. He manages a whole flight that time before his legs give out, sending him sliding to the floor on the landing.
“What’s my mom gonna say?” he asks. “It’s taking so long, she’s gonna worry again. She already worries so much about me ‘cause I’m...y'know. Different.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Shouta says, praying he’s right. “You don’t need to worry about her right now. One step at a time. Get to the ground first.”
Izuku nods. “Right. Okay. One step at a time.” He drags himself to his feet, face set like a man—like a hero—on a mission.
They don’t pause again on the way down. They don’t talk, either, as badly as Shouta wants more answers and to know what’s going on in Izuku’s head. Exactly once, they pass a woman on the stairs, and Shouta keeps his head ducked and his body a barrier between Izuku and her. Finally they slide out a side door on the ground floor and emerge from an alleyway into the lamplit streets.
“You said this way?” Shouta asks, jerking his head in the direction of Izuku’s house.
“Y-You don’t have to walk me all the way back!” Izuku protests.
“It’s dark out, kid, and frankly I’m not sure I trust you to go home right now,” Shouta says.
“I walk in the dark all the time, I’ll be okay! You’ve done so much already, a-and my mom will freak out even worse if a hero shows up at our door. I promise I’m staying on the ground.”
“I can still walk you most of the way and not meet your mom. Seriously, Izuku, I want to. I practically have to, by protocol.”
Radio static buzzes in his ear, and he frowns. He always has it set so only emergencies come through, because otherwise he’d go deaf from all the chatter. He turns a little away from Izuku to focus.
House fire with entrapment on-
Not his forte, and he can hear at least two heroes chiming in that they’re en route. He turns back to Izuku. “At least let me-“
Izuku is fucking gone. Five seconds. Where could he have disappeared to that quickly? Shouta checks the alley and a few nearby hiding places. Nothing. Around the corner? No sign of him. He didn’t even fully turn his back, who is this kid?
Half of him is thinking he’s had to get good at running away and half of him is thinking damn good trick for a hero.
Mostly, he’s just thinking Izuku is going to die.
It’s just this side of irrational and he hates it, but the kid’s been through hell and back today alone, and the universe seems designed to put him in an early grave, so Shouta thinks he can be forgiven. He heads down the street as quickly as he can, climbing to the rooftops after a moment to see better. There’s an ugly sense of deja vu.
He doesn’t find him. After twenty minutes of frantic searching, his phone buzzes. Shouta almost ignores it until he remembers he gave the kid his number, and rips it out so fast he almost loses his grip and throws it off the building he’s perched on. He unlocks it, checking the text from a new number.
it’s me? izuku
i’m sorry i ran
but i got home okay!
Shouta growls. Problem children.
And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?
After a moment, a picture comes through: Izuku being clutched tightly by a tearful woman with his green hair, obviously his mother. He looks a little teary, too, but okay.
i’m okay
i’m taking a shower bc i smell like sludge, then i’m eating dinner
so don’t worry about me !!!!
I’m always going to worry about you, Shouta types. He stares at it, then deletes it.
Before that, do me a favor
sure!!
Go to your room. Find everything sharp in it, and I mean everything. Tell me when you have it.
….oh you don’t have to worry about that eraserhead!
i don’t
uhhhh
cut
Shouta grimaces. Humor me
Several minutes pass. Then: i got everything sharp like you said and put it in the bathroom cabinet
also i took the razors out of the shower
Good.
Next time you feel like going up high, I want you to text me. Even if you decide you don’t want to train with me, even if you think I’m busy or asleep. I want to help
Izuku starts and stops typing several times and finally sends only: okay. if you’re sure
I don’t say things if I’m not, kid. Go clean up, eat, and sleep. And talk to your mom
Izuku’s only response is another picture, this time of him alone in the bathroom, giving the camera a small smile and a thumbs up.
thank you eraserhead!!! rlly
for everything
A long pause in which Shouta tries to clear his blurry vision.
i think you saved my life
btw you’re my new favorite hero, underground or not <333
Shouta snorts and shakes his head. Goodnight, kid. And don’t just thank me. You saved yourself.
Izuku doesn’t respond, so he tucks his phone away and tips his head back to examine the sky. Just a few more hours and he’s done with this patrol. Ordinarily he’d be counting the minutes until he can sleep, but tonight there’s a buzz under his skin. When he gets home he has no plans to collapse into bed.
No. He’s got a lot of work to do, a lot of answers to dig up. His job isn’t done. Because he’s a hero, and Izuku isn’t safe yet.
But he will be.