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“No.” Shouta is acutely aware of the fact that it's not exactly common practice to refuse a direct order from one’s boss. But that doesn’t change his answer. “His parents don’t need to be contacted about this, sir.”
“Aizawa,” Nezdu says, in a tone that Shouta has long since become accustomed to, “you already have so much on your plate. This situation will only cause you undue stress.”
Blandly, Shouta says, “With all due respect, sir, every situation that involves my students causes me undue stress.” He glances down a dark alleyway as he passes by, automatically checking for both stray cats and criminals. Finding nothing, he continues to walk. “It's the only thing that’s remained a constant throughout the years.”
Nedzu sighs. He’s the only one of the staff members not technically required to live at Yuuei, but he’s probably still in his office, spinning around in his rolling chair like he always does whenever he’s not smuggling himself into Shouta’s scarf. Shouta’s pretty sure that the little rat sleeps in his office, seeing as he always seems to be available - and willing to disrupt Shouta’s routine - at any given hour. And this situation, as Nedzu put it, is nothing more than a case in point.
Shouta stifles a yawn. Holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder, he rakes his fingers through his hair and ties it back. “Look,” he says, glancing down at his watch. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve handled far worse things than Quirk accidents.”
“I still think that we should contact the boy’s parents about this,” Nedzu says, but Shouta can tell that he’s on the fence.
Though Nedzu can’t see him, Shouta rolls his eyes. “They’re not even in Japan,” he points out, remembering a conversation he’d had with Bakugou just a few days prior. “They’re in Hong Kong. I don’t think that they’d appreciate being called back for something as trivial as this.”
“How do you know where they are?” Nedzu asks, sounding skeptical.
“Bakugou told me.”
“Why?”
“What’s with all these questions?” Shouta doesn’t realize until the words have already left his mouth that he’s pretty much dropped the sir. He groans, then fervently hopes that the sound has been drowned out by the roar of a passing car. “I asked Bakugou why he didn’t bother going home for weekend visitation - you know, because he usually goes home whenever he gets the chance - and that’s when he told me.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Sir.”
There’s a long pause from the other side of the call, long enough that Shouta is able to turn several corners and come within viewing distance of the childrens’ hospital, lit in bright, flashing colors despite the late hour. Finally, Nedzu says, “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped, then.”
“You’re right,” Shouta says, as agreeable as always, “it can’t.”
Then, even though it definitely isn’t common practice, he hangs up the phone.
—
The woman at the front desk gives Shouta the most unconvincing smile imaginable as he approaches, her lips pressed so tightly together that they nearly disappear. Politely, she asks, “May I help you with something?”
Shouta says, “I’m here to check out a patient.”
The woman frowns and looks over Shouta’s shoulder. He follows her gaze to the pink-and-blue clock mounted on the wall of the waiting room. “I’m sorry,” the woman says, sounding genuinely apologetic and also a bit confused, like she doesn’t know why Shouta has decided to waste her time on something like this, “but this is a childrens’ hospital. We don’t allow check-outs after ten o’clock at night. Our patients need their sleep.” Her attention trails back to her computer, dismissing and dismissive. This conversation, in her eyes, is over. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting -”
“This is a special circumstance,” Shouta says, not adding that, in this case, the patient in question probably wasn’t even asleep. “I’m here to check out Bakugou Katsuki.”
The woman starts to say, “I don’t -” but then stops, realization dawning across her face. “Oh.” With a barely audible sigh, she turns back to Shouta. “May I see your identification?”
Shouta obliges, pulling out his wallet and handing her his hero license, which the woman then proceeds to stare at like it's an expensive lottery ticket that has miserably failed her. She glances between the printed photo and Shouta’s face several times, then asks, “Pro Hero Eraserhead?”
Shouta says, “Yes.”
The woman nods and slides his card back over the laminated countertop, which is just as colorfully patterned as the rest of the hospital, checker-boarded in eye-searing red and blue and yellow.
Shouta waits, expectant, watching as the woman types something into some kind of search bar, fingers dragging across the keyboard in a way that is far more exhausted than reluctant. He wonders if she’s new to this job, if that’s why she’s on the graveyard shift at the receptionist’s desk. Staying awake in a place as brightly lit as this could seriously fuck up one’s sleep schedule.
After several minutes - long enough that Shouta has started to think that she’s dozed off - the woman pulls open the top drawer of a file cabinet wedged underneath her desk. She takes out a manilla folder from the very front and hands it to him, saying, “All those involved - the nurses, doctors, officers, and myself - have already signed non-disclosure agreements. This has the police report, as well as information about the Quirk that your student was hit with.” She sounds for all the world like she’s crossing things off of a mental checklist of sorts, like she’s reciting things out of a book. She glances over at Shouta and realizes that her earrings are shaped like stars and striped in pink and purple and blue. “I’ll call someone and have her bring him down.”
“Alright,” Shouta says.
She hesitates, just slightly. “It might take a few minutes.”
In other words, Go away.
“Alright,” Shouta repeats, and goes away. He steps around a felt-covered table piled high with wooden blocks on his way to the waiting area. He sits down on one of the hard plastic chairs and opens the folder, noting that the tab at the top is labeled with a scrawled, Bakugou K., January 5th.
From the front of the room, he hears the woman say, “You know the kid from before?” A pause, then, “Yeah, the one that got chained up. His teacher is here to check him out…”
Shouta looks back down at the papers in his hands, flipping through them - a stapled packet typed on Central Musutafu Police Department letterhead, copies of the aforementioned NDAs, what looks like the results of a physical examination - until he comes to the Quirk report. He scans over it, trying to get an idea of what, exactly, he’s going to be dealing with. He reads:
NAME: Regress | USER: Imura Yuzuru
Given the user’s age, the specifics of this Quirk are not well-researched. From limited data, it can be assumed that this Quirk allows the user to revert any organic target - both human and animal - to a younger state. The age that the target is regressed to seems to be dependent on the user’s concentration. When used on a human subject, it is observed that the target regains roughly one year per day until the original age is reached. As written above, this Quirk has not been well-researched. Any and all variations from this report are not to be viewed as intentional misinformation and are not admissible in court. Since this Quirk can be activated at will, it is officially categorized in the National Quirk Database (ID: F-3782-P-59923) as a primary Quirk.
At the bottom left corner of the page is typed, Kiraharu Primary School: Student Records: Imura Yuzuru, and Shouta can’t help but wonder what poor teacher had to be woken up in the dead of night to retrieve this information. Despite his best efforts to view this situation with a calm and level head, he finds himself grimacing as he reads the painfully short block of text, eyes catching on the disclaimer of, Given the user’s age, the specifics of this Quirk are not well-researched. He supposes that it's better that the incident was accidental rather than intentional, since it being the latter would’ve meant that Bakugou had been targeted, but, still. What the fuck was a little kid doing out past midnight in the first place? What the fuck was Bakugou doing out past midnight in the first place?
Shouta flips to the police report, intending to answer those exact questions. But he’s interrupted before he can even make it past the first line, head snapping up when a young voice asks, “Why are you here?”
He’d been so busy reading the Quirk’s description that he hadn’t even noticed the ding of the elevator, but now he finds himself staring into the face of a kid who - and he feels the small part of him that hoped that this was all part of an elaborate joke fizzle out and die - is unmistakably Bakugou Katsuki. Just… smaller. Really small. Like, still-in-daycare kind of small.
Bakugou stares at him, wide-eyed and expectant, and Shouta finally processes that, yes, he’s been asked a question. Because he’s so well-educated and articulate, he sputters out, “What?”
Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow, and what would be a scowl on Normal Bakugou’s face turns into a pout on Little Bakugou’s face, and something about the expression makes Shouta feel inexplicably guilty. Which, he supposes, is the point. Bakugou says, irritated, “I asked you what you were doing here.” Without waiting for a response, he turns to the person standing behind him and asks, “What is he doing here?”
“I told you, Katsuki, that he’s a friend of your parents. He’s going to be taking care of you until they return from their trip.”
With supreme effort, Shouta tears his eyes away from Bakugou - he’s so tiny, what the fuck? - and looks at the person who’d just spoken. It's a woman with dark hair pinned back in a bun and glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and she smiles brightly when she sees Shouta looking at her. “I’m Doctor Elistratov,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. Her grip is firm. “I’m the head pediatrician at this facility. It's very nice to meet you.”
“Right,” Shouta says, casting a nervous glance at Bakugou, who has seemingly given up on the conversation and is now building a tower out of blocks in the center of the room. “How old is he?”
Dr. Elistratov opens her mouth to answer, but Bakugou beats her to it. “I’m four. I’ll be five in three months.” He says this all with his back turned, and Shouta weakly notes that, even at this age, Bakugou is a great multi-tasker.
“Katsuki,” Dr. Elistratov says. “You should look at people when you talk to them.”
“I don’t want to look at him,” Bakugou responds. “I don’t even know who he fucking is.”
“I’m Eraserhead,” Shouta offers.
Bakugou’s tower is almost as tall as he is. He glances over his shoulder at Shouta, scrutinizing, then shakes his head. “No.”
Shouta blinks. “What do you mean, No?”
“No,” Bakugou says, more insistently than before, and turns back to his blocks without any further explanation.
Dr. Elistratov, who’d been watching the entire exchange with an amused expression, shoots Shouta a look that is both sympathetic and apologetic. “He hasn’t gotten much sleep,” she explains.
“I don’t wanna sleep in a hospital,” Bakugou says. He sounds disgusted by the concept of doing such a vile thing, as if thousands of people across Japan don’t sleep in hospitals literally every night. “They always smell bad.”
“Always?” Shouta echoes. “How many hospitals have you been in, Bakugou?”
“Oh, a whole bunch of them. There was this one in Tokyo where they stuck me with a bunch of needles, and then they didn’t even give me candy afterwards. I guess that’s a good thing, since candy is bad for you, but the doctor I go to here always gives me candy. I don’t know why the ones in Tokyo didn’t. I was being good. I didn’t even cry.” He somehow manages to say this all in one breath, and, when he finishes, he looks up at Dr. Elistratov. Politely, he asks, “Can you please put this block on for me? I can’t reach.”
“Of course I can!” Dr. Elistratov coos, putting the block at the very top of Bakugou’s surprisingly well-balanced tower. “There we go!”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” With a meaningful look at Shouta, Dr. Elistratov crouches down in front of Bakugou. “Katsuki,” she says. “It’s very late.”
“No, it's not,” Bakugou says, sounding bewildered. “It's very early. ” He turns and points at the clock above Shouta’s head, saying, earnestly, “See? It's three twenty-nine in the morning.”
“Oh, you’re right! Silly me.” A pause, then, “You’re very smart, Katsuki.”
And, yeah, she’s right. Shouta doesn’t tend to talk to a whole lot of kids - that’s more Hizashi’s lane than anything - but he’s pretty sure that most four-year-olds don’t talk the way that Bakugou does. Or build such stable towers. Or read clocks. Honestly, it's kind of freaky.
Bakugou shrugs, casually nonchalant. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”
Dr. Elistratov smiles at him, kind and gentle. “So, as you said, it's very early, right?” When Bakugou nods, she continues, “And since it's very early, you need to go with Eraserhead so that you can go get ready for the day. How’s that sound, Katsuki?”
Very matter-of-factly, Bakugou says, “That sounds horrible.”
“Why does that sound horrible?”
“Because that’s not Eraserhead,” Bakugou says, frowning at Shouta. “I don’t know who that is. I’ve never seen him before.”
Dr. Elistratov looks like she’s trying very hard not to laugh when she glances at Shouta, who is getting a headache by trying to figure out why his student is so adamant that he is not himself. Amused, Dr. Elistratov asks, “And why do you think that he’s not Eraserhead, Katsuki?”
“He doesn’t have the hair,” Bakugou says. “Y’know…” And he waves his hands around his head to demonstrate.
… Fucking Christ.
Shouta shakes out his hair. With a sigh, he looks at Bakugou and asks, “Is that better?”
“Eraserhead doesn’t have a scar on his face,” Bakugou says, petulant. “And he doesn’t know my parents. I think that you’re a copy-cat.” He looks at Dr. Elistratov. “Is he a copy-cat?”
“No, he’s not a copy-cat,” Dr. Elistratov says. “He’s Eraserhead, and he’s going to take care of you until your parents come back.”
Bakugou is quiet for a long, long time. And then he asks, thoughtfully, “What if they don’t come back?”
“What?”
“My parents,” Bakugou says. “What if they don’t go back?” His eyes go wide. “What if they’re gone forever?”
“Katsuki -” Dr. Elistratov falters. “Katsuki, where did that question come from? Your parents are just on a trip right now! Of course they’ll come back. How could they ever leave such a sweet boy like you?”
Bakugou’s tiny fists are curled at his sides as he glares down at the animal-patterned rug. “Well, where are they, then?”
When Dr. Elistratov hesitates, obviously unsure as to what answer to give, Shouta finds himself saying, “Hong Kong.” He searches his mind for the exact words that Bakugou had said to him just a few days ago. “Your parents are in Hong Kong. They’re at a very important conference about their newest fashion line.”
“Why didn’t they take me?” Bakugou shoots back, lightning-fast and furious. “They take me to everything else!”
Ah, fuck.
“They didn’t want you to miss out on spending time with your friends,” Shouta says, improvising. Part of being a hero was being able to think on your feet, but he’s never had to outright lie to a kid before, and he’s unsurprised to learn that it makes him feel like shit. “Plus, Hong Kong is very far away, so the trip will take a while. That’s a long time to be away from home.”
“They don’t want me getting in the way,” Bakugou says, voice flat.
“I never said that.”
“Well, I’m not an idiot.” Bakugou is fully turned towards Shouta, now, and his eyes are filled with the kind of helpless rage that floods you when your hands are tied and there’s a knife at your throat. It feels viscerally wrong to see it on such a young face. “You don’t have to lie to me! I know what they told you!”
Dr. Elistratov tries, “Katsuki,” but Bakugou doesn’t pay her any attention. He’s too focused on Shouta. It's unnerving, really, that the kid can fit so much anger into his body when he probably doesn’t even come up to Shouta’s waist.
Shouta sighs. “Bakugou,” he says. “Would you like to -”
“No,” Bakugou snaps. He crosses his arms with an annoyed huff and glares at Dr. Elistratov. “Why couldn’t Auntie Inko pick me up?”
Auntie Inko, Shouta thinks, running the name through his memory and coming up empty. Though Bakugou hadn’t been talking to him, he asks, “Who’s that?”
“Deku’s mom,” Bakugou says, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Duh.”
… Deku.
Fuck.
Shouta stands. “I have to make a call,” he says, walking towards the sliding doors without waiting for a response. Once outside, he quickly dials Hizashi’s number, holding his phone to his ear.
Hizashi, of course, picks up at the last possible second. “Shouta,” he whines, voice bleary with sleep. “You woke me up!”
“Sorry,” Shouta says. “It’s kinda important.”
“It better fucking be,” Hizashi mutters, disgruntled. “Waking me up at three in the Goddamned morning, nowhere to be found, I should -” He pauses, then asks, panicked, “Where are you? Are you hurt? Do I need to come get you?”
“No, I’m -” Shouta stops, considering Hizashi’s words. “Well, yeah, a ride would be nice. But that’s not why I called you.” He quickly explains everything that’s happened thus far, right up to Bakugou getting pissed at him, and finishes with, “So, it's probably best to keep him from seeing Midoriya, at least until the Quirk wears off. I don’t want to cause any unneeded confusion, which is exactly what would happen if the kid saw that his friend was suddenly, like, twelve years older than him.”
“Twelve years,” Hizashi muses, now relatively alert. “A year a day… twelve days… that’s almost two entire weeks!”
“Yes, Hizashi,” Shouta says, voice dry. “I’m so happy that you can do basic math.”
“Oh, shut up,” Hizashi says, but he sounds like he’s smiling. “Anyways, where are you?”
“The childrens’ hospital. The big one.”
“Wow, very specific,” Hizashi says. “I’ll be there in, like, ten minutes. Fifteen. Why the Hell do you patrol so far away? Anyways, sit tight.” There’s the sound of an engine starting up. “I’ll be your knight in shining armor, come to save the day. Or, well, night. The knight of the night.”
“You,” Shouta says, grinning, “are so stupid.”
“Yeah, well. You love me for it.”
“Unfortunately.” Shouta leans back against the wall, watching the sky from under the glare of the streetlights. And then he frowns. “Hey,” he says. “You’re not supposed to be on the phone while you’re driving.”
“And who’s gonna catch me for it? No one is insane enough to be outside at this time at night.” After a moment, he amends, “Well, except for you, of course.”
“Of course,” Shouta agrees. He combs his fingers through his hair. “Wait until you see Bakugou, Hizashi. He’s very… interesting.”
“Interesting?” Hizashi echoes. “Like, in a bad way?”
“He’s really smart.”
Hizashi snorts. “That’s nothing new,” he says, sounding relieved.
“No, like…” Shouta waves a hand in the air, trying to find the right words to describe exactly how smart Bakugou had seemed. “The way he speaks - he’s four, Hizashi, and he read a fucking clock. I sure as Hell wasn’t doing that when I was four.” He tilts his head, mulling it over, then says, “But maybe I was just a stupid kid.”
“No, no, I wasn’t doing that, either,” Hizashi says. “That’s… weird. He’s weird.”
“Hizashi,” Shouta chides.
“What? I’m just being honest! Hey, do you think that he knows who I am?”
“Well, he knew who I was.” Shouta grimaces. “At least, he knew who Eraserhead was.”
“Is there a story behind that?” Hizashi asks, then answers himself, “There’s totally a story behind that. Anyways, what does he look like? Is he adorable?”
“He looks the same as always, just smaller.” He hesitates, then admits, “And, yes. He’s adorable.”
“Holy shit, I can’t wait to see him.” Hizashi sounds delighted. “So, what does he act like? Does he smile a lot? Other than the clock thing, is he, like, a normal kid?”
At that particular line of questioning, Shouta’s humor fades. They don’t want me getting in the way, Bakugou had said, with the absolute certainty of someone saying that the sky was blue. They don’t want me getting in the way, and he’d sounded like he’d truly believed it.
“Shouta?” Hizashi says, and he realizes that he’s been silent for a bit too long. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Shouta says. “Yeah, I’m good. It's just…” He drags a hand down his face and thuds his head back against the wall behind him. The stars are so bright that he can see them even through the polluted city air, can map out the constellations as he tracks his eyes across the sky. “I think he’s frustrated. And overwhelmed. And -”
The doors slide open with a whoosh! of air, and Shouta looks over just in time to see Bakugou step out onto the sidewalk, now wearing a neon yellow jacket that’s at least two sizes too big over his train-printed hospital gown.
Shouta says, “Hey, kid.”
Sounding confused, Hizashi answers with a tentative, “Hi?”
“Not you,” Shouta clarifies. “I’m talking to Bakugou.”
Bakugou’s eyes narrow at the sound of his name. They dart between Shouta’s phone and his face. “Who are you talking to?”
Excitedly, Hizashi asks, “Is that really Bakugou? He sounds so cute!”
“Yeah, he does,” Shouta says, then, to Bakugou, “What are you doing out here? It's cold.” He nods towards the doors. “Get back inside. I don’t want you to get sick.”
Bakugou repeats, “Who are you talking to?” Only this time he throws in a guess as well, expression going tight and closed-off as he asks, “My parents?” in a voice so small that Shouta can barely hear him.
“What?” Shouta frowns. “No. Why would I call your parents?”
“Because I yelled at you,” Bakugou says. “Because I was rude and angry and you didn’t come back and I thought - I thought -”
“He sounds like he’s about to cry,” Hizashi observes, half a second before Bakugou starts doing exactly that. “Called it.”
“Not helping, Hizashi.”
“Sorry.”
Shouta crouches down in front of Bakugou and attempts to comfort him, but Bakugou just turns away, wiping at his tears with quick, rough gestures that make it seem like he’s personally offended by them. Shouta sighs. “Hizashi, I’m going to have to call you back.”
“Alright,” Hizashi says, uncomplaining. “I’ll be there in, like, five minutes.”
“Thanks,” Shouta says. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Shouta ends the call and slips his phone into his pocket. To Bakugou, he says, “One of the people I work with is going to be here in a few minutes. That’s who I was talking to.” When Bakugou still doesn’t look at him, Shouta continues, “You might know him. He’s a hero, too.”
Bakugou rubs his arm across his eyes. He’s a quiet crier, like Eri - if Shouta weren’t looking directly at him, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell that the kid was crying at all.
Shouta offers, “His name is Present Mic.”
Bakugou sniffs. Still not quite meeting Shouta’s eyes, he whispers, “I know him.”
“Yeah?” Shouta leans forward, encouraged by the response. “He’s pretty cool, right?”
“... Yeah,” Bakugou says. “I like him. I like his - I like his Quirk.”
His Quirk. The words send off warning bells in Shouta’s head. According to Bakugou himself, he was four years old, only three months shy of five. And Shouta remembers a comment made by Bakugou - the older Bakugou - to one of his friends, something about how he’d been one of the first to manifest his Quirk out of all his classmates. Shouta can barely recall what the conversation had been about - Bakugou and Jirou always seemed to talk about the most obscure of subjects, so it probably started out as something like the different breeds of rabbits or the anatomy of a grasshopper before devolving into Quirk discussion - but he has no doubt about the validity of Bakugou’s claim. So…
Lightly, he asks, “Do you have a Quirk, Bakugou?”
“Mhm.” Bakugou sniffs and holds out one small hand, palm-up, and splays out his fingers. Nothing happens, and he frowns. “Oh. I forgot that they stopped it.” And then his head flies up like that of a startled deer, his eyes so filled with panic that Shouta tenses, thinking that the kid has somehow gotten injured. In a way that is both defensive and pleading, Bakugou says, “I’m not lying, Eraserhead. I really do have a Quirk.”
Well, Shouta thinks. At least he’s not calling me a copy-cat anymore. He asks, “Well, what happened to it?”
“They stopped it.” Bakugou stabs an accusatory finger at the doors of the hospital. When Shouta edges forward, peering inside, he sees that Dr. Elistratov is standing at the front desk, talking to the receptionist. “They gave me medicine when I woke up and I couldn’t use it anymore.”
Shouta looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Do they usually do that?”
“Yeah,” Bakugou says, nodding, looking relieved that Shouta believes him. “All the time.”
“Oh. They never did that for me when I was a kid.”
“That’s because it's a new policy,” Bakugou informs him.
Shouta gives a short laugh. “Do you even know what that word means?”
“No,” Bakugou admits, shrugging. “But that’s what they said to my dad when we came to get my cast off.”
“... Your cast?”
“Yeah. For my arm. It was really orange.” Bakugou tugs at the sleeve of his newfound jacket and says, “Like this, but it wasn’t yellow.”
“That sounds cool,” Shouta says. “Do you like orange?”
“Yes,” Bakugou says, very seriously. “It's my favorite.”
“Oh, really.” Shouta finds himself smiling in fond amusement at the boy in front of him. “Personally, I like black. And red.” Seeing Bakugou’s unconvinced expression, he adds, “Dark red.” His phone vibrates and he takes it off, glancing down as a text from Hizashi lights up the screen: almost there! i got lost. Shouta scoffs, shaking his head, and then says to Bakugou, “Present Mic is almost here.”
“Really?” Bakugou’s eyes go wide once more, this time in giddy anticipation. “I can’t wait to meet him!”
“He can’t wait to meet you, either.”
Bakugou rocks on his heels, practically vibrating with excitement. “Deku is going to be so jealous,” he says. “I get to meet you and Present Mic! How cool is that?” He looks up at Shouta, grinning. “How long do I get to stay with you?”
“Until your parents come back, I guess.” A car turns around the corner, headlights blindingly bright, and Shouta straightens. “That must be him.” He’s proven right mere seconds later, when Hizashi pulls to a stop against the sidewalk, rolling his window down. Shouta says, “Took you long enough.”
“Oh, shush.” Hizashi’s eyes find Bakugou and light up like fireworks. “You must be Bakugou, right?”
Bakugou nods so fast that Shouta’s worried that he’ll break his neck. “Do you know my parents, too?” he asks, starstruck.
“Yep!”
“I didn’t know that they knew any heroes,” Bakugou says. His face splits into the widest smile that Shouta has ever seen on him to date. “This is so cool!” he says. “I can’t wait to tell all my friends!”
And Hizashi melts, like he does when he sees a cute puppy or Eri or even Shouta after a particularly long day at work. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “You’re precious.” He reaches into the backseat and unlocks the door, saying, “You can probably use my daughter’s car seat for now.” He glances at Shouta. “Do you think that’s alright?”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” Shouta says, thinking back to the talking-to that Hoshi - the only one of their co-workers that regularly spent time with kids - gave him and Hizashi when they officially got custody of Eri. They’d put a lot of stress on the importance of driving safely, which, according to them, meant making sure that the kid was strapped into the correct car seat for their height, age, and weight.
He looks down at Bakugou, who blinks up at him, big-eyed and tiny. Definitely tinier than Eri, who was pretty damn small in her own right, her development disrupted and delayed by a mixture of not having enough food and being repeatedly put back together.
“Actually,” Shouta says, “I think I’d better go to Dr. Elistratov.” Eyebrows furrowed, he looks around himself, then sighs. “I forgot my folder, anyways.” To Bakugou, he says, “I’ll be right back, alright? Go wait in the car with Present Mic while I go and get my folder.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Bakugou nods. “Okay.”
Shouta ruffles the kid’s hair and reaches forward, pulling open the door to the backseat and waiting for Bakugou to clamber inside to shut it behind him. He leans into Hizashi’s window and says, “Turn on the heater. It’s cold as Hell out here.”
“That sounds like an oxymoron,” Hizashi says, but obliges, turning the dial to full blast. “Hurry up, alright? We both have to teach in the morning.”
“Yes, Hizashi,” Shouta says, “I am well aware that I choose to spend most of my time trying to keep twenty kids from killing each other.” His attention shifts to Bakugou as the kid climbs over the center console, plopping himself down in the passenger seat like he belongs there. “Are you warm enough, Bakugou?”
Bakugou leans forward towards one of the vents on the dash, closing his eyes against the blast of air in his face. Distractedly, he says, “Mhm.”
“Alright, then,” Shouta says. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Okay.”
Shouta turns and starts towards the doors, only to stop when Bakugou calls out, “Eraserhead!” When Shouta looks over his shoulder, he sees that Bakugou has climbed over Hizashi’s lap and is hanging onto the window, eyes wide and earnest. “Make sure to come back, okay?”
“I will!” Shouta calls back, then grins and, shaking his head, turns and walks inside.
—
Dr. Elistratov looks up as he approaches, turning away from her conversation and saying, “Hello again, Eraserhead.” She holds out the folder to him. “You forgot this.”
“Thanks,” Shouta says, taking it. “Hey, I have a question.” When Dr. Elistratov tilts her head, prompting him to continue, he asks, “Bakugou should be put into a car seat, right?”
“It's highly recommended, yes.” She glances over at the car idling outside and asks, “Do you have one available?”
“Yeah, but it's for my daughter. I’m not sure if it's the right kind, y’know, for a four-year-old.”
Dr. Elistratov purses her lips. “How old is your daughter? How tall is she?” When Shouta answers, slicing the flat of his hand through the air in a rough estimation of Eri’s height, the doctor is silent for a moment, concentrating as if she’s solving a difficult algebraic problem. Finally, she asks, “Do you plan to take Bakugou anywhere?”
Shouta considers the question, then says, “No, other than to Yuuei. He has a dorm there, but I think I’ll keep him out of it - it’d just make him more confused.”
“That’s good. I’m glad that you thought of that.” Dr. Elistratov sighs and crosses her arms. “Well, I suppose that the car seat you have will be enough for the ride to your school, as long as you drive carefully.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Shouta says. “Hizashi’s a careful driver.” When Dr. Elistratov gives him a slightly confused look, he explains, “My husband.”
Dr. Elistratov brightens. “I’m glad that you have someone to help you watch over Bakugou!” she says, sounding genuinely pleased by the fact. And then her eyes wander past Shouto, focusing once more on the car. “When you arrive home, please ensure that he gets some rest. According to Imura’s mother, the switch between one age the next takes place at roughly the same time every day, so by two o’clock tomorrow morning, Bakugou should be five years old.”
She frowns thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowing.
“It's the strangest Quirk I’ve seen in a while, I must say that. The ability to regress a person both physically and mentally… I do hope that the girl’s parents take her to Quirk counseling after this incident. I can imagine many ways that her power could cause problems even larger than this one.”
She uncrosses her arms and settles her hands on her hips, eyes taking on a far-away look as she says, almost to herself, “On the other hand, I can also imagine ways that it could be useful. I wonder if the targets retain the memories they got while regressed. If so, it may help as a way to cope with childhood trauma, especially that caused by growing up in a toxic household. I wonder…”
She continues, voice getting lower and lower until she actually is talking to herself, thinking out loud. Shouta is just wondering if this is a common occurrence, these Midoriya-esque muttering sessions, when the woman behind the front desk taps on the countertop to get his attention. When he looks at her, she says, “You should probably get going. If you wait for her to stop, you’ll be here all night.”
Ah. So they are a common occurrence, then. Shouta huffs a laugh and says, “She reminds me of one of my students. He does the exact same thing.”
The woman smiles tiredly. “She just really loves children.” The look she gives Dr. Elistratov is unmistakably fond, soft, and full of affection. “She’s always trying to think of ways to help them.”
Dr. Elistratov mumbles, “There are so many possibilities…”
“Alright,” Shouta says, “I’ll be going, then.”
This seems to snap Dr. Elistratov out of her musings. She abruptly stops talking, blinking and looking around as if unsure as to where she is. She looks at Shouta with a slight frown and asks, “Oh, are you leaving?”
“Yeah,” Shouta says. “I still have to teach tomorrow. I don’t want to fall asleep on my students.”
“No, I suppose you don’t,” Dr. Elistratov agrees. She smiles at him and says, “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Eraserhead! If there’s anything you’d like to talk about, feel free to call me - I wrote my number on the inside of that folder. And…” She hesitates. “Please make sure to take care of Bakugou. Even after the Quirk wears off.” She dips her head in a bow, genuflecting, and says, “Please keep him safe.”
For a moment, Shouta can’t find his voice. And then he says, “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”