Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku would never admit this, but he dreamt, just a little bit, of getting into trouble. Real trouble, danger-trouble, not like the horrible moments where Kacchan and his friends would corner him behind the school; he wanted a situation where he could be saved. Because yeah, Izuku wanted to be a hero, and most of his dreams involved rescuing people, not being rescued, but it was a lot more plausible, a lot more immediate , that he could be the one with a hero standing in front of him, saying, “I am here.”

It wasn’t a real dream. It was embarrassing, really. Nobody should want to be in danger just to be rescued, and Izuku wanted to be a hero. Heroes weren’t selfish like that. Izuku wasn’t selfish like that. But still - he was a kid, after all. 

He was a kid, and so, when he found himself in an actual life-or-death situation, he was terrified. 

What made things much, much worse was that he was completely helpless. He couldn’t remember how he ended up in the dark room, locked between walls of floor-to-ceiling chain link mesh. He could recall walking home - or maybe he’d gotten home? - and then…

There should have been something there. There was, he knew it, but it was just out of reach. Fuzzy images, like a movie you watched while half asleep. Voices he doesn’t recognize. Someone shouting, or screaming. He shuddered. 

Trying to remember hurt. 

Izuku ran his fingers through his hair, tugging none-to-gently on his green curls. Okay, Izuku, think, think, he urged himself, or maybe muttered, it was always hard for him to tell. The room they were in seemed like it was probably underground, with no windows and a chill dampness seeping in from all directions. At one point, it might have held machinery; there were still indents on the walls, old hardware and pieces of pipe feeding into the concrete of the ceiling and floor.

The cells seemed like a recent addition. The metal was newer, unrusted; Izuku couldn’t pull the edges out of the brackets locked tight against the floor. The layout reminded him of the animal shelter he’d visited once with his mom, before they’d both decided that keeping a dog and Izuku alive would be too much work. The main difference was the doors. Instead of being chain link like the rest of the cells, the doors were each a rigid mesh, locked into frames built into the ground. They were lifted slightly off of the floor, with a few inches (useless) of gap, and chainlink on every side. 

He could try to climb, test the brackets on the ceiling as well as on the floor, but he still felt weird and shaky. Plus, that would be noisy, and not only was Izuku not sure if any villains were listening, he didn’t want to wake up the other abductees. Not yet, at least. 

That was by far the worst thing about the entire situation. Izuku wasn’t alone. 

There were four other kids locked in the dim room with him. Even though there were six cells, most of the kids were doubled up, which gave Izuku the sick feeling that maybe their captors were expecting other prisoners. Lying on the floor of his cell was a blond boy who’d initially given Izuku a heart attack - he looked a bit like Kacchan. When Izuku woke up enough to get a good look, though, he saw that the kid’s hair was much more yellow, and even unconscious on a concrete floor, he looked way more relaxed than Izuku had seen Kacchan in years. He was sprawled out, almost snoring, his face nuzzled into his oversized black jacket. 

He seemed so unafraid. Izuku didn’t want to watch that change. 

In the cell directly across from his, there were two boys, one with black hair and one with odd red-and-white hair, split neatly down the middle. The boy with black hair was curled in a loose ball, while the dual-haired kid faced away, completely still. The cell next to them contained a girl with long, dark hair, and features that pointed to a heteromorphic quirk: big eyes and a wide mouth. She was pretty small, and was younger than the others, maybe. She was curled up against the wall, shivering just enough that Izuku could notice. 

Izuku really wanted to wrap her up in his huge hoodie, but he couldn’t do anything.  

Strangely enough, all of the kids, including Izuku, were dressed in clothes that didn’t quite fit. Izuku’s hoodie hung off of his shoulders, and he had to tighten his belt a lot to get his pants to stay up. He really, really didn’t want to think about someone changing his clothes, but it was weird that they’d bother with such a random assortment - some of the kids had sweaters, some belts, and the bicolored boy even had what looked like a tie looped around his neck. As Izuku paced back and forth, he tried to categorize anything else that could be of use. He really wished he had his notebook. Or literally anything. 

Several of the other kids had features that helped suggest what their quirks could be, though Izuku obviously couldn’t be sure. It wouldn’t matter anyway, Izuku thought despairingly, because the heavy silver cuffs locked around all of their wrists were definitely quirk-canceling. Wait. That’s something . Did the villains not know that Izuku was quirkless? Did that mean they hadn’t planned his abduction, that it was random? Would that make it hard for the heroes to track him down? And worse…would the villains be mad when they realized he was useless?

Izuku shook his head, trying to knock himself out of the thought spiral, but it was so hard not to panic. There were four other kids, and they were all unconscious, and Izuku couldn’t help any of them. Tears bubbled in his eyes. There was absolutely nothing he could do, for himself or anybody else. He had to hope, more than usual, that heroes would come. 

He prayed he wouldn’t be - as he often was - disappointed. 

The yellow-haired boy woke up while Izuku was occupied by examining the floor. He immediately screamed. 

The other kids gasped or yelped as they woke up too, and Izuku had to swallow the urge to burst into tears. Was he relieved to no longer be alone? Sad that the others were scared? Just finally feeling the terror curling in his chest? He had no idea. The black-haired boy immediately retreated to the corner of his cell with a yelp; the girl stood on shaking legs, and the yellow-haired boy followed. The bicolored kid didn’t shift at all, though Izuku had definitely heard him gasp. His arms had always been positioned slightly in front of his face, and now the position looked extra defensive. He was pretending he wasn’t awake. 

The yellow-haired boy was the first to speak. “Where - where am I? What’s going on?” He staggered slightly on unsteady legs. “I feel awful. Did I fry myself again?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku said, drawing the boy’s attention to his presence. “I don’t - I don’t remember.”

“Me either,” the girl said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was at the park with my brother and then -'' She gasped. “Sami-chan! Is he here? Is he -”

“I haven’t seen anyone else,” Izuku said quickly. “It’s just been us. Did we all get here at the same time? I just woke up and I was here.”

“Me - me too,” the black-haired boy got out. There were tears in his eyes, but he furiously wiped them away. 

“Same,” the yellow-haired boy said, stepping closer to Izuku and the door to their cage. “My head hurts like it does after I use my quirk, but it’s… weird. Fuzzy in a new way.” He grimaced. “I hate it.”

“It feels like I hit my - my head, ribbit,” the girl said, her words interrupted by her shivering. “But I don’t have a bump or a bruise.”

The bicolored boy gave up on pretending to be asleep. He sat up, but didn’t say anything, quietly shifting to face the room. This gave the rest of them a clear glimpse of his face for the first time. Izuku gasped, as did his cellmate. 

The boy had a vivid red scar splashed across one side of his face, yes, but it was his other side that really concerned Izuku. He had a dramatic black eye blooming, the dark purple beneath the gray of his iris turning to sickly yellows as it spread across his face. The kid blinked at them, obviously unnerved by their combined gazes. His hand crept up to cover his scar. 

“Oh, no,” Izuku yelped, rushing to explain, but the yellow-haired kid spoke even faster. He was a lot more concise than Izuku would’ve been. 

“Dude! Are you okay? Did somebody hit you?”

The kid’s eyes widened, and he flushed. “Oh. Yes.” He slowly moved his hand below his other eye, gently prodding what must have been tender skin. “I mean, no. I mean, I don’t -”

“Do you remember what happened?” Izuku asked, interrupting before he could stop himself. “Did the villains -”

“No,” the kid said again, more insistently. His eyes went to the floor, and he shuffled slightly backwards. “I don’t remember.” 

“Oh,” Izuku gasped out. Hot anger was coiling behind his eyes, and more tears dripped down his cheeks. The bruise was proof that the villains meant them harm. He knew that, of course, from the kidnapping and the cell, but - this felt different. He pressed himself close to the door of his cell, the blond boy beside him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

The boy shrugged. “I told you,” he said, a bit irritably. “ I don’t remember.”

Weird answer. Before Izuku could push, the blond boy cut in. “Well,” he said, with a nervous laugh. “Since we’re… stuck together? I guess? Shouldn’t we know each other’s names?"

“Sure!” Izuku said. “I’m -” But before he could say anything else, the bicolored boy cleared his throat. 

“Remember where we are,” he said. His eyes flickered to the corner of the room. “I’d guess we’re being watched.”

 “Oh jeez,” the yellow-haired boy said. “Okay. Given names only. And… what school you’re from?” 

The kid seemed ready to protest again, but Izuku jumped in. “No, that’s smart. We should try to see if there’s any pattern - anything that connects us.”

The yellow-haired kid beamed at Izuku. “You think I’m smart?”

Izuku went first - he was Izuku, he was ten years old, and he attended Endora Elementary. The blond boy was Denki, and he was also ten and went to Endora, which almost seemed like a pattern - broken immediately by Shouto, who was nine and homeschooled. Tsu went to Ikatsu Elementary, all the way over in Nagoya, and was also nine; Eijiro was newly ten and from Chiba, in the opposite direction. 

Denki groaned. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

It really didn’t. But… “Hold on,” Izuku said. “Shouto-san, you said you’re homeschooled, but you’re wearing a school uniform. And I know that logo!” He really should’ve noticed it earlier. “Your jacket is from U.A. High School! Isn’t that weird?”

“He’s not a high-schooler, though,” Denki pointed out, needlessly. Shouto was shorter than all of them, excluding Tsu. Despite his severe expressions, he had the baby-face of someone in single digits, and the jacket hung off of narrow shoulders, making him seem even smaller than he was. 

Shouto hummed softly in agreement, clutching the edge of the gray fabric. “It’s not my jacket.” 

“Of course not, ribbit,” Tsu said. Her teeth were chattering. “So, that’s weird. How did the villains get a U.A. uniform? Where did our clothes go?”

Izuku had been wondering that too. He hated the idea that they were…what? Being dressed up? For what reason?

Eijirou shuddered. “This is scary,” he admitted. 

Denki nodded. Izuku was about to agree, but before he could say anything, Tsu shivered again, harder, making the chain-link she was leaning against rattle. “I’m - I’m sorry, ribbit,” she got out. “Because of my quirk, the cold -” She looked dizzy, her fingers curling around the metal. “But I’m ok. This isn’t too - ribbit - too bad. I won’t fall asleep.”

“Here,” Shouto said. He stripped off the jacket they’d been discussing and folded it tightly enough that he could slip it under his cell’s door. “Can you reach that?” He angled it so that it was in front of the girl’s cell. 

“I can, but, are you sure?” Tsu said. She stumbled over to the cell’s door, crouching down. When the boy nodded, a long tongue unfolded from her mouth and snaked out of the cell until it stuck to the fabric. She pulled it over. “Thank you, ribbit.”

“Ah! That’s so cool!” Izuku blurted. He noticed the flush spreading across Tsu’s cheeks, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Mutant-type quirks must be harder to suppress - that makes sense! And yours - is it just the tongue, or can you do other cool stuff? Are you like a frog? Can you jump really high, or maybe -”

“Hey,” Eijirou said, speaking for the first time at a volume above a whisper and with an urgent bite. “Look -”

“Oh no, I am so sorry.” It was Izuku’s turn to blush. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or self-conscious, I shouldn’t ask so many questions, it’s just that your quirk is amazing -” 

“No, man, look,” Eijirou got out, his voice shaking just a little. “Look at his arms.”

“What?” 

Eijirou was staring at his cellmate, who stepped back from the door, glancing between the others in clear discomfort - but there was no hiding what had been revealed. More bruises dappled Shouto’s now-bare skin, the darkest splotches half-covered by his black cuffs and big yellow and purple marks disappearing under his sleeves. Worst of all, there was a big blistering burn on his right upper arm, weeping pink liquid. And parts of his crumpled white dress shirt were sticking to his skin. Was it just sweat, or was there more underneath?

“Oh no, Shouto-san,” Tsu breathed. 

It had to hurt so much , but the boy didn’t seem like he was aware of the injuries at all. Was he in shock? Was that what shock did? Izuku didn’t know, and bile crawled up his throat. 

“I’m fine,” Shouto said stiffly, as if he was answering the question from much earlier. Too little way too late, Izuku thought, a bit manically. 

“No, you’re not,” Denki said breathlessly. “The villains hurt you. You - you don’t remember -”

Shouto frowned, shaking his head. “No, I told you.” His voice wavered, only slightly, but his expression pinched. “I was in my house. In my room. Then I was here. I don’t…” He ran a slightly-shaking hand through his hair and murmured something that Izuku couldn’t hear. 

“Ohmygod,” Denki murmured. “They’re going to hurt all of us. And then, what? Sell us? Hold us for ransom?” He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “My mom’s not in the country, she can’t - she won’t - do the heroes even know -”

“Okay, t-try to take a deep breath,” Izuku said, trying to halt his own anxiety spiral as much as the other boy’s. “The heroes will find us. Any…any minute now, they’ll burst in -”

“Hey, ribbit!” Tsu called sharply. “There’s somebody coming.”

For a moment, hope flared in Izuku’s chest, even as nearly all of the other kids shrank back from the doors of their cells. Those heavy footsteps could be heroes, right? But then the lock clicked and beeped, barely audible over the sound of them breathing, and Izuku’s warmth began to drip away. 

Shouto didn’t move from his position right near the hallway, though he dropped his arms to his sides, adopting a posture too stiff to be natural, his injuries on full display. He was between Eijirou and their cell’s door. Izuku shifted to do the same for Denki, holding onto the mesh for support. He was shivering. 

The door opened. The three people who entered were definitely not heroes. 

Izuku, despite his moment of hope, despite himself, was not surprised.

Chapter Text

It was cold when he woke up, so he didn’t move. It took Shouto a moment to realize that the floor pressed against his side was concrete, not hardwood, and that the screams and gasps he heard were not familiar. 

Did that make him more or less afraid?

He took inventory of himself, forcing his mind to slip back into a body that was honestly more trouble than it was worth. Nothing seemed broken though, so that was good. He wasn’t a huge fan of the cuffs locked around his wrists, and the way his quirk hummed beneath his skin, trapped, hot and cold throwing themselves at each other like his body was a mini training room. He’d never been kidnapped before, though his father had always said it was possible. 

He was nauseated, but puking was and always would be the wrong answer. He sat up, trying to take stock of his surroundings. His vision was blurry, so that was hard too.  

The other kids (other kids!) stared at him, which was upsetting, even after he realized they weren’t looking at his scar. When was the last time he’d been this close to other children? He wasn’t really sure what to do. 

He didn’t want to talk about his black eye, and he wasn’t lying - he had no idea how he’d gotten into the cell (his father was going to be so mad. ) His memories were fuzzy, which wasn’t all that unusual, and he ached like he’d just come out of a training session, or spent a couple of hours on the floor. He tried to stay sharp, though he was finding it hard. He had to find a way out of this. If his dad had to rescue him - he’d be disappointed.  

(He wanted his dad to come rescue him.)

The others were talking about schools and stuff. He wasn’t really paying attention. Focus, Shouto, focus. He briefly considered that this could be some sort of training exercise, but that didn’t make sense either. Endeavor wasn’t this theatrical. If he wanted to make a point about kidnapping, he’d just lock Shouto in a box or something. Plus, the other kids seemed really frightened, a normal response for normal kids. 

When the frog girl mentioned her sensitivity to the cold, Shouto didn’t think much of stripping off the jacket, struggling a little to get it past the cuffs on his wrists. It wasn’t even his jacket, after all, even if the warm weight of it was comforting. 

They were staring again. Shit. He was scaring them, and he should’ve told them where the bruises really came from, but he couldn’t. 

(What he said under his breath was: “ My dad’s gonna kill me.”)

It was almost a relief when the villains entered the room. It gave Shouto something to focus on - something to fight. He always had an easier time focusing when there was a clear danger he could defend himself or others from. Or try to, at least. 

The boy sharing his cell pressed himself against the back wall, the only part of the cell that was solid. That was good; it meant he was out of the way, and behind Shouto. He was standing, which was also good, and seemed to be trying to put on a brave face, though his eyes were brimming with tears. He glanced nervously at Shouto, like he wanted to pull him into the corner too. Shouto knew it seemed more dangerous to be near the door, but he wanted to be able to see any attacks coming. Plus, it meant he had room to maneuver. Having your back to the wall felt safer, it really did, but it was risky to cut off any avenues of escape.  

His ribs ached, and his head, and it was hard to ignore the heartbeat of pain in his upper arm and across his side, but it was okay, because he had to do this. 

The green-haired boy (Izaki? Something like that?) was pressed up against his cell’s door, his fingers tangled in the metal mesh. Huh. That might be smart. If Izaki could prevent the villains from opening the cell door - but no, it would only buy him a moment at most, and the blond boy didn’t seem like he would be of any help. Still, it was brave. Braver than Shouto was being, really. Green-haired boy met Shouto’s eyes and nodded, eyes bright with tears.

Wow. His eyes are really green. 

The villains didn’t monologue as they entered. They weren’t wearing scary costumes, or even masks; passing them in the street, Izuku wouldn’t have suspected a thing. The one in the lead looked the kids over with blank, impassive eyes. The one in the back, a younger man with wispy gray hair, was pushing a small metal cart. 

Izuku opened his mouth. He wanted to ask sixty billion questions. He couldn’t force anything out. He was shaking again, and with the way he was holding his cell’s door, the metal rattled with him. 

Denki stepped up. “Hey! What - what’s going on?”

The villains ignored him. They stopped in front of the middle cells, facing Shouto and Eijirou. Izuku wanted to throw himself in between the other kids and the dangerous strangers, but even if they hadn’t been separated by the cells, he wasn’t sure he could get himself to move. Useless, useless.

Shouto glared at the villains without backing up. Eijirou whimpered quietly, baring his sharp little teeth, and Shouto glanced briefly towards him before turning his cold eyes back on the strangers. Izuku had never seen eyes like that on a kid before. Except maybe Kacchan. “Who are you?” Shouto asked. “Why did you take us?”

The woman - the only one with a visible mutation, snake eyes and fangs - laughed. “Money, kid,” she answered. “What else?” She was the only one really studying their captives, eyes alight with…curiosity? Izuku trembled as she glanced at him. 

“My dad won’t pay,” Shouto said firmly. “This is stupid. He’ll kill you if you don’t let me go.” 

That earned him another laugh, this time from the man in the lead as well as the woman. “That’s a harsh thing to say - I’d expect better from the son of a hero.”

Izuku’s need to know matched wits against his fear and won. “Hero? Which hero?”

“He’s Endeavor’s son,” the wispy man said flatly. “You really think he’d try to kill us?” he asked the leader. “That’s not very heroic.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The leader hadn’t turned away from Shouto. “We’re not negotiating regardless. 

Too many risks.” He pulled out a ring of keys, slitting one into the door of Shouto and Eijirou’s cell. Izuku gasped. “If you must know, we have several parties interested in your purchase. A doctor, for one.” He narrowed his eyes at Shouto. “I’m going to open the cell, and you’re not going to fight back,” he instructed, “Make things easy for us, why don’t you, and we’ll make it easier for you.”

“Make what easier?” Shouto asked, not moving.

The man sighed. “Dokuko, are you ready?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The wispy man - Dokuko - replied. He laid several items out on the cart, pushing it forward. A scalpel, gauze, a little tray. Izuku went cold. 

“I don’t know why he’s requesting this,” the woman said. “We don’t usually do samples.”

“With the money he’s offering, I don’t care.” The leader pulled open the cell door, all three of them crowding close enough that Shouto would have trouble slipping by. And without whatever powerful quirk Endeavor’s son must usually have - he was just as useless as Deku. Izuku hoped beyond hope that he wasn’t about to watch Shouto accumulate even more injuries, but there was nothing he could do. He felt sick. 

No, don’t panic, please don’t panic, keep looking for anything that could help. It wasn’t obvious what quirks the villains had, so Izuku had to keep an eye out. He had to -

“Hold out your arms,” the leader said. When Shouto hesitated, the man sighed. Quicker than Izuku could even react, he’d reached out and grabbed both of Shouto’s wrists, right above the heavy black cuffs. “Here’s a deal, little hero. You like helping people, right? Cooperate, don’t fucking burn me -” He tightened his grip. “And I won’t take my annoyance out on your friends. Okay?” 

After a long moment, in which several emotions - fear, anger, fear again - flashed across the smaller boy’s face, he stilled, going limp in the man’s grasp. “Okay,” he said quietly. 

“Shouto! No, don’t, don’t -” Izuku stuttered out, about to cry again. Nobody even looked at him.

The leader let go of Shouto’s wrists. “Fuck, his skin feels weird,” he said to his partners, not taking his eyes off of Shouto. “Hot and cold. Is that -” 

“Normal,” the woman said. “Doesn’t mean the cuffs aren’t working. No flames, right?” She grinned at Shouto. “He’s a powerful little thing.”

Shouto huffed. He kept his arms out, even though he was leaning away from the villains. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Tsu whispered. “You don’t need to!”

“Relax, Froggy, I’ll make this quick.” The leader took the scalpel off of the tray and swiped it across Shouto’s skin, right below his elbow. Izuku didn’t have a clear view of what he was doing, but he could see Shouto fighting a flinch. The man wiped off the scalpel, picked up the gauze, then put it back on the tray - stained red. He did the same thing to Shouto’s other arm. 

“Finished. There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He put his hand on Shouto’s head. The boy growled. “We’ll bring you some food and water. Your friends too.” He turned back to his companions. “Anything else, while we’re here?”

The woman shrugged. “The doc was interested in the shark-toothed kid. His quirk is skin-related, isn’t it? Maybe we should take a sample from him too.”

“No,” Shouto said, putting himself between the villains and Eijirou. Blood was trickling down both of his arms. “You don’t have to, so don’t. Leave him alone.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” the leader said. After a moment of contemplation, he pushed Shouto out of the way. “Fine. Might as well.”

Eijirou shrunk back, shaking. Izuku could see Shouto steeling himself. He slammed himself against the door. “Don’t hurt them!” he cried. 

When the villain looked back at Izuku, Shouto lunged. Instead of attacking the villain, he dodged past him, heading for the door and knocking over the cart as he moved. The kid was fast, even with his injuries. Izuku held his breath. 

Dokuko flexed his hands, and the room filled with fog. For a moment, Izuku couldn’t see anything, could hear anything - the world was just white mist. Am I still in the basement? Was that a teleportation quirk? It was so cold, and he couldn’t see anyone, and he was all alone - 

The mist faded, Izuku collapsed to his knees, and Shouto stumbled, bicolored eyes blinking and dazed. The leader grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “Stupid little brat,” he hissed. 

He dragged him back into the cell, Shouto’s oversized tie acting like a leash, Shouto gasping for breath. The moment he got his feet underneath him, Shouto tried to throw himself at the villain holding him, but the villain backhanded him across the face, dropping him to the floor. 

Denki and Eijirou cried out; Izuku screamed. He was focused on Shouto, they all were, but out of the corner of his eye, Izuku could see something snake towards the overturned cart. He desperately wanted to bang on the cell door, to scream again, but he stayed frozen as the villain loomed over Shouto. He didn’t draw their attention away. He let Shouto be a distraction - as the boy clearly intended. 

Izuku’s heart was beating out of his chest. 

“Wasting my fucking time,” the man growled. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth. Aren’t little kids supposed to be easier?”

He kicked Shouto in the stomach, leaving the boy gasping. “Don’t you try that again,” he warned. After another sharp kick, he glanced around the prison room, making eye contact with each of them. “Because of this little stunt, I’ve changed my mind. No food, no water, nothing,” he sneered at Shouto. “You made things worse, kid, not better. You’re not much of a hero.” 

Shouto turned his head, blue-and-gray eyes like steel, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to get up, his sprawling body still in-between the villain and Eijirou. A barrier. 

Wow. Izuku needed to do something and fast, or that boy was going to get himself killed. 

Chapter Text

Eijirou was trying really, really hard not to cry. Not that there was anything wrong with crying! Heroes could cry, and it was manly to express emotions (Eijirou’s moms talked to him a lot about healthy masculinity. Being lesbians, they might have overcompensated). No, Eijirou was sick of crying because it felt like all he could do. 

He loved heroes. He had passing fantasies of becoming one, despite his unimpressive quirk. He also dreamed of climbing Mount Everest or becoming a dragon, which seemed equally realistic. Heroes were awesome, and brave, and Eijirou tried really hard, but - he was just Eijirou. And when that man came into the cell, he completely froze. How could he do that? How could he just stand and watch as Shouto got hurt, for him?

Eijirou rubbed the back of his wrists across his eyes, the exact same habit that had earned him his scar. He’d seen the scalpel. He’d imagined the way it would glide across his too-soft skin. His quirk, as useless as it generally was, had always protected Eijirou from harm, like a shell between him and the world. Not having it - 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to run through some of the breathing strategies Ma taught him. Then, he knelt cautiously next to Shouto, who’d sat up the moment the villains had left the room, his arms curled around his knees. “Hey - are you okay?” 

The smaller boy startled, glancing at Eijirou. “I’m fine,” he said. The confusion in his voice pitched the end like a question. 

“Are you sure? They got you pretty good.” Eijirou was using his best moms-voice. 

Shouto looked a little baffled, but he unwound from his curled-up position, pressing gently on his stomach. “I think it’s just bruised. Oh, and I got blood on my pants.” That seemed to distress him more than the several hard kicks to the abdomen. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you still bleeding?” Eijirou glanced up from where he and Shouto were sitting just long enough to notice Tsu, crouched near the chainlink, concerned. Denki was still hyperventilating, and Izuku was pacing back and forth, muttering something urgently to himself. 

“A little.” Shouto held out one of his arms, twisting it back and forth. “It’s not bad.”

It didn’t look like a deep cut, and it wasn’t very wide either - about three centimeters - but some of Shouto’s skin seemed to be missing, so the edges of the wound didn’t touch. If Eijirou had his quirk, he’d be bristelling. He ground his teeth together. 

Eijirou got banged up a lot - Ma said he could trip over his own shadow - so he knew what to do with injuries like Shouto’s. Ice the bruises, pressure on the cuts, keep the burns clean and dry. But he couldn’t do most of those things, because he was locked in a tiny cell. Eijirou resorted to using his teeth on the edge of his shirt, attempting to tear some of it off. 

Shouto watched him with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make bandages,” Eijirou said. He looked up and met Shouto’s bicolored gaze. “Thank you, by the way. For what you did.”

Shouto flushed, looking away. “I didn’t do much. I knew I couldn’t get away, but - I had to try.”

“You’re very manly,” Eijirou said, nodding. He felt tears coming to his eyes - overwhelmed tears, this time. Shouto is so cool . “But, you know - you don’t have to pretend you’re not hurting, if you are. It’s not unmanly to be in pain.”

Shouto just blinked at him. Eijirou managed to tear away a tiny strip of his polo, and he started to wrap it around Shouto’s arm. 

“I can do that myself, you know,” Shouto said, but he didn’t move to stop him. Eijirou ripped off another piece and bound the second injury too. That cut was right on top of a bruise, so he had to be extra careful. 

Izuku stopped his muttering all of the sudden, falling eerily silent. “Shouto,” he asked, “do you really think they’re listening to us?”

Shouto shrugged. “Watching, definitely.”

“Okay, so - we’ll have to be quick.” Izuku knelt down by his cell’s door, as close as he could get to the other kids. He pulled Denki with him. Shouto, Eijirou, and Tsu joined them. “I might have a plan. Maybe. It relies on - well, a lot of assumptions, but maybe -”

“Izuku-san, please just tell us. Ribbit.”

“Okay.” Izuku took a deep breath. He wiped his eyes. “Shouto, I noticed that your cuffs are different from ours.” That was right. Shouto’s cuffs were black and slim; the rest of them had heavy silver quirk-cancelers. All of them blinked with little lights. “I was wondering why that was, but the villain said - your quirk has something to do with temperature?”

Shouto nodded. “I can make fire and ice. Usually. Not right now.” Wow, he was even more manly than Eijirou realized. 

“Right, but your skin temperature is still different, isn’t it? The villain said something like, don’t burn me.”

“Yes,” Shouto said, “I can make myself hot and cold, I think, but I can’t do much else.”

“You have an emitter quirk, and the cuffs - they stop you from emitting, from actively using your power, but they don’t seem to shut it off completely. How hot can you get?”

Shouto frowned. “I…don’t know. I don’t like -” He sighs, then says, “Hot enough to burn skin, probably, but not enough to melt metal, if that’s your plan. I can’t even do that with my quirk.” He examined his hands. 

“No, that’s not it. It’s just that technology tends to be sensitive to temperature changes, right? I’m guessing they put those black cuffs on you because they’re resistant. Which implies that the normal ones aren’t."

Suddenly, Shouto’s expression went blank. “No.”

"What ?” Denki burst out. “You don’t even know -”

“The cuffs are metal. If I made them hot, hot enough to break - it would burn the person wearing them.” Shouto’s gaze flickered to Eijirou. “No.”

“We could - we could be careful,” Izuku said. “If you heat the cuffs and then quickly cool them down -”

“No!” Shouto stood up, backing away from the door. “I don’t use my fire like that! I won’t hurt anyone!”

Eijirou took a deep breath. “Shouto-kun,” he said quietly. “I understand why you don’t want to do it. You just went through a lot to protect me. But…” He squared his shoulders. “I wanna help. Let me help.”

Shouto’s gaze flickered to him, disbelief loud on his face. “It doesn’t - it doesn’t matter. Even if we get your cuffs off - you don’t have a quirk that can get us out, right? They you have a hardening quirk.”

Eijirou deflated. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Um, that may not matter as much as you think, ribbit.” Tsu said. She curled her body even more inward, carefully flashing something cupped in her hands. It’s a syringe. “I was going to go for the keys, ribbit, or a scalpel, but they would notice those missing.” She flashed a careful grin at Shouto. “You really kept those villains busy, Shouto-san. With this and a bobby pin…”

Izuku’s face brightened, and man, that kid could look like the surface of the sun. “Can you -”

“I think so, ribbit.” Tsu flushed. “There’s a room in my house that locks from the outside. Samichan always locks himself in, and we don’t know where the key is. So…I have practice.”

“We’ll have to move really fast,” Denki said. He adjusted his oversized leather jacket, like he was putting on a costume. “Do you think we can do it?”

“It’s worth a try,” Izuku said. He looked at Shouto and Eijirou. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you.”

Shouto shook his head again, his eyes wide. Eijirou took his hand, trying not to flinch at the icy chill of his skin. “I want to be brave,” he said softly. “And you’re so brave, Sho. We have to try.” He felt sick to his stomach at the idea of facing a villain without a doorway in-between, but the idea of getting his quirk back - yeah.

He held out his wrist. “Go ahead, Sho-kun, you can do it.”

He tried not to flinch when the kid shifted and reached for his arm. He almost managed. Shouto hesitated. “You have to let me know when it starts to hurt,” he said, glaring at Eijirou, “and I’ll switch to cold.”

“Thermal shock, smart,” Izuku said. He shot them an encouraging smile, undercut only slightly by the way he’d started to shake again. “Might even work better than just heat. And we can use padding! Stick the tie under the metal, that should help.”

Eijirou did as instructed, embarrassingly grateful for the small amount of protection. Shouto hovered his hands in the air, and he could already feel the shift in temperature. Shouto’s right hand paled, and his other side grew flushed. “Ready?” Shouto asked. 

Eijirou nodded. Shouto grabbed his cuff with his left, and it only took a second before Eijirou’s wrist began to sting, the heat shooting through the metal. Wow, this kid’s quirk is strong. He almost forgot to say, “Stop!” when the tingle turned gave way to an actual burn. 

Shouto switched hands, grabbing the hot metal with his right. A brief expression twisted his face, but it was gone so quickly, Eijirou had no chance of deciphering it. Shouto was kinda weird. He wasn’t like any other kid Eijirou had met, but maybe that came with being the son of a pro. When the cold turned painful, even with the tie in the way, Eijirou called it again, and Shouto switched hands. 

All in all, it was only about fifteen seconds before the lights on the cuff flickered out. There was a click as the locking mechanism disengaged. 

Eijirou gasped. “Do the other one!” 

Shouto did, and Tsu got to work on her cell’s lock. The countdown was on. 

Tsuyu had never before appreciated having a heteromorphic quirk, but she certainly did in that cell. As they made their great escape, she chose to leave her cuffs on, since her physical abilities were untouched. Izuku also chose to not have his cuffs removed, and wouldn’t explain why. Tsu had… suspicions. 

That left them with three quirks, and one kid who seemed dangerous even without. Tsu crept over towards Shouto as Denki fried the electronic lock on the basement door in the direction the villains had come from. “Thank you again for the jacket, ribbit,” she said. “You can have it back now, if you want.”

Shouto stared at her for a moment. Tsu wasn’t upset by people staring, but especially not by Shouto, because he seemed to do that to everybody. “No,” he eventually said. “It’s fine. Unless it’s in your way?”

It was, but Tsu didn’t care. “I’ll keep it then, ribbit. You’re very brave, you know.”

Shouto looked away. “People keep saying that,” he murmured. Tsu waited for him to elaborate - people usually kept talking if you were quiet and stared at them - but Shouto never did. He was weird. It was nice. 

It must be hard for him to not have his quirk. Plus, he looked like someone had kicked him down the stairs. Tsuyu’s big-sister instincts were firing in overdrive, even though Shouto was probably older than her and acted like a mini grown-up. She resolved that he wasn’t going to get any more bruises. Tsuyu was usually the odd one, and weird kids stick together. 

The lock clicked, but Denki hesitated. “What’re we going to do when we open that door?” Denki asked. “What if there are villains?”

Shouto squared his shoulders, his jaw tightening. “We shouldn’t try to fight. They’ll win.” He spat the words out like poison. 

“Yeah,” Izuku agreed, his voice breathy and scared. “We know about the guy with the fog quirk. The snake-woman probably bites. And someone has a flame quirk, but we don’t know who. We don’t know enough .”

Shouto frowned. “How do you know someone has a flame quirk?”

Tsuyu tilted her head. “Shouto-san. You’re covered in burns.”

“Oh. Yes.” 

“So what, we run?” Eijirou looked a lot less scared than he had before, though his hands were trembling. “I don’t want to leave anyone behind. That’s not manly.”

“We might have to,” Shouto said. The strange emptiness from before had settled back over his features as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “If just one of us gets away, they can lead the heroes to the rest. It’s good tactics.”

“Okay, but - don’t take risks that aren’t necessary,” Izuku said. His eyes were on Shouto, which was fair. “Don’t get hurt if you can help it.”

Tsuyu reached for Shouto’s hand. He froze - luckily, not literally. His hand felt like it was made of chilled stone. We should try to stay together,” she said. “But if we have to, we run.”

Denki nodded. The collar of his jacket stuck up around his ears. In combination with his hair and the shirt that hung like a dress, he looked pretty silly. Tsuyu took a deep breath. She didn’t want anyone to hurt. 

She wanted to see her brother again. 

Izuku pushed the door open and they crept up the stairs. They led up into what looked like a factory, rusty and abandoned. Tsuyu didn’t see any villains right away, but they had to be somewhere. They had to know they escaped. 

The other side of the factory exploded, shouting mixed with a crack like fireworks. Tsuyu jumped back, accidentally pulling Shouto with her. The other kids also took shelter in the open doorway. “What was that?”

Izuku’s eyes were wide. “That sounds - that sounds like -”

“HEY! WORTHLESS DEKU, SHITTY HAIR, ICYHOT! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” The roaring resolved into words, barely audible past the continuing booms. Tsuyu resisted the urge to cover her ears. Who was Deku? Why was someone yelling? She wanted to jump to safety, but Shouto’s hand was still clutched in hers. “FROGFACE AND PIKACHU TOO! YOU BETTER NOT BE HURT, YOU LOSERS, BECAUSE I WANT TO KICK YOUR ASSES MYSELF.”

Izuku had turned very pale. “Ka - Kacchan? That can’t be -”

Shouto asked: “Who’s Kacchan?” 

Denki asked: “Why’s he yelling about Pikachu?” 

Shouto settled into a fighting stance, one Tsuyu had only seen in movies, pulling his hand free of her smaller one. Despite his grounded posture, he flinched just slightly at every explosion, his hands flickering towards his ears. 

“DEKU, YOU FUCKER, ANSWER ME! I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU!”

Another voice: “Bakugo! Focus on the mission! And no - no killing!”

“OH, YOU’RE ONE TO TALK, GLASSES. DON’T THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DID!”

“What is happening right now?” Eijirou whispered. 

Tsuyu agreed. She was very confused. “Izuku -”

A villain came into view, rounding the edge of one of the machines. It was the cloudy-haired guy, Dokuko, followed closely by the snake woman who made Tsu uncomfortable. Before either of them could react to the kids, a new person was soaring overhead, accompanied by more explosions. 

It was a teenager in green and black, with an orange X across his chest. Another villain? He scanned the room with bright red eyes. His hands sparked with fire; the crackling sound continued. 

“Is he a hero?” Eijirou asked. 

Tsuyu doubted it. He was so loud. And angry. She couldn’t imagine him saving anybody, but honestly… She thought the same thing about Endeavor. Shouto was nice, though. She grabbed onto his arm, careful to avoid his injuries. He was so awkward about touch, but he didn’t seem to mind it. His skin was hot beneath her hands. 

“FUCKING - THERE YOU ARE, DEKU! I CAN SEE YOUR HAIR!”

Izuku made a sound like a small dog being stepped on and shrank away from the open space, back into the staircase. “This isn’t - that’s not possible,” he muttered. “That’s not possible!”

The teenager landed, skidding to a stop in front of them. His eyes were locked on Izuku, flicking on occasion over to the rest of them. “What the fuck,” he said, almost breathlessly. 

“Kacchan! Why - why are you a teenager?” Izuku yelped. 

“WHY ARE YOU A LITTLE KID???”

Chapter Text

Bakugou Katsuki was having what he would emphatically describe as a bad day. It wasn’t because five of his classmates had gone missing (fucking five of them, a whole fourth of their class) apparently while leaving the dorms for the weekend. Those assholes could take care of themselves, and if they couldn’t, that was their own damn fault. No, Bakugou was annoyed because everyone else was freaking out. 

The second it was discovered that students were missing, Aizawa-sensei revoked everyone’s permission to leave, and Bakugou’s peaceful weekend (as peaceful as it ever got around the hag, at least) was completely shafted before it even began. Bakugou was dragged back to a much-emptier-than-usual dorm, filled with tearful and confused classmates. He then had to endure his teacher’s interrogation: 

No, he didn’t know where Deku was. It wasn’t like they were fucking friends. Yes, the same went for IcyHot. No, he didn’t know where Shitty Hair was either, even if he could maybe (Maybe!) admit that extra had merit. All five of the missing kids had parents living in similar areas and might have wandered off at the same time, had they checked on that?

(The answer was yes. Aizawa then took the opportunity to remind Bakugou that he was only recently licensed and that he should under no circumstances seek out the others himself. Bakugou reminded Aizawa that he wasn’t a fucking moron, and that he hadn’t approved of the rescue mission the last time it was carried out. Aizawa eyed him and repeated his instructions.) 

And then their dorm was full of a rotating roster of teachers, apparently all assigned to make sure their class didn’t leap into action like a swarm of suicidal lemmings. Bakugou tsked under his breath, and definitely did not pace like a caged animal, because that was beneath him. 

He didn’t want to think about other times he’d been treated like an animal. Didn’t want to think about being chained to a fucking chair, his hands locked together, or a hot hand around his throat. Being kidnapped hadn’t fucking scared him. He was totally fucking fine. But what kind of villain could grab five hero students at the same time? Especially when one of those students is Deku and another is the half-and-half bastard? Did they get ambushed? Knocked unconscious? Trapped by a quirk?

He was not pacing. He wasn’t. 

He didn’t snap to attention when Aizawa-sensei walked in, a vicious glow to his dark eyes. “Bakugo, Jirou, Iida, Shoji, you’re with me,” he said. “We found them. You’re on the team for the rescue. Do not make me regret this.”

Everyone else knew better than to complain. Bakugou stormed off to get his costume, dressing faster than he thought he ever had, and mentally prepared himself for what they might find. 

He did not succeed. 

The group of children standing in front of him, clutching to each other, certainly fucking looked like his classmates. His classmates if they’d been turned into pint-size Polly-Pocket-ass toddlers, and who were now staring at him with what looked uncomfortably like fear. 

Deku stepped hesitantly forward. “You - you are Kacchan, aren’t you?”

“Yes, you moron, who else would I be?” Bakugou spat. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I think we got kidnapped,” Denki supplied helpfully. 

“YES, YOU GOT FUCKING KIDNAPPED -”

Suddenly Todoroki was moving, shaking off Tsu before he put himself in-between the other kids and Bakugou. As if you’re a threat, his brain helpfully supplied. The tiny half-and-half copy had the same cold expression on his face, which might have been disturbing to see on a little kid but Bakugou would take the normalcy he could get. Todoroki raised his hands into a stance Bakugou could immediately recognize. 

“You bastard, if you set me on fire, I swear -” His hands popped involuntarily, and Todoroki fucking flinched.  

It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but Deku must have caught it too, because he pulled IcyHot back, making placating gestures. “Stop! Just stop! Kacchan, I don’t - I don’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t even have his quirk. He can’t hurt you, he’s not a threat!”

"Izuku.” Todoroki hissed.

Normally, Bakugou would be offended by the implication that he would ever feel threatened by a fucking toddler, but at the moment, he was more upset that Deku felt the need to protect Todoroki - who was, mind you, a baby - from him. He wasn’t the only one. Kirishima (and fuck, it had taken a moment to recognize him, with his normal non-shitty hair) had Hardening active all along his arms. 

Hot anger swirled in his gut. Bakugou had to fight to lower his hands. “Deku,” he growled. When the kid - and he really was little, holy shit - turned pale, Bakugou made an unwilling correction. “Izuku. How old are you right now?”

“We’re ten,” Denki provided. “Except for Tsu and Shouto, they’re nine.” 

They weren’t even all in double digits. Jesus Christ. Save Bakugou from this absolute clusterfuck. “Do you remember being older?”

“What do you mean?” Tsuyu asked. 

“Kacchan and I are the same age,” Izuku whispered. “Or at least, we’re supposed to be.”

“That’s not possible,” Half-n-Half provided, as empty-headed as ever. 

“It obviously is, dumbass,” Bakugou shot back before reminding himself that he was trying not to argue with a kid who was probably still using sippy cups. Even if he was actually IcyHot and a dick. “Look, all of you are teenagers, and you went missing. We came looking. And you’re obviously under the effects of some kind of quirk -”

A loud crack echoed from behind him, and Bakugou was distracted from the drama worthy of the world's worst sitcom by the realization that the battle was still ongoing. And he was out in the open. Surrounded by toddlers. “ Fuck, we don’t have time for this. All of you, come with me.”

Deku and Denki crept forward, but the other kids stayed frozen in the staircase’s opening. “How do we know we can trust you?” IcyHot snapped. “You could - you could just be making all of it up.”

“Either way, this building is full of fucking villains, and we need to go,” Bakugou growled. 

Todoroki glanced across the open space of the factory, and Bakugou knew he needed to act quickly or the kid would fucking bolt. “Your mom gave you that scar,” he blurted out. 

Todoroki stilled. “How did you - no -” He’d gone very pale. Or, even weirder - half pale and half flushed. Sweat glistened on his skin. 

The other kids were staring at him; maybe this was a bad idea. Too fucking late. Bakugou pressed on. “I told you. You’re really a teenager and we know each other. You told me.” No he hadn’t, but even-littler-Endeavor didn’t need to know that. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Todoroki whispered. “I wouldn’t tell.”

Shit. Bakugou hadn’t wanted to grab him because of all the bruises - and some blood, and what looked like burns, what the fuck - but it seemed like he was out of options. The kid was in cuffs; manhandling him should’ve been easy. “We need to go.”

Bakugou reached for Todoroki’s less-maimed arm, realizing an instant too late that his skin was radiating heat. A lot of heat. Enough to ignite - shit - 

It was only a small POP - just what could make it past his gloves - but it was enough to send the tiny waif that was apparently Todoroki Fucking Shouto stumbling back, his back colliding with the wall. He cried out, his hands flying up to shield his face. 

In one instance, several things happened. First, something wrapped around Bakugou’s waist, and he was half a millisecond away from burning it when he realized it was Tsu’s tongue. Next, Kirishima was at Todoroki’s side, his skin hard and jagged. And then, Deku shot in-between the other kids and Katsuki, his hands raised and his body shaking. It was horribly familiar. 

“Stop - stop it!” he stuttered out. “I won’t - I won’t let you hurt them!”

Cold fury wrapped itself around his throat, and Bakugou had to take several deep, panting breaths before he could respond, “I am not going to fucking hurt a bunch of useless little kids. I’m a HERO - what don’t you get?”

Several expressions greeted that declaration. Confusion and disbelief from Tsu and Kirishima (fucking rude) odd comprehension from Todoroki, which didn’t erase the fear; and a weird, wide-eyed, tiny grin from Deku, who slowly lowered his fists. Somehow, it was that last reaction that hurt the most. 

Hold on. Where was - 

Tiny hands collided with his back, and Bakugou had a moment to think what the shit before electricity shot across his body, lighting cracking across his skin like he was fucking Deku. It wasn’t a huge jolt, but it was enough to send him stumbling, eyes wide, limbs and lungs spasming. Tsu gasped and quickly retracted her tongue, also reeling. 

“Denki!” she yelled, already tearing up. "Ow!"

But the fucking sparkplug had already managed to fry his brain, and didn’t respond past a giggling thumbs-up. Bakugou had never understood the words problem children more than in that moment.  

“Come on!” That was Kirishima. “Guys, we should go!”

Yes, but not fucking without him. They’d be sitting goddamn ducks. Bakugou was too busy twitching to yell, trying to get his arms underneath him.

“We can’t leave Kacchan!”

“He burned Shou! We need to run!”

Suddenly Deku was standing over him, his green eyes full of tears. “Sorry,” he mouthed. “I’m so sorry.” Oh, don’t you dare. He did dare. Deku disappeared from his limited field of view. 

And fog filled the battlefield. 

Bakugou Katsuki was all alone. He dragged himself to his feet, still shaking with the aftermath of electrocution, rage, and now the cold. Where the fuck was he? Where did the kids go? The only thing surrounding him was a featureless plane of white mist - was he even in that factory anymore? He stumbled forward a few steps. He wanted to shout, to insult whatever quirk-using bastard had transported him to the goddamn twilight zone, to yell for the kids, but something in the air made him wary of using his voice. 

Besides, it’s not like the kids would come to him. Bakugou had very thoroughly exploded that fucking bridge. And he’d known little Deku was a sniveling coward, but what made Half-n-Half look at him like he was something to fear? Even Eijirou acted like he was a villain. He’d never done that before. 

Bakugou was going to find whatever villain replaced his classmates with mewling copies and make them regret ever having sneezed in the same postal code as Bakugou Katsuki. He wasn’t good with fucking kids. Never had been, never will be. 

That wasn’t an excuse for burning them, though. 

He hadn’t meant to burn Todoroki. Deku, on the other hand…

(But fucking nothing was going to save Dunce-Face when Bakugou got his hands on him. Tasing him? Really? Little bastard. Bakugou was almost impressed.)

Bakugou was left to stew in the fog, in the silence, for just enough time that his useless brain began to connect the stillness with the inside of that magician bastard’s marble. He didn’t really remember being compressed, but there was something about the feeling that stuck with him. The helplessness of the smooth expanse, his body pressed down and changed. Despite the boundless white around him, the walls were closing in. 

And then he was back in the factory, stumbling, his hands cracking with comforting flames. He blinked a few times to clear the fog that wasn’t there. 

“Kacchan!” somebody cried. Somebody who definitely wasn’t Deku. “Hero-san: on your six!”

Bakugou spun around and was greeted with by the fact that a) the person who screamed was fucking IcyHot, and b) that a woman with long, sharp fangs was lunging towards him. He pointed his hand in her direction and ignited, just in time to avoid said fangs sinking deep into his unprotected shoulder. The woman screamed and fell back, clutching at her face. 

What kind of fucking nine-year-old uses military jargon? Brat was lucky that Bakugou understood. But now the gormless little asshole was just standing stock-still in the middle of the factory floor, out of the cover of the stairwell, still wearing quirk-canceling cuffs and even more useless than usual. Bakugou launched himself over to him, growling at how the kid shrunk back, but Todoroki finally did the sensible thing and didn’t run. He landed next to Half-n-Half, (carefully) grabbed the shoulder of his oversized shirt, and spun to look for the others. 

Frogface had jumped onto one of the metal catwalks ringing the floor - good, at least one of the kids was blessed with an actual fucking brain - and Marginally-Less-Shitty-Hair was standing nearby, Hardening still active. So that left - shit . Beside him, IcyHot made a distressed sound as he reached out to grab the fabric of Katsuki’s pants.

Some misty-haired motherfucker was holding Deku in the crook of one arm, a knife clutched in his sweaty hand. His other mit was fisted in Kaminari’s shirt, holding the unphased and delirious kid at their side. It was an awkward, unsustainable position, but it would only take one sideways yank for that knife to slide across Deku’s throat. Quirkless, tiny, ten-year-old Deku, who couldn’t protect himself even a bit. 

“Kacchan,” the kid whimpered. 

“Let them fucking go,” Bakugou snarled. 

Todoroki growled like a feral cat, and Bakugou was newly glad to have the half-and-half bastard locked down at his side. Teenage IcyHot was impulsive as shit and Bakugou was beginning to suspect that baby-version was even worse. He tightened his hold on his shirt. 

The pale bastard inched back a step, dragging the two kids along. Deku was standing on his toes, trying to stay as far from the knife as possible. If he stumbled… no, Bakugou was not going to think about it, because he was going to get to the kid before then, just fucking watch him. “I’m going to take these two and - and walk out of here,” the man stuttered out, eyes darting around. God, he was a fucking coward. Of course, Bakugou knew that already - he’d taken two kids hostage, what kind of fucker does that - but it was extra enraging to have it confirmed. “If you try to stop me, kid, greenie dies first.”

Bakugou, extremely unwillingly, raised his gauntlets in a gesture of surrender, letting go of IcyHot. He should’ve said something to deescalate, but what came out instead was, “If you so much as fucking breathe on either of those kids, I’ll turn your already gross-ass face into abstract art and hang you on the wall!”

"Kacchan,” Deku gasped, aghast, as the villain sputtered. Okay, so he was shit at conflict resolution, that wasn’t a surprise. 

“Jeez, are all heroes secretly so violent?” the villain got out, somehow making Bakugou angrier. The bastard took another step backwards, which lifted Deku’s feet practically off of the ground. “You’re supposed to tell me that I don’t have to do this! Make me an offer!”

“Yeah, well, I’d much prefer to just kill you,” Bakugou shot back. His eyes tracked motion behind the villain - the flash of something silver. “Last warning. Let the brats go.”

He could feel Todoroki shifting, and worried for a second that the kid was about to make his fucking awful day even worse. Instead of running off, IcyHot curled towards him, practically hugging his leg. Bakugou felt his uniquely furious brand of confusion - now is when you choose to act like an actual goddamn child? - but before he could shake him off, he heard the kid whisper, “There’s someone in the rafters. Red eyes, goggles, scarf.”

Oh. Of course. The kid’s change of position, carefully disguised as an attempt to seek comfort, hid his face - his lips - from the villain.  Bakugou fought back a manic grin. He dropped one of his hands slowly to the kid’s back, gently pulling him away. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Bakugou said quietly. And then he called, “Hey Deku! Keep your eyes on me, you got it?” As soon as he had the kid’s attention, he let a victorious snarl spread across his face. "Duck!”

Before the head-in-the-clouds villain motherfucker could do much more than frown, Aizawa’s scarf was shooting out from behind him, tangling the hand with the knife and pulling it away from his body. With the widening gap, Deku was able to drop down into a messy crouch, his chin tucked against his chest, just as Glasses came flying out of fucking nowhere and tore Dunce-Face from the villain’s grasp. 

My turn, bastard. Katsuki shot forward, careful not to aim his explosions anywhere near IcyHot (that kid had enough goddamn scars). He hit the villain with a dull thud and an oof, immediately curling down to shield Deku with his head, chest and one arm while he brought his other hand up to the asshole’s face. “I warned you,” he said, and fired. 

(He didn’t use quite enough force to damage his skull. There were still kids present, after all, and Bakugou was a hero. Just enough to fucking hurt.)

The man reeled backward, clutching at his bleeding nose for just a moment before the damage truly caught up to him. He fainted. Bakugou stood up, not entirely successful at getting away before Deku threw his arms around his waist, the kid whimpering a repeated litany of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, thank you, I’m sorry.” 

Bakugou’s immediate instinct was to stiffen and peel the kid off, maybe shoving him to the ground for good measure, but he refrained. He only turned rigid, snarled a bit, and eventually growled out, “So, you’re fine, then? Not injured?” He glanced away just long enough to check on Todoroki - the kid was eying the newly-arrived heroes with distrust, but he seemed just fine. 

Deku leaned back to beam at Bakugou, the same exact annoying-ass smile he’d been aiming at his victims since they were three. “I’m fine! You saved me!” Oh god, Bakugou thought Deku’s previous level of obsessive hero-worship was annoying. He practically had stars in his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

Chapter Text

Good news: all of his students were safe. Bad news: five of them were ten, and Aizawa had no idea how to deal with that . He taught high-school for a reason, and taking care of Eri had only taught him so much. 

He lurked nearby as the police led villains away in cuffs and the paramedics flooded the scene. Close enough to see the kids, far enough away that he wouldn’t have to speak to them. Not yet, at least. Mini-Midoriya was still clinging to Bakugou with surprising strength (and surprisingly few explosions), and the other kids were being checked over by paramedics. Aizawa’s heart had dropped into his stomach when he’d gotten a glimpse of Todoroki. Poor kid was covered in bruises, and Aizawa found himself wishing he’d been a little less efficient in the villains’ capture. At least the boy was safe. 

If a bit more traumatized. His students couldn’t catch a single goddamn break. 

“Sounds like the kidnappers thought younger children would be easier to manage. Big mistake, huh?” Fatgum said, approaching Aizawa from where he’d been conversing with cops. The spotlight hero was one of the pros who’d been searching for the students, and Aizawa, in a rare moment of sympathy, called him in for the rescue. Surprisingly, even though Fatgum seemed ecstatic that Kirishima was safe, he hadn’t yet approached this version of his intern. Aizawa couldn’t exactly judge. “They hired some outside contractor - no news on them yet.”

“Hmm,” Aizawa grunted noncommittally. That’s bad. If the villain who’d de-aged the kids wasn’t one of the ones who’d been captured, fixing this mess could take a lot longer. 

“All the kids okay?”

Before Aizawa could answer, he became aware of an argument brewing between the paramedics and one of his students. Ah. It was Todoroki - what a shocking turn of events. Settling his chin down into his scarf, he wandered over, flashing his hero license for good measure. “What’s going on?”

The paramedic sighed. Aizawa empathized. “The boy doesn’t want to go to the hospital,” she said, “but he also won’t let us check his injuries here on-scene. I’d like to bandage his arms properly, and the bruising under his shirt is concerning. I suspect broken ribs.”

“They’re not broken,” Todoroki insisted. When Aizawa shot him an unimpressed look, the kid doubled down. “They’re not. Broken ribs feel different, I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Okay, so that was concerning. One thing at a time . Aizawa thought. “Todoroki, all of your injuries should be treated, even if they’re not serious,” he said. He turned to the paramedic. “And we’ll probably need to take them all to the hospital, since we don’t know the nature of the quirk that was used.” 

Todoroki scowled, but unfortunately for him, the overall impression was adorable and not at all imposing. Kirishima put a hand on his arm. “Hey man, it’s okay. They’ll probably do a better job bandaging up your arms than I did.”

Aizawa had noticed the bloody bits of t-shirt. He had so many questions. 

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Todoroki said again. “Where - where’s my dad? Have you called him?” His hand had settled on top of Kirishima’s, though he didn’t seem aware of it. He was shaking, just a bit. Asui carefully flanked his other side. 

“Your dad knows you’ve been found, and that you’re safe,” Aizawa said. He hadn’t informed Enji on the specifics of his son’s condition, wanting to wait until they knew more. And the Flame Hero hadn’t been allowed along on the rescue mission, despite his petulant grumbling. “Literally on fire” and “subtle hostage recovery” didn’t exactly go together. 

(Aizawa had reluctantly allowed Bakugou along because the alternative was leaving the boy to stew, and he didn’t want any Midoriya-inspired bad decisions. Eying the faint, round burn on Todoroki’s upper arm, that may have been a mistake.) 

Kirishima turned to Aizawa. “I really don’t mean any offense, man - sir - but… who are you exactly?” 

Aizawa sighed. Right. Missing memories. He held up his hero ID again, slowly. “I’m the underground hero Eraserhead.” Aizawa noted that Todoroki’s shoulders slumped when he got a good look at the ID. Resigned? “You can call me Aizawa-sensei or just Aizawa. I’m your homeroom teacher at UA.”

“Wow!” a high-pitched voice shrilled from behind him. “So, it’s really true? We’re all UA students? Even - even me?”

Aizawa turned to find that Bakugou had shuffled over to their vicinity - think of the devil and he shall appear - with Midoriya following close behind. “I told you, Deku,” the teenager growled. “It’s ridiculous bullshit, but it's true. We’re all in the same class.” He scuffed his shoe. “Unfortunately.”

“I got into UA?” Kirishima squeaked out. 

“I guess that explains your jacket, Shouto-kun,” Midoriya said, gesturing to the uniform that was now draped around Asui’s shoulders. “Even though I can still barely believe it. Do I have a hero name? Any cool support items? I wonder how I compensate for not having a quirk, do I -”

“Deku. You have a quirk.” Bakugou sounded like he was spitting the words out through a mouthful of broken glass. “You’re just a really, really late bloomer. Apparently."

Oh boy. The kid’s tone implied that he knew something he definitely shouldn’t. Another thing for the ever growing list of later-problems. “Bakugou,” he said, letting his low voice carry over Midoriya’s frantic sputtering. “Your hostage-rescue skills could use some… refinement.”

“Bite me. It worked didn’t it?” Bakugou shot back. There was a pause, before, “Yeah. I know.”

During the commotion, the paramedic had successfully coaxed Todoroki over to the ramp of the ambulance. In the harsh light spilling from inside, the boy’s bruises were even more apparent. The other kids remained in his orbit - Kirishima had stepped back, out of the way of the paramedics, and Asui was seated on Todoroki’s right, gently holding his hand. Todoroki hunched forward slightly, and his hair, a bit longer than Aizawa was used to, swept in front of his eyes. 

Midoriya, with one more bright grin at Bakugou (Aizawa could not for the life of him figure out what was going on with those two), went to join the other not-quite-students, just as Iida pulled up beside Aizawa and Bakugou, pumping his arms in that way that indicated he was nervous or emotional. “Iida,” Aizawa greeted. “Where’s Kaminari?”

“He fell asleep,” Iida replied promptly. “I handed his care over to the rescue workers - it seemed a bit worrying how quickly he passed out, so -”

“It’s his quirk, he’s fine,” Bakugou cut in. When they both turned to him, he flushed. “For Dunce-Face, the stupid hur-dur phase is only first,” he clarified unwillingly. “Next he knocks out. Usually gets a migraine too. Child-asshole must be less good at hiding it - what? I fu- I pay attention, okay? And it’s not a surprise that short-circuiting his goddamn brain has other side effects, jesus.”

“Language,” Aizawa intoned, out of obligation. He was mostly surprised that the kid was so attentive to the needs of his classmates. Or their weaknesses, as the boy himself would likely phrase it. “I’ll… discuss that with Kaminari,” Aizawa said instead. And hope that the kid wasn’t giving himself brain damage with his quirk, shit. He’d always been a little worried, but Kaminari’s file indicated that the side-effect from his quirk was similar to the confusion that could follow a seizure - disorienting and possibly distressing, but not a sign of permanent harm. Apparently, trusting the kids’ files might’ve been a mistake.

“How are the other children?” Iida asked. “Are they unharmed?”

“From what I could tell, they’re all fine except for Todoroki.” At Iida’s worried look, Aizawa elaborated, “He has some bruising - I couldn’t see the extent of it.”

“Burns, too,” Bakugou muttered. Aizawa frowned at that. It didn’t seem like he was referring to the injury he himself gave Todoroki. Burns, plural.

“None of the villains we apprehended had fire quirks, correct?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou growled, scuffing the orange toe of his boot against the ground. He wasn’t meeting Aizawa’s gaze, choosing instead to stare at Todoroki. “Not a single one.”

Kid, what the fuck are you hiding?

Eijirou was worried about Shouto. It was beginning to become his default state. The younger boy had gone from argumentative to silent in an instant, which might’ve been a good thing, because he was letting the nice paramedic lady poke at the marks on his arms, but it still made Eijirou nervous. Shouto stared resolutely at the floor, a frown still on his lips. 

The paramedic got him to lift up his shirt, and Eijirou winched at bruises painted across his skin. Fresh, red marks mixed with yellow and purple, and a horrible-looking black bruise stretched from near his breastbone sideways and down across the curve of his ribs. He didn’t know what broken ribs looked like, but he’d never seen a bruise that dark before on someone as pale as Shouto, and it looked really painful. It was solid black at the center and blotchy at the edges, like he could see each little burst of blood beneath the skin. He also had a burn near his hip, which was what had been sticking his shirt to his belly. It was pink with yellow blisters, and Eijirou had to look away. 

Tsu switched from clinging to Shouto’s hand to wrapping her arms around his newly-bandaged arm, carefully keeping her distance from where the paramedic was working. To Eijirou’s surprise, the lady smiled when she finished pressing a bandage to Shouto’s burn and running her fingers carefully down his ribcage. “Well, I think you’re right! Not broken.”

Shouto didn’t reply or look up. 

“You’re very brave,” the paramedic said. “Injuries like yours usually make even grown-ups cry, but you’ve been good for me. Thank you, Todoroki-kun.”

Shouto nodded. He leaned slightly towards Tsu, who took his motion as permission to hug his arm just a little tighter.

“Shouto’s really manly,” Eijirou said. “He - he’s going to be fine, right?”

The paramedic nodded. “Completely fine,” she said sincerely. “What happened to all of you must have been scary, but with a combination of healing quirks and good, old-fashioned rest, Todoroki-kun should be completely healthy in no time at all.” 

“That’s good!” Izuku piped up, having joined them. He beamed in a way that would’ve looked fake on anyone else, but Eijirou knew that Izuku was nothing but sincere. Eijirou found it in himself to smile back. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Shouto-kun,” Izuku said. 

“Thank you,” Shouto murmured. He was clinging to the edge of his shirt, probably trying to hide his bruises just a little, but the more he pulled it down, the more the oversized neck slipped, revealing other yellowing marks. The tie must’ve been left behind in the cell. 

Izuku, of course, noticed the issue. “Can I give him my hoodie?” he asked the paramedic. When she nodded, he quickly shrugged off the oversized article of clothing. It was a similar green to his hair - the kid really had a color-scheme. He held it out to Shouto. “Here. You - it looks like you might be cold.”

Shouto looked vaguely incredulous, but he took the hoodie without argument, Tsu releasing him just long enough to tug it on. It fit him just a little better than the uniform jacket, though he was still completely drowning in fabric. It hid all the injuries that weren’t on his face. “...thank you,” he said again. 

Half an hour ago, Eijiriou wouldn’t have described Shouto as shy - fearless, maybe, or blunt - but he was beginning to suspect the younger boy didn’t enjoy being the center of attention. “Hey Izuku,” Eijirou said, drawing the gazes of the group. “...why does your shirt say ‘t-shirt’ on it?”

“Huh?” Izuku glanced down. “Oh! That’s hilarious!”

“It’s really not, ribbit,” Tsu said. 

“Good to know you share a sense of humor with your older self,” Shouto chimed in. “Even if both of you aren’t funny.” When everyone spun to look at him incredulously, Shouto flushed. He ducked his chin into the hoodie, his shoulders coming up. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”

Eijirou resisted the urge to throw an arm around his shoulders, instead bumping his thigh. Shouto still stiffened at the contact, though he seemed more confused than annoyed at Eijirou’s boisterous behavior. “That was awesome! Who knew you were so good at burning people?”

When Shouto opened his mouth, Izuku rushed to interrupt - “That wasn’t a joke about your quirk! Eijirou just means that you’re funny.”

“Oh.”

“You’re really funny, Shou-kun,” Eijirou confirmed, nodding furiously.  

Tsu squeezed his arm. “You’re amazing.”

Shouto looked down at his knees again, twisting the end of one of his sleeves. 

“You’re all so cool,” Izuku said. To Eijirou’s horror, his eyes were filling with big, wet tears. “I hope we’re friends in our future!”

“We’re friends now,” Tsu said firmly. “Right, Shou-kun? Ribbit.”

“R-right,” Shouto said. “Friends.”

The adults and semi-adults near them had finished talking, and several of them drifted in their direction, pretending to be casual. There was the black-haired man with the facial scar and baggy clothing who was apparently their teacher, followed closely by the teenager Izuku called Kacchan. Behind them was - Eijirou gasped. “You’re Ingenium!”

“Oh!” The man in silver armor had removed his helmet, and he looked surprisingly young for such a famous hero. “No, I - well, yes, but -”

“No, Ingenium has boosters on his arms, not his legs,” Izuku said. “You must be someone else!” His eyes were still shining with interest, and he was practically twitching. “Are you another Iida? You’re a legacy family, aren’t you? What’s your hero name? Does having your boosters in your legs affect your walking speed, or -”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa-sensei said, sighing. “Take a breath.”

Izuku blushed. It made his freckles even more apparent. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s no problem, Midoriya,” Not-Ingenium said. His voice was friendly, if a bit stiff. “The Ingenium you’re thinking of is my older brother, Tensei. I’m -”

“Tenya,” Shouto said. He was peering at the hero intently. “You’re Iida Tenya, aren’t you? We’ve met before.”

“That’s right!” Iida said. “I didn’t realize you remembered, Shouto-kun. It was only a few times.” He looked at Eraserhead. “Todoroki and I attended some of the same parties as children. Yaoyorozu too. We never interacted for very long - I got the impression, ah, that I was a bit much for you, Shouto-kun.”

Shouto shrugged. “I don’t like my dad’s parties.” He twisted his sleeve again. “So. We really are in the future.”

“Hah - you  didn’t believe me?” the explosive teenager yelled. “Of course you didn’t, you -”

"Bakugou,” Aizawa-sensei snapped. “Children, remember?”

“IcyHot’s always a goddamn child,” Bakugou gritted out. 

“Not like this.” Eraserhead sighed. He stepped closer to the ambulance. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this must be frightening. But, before we take off for the hospital, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. What you remember.”

Eijirou and Izuku immediately began to speak over each other, with occasional comments tossed out by Tsu. Not-Ingenium’s head swiveled back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. Aizawa-sensei held up his hands. “Okay, okay!” He sighed. He really looked like he could use a nap. What time was it? It was pretty dark. “One at a time.”

Eijirou looked at Izuku; Izuku looked at Eijirou. Eijirou thought it was pretty apparent that Izuku was the talkative one, but the green-haired boy just turned bright red the second he was in the spotlight. “Um, well,” he stuttered out. “So -”

“Todoroki,” Bakugou interrupted, his red eyes on Shouto, calculating. “Situation report.”

Aizawa-sensei looked at his student. “What -”

Bakugou shrugged, without looking away from Shouto. “Just a hunch.” 

Shouto glared at the teenager for a moment before his expression faded back into that weird blankness Eijirou had noticed before. He locked his hands together and recounted, in clipped, short sentences, everything that had happened from the time they woke up in the basement to the moment the heroes showed up. He was very thorough, and completely unemotional. Eijirou teared up when Shouto mentioned the villains trying to hurt him, and how Shouto made them stop. He didn’t make himself sound heroic, though. He made it sound like…nothing at all. 

Eijirou didn’t like that. 

“Hold on,” Izuku said, when Shouto had finished. “Shou, you didn’t mention - Sensei, he didn’t get all of his injuries from that villain hurting him in the cell. He was already hurt when we woke up.”

Shouto’s blank look flickered. Eraserhead leveled his dark gaze on the younger boy. “Shouto, is that correct?”

“Yes. I don’t know what happened.”

“Do you remember how you got those burns?”

Shouto looked down at his hands. “No.”

“One of them’s from me,” Bakugou said. “But not the big ones, Sensei, I promise.” 

“I know,” Aizawa-sensei said. He sighed, yet again, and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s possible that injuries they had before the quirk activated transitioned over to their younger bodies. If Todoroki was injured in the fight before they were captured -”

“I don’t think so, Sensei,” Iida interrupted. When Eraserhead looked at him, obviously unimpressed, he hastened to add, “Midoriya had a bruised chin from our hero training earlier, and he’s fine.”

“Hm,” Aizawa said. “We’ll have to let the quirk specialists take a look. Anything else I should know?” The kids shook their heads - well, everyone except Shouto. He just stayed still. “Alright, then. Midoriya, Kirishima and Asui, you can ride with me to the hospital. Todoroki, you need to stay in the ambulance, is that correct?” The paramedic nodded. “And kid - let her look at your hands. Remember what I said.” 

His hands? Eijirou glanced at Shouto. He was staring at Aizawa, startled - and maybe a little betrayed? “Shouto, what happened to your hands?”

“How did you know?” the younger boy asked Aizawa-sensei. Slowly, very hesitantly, Todoroki presented his palms. Repeated, angry red stripes ran across both of them, noticeably more severe on his right. The burns weren’t blistering, but they were still raised, and layered. Eijirou hissed. What caused that? He hadn’t been burned like that earlier, had he?

“Oh no ,” Izuku breathed. “The cuffs. Shouto, why didn’t you tell us ?” 

The cuffs? What did he mean?

 “It’s not that bad?” Shouto said. He tucked his arms against his chest, hands curled into fists. Eijirou wanted to pry them back open - didn’t that hurt? “The burns aren’t going to like, scar or anything. Don’t worry.”

“I know Todoroki isn’t as temperature resistant without his quirk,” Aizawa explained gently to the group. “When he was heating and cooling the cuffs, he had to touch the metal. That’s how I knew you must’ve burned yourself, kid. Though it’s concerning you didn’t feel the need to mention that.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, ribbit?” Asui asked softly, curling closer to Todoroki. Her eyes were also shining. “You didn’t even flinch."

He did flinch, Eijirou realized. He did. I noticed. But I was too busy - I was paying attention to myself. He was so careful not to burn me, and I -

“I didn’t say anything, because it’s not a big deal.” Todoroki pressed his palms against his legs. Eijirou cringed. Didn’t that make the pain worse? “There wasn’t a better way, and we didn’t know if we’d be rescued, Aizawa-san. It was a good plan." He stared at Aizawa, chin up defiantly. “It was.”

“You should’ve told us,” Tsu insisted. Eijirou scrubbed at his face with the side of his arm. He didn’t want to cry. Why wasn’t Shouto crying? He didn’t ever seem to cry. 

Aizawa sighed. “Asui is right, Todoroki.” When Shouto stiffened, Aizawa added, “But you still did good, kid, don’t worry. All of you did very well.” For some reason, the hero was watching Shouto carefully. Eijirou wasn’t able to muster another distraction. 

It didn’t feel like he’d done well. Eijirou had never, ever felt like less of a hero.

Chapter Text

“We’ll see you at the hospital,” Tsuyu had said, right before the paramedic made her stop holding Shouto’s arm so he could lie down on a stretcher in the ambulance. Shouto had been distracted at the time - the paramedic had been both touching him and talking to him, trying to be reassuring (and he wasn’t even scared) in that fake-kind way adults sometimes spoke to children, too sweet and too smiley - but now they were at the hospital, and the other kids weren’t there. 

Not with him, at least. They’d rushed him off to do more tests, first with that big circular scanner that Shouto always hated, and then there were more people who wanted to poke and prod at his bruises and rub cream on his burns, and then he had to get stitches on both of his arms, which was silly because he was barely even bleeding. Shouto was extremely tempted to tell them he didn’t need their help and could take care of himself, but that was probably a waste of time. Besides, he didn’t feel like speaking. The hospital lights were too bright, and he was tired. He let them do whatever they wanted. 

The disheveled, dark-haired hero was with him most of the time, generally not talking either. Shouto would probably not have believed he was a pro if he hadn’t already seen him in action. He wasn’t anything like Endeavor, or the angry younger hero who Shouto also hadn’t seen since he was bundled into the ambulance. Eraserhead was an underground hero, which was pretty cool. Shouto would have probably liked him more if he didn’t keep staring at him. At least he wasn’t trying to start a conversation. 

Usually, when they were in public, his father would tell him when he was supposed to speak. He would put a huge hand on his shoulder and shove him forward and say, “Well?” It made Shouto feel weird and angry, but there were rules to follow, and rules meant he was safe. Shouto didn’t like just talking. He didn’t have much to say. In conversations, there were usually right and wrong answers, and he’d long ago discovered that he was very bad at finding the right ones. 

When someone directed their attention to him, it was generally because they wanted him to talk about himself. About his family, his training, how great it was to be the son of the number two hero, aren’t you proud. And sure, talking about those things made Shouto feel like his whole body was a burn, the protective layer stripped away, and he was being poked at by prodding fingers, but he knew what he was supposed to say. In unscripted conversations, Shouto got himself into trouble, whether he intended to or not. 

One of the doctors reached for him, and Shouto found himself shying back, his arms wrapping more tightly around his waist. He could feel the pressure against his burn. It hurt and it didn’t. “We’re almost done, Shouto-kun,” she said sweetly. “And then you’ll have a chance to rest in your own room, and you’ll get to see your dad. Does that sound good?”

Shouto blinked at her. Was that a real question?  

“He won’t be placed in the same room as the other children?” Eraserhead asked. He stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Why?”

“Well, he’s more injured. And while we’re going to have the other kids visit with their parents in more public settings, this boy’s circumstances are - different. A private room seems like a better choice.”

“Hmm.” Eraserhead looked at Shouto. “Is that okay with you, Shouto?”

Shouto shrugged. He wasn’t sure why he was being asked. He also wasn’t sure if he had an opinion. The other kids had been nice enough; they were really talkative and affectionate with him, which was…weird, but that was probably just because they were scared. It was never going to last. Having his own room would be okay. It was probably better for everyone - especially if his father was coming. 

“We’re friends now. Right, Shou-kun?”

Shouto realized that Eraserhead was still looking at him. Waiting for an actual answer. Shit. “It’s fine. I don’t care.” Was that rude? Shouto’s head hurt, and his burns were still throbbing, and his dad was coming, and he wasn’t supposed to be at the hospital. “Sir,” he added.

Eraserhead stared at him for a moment longer. Then, he sighed. “Fine.” He turned to the doctor. “Please make sure that Endeavor knows that Shouto can’t go home with him. We’ve decided that it’s safest for the affected children to stay at U.A. until we’re certain that the quirk doesn’t have other side effects.” Then, Eraserhead came over in front of Shouto, bending his knees until they were face-to-face. “I need to go check on the other troublemakers, okay? But I’ll be back. And you should tell me or the nurses if you need anything. No more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” Shouto repeated. He hoped it sounded like agreement. 

Hizashi would say that this entire situation radiated bad vibes, and Aizawa was inclined to agree. Todoroki’s oddly silent compliance once he’d entered the ambulance, his inexplicable injuries… a heavy mass congealed in Aizawa’s stomach. It went way past his usual discomfort with hospitals. Something about this mess was rotten, and familiar. 

Aren’t children supposed to be whiny? Yes, it’s Todoroki, and prickly compliance was also Aizawa’s go-to strategy for dealing with medical care, but Aizawa was used to it. His record on stitches (for a single injury) was a nice round hundred-and-twelve; he was an adult pro hero. 

Aizawa was also, let it be noted, not a shining example of healthy behavior. 

When he was far enough away from the screened-off area housing his student, he paused and leaned against the wall. He hadn’t been lying, he did need to check on the others affected, but he also wanted to speak to Todoroki’s doctor without the kid overhearing. When he spotted the woman, he moved to intercept. 

“My student claims he can’t remember where he got several of his injuries,” Aizawa said quietly, “and there were no villains with fire quirks apprehended at the scene. Can you tell me anything about how the wounds were inflicted? How recent they are?”

The woman pursed her lips. “Well, it’s difficult to tell, because we don’t know how his body was affected by the quirk. It’s possible his injuries look older or fresher than they really are. But…I’m afraid I’ve seen this before.”

“Oh?” Nausea swept through him.

“Yes, unfortunately.” She sighed. “It’s a little-known fact, but emitter quirks, especially the elemental varieties, can cause injuries in childhood. They’re more volatile than other quirks, and often react to emotion, overwhelming the user.”

That…wasn’t what he’d expected. Aizawa frowned, sinking down into his scarf. And it didn’t sound right. Todoroki had extremely well-developed quirk control. But maybe that hadn’t always been the case? This Todoroki was a lot younger than the one Aizawa knew, and it wasn’t like Aizawa hadn’t seen damaging quirks before. Midoriya came immediately to mind. Or even Kaminari. 

“The injuries usually aren’t severe - they don’t often scar, for instance - but fire quirks especially can be difficult. It’s also possible that the boy’s reduced sensitivity to temperature fluctuation is tied to a general reduction in sensation, which would make him even more prone to accidental self-injury.” This time, when Aizawa opened his mouth, the doctor must have noticed something dangerous in his gaze. She quickly added, “We know that the burns on his hands were a result of his quirk, and according to the paramedic’s notes, he didn’t notice the injuries until they were pointed out.”

“No, he was hiding them,” Aizawa said. “That’s different.” 

The woman smiled genially. “Of course. We can conduct more tests, if you’d like.”

“No, no.” The idea of forcing his already-overwhelmed and exhausted student to go through any kind of pain testing - no. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll keep an eye on Todoroki.” 

He’d have to. The nine-year-old had only existed in that form for at most six hours, and yet he was covered in wounds (burns) no one could convincingly explain. If there was still a threat to him out there - to any of the children - Aizawa would find it. 

The doctor bowed her head. “Of course.” 

She walked away, and Aizawa took a deep breath. The sense of wrong, wrong, wrong pulsed through him like the throbbing of a broken bone. Fuck. He needed to check on the other children, but it was painful to leave Shouto behind.

Eijirou sat on the edge of the hospital bed, beating his heels against the lowered plastic rail, just lightly enough not to make any sound. They’d put him and Izuku and Denki in the same room, but nobody would give them a clear answer about where Shouto was, which made all of them nervous. As the only girl, Tsuyu was given a room next door, but she’d relocated into their room as soon as the nurses’ backs were turned. She was currently perched on the end of Izuku’s bed - empty of the green-haired boy, who was instead walking dizzying laps around the room. 

The lights were off, the fluorescents in the hallway the only source of light. It was late and they were all tired, but none of them could sleep. Even Denki was awake again, though his migraine was the reason they kept the room dimly lit. He didn’t complain about it much, but he kept squinting, his spiky yellow hair sagging in front of his sleepy eyes. 

The younger heroes - Ingenium, loud-explosions-boy, and a few others - had been sent back to UA, where the kids would apparently be going in the morning. According to Fatgum, the kind pro who’d been keeping them company, they needed to spend the night at the hospital to make sure that the quirk wasn’t going to suddenly make them toddlers or something, and then they’d be taken to the school. They couldn’t go home because it apparently wouldn’t be safe. Eijirou was of two minds about that. 

On one hand, UA. Eijirou had barely let himself even really dream of being a hero for real, because even though Crimson Riot managed to become a pro with a hardening quirk, his own quirk wasn’t all that impressive. To hear that he’d actually made it all the way to the top hero school in the country… well, he’d almost pulled an Izuku (burst into tears). He couldn’t wait to tell his moms, though of course they already knew. He wanted to meet all his classmates! He wanted to jet around the campus! And - and did he have a costume? What was his hero name? What about the other kids, did they have cool hero personas? It felt like they were playing the best game of pretend but it was real. So cool. 

He also didn’t want to leave the other kids. Just having Shouto out of his line-of-sight was making him nervous, let alone becoming completely separated from the others. Yeah, they were safe now, his brain knew that - but his body didn’t. He couldn’t really trust the unfamiliar heroes and police officers and doctors because a few hours ago, he’d been locked in a cage . He’d woken up in a strange place, and there had been people who wanted to sell him . He could have never seen his moms again. 

Honestly, nothing felt real, the good parts or the bad. They’d all been thrown through time, left with nothing that they really recognized. And so Eijirou wanted his moms so badly , but he also wanted to hide behind Shouto again, or hear Izuku ramble. The other kids - he trusted them. He didn’t know why. 

“Eijirou, are you okay?” Izuku asked quietly. He was standing in front of Eijirou, his hands behind his back. “You look sad.”

“No, I’m… um… it’s just, it’s been a lot.” Eijirou let himself sag a bit, pressing his hands against the cool, slightly stiff sheets. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Denki said with a sighed half-laugh. He rubbed his forehead. “It’s like we’re all dreaming, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a bad dream anymore, ribbit,” Tsuyu said. 

Fatgum poked his huge head back in the door. He smiled at all of them (he’d definitely seen Tsuyu relocate herself, but had chosen not to comment), then glanced at someone standing just out of sight of the door. By the gruff voice Eijirou could barely make out, it was that underground hero, Eraserhead. Fatgum looked back. “Hey, kiddos,” he said softly. “Eijirou, Tsuyu, your parents are here to see you. Denki and Izuku, they’re still on their way.”

“Ugh,” Denki murmured, though he was grinning. “I hope Grams didn’t make everyone come.”

Eijirou didn’t ask what he meant. He was too busy throwing himself off the bed, not even stopping to figure out where his oversized shoes had gone. And then, when he was in the family room, tucked into his Mama’s arms, with Ma wrapped around both of them, he could only think - Yeah. Not a bad dream.

The nurses had led Shouto to the single bed in the small room, and while he’d rather sit on the windowsill, he stayed put in the bed they’d tucked him into. He was tangled in quite a few wires and tubes. The tape pulled unkindly on his skin. 

Heavy footsteps came down the hall. Shouto felt his heart speed up in his chest, and the monitor they’d clipped him to shrieked in retaliation. He tugged on a few of the wires - the beeping got louder - and Shouto resorted to pushing what looked like off-buttons until the machine turned dark and quiet. He took a deep breath, and swung his legs over to the side of the bed. He kept the blanket on his lap, because in some childish way it made him feel a little more safe. Protected. 

There was no way to hide the bandages looping his arms, or the bruises peeking from beneath the hospital gown, so he didn’t bother. He folded his hands in his lap and stared resolutely at the floor, only looking up when his father’s silhouette filled the door. 

Endeavor ducked his huge shoulders into Shouto’s hospital room. He hesitated for an instant at the door, which struck his son as odd, surveying his now-much-younger youngest son. “Shouto,” he said, after a long moment that made Shouto glad he’d disconnected the noisy machine. “They told me what happened. That you were injured by the villains who abducted you.”

Shouto nodded, a strange anger surging through him. Didn’t his father recognize his injuries? It felt like just hours ago that he’d been left gasping on the training room floor, every breath dragged painfully through definitely-not-broken ribs. Oh, but of course. That was six years ago - and one beating of many. “Yes, father,” he said quietly. “I’m fine now.”

“Good,” Endeavor said, his tone rich with what could’ve been warning. “They say you’ll be out of the hospital soon. I’m sure your teacher will let us know if we need to make… accommodations for you, at home. Just until this damned quirk wears off.” 

“Yes, father,” Shouto said. He felt cold, and it couldn’t have been his quirk yet. He was still on the suppressors they’d given him in the ambulance. He twisted his hands in his lap, a gesture he knew his father hated. “But… I think they said we need to stay at the school. Until they know exactly what the quirk does.”

Endeavor huffed. “Of course. They think we can’t manage our problems on our own.” He moved back and forth, his large presence filling the small room - suffocating. “Fine, fine. It’s true I can’t supervise you constantly myself. I’m much too busy.” 

“Of course, father.” Something in Shouto’s chest loosened, just as another band wrapped around his throat. Would Endeavor just leave him be, just like that? It wasn’t unprecedented. It was good, really, when his father would disappear for days on end and he was alone. He wasn’t sure why it hurt. Shouto liked the quiet. “I’m sure the teachers will tell you if anything changes.”

“Hmph. Hopefully, the quirk will wear off soon, boy, and you won’t lose too much time to this nonsense.” Endeavor said. He stopped pacing, standing only about an arm’s length away from Shouto. He stared at him for several of Shouto’s too-fast heartbeats. “You're truly ten again,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I’m nine,” Shouto said, then ducked his head. “But. Yes.”

“It won’t last,” Endeavor said, as if he was reminding himself. 

“No.” That’s what the doctors had said: most likely temporary. 

Endeavor nodded. He strode towards the door, pausing once he’d reached the threshold. Shouto stared at him, a bit confused. His father had never been one for goodbyes. 

“Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done to make you stronger,” Enji said instead. “You know that, Shouto. It’s not for nothing. You’ll be the best.”

Shouto, baffled, inclined his head. “Of course, father.”

Another huff and Endeavor was gone. 

The nurse came back in after a few minutes had passed. Shouto had turned the monitor back on, but couldn’t seem to get it to display properly. She was nice enough not to comment. “Your friends are finishing up with their own families,” she said, bustling around. “You’ll get some rest, and then in the morning we’ll get you all discharged.”

Shouto nodded. He’d pulled his legs back up onto the bed, and was seated in a curled position, his knees bent. It hurt his ribs a bit, but not enough that Shouto could care. 

“Your father must be very busy,” the nurse continued. “It’s such hard work, being a hero. Especially when you’re number one! I bet you’re very proud.”

This time, Shouto’s left was the side to respond. He felt very warm; he was glad for the suppressants, but maybe they were making him dizzy. The room spun. 

That’s not right. Endeavor is - no. He’s number one? How is that possible? Did he beat All Might? No, that’s not - he couldn’t - it’s not - how? Shouto resisted the urge to press his forehead to his knees. Two thoughts rose above the onslaught:

He’s even more powerful now.

and

He doesn’t need me anymore.

So that’s why he didn’t care. Didn’t even yell at him about getting captured, or demand to take him home. “Yes,” Shouto said, impressed at how empty his voice sounded, even to his own ears. “I’m proud of him.” Shouto stretched out his legs. He was very far from his body all of the sudden. It wasn’t really his body, after all. He wasn’t nine; this was fake. His older self could have feelings about this later. “May I have more water?”

“Of course, sweetheart. When I’m done.” The nurse watched him for a moment, and uh oh - maybe he seemed more upset than he thought, because she added gently, “There are two other family members listed in your file, Shouto-kun, a Todoroki Fuyumi and a Todoroki Natsuo. Do you want me to give either of them a call?”

Shouto paused. His immediate answer was yes. He wanted to talk to them about the future, about father. He wanted to know what they’d be like, six years beyond where his memories left off. Did Fuyumi get to be a teacher? Was Natsuo still in school? But… that was selfish. They wouldn’t want to see him. Natsuo especially had never liked Shouto, and Fuyumi would be upset that he’d ended up in the hospital. Or she’d be upset that he kept making their family look bad. Either way - not good, and not necessary. Shouto shook his head. 

“No, ma’am,” he said politely. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Chapter Text

Aizawa padded along the long, sterile hospital hallways, the duffle bag his husband had insisting on dropping off bumping repetitively against his thigh. It contained pajamas - a pointed message if ever there was - as well as his toothbrush, some dry shampoo, a spare costume and his eye drops (Aizawa didn’t deserve Hizashi, he really didn’t). His husband had offered to stay the night at the hospital, keep him company, but even though Togata was a very competent babysitter, it was still better for Eri’s routine to have at least one of her dads around. 

Dads. Shit, that took some getting used to. He was a dad. If you’d told his teenage self that he’d be a parent - and co-parenting with Yamada Hizashi - he would’ve made some not-so-polite assertions about your mental state, and probably earn himself a slap over the head from Oboro. It still didn’t seem real, but there were moments where the label - and the love - settled against his chest like one of their over-affectionate cats. Such as when he’d opened the overnight bag and found Eri’s contribution: a stuffed unicorn, her second-favorite plush. 

Damn, Aizawa really was getting soft. It was awful. 

(No, it wasn’t.)

The door to Todoroki’s room was half-closed, and no light shone from within. It was well past midnight, and with any luck, the kid would already be asleep, but Aizawa still had to check. He pushed open the door, the artificial glow from the hallway creeping across the floor and onto the bed - which was empty. 

Todoroki was silhouetted against the window. He was sitting with his knees pressed against his chest on the cabinets that served as a windowsill, looking out at the lights of the city. 

“Jeez, kid. You gave me a scare,” Aizawa said, taking care to keep his voice quiet and neutral. “What’re you doing out of bed?”

It took a moment before Todoroki turned and looked at him. “Eraserhead-san,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m not - I’m not tired yet.”

Well, that was obviously a lie. By the kid’s languid reactions and the slow way he was blinking, he was very close to keeling over. It had been quite a long day, even for Aizawa. 

He took a few steps closer. “Is the view a nice one?”

Todoroki shrugged, turning back to the window. “We’re up pretty high.”

“Hm.” Aizawa peered out of the glass, watching Todoroki in his periphery. He wasn’t a great conversationalist, and neither was the kid, so he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “Lots of cars.”

It was a highway, busy even late at night. Todoroki hummed, almost affirmative. He leaned closer to the window, looking down. He’d been disconnected from most of the monitors, but there was still an IV embedded in the bend of his elbow, two bags of fluid dripping into the tubes. He’d rolled the stand over to the window, and Aizawa took a moment to check what they were giving him. One bag was a basic dextrose solution, familiar to Aizawa. The other was some sort of quirk suppressant. 

Aizawa knew it was a hospital procedure to suppress potentially volatile quirks, especially when the patients were young, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. None of the other problem children were still being given that medication, as far as he was aware. He also knew from Eri’s experience that quirk suppressants, even low-dose ones designed for kids, had side effects that weren't always pleasant. Why hadn’t he been consulted?

One of those side-effects, the most common one, was fatigue. Todoroki really should’ve been fast asleep by now. 

“Todoroki, do you know what medication you’re being given?”

“Um…” Todoroki turned away from the window, looking up at the pole. “They said that’s for dehydration. And…” Aizawa could see him trying to read the label on the other bag. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s for your quirk. To make sure you don’t use it in the hospital.”

Todoroki’s brow furrowed. “Why? I have control over my quirk. I don’t have accidents.”

Aizawa sighed. He’d been intending to have this conversation when both of them were more awake, but… “Okay, kid, I believe you. But, and this is important for me to know - does your quirk ever burn you? Or give you frostbite?”

Todoroki swung his legs off of the edge of the cabinet so that he was fully facing Aizawa. “No. I’m not like - I mean, it can, but it doesn’t.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Are you sure?” Aizawa pressed. 

“It doesn’t,” Todoroki insisted. “My body handles my own flames and ice. Even when they cross over to the opposite side, I can compensate.”

“Compensate?”

Todoroki hesitated. He peered at Aizawa, as if trying to decide how much to tell him. Finally, he said, “It’s hard to do on purpose, but it happens automatically whenever I’m using my quirk. My body adjusts to the temperatures I produce. Fire that would normally burn me doesn’t when it’s coming from me, and I can handle a lot lower and higher temperatures if I’m actively making ice or fire.” Todoroki looked down at his hands. “My two sides balance each other. A perfect quirk.”

Aizawa had many questions - and concerns - but he had to confirm. “So - it’s not possible for you to burn yourself. It doesn’t happen."

Todoroki shrugged. “If I tried, I probably could. Or if I was really tired. My temperature gets weird when I’m exhausted.” He knocked his heels against the cabinet. “And my skin is more resistant than my insides. I get heat stroke. And hypothermia.”

Okay, well, that was something to keep in mind. Everything he’d learned made the burns on the boy’s arms and chest even more concerning - but Aizawa could continue his interrogation in the morning. Fuck, it’s late. Time to wrap this up. “Speaking of tired, kid, isn’t it time for bed?”

Todoroki turned back to the window without answering. Aizawa waited; nothing came. He sighed - not unaware of how the sound made the kid tense. Not the most trusting tyke, are you? He was still watching Aizawa, just not looking at him directly. A test? Is he checking how I’ll react to being ignored?

“Alright, Todoroki,” Aizawa said, making a decision. “Hop down. I’m going to bring you to the other kids’ room. It’ll be easier to keep an eye on my students if you’re all in one place, and I’m sick of trekking all over.” He kept his voice a casual drawl, watching Todoroki for a reaction. “Fine by you?”

Todoroki finally looked at him, considering. He nodded slowly. Okay, good. Aizawa was about to help him jump down from the counter when he reminded himself - Todoroki was not Eri, and his help would not be appreciated. The kid landed lightly on bare feet, staring up at Aizawa. He twisted his hands in the material of the hospital gown he’d been forced to change into. 

Aizawa had an idea. It was probably a bad one, but he’d give it a shot regardless. 

He dug around in his duffle bag, pulling out the unicorn. Todoroki eyed it with confusion. “You want to hold onto this? It’s soft.”

Todoroki looked skeptical. “I’m not a baby.”

“Neither is my daughter. She’s seven.” Aizawa looked down at the unicorn. It really was very fluffy. He was surprised Eri was willing to surrender the toy, but she’d recently become very attached to a different plush: a stuffed octopus, which Togata said reminded him of Amajiki. “I think she gave it to me to help me sleep. She knows it’s hard to feel safe in strange places.”

Todoroki stared at him for a moment longer, then slowly took the toy. He held it oddly, like he wasn’t really sure what to do with it, before cautiously running his fingers across the fur. “It is soft,” he said quietly. He looked up at Aizawa. “You - you won’t need it?” The moment the words left his mouth, he flushed a bright red. 

Aizawa bit back a laugh. “No, it’s okay. You can give it back to Eri tomorrow.”

Aizawa got a nurse to disconnect Todoroki from the IV, though they left the cannula in his arm. The dextrose bag was basically empty, and Aizawa was still irritated that they’d essentially sedated his student without his consent. Regardless, Todoroki had enough quirk suppressants in his system - necessary or not - to guarantee he couldn’t call upon his quirk in his sleep, and it wasn’t like Aizawa planned on being far away. 

He draped a blanket around the boy’s shoulders before leading him out into the hall, even though Todoroki didn’t seem bothered by the slight breeze from the back of the hospital gown. As he was covering him, Aizawa caught a glimpse of the child’s spine, pale and bony, also adorned with bruises. It wasn’t a surprise, seeing that the marks were at least present on every area of Todoroki’s body, but it still made something in Aizawa twist. 

Todoroki’s soft steps followed him down the hallway. None of the children had proper clothing yet, or shoes; Aizawa would have to make sure Hisashi or Nemuri brought some in the morning. The hospital had gowns, underwear, and socks, but not much else. That was part of the reason Asui had been separated from the boys - not that she seemed to care. 

The children had met with their parents in various gathering and waiting areas, in order to give them some level of privacy, and to accommodate bigger groups. (The Kaminaris, in particular, practically needed an auditorium, though the boy’s parents were notably absent - instead, his grandmother led the charge. Exactly how many cousins did that boy have? Did they all need to come?) Most of the families had reluctantly relinquished their children, and they’d returned to the single shared room. Midoriya was the exception. 

Midoriya Inko was still hovering in the hallway, being reassured by her blushing son. “Mom, I’m fine," the younger Midoriya insisted. “I promise. And everyone’s being really nice! Even Kacchan -” He paused when he caught sight of them. “Shouto! You’re back!”

“Oh, hello Todoroki-kun!” Midoriya Inko said, looking the boy at Aizawa’s side up-and-down. Her warm, motherly expression shifted effortlessly into concern for the other child. “Are you alright?”

To Aizawa’s immense surprise, Todoroki shrunk back, half-hiding behind his legs. He hugged the plushy against his chest. “I’m fine, ma’am.”

“Shouto, are you going to sleep in our room?” Izuku asked. “We pushed all the beds together, it’s going to be so great. I haven’t had a sleepover in, well - it’s been a long time!” He grinned, detangling himself from his mother’s embrace, and gently coaxed Todoroki forward. “I like your toy! It’s super cute.”

“It’s soft. And it’s not mine.” Todoroki looked up at Aizawa. “It’s okay though, right? I won’t get in trouble.”

“No, you won’t,” Aizawa reassured, a bit confused by the sudden hesitance. “I gave it to you, Todoroki. You’ll give it back to Eri tomorrow.”

Todoroki frowned, looking down at the unicorn. “Natsuo never lets me touch his toys,” he said quietly. “He says I’ll burn them.”

“Has that ever happened?” Aizawa asked. He tried to remember what he knew about the oldest Todoroki son. He’d seen him once, maybe? 

“No. He probably thinks that I will because Touya used to.” Todoroki held out the plushy for Izuku’s inspection. “Or he doesn’t want Father to get mad.”

“Why would your dad not want him to share, sweetheart?” Inko asked, before Aizawa could ask who the fuck Touya was. It sounded like Shouto was referring to another sibling, but as far as he knew, Todoroki only had the two. Maybe a cousin, another relative? 

Todoroki blinked at Midoriya’s mother, hesitant once again. He opened his mouth once, then looked at the floor. He shrugged. When nothing more was forthcoming, Midoriya loosely grabbed Todoroki’s hand, starling him into a small motion backwards. “Can I take Shouto to our room now? The other kids all miss him too.”

Todoroki looked even more confused at that sentiment. Aizawa made eye contact with Midoriya Inko - having a brief silent conversation - then sighed and waved a dismissive hand at the boys. “Go ahead.”

Midoriya pulled Todoroki along with him, carefully ushering him past the doorway. As Midoriya had predicted, the room immediately erupted into happy voices, exclamations of Todoroki’s name. Aizawa half-expected the shy boy to turn right back around. When he didn’t, Aizawa turned his attention back to Inko. A slight frown weighed down her smile-lines. 

“Did Todoroki-kun’s parents come to see him?” she asked.

“His father did. I’m not sure about his mother. I -” Oh, there was a thought. He’d never met Todoroki’s mother. It was always his father, even during the home visit. His father and his siblings. “I would have to check.”

Inko sighed. Her eyes grew misty. “Oh, it’s so hard to let them go. Especially right now, when they’re so… vulnerable.” She touched her cheek. “I never - I never thought I’d see my son like that again. Just a little boy. Of course, he’ll always be my little boy, but…”

Aizawa made what he hoped was an affirmative noise. Of course, it was different for him. He’d only ever known Todoroki and Midoriya as teenage hellions, but this must be very strange for their families - like watching a ghost, brought out of the past and vulnerable once again. He wondered about his own daughter as a smaller child. What had Eri been like, at five, at three? He’d probably never know. 

Thinking about it did make him want to murder Chisaki, but he put those feelings aside. Eri was safe. I’ll get to watch her grow up . The thought was both comforting and very frightening. 

Inko smiled. “It’s almost more odd to see Todoroki-kun, though.” 

“Oh?”

“Well, my first introduction to him was at the sports festival,” Inko said. Ah. “I was so anxious that I could hardly pay attention, but Todoroki-kun - he’s quite something, isn’t he? So powerful, especially for a child.” Inko’s expression faltered a bit. “I was honestly terrified for Izuku, facing someone like that. The child of a pro hero, so comfortable with his ability, his power, up against my son - and it was a difficult fight to watch.” 

Aizawa did winch in sympathy. Looking back, he regretted allowing that match to continue. While it had been useful for Todoroki (to a point - Aizawa couldn't help but picture the boy’s flames snuffing out as he made no attempt to block Bakugou’s strongest attack), the damage done to Midoriya was inexcusable. If he’d been less impressed by Midoriya’s resolve, he might have been more objective. 

“I’ll admit, it did bias me a bit against Todoroki-kun,” Inko said with a frown. “He seemed so dangerous - I was so surprised when Izuku came home, calling them friends. Of course, he’s always had so much love for everyone, so that wasn’t entirely comforting. He’d make friends with a rabid dog if he thought he could help.”

Bakugou, Aizawa thought. 

“But Izuku - he’s protective of Todoroki. He told me about a sweet, good boy, who was quiet and a bit abrasive, but also kind, in a way those born to power often aren’t.” Here, Inko hesitated, looking towards the room’s open door, shadows flickering inside. Someone’s laughter rang out, half-muffled and clearly up to something. “There’s something I think I should tell you, Aizawa-san. It’s probably nothing, but -”

“After the sports festival, Izuku threw anything in his room that had Endeavor on it. Every single thing. I’ve asked him about it, and he won’t explain.”

Aizawa couldn’t stop fixating on Midoriya Inko’s words. Why would Izuku, an extreme hero fanboy if ever there was, get rid of all of his merch for the new number-one? And then refuse to elaborate? It didn’t make sense. It made that sick, strangely sure feeling rise up in him again. Put it together, stupid. A child with unexplained injuries, who’s cagey, quiet and unsure, whose friends hate their parent(s), and who doesn’t trust adults. 

(The first word that had come into his mind unbidden when the nurse had said she’d seen " this" before - it was abuse.)

He couldn’t be sure. He really couldn’t. Todoroki had said nothing to directly implicate his father; Aizawa could be jumping to some serious conclusions. He wished he could interrogate Midoriya, because the kid clearly knew something that Todoroki wasn’t sharing, but Midoriya was also currently ten years old. Fuck. If he knew anything, it was locked away in the mind of his future self, out of Aizawa’s reach - for the moment. 

He needed to keep a close eye on Todoroki, and all the others. It was very possible there was more he was missing, or another piece of the puzzle beyond what he currently knew. 

Aizawa realized that his pacing had carried him away from the bed he’d been given, out into the hallway in front of his students’ room. He silently peered inside, noting the absence of giggling - of course, it had probably been over an hour since they’d been ushered into bed. 

The kids had, as Midoriya admitted to, shoved all four beds together, as close as they would go with the lowered bed-rails in-between. They must have figured out how to unlock and relock the wheels, because a few of the children were half sprawled in the gaps, in a way that would’ve definitely forced the beds apart if they could still move. Blankets were tucked under them and thrown over them, in a way that disguised where one child began and another ended. It looked very uncomfortable to Aizawa, an adult with adult aches and pains, but his students were fast asleep. 

They only really took up two beds. Midoriya was in the middle, lying with his side almost directly on the hard plastic of the railings, drooling on his pillow. Kirishima was behind him, curled up with far more than his share of the blankets, his forehead pressed against Midoriya’s back. Kaminari was sprawled across both of them, completely face down and snoring. 

On Midoriya’s other side was Asui. She was also sleeping on her side, her legs curled like she was mid-jump. One of Midoriya’s hands was tangled in her hair, the other draped over her side as if he’d been reaching for Todoroki. That last child wasn’t quite as consumed by the cuddle-pile, but he and Asui were both holding onto the unicorn, their hands overlapping. A blanket covered them both, though Todoroki had wiggled his way half out from under it. Aizawa noted that his warm side was the one closest to Asui, and still under the covers. Must’ve been nice for her, a personal hot-water bottle in the cold of the hospital room. 

Some of the tension in Aizawa’s shoulders eased away. It was a good reminder. Right now, they’re all safe.  (Though Aizawa wasn’t completely certain Kaminari wasn’t suffocating himself. Seriously, who sleeps like that - )

Chapter Text

Shouto woke up later than he usually did, but still before the sun was up. The clock on the far wall, difficult to read in the dim glow of the lightening sky, said that it was slightly after six; the door to the hallway was closed, but Shouto could hear faint voices, the rumbling of carts, and footsteps. The hospital bed wasn’t very comfortable, but he was still sleepy enough not to care. He suspected that nobody was going to come drag him out of bed - yet - and he would enjoy the peace for as long as he could. 

Shouto was used to drifting, to existing in a world slightly to the left of most other people’s. He wasn’t like his siblings. He wasn’t like other kids. But it was hard to feel disconnected when he was still gripping the soft stuffed toy that Aizawa-sensei had given him, Tsuyu’s larger hands resting on top of his. He could hear the other kids’ breathing. Someone was snoring, a slight, almost soothing whistle. 

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t fall back asleep, but this was nice too. 

“Oh, I can’t wait to see little baby Todoroki! And Deku!” Hagakure squealed. “I’m sure they’re all so cute. Do you think they’ll be happy to see us? They know we’re their classmates, right?”

“Aizawa-sensei told them,” Kyouka confirmed, “but don’t expect them to remember us. They’re like…ten. For real.”

“Man, that’s gonna be so weird,” Sero said. “Bet little Midoriya’s a chatterbox.”

“From what I saw, they’re all pretty shy,” Kyouka said. As she’d told Momo, she hadn’t spoken to them, but she’d seen enough from a distance. “And remember, they just went through something super scary.” 

Iida nodded sharply. “We must be careful not to overwhelm them. Our classmates are currently young children and we need to behave appropriately.”

The reminder soured the mood just a bit. Most of their classmates were clustered around the common area, at tables, on couches, or sprawled out on the floor. A few, including Iida, hovered anxiously near the door. Bakugou was pretending not to care, taking up an entire couch as he idly scrolled on his phone, ignoring the rest of them (but still present). 

Momo sat on one of the dining table’s chairs, carefully sorting the supplies she’d created for the children. Mic-sensei had assured her that it wasn’t necessary - their classmates would be clothed in spare training uniforms, since those came in a wide range of sizes, accommodating for students from Mineta to Satou, and they’d take them shopping later - but Momo really couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to guess at their sizes, but she could create general things a ten-year-old might need: socks, kid’s toothbrushes (color coded to match their hero costumes), little backpacks (designed off their costumes), water bottles, etc.

The task was as much for her as it was for the children; Momo really didn’t do well when left with nothing to do. Her mind and hands needed to be occupied, or they’d veer off into…unhelpful territory. This was something she knew about herself.

“Iida, you met Todoroki when he was actually little, right?” Mina asked. “Is he the same?”

“As far as I can tell.” Iida was staring off through the front window; Momo wasn’t sure if he was avoiding Mina’s gaze or not. The truth was that she was pretty sure nobody outside of Todoroki’s family really knew him before he came to UA. She’d met Todoroki as a child too. He’d spoken maybe ten words to her.  

When Todoroki was really young, he’d been quite attached to his mother, holding on tightly to her skirt at gatherings. Momo remembered the first time she tried to talk to him - he’d hidden his face and mumbled a greeting, to the amusement of both their moms. When he was slightly older (when he had his scar), his shyness shifted into more active unfriendliness. He never seemed interested in other kids. Or, at least, he didn’t know what to do with them. 

“Ahh! They’re here!” Hagakure fell away from her perch on the windowsill. Her sleeves flailed around; she was waving her arms. “Ohmygosh, they're so small! Todoroki especially - it looks like he’s shorter than Midoriya, can you believe?” 

Momo peered out of the window without getting up from her seat. “Is that Kirishima with the black hair?”

“Yep!” Mina chirped. “It’s normally dyed.”

“It is?” That was Sero. “I didn’t know that.”

“We went to elementary and middle school together - he didn’t dye it until we were at UA!” Mina pressed herself against the window, waving to the little ones. “It’s so crazy, seeing him small again.” 

“And Kaminari’s hair is all natural.” Kyouka laughed. “Honestly, I didn’t believe him.”

“Tsu-chan is so cute!”

“Aww, Deku is adorable. I didn’t think his curls could get any messier, but apparently -”

“Okay, everyone, get back.” Iida ushered everyone away from the windows and the door, his arms spread wide. “We need to give them some space.”

“Buzzkill,” Mina murmured. She was pretending to pout, but she did what she was told. Right in time, too - the door swung open. 

Aizawa was the first to enter, his dark eyes scanning the room. “Oh,” he said flatly. “You’re all here.” He looked behind himself at the little cluster of children, mostly hidden by the door. The first to emerge was Kaminari, who offered the group a cheerful - if a bit awkward - wave. This triggered a wave of excited squealing; Aizawa sighed. 

The other four children filed in more cautiously. Midoriya was bouncing up and down on his toes, his eyes wide. He stared around the room in awe. Behind him was Asui, also wide-eyed and clinging to a stuffed toy, and then Kirishima, who was fighting to keep a straight face. Todoroki hung back, finding shelter behind Aizawa-sensei’s legs. Momo couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips. Honestly, how was it possible for them to be so cute?

“Introduce yourself to your classmates,” Aizawa instructed, eying the assembled students. “ Calmly. Then I’ll be taking them up to their rooms.” 

“Sensei, will they be staying in their usual dormitories?” Momo asked. 

“No. They’ll be in the rooms closest to mine.” Ah. That made sense. While Aizawa generally stayed in an apartment in the teacher’s building, he maintained a small suite in the Heights Alliance just in case it was necessary. “They need my supervision. Which means all of you need to refrain from trouble - any kind of trouble - until we have this situation sorted out. If you do not, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sensei!” rang around the room. Then, Iida helped keep order as everyone cheerfully introduced themselves - except for Bakugou, who grumbled a quick introduction, and Tokoyami, who never seemed anything but somber. Deku barely blinked as everyone rattled off their names, standing in rapt attention as if he was expecting a quiz. Todoroki, on the other hand - well, Momo would be surprised if he caught a single thing. She muffled a laugh. 

“Any questions?” Iida asked, chopping the air. When he was met with wide, blinking stares, the tension in the room broke with a resounding laugh. 

Several of the students moved over to their smaller peers, trying their best to seem nonthreatening. While Sero engaged Kaminari and Kirishima, and Ururaka attempted to start a conversation with Midoriya and Asui, Momo approached Aizawa-sensei. “Sensei?” she began quietly. “I made some supplies for my classmates. I hope they can be of use.”

She gestured to the table, drawing his attention to the carefully-packed backpacks. To Momo’s surprise, Aizawa-sensei’s lips quirked in what was almost a smile. “Thank you, Yaoyorozu, that was kind.” He glanced behind himself at the child still hiding in the doorway. “Todoroki, do you want to take a look?”

Todoroki frowned. He didn’t look upset, though, just considering. “Yaoyorozu. You have a Creation quirk?”

“I do!” Momo said, thrilled he seemed to recognize her. “We’ve met -”

“I know. Tenya mentioned your name. And I…” His little face scrunched up a bit. “You made me a toy. At a party.” 

“That’s right!” Oh, Momo had completely forgotten about that. She’d always enjoyed making things for people, from the time she was very young, and so most of the earliest things she learned how to make were trinkets: dolls and bits of jewelry and other little gifts. But the novelty of her gifts wore off fast - it wasn’t like it took her much effort, or skill, and most people in her social circle could buy whatever they needed. Todoroki, however, apparently hadn’t seen the gesture as meaningless. “It was a temari, wasn’t it? I’m surprised you remember.”

“It was pretty,” Todoroki said. He shuffled his feet. “I liked it.”

“Well, I can make you another one, if you want.” 

Todoroki glanced at Aizawa-sensei. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.” 

That was…odd. “Alright,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind. And you can call me Momo, if you’d like. Or Yaomomo.” 

Todoroki nodded. “You can call me Shouto.”

It was difficult to resist making a little sound at how adorable he was. Momo fought herself back to a small smile. “Okay. Shouto.”

“Yaoyorozu, I wanted to ask for your help with something,” Aizawa said, drawing her attention away from little Todoroki… Shouto. “Would you be able to make a long-sleeved, fireproof shirt that Todoroki could wear under his other clothing? His siblings said they would send more of his stuff, but in the meantime -” He glanced at Todoroki, checking that he’d stopped paying attention. “I don’t know how good his quirk-control is at this age, and there should be a layer of protection over his wounds.” 

Wounds. “Oh, of course.” She had noticed that Todoroki was the only one in the long-sleeved version of the training uniform. “Is he…”

“He’s fine. Recovery Girl healed his more serious injuries when we arrived on campus, he just still has some tender areas that need to be protected from any heat.” 

It made Momo’s stomach turn to think about villains injuring her younger, much more vulnerable classmate. He was so tiny - how could anyone bring themselves to hurt someone like that? She stepped a bit to the side, raising her shirt and eyeballing his measurements. He was small for nine, but he had the proportions of a taller child, long-limbed and dainty. She made the shirt as form-fitting as she could without it being restrictive. She passed it to Aizawa. 

“Thank you.”

In the meantime, Shouto had gravitated over to Kirishima, and was quietly lurking behind him as he excitedly swapped stories with Ashido. “I know Mina!” he told Shouto, grinning a familiar shark-toothed smile. “I can’t believe we’re at UA together! It’s so cool!”

“What’s your quirk?” Shouto asked Mina. “Does it have something to do with…being pink?”

Mina laughed. “Not really! I make acid that comes out of my hands and feet. I’d show you, but I don’t want to melt my clothes.”

Kirishima nodded. “Mina’s quirk is awesome. She’ll be a great hero.”

“Awww!” Mina swept Kirishima up in a hug; he looked startled but not upset, his grin still just as wide. Shouto took a startled step back. “You’re so sweet, Eiji. I forgot what a cute kid you were.” She glanced at Shouto. “You’re adorable too, Todoroki-kun, don’t you worry. You’re super hot as a teenager, but your little baby-face is just amazing!” She reached out to poke his cheek, but Shouto was just out of range, and clearly relieved to be. 

“Hot?” he murmured, frowning. 

Mina giggled. “You know, handsome? Pretty?” Judging by Shouto’s face, that didn’t make him any less confused. “You’re cute as a teenager too, Todoroki-kun.”

“It’s not fair!” Mineta wailed, butting in. Ugh. “Even when you’re babies, the girls won’t leave you alone! I’m small and cute too!”

“No, you’re not,” Kyouka muttered. “You just act like a toddler. Maybe if you actually were one, we’d like you more.”

Doubtful, Momo thought, suppressing a giggle as Mineta melted down into tears. Shouto took another step back, apparently unwilling to be a part of the nonsense. That’s fair.  

“Do I have a girlfriend?” Kaminari asked, materializing atop of Sero. For some reason, the yellow-haired boy was clinging to Sero’s back, his legs looped through his elbows and around his waist. He rested his chin on Sero’s shoulder. 

“Nope,” Kyouka deadpanned. 

Kaminari whimpered and buried his face in Sero’s shirt. “How is that possible! Older-me sounds so cool!”

“There there,” Sero soothed, grinning. 

Midoriya had wandered over to Shouto’s side, detaching from Ururaka, who looked vaguely…distressed? He was still smiling, but there was something off about it. Shouto, surprisingly, noticed it too. He stepped in front of the other boy. “Did something happen?” he asked. 

“No!” Midoriya said quickly. “Everything’s fine, Shouchan, don’t worry.” 

Shouto nodded, apparently satisfied, but Momo was still concerned. Midoriya kept touching his chest, rubbing a spot under his collarbone; Momo wasn’t sure he realized he was doing it. With his arm crossing his body, it looked like he was giving himself half a hug. Momo wasn’t sure if she should say anything. Because the commotion seemed to be quieting down (or just getting started, considering Kaminari), Momo expected Aizawa-sensei to interrupt at any moment and take the kids to their rooms - maybe she could mention it to him?

Instead, it was Bakugou who spoke up. Still sprawled across the couch, he yelled, “Oi! Sensei! Take them to their rooms already, these extras are giving me a headache.” Despite his (always) atrociously rude tone, Momo couldn’t help but agree. 

“Kacchan!” Midoriya exclaimed. “I - I didn’t see you there.” 

“Aww, this must bring back memories for you too, huh?” Mina grinned at Bakugou, putting her hands on her cheeks. “ Kacchan.”

“Shut up!” There were, of course, accompanying explosions. 

“I always forget you and Midoriya were friends as such little kids,” Kyouka said. 

“We weren’t, idiot,” Bakugou snapped. Midoriya’s fixed smile flickered a little. He drew closer to Shouto. 

“Alright, quiet, all of you.” Aizawa stepped away from his position against the wall. “Midoriya, Todoroki, Asui, Kirishima and Kaminari - time to go upstairs.” Kaminari groaned, slipping off of Sero with reluctance. “Grab the bags Yaoyorozu made for you and meet me by the elevators.”

Momo was pleased at the happy exclamations the children made upon seeing their bags. Tsuyu appeared beside her to tug on her hand. “I like the color, ribbit,” Tsuyu said,“Thank you, Yaoyorozu-san.” 

“You’re very welcome, Tsuyu!” Momo had to resist giving the little girl a big hug. She’d always wanted a little sister… “And you’re welcome to call me Momo.”

“Thank you, Momo,” Shouto said quietly. She hadn’t earned a smile from him quite yet, but that was alright. Momo was pretty sure that the soft expression on his face was one of contentment. 

Izuku trailed behind the others as they exited the elevators. The teacher’s suite was at the very top of the building, under the eaves. Aizawa-sensei explained that there were a few empty rooms up there as well, for situations just like this one, but because they didn’t expect five students to need extra watching at the same time, there wasn’t all that much space. They’d be sharing rooms, which sounded okay. It would’ve sounded better that morning, but Izuku’s mood had kinda… slipped, since then. 

It had been nice to wake up with the other kids, even though Eijirou had kneed him in the back a few times during the night, and Tsuyu’s hair kept getting in his mouth. He hadn’t had a sleepover in…well, he’d probably never had a sleepover with someone who wasn’t Kacchan, and that hadn’t happened since they were babies. He could still remember it, though. He remembered the poke-y but soft texture of his hair, and the way he’d grumble when either of their moms woke them up in the morning. 

But they weren’t friends anymore. It was weird to know so much about a kid who hated you, even if Izuku found it hard to even dislike the other boy. It was difficult to hate someone you really knew, whom you understood. Difficult for him, at least. (He didn’t know what he was doing wrong.) And grown-up Kacchan seemed a little less mean. Maybe. Izuku hoped he was. 

He rubbed his shoulder. It stung. It hadn’t stung so much while they’d been with the villains, or even at the hospital, but maybe that had been adrenaline. 

Aizawa-sensei stopped in a portion of the hallway with three identical doors, turning to face them with his dark, menacing eyes. He was definitely a bit frightening, even though he’d been nice so far. Points in his favor: he didn’t treat them like stupid little kids, he seemed really smart, he was a pro hero. Points against: he was a teacher, and teachers tended to really not like Izuku. He’d keep an open mind, but he’d admit to not being optimistic. Even though Eraserhead was super super cool. 

“Asui, you have your own room,” Aizawa said. “That’s nonnegotiable. Other than that - figure it out.” He slouched back along the hall, calling over his shoulder, “I need to get a few things. Stay on this floor.”

The kids blinked at each other. Izuku felt nausea rising inside of him. Was this going to be like picking teams at school? The other kids seemed to like him fine so far, but - 

Denki laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, I’m sure you noticed that I snore, but I also… um… glow. Sometimes. Figured I should say something.”

Shouto frowned. “You glow?”

“Haha, yeah. If I use my quirk in my sleep, it’s not usually enough to actually shock anybody, but my skin lights up. I’m a walking, lots-of-talking glowstick! I’ve been told it’s obnoxious.”

Eijirou clapped him cheerfully on the back. “My mommas used to play rock music while I napped, so maybe I should room with you! You won’t bother me, man. I can sleep through anything.” He glanced at Shouto and Izuku. “Is that okay?”

Shouto shrugged. He seemed vaguely uncomfortable - but maybe Izuku was projecting. Or paranoid. Or both. “That’s fine.”

“Great!” Izuku chirped nervously. “Which room?”

Tsuyu glanced at them, and then, without saying anything, made for the door farthest from the elevator. Eijirou laughed, and Shouto glanced at Izuku before pulling open the door in the middle. 

The room was bigger than Izuku expected, but there was only one bed, a futon carefully made up on the floor. To Izuku’s surprise, Shouto immediately made his way over to the futon, sitting down on it with his legs crossed. He ran his hands across the sheets. 

“Um - you don’t want the bed?”

“No.” Shouto looked up at Izuku. “You don’t want it either?”

“No!” Izuku sat down hard on the bed, bouncing a lot more than he meant to. “This is fine! This is good!”

Shouto nodded seriously. With his bangs falling in front of his face, it was hard to make out his expression, and he didn’t say anything else. He just moved his hands back and forth. 

Izuku started to cry. He wasn’t sure why - it’s just, it was quiet, and he was having very big feelings, and there wasn’t anything to distract him, and the stupid tears just wouldn’t stop. He made an awful little whimpering sound and buried his face in his hands. 

From what Izuku could see between his fingers, Shouto was staring at him, shocked and horrified. The younger boy stood up, took a step forward, and then quickly stepped back. 

“I - I’m sorry,” Izuku got out. “I’m fine, I -” 

“Did I do something?” Shouto asked. He sounded frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“No!” Izuku wiped his tears with the backs of his hands, but they just kept coming. “You - you didn’t do anything.” He picked up a pillow and hugged it against his chest, burying his face in the softness. “You’re being - really nice to me.”

“I am?” 

Izuku nodded. The gesture wasn’t the clearest, his face still hidden, but he hoped Shouto understood. Shouto was being nice. He was so powerful and cool and he hadn’t called Izuku names - though, of course, none of the others knew that Izuku was quirkless. “I’m being a crybaby. I’m sorry.” He wanted to do what he always did when sad - lie on his bed, curl up, and watch All Might videos - but he wasn’t at home, his mom wasn’t in the other room, and he didn’t have anything to distract himself with.  

“People don’t usually cry for no reason. Right?” Shouto sounded unsure. Izuku could hear his hesitant steps on the carpet, drawing closer. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Izuku shook his head. “It’s - it’s nothing.”

“Then what made you cry?”

“It’s just…” Izuku inhaled, let out a shuddering exhale. “It’s silly. I shouldn’t care. Everything’s been so good.” Shouto didn’t reply, and Izuku found it hard to continue. It was so dumb. He was UA. That was more than he could ever hope for. But still -

Shouto’s quiet footsteps retreated. Izuku heard something rustling, and then - something was draped around his shoulders. A blanket? The bed next to him slowly, cautiously indented as Shouto sat down. “You do care, though,” Shouto said.

“They called me Deku.” Izuku looked up from his pillow. Shouto was sitting about a foot away. He looked deeply uncomfortable, and his eyes kept flickering to the door. Still, he didn’t leave. “It - it’s another way to read my name. It means useless.” Shouto didn’t say anything, leaving Izuku space to keep talking. “Kacchan calls me that. He’s right, we’re not friends. Nobody - nobody wants to be my friend. And I hoped, I hoped it would get better, but, our classmates, they called me Deku.” 

Shouto took a deep breath. Izuku tried to dry his eyes again. “I don’t know why they did that, Izuku. You’re not useless. You were very helpful, when we were with the villains. You’re smart,” Shouto said. “And you’re brave. Probably - probably braver than I am.” He let go of the pillow, just a little, to cling on to the edges of the blanket. “I found everyone… confusing,” Shouto admitted. Izuku looked at him; he was looking at his lap. “They seem nice. They seem to…like me. Maybe. But they were really loud. And they - they made fun of me too.”

Izuku’s chest hurt. “They did?”

Shouto nodded. “The pink girl said I was cute. That teenage-me is…pretty.” Hold on. Izuku frowned. Shouto continued, “I don’t know why she would say that. It’s obvious that I’m…” He touched his scar.

“Shouto. I don’t think she was making fun of you,” Izuku said. 

Shouto blinked at him. “What?”

“She was serious. That wasn’t teasing.”

Shouto’s brow furrowed. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” Izuku shifted so that he was facing Shouto. “I don’t think Mina-san would say something like that to be mean.”

Shouto was quiet for a moment. “Maybe they’re not trying to be mean to you either?”

Izuku thought about that. He remembered the big kids in the common room, their big smiles. The girl with short hair and pretty pink cheeks, she’d seemed really happy to see him. She gave him a hug. And then she called him Deku. It didn’t - it didn’t sound unkind, coming out of her mouth. Even though it meant useless. 

Kacchan had saved him, and let him hug him, and even though he said rude things and swore, he hadn’t really been mean to Izuku at all. But the burn on his shoulder still stung. And he honestly couldn’t imagine hero kids - powerful, strong kids - wanting to be his friend. 

Slowly, cautiously, Izuku reached out from beneath the blanket and took Shouto’s hand. It was warm. He didn’t pull away, though Izuku felt him jerk when they first touched. “Is this okay?” he asked in a whisper.

Shouto squeezed his hand in response. He let Izuku shift closer to him on the bed. Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t worry about your future while we’re still small, Izuku. We can’t change what’s happened to us.”

Chapter Text

Natsuo shouldn’t have been there. He stared up at the shining gates of UA High, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. He clutched the ragged cardboard box to his chest, waiting awkwardly for the teacher who would escort him to his brother. He would normally insist Fuyumi handle the awkward shit, such as Shouto apparently being nine again, but she was on a school trip and wouldn’t be back until the following night. Yes, he wanted to get to know Shouto better. No, this was absolutely not what he meant.

Fuck, would Shouto even recognize him? He wouldn’t have won any brother-of-the-year awards as a thirteen-year-old (honestly, he might not win one as an adult either), and he could barely picture Shouto as a child that age. They didn’t have a lot of photos of him, and it’s not like the two of them had hung out. When Fuyumi asked him to collect Shouto’s old things from their storage room, he hadn’t recognized basically any of the items. There weren’t that many boxes to dig through regardless. Their family wasn’t exactly sentimental. 

There were a few other people waiting outside the gates as well. There was a man with a distinctive frog mutation, a shorter woman with jagged, gem-like teeth that were visible whenever she grinned, a teenager with vividly yellow hair, and a woman whose hair was a shade of green Natsuo recognized. He’d never met Midoriya Izuku, but Shouto had shown him pictures. The kid’s broccoli-colored curls were certainly distinctive. 

She was struggling with a few of her many, many bags. Natsuo approached her, offering a slight grin. “Need a hand, ma’am?”

“Oh!” She looked up right as one of the bags slipped off of her fingers. “I don’t - I can - yes, actually, thank you.” She smiled sheepishly at him. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

“Uh, maybe.” Natsuo shifted his box to one arm and picked up the dropped bag, then held out his hand to the woman for another. “But that’s no problem. You’re Midoriya-kun’s mom, am I right?”

“Yes! Midoriya Inko. And you must be a Todoroki - Shouto’s brother?”

“Yes, that’s correct. I’m Natsuo.” It sent an odd warmth coursing through his chest to be recognized as Shouto’s brother instead of Endeavor’s son. “It’s nice to meet you, Midoriya-san. Shouto talks a lot about your son.” That was kind of a lie; Shouto didn’t talk to Natsuo a lot about anything. But Shouto had mentioned Izuku multiple times, which had to mean something.

“That’s kind of you to say!” Inko touched her cheek. “Your brother’s a sweet boy. It’s such a shame he was injured, but it’s nice you’ve come to check on him.”

Shouto? Sweet? Natsuo was too stuck on that to initially process the second part of her sentence. Shouto was injured? Fuyumi hadn’t mentioned that. She would if it was serious, right? And wait - “You’ve seen my brother already? How is he?”

Inko’s expression fell a little. “Well, I only saw him briefly. And honestly… I think I made him uncomfortable.”

Oh . Fuck, that would make sense. Natsuo huffed out a sound he hoped sounded like a laugh. “Yeah, he was pretty shy at that age, sorry.” Was shy the right word? Reserved? Preteen Natsuo would’ve said stuck up, but he was mature enough now to acknowledge that wasn’t completely accurate. 

He continued to make small talk with Midoriya’s mother as a teacher Natsuo recognized from the sports festival - the loud blond - escorted the family members past the main complex and over towards a shaded walkway lined with tall buildings. Inko was nice, and Natsuo really did like her, but that didn’t make the conversation any less awkward. She kept asking him questions about Shouto, all of which made Natsuo even more self-conscious of how little he knew his brother. He resorted pretty quickly to just…making shit up. 

It was a semi-welcome distraction when his mouth basically fell open at how fancy the dorm buildings were. Jeez, his college had less over-the-top accommodations. UA really had the budget of like, a small nation, didn’t it. It made him a little nauseous to compare the campus to his own high school, and he’d gone to a fairly nice private academy. He held the box a little tighter. 

He really didn’t belong. 

Aizawa adopted his usual position, leaning against the wall in the shade, to watch his newly-preadolescent students interact with their family members. He was primarily interested in the Todorokis, to be honest, though he did watch with some amusement as Kirishima swung from his mother’s arms like they were a jungle gym and Kaminari’s cousin attempted to ruffle his hair, only to practically fall over from static shock. 

Todoroki Natsuo was a tall, solidly built young man, and though his coloring was a complete one-eighty from his father’s, his other features made their relationship obvious. His expression was a lot more relaxed, though, his shoulders slouched a little, and he looked more uncomfortable than Enji would ever allow. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, and it again begged the question - where was their mother?

Natsuo grinned at Shouto, who hung back just a bit. The first thing out of the boy’s mouth was, “Your hair. It’s different.” 

That elicited a laugh from his brother. “Seriously, Shochan? That’s what you have to say? Not, oh, Natsu, you’re so tall, you’ve gotten so handsome -” 

“You are tall,” Shouto said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did - did your hair turn all white? Like -”

“Oh. No. Um.” Natsuo touched one of the tufts of hair that stuck out on either side of his face. “I bleach the red out. I started in high school.”

Shouto touched his own red hair, pulling it in front of his eyes. “That’s something you can do?”

“Uh, yeah, of course?” Natsuo’s grin flickered a bit. He crouched in front of his brother, and Aizawa was sure neither of them missed the way the boy shrunk back. “But listen, Shou, there’s nothing wrong with your red hair. You know that, right?”

Shouto shrugged. He looked at his feet. “I look like dad.”

“No, you don’t.” Natsuo stared at him for a moment before he sighed and pushed the cardboard box in-between them. “Come on, here. Take a look, see what you want. There isn’t a lot, but Yumi told me where your old fireproof stuff was.”

Aizawa eyed the small box, glad he’d already asked Yaoyorozu to make Todoroki a few usable garments. He’d spoken to all the parents, primarily to ask them to bring any sentimental items from home that might ease their children into their new environments. When he’d called the number in Todoroki’s file, Todoroki Fuyumi had answered. Laughing in that light, uncomfortable way he’d come to associate with the oldest Todoroki siblings, she’d said, “Oh, I don’t think we have anything like that from when Shouto was small.”

He’d also helped the students go through their rooms for anything they wanted to bring upstairs. Midoriya had been in awe of his older-self’s All Might collection (Aizawa, who hadn’t seen any of the students’ rooms before, found it a little disturbing but unsurprising), and even Todoroki seemed impressed, gently touching an unpleasantly realistic bust of All Might’s head. Kaminari and Kirishima both gasped in joy at the sight of their rooms, and Asui happily gathered up a dark green lily-pad shaped blanket from her bed. She was still wearing it like a cape. 

Todoroki’s room was quite empty, which didn’t seem to surprise its resident. It was in-line with his personality, Aizawa supposed, but something about the impersonal Japanese style still made him a bit uncomfortable. Todoroki had gathered up a few essentials and a photograph from what looked like a shrine. There was also a pale pink temari lying on one of the dressers, which reminded Aizawa of Yaoyorozu’s story. Todoroki examined it with wide, surprised eyes, and then chose to leave it carefully where it was. 

Todoroki pulled a pair of blue shorts and a pale blue t-shirt from the box, frowning slightly before he folded them and put them in a pile next to his folded legs. 

“What? Do those not fit, or -” Natsuo asked, and then he seemed to look closely at the clothing Todoroki was handling. “Oh. Shit. Shouto, you don’t need any training clothes. I can take those back.”

Shouto shook his head. “I should keep it.” He smoothed his hand over the slightly charred fabric. He turned back to the box, pulling out a few more identical blue shirts. Identical, save for the differing patches of discoloration, heat-treated fabric still charred black and brown. The burns weren’t concentrated along the left side like Aizawa would’ve expected. Training clothes. Quirk training?

For a nine-year-old?

Shouto dug through the box, carefully separating out individual items and folding them next to him. Whoever had packed the clothes - probably Natsuo - had just tossed them in, and Shouto knew better than to leave them that way. Besides, creasing the fabric in the right order and pattern were a good distraction from the eyes that were on him. Natsuo, yes, but also that teacher. He thought he was being subtle, but he really wasn’t. 

Natsu-nii was really big as a grown-up, but his face was basically the same. He still had a nice smile, though Shouto wasn’t used to it being aimed at him. His brother sat back on his heels, hands resting on his knees. Shouto had a lot of questions. He couldn’t figure out how to ask a single one. 

“Why are you here?” would be rude, right?

Shouto pulled a dark blue hoodie out of the box and automatically began to fold it before he realized what he was holding. He fisted his hands in the soft fabric and brought it to his nose. Just like he thought. A unique smoky scent clung to the hoodie. A bit metallic, a bit spicy, a bit like long-stale cigarettes. He held the article out to Natsuo. “This isn’t mine.”

“What?” Natsuo took the sweater, seemingly on auto-pilot. “Of course it’s yours. Who else - oh .” Natsuo laid the hoodie carefully in his lap, smoothing it with his hands. “Are you sure? It’s blue. Most of your clothing is blue. That’s why I thought…”

“ Mama likes blue. Dark blue,” Shouto reminded him. “She got blue clothes for all of us.” 

Natsuo laughed, but he didn’t sound happy. “Man. I - I barely remember. I remember Touya’s dumb little hoodie vests, but not - fuck, Shouto, you’re right.”

Shouto nodded. He kinda wanted the sweater back, but didn’t dare reach for it. Besides, Natsuo wouldn’t have given it to him if he’d known it was Touya’s. 

“I didn’t know any of his things were left in the house,” Natsuo said. Yeah, Endeavor cleaned out Touya’s room very soon after he died. Shouto remembered Natsuo and Fuyumi both sneaking items from the trash, but he hadn’t dared. Natsuo mirrored Shouto, lifting the hoodie to his face. He made a small, choking sound that almost seemed like he was about to cry. Shouto looked away. 

It was subtle, but everyone’s quirks created fire that smelled a little different. Endeavor’s fire smelled a bit like garlic and it made Shouto cough. Shouto’s fire was probably the most neutral, though it had a bit of a woodsmoke scent that went away really quickly. Endeavor said the differences were because their fires had slightly different chemical compositions. It was a distinction that was difficult to notice, especially when the fire spread and more things caught alight. Then, smoke was just smoke. 

But Touya’s fire was distinctive, and it wasn’t long enough ago to forget. 

Natsuo laid the hoodie back down on his knees. He looked at the box, then at Shouto. And then he held it out. “Okay.” He sniffled a bit, wiping his eyes. “Um, do you want this? I think it’ll fit.”

Shouto could feel his face doing something weird. “What?”

“You don’t have anything of Touya’s, do you? If you want -”

“Yes!” Shouto grabbed the hoodie before he could stop himself. Before he could remind himself that he didn’t need it, sweaters were silly and unnecessary for someone with his quirk, and he barely even knew Touya anyway - “Yes.”

He pulled the hoodie on, ignoring how his ribs twinged and the fresh burn across his lower back stretched with the motion. It was a little big. Either Touya had been bigger than him at nine, or the sweater was from when he was older - Shouto wasn’t sure. He nuzzled his chin into the hood where it pooled around his shoulders. 

Shouto looked back up at Natsuo slowly, worried that he would find… he didn’t really know, anger? Some kind of distress? But Natsuo was just watching him with a slight smile. “Comfy?” Natsuo asked. Shouto nodded. 

“Looks good on you, kiddo,” Natsuo said. 

“Thanks,” Shouto said softly. He tucked his hands into the oversized pocket in the front. The inside was slightly rough, the fabric old and a little crispy. Still warm, though. 

Aizawa-san stepped away from the wall, calling the kids back over towards him. As Natsuo moved to stand up, he reached for Shouto’s head. Shouto flinched back, startled, and Natsuo froze. He frowned.  “I was just going to ruffle your hair, Shou,” Natsuo said. He sounded sad, but he didn’t try again. 

Did Shouto want him to?

Chapter Text

Shouto was way smaller than Natsuo remembered. The blank expression was familiar - that developed early and never went away - but fuck, he was so tiny. Natsuo remembered Touya being small, but they’d always written that off as a result of his premature birth. Now, Natsuo wondered if there’d been something else going on. 

Fuck their fucking father. Natsuo was in training to be a doctor. He’d done a rotation in sports medicine. There’d been a little girl in the clinic for a dislocated shoulder, a gymnastics injury, and the lead physician had advised her parents that intense physical training needed to be paired with increased calorie intake and needed to be varied enough to reduce the risk of injuries, especially because children were still growing and their bodies were developing. He’d even said that a child’s weekly hours of intensive training should never exceed their age. Natsuo highly, highly doubted his father was following the doctor’s recommendations.

Natsuo continued to lurk inside the dorm’s common room even after the other family members left, and some of the not-preteen students helped the kids carry their stuff upstairs. He felt big and awkward, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave - especially because Shouto kept glancing at him, like he was checking he was still there. He leaned against the counter, watching as Izuku babbled at Shouto about one of the (many) notebooks his mother had apparently brought him. No wonder the bags were so heavy.

The door to the dorm building opened smoothly, and the blond teacher was back. He had a little girl in his arms, a child with long white hair and red eyes. Natsuo stood up straighter. Was that another student? Someone else affected by the deaging quirk? She clung to the blond man, whom Natsuo finally remembered was called Present Mic, her arms around his neck. 

“Hey, little listeners!” Mic yelled. “Littler-than-usual listeners!” He put the girl down. She scanned the room, then made a beeline over to Izuku. 

“Deku-chan!” she said happily. Natsuo watched as Izuku…flinched? Stiffened up? And then, to his immense surprise, Shouto stepped in front of the other boy. 

“His name is Izuku,” Shouto said. The spiky blond-haired boy in the kitchen dropped something with a loud clatter, followed by muttered swearing. 

“Oh!” the little girl said. “Okay.” She peered around Shouto, not put off at all by his bluntness. “Zachi said you were little now! You’re almost as small as me!”

Izuku blinked at Shouto, still apparently in shock. “Um, yes! I’m ten.” He unfroze and knelt down slightly so that he was eye-to-eye with the little girl. “How old are you?”

“Seven.” She tilted her head. “You don't remember me?”

“Eri-chan, Izuku is ten in his brain too, remember?” Present Mic said. “You need to introduce yourself.”

“Oh! I’m Eri. You saved me!” Eri said. “I was in a bad place and you’re a hero and you saved me.”

Izuku looked like he was about to fall over. “I did?” he squeaked. 

“Bad place?” Shouto asked. 

Eri nodded seriously. “Yeah. My quirk is dangerous. A bad man used my quirk to hurt people, and he hurt me too.”

Shouto nodded. Natsuo’s heart hurt. He really didn’t want to picture a villain hurting a kid so little. 

They were both so little. How could he ever have been jealous of his younger brother? It made him nauseous to think about, to remember how, when he was playing outside with his other siblings and he noticed Shouto’s little face in the window, he made a face and turned away. Did Shouto remember that? 

“De - um, Izuku-chan, he saved me,” Eri continued. “So did Lemillion. They’re my heroes. And now I live with Zachi and Zawa and I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Eri is going to come to the mall with us,” Mic said. “Is everyone ready?”

“Almost,” Aizawa-san said, stepping off of the elevator. His gaze immediately landed on Natsuo. “Oh. I thought all the family left.”

Natsuo rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I took the day off, so I wanted to stay as long as possible. Make it worth it, I guess.” The minute the words left his mouth, he was cringing. Way to imply that Shouto is an inconvenience, stupid. No way his brother missed that. “I can go.”

Aizawa shrugged. “You can come with us to the mall, if you want. If you have nothing better to do.” He stared at Natsuo, who got the distinct feeling he was being evaluated. “I doubt a child of Endeavor would pose a security risk.”

Natsuo stood up straighter. Shouto was definitely watching him. “Yes! Sure. Of course.” 

“Great.” Aizawa-san smiled, and what. Was that just his normal smile? Was he trying to be so terrifying? “I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask. Nothing too serious, of course.” Oh, fuck.  

Too late to back out. Natsuo forced a smile. “Of course.”

Natsuo isn’t sure what he expected from the terrifying Eraserhead’s car, but it certainly wasn’t an oversized van with Put Your Hands Up! scrawled in bright graffiti on the side and fluffy dice hanging from the rearview. On second thought, maybe it wasn’t his - even though he was the one who climbed in the driver’s seat while Mic strapped little Eri into a car seat. Wasn’t that the name of a radio station? Natsuo…really didn’t follow anything to do with heroes. 

(Eri said that she was being taken care of by Zachi and Zawa. Zachi was Present Mic, obviously, so…. was Aizawa “Zawa”? Shouto had never said anything about two of his teachers being together, but Shouto was kinda dim when it came to stuff like that. Honestly, there was a good chance he never would have noticed.)

“Sit up front,” Mic said, waving him off when he tried to climb in the back. “I’ll sit with the kiddos. You’re too tall!” Natsuo was very sure this was a thinly-veiled attempt to trap him next to Aizawa, but he couldn’t figure out how to protest. 

Sure enough, Aizawa was eying him as soon as he entered the car, but to Natsuo’s surprise, the first thing out of his mouth was not an interrogation about Shouto or their father. “Present Mic and I are married,” he murmured, his dark eyes flicking back to the windshield. “He’s a limelight hero, so we keep it a secret. You understand.”

Oh. “Of course,” Natsuo said sincerely. “And Eri’s your daughter?” 

“Not officially, not yet. The paperwork is still in progress. But, yes.” 

“She’s a sweet kid,” Natsuo said. The van’s door slid shut with slam, and Aizawa began reversing out of the parking spot. A few of the kids were arguing in the backseat - not a real fight, just the playful bickering of ten-year-olds. Shouto didn’t join in, and Natsuo wondered if he understood what was happening. 

“She is,” Aizawa said. “We’re proud to be her fathers.” Aizawa’s eyes found Natsuo’s in the rearview mirror. “Every kid deserves a loving home.”

Natsuo swallowed. Before he could come up with something to say, Aizawa was (thankfully) diverted by something outside of the van. He pulled over to the curb and rolled down the window. “Bakugou,” Aizawa said. "Where do you think you’re going?”

“Groceries!” the boy snapped. He was striding along the sidewalk, a bag over his shoulder and one earphone jammed in, so he could pretend he wasn’t paying attention. Ah, so that was Bakugou. Natsuo had definitely heard that name mentioned. “Damned extras ate all the eggs. And I need more onions.”

Aizawa sighed. “Didn’t I tell all of you problem children to stay put without a teacher escort?”

"Why? You found the brats! There’s no more danger!” Bakugou scuffed his foot against the curb. “No more than usual, anyway. And we really need eggs.” 

Aizawa rubbed his forehead. “Get in.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. We’ll go by the store on the way back.”

“I can go to the store by myself!”

Present Mic slid open the car door. “Come on, Bakugou! It’ll be fun.”

“It’s also not optional,” Aizawa grumbled. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku cried. He hesitated a moment before adding, “You should come. If - if you want to, of course.”

To Natsuo’s surprise, the spiky-haired boy acquiesced almost immediately. “Fine!” He clambered into the car, wedging himself against the door and as far away from the kids as possible. “Whatever.”

Eri cheered. 

This is the fucking worst, Bakugou thought. He thought things were bad when his classmates were missing, but now that he was trapped in a car with five baby-ified extras and an actual toddler, he wished for the distance to return. He leaned against the window, trying to listen to his own music and not whatever baby showtunes the little unicorn insisted on. Disney, ugh. How did Aizawa survive?

And it was his own damn fault, too. He wasn’t going to admit it, and even thinking about it made him flush with denial, but he’d followed the kids out of the dorms. Deku had been acting weird and overwhelmed ever since he arrived back at the Heights Alliance, and nine-year-old IcyHot was somehow even more prone to silent, uncomfortable staring than the teenage version. Everybody else needed to leave the kids the fuck alone, give them space. And he was the only one who had any idea at all what might be wrong with either of them. 

That is, until IcyHot’s even icier brother arrived. Bakugou didn’t trust him for shit. Shouto didn’t seem comfortable with him, and Bakugou had never even heard him mention having siblings. Just his shitty mom and shittier dad. He scowled at Knockoff-Todoroki when he caught his eye in the side-view mirror. The fuck was Aizawa thinking, letting him tag along?

Not-So-Shitty-Hair (Bakugou was having trouble getting over his shaggy black lion’s mane) was showing off a stuffed plush to Icyhot, who seemed baffled. “Look!” Kirishima yelled, practically climbing over the seat’s back so that he could brandish the red shark in the smaller boy’s face. “Mama brought Sora. He’s the best stuffie ever. The manliest.” 

“Butts in seats!” Mic-sensei reminded. Shitty-Hair complied for like, half a second before he was leaning forward again. In the front seat, Knockoff was covering a laugh, and Bakugou barely resisted snarling at him. 

“The toy…has a name?” IcyHot asked. 

“Yeah!”

“I have lots of stuffies!” the white-haired brat chimed in. Bakugou did his absolute best to tune out this inane conversation, with very little luck. “I have a uni-horn, which I gave to Zawa, and I have a doggy from Lemillion, and I have Ika-chan!” She brandished an octopus, which had previously been taking up her entire lap. 

“Your octopus is named…squid?” Pikachu asked. 

“Yeah!” Eri put the toy on her head. 

Half-and-Half nodded sagely, as if that made any fucking sense, and as if he hadn’t learned the concept of things having names literally half a minute ago. He touched Kirishima’s admittedly-pretty-badass shark, tracing the fabric triangles that outlined the jagged maw. “You’ve got the same teeth, Eijirou.”

The shark-toothed bastard grinned. “Yeah! I’ve got my Mama’s bite. Ma calls us her little monsters.” He drummed his fingers against his sharp canines before finally leaning back, apparently satisfied by Todoroki’s assessment. “Did your family bring anything cool?”

IcyHot shrugged. He held out his arms, letting the sleeves flop around. “This is my brother’s hoodie. Touya’s.”

Hold on. That wasn’t Knockoff’s name. How many kids did Endeavor have? Bakugou really couldn’t picture him with a gaggle of snot-nosed brats. 

“That’s really nice!” Kirishima lifted up on his knees again so he could look over at Knockoff. “Touya seems so manly!” 

Half-and-Half frowned, obviously confused. “That’s Natsuo. Touya’s dead.”

In the front seat, Knockoff choked. Bakugou tuned back into the suddenly-much-more-interesting conversation.

“I’m really sorry, Shouto,” Deku said, inserting himself when Shitty-Hair was too shocked to reply. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a sibling.” Tch . Way to state the obvious. 

IcyHot shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and avoided eye contact. “I’m fine. It was a long time ago. Longer now. And I didn’t know him very well.”

Bakugou’s gaze met Aizawa’s in the rearview mirror, and somehow, he realized they were thinking the same thing. 

Did Endeavor do something to his other kid?

“He probably wouldn’t have given me his hoodie, if he was alive.” IcyHot continued. “Touya took care of me, but he didn’t like me much.”

Knockoff Todoroki nearly broke his neck trying to turn all the way around in his seat. “Shou, that’s not true,” he said. His voice was breathless, raw and upset. 

“You don’t have to lie.” Todoroki looked up, his bicolor gaze firm like ice. “I know you don’t like me either. It’s okay, I understand why.”

Shouto’s words shot straight through Natsuo’s ribcage and impaled themselves firmly in his heart. He couldn’t help but carry them with him, as they arrived at the mall, unloaded the car, and walked around inside, the bright lights and colors almost mocking. Shouto resisted every attempt he made to talk about what his little brother had said. 

Of course he’d known that Shouto was aware of his childish feelings towards him, but it was very different hearing cold confirmation spill from the mouth of a nine-year-old. If sixteen-year-old Shouto had said something like that, Natsuo would probably have gotten defensive. It was very hard to feel defensive towards a kid not even in double-digits who’d just calmly stated he understood why he wasn’t loved. 

Was that what Shouto thought normally? That Natsuo was, what, just tolerating him? Or had his recent attempts to reach out made up for his years of ignoring Shouto, of just watching as he suffered through the exact same kind of treatment that killed Touya? Fuck, Natsuo just wanted his sixteen-year-old brother back. He needed to talk to him. 

He needed to apologize. 

But now both of Shouto’s teachers watching him with barely-hidden suspicion (and some pity), and that spiky-haired kid who’d been dragged along kept injecting himself between Natsuo and the kids, boiling over with uncensored hostility whenever Izuku wasn’t keeping him redirected. 

Man, that kid could talk. Natsuo had initially pegged him as shy, but that was not the case once he got going. It might’ve been annoying under normal circumstances, but Natsuo saw how Shouto watched him with wide eyes, taking in every word - and maybe learning, for the first time, what other kids were actually like. Goofy. Silly. Loud. 

Unafraid. 

Little Midoriya was teaching Shouto something important. You could tell that kid had been loved, even if his occasional frantic apologies made it clear that not everyone had been so nice. Shouto took it all in stride, nodding along as Izuku explained the differences between All Might’s Silver Age costume and his Golden Age costume, and how the newer one was better, really, but the old one was so amazing because - 

And then it was the yellow-haired kid’s turn to drag them into one of the stores and treat them to an only-slightly-discordant serenade on an admittedly very cool electric guitar, cheered on by Present Mic, whom Natsuo was beginning to suspect was just as unhinged as his husband. Natsuo worried that Shouto would be overwhelmed by the noise, but he only seemed curious, a faint smile on his lips as his classmates cheered.

Eijirou banged on the drums a bit, and then Mic bought little Eri a recorder and Tsu a harmonica, before they were all chased out by the store owner (Denki nearly shorted out an electric keyboard). Shouto had a startled expression on his little face that made it clear he wasn’t sure how scared he should be, but the other kids’ laughter apparently convinced him that everything was fine. 

Shouto paused and stared through the window as they passed a pet store, pressing his fingers against the glass. “You want to go inside?” Natsuo asked, not missing how his brother jumped. 

Shouto shook his head. “I’m not going to buy anything.”

“That’s alright, little listener!” Present Mic said. “They won’t mind if we just look.”

“We also need more cat food.” Aizawa walked up beside his husband, Eri resting on his hip. The little girl seemed a little overwhelmed by the crowds, and Eraserhead clearly felt similarly, providing a haven on the outskirts for the child to retreat to. Shouto stayed away from the crowds as well, eying strangers with blank-faced skepticism. 

“Yay, I love pet stores!” Eri cried. “I bet they have hamsters!”

“What’s a hamster?” Shouto asked, drawing closer to Natsuo’s side. When Eri stared down at him in surprise, a faint blush colored his cheeks. 

“They’re so cute!” the little girl said. “They’re like mice but better. They're round! With chubby cheeks!” She puffed out her cheeks, leaning out of her father’s arms to make sure Shouto could see her. “And there will be fish, and birdies, and maybe kitties -”

Shouto lit up. “Cats?”

“Yeah!” Eri wiggled out of Aizawa’s arms, running to Shouto’s side. She reached for his hand, then hesitated. “Is touch okay, Shochan?”

Shouto hesitated, then pressed his hand to Eri’s. “Yes.”

“Good job asking, sweetheart,” Present Mic said. Eri beamed at her father before pulling Shouto forward and into the store, the other kids following close behind. Natsuo quickly followed, desperate to avoid being left behind with either teacher - but especially Aizawa. 

The kids split up the second they entered the store. Denki followed Tsu to the reptile/amphibians section, Izuku trailed Eri and Shouto, and Eijirou immediately became entranced by the wall of fish-tanks, giggling happily at how the fish trailed his finger when he drew it across the glass. Of course, they fled the second he grinned. 

In the back of the store, there was a wall of clear plastic cubicles, each filled with a cat or kitten. By the time Natsuo tracked them back down, Eri was already cooing over a tiny gray wad of fluff, and Shouto had his nose practically pressed against a cage containing a frankly massive calico who was tucked into the back, gazing grumpily at the intruder. When Natsuo got closer, it hissed. 

“She must be scared,” Shouto said, without looking away from the cat. He tapped a sign taped to the cat’s cage. Name: Blossom, age: eight years, found in Shibuya, partially blind. “Hi, Blossom,” he said softly. “My name’s Shouto.” The cat hissed again. Shouto was undeterred.

“Zawa!” Eri cried behind them. “Look at her! She’s so cute!”

“Look at this one,” Izuku said. “He’s got a flat face!”

Bakugou harrumphed. “Of course you’d go straight to the ugliest motherfucker in the place. Looks like it ran face-first into a wall.” Despite his words, he pushed his hand against the plastic, and looked inordinately pleased when the cat bumped its head against the divider, paying more attention to him than Izuku. 

“No more cats, Eri,” Aizawa reminded. 

“You say that as if you’re not the one who brought all of ours home,” Present Mic murmured, bumping his shoulder against his husband. 

An employee of the store emerged from a door next to the cubicles. She smiled at the kids. “Hello! If there are any animals you’re particularly interested in, we can open up the cages, let you say hello?”

Eri and Izuku quickly nodded, but Shouto drew back. When Natsuo turned to him, brow furrowing, Shouto muttered, “I’m not good with animals.”

When have you even seen a cat, Natsuo wanted to ask, but that seemed to be a good way to step on a landmine of unknown past experiences. Fuck, I really don’t know anything about him.  

“It’s alright,” he said instead. “You probably just need some practice, Shouto.” He turned to the store worker. “Can we see this one? Blossom?” 

She looked surprised, but she quickly smiled and nodded, leading all of them into a narrow room behind the cubicles. She opened the gray kitten’s cage for Eri (and Aizawa), the flat-faced cat’s cage for Izuku (and Bakugou), and the calico cat’s cage for the two of them. Natsuo, trying to demonstrate what to do, reached in first. 

The cat bit him. He shrieked. “She’s not very friendly,” the employee said. Belatedly. 

“She can’t see what you’re doing,” Shouto said. He crept closer to the cage. “Hi, Blossom,” he said again. As he reached towards the cat, he rubbed his fingers together, making a quiet noise. He stopped when his hand was a few inches from the cat’s face. “Good kitty.” Slowly, the cat leaned forward and sniffed his fingers. She bumped him with her forehead, and Shouto cautiously stroked her nose. 

Blossom considered that. Then, she hissed. 

Aizawa snorted. “Cats.”

“Cats,” Shouto repeated, nodding.

Shouto attempted to befriend the chubby little demon for a few more minutes, eventually joined by Bakugou, who also got bitten. His subsequent swearing was very funny. It helped distract Natsuo from his still-bleeding hand. 

On their eventual way out of the store, Natsuo caught Shouto staring longingly at a shelf displaying stuffed animals. There were cats, dogs, and even a frog, which Tsuyu quickly claimed for herself. “Do you want one?” Natsuo asked Shouto, already pulling out his wallet. Shouto quickly shook his head. Natsuo frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t need toys,” Shouto said quickly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not about need, Shou.” Man, he wanted to beat up his father more every minute. Natsuo pulled one of the plushies from the shelf. It was a tri-colored cat, a big orange spot around one eye. “What about this one? It looks like Blossom, isn’t it cute?”

Shouto shook his head. Carefully, he pulled a plushie down from the shelf. It was not quite a cat but a tiger, white with black stripes and gray-blue eyes. “This one?”

Natsuo’s heart melted. “Yeah, of course.” 

For Bakugou, the mall trip was…tolerable, for a while. It was very weird to see his teachers acting so much like dads , and their little baby-brat was surprisingly tolerable for a snot-nosed kid. She was definitely better than any of his kid-iffied classmates, most of whom seemed to be trying their best to get them kicked out of the mall. 

IcyHot was more reserved, and by the way he stuck close to either the other kids, his brother, or Aizawa, watching the crowds with open skepticism, Bakugou would’ve bet good money that he’d never been to a mall before. He wasn’t touchy; he didn’t cling to anyone’s hand the way that Eri did, and he wasn’t openly fidgety or uncomfortable, but he scanned their surroundings  like he was expecting an ambush. When the music-shop owner had started yelling, Todoroki’s right hand glinted with a subtle sheen of frost. Kids shrieking also seemed to set him off. 

After the pet store, the brats - sans Half-and-Half, who didn’t like having opinions - dragged the adults (and Bakugou) over to some overpriced ice cream stand. Littlest-Brat picked out vanilla, then wheedled her parents into letting her get both rainbow sprinkles and gummy bears on top. Pikachu got chocolate; Frogface got matcha with chocolate sprinkles. Shitty-Hair got red-bean ice cream, and Deku picked out some All-Might novelty flavor dyed an array of frankly concerning unnatural colors.

Then, it was IcyHot’s turn. Bakugou expected him to copy Deku, or maybe Kirishima, since older Todoroki seemed to like more subtle, traditional flavors. Or he’d pick something ridiculously sweet - Bakugou knew Todoroki liked that disgusting strawberry milk. Instead, IcyHot drew back, holding his new dumb toy against his chest. “I don’t want anything.”

“What?” his brother asked, finally looking away from his own chocolate ice cream. “But look, Shouto, they have all sorts of flavors -”

“I don’t like any,” Halfie insisted, and, what the fuck. IcyHot was a notorious dessert thief in the dorms, though he (usually) replaced whatever he stole. He wasn’t that picky, at least when it came to things with nauseating amounts of sugar. 

“Quit holding up the line,” Bakugou growled. “Just pick something.”

That earned him a frown, and unfortunately, he recognized the stubborn set to the kid’s jaw. That was IcyHot’s I’ve decided, fuck you face. Getting him to budge would take a miracle, or (Bakugou’s favorite) a knockdown, drag-out fight.  

“I don’t like ice cream,” Todoroki insisted. “I don’t want any.”

Knockoff apparently didn’t know that particular expression, because he opened his mouth again. His little brother drew even further back. “Shouto -”

“You don’t have to get anything, Todoroki,” Aizawa said, shooting Bakugou and Wrong-Todoroki a Look. “Let’s find a table.”

Bakugou hung back as the kids followed Aizawa like ducklings. Dunceface was already trying to steal licks of ice cream from everybody else, and Eijirou bit into his ice cream with his teeth, like a maniac.  

“Are you going to order anything?” the teenager behind the counter asked, sounding bored. 

“Fuck you,” Bakugou snapped, instinctively. Then, “Strawberry. One scoop.”

By the time he got to their chosen table, Kaminari had somehow inhaled all of his ice cream and was begging bites from everybody else, and little Horn-Head had apparently learned that gummy candy gets very difficult to eat when it’s frozen; she was munching hard with a determined look on her tiny face. Deku was explaining to IcyHot how his ice cream wasn’t exactly the right colors to match All-Might’s costume, but it was okay, it tasted really good, and look, it made his tongue purple!  

And in that moment, the old impulse to hurt Deku swept over Katsuki like a wave. He almost dropped the ice cream he was holding; it made him shiver. There Deku was, green-haired and happy and ten , and Bakugou was cycling through all the cruel things he could say in his head. 

Bakugou sat down hard next to Aizawa, pushing the strawberry ice cream away from himself. He needed a moment to settle; it was so loud in the mall. Fuck. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Then, he became sharply aware of how Deku - and Todoroki - were watching him. 

Thank the gods for Aizawa. Ignoring Bakugou’s dramatic entrance, he instead turned to IcyHot and asked, “Todoroki, why don’t you like ice cream? It’s okay that you don’t, I’m just curious.”

IcyHot’s eyes widened: caught in his obvious lie. After a moment of staring at a wadded up napkin, he quietly admitted, “I don’t know what it tastes like. I’ve never had ice cream before. I’ve never been to the mall, either.”

“What?” Deku practically climbed onto the table. “How’s that possible?” 

“Hang on, Shouto, didn’t Mom take you -” That was Knockoff-Todoroki, putting his oversized foot in his mouth. His confused expression slid sideways into distress. “Oh.”

“That was just you and Yumi,” Todoroki said unnecessarily, “and Touya, sometimes. Dad never let me go.”

“Not even once?” Natsuo asked, continuing the Todoroki tradition of airing their family’s trauma right where everyone can hear. The entire table was silent. 

Todoroki shook his head. “Said it was a waste of time.” He fiddled with his napkin. “And I’m not supposed to have desserts anyway.”

What the fuck was wrong with Endeavor? Seriously, what the fuck? Bakugou locked eyes with Present Mic across the table. 

“Shouto, is that why you didn’t want to get any ice cream?” Mic asked. Man, Bakugou didn’t know he was capable of anything below a shout, but his voice was gentle. “Because your father wouldn’t want you too?”

IcyHot didn’t respond. He put his hands in his lap, abandoning the scrunched-up wad he’d been fidgeting with. He didn’t even reach for his toy, which was leaning against his side. 

“You can’t have anything sweet? No cookies, no cake, no candy?” Dunceface interjected. When Todoroki nodded hesitantly, the dumbass’s face fell, an overexaggerated frown. “Man, that’s rough.”

“Why?” Frogface asked. “You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t be on a diet.”

Todororoki shrugged. “Father just wants me to be healthy,” he said, not meeting anybody’s eyes. Bullshit , Bakugou thought. What kind of parent controlled their kid that much? It wasn’t out of some high-minded concern for his wellbeing, that was fucking obvious. 

No wonder teenage Half-and-Half is so fucked up. 

Eri leaned across the table to pat Todoroki’s arm, prompting a startled flinch. “You can have some of mine if you want, Shouchan.” She looked at her dads. “It’s good to try lots of different foods. Like, even if you like apples, you shouldn’t eat only apples all the time. Even though apples are super yummy.”

“That’s right, Eri,” Present Mic said fondly. 

“You could also try mine!” Deku chimed in. The other kids all agreed - even Pikachu, who’d apparently forgotten (dumbass) that his cup was empty.

“No, thank you,” IcyHot said. One of his hands flexed, open and closed - a nervous tic he wasn’t yet able to stifle into stillness. Knockoff-Todoroki opened his mouth to argue, and Bakugou growled. He shoved the ice cream he’d bought across the table. 

“Shut up and taste it, brat.” When the eyes turned to him, clear surprise in all of them, Bakugou leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, grumbling, “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Todoroki frowned at him for a moment, and Bakugou was prepared for him to argue. Instead, his gaze flickered down to the ice cream, and he picked up the spoon. He glanced around, obviously aware of how the others were staring. 

Bakugou let an explosion crackle across his palms. “It’s not a fu- it’s no big deal!” And in the moment everyone was looking at him, Aizawa already scolding him for quirk misuse, IcyHot raised the spoon to his lips. 

His stupid mismatched eyes went wide. “It’s good,” he murmured to Eri. 

She beamed. “It really is!” 

He still barely ate half of the single scoop. Stupid fucking kids, Bakugou thought. And honestly, fuck Endeavor. 

What kind of person hurts a kid like that?

Chapter Text

After their stop for a mid-afternoon dessert, Aizawa and Hizashi took the kids out to the field in the center of the mall, to let them run off some of the sugar energy before they finally got to picking out clothes - you know, the actual purpose of their trip. While Kirishima and Kaminari wrestled and Asui eyed the fountain like she wanted to jump in (Hizashi was closer to her, so that would be his problem), Midoriya kept Todoroki company on one of the benches. The youngest boy had taken one look at the people milling around the space and apparently decided that he wasn’t comfortable running around in public. It reminded Aizawa uncomfortably of Eri. 

Speaking of his daughter… Eri had (miraculously) stepped away from her parents’ immediate vicinity and was trying to get Asui to finish teaching her some hand-clapping game the older girl had shown her earlier. Asui, a wide smile on her face, crouched down so that she was face-to-face with Eri, holding out her hands. Aizawa’s daughter beamed. To think - it had only been a few months prior that the child didn’t know she could smile at all. 

Todoroki Natsuo stood a short ways away from his brother, doing something on his phone. Or, more realistically, occasionally tapping his phone’s screen while keeping a covert eye on Shouto and watching Aizawa nervously, likely anticipating an interrogation. Which, fair - Aizawa had many, many questions - but he also didn’t want to be cruel. Natsuo’s relationship with Shouto was obviously strained, but Aizawa could tell that he cared about his brother. Aizawa didn’t want to interrupt their awkward socializing. He also didn’t want to question Natsuo in front of Shouto, and he suspected it would be difficult to separate the two. 

His opportunity came when his most problematic problem children were occupied by trying on clothes. They didn’t need much - they had the uniforms, and hopefully his kids wouldn’t be little kids for much longer - but that didn’t dissuade Kaminari or Kirishima, and Midoriya was both thrilled and overwhelmed by all the “new” merch from his favorite heroes. They eventually had to establish some guidelines: four complete outfits for each, as well as underwear, a sweater or hoodie, and two sets of pajamas. That also helped Todoroki, who’d obviously never had any choice in his own clothes before, and Asui, who seemed a bit uncomfortable spending money. 

Hizashi ushered the kids back into the changing rooms, his arms full of clothing, shooting Aizawa a significant look. Aizawa, in turn, tried to shoo Bakugou away so that he could have a real conversation with Natsuo; the boy would not budge. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, glaring at the older Todoroki. 

For fuck’s sake. 

Aizawa sighed, giving up. Instead, he turned to Natsuo, who visibly gulped. The young man shoved his hands in his pockets and steeled himself. His gray eyes - so similar to Shouto’s right - met Aizawa’s. “What do you want to know?” he asked. 

What to ask first? He decided to start easy enough: “Does Shouto have any genuine dietary needs that we should know about?”

“I don’t know,” Natsuo answered quickly, though he hesitated before elaborating. “Whenever Shouto would eat with the rest of us, he’d often be given…different meals, but I never understood why.”

“When he ate with you? What does that mean?”

“Father kept Shouto isolated. When Shouto was nine, I saw him maybe… once a month? Less? And it got even less frequent as we got older. I didn’t know very much about him; he doesn’t know me.” 

“Why the fuck would Endeavor do that?” Bakugou asked, beating Aizawa to the punch. 

“He didn’t want Shouto interacting with his failures.” Natsuo took an angry, shaky breath. That’s what he called me, Fuyumi, and Touya.” Gods, Aizawa’s questions were multiplying. They were rattling around his head like shrapnel in a bomb, ready to burst out and impale someone. Preferably Endeavor. 

Natsuo seemed to guess what the next question would be, because he quickly clarified, “Touya is - was - our oldest brother. He died when he was thirteen, almost ten years ago now. I don’t know how much Shouto remembers him. As far as I know, they didn’t interact much, but I could be wrong.” 

“Obviously, he remembers something,” Aizawa murmured. Shouto had said that Touya took care of him. Who, if anyone, looked after the boy after his brother died? And how did…

“Touya died in a fire,” Natsuo said, the words tumbling out. Aizawa felt like he’d been on the receiving end of Todoroki’s quirk, hot and cold at the same time. His skin was frozen, his mind burning. “It - it wasn’t Endeavor. At least, not like you’re thinking.” Aizawa exhaled, but it wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been. 

“Touya’s quirk, it wasn’t suited for his body,” Natsuo continued. “Endeavor pushed him to use it anyway. But then, when he had a better successor in Shouto, he tossed Touya aside. Like garbage, like the rest of us. Touya couldn’t take it. He kept training his fire, pushing it further and further. And then -” Natsuo’s voice cracked. He touched his mouth with his hand. “His quirk is what killed him. But Father, the way he treated Touya … it broke him. Touya was just a kid, and he never would have died if Endeavor acknowledged him as a person, and not just some failed experiment he could abandon.”

Experiment. God. Was that how Endeavor really saw his children? Was that how they saw themselves? “You called Shouto Endeavor’s successor, and yourself a failure.” Aizawa took a breath through his nose, trying to keep his voice level. “Did Endeavor marry your mother with the express purpose of having a powerful child?”

“Yes,” Bakugou said, before Natsuo could speak. When Aizawa’s gaze shot to him, he was looking away, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I overheard IcyHot telling Deku something at the sports festival. About a quirk marriage.” He hesitated for only a moment before his unusually-soft voice rose back into his characteristic growl. “And how his mother was so miserable she snapped and maimed his fucking face.”

What. The fuck.  

Natsuo opened his mouth, outrage clear in his expression, but Bakugou again beat him to the punch. “What, you weren’t going to mention that?” The boy’s hands popped with small explosions. “Wanna let people assume that giant, ugly-ass scar is a fucking birthmark?” 

Natsuo’s face, screwed up with rage, suddenly looked a hell of a lot more like Endeavor’s. “Don’t talk about my brother like -”

“Oh, you want to pretend that you care?” Bakugou stepped forward. “Where were you, huh, for all of this shit? Hiding in some corner? Enjoying being a failure?”

Aizawa stepped in-between them, his hands (and hair) rising. “Bakugou, that’s enough.”

“You don’t know what it was like in that house.” Natsuo snapped. And they didn’t. Aizawa only saw the signs he should have always seen. Why did it take Todoroki being turned back six years  for Aizawa to notice? He’d always been a child. And Aizawa knew, he knew, that he still didn’t know anything about what his student had been through. Even Shouto didn’t know. He was nine. “Endeavor is the number one fucking hero. I don’t know what I could’ve done!”

“You could have tried!”

Natsuo ran his hands through his hair, tipping his head back with such force that it nearly slammed into the wall. It didn’t stop the tears from falling, though he wiped them away with prejudice. “When I was nine, I told my teacher that our father was hurting Touya. I thought she believed me. But when I got home - it - it was the only time Father ever hit me. And then he went right back to ignoring my existence, but he pulled Shouto out of kindergarten.” 

“Coward,” Bakugou hissed. 

“Yeah, I was a shitty kid!” Natsuo slammed the palm of his hand against the flimsy shopping-mall divider wall, clearly trying not to yell. “I’m sure that’s something you know nothing about, Katsuki.”

To Aizawa’s immense surprise, he didn’t need to restrain Bakugou. Instead, the boy just bared his teeth. Aizawa turned back to Natsuo, but before he could say anything - offer comfort? push for more fucking information? - a child emerged from the changing area. 

“Natsu-nii, look -” Todoroki was dressed in a bright yellow All-Might t-shirt that went practically to his knees, but his pleased half-smile faded quickly when he saw their little group. Shouto looked between his brother and Aizawa, Bakugou. “You’re upset,” he said. His voice was flat, but there was distress in the way he held himself, the way he froze where he stood. 

It was very, very telling that his response to a sibling in distress was to look for the culprit, the possible threat. 

“No, no,” Natsuo reassured quickly. “I’m fire, Shou.” He smiled shakily, holding out a hand to his brother. “You wanted to show me something?”

The boy hesitated, holding his position in the entrance to the fitting rooms, silhouetted against the cheerful little waiting area, the brightly-colored couches. He fisted his hand in the hem of his shirt. “Did something happen?” Aizawa was grateful he hadn’t overheard.

“No, I was just talking to your teacher. Everything’s okay.” Natsuo crouched down. “I like your shirt, bud. Looks great.”

“Izuku chose it,” Todoroki said, cautiously stepping forward. “We’re all going to match.” He stroked the design on the front. “Dad would hate it,” he said, and the edge of his lips quirked up in a tiny grin. 

“Is All Might your favorite hero?” Aizawa asked. 

Todoroki nodded. “Izuku likes him too. And Tsuyu, but Denki says his favorite hero is his mom, and Eijirou likes Crimson Riot. I don’t know who that is.” Aizawa always forgot that Kaminari was another with a heroic legacy, since his parents worked abroad. 

Todoroki looked at Bakugou, and for a moment, Aizawa wondered if he could smell the smoke from the older boy’s explosions. If he could, he didn’t say anything, choosing instead to ask, “Is All Might your favorite too? Izuku said he was.”

“The nerd’s right,” Bakugou grumbled. Todoroki, to Aizawa’s surprise, seemed undeterred. 

“The smallest of these shirts is still too big for Eri,” he told Aizawa. “But she wanted to match too, so Yamada-sensei said he would make it fit.”

Uh oh. What did that mean? Aizawa would trust Hizashi with his life, but with their daughter’s fashion choices? Questionable. The man was a peacock. Thankfully, when Eri emerged - running straight for her other father’s arms - he found that the shirt was simply bunched up at her waist with one of her Papa’s many hairbands, hanging loose around her neck and tiny little arms in a way that was, quite frankly, adorable. 

“Having fun?” he asked. 

“Sooo much fun.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I like having friends.”

“I’m glad you do, sweetheart.”

When Aizawa-sensei and Yamada-sensei brought them back to the dorms, Kacchan immediately disappeared into the kitchen to put the groceries away, grumbling about having wasted his entire afternoon (even though it was barely three pm). Yamada-sensei went upstairs with Eri to nap before dinner, and Aizawa-sensei disappeared off somewhere, but not before muttering something to Ingenium’s brother about keeping everyone out of trouble for at least an hour, please. Shouto then drifted off to the side with his older sibling, which left Izuku and the rest of the kids alone with Class 1-A and their barely contained curiosity. 

And to be fair, Izuku was curious too. Since the older kids didn’t seem interested in kicking him around or picking on him at all, really (a novelty), Izuku felt comfortable badgering them about their quirks in the same way he’d always dreamed of interrogating heroes. His first target was the quiet boy with a raven’s head who seemed to have a sentient quirk, which was so cool Izuku was honestly about to have a heart attack. He wished, once again, that he had one of his notebooks, but he’d left them in the room he shared with Shouto to keep them safe, so he had to settle with bouncing around, barely refraining from flailing his arms with excitement. “So, can you feel your shadow -”

“Dark Shadow.”

“-inside of you always? Can you talk to each other when he’s inside of you? Wait, is he a he? I don’t want to be rude. And how big can he get? I saw him help you grab an apple from the kitchen, can he eat too, or was he just helping you? No, I bet he feeds on your energy, right? So he wouldn’t need to eat his own food -”

The raven-headed boy blinked several times, his beak slightly open. “You shine a very bright light, Midoriya,” he eventually said. Izuku cocked his head to the side. What did that mean?  

A laugh rang out, and Izuku shrunk in on himself. To his surprise, when he turned to face whoever thought his behavior was silly (and that was common, so why did it still hurt -), he didn’t see any judgment on the older boy’s face. The boy with tape coming out of his elbows grinned at him, and his expression looked genuinely warm and… fond? “That’s our Midoriya,” he said. “You’re the same at any age.”

“Ooh! I have such a good idea!” the pink girl exclaimed, popping out of seemingly nowhere. “Let’s do Room King, but for quirks! We can show the littles our quirks, and they can tell us which one they think is the coolest.”

“We were told to stay in here, though,” the boy with a tail said. Denki was clinging to his fluffy appendage, face resting against the poof at the very tip. He seemed worn out, but he still chimed in with - 

“I bet Shouto has the coolest quirk! He basically has two of them, after all.” 

There was a loud crash from the kitchen. “WHAT DID YOU SAY, DUNCE FACE -”

The invisible student clapped her hands together, startling Izuku, who hadn’t realized she was standing right next to him. “Yay! Quirk King, let’s do it!”

“Everyone already knows what your quirk is, Hagakure.”

The younger Iida chopped at the air with one arm. “Aizawa-sensei was quite clear -”

“SHUT UP, GLASSES.” Kacchan grabbed the back of Iida’s tie, dragging him towards the door, cutting his lecture off with a choked noise that still managed to sound offended. “My quirk is the fucking best, and none of you extras are going to forget that.”

“I don’t know,” the pink girl singsonged. “Deku’s quirk is pretty amazing -” She giggled as Kacchan lunged at her. Giggled?! She wasn’t scared of him? She raced to the exit, explosions popping on her heels. “Gym Gamma in five minutes, guys! Put it in the group chat. But not the one with Aizawa in it, I don’t want to die.”

“RACOON-EYES, SENSEI CAN’T KILL YOU IF I GET TO YOU FIRST!” And with that, both of them were out the door. Despite the fact that Kacchan wasn’t mad at him (yet), Izuku couldn’t fully suppress a shiver. 

“Izuku?” Tsuyu said, hopping up beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Of course,” Izuku squeaked, even though his heart was now pounding in his chest. Quirk King. All of the students seemingly knew him as someone with a quirk. A strong one. Would it matter, if they found out he was quirkless? 

…would it matter to Tsu, Eijirou, Denki or Shouto? Izuku finally had friends. He didn’t want - he couldn’t mess this up. But he really, really wanted to see the big kids’ quirks. The push-pull of his fear versus the thrill of possible discovery made his head hurt. 

He was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to notice Eijirou coming up beside him. He clapped his hand against Izuku’s shoulder. “Dude, this is so cool. I’ve never seen this many amazing quirks in the same place.” Eijirou grinned, but it didn’t have quite the same edge as usual. “Too bad mine’s so boring.”

“Are you two forgetting?” Tsuyu croaked. “You’re ten, ribbit. They won’t expect you to keep up with high-schoolers.” She grinned. “The big kids just want to show off.”

Izuku took a deep breath. There was something knowing in Asui’s wide, barely-blinking eyes, and it was simultaneously strangely comforting and terrifying. He turned to Shouto, trying to hide the way his heart was still pounding in his chest. “Shouto? Are you going to come?” 

Shouto’s brother was encouraging him, crouched down beside the smaller boy. “I’ll come visit again soon, Shou,” he said. “Go have fun with your friends. It’s okay.” Shouto didn’t seem to notice that he had one hand tightly twisted in his brother’s t-shirt, forcing Natsuo to carefully detangle from his grip. “Next time, Yumi will come too. You’d like that, right?”

Shouto nodded, finally. His gaze was oddly distant when he turned to look at Izuku. It reminded him of when they’d been in the warehouse. Was Shouto scared?

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you Izuku?” Natsuo asked, smiling softly. Izuku nodded. 

That earned a verbal response from Shouto. “I don’t need caring,” he murmured. He looked at his brother. “You’ll really come back?” Shouto asked. 

Natsuo’s smile suddenly looked a whole lot more sad. “Of course.” He laid his hand on his brother’s back, gently pushing him forward. “”Go on, or you’re going to miss ‘Quirk King.’ Bet you’ll give those big kids a run for their money, huh?”

Izuku suddenly remembered: he’s never seen Shouto’s whole quirk! The excitement of that was enough to tip him over from anxious into exhilarated, though both made his body thrum with energy. “Let’s go, let’s go!” He carefully took Shouto’s hand, and pulled him towards the still-open door. Tsuyu laughed. 

“Um, Izuku, ribbit?” she said as soon as they were out on the walkway. “Do you know where Gym Gamma is?”

A little over an hour later, Aizawa surveyed his students with his trademark dark glare, settled into his scarf so that they couldn’t see a vaguely-amused grin tugging on his serious scowl. Somehow, all of them had been roped into this quirk-showcase nonsense, even Iida (who was an impressively embarrassed red) and Yaoyorozu, who hadn’t met his eyes once. 

Half of them had holes burned in their clothing, and whether that was from Ashido’s acid, Bakugou’s explosions, Kaminari’s lightning, or some combination of the three was impossible to tell; several of them had hair puffed up like they’d stuck a fork in an electric plug, and it was easy to deduce the cause of that, considering Kaminari’s vacant expression. But the most dramatic, impossible-to-hide clue to the nature of their misbehavior was the way that all of them were shivering, frost in their hair, and the massive glacier that currently filled three-fourths of Gym Gamma. 

Asui was once again wearing Todoroki’s sweater. 

Aizawa sighed his most dramatic sigh. “So, tell me again. Which one of you thought it was a good idea to encourage Todoroki to test just how much ice he can make? You all do remember the Sports Festival, correct?”

“He’s nine!” Ashido protested. “We didn’t think -”

“Yes, you didn’t think,” Aizawa quipped dryly, though he was privately also impressed (and a bit horrified) by Todoroki’s absurd level of power before he was even in double digits. That type of quirk control took years of practice. It was astonishing to watch a first-year fill an entire stadium with ice; it was a bit disturbing to see almost the same level of power from an elementary-schooler. “I’ll be deciding the consequences for this later, on a day when I’m not supposed to be on break. In the meantime, go get changed for dinner. And don’t even think of going to Recovery Girl for whatever scrapes you’ve acquired. I’m not encouraging this habit of brawling, and neither will she.” 

There was some minor grumbling. Privately, Aizawa was relieved that none of them actually seemed all that injured, and even more miraculously, Midoriya looked completely untouched. Oh, yes. Now he remembered that Midoriya’s quirk showed itself very late, and that was probably a blessing for the poor child’s still-growing bones. Bakugou was breathing heavily, and Todoroki seemed a bit pale, but that was the worst of it. 

He should still check on Todoroki, though. The little boy was still recovering from quite a few injuries, and Chiyo would have Aizawa’s head if the child’s icy excursion resulted in any unnoticed damage to his still-delicate self. As the children dispersed, Todoroki close to Midoriya’s heels, Aizawa caught his attention. “Todoroki. When you reach the sixth floor, please meet me in the teachers’ apartment.” 

The boy’s bicolored eyes widened minutely before he ducked his head in a nod, leaving Aizawa kicking himself. Of course a broad statement like that would be frightening to a child like Todoroki. He regretted not interrogating Natsuo further, but there hadn’t been time, considering he had to step away and check in with the ongoing deaging-quirk investigation. “You’re not in trouble. I’d like to check on your injuries before dinner, considering how you’ve spent the afternoon. Eri and Yamada-sensei will also be there.” 

Aizawa wasn’t sure if Todoroki believed him, even though the boy nodded again. Midoriya shot his friend a comforting smile. “Come on, Shouto. Let’s get changed and then you can talk with Aizawa-sensei. And I wanted to ask you some questions about your quirk -”

Midoriya led Shouto away, and Aizawa allowed himself to sink down into his scarf even further. It had been a long day. Not a bad one, really, though it definitely had its moments. 

(Aizawa was still ready for a nap of his own.) 

Chapter Text

Shouto didn’t remember going up to the little room under the rafters. He could feel Izuku’s hand in his, hear the other boy rambling, but it was difficult to focus on the words. The world blurred at the edges. He was out of sync, slipping. It was like Fuyumi’s battered old CD player, which he could sometimes hear playing through the walls, if he crept close enough. It would catch, skip, click relentlessly (Shouto didn’t like that sound, but he pressed nearer anyway), and Fuyumi would restart the song, as many times as she needed to hear it to the end. 

He was in trouble; of course he was. Aizawa-sensei said that he wasn’t, but his mother would say that, and she would be wrong. Endeavor never bothered to trick him, unless they were out in public. Then, he would huff out a laugh at whatever wrong thing Shouto said, whatever he did, and tighten his grip on his shoulder. Shouto would feel the heat through his shirt, and burn when he got home. 

You’re not there. And that was worse, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what the rules were, what punishments to expect, how far he could push before - 

Shouto felt his mouth moving, answering Izuku’s questions, but he had no idea what was coming out. He was reciting a script that he’d never memorized. He must have made a mistake, because suddenly Izuku was squeezing his hand, asking, “Shouto? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Shouto said, and that was a familiar line. It rolled off of his tongue before he’d even processed being spoken to. And Izuku was watching him, so Shouto straightened up, digging the nails of his free hand into his thigh. His whole torso hurt, with pain radiating down in shallow bursts to the soles of his feet. It made it hard to remember what was going on. Hadn’t he already been punished? Or did it just hurt, regardless of his father, regardless of anything Shouto did? 

“You know, I’m sure Aizawa-sensei wouldn’t mind if you took a quick break before you go talk to him. Or, you know what? I can come -” 

“No,” Shouto said quickly. That was a rule that he knew. And wasn’t he already being punished for wasting too much time with the other kids? Or - for using his quirk incorrectly, or without permission, or something else he was sure he’d done wrong. It wasn’t safe to be around him, not right now, maybe not ever. “I’m fine, Izuku.”

And he was in the hallway before he could register moving. Some childish, weak part of himself wished that he’d taken Izuku up on his offer as the door to the teachers’ apartment loomed in his path. Or, even more humiliating - he found himself wishing for the stuffed tiger Natsuo had bought him, which was now tucked safely away under his blankets. In his head, Shouto called it Snowflake, but he’d never say that out loud. 

He raised his hand to knock. To his immense surprise, it wasn’t an angry Aizawa who greeted him (wreathed in flames, or, no, that isn’t -). It was Eri, blinking past the open door, still dressed in her All Might t-shirt and with her hair all mussed from sleep. For a moment, both of them just stared at each other. 

(She was so little. He’d never been around a kid younger than him before.)

“Eri, remember what we said about the door,” a voice called from inside. “It’s safe to answer at UA, but -”

“I need to be caut - catch - cautious,” the little girl finished. She didn’t seem upset at being (mildly) scolded. “You told me about stranger danger, Zachi. But he’s not a stranger, he’s Shouto!”

“So he is.” Present Mic emerged from behind his daughter. “Are you looking for Aizawa, little listener? He mentioned you’d be dropping by.”

Shouto nodded, unable to push any words past his cold lips. No plan, no routine would fit. Instead, he tried to focus on the details around him as he was ushered inside. The apartment was small. The entryway was half obstructed by the shoe-rack. A basic kitchen was off to one side (with…all the normal appliances), then a living room, and beyond that, another hallway. Despite being small, the space felt much more open than the carefully divided wings of the Todoroki manor. 

Eri yawned, settling back down onto the couch. A cartoon was frozen on the TV’s screen. “Lots of excitement today,” Present Mic said, “though apparently, we missed the best part! Word on the street is that you made a seriously rockin’ glacier, bud.” 

“Please don’t encourage him,” Aizawa said, appearing at the far end of the living room. Oh. He looked exhausted. That couldn’t be good. (“I’m tired of this pathetic temper tantrum, Shouto. You know better.”) Shouto hoped that the fog would roll back in, but he was painfully present. He noticed everything, but even then, he couldn’t explain why Aizawa went on to say, “Though it was an impressive display, Todoroki.” 

Shouto made a little noise, not sure if he was supposed to respond. His skin felt like it was covered in ants. For some reason, his mind decided to make him very aware of the kettle still visible on the kitchen counter. 

“Would you prefer to talk out here or in the office?” Aizawa asked. 

Shouto took a breath before quietly responding, “Office, sir.” While he’d prefer to stay with Eri, that was selfish. He didn’t want to scare the little girl. 

Aizawa stared at him for a moment (why?) before gesturing down the hall to one of the four doorways. Shouto cataloged the space as he stepped cautiously forward. One door was ajar, and led to a bathroom; across from that was probably a closet. The office was one of the furthest rooms from the entrance, which made Shouto inexplicably nervous, though he knew he would never run. 

At first glance, it was very different from his father’s office (which was hot and boring and too big even though the walls were closing in -) . It was lit by a single warm lamp, had two desks, and there was a futon sprawled out on the floor, absolutely covered in toys. “Eri sleeps in here when she spends the night, since there isn’t a second bedroom,” Aizawa offered. “We have an actual apartment across town.”

Shouto wasn’t sure why that was something he needed to know, but he nodded anyway. Aizawa was holding the door open for him, which meant that Shouto had to step past and leave his back vulnerable, unless he wanted to make his nerves very obvious and awkwardly skirt around his teacher. He chose instead to take a deep breath through his nose and walk forwards, pausing and turning once he was in the middle of the room. Nothing happened - Aizawa was still standing in the doorway - but Shouto’s heart was doing something stupid regardless. 

Aizawa followed him, though he left the door open a crack. “You can sit on one of the chairs or on the futon, whatever’s comfortable.” Since Shouto still had no idea what was going to happen, he didn't know which would be ‘comfortable’; he arbitrarily picked one of the desk chairs, and it had nothing to do with being worried he would dirty or heavens forbid cling to Eri’s stuffed animals, definitely not. 

Aizawa pulled the other chair over so that it was facing Shouto. He sat down, leaning forward so that his arms were resting, crossed slightly, on his knees. “I was serious before, Todoroki,” Aizawa said slowly. “You are not in any trouble. You weren’t supposed to be fooling around with your quirks, yes, but I put the blame for that on the older problem children, not on you.”

“Then why am I here?” Shouto asked, then bit his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. And besides, that didn’t make any sense. Aizawa was lying. It was always Shouto’s fault. He knew that. He was supposed to be the masterpiece, the perfect one, and he should know better, even though he never did. 

He never learned. And Natsuo said he would come back, he said that, but had Shouto ruined any chance of it happening? Would Natsuo get in trouble for encouraging him to be with the other kids, or for visiting him in general? That happened all the time . And then Dad would yell at them, and his siblings would cry, and Shouto - 

He caused problems, made them worse, and then was upset at the consequences. That’s what one of his tutors said. And Natsuo agreed, because every time Shouto tried to spend time with his siblings, he’d either be chased away, or they’d take pity on him ( poor needy little Shouto ) and then their father would get angry. One time, he set their soccer ball on fire because Shouto had been watching them play. Natsuo didn’t so much as look at him for months. 

“Hey, Todoroki, are you listening to me? Shouto?” A hand landed on his knee. It was a lot more slender than his father’s, though just as calloused, and Shouto jumped regardless. Aizawa was watching him, and Shouto shrunk back. Oh no. He’d missed something. 

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. 

“I said, I just want to take a look at your injuries. Using your quirk like you did in the gym could have made them worse. Freezing a burn -”

“Causes tissue damage. I know.” Aizawa was looking at him knowingly, and wow, Shouto hated that expression. He chewed on his lower lip, then added, “I’m fine.”

“I’d like to double-check. And if you’re not comfortable with that, Todoroki, I can get Recovery Girl instead. That’s an option.”

Trap. He wasn’t supposed to cause his caretakers extra trouble. Without another word, Shouto tugged his shirt (the one Momo made him; it was really soft for fireproof fabric, which he liked) over his head. His arms and torso were still wrapped in bandages, which was silly. The doctors had healed most of his wounds, even a few of the not-bad ones, like the burn on his arm. He was still in a strange amount of pain, but after a certain point, one learns to block that out. 

( Even though he’d felt, several times that day, as though he was being tossed around, as though his arm was grabbed, fire against his skin - )

“Hmm,” Aizawa murmured, as one of the bandages was unwrapped. Shouto stiffened, strongly resisting the urge to yank his arm out of the man’s gentle hold. “I hadn’t noticed these bruises before.”

Shouto looked down, craning his neck to see what Aizawa had noticed. They were faint, even against his pale skin, but he recognized the curves of his father’s blunt nails as they dug into his upper arm and dragged him around. It barely counted as a bruise, really, just a red mark that would turn yellow-green and then disappear, but when had - 

Shouto shivered. If Aizawa noticed (and he had to - he was touching Shouto), he didn’t point it out. “Let’s see if that burn on your stomach is still healing,” he said. He carefully peeled off the largest bandage, humming quietly at what he saw. “Good. It looks fine.” 

Fine was kind of an understatement, in Shouto’s unexpressed opinion. It was functionally healed. Even though he was a little sore and his feet/shoulders/ribs ached a bit, like they would after any long day, he had remarkably few injuries in the process of disappearing. He almost always had at least a few at all times, all in different stages of painful. He looked like a little kid, all smooth pale skin (and scars). It was weird.

All of this was weird.

“We don’t have to put these back on if you don’t want to,” Aizawa said, gesturing to the bandages. “Just one over the burn.” 

Shouto let him do that, only flinching slightly as Aizawa’s cold fingertips brushed his skin, then reached for his shirt. The motion required twisting his body, and Shouto was too focused on the way the bandage pulled at his skin to notice Aizawa staring at him until the shirt was already in his lap. “Can you turn like that again, Todoroki?” he asked. 

Shouto did not want to, but his body was following the order before his mind caught up. He knew he had scars on his upper back, but none of them were that dramatic, were they? Or - did Aizawa want to - 

He couldn’t see him properly, since he was turned to the right, his useless half-blind eye facing the threat in the room. Shouto flexed his fingers in his lap, then forced himself to still as much as he could. Aizawa could be picking something up to hit him with, he couldn’t see , he could barely hear over the thud-thud-thud like a cotton heartbeat in his ears; even something as basic as breathing was difficult, because he was worthless, and not nearly as good as he should be. As he had to be. 

If Aizawa said something, he didn’t hear. Instead, after a moment, Aizawa was gently turning his face so that he was looking forward again, and helping him tug the shirt back on. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Todoroki,” Aizawa was saying. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

When did Aizawa move to kneel on the floor? It left him below Shouto, nonthreatening. The adult couldn’t reach to hit him unless he stood, and then at least Shouto would see it coming. It made Shouto feel better, and that was bad, because he couldn’t relax, he couldn’t - 

“I did something bad,” Shouto whispered. “When - when are you going to -”

Aizawa sighed, and Shouto shrunk further back. “When I told you kids that I would decide your punishment later, I wasn’t talking to you. Or Midoriya, or Asui, or Kaminari or Kirishima. I should have made that more clear, and I’m sorry.”

He was… what?

“And even if you were in trouble, do you know what punishments I’m considering for the others?” Shouto cautiously shook his head. They were hero students, right? So it had to be bad. “I’m thinking detention. Maybe running extra laps during training. Maybe scrubbing the locker room floors, though that might be needlessly cruel.” Aizawa looked up and met Shouto’s eyes. “You can ask the other kids: I’m a mean teacher, definitely a hardass, but I’m fair. I’m not cruel, and I don’t beat on children. I will not hurt you, Shouto. I promise.”

Shouto’s eyes burned. He didn’t - he didn’t understand. 

(The music was muffled, echoing through the walls -)

After a moment, Aizawa scooted backwards, still not standing. “I’m going to go check on the other kids.” He eased himself to his feet, still out of touching-range of Shouto. “Stay in here as long as you want. And then, if you’d like, I’m sure Eri would appreciate some company until dinner is ready. Our couch is pretty comfortable.” 

Shouto nodded. It was a small, stiff gesture. 

When Aizawa was gone - he had no idea for how long - Shouto stumbled to his feet and crept out into the hall. The TV was now playing, and a bouncy little jingle drifted to where he was standing. When Eri spotted him, she hopped up, then froze, a small frown on her lips. 

Was - was he doing something wrong?

Present Mic ushered him over to the couch, so it must have been okay, a smile beneath his tiny mustache. When Shouto sat beside Eri, he draped a blanket around his shoulders. “Get comfy, little listener,” he said. “Shouta - Aizawa - will call when dinner is ready.”

Shouto was not hungry. Eri bumped his arm to get his attention. “Do you like this show?” Eri asked. 

“I -” Shouto eyed the frozen-again television screen. Several cartoon animals were arranged on a pastel background. “No. I mean, I haven’t -” He’d seen a few with All Might in them, he was pretty sure, but this show looked different. More calm. 

Eri’s expression had briefly fallen with his no, but then she nodded, understanding. “I didn’t watch TV before either. I’ll start the episode again. I think you’ll like it, but it’s okay to fall asleep. It’s my before-bed show.” She hit a few buttons on the remote, then settled back into her own pile of blankets. The theme song played again. 

The world was still out of sync, just a bit, but the fuzziness blended in well with the softness of the blankets.

The immediate problem - Todoroki’s upper back was saturated in fresh bruising, darkest at the sharp points and hard caps of his shoulder-blades, but visible all the way down to where his ribcage ended. If those had been developing when Recovery Girl had healed the child, they would’ve disappeared, or at the very least lightened, turned from their awful red-brown to green or yellow. These injuries were new, the shallow scrapes also present on Todoroki’s back an inflamed, recent red. Aizawa’s shoulders had looked like that when he’d been learning to use his capture scarf, and he’d hit the ground over and over again. But he’d been fifteen, not nine . Not a young child being trained (abused) by one of the most powerful men in the country - 

Aizawa took a deep, shaky breath, hissing it out through his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get angry. The most urgent - and extremely worrying - implication of Shouto’s wounds was that they’d misunderstood the quirk. It didn’t just turn the children back into their younger selves.  It was having an ongoing effect. Aizawa had to focus on that, and not the scarring visible past the discoloration. 

He fumbled his cell phone, and it hit the ground with a clatter. Aizawa swore. He hadn’t lied to Todoroki; he did need to check on the other children. And to call the police department and update them on what he knew, and to try and track down Todoroki’s mother - 

“Breathe.” He hadn’t even noticed Hizashi emerging from their apartment into the hall, but he did feel his husband’s warm hands press his phone back into his hands, then come to rest on his arms. Hizashi was crowding him into the wall, but Aizawa didn’t feel claustrophobic, just protected. Even without his ridiculous hair, Hizashi was just slightly taller than him, and effortlessly blocked Aizawa from being visible to anybody else in the hall. 

Still, Aizawa protested. “Todoroki -”

“Is watching cartoons with Eri. He’s fine, Shouta. He’s safe.”

“He’s dissociating.”

“Yeah, I noticed. And that’s concerning, but you also having a panic attack won’t help anybody. Take a moment. There’s no need to rush.”

“Yes there is,” Aizawa grumbled, though he let his forehead fall against his husband’s shoulder. “I scared him,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It happens. Remember when I first met Eri?”

Aizawa huffed out a small laugh. Eri was not a fan, at least initially, of how loud Hizashi was unintentionally. And while her Papa’s unabashed enthusiasm quickly became a source of comfort for their daughter, a reassurance that it was safe to be noisy, to yell, to exist, Hizashi did have to be careful not to be overwhelming. 

“I think he thought I was going to beat him,” he admitted quietly. “He has scars, Hizashi, and they’re not even just burns.” Aizawa felt his husband’s body grow ridgid, a loaded weapon. The hum in his chest was a comfort. 

“Are we going to kill Endeavor?” 

Hizashi was absolutely serious, and it let even more of the tension leak out of Aizawa’s body. “Maybe. If he comes near Shouto again, I’ll consider it.”

“I can’t believe a so-called hero would -”

“He is a hero,” Aizawa reminded. “That’s the problem.”

Hizashi growled, and his quirk swept through just enough to ruffle Aizawa’s hair. “He won’t hurt your kid again, Shouta. We’ll make sure of that.”

“My kid?”

“Don’t pretend. All of 1A are your children.”

“No they’re not,” Aizawa grumbled. 

“Mh-hm. Sure.” Hizashi kissed his forehead. “Eri wasn’t the first child we adopted, Shouta, and she won’t be the last.” He leaned back just enough to press Aizawa’s phone, curled in both of their hands, to his chest. “Make your calls. I’ll go gather the other problem children. We’ll have a movie night!” 

Aizawa grumbled, but he reluctantly admitted that their daughter would love that. And by the time he made it back to their apartment, all five of the deaged children (and Bakugou, for some reason) were arranged on the far-too-small couch, recliners, and the floor, with bowls of katsudon and popcorn arranged in their laps. Some very dated Disney film was playing on the television, and reflecting off of several sets of increasingly sleepy eyes. 

(He noticed that Todoroki was only picking at his food while the other children dug in with relish, but attempting to call him on that would likely not go well. Even Bakugou seemed to know to give the boy his space.)

Once the food was cleared away by the always-grumbling porcupine of a child (and it did not escape Aizawa’s notice that katsudon was Midoriya’s favorite food), the other children settled further into the living room, even dragging in futons from the office and the other bedrooms. Todoroki was left on the couch, tucked into one corner. His tiger had somehow materialized in his arms, and he looked much more present than he’d been before, thank god. Eri was next to him, settled into Midoriya’s side, surrounded by her own delegation of stuffed animals. Her hair was braided, and because of how tidy and simple the style was, Aizawa suspected it was the result of Asui’s deft hands and not Hizashi’s abundance of product. 

The little frog girl was seated on the floor beneath Todoroki, half-covered by the same blanket, wide eyes fixed on the TV screen. Next to her, Kaminari and Kirishima had claimed the same futon, and were both resting with their chins propped up on Kirishima’s stuffed shark. There was popcorn everywhere. Aizawa was not going to say anything. 

Todoroki was even quietly asking questions, which were usually answered by Kirishima, who was enthusiastic and often wrong, or Midoriya, who was right but much more long-winded. These questions made it very clear that Shouto had never seen a Disney film in his life; nobody had said anything about that, though they seemed determined to rectify the problem in a single night. 

Aizawa and Hizashi watched from their seats at the kitchen counter as one by one, the kids fell asleep. Eri was first, then Kaminari, and then Midoriya, who passed out with his head lolling against the back of the couch and Eri’s face buried into his ribs. Asui relocated to one of the futons, grabbing hold of the back of Kirishima’s shirt apparently to have something to grab (he didn’t seem to mind) and the two of them fell asleep soon after. It was impossible to tell when Todoroki fell asleep, just that as the night progressed, he sunk down further and further into his corner, blankets rising to cover his little face. 

Hizashi carefully detangled Eri from Midoriya, leaning the two of them back into a less neck-breaking position, but left the rest of the children alone. They seemed comfortable, all together, one of the Frozen sequels casting the room in soft blue light. Aizawa turned off the television. His husband led him to bed. 

And only a few hours later, they awoke to a scream. 

Eirijou sat bolt upright with a cry, which was only partially because Denki, also startled awake, had shocked him. It took him a moment to find his bearings in the dark of an unfamiliar room, and to stop his brain from immediately flashing back to cages, and a hard concrete floor. But no, there was a futon beneath him, and blankets, and Denki was next to him, yellow hair all mussed from sleep, clinging to Sora. The TV was off, and the only light came from the small windows of the attic apartment. 

He wasn’t used to waking up suddenly, and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding as he scanned the room for the source of the noise he was only half-sure he hadn’t dreamt. Midoriya had fallen off of the couch, chest heaving, which implied he’d heard it too, and Eri was sitting next to him on the floor, seemingly too startled to even cry. Were they under attack? Eijirou’s quirk acted on its own, hardening his skin into a weapon. 

Then, he saw Shouto. The smaller boy had kicked off the blankets that they’d wrapped him in, and his tiger was lying halfway across the room. He was wedged tightly into the corner of the couch, but the position no longer looked cozy. His hands were pressed hard against his mouth, his eyes wide with visceral panic. Shouto’s quirk was active too, frost turning the side of his face and his arm into glittering, statuesque pieces grafted onto the rest of his body. The room was cold, too; Eijirou’s adrenaline was finally wearing off enough for him to notice. 

Izuku managed to sit up, finally free of his own blankets.  “Oh,” he said softly. “Shou, did you have a nightmare?”

Oh. Of course. That was all it was. Eijirou huffed out a small, embarrassed laugh at how panicked he’d been, releasing his quirk, but Shouto didn’t relax at all. If anything, he seemed more frightened, eyes darting between their silhouettes in the dark as if he had no idea who they were. “Shouto?” Eijirou whispered. “It’s okay, it was just a dream. Right?”

Shouto shook his head sharply, and once he started the motion, it didn’t stop. His eyes were bright with tears, but he didn’t make a sound beyond the small, shuddering breaths that escaped past his tight grip on his mouth. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Eri said, having risen to a small crouch next to the couch. “You’re safe, your bad people aren’t here.”

Shouto forced his hands away from his mouth just long enough to gasp, “Need to be quiet. I’m sorry. ” He bent forward, hitting his forehead against his curled knees. “I’m sorry -”

The door thudded open down the hall. Eijirou’s first thought was, oh thank goodness, adults. They’ll help. Shouto’s reaction was…not that. He pitched off of the couch, prompting a surprised cry from Izuku, and threw himself further into the apartment. Eijirou thought he might be running to the grown-ups for comfort, the way he himself would go to his mamas, and for a moment, he felt nothing but gladness that Shouto felt safe, that the situation would be handled. 

Shouto did not feel safe. 

Instead of going towards the bedroom, Shouto instead pried open the door to what must have been a tiny closet. He disappeared into it before the adults could even fully emerge from their bedroom, though they definitely saw the door yanked shut - though it did not slam. 

Denki gasped, baffled, and when Aizawa-sensei met their eyes, concern shining through the reddish glint of his quirk, all Eijirou could get out was, “Shouto, nightmare.”

But that was enough. Both adults froze, looking at the closed closet door with concern. Eri ran to Yamada-sensei, her own red eyes filling with distraught tears. Izuku also looked like he was about to cry, Eijirou was too confused, and Denki was still at least a little asleep, faintly glowing.  And Tsu, she…hadn’t woken up. What?

Eijirou crept closer to the closet door as Aizawa, now kneeling, carefully pulled it open. Shouto, who seemed to like corners, was pressed as far back as he could possibly get, wedged between boxes, his red-and-white-framed face barely visible through gaps in the hanging coats. Aizawa pushed them aside. He was murmuring reassurances, though Eijirou couldn’t make them out. A strange, fearful hush had settled across the apartment. 

“What happened?” Denki whispered. 

Eijirou didn’t know. He just knew that Shouto hadn’t seemed nearly as frightened facing down kidnappers as he did now. It was like all of his stubbornness and quiet, solemn expressions had completely given way to a fear so sharp it cut everyone in the room. Had that just been inside of him all along? 

“I’m sorry,” Shouto was saying, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry -”

“It’s okay,” Aizawa said. “You’re safe, Shouto, we’re not mad at you. Remember what I said? You won’t be hurt here. You’re safe.” 

Shouto didn’t respond at all to the words, just pressing himself even harder against the wall, hands back up and over his mouth again. Aizawa shifted, slowly reaching for him. “Kiddo, you might pass out if you keep -”

Shouto screamed , and Aizawa flinched back like he’d been struck. Izuku burst into a noisy, startled cry, and Aizawa’s gaze flickered from Shouto to the rest of them. “Hizashi, take the other kids,” he said, his voice a jagged crack. “Take them back to the other rooms, or the common room - it doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. Especially Asui, it’s too cold for her. And Eri -”

“I’ve got them, Shouta,” Yamada-sensei said, quieter than Eijirou had ever heard him. He hefted Eri into his arms. “Come on, little listeners, it’s okay -”

Izuku also cringed away from the adults, watching them with tearful fear. “I can’t - I can’t leave Shochan,” Izuku wailed. “It’s not his fault, he’s not in trouble, right? He’s just scared, he’s scared -”

“He’s not in trouble,” Yamada reassured. “We’ll just give him some space. Come on, it’s too early. Everything’ll be okay.”

But the suspicion was spreading. What happened to Shouto to make him react like that? Who hurt him? None of the children made any moves towards the door. Denki hugged Sora tighter, and Eijirou carefully picked up Shouto’s tiger. “We don’t want to leave,” Eijirou said, his voice shaking. They didn’t - they didn’t really know these people. What if something happened?

Eijirou, in a rare moment of bravery (or just defiance) slipped past Yamada-sensei and Eri, coming to stand behind Aizawa, where he could see Shouto better. Unfortunately, that also meant that Shouto could see him, and even small, ten-year-old Eijirou cast too long of a shadow. Shouto hiccuped in panic, shuffled back, and knocked his head hard against the wall. The dull thud made Eijirou gasp; he quickly stepped back. Oh no, oh no.  

“ Kirishima ,” Aizawa snapped. He pulled on Eijirou’s shirt, and it took him a moment too long to realize Aizawa was trying to get him to crouch down too. He couldn’t suppress his own contagious flinch at the contact. He was shivering with nerves, hardening rippling across his arms. 

“No!” Shouto gasped out. “No, no, no, not his fault, I’m being bad, I’m sorry, I’ll try harder, I will -”  

“No one’s in trouble, Shouto, I promise. It was just a nightmare. Everyone had them.”

Shouto ducked his head down, curling into his knees. His hands covered the back of his neck and the soft spot at the base of his skull. Eijirou carefully shuffled forward without standing up. He remembered what had happened when Aizawa touched Shouto, but maybe…

He maneuvered himself into the space next to Shouto. It was a narrow fit in the small closet, especially because Eijriou was trying not to touch him, but he could just barely squeeze in. Shouto’s stifled breathing was easy to hear, short gasps muffled by the curl of his body. “It’s okay, Shou,” he said, trying desperately to hide his own fear. “We’re safe, don’t be scared.”

Shouto listed sideways, and Eijirou couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not, but it left them touching, Shouto still radiating cold. He raised his head from his knees, just slightly, and pressed his face into Eijirou’s shoulder. 

“‘M sorry I’m bad,” he whispered. “Stay, please, please stay."

Chapter Text

No one on the sixth floor, except for maybe Asui, slept well that night. Aizawa gave up completely at around five am, two hours after he and his husband had been startled out of bed. Fuck, he’d been so scared when he heard Shouto scream. His kids couldn’t catch a goddamn break; he was sure, in his half-awake state, that a villain had broken into the apartment. But no: it was, again, just like with Eri. There was nothing to fight when their terrors emerged, just memory and shadows. 

At least with Eri, he could offer comfort. Even though she wasn’t used to it, she learned to accept it quickly, clinging to his hand or his shirt or even tangling her small hands in his hair. She liked hugs, and reminders that she wasn’t alone in the dark anymore. With Shouto…

He seemed conditioned into rejecting affection, especially from adults. Eventually, Eijirou had been able to put his arm around Shouto and tuck him more firmly against his side, but any attempts to move Shouto back into a bed failed until he was already asleep, terror succumbing to sheer exhaustion. 

Aizawa hated, hated, feeling helpless, but absolutely nothing he did could convince Shouto he wasn’t in trouble for waking them up. He’d even tried to call Natsuo, but the boy hadn’t answered. There had been no other option but to stay as calm as possible and wait until Shouto eventually shivered himself unconscious, never quite coming out of the dissociative state he’d woken up in. 

Then, Aizawa only had to contend with a teary-eyed, overly exhausted Kirishima. Midoriya and Kaminari had both fallen asleep, Kaminari’s arms wrapped tightly around the smaller boy, so that there were two pairs of children, each with one sobbing mess and one protector (who’d also been crying). He moved Shouto onto the futon and coaxed Eijirou back into bed beside him. Then, it was just a matter of waiting out the night. He knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep; he couldn’t leave his children (fuck, they really were his kids) all alone. 

At around five thirty, Hizashi led a sleepy-eyed Asui, who was chewing gently on her fingertips, back into the apartment. Eri was cradled against his chest. It was a good move: one of Eri’s most reliable triggers was waking up somewhere unfamiliar, to the point that they’d stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling of her hospital room, just to reassure her, in the delirium right after waking, that she wasn’t back with Chisaki. Hizashi settled both girls onto an unoccupied futon, then shooed Aizawa out of the room with the promise that he’d take care of the children. Neither of them expected him to rest, so instead, Aizawa settled himself in the office, working through his miserable, adrenaline-riddled exhaustion. 

As soon as it could reasonably be considered morning (six am counts, right?), Aizawa called Todoroki Natsuo once again. He knew he’d be waking him up. He couldn’t bring himself to care. All of Aizawa’s emotions were a tangled up ball of I hate Endeavor, I’m so goddamn tired, and what the fuck happens next? The only sympathy he could tease out was reserved for his kids, and he needed answers. 

Natsuo picked up after the third ring, and Aizawa exhaled, realizing that he’d been expecting to once again go to voicemail. “Hello?” The boy’s voice sounded half-asleep and more than a little annoyed. “Who’s calling?” 

“This is Eraserhead.”

“What?” Aizawa could practically see Natsuo sitting bolt-upright in his dorm room bed. There was a thud as his feet hit the floor. “What happened? Is Shouto okay?”

“He’s fine.” The fear in Natsuo’s voice bled the remaining irritation out of Aizawa, leaving guilt behind. He shouldn’t have woken the boy; he was taking his anger out on Shouto’s brother, and letting his need for answers override his civility. It wasn’t fair to Natsuo. Still, Aizawa continued, “Shouto had a nightmare last night, but he’s alright now.”

“Shit,” Natsuo breathed. “I see that you called. I’m sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t think to save your number, so I didn’t answer.” The shame in his voice was obvious as he continued, “Is there anything I can do?”

“I just have a few questions. It’s alright if you can’t answer.” Aizawa tapped his pencil’s eraser against his lip. “Did Shouto wake up screaming often as a child? Was he prone to night terrors?” 

“I don’t know,” Natsuo murmured. “His room was on the other side of the house from mine. I wouldn’t have heard him.” It was striking: the two boys grew up in the same cold, frightening house, but they might as well have been in different worlds. “He screamed in his sleep?” Natsuo’s voice shook. 

“Just right as he woke up.” And when I touched him, Aizawa didn’t say. 

“Is that why you called? Last night?”

“I thought it might help for him to hear your voice,” Aizawa admitted. “He was panicked, almost incoherent.  Nothing we did could snap him out of it. He just kept apologizing, I think for waking us up.”

“His room was right next to Dad’s. Fuck.” There came a thud - likely something hitting a wall. “I don’t know what he would’ve done to Shou if he woke him up, but I can imagine -”

“Not good,” Aizawa finished. He couldn’t stop seeing one of his strongest students huddled in the corner of a closet, pleading with an adult he should’ve been able to trust. No, no, please, I’m sorry. It was difficult to resist the urge to go and check on them. Again. 

“Not good is an understatement.” Bedsprings groaned on the other end of the line. “But Shouto is okay now? He’s asleep?”

“With the other kids,” Aizawa confirmed. “My husband is with them. I’m leaving soon for the police station.” 

“The station? Why?”

“We have more information about how the quirk might function.” Aizawa did not want to mention, or even think about, the bruises adorning Shouto’s shoulders, or the fingerprints pressed into his skin. He’d been planning to ask Natsuo if he had any knowledge of where the injuries had come from, but honestly… he didn’t have to. “The police are trying to track down the villain who turned my students into children, and I might be able to help.” 

He eyed the clock. Tsukautchi’s shift began at 9 am on Mondays, but he always arrived at least an hour early (Aizawa wasn’t the only one incapable of leisure). He could leave in an hour and hopefully make it back before the school day was over. 

With a full fourth of their class incapacitated, teacher absences could be excused. Hizashi would stay with the kids while Aizawa and Kayama worked to run down any leads, and the rest of the students would have a half-day with their remaining instructors. In the afternoon, All Might would be leading a practical lesson. He’d been away for the weekend (seeing a specialist about his incredible collection of health concerns, though Aizawa wasn’t supposed to know about that) and despite the updates he’d been badgering everybody for, he was eager to see his students in person again. 

(Especially Midoriya. No, Aizawa was not blind to that either.)

Aizawa had already been on Yagi’s case about designing a practical lesson that was ten-year-old appropriate. Yagi was excited to show off to the younger versions of their students; he’d insisted that he could manage a more lightweight class, and Aizawa had reluctantly agreed. While he wasn’t always thrilled about how far Yagi allowed lessons to go, he knew he could trust the older man to be gentle with the children. He was All Might, after all. 

“My sister is planning to come later,” Natsuo said. “Will you -”

“If she’s arriving after school, I’ll be around.” Aizawa closed the browser tabs he’d been blinking at, leaning back in his chair. Hopefully, Shouto would be a bit calmer by the time his sister arrived, and having a sibling present seemed to be good for him. Anything that brought that boy the tiniest shed of comfort was a win. 

Also, Aizawa could admit that he was eager to interrogate the oldest (surviving) Todoroki sibling. There was a good chance the eldest daughter would remember more about Shouto at this age. 

He pressed his hands against his eyes, palms-first. It was a self-soothing gesture his husband hated because it caused Aizawa pain, starbursts and achy soreness radiating from the pressure, but sometimes that was the point. “I’m sorry for waking you, Natsuo,” Aizawa said.

“It’s no problem,” Natsuo replied, and Aizawa could hear the tension fading from his voice. “Aizawa-san, thank you for caring.” 

*****

Shouto was sitting on a couch. He didn’t really remember how he got there, but he had Snowflake in his arms, and Eijirou was pressed up against his side, so it wasn’t as scary as it sometimes was, to blink and realize his body had wandered off while his mind was hiding. The other kids were playing a card game that Shouto didn’t recognize, and they seemed to be whispering and yelling at the same time, somehow? Denki was waving his arms very dramatically, and Izuku was leaning over the table, but their volume was surprisingly low. 

The reason for that became apparent as Shouto spotted Eri curled up with her head in Tsu’s lap. The little girl had her hands tucked up under her chin, and Tsu was running her long fingers through her hair. Tsu was watching the game with her wide eyes, her own cards carefully held against her chest. 

It was a very different scene from what he’d expected to greet him upon waking. He remembered the night before in blurry snapshots, moments coated in icy fear and preserved, independent from each other. Shouto remembered screaming, and the adults rushing in. He wished he didn’t remember. He could never recall his dreams, but real life wasn’t so gentle. 

His father hated being woken up. He’d appear in the doorway to Shouto’s room, bursts of fire illuminating his furious eyes, and he’d drag Shouto out of bed, especially if Shouto couldn’t stop screaming, or, even worse, whimpering. The first time it happened, he’d been furious about Shouto disturbing his well-earned, much needed rest, and he’d held Shouto up by the back of his pajamas and shook him until his sobbing ceased. He said that if Shouto disturbed his rest, any mistakes the next day would be Shouto’s fault. Heroes couldn’t be distracted or people would die . Endeavor needed to be at his best. 

(Heroes also couldn’t be worthless little crybabies who wailed about bad dreams.)

After the first few lectures, Endeavor changed tactics. If Shouto couldn’t stop making stupid noises, he couldn’t be in his bedroom. He’d yank Shouto down the hallway with a hand on his arm, or worse, the back of his neck, and throw him into the dojo. Often, Endeavor wouldn’t say anything to Shouto until the next morning, when he could expect training to be much more ruthless. Often, those were the days they practiced kendo, and Shouto could expect to be knocked around by his father’s shinai. 

Shinai were made of bamboo. That did not mean they didn’t hurt. Endeavor usually put little value in bladework and non-quirk-related combat, but he still made Shouto practice kendo - or at least Endeavor’s version of it. No equipment, no protection or guards, just fighting until Shouto fell over, or the shinai broke. One time, the staves split as Endeavor brought the bamboo sword down on Shouto’s arm, leaving splintered, ragged edges. He still had the scar.

(Did his older self? He must. He must have that scar, and many others.)

So, it was definitely different to come back to himself warm and comfortable on a couch, rather than curled up on the floor somewhere. It was almost jarring, how comfortable he was. 

Izuku apologized before putting a card down, but his half-hidden grin implied he wasn’t so sorry. Denki groaned and smacked his forehead against the table. Next to Shouto, Eijirou laughed. And then Tsuyu did something, an innocent look in her dark eyes, that made Denki yelp, then throw down his cards. Eri was definitely awake by that point, but she’d turned so that her face was pressed into Tsuyu’s hip, even as her shoulders shook with her giggles. 

“Hey, little listener,” a grown-up voice said. “Are you awake enough for some breakfast?”

Shouto turned to find Present Mic in the kitchen, watching them with an odd, soft expression on his usually-over-dramatic face. “I’ve been awake,” he said, once he realized the adult was talking to him, then winced as his tone registered. “I mean -”

“All good, Little Shou.” The man smiled. “Do you like tamagoyaki? I’m making some now.” He poked at something in a pan. “The other kids have already had theirs. We also have miso soup and cereal, if you want something lighter.”

“Tamagoyaki is fine,” Shouto said, even though he didn’t really like omelets when they weren’t made by his sister or his mom. He didn’t like the way eggs tasted, so they always made it with extra dashi and sugar to compensate. Besides, his father usually deemed tamagoyaki too high in cholesterol and too sweet for Shouto. Still - he’d caused too much trouble to keep refusing the food he was given. 

Eijirou bumped Shouto with his shoulder, prompting an embarrassing little flinch. “You wanna play with us? We’ll be starting a new round soon, I think Tsu is about to win.”

She was. Shouto had no idea what game they were playing, but he recognized the self-satisfied expression on Tsu’s face. 

Did he want to play? He didn’t know the rules, and he didn’t really feel like forcing someone to explain them to him. He also liked watching. Even that was usually not allowed. “Just wanna watch,” he murmured, shifting closer to Eijirou. The other boy didn’t seem to mind Shouto touching him, and this kind of touch was lovely - no obligations or restricting grip, just Shouto’s own weight and Eijirou’s warmth beside. Shouto hugged Snowflake and watched the brightly-colored cards flutter. 

When the tamagoyaki was placed in front of him, it was a struggle to force himself to carry out the steps needed to eat. Sit up. Pick up the fork. Press it into the food (ignore how it doesn’t look right, probably won’t taste like what you expect) and lift the fork to your mouth. Chew.

It was fine. It tasted fine. Still, every bite made Shouto more and more nauseated, until he couldn’t focus on the murmur of voices all around him, only on his internal manta of don’t throw up, don’t you dare throw up. It was an extreme relief when Denki stole his plate and ate the rest of the yellowish mass. 

The other kids were amazing. It was like they could read Shouto’s mind. 

Eventually, Present Mic brought over a few bowls of snacks, and Eri coaxed him into eating some rice crackers (fine, familiar) and kettle corn, which was So Good. Popcorn was always good, because it had a nice texture and not much of its own flavor, but kettle corn - it was sweet and salty and crunchy and yum. Eri obviously agreed with him, judging by her puffed-out chipmunk cheeks. Somehow, Izuku ended up with popcorn in his hair. 

Shouto still didn’t eat very much, because he didn’t want to be sick, and because it disrupted the nice warm fog, but he kept a few pieces of popcorn cupped in the blanket over his lap, for when he felt like sensation.

He knew it couldn’t last, the soft, bright morning. He’d have to wake up soon. 

*****

At around noon, Hizashi got the kids changed out of their new pajamas and into - with a lot of giggling - their hideously yellow (as Shouta would put it) matching All-Might shirts, which they’d chosen with minimal prompting from him. 

(Okay, so there was definitely prompting. Hizashi couldn’t wait to see how Yagi would react to all his little fans. And Midoriya - Midorioya was going to lose his shit. It was gonna be hilarious.)

Shouto was the only one who didn’t look like a banana - Hizashi used that term affectionately - and that was because he’d insisted on wearing not only the All-Might shirt, but also his fireproof underlayer and his brother’s hoodie. Hizashi was definitely worried about the boy overheating, but didn’t want to fight with the kid about it. The hoodie was clearly a comfort item, like the stuffed tiger, and he could probably get him to take it off before training started, if only so it wouldn’t get dirty. 

He ushered the kids out of Heights Alliance and walked behind them (like herding cats) as they meandered towards Gym Gamma. Even Eri was joining them on their outing, and the little girl was thrilled. Normally, her excitement would lead to even more affectionate behavior than her baseline, so Hizashi had been preparing to carry her all the way to the gym, but Eijirou had scooped her up instead. When he got tired, Izuku picked up the slack, then Denki (who’d obviously never held a child in his life) and then Tsu. Round and round they went. They weren’t that much bigger than Eri, so her weight made them list to the side, stumbling on and off the path. None of them could carry her for more than a minute. 

Watching the kids pass his daughter around like the world’s most clingy baton left a warm feeling swelling in Hizashi’s chest. He could tease his husband all he liked, but Hizashi was self-aware enough to know that they were his kids too. Not in the same way they were Shouta’s - that man had adopted them all in the exact same way he would fuss over a kitten pulled from the trash, and the students loved him for it - but his children nonetheless. 

Shouto was hanging back from the group a bit: not so far that he would risk being close to Hizashi without another child nearby, but far back enough that he could keep an eye on all of them. Hizashi was also fairly sure the boy was tracking his position by listening for his footsteps. Whenever Hizashi would walk faster, Shouto would match his pace without looking behind himself - at least, not obviously. 

Hizashi could talk Shouta down from a panic attack, could usher his husband off to bed, could make breakfast and try to bribe the kids with snacks, but the moment he wasn’t actively being productive, wasn’t helping, his own guilt crested over him like a wave of fire. These behaviors that were so concerning in nine-year-old Shouto, his teenage self exhibited them too. Hizashi had always written off all the red flags as personality quirks, as shyness or as stoicism, decided that Shouto’s uncertainty around people was him being sheltered or aloof, refused to think about other explanations. 

Yes, Shouto’s personality wasn’t entirely influenced by his trauma, and it would be unfair to write it off as such; some of his oddness, just like Shouta’s and Hizashi’s, was probably inherent, and wonderful at that. But Shouto’s discomfort with adults, his absurdly well-trained quirk, his uncertainty around his peers - they should have added up. 

Hizashi had noticed with a different Shou, fifteen years ago, when he was still an idiot teenager - so how could he excuse missing the signs now as a teacher?

As they neared Gym Gamma, Izuku fell back to walk beside Hizashi, Eri in his arms. Shouto joined them. “What’s hero training like?” Izuku blurted out, green eyes bright. He was trying to bounce up and down, but it was impossible with Eri’s extra weight practically bending him backwards. “I can’t - I can’t wait! The hero students will be there, and we’ll get to see more of their quirks, and how they fight -”

Hizashi laughed. “Probably won’t be much combat today, little listener. It’ll be a chill lesson so that you guys can participate.”

Hizashi didn’t think that Izuku’s eyes could go any wider, but - wow. “We get to join in? Even… even me?”

“Of course,” Hizashi said, toning down the pizazz so that Izuku could hear the sincerity in his voice. “We’d never leave you out. Quirks aren’t everything, kiddo. You’re crazy smart, even as an extra-little listener, and like I said - today’s gonna be chill. Basic. It’s just for fun, so no stress, alright?”

Izuku didn’t look like he understood the concept, but something must have gotten through to his brain, because he joyously squeezed Eri until she yelped like a squeaky-toy, prompting a frantic apology (which was met with giggles). 

“Will you be our teacher?” Shouto asked, just as they pushed open the doors to Gym Gamma. There was something…searching, in his voice. Uncertain. 

All of the other students were there, dressed in their gym uniforms. Standing in front of them was Yagi. When he saw Hizashi and his little gaggle of child-ducklings, he coughed blood, somehow startled by their entrance. He’d noticed the shirts, then. 

Hizashi was just close enough to see the joyful tears in Yagi’s eyes (he and Izuku were exactly the same, it was hilarious) when Yagi transformed. With a burst of smoke, there was All Might, in all his glory. “Hello!” he cried. “I am here! To teach your lesson!”

Hizashi couldn't help but laugh. Yagi was left with only a few minutes a day with that form, and here he was, using it to impress preteens. It was working, too. Izuku looked like he was about to faint, Denki was making a squealing sound, Eijirou was grinning so widely it looked painful, and Shouto - Shouto looked terrified. 

Hizashi realized what was going to happen a half-second before it did. Shouto took a step back; Hizashi turned to him. Yagi, clueless, strode towards the kids, still smiling widely. The smallest boy’s face was all twisted up with terror, a moment before it went blank.  

A wall of ice erupted. It tore across the gym, and it wasn’t as thick as Hizashi knew Shouto could , but it still distorted what was beyond - leaving Hizashi to watch as, in scattered pieces, Shouto turned and fled. He was so fast; he was out the door before Hizashi could even think about trying to break the barricade. 

“Young Todoroki!” Yagi cried. He deflated back down. “What -”

“Shouto!” Izuku cried. He banged his hands against the ice. “Where’s he going? What happened?” The joy of meeting his idol was forgotten; the fear from the night had returned. The other kids clustered together as the older students ran to them. 

“We have to find him,” Hizashi spoke, his thoughts spilling out. Who knew where the boy was planning to go? In his fear, he could hide, and campus wasn’t the safest place for an unaccompanied child. And worse, if he got out - 

Hizashi’s own panic wrapped tight around his throat. 

There are so many villains who might want to hurt a nine-year-old Todoroki.

Chapter Text

Shouto was an idiot. He knew that; he’d always known that. He acted without thinking, he cried and screamed and didn’t listen. He was a big baby and a worthless son and he knew that if Dad could replace him, replace him like he’d been a replacement for Touya, he would. Shouto had to be a perfect hero, and he was so far from it that he wasn’t even a person. 

He shouldn’t have run. He’d known that there would be consequences from the night before. There had to be. He knew that they would probably come during training, as “fun” as it might be for everyone else. Training was never fun for Shouto. It was normal, and his routine, and it always hurt. So when he’d walked through those doors and seen All Might - 

Shouto was breathing hard, and he wasn’t completely sure where he was. His goal had just been away - away from the false comforts of UA, from the punishments he couldn’t anticipate and gentle words he couldn’t understand - and it took him a while to realize that he was, in fact, walking home. At least, he was doing the best he could. He’d never been this far away from the manor before, at least not on his own, or on foot.

He pressed his back to a wall, a few steps into the mouth of an alleyway, hopefully out of sight. He knew he lived on the west side of the city. He knew his address, and that should be enough right? Unless Father had moved. Unless he really didn’t want him anymore - 

Shouto leaned forward, bracing his hands on his legs, panting. He hadn’t run all that far, but his chest was aching. Every heartbeat sent pain skittering through his limbs and up into his head. He clutched at the hem of his hoodie. Even though he was hot, way too hot, he couldn’t take it off. 

He wanted to go home.

Fuyumi couldn’t wait. She spent the entire morning agonizing over her brother - brothers plural, really. She’d gotten a call from Natsuo in the early hours of the morning, before she’d even gotten up for school, ranting about Shouto and what their father had done to him. Fuyumi kept her mouth shut. There was nothing she could say. 

Fuyumi became a mother at twelve years old. Really, she’d been caring for her siblings longer than that, because their mother had been unstable long before she’d finally…snapped, but also because Fuyumi adored her brothers, and expressed that love through caretaking. Once it had become a responsibility, though, rather than a choice - well, Fuyumi would never say that she resented her siblings, or even her parents, but it was difficult to have a childhood when you had three other children who needed looking after and worrying about. 

It had gotten much worse after her mother left, of course. There was nobody to make meals or nag Natsuo about his homework, nobody to wipe tears after bad dreams or celebrate little successes. Fuyumi tried her best, she really did. She got up an hour before Natsuo to cook while Shouto and their father were in the dojo; she came home straight after school every single day so that somebody would at least be around. She stuck to all her father’s rules - different meals for Shouto, keeping her distance from her brother so she wouldn’t distract him, careful standards for their behavior - because he was her father, but also because he was the only adult left. His word had to be law. She needed some kind of structure. 

Fuyumi couldn’t do it all by herself. 

And then Touya died. When he’d been alive, they were able to split the work - Fuyumi cared for Natsuo and Touya looked after Shouto - but once he was gone, not only had Fuyumi lost one of her brothers, the people in the world she loved more than anything ( and more than that, Touya was practically her twin, they did everything together, until - ) she was left with even more responsibilities that she couldn’t handle. She lost one brother and failed the other two. 

She tried so hard. She learned how to look after Shouto’s wounds and how to sneak into his room at night. When he got a little older and began insisting he didn’t need her care, she learned to tell when he was hiding injury and sickness, though there was nothing she could do. She was even the one responsible for cleaning the training room after a session, until Shouto was old enough (only seven) to clean it reliably himself. 

She knew that he suffered. How could she miss it? She wasn’t like Natsuo, who could hide away from the evidence (Shouto) and rage at their father. She wasn’t even like Touya, who could hide his hurt behind fury and relentless dedication. All she had was sadness. She just wanted a normal family. She wanted somewhere to put her love.

It had to be worth something. She made their lives a little bit better, didn’t she?

She left work early. She had to. She made sure there was coverage for her class and at lunch, she got in her tiny car that she’d finally managed to pay off and drove to a very different school. 

When she arrived, it was already too late. 

Dabi was following the littlest Todoroki. 

The boy had ducked into an alley, but didn’t hurry down it, or keep running like he had been for the past twenty minutes. Instead, he just sagged against the wall, still within Dabi’s line of sight. After a moment of hesitation, the man looped around, approaching Shouto from the dark. That way, he’d be out of the sight of cameras - not that it mattered too much. His own heart was pounding. 

Shouto was nine . It would be - it would be so easy. He was small, and useless, and practically helpless - though Dabi knew better than to write him off completely as a threat. Shouto had almost six years of training, of battle tactics and scars. He was also nine years old, and an idiot. 

(He was about the same age he’d been when Touya came back. When he’d found Shouto in the dojo, with Endeavor, just as he’d used to be. They hadn’t missed him at all. The gaps were filled, the gilding polished, leaving no space for -)

Dabi approached the boy slowly, waiting for him to notice. The orders from Shigaraki, once word had gotten out that several key UA students were babyified, was to grab them if possible, kill them if not. Dabi could easily claim that the boy had fought back. Shigaraki didn’t even care that much about Shouto, just about the possibility of dumping the boy’s corpse at his father’s feet. The doctor might be annoyed - he’d gone on some long tangent about the kid’s “unique genetics,” of fucking course - but who cared what that creepy fuck thought?

Dabi let a small flame flicker to life in his hand. Shouto spun sharply to face him, his mismatched eyes wide, and then… he relaxed? Just a bit. He looked at Dabi’s freaky, scarred-up face, his staples and burns and black clothing, and had the sheer nerve to look anything short of terrified - 

Ah. When Shouto had noticed the light of the fire, he hadn’t been able to see its color, just the pattern it cast on the walls. When he turned and didn’t see his father, some of the tense hope leached out of him, but there was fear that was cast off too. It was replaced by an empty, searching expression that Dabi did not like being pointed at him. 

He let the flame grow. Shouto ignited his own. Little fucking shit. 

“Who are you?” Shouto asked. He wasn’t obviously preparing to run, but his palm, the one that didn’t hold the fire, was pressed firmly to the wall, and he’d shifted his stance. 

“Sōen,” Dabi said. Blueflame. He had no idea why he didn’t just tell the kid his name. Maybe he didn’t want him to have it. “And you’re Todoroki Shouto.”

“Are you a hero?” Shouto asked, and what. “Or a villain?”

Maybe the kid was dumber than he remembered, or maybe kids were just dumb in general. He should’ve been running and screaming, not asking if Dabi was a hero. Dabi let his little torch-flame die. Perhaps kidnapping the brat was in the cards after all. If he was going to make it so easy…

“Something like that,” Dabi said. “I hurt people who deserve it.” 

Shouto wrinkled his nose; at the swearing or the sentiment, Dabi couldn’t tell. “That doesn’t tell me anything,” Shouto complained. “Heroes and villains both hurt people.” He blinked at Dabi, suddenly considering. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“I’m a vigilante, stupid,” Dabi said, not answering the question.

“How do you know my name?”

“We’ve worked together before,” Dabi said. The words just rolled off of his lying (or, not quite lying) tongue. “When you were, ya know. Not nine.”

Shouto nodded hesitantly. “I - I’m lost. Do you know where I live?”

“UA?”

“Not UA.”

Oh, of course. Little brat was running home to daddy. Toxic fury swirled in Dabi’s gut. He was going to make this hurt. Hand the kid over to Shigaraki, maybe. Wait until after he got decayed, or experimented on, and then Dabi would let him burn. “Sure. I can get you there.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

You don’t. Dabi tried to think of basic facts an almost-stranger would know. “Okay, let’s see. You’re Endeavor’s youngest son. You love soba, any kind of soba, but you think the cold kind is the best, which is just wrong. You’re a good ranged fighter but get your ass kicked if someone gets under your guard.” Like I’m doing right now. “Look, brat, if I was going to kill you, I would’ve already.”

Shouto paused. Suddenly, the slightest smile graced his features. “Cold soba is the best.” With that, he took a cautious step towards Dabi. “You know where Endeavor lives?”

“I do.” 

“You don’t have to take me all the way there,” Shouto said. “If you take me to the train station, I think I can figure out the rest.”

“I’ll take you to your dad,” Dabi said. “Don’t want to leave you alone, kid. Who knows what could happen?” He grinned, letting a little of his burning flicker in his eyes. “Lots of bad people would love to hurt the son of Endeavor.”

Sōen was a little weird, but Shouto didn’t mind; after all, he was weird too. And there was something familiar about Sōen, in a way Shouto couldn’t place, in a way nobody else in this strange new world (save for his father) was. Shouto was having the strangest urge to hold his hand. He didn’t, of course; Sōen seemed unhappy if Shouto even got close to him. It must have been because the last time Shouto was out of the house, walking on a street like this, it had been with his mother. 

Shouto sank down a bit into his hoodie instead. He’d been a bit afraid to wear it, worried his own flame-scent would overpower his brother’s, but the spicy-cigarette smell was stronger than ever. It was comforting, even as his heart pounded at the idea of going home. 

Sōen was doing something on his phone. It looked like texting, and then maybe a map app, but Shouto didn’t pay too much attention; his father said he was too nosy, after all, and Shouto didn’t want to make Sōen mad. Instead, he tried to memorize the scenery they passed. Sōen seemed to be leading him down mostly back alleyways and barely-occupied streets, places where the sky was blocked out by overhangs and balconies, and the air stank of grease-traps and garbage. 

He was pretty sure they were headed west, though, and that was the direction the manor was in. That was comforting. 

It wasn’t a route Shouto would have taken, but Sōen knew better. Another factor may have been the people they passed. A lot of them looked at Sōen, his black jacket and shiny staples and scars, and either shrank back or scowled, eying Sōen suspiciously. Shouto hated it, though Sōen didn’t acknowledge anyone they passed. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been burned. And looking at Sōen’s scars - whatever happened must have hurt. It must have hurt so bad. Scars were painful too, or felt stiff and strange, like they weren’t really you. Did Sōen feel like he was wearing a costume, one he couldn’t remove? 

“How do you know Endeavor?” Shouto asked. When Sōen frowned at him, he elaborated. “You know where he lives.”

Sōen laughed, and it wasn’t a friendly laugh. It sounded like it hurt, coming suddenly and from his chest. “We used to fight together. Not for a long, long time though. Long as you’ve been alive, really.”

“Endeavor hates vigilantes, though.”

Another, even sharper laugh. “Yeah, well, he definitely hates me.” Sōen peered around a corner, still keeping half an eye on Shouto. “If he even remembers I exist. As I said, it’s been a long time.” Sōen grinned at Shouto, and there was something off about his face, his expression. It wasn’t the fire in his eyes, and if it was - it was because it was familiar. “Why’re you running back home, anyway? Miss your daddy? UA’s too hard?” Sōen muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “spoiled brat.”

Shouto scowled. “No.” Is that what people thought? That he was spoiled?

Is that what people thought of his teenage self?

“So, what?”

Shouto shrunk back a little. “I - I want to go home.”

“But why?”

“UA is wrong.” Suddenly, the words were a flood. “I can’t tell what they want from me. I don’t know what to do! Aizawa-san said I wasn’t in trouble, and Yamada-san said that training was supposed to be fun, but then I saw -” Shouto choked on a pathetic little sob. “All Might.”

“You’re scared of All Might?” Sōen said skeptically. “Mr. Symbol-of-Peace? All smiles and kindness to people who don’t fucking deserve it? That All Might?”

Shouto buried his face in his hands. “I’m not ready.”

“What?”

“I’m not ready! I don’t want to fight him! I know it’s just training, but -” He wiped furiously at his tears with his sleeve. “Broken bones hurt so much worse than burns.”

They did. Burns stung, they ached, they made every little movement a reminder of the fire, but broken bones were so much deeper. They took forever to heal. And Shouto knew that UA had a healer, but that meant that All Might could basically kill him, and it wouldn’t matter! He could break every bone in his body - 

He knew he didn’t matter, so why was he still so scared?

Shouto pulled the neck of his hoodie up to cover his horrible, weepy, miserable face. Somehow, the smell of Touya’s fire got weaker, but it was dark and he didn’t have to look at Sōen, so that was okay. He pressed his back against the dirty wall. 

“Kid,” Sōen said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. But then - “Is that my hoodie?”

It was the stupidest thing to fixate on, or even to notice. But - Shouto was wearing his fucking hoodie. Or, Touya’s. The brat had replaced him in every possible way. He was wearing the clothes of who he used to be. 

Dabi grabbed the hood, and Shouto yelped, his hands fluttering back helplessly. “So, it wasn’t enough that you took my mom, my siblings? My dad? My fucking future? You’ve got to steal my shit too?”

Shouto stared up at him, both mismatched eyes swimming with tears. “T-Touya?”

Dabi wanted to scream. That wasn’t his fucking name. No, that was the kid who died on Sekoto Peak, the one who might’ve once given a shit about his littlest brother, who wanted someone to love even though he already hated him so much.  

Touya hated and adored his brother in equal measure. Touya knew baby Shouto better than anyone else, which made him impossible to just despise. Both of their parents wanted Shouto to be like them, but saw him as belonging to the other, and it tore the kids apart. Endeavor wanted the perfect, non-sentient Hero, who carried out his programming without complaint; Rei wanted the cute little five-year-old who came babbling to her about a kitty in the garden. Neither of them really wanted Shouto, Touya thought venomously, who burned said cat by accident and spent the next three hours crying and the next two days silent (except for when screaming). 

If Rei loved any of them, she would’ve taken them away, or - better yet - not let them be born. Touya knew that. If Endeavor loved any of them, well…that was something Touya couldn’t imagine, not really. (He could.) But Shouto got their attention at least, and Touya was left with the worst of both worlds. The dregs. Always whatever rotting bits could slip through the cracks. 

And then he’d died, and there had been nothing. They were all better off without Touya.

Even Dabi. 

He shook the brat, hard, laughing his frenzy at the way the stupid kid didn’t even think to use fire, or ice. Kurogiri was about to arrive with a portal, and then it would really all be over. Shouto had been left with everything, and he still, just like Touya, couldn’t save himself. Pathetic. 

Shouto - Shouto was just like Touya. 

He was supposed to be better, wasn’t he? Shouto would be better, and Mom would love him the way she’d never loved Touya (she’d burned him), and his siblings would eventually love Shouto more (they were never allowed to know him), and Dad - 

Dad abused Shouto too, didn’t he? Touya knew that. Dabi knew that. 

He let go of the kid’s sweater, Touya’s sweater. The little boy stumbled away from him, putting his back against the wall again. He looked terrified. He looked at Dabi like - like - 

“I knew you never loved me,” Shouto whispered.

A seething pool of darkness materialized at the end of the alleyway, and from the black tendrils, Shigaraki emerged.

Chapter Text

Shouto used to savor waking up. 

Slow waking, of course, not the moment of breathlessness after a nightmare, was something to wrap himself up in. He’d bask in the moment when he was still half gone, when his brain didn’t know enough to be afraid or hungry or in pain, drinking in the last dregs of sleep before he became aware enough to register the futon or floor beneath him. Once he was awake, he’d have to get up quickly, but he used to wonder - idly - what it would feel like to stay in bed. Could he chase that feeling, that warm soft sleep? Would it feel the safety he never knew?

For a moment, when Shouto woke, he was fuzzy-headed enough to lean into the darkness, to keep his eyes pressed shut. He’d been dreaming, hadn’t he? Touya had been there, and a man with a hand stuck to his face. What a weird dream. 

Not a dream. The realization should’ve made the fog clear, but when Shouto’s eyes flew open, everything was still blurry, and he felt like every thought was dripping into his brain like molten metal. There was a painfully bright light above him, and he squinted, trying to raise his arm to cover his eyes. When his arm didn’t respond, it took Shouto a moment to realize it wasn’t because of his swimming thoughts, but because both of his arms - and legs - were strapped to the table he was lying on. 

He jerked his limbs again, harder, and the resulting spike of pain was almost comforting, because it began to break through the static obscuring his mind. He’d followed the man - Touya - down an alleyway, which had been stupid, but at least now Shouto knew where the instinctive trust had come from. Shouto shut his eyes again. His headache did not want to let him think, but a few (conflicting) sentiments rose to the top. Number one (the most important): Touya was alive. Number two: Touya had been burned really, really badly, and that made Shouto feel sick to think about. And number three: his hatred for Shouto had apparently grown enough that he was willing to attempt to kill him again, or at least hand him off to someone who would. 

His recollection of what had followed his reunion with his brother was upsettingly blurred, but he remembered the man with the severed hands, and then, sometime after that, something sharp being jammed into the side of his neck. Had he even tried to fight back? His father was going to be so angry. 

He doesn’t want to think about his father; not now, not with Touya alive. Shouto risked opening his eyes again, and even though the light was no less painful, he was able to make out a bit of the room he’s in. It was  - and maybe he should’ve been able to guess, based on the cold metal beneath him and the velcro straps confining his wrists and ankles - some sort of medical lab.

A light green curtain around him blocked most of the view of the room, but Shouto could see beeping machinery, like what was at the hospital, and there was a tube with a needle tapped to the inside of his elbow. There was a little table nearby with a tray on it, and several large syringes and a scalpel lay on the tray. Past the blue-tinted light directly above him, he could make out rows of turned-off fluorescents.

He hadn’t been gagged, so presumably screaming wouldn’t do anything more than alert his kidnappers that he’d woken up. Plus, Father said that screaming was undignified - but Shouto tried not to care about what his father thought. He reached for his quirk, a little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought to do that first, and found it just made his head hurt worse: for a second, the throbbing pain was so bad it forced his eyes shut again.

Biting the straps was the next idea. He could almost sit up, but the way his arms and legs were restrained meant he couldn’t get his elbows under him, or raise his head more than about a foot - couldn’t get his face close enough. He tested the straps at his wrists, trying to twist to catch the edges with his fingertips, but he couldn’t force himself to bend in that way. He could brush the rough edges of the velcro, but there was no way he could get a grip. 

If he thrashed back and forth, maybe he could loosen it a bit? As he tried, Shouto was ashamed to realize his breathing was speeding up. It was just the exertion, he tried to insist to himself, even as his eyes pricked with tears. Or the pain. It wasn’t that he was scared. 

Where did Touya go?

“What do you mean, he’s missing?”

Aizawa could hear the eldest Todoroki brother’s angry voice echoing from the bullpen of the police station. He could also hear Fuyumi Todoroki crying again, though she was trying to muffle it; it was that quiet in the station. Aizawa was perched unwillingly on an understuffed, lumpy sofa in the break room, trying to calm down enough that they would let him out on patrol again. 

Nedzu had found Shouto leaving campus on the security tapes. Now, the police were trying to pick up his trail on city street cameras, but it was proving more difficult than anticipated. They had him for a while; then, gone. It was almost like the boy started purposefully avoiding cameras, but how would he know to do that? No, the more likely options were worse. 

Tsukauchi had told him there was a lead, but Aizawa was beginning to suspect that it was a feint to lure him back into the police station, and away from the streets he’d been combing for the past three and a half hours.

Fuyumi Todoroki had apparently arrived on campus soon after Shouto disappeared, and had been greeted with the chaos that was two distraught teachers and nineteen upset students. Hizashi had done the smart thing and called Nemuri out of her classroom to herd the remaining 1A children back into the dorms while he and Yagi went to join the search. When Nedzu had discovered that Shouto was no longer on campus, Hizashi had brought Fuyumi with him to the police station, where they (briefly) crossed paths with a furious Aizawa.  

Aizawa hadn’t known in what direction to point his anger (his first instinct was Yagi, as the man should have known better - but Aizawa had authorized the training too, hadn’t he?), and so instead, the fury was gnawing at his ribs like the bars of a too-small cage. He was careful not to express any of it to Fuyumi, though he knew the woman caught on anyway. She was unusually emotionally intelligent for a Todoroki, but even Shouto could pick up on other people’s anger, regardless of how hidden it was. 

(While Shouto grew silent or lashed out, Fuyumi seemed to default to appeasement. She’d even offered to make him coffee at the police station, forcing a smile with damp eyes.)

Nobody had thought to call Natsuo Todoroki until Eraserhead was already out searching the streets, and it had taken the boy about an hour to arrive - despite his best efforts, it seemed. Natsuo was frantic and just as furious as Aizawa. Aizawa had never been one to tolerate cowardice, but even he balked at facing the boy until he had something, anything, to point to where his brother could’ve gone. 

Finally, Tsukauchi slipped into the room, closing the door to block out the angry voice still echoing from the bullpen. Aizawa was on his feet in an instant, but Naomasa waved at him to sit back down. He came and sat beside him, opening his laptop and perching it where both of them could see the screen. 

He opened a video file. From the angle of the footage, Aizawa would guess that it was an ATM’s security camera. His gaze was immediately drawn to the man standing in front of the machine, poking at buttons - he was a bigger man, wearing dark clothing, arms adorned in tattoos - but Aizawa quickly realized that what Tsukauchi was showing him was in the background. 

Shouto entered the image, walking on the other side of the street. He was wearing his dark-blue hoodie, the one that belonged to his dead older brother, but the hood pooled around his shoulders, leaving his red-and-white hair visible. In the brief moment that he appeared, visible on the ATM-user’s right side, he seemed to be talking to someone, his head turned towards off-screen, his mouth moving. He didn’t seem distressed, and for a moment, Aizawa felt some of the tension, the fear he’d been holding, finally release. Then, Shouto disappeared behind the ATM man’s bulk. When he reappeared, so did his companion. 

Aizawa’s quirk activated on instinct, his hair rising like the hackles of a cat. 

“So, you recognize him,” Tsukauchi said. 

“Dabi. He’s with the League.” 

Dabi sat in the dingy basement of their current hide-out, nursing a beer and wishing that Shigaraki, damn him, bothered to keep better alcohol in the fridge. Shigaraki had been moping since Kurogiri had been taken, and part of that seemed to be in the form of only buying the most disgusting swill he could find. 

Dabi missed the bar. It certainly had made getting black-out drunk a lot easier. He wanted to celebrate. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? 

He’d succeeded in removing his father’s legacy. What could possibly hurt the old man more? Even killing him wouldn’t be the same kind of poetic justice as making sure no Todoroki would ever again rise to the top of the Hero Billboard charts, making sure Enji would be remembered only for his achievements as a footnote in All Might’s story. His bloodstained dynasty was coming to an end. Their family was coming to an end. 

He’d have to make sure his father knew what he’d done. Once Shouto was dead, maybe Dabi would dump his body at his father’s feet. That would serve them both right. 

Right. It was right. Dabi was making things right. 

Doctor Ujiko’s rooms were down the hall. Blue light spilled from the hallway that led there - the only well-lit part of the dark, isolated space. He had other lairs, to be sure - such as the one in the basement of Jaku Hospital, but Dabi's not supposed to know about that - but Shigaraki had wanted to keep Shouto close, so he brought the boy to their headquarters, as makeshift as they were.  

Dabi wondered if the rooms were soundproofed. Would he hear it if Shouto screamed or struggled? What was happening to him? The doctor had been gleefully vague, simply gushing over the boy’s chimerism, the unique nature of his biology and his quirk. Of course: yet another person obsessed with the little shit for all of his potential. Nobody cared about Shouto for Shouto’s sake - Dabi included. 

Dabi had taken the hoodie back when Ujiko had redressed Shouto in hospital scrubs. He held it in his lap. It was small, like Shouto was, like Touya had been. Fuck. 

The kid would be better off dead. 

Shouto slumped back against the metal, shivering slightly, with exhaustion or cold he couldn’t tell. His breath came in short, sharp pants, and his head throbbed with pain in time with the little  rapid flutters of his heart. All he’d succeeded in doing was leaving bright red friction-burns on his wrists and ankles, blood beginning to bead up and spill from where his skin had rubbed hardest against the straps.

He wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. He wasn’t strong enough.

He tried to take a deep breath, tried to think about his options. Tears were damp on his cheeks, but he still felt like crying. Worthless, a voice hissed. Pathetic. What has all that training been for? Waste of my fucking time. 

(He still just wanted to go home.)

Endeavor had never bothered to teach Shouto any of the less aggressive methods for escaping - or even surviving - a kidnapping. Once, Shouto had fished a pamphlet out of the kitchen trash that Natsuo had been given by his school (or possibly even their father’s agency) and promptly thrown away. It had been a little crumpled, but Shouto didn’t care. It wasn’t the first time he’d dug his sibling’s schoolwork or doodles out of the trash, careful to avoid anyone’s notice: it was embarrassing, but was the closest thing he had to communication. 

The pamphlet had come across as patronizing, even to Shouto. It was published by the HPSC, and seemed intended to teach children, especially those related to heroes or other public figures, how to stay “as safe as possible” in the event of an abduction. The biggest piece of advice, and the one that stuck out the most to Shouto, was that you should try to make yourself likable. You should be cooperative, well-behaved, and passive; you should offer information about yourself, like your name, and talk about all the people who’d be sad if you didn't make it home. You should try to make them see you as a person, not a tool to use in the pursuit of a goal. 

Maybe Endeavor had been right: why teach a strategy that would never work for Shouto? Shouto was better off using his fists and his quirk, just like his father wanted, just like his father would. Fight til the last drops bled out of you and smeared across the floor - that’s what Shouto was used to. He jerked on the straps again, and hissed at the sting. 

A door opened somewhere behind him. Shouto craned his neck, trying to see. “Touya?” he called, sounding small and pathetic even to himself. 

“I’m afraid not.” When the man stepped up to the side of the table, for a moment Shouto thought that his eyes were glowing, but it was just the reflection off of the goggle-like glasses he wore. He was an ordinary-looking man in a doctor’s uniform, but when he turned his head and the light stopped glaring off the glass, Shouto quickly decided he didn’t like the look in his eyes. 

He looked hungry. 

The doctor adjusted the needle that Shouto hadn’t even managed to rip out of his arm. Then, he moved to the other side of the table. As he moved, he ran his fingers through Shouto’s hair, rubbing at the strands; he hummed appreciatively and Shouto shuddered. He tied a band around Shouto’s upper arm. Then, he forced Shouto to turn his arm so that he could insert yet another needle into the bend of his elbow on that side. This needle seemed even larger, and the tubing was thick. 

“Who are you?” Shouto snapped. “What are you doing? Where’s my brother?”

Shouto couldn’t see what the doctor was doing behind him, but soon enough, blood started flowing out of his arm and up through the tube. The doctor removed the band around his arm and patted him, ignoring the way he was still trying to struggle his way free. 

“My apologies, my boy,” the doctor said. “My bedside manner could use some work, couldn’t it?” He laughed. “I'm afraid that most of my patients these days are dead, or don’t have much of a mind left!”

He touched Shouto’s head again, and Shouto absolutely would have bitten him if he could. “But you’re remarkable, aren’t you? Such an unusual quirk. I wonder -  is there something in your genetics that makes you more resilient? To survive for so long, intact, with what are essentially two opposing quirks - astonishing. I’d’ve assumed you would die in the womb.”

He suddenly yanked, strands of Shouto’s hair pinched between his fingers, and Shouto cried out before he could stifle himself, glaring at the doctor. 

“More testing is certainly necessary.” 

He walked over to the tray that was laid out, and carefully - almost reverently - placed down the strands of hair he’d stolen, a few red and a few white. He then picked up a very large syringe. It looked strange, with a big white plastic part with loops for fingers on either side. “I’ll need more tissue samples. Maybe a liver biopsy.”

Shouto thrashed as much as he could as the man approached, but he couldn’t get any leverage with his bare feet against the metal, and his head hurt, and he was rapidly growing dizzy. 

“Stay away from me, stay away -”

The man clicked his tongue. “I’d advise being cooperative, Todoroki-kun. I’m the least of the evils you’ll be facing - and the more I can get done, the longer it’ll be before I give you back to Tomura Shigaraki.”

The rooms were not soundproof. Dabi heard everything.