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“How do you deal with… fans,” Shouta finds himself asking, half-spitting the word ‘fans’ like it tastes off.
Across the table, Nemuri pauses, her chopsticks halfway to her mouth. One of her noodles slowly slips and crashes back into her bowl, splashing hot soup across the table — but nobody really registers it.
Beside him, Hizashi’s head swivels so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t sprain his neck.
“Shouta!” His grin is so bright Shouta already regrets ever saying anything. “Do you have fans?”
Skin crawling, Shouta scowls. “No,” he lies. “I have a… stalker.”
Something like concern flashes across Hizashi’s face, but Nemuri only sets down her chopsticks and leans across the table with a manic grin. “Oh? Are they hot? All stalkers should be hot,” she says.
“That’s not-” Hizashi starts, attention momentarily pulled away from Shouta.
“It is,” Nemuri interrupts. “Why, when Emi started to stalk me, I just knew it was meant to be.” She wiggles her eyebrows as Hizashi sputters, and Shouta sighs tiredly.
“She wasn’t stalking you, she thought you were a criminal,” he counters.
“Which I was,” Nemuri replies smugly.
“You were undercover.”
“And I looked hot doing it.”
“Please don’t use your relationship as a benchmark,” Hizashi says, looking at her with pleading eyes. “And Emi was not stalking you. That’s not- That’s not the same.”
Nemuri grimaces, sobering up and reaching out to pat his forearm. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and then clears her throat. “Anyway, Shouta, you were saying you’ve got a cute little stalker?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and Shouta scowls harder.
“He’s twelve,” Shouta snaps back, because he can already tell she’s not going to let this go, and he’s not in the mood for innuendos. Of course, he has no idea how old the kid is, but he looks… young. Twelve is probably accurate. “Or younger.”
Hizashi and Nemuri both visibly freeze, barely even blinking at him.
“So… What I’m hearing is that he’s definitely cute, then,” Nemuri finally says, biting her lips in that way she does when she’s trying not to laugh too loud.
Hizashi, of course, shows no such restraint, and grins brightly once more. “You’ve got a little listener!” he shouts, his voice almost too loud. “Shouta, that’s great!” His eyes twinkle, and Shouta wants to disappear.
“No,” he says. “How do I make him go away?”
Nemuri barks out a laugh and finally leans back in her chair. “Oh, you don’t. Fans are with you forever~,” she says, voice half-mirthful, half-mocking.
Hizashi, still grinning, pats him on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad! Little listeners are the best, really.” A shadow crosses over his face. “Even if they sometimes can be a bit… much,” he adds, haunted.
“I’m not supposed to have… fans,” Shouta complains as he pulls away.
“Tough luck, honey — you’re a hero! If you ask me, it was bound to happen,” Nemuri retorts, slurping through her noodles again.
Hizashi, that traitor, only nods in support.
Shouta scowls harder as he leans back in his chair. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
The mood falls again, and Shouta bites his cheek. “He’s been trying to follow me while I’m on patrol,” he says.
Hizashi swears, and Nemuri sets down her chopsticks again, uncharacteristically grim-faced.
“Do you know who he is?”
“No.” Shouta grits his teeth. “He’s good at dodging attention, and he stays far enough back that I haven't been able to get a good look at him.”
All Shouta really knows about this kid is that he’s a kid, really, who’s getting in far above his head in what essentially amounts to semi-functional Eraserhead cosplay with an added green hoodie to conceal his face. If Shouta finds whoever helped that kid make his own capture weapon, he’s going to wring their neck.
“Do you think you can stop him?” Hizashi asks, voice tightly controlled.
Shouta swallows thickly, looking away from him and across the restaurant. They’ve been coming here for years now, and if Shouta closes his eyes, it wouldn’t be hard to replace that happy family currently sharing a meal two tables away with their younger selves — four of them instead of three.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, because if the kid is determined enough to pick Shouta as a hero to emulate, Shouta doesn’t really want to think about what it would take to really stop him in his tracks.
He thinks about it anyway, but he doesn’t want to.
“Well, in that case, it’s probably for the best that he follows you around, isn’t it?” Nemuri shrugs. “You can keep an eye on him, make sure he’s safer than if he was out there doing it on his own.”
Hizashi looks like he still wants to protest, but something of Shouta’s real feelings must be showing on his face, because he gapes at them. “You can’t be serious,” he sputters out.
Shouta grimaces again — an expression he’s bitterly pleased to find mirrored across Nemuri’s face for once. “It is safer,” he says, hating how he knows this for sure and that Nemuri hasn’t been able to find a better idea either.
He could report the kid to the authorities, of course, but… With only a vague physical description to go off of, it wouldn’t do much good — whatever manpower might end up pulled on this would be better served elsewhere. No, Shouta has to be the one to handle this.
“Hence why you wanted to know about fans,” Hizashi says after a beat, his humorous tone a pale imitation of his earlier mirth.
Shouta doesn’t answer, and Hizashi sighs, his fingers drumming on the table before he plasters on a big smile.
“Well, if you want to get him to listen to you, you’re going to have to listen to him,” Hizashi says. “Build a rapport.”
“Can’t just expel this one,” Nemuri quips with a laugh.
“He’s not one of my students,” Shouta grumbles.
“He could be.” Hizashi shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first kid to go through the vigilante-to-hero pipeline, would he?”
Grimacing again, Shouta nods absently. It is an idea. Of course, the kid would have to stop vigilantism if he wants to be a hero, but it certainly is a better goal to aim for than jail.
Of course, he doesn’t know if the kid could even make it at UA, or in any other hero school out there, but… He has the drive, Shouta thinks. He might not understand everything about being a hero (yet), but he’s probably closer than some of the students Shouta has taught in the past.
“And just think: that’ll be easier if you help him along,” Nemuri adds with a pointed grin, her eyes sparkling.
Shouta hums absently, mind already racing.
Hizashi laughs. “And we’ve lost him~”
Of course, the day after Shouta decides to use the way the kid’s following him and mimicking his every move to have a talk that isn’t just a “Go home” addressed to possibly empty shadows, the kid’s gone.
“It would be too much to hope that he just quit, wouldn’t it?” Shouta muses out loud, heart clenching in his chest as he searches the shadows for a familiar glimpse of green.
“W’at?” the goon Shouta’s just immobilized slurs from the ground, arms flailing around in Shouta’s capture weapon.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Shouta retorts, flashing his eyes at the idiot until his flailing stops.
He considers leaving the man tied up until the police arrive, but his quirk unfortunately involves literally turning himself slippery, which means Shouta has to stay for a little while.
He glares harder, and the waste of his time at his feet waddles into a seated position. “I think you’ve got anger issues, man,” he says.
Shouta somehow resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his temples. “I can still knock you out.”
“I’m just sayin’,” the goon protests, but after another hard look, he doesn’t say anything else — and luckily, the police arrive before long.
Sergeant Ichikawa whistles as she sees them, and Shouta silently pulls back his capture weapon to himself, grimacing at the slimy residue left over it — great, now he’s going to have to do something about that, isn’t he?
“Looks like you’ve been busy today, Eraser,” she quips as she and her partner grab the idiot and push him toward their patrol car.
Shouta, capture weapon already thrown over the next lampshade, lets himself drop down to the ground again. He turns around.
“I mean, this guy’s a bit more high profile than the others you’ve left on our path lately, but still — good work!”
Shouta’s mouth opens and then closes. “The others?”
“So, the kid’s been going after purse snatchers and leaving them tied up for the police to find,” Hizashi summarizes, hands curled around a hot cup of coffee, sounding half-incredulous, half-amused.
“He leaves sticky notes recounting their crimes stuck on their foreheads,” Shouta replies, shaking his head down at the little green stack of evidence Sergeant Ichikawa had let him borrow.
Hizashi’s lips twitch. “Ah. I was wondering what those were about.” He leans over and unsticks one of the notes, holding it up in front of his face.
He squints.
“Mmh,” he says, nonplussed.
Shouta snorts as he snatches the note back. “Yeah.”
“And they thought that was you?”
Scowling, Shouta glares at his husband. “Shut up.”
Hizashi replies with a smug grin and a cackle, “I did tell you you should work on your penmanship…”
“He’s putting himself in more danger,” Shouta retorts with another glare.
Hizashi winces, his grin softening into something more serious. “Hey, you’re doing your best to help him. I trust you — you’re going to figure it out.” He reaches across the table to hold Shouta’s hands, entwining their fingers together. “That kid’s lucky to have you.”
Shouta snorts again, but a tiny bit of the tension wound around his heart slips away. He sighs. “I hope so,” he says, but his mind is already racing.
“Kid.”
The way the kid jumps at Shouta coming out of the shadows is very comical, and almost makes up for the way Shouta’s just spent more of his day than he’d like tracking him down.
He doesn’t run, at least — that’s good, he’s not stupid. He must know Shouta would catch him.
“Eraserhead oh my god it’s really you I can’t believe it!” the kid squeaks out, all in one long breath, practically vibrating in place and looking like he wants to dash forward instead of away, and Shouta feels…
Regret. He may have miscalculated a little here.
“Yes,” he says instead, stepping closer.
Like this, it’s even more obvious the kid is well, a kid. Shouta hadn’t really dared hoped otherwise, even if he could have tried to fool himself into thinking that was a very (very) short adult, but between the notes and the kid’s general everything, Shouta had known already.
Still, it’s nice to get confirmation.
“Vigilantism is illegal,” he finds himself saying, even though he had plans for a better segue into the matter.
The kid’s face falls. He looks about to cry, big green eyes suddenly wet and shiny in a way that makes Shouta’s skin crawl.
“I-I know!” he says, sniffling for a moment before rallying and shaking his head. “B-But, but I can help! So I should — it’d be, it’d be wrong not to,” he says, and his eyes now shine with a light harder than Shouta would have expected.
His heart aches a little at the sight, and he sighs.
“Be-besides, I’m quirkl- I mean, I’m not using a quirk, so it doesn’t count as vigilantism,” the kid continues, crossing his arms and staring daringly at Shouta for a moment before his actions seem to register and he flushes bright red, his arms falling back to his sides.
“That’s not really how that works, kid,” Shouta retorts absently, amused despite himself.
“R-Really?”
Shouta just stares back at the kid pointedly, who scuffs his shoes on the ground and pulls the straps of a dark backpack tight against his chest.
“Oh. Well, nevermind. I still-” His jaw sets and his eyes flash. “I still have to do this. I need to do this — I’m not—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. Green tufts of hair poke through his hood as he moves, but he makes no move to push them back. “I’ve been doing good, haven’t I?” he asks instead, his eyes staring up pleadingly at Shouta now. “I’ve been, I’ve been helpful, and I haven’t been going after anyone too dangerous, but, but I had to catch those guys, and I didn’t hurt them, I just left them for the police, and-”
“Kid, breathe,” Shouta finally interrupts, because the kid is working himself up something awful, and if he starts crying Shouta might do something drastic like run away or try to pat his shoulder.
The kid sucks in a great gulp of air and rocks back on his heels.
“I’m not here to stop you,” Shouta continues, and it’s true, even though it rankles.
“You’re not?” the kid gasps out.
“I’m not.”
Oh, but Shouta wants to. But this isn’t one of his students, who Shouta could expel and put out of his mind if they didn’t prove they wanted to return — from this and the weeks of the kid trailing after him in the shadows, Shouta knows the kid would try again, and again, and again, right up until he gets in over his head and dies.
All that reporting him to the police would do is get him fined and blacklisted from hero schools, and if he’s not, then at least Shouta can see a finish line for this, a goal to guide this kid toward.
“Here,” Shouta says, thrusting the package he’s been carrying around in his hero suit all week for just this opportunity. “Take it.”
The kid takes it gingerly, his eyes wide and bright. “What is it?” he asks, but he’s already opening it before Shouta can answer, scrunching up the newspaper Shouta had used into a ball and tucking it away into his pockets.
“Is that…?” he gasps, raising disbelieving eyes toward Shouta that are filling up with tears alarmingly fast.
Shouta clears his throat. “It’s not quite the same material as mine,” he explains as the kid unspools the off-white material of a capture weapon, “but it will work better than the bandages you were using.”
The kid flushes red as he clutches the capture weapon to his chest. His grin is so wide and incredulous it has to hurt. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthank-” he babbles, seemingly unable to stop smiling.
“Be careful with it,” Shouta interrupts gruffly. “It’s not a toy, and you’ll need to practice with it — and this does not mean that you should go after real villains now. And always think before you act. Be rational.”
Something flashes in the kid’s eyes, but he does nod. “O-Of course.”
“I’m serious,” Shouta hisses, feeling his eyes narrow. He digs through his pockets again, this time for a folded slip of paper. “Here — if you’re getting in over your head, you call me, alright? No reckless acts of heroism.”
That something returns to the kid’s eyes, half-mulish, half-offended — this is why Shouta hates teenagers. He takes the slip of paper, though, and his eyes go wide again.
“Eraserhead’s… phone number?” Shouta can practically hear the hero worship in his voice, and it makes him want to grit his teeth.
“For emergencies,” Shouta stresses.
“Huh-uh.” The kid nods. “Thank- Thank you.” He looks like he’s about to cry again, and Shouta cringes away.
“Don’t mention it.”
He leaves before the kid can try to thank him again — or worse, starts actually crying.
(Later — much, much later, some of the kid’s words finally register, and he drops his head on the kitchen table with a loud groan.
“What is it?” Hizashi asks, a concerned tilt to his voice.
“I think the kid’s quirkless,” Shouta replies without looking up.
“Ah.”
Shouta doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to — this changes everything and yet nothing, because Shouta’s best bet is still to figure out a way for the kid to get into a hero school, it’s just that this has now become significantly more complicated.)
Every day the kid doesn’t call, Shouta feels a little more stressed out about it, but — no news is good news, isn’t it?
Besides, it’s not like he really has no news, really. The kid’s still out there stopping purse snatchers, and last week Nemuri just about died laughing showing him a video of the kid in his new-and-improved Eraserhead-like outfit clumsily using his capture weapon to save a cat from a tree.
And he sees the kid sometimes too, still running after Shouta and copying his moves with the capture weapon. He’s picked it up so quickly Shouta half-regrets giving him one, but… It’s helping keep him safe, so he can’t.
The kid waves him hello now, though, and he’s been signing his notes to the police. Deku. As far as vigilante names go, it’s not the worst Shouta’s ever heard, but it’s also… not the best. Still, Shouta supposes he can’t exactly be the one throwing stones here.
It’s an odd status-quo, and every day, Shouta feels a little bit more like something’s about to go wrong. It’s a shiver at the back of his neck, a sour taste in the back of his throat, a niggling thought at the back of his mind — and then…
“Her name was Eri,” the kid had said over the phone, the first time he’d dared to call. He’d sounded desperate, he’d sounded like he was crying. “I need — We need to help her,” he’d said.
“We will,” Shouta had promised, and then, once Deku had told him about everything else he’d seen, Shouta had told him to stay away from the case. “You did well, but this is bigger than you can handle,” he’d said. “You did well bringing this to me, now let me handle it.”
“But-”
“Promise me, Deku,” Shouta had retorted, feeling his eyes burn with Erasure.
He should have known, then, what the way Deku had bitten his tongue and looked away meant. But the kid had promised, and he’d been good at keeping his promises so far, and Shouta had trusted him.
Shouta trusts him — and perhaps that was his mistake right there, forgetting that Deku was still a kid, still younger than the students Shouta had to train into not making so many dumb decisions, all of this because he’d thought the kid understood.
Clearly, he does not, and Shouta was wrong, was a fool — should have known better than to think he could do this, that because Deku had called him about Eri, had trusted him with her story, the kid could let it go.
And now the kid’s in danger, and Shouta can only hope he won’t get there too late.
(Izuku knows that what he’s doing is stupid.
Well, a very, very distant part of him does. He promised Eraserhead to stay away from this, after all, and it’s not that he doesn’t trust the hero to do what he said he would and take care of this, but…
He still sees Eri’s eyes in his dreams, is the thing — and even when he’s not dreaming. She needed help, and she’d been so scared and so small, and when Izuku had bent down to help her there had been something in her eyes for a moment, something lighter and alive that had kept growing and growing right up until that man had found them and she’d walked back to him, and he’d killed that light so quickly Izuku had felt like he’d been stabbed.
And Izuku hadn’t really meant to, but he’d been patrolling anyway, and the place where he’d found Eri hadn’t been too far off his way, so it hadn’t felt like it would hurt to go check it out, and once he’d been there, well, he might as well keep going.
And so he has — and yes, maybe part of it was also to show Eraserhead that he could do this, that he didn’t have to be sidelined, that just because he was quirkless and a vigilante didn’t mean he couldn’t tackle bigger things than purse snatchers and missing pets. He could prove himself with this, and save Eri.
He hadn’t known that the Shie Hassaikai had so many members though, or that they were so ruthless — so ready to kill him. It feels stupid, not to have known, not to have listened to Eraserhead’s warnings, because maybe then…
Maybe then…
“You’re being delusional,” the Eraserhead in his mind repeats, his voice icy cold and yet so full of fury Izuku can feel it lashing his soul with barbs of fire. “You are no match for Overhaul and his yakuza group!”
Izuku shivers at the memory. His hands reach up for the capture weapon around his neck — it’s always been softer than he’d expected it to be, for such a tool, but it was also warm, and a nice way to hide your face when you had to, only—
“Give it back.”
—Izuku’s hands close on empty air, and he strangles back a sob.
He knows it’s stupid, knows this is what got him in trouble in the first place — trusting intel he couldn’t verify, thinking he was ready when he wasn’t, thinking he was better than he was, but…
This time, he does know more. This time, he knows what the heroes will be doing — Eraserhead gave him that, at least; the knowledge that Eri would be safe — only they don’t know that it’s a trap, and Izuku is the only one who can help.
Even if no one wants his help anymore, he has to…
He has to try.
“I wanted you to be better,” Eraserhead had told him, and Izuku doesn’t know how that can be possible when Eraserhead is a hero already and Izuku is, well, himself but—
He has to try. For Eri, for the heroes walking into an ambush, for Eraserhead, who mentored him when he didn’t have to, and for…
Well, a little bit for himself, too.)