Chapter Text
“Libby, where did I put the book of Azarath?”
Izuku’s voice was rich, used to calling out into the depths of the Library and the spells he preformed, but it still broke and cracked, much to the amusement of the Library. Slowly, a line of floating sparkles lit up and Izuku dutifully followed them, finding said book under a pile of his laundry he still had to do. Dumping the dirty laundry off the table, Izuku retrieves the book and winds his way back to his ‘office’.
It wasn’t an office in the typical sense of the word, what normal people would consider an office, but it worked for Izuku, and the Library didn’t seem to have any objections. The office was a mix between a home, a training gym, and a home office. In one corner was a set of mats, a punching bag, and a wooden rotating dummy. To the left of that was what Izuku considered his home office, piles of books and papers strewn about, half of them his, half of them written by others. Across from the makeshift gym was the kitchen, a tall cabinet Izuku had dragged from halfway across the Library as a training challenge was full of food that was somehow consistently replaced, the stone of Zorith ready to be used as a makeshift stove/oven, and the Never Ending Vase of Khalil to serve as a sink with running water in conjuncture with a pale to catch said water. In the last corner was what Izuku had decided was his bedroom. A cot covered in furs and blankets and yet again more piled up books. The Library had guided Izuku to the room the first day he was there, and while he was at first confused, he soon understood the purpose of the room, for him to live in it.
As a seven-year-old, he had been distressed at first being unable to find the exit, the glowing doorway that had first brought him having disappeared a few hours after he had been exploring the Library and drinking in all the knowledge he could get his hands on. As he grew and learned, he had come to the conclusion that the Library had probably saved his life. As he was now much older, he understood the outcomes for those born Quirkless in Japan. He would have most likely been dead by his second year in middle school, he had effectively lived past that age, although he hadn’t attended a formal school since he left the world when he was seven. It had been seven years since then, and the Library had taught him everything he would have learned, and more.
He could do advanced calculus, while also knowing how to speak over a dozen languages, half of them dead languages, but still useful for reading centuries-old manuscripts. Ever since he turned ten, he had decided to keep track of what exactly he could and couldn’t do, as well as keep track of the days more carefully. He had, according to his own calculations along with the Library, passed the entirety of middle and high school classes.
The clippings book, which was propped open on his desk, fluttered, and Izuku walked over to inspect it, articles about the upcoming entrance exams, particularly for UA, and the last article published about him being declared missing and all but dead, appeared on the pages. Izuku was yet again reminded about the ever-approaching deadline for applications, which was only a week away. And he was also reminded of the fact that he no longer technically existed, which would make applying to high school all the more difficult.
“Thanks, Libby, I know. Do you have any suggestions on how to sort this out?” Izuku asks, glaring at the ceiling, which predictably does nothing. Instead, the clipping book fluttered around, and then the pages went blank, declaring that the Library had no suggestions.
Izuku glances at the bag sitting innocently in the corner of the bedroom corner, and sighs, somewhat annoyed at his predicament. While endlessly thankful he had ended up here, and had gotten to experience the millions of books and pieces of knowledge, the fact that the Izuku Midoriya that once lived in Musutafu was no more, having been declared dead two months after his disappearance, was slightly concerning.
“I think today’s the day. They’ll need time to sort out my reappearance, but it should be enough to apply in a week, and then take the exam in a month,” Izuku mutters to himself, chewing on his own lip. The Library floods the room with warmth, agreeing with his plan.
It was an ambitious plan, but one that Izuku was confident would work. Amnesia. The simplest lie in the world. All he had to do was appear somewhere, seem lost and confused, find the way to police, and claim he knew he was Izuku Midoriya but had no idea how he got there or where he was in the seven years he was gone.
The smallest draft of cool air flew through the room, and Izuku smiled sadly.
“I’ll miss you too, Libby. But you have to know that I don’t belong here, not the way your Librarian does. Not the way your Caretakers or the Librarian’s Guardian does. I’m a patron, one who’s been here for years, but one who doesn’t belong here indefinitely. You know that and I know that. That’s why you’ve kept me from your Librarian and Guardian all these years. I seek knowledge, that’s why you allowed me in, why you let me stay, and why you took care of me,” Izuku reasons, and a puff of air flies through the room, a feeling of acceptance accompanying it.
Nodding resolutely, Izuku goes over to the office and starts shuffling papers and notebooks, selecting the most important ones to add to his bag, and stuffing the rest into his pocket, as absurd as watching over a hundred notebooks disappear into a very normal-looking pocket. Swinging on the backpack, Izuku glances around again, before sighing. While he most likely would be able to come back, it certainly wouldn’t be for a while, which was slightly terrifying, if you asked Izuku.
He had been in the library since he was seven years old. He hadn’t left since he first walked through the doorway, although he had always had the option. The world, well, the world was a terrifying place, from what he remembered. It was filled with empty stomachs, bruised ribs, and burned skin. It was slurs written in permanent marker on desks, and it was teachers turning a blind eye as a ring of kids closed in around him.
But he wasn’t the same seven-year-old he was when he left. With a steady diet for once, he shot up like a weed once puberty hit, and with hours of training, he filled out nicely. He wasn’t as strong as All Might, but he would be able to hold his own. His hair had grown out, and he finally resolved to roughly chopping it to a few inches below his shoulders, and keeping it half up with a leather tie most of the time, pieces resulting from a rough, indecisive chop curling out from the ponytail to frame his face. He had one scar, right below his jawline that went from below his right ear almost to under his chin, stopping just short. It was the result of an incident with an artifact that he had attempted to play with when he was eight. Judging by the scar, it didn’t go well.
The point was, he wasn’t the same seven-year-old that left. He wasn’t defenseless, and he certainly wasn’t powerless. The Library had taught him knowledge, but it had also taught him how to defend himself, and had taught him the magic necessary to do so.
“Libby, could you please open a door? Somewhere close to where you first let me in?” Izuku requests, shifting uneasily. Even though he knew he wasn’t that same seven-year-old, he couldn’t help but view the world the same way he had. It was big and scary. And held any amount of danger, from supervillains to careless teachers.
Slowly, a golden doorway appeared, and with it, a door. It was an exact mirror from the door Izuku had walked in seven years ago. He still remembered the small scratch on the door handle that was still there, exactly as he remembered it. When he reached out, he noticed his hand shaking and quickly gripped the handle before the Library noticed. With a twist and a shove, the door opened, flooding the room with light as the sun shone into it for the first time in decades.
********************
Shouta Aizawa nearly missed his jump when a doorway appeared in the alleyway beneath him. As it stood, Shouta managed to twist in the air, catching himself on the edge of the next building. Slowly, he peered over the edge, keeping hidden from the person down below. Technically, Shouta shouldn’t be out at this point in the day, it was almost four o’clock, and about thirty minutes after the school day at UA. Instead of leaping over rooftops, he should have been in the car with his husband, finally going home. That, or grading papers in his classroom. The point was, he shouldn’t be watching a young-looking teen walk out of a doorway that disappears the second he steps through.
Shouta would be the first to admit his own fashion sense was skewed. He wore a damn black jumpsuit most of the time. But even he could tell that the boy’s outfit was strange. From what he could tell, the boy was wearing a pair of gray slacks, a white dress shirt, and a long, mid-thigh length brown distressed leather jacket. On his feet were a pair of bright red shoes, clashing horribly with the rest of his outfit. His hair was half tied up with a leather cord, pieces of it falling into his face. It was somehow pirate meet business casual meet ruffled teenager.
The boy looked horribly overwhelmed, blinking wildly at the alleyway, and finally stumbling, only to catch himself on the alleyway. Shouta is about to intervene when the boy seems to gather himself, shaking his head and standing up straighter. With one more glance around, he heads out of the alleyway, jumping once he gets to the street, before bracing himself and continuing on.
While Shouta should have hunted down the boy and at the very least given him a stern talking to about illegal quirk usage in public, he honestly didn’t care. Creating a doorway was one of the least harmful things he could do. From what Shouta could tell, he opened a portal in a place that wouldn’t bother anyone. The boy seemed confused, not malicious. Besides, Shouta had better things to do. Better things being his husband and his cats.
***************************
While Izuku remembered the world, he didn’t remember it being so loud, or bright. Or busy. Or overwhelming. Basically, it was like everything had been dialed up to eleven, and then dialed up a few more notches. The noise was overwhelming, and the people constantly bumping into Izuku as he walked down the street set him on edge, memories flashing of people purposefully tripping him, slamming him into walls and lockers, and even the few memorable occasions where he had been tripped on the steps and sent flying.
As it stood, Izuku had nothing but his backpack and what was in his head. And as he decided, the first step would be locating a police station. He still wasn’t sure how to do that, and those explosions weren’t helping his concentration.
Wait, explosions?
That was definitely something to investigate. Whenever something in the Library made loud noises, it was never good, and Izuku had learned over the years to stay away from any such noises. As it stood, he was no longer in the library and thus didn’t have to deal with misbehaving artifacts. If he had survived the Library and it’s artifacts for seven years, whatever insisted on making such racket was surely going to be easy to deal with.
After running through the library most days, running the ten or so blocks to the source of the explosions was nothing. Izuku wasn’t even winded, the backpack barely making an impact as he was used to carrying stacks of books. When he finally did find the source of the explosions, which were still going off, he found a crowd.
It looked like they were all watching a spectacle in an alleyway, very similar to the one the Library had set him free in. Shoving his way through the crowd which made his skin crawl with the uncomfortable feeling of skin-to-skin contact, he made his way to barriers that had been set up by police, who were currently holding back the crowd of people. Beyond them, Izuku could make out the alleyway.
It looked like a group of heroes were sitting and watching the show, already setting a bad taste in Izuku’s mouth. The one hero who actually seemed to be doing anything was a hero who appeared to be putting out the fires started by the rolling mass of sludge. The sludge which was absolutely disgusting, small pieces flinging off and a revolting smell wafting out of the alleyway.
But beyond that, beyond the sludge and waste, and stench, Izuku could make out blonde, spikey hair, and crimson eyes. Spikey blonde hair and crimson eyes that Izuku recognized. Izuku also recognized the quirk that was used, it had been targeted at him for years until he left for the Library.
“Bakugou,” Izuku whispered, mind unable to match the defeated, struggling to breath boy in front of him, and the brash, confident, cruel seven-year-old he once knew.
“For the breath of life, Bakugou, what the fuck!” Izuku yells, shoving past the police barricades, and than the police that tried to stop him.
Bakugou seemed too focused on fighting against the sludge monster and thus ignored Izuku, which just irritated him. While he rationally knew that Bakugou had more important things going on at the moment, he couldn’t help the twinge of irritation he felt. Izuku also wanted to shout at who he assumed were supposed to be heroes, who were currently standing by and watching a kid die in front of them. Shucking off his backpack and shoving it at a police officer, he strides forward, cracking his knuckles.
“I guess I’ll have to do this myself,” Izuku comments, shoving past the so-called heroes who attempted to stop him. He referred to them as so-called heroes because once Izuku got close enough, they gave up on trying to stop him, being scared away by the explosions that battered Izuku as he continued on.
He had noticed that the sludge monster shied away from the water that happened to splash from the water hero. Well, if the sludge monster wasn’t a fan of water, there was a quick way of dealing with this situation. Raising his arms, Izuku channels his inner energy through them, and sparks start to fly, tracing intricate lines in the air, far beyond what Izuku’s arms were actually doing.
“Ne aquas influunt, et aestus nebulones, fiat illud fieri!”
The Latin words roll off of Izuku’s tongue, volume rising as he finished the phrase. The sparkling symbol seems to vibrate before a torrent of water comes shooting out, blasting across the space between Izuku and the sludge monster before throwing it back. Izuku watches it peel off of Bakugou, and the moment Bakugou is free, Izuku stops the water before tugging with his hand, Bakugou goes flying towards him and past, and one of the heroes, who appears to have a strength quirk judging by his arms, catches Bakugou, gently setting him down.
Now that Bakugou was out of the way, Izuku wordlessly forces the water to obey him and gathered the remaining sludge villain, two eyes, a mouth, and a small amount of body. It still stank, and so Izuku forced it into a compressed ball and shoved it into a soda bottle, which was lying next to the open dumpster in the alleyway. Pleased with his work, Izuku dismisses the magic channel and turns, a beaming smile on his face as he regards Bakugou with crossed arms.
“Betcha glad I didn’t jump off that roof now, huh Bakugou?” Izuku asks, and cackles when Bakugou somehow goes seven shades paler, scrambling back from both Izuku and the hero.
“D-Deku?”
Izuku was going to say something else, something that would have probably been very stupid, if tree branches hadn’t encircled him, preventing him from moving an inch. Izuku’s instincts told him to torch the tree branches, but when he saw that they were connected to one of the heroes, he resorted to the oh-so-elegant squirming, wriggling around as he tried to escape his prison.
“Oh no you don’t, kid. You’ve got some questions to answer,” The tree man said, the branches tightening around him as he continued to attempt to escape.
“I actually have some questions to ask. What year is it?” Izuku starts his plan to excuse his absence, thoroughly confusing those on scene.
“Also, could you let me go? I won’t run but the skin on skin isn’t doing it for me,” Izuku chirps, stilling his movement to hopefully make the man relax. Seeing as he had found the police, he saw no reason to try and escape. Step one of get Izuku Midoriya back into the world of the living has been successful, and he even saved Bakugou, which was worse than a complete beating in Bakugou’s eyes. Two birds, one stone.
***************************************
Shouta had known that he should have chased after the young man who appeared out of that doorway, and yet he didn’t. He was now paying the price for that decision, watching the same boy through quick proof glass sit in an interrogation room, seeming put out by the handcuffs over his wrist, which secured him to the table.
Not only had he interfered in a hostage situation, but had then injured four police officers who attempted to restrain him afterward. Although Shouta couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for the officers. The boy had politely asked that they not touch him and had been fully cooperating. They were the idiots who felt the need to manhandle him and got injured as the boy attempted to keep contact between them at a minimum.
“Naomasa, remind me why I’m here again, and not at home with my husband and my cats?” Shouta asks, not taking his eyes off of the boy, who currently had a series of sparkles in his hands, playing with them as he seemed to sit in boredom.
“None of the quirk suppressants are working on him. Not the cuffs, drugs, or rooms. He’s not doing anything bad, besides seemingly using his quirk to cure his boredom, but it is curious. I wondered if you could stop him,” Naomasa asks, and Shouta obliges and flashes his quirk. The mini tornado in the boy's hands never faltered, and the boy didn’t so much as blink, clearly unaffected.
“Ah, I didn’t think that would work. Thanks for coming down, Shouta,” Naomasa thanks, seeming to age ten years at once.
“What’s his story? He seems awfully calm,”
“We don’t know. I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to him, and no one’s wanted to be in the room cause his quirk is still working and he's injured four guys. You’re welcome to come into the interview, I’m about to start,” Naomasa offers, and leaves the observation room with Shouta on his heels. While Shouta does want to go back home to Hizashi and their cats, he also can’t help but want to stay and figure out the kid who clearly had an emitter-type quirk, but who wasn’t affected by Shouta’s own quirk.
“I’ll stay. I want to figure out how the kid’s able to get around quirk-suppressing tech,” And myself was left unsaid.
Naomasa stops off at the breakroom and grabs his lunch and a drink, before entering the interrogation room, Shouta following behind him.
“Hello there. My name is Naomasa Tsukauchi, next to me is Shouta Aizawa. I’ve brought you some food if you’re hungry, as well as a drink. Would you be able to answer some questions?” Naomasa starts, attempting to start off better than the other police the kid had to interact with.
“Depends on the questions,” The boy easily replies, eyes trained on the food and drink in Naomasa’s hands as if expecting them to disappear should he answer wrong.
“That's okay, we’ll off easy, can you tell us your name?” Naomasa launches into the interview and judging by the screwed-up look on the kid's face, this wasn’t going to be anything close to short and or sweet.