Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Izuku blinked, he realized he was still very much alive. Disappointment was his first feeling, but relief flooded his system a second later. He hadn’t taken in the guest room much before he’d crashed on the bed, but it was easy to tell how nice everything was.

The traditional Japanese-styling of the room–tatami mats, wall art based on rural Japan, a plant in a decorated ceramic pot, pale fusuma doors–was complemented with the distinctly western luxuries of a full bed, a sturdy oak desk, and a wall trim that Izuku thought looked vaguely Victorian. The warmth of the room had long since seeped into Izuku’s bones. He felt the gentle texture of the blanket over his body and found it mentally difficult to get the will to move. The bed was unfairly soft. And yet, the strangest part of all was the lack of nightmares.

His phone buzzed where he’d left it on the desk across the room. He sighed and mourned the comfortable warmth as he got up. He picked up his phone, and he nearly dropped it as he saw the time. He was late for school. Super late. So late it was almost time for afternoon classes. Late enough he considered not even going.

The text he had received cemented his decision.

Mom [12:38]
No late shift tonight.

His mom would be home.

He didn’t clean the house last night since he wasn’t home, didn’t go grocery shopping, and didn’t do any of the house repairs he said he would. He had almost five-ish hours left before his mom was home, so he had time. Only if he skipped school; He didn’t want to, it was his only true semblance of normalcy, but at this point, it made no sense for him to keep attending.

With a long sigh, he closed his phone and collected his things. He’d skip, and he could only hope that this wouldn’t become a habit.

He slid the fusuma door open, and the warm, humid afternoon air was tempered by the quiet hum of fans. Gods, this place is nice. His eyes roamed the beautiful wooden beams, the traditional-style craftsmanship of the hallways.

He quickly shook himself from his stupor and made his way to the end of the hallway. He internally debated if it would be rude to slip out a window–it was the way he came in, so it might as well be the way he left. The decision was made for him, unfortunately, when he ran into one of the precepts of death, Shin Nemoto. The man was quiet, polite. He didn’t ask questions and helped guide Izuku to the main entrance to the compound.

Izuku made his way to the train station. A thought crossed his mind, and he took out his phone to open the secure messaging app. He clicked his text chain with Overhaul.

Analyst
Sorry for my lack of professionalism last night, and thank you for letting me use your guest room.

He sighed and closed the app–that should cover most of his bases. Izuku had some confidence that Overhaul didn’t mind, not really, otherwise he would have made his displeasure known already. Izuku might not be confident in reading the man, but he had his behavior down pat.

Izuku stretched and hummed to himself as he waited for the train. His eyes roamed the station, the yellow signs with arrows denoted information Izuku didn’t bother to read, the tiled floor with myriad colors complimented the vibrantly decorated boarding platform for the train. His eyes wander everywhere. They don’t spot the large man with tattoos that followed him.

A man who would watch him leave on the train.

…

Izuku had finally finally cleaned the entire apartment, fixed that stupid faucet in the kitchen, and started dinner just in time for his mother to get home.

He heard the click of the door opening and the familiar sound of his mother’s voice, “Izuku, dear, I’m home.”

He smiled and plated the food, Teriyaki Chicken, which he knew was her favorite, and greeted her back. She kissed the top of his forehead and expressed her gratitude. The bags under her eyes were deep and her movements were sluggish. Must’ve had a villain attack during her shift, but such was the life of a nurse.

“How about we watch a movie after dinner, Izuku?” He smiled at those words, the fact that she made time for him even though she was exhausted. He agreed, obviously, and let her choose the movie.

They didn’t talk much that night, they didn’t need to. For both of them, the time they spent together was always enough. It had to be. Izuku watched his mom enter the bathroom to shower, and he knew he wouldn’t see her for another few days at least, but it didn’t bother him. He crashed onto his bed as he considered sleep at such an early time of night. A notification he could recognize from anywhere dinged from his phone:

Overhaul
Just take care of yourself.
I have a new case for you, in collaboration with the police.
[file.txt]
[video.mov]

He doesn’t sound angry. At least, Izuku thought, I can gauge Overhaul’s emotions over text.

Analyst
On it.

Straight to business. He opened the text file, a police report for someone who is related to gang activities. Izuku frowned. It must be super bad to get the yakuza and the police to work together for once. He’d seen it before, the neutrality pact in action, though he’d never seen the ‘alliance’ part of the pact. As he read the file, Izuku found he understood. Child trafficking–specifically children with mutation quirks–using the funds to finance a political party to regulate only specific quirks. It twisted Izuku’s stomach, he knew the job he had to do.

He clicked open the video as he grabbed a notebook. Midnight came and went when he decided he had finally squeezed as much usefulness as possible from the video. The guy had some sort of emotional-manipulation quirk, and that was frankly all Izuku could get from the video. It frustrated him endlessly, he could postulate what the activation requirements were but he didn’t have enough data.

Analyst
I don’t have much.
[report.txt]

Overhaul
That’s fine.
…
Can you come to the compound?
We’re having trouble questioning a witness.

Izuku tensed. There were certain illegal implications in that request–also, how could Izuku help? This whole thing set him off, he should decline.

Overhaul
He’s somehow getting around Nemoto.

Oh, Izuku was so in. Confession was a straightforward quirk that had few workarounds, so someone side-stepping it fascinated him. It set off his need to analyze quirks. He texted his agreement and silently put his things together. His bag was still packed from earlier that morning; he only added the notebook he used for analysis and a few of his favorite pens.

He half-expected Overhaul to send a car, but the man seemed to understand Izuku’s boundaries to some extent. He waited for the train and decided he’d make a pit stop to get coffee. His gut said this would be a long night.

Analyst
Be there in 25.

There, he wouldn’t make them wait, and as long as he stayed on time, no one would be mad. The twisting-anxious feeling in his gut made him want to hurry anyway.

He got a cold brew of some kind–he just picked one, he didn’t care–and strolled to the compound. Should he go through the front entrance…oh hell no. That felt way too much like he was welcome here, and that almost caused him to gag. No way did the yakuza of all organizations want Izuku around. They just wanted his skills, end of story.

He hopped the fence, avoided the new security cameras, and climbed to the second-story window he was so familiar with. It was open. That bastard.

He rolled inside the office, empty, thank the gods, with his coffee in one hand and his bag slung over the other shoulder. He rolled his shoulders and glanced around. He used his other hand to text Overhaul he was here and sipped on his coffee.

A tap on the door caught his attention. Izuku opened the door to be face-to-face with Chronostasis, who looked less than happy.

“You’re here.” Chronostasis’s tone held relief and frustration. Izuku watched as the older man looked him up and down; the displeasure in his body language was palpable. He adjusted his mask and motioned for Izuku to follow. “You’re on time, at least.”

Izuku silently drank his cold brew as they walked down the beautiful hallways to the underground portion of the compound. The stark contrast had Izuku doing a double-take. The harsh lines and bland colors were worlds away from the strong tones and smell of wood that the upstairs had. The basement reeked of antiseptic. He shouldn’t feel so surprised, this is Overhaul after all.

They stopped at a door, one that looked like every other door they had passed, and Chronostasis lightly knocked. The door opened to the most emotional Izuku had ever seen Overhaul. Okay, so that didn’t actually say that much, but still. There were lines of tension in his shoulders and his spine, the vicious way his eyes glared through the one-way glass, the crossed and closed-off body language–it all denoted someone half a minute away from snapping at whatever was closest. Izuku knew rumors of Overhaul’s temper, he didn’t want to find out if they were correct tonight. No, there was a quirk mystery he was interested in.

The room, well, rooms, were similar to a police interrogation room. The one-way mirror looked into a cell with the “witness” handcuffed to the table. Bruised, bloodied. He had a certain grin on his face that Izuku couldn’t blame anyone if they had the distinct urge to wipe it away.

“So this is the guy?” Izuku sipped on his coffee. Another cursory glance of the man revealed tattoos that were hardly darker than his skin tone; the man also had a very obvious mutation quirk with scales dotting his arms and neck. “I would have gotten you coffee too if I knew it was this bad.”

Overhaul seemed to take the humor in Izuku’s statement in stride, “I should have asked then.” Gods, even his tone was tense. The man was a blank slate most of the time, but this was just….different. “His quirk is draconic, he can breathe fire, grow scales. He can’t fly, thankfully.”

Izuku made a non-committal hum and dumped his bag on the floor. How draconic. Does this guy follow the myths of dragons? How could he get around confession? Or is it someone else’s quirk? Confession relies on the user asking a question to another person, and the other person has to hear the question and is forced to answer. Simple. But not fool-proof apparently. Izuku didn’t even realize he’d gotten so close to the window until he felt someone’s touch graze his arm. He jumped and turned, embarrassment colored his features as he noted Chronostasis’s amused and curious expression on his face. He’d taken off his mask.

A soft snort made him turn his other direction. Overhaul had ditched the plague-doctor beak for a regular cloth mask. Nemoto was also now present, as was… what was his name again? Tengai? That sounded right. All of them also had cloth masks. More comfortable, he guessed, so they were in for the long haul after all.

Then it hit him. He’d never analyzed in front of other people before. In the whole year he’d done this, he’d never been in front of one person, let alone four, while he analyzed. He felt mortified.

“So…uhm…yeah, so how did you all know ‘confession’ didn’t work…?” Gods, he sounded as embarrassed as he felt.

Nemoto spoke up at that question, “I can feel when my quirk connects, how people fight it. There was…nothing when I asked a question. Also, he too easily avoided my questions for it to have worked.”

Izuku nodded and turned back to the man. The guy isn’t cancelling out Nemoto’s quirk, then, Izuku guessed there’d be some sort of feeling on Nemoto’s side if that were the case. Izuku has seen mental quirks cancel each other out, and both quirk-users tend to injure themselves and the other to do so. No, this looks like some sort of mental barrier. Another quirk in action?

“How long has he…been here?” Izuku didn’t take his eyes off the man, but he heard Tengai’s voice respond.

“Five hours.” To the point, nice.

That probably means there isn’t another quirk in action. A barrier that strong, and for that long? Especially a mental one? Izuku’s never seen something like it before. No, this must be something the guy himself is doing. He does have a dragon quirk…so it must be closely tied to the myths of dragons. From what he can see, they used shackles to keep him there, and the subtle char on only his side of the room suggests some sort of barrier quirk used to get around his fire-breath.

“Is there a reason you haven’t given him quirk suppressants?” Izuku pulled his eyes away to lock with Overhaul’s intense gaze.

“We didn’t see a point.” Overhaul tilted his head.

“You should give him some. A strong dose. It might make him loopy and a little incoherent, but with confession…that shouldn’t matter.” Izuku trailed off towards the end of his recommendation. He sipped his coffee, now slightly warm.

“You know why my quirk doesn’t work on him?” The question from Nemoto gets a sharp warning look from Overhaul.

“He has a dragon quirk, like from mythology. Those dragons tend to have types of psychic abilities, so he must have some sort of mental aspect to his mutation quirk.” The words rolled off Izuku’s tongue quickly. There was a long beat of silence in the room while Izuku’s brain caught up to what happened. There were stars in his eyes when he rounded on Nemoto, excitement laced each word he squealed: “That’s what your quirk feels like–?!”

Izuku hardly cared about what Overhaul said to Chronostasis and Tengai as he rapid-fired questions at Nemoto about his quirk. The poor man barely kept up. Izuku was interrupted, however, by Overhaul.

“Do you want to stay for the interrogation?” Now that question made Izuku do a double-take. Why would Overhaul offer that? “I know that sometimes mutants can take the instincts of the animals they’re blended with.” Ignoring the general disdain in his tone, Izuku nodded as he finished his coffee.

…

Izuku had drunk three–no, four coffees since he’d arrived. They had to take at least five breaks since they started. It was sunrise by now, he guessed. He had texted his mom at some point that he’d gone to school early that day. An awful, unbelievable lie that could be checked easily, but no one had called in his absence yesterday, so he’d press his luck.

The absolute piece of work this asshole continued to be made Izuku endlessly frustrated. The “witness”, Isamu Drake, acted like a grade-A lunatic who barely made sense on the best of answers. Izuku, surprisingly, helped a lot with making him sound more coherent. Izuku was able to take advantage of his draconic instincts to get him to answer with something useful.

Gods, Izuku wanted to slam his head against the table. He’d wanted to for almost an hour now because the guy had started to ramble about whatever that was only tangentially connected to the question he was asked. Confession, apparently, didn’t force someone to be cohesive. Great. Wonderful. Fun.

Nemoto had taken it as an opportunity to leave the room and take a break.

Tension had long since made its home in the interrogation room. Tengai could be described as the least affected, he was only here for security after all. Chronostasis, always the open book, had been frustrated and angry the whole time–he slammed his hands on the table every other question and snapped at Drake every opportunity that arose. Overhaul, on the other hand, had simmered the whole time. His anger, not a tidal wave but a pot soon to boil over.

“And then the docks, of course, they had boats come in, they were docks after all, like you should know that, and I even saw a duck once, could you believe it?” If Izuku had to listen to Drake’s voice another moment longer, he might lose it.

He did the sensible thing and decided to leave the room, take another break. He turned to the door.

Izuku had already turned his head mostly away when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. The way Overhaul’s glove disintegrated into nothing while the man reached for Drake’s head.

It sounded like ripping paper.

That was a person.

Was.

In the corner of his vision, he saw the massive splatter of blood, and the smell of it immediately overwhelmed him. He didn’t realize his body started shaking until he tried to wipe away the tears he hardly realized he had cried.

He heard Overhaul scoff and wipe his hands; the ‘tch’ from Chronostasis made Izuku flinch.

Neither had their gaze on him, they were disgusted with the mess for another reason, but Izuku couldn’t help the tension that crept its way into his body. He could feel Overhaul’s gaze turn to him. Realization, and what Izuku would call regret, flickered across Overhaul’s eyes.

“Have you ever seen a dead body before?” Izuku didn’t even know why Overhaul asked. There wouldn’t be a body. He ignored the smooth, kind tone in his voice–that manipulative bastard was trying, and failing, not to scare him off. He shook his head no, not a ‘body’ like this. He breath picked up.

Izuku had seen dead bodies before, is the thing. Corpses of the homeless with worms that squirmed beneath their skin in the darker alleys where no hero with a reputation stepped. This was different, though. He’d never seen someone die before.

He couldn’t stop himself from turning to the ‘corpse’. A pale shape blocked his vision, Overhaul’s un-gloved hand his brain supplied. He felt Chronostasis crowd his right, the man pushed to turn him around and guide him away. Overhaul followed close behind, careful to block Izuku’s line of sight. He could feel a different sort of tension in Chronostasis’s body language, emotions he recognized, but ignored, in the man as concern and worry.

His brain screamed at him to run but everything was muted. Everything felt so far away. He, distantly, realized he was dissociating, panicking. Words spoken around him merely washed over him. Gods, he felt exhausted.

He felt someone’s hand lightly touch the back of his neck, and everything went black.

…

Izuku’s eyes drifted open. His eyelids felt like they were weighed down by ten-pound weights, and he deeply considered not opening them. The lights were soft, low. His eyes roamed the room, the guest room he’d stayed in the night before.

He got up–well, tried to get up. His brain spun until he was sprawled on the bed like he was a puppet with cut strings. He finally noticed the heart monitor next to him, as it alerted whomever of his panic. He traced back to his last memories, a hand on the back of his neck, a feather-light touch. Who was standing behind him? Chisaki. Chisaki had used his quirk on Izuku…wait could he overhaul the chemicals in someone’s brain? That thought terrified him, but it was the only one that made some semblance of sense.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The voice cut through his thoughts. Izuku made another attempt to sit up, this time successfully.

“You used your quirk on me.” Izuku’s voice edged on both excited and annoyed. He wanted to be angry, but he’d never even imagined Chisaki’s quirk could be used so precisely. The man paused in the doorway before he slid the fusuma closed and walked inside.

“It was necessary,” Chisaki left no room for argument, “though I apologize. I hadn’t considered you wouldn’t take that man’s death well.” He gave Izuku the glass of water in his hand. Izuku let silence sink into the room while he gathered his thoughts. The thoughts of death flooded his mind again…overhaul was a surprisingly mellow quirk when used. If he died to it, would he even feel it…? Did Drake even feel it?

“It’s…fine.” Izuku didn’t want to say more, but the man had narrowed his eyes in clear displeasure. “I just–it’s not–I knew it was a possibility that you would kill him, I just didn’t expect it to be…so…”

“I understand.” Chisaki nodded, a considering look in his eyes. Izuku felt like he could read the man a little better now after he watched him kill a man.

Izuku bit the inside of his mouth. “Could you tell me more about your quirk, if you’re sorry?” Oh, he was so leveraging whatever empathy this man barely possessed. The boss scanned his face, probably to see why he wanted this information, and only found Izuku’s pure interest in quirks. He sighed and pulled up a chair to the bed. Izuku vibrated with excitement.

Sure, he’d sneak out of the compound later and pretend he couldn’t feel eyes watching him. For now, he had an excuse to get all the details on this yakuza boss’s quirk.

Chapter Text

It was a day almost like any other. Clear skies, a slight breeze, and only a single near death experience to almost ruin his day. But now he stood before All Might on a random rooftop in a part of Musutafu he’s only been in maybe twice. Now, he stands before his hero–The Hero, almost universally recognized. It was an honor to be saved by him and it’s an honor to speak with him now. Even watching the man deflate, it didn’t change his opinion of him. Not really, anyways. Izuku gathers what little courage remained in his small, fragile heart. The courage he’s always had and what he’s gained with working in the Underground.

“Could…could I be a hero too, even though I’m quirkless?” Izuku knows the answer. The cookie-cutter ‘anyone can be a hero!’ slogan that every pro parrots. But that’s alright. That’s fine. Perfect, actually. It’s what he needs to hear. If someone, anyone, especially All Might told him what he wanted to hear he could continue living another fifteen years. He could keep the fire of his hope alive just a little longer. The man looked tired and in pain without both lungs. Izuku doesn’t need a personalized speech—doesn’t need to watch someone fumble to find anything redeemable about him—just someone, anyone saying he can follow his dreams would be fine with him.

He doesn’t even get that.

Somewhere between the frigid breeze on the rooftop that carried away his broken dreams, and the gut-wrenching pain that radiated from his heart, he lost it.

The flicker of hope he foolishly kept fed all these years, snuffed out in just a few quick sentences. An anecdote from the man he couldn’t follow past the ringing in his ears.

He watched the man walk away. All Might just shattered his hopes, his dreams, the only future he might have had. It only took a few sentences to twist the knife. He passively watched the roof access slam closed and the muffled sound of footsteps echo away.

He left Izuku standing on that rooftop alone.

I should kill myself.

I’m on a roof, it would be easy.

He thought, his hands gripped the railing. He distantly remembered that he’d walked, half-stumbled, forward towards the edge.

There isn’t a future for him. Not anymore. Being a hero is one of the few free-lance jobs that pay well enough that a quirkless person could get by. He couldn’t get an office job–it’s not like he had any sort of ID. He wasn’t in the quirk database because he didn’t have one. That meant he’d never be accepted into a job because he basically didn’t exist to the government.

He remembered, once, looking up the statistics for people like him. He was lucky he made it this far, maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

Why bother trying?

He’d devastated his mom, of course. But who else would care?

Giran would lose out on monopolizing his skills.

Overhaul would lose a decent analyst.

The detective wouldn’t have to pretend to care for anymore.

It would be fine. It’s not like he had much hope anyways. It was never a flame, just a flicker. A useless, meaningless flicker that died after years of holding on. Just, the feeling of his shattered heart heavy in his chest. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped up to the ledge. There wasn’t much room with the railing, but Izuku could make it work.

All Might’s words echoed in his mind. A haunting melody of truths Izuku never wanted to face.

And why should he have? Izuku is a kid, he never should have had to face the discrimination that’s tormented him, the thought of him being a statistic in any regard, the fact he knows his mother works too much because he’s a burden.

And that grown adult, the Symbol of Peace himself had seen Izuku in his middle school uniform and decided to tell the truth like it was some obvious fact. He didn’t sugar coat it because he couldn’t have been bothered to. That was the part that stung, the part that turned the hollow, empty cavern in Izuku’s heart and churned it into a smouldering rage. Slow, burning, controlled. His vice-grip on the railing turned bruising.

Izuku wasn’t worth even lying to.

Tears streamed down his face. Raw, unfiltered tears stained his shirt. He turned and stalked down the stairs. He needed to do the only thing he could. Plan. Scheme. Analyze his situation and formulate his next steps. The tears wouldn’t stop but the spite that flowed through his veins pushed his legs forward regardless of how much like jelly they felt.

He speed-walked down the street, every third step was a near-fall. His mind drifted elsewhere. He didn’t want to go home but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. The bar he and Giran always frequented? No, he didn’t want the info broker to see him like this. The compound was a hard no, it’d been a few days since he helped with the ‘witness’ and he hadn’t yet processed the whole…murder thing—or, more importantly, finished his analysis on Chisaki. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t actually checked in with the police about the case they were working with the yakuza on.

Izuku found himself at the station rather quickly. He checked the time on his phone, about seven pm. Ignoring how long he’d stood and felt his emotions (in the same vein, he shelved those emotions to process, uh, never), he knew Tsukauchi would have just started his night shift.

He shouldered his way into the station. The warmth, the faint smell of coffee and freshly printed paper, greeted him like a friend.

”Virdi! ‘Evening to ya, meow!” Sansa called from his desk. Izuku smiled and waved at him. Sansa did a double take when he looked at Izuku but quickly smoothed his expression out. Weird.

“Hey, is the detective in yet?” Izuku asked even though he was pretty sure of the answer.

”Yep! He’s been frustrated recently, so please play nice, meow.” Izuku bristled at that statement and his totally dignant pout caused Sansa to laugh at him.

He made a show of turning his nose up and away from the cat and haughty walking away. The laughter from the officers made his cheeks warm. He knocked on the door, a light airy sound that cut through the humm of the office. The door creaked open and he was met with a tired detective.

”Detective.”

”Virdi.”

”Heard you have a case with the yakuza.” Izuku knew he caught Tsukauchi’s attention when the detective’s eyes narrowed minutely. Izuku allowed himself to be pulled, gently, into the office and pushed into a chair opposite to Tsukauchi across the desk.

“The yakuza filled you in?” Tsukauchi closed the door and sat down with a thud. His desk was a mess of papers, coffee, and files, Izuku noted.

”Overhaul wanted help with a…witness with a unique quirk. It was frustrating, the guy pushed one too many buttons…” Izuku trailed off, Tsukauchi seemed to somehow worry more. “I’m fine,” The detective’s eyes flickered at that, “anyways where’s Eraser–is he also working on this case?”

“...Yes, he is. Actually, he’ll be here in a few hours,” The detective's eyes narrowed. Izuku made a point to keep his gaze on the far window of his office. “Look, if you need help distancing yourself from Overhaul–”

“No! I–uh–I mean no…sir, I don’t need anything like that.” Izuku scrambled as the detective pinned him with a look that Izuku fortified himself not to shy away from. “It’s just…uhm…I guess I look pretty rough huh?” Izuku belatedly realized that crying for the past couple hours probably made him look like a disaster. He felt like one. Before Tsukauchi could even respond to that, Izuku kept talking. “Uhm, so what I’ve gathered is that a gang has been trafficking children by the docks but the Hero Comission won’t step in. Is that right?”

“...that’s correct.” The slow words twist Izuku’s gut. “The Hero Commission has actively put a stop-order on the case, so the police department is only looking into the missing children, not the gang or the trafficking.”

“So the yakuza are hunting down the trafficking ring.” Izuku nodded, it’s what he expected. The police have to work within the law while the yakuza can bend it how they like. Them working together like this is rare but a welcome event if it saves the lives of children. Even someone as moral and just as Tsukauchi had to bend the rules a little to make a real difference.

They got lost in the case files. There were thirteen missing children total and only one had been found, a warehouse in a dingy neighborhood, but the other twelve looked like dead ends. Thankfully, Izuku was pretty good at scrounging through security footage and guesstimating what isn’t shown within the footage.

He had been scrutinizing the lowest quality screenshot he’d ever seen to try and confirm an identity for the kid when someone brushed against his shoulder. He bristled, but relaxed at the low laugh.

“Find something interesting?” Eraserhead dropped into a chair he’d dragged next to the desk. His eyes shimmered with mischief but his face remained stone cold. Izuku watched the man scan the files on the desk with a quick glance.

“Uhm, a little? I’m pretty sure I have four of them nailed down but the other’s I’m not too sure about.” Izuku muttered, his speech slurred slightly. Ah, he must be tired… what time was it? He reached for his phone and winced at the light it gave off. 4:23. In the morning. Shit. Izuku must not have hid his realization well when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He blinked sluggishly at the man.

“Why don’t you call it a night? Do you want me to walk you home?” Izuku knew he should refuse his offer. Eraserhead and Tsukauchi haven’t figured out his identity yet, that part was obvious, so he shouldn’t accept.

Unfortunately Izuku just worked his brain into a ditch with no coffee for the last eight hours. Tsukauchi wasn’t even in his office anymore. When did he even leave? So when Izuku shakily stood, nearly fell, and had Eraser catch him he decided that it’d be better to just accept the hero’s offer.

“Y…yeah. I’d like that.” The slur of his words got noticeably worse. He tried to take a step but his body was far too tired to work with him.

He realized Eraser had picked him up and was carrying him when they got to the station’s front door. Eraser asked for his home address and he gave it. Izuku hardly realized he’d mumbled about his mom being at work, his homework he needed to do, kacchan. And at some point he’d fallen asleep.