Work Text:
After the war ended, Shōta knew that he wasn't Eraserhead anymore. Not really.
He knew who he was, of course. He was Aizawa Shōta, UA Heroics teacher and underground pro. He was Eri's adoptive father. Most recently, he was Yamada Hizashi's new partner.
He just wasn't Eraserhead.
Still, that was what people continued to call him. He'd spent years building his reputation with the police and fellow pros after all. Changing the name on his hero license now wouldn't be logical.
Shōta caught his own reflection in the train window.
A week ago he got home from a patrol, looked in the mirror, and decided he looked like a terrible cosplay of himself. He'd taken out his trimmer and shaved the sides of his head down to just an eighth of an inch. He'd enjoyed the sound of it gaining purchase on a hank of hair before the shorn strands fell away. It felt like a reclamation.
Hizashi had been staying with Eri overnight. The lightly-sleeping man had woken to the sound of the trimmer. He didn't enjoy the sound nearly as much as Shōta did. To Hizashi, it had sounded like fear and loss.
The bleary-eyed man had begged Shōta to at least leave the top a few inches long. By that point, the exhaustion overruled the impulse and he'd let Hizashi have his way.
Shōta shifted his gaze down from the reflection that still felt somewhat alien. The familiarity of Eri was comforting. The girl had stayed awake for the first 20 minutes on the bullet train. She'd pressed her nose into the window to watch the world rush by. The steady sound of the train and the excitement of the day caught up to her, though, and she had gradually sunk into sleep against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, holding tight to one part of his identity that felt as solid as she was.
They had gone to the aquarium. Eri had wanted to wear his capture scarf with her hair down. He had no reason to say no. She surprised him when she greeted the first person they saw that morning on the train platform. She'd spent the entire day introducing herself as Eri-head, a hero on a critical mission to save all ocean animals, able to erase pollution with a look. She tried to mímic how he swung on the scarf as she jumped from one surface to another.
Shōta had tucked his hands into his pockets and trailed after her. The attention brought by constantly-replaying news clips of the war's final battle had raked painfully against his mind. Even a simple run to the conbini turned into torture. Yet today his hair was short and his scarf was missing from his shoulders. He had looked not-Eraserhead enough to evade notice and just be “Daddy.”
Not for the first time that day, he snorted to himself at “Eri-head.” The absurdity of him - tired, grumpy, stoic Shōta - being so thoroughly loved by this little girl. The absurdity of him so thoroughly loving her in return.
Shōta pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering at the soft touch and sweet smell of her hair. He let himself just be, whoever he was now. It didn't matter when he could hold Eri.
That thought made it all the more jarring when Eri was torn from his side. The train had jerked abruptly. Metal shrieked and glass shattered. The train car rotated more than 90 degrees to its left side. Shōta braced himself between the seats to avoid tumbling out of the empty windowframe. He looked down to the impossibly distant river rushing through a ravine.
He heard Eri screaming. Only then did Shōta realize what he was seeing. His well-trained reflexes allowed him to brace himself. Untrained and asleep, Eri had tumbled.
He reached toward her instinctually. He began to slip.
Eri's eyes had been closed before as she cried. Now they snapped back open. She looked at him in a mix of confusion and fear.
Eri was the core he'd rebuilt his life upon, this not-Eraserhead he had been working to become. He felt like he was falling with her.
Shōta released his arms and legs from the seats, pressing his arms to his sides to become as aerodynamic as possible. He felt irrationally soothed for a man who was plunging face first toward certain death upon the water's surface a half mile below.
Against all odds, he seemed to be catching up to her. Wishful thinking? Strange. He wasn't a wishful thinker.
He let himself mirror her. The two of them desperately reached toward each other with both hands.
His capture scarf unwound from Eri's neck and floated through the air. He blinked in shock when it came to his hands. Training took hold over the surprise and he sent it back after her. It wrapped around her middle and he drew her back to him.
Shōta latched onto the fierce protectiveness brought by being able to hold her and the feeling of her sobbing into his neck. He channeled it into scanning for anything his scarf could grip. Hope wasn't exactly a hallmark of his personality either, but he let it take hold all the same.
He tried for a tree root and prepared for a relatively gentle stop with his feet, like a controlled rappel. The root was dead, though, and that section of the ravine wall gave way.
His mouth went inexplicably drier.
He looked down and his breath caught when he saw a sapling anchored by a small boulder.
Shōta leaned his mouth to Eri's ear. “Remember the octopus today? Biggest, strongest ‘octopus grip’ as you can. Lock your tentacles together.”
Eri clung to him. He sent out the scarf, wrapping it around the sapling right as they passed it.
Shōta's shoulder popped loudly when their fall came to a sudden stop. His back crashed into the ravine wall. Everything was white and hot for a split second. He didn't let his grip falter.
They twisted in the air until the strongest sensations passed and Eri's cries slowed.
“Daddy, are we still really high up?” Eri asked shakily.
Shōta opened his own eye, controlling his breathing through the persistent pain in his shoulder. He looked up 700 feet to the train tracks, then down the 200 feet remaining to the river's surface. He considered his answer carefully.
“It's like being on the roof of UA,” he said. “I've swung from that, and even taller buildings, and stayed safe.”
Eri nodded, still not lifting her head.
He clenched his jaw, feeling the strain on his right arm. The pain was familiar. His shoulder was dislocated. Soon the muscle spasms would start and his grip strength would fade. He couldn't let that happen.
“Hey bug,” he began. "You know how we were practicing tying your shoes?”
She pulled her face back just enough to stare into his. “Daddy,” she said seriously. “This isn't a rational time to tell me my shoes are untied “
He laughed unexpectedly. “Bug.”
His hand slid several inches down the scarf. Eri yelped. Shōta growled to himself and forced his fingers to tighten.
“My arm got hurt when we stopped, but you can help. If you can tie a loop at the bottom of my scarf. Then I can put my foot in it,” Shōta explained as calmly as he could, his eye screwed shut tightly.
“Oh! Then you can stand with your leg!” Eri finished proudly.
Shouta hummed. He felt her reel up the excess scarf that hung past their feet. He watched her carefully make a loop. Then she stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth as she secured it with a multitude of knots.
She let the loop go. He felt the clump of knots hit his right shin.
He gave her a tight smile. “Amazing job, kid. Lock those tentacles again, okay?”
She nodded. They swayed and spun until Shōta was able to hook his foot into the loop.
He exhaled slowly. Relief. Flatly, he asked, “going up, madam?”
She giggled into his chest. He used both hands to stabilize them as he pressed up with his right leg. Once his leg held their weight, he wrapped his uninjured left arm around her with the scarf between them. Though he tried to suppress it, he shuddered once he could let his right arm go slack.
“Are your work friends coming?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you think they're close?”
“Probably.”
Shōta felt the adrenaline crash setting in even though the crisis wasn't over. Meanwhile Eri tried not to squirm. Her nervous energy came out through words.
“How did you make me fall slower, Daddy? I felt weird. That's not your quirk.”
“I didn't. Brains play tricks when we're scared.”
“But your hair was floaty like it used to be.”
“The wind, bug.”
“No, it wasn't moving like the wind. It was all slow like the kelp.”
He tilted his head.
Eri looked up, her eyes blowing wide. “We fell super far!”
There was an explosion somewhere in the train. Cries erupted and a train car shifted.
“Don't look. Tell me about,” he paused. “Um, your favorite part of today.”
She looked at his face and beamed. Her answer was immediate. “Being Eri-head!”
“Eri,” he deadpanned. “You could have done that at home.”
“But everyone there knows who you are,” she reasoned. “So nobody asks and I don't get to tell them about the awesomest hero ever.”
He blinked rapidly and looked up. Another downside of Erasure all but disappearing. Dry eye wouldn't shield him from showing the world unexpected emotions.
His eye caught on a train car's increasingly dramatic teetering. He looked to the small ledge up and to their right.
Shōta lifted his right arm up over his head without hesitation and reached toward his left shoulderblade. He groaned. This was much easier to do lying down.
Eri huffed. “Miss Chiyo said you shouldn't do that yourself anymore.”
Called out by his kid. Spectacular. “Miss Chiyo is right but we need my other arm right now. Push my elbow in toward my head.”
“Fine, but I better not get in trouble with Miss Chiyo for helping you.” Slowly and carefully, she wiggled up to reach his elbow. “Ready? 1...2.”
She pressed hard on 2. Shōta coughed to cover his reaction to his shoulder popping back into the joint. He shook his arm to alleviate the numbness.
Shōta had to operate on that train car's timeline. Breathlessness be damned. “We need to swing now. Ready?”
Eri looked around, then down. Her breathing became erratic. Her fingers gripped his sides hard enough to bruise. She shook her head vigorously. “No, Daddy. No. I'm scared. I don't wanna. Don't make me. Please, Daddy.”
His eyes softened. “Remember what Deku told you about being scared?”
She didn't answer at first. He shifted his head to catch her eyes.
She took air in gulps. “He's scared all the time. It gives him chances to be brave.”
Shōta nodded.
Tears spilled down Eri's cheeks anew. “I think I already used up all my brave for today.”
“I believe you,” he said gently, a lump forming in his throat. “But we have to. I have to keep you safe. We aren't safe yet.”
Eri whimpered and hid her face.
He twisted to brace his feet against the ravine wall. He tried not to let her sobs break his heart. And he kicked.
He reached toward the ledge but didn't have enough momentum.
He shifted his weight to add speed and kicked again. Eri wailed in his ear now. Closer.
Shearing metal. Screaming. He looked up as two train cars tumbled off the tracks.
Shōta closed his eye, gave one more kick, and reached desperately. They didn't swing back this time. Wind rushed past them in the wake of the train cars. The cars hit the frigid water with a sickening sound, striking so hard that the splash flew several hundred feet to crest over them
He flexed his right hand. He wasn't holding onto anything. So how?
Shōta held stock still. He opened his eye. His hand was nearly a foot from the ledge. He carefully turned his head to find the person whose quirk had saved them. He didn't see anyone.
Not important. At least the remaining train cars didn't appear to be at risk of tumbling too. He returned his gaze to Eri.
She slowly opened her eyes. She cautiously reached for his head. “Kelp.”
Shōta stopped grasping toward the ledge with his right hand. He reached for his own head instead.
They suddenly swung back toward their place directly under the sapling. Both of Shōta's arms flew around Eri to hold them both around his scarf. His hair, while short, fell back onto his forehead with an audible plop. Water ran down into his eyes.
Shōta took slow, deep breaths. Eri copied him without prompting. The silence hung until they stopped swaying again.
He held still except for reaching his hand tentatively toward the ledge. He waited. Nothing. Maybe it really was just their scared brains playing tricks. Fragile hope flickered.
Eri bopped him on the nose. Shōta shifted his attention to her. He met Eri's eyes. Her face betrayed none of the fear appropriate for this moment. In the face of her calm confidence in him, that not-Eraserhead sense of knowing filled his chest.
He let go of his typical cool disconnection. Shōta leaned into the profound need to know that Eri was secure. The need for Eri to be resting safely on that ledge until rescuers arrived. Determined tears welled up and he let them fall.
They smoothly and steadily swayed closer to the ledge.
“Go on,” he urged once Eri could safely scramble onto the ledge. “I won't let you fall.”