Chapter Text
Aizawa POV
If you had asked Shouta Aizawa one week ago what his least favorite color was, he would probably have responded with: “That sickening neon-orange that Hizashi insists on incorporating into every aspect of his hero costume.” Not “The color of a child’s bright green hair mingling with a deep crimson that seeps from a hidden wound on their scalp and drips in thin lines down their pale skin.”
He would never see Christmas colors the same way again.
When Shouta Aizawa touched down on the rooftop of an old skyscraper at the edge of town, he didn’t expect to find a small boy, most likely no more than eleven, standing on the edge. The midnight wind rushed around him, sending a shiver through his body that chilled him to his core. The breeze did nothing to soothe the rushing of blood his pounding heart had sent to his ears at the sight of two red sneakers placed neatly beside the boy.
With the amount of time Shouta had spent in the hero profession, he knew what those shoes stood for: A telltale sign of Quirklessness.
Shouta exhaled slowly, bringing a hand to squeeze the space between his eyes where he could already feel a headache forming. Cases that involved Quirkless, suicidal citizens always ended with a headache.
In other words, whoever this kid was, he wasn’t out here for a good reason.
“Hey, kid…” The pro hero called out to the green-headed boy softly, not wanting his tone to startle him. Unconsciously, his grip tightened around his capture weapon at the slight flinch the boy gave in response.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, kid… My name’s Eraserhead, I’m a pro… Heard of me?” He kept his voice steady, even if every instinct in him was screaming to snatch the boy away from the edge and pull him to the center, where he was in no danger of plummeting to the concrete ground. Unfortunately, Aizawa had been through enough of these incidents to know harsh or fast movements did more harm than good.
The boy’s shoulders tensed even more (if possible), and a soft sound floated over the harsh wind. The noise emitted by the boy was full of fear and anguish, whether that fear was directed at Aizawa or something else was still unknown.
After a moment more of this silent standstill, Aizawa made a decision. Moving slowly so as not to scare the kid more than he already was, he lowered himself to the ground. Swinging his legs over the edge of the building, he settled himself a few feet from the standing boy, tangling his capture scarf deeper in his grasp. His fingers tightened around the dirty fabric, fists clenched and ready to reach out if the boy took even a slight step forward.
“You know, don’t wanna do this, kiddo…” Aizawa’s voice came out softer than he intended, his fear for the boy finally finding purchase in his vocal tone. For all that hero training, the second a child was involved, his stupid bleeding heart just had to get involved. “I’ve been there; it doesn’t solve anything.”
At least at those words, the boy seemed to finally have a reaction. A slight tilt of his head gave Shouta access to the boy’s face.
“Shit, kid…” Shouta’s voice came out in a single breath, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the clear view of the boy.
Beneath a messy array of bangs were two big, green eyes, the soft city lights streaking in the watery tears still streaming from them. If Shouta was worried before, he was downright fearful now. Disregarding the already concerning tears still falling in fat droplets, Shouta’s gaze was pulled to the red streaks that smeared across the entire left side of his face and the thickly matted clump of greenish hair sticking to it.
Exhaling slowly, Aizawa gave himself a second to process all the facts.
1 - This child was all alone, on a rooftop, at midnight.
2 - This child was showing textbook signs of suicidal intent.
3 - This child was hurt, and by the looks of it, hurt badly.
“What’s your name?” Shouta’s voice was a little steadier this time, the repetitive breathing patterns helping to ease the weight settling on his chest.
There was silence for just a moment more before the kid finally spoke.
“Do you think someone without a Quirk can still be a hero?”
Well, it wasn’t a name, but it was something. The kid’s voice was scratchy, and the quiet words were followed by a round of wet, painful-sounding coughs that wracked his small frame. The coughing had the boy precariously swaying from his perch on the edge of the roof, and Shouta’s entire body tensed, ready to move at any moment.
Once the boy had quieted down, Shouta spoke.
“Of course, someone without a Quirk can be a hero. Quirks just help people get there a little easier.” His words were slow, his brain scrambling to come up with something both true and tailored to the odd question the boy had asked. It was nothing like what he had been expecting.
“You mean that?” The boy finally turned to fully look at the pro hero sitting beside him, the full extent of his injuries on full display. “You’re not fucking with me?”
If any other kid were to curse in such a way, at any other such moment, Shouta would have told them off. But this… This was different.
“Yeah, kiddo. I mean it.”
The green-haired kid took a step back from the edge, his socked feet shuffling to stand next to the
Pro. Shouta patted the space beside him, inviting the younger boy to sit, so he did.
“So, what is your name?” Shouta asked again.
“Izuku.” The boy’s voice was so, so quiet, like he was afraid of speaking above a certain level.
“Nice to meet you, Izuku.” He thought for a moment more before making up his mind, “I’m Aizawa. Why don’t you sit down?”
The boy stood silent for just a moment more before flopping down directly next to Shouta. The Pro reacted before he could think, one arm shooting out to wrap around the smaller boy. The uncharacteristic speed with which the kid moved to sit beside him had broken the anxious barrier between them. The smaller boy froze at the contact before sinking into the touch.
Shouta pressed the boy tightly against his side as Izuku tucked his head into the capture scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck. The boy’s tears were muffled by the scratchy material, and Shouta carefully brought his other hand up to card through tangled, emerald locks. The green curls stuck together over his left temple, the dried blood creating a sort of shell that crusted into every nook and cranny of his left ear. Up close, the wound looked more superficial than deep, and Shouta breathed a sigh of relief at the realization.
The two sat there for long enough that the freezing drizzle turned to a pour. Shouta had long since pulled his jacket around the younger boy, shielding his upper body from the cold. Unfortunately, as the temperature continued to drop and the wind picked up speed, the numbness in his fingers could no longer stay unnoticed.
Pulling his hand from the boy’s matted hair, Shouta was greeted with a soft whine from the boy. Izuku’s head unconsciously followed the movement before knocking back against Shouta’s chest. One look at the boy’s face revealed he had fallen completely asleep; his eyes squeezed shut beneath puffy eyelids and frost-tipped lashes.
Carefully maneuvering the boy into his arms, Shouta stood from his spot on the rooftop. A bright yellow bookbag sat beside the boy’s Quirkless-brand shoes. Balancing the boy in one arm, he quickly stuffed the pair of sneakers into the open bag and slung it over his shoulder. Bundling the boy in a mess of coat, scarf, and arms, he descended back down the building. Finally noticing the buzzing sound from his phone, he lifted the black rectangle from his pocket and winced.
32 New Notifications
Clicking on the notifs, Shouta opened his phone to read through them:
15 missed calls from ‘Zashi
10 new messages from ‘Zashi
7 missed FaceTime calls from ‘Zashi
Just as Shouta was about to respond, his phone began ringing again. Exhaling heavily, Shouta pressed accept and was immediately bombarded by the sound of his husband’s Quirk-enhanced voice.
“Shouta Aizawa, you'd better have a damn good explanation for ignoring my calls! I’ve been trying to reach you for three hours! Do you have any idea how worried-”
Izuku shifted in Shouta’s grasp, mumbling softly. The yells emanating from Shouta’s phone were loud enough to disturb the sleeping child and harsh enough for a pit to settle in his stomach.
“Hizashi, I’m fine. Quiet down, please. I can explain everything when I get home. I’m sending you coordinates now, send a car, and I’ll be home in 15.” Shouta’s voice was calm, completely opposing the turmoil of guilt, fear, and worry stirring in his gut. He sent the location in silence, waiting anxiously in wait for his husband’s reaction.
Hizashi was silent a moment more before speaking, “Are you hurt?”
Shouta sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as the guilt rose. His heart broke a little at the tears and sticky concern laced in his husband’s tone. Hizashi had clearly been crying.
“I’m fine… Can you set up the guest room? There’s someone with me who’s gonna need the bed.” Shouta stared at the child still soundly sleeping in his arms as he spoke, the glistening blood on his forehead stark against the pale skin.
“...How old?” His husband’s voice came softly over the speaker, his Quirk gone from his voice and replaced by a mix of worry and comfort.
“I… I dunno. Maybe ten? ‘Zashi, he’s so young… He’s so small-” Shouta’s spiral was cut off by the sight of headlights turning down the alley towards him. A small beep sounded in his ear signalling the end of the call, before his husband stepped out of the car before him.
Shouta smiled softly for the first time that night at the sight of sunshine-yellow hair and bright eyes. Ushering his husband into the back seat, Hizashi turned the heat to full blast. The young boy’s shivering quickly ceased, and he nuzzled his face impossibly closer to the Pro.
Shouta was pulled from his spiraling thoughts by a strong, calloused hand grabbing his own clenched fists. He glanced up, his gaze falling on his husband’s tight smile in the mirror. The hand not controlling the wheel was firmly massaging the palm of Shouta’s own free hand. That single point of contact had Shouta’s shoulders slumping and his head dropping to his chest.
Saving kids from themselves was exhausting.
Barely fifteen minutes later (and over ten traffic laws broken), the three of them were stumbling through the front door of the Yamada-Aizawa apartment. A flash of gray, followed closely by a streak of bright orange, greeted them with soft meows and gentle scratches at the hems of their clothes. Hizashi scooped them up before the sound could wake the young boy, still dead to the world in Aizawa’s arms.
The cats (Ray and Chuuya, respectively) immediately ceased their yapping and nuzzled into Hizashi’s warm form, the two balls of fur falling fast asleep the moment their owners returned.
Turning down the hall, the two men carried the child and the two sleeping cats into the guest room. The curtains were shut, hiding the slowly lightening sky from interrupting the tranquility of the room. Aizawa tucked the kid beneath the navy bedsheets, propping his head up for a moment.
“Towel?” Shouta’s voice was rough with exhaustion, and the simple demand popped the bubble of peace.
Hizashi settled the cats on the foot of the bed and stepped off to the adjoining bathroom. Choosing to keep the lights off, he blindly fumbled for the towels hidden beneath the sink. In his haste, he bumped his hand against the jagged edge of the wooden cabinet, the sound triggering a questioning noise from his husband in the other room.
In annoyance at his own clumsiness, Hizashi quickly grabbed the first aid kit and returned to the bedroom with the towel, tucking it beneath the young boy’s head and protecting the pillowcase from the blood coating it.
Shouta nodded in approval and grabbed the kit from his husband, squeezing his hand in assurance as their hands touched before turning his attention to the boy. Hizashi sat at the foot of the bed next to the cats, his anxious hands finding purchase in the soft fur of the little creatures as he absentmindedly stroked their backs.
There was a comfortable silence for a while, the sun finally peaking out from beneath the curtain, and the warm glow emanating from the bedside lamp left the room awash in orange and yellow. Hizashi couldn’t help but admire the way the light fell on the sharp edges of his husband’s face. Even exhausted and covered in blood, he was still beautiful.
With Izuku bandaged up and peacefully asleep in the guest room, the two older men retreated to the kitchen, their slow trek down the hallway mirroring the bone-deep exhaustion seeping through them.
Shouta was the first to speak, his voice level and slow as he perched himself on the nearest stool tucked against the counter. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he rested his head atop them and spoke softly.
“I am sorry, ‘Zashi… For ignoring the calls. I was… distracted.”
Hizashi was already shaking his head the second the apology was uttered. Pushing the second stool beside his husband’s, he carefully tilted Shouta’s head to rest on his shoulder. “No need to apologize. Not for something like this… I was just worried. I always am when you’re out past your standard return time. And, you know, when you didn’t respond, I just thought the worst.”
Shouta exhaled slowly again, keeping a rhythm that slowly unraveled the knots in his shoulders with each breath. Hizashi’s hand came to rest on his back, and the two sat there silently.
“His name?” Hizashi asked quietly.
“Izuku.”
A soft hum from Hizashi symbolized he had heard, and the two lapsed back into silence. Shouta was glad his husband was so observant because he truly didn’t have the energy to unpack the night’s events. Shouta knew the second the other man had seen the bright red sneakers sticking out of the boy’s bag, he knew what had occurred.
“Mmm… ‘Zashi?” Shouta’s voice was whiny, and Hizashi knew that tone meant he was running on fumes. “Gimme coffee.”
Hizashi barked out a laugh, careful to keep his Quirk under wraps to not wake the sleeping boy just down the hall.
“Absolutely not. You’re going to bed. I already called Nemuri to cover for us tomorrow.” Hizashi’s voice had gone back to the soft, comforting tone it had before at the glare Shouta sent his way.
“Mmm, whatever…” Shouta yawned and rolled his eyes at the knowing look his husband shot him.
“Time for bed, silly.”
The two retreated to their own room, propping the door open to allow the cats to enter if they woke up, and allowing them to listen for the younger boy in case he woke before them.
Shouta was asleep before his head hit the pillow, head tucked beside the blond boy's heart and sinking ever deeper into the outstretched hands of sleep.
In the other room, an injured, green-haired, Quirkless boy was deep in the throes of sleep. Little did he know that this one night would lead to him becoming the world's greatest hero.