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“Damn it,” Shouta curses and slowly closes the cabinet, laying his forehead against the now stable door. He’d forgotten to go out again and now the only thing resembling food in his shitty apartment was creamer in the fridge and an unopened bag of rice that had been collecting dust since he’d bought it months ago.
One of the last things he wants to do right now is leave the safety his apartment gives from social interaction. Even his neighbors have long since learned to not bother him, not that they tried much to begin with. However, his body doesn’t give a shit about what he wants because his active lifestyle means his stomach screams for him to eat something. With one last grumble of annoyance said to no one but the empty air of his kitchen, Shouta resigns himself to going out and buying his favorite depression meal, also known as basically all he eats, jelly packets. They're portable, easy to eat, come in a variety of flavors, and the brand he buys are stuffed full of almost every vitamin and other junk he needs to survive. What more could a man without any care for his life or well-being want?
He doesn’t even bother changing out of the clothes he’d just woken up in which consists of black sweatpants and a complimentary black t-shirt. While he wouldn’t give a shit about any odd looks he’d receive for wearing what are noticeably sleep clothes he is thankful his bland style makes things like this possible while also avoiding judgy old people. He shoves his feet into his combat boots, also black, the laces of which don’t drag thanks to the boots’ height so he doesn’t bother tying them. Finally, he slips on a light jacket that is conveniently hung by the door and wraps his capture scarf around his neck and over it all. Properly clothed and adequately protected in case of an emergency, he leaves the house in an efficient minute and a half.
He knows the way to the corner store by his apartment well and walks it thoughtlessly, but since he was barely paying attention to his surroundings he doesn’t even notice that the place is closed until he’s right in front of it and stepping on a broken piece of glass from the shattered storefront window. There are still a few emergency service workers roaming about which tells him something had gone down not too long ago and that something resulted in what better be a temporary closing of the store he frequents.
Groaning he pulls out his phone to find the closest replacement. It’s not too far or at least not far enough to wait for a train that will inevitably be full of people he’ll have to be around so after shoving his hands in his pockets he starts walking in the direction he’s directed toward. With it being around three on a weekend, the streets are moderately crowded but not enough to be entirely annoying. He moves with the crowds and turns where he is supposed to but when he is finally directed onto a less crowded street he still sighs in relief.
Looking around he realizes he’s in another neighborhood, one much nicer than his own which makes him worry about the price difference in the store he’s heading to. He can afford more than he usually buys but not by much. The well-kept neighborhood also makes him think he won't run into any trouble on the rest of his journey but the world so does love to prove him wrong all while laughing at his suffering.
“You’re an ass, Kacchan,” a voice, high-pitched obviously due to the user's youth, yells from the park his sidewalk travels parallel to.
“What did you say to me, shitty Deku?!” another youthful voice screams back, “I’m gonna kill you!”
Are all kids this vulgar nowadays? Shouta idly wonders, not actually caring but not remembering cursing at all until he was at least in middle school although that may have been because his mom would’ve beat him if any of that shit came out of his mouth in her presence.
Despite the cursing and the threat, one that is definitely empty maybe not in intent but the kid sounds no older than six so Shouta doubts they could kill anyone, he stays out of it after all his job is stopping villains who make it their business to kill, steal, smuggle, and traffic, people who hold life in their hands and eagerly snuff it out, not kids who have nothing better to do than curse and fight but then he hears a popping, crackling noise followed by a scream of pain coming from the same direction and what kind of hero could he call himself if he didn't even check on them?
He makes a hard right and takes the quickest path into the park, right over the fence which is efficient but leads him to trudge through some shrubbery before he comes to a clearing occupied by five kids. One of the kids sits away from the others looking on at the scene with wide, scared eyes. Two more, Wings and Fingers, hold down the fourth, Greenie, while final number five holds a hand to Greenie's chest. Greenie continues to cry out in pain and it's then that Shouta can see small sparks and thin smoke coming from the contact between Greenie and the one he has now dubbed Asshole. As he quickly activates his quirk he wonders if this is "Kacchan", he'd understand the underage cursing if it was.
Red eyes and floating hair bring an end to the illegal quirk usage both the explosions and causing Fingers' fingers to revert back to normal which means it was a transformation rather than a mutation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demands causing four pairs of eyes to snap up to him. The onlooker doesn't look much different but the perpetrators look about ready to piss themselves and seeing as they're just brats and he's been known to make hardened villains surrender by looks alone it's understandable. When no one answers he just continues, “Not only did you two use your quirk in public but you used them to hurt someone which is assault with a deadly weapon and can get you up to a 15-year prison sentence.”
Wings releases his grip on Greenie’s arm like it's hot and books it out of the park while the others stay frozen and stare at him in terror. “If I ever catch you even using your quirk in public again I’ll have you arrested," he spits through gritted teeth. "Do you hear me?” The two nod frantically before following in their friend’s footsteps and running.
Satisfied he walks over to the two remaining kids. Onlooker appears to be largely unharmed as he now stands antsy and watching over the still-prone boy, obviously concerned but unknowing of how to help. “Do you know where his guardians are?” Shouta asks and the kid shakes his head in lieu of a verbal "no", “Can you find them or ask your guardian to?”
Onlooker nods quickly and runs off leaving Shouta with kid number four who seems to be in the middle of a panic attack. He squats down and looks the boy over determining that his only significant injury is the burn which appears to be first degree though with his shirt obscuring the wound it could easily be second. After determining the injuries aren't something that require immediate medical attention he decides to focus on the kid's panic attack while he waits for a responsible adult to arrive and no, he does not count. He does have experience with panic attacks and other various mental health issues, but he doubts a child should just ride it out as he often does. Primary sources may be the best but secondary are good too so Shouta thinks back to the rigorous semester-long mental health unit in his second year at UA which is about as useless as using his own experience due to the fact that said unit was coincidentally during the lowest period of his life meaning he ironically didn't learn much from it. With no other options left Shouta resorts to common sense so without touching the panicking kid, he tries to lead them through breathing exercises to avoid having them pass out. If that happened he'd probably forgo trying to directly return the kid to his parents and just hand him over to the police and let them and their wider range of resources and manpower deal with it.
Luckily it doesn't come to that and the boy slowly returns to an even breathing pattern at which point the boy he'd sent off still hadn't returned and while he wasn't exactly keeping track of the time he knows enough has passed for the kid to find help. Shouta had been taught what to do to calm a victim, treat a wound, and what to do when a kid was missing but the situation is more complicated than that. His parents may be at the park looking for him but there are plenty of kids his age (at least he thinks, he’s not the best at guessing ages, especially in young children) who are allowed to go to the park himself. He sighs deeply, not wanting to deal with any of this shit.
“Hey kid, can you talk?” Greenie doesn’t look at him but he does nod his head which does nothing to prove his ability to talk as Shouta had just asked. “What’s your name?”
“‘Zuku,” the kid whispers but it's something.
“Do you have a family name?”
“Midoriya,” they mumble and Shouta's eyes flick to their hair, somehow doubting that’s really true.
“Okay... Midoriya. Do you have a guardian here?”
“Guardian?” Midoriya asks, furrowed eyes finally dragging themselves to Shouta's face as unsure lips poorly repeat the word and Shouta realizes why the other kid never came back.
“Your mom or dad,” he clarifies.
“No. Mama’s at the doctor and Dad’s in jail,” the kid replies giving way more information than Shouta needs.
“Well then who's supposed to be watching you?”
“Yukiko.”
“And where is Yukiko?”
“She had to go home.”
“So you’re here alone?" he reiterates and gets a hum of agreement which leaves him back at square one, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do with the kid. For what feels like the nth time since he woke up a mere hour before, he sighs. "Where do you live?"
It was probably easier than it should have been to convince Midoriya to take him to his apartment but it makes his life easier so he won't complain. The walk from the park isn't long but it leads them into an area more like Shouta's own, a bit more trash in the alleys, scratched and dented cars, a broken streetlamp, the like. Midoriya leads them to an apartment complex then up four flights of stairs before finally letting them into an already unlocked apartment which oh my god kids are stupid. “Don’t you know not to invite strangers into your house?” Shouta asks as he slips off his shoes at the entrance of the kid's home.
“Yeah," Midoriya says carelessly as he slips into house slippers, "but you’re a hero.”
Shouta's heart stutters in his chest knowing full well he hadn't mentioned his career in the little time he's spent with the kid. “How do you know that?”
“Cause you helped me and heroes help people.” Right of course that’s the toddler's reasoning.
“Even if I were a hero you shouldn’t just let me into your house. Not all heroes are good people.”
“Oh, like Kacchan,” he says which Shouta does not see the connection but he also couldn’t be bothered to care much at the moment.
“Yeah sure. Do you have a first-aid kit?” The kid squints at him and tilts his head in confusion. “Band-aids and stuff,” he clarifies.
The boy nods. “Uh-huh.”
“…Can you show me where it is?” Shouta asks after the kid just continues to stare at him.
“Why?”
“Because you were hurt and I don’t really have anything better to be doing.”
“Oh okay.” Midoriya leads him to a cramped bathroom and grabs a box from under the sink. “Here ya go,” he announces with a toothy smile and hands the small kit to Shouta.
"Thanks now sit down," he says and the kid easily complies, finding a seat on the closed toilet. As he does, Shouta riffles through the unfamiliar first aid kid and pulls out some helpful supplies. He doesn't find any disinfectants so he resorts to simply washing the boy's injuries. He starts with the small ones, scrapes on his palms, likely from falling or being pushed, and some deeper cuts on his wrist where Fingers had been holding him. Midoriya sits still for the entire process and even stays quiet as he begins with the burn, something that definitely hurts but with the discolored scarred skin covering the kid's chest he wouldn't be surprised if he had issues registering pain in the area.
The process start to finish takes only ten minutes with his cooperative patient so it's not long before they are sitting in uncomfortable silence although Midoriya seems unaffected, the joys of being a child. "When is your mom supposed to get home?"
"Umm, I don't know," the kid full body shrugs unhelpfully and Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation of the situation, mostly at the prospect of awkwardly sitting in this kid's apartment for an undetermined amount of time. He still could turn the kid over to the police but he's already gotten this far so what the hell?
"Great. Do you like TV?" He asks and the kid lights up.
It feels needless to say that Shouta is surprised when the kid leads him to a modest living room only to race back out, return with a well-loved notebook and a handful of colored pencils and turn on the hero news. Shouta sits on the couch which faces the television but he doesn't pay attention to the news station playing, feeling much too out of place to do anything but fidget awkwardly and watch the door. Time passes only articulated by the scratching of pencils and quickly changing hero fights playing like background noise.
Logically, the saying "A watched pot never boils" isn't true so he's unsurprised when the front door down the hall he's been staring at for an undetermined amount of time clicks open. “Izuku, Yukiko, I’m back,” a gentle voice calls through the apartment making the boy drop his pencil.
“Mama!” The younger Midoriya returns the call and runs to the door, out of Shouta's line of sight. Shouta also stands but stays where he is, waiting for the two to finish their greetings.
“Hi baby, where’s Yukiko?”
“She had to go home."
“She left?” The woman asks and if he didn't already Shouta would feel incredibly out of place right now and very much like an intruder, which he really is. The kid hums in a confirming tone. “When?”
“Umm I think… after All Might's American Adventures."
“That was hours ago,” the new presence snaps but cuts themself off. “I’m sorry, ‘zuku, I didn’t mean to yell,” she says gently and Shouta shoves down the feelings such basic parental kindness brings up, kindness that isn't even being directed at him. That is not something he needs to deal with now or ever really.
“‘S okay mama.”
“No, it’s not," the woman says and Shouta's heart clenches, completely ignoring his command to stop feeling things. Now feels like a good time to jump out the window, fourth floor of the building be damned. "I’m worried about you not mad at you. I’m gonna talk to Yukiko, okay?”
“Please don’t yell at her,” the kid whispers subdued.
“I won’t, I promise.”
“M’kay.”
“Did you eat any lunch?”
“Mhm, I had rice,” the kid assures, sounding proud of himself.
“That's not-” The woman takes an audible breath. “You must be hungry then. We’ll have dinner early.”
“Okay!” The younger Midoriya chirps.
“Go clean up,” she tells the kid and the two finally step out of the genkan letting her finally see Shouta standing in her living room. The woman grabs the boy’s shoulders and roughly tugs him behind her. A clang comes from another room which he doesn’t pay attention to until something flies into the woman’s hand. “Who are you?” she demands and brandishes her weaponized toaster.
Before Shouta can even answer or rather think of an answer the kid gasps. “Mama don’t! He’s a hero.”
“He told you he was a hero?” The elder Midoriya, whose mirror-like similarities confirm her relation to the kid, asks and punctuates the question by shooting a scathing glare at Shouta.
“No, I didn’t. He just thinks that because I helped him,” He answers and the woman only looks more suspicious of him with that.
“What did he help you with?” The woman asks, directing her question to the boy, and for once, at the worst possible time, the kid stays quiet which makes his mom more defensive.
“I stopped some kids from attacking him,” Shouta answers for him and this time the woman's glare lightens if only slightly. She turns to the child and with careful hands she looks him over, concentrating her efforts on the noticeably bandaged hands.
“Is that true, Izuku?” the kid doesn’t say anything but slowly nods after a long moment. “Who was it? Izuku, please tell me,” she encourages after he refuses to answer.
“Tsubasa, Sakata, and Kacchan.”
“Did they hurt you?” She asks softly.
“He fixed it,” the kid says avoidantly and lamely points to Shouta.
“Fixed what?” she asks and when the kid clams up again she looks to Shouta who is wishing he’d jumped out the window when he had the chance.
“I didn’t fix anything but I did clean and bandage a burn that’s on his chest and the cuts on his right wrist and hands.”
“Katsuki burned you?” The woman demands but keeps her volume down and even this time, keeping her previous promise. “I’ll talk to Mitsuki. Again," she finishes bitterly then sighs tiredly. “Izuku, honey, why don't you go wash your hands so you can help me make dinner."
"Okay!" Izuku chirps, the quick change in mood giving Shouta whiplash, and half skips, half walks down the hall, leaving Shouta alone with a protective mother. Great.
The two stand in silence for a moment before the woman speaks. "Thank you for helping my Izuku," she says and steps closer to the wall making a gesture for him to follow. He does as he's told and finds himself slipping his shoes on for the second time that day, again thankful his laces don't even graze the ground so he doesn't have to spend any more awkward time in the apartment tying them. "But," the woman starts again and Shouta looks up to see her glaring daggers at him as she once again waves around her improvised weapon. "if I find out you hurt him in any way I will make sure you regret it, understand?"
“Of course, ma’am,” he agrees, taken aback by the complete 180 only for it to disappear behind a kind smile from one moment to the next.
“Please, I’m hardly 26, just Midoriya will do,” she tells him and holds a hand out which is odd but he takes it anyway. Seconds later he’s standing on the opposite side of the door, still not quite understanding what the hell just happened. He feels something sharp but pliable dig into the skin of his closed palm so he opens his hand and finds a small piece of paper that hadn't been there before the uncustomary handshake. The paper is crumpled but the scrawled yet somehow neat handwriting is still easily readable although it takes him a few seconds to process that the string of numbers running across the page is a phone number. Odd but even weirder is the text written below, To return the favor, it reads and Shouta can only wonder what it all means... and how she was able to write it all down without him noticing. So odd.
Shouta trudges up the stairs to his apartment feeling… lighter than he had in months, possibly years. It doesn't make any sense, with the day he'd already had in the few hours he'd been awake, Shouta should be pent up with an uncomfortable buzz of restless anxiety caused by stressful situations but he's not. He's tired, his heart feels like its made of stone rather than the tissue it really is, and his limbs feel as though they are tied down by weights, making each step a challenge to take. Those feelings aren't new and they haven't disappeared but it feels like some of that stone has been chipped away and the weights have lessened. To anyone else it would likely be an insignificant feeling but after three years of the same full body and bone-deep sorrow the little light feels like the sun beating down on him. He's not happy, he doubts that's an emotion he can even feel anymore but at this moment life feels just a little less shitty.
Shouta's hand wraps around the cool metal of the door knob to his apartment and his heart drops. “Fuck.” His head falls against the wooden door resulting in a loud thump. He forgot to get jelly packets.