Chapter Text
The rain in Musutafu didn’t feel poetic; it just felt heavy.
The cemetery was entirely devoid of the grand, dramatic spectacles usually associated with the death of a citizen in a hero-centric society. There were no news cameras, no crowds of weeping citizens, and no flashy pro-heroes standing guard. There was only a small plot of dark earth, a polished stone bearing the name Inko Midoriya, and two figures dressed in black.
Shota Aizawa stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his capture weapon noticeably absent out of respect for the venue. His dark hair hung loosely around his face, shielding his bloodshot eyes from the biting wind. Next to him stood Izuku. At ten years old, the boy looked entirely too small for the heavy black suit Shota had rushed to buy him the night before.
Izuku didn’t cry. He hadn't cried since the hospital room, three days ago, when the steady beep of the heart monitor had flattened into a terrifying, continuous drone. His emerald eyes, usually so bright and analytical, were entirely hollow as he watched the coffin disappear beneath the soil.
"It's time to go," Shota said softly, his voice rougher than usual.
Izuku didn't respond with words. He simply nodded, his small hand reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt. When Shota turned to walk toward the sleek black sedan idling by the curb, Izuku followed exactly two paces behind, a silent ghost anchoring himself to the only piece of family he had left.
---
The drive to Shota’s apartment was suffocatingly quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers against the glass.
Genetically, they were an anomaly. When Izuku had been born, the DNA tests had baffled the doctors, eventually revealing a rare, dormant familial link that made them half-brothers despite the age gap. When Izuku’s quirk manifested at four, the connection became undeniable. The doctors had officially classified Izuku’s quirk as a genetic variant of Shota’s Erasure, naming it Phase Inversion.
Shota knew about Synaptic Dampening. He knew that when Izuku’s eyes glowed a faint, dim gold, the kid could mute a quirk factor just like Shota did with his vibrant red gaze. Shota had spent hours teaching Izuku how to handle the dry eye, how to train his eyelids to resist blinking, and how to manage the intense neurological strain. He thought they shared the exact same burden.
Shota didn't know about the second application. He didn't know about the Bio-Electric Feedback. He didn't know that if Izuku focused on this aspect of his quirk, he could invert the energy inward, intercepting the neural pathways of the human body. Izuku had never told him that he could feel a person's muscle memory, or that with a slight push of voltage, he could drop a grown villain into complete paralysis. Even at a young age, Izuku had recognized the fear in the doctors' eyes when they discussed quirk suppression. If the world knew he could paralyze a man with a touch, they wouldn't see a future hero. They would see a weapon that needed to be contained.
So, Izuku kept his mouth shut. He wore the mask of a quiet, fragile boy with a weaker version of Erasure.
---
When the car finally rolled to a stop, it wasn't at the old apartment Izuku had shared with his mother. Instead, Shota pulled into the underground garage of a secure, unassuming apartment complex near the edge of the city.
The silence followed them into the elevator. Izuku held his single duffel bag tightly against his chest. It contained everything he owned now—a few changes of clothes, some schoolbooks, and his notebooks. He had left the bright, smiling merchandise of his childhood behind. It felt wrong to bring those colorful things into this new, muted reality.
The elevator dinged, and Shota led the way down a long, sterile hallway before stopping at a door near the end. He unlocked it, pushing it open to reveal an apartment that was exactly what Izuku expected: minimalistic, functional, and smelling faintly of instant coffee and old paper.
"The bedroom on the left is yours," Shota said, kicking off his boots at the genkan. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, setting it down on the kitchen counter with a soft thud. "That’s yours. There’s a debit card in there, linked to a separate account I set up for you. I'll transfer funds into it on the first of every month."
Izuku stared at the envelope, his fingers tightening on the strap of his bag. "Shota?" he whispered, his voice cracking from disuse.
"I know you’re a smart kid, Izuku," Shota said, looking directly at him. His expression was tired, but entirely serious. "I'm a pro hero and a teacher. My schedule is erratic, and there will be days where I'm gone before you wake up and not back until long after you're asleep. I don't want you having to ask me for permission or waiting around for cash just to buy groceries, school supplies, or whatever else you need. You manage your own needs. If you run low, tell me. No questions asked."
"Thank you," Izuku said softly.
He picked up the envelope, feeling the weight of it. Shota was offering him independence, a coping mechanism for the physical absence that his career demanded. It was a practical solution from a practical man, and Izuku appreciated the lack of pity in his brother's eyes.
"Get some rest," Shota added, placing a heavy hand on Izuku's shoulder for a brief second.
In that split second of contact, Izuku instinctively kept his quirk completely locked down. If he let even a fraction of the other aspect of his quirk slip, he would feel the deep, aching fatigue in Shota’s muscles, the phantom strain of his capture weapon, and the sheer emotional exhaustion radiating through his older brother's nervous system. Izuku didn't want to carry that right now. He had enough of his own.
"I will," Izuku murmured.
He retreated to his new bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. He set his duffel bag on the unmade bed and walked over to the small window, looking out at the rain-slicked streets of Musutafu. The world outside was loud, fast, and entirely indifferent to the fact that his universe had just fundamentally shifted.
Sitting down at the small desk in the corner, Izuku pulled his laptop out of his bag. He didn't open any browsers or look at the news. He just stared at the blank reflection of his own face in the dark screen. He was safe here, under Shota's guardianship, but he was completely on his own.
With a quiet sigh, he opened a simple text document, his fingers hovering over the keys. For now, he just needed to organize his thoughts, to map out his new routine, and to figure out how to exist in a world where the only person who shared his blood was a stranger who worked in the dark.