Work Text:
I'm not in any position to have a kid.
"But I can't just leave him here," the blonde muttered, looking at the heartbreaking sight in front of him. "I'm..." a hero, he didn't say. "It wouldn't be right."
He wasn't currently All Might—he was Toshinori Yagi.
A scrawny-looking, forty-one-year-old single man.
A random civilian.
Toshinori didn't know what he was doing with his life most of the time, but right now he wanted nothing more than to help this child.
"Hey, kid," he said, crouching down to the boy's level, trying to coax him out with a gentle tone. "My name's Toshinori Yagi—but you can call me Toshi or Yagi."
The child flinched and curled further into himself.
His face still hidden in his forearms
Traumatized. Abandoned. Neglected.
All Might assessed with an aching heart, noticing the scratches, blood, and grime covering the boy's skin.
How long has he been out here all alone? Why hasn't—why hasn't anyone reached out?
The number one hero felt a surge of anger and disappointment rush through him at how careless and cold people could be.
There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God...
2 Timothy 3:1-4 came to mind and Toshinori hated how true that was.
God, You defend the weak and fatherless.
He didn't lay a hand on the kid while he prayed.
You rescue the poor and the needy.
His gaze remained fixed on the trembling boy while thinking of his next step.
May you deliver this child—may you bring him comfort and healing.
The Pro Hero trusted God had heard and saw.
That He would answer.
Toshinori didn't think taking the little one to the police station or calling Child Protective Services would do him any good right now—considering how terrified he was. But if the boy didn't cooperate, he'd have to call it in and make sure he was taken somewhere safer than the dangerous streets.
"Can you tell me your name?" he tried again, smiling softly. "I'd like to help you, young one. What do you say? Does a bath and a yummy meal sound good?"
The child finally lifted his head, and the sight crushed Toshinori's soul.
Black, dull, almost dead eyes stared back at him—with thin, pink, scratched-up cheeks and dry lips. The boy's long, messy black hair was matted and tangled; in desperate need of a brush. All of him needed a wash, the faint smell of sweat, and urine clung to his worn-out clothes.
Depending on how deep the scratches are, All Might inched closer, and if he's hurt anywhere else he'll need plasters or bandages.
The kid was just skin and bones—and that was coming from someone who was practically a walking skeleton.
In the distance, there was a honk. Engines rumbled past the deserted alleyway, low murmurs and the patter of footsteps drifted by. Toshinori ignored the reek that came from the dumpster in the corner.
"I know I'm a stranger, and strangers can be dangerous, but I promise I'm not a bad guy," he tried to soothe, holding his hands up. "I only want to help you, but I'd understand if you—"
The boy blinked at him, scratching his cheek.
Not as startled anymore, but still wary.
"Kay," came the tiny but scratchy response.
A beat of silence passed between them.
"...M'Tenko.”
〜˚₊‧꒰ა 🏠 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚〜
“I know it's not much, but it's home," Toshinori said, leading the boy into his humble abode. "Welcome, young Tenko."
The apartment was compact but cosy, and only half-clean at the moment.
I don't think I'll have anything that'll fit him.
"You can have a seat," he pointed to the couch, but Tenko didn't move. "Or not. Standing's good too. Standing's great.”
Blank, dark irises bore into his blue ones.
Then the kid glanced around the living room curiously.
Toshinori felt like a fish out of water.
"Would you like a drink?"
He tried not to show that he was panicking.
"You can have a seat or look around, whatever you want, and I'll bring you some juice—" if I have any. "I'll be right back, little one! Have no fear!"
What should I do first? Can he bathe himself—he looks old enough, but he's so small. I don't even know how old he is!
The blonde rubbed his chin and frantically tapped on the hardwood floors.
What if he drowns or hurts himself? I can make us some soup. It'll be the best option for now.
The forty-one-year-old man dailed Shouta Aizawa, his colleague's number.
The teacher didn't have a child, but he's worked with kids longer than All Might.
"Firstly, calm down, Yagi," Eraserhead said with an amused huff then continued more seriously. "You're the adult. The one he trusts to take care of him—so get a hold of your emotions. Use what you have at your disposal to accommodate him. And be patient."
Toshinori settled at the words.
"... if you need anything from the store," the Pro Hero paused, breathing out a sigh. "Hikari Mart isn't far from where I am right now."
The blonde could cry at the generous offer from his usually listless coworker who wouldn't normally be so… attentive.
"That's very kind of you!" he beamed, scrambling to open the cupboards and fridge last for a quick examination. "Thank you, Aizawa, but I'm all set."
Toshinori's cabinets weren't brimming with food, nor was his fridge stacked by any means, but he had more than enough to get by.
"... That's good," the Eraser Hero grumbled over the line before ending the call.
Alright! I can do this.
There wasn't juice, so he opted for a glass of milk and water.
"Young one!" Toshinori called, but winced at his volume and toned it down to something softer. "I hope you didn't wait too long. I didn't know if you liked milk, so I brought water just in case. You can have either of the two or both."
The boy slowly reached for the milk and greedily gulped it down—slowing down at Toshinori's suggestion to drink slower, or he'll hurt his tummy.
"How old are you?"
That got him a tiny head tilt.
"Five," the boy answered, with a white mustache above his top lip.
That's very young, All Might's heart squeezed tightly in his chest. What happened to his parents?
Shaking his head, he told Tenko he'd run him a warm bath and asked if the kid could wash himself—to which he seemed almost offended.
"I'm a big boy. Can do it m'self."
"Okay, then," Toshinori nodded, having already accumulated a plan in his mind. "I'll make us some soup for lunch—or well, dinner since it's almost that time. Do you have any preferences—are you allergic to anything, Tenko?"
With the empty glass in his hands, the boy innocently blinked at the number one hero. "No."
〜˚₊‧꒰ა 🛀 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚〜
Toshinori ended up helping Tenko with his bath.
He allowed the five-year-old to undress himself and climb into the tub, but he washed his dark, matted mane thoroughly but still with the utmost care.
Toshinori asked if he could wash the child's back—then he completely took over, unable to stop himself from giving Tenko a proper scrub, mindful of his tender skin.
The blonde filled the bathroom with upbeat chatter he could only emit by tapping into All Might's sunny persona.
Tenko didn't protest much to getting sponged down but curled his hands away protectively when the Toshinori reached for them.
"No touching!" he hissed out, which made the Pro Hero halt, both alert and concerned. "Don't touch my hands."
"Sorry, kid," Toshinori said apologetically. "No more touching. I promise. We're done here anyway. Let's get you dried off."
Should I ask what that was about?
Throwing the washcloth in the murky water, he fetched the biggest, fluffiest towel he owned and ushered the boy inside.
Something triggered him, his hands, does it hurt?
Tenko's stomach gave a faint grumble as Toshinori dried him—careful to avoid his hands—but even more observent this time.
"I've already got the ingredients for the dinner out. It'll be quick to make," the blonde grinned, ruffling the boy's damp, curls with the white towel. "I have some yogurt you can snack on, though."
On his neatly made bed lay his extra small gray t-shirt, lotion, the smallest pair of shorts he owned, some socks, plasters and gauze for particularly deep scratches. Toshinori had both large and smaller-sized clothes for when he was All Might and when he was his plain old self.
The Pro Hero made a mental note to buy some gloves for when he'd go shopping for Tenko's clothes, if the child's parents never showed up and Toshinori was allowed to care for him, that is.
He noticed how the five-year-old had a habit of scratching.
A doctor's appointment was on his list of immediate things Tenko needed—and a hug, but he didn't see the latter happening so soon given they only met a few hours ago.
The dark-haired boy was swimming in Toshinori's clothes, but he was clean and content while munching on crackers in the kitchen.
The radio droned Present Mic's talk show, 'Put Your Hands Up,' in the background.
"Almost finished!" the blonde announced, stirring the pot with a dark blue apron tied around his thin waist. "Why don't you help me set the table, young Tenko?"
〜˚₊‧꒰ა 🍲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚〜
"M'done," Tenko mumbled after he finished his second serving. "Thanks... Toshi."
Toshi.
He melted at the nickname.
I'm Toshi!
All Might's eyes watered on the spot.
"My pleasure, young Tenko. Thank you for dining with me! I've been—I really needed the company."
"Are you... crying?" he asked with a deadpanned expression.
"No. I am not," the blonde sniffed, rubbing his nose. "I just got something in my eye. It's a little dusty in here."
When Tenko cracked a miniscule smile, that tiny upward curl of his lip—Toshinori thanked God.
I couldn't have done it without You, Lord.
All Might may have been the symbol of peace in Japan, but even the number one hero needed a Savior—someone he could hope in when all hope was lost, and that person was God.
"We can watch some cartoons," Toshinori said, grabbing their plates, and stacking them on top of each other. "Is there anything specific you'd like to watch?"
The boy paused, eyes downcast as he seemed to think.
"Bluey," came the quiet, sliglty hesitant response.
"Bluey it is!"
