Chapter Text
“Izuku,” His mother said fondly as she lifted the tiny child from the playpen. Mitsuki had once told Inko Midoriya that her son was ‘plain looking’ but personally, Inko had never seen it. The mess of thick curly hair and freckles were distinctive and brought to mind warm memories of her husband. He was perhaps a little small for his age, but not overly so. But, it was the smile that made her son stand out – it was bright, and unrestrained even for a four-year-old. There was no hesitation in his grin, especially if he was just smiling because he was happy, instead of attempting to mimic his idol, the famed All Might.
It was that purely happy, enthusiastic smile that greeted her as Izuku wrapped his arms lovingly around his mother’s neck with a chipper ‘mom!’ She could see that the daycare workers had already helped him into his jacket and wrapped him in his scarf. She could not blame them – her work allowed her and Izuku to live a comfortable life, but the hours were long and she usually arrived to pick her son up ten minutes after closing. She could only be grateful that the daycare workers not only helped Izuku get ready to leave, but Izuku himself never complained that he was always the last to be picked up.
Even now, she could see there was no resentment her son’s face at being the only child left at the daycare. Izuku gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, before starting to squirm a little uncomfortably – her son was a hyper child and she knew her only option was to put him down. She sighed as she did so, thinking about how she probably wouldn't be able to hold him at all in a few years. Especially if he was still hell-bent on being a Hero.
Inko didn’t think she’d ever seen a Hero kiss their mother on TV. So, she doubted her son would want much to do with her after he realized that…but she supposed all children had to grow up…for the moment, she would take what was given to her.
She reluctantly placed Izuku on his feet, though she didn’t let go of his hand. Izuku didn’t pull away and Inko felt a bit of that motherly warmth fill her as he squeezed her hand. She nodded to the daycare worker, a pretty young woman with white hair, streaked with red. Inko thought she was working her way through college – she believed the girl had said something about being a schoolteacher.
Seeing how she smiled at Izuku as they left, Inko couldn’t help but think she would be a good teacher. “Goodbye little Izuku,” she waved, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised and Inko smiled to herself as the door closed behind them.
She glanced at her son, who was swinging her hand back and forth rapidly, perhaps to help brush off the cold December Chill. “Did anything exciting happen while I was at work today?” She asked as she started to pull him towards home. The sun was already starting to disappear, and while the city was fairly safe, there had been more than a few villains about lately. The result was the streets tended to empty quickly at night, and there was something that Inko didn’t like about being alone on dark streets.
“Kacchan got his Quirk today! It’s really cool – his hands light up like those firecrackers! You know the ones! When we went to the festival?” Izuku chirped and for a moment, Inko felt worried, even as she nodded. Katsuki was only a few months older than Izuku…and he was not the only boy who had developed his Quirk recently. If anything, her son’s little blond friend had developed his Quirk quite late.
Her son was already four…and from what she’d read, most children got their Quirks well before now. She couldn’t count on the fact that both Katsuki and her son were late bloomers…maybe there was something wrong? Perhaps it was time to consider taking him to a doctor? Just in case? Or maybe she was just over thinking things…
“Mom…Mom…Mom!” She blinked feeling the tiny hand tug at her instantly. She glanced down, surprised.
“Yes, Izuku?”
“You’re muttering again,” he said, dark green eyes sparkling happily and Inko couldn’t help but blush. He reached his free hand to pat her arm in a comforting manner that she didn’t think any other child his age was capable of. “It’s okay. Kacchan says I do it too!” He said brightly and Inko wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.
Maybe her son needed a more masculine figure in his life? She shook the thought – no, she wasn’t ready to start dating again, and for the moment, Izuku seemed content enough with his life…but she would definitely think more about taking him to a doctor about his lack of Quirk.
She would be an irresponsible parent if she didn’t at least check.
“Mom, what’s for dinner?” Izuku’s voice broke her thoughts for what had to have been the fiftieth time that day. “Can we have Katsudon?” He asked, not quite giving her time to answer.
“We had Katsudon last night,” Inko laughed despite herself.
“It was really good!”
Inko chewed her lip for a moment, glancing up at the sky again. The last vestiges of light were disappearing from the sky, leaving no doubt that they would be walking at least part of the way home in the dark. “I don’t know Izuku…I don’t think I have all of the ingredients we need and it’s too late to eat out,” she said reluctantly. “Why don’t we have something different tonight? Maybe curry rice? I can make you Katsudon tomorrow,” she suggested.
“Please mom – you make really good Katsudon,” Izuku pleaded, eyes wide and hopeful. Inko knew if she told her son no a second time, he would not protest. If she said no a second time – and she didn’t think she could. Dinner was one of the few times she had to spend with Izuku…and if he wanted Katsudon, she would make him Katsudon.
“All right, but we have to stop at the store really quickly – no toys!” She added firmly, knowing if she wasn’t careful they would end up walking out with not only groceries but a half dozen little trinkets and magazines featuring All Might.
I spoil him far too much, she thought as she swiftly ushered him into a nearby store.
Twenty minutes later, both mother and son exited out into the dark night, with only a few streetlamps for comfort. Inko held a bag containing breadcrumbs, dashi, and two pounds of pork loin, while Izuku held onto a half gallon of milk with all the strength he could muster in his four-year-old arms. She had offered to take it from him, but his only response was, ‘no way! All Might could do it!’ He’d thrown his head back and laughed as he said it, in that gleeful way his idol did.
There wasn’t anyone on the street anymore as they walked and Inko found herself glancing around as Izuku began to list all of the things that All Might could do – carry milk by himself, fight villains, smile while holding a building and (most importantly according to her son) protect people. Normally, she would have devoted all of her attention to her son, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
It was this hyper-awareness that allowed her to see the small hunched form, curled into the shadows with hunched shoulders. Had it been daylight, she knew she wouldn't have seen him. She found herself pulling Izuku to an abrupt stop, causing the boy to stop mid-sentence rather abruptly, his gaze following hers.
“Is that a boy?” he asked, sounding rather intrigued. “He looks lost,” he said to his mother, and Inko found herself agreeing.
“He does look a little lost doesn’t he?” She agreed. She couldn't quite tell from where she stood, but she didn’t think the boy could be older than ten or eleven. He didn’t seem to be wearing a jacket either. She glanced around, trying to see if there was another adult nearby – and she saw none.
Her heart twisted uncomfortably in her chest. “Maybe we should go see if he needs help? He might be scared if he’s lost,” she suggested and Izuku brightened considerably.
“All Might would help,” he said eagerly and Inko surprised another smile. Though her son dressed up his kindness in the guise of copying All Might, she could see his desire to help all the same.
“Well then. I suppose I had better go over there and get him then, shouldn't I? We can walk him to the police station,” she said, a little worried Izuku would think that they would single-handedly track down the lost child’s parents like All Might would. “Watch the groceries for me, okay hon?” she said, placing the brown paper bag next to her son, who nodded eagerly. She caught the muttered words of ‘Mighty mom’ and she felt her heart soar at the high praise.
She crossed the street, briskly looking both ways before she did so – not a soul in sight. “Little boy,” she called and was surprised when there wasn’t so much as a twitch of acknowledgment there. His hair was a light blue, though tinged with dirt, and rail thin shoulders moved with labored breaths. “Little boy, are you lost,” she asked smiling.
Still no answer.
She found herself frowning – perhaps he didn’t realize she was speaking to him. She reached out a hand, “Are you all right?” she asked, soft hand landing on an all too boney shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” the child’s voice was little more than a rasp as he slapped away her hand, spinning so he was facing her.
Inko stared at his face – it took her a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. There was something wrong with the boys face, the skin around his eyes and forehead wrinkled and deformed looking. She took a step back on instinct, taking in the scar under his eye and on his lip.
What had happened to this child?
“Why are you staring at me?” The child asked, red eyes wide. There was nothing in them that reminded her of her son, nothing but a feral sort of anger. A hand reached up toward her, “Don’t stare at me,” he hissed, “Why are you staring at me? How would you like it if people stared at you?” His voice rose in pitch and Inko found herself still staring at the boy, even as his hand closed around her face.
She started screaming.
It had been a good day for Izuku. He’d played with his All Might action figure in the morning, and his mom had let him watch his favorite clip of All Might before taking him to the nursery. At recess, they’d played Hero and Villain – Kacchan had made him play the villain, but Izuku had just been pleased to be allowed to play at all. More and more often lately, he found he wasn’t allowed to play games – some of the kids suggested that once he got his Quirk, he wouldn’t be excluded so much.
Izuku figured, they just didn’t want to hurt him by mistake.
What had been most exciting today though had been Kacchan’s Quirk – the way little bursts of light had popped and sizzled in his friend’s hand like fireworks.
Now, his mom was helping a little boy just like a Hero would, and better yet, he’d get to have Katsudon for the third night in a row…Izuku didn’t think his mother had realized that when she’d gone into the store. Usually, she tried to have him eat several different varieties of food throughout the week.
He watched as she approached the older boy, his greens eyes wide with keen interest as the boy refused to answer his mother’s call. Izuku didn’t know why – his mom was the nicest. Still, despite his pride in his mother, he found he could not focus on the scene for long.
He let his eyes drift to the side, to the door of a closed toy store, and the array of action figures in the window. Most of the stores on the street were closed by the time his mother picked him up, but Izuku always liked to look at the displays in the windows. That way, when his mother did have the day off, he usually knew what he wanted to buy with his allowance.
Izuku had most of the All Might action figures already, but he thought he saw a Present Mic one that looked interesting. Present Mic was another Hero Izuku liked, mostly because he’d seen the very loud Hero take down a villain on his way to preschool last year. He’d even waved at Izuku. Maybe if he saved his allowance, he could buy the Present Mic action figure? Izuku was still trying to puzzle out how he could incorporate another Hero into his games – after all, All Might didn’t need anyone else to save people – when his mother started screaming.
The moment the sound started, Izuku dropped the carton of milk he’d been holding. The plastic split and the immediately the liquid began to pour across the sidewalk, trickling towards the gutter. His mother’s screams were loud – a louder even then when the police had come to his door last year, to tell her that his father had been in an accident.
“M-mom?” Izuku’s voice wobbled slightly as he turned his head to see the boy holding onto his mother’s face. Her screams choked off abruptly as she jerked away from the boy, stumbling back a few steps before collapsing to the ground. “Mom!” he screamed, abandoning the groceries in a mad dash across the street. He tripped over untied shoelaces but scrambled back to his feet immediately, landing by his mother’s side in an instant.
She didn’t move, only made a choked, gurgle of a sound. One look at her face made Izuku cringe and he remembered suddenly the bird a that had been hit by a passing car one day. His mother's face looked like that, but without all of the feathers – just blood and an inherent wrongness that he couldn't quite grasp. He could hear her breathing, great big shuddering gasps like he did after a nightmare. It did not comfort him. “Mom!” He shouted, “mom, get up!” he pleaded.
“She shouldn't have stared at me,” the boy's words were hoarse. Izuku turned to see the boy his mother had been speaking to standing directly behind him. Fingers were scratching furiously at his neck as he looked up at the sky. “She shouldn’t be staring at people,” he continued to rasp. Izuku whimpered but slowly stood up, putting his fists in front of him like he sometimes saw in the movies.
“D-Don’t come any closer,” he warned. He had to protect his mom. He had to protect his mom. "J-Just go away!"
The other boy tilted his head, still scratching viciously at his neck. Blood began to bead along the red lines he was creating with unkempt fingernails. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” The boy sneered and Izuku swallowed.
“I’ll…I’ll stop you,” Izuku whispered, his voice wavering. In the background, he could hear his mother moaning softly, but he didn’t turn, because he had to protect her.
The boy grinned a nasty smile and took a step forward. “Really?” he asked. Izuku couldn’t move his fists and his breaths were coming out almost as fast as his mother’s. The gray-haired boy reached both hands forward, placing his fingers delicate along Izuku’s shoulders: all except for the thumbs. “And how, are you doing to do that?” Izuku could feel his shoulders tremble, and knew he should punch the other boy now. Get him to move back, away from him, and his mother.
He still couldn't move, not beyond the violent shuddering that now racked his entire body. “I…I…”
“I don’t think you can,” the older boy whispered and allowed one of his thumbs to drop. Izuku’s eyes followed the moment, watching as his jacket alongside his shirt grayed, the color bleeding. The fabric broke apart in odd clumps, losing shape all together as they hit the ground. Wide green eyes darted to the pale, ugly fingers now gripping his shoulder.
His skin cracked underneath the touch.
Pain, pure agony blossomed up his arm as Izuku registered the other boy hand against his shoulder. It felt like he was being skinned, the nerves in his arm howling as they crumbled. Something hot and wet rolled down the part of his arm that the other boy wasn’t touching. Izuku screamed, trying to wrench away from the gray-haired boy, but he was held tightly. “Go on then!” the boy rasped and pain lanced up his other arm as a hand settled fully there too. It felt like somebody had set him on fire and the skin was crumbling away like in the wind. “Stop me! Stop me!”
“Mom!” Izuku screeched, twisting violently and wishing more than anything that he was someone else. “All Might!” He cried out because that’s what everyone did when they needed help, they screamed for a Hero, right? "Somebody!"
“Nobody’s coming to fucking save you, you little shit,” the voice started to rasp, something breaking in the tone now, an emotion showing through that Izuku in all his pain could not identify.
“Tomura Shigaraki,” a voice boomed and suddenly, Izuku felt the pressure on his arms release. He stumbled back, tripping over his mother’s prone form. His head hit the sidewalk with an awful cracking sound and he gasped, trying to move his arms, trying to move any part of his body so he could run.
Izuku couldn’t. “What the hell Kurogiri? I was having fun,” the voice – Tomura Shigaraki’s voice – complained.
“You were not supposed to leave the hideout…the master is worried for you,” the other voice – Kurogiri? – chided. “And you were not supposed to reveal yourself,” he added mildly. Izuku gasped, wondering why this other man was ignoring him. He nearly opened his mouth to ask for help, but closed his mouth in case Shigaraki turned his attention to him again.
“So what?” Tomura’s voice was sulky, a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “They’re not going to tell on me. That woman’s probably already dead – and the kid is stupid."
Izuku whimpered and he thought he could see yellow eye glance back at him. He tried to shift but the pain in his arms and shoulders was excruciating. “He might still say something,” Kurogiri commented. Izuku opened his mouth, not sure what he would have said, but only a low whine escaped him.
“So? Just drop him off somewhere. He’ll drop dead before too long,” Shigaraki complained.
Izuku moaned again, “mom….”
There was a sigh of frustration, “Go back to the hideout Shigaraki. I’ll take care of them. I’ll make you a juice when I get back,” there was an annoyed sound and the sound of shuffling feet. Izuku closed his eyes, taking in a great shuddering breath. Maybe they would leave him alone.
There was yet another silence and followed by another deep sigh. “It is unfortunate, that you happened to wander across my young companion.” Something cold and soothing wrapped around him, “It is probably for the best, that you disappear…sleep, young man.”
Izuku grimaced, but now that the man had mentioned it, his eyes were very heavy. He felt the pressure of the concrete disappear from under his torso, and the warmth of his mother’s body from under his knees. He couldn't bring himself to call her again.
He couldn't even himself to cry out as his body fell back to earth. There was the crunch of garbage bags and the sound of one of his shoes hitting a glass bottle. A sickly sweet smell hit the back of his throat, making Izuku gag. A few empty aluminum cans hit him in the forehead, but he could not bring himself to bat them away, even as more pieces of refuse started to fall on him. The soft man's voice rang in his ears.
Sleep.
“Shoouutaaa,” The voice blared in his ear, and Shouta Aizawa resisted the urge to rip the earpiece from his head. How had Yamada convinced him to wear one of these things anyway? He was fairly sure there had been a lot of beer involved – and they (Yamada and Nemuri) had insisted that having the earpiece would be more logical than a cell phone. You couldn't answer a cell phone or call for backup on one in the middle of a fight. Well, you could, but you'd risk losing a hand.
“Shoouutaaa!”
Shouta liked logical things. Still, he wasn’t sure he would have agreed to Yamada’s demand had he recognized just how often his friend was going to abuse it. Shouta had gone from talking to his friend twice a week, to almost every night. Sometimes for several hours at a time.
“Shouta!”
Well. Yamada would talk for several hours at a time. Shouta would just try to tune him out. After all, he didn’t have a whole lot more to say, other than ‘I’m alive,’ and ‘shut the hell up.’ Thank God that Yamada didn't usually require him to answer back - it seemed his friend was intent on being particularly needy tonight though.
“Shouta, answer me!”
“What?” Shouta snapped as he walked down the street. His shoulder ached. His knee throbbed. He'd been thrown into a wall by a man whose Quirk gave him four extra arms and enhanced strength. And, most irritating of all, he was tired. Dealing with Yamada was fast eating away what was left of his patience.
“Are you done with your shift yet,” Yamada asked innocently as if he hadn’t been chewing off Aizawa’s ear for the past hour and a half. Shouta wondered if Nemuri would stop him if he tried to strangle Yamada the next time he saw him.
Shouta took a deep breath, briefly weighing his options. One the one hand, it would be greatly satisfying to crush the little earpiece under his foot and never have to listen to it again. On the other hand, it was an incredibly expensive piece of equipment and breaking it would serve no logical purpose that he could think of. He exhaled slowly, “Is the sun up?” he asked Yamada, his tone portraying just how thinly his patience was stretched.
There was a brief silence, “Uh. Not yet, but it will be soon?” It came out as more of a question.
“Well then, there’s your answer. Not yet but soon,” he grumbled, peering down a darkened alleyway. He grunted, seeing a small kitten staring at him from atop a trashcan. He resisted for a moment, before caving – all sorts of things happened in dark ally’s; he could afford to check it out.
“Aw, come on. Knock of a little early – come drink with me. I’ll make you waffles!” Yamada continued to wheedle.
“No. I’m working, and then I’m going to bed.”
“You’ve gotta eat!”
“Just drop it Mic,” Shouta grumbled. He skipped dinner most nights (or, mornings as it was) in favor of a juice packet, a fact that bothered both Yamada and Nemuri to no end. “I’m tired,” he glanced at the cat who hadn’t moved so much as an inch since he’d started to approach it.
There was a crackling of static from his earpiece, followed by a blissful silence. Apparently, Yamada was done harassing him for the moment. Shouta took a moment to reach out his hand to the cat. It meowed at him, head inclined, before deftly jumping from the trashcan to the pavement. Curiously, Shouta watched as it wound itself around his legs. Friendly little thing, he thought, watching as it disentangled itself from his limbs, trotting a little further down in the alley. It paused, turning its head back to the Pro Hero, and giving a loud, prolonged meeooww.
Shouta raised an eyebrow: did it want him to follow? He considered for a moment, wondering if it was possible that a villain was using a cat to lure him into a trap. After a moment, he decided that since cats were not usually quite as loyal as dogs were (and much less inclined towards obedience) the odds were slim. Not altogether nonexistent, but slim.
He followed the cat.
Despite the trashcans that had been placed at the mouth of the little side street, Shouta was troubled to see that there were at least a dozen or so trash bags thrown haphazardly along the road. He felt a muscle twitch below his eye: he hated litter like this. Would it have killed the owners to have at least bought a dumpster? Or a few extra trashcans?The stench was otherworldly, rotten fruits, vegetables and what Shouta thought was fish creating a thick perfume.
He resisted the urge to gag, scanning the ground to find to see where the cat had gone off to. In the dim light, something red caught at the corner of his eye.
…Was that a child’s shoe?
Shouta’s breath caught as his eye noticed the slim ankle attached to the shoe. “Shit,” he hissed, diving to the ground. His hands shoved at the garbage that shifted to cover most of the body, likely dislodged when the child had been dumped.
A small, pale, freckled face was quickly revealed to him. The eyes were closed. There was no glassy-eyed death stare, to which Shouta took as a good sign as he finished brushing the garbage from the child's chest and arms. He let out another hiss as he noticed the boy’s shoulders, bare of not only clothing but skin – was that bone? Why wasn't the wound bleeding more if that was bone? Just how long had the kid been out there? “Shit, shit, shit,’ Shouta continued to curse quietly under his breath as he forced fingers to the boy's throat, checking for a pulse.
For what felt like an eternity, Shouta felt nothing and his stomach began to plummet. This was not the first time he’d found a child in the street, not even the first time he’d found a dead child tucked away. Working at night had forced Shouta to see a lot of darkness, things that even other Heroes found gruesome - but a Hero couldn't afford to overlook dark truths just because they were unpleasant to look at.
That didn't mean Shouta wanted this child to be dead.
He felt a something, the slight press of flesh against his fingertips that indicated a pulse. It was faint, barely there, but still, it was there. “Fuck,” he cursed again, mentally calculating where the nearest hospital was, and how long it would take an ambulance to get there.
…Just around the corner…but Shouta was fairly sure he could run the boy there faster. It would take too long to call and explain to the emergency operator where to find them.
“What? Did something happen? Shouta? Eraserhead! Talk to me man!” Yamada’s voice rang in his ears as genuine concern colored his tone.
Shouta ignored him for a moment as he gingerly wrapped arms around the boy’s sides, pulling him up and doing his best not to touch the gaping wounds on the boy’s shoulders. “Kid,” he grunted, trying to hold the limp body steady. “Kid, wake up!” he said, voice almost a snarl.
He only response was a low, desperate moan. He cursed again, pulling the child close to his chest, still careful of the shoulders. A head of curly green hair slumped against his neck.
“Kid? What kid? What the hell is going on? Do you need help?”
“Be quiet Mic!” Shouta snapped, breaking out into a sprint as he dodged out of the alleyway and rapidly turning the corner towards the nearest hospital. There was another low keening sound against his neck, but he ignored it as he ran through the night, thinking only of the fragile body held against him. He wanted to tell the boy that everything would be fine, but he was running fast enough that he didn’t have the air for it.
Just hang in their kid…he thought, pushing aside all thoughts of what had happened to him for the moment. He would not let any thoughts distract him from the moment, not until that child was with doctors, and Shouta knew whether or not the boy would pull through.
But he was going to find whoever had hurt this boy.
And they had better be afraid.