Prodigal

            Izuku lost a lot of things in his short life. This one just happened to be the worst.

            “You… you want me to give One for All to Mirio?”

            His voice sounded wrecked to his own ears as he struggled to sit up in the hospital bed. His back and arms still ached from holding up that collapsed building and he knew that a few short minutes in the rubble guaranteed new scars across his shoulders. His hands shook as he pushed himself into an upright position, hoping to all hope that he had heard All Might incorrectly.

            The look on his mentor’s face only corroborated his dread. “My boy, I was thoughtless in my decision and I have been a careless teacher. I’ve made a mistake.”

            Izuku swallowed down the building tears. “W-what?”

            All Might’s eyes met his with a sad sort of seriousness. “I’ve put too much pressure on you all at once.”

            He grimaced, shaking his head. “All Might, I-,”

            The former Number One held up a hand to silence him. His words were slow and pained, like it hurt him to say them. Izuku wondered if they were harming him as much as they were harming his successor. His heart was shattering again and all he could do was scramble to catch the pieces. “You have ended up in a hospital bed, on the brink of death, one too many times. My boy, I’m afraid that if we keep doing this you won’t last very long. And…”

            Izuku knew, deep down, that this had been a possibility. He had known that there was a chance he would not be enough. There was a chance he would not improve fast enough or gain enough strength or do the right thing and it would result in failure.

            An old poison, festered from ten years of abuse and neglect, sparked anew inside his chest.

            He was good at failure, it seemed.

            “And One for All will die with you.”

            There it was.

            Society had made it very clear from the moment he had been diagnosed as Quirkless that the power mattered more than the person. Without a Quirk, Izuku Midoriya was useless, weak, and a waste of space and oxygen. He was nothing more than something to be used for others to become better. He was a tool, a vessel of lessons and punching bags.

            And One for All, apparently. He wondered if the past users thought he was a failure too. Were they eager to escape this form? Did they side with All Might?

            He felt the power pulse within him. He breathed in the vibrant lightning, smelled the scent of victory and pride and power. How could his mentor think he could give that away?

            “But I-,”

            “Please understand, Young Midoriya.” It helped that All Might looks so heartbroken. At least he was not tossing Izuku aside like he meant nothing. At least Izuku could convince himself that his hero was doing this for his good, so that he would be safe. Maybe then the poison would not kill him. “With the League of Villains on the rise, there is too much at stake. All for One may be locked away, but Shigaraki is not, and he grows more powerful by the day.”

            In other words: I can’t trust you to be able to be the hero that can take him down.

            “But it’s my Quirk now. You said so yourself-!”

            “Please forgive me, Midoriya,” Blonde hair fell into the haggard man’s eyes as he bowed his head.

            Izuku did not talk back. He had learned very early on in life that talking back to anyone in authority was not an intelligent choice for him. But this was too much, too much to lose and concede. This was too important. His tongue loosened. “I’ve worked so hard! I broke my arms to get control of this Quirk and now you’re telling me to just give it away?”

            “I cannot guarantee your safety,” Was the reply, hoarse and sad and logically, Izuku knew that All Might was still trying to be the hero.

            Logic was something Izuku was good at. But now, with his heart becoming pieces within his aching chest, he could not bring himself to care. “I never asked you for that.”

            “I have a duty of care-,”

            “No you don’t!” Izuku was quick to cry; He would never disagree with anyone who said that. He was not quick to anger. He could remember, distantly, Todoroki making a poor joke about not wanting to see the green-eyed boy enraged, for he was afraid the world might end.

            Well, it definitely felt a little bit like Izuku’s world was ending.

            “You have a duty to train me and prepare me and guide me. That’s what Nana was for you!”

            All Might flinched.

            He huffed, hands fisting in the hospital blanket. His eyes drifted to the scars lining his arms. Were these not proof of all the hard work? Were those lines on his skin not evidence of how far he had come? “Would she have given up on you like you’re giving up on me?”

            “I am not giving up on you!” All Might’s low tone began to rise in volume. Oh, was he angry?

            “Yes, you are!” Izuku matched his cadence, forcing his throbbing back to straighten. He turned, facing his mentor head on. “You don’t think that I can beat Shigaraki!”

            “If you were to face him-,”

            “I’d have help!” He slammed his fist onto the bed, and perhaps if he wasn’t so upset, he would have felt the pain. “You’ve done this whole solo act hero gig for years, All Might, but I have friends who will help me!”

            All Might growled. “As the Symbol of Peace-,”

            “I’m not the Symbol of Peace,” He interrupted venomously. “I’m Deku. I’m not you, I’ll never be you. I have your Quirk, yes, but I’m not you. I plan on letting people help me with my problems.”

            The man stood, chair crashing to the ground. “I am trying to protect you!”

            “I fought Muscular without you there,” Izuku wished he could stand. He wished they were having this conversation in a week when he could stand on his own two feet and shout in his mentor’s face. Did he not see how much this was hurting him? Could he not understand what he would be losing? Old insecurities and lies twisted in his lungs and made it difficult to breathe. “I went to save Kachaan without you there. I saved Eri without you there-!”

            “Mirai died!”

            Izuku sobered immediately, anger falling to a scarier sort of rage. It simmered beneath his skin. Lava slowly crawling down the mountainside, setting flame to anything it comes across, inevitable and unstoppable. He had been so sure after hearing Sir Nighteye affirm his faith in Izuku that it was a turning page. “You’re blaming me?”

            “No!” All Might’s face fell into his shaking hands. “No. But if there I someone more capable… someone who can save more lives.”           

            The sixteen-year-old bit his tongue to stop the tears. No. All Might did not deserve his vulnerability. Not right now. “I did my best.”

            All Might raised his head. His eyes clearly told what his lips would not.

            But that wasn’t enough.

            He swallowed. “Give me a little more time. Please.”

            I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Please.

            “There is no time, my boy. Danger grows daily. The world needs a new Symbol.”

            He wished he could fight that. He wished that statement was just another villain he could defeat. Again, he focused on the feeling of the energy between his fingertips. He felt the electricity surge in his body. One for All came alive across his skin. Green lightning flitted across his arms and chest. The familiar feeling, warm and strong and grounding, pulled a small smile from his lips. This was a part of him. Just like Nana Shimura had bestowed the gift to Toshinori Yagi, now it was his.

            He wanted to be a hero.

            He jolted, and the energy around him ceased. He sagged in the bed, back thudding against his pillow.

            “My boy-,”

            Izuku flinched away from All Might’s hand. Too ashamed to face up to that kind of embarrassment, he turned away, staring resolutely out the window. He closed his eyes and for a few short seconds, he cherished the feeling of One for All within him. He thought of all he predecessors, all the good they had done. All the evil they had fought.

            Perhaps if he had been more like them…

            Goodbye, he whispered, hoping they were listening.

            “I understand,” He breathed, reigning in his sadness and his anger. He flexed his fingers, the scars on his wrist. He thought of all his training, his hours running and lifting and practicing. He thought of his classmates and how they always pushed him forward and challenged him. He thought of Sensei and his bravery, his selflessness.

            And thank you.

            “This is for the best,” All Might sighed, and Izuku heard him pick up the overturned chair. The door opened and Izuku glanced back.

            Mirio stepped into the hospital room, gaze misty.

            He had been waiting outside.

            He had known before Izuku. He had been waiting, ready, to take his Quirk. He had been sitting out there, knowing that Izuku was about to give up something so precious to him. He had lost his dad, his ability to be a hero, his best friend, his future, and then suddenly, he had been given a chance to rectify all that. A Quirk, a mentor, the best hero school in the country. Hell, even his and Bakugou’s friendship was beginning to mend.

            Izuku did not even have any time to cry over what he was about to lose. All Might had already brought in his new successor, forging Izuku’s signature on a document he had never even read.

            Would it have mattered if he had ultimately refused? Or had All Might known Izuku so well that he could be certain he would agree? He had taken the time to understand him, hadn’t he? Had taken the time to train him and laugh with him and care about him. He knew that the green-haired boy would give up his Quirk, something he had yearned for for years, if it meant others’ lives were saved.

            He knew that All Might thought this was saving Izuku’s life too; there was no doubt in his mind that All Might was not doing this to hurt Izuku.

            It was hurting anyway.

            “I’m sorry, Midoriya,” Mirio whispered, and at least he seemed genuine. “It’s what Sir would want.”

            Of course. Because it was always about what other people wanted. “Yeah.”

            All Might reached towards Izuku’s hair and he jerked backward. “Don’t.”

            Both blondes looked away at the fierceness in his tone. He swallowed, breath shaky as he whispered, “Just… just let me do it.”

            His hands trembled as he tugged a hair from his head. He looked at it for a moment, green and bright. It caught the afternoon light, shining golden.

            I’m sorry.

            He held the hair out to the third year. He prayed that the next few seconds were the longest of his life. He focused on the last moments of being the ninth holder of One for All. He pushed his power to the surface and felt it envelop him.

            One…

            A deep breath. The entrance exam. He didn’t even remember then pain anymore, just the feeling of arching through the air like a canon bawl, alive and grinning and finally feeling like he could be something. The Sports Festival. Watching Shoto’s face as Izuku screamed those fateful words to him.

            Two…            

            Feeling like he had not really lost because he had gained a friend and fought with everything he had. His internship with Gran Torino and how much progress he had made. The training camp, where he had faced Muscular and won with the help of the other holders. Rescuing Bakugou, flying across the sky to meet him.

            One for All at one hundred percent, Eri at his back, as he taught Overhaul what it was to be a hero.

            Three…

            Even though he had been expecting it, the reality of feeling One for All disappear made him gasp. The lightning that had surrounded him vanished. In its place was an old friend of a feeling. Dark and empty, though he had not known it was so back then. He had never had a Quirk to miss before.

            Now?

            Now he understood what he had lost.

            Nezu was an odd thing to look at. As much as Izuku respected him as an authority figure, he was so weird.

            Izuku sat in the chair before the principal’s desk, shoulders fallen with resigned acceptance. This meeting was all for show. He knew very well that he was no longer welcome at UA school. He had been brought here because he had been All Might’s successor. He’d been a newly-quirked child with big dreams. He’d had wide eyes and high hopes and a smile that had been too large for his face.

            God, he’d been so dumb, hadn’t he?

            “Now, Midoriya,” and why did his name sound so fake on his principal’s tongue. “I know that things have become… odd recently.”

            Izuku tried not to laugh at the choice of words. Odd. Yes, he supposed that described his situation. A quirk for a little more than a year that had given him permanent scars and horribly high pain tolerance was suddenly stripped from him by the man whom he had looked up to for over a decade.

            Odd. Yes. Perfect.

            Heartbreaking would have been the idiom he would have gone with, what with the way his chest hurt with One for All’s absence, or how his arms continued to ache even though the power that had made them so was gone.

            It didn’t matter, he supposed. Much like him.

            “You don’t have to pretend here, Principal Nezu. I know that you knew about One for All and my connection to All Might.” Izuku was so tired of being lied to, of people pretending to care about him and what he wanted. He had been a vessel; he had been trained and he had tried, God, he had tried, but in the end, he had not been good enough. His purpose had been served. He almost wished that All Might had found Mirio first and never stumbled upon Izuku all those months ago.

            But no, it had been so good. For a moment, he had truly felt that he could be a hero. He had done so much, hadn’t he? From the entrance exam to saving Eri. He had grown from a scrawny little nobody to a future pro hero. For a few precious months, he had been great.

            “I also know that that connection was one of the reasons I was allowed to stay despite my poor performance at the Entrance Exam,” he swallowed, tired eyes never straying from his superior. He did not have the energy to pretend anymore, nor the care. This was a formality, a nice way to show Izuku the way out. He may be dumb, but he was not a fool. “I know that it’s the main reason I’ve stayed despite the rule-breaking and the endangerment to myself, not to mention the horrible report I’m sure Aldera sent when I first applied.”

            “You’re bright, Young Midoriya!” Nezu clapped his paws together, seemingly the picture of delight. “Toshinori and I have surmised that it would be best if you transferred to the Gen Ed course to continue your education at Yuuei Your grades are superb and-,”

            “Principal Nezu,” the viridian haired boy sighed, rolling his shoulders. “With all due respect, the confusion and suspicion that would cause would become more trouble than its worth. My disappearing to the Gen Ed course and Mirio suddenly possessing my abilities while I become quirkless? Someone smart is bound to figure that out, and you can bet Aizawa-sensei will pick up on this quicker than anyone.”

            Izuku was sure they would not tell Aizawa. He had been forbidden from telling his homeroom teacher by All Might when this whole thing began. When they’d first been introduced, Izuku was all too happy to comply. He had been afraid of the underground hero then. Aizawa was all rough edges and harsh tones. He knew better now, though. Those eyes carried a certain exhausted fondness, and Aizawa was perhaps the only teacher that Izuku could trust.

            “Midoriya-,”

            “You’re trying to get me to drop,” He interrupted again. He could not remember the last time he had this much confidence against an authority figure. “So just expel me.”

            “We have to have a legitimate reason for expulsion, Midoriya,” the bear (rat thing. Izuku was not sure) clicked his tongue. “And you have done nothing wrong that has not already had consequences of its own. In fact, your behavior and grades show nothing but progress. The Gen Ed course would be lucky to have you.”

            “Because a Quirkless kid doesn’t belong in the hero course.”

            A year ago, he never would have uttered the words screaming against the wall of his skull.

            Nezu’s bright demeanor twitched. “You would be in terrible danger-,”

            “And that’s so different than what’s happened the last year.” There was a bite in his tone that he had never heard before. Harsh and curt. It was the Izuku that fought Shigaraki, that destroyed Overhaul for what he had done to Eri. It was the Izuku that would have made a great hero. “Principal Nezu, there are lots of problems with this school, but the obvious discrimination to kids with less powerful quirks or no quirks at all might be the worst.”

            “Midoriya,”

            His eyes narrowed. Suspicion grew. “You want to keep me here. Why?”

            “You remain a clever and aspiring hero. Yuuei specializes in providing an environment for young heroes to prosper and hone their skills-,”

            “You knew All Might would ask me to give away my Quirk,” Izuku breathed. Realization hit him and he straightened, eyes widening. “Did- did you encourage him?”

            “Toshinori makes his own decisions, Young Midorya-,”

            “You did!” the teen jumped to his feet, brows furrowed. His heart fell to his shoes. “I did my best, sir! I tried so hard and made so much progress! I got One for All under control in a few months after being Quirkless for years. I did so -,”

            He was so angry, but it was not real anger. He did not know that anger could taste so much like grief.

            His voice fell, shattered glass on a road of broken dreams. “I did so much.”

            “Which is why you still have a spot at this school, Midoriya!” Nezu’s tone never changed. It was unsettling. And irritating.

            “What?” Izuku felt a wan smile tug at his chapped lips. He leaned over the chair, crossing his arms over the headrest. “Is Yuuei afraid that a teenager will spill its darkest secrets? You scared I’ll go telling everyone All Might and my- Mirio’s secret?”

            The principal remained silent. That was answer enough.

            He felt the edges of his eyes burn, but he trampled the oncoming tears with a scoff. “Ah, I see. Well, fear not, sir. I may be Quirkless again, but I’m not a scumbag. I wanted to be a hero before I had a quirk.”

            “And that is why Toshinori chose you!” Nezu exclaimed excitedly. “And why Yuuei would still be lucky to have you.”

            “You don’t have to pretend, Principal.” Izuku stood straight and rolled his shoulders back. They slumped, exhaustion tangible across his torso. “I know that I’m a liability now. I’m smart enough to understand that letting me out into the big bad world could mean dangerous things for this school’s reputation. I also know that this entire meeting is a pathetic formality. You knew before I walked in here that I’d be leaving.”

            For the first time, the animal before him lost a little sparkle in his eyes. “Now, Midoriya-,”

            “Unless you need me to sign my own expulsion papers, sir, I believe that this entire session is rather pointless. By trying to convince me to join the Gen Ed course, you could then make it seem like an accident when I wasn’t accepted. Ultimately, I would just be left without a course at all and end up going home anyway.”

            Izuku sighed heavily, grabbing his bag from the floor. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’ll clear out without a fuss. 2A is out with Aizawa-sensei anyway. No one will even notice I’ve gone until Monday when I don’t show for class.”

            Nezu, seeing his defeat (though Izuku wouldn’t call it that, since he was getting what he wanted), simply nodded. “I’ll send someone to help-,”

            “And spread the word?” He snorted without a trace of humor. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he made his way to the door. “Just a car to drive me home would be nice. I’m thankful for everything that this school has done for me, sir. It’s been… it’s been the best.”

            Perhaps the first human emotion trickled into his principal’s eyes – empathy. He does not say that Izuku would have been the greatest hero. He does not say that it has been a pleasure or that he’s a good kid. He does not lie and say everything will be okay, that Izuku will still make it far in life. Nezu was smart, possibly the smartest being that Izuku had ever come in contact with. He knows the statistics.

            He knew he might never see the kid again.

            So instead, Nezu said, “I wish you only the best, Midoriya Izuku.”

            He swallowed, nodding once. With a twist of a doorknob and a deep breath, he stepped out of the principal’s office.

…

            He was glad that he found those cardboard boxes.

            Part of him had wanted to toss all of his All Might merchandise. A voice had whispered that the hero did not deserve to be on his wall. He mostly listened. His posters were in the pile of trash bags that he would throw into the giant trash cans in the back of Heights Alliance before he left. With them were several books, action figures, and many magazine and newspaper clippings. Only two things were kept.

            One figurine was placed into his suitcase. Another was quietly slipped into Katsuki’s room and placed on his desk, a letter beneath Silver Suit All Might’s boots. One other letter was slipped under Aizawa-Sensei’s door, and he hoped that the teacher did not crush it as soon as he stepped inside. The gifts that he had received from his friends were wrapped in his clothes and packed with extreme care. Anything he did not need and would not fit into his room at home was thrown into the trash bags. He stacked his schoolbooks on his desk and turned off the light.

            Izuku took a deep breath and looked around the bare room. All traces of him were gone. His peers had made fun of him for all his decorations and cluttered living style. He supposed they would not have any reason to complain now. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Of course, he would freak out about each of their debuts. He would analyze their future fights, would rejoice with their victories, and mourn with their losses. He would buy all of their merch and wear it with pride.

            But he was not like them anymore. He was back to being the worthless Deku that had stood on that roof and contemplated stepping off the edge.

            As he rolled his things into the elevator, he swallowed down his building tears. As the seconds seemed to grow shorter, memories flashed across his eyelids like a camera reel. Laughing with Iida and Uraraka as Todorki heated his soba with his middle finger. Mario Cart tournaments with Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima. Food fights as Aizawa-Sensei and Present Mic watched on with concealed fondness.

            Movie night curled up with all his friends, feeling for all of the world that he was finally where he belonged.

            Looked like he was wrong.

            There was a car parked outside the dorms. His eyes were immediately drawn to it as the elevator opened to the ground floor. He sniffled, glancing around the common area one last time. He made it to the doors and glanced at his watch. He had mere moments before 2A was supposed to return.

            His breath caught in his throat as he turned around.

            “Well.” He sighed, wiping a single tear from his cheek.

            “Goodbye.”

            There was no dramatic music, no sob-filled farewells. Perhaps it was for the best. He might have tarried too long if that was the case.

            A nameless driver sat in the front seat. Izuku loaded his things into the back and closed the door. “Do you mind if you go ahead and drive to my house? You can just drop the stuff on the porch.”

At the man’s raised brow, he added, “I… I want to walk out of here.”

            The chauffeur rolled his eyes and rolled up his window. The car came to life and sped off. Izuku watched it go long enough to hear a familiar explosion. Every single part of him wanted to stay, to explain, to make someone stop him. He didn’t want to leave.

            Don’t make me go.

            But no, this was for the best. Only the worthy belonged at Yuuei, and Izuku was anything but that.

            He wished he had taken more time to explore. Just to walk around the grounds and revel in his blessing. Now he was walking these lanes for the last time and bemoaning all of his lost time.

            The walk to the main gates took longer from the dorms than the class buildings, and each step was precious. The exit had just come into view when a shout cracked through the quiet afternoon like lightning.

            “DEKU!”

            Izuku froze so quickly that he stumbled. Freshly healed injuries groaned against his skin as he skidded across the asphalt. He hissed between his teeth and shook his head to try and rid his eyes of their tears. He could not do this.

            He could not face Katsuki.

            “Deku!” and suddenly there he was, kneeling beside his newly recovered childhood friend, crimson eyes furious but laced with worry. He would not be able to keep anything from Bakugou. He would see right through him if he tried. They had gotten so much better since their fight in first year. He could actually consider them friends again.

            Well, that was about to go right out the window.

            “Kachaan.” Even he could hear how wrecked his voice was. He shook his head, throat aching at his attempts to stifle his sobs. He cleared his throat and pushed himself to his feet. He did not even make it a step.

            Katsuki grabbed his wrist, hand warm. “What the hell is going on.”

            It was not a question so much as a demand. The smaller sixteen-year-old shook his head again and pulled from his grasp. Katsuki was not supposed to be here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “This,” and suddenly the action figure was being shoved in his face. Those crimson eyes brightened. “What the hell does this mean?”

            “Kachaan-,”

            “Your phone charger.”

            Izuku blinked, tears disappearing for a moment at the sudden change in topic. This was giving him whiplash. “What?”

            Kachaan’s gaze had dropped to Izuku’s hoodie. “Your phone charger.”

            Sure enough, the white cord was sticking out of his right-side pocket.

            The fingers tightened on his wrist. “Why are you taking your phone charger? You never take your phone charger anywhere. That’s why you always lose battery and can’t…”    

            He was not supposed to be here. Kachaan was way too smart.

            “Where are you going?”

            Izuku’s hanging head jerked up at the desperation in Bakugou’s voice. Their gazes met and Izuku almost crumbled. Those crimson eyes were wide, anger drained with fear taking its place. Those orbs searched his with a prying that he had never been able to defend against. They bore into his soul and unearthed all his secrets.

            “You’re leaving.”

            The rod that broke the camel’s back. Isn’t that how the saying went?

            His throat clenched and a mangled sob pushed through his busted lips. The tears that had been fighting so valiantly to break free received their wish and cascaded down his cheeks. He saw the figurine clatter to the ground and warm hands grip his arms.

            “What is going on, Deku? Why are you leaving?”

            “I can’t-,”

            “Tell me.”

            He should have known by now; he could never refuse Katsuki.

            “Is it All Might? One for All? Does someone else know? Are you leaving to keep us safe? Are – are you in danger?”

            Rapid-fire questions and they were all right but all wrong at the same time. Izuku choked, leaning against Bakugou’s chest and trying not to let the truth spill from his lips. If he knew, then their tentative companionship would shatter like glass. He would be back to being nothing, just dirt under Katsuki’s feet. He would be another stepping stone in his climb towards the Number One hero.

            He was not sure he could lose this again.

            “Deku?”

            There was a softness in his tone that Izuku had not heard in a long time.

            “I have to go.”

            Hands moved to his shoulders and pushed him back so that he was forced to meet those probing eyes. “Why?”

            “I,” Izuku whined, wiping his face. Better to just tear it off like a Band-Aid. Maybe then Katsuki would be shocked enough that he could get a running start. “I’m Quirkless again.”

            Sure enough, the other boy’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. “The fuck?”

            A horribly dry laugh tore at the walls of his throat. “Yeah.”

            “How?” and there was the anger that Izuku was waiting for. He just hoped none of the explosions landed on his bandaged areas. Recovery Girl had worked hard on those.

            “All Might he… he told me that I had to give it up.” Suddenly the full reality hit him like a truck. He had been pushing the implications to the back of his brain, hoping that filling his quickly diminishing time with work to avoid the thought of being worthless again. His sobs gained a new power, and he shook with their weight. “I had to give it to Mirio and now I’m Quirkless again and I have to leave. I don’t belong here anymore.”

            Katsuki stared at him for an agonizingly long minute.

            “No.”

            Izuku blinked. “What?”

            “No,” it was a growl, filled to the edges with a simmering rage. Those crimson eyes flashed and suddenly the tightened grip was gone. Katsuki turned and began power walking not back towards the dorms but the faculty building.

            “Kachaan, wait.” he was not supposed to know any of that. No one was supposed to know. That was the point of Izuku’s disappearance. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone was. Damn his feelings.

            “NO!”

            “You’re not supposed to know that!” he ran after his friend, still reeling from his lack of new explosion shaped scars. “Kachaan! Kachaan, stop!”

            And stop he did. He whirled around to face Izuku with the fire of a thousand suns in his eyes. “NO! You listen to me, Deku, they can’t just take your Quirk from you and give it to someone else like you’re just some – some vessel that they used and then abandoned!”

            “You think that I’m okay with all this? I get it’s messed up, Kachaan, but you can’t tell them anything,” He insisted harshly, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone-,”

            “So, you were just gonna disappear and never see us again?” He was back in Izuku’s face again. “Abandon us and never explain?”

            “You think that I want to leave?” And finally, anger sprang to life inside him. “Yuuei has been my dream for as long as it was yours and now I have to – I did not choose this, Kachaan.”

            “You should have fought harder.”

            “I tried-!” the words caught in his throat. He had said the same thing to All Might, to Nezu. His fury disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced and his entire body sagged. He looked away and took a step back. “I tried, Kachaan.”

            He raised his gaze and defeatedly added, “I wasn’t enough.”

            Crimson and green warred for dominance. “They can’t do this.”

            “It’s already done.”

            So final, but he supposed it was appropriate. That was his only chance at his dream. Now it was gone, taken from his very veins and given to a new bearer. A better one.

            “I’m telling Sensei,” Katsuki snapped.

            “You can’t,” Izuku reprimanded. “I’m serious, Kachaan. No one can know. It could put the whole school in danger, and I won’t risk that just because I feel sad.”

            “Sad?” The explosive teen recoiled. “You think those idiots are gonna be sad? Deku, they’re gonna be fucking devastated. You – you’re the glue!”        

            For the third time, he was at a loss for words. “What?”

            Katsuki poked his chest. “You keep this class together, Deku. You – you hold everyone else up. You’re not like me or Half-n-half or Four Eyes. You keep going but you don’t leave anyone behind. You – you take us with you and without you we’ll…”

            Izuku stared at him. His chest clenched at the admission. ‘We’, Bakugou had said. He had included himself.

            Oh, how much he had grown.

            “We can’t do this without you.”

            The admission took everything from the hot-headed hero, and Izuku knew that. His smile appeared for the first time since he had seen All Might in that hospital room. Warmth returned to the tips of his fingers. “You’ll learn how. You’re all going to be amazing.”

            “We shouldn’t have to lose you!” desperate, scared. He had only seen that expression once before at Ground Beta with the confession that had changed their relationship forever.

            “You think I want to be lost?” Izuku stepped closer.

            “This isn’t right,” He scowled, turning his head away. His hands were fisted at his sides and anger settled across his form. However, there was a certain acceptance in his stance. He knew this could not change.

            “Maybe not,” the green-haired boy conceded. “But it is what it is. Kachaan?”

            His gaze remained on the ground.

            “Katsuki.”

            Boy, did those crimson eyes snap back to his. The warmth spread to his shoulders. “Just… just know that you’ll always have me cheering you on. You were always my symbol of victory.”

            Bakugou’s expression softened by a millimeter. “Why are you being dumb? You’re talking like we’ll never see each other again.”

            “I’m not dumb, Kachaan,” Izuku laughed wetly. “I’m a Quirkless Deku again. I know what that means.”

            Memories of burning flesh and scalding words. He was sure that the blonde was remembering the same.

            “No,” Katsuki’s hard tone cut through the mist of his mind. A hand grabbed his, fingers dancing across his scars. His eyes tore up with the speed of a bullet and latched onto that red gaze. “I - I was an absolute asshole, okay? I know I was the absolute fucking worst, and you deserve an apology. Hell, you deserve more than just one.”

            Izuku was speechless. He had imagined this moment before. Never had it turned out like this.

            “And I’m sorry,” his fingers tightened around Izuku’s. “So fucking sorry. I was wrong.”

            “Kachaan-,”

            “You’re wrong, Deku.” He paused, swallowing, and holy crap those were tears. “Izuku. You are not worthless or useless or whatever other shit I ever said. You’re my… we’re…”

            “Friends?” he breathed.

            Katsuki smirked. “Yeah. Friends. We were best friends once.”

            “Yeah.”

            “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

            Izuku smiled. “I forgive you.”

            Bakugou’s face transformed into one of wonder. “I don’t deserve-,”

            “It’s not about what you deserve.”

            And even though he had no Quirk, even though he was leaving the greatest place he had ever known, even though he was giving up on a dream that had shaped his entire life, Midoriya Izuku laughed.

            “You beat those other extras, okay, Kachaan?” at the terminology, his friend grinned proudly. “You make it to the Number One spot and surpass them all.”   

            “Stop acting like you won’t be with me every step of the way,” Katsuki retorted softly.

            Izuku matched his smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

            For a moment, the blonde frowned. “I’ll become better than All Might. I won’t ever make someone else feel the way we’ve made you feel.”

            It was just another apology. Izuku was shocked to realize he did not need it. “You’ll be the best of us, Kachaan.”

            “No,” he shook his head. “You’re the best of us, Deku. Quirk or no Quirk. That’s not gonna change.”

            Izuku snickered. “I guess I’ll just have to learn how to do it my way, huh? Watch out, Kachaan. It would be embarrassing to be surpassed by a Quirkless hero.”

            Those red eyes seemed to express that the opposite was true. His grip tightened for a moment and they simply looked at one another.

            “You’re still a hero, Izuku.” He whispered the words like an oath. “You’ll always be a hero.”

            “Thanks, Kachaan.” He stepped back to hold out his hand. The blonde took it without hesitation. “I’ll see you later, Bakugou Katsuki.”

            “See you this weekend, loser.” It was a promise. 

            Izuku turned and wiped his wet cheeks. Kachaan was right. He was still a hero. He would do it for all the Quirkless kids. He would do it for his classmates, for Sensei, for Kachaan.

            He would do it for himself.

            “Dekiru!”

            The nickname made the warmth spread to every part of his body and he turned to look over his shoulder. Katsuki held up the figurine, limited edition, and blew it the fuck up. He raised a fist in the air. Izuku copied his motion.

            It was the only thing that day that did not feel like a goodbye.

            Shota had a thing against Mondays. After they had dropped the Hell Class back at the dorms, both he and Hizashi had been called out on a mission that had lasted most of the weekend, which meant that the rest he should have gotten was nonexistent. Ergo, his despise for the first day of the school week mounted. Understandable, to most normal people, but his partner seemed not to give a care and woke up at the break of dawn. He would pull back the blinds, yawn in a horribly loud cadence, and then rise to take care of his cats and make breakfast. This of course, would result in Shota waking up in the next room with a groan and cursing the fact that his friend was an early riser.

            As they were eating breakfast, Hizashi exclaimed around his food, “Did you see the letter that was on the floor?”

            Peaked interest, Shota looked up from his computer. “What?”

            “I don’t know when it got there but I saw it when we brought our stuff back last night. I assume it was slipped under the door. It had your name on it.”

            Confusion manifested and his brows furrowed.

            Hizashi plowed on. “I assumed you’d read it. I left it on the coffee table.”

            Shota sighed, taking a long swig of his coffee. “I’m sure it's not incredibly important. Someone would have texted me. I’ll read it before dinner.”

            That seemed to satisfy his partner and Hizashi went back to cooing over their cats and eating his eggs. Shota smiled softly and turned back to his work. He hoped he could finish his report before he had to go wrangle the gaggle of disaster children that made up 2A.

            Teaching his Hell Class was not actually something that gave him migraines; he would never admit it, but he had grown disgustingly fond of them, and the only good thing about Mondays was that he got to make sure none of them had died or dropped off the face of the earth. He rolled his shoulders back as he entered the room, the tell-tale sounds of Mina socking Mineta across the jaw making him preen. His miniature smirk disappeared the moment he laid eyes on Midoriya’s empty seat. Any form of warm affection dissipated entirely when his gaze strayed to Bakugou.

            The normally explosive blonde was quiet. It was so disturbing that Shota stopped halfway to the podium. Those crimson eyes glanced back towards the empty desk behind him. Shota had been trained to observe things that most people would overlook; it was part of being an efficient underground hero. He had noticed the change that had been developing in Bakugou, but this quiet was different. It was wrong.

            And so was the absent desk behind him.

            “Morning, Sensei!” Yaoyorozu, ever the polite pupil, greeted him. She seemed not to notice his confusion. He spared a curt nod.

            Bakugou’s eyes finally caught his on their way back from glancing towards Midoriya’s seat. They froze for a moment, ebony gaze boring into crimson. There was no anger in the boy’s eyes. Only the look of someone who had lost something precious.

            Something was very, very wrong.

            “Hey, has anyone seen Midoriya?” Mina’s voice carried over the various murmurs. The jumble of noise quieted, and everyone’s gaze moved to the empty desk. The mood in the room immediately dropped.

            “I saw him Friday,” Todoroki’s low tone carried worry, something that if the situation was not growing more concerning by the second Shota would have been delighted with; the dual-quirked boy had become so much more open with his emotions since being with this class. He only wished such a display was not unearthed because of Midoriya’s absence.

            “He wasn’t with us at the mall, though,” Kirishima pointed out.

            Aizawa was well aware. Yagi himself had informed him that Izuku was going to be missing from the getaway for “reasons” that Nezu had approved. While he was more than suspicious, he knew of the relationship between the retired pro and his student, though he was in the dark about its specifics. He had seen how far All Might would go to protect the Problem Child and had not questioned it. Perhaps that was his mistake.

            “But he was at dinner and movie night yesterday, right?” Denki’s brows furrowed. He glanced around at his classmates. They all seemed to be in the same state of confusion.

            “Was he?” Ururaka’s pitch raised with hesitation. “Because dinner was absent of Deku’s usual compliments to the chef.”

            Iida hummed thoughtfully, hand slicing through the air. “Ururaka is correct! Midoriya always compliments Bakugou’s Sunday evening cooking!”

            This statement drew Shota’s gaze back to the scarily quiet blonde. Bakugou’s hands had fisted on his desk. They were shaking.

            He knew something.

            “Okay, did anyone see him at all this weekend?” There was a slowly building panic within the class at Sero’s question. No one responded. Bakugou’s head fell even further into his chest.

            Shota was, mildly putting it, perturbed. One of his students, definitely the one that had caused him the most problems yet also grown on him the most, was apparently missing. Right under his nose.

            Oh, someone was going to die.

            He knew better than to try and interrogate Bakugou in front of the whole class. His and Midoriya’s history was a complicated one, and while both admitted that it was far better than it once was, he could not rule out the possibility of the viridian-haired boy’s disappearance being the cause of Bakugou’s actions. However, Shota was a pro hero. He knew which battles to fight in the audience of others. That was not one of them.

            “I’m sure there is a very logical explanation for the Problem Child’s absence. Settle down. We’re already late.”

            The class did as they were told, albeit with worried glances cast between them. Shota forced himself to remain calm, like he always was, and wrangle his Hell Class into submission. Within a half-hour, the glances towards Midoriya’s empty desk stopped and his students seemed perfectly distracted.

            All but Bakugou, who did not say a single word.

            The bell rang and Shota sighed. “Remember to edit your papers before you turn them in tomorrow. I don’t want another case of lyrics in the margins, as delightful as they were.” He raised a brow at Jirou, who ducked her head but smirked. The class filed out, but before Bakugou could disappear among the crowd, the pro called out his name.

            “Stay behind. I want to talk to you about your training exercise on Thursday.”

            Bakugou Katsuki was a very intelligent kid. He knew that the conversation would have nothing to do with the new move he had been working on during Thursday’s training. He swallowed, jerking his head towards Kirishima, who saluted before linking his arm through Kaminari’s and racing down the hall. The Class dissipated down the corridor, leaving the teacher and student alone.

            Bakugou sat back in his chair, the picture of disgruntled annoyance. His shoulders were squared, and his jaw was tight. He crossed his arms and raised a brow. However, his eyes betrayed him. Even with this charade, the same trepidation remained.

            “Where is Midoriya?”

            The question did not surprise the explosive teen. He glared. “Why should I care where the stupid nerd is?”

            Shota sighed. “You’re not a good actor, Bakugou. Underground Hero work will never be for you. Now, what do you know?”

            The pretense disappeared as quickly as it had arisen. Bakugou’s shoulders sagged and his head whipped to the window. The tightness in his jaw warped into grief.

            Red flags arose and alarms went off inside Shota’s head. “Bakugou Katsuki, if one of my students has disappeared, I need to know. If Midoriya is in danger and you withheld information you will be expelled.”

            “I can’t tell you,” He snapped, but the anger differed from his usual brashness. This was darker and deeper. “I- I wish I fucking could, okay? God, I…”

            He swallowed, flexing his hands. Shota waited for an explosion. It did not come.

            “I wish I could. If anyone could do something…” Bakugou sighed heavily. “But I can’t. I promised the nerd that I wouldn’t.”

            Shota relaxed by an inch. “So, you’ve seen him.”

            Bakugou nodded, hooded crimson meeting ebony.

            “Was it Friday? Saturday? When, Bakugou?”

            “Sensei-,”

            “Bakugou.” His tone turned harsh. Sue him; his Problem Child was gone. “Midoriya is my student-,”

            “No, he’s not!” the blonde scowled, volume shooting upwards. “Not anymore! Not after that-,”

            But he stopped himself before he could say anything, slapping a hand over his mouth. Shota’s gut twisted. Bakugou, for whatever reason, knew where Midoriya was and why he was missing but had promised not to tell him. Something had happened to Midoriya.

            “Not my student?” He repeated slowly. “Bakugou, what does that mean?”

            And he could tell. He could see just how much his student wanted to tell him everything. But Shota knew better. He knew how loyal Bakugou was, even if he would never say it. He could already see the guilt in his eyes at having divulged this much. He would not get anything else out of the boy.

            “Go ask the rat,” Bakugou hissed.

            Shota blinked. “Nezu? Nezu knows about this?”

            The blonde, sensing that his involvement in the current stage of Shota’s inquiry was ending, stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t trust a thing he says though.”

            “Bakugou,” Something in Shota’s voice made him pause. The kid did not turn back to look at him, but his head tilted just enough to indicate he was listening. “Is he safe?”

            Please give me this.

            Katsuki’s shoulders fell again. “I don’t know.”

            Any peace he was hoping to receive from the admission turned to dust. His stomach flipped as his student trudged out the door, taking vital information with him. Shota steeled himself and let out a shaky breath. Something had happened over the weekend to one of his students that had resulted in his disappearance and no one had informed Shota of anything. He was completely in the dark; even Bakugou’s information barely led to any deciphering of the situation.

            Someone had messed with one, possibly two, of his kids and no one had told him.

            His worry was beginning to mix with a wave of rising anger. He glanced at his watch. Nezu would be in his office. Without a second’s hesitation, he sprinted from the room and towards the animal’s lounge. He needed answers.

            Fear mounted with each step, it seemed. Why was Midoriya gone? What caused his disappearance? Bakugou was not torn up enough yet for it to be a kidnapping he had been involved in and if Midoriya had been killed surely the staff would have been notified. If something had happened while Yagi was present, then the man would be raging and roaring about his boy to everyone until he was saved or avenged or whatever retribution. So, where was he?

            He threw open the door without knocking. “Where is my Problem Child?”

            Nezu, to his credit, did not flinch. He also probably saw Shota coming. “Ah, Aizawa! Please sit.”

            He did not. “Where is my student, Nezu.”

            The rodent hummed, clasping his paws together. “Midoriya is no longer a student of Yuuei.”

            The knowledge was about as effective as a kick to Shota’s chest and hurt even more. He had hoped that Bakugou had simply misread the situation or that Midoriya was for some sick reason pulling the wool over their eyes. Having the information confirmed made him want to hurl.

            Midoriya Izuku was one of his greatest students. The amount of growth and progress that Shota had witnessed in the kid was more than any other kid he had taught. He had gone from a boy who could not wield his quirk without breaking his fingers to a young man with the most potential to be a hero that he had ever seen. He was good, not just at saving people or stopping villains, but just plain good. There were so few people left who could see the beautiful things in life when their vision was clouded, so little true happiness and righteous intent, but Midoriya had it. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel; he could find reasons to smile.

            He was the best of them all.

            “Why?”

            The word filled the room like the hiss of a wounded snake.

            Nezu shook his head. “That information is classified, Aizawa!”

            “I’m his teacher-,”

            “And Midoriya is allowed some privacy, Shota.” The false cheerfulness made his snarl surface.

            “I have reason to believe that this was not just some drop of the hat decision, Nezu,” Shota stepped closer, growl festering in the back of his throat. “And I find it hard to believe that Midoriya would ever leave Yuuei voluntarily.”

            “Well, then it’s a good thing that your job is not in admissions, hmm?” The principal narrowed his eyes threateningly. “Midoriya is no longer your concern.”

            “My concern?” he scowled. His students would always be his concern. When they were grown and gone, Pro Heroes in their own right, lives and marriages and kids of their own, they would still be his concern. His problem. His privilege. He would always worry and fret and grumble about them in his own fond way. What else would one expect after being in so many deadly situations? He had gotten attached, damn it all, and now one of his fold was missing.

            “They’re just students, Aizawa. I let you continue teaching them despite their graduating to the next grade because they work so well under your tutelage, but they’re not your children.” At this, Nezu paused. He glanced over the teacher, took in his stiff stance and frantic gaze. A short breath that could be called a laugh pierced the air. “Don’t tell me you’ve… you were his teacher, Shota.”

            The next sentence almost makes Shota throw himself across the desk at the animal.

            “Not his father.”

            He wanted to snap and say that he was as good as. He wanted to scream that those kids were his, in any way he could have them. He wanted to shout that he was so happy to have this class, this group of troublemakers and rabble-rousers and misfits. He would give his life for each of them. He would sacrifice to protect Mina’s laugh, Todoroki’s soft smiles, Shoji’s dry sense of humor. He would risk everything for them. They were his. Midoriya Izuku was his and now he was gone and Shota could hardly breathe.

            “Weren’t you going to expel him last year anyway?”

            Shota’s gaze snapped up to his superior’s. “What?”

            “Your “test” that you give at the beginning of each new school year. You expelled the whole lot of them a few years ago. Midoriya was surely on your list of problems that you would be happy to be rid of.”

            For a moment he wondered if that was what Midoriya felt he was. Did the kid think he was a problem? A burden that Aizawa dealt with because he had to?

            The horror he felt from such thoughts twisted into fury. “None of my students are problems. They’re kids.”

            “Heroes in the making,” Nezu corrected, raising a paw. “Young Midoriya could not handle the stress that came with such a charge. He has resigned his position from your class. Shinsou Hitoshi will be taking his place.”

            Shota wanted to call bullshit. He wanted to shake the little animal until he got the truth.

            He did neither of those things. “Nezu, if I find out that Midoriya has been harmed in any way because of this situation, I will personally bring your furry ass to court.”

“Aizawa, I will remind you that I happen to be your superior,” Nezu’s cheerful demeanor darkened for a split second. If Shota had not been trained to pick up the smallest changes, he would have completely missed it. “It would do you well to remember that!”

Shota glared hard enough for the creature to understand he did not believe him and then he turned and swept from the room.

            Bakugou knew what was going on but would say nothing. Nezu knew what was going on but was lying and would try and sweep Midoriya’s disappearance under the rug by replacing him with Shinsou.

            Shota growled, hands clenching in his pockets as he strode towards the dorms. The directory was in his desk drawer. If he could get Midoriya’s home phone perhaps he could get some real answers or at least make sure the kid was alright.

            He sprinted across the lawn, using his capture weapon to propel him forward. He bypassed the stairs by simply scaling up the side of the building and entering his balcony. He successfully disturbed the cats as he threw open the balcony doors and raced through the kitchen. He was halfway to his desk when his name caught his eye.

            There, sitting on the coffee table, was the letter. His name was scrawled across the envelope in Midoriya Izuku’s handwriting.

            His heart dropped to his feet.

            With the care he would express towards holding an infant, Shota stooped to pick up the letter. He collapsed on the couch, holding the envelope in his trembling fingers. He traced the letters of his name and swallowed.

            He had left a letter.

            Izuku was saying goodbye.

            Aizawa was not a crier. He avoided expressing emotion as much as possible. Yet here, holding the farewell of his beloved student, the edges of his gaze stung, and his vision blurred.

            He opened the letter, praying that the Problem Child’s information would shed light on the muddled mess he had found himself in. However, two words into the first line and he broke.

            Sensei,

            Thank you.

            Shota pulled his gaze away and covered his eyes. Those words had many times brought him joy. Whenever a student graduated, or he complimented them on a new move. Whenever one of his kids ranked high in a subject they struggled in or when a civilian showed gratitude when he saved their life. Now though, they meant a completely different thing.

            Midoriya wrote them as a goodbye, a fond farewell. They were a conglomeration of all the thanks that he felt for every single thing that Aizawa had done. It was an acknowledgment of all the progress that he credited to his teacher. It was the adoration of a child to his hero.

            Shota did not think he deserved it.

I am writing this in hopes that you don’t step on it your first foot in the door when you return and trample it into a crumpled ball of paper. I’m not sure if you will read it, but if you do, please know that the things you have taught me will be cherished forever.

I am indebted to you, Sensei. You have saved my life in more ways than one. You have taught me the true strength of a hero is not in his Quirk, but in his heart. Compassion, gentleness, grace. I used to think that those traits were weak or undesirable for a hero. Then I met you and you risked your life for ours during the USJ attack. You got Kachaan into therapy. You made sure that Todoroki did not have to go home on breaks. You took care of your students without reservation, without discrimination.

I did not know that teachers did that.

Your kindness has shaped my career at Yuuei more than you know. I’m so honored to have been your student.

I know that you will have questions. I know that you will be angry or disappointed in me,

            And Shota had to stop and turn away again. His stomach flipped at the image his brain provided of Midoriya writing this. Seated at his desk, hunched over, worrying his lip in anxiety at the thought of his sensei being upset at his departure.

            Shota wished he could hug him and tell him he was wrong. Yes, he was upset, but not because Midoriya had dropped or seemed to have fled like a coward. His heart hurt because his Problem Child was gone, and he could not find him. He had left and Shota had no idea how much room his student took up in his heart until he was not around to fill it.

            “Problem Child…”

but I have become unfit to attend Yuuei any longer. Yuuei is a school for children worthy of becoming heroes. That’s not me. I was foolish to think that I could belong here. I tried, but I’m really good at not trying hard enough, I guess. Life’s taught me that. If you have questions, Nezu should be able to explain it.

Take care of my class, okay? I know you care about them more than you’ll ever say, and they care a lot about you too. I know I do. Make sure that Kachaan doesn’t skip therapy and make sure that he does not let this change him. I don’t know how he’ll react, but we’ve come a long way him and I don’t want him to be damaged because of my mistakes. Look out for Ururaka; don’t let her aspirations of money outweigh the need for goodness. Make sure Iida learns to laugh. I think he is carrying a weight that none of us know, and humor has always been the best reliever. Help Todoroki realize that his father is trying. Forgiveness is the hardest thing that any of us will ever have to do, and Endeavor does not deserve it, but he is trying. Redemption is a long road. Don’t let Kirishima lose his tenderness in his quest for strength; he is one of the kindest people I have ever met. It would be one of the world’s greatest losses if he were to trade his heart for the fortitude of stone. Kaminari has such a smart mind; don’t let him stew in his doubt. He is capable of great things. Sero fakes a smile and uses jokes to deflect his inner demons. Help him fight them.

            With each new student, Shota learned a little more about his class. Midoriya, ever the analytic and genius, listed his peers with the utmost affection, asking him to help in ways that he was not able to. Each name and tidbit of information only made the teacher’s heartache deeper.

            The Problem Child had always worn his love in his smile. He did not know how much he would miss it.

I am so grateful that this is one of the hardest goodbyes. You’ve cared about me in a small way that will change my life in a greater way. I’m just really thankful. If I could do it all again, knowing that I would fail in the end, I would. I have been blessed in so many ways because of you and the lessons that you have taught me. Knowing what I would have to lose is still less than the knowledge and experiences you have given me. I hope that when you look back on this crazy class and what we’ve put you through, you can say the same.

Take care of them, Sensei. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.

Please inform Eri that she is the greatest little sister anyone could ask for. Tell her that no matter what, Deku believes in her.

I hope our paths cross again, Sensei. Thank you for it all.

It’s been a pleasure.

Goodbye.

Problem Child.

            Tears unbidden and stinging streamed down Shota’s cheeks. He could barely feel them over the pain that throbbed in his chest. There were no answers. No explanations. He had hoped for a reason but all he received were the honest words of the greatest kid he had ever known. The demeaning words that Midoriya wrote about himself only caused him more hurt. A whine escaped his tight lips, and he dropped the letter onto the table. His hands shook with a fury he could not reason through.  

            Someone had messed with his kid. Someone had taken something from him, torn apart his dream of being a hero. He had lost something, something so vital and important that he deemed himself unfit to stay.

            Someone had hurt him. Someone had made him leave.

            Shota curled up on his sofa, palms shoved into his eyes, and he sobbed.

            Izuku’s immediate response when he got home was to contact the police. More accurately, he contacted Naomasa. One of the few people who knew about One for All, Izuku hoped that he could help him. If he could not be a hero student, perhaps he could try his hand at working with the police force. Some underground heroes had started that way, and if there was any realm that would accept a Quirkless hero, it was the underground.

            Even though it was short notice, he agreed to meet Izuku that night. The moment that Naomasa saw him, his grin disappeared.

            “Look that bad, huh?” Izuku’s tired voice carried sorrow too deep for his youth.

            “Something’s wrong,” the detective muttered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What happened? Are you alright? Wait, shouldn’t you be at school?”

            Izuku nodded. “Something’s come up. We need to talk.”

            The officer searched his face for answers but, finding none on his own, escorted the kid back to his apartment. Izuku smiled at the homeliness of the flat. There were pictures lining the walls and his couch had pillows whose colors did not match at all. Files were scattered across the table and he could hear chimes clinking from the balcony. His eyes scanned the photographs. He stopped.

            Staring back at him were the bright blue eyes of Toshinori Yagi.

            Izuku sucked in a harsh breath. Naomasa glanced at him and then followed his cold gaze.

            “Midoriya?”

            “Has he told you yet?”

            The detective gently placed his coat over the back of one of his chairs. “Told me what?”

            That was a no then. “I don’t have it.”

            His heart clenched. He thought it would get better each time he said it. It hurt Thursday morning when All Might had told him, it hurt when he sobbed it out to Bakugou, and it still hurt. Why would it not stop hurting?

            “Don’t have…” Naomasa’s eyes widened. “You lost One for All?”

            Tears immediately sprung to his eyes. Izuku looked away and took a step back. God, the blame thing. He had forgotten how often he had been blamed for things before. It never got easier, it seemed. He was going to have to do so much readjusting. “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t – lost isn’t the right word and-,”

            “Hey, hey, Midoriya, calm down.” The detective walked forward and placed both hands on his shoulders. He steered him towards the couch with the tenderness that Izuku had come to expect from Aizawa. “I’m not blaming you, okay?”

            “You’re not?” his eyes snapped upwards.

            Naomasa’s face split into a warm smile. “Course not, kid. Just… wow. Is All Might okay?”

            Izuku swallowed, grateful that he had not started sobbing uncontrollably. Sixteen was far too old to be losing his grip in front of adults. “Yes. He - he’s the one who made me give it away.”

            If Todoroki were here, Izuku could have blamed the sudden drop in room temperature on his quirk. However, it was actually due to the pure fury that overcame the detective’s entire body. He stiffened next to the teen on the couch, body gone rigid and eyes flaring. His smile dropped and any kindness disappeared out the window like the notes of his chimes.

            “What?”

            Izuku could not stop himself from scooting an inch to the left in case he needed to run for it. His eyes unconsciously scanned the room for exit points. Two windows, door behind. The ten years of training to escape and hide due to the bullies was starting to resurface. “Yeah, I… Yesterday. He told me that I had to give it up.”

            He swallowed again and raised his eyes. “I no longer possess One for All. I’m Quirkless.”

            A hand raised, but Izuku did not flinch. He had fought Overhaul, Shigaraki, Muscular. The bravery that he had expressed when he first ran to save Kachaan had grown into something palpable, a courage that exuded from his very skin. Even now, with the horrible reality of his resumed place at the bottom of society, he would not tremble.

            The hand did not strike as middle-school Izuku would have expected. Instead, a warm palm encased his chin. “Hey, hey. Kiddo, look at me.”

            The simple order alone almost made him burst into tears.

            Naomasa’s eyes had refilled with tender affection. “Listen, we’ll figure it out, okay? This is not your fault.”

            “But he said I didn’t do enough and I-,”

            “I don’t care what he said,” and there was an edge to his voice. A sword tipped with poison was settling on the detective’s tongue and the blade was not poised to strike at Izuku. “Midoriya, you were – are amazing. Look at me, hey.”

            The softness in his voice warmed Izuku down to his toes. He dared not look away.

            “Midoriya, I can’t speak for Yagi, but I’m incredibly proud of you.”

            And then Izuku burst into tears.

            Naomasa patted his head affectionately and hummed while the teen gripped the front of his shirt and sobbed. Those words had been said to him by All Might, but they had lost all meaning when he had delivered the blow in that hospital room. He barely knew Naomasa, but something in the man’s voice reminded him of a father. Of Sensei.

            “I don’t deserve that,” he whimpered.

            The detective’s gaze clouded momentarily. “You do, and I’m sorry people made you feel like you don’t. Everyone from your childhood, because I’ve seen the Quirkless statistics, the adults, All Might. You’ve done more than anyone could expect from you, kiddo.”

            Izuku searched his eyes for the lie. He looked and analyzed this man beside him.

            He was telling the truth.

            He sniffed, wiping his nose. “Thank you.”

            Naomasa ruffled his hair affectionately. “We’ll figure this out, kid. If anyone can be a Quirkless hero, it’s you.”

            “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Midoriya swallowed and cleared his throat. He knew that talks would need to happen about his emotions and the repercussions of being thrust back into a world of abuse and cruelty, but they could wait. Saving people was his priority. “I was wondering if I could… well, if you’re alright with it of course. You don’t have to say yes, and I know I’m only sixteen and I’m a kid without a - a quirk but I could use my analysis or something and-!”

            “You want to work with the force?”

            Izuku hung his head. “I know, it’s ridiculous. Sorry for wasting your time.”

            He made a move to rise from the couch but the detective’s hand on his arm made him freeze.

            “No!” Naomasa grinned. “No, that’s a great idea! Sometimes young heroes aid the police to gain experience and credit. I’ve heard all about your analysis skills from Yagi and…”

            His bright demeanor shifted at the mention. Izuku almost apologized for bringing a potential rift between the friends. All Might had so few left now. He would hate to be the reason he lost another. However, he said nothing.

            Naomasa sighed and mustered up a small smile. “I’d be honored to call you a colleague, Midoriya. Who knows, lots of Underground Heroes have started by working with the police on undercover and recon missions. I know that – listen, it’s not going to be easy being a hero without a quirk, kiddo; you know that, but I believe in you.”

            He stared up at the man whose smile made the edges of his vision blur. “Really?”

            Naomasa chuckled tenderly. “Yeah. I do.”

            Hope sparked inside his chest. An image of standing in Mirio’s shadow flashed across his eyelids. He felt a fire begin to grow within him. That was fine. Izuku had always been good at finding the light. He would just have to run pretty damn fast to catch up with him.

            “Izuku, you too can be a hero.”

            The viridian haired teen stood and held out a scarred hand. Each scar told a story of his trial, his error, his victory. He could not wait to gain more. He could not wait to stand atop the mound of all the insecurities and doubt that he had beaten down. He could not wait to see his name on the board of the top ten heroes.

            “Detective, it will be a pleasure working with you.”

            Naomasa grinned wide and proud. He stood, gripping his hand in a vice. “Deku, the pleasure is all mine.”

            Izuku parted from his new boss with a spring in his step. By the time he had settled into his room after dinner, four case files had been sent to his phone. He barely contained a triumphant howl and for a second it felt like One for All was coursing through his veins once more.

            “Okay,” he hummed. “Let’s get to work.”

…

            “I can’t do this anymore.”

            Monday evening came with that mumbled confession from his mother. Izuku looked up from his newest case file. “Mom?”

            Inko stood at the doorway to his bedroom with a horribly familiar expression on her face. Even blurred by the years that had passed, Izuku could still remember the way his father’s eyes had misted over with tears even as his mouth twisted in anger. His stomach pinched as her eyes snapped to his.

            “I can’t do this again, Izuku,” she rasped, and in between the anger, he could hear the heartbreak. He wished it was not such a common tone used around him. He wished that his mere existence did not inspire suffering. “I did it when you were little and when you were in middle school. I had finally been able to stop being so worried when you went to Yuuei, but if you’re back and you… you’ve lost your quirk, then what am I…?”

            “Mom, what are you saying?” He stood, closing the file and sliding it into the mound of papers that Naomasa had sent him. “What’s wrong?”

            “You can’t…”

            The words seemed to be stuck in her throat. Her eyes closed tightly, and she brought her hands up to clutch at her chest. She was hurting. He had always hated it when his mom was hurting. Since before he could really remember, he had been looking out for his mom. He helped her carry the groceries, he cleaned the kitchen, he did the dishes. He hid his bruises and his scars from bullies, he pushed a smile onto his Band-Aid-ed cheeks to ease her worries. He had always tried so hard not to cause her any more pain, but he always seemed to mess up.

            That appeared to be an eternal trend, didn’t it?

            “Mom, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen at work or-?”

            “You can’t stay!”

            Silence.

            Izuku’s heart shattered at his feet. He had heard those words before, hiding in the hallway as his parents fought for the last time. She had screamed them at his father with the fury of a mother bear whose cub was threatened. Now she wailed them with a defining poison, a snake curled in on itself and poised to strike. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her eyes were mad. They blazed with an anger that he had never received.

            “Mom?”

            “You cannot stay here, Izuku,” she repeated with more fervor. The shakiness in her voice quelled. “I tried, I really did, but you’re disappearing at night and you come back at odd times in the morning and I can’t handle having to worry about you again. The grey hairs that I got during your middle school years were almost too much to bear and – and you’re sixteen now! I shouldn’t have to be afraid that I’ll come home to find your body, or your death is on tomorrow morning’s news!”

            Izuku blinked. He had gone to meet Naomasa every night since Friday, it was true. The detective’s schedule was hard to work around, and since he was saving people’s lives, the teen only thought it right if he was the one sacrificing his sleep to talk about their cases. Had it really been upsetting her that much?

            “And – and now you’re working on all these suspicious papers, Izuku. It’s like you’ve started up your journals again!”

            He wanted to point out that he had never stopped journaling about heroes, ergo he could not start them again, but his voice seemed to have failed him.

            Inko shook her head and waved her hands. “I’m sorry, Izuku, but you have to leave. I’m not… I can’t handle the stress that you put me under anymore.”

            He sucked in a tight breath. It did not seem enough; he felt dizzy. “You’re kicking me out?”

            “You’re sixteen, baby.” Her eyes hardened. “If you’re old enough to be a hero, you’re old enough to be on your own.”

            Dread burst alive in his chest. She was serious. He stepped back, hands shaking. “What? Mom, what on earth is going on?”

            “I’m demanding that you leave, Izuku!” her volume grew to a shout and he jumped. His mom never raised her voice, not to him. Each new syllable she uttered was another bullet to his heart. “Pack up your things and leave.”

            He felt the sob in his throat before it pierced his lips. “Where – where am I supposed to go?”

            “You’re a smart boy, Izuku. You’ll find somewhere. It just can’t be here. Not anymore.”

            Maybe this was a nightmare. It was such a childish thought, but he reached down and pinched his arm with trembling fingers anyway. He opened his eyes and no, she was still there, angry and crying and telling him he had to go.

            “Why?” he whimpered. “Why are you…? What did I do?”

            “You don’t stop, Izu,” the endearment must have slipped out without her wanting it to, because she bit her lip and stepped away from the threshold. Her green hair fell into her face and she pushed it back with stiff hands. “You never quit, even now. You’ve been kicked out of Yuuei-,”

            And how valiantly he wanted to scream that it was not his fault, that he was not always to blame. Not for this, not for his Quirklessness, not for his simple existence. “You said that was a good thing. You said that you’d be cheering me on!”

            “I never thought you’d actually make it, Izuku!” she barked, the perfect picture of a dog baring its teeth. “And when you did it was a relief, yes, but now you’re back and I don’t know if we’ll be attacked by villains or be kidnapped and every day I wake up more scared than when I went to sleep. I can’t do it!”

            “Why now?” He whined pathetically. God, did it really take just this to break him? After all he had gone through?

            Though, it made sense. His mother had always been the dearest to him. It made perfect sense that her disowning would be his downfall.

            He really was a weak, useless Deku. All the courage that he had felt when he met Naomasa disappeared in the face of this loss.

            Inko stared at him for a moment before whispering, “Because I have chosen you from the moment you were born! I work so hard to afford the best schools I can. I could have gone with your father, you know! He was willing to take me with him to America and leave you with the Bakugou’s, and I wanted to so badly, but I didn’t. For you!”

            This information shocked Izuku to his core. “You – you would have left me?”

            Are you surprised? So does everyone else. Everyone abandons you in the end. Your father, Katsuki, All Might.

            “You were already causing so much trouble, Izuku! You got into fights at school and you kept running after little Katsuki even when he told you to stop.” Inko gestured wildly. “I mean, you were four, Izuku, and your father knew that being Quirkless would change the rest of your life. He knew what would happen and he-,”

            “You would have left me?!” he repeated brokenly, tears bursting into his eyes. “I – I know I was a tough kid, mom, but I tried really hard not to mess up-,”

            “But you did, Izuku!” She screeched and Izuku felt his arm jerk. She was using her quirk unconsciously as she lost control of her emotions. “You were a hassle and every day I tried my best. I’ve taken care of you for years. Now it’s high time I take care of myself. I can’t let you stay.”

            Izuku had lost his Quirk; the ground beneath his feet had shattered. He was kicked out of Yuuei; the edges of his world disappeared. His mother was making him leave his home; he fell, down, down, down into the darkest hole he had ever seen. Tunnel vision into a pit of nothingness and hopelessness.

            “Mom-,” he would beg. He would. He had lost enough to know that sometimes pleading like a child afforded him the smallest grace.

            “No, Izuku.” Firm. She sounded like his father. “I’m giving you ten minutes-,”

            “Ten minutes?” he cried, sob wrapping around his voice and making him sound just as desperate as he was.

            “-and then I want you out of this house, do you hear me?”

            I want you gone.

            Izuku knew pain. He had known it all his life. At four years old he learned the feeling of explosions across his skin. He learned to tear, to bruise, to crack, and have to glue himself back together because no one else would. He understood abuse, neglect, and the constant weight of knowing he was worth so much less than everyone else. He knew the pain of shaking arms, broken fingers, legs bloody and twisted.

            Izuku knew pain.

            He wished he did not have to add abandonment to his long resume of past inconveniences.

            He was beginning to think that was all he was. As he shakily threw random things into a bag, he looked back on his life. His teachers, his classmates. All he had been was a bump in the road. They sneered at him and dismissed him as he only caused annoyance. Aizawa called him ‘Problem Child’, what could make it more obvious? It was exactly like all the others. ‘Quirkless,’ ‘Mistake’, ‘Unwanted’.

            All Might was right about one thing. He had never had realistic dreams.

            Neither had Icarus. Look where that had gotten him. Izuku had flown, wonderfully and spectacularly. He had soared higher and higher, careening towards his own destruction in the beauty of the open sky. He had reached towards the sun, towards his dreams, and he had gotten burned. Falling, fell, fallen. Crashing into the ground with nothing to save him, nothing to repair his shattered wings. He was alone.

            Inko did not watch as he left. She remained resolutely cleaning the kitchen. Izuku stopped on the door’s threshold and glanced back at her. Perhaps if he had been less kind and more strong, more like Katsuki, he would have been angry. He would have shouted and screamed and gotten her arrested or something. But no. He had never been like that. He had always given people too many chances, forgiven too much.

            They were all right. He really was pathetic.

            “Mom?” he breathed into the silence. She did not turn.

            “I love you.”

            He saw her shoulders stiffen. For a moment it looked as if she would reply. She did not.

            Izuku swallowed and nodded. With one sniff to stop the tears, he pulled the doorknob and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him.

            He had enough money to get him a few days, but no more. He had a few snacks and some changes of clothes. His notebooks were stuffed into every nook and cranny he could find; he was sure that many pages would be crumpled when he took them back out. He had his phone and laptop and his case files in another bag slung over his shoulder. He would not risk them getting hurt among the various crap he had in his backpack.

            He should have immediately gone to someone like Naomasa. Hell, he could have called Aizawa. They would have worked something out.

            Instead, he just started walking. He walked down the dark and cold streets with no real goal. He must have walked for hours. Suddenly and all at once, he came to himself on top of a roof. Realization came slowly. Old feelings that had been beaten down by hope resurfaced.

            Oh.

            This was the roof where…

            Well, this was hilarious.

            Some dark part of Izuku began to laugh. It bubbled up like poison within his chest and overflowed to his lips, pouring down his chin like the sludge he could still sometimes taste on his tongue. Anxiety paired with bitterness within him and he doubled over from the tears and cackles that were exploding from within him. The sounds escaping his mouth were broken, just like him.

            “You too can become a hero!”

             Horse shit.

             Izuku dropped his bags. He walked towards the edge like a phantom. Unaware of what he was doing yet so horribly awake at the same time, he stepped up on the ledge, hands grasping the railing in front of him. Breaths left him in short gasps and the laughter had stopped. Now he was just right back to middle school Izuku: depressed, unwanted, and alone.

             Maybe Bakugou was right.

             He carefully lifted himself over the fence. All he had to do was close his eyes and let go. Then it would all be over. It would be over and done and he could be free. Icarus heading towards disaster but flying. He imagined it, and for a beautiful second, the world was quiet. Nothing. He would be nothing. His body would crack against the pavement far below, blood would splatter across the concrete. His skull might split in two, his lungs might fill with fluid. But Izuku would be gone. Heaven would never want him, he knew that much, but at least he would be free.

            All it took was one step. He had nothing left. He was nothing.

            Take a swan dive off the roof of the building-

            His phone buzzed in his pocket. Startled, he grabbed onto the railing to look.

             It was from Bakugou.

Look at the idiot who decided to put his finger in an open socket and blew the power box in the dorms.

             Underneath the text was a picture of the Bakusquad piled atop Kaminari. Various lights from phone and flashlights made the shadows disappear. They chased away the darkness in the room and in Izuku’s mind. The reality of his position hit him like a bus, and he scrambled back over the railing. He collapsed to the ground in a sobbing mess, body trembling. He heaved up his lunch onto the cold roof, and probably his breakfast too, tears mixing with the vomit on his chin and that made him gag again. Blood mixed with the mess and he must have bit his lip or something.

           God, what was he doing? Where was the courage he had found just days before?

           Another buzz. With shaking fingers, he picked up the device and wiped his chin.

You better not be dead, nerd.

Don’t think I can’t tell you read this.

           Izuku felt his lips twitch. He texted back a laughing emoji.

Don’t get sappy on me, Kachaan.

They look happy.

           Izuku sighed heavily and struggled to his feet. Carefully stepping around his disaster, he picked up his things.

They miss you.

*we

            This time the smile won out. It tore across his busted lips and made his cheeks hurt. Bakugou was bold this evening.

It’s mutual.

            Izuku straightened his tremor-filled shoulders and forced himself to walk back down the staircase and into the world. No matter what, he would try. If he could do nothing else, if his life proved anything, it was that he would try.

            Izuku Midoriya always gave it his all. It was not time to abandon that idea now. Not ever. Bakugou was right. Quirk or no quirk.

            He still had work to do.

           The newest rumor was that he had been a traitor who had been selling information to the League of Villains. Shota had to give Bakugou another weekend house arrest when he attacked Monoma for that one. The rumors that had been flying around Yuuei since Midoriya’s disappearance were countless. Some declared he was kidnapped, some hypothesized he’d been murdered, and the staff was trying to keep it under wraps. With each blow to the kid’s reputation, Shota added another tally to the number of punches Nezu was receiving when he figured this whole situation out. However, time had not revealed any new clues. On the contrary, things had only grown more confusing over the past four months. Bakugou had somehow managed to temper down despite the obvious tragedy of the disappearance of his rival/friend. Shinsou had fit into their class like he was always meant to be there, and while Midoriya was missed, their education continued as normal. Nezu was attempting to cover up Midoriya’s career at Yuuei as if he had never existed. Yagi was unfazed, but it was the kind of calm that was practiced, forced, and Shota would have to have been an idiot to not notice how much time he was spending with Mirio. The “extended” third year had been excused from most of the training exercises due to the loss of his quirk, but something had changed not long after Midoriya had left; much like how the green bean had always been sprinting after All Might’s heels, Mirio was going on long runs with him in the morning and worked at the gym with him in the evenings.

            Nothing made any sense.

            It made Shota want to scream.

            Afternoon light hit his eyes and he cringed. He knew better than to grade in the teacher’s lounge in the latter part of the school day. His burning eyes shuttered.

            “Alright, Aizawa?” Yagi asked from his desk on the opposite side of the room.

            He nodded. “I just need to reapply my eyedrops. I’ll be back. Don’t touch my papers.”

            The retired pro chuckled softly as Shota exited the warm room to walk to the bathroom. At the corner, he was almost run over by a blur of tan trench coat and black hair. “Tsukauchi?”

            The detective stumbled, grabbing the wall to keep from falling over in his hurry. “Where’s Yagi?”

            Shota’s brows furrowed. Naomasa’s eyes were red, and his pale skin was almost white. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was wildly unkept. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and the fear in his eyes was mixed with a righteous anger. “Are you alright?”

            “Where’s Toshinori?” he asked again, this time with more bite.

            “Lounge,” he replied swiftly, and the detective took off down the hall.

            Shota blinked in confusion but continued his mission to the bathroom. The last time he had heard from Noamasa, he was on a case concerning some of Stain’s frantic followers. Apparently, his team had been getting intel from a local vigilante and they had made more progress with his help in two weeks than they had in six months. He did not know what would have prompted him to come in a hysterical and sleep-deprived state in search of All Might save their firm friendship… except that he had heard from Hizashi’s gossip rants during dinner several weeks ago that they had a falling out and it was causing Yagi a great amount of stress.

            Shota was glad he was not involved in Hizashi's gossip. He did not care if the retired number one had drama with his friend or how many men Nemuri was sleeping with. He carefully applied his medicine to his eyes in the restroom and felt immediate relief. Blinking several times, he meandered back to his workspace. He turned the same corner and instantly heard raised voices.

            “…bastard! He’s gone, Yagi! He’s been missing for four days and I can’t find him!”

            The pure visceral fury that was coming from the normally so collected detective was frankly very concerning. Shota paused outside the lounge door and leaned against the wall to hear. He wasn’t normally an eavesdropper, but something made him stay.

            “Masa, are you alright? I haven’t seen you for months! You haven’t talked to me and I thought you were-,”

             Yagi’s worried tone was interrupted by a tsunami of rage. “Don’t you dare start, Yagi! I am so pissed right now; you’re lucky I didn’t bring a warrant for your arrest! Now, where is he?”

            “Why would I know where he is? I haven’t seen the boy since he left!”

            Shota could only blink in shock. What the hell?

            “Masa, you need to calm down.”

            “Calm down? CALM DOWN? Is that what you told Midoriya?”

                Something horrible wormed its way into Shota’s chest. The hands stuffed in his pockets began to shake. Problem Child. The two men inside that room knew what had happened to his kid.

                 Yagi knew what had happened to his kid.

                 “Did you tell him it was all going to be okay?” Naomasa spat. “Did you tell him he shouldn’t be upset or make a big deal about it? Come on. What? What did you say to that sixteen-year-old child when you stripped away his will to live?”

                Shota was going to be sick. He grabbed the wall to steady himself. None of this was making any fucking sense. Four months of contradictory statements and rumors and now this – this furious confrontation that he had no context for. Nezu was lying to him and the rest of the staff, he was certain of that. Yagi had known this whole time and had not said a word; it was like he dropped Midoriya and immediately turned to Mirio without a second thought and…

               What was going on?

               “Aizawa-Sensei?”

               Speak of the devil.

               Mirio, in all his golden glory, was sauntering down the hallway towards him. “Have you seen All Might? I have a question about one of our hero assignments.”

               Shota was trained to detect lying like a hound smelling meat, and Mirio stank of deception. He narrowed his eyes and hid his scowl in his scarf. “He’s having a riveting conversation with Detective Naomasa.”

              The eighteen-year old’s eyes widened. “What?”

              “He’s-,”

             “Masa, what are you talking about?” Yagi’s tense tone was filled with more than just confusion. There was true fear in it too, as if something the detective had said resonated with something that was dangerous. Something to do with Aizawa’s Problem Child.

             “Give me one good reason, Yagi, one good damn reason why I shouldn’t take you straight to the station for neglect and child abuse!” And that, that made Shota’s anger explode. He did not have all the information, but the broken pieces he could deduce led to one conclusion. He did not care about the specifics or the details. He knew one thing for certain.

             Toshinori Yagi had hurt Izuku, and Toshinori Yagi was going to pay.

             “Um, Sensei, I-,”

             He pushed straight past Mirio, throwing open the lounge door. It crashed into the wall, but the sound it made did not overwhelm his poisonous hiss, “Where the fuck is my kid?”

            Naomasa was standing over Yagi’s desk, the former pro sporting a bloody nose with matching crimson on the detective’s knuckles. The officer was breathing heavily, and in the few moments he had been in there, his condition seemed to have worsened. Tears glistened in his eyes and his chest heaved with effort. Yagi looked torn between horrified confusion and concern for his friend.

            Shota, frankly, did not care what Yagi was feeling. Shota, frankly, wanted to punch Yagi in the face too.

            Naomasa stepped back, shoulders falling. “Ask him.”

            “Masa-,”

            “What is he talking about, Toshinori?” Shota was a tragically patient person. Mineta would not still be in his class if he were not. However, his good will and silent demeanor both fell away in the face of this atrocity. His kid, the same Problem Child he had cried about on three separate occasions since his disappearance, the same Problem Child whose letter was tucked into a precious spot in his dresser, the same Problem Child whose classmates still turned to in class without him being present, the same Problem Child who Shota adored and never told, left him thinking he was nothing more than a nuisance, nicknamed him something that would only bolster his insecurity, and the same Problem Child that Shota missed more than he ever thought possible, had been dragged through the mud because of this, had lost good standing in Yuuei, had been cast out and insulted as a traitor or a deserter. A coward. And now, now, there was someone to blame.

            Shota began to shake. The same man who had sworn to protect Izuku, to care about him and train him, had hurt him. “Abused”, Naomasa had said. Yagi, who he had assumed was closer to Midoriya than anyone, had broken that bond and abandoned him. How? How could he look at precious, cherished, brave, foolish, reckless, and wonderfully heroic Midoriya Izuku and just let him go?

            “Detective Naomasa is just confused,” Yagi glanced back and forth between him and the officer. However, halfway from Naomasa to him, his eyes widened. At Mirio. “H- he’s not well.”

            Oh, that was a stutter. Yagi always stuttered when he lied.

            “Not well?” the detective repeated slowly, left eye twitching. “I’m the one who’s not well?”

            “Detective, maybe its best if you went to see Recovery Gir-,” Mirio’s gentle advice, which Shota would have agreed with had this whole situation not been so questionable, was cut off by Naomasa’s bitter laughter.

            He grabbed the side of Yagi’s desk as he doubled over, croaking chuckles filled with the wetness of oncoming tears. Shota took a step closer to try and steady him, but Naomasa straightened a second later, face gone horribly cold. The normally soft and compassionate officer had been replaced by a man with hatred written into every facet of his expression. “Don’t you dare try and tell me what to do, Mirio Togata. You have no right to stand there, One for All in your veins. You don’t-,”

            He bit himself off suddenly, closing his eyes tightly. When he reopened them, he stared at Mirio, not really sorry, but like someone was forcing him to apologize. Someone whose heart was softer than even this kind officer. Who did that remind Shota of? “No. No, I’m not… not at you. I’m sorry. I’m angry at you, but it’s not your fault. It’s yours.”

            And here he turned back to his friend. “Fuck you, Yagi. Fuck you, fuck your decision, fuck your hero status. Nana would be so disappointed in you.”

            All Might reeled back in shock. “Naomasa!”

            “Don’t,” Tsukauchi barked. “you dare. You listen to me, All Might.”

            He spat the title like it was the name of a supervillain, and Shota was inclined to agree with the sentiment.

            “You broke the greatest kid to ever exist, I want you to know that. However, though the world doesn’t deserve it, he’s rather good at putting himself back together like shattered glass.” Naomasa growled, hands clenching into fists at his side. His eyes flashed with more anger than Shota had ever seen on the man. “He’s going to be the greatest underground hero that the world has ever seen and he’s going to do it all without you. Do you hear me? I hope you look back on what you did and regret every second of it. I hope you and All For One are very happy together because you’ve both inspired the sparks of villainy into children who want to help people and are cast aside by the heroes who swore to protect them.”

           The detective glared at the former number one, not a single hint of the friendship they used to be able to boast about. It lay in shambles at their feet, mixing with the drops falling from Yagi’s nose.

           Shota was caught in a crossfire of confusion and catastrophe that was filled with information he was not privy to. He was floundering in a tsunami of chaos and righteous fury that revolved around his Problem Child, caused by the horrors of others, which resulted in his pain.

           “I’m warning you, Toshinori, if I find out he’s hurt, if he’s been kidnapped or worse, and it’s your fault, I will murder you.” Shota knew, in some detached part of his brain that was not filled to the brim with buzzing explosives and frantic heartbeats, that that was a blatant threat, and he should restrain Naomasa. He did not. “I will kill you myself and no one will ever find your body. I will personally release All For One so that he can take One for All and give it to me so I can obliterate your wasted corpse so that no one will ever remember you.”

          He took another few strides to reach Naomasa’s side. He clasped his shoulder.

          “Detective,” Shota rasped, even though he agreed, knew that if this continued it would only create conflict. He might never get the answers he wanted if a real fight broke out, and Mirio looked like he was about to launch himself at the officer.

           Naomasa came back to himself slightly. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and blinked away his tears. “If Izuku becomes the world’s greatest villain, there will be no one to blame except you.”

            He stormed out with the fury of God in his form, and no one tried to stop him.

            Shota had too many questions and no idea where to start. No, that wasn’t right.

            “Did you hurt Midoriya?”

            It was scathing, like bubbling acid. It burned against his tongue and it hit the floor, encompassing Shota’s world in flames. He could not begin to describe the anger that was sparking inside him. It was more than any he’d ever experienced before. Righteous and ugly and murderous and desperate and sad. God, so sad. Only Oboro had inspired this kind of anger paired with grief.

            Yagi sputtered in guilty surprise. “It’s not what you think-,”

            “Tsukauchi is not a liar, All Might, and he does not meddle in the realm of exaggeration.” Shota was sick of being lied to, of being deceived, especially when it came to one of his kids (and yes, Midoriya was still one of his kids. He would always be Shota’s kid, his Problem Child, even when he was called traitor and murderer and coward. He would always hold the biggest place in his cold heart.), especially when it came to Midoriya. “Answer the damn question.”

            “Sensei, you have to understand-,” and the fact that Mirio tried to interject made it worse because that meant there were others, people that Midoriya had considered his friends (and oh, God, was this Bakugou’s fault too?), involved who knew and had not told him. How many? How many of them had been laughing at Shota’s sorrow, had been celebrating in his devastation? How many had seen him mourn the loss of a child and done nothing?

            “You shut up,” He hissed, curses brimming on his tongue like liquid lightning. “The fact that you have anything to do with this makes me angrier than I can say. I’m only going to ask you this one more time, Yagi. What the fuck happened to Midoriya?”

            And here, here lies the kicker.

            Those blue eyes stared back into his ebony ones with pure conviction, and Shota did not have a truth-telling quirk, but he knew a genuine belief when he saw one. Toshinori Yagi looked at him and stated, with one hundred percent surety and confidence:

            “It was for the greater good.”

            And then Shota socked him in the nose.

…

            Patrol. That was his punishment. Time away from Eri on fucking patrol. If he wasn’t already planning on murdering Nezu, he would have spent the next three meetings glaring a hole in his furry skull.

            Yagi had been sent to Recovery Girl, who had taken one look at him, the blood caking Shota’s scarf and his knuckles, and had given the retired number one the scariest smirk that Shota had ever seen.

            She did not heal him, and Aizawa was reminded that yes, Chiyo was good people.

            Seeing Yagi walk down the halls towards his next training exercise with a bloody rag held to his nose was not nearly enough to satisfy his anger, however. Shota knew that he had been going to meet Mirio, that he used to do the same with Midoriya, that he had dropped the kid like he meant nothing.

            Like Midoriya Izuku could ever mean nothing.

            He was distracted, a dangerous mistake to make on patrol, especially as an underground hero. The trafficking ring he had been following was full of idiots, but even idiots can get the upper hand if the hero is preoccupied. The trio he was pursuing jumped him ten minutes into his mission. He was glad that none of his students were there to witness their pro hero teacher go down like a sack of potatoes.

            He was unconscious in seconds.

            When he woke up, it was to the sound of two distinct voices arguing over whether or not to kill him. Delightful.

            “He’s a pro hero, Nochi.” The deeper voice was saying as the fuzziness in Shota’s head began to clear.

            “Oh, says the one who brought him here.” His partner, a woman, growled back.

            “I didn’t know he was Eraserhead, Nochi.”

            She groaned in reply and there was the sound of someone getting slapped. “Shut up. We can’t even use him, Machida! He’s not Quirkless! Our buyer won’t want him.”

            Shota stiffened. So he was right; They were kidnapping Quirkless people. Over ten cases now of missing persons had been filed, but of course since they had no quirks, most people did not care that they had disappeared. Naomasa had sent him the information roughly two weeks ago and told him that he had several men on it already, but he could always use some professional input. Shota had accepted. Anything to distract him from the horrible web of lies that was Yuuei.

            He was going to have to make Naomasa pay him back for his medical bills after this. He could already tell his ankle was broken, as well as several ribs. God, he hated being kidnapped.

            “But he’s a pro, Nochi, and if our information is correct, then he’s the one housing the girl from the Chisaki raid. If we-,”

            “I agreed to take Quirkless scum, you idiot. No one notices when they go missing,” and she spat they like it was a reference to something disgusting. He sometimes forgot how prejudiced the world had become against those without powers. “But this guy has people who know him, who care, and this isn’t the League of Villains. We don’t have some awesome teleportation quirk to get out of any trouble the pros might bring.”

            “So, we kill him?” Machida asked, boredom filtering into his tone.

            Shota kept his head down as he blinked. He was tied to a chair (very original) and his capture weapon and belt were gone. He could taste blood in his lips and the tell-tale feeling of it dried and caked on his nose. Broken. He and Yagi were matching now. Just thinking of any similarities between him and that bastard made him growl.

            “Oh, he’s awake!” the man clapped once and strode towards the chair.

            No use in keeping up his charade, Shota lifted his head and licked his busted lips. “Evening.”

            The pair were wearing matching white suits with different patterns of lines around the waist, collar, and wrists. Nochi’s vibrant yellow eyes matched her electric hair and Machida looked like some failed Halloween art piece with green eyes and orange hair. The man’s hands were inky black, but they caught the light falling from the bulb above him to make iridescent waves on his fingers - a quirk to do with oil. He didn’t have a read on her quirk, but if he were to make a guess, it had something to do with toxic chemicals. Many times, physical traits could expose the truth behind someone’s powers.

            “It’s early morning, actually,” Nochi drawled, picking at her nails. “You’ve been out of it for about four hours. One of our boys gave you a little too much sleepy stuff.”

            “Why are you kidnapping Quirkless people?” Shota snapped, testing his restraints. Whoever had tied the rope was an expert. “Who is your buyer?”

            “uh, uh,” Nochi moved next to her partner. She stooped down to tap his nose condescendingly. “You don’t get to ask the questions here, sweetie.”

            “I thought we weren’t going to ask him anything!” Machida barked.

            She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Machi.”

            “Is it for testing?” Shota continued as if he had not been denied. “Do you kidnap them because they can’t fight back?”

            “Oh, don’t say that,” She clicked her tongue. “We found one a few days ago who has plenty of fight in him, didn’t we? Took out Sakane like it was nothing. It was shocking. I didn’t know they could do anything other than killing themselves.”

            It was a horrible sort of joke, one that he had heard variations of for years. Shota hated a lot of things, but one of the ones he despised the most was the blatant stigma against the Quirkless. Society deemed them worthless, useless, mistakes, and self-fulfilling prophecy created a diminishing group of depressed and potentially villainous people who had nothing to lose. It was one of hero society’s greatest failures.

            “Yeah, but he quieted down after Masaki shot him a few times,” Machida rubbed the back of his neck.

            “Are you torturing them?” The pro tried to roll his shoulders and hissed in pain.

            “I’d be a little more concerned about yourself, Eraserhead,” Nochi purred. “Besides, we still haven’t decided if we’re going to-,”

            An alarm went off and the room’s light turned red. Both villains straightened. Machida jerked out a phone and began typing away. Nochi opened her mouth to ask what was going on when-

            The wall behind him exploded. Concrete flew across the room and imbedded itself into the opposite barrier, sending dust and debris everywhere; it took Nochi with it. Shota immediately tensed as a scream pierced the air; another body soared past his left shoulder in the same path as the demolished wall and collapsed against the rocks, blood spurting from several places.

            “Man, ya’ll sure are good at destroying your own companions, aren’t you?”

            The new voice was almost drowned out by the roar that followed. “COME BACK HERE YOU BRAT!”

            Another soundwave tore through the wall on his other side and Machida just managed to dodge out of the way. He sprinted to his fallen partner with a yell of her name. Shota struggled to turn around to find the new components in this equation but found it impossible. He cursed his aching arms.

            “Alright, that was just rude.” The newcomer returned, sounding genuinely offended that the third villain had just tried to blow him through the wall. “You seem a little uptight. Have you tried therapy? Yoga? I have a pretty swell- WOAH!”

            Machida had launched a wave of oil out of his fingers, confirming Shota’s hypothesis. There was a shout of pain and a thud. The red-haired criminal yelled, “Fakuda!”

            “Geez, you got him good, Machi-whatever-your-name-is.” The voice sounded closer this time. It was young and hoarse, laced with carefully concealed pain. Shota wondered if it was one of the Quirkless captives. Whoever they were, maybe they could get him out of these stupid ropes.

            His vision swam. Oh, and maybe treat his concussion.

            A figure sprinted past his left, skillfully scaling the pile of concrete like a dancer. It blurred, both in reality and due to Shota’s crumbling eyesight, launching towards the remaining villain and slamming him into the ground. Machida collapsed but released a wave of oil towards the stranger’s face. He dodged enough so that it landed on his shoulder and let out a yelp, but he dropped to his knees and landed another expertly placed blow to Machida’s face. He dropped, head lolling to the side.

            The man stumbled to his feet, holding his side and letting out a heaving breath. “Now I just need to find my phone.”

            Shota blinked, trying to clear his line of sight. “Hey, you, what the hell is going on?”

            The person froze, broad shoulders stiffening.

            “Hey, are you-,”

            He turned, and Shota’s vision tunneled.

            The hair was shorter, but it was still soft viridian green and made of wild curls. His skin was tanner, but it still sported those endearing freckles. One of his eyes was white and a scar tore through the middle, from his hairline to his chin, but they were still wide and kind and currently filled with disbelief. He was taller, bigger, as if he had finally filled into the form he’d been training for since the start of his first year.

            But no matter the differences, Shota would know that face anywhere.

            “Problem Child?”

            The kid didn’t reply; he seemed overcome with shock, but he stumbled forward, pulling a knife from his side and moving behind his chair to cut Shota’s ropes. Shota almost ordered him to stop because to do so he had to leave his line of sight and all he wanted to do was stare at Izuku for the rest of his life.

            “Problem Child? Are you alright? Where the hell have you been? Are you hurt? Midoriya, talk to me-,”

            The sixteen-year-old let out a shaky breath as he rounded the chair to release his teacher’s feet. Shota pulled his hands from behind and instantly reached forward to grasp the kid’s shoulders. Why the fuck was Midoriya worried about his tied ankles? All Shota could think about was the white orb of his right eye, the scar traveling down his face, the chopped hair and haunted look in his student’s gaze.

            “Midoriya. Problem Child, stop.”

            He had never been good with raised voices. Shota knew that, but he was still felt guilty when the kid gasped and shrunk in on himself. “Hey, hey, it’s just me, kid. It’s Aizawa.”

            Midoriya kept his head down. That just would not do. He had gone four months without seeing that brilliant stare. He would not let it escape when it was back within his reach.

            “Kid, look at me. Hey. Izuku.”

            And finally, he looked up.

            “Hi, Sensei.”

            Four months. Four fucking months of scrambling for answers and hanging onto fraying threads of hope and scrounging for any trustworthy information he could get his hands on and there he was. A little broken and a little bruised but wholly Izuku and Shota could not stop himself from surging forward and bringing the kid into the fiercest hug he could remember giving. He wrapped his arms so tightly around the kid that he heard Izuku gasp, but he did not let go. He could not let go, not now, not when he could finally touch him again and fully grasp the truth that he was alive and okay and safe in Shota’s arms.

            His bloody fingers carded through those brilliant viridian curls. “You’re here.”

            “Yeah, I’m here,” Izuku rasped. “I’m here, Sensei.”

            And wow, did that title coming from those lips almost make him weep? Yes. Yes it did.

            Shota was trying not to drift back into unconsciousness.

            “Sensei? Are you alright?”

            His response was to tighten his hold around Izuku. He was worried that if he tried to speak, his voice would shatter into a million pieces. There were still so many unanswered questions. He had no idea where this kid had been, what had happened, why he had left. Anxiety and trepidation had not left, the true confusion of the situation only reaffirmed when he pulled back to look into the kid’s eyes.

            One green. One grey.

            “God, Problem Child, what happened?”

            Izuku’s mouth formed a thin line. “Not here. You need help.”

            “I need help?” Shota laughed manically, the shock finally setting in. The overwhelming relief and joy at seeing his kid had not dissipated, but it was beginning to mix with the extreme stress of not knowing anything. He was an underground hero. He usually had all the answers before anyone asked. “Have you seen yourself? Kid, what happened to your eye?”

            The sixteen-year-old clicked his tongue, gaze looking back towards the exits. “Again, not here. I…”

            He paused, glancing back to his former teacher. He searched Shota’s eyes for something. “I promise I’ll tell you.”

            “Everything?” Shota pushed.

            Izuku hesitated before nodding. “Everything. But first, we have to get you to Masa’s apartment. He’ll be worried sick.”

            The teen gently pulled Shota to his feet and laid his right arm over the boy’s shoulder. Together, they stumbled out of the room and down the hall. He let Midoriya lead the way since he seemed to have his bearing. They weaved around corners as quietly as possible, but their caution appeared unwarranted. No one came after them.

            “They mentioned others.” Shota hated relying on his student for help. He should be the one aiding him in limping out of a prison he had been held in and tortured, not the other way around.

            “I got them out before I came searching for the leaders,” Izuku explained. “Stumbled upon you, which, um, hello.”

            Shota let out a bark of laughter in surprise. “Hello, Problem Child.”

            Izuku ducked his head at the pure affection that soaked up Aizawa’s voice. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

            The hushed confession made his heart clench. “I have a knack for finding lost things.”

            Midoriya’s shoulders tensed, and his eyes were misty when they met his, but he smiled. “You do.”

            “Though, I suppose you found me this time,” he admitted as they began climbing a flight of stairs. “Some teacher I am.”

            “Don’t,” the kid snapped. “You were the best. You – you were the best.”

            Shota grinned wryly. “Kiddo, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve been missing for four months. I tried finding you, but your mother had no idea where you were and the rumors flying around school didn’t help matters. I know it has something to do with Yagi and-,”

            “Shh!” Izuku covered his teacher’s mouth with his gloved hand. His relaxed posture was quickly forgotten. His broad shoulders tensed, and his eyes flickered from one wall to the next, each nook and cranny scanned in trepidation. “It’s not safe.”

            The underground hero decided to concede his current confusion. Instead, he let himself look at the kid. He was at least two inches taller. His curly hair had been buzzed underneath but still maintained its insane curls. He had more freckles which almost made his cheeks a darker shade then the rest of his tan skin. He could see several new scars on the exposed portions of his body. Aizawa was torn between staring at the cloudy iris and adamantly not looking at it. Someone had hurt Izuku so badly that he was blind in one eye. Someone had carved new crevices into his skin, had left blemishes that no sixteen-year-old should bear, had placed more weight on his young shoulders.

            Someone had hurt him, and Shota had been none the wiser.

            “I’m not blind.”

            Shota looked back. He held eye contact this time.

            Izuku mustered up a faint smile. It was a sad echo of the wide grins he wore before. “I have special glasses I wear during the day and goggles designed for my vigilante activity. It’s… it’s not that bad.”

            A new bundle of inquiries appeared in his brain. “You’re a vigilante?”

            “No, I just wear this tight outfit for fun,” Midoriya snorted.

            Aizawa pinched his nose. “Don’t sass me, Problem Child. I am not above giving you detention for disrespectful behavior towards your teacher.”

            Something about that phrase made Izuku stiffen. Any humor that had been fostered between them dropped. Those bi-colored eyes fell to the ground. The grip on his wrist tightened. Shota found himself scrambling to keep up with the suddenly changing moods.

            “Of course, Sensei. Sorry.”

            “Kid, no, I was joking,” Shota swallowed, praying that the teen would look back up at him.

            Unfortunately, the submissive and wary nature displayed by Izuku was not one of the new additions to his character. From day one, his flinching and stuttering had been red flags for abuse. Shota had met Inko and had ruled out the sweet woman, but abuse did not just come from parents. Even though Izuku had grown while at Yuuei, he had always maintained that air of a child who had seen mistreatment.

            It seemed that whatever had happened to him in the past few months had not helped that trait at all.

            Izuku seemed adamant on not looking at him, so when he spoke again, his eyes were trained staunchly ahead. “There’s the door they brought me through. We’ll come out in a warehouse, I think. Our stuff should be in there.”

            His voice was soft, and Shota wanted nothing more than to wrap him up until all his anxiety disappeared. He could only tighten his grip on the kid’s fingers and hope he understood. “Sounds good, Problem Child.”

            Izuku’s lips twitched. Shota counted it as a win.

            “I like the haircut,” He hummed, wincing at a particularly sharp pain in his leg.

            Finally, those eyes swooped back up to his. “Really?”

            The Pro nodded. “Makes you look older. It suits you.”

            “Masa said I went from thirteen to seventeen when I got it,” Izuku chuckled. “Which doesn’t make any sense, since I’m still sixteen, but he just talks sometimes.”

            They reached the landing and Izuku pushed the door open. Shota kept his pride under control at the sight of the kid’s strong arms thrusting through the entryway. He remembered the slight muscles he’d had in his first year.

            “Detective Naomasa?” Shota asked quietly, struggling through the short corridor. Another door and then they entered the warehouse the kid had mentioned. Immediately, they both began glancing around for their stuff.

            “Yeah,” Midoriya answered. “He’s been taking care of me since…”

            Something came over his eyes then and Shota was scared he would start crying. He was not sure he could handle a crying Izuku without breaking down himself. He still was warring with all his own emotions and questions. If the kid collapsed then his tentative self-control would shatter.

            “I thought you said something about ‘not here’,” his teacher muttered.

            The kid nodded, taking a deep breath.

            They searched for roughly twenty minutes before Shota spotted his belt and capture scarf. Relief flooded him when he found his phone unbroken and with half its battery left. He shot a quick and discrete text to Nezu to tell him that he was alive but would not be back for a while yet and 'could he please arrange for the care of his class'. A few crates over, Izuku let out a whoop and dove into a pile of gadgets.

            “Are those your goggles?”

            “Yep! And- oh!” he dove back into the heap of weapons. “And my guns!”

            Shota froze, head whipping to the right. “Your what?”

…

            The walk to Naomasa’s house was made one hundred times more difficult because of Shota’s limp leg. What should have taken the pair twenty minutes lasted an hour and by the time they reached the back door, the underground hero was about ten minutes from passing out. The pain had only grown with each step until he was practically leaning all his weight onto Izuku. The kid never complained, just hefted a little more of his teacher into his arms and kept going.

            God, this kid.

            Izuku did a rhythmic knock on the door and it swung open.

            Naomasa stood there, eyes wide and rimmed with red. His frantic gaze swept over the disgruntled pair.

            “Evening,” Izuku hummed with a wan smile. “Sorry I’m late.”

            The detective surged forward and wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders as best he could without upsetting Shota. He whispered something urgent in the teen’s ear that Shota deliberately did not listen to out of respect and then pulled away.

            “Yes, I got the info, Masa, who do you think I am?” Izuku smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “They’re quite loose-lipped when they think you’re just some dumb Quirkless kid. Which, granted, I am, but, I’m also me, so…”

            The detective suddenly let out a bark of wet laughter and reached up to ruffle the kid’s rambunctious curls. “And you saved Eraserhead.”

            “Eh, it was a joint effort,” Shota drawled. Izuku grinned. Definite win.

            Naomasa quickly got them inside and Izuku settled him onto the couch. “Lift that leg, Sensei.”

            “You first,” Shota hissed. The fierce protectiveness that arose whenever any of his kids were in danger had not disappeared when Izuku had. Now that the kid was back in his sights, it resurfaced with a fervor. Each cut on the kid’s skin was like a neon sign of his failure.

            Naomasa came around the corner with a professional first aid kit and dropped to his knees beside the sofa. After running a hand down Izuku’s cheek, an action that the kid leaned into with warm familiarity, he turned to Aizawa. “Sorry, Eraser. As much as I want to agree with you, Zuku’s injuries are a little less severe. Those ribs and your concussion need to be taken care of.”

            Shota opened his mouth to protest, but Izuku began to make himself comfortable on the floor to tend to his own injuries, so he remained quiet.

            “How’d you get out?” The detective threw the question over his shoulder.

            Apparently, Midoriya finally deemed it safe enough to speak, and answered, “I was talking to Dabi when they got me. Seven of them and one of me, and I’m good, but not that good.”

            He rolled his shoulders and slipped off his shirt. Bruises covered his toned abdomen and dried blood lined his collarbone like a red ballpoint pen disaster. There was a new scar across his chest, but it was not light red like the others he had obtained due to his quirk. It was paler than the rest of his skin, much like the one on his face.

            However, Shota’s memorization of all the Problem Child’s new wounds was halted by the words he said catching up to his brain. “Did you just say Quirkless? And Dabi?”

            Izuku’s proud smirk wavered before disappearing. He glanced towards Naomasa, brows pinched together. A silent conversation passed between them before the viridian haired kid sighed deeply. “It’s a long story.”

            “Kid,” the sixteen-year-old did not raise his head. Shota immediately amended. “Izuku.”

            Green eyes met his, and there was so much there. Pain and heartbreak and betrayal. A strength that Shota did not understand, formed by years of something, something that he felt he was on the precipice of knowing. Midoriya had always been an enigma, a coiled mess of power and insecurity, of bravery and fear formed by years of abuse.

            Shota stared into those beautiful green eyes and hoped that Izuku saw someone he could trust in his own.

            He did.

            Izuku leaned against the couch, his curls falling across Aizawa’s left leg. It was a sign of tentative faith. “Sensei, everything you know about me is a lie.”

            Immediately, he wanted to refute that, but Eri always said he was a good listener. He let the kid continue.

            “I was born Quirkless,” Izuku swallowed, and there was a shift in his eyes. He had seen it happen before. In a minuscule moment of weakness during his time at Yuuei, Izuku would shutter inside himself, become a shell. His eyes would glaze over like he was reliving a war behind his fluttering eyelids. He would shrink, hide. Noises made him jump, the world around him became a battlefield filled with mines and tear gas. Every conversation was dangerous, every inflection and differing tone could be another bullet to his flimsy shield of excuses and dishonest courage.

            Shota had seen the act before. He had witnessed the switch in Midoriya’s attitude twice before. Each time, however, the kid had shaken himself out of his stupor and kept going. It was an extreme act of strength and self-discipline.

            He was an idiot for not asking about it sooner.

            “A-and I’m not lying,” he urged quickly, waving his hands. “I got the test done three times and each time it came back the same. And – and when I was diagnosed, my dad left for America and didn’t come back. I lost all my friends and my teachers stopped liking me. I…”

            He swallowed, shoulders falling. “I became worthless.”

            Again, Shota wanted to refute the statement, to scream and shake his shoulders. Already, he was beginning to grasp reality.

            “The first time I was told to kill myself I was six,” he whispered, playing with his fingers to keep from looking at him. “Every day my teachers would look away when the bullies hurt me. When I came back with bruises and a bloody nose, they would tell me that it was my fault – and maybe it was, but that still didn’t…”

            He broke off, sniffling. “It got worse. My mom started ignoring my new scrapes and bruises. I learned to avoid coming in the front door when she was home, so she didn’t give me one of her disappointed looks. I was always at a disadvantage, scrambling to keep up with the kids who actually mattered.”

            Shota bit his tongue so hard blood shot against his gums. He was burning with rage at the images Izuku’s story concocted. Little Izuku, green hairs and freckles, smiling brighter than a sunrise, being hurt by his peers and the adults who were supposed to protect him. It was no wonder the kid had not trusted him when they had first met. It was a wonder the kid trusted him now.

            “I wish I could say it got better, but,” He shrugged. “I’d be lying. Middle school was filled with suicide baiting and a sad grade average. My teachers blamed me for any misconduct, as I’m sure you saw on the transcript to Yuuei.”

            Shota never looked at the transcripts from the teachers. He would much rather make opinions for himself, unbiased and without others' influence. Another mistake.

            “I got in trouble all the time,” he waved, trying for nonchalant and hitting exhausted by mistake. “I was the troubled one, the one that people always saw as a nuisance and a waste of space. The bullies spread the rumor that my Quirklessness was contagious, so no one would be friends with me. I was alone.”

            More images, each more harrowing than the last. Izuku, sitting by himself at recess. Izuku with flowers on his desk. Izuku stumbling home, his mother’s back to him as he made his way to his room. Izuku patching up his new wounds with slim and shaking fingers.

            Izuku, unwanted.

            That last one was impossible for him to imagine.

            “Kachaan was my best friend before I got diagnosed,” He continued quietly, picking at a scab on his forearm. “After, he became the main bully. He called me Deku, because it meant worthless. He was right.”

            Naomasa’s grip on the bandages tightened. Shota did not move his eyes from the kid. He had already been overlooked enough. He did not deserve that from Shota.

            At least, not anymore from Shota.

            “He had never told me to kill myself, but the day he found out I was applying to Yuuei seemed the perfect opportunity,” and here, here a tear finally slipped down the kid’s cheek. It was as if everything else he could manage, but the thought of Bakugou telling him to die was too much. “He burned my shoulder. You can still see the scars.”

            And indeed he could. A faint palm outline was settled on the ridge of his collar bone and shoulder. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to find Bakugou in his dorm and expel him. But Aizawa knew better. He knew that the explosive teen was trying, had gotten repentance. He had been there for the aftermath of their slowly mending relationship. He had seen the progress both of them had gone through.

            Bakugou would be a great hero. It was unjust for Shota to judge him on past mistakes he was trying to gain redemption for every single day.

            “That day, the Sludge Monster Incident happened. I’m sure you heard about it. All Might saved me. When… when I asked him if I could be a hero even without a Quirk, he told me no.”

            And Shota could not keep the growl between his teeth with the admission. It came out like the rumbling thunder of a mamma bear’s deadly bite.

            Izuku tensed but did not move away. “I almost jumped.”

            Naomasa gasped in tune with Shota.

            A horribly sad laugh came from the boy. “I know. Another statistic in a long line of graphs and charts about the poor Quirkless kids who have nothing left to live for. But I didn’t. People needed saving, and, well, other people have always come first, I guess. I used to think that would have made me a good hero.”

            And it would. It would have made him a great hero. Izuku’s selfless view of the world would have made him fantastic.

            Shota wanted to kill every person who had told him otherwise.

            Starting with Yagi.

            “After the Sludge Incident, All Might offered to train me and…” he glanced up at his teacher quickly before looking away again. “He-he gave me his quirk.”

            Shota narrowed his eyes. “What?”

            Naomasa tied off the bandage to his head. “All Might’s quirk is called One For All. It’s transferrable.”

            The brief explanation left him with questions, but he decided they were for a later time. “So, the quirk you possess now is that quirk?”

            Izuku swallowed again. He reached up and wiped his wet eyes.

            “I don’t have it.”

            “What?” Shota was fairly sure he had seen Izuku surrounded by green lightning and soaring through the sky like a falling star. Sleep deprivation did a lot to the brain, but he was certain he had not imagined that.

            “I don’t have a quirk anymore,” he bit, but it was so small. Like a dog who’d been kicked to the point where its bark was quieter than a bird. “I- Mirio has it.”

            Aizawa froze. The world around him became black and white.

            Four months ago, Mirio had started spending an unexplainable amount of time with Yagi. He had sacrificed his apparently precious time with Eri to disappear into the gyms or off-campus with the retired hero. The entire time, he had been training, but Shota had not known for what.

            He was training with Izuku’s quirk.

            “I got it the day of the entrance exam, that’s why I didn’t have any control over it,” He rushed to explain immediately. The look on Aizawa’s face must have been furious and he believed it was aimed at him. “I promise I’m telling the truth. I worked so hard just to get to five percept power in my hands and even then I had to break myself over and over again. I- I wasn’t a suitable vessel. That’s why All Might asked me to give it up.”

“You… you really don’t have a quirk anymore?”

The question just made the kid wilt more. He shook his head. “And my mom doesn’t… she…”      

Perhaps Shota should have known.

Naomasa confirmed his horrible suspicion. “Midoriya Inko kicked him out less than a week after it had happened.”

“She didn’t want a worthless, useless, Quirkless kid,” Izuku whimpered, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Not that I blame her.”

“Izuku-,”

“I understand, which is kind of the saddest part,” he laughed, running scarred fingers through his already unruly hair. “Mirio makes much more sense and he won’t have to kill himself to-!”

            “You don’t have to justify that bastard’s actions, Izu,” Naomasa’s hands were fisted on the couch. “We’ve been over this.”

            “But he’s right-,”

            “No he’s not.”

            Shota could hear the venom dripping from his tongue. He could feel the need to have Yagi’s neck under his hands so deeply his fingers naturally tightened. Any respect he had had for the pro was gone, dismissed like sparks on the wind. Shota was going to kill him. He was going to rip that quirk from Mirio’s bloody hands and he was going to give it right back to who it belonged to. He was going to take Izuku all the way to the number one spot if it killed him and he was going to be so damn proud.

            “You,” Shota stopped and swallowed. When had the tears appeared? “You are the best, Izuku. You gave everything to be a hero. You are the best.”

            The Problem Child hiccupped. He shook his head. “You don’t have to say that. I know that you think I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

            Shota regretted every time he had implied such nonsense, even when the kid was being difficult. No child should ever feel like they’re a waste of space, that their teachers are tired of them in that way. “I think you’re wonderful.”  

            Izuku let out a dry sob. “You don’t think that.”        

            “Why not?” Shota suddenly had to make the kid understand. He had to drill past the years of insecurity to make this precious child know how much Shota adored him.

            “Because you’re a teacher and teacher’s don’t-!”

            “Izuku, I believe you.”

            The kid’s breath stopped. His hands were shaking.

            Shota reached down and hooked his pinkie through Izuku’s. It was something he had seen the kid do with Eri whenever she was overwhelmed or scared. The action was not lost on the teenager.

            “Izuku. Problem Child, I believe you.”

            He wondered how many times someone had said that to him. How many times had someone truly looked at the beautiful, wonderful, good kid that Izuku was and listened? Believed? Trusted him? Shota knew that there had been times he had not. But Izuku had always tried to earn that trust, that faith. He had always striven to gain a love he did not think he deserved. All the fearful looks, the desperate need to prove himself, made sense now. His reckless disregard for his safety – it all made horrible sense. If he had been taught his entire life that his existence was worthless, that he had no use, than if he believed someone else would be better off at the cost of his life, then he would gladly give it away.

            The shattered bones, the bloody body. The breaking and aching and hurting that he endured was all worth it, in his eyes, if other people were better.

            It was a dangerous mentality.

            It was a fatal mentality.

            “And I am so fucking proud of you.”

            Izuku sobbed, turning and throwing himself into Shota’s arms. The underground hero grabbed him and held him tighter than he had in that dungeon, nestling his nose into the kid’s curls. He pressed Midoriya’s body so close to his own that he prayed it left an imprint so he never forgot how precious he was.

            Shota looked at him, this sixteen-year-old kid who wore his heart on his sleeve with pride, who sacrificed it all for those who did not deserve it, who burned himself to dust like a phoenix and clawed his way out of the ashes and kept going. Shota looked at him and he could not speak. He could hardly breathe as he gazed at Izuku Midoriya , this combination of dying star and gentle waves, who smiled with crinkled eyes and bore his teeth like a roaring lion, and he believed, just for a moment, that perhaps the gods did grace the earth with their presence, for only the fingers of heaven could have shaped such a being.

            He vowed to do right this time.

He would do better.

            I promise, Problem Child.

            “Thank you,” Izuku whispered.

            Shota found himself smiling. A tear slid down his chin. “I’m not sure I deserve that.”

            The kid laughed; Aizawa did not know why. “It’s not about what you deserve.”

            The underground hero laughed dryly and sneaked a kiss into those green locks. There was work to be done. Adoption papers first, therapy second. He was getting this kid under his roof before the fortnight was out, that was a promise.

            “Now, what is this thing you said about Dabi?”

Izuku wiped the remnants of tears from his cheeks. He felt blush creep across his nose, but the embarrassment he felt paled in comparison to the extreme sense of belonging which filled him whenever he met Sensei’s gaze; it was the familiar feeling that he had thought long gone when he left Yuuei and his class of hellions. He had hoped, in some recesses of his brain, that he would meet Aizawa again further down the road. Perhaps they would fight some thugs together or he would ask him to train him to be an underground hero when he turned eighteen. 

Life always had different plans. 

Now, his fingers were lethargically carding through Izuku’s damp curls as he leaned against the pillows on the couch. “Alright, Problem Child, I agreed to wait until we both took showers. Now, what the hell were you talking about when you mentioned Dabi? It had better be code for something, because if you’re consorting with the League after everything they put you through, I will have to have Naomasa and yourself arrested.” 

His voice, though carrying jest, also held an element of warning. Izuku swallowed and grinned sheepishly. “I’m not sure I can tell you.”

“ Kid ,” Aizawa growled, but the anger in his voice lessened when Izuku flinched. Instantly, he sunk back into himself and tucked away his claws. He tried again, much softer. “Izuku.”

He knew that Sensei was not going to hurt him. Logically, the man who had jumped into every dangerous situation to save him and his class would not try and harm him. Doubt, as it always did, sparked to life within him. He had once thought the same about Toshinori Yagi. 

“Zuku,” Naomasa interjected gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You can trust Aizawa. And hey, if he tries anything, I’ll shoot him, okay?”

Immediate anxiety flared and he waved his hands fervently. “No, no, please don’t. I’m not…” he bit down the deprecating words, knowing they would only make the policeman sad. He had a knack for turning all of Masa’s smiles to frowns. “It’s fine.”

His former teacher had tactfully retreated into his cup of coffee, and his eyes had lost their hardness. Izuku assumed that it took much self-control. “I promise that I’m not going to do anything that inspires me being filled with holes, Problem Child. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” 

Izuku could tell he wanted to pounce him and make him talk. “First, you have to know that this is top secret. I- only three people know about it.”

Aizawa opened his mouth and then stopped. He closed it and nodded. 

The sixteen year old took a deep breath. Unconsciously, he glanced towards the directions of his two exits. Habit, at this point in his life. He had almost outgrown it when he went to Yuuei. It had returned with a vengeance. “Dabi is… not a villain.” 

His teacher sighed, his carefully constructed restraint crumbling. “Kid, I know you like to believe in the good in everyone but-,”

“No, not-,” it was Izuku’s turn to sigh. He shook his head. “Not that like. I mean, actually not a villain. He’s not with the League to hurt people, not anymore. He saved my life the second week I went out as Viridian.”

The memory made him smile. He had been beaten black and blue, so used then to having One for All in his veins that fighting without it was difficult to return to. He had been left for dead, blood more visible than his own skin, and that was when Touya found him. At first, he had not realized who Izuku was. He had just seen another unwanted kid in an alley with no one to help and nowhere to go. So he helped Izuku tear his shirt into bandages and had already wrapped the younger boy’s abdomen when he realized they were supposed to be enemies. 

Something about Izuku had stopped his flames, though. Touya said it had been his eyes, but he had no idea what that meant. He had paused, only for a second, and searched the greenette’s face. Finding whatever he was looking for, he had resumed his mission. He had tended to Izuku’s injuries with the skill and familiarity of someone who had done it many times. Izuku did not doubt he had. 

“He saved Izuku’s life,” Naomasa explained, arms crossed across his chest. “Trust me, Aizawa, I was just as skeptical. In fact, when Dabi brought him back, I almost shot him right between his eyebrows. But… the kid’s telling the truth.” 

The detective’s lips twitched. “Both of them are.” 

Izuku hated that Naomasa’s words were given more credit than his, but he supposed that Aizawa knew that the policeman was not blinded by his “childish innocence”, not that he thought he had any left. He swallowed his snide remark about this and continued. “He’s been helping me for weeks, ever since that first time, and trust me, Sensei, I do my research. He’s trying to… gain redemption. 

It felt wrong outing Touya without his permission, so he shoved the remark about the Todorokis back down his throat. “He knows that he’s done wrong in the past, but he wants to do better.”

“I feel like this is more than just you making friends with dangerous villains,” Aizawa clicked his tongue, taking another sip of his coffee. “Though, if anyone could do it, it would be you, Problem Child.” 

“Eh, us misfit kids have to stick together,” Izuku chuckled. “Dabi is our inside guy. He’s been feeding me information about the League for a month.” 

The underground hero stiffened and sat up in his seat. “You have information about the League?”

Izuku nodded. “We’ve been gathering everything he’ll tell us, which is surprisingly a lot. Masa and I are planning on using it to take them down.” 

Aizawa snarled. “You were planning this without any pro hero aid? I know you’re reckless, Problem Child, but this is a stretch, even for you.” 

The teenager frowned. Behind the facade of anger, he could see his teacher’s worry, but it did not lessen the blow of condescension he felt. He was so tired of people underestimating him. “We’re not going in without a plan, Sensei. I’m well aware of the danger that the League poses. I was there, but with All Might out of the running and we knowing nothing about Mirio’s mastery of One for All, it seemed like the perfect time. The League doesn’t know that I no longer possess All Might’s quirk.”

“I’ve never had someone so happy to be the bait,” Naomasa smirked. “He’s a target and Shigaraki wants to get his hands on him. We stick him in some secluded location, Dabi tells the League, and then someone comes to get him. Lo and behold, they’re ambushed by my guys and some local heroes and Izuku retreats to a safe house or bunker until it's safe to return here. Viridian is helping to take down the League of Villains one criminally insane murderer at a time. 

Naomasa clapped him on the back. “You should see him fight, Eraser. He’s good.” 

Before Izuku could glean the pride from such praise, Aizawa seethed, “And how do you know that Dabi isn’t feeding the League the same information you’re giving him?”

The green haired kid crossed his arms over his chest. His arms ached. It was unfair that he could retain the pain but no longer possess the power. A sadistic part of him wished all the hurt had transferred to Mirio along with his quirk. “Dabi only knows bare essentials. He doesn’t know our plans yet.”

“Plans?” Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, plans ,” Izuku replied, fighting to keep the edge out of his voice. Though he did not doubt that Masa would fight his teacher if he tried to hurt Izuku, he knew better than to test an adult’s patience of him. No matter what the teachers or police or parents said, there was always an Midoriya Izuku limit. He did not want to test Naomasa’s. Or Aizawa’s. “Multiple.”

“Kid’s a genius,” the detective testified, ruffling his hair. “I’m glad that you were born so good, Izuku. If the villains had gotten a hold of you… well.” 

Izuku hummed. He would not deny he had thought about it, once upon a time. Back when darkness and loneliness were all he knew. When his father left and his mother’s words were empty reassurances. When Bakugou’s hands left marks on his skin before they ever helped him up. He had imagined it, what he could do to a world that had never loved him. What he could do to be seen. 

Aizawa glared at him, but it was more a probing gaze than a truly angry look. He was testing his sincerity. “Problem Child-,”

The door suddenly burst open and in flew Bakugou Katsuki. 

Izuku and Aizawa shot off the couch and whirled around, immediately falling into a fighting stance. Naomasa raised his coffee mug and nodded towards the blonde. “Good evening, Bakugou. There’s milk in the fridge.”

Even as the detective was talking, the hero in training pushed past Aizawa and grabbed Izuku in a hug. Tension fled from Izuku’s shoulders like smoke in the wind and he instantly wrapped his arms around the taller boy’s back. The familiar scent of caramel and books filled his nostrils and he buried his face into his friend’s chest. Four days with those demented freaks had left his nerves and senses frayed. The warmth and comfort that Katsuki brought seeped into his bones and settled his galloping heart rate.

“Hi, Kachaan.”

Katsuki pulled away roughly, but the grip on Izuku’s arms remained gentle. “ ‘Hi ?’fucking ‘ hi ’? I haven’t heard from you in five days, Nerd, and then the Detective texts me telling me you were kidnapped? I’ve been texting you for hours .”

Izuku blanched for a moment, unsure why he had not received any notifications. Clarity soon came and he stammered, “I don’t take my phone on missions with me, Kachaan, just in case I get caught! It’s been on silent in my room since…. Well, Thursday, I guess.”

Bakugou shook him. “You idiot! You know that you’re supposed to text me when you get done with this shit! You trying to get me to blow up my dorm?” 

The younger boy laughed quietly, “If you didn’t notice, Kachaan, I’ve been a bit preoccupied.” 

With the wave of his hand towards their teacher, Katsuki seemed to become aware of his presence for the first time. Aizawa, on the other hand, looked as if he was about to throttle the blonde and then hang him from the ceiling with his capture weapon. 

“Bakugou… you knew where Midoriya had been this whole time.” 

Warning bells went off in Izuku’s brain. That was Sensei’s danger tone. 

Katsuki scowled, and, throwing common sense to the wind, snarled back, “Don’t get mad at me, Sensei. The nerd told me not to tell anybody! Especially not in Yuuei, not with the traitor on the loose.”

“The traitor?” Aizawa paled slightly. “You know about the traitor?” 

“We’ve suspected it for a while, yeah,” Izuku answered, nodding. He unconsciously leaned into Katsuki. The blonde did not shift away. It was just another testament to their friendship. They had consistently met up on the weekends since he had started kind of living with Naomasa. Even if everything else had changed, his loud and brash companion had not. “We don’t know who it is yet.”

Aizawa, seemingly still not settled with the knowledge that Bakugou had kept this from him, set his lips into a firm line. “Neither have we. I’m sure Nezu has his suspicions, but he’s not exactly forthcoming.” 

“I wanna skin that little rat,” Katsuki growled, metaphorical hackles rising. “Him and All Might.” 

Izuku shook his head. “Kachaan, we’ve been over this.” 

“And I still think you’re too soft!” The explosive teen snapped back. “That’s-,”

“Not what’s important right now,” Naomasa interrupted sternly from the kitchen. “I agree, Bakugou, but that is not our main priority.”

He rolled his eyes and huffed but stopped his tirade. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m glad you’re not dead, Nerd. You got Shitty Hair worried.”

“ Kiri was worried?” Izuku grinned slyly. 

Bakugou scowled, cheeks dusted pink. “Yeah, you dipshit.”

“Kirishima knows?” Aizawa asked, but it sounded more like a dumbfounded statement. 

Again, Izuku moved his head affirmatively. “He found out when he followed Kachaan to one of our meetups. He knows about… all of this, I guess.”

“Were you talking about the mission?” Bakugou asked. 

Naomasa handed him a glass of milk. “Here. We’re catching Eraserhead up to speed.” 

“Lots to take in,” Aizawa drawled. “I have half a mind to give you detention.”

“You haven’t even heard the dangerous part yet,” the detective pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Zuku’s going to try and take on Shigaraki.” 

“ What ?” Sensei rounded on him, eyes flashing red. His quirk activated instantly, but Izuku did not feel any different besides the arc of fear that went through his body. He managed not to step back but only because of Bakugou’s warm hand at his back. Constant. “You’re planning on taking on that psychopath by yourself?”

“No!” Izuku swallowed. “I’m not All Might. I have no intention of doing this whole saving thing by myself. Even with my quirk I never would have done that.”

“I’ll be there,” Katsuki supplied. “Shitty Hair too.”

“And how were you going to get permission?” 

“We were going to enlist Class 2-A’s help,” Naomasa answered their teacher easily. “Yuuei in its entirety, if we can.” 

“Who were you going to ask? Me?” Aizawa sneered, putting his mug on the counter, anger noticeable in his shoulders and the tightness of his fingers. “Until today, I didn’t even know that Midoriya was alive.”

“Nezu,” Izuku responded calmly, hoping that he had gotten slightly better at concealing his emotions. “Even though I’m not his biggest fan, we don’t think he’s the traitor. When I show him the plan, we’re hoping he sees the logic and strategy enough to agree with us and let Yuuei students and teachers help. The more, the better.”

“And, pray tell, what does your amazing plan entail?” Eraserhead ran a weary hand down his face. Izuku felt bad for him. Within the past twelve hours he had been beaten, found out his lost student was alive and a vigilante, and now, while he was still recovering from the knowledge of said student’s Quirklessness and subsequent doings, he was listening to the halfway to suicidal plan of a teenager and a grossly optimistic detective. 

If Izuku had his way, he would do this by himself. He would not put Naomasa’s life at risk, or Katsuki’s, or Sensei’s. Maybe when he was a hero with power in his veins and All Might in his corner, sure, but being a vigilante had taught him much about the loneliness of saving lives. Truly protecting people, especially those you cared about, sometimes meant zero connections. Nowhere to call home for fear of that home being destroyed before your helpless eyes. 

But his friends knew better. Katsuki knew better. He would never let Izuku run in alone. 

“Well, I’m the bait.” Izuku ran a hand through his hair. “I show myself at Yuuei, in my hero suit, back and ready to play, every so often. The traitor sees me several times over a few weeks, relays the message to the League, as well as Dabi on our side whispering into Shiggy’s ear about just taking Yuuei off the map anyway, and they show. Meanwhile, the staff that we trust know of my existence and the plan and begin making preparations. I have a list of things that each teacher and faculty member can do to help. When the League comes, we’ll be ready.”

“That is horribly underthought,” Aizawa snapped. 

“I can’t tell you everything,” Izuku argued, hands fisting at his sides. There was information he could not tell anyone, not even Katsuki. He had plans in the works that would make it perfect, seamless, and hopefully safe. Hopefully no one would have to die except maybe him, but that was a sacrifice he had always been ready to make. “But you have to trust me.” 

"You're insane," Aizawa hissed, eyes wide with fear. "Problem Child, you're Quirkless." 

And even as Katsuki jumped in to defend him with brash words and fiery insults, Izuku bristled. He had heard it so many times in various forms. For years he had been told it was impossible, that he would never make it, that his dreams were unrealistic. He knew that. 

And yet, look how far he'd come.

"It's nuts, Bakugou!" Their teacher fumed. "And so are you if you think you can pull this off! I understand you have a drive, Midoriya, but bravery and determination does not stop bullets. It won't stop Shigaraki from disintegrating you and- and..."

Anyone could tell how much Aizawa Shota cared about his students. From the way he allowed them to break rules, to how he jumped in to protect them at every danger, to his fond smiles and gruffly affectionate words. Izuku knew that his disappearance had affected him. One of their deaths could be crippling. 

But he had to do this. No one had been there for him. He had fallen alone, with no one to catch him. He had been told for over a decade that he was worthless. 

He had a feeling that Shigaraki heard the same thing. And maybe, maybe heroes were supposed to save the villains too. 

"Maybe we are nuts," Izuku whispered. He raised his eyes slowly, and with the same intensity he would have fueled with One for All, he almost felt the lightning flit across his gaze. "Maybe we're insane, but the best people are. You were insane to take on the League at the USJ, we were insane to go and save Kachaan at Kamino. I was insane to charge Overhaul. But we did it and we won, Sensei. The League is getting stronger all the time. Shigaraki is growing more and more unhinged.”

Aizawa was practical, logical. Izuku watched the gears in his head turn as he mulled over his ex-student’s words. 

“I know you’re scared, Sensei. I am too, but this is what heroes do.” 

“You’re not a hero, Izuku,” He replied sadly. “You’re a kid.” 

“There’s no difference anymore, Sensei,” Katsuki interjected. “Yuuei is already teaching us to be soldiers. Ever since the USJ, we’ve been learning to die on the battlefield. We’re being taught to drown in the fucking blood we cover our hands with or swim. We know what it might cost to be good. We’re ready to pay.” 

Izuku saw the pain in their mentor’s eyes. He hated how much they understood the reality of the situation. He despised how quickly these children had become hardened warriors. He could hardly stand what they had seen so early, what they had experienced that made them so ready to give it all. 

He hated that these teenagers were their first and last line of defense, hated that they knew that, hated that they had accepted it. 

“You’ll need somewhere to stay,” Aizawa said, exhaustion permeating every syllable. Even so, a smile crossed his lips. “Come live with me. I promise Eri can keep a secret. Besides, I feel that Bakugou will cause less trouble if he knows where you are all the time.” 

Izuku stuttered, blinking quickly. “You- you’re asking me to come live with you?” 

“I’m sure the detective needs a break,” He huffed, but his fond smirk betrayed his annoyance. “And I know that I can keep an eye on you this way.”

I can care for you. 

Izuku heard it loud and clear. A grin broke across his face. “You really want me?” 

Something shattered in Aizawa’s gaze. “Yeah, kid.”

The fact that Aizawa knew made his entire body fill with warmth. Someone else knew now, someone who had his back. His misfit little family grew large with each new member and he could not fathom how he had earned this. He did not deserve it, but he would take it while he could, just like all the other good things in his life. 

Izuku did not keep good things because he was not good, but maybe, just this once, they would stick. 

“I can’t remember who I was before the world told me who I should be, who I couldn’t be,” Izuku choked, tears suddenly springing to his eyes. Katsuki’s fingers linked around his wrist. A silent support. A fortress of strength. He could go on. “But I know that no matter what, I want to save people. And… and even if I don’t deserve it, I want a happy ending.” 

“We’ll get it, Izu,” Katsuki said firmly. 

“And kid,” Aizawa added, walking forward and placing a grounding hand on his shoulder. “No matter what, you’ll be a hero in my book. Quirk or not, you’re still Deku. Now and always.” 

There was a fire to Izuku. If led correctly, he could warm the entire world with his light and life. If he ventured down the wrong path, he could burn the world down. 

He chose to light up like a supernova. He would be an exploding star, beautiful and powerful and unstoppable. 

And he would win. 

Izuku grinned, tears in his eyes, and held out his fist. “Plus Ultra!” 

Three other fists met his and echoed the chant. 

He hoped that everyone underestimated him like Aizawa had, like All Might had. He couldn’t wait to show them all how fucking dumb they were. 

The first time Shota came home from patrol to Izuku’s room empty, he was slightly distressed. He had phoned Naomasa and confronted Bakugou after class about the Problem Child’s disappearance, and they both told him that Izuku did that now. His missions were top secret and were ordered by the police, though they did not know Viridian’s identity. The kid had appeared two days later at one in the morning with a broken wrist and purple circles under his eyes, smile soft and bright. Immediately, Shota had instituted a rule: if the kid had a mission, he actually informed his guardian, and then said guardian did not have nightmares of him dying in horrifying ways until he returned.

That last part, he found, was not necessarily true. Even when he knew where Izuku was, the terror of losing the newly found child continued.

Moving Izuku into his small home near Yuuei had not been difficult. The kid had two bags of belongings to his name. He had carried one and Bakugou had carried the other. Naomasa had hugged the kid tightly and ruffled his hair before saying that he would see him soon. The trio had left the detective’s home and headed towards the station. While they walked, the boys chatted in hushed tones about Izuku’s latest capture (which disturbed Shota to a degree he could not truly fathom), and Shota had wallowed in his own shame and fury.

Those emotions had yet to diminish.

Aizawa sighed, running a hand over his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Two weeks. The Problem Child had been “living” with him for fourteen days but had only really been there six of them. Eri had no idea he was there. As much as he had grown to dislike Mirio with the information he had learned, he dared not deprive her of another one of her heroes. She deserved every happiness she could get.

“Sho?”

Speak of the devil.

Shota turned towards the sweet voice, feeling his expression immediately soften. Her hair was still in the long braids that Tsuyu had put them in the night before, delicately twisted around her horn. She had chosen her pale-yellow dress with the roses that brought out the color of her eyes.

He smiled gently. “Good morning, Eri. Breakfast is already on the table.”

She grinned so big her eyes closed. She scurried over to his side and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him with those big and adoring eyes. He melted in the face of such a precious sight.

“Good morning,” she replied cheerfully. As she pulled away and sat in her seat, she asked, “Are we going to Yuuei today?”

Shota hummed. Sundays had become her and Mirio’s go-to hangout days, and he and Izuku had agreed that this one was also the best time to go talk to Nezu. The kid had insisted that the earlier the better. His guardian had grumbled that they could have done it even sooner if the kid had been around.

Izuku had slid his Viridian mask over his face at that and hung his head, eyes cast to the side. Aizawa had cursed himself. Eri and Midoriya were incredibly different, and Shota was still incredibly new to the "dad" thing. Even as traumatized as she was, Eri was still a child and had lots of room to be loved and cared for to relearn what true unconditional love looked like. Shota intended to be the person that gave it to her and show her others who would do the same – his hell class, Mirio, the other pros who were fond of her. Midoriya was so different. He had already learned the love he deserved: none. He took every criticism as another notch in his worthlessness belt, even when he tried to hide it. He flinched when Shota appeared behind him without warning and kept his voice soft, like anything louder than a murmur would insight a smack or reprimand. He was sixteen and had learned the treatment that came with his life.

The wrong treatment.

It was a learning process. Izuku deserved unconditional love just as much as Eri did. He just did not believe it yet.

“Sure,” Shota nodded, glancing towards his phone. The kid had texted him that he was returning soon. His eyes strayed to the door. “Eat up.”

His adopted daughter did just that, humming contentedly to herself as she scarfed down her waffles. He grinned behind his capture weapon. Man, he really lucked out with his kids, didn’t he?

Shota stiffened in his chair. Kids? Was he already calling Midoriya his? Not just in a teacher way, not just in the “I will protect you because you are my responsibility” way, but in a parental way? He had barely gotten the kid back in his life; he could not already be laying claim. Of course, he had already begun working with Naomasa for adoption papers, but…

Fuck. He was getting another kid.

Well, he supposed there were worse ways to grow a family than taking in two broken children and teaching them to love again.

That was what Hizashi and Oboro had done for him, right?

He heard the front door open and his heart sped up. Oh, Eri was going to freak out. He just hoped she did not turn Izuku into a baby.

“Sensei? I’m back.”

Eri was good with voices. Shota was sure that skill had a horrible origin, but as soon as the first two syllables were out of Problem Child’s mouth, she was out of her chair. She almost slipped on the wood floor with her socks in her quest to get to the door. Izuku caught her.

Shota’s heartbeat finally settled. He almost snorted at his own ridiculousness. Of course Midoriya was fine. He had done this for four months without Shota. Why would this be any different?

 He was still in his Viridian suit. He must have used the secret way back to the house. He had a new wound on his cheek, but it had been patched up hastily and probably by himself. His eyes were tired, but any sorrow that might have been in them vanished the moment he realized who was in his arms. “Eri!”

“Deku!” she shrieked. “Deku! Where have you been? Are – are you okay?”

He laughed, light and free and it made Shota’s heart warm. “I’m fine, Eri. I’ve missed you!”

“You did?” she asked, wiggling her way into his chest.

He instinctively bent down to wrap his arms around her, squeezing her tightly. “Oh, you bet! Who wouldn’t miss you?”

She giggled adorably and snuggled closer. “Where did you go?”

His smile faltered only for a second. “Oh, I’ve been on an important mission, Eri. But you can’t tell anyone I’m back, okay? It’s a big secret.”

She sobered. “Are you trying to save someone like you saved me?”

Izuku’s grin tempered to an incredibly soft smile. “I’m trying, Eri.”

“We were thinking of going to Yuuei,” Shota interjected, taking a sip of his third cup of coffee.

“Oh, you have to come!” Eri clapped her hands, overwhelmed by the excitement. “Mirio will want to see you!”

Immediately, Izuku’s smile dropped. “Oh?”

Shota could have sword the temperature in the room dropped. Whatever sunny warmth his vigilante had inspired upon his arrival vanished at the mention of the new bearer of One for All. He saw the anxiety begin to take shape in the teenager’s eyes and his breathing picked up. An untrained eye would not have caught it. Aizawa did.

“He always looks so sad when I talk about you!” she explained, ignorant of the downcast expression on her hero’s face. “This will be so great! It’ll be like a fieldtrip! Like the one where we went on to the zoo!”

Eri, having no idea of the panic attack flashing across Izuku’s eyes, wiggled back out of his arms and raced back down the hall, squealing happily. Shota waited until he heard her run up the stairs before walking towards the teenager. He placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. The greenette took in a large breath and blinked; he must not have realized he had stopped breathing.

Vibrant eyes rose to meet his. “Today, huh?”

“I did mention it,” Aizawa drawled. “We can always push it back.”

Izuku shook his head, reaching up to unlatch his Viridian mask. “No, no, we need to get things started. I just met up with Dabi. The League is…”

He closed his eyes as if in pain. Shota’s grip on his shoulder tightened.

“I’ll tell you tonight,” he whispered.

The pro hero nodded in understanding. “You sure you don’t want to get some rest before we head over there? Eri can wait a few hours. Mirio has… other things to occupy his time, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure.” Midoriya’s smile surfaced, dry though it was. “And it’s fine. I’ll just crash tonight. Not the first time I’ve gone without sleep.”  

Shota frowned behind his scarf but nodded. One day, Problem Child would realize how unhealthy that mentality was. One step at a time. “Then get out of that and put on your covert civilian clothes. The hell class won’t be able to keep it to themselves if they recognize you.”

The vigilante agreed, beginning to strip off his accessories. He removed his outer jacket and threw it over his shoulder. Managing a small smile, Izuku moved forward and wedged his arm through the small gap between Shota’s side and his arm. Perplexed, the underground hero blinked.

Oh.

Izuku was hugging him.

The kid had never done this after returning from one of his missions before. They had exchanged affectionate touches, sure, but it was always hesitant, and Shota usually initiated. Only a second’s pause and then Shota wrapped his arms around the kid’s back. He pulled him in closer like Izuku had done with Eri, like he was something precious; he was. “Glad you’re safe, kiddo.”

The vigilante hummed and nodded into Aizawa’s chest. “Me too.”

The man reached up and ran his fingers through those green curls. “Rough one?”

Another hum of conformation. “It’s just a lot.”

Shota barked out a sad sort of laugh. It was a mix of paranoid fear and bitter irony. While this one had only lasted a day and a half, he was still filled with terror each moment that Izuku was no with him. now that he had the kid back, he had no intention of ever losing him again, and knowing that he was off risking his life without backup, without assistance, chilled him to his core. Teamwork was something that Shota stressed in class, something that Problem Child had excelled at. He made people around him braver, stronger, happier. The knowledge that he was alone out there kept him awake at night.

“You’re worrying,” Izuku’s voice flattened.

Aizawa looked down. “Hmm?”

“You have the worried look, Sensei,” Problem Child answered. “I’m okay.”

“Hmm,” Shota replied, showing how much he simply adored the entire situation. Izuku rolled his eyes good naturedly and pulled away to take his things to his room. That had been a huge step for them. The vigilante had initiated the contact. Naomasa would be so proud.

He paused in the hallway and turned back to look at Shota. The adult waited patiently. The detective had said to let Izuku come to him in these kinds of situations. There were times to rush towards the kid; this was not one of them.

“Am I.” he paused and swallowed. “Do I really have to see Mirio?”

Shota finally let some of his bubbling anger out in a growl. “No.”

Some of the tension leaked out of the kid’s shoulders and blinked in surprise. Did he think Shota was going to force him to face one of the people who had torn his dreams to shreds? “Oh. Thank you.”

Before Shota could tell Izuku he did not have to thank him for common fucking decency, he had turned the corner down the hall. Sighing, the pro went back and cleaned up from breakfast, making sure to put some away so that his reckless crime-fighting kid could eat extras later. By the time he had finished and wiped down the table, Eri was waiting by the door, bouncing on her heels and holding Izuku’s hand like it was her lifeline. She was babbling on about something that Hado had helped her make several weeks ago. Izuku’s curls were catching the early morning light and his eyes were crinkled in an enthusiastic smile. Shota smirked at the sight his kids presented. Adorable.

His kids.

Yeah, that sounded right.

Izuku adjusted the bag on his shoulder and looked at him. “Field trip?”

Shota snorted, shaking his keys. “Field trip.”

The walk to Yuuei from Shota’s off-campus home was ten minutes, and in the cool autumn morning with the sun shining on them, it was a pleasant trek. Shota tried not to let his anxieties about meeting Nezu overwhelm him or worse, be conveyed to Izuku. Instead, he linked his hand through Eri’s and led them to the school. His daughter skipped between him and Izuku, her hands in one of theirs, talking about various things that Midoriya had missed. Momo had made her a Lemillino onesie. Bakugou had made it to the top of the class and instead of gloating about it, he made dinner that night for everyone to celebrate. Sero had finally beat Kirishima at Mario Cart. Kaminari had caused a blackout by blowing the power box.

Izuku found the last one particularly entertaining, because he got a certain gleam in his eyes and a tender smile on his lips.

Aizawa hummed appreciatively. The kid deserved to smile.

The gates came into view and Shota did not acknowledge the stumble in Izuku’s step.

“You okay, Deku?”

Izuku licked his lips and recovered quickly. “Yeah, Eri! You know me, I’m just clumsy.”

She was a child and bought the lie. Izuku did not try to convince Shota of the same.   

Entering the school went by without any commotion. As they got into the elevator to go to the third floor, where Nezu’s office was, Aizawa leaned over and muttered, “Text Bakugou that you’re here. If you need a quick escape, he can hide you in his dorm until I can come get you.”

Izuku nodded and pulled out his phone. Eri, who had not noticed, continued talking about the new ice cream that Mina had introduced her too.

The elevator doors opened, and they exited. Shota knelt in front of his daughter and pushed a stray hair behind her ear. Those crimson eyes glittered with glee. It was a good day for her. “Deku and I have to go talk to Nezu. We’ll come get you later, alright?”

She nodded and got on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. He smiled, placing a hand on her head.

“Go on. You don’t want to keep Mirio waiting.”

Eri grabbed Izuku’s wrist and got on her tip toes. Taking the hint, he bent down to receive a kiss as well.

They watched her run down the hallway and around the corner.

“You sure you don’t want to walk her?” Izuku asked quietly. “I know the way to Nezu’s office.”

Shota bristled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “And let you be assaulted by one of your classmates or a teacher? No.”

The sixteen-year-old nodded and whispered a small “thanks”.

“You don’t need to thank me,” the underground hero sighed. “It’s what I’m here for.”

There was a silent promise in those words. He hoped the kid heard it.

Nezu’s office was two hallways down. They almost made it there.

They turned a corner and came face to face with Toshinori Yagi.

Instantly, Izuku stumbled backwards and his eyes shot wide. Shota watched in horrifying slow motion as his chest began to seize with hitched breaths. Terror was laced between each freckle on his cheeks like a grotesque constellation painted across pale skin. His head shook in short bursts, like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare. Four months of absence had not lessened any of the emotions that Midoriya had felt the moment All Might had asked him to give up his quirk.

Yagi was not supposed to be here.

Shota had frozen.

Yagi was not supposed to be here.

All Might had a similar reaction to the teen’s, but he recovered much quicker. “Young Midoriya-,”

Izuku recoiled as if he had been slapped. “I – I’m not – that’s not my name.”

Shota choked. The sudden thought of “of course he doesn’t want to be called Midoriya, his mother kicked him out and practically disowned him you fucking idiot” crossed his mind at the same time that “if you murder Yagi right now no one will have to know” did and the war was a hard one. He did not decide a winner quickly enough, because Yagi was talking again.

“Where have you been, my boy? Naomasa came here looki-,”

“I’m not your boy,” Izuku rasped, trying to sound angry but coming off as broken and Shota’s heart tore at the sound. No one should make him feel like that. No one should inspire such heartbreak in someone so young. “I – I’m not your anything.”

Izuku’s breathing was continuing to pick up its pace. He had backed up against the hallway wall, eyes glancing around for an exit, but he did not run. He was blinking rapidly, trying to wake up from this horrible dream. Had he dreamt this before? Cornered and lost with nowhere to go, locked in by the man he had dedicated his dreams to?

Yagi stepped closer and Shota wanted to rip his reaching hands off at the wrists and shove them down his throat, but his body would not move. “I’ve been worried about you, Izuku. No one knew where you were. The rumors…”

“Rumors?” Izuku’s laugh was hysterical. “What, you didn’t feel comfortable telling them that you had thrown me out like last week’s garbage?”

It occurred to Shota that this could have been the first time that Izuku had let himself feel the emotions that had been crippling him since… perhaps forever. Izuku fought, he was a fighter, and he had been a fighter his entire life. It would not surprise him if he had been destroyed by All Might and then wiped his face and gotten up the next morning, flashing that bright smile that was so easy to fall for. He would need no convincing to believe that he did the same when his mother kicked him out. Izuku always got back up, even when it made no sense why. There was always someone else to save, other people to rescue.

Shota had the fleeting thought: had that person to save ever been himself?

Yagi’s face fell. Aizawa wanted to punch the apologetic look right out of his electric blue eyes. “Izuku, I never meant-,”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” the kid’s voice shook, and his eyes moved around faster than Shota could follow them. He was looking anywhere but All Might. “I didn’t – I didn’t have a quirk, All Might! I had nothing!”

“My boy-,” and it was horrible that Shota could tell the retired pro was trying for redemption, hoping for forgiveness. It was an even worse that that Izuku might give it.

Yagi did not deserve that. Yagi deserved to rot in Hell.

“I’m not your boy!” Midoriya – Izuku – yelled, pushing himself off the wall and covering his eyes with trembling hands. His hitching breaths were becoming sobs. “You made that pretty fucking clear!”

Yagi was still reaching forward. He was still talking.

Shota wanted to tear his tongue out. Hell, he’d enlist Endeavor’s help to burn it to a crisp.

“You must understand, Young Midoriya-,”

“My name is not Midoriya!” He repeated, louder, higher pitched. So much more afraid. “I’m not your boy! I don’t have a quirk! I’m not your successor anymore, All Might!”

Shota finally found his feet and surged forward but that was the wrong move. Any movement to Izuku was a threat in this moment and the kid flew away from him, shaking his head furiously to get rid of the voices undoubtedly telling him all the things that others had sworn he was: worthless, unwanted, abandoned, alone, nothing.

"And you know what? I get it!" Izuku threw his hands out, shoulders falling as his eyes shone. "I get it, okay? I can't hate you or want you dead because I understand.”

“Deku-,” Aizawa cautioned, but what was he supposed to say? He had not prepared for the situation. Yagi did not come to Yuuei on the weekends unless it was to speak with Mirio. His classes were all on the lower levels or in the training grounds. He being here was not part of the plan.

Izuku gulped with a shriek of laughter that sounded a lot like a wail. He thrust his arms out and shrugged as they shook. “I'm just like that though, right? The stupid, trusting, naive kid who can't hold a grudge against the friend who told me to kill myself, or the mom who told me I wasn't worth it, or you!"

Yagi looked heartbroken. His eyes had widened and whatever he was going to say died on his tongue. He had nothing in the light of this devastation. The Midoriya Izuku he had known was brave, valiant, and happy. He had hidden his trauma under courageous speeches and heroic acts of selflessness. His grin had been like Yagi’s own, inspiring all he met. This Izuku was shattered, a million scattered pieces of crumbling dreams and hopeless efforts at greatness. He was a mess of tears and turmoil, failed experiments and scarred skin.

 He had the blood of the stars in his veins, and he was exploding.

“You!” Izuku’s eyes were wide with crazed humor. Bitterness topped his shoulders like a mountain's snow. "You, the man who told me I couldn't be a hero, that my dreams were unrealistic. You, the man who trained me beyond my capacity, who thrust me into a world I had convinced myself I was ready for. You, who was raising me for a suicide mission, and you," He laughed wetly, tears burning his eyes. "Who took away my quirk the second you began to doubt."

"That quirk-,"

"IT WAS MINE!" Izuku screamed and for once, no one told him to calm down. For once, all of the adults watching him listened. "You gave it to me, remember? Told me I would be a great hero and everything. I had been Quirkless my whole life and I got a stockpiled quirk under control in less than a year. I fought and trained and practiced and I tried so hard."

Shota’s own quirk was useless in this situation. The only one with any power in this hallway was him, and yet he found himself utterly powerless. He could not fix this. Yagi had crossed a line four months ago that had left Deku cracked in a way he could not sew back together in two weeks. He needed months to love him and cherish him and repair the wounds that others had left on him. This interaction was too soon, too fresh.

“And – and I know that I wasn’t enough, okay?” Izuku sobbed, hands shaking. “I know that I wasn’t improving fast enough-,”

Shota chilled. He could remember saying something similar, back when he had no idea that the kid’s quirk was new, and it had not been his for more than six months. Back when he thought all that Izuku had been was another privileged kid who had not bothered training his quirk.

“But I was trying so hard to do it right! I woke up at five to train, I stayed up till twelve studying!” he gasped, a horrible wet and croaking sound that cut Shota’s chest so deeply he clutched the front of his shirt. “I – I wasn’t the top of my class, I know, but I’m me, so I’ll never be that, but I was giving it my all! Isn’t that what you ask of us, All Might? Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?”

They had all failed him, in one way or another. Izuku had suffered because of everyone else. Self-fulfilling prophecy. People told the Green Bean his life was not worth anything, so he threw it away in the name of heroism. People told him that he was useless, so he made himself believe he had to prove his usefulness at whatever cost. People abused him and mistreated him, so he accepted it as normality; common decency became so strange to him that it was suspect or because he was being pitied.

“You told me that I needed to try something more realistic and then two hours later you offered me the chance to be more and I believed you,” Izuku babbled, tears slipping down his cheeks and catching the morning light like molten gold. “And you made me believe I could be something more than a Quirkless nobody, made me believe I could be something and I did! And then I gave everything to you, to this!”

He waved his arms around at the walls of the hallway, of the classrooms that lay beyond the doors. “I gave every single part of myself, sacrificed my bones and my life to this, and it still wasn’t enough! Why?”

He stepped closer, shoulders shaking with the wight of his suppressed sobs, and all Shota wanted to do was run towards him and take him into his arms. He wanted to hold him, hug him, tell him how much he was worth, how well he had done, how much he had accomplished. How he was more than enough, had always been, just the way he was. Quirk or no, Izuku was enough because he was Izuku, and that was all anyone should have ever wanted.

Everyone had told him that he was unrealistic, and that his dreams would get him killed. Everyone told him he was a dying star, so that was what he became.

And no one had ever told him differently.

It was pathetic in its own way, that Bakugou, the child, had apologized for his past transgressions before any of the grown-ass adults in Izuku’s life. It was sad that these sixteen-year-olds had a better grasp on forgiveness and redemption, of earning back the trust and compassion of those you have wronged, than these men who had seen death and carnage and destruction.

Shota’s thoughts stalled. That was no distinction. Those same sixteen-year-olds had seen the exact same, and yet they had come out the better. The kinder.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Izuku whimpered, smile stained with tears and sorrow. “Why am I never just enough?”

“Izuku, stop,” Shota stepped forward.

Izuku stepped back. He was crying, openly and hoarsely. A weak chuckle escaped his trembling lips and he croaked, "Hey, but I get it. Crybaby Midoriya, Problem Child Midoriya. I wouldn't want a weak, useless, cowardly successor either."

Eri and Mirio chose that moment to walk around the corner behind All Might.

Izuku’s eyes latched onto Mirio’s instantly. There was a moment of intense silence. And then Izuku ran.

He sprinted back the way they’d come, back towards the elevator. Shota took the opportunity to clock Yagi across the face several times and then turned to race after his kid. Eri shouted behind him, Mirio’s call quickly following hers. He heard their footsteps behind him but did not stop to look.

He rounded the corner and pushed himself off the wall. “Deku!”

Izuku did not stop. Instead, he changed directions. Abandoning the elevator, he twisted on his heel, sliding down to his knees. He sprung back up, a practiced move, and vaulted towards the windows.

“IZUKU!” Shota urged his feet to move faster.

The vigilante brought his arms in front of his face and hit the glass head on. He must have kept his gauntlets on under his hoodie because the window shattered. He dropped out of Shota’s view.

There was a crack of thunder and Shota’s heart stopped in his chest.

An arc of green lightning raced after him.

In hindsight, jumping out of a four-story building window was probably not one of his greatest ideas. However, Izuku was nothing if not clever. He also was not an idiot. While keeping his promise to Aizawa to don his civilian clothes, he had also kept some gadgets on his person.

He turned as he fell, slapping the steel bracelet on his wrist. It transformed in milliseconds to a metal gauntlet, Viridian’s signature “gloves” and he grabbed the side of the class building. Sparks exploded around his steel fingers as he slid down the wall. His heart pounded in his chest.

Izuku hit the ground running. He had yelled at All Might. He had hurt Eri, Mirio. Sensei. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. God, did he have to mess up every single good thing that came into his life? Aizawa would not want him around anymore, not when it only took him two weeks to cause this kind of trouble, not when he saw how truly broken his mind was. He had made everything complicated, had made Eri worry. This was just like what had happened with Naomasa. He brought danger wherever he went, quirk or not, and his life was not worth the sacrifice that others took to care of him.

“MIDORIYA!”

Izuku wanted to scream as the name left Mirio’s mouth. He tapped the button the top of his glasses which activate their Viridian mode. Schematics flash across his vision in green light, showing him a route to the gates, which he could easily scale if it came to that. However, that risked the chance of being seen. He could scale the walls without interference in the woods. Tapping the button again, it changed course, leading him into Yuuei’s forest grounds.

How could he be so stupid? He should have come by himself. He should have snuck in at night and talked to Nezu by himself. Everything was so much more complicated now. All Might was not supposed to know he was… around. Mirio definitely was not supposed to see him. This could ruin everything.

The trees were so close. He pushed onward, trying to ignore the imaginary green lightning that was flashing behind him. He had seen it before, in dreams and hallucinations and memories.

Wait.

Not imaginary.

He felt the hands on his arms before he had the time to react and Mirio twirled him around like a terrifying dance routine. He let out a righteous growl, trying to throw the larger boy off him. Grabbing Mirio’s left wrist, he flipped his legs up and kicked him in the chest. The blonde stumbled and Izuku used the momentum to flip backward. He landed with silent grace and kept running.

“Izuku, wait!”

He could not wait. He could not face his replacement, his disappointment. He could already feel it worming into his lungs and suffocating him. “Leave me alone, Mirio!”

“Please, I need your help!”

A weakness for Izuku. That had always been something he could not turn away from. He was sure that if Yagi Toshinori said those words, he could crumple too. He jerked, body halting as he reached the tree line. He heaved, breath short and warning of his oncoming sobs.

He heard the hero run up behind him. “Please, Midoriya-,”

“Why is your lightning green?” His hands fisted at his side. As far as he knew, every bearer of One for All experienced the power differently. It manifested in different ways, especially if the bearer already had a quirk. Why did Mirio’s manifestation look exactly like Midoriya’s?

“Midoriya, listen-,”

“Viridian,” he snapped quietly.

“What?”

Izuku whirled around, misty eyes hard. He glared at the nineteen-year-old. “My name is Viridian. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Mirio gasped and his eyes widened. He raised a shaking hand to his mouth. The other stretched out towards Izuku like he was going to touch him. “Mido, what happened to your eye?”

“That’s not your business.” That affectionate nickname belonged to Kirishima, and Izuku wanted to snatch it out of Mirio’s mouth along with his tongue. “ Viridian .”

Mirio blinked in worried confusion but nodded. “Yeah. Okay, Viridian, I need your help. It’s about One for All.”

“I asked you about the lightning .” the green haired teenager raised a brow. His eyes flitted over Mirio’s body, towards the surrounding area. Escape plans began to form on the edges of his brain. “Every bearer of One for All uses it in different ways. Why the hell do you have my power?”

Even as he said it, green energy crackled around Mirio’s body. Izuku noticed that he bore no self-destructive scars.

He really was a better successor, huh?

“That’s what,” Mirio swallowed and took a step back. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ve tried getting in contact with you, but-,”

“All due respect, Mirio,” Izuku crossed his arms, not meeting those piercing eyes. “But do you really think that I would have answered?”

“Yes,” came the firm answer. “Because you help people. That’s what heroes do.”

Izuku’s gaze snapped back to his. There was an undertone in the older boy’s voice that he could not place. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a hero anymore.”

The blonde winced. “Yagi says it’s because they don’t accept it.”

The vigilante sighed and took off his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who?”

“The past bearers.”

Izuku stiffened and a cold wave of memory came over him. “What?”

Mirio shifted his stance, clearly uncomfortable. He was having a hard time meeting Izuku’s eyes. Aizawa did the same sometimes, like he could not look at the vigilante without being hurt by his eyes. Izuku was beginning to come to terms with the fact that his presence only brought pain, even in the simplest ways. He was living with it.

         “Yagi mentioned that it could have remained the same because the past bearers still believe that you’re the rightful holder of One for All.” Mirio glanced down, shame coloring his voice. “He said it might explain why I’m having such a hard time with it too.”

         Izuku’s eyes widened. Just the thought made him feel warm all over. The chill that had filled his body disappeared like a breeze chased away by summer’s heat. Sometimes he thought he could still feel the previous holders’ voices in his mind. He imagined them in his dreams sometimes. There were even times when he believed that if he jumped, green light would surround him, and he would have been able to fly.

         “Why don’t you ask them why they’re being difficult?” Izuku narrowed his eyes, pushing down the soft smile that threatened to appear.

         Mirio’s brows furrowed. “Ask them?”

         Izuku glanced to the side. His reply came out slow. “Yes.”

         At the young man’s continued bewilderment, the sixteen-year-old added. “You know, when they talk to you. You can ask them that. It could help you gain better control.”

         Mirio’s mouth fell open. “They- they talked to you?”

         Midoriya sputtered. “They don’t talk to you?”

“No!” Mirio scoffed in disbelief.

“Visions, weird dreams, ghostly figures in your vision’s periphery?”

“You saw them?” the blonde’s voice rose in pitch.

         Well, that was definitely a development. Izuku had assumed that Mirio would be accepted by the quirk. He was strong and kind and would be an amazing hero. He was the perfect candidate for the power that made All Might the symbol of peace.  

         “This is a problem,” Izuku snorted. It was probably rather indecent to find the situation humorous, but a horrible part of him thought it was hilarious that Mirio was having trouble with the past bearers. It was like a disgruntled father who was judging the person his child decided to date.

         Oh my gosh, the past bearers were Sensei.

         That thought alone made him snort again, which proceeded to collapse into total laughter. Izuku’s chortles started off soft and oppressed and he raised a hand to cover them. The attempt at hiding his crazed joy failed and the loud roars of hilarity filled the quiet Sunday morning, scaring some birds that were settled in the trees closest to him.

         “It kind of throws a wrench in my entire plan if you can’t wield One for All,” Izuku managed between hitching giggles. “Because you’re one of my secret weapons but you will be horribly underwhelming if you can’t use your quirk. Hilarious, obviously, but unfortunately fatal as well.”

         Mirio blinked several times at his response. “I still have my quirk.”

         The vigilante waved his hand lazily and shook his head. “I know you still have One for All, but if you can’t use it, it won’t matter if you possess it.”

         “No,” Mirio mimicked his head movement. “I mean I still have my permeation quirk.”

         Izuku choked on the sarcastic remark he was about to interrupt his senior with. Suddenly, he was back in that hospital room with All Might’s blue eyes looking at him with so much pity. He was surrounded by white walls and dreary skies outside that window. There had been a sunflower on the table next to him.

All Might was right about a lot of things, one of them being the fact that Izuku had been in a hospital bed more times than any other hero in training. He had begun to memorize the names of Recovery Girl’s assistants; he even knew some of their schedules. He knew which rooms were his favorite and which ones faced the dorms so that he could watch Kaminari on the roof during thunderstorms as he channeled his power. He knew what mood Recovery Girl was in based on her eyebrows. It was concerning, to say the least, but until All Might had brought it up, Izuku had not seen it that way. It had been part of the job. Heroes sacrificed to save people, to win.

That hospital room he had been in was his favorite. It faced the sunrise.

“You got your quirk back?”

Mirio’s face fell at the shattered thing that was his voice. “Y-yes. Eri got it back for me.”

“So-,” Izuku bit his cheek hard enough that he felt iron burst onto his tongue. “So you have your original quirk back, one that you excelled with, one that made you so powerful already, and you also took mine?”

“Permeation is powerful, but-,”

“THEN WHY DID YOU NEED MINE?” Izuku bellowed. “How could you- do you know how hard it is to be Quirkless?”

Mirio straightened, frown deepening. “I was Quirkless.”

“For what, a few months?” The sixteen-year-old huffed, vision blurring. “I’ve been Quirkless my entire life, Mirio! You have no idea what it’s like!”

Mirio opened his mouth to respond but Izuku did not let him. “No, no! You don’t know what it’s like to be shunned by everyone you know over something you can’t control. I was ostracized at four years old! Everyone around me, even my own parents, made me feel so worthless because I didn’t have any power! The kid I called my best friend turned on me without a second thought and treated me like shit!”

Izuku raised both brows. “Do you know that using the water fountains to cool a burn is not the best way to treat it? I didn’t, when I was five ! Five-year-olds aren’t supposed to know those kinds of things, but by God, I learned! Any allowance I received was spent on bandages and bandaids, Mirio! My dear old dad disappeared from my life because I was a useless son. I was told to commit suicide more times than I can count! Wanting to die became part of my every waking moment.”

Mirio was too dumbstruck to try and speak. It was convenient because Midoriya was on a roll. “Everyone in my town knew! The stores would have someone walk with me so I didn’t steal anything. Police would watch me more than anyone and even had me tailed when I went walking in the woods. I’ve had rocks thrown at me, I’ve been tossed down a well, I’ve been repeatedly attacked by my classmates. Heroes called me a nuisance and the only thing I could do was get in the way. My class once used the suicide of other Quirkless kids as motivator for me to do the same!”

Izuku flashed a fake expression of shock. “And then, you know what? My hero, the great All Might, told me my dreams were unrealistic and then left me on a very tall roof.”

Mirio choked.

“Indeed,” He nodded, voice lowering. The anger was simmering to sadness, as per usual. He could not stay mad for long. He did not have the energy to be angry. He had never had an angry disposition. He always tried to find a resolution, tried to appease others. That came from years of Quirklessness too. “I went back there, you know, after my mom threw me out. I didn’t even really realize what I was doing until I had stepped over the railing.”

“You what?”

Shit.

He had not even realized that All Might and Aizawa had followed them.

Aizawa’s gaze held nothing but fear.

If he didn’t already think he had ruined his last chance at a home, he definitely thought it now. No one wanted a child broken beyond repair.

“I-uh, nothing,” Izuku stepped back, breath starting to speed up again. God, how many almost panic attacks could he have in an hour-long time period? “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing,” Mirio croaked weakly. He walked towards the green haired boy slowly, like how one would approach a wounded animal. He placed his hands on Izuku’s arms again, but this time it was not to secure him. Instead, Mirio tugged him forward, straight into his chest. It shocked Izuku so much that he yelped.

He can count the number of hugs he’s received since leaving Yuuei on one hand. One and a half from Sensei, one from Naomasa. One from Katsuki, but he was not a touchy feely person, so he received more punches to the shoulder and leaning into Izuku’s side than a full hug.

Bakugou and Kirishima chose that exact moment to ruin the soft moment. Izuku could have kissed them.

         There was a flash of red and then an explosion sent Mirio flying away from Izuku’s body. He felt Kiri’s skin harden against his as he covered him from Katsuki’s assault on the other blonde accompanied by his usual scream of bloody murder.

         “Good morning, Zu!” Eijiro announced, smile not reaching his eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you until later!”

         Izuku sagged in front of him. He was glad there was a physical barrier between him and Aizawa. He did not need to feel the wrath of his glare after releasing another batch of his ‘I’ll scream my feelings out at you because I have not had a healthy coping mechanism’.

         He was becoming Bakugou.

         Oh, God, just kill me. 

         “Thanks for the save, Eiji,” he sighed heavily, placing his head on the redhead’s shoulder. “And yeah, Sensei wanted to talk to Nezu about… stuff.”

         The hardening hero nodded in understanding, rolling his shoulders as he released his quirk. “So that dinner place is gonna be even better now. Food always makes me feel better.”

         Izuku hummed his agreement. He still had this. He had two friends.

         He still had this.

         All Might and Aizawa were yelling at Katsuki, but it did not sound like he was listening. In fact, as soon as that thought passed through the vigilante’s brain, he smelled caramel.

         “Move, Shitty Hair.” Kirishima rolled his eyes good-naturedly but did so, gently shoving Izuku off him so that Katsuki could take his place. “Hey, Idiot. Why didn’t you text me that Porno was giving you a problem?”

         Izuku’s strained laugh sounded like a wounded bark. “I’m sorry, did you just call Mirio “Porno”?”

         “Guy loses his clothes more than Icyhot when he lights himself on fire,” Katsuki glared at the “third year”, who was currently sprawled on the ground with a smoking shirt. “I would have been here earlier.”

         “It’s fine. I don’t-,”

         “What the fuck, Problem Child?”

         Izuku had been wrong in Naomasa’s house.

This was Shota Aizawa’s danger tone.

Katsuki and Kirishima immediately turned and placed themselves on either side of him, hands raised and ready to fight. Sensei stood before the trio, chest heaving with barely contained rage-filled breaths. His eyes flashed with his quirk, but his gaze was on Izuku, who had no quirk to erase.

He was mad.

A very distant memory of his father made his hair raise. Fiery breath and roaring voice. A hand around his neck. He swallowed but did not run. “Sensei?”

Their teacher’s hands were shaking. Oh, Izuku knew what that meant. Surely, though, Aizawa was only going to hit him. Katsuki and Eijiro were safe. “Why didn’t you tell me you almost jumped again ?”

“Jumped?” Kirishima’s jaw slacked and his arms fell.

“Again?” Bakugou echoed faintly, crimson gaze turning to Izuku’s. In his periphery, he saw Mirio and All Might walking back towards them.

Izuku was so done with this day. “It wasn’t important. And it still isn’t, okay? I didn’t, and that’s what matters.”

“You…” Katsuki’s eyes glistened and Izuku barely held back his gasp of surprise. “You almost… when?”

He swallowed. He was not prepared for this situation or this conversation. “The night mom made me leave. You, uh, you talked me down.”

Bakugou let out a staggered and high pitched laugh. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I think I would remember that.”

“You sent me that picture,” his best friend replied quietly. “You reminded me that I had something, even if it was just you.”

Katsuki grabbed his hand. His fingers were warm. There was an oath in his eyes as he growled, “You will always have me, nerd.”

“And me too!” Kiri piped up. “And Sensei too, I’m sure, once he, um, takes everything in.”

Izuku spared a glance at Aizawa. He was still angry, but it wasn’t at Izuku.

Oh, no. He was going to kill Yagi.

“Sensei, it’s not a big-,”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m locking you in your room for a week, do you hear me?” Sensei hissed. The pro turned to glare at the pair nearing them. if looks could kill, they would both be ashes. “You should count your lucky stars that there are more people in danger than just you, Toshinori.”

Izuku almost interrupted. Katsuki’s grip on his hand tightened.

Aizawa growled and his eyes flashed red. "I would have let you burn."

As Kirishima and Bakugou grinned in agreement, Izuku felt his phone buzz. He stepped back and pulled the device from his pocket. Touya’s number flashed across the screen. He swallowed and turned away from the group. “Yes?”

“ They know ,” Touya’s rough voice was made even raspier by his lack of breath. He was running.

Immediately, Izuku gasped. “What?”

“ They know ,” he repeated gravely. “ Shigaraki knows you don’t have One for All .”

Izuku turned in slow motion with wide eyes to Aizawa. His ebony gaze bore into his dual colored one. He saw something that made his brows furrow.

He mouthed something. The young vigilante had no response.

“W-what does that mean?”

“It means they’re coming .” 

Nezu could get in contact with people faster than Glasses could run. That was the only thing that he would say in the rat’s favor. As soon as Izuku had received the call from Emo Endeavor, the group had rushed to the principal to inform him. Bakugou could see how much Aizawa wanted to punt the thing from the roof and then boil and eat him, and he was very much in agreement. However, the little rodent did have connections, and within the hour, he had called an emergency level meeting.

Katsuki wanted to scream, very loudly, at everyone except Izuku, for several hours. However, it would have to wait until after the nightmare hero convention that was occurring in Yuuei’s giant conference hall. In some horrible kind of irony, it ended up being the same giant room that he had sat in the day of the entrance exam, Deku at his side. He had still been Deku then, back when the blonde was fueled by hatred and insecurity. He had been worthless and Quirkless and his enemy.

Now, as he sat beside Katsuki, one eye silver and the other dull green, hair shorter but still long enough for Katsuki to run his fingers through it, taller and fuller and even more heroic, he was anything but the worthless kid. He had never been, and that was something that Bakugou was still repenting for. Izuku never accepted his apologies anymore, however. He always smiled and waved him away. The first time they had met after Inko had thrown him out, Bakugou had sobbed into the greenette’s hoodie, begging him to come stay with him. He had refused softly, telling him that it was too dangerous and honestly, him being on his own was for the best. There had been a sad glint to his eyes, both green and shining with unshed tears. He had shaken his head and patted Katsuki’s hair as his friend cried out apologies and pleaded to be forgiven.

Each time, then and every one after, Izuku had just smiled and said, “I already did.”

Katsuki swallowed, eyes unmoving from his best friend as the roar of confusion in the auditorium quieted.

“Kachaan?”

Izuku had turned to meet his probing gaze.

Bakugou grunted his reply.

“Are you okay?”

The blonde wanted to reply that no, he was not. He wanted to go back to that Thursday and punch All Might in the dick. He wanted to close his palms around the man’s tongue and listen as the explosions overpowered his screams. He wanted to teach Nezu was real animal experiments could look like. He wanted to burn Auntie’s home to the ground. He wanted Izuku to smile again like he had that Wednesday night as Bakugou poured water on his head to cool him down after their evening training session.

Instead, he replied with another grunt and shifted in his seat so that his shoulder was brushing his friend’s. Izuku hummed and nodded, some light returning to his dual-toned eyes. It was no teeth shining grin, but he would take what he could get.

The crowd finally fell silent as Nezu trotted across the stage to the podium. The other teachers stood behind him, waiting patiently, as they had already been given the bare details of the situation. Katsuki got a small pang of satisfaction that the little beast had to have stairs leading up to a platform he could stand on to reach the microphone. Simple pleasures.

“Good morning!” the creature began. Katsuki almost scoffed in shock, but the principal was right. They had yet to breach lunchtime and he had already attacked two people. Oh, god, he needed a nap. “I’m sure that you are all wondering why we have gathered you here in such quick time and great numbers! Well, I have received vital information that the League of Villains has plans to attack Yuuei.”

There was an immediate uproar. Their class, which had yet to know that Izuku had returned, was probably the loudest. Katsuki could pick out Denki’s voice in particular, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. His class had suffered more than anyone because of the evil that Shigaraki inspired. Many of them would have been happy to never see the group again, even in the situation of revenge.

He could still remember every second they had him in captivity. It was not something that one could easily forget.

Izuku’s hand linked through his and he breathed a little slower.

“Please, please, settle down!” Nezu lifted his paws and waved. “Unlike the previous incidents, this time we have time to prepare for a full assault.”

Probably the opposite of what the rat was hoping for, fear heightened. Most of these kids did not want to fight in a battle – and there it was. Kids. What he had said to Aizawa two weeks before still held true. They were no longer kids, not his class. Maybe some of these teenagers had retained the innocence of childhood, of believing in people. Maybe they still slept through the night and did not watch shadows when they walked. But not them. Class 2-A was closer than ever, but much of that togetherness formed from mutual tragedy. Personal space was a notion of the past and even Katsuki relished in the little things like Kaminari’s head on his shoulder on the bus or Jirou’s pinkie tight around his as they walked down a street. Some battles were fought without words, a telepathic link almost palpable among many of the teenagers. They still laughed and joked and studied hard, sure, but they also learned who the night’s screams belonged to, which room contained the tears that fit into the gaps of rain on the window. They were soldiers on a battlefield filled with graded essays and broken jaws, and they were ready to bleed.

It was sad. It was noble.

Twas the life of a hero.

Nezu tried to calm the many voices, pro heroes and students alike, but was unsuccessful. If the information was not so vital to their salvation, Katsuki would have been happy that the principal had no control.

Izuku stood suddenly, fingers slipping out of Bakugou’s, and took off down the front row to the stairs that led up to the stage. The blonde did not even have time to stop him. He walked across the stage to a collective gasp. Several distinct voices called out, “Midoriya!” and “he’s alive!” while others shouted things like, “Traitor!” and “Coward!”, which he did not even flinch at. He strode over to the podium, waited patiently for Nezu to climb down (Katsuki would have pushed him off), and then gently removed the stairs to stand in front of the microphone.

“No, I’m not dead and the reports of my treachery were greatly exaggerated.” The statement caused instant silence. The attention that the rat had tried to command appeared under Izuku immediately and Katsuki was hit with sudden overwhelming emotion. It took him several long seconds, too long, really, to place it. As he stared at his best friend, the young man with whom he’d shared baths and battles, he was so proud. He was a natural leader. He fille that role on the battlefield and the classroom. He encouraged, emboldened, and strengthened all those around him. People were invigorated because they worked with him. He talked and people listened.

Izuku was amazing.

“Events occurred almost five months ago that resulted in my academic termination at Yuuei High School,” The sixteen-year-old continued with an unwavering voice. “which I cannot disclose to you. However, since that time, I have been working with the police and underground heroes to slowly take down the League of Villains one by one. From their weakest members to their most loyal, I have been tracking them and putting them into custody, mostly by myself, and have learned valuable information about their movement and operation.”

“How do we know you aren’t betraying us to the League?” someone shouted from the crowd.

Izuku frowned. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

“How can we trust the kid who was the reason All Might lost his power?”

Katsuki’s world froze for a moment and all he could see was the carefully constructed blank expression that overtook his friend’s face; the outcry from the crowd fell into a buzz between his ears. Years of abuse and neglect had shaped those eyes, that set jaw, those low lids, the straight mouth. His gaze was especially empty, as if all its usual emotions had fled with abandon.  

“Because I’m the only way that you win.”

Again, silence fell.

Izuku closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. When he raised his head, those eyes flashed familiarly. Katsuki was no foreigner to that determination. No one from his class was. They had seen it from the very first day, and though it had annoyed the shit out of him then, it made him smirk now. This was the Izuku he knew better than the lines on his palms. He understood him better than any class subject, could read him better than any book. This was the kid who had stood over the crumbled five-year-old on the playground and had declared he wanted to be a hero, quirk or no.

This was Dekiru.

“The League may have lost some of its members, but the ones still active are extremely dangerous. The faculty has already been informed of the situation’s broad details. They are planning to attack soon, and my informant speculates that it will be within two days. Classes and any other academic activities have been canceled until further notice. This is priority one.”

Dual colored eyes scanned the crowd, as if waiting for another interruption. When none came, he continued.

“Before I continue, I should tell you that this fight does not have to be yours. The pros have been requested, but the students,” Izuku paused, swallowing. How did someone look so young and so old all at once? “I know that fighting these kinds of fights is terrifying. It’s not like in the movies. There’s blood and vomit and gruesome loss. People die.”

Katsuki remembered the time that Izuku had told him about Nighteye’s passing. His hand clenched on his armrest. Kirishima’s fingers found his shoulder. He was glad that they were seated in the front with Mirio and All Might; he hated showing weakness in front of his classmates.

“Students are not required to involve themselves in this battle if they do not want to,” Deku vowed. “and will be escorted to the bunkers until the battle is over. Your teachers won’t judge you, and your peers shouldn’t. You’re kids. You shouldn’t have to face the horrors of the real world yet. That’s what Yuuei is training you for.”

Katsuki found it telling that Izuku said “you” as if he was not involved in the group of kids. It was something he was sure came from his middle school years; it was a need to ostracize himself. While everyone had excluded him, Izuku had informed him that he had done the same to himself. It was easier to hate himself if he was isolated, body and mind, from everyone else. Pain or suffering did not matter if it was him, because he was not part of the “them” like everyone else was. He did not matter.

“If you wish to remain, I applaud you.” There was something so comforting about Izuku Midoriya saying that. It warmed Bakugou all the way down to his feet and made his chest burn with resolution. If nothing else, if they did not win, he could promise that he would go out with a burning flame one his tongue and sparks between his fingers. He would die a hero, side by side with the greatest person he had ever known.

“This is not going to be easy. The League will attack with all their strength. They are here to end hero society as we know it, and Shigaraki will be leading them. Your teachers have been given their assignments. Each class will be given specific tasks. Hero Course students will be primarily offensive unless you have a quirk that is more useful in this situation to be defensive. Support Course students will be defensive with special cases like individuals in the Hero Course. Gen Ed will split up to aid hero and support courses based on your quirks.”

Izuku sighed, and for a moment it looked like the weight of the world rested on his broad shoulders. For a moment, he looked like Atlas holding the sky on his collar bones, tense brow, and clenched jaw.

And then he lifted it.

Grey and green eyes sparkled. When he spoke, his booming voice bounced off the walls like All Might’s once had. But this voice was younger, kinder, softer in a way the retired pro could never achieve. He was bravery tempered with forgiveness; determination softened by gentleness. He was greatness overtaken by goodness.

He was Katsuki’s image of victory.

“I know that this is scary. There is every possibility that we might lose. There is also every chance that we could win.” He smiled broadly, and behind him he heard someone gasp. It sounded like Todoroki. Bakugou felt a grin of his own slipping across his lips. “I know that you’re afraid, but that is the best time to choose to be brave. Heroes are brave because they chose to keep going, even when they are terrified. You are heroes.”

He stopped again, breath hitching so quietly it did not actually make a sound, but Katuski knew him better than anything else in the entire world, and he say his shoulders pitch.

“We are heroes. And we are going to win.”

Suddenly, someone began clapping. Katsuki turned. It was the man that both he and Deku had interned with at the beginning of their second year. Enji Todoroki, faced marred by his scar, stared at his former sidekick with proud eyes, applause resounding in the auditorium like Izuku’s voice had. Only half a second later, class 2-A jumped to their feet to join him. Suddenly, the entire crowd exploded into cheers. On stage, Izuku was taken aback and blinked in shock before a trembling smile appeared.

“Let’s go beyond!”

And then hundreds of voices responded.

“PLUS ULTRA!”

…

Katsuki waited for him in his dorm. The nerd had gone with Aizawa to collect his things from their teacher’s off-campus home. Anxiety festered, growing the greater when the sun began to set without their return.

The class had gone batshit crazy and had practically stormed the stage after the meeting had concluded. Katsuki was sure the nerd had never received so much physical affection at once, but he did not seem to mind. He had taken everything in stride, explaining as best he could without giving too much away. Even after everything, he still respected the secrecy of One for All, and even though he hated All Might with a burning passion, so did Katsuki.

Izuku had gone to speak with the pro heroes after the tender reunion. He had nodded to Aizawa, who did not look entirely pleased that his Problem Child was disappearing from his side but allowed it in the name of the common good. Preparations began immediately. Not a single student chose to stay in the bunkers. Classes broke away with their teachers to accept their assignments. It was clear that everyone was on high alert. Their senses were sharp and directed like lasers. Orders were given and obeyed instantly. Never before had Yuuei been such a well-oiled machine.

Obviously, their class was on the offensive. They were stationed on the grounds near the classroom building. The entire day was spent going over battle tactics and strategies. They went over the information they had on the League, provided by experience and Izuku’s data. By dinnertime, everyone was filled with pre-battle jitters. Katsuki had taken it on himself to make dinner, Round Face and Momo helping where they could.

He had not seen Izuku since the meeting and he was getting antsy. They should have been back by now.

As if on cue, there was a familiar knock on the door.

Katsuki scrambled up from the edge of his bed but froze right in front of the door. He couldn’t let the nerd know how nervous he was. He was Bakugou Fucking Katsuki. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair before reaching for the handle.

Izuku was standing on the threshold, hand poised to knock again. “Oh! Hi, Kachaan.”

“Hey, Shitty Nerd,” he replied.

The green-haired boy waited patiently, eyebrows raised. He rocked on his heels.

“Well, get in.” Bakugou stepped back, opening the door wider. Izuku did.

He dropped his large bag on Katsuki’s floor and twirled around. “Man, it hasn’t changed at all, has it? No, wait, that’s a new picture!”

Izuku walked over to his desk. “Oh,” a soft smile. “That’s us.”

“Hmm.” He stared at the younger boy. Izuku had more freckles than he used to. The scar on his face was longer than Katsuki’s middle finger. It was lighter than his skin tone, and it was a different texture than the rest of his cheek. He had heard the story of how he had gotten it. A dagger down the face, dragged over a closed eye. The surgery had been horrific.

Masa said he had wept while Izuku had stayed horribly silent after he woke up without half his sight.

“Oh, not you too.”

Katsuki snarled without any real heat, embarrassed at being caught staring. “What?”

"Stop looking at me like that," Izuku crossed his arms.

Katsuki blinked and cleared his throat, turning away. “The hell are you talking about, nerd?"

"Stop looking at me with such pity," Izuku amended, a harsh edge appearing in his sober tone.

"I'm not pitying you, Dek- Izuku."

"There!" He straightened, thrusting a finger into his chest. "Right there! You never would have not called me Deku before this whole mess!"

"I should never have called you it at all," Katsuki snapped.

“So?" those eyes flashed. "Trust me, Kachaan, that name is the least hurtful I've ever had, because it came from you and I turned it into something amazing. It became a compliment after a while, like a term of endearment! It was my nickname."

"Oh, really?" Katsuki hissed, anger rising within him. He was still so furious with himself after everything. The bullying, the abuse. The torture that he had put another child through, his friend through, just because of something he had no control over. "A nickname like “worthless” was?"

"That's different-,"

"No, it's not!" Bakugou yelled. He was so damn angry. Angry at All Might, angry at Inko, angry at Sensei. Angry at Izuku for not getting this. "It's not different at all, Izuku! It's a spiteful name that I made because of my own damn faults when I should have been asking you why you didn't trust adults and why you flinched when people got to close and who the fuck taught you how to pretend to be happy!"

"But you didn't mean it like that!" the boy's volume rose to match his. He waved his arms around like Katsuki was the idiot.

"Yes, I did! I thought you were a worthless piece of shit under my foot!"

The blonde had not realized how close he had gotten to his friend until his spit landed on a freckle. Izuku swallowed, tears brewing in his eyes. He took a step back, swiping at his cheek.

"Izu-,"

"All I am to you is a tragedy, right?" He croaked. "That's all I ever was to anyone."

Bakugou sighed deeply. He was so out of his depth with this situation. Fighting villains he could do. Fighting Izuku's demons and loving him?

He was horribly unprepared.

"Quirkless Deku, worthless Deku," he gave a sad excuse for jazz hands and his nose twitched. "Stop it."

"What, Dekiru?" and he could not stop the title from slipping between tight lips. He went to apologize, but Izuku cut him off harshly.

"Stop fucking looking at me like that," he repeated, tears shining in his dual-colored irises. Izuku never swore. The shock was enough to keep him quiet. "I am not a tragedy. I am not a mistake. I'm not some weak kid who you need to feel sorry for."

Katuski swallowed. The determination from earlier had never wavered.

"I will fight Shigaraki with my bloodstained teeth." Izuku snarled quietly. He pressed his finger against his friend’s chest again. “And I will survive.”

A brief moment of silence.

Then agreement. “Okay.”

“Okay.” The green-haired boy nodded, frown firm. “Good.”

Katsuki snorted. “Wanna sit?”

Izuku landed on his bed with a thump, letting his shoulders fall. Bakugou soon followed, placing his quirk-warmed hands on his knots. He did that – bottled his nerves into tight fists and eye twitches until he was around Katsuki and let them roll off him like water on rubber. “All Might talked to me again.”

Anger surged through him. “That fucker doesn’t deserve the time of day from you.”

Deku hummed. “Probably. Part of me wants to forgive him. Maybe then things would go back to normal. Maybe then…”

Katsuki could fill in the blank. It did not make him any happier.

"Just another one of the many things that makes me weak, I guess."

Katsuki swallowed harshly. He blinked and was shocked to find his vision misty when his eyelids fluttered open again. "I don't think that makes you weak."

Izuku jerked, eyes wide. "You don't?"

He shook his head. "Not at all.”

The kid was looking at him like he was an alien. "W-what?"

"I bullied you relentlessly. I targeted you and got those shitty extras to do it too.” He took a deep breath, quelling the anger that threatened to seep into his very bones. The image of fourteen-year-old Midoriya with a burning uniform and teary eyes, hearing his own poisonous voice tell his best friend to commit suicide flashed across his brain and he wanted to be sick. "and you still... you still talk to me. You saved my life, you risked yours to go to Kamino, you - Deku, you let me be your friend."

"Let isn't the right word," Izuku corrected, brows furrowing. It was clear that Bakugou’s words were confusing. "I- I'm honored that you want to be friends with me."

The blonde wanted to scream. He was dangerously close. "See? Izuku, I did that! I inspired that horrible sense of self you have. I influenced how you see yourself to the point that you were willing to throw your life away at a school sports festival!"

"It wasn't just you!" Izuku stiffened. Oh, he had forgotten how loyal this boy was. How infuriatingly faithful, even to those who had hurt him. "Other people did it too!"

"But I was the main aggressor, Izuku!" Even in the moment, a part of his brain was telling him to lower his volume, to be careful, that Izuku could run at any moment and Katsuki would lose him again. A voice was shouting to stop, that this precious kid was still scared of being abandoned, of the people in his life not wanting him, of being a burden. "Izuku, I told you to kill yourself!"

"Do you think I don't know that?" the green-haired boy stood suddenly. He took a step away from Katsuki, flexing his fingers up and down to release the energy that his friend could see re-laced across his shoulders. "I know what you did, okay? I'm not some idiot kid like they told me I was, like my mom thought I was! But you are working so hard to rectify those mistakes! You have apologized more times than I can count, you treat me as an equal, and you strive to be better not just for me, but everyone else too! That's true change, Kachaan. I'm not saying I'm honored because I think I'm lesser than you. I'm saying it because you’re one of the greatest people I've ever met and to be your friend is a blessing."

There was a fire in that kid's eyes that extinguished Katsuki’s own. Was this nerd for real? How the hell had Katsuki inspired this kind of loyalty, especially from Izuku. He had been horrible, had broken every friendship rule in the book. He did not deserve any kind of redemption, though Izu was quick to give it again and again and again with complete abandon.

His silence must have been too long, because Izuku took another step back and his confidence fell. "I- I'm not saying that I don't need help or that there aren't lasting... that I'm not still damaged by what happened but... but you... forgiving you wasn't hard, because I had seen you try every day to gain redemption, and if I couldn't move on from the past, if I stayed there and let myself be overcome by bitterness, well..."

Izuku swallowed, shifting eyes meeting his. "Then I'm no better than the villains."

Katsuki huffed wetly and reached forward. He saw Izuku suppress a flinch and he almost cried. His friend should never be scared of him. He should never be afraid that Katsuki would hurt him like everyone else had.

"I know, Izuku. That's why you're so strong."

The sixteen-year-old lowered his gaze and croaked, "I'm not."

Katsuki took his chance, praying that he could gain the same trust. He moved down the bed and took Izuku’s hands in his. "You are. You are, Izu. Izu, it is so much easier to let that take over. It is so much easier to let that anger fester until it controls you. Hell knows that’s what it did to me – what I let it do to me. You have every damn reason to turn your back on the heroes, on society. God knows we've earned it."

Izuku opened his mouth to contest, but Bakugou did not let him. Izuku had been defending everyone else his entire life. It was about time someone defended him, even against himself.

"Deku, if you had been a villain the heroes would never have stood a chance. We'd be fucked, okay? But you were stronger than your anger. Hell, I'm not sure you can hold a grudge longer than it takes you to yell it out in the shower." this, at least, earned a shaky smile. Katsuki counted it as a win and surged onward. "Those injuries and battle scars did not turn you evil, Izuku. They made you kind."

Bakugou was sure that no one had ever told him this from the way he was staring, wide-eyed and tear-stained cheeks. He was certain that so few had ever given him proper encouragement, support, simple goddamn decency. Katsuki knew he had not. He assumed Auntie had failed in this regard too. He had grown up thinking he was lower than everyone else, that the world might be better off without him, that no one could ever want him.

And yet he smiled.

"You chose forgiveness, you nerd, and that is always harder than the alternative.” Katsuki linked their fingers like he had so many times before. His thumb traced the scars gently. “Forgiveness is one of the hardest things any of us will ever do, and yet that is your first reaction. That doesn’t make you weak, Deku. It makes you one of the strongest people I've ever met."

Izuku scoffed softly, a hard edge glinting behind his tears. His gaze hardened.

Something about that made Katsuki’s gut flip. He knew that Izuku had withheld information from him. He knew that he thought it was too dangerous, too risky. Not because he believed that the blonde was the traitor, never, but because it could put his best friend in danger. “What are you planning?”

Izuku sighed, turning his head away. “I can’t tell you!”

Bakugou scowled. “Why?”

It must have been a tipping point after a day of stress, of months of anxiety and fear. the scream tore from his trembling lips like the explosions threatening to come from Katsuki’s palms.

“BECAUSE I DIE!”

Silence.

Bakugou’s eyes bugged. His breath stopped.

“At least,” Izuku scrambled to cover up his outburst. “That’s the likeliest probability. I’ve been thinking about it all day. He knows I don’t have OFA anymore, so he won’t see me as a threat. There’s a chance I can get in close and…”

He pulled his hand away to grab something out of his pocket. “This is a similar concoction that they put in the quirk erasing bullet prototypes. The people who captured me and Sensei developed them. Dabi and I have been looking into it since I brought back a sample.”

It was a reddish liquid that bubbled within its canister. “It’s been tampered with to increase its potency. If All for One has given Shigaraki any quirks, it might be able to get rid of them all.”

So far, all of that was good.

“They can kill someone without a quirk.”

There was the kicker.

Bakugou growled. “No.”

“Kachaan-,”

“No, do you fucking hear me? I’m not letting you-!”

“MY LIFE DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING UNLESS I SAVE SOMEONE!” He screamed, jerking both hands away to dig them into his eyes. “That’s- that’s the whole point, okay! I didn’t even start rethinking anything about my worth until I saved you from that stupid sludge monster!”

Katsuki felt a tear drip down his cheek. Nausea swirled around his stomach, threatening to surface with each new sob that gripped his best friend’s tongue. He had helped that mentality. While it was the greater society’s fault in large, Katsuki was responsible for his own damn actions, and he was never one to shy away from the truth.

“You’re worth so much,” he croaked. “You have no fucking idea how worthy you are.”

Izuku sniffed, a whimper escaping his tight lips. Katsuki reached for him again, and this time he did not flinch away. He resumed his place next to the blonde, shoulders bumping.

His next words were hushed like a breeze through tall grass. “You know, sometimes I think that no matter what I do, I’ll always be the same useless Deku that couldn’t save one kid.”

"Who was the kid?" Katsuki asked in the same tone. He linked his pinkie through Izuku’s.

Izuku paused and turned. "Myself."

Katsuki scrunched his nose to stop another tear. Izuku noticed and reached up to wipe it away. The blonde caught his hand on the way down. “Maybe let someone else save you for a change.”

“Who’s gonna do that? You?”

“Yeah.”

The sun disappeared behind the city skyline. Darkness descended and Izuku fell asleep on his shoulder.

There were so many things that could go wrong. There were so many ways this plan could blow up in their faces and all their hard work could be for nothing. However, that did not change the truth. Katsuki would save him, even if he burned himself into nothing to do it.

It was a promise.

It was 4:39 in the morning. Shota would have preferred staying in bed until nine at the earliest, but the situation being what it was… well. That was not possible.

He ran a weary hand over his face. Explaining everything to Eri had been one of the most stressful moments of his entire life. Seven was not nearly old enough to fully grasp what was happening around her and to some of the people she loved most. Trying to help her comprehend how Mirio now had Deku’s quirk was both head aching and heart hurting. He always hated when his daughter cried, and Sunday night had been one of the worst times.

In her high emotional state, she had once again asked to sleep with him to stave off the nightmares. He was more than willing to accept. He was glad that she was still asleep and that Nemuri had let him run away for a moment by taking his place.

He had been hesitant in letting her stay at Yuuei, especially with all the extra pros living in the extra spaces of the dorms, but it was honestly the safest place. Besides, if they did not win here, it would not matter where Shota hid her.

He was on his second cup of coffee when he noticed the Problem Child. He had probably entered the dorm’s common area from the front door while Shota was mentally grumbling. He could see the jittery tension laying across the kid’s shoulders. He was in his vigilante suit sans the gadgets and mask. He must have gone to the gym to let off some anxious steam.

Shota was surprised that Bakugou was not with him. He and Kirishima had been attached to Izuku at the hips since he had arrived. It made the pro smile softly even as he felt his own nerves tremble at the jerky movements of his son. He had been alone for so long, even before losing his quirk and being expelled. Seeing those two following him around like pups was, dare he say, adorable. Granted, it was not just them. The rest of the class was overjoyed to see him. The amount of video game tournaments that Izuku had been involved in since returning was staggering. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him.

Perhaps that only added to his stress. It surely did not help that it was Wednesday, and everyone was expecting the League to arrive at any time.

Izuku let out a weary breath, a sound that did not belong in such a young mouth, as he walked over to the fridge. He bent down and inspected its contents before settling on some leftover biscuit that Bakugou had made the day before. It had some childhood significance that Shota was not privy to. 

“Please tell me you at least slept a little bit.”

At the sound of his guardian’s exhaustion laced voice, the green-haired teenager jerked his head up. It was a testament to his anxiety that he did not notice the underground hero. His training in class and during his vigilantism had well prepared him in perceptiveness. His dual-colored eyes were wide, shocked that anyone besides the pros on watch were bracing the cool morning. “Oh, um, morning, Sensei.”

Shota sighed, taking another sip. “That was not an answer.”

Deku frowned. “I slept.”

An ebony brow rose.

The kid huffed and glanced away. “Not much, but I did. Kachaan snores.”

Aizawa was well aware that was not the reason that Problem Child was not resting, but he decided to let that one slide. “Do I need to give Bakugou the shovel talk?”

Instead of getting embarrassed like he expected, Izuku smirked and replied, “Not sure he can get any lower than telling me to off myself, so we’re covered.”

Shota held back his parental growl. “Don’t make me ground you, young man.”

“Okay, dad,” and Shota’s heart should not stutter the way it did when he said that title. It was all sass and snark and unbelievable fondness that he found himself hoping Izuku would do it again.

However, the interaction did not lessen the nerves written into Izuku’s every movement.

“Did you just get back from one of the gyms?” Aizawa asked.

Deku nodded, taking a bite of his food. “Woke up around two. Went on autopilot and found myself over there.”

There was a silent question in that statement, and those eyes flicked towards Aizawa before shying away.

“As long as you didn’t break anything.”

“I don’t have my quirk anymore.”

“I find it hard to believe that would stop you.”

Izuku snickered, and that sound was something. It was soft and tense, but it was probably the closes that he would get to a laugh for a little while.

“Finish that and then come with me. We’ll go on a walk.”

Izuku blinked in pleasant surprise but nodded. “Okay.”

He finished quickly and they exited the dorms. The sun was still hiding below the horizon, but the night’s darkness was not as heavy. The stars twinkled above them, winking without any knowledge of the stifled breath that had settled over the campus like a suffocating blanket.

Shota took a long sip of his life source and hummed. “You’re very tightly wound this morning.”

The sixteen-year-old swallowed. “Really?”

“Problem Child, we’ve discussed your dismal lying abilities, have we not?”

Deku’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

Shota wanted to say all kinds of things about how he did not have to hide his emotions from his guardian. Long speeches of adoration and care threatened to pour from his lips, and he bit them back.

But… why?

He remembered all the things that he wished he had said to Oboro. Would he really risk the same chance with Izuku? When there was so much uncertainty involved in this life-threatening situation?

“You don’t have to be afraid of telling me things, you know. I’m your guardian now.” He attempted to pour all his sincerity into his voice. “But, even without that, I was- am your teacher. I care about you. You… you can trust me.”

That was the crux of the entire issue. Izuku had been taught his entire life that he could trust no one.

“I’m afraid.”

Shota almost audibly gasped. The kid replied.

“I’m so scared, Sensei.”

Aizawa looked over. The kid reached his cheekbone in height now. His eyes were downcast. “Why?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have a quirk again, but there’s something comforting about knowing that One for All is giving Mirio a hard time,” he whispered. “It’s a horrible thing to think, and I know that. Does… does that make me a horrible person?”

He looked up at his guardian, eyes misty. “Does that make me like Shigaraki?”

Shota wanted to hurt someone for instilling those thoughts in his kid’s mind. He wanted to murder whoever let Izuku Aizawa believe that he was villainous, that he could ever hurt people like the League did. Izuku was good, so fundamentally pure that it did not make any sense. His life was riddled with pain and abuse and yet he had chosen to save people.

Izuku was a miracle.

“No, Problem Child,” Shota breathed, hand reaching up to run through those luscious curls. His kid leaned into the touch like a kitten. “I don’t think that makes you anything like Shigaraki.”

Apparently, that was exactly what he had needed. “Kachaan said something about maybe it means that even if I never have it again, One for All was meant for me. Like fate or something.”

Shota did not move his fingers.

“It was nice,” Izuku shrugged, voice soft. “To be wanted.”

“You are wanted, kiddo,” he purred. “By a lot more than that stupid quirk.”

Deku snorted, cheeks dusted red. “It’s not stupid.”

Even after all this, the kid did not believe him.

Shota took a deep breath, making sure to keep his voice level. The first signs of the rising sun appeared in light purple across the skyline. Wispy clouds glittered on the horizon. The faint luminescence turned the kid’s hair soft viridian. “You seemed surprised when I offered to take you in. Naomasa mentioned something similar when he did the same.”

Izuku blinked and glanced to the side. Shota knew that tactic. He had seen it on abused kids for years. Once upon a time he had looked like that. “Yeah?”

Shota hummed an affirmative. This was one of the few times he had to let Problem Child come to him. Patience often yielded answers from the kid.

“Adults don’t like me,” he managed.

The pro narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”

Izuku glanced away again. His hands wrung together, but as soon as he noticed his guardian watching him, they froze. “I, um, adults don’t like me.”

A flash of memories that were not his own flew across his mind. He saw toddler Izuku, watching his father walk out. He watched Inko turn her back on the bruises and burns. He observed the teachers ignore him or worse, treat him like an inconvenience. Anger swelled within him.

“And you think I’m like all the rest?”

He sucked in a shaky breath and waved his hands frantically. “No, no, no! That’s not what I said, I just – I’m just constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, I guess.”

Deku rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He was tense, ready to bolt, but he did not move to retreat from Shota’s touch in his hair. He was waiting for his guardian to give him a reason to run or a reason to stay. Shota could not stop the incredibly soft smile that overtook his face at the faith that this broken kid was giving him.

“There’s no shoe, kid.”

Izuku froze.

“There is no shoe to drop, there is no fallout where I leave you. There is no version of this where I treat you like all the other adults in your life. I’m not like your father, your mother, and I’m nothing like All Might. He smiles, for one.”

Izuku cracked a faint one.

Shota swallowed, focusing on the feel of his son’s curls on his palm. Soft and sweet-smelling. He wondered if Naomasa was the one to cut his hair or if he had done it himself. he was so wonderful, this kid. Shota did not deserve him.

“But you have to trust me, Izuku.”

Those eyes met his. He did not shy away from the scarred gaze.

“I trust you, Sensei.”

He blinked. It was as if the sun came out, and how horribly cliché that indeed he could see the orange sky brightening as the gates came into view. Warmth filled his entire body from the look in his son’s eyes. Faith, trust, things he did not deserve but he swore he would earn from this precious child. From this boy who was a better hero than Shota could ever hope to be, who gave and gave and gave even when he had nothing left, who offered the shattered pieces of his heart to help others feel whole, who lifted up his own lungs so anyone else could have one more breath. Shota would earn that.

There was a ding and they both glanced down. Izuku’s wrist band was blinking an electric blue. “Oh, that’s – hold on.”

He brought the device to his face to read the message. He stiffened, eyes widening. “Dabi.”

He broke into a run towards the gates. Shota, more than concerned, sprinted after him. The gates would not open without a high clearance number, something he possessed. The kid skidded to a halt in front of them and looked back towards his guardian expectantly.

Aizawa wanted to say no. He did not trust Dabi. He had no guarantee that his friendship with Izuku was not one ginormous plot to infiltrate Yuuei. But Izuku had just proclaimed his faith in Shota. He would be betraying that fragile trust after so recently receiving it if he did not do the same.

“He said he’s alone,” Izuku assured him. His wide eyes begged to be believed.

The pro took a deep breath and pressed his hand to the keyboard. The gates slid open. The man on the other side of the opening looked entirely different than when Shota had last seen him. His long black coat was replaced by a leather jacket that reached his waist. The white shirt was forsaken for a blue one that would match the color of his flames. He wore black combat boots and black jeans. He appeared much more covert and practical.

However, all of that was considered minor compared to his hair. The ebony mane was now ivory white, almost shimmering in the early morning light.

The white-haired outcast embraced Izuku like a long-lost friend as the gates closed again. His grip was tight and knuckles pale. Aizawa kept his senses on high alert; he trusted Naomasa and Izuku’s judgment, but he had met traitors before. He would not let the League take his kid.

“I expected you yesterday,” Izuku hissed, pulling back to hold the other vigilante at arm’s length. “Where were you?”

“The detective had to patch me up a little bit,” Dabi explained. “We had to make the police ambush look convincing. Some of the officers were particularly… enthusiastic.”

Izuku seemed to understand his word choice and his eyelids lowered. “You got shot.”

“I’m fine.”

Shota almost snorted at the lie. How many times had he heard Deku use that same inflection when repeating the damn phrase?

“You’re pulling a me,” The younger of the two growled. His eyes flashed. “If you got shot you need to sit this out.”

“And let you beat Shigaraki’s ass without me? No way.” Dabi ruffled those green locks with fond familiarity. “Besides, Handjob thinks I’ve been taken into custody like lots of the others. I’m supposed to be one of your surprises, remember?”

Izuku was glaring, and it was clear he wanted to argue, but he accepted the defeat on this issue. Shota would agree that it was hypocritical for the self-sacrificial kid to try and make someone else with a wound sit out when he pulled that reckless crap all the time. “Fine.”

“So, you’re fighting with us?”

There was so much suspicion in Shota’s voice, but he did not apologize, not even when Izuku turned his hurt green eyes towards him.

Dabi met his gaze without hesitation. “Yes.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. The kid was telling the truth.

“Good. We need all the help we can get.” The pro glanced down at his watch. They needed to get back to the dorms. Almost an hour had passed since he and the green bean had left. God, emotional conversations took so much time. “Come.”

The two discussed things in hushed voices and Shota chose to ignore them. He trusted Izuku.

His heart skipped.

Izuku trusted him.

The common area was alight when they entered. The kitchen was illuminated, and soft voices came from the counter. The smell of coffee and tea filled the area. Shota smirked. He needed a refill. Momo stood with a hoodie thrown over her hero costume, a warm cup of tea in her hands. Beside her was Enji Todoroki, who was also holding a cup of expensive brews. He smiled gently as the hero in training described one of their recent training exercises. Redemption really did change a person.

Shota was just about to join them when he heard Dabi gasp behind him.

The pair in the kitchen heard the sound, both perceptive, and turned their gazes.

Endeavor’s soft expression morphed into one of shock. He looked like he had seen a ghost. He took a step forward, the cup slipping from his grasp. Momo was quick enough to catch it before it shattered. The Number One Hero did not seem to care. Slowly, he made his way across the room, steps careful and purposeful.

He breathed shakily. His eyes held tears.

Shota felt the concerned words form on his tongue, but he did not get the chance to ask what was wrong.

“Touya?”

The room froze. No one moved.

And then the ivory haired man stepped forward, expression childishly hopeful.

Shota’s breath caught. They had the same eyes.

“Hey, Dad.”

The ground suddenly shook, and the red alarms in the dorm went off with loud screeching. Shota whipped around to stare at Izuku. There was no fear in his eyes, only resolute acceptance. He met his guardian’s gaze and nodded.

They were here.

Izuku was glad that Sensei had made his class get into their suits in simulated high-stress situations. All the kids of class 2-A were out of their rooms and in position in under seven minutes. They had a ground group, which mainly consisted of heavy hitters, and then a support group, which consisted of their backups. The backups were hidden away to attack on Izuku’s signal. For now, everyone else was simply standing and waiting, which was probably the worst part.

 Each group of students was assigned several pros with them. Hawks was next to Tokoyami, and he was trying to keep up his sarcastic demeanor amidst the unease. Endeavor, who Izuku probably needed to keep an eye on due to the fact that he was going to be severely distracted, had positioned himself halfway between Shoto and Touya. He was staring at his older son with the most loving gaze that Izuku had witnessed on the Number One Hero. Snipe was at the back, guns twirling in his grip. Mirio, though he was not strictly considered a pro yet, stood with Iida and Uraraka.

Izuku tried not to let that sting. It seemed Mirio really was his replacement.

Lastly, Eraserhead was on Izuku’s left. He had heard that he was actually supposed to be with one of the B hero courses, but after one glare towards Nezu, had turned right around and walked away.

“You need to be careful,” Sensei muttered firmly. “You don’t have your quirk, Problem Child.”

Izuku tried not to let that sting. He turned over the quirk erasing capsules in his pocket. “I’ve been fighting without one for months now. I fought without one for ten years.”

“This is different,” Aizawa snapped, but he could see the worry behind the irritation. “This is Shigaraki, kid. I know you’re capable, but… just be careful.”

Sensei had asked him for his trust. Izuku had given it. “Okay.”

Katsuki had placed himself directly on Izuku’s right, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he would do his best to stay there, no matter how long the fight lasted. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’ve got his back, Sensei.”

“You both worry too much.” Izuku sighed, eyes warily roaming over the grounds. The league had yet to appear in their quadrant, but he knew they would be there. They were coming for Mirio. “I’m not weak.”

Bakugou bumped his shoulder. “Didn’t say that, nerd. You’re the strongest of us all. You’re also a selfless, reckless idiot.”

He had a hard time arguing that one, so he simply shut his mouth. The ground shook again, and an explosion roared behind one of the class buildings.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed behind his goggles. “They’re coming.”

Almost on cue, Toga ran around the corner, her sadistic grin in full swing. She threw her knives into the air and caught them with ease. It was unfortunate that the heroes were not the only ones who continued getting better. Her eyes instantly found Izuku’s. “Well, well, hello Deku!”

His name fell from her lips like poison and Izuku swallowed. Others followed the blood-obsessed girl. It was the elite group, which did not surprise him. Shigaraki was sending his best to fight the best. Gigantomachia marched, each step loud and shaking. Spinner and Compress walked side by side, Twice is running around Toga like a puppy, and there are at least ten Nomu flying or crawling around them. Shigaraki has yet to appear, but he knew that the leader would show. He wanted One for All; he had to fulfill his Sensei’s goal.

He was going to try and kill Mirio.

“It’s Viridian, now, actually!” he sneered back. “Though I’m sure your little informant made you well aware of that.”

Toga grinned, all teeth and crazed eyes. “Oh, are you trying to get information on our spy from little old me? At least take me to dinner first!”

Izuku really wanted to vomit at the thought of being in any romantic situation with the bloodlust villain, but that would probably paint a sorry picture of the bravery he was trying to convey. Instead, he lowered his eyelids in an attempt to portray the lack of amusement he felt. She did not like that. With terrifying accuracy, she hurled one of her daggers to strike right between his brows. There was a cry of protest from many of his companions; Katsuki growled, hand already outstretched to push Izuku out of the way.

There was no need. The vigilante caught the weapon with his right hand. Silence fell. No one had even noticed his arm moving. He lowered the knife and raised a challenging brow. Toga, to her credit, jumped with glee. Her teammates buzzed with malice, gazes turning from one student to the next, jumping from pro to pro. They were sizing them up. He did not plan on giving them the chance.

Izuku rolled his shoulders and pulled the Viridian mask in place. His eyes flashed. With a slow hand, gaze never leaving the villains, he pressed a finger onto the com in his ear.

“Now.”

It was almost like all hell broke loose. The hero group rushed forward with the plan in mind. They had to draw out Shigaraki. Deku felt a hand in his hair. There was a soft press of lips to his temple and Aizawa’s voice whispering, “Be safe,” and something else he could not make out before he was gone. Katsuki at his side, they sprinted forward, the rising sun’s light at their backs.

Toga looked like she was headed straight for him, but she was intercepted by Shoto and Tokoyami. Instead, a Nomu took the female villain’s place. Izuku took one look at it and yelled, “Flight, strength, and fire breath!”

He could hear Bakugou’s grin as he shouted back, “I’ll take high, you take low!”

Izuku let out a crack of laughter. He remembered All Might, laughing and grinning in the face of danger. Despite all that had happened, despite the betrayal and loss, he had still been the number one hero for a reason, and he respected that. Idolized it, in a way, but in such a different than six months ago. Now he saw how flawed All Might truly was, how broken, but still having a good heart at the end of it all.

Izuku did not want to be like All Might, but he hoped that he could find that sort of courage. He knew that so many of those now engaged in battle did not believe in him. Word had spread of his Quirkless state and students and adults alike had striven not to talk down to him. However, despite his lack of power, despite his disadvantage, he would try.

Because Izuku had always been good at overcoming the boundaries that other people set for him. He had always thrived with opposition, achieved more than anyone ever thought he could. From that kid with the broken finger on the first day of class to soaring through the skies with Eri on his back, Izuku had always done his best, had strived for the greatest, had been good.

He would not stop now.

The nomu landed in front of Izuku, mouth open and ready to flay him alive. The vigilante was quicker. He pulled out one of his guns that was loaded with stun bullets. He and Masa had crafted the bullets themselves after seeing a villain with a stun quirk take down four officers at once. The sixteen-year-old had them down to an art. With a little help from one of the police force’s best engineers, the bullets could do more damage than the power which had inspired their making.

Viridian fired a well-aimed shot into one of the nomu’s large eyes. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the bullet only impaired the creature. It screamed in pain, one of its claws flinging out in the vigilante’s direction. Before it could land a painful swipe, Bakugou flew into the air and gripped its brainy head in his hot hands. He let off four powerful explosions in quick succession. The nomu howled, throwing the blonde hero off him.

Izuku did not stay to watch Katsuki fall. Something so small would never get the explosive teen down. He raced forward, loading an enhanced tear gas bullet into his firearm. Aiming for the other eye and praying for temporary blindness to occur, he pulled the trigger. He did not wait to see if it worked. Whipping out his electric bow staff, he cracked the device over his knee. It separated into two pieces as he ran. He wished the sticks were as strong as Kaminari’s quirk, which he could hear causing thunder waves across the battlefield, but it was sadly only enough to sting this monster. However, he was hoping that the two bullets he had used and Bakugou’s explosions would aid him.

Viridian charged the nomu’s legs. He bent backward to avoid another blow of talons and slid to his knees. He struck the creature on the back of the knees. It let out a gust of fire from between shiny teeth, nearly scalding the back of Izuku’s curls.

“Deku!” Bakugou shouted, a mix of confusion and worry. His best friend had never seen him fight as Viridian before. He knew that out of everyone, Katsuki did not doubt he was competent without a quirk, so why did he sound so worried? He stashed his bow staff and pulled back out his stun gun.

A gentle touch glided across his back and suddenly he was floating into the air. Before he got the chance to question what that was about, four claws sunk into his shoulder. Pain splintered across his left side like fire. His reinforced suit took some of the brunt of the attack, but it did not stop the blood that immediately gushed forward. A shattered scream tore from his lips.

Izuku twisted as he fell, and he tossed his firearm to his left hand, aiming to hit the nomu under the jaw. Hoping that adrenaline would mask the pain, he pulled the trigger. The second stunning capsule embedded in the monster’s face. The nomu screeched again and crumbled. The vigilante fell with it.

He did not smack into the ground. Again, he was lifted into the air. This time was faster, the wind striking his face. The breath was knocked out of him because of the speed and he gasped. His eyes widened.

Uraraka smiled below him, but it was not the smile that he knew and loved. It was practiced, malicious, and so very Toga. But, he glanced across the yard, Toga was still fighting Shoto and Tokoyami, a matching grin on her twisted lips.

“Oh, you should see your face, Deku!” It was her voice but it was not. the same cheerfulness that he remembered from their first meeting was mixed with sly sadism. Her eyes flashed. “You really should make sure no one is listening when you have loud conversations in the woods, Deku. The traitor might overhear!”

His gut flipped. His conversation with Mirio in the forest. It would have been so easy for someone to conceal themselves in the shadows of the trees. No wonder the League had learned so quickly after their quarrel.

“You’re the traitor?”

It would have been so easy for her to collect information. Uraraka was kind and bright, and it was easy to become friends with her. She had a drive that rivaled the best; she had even impressed Katsuki, which was saying something. People felt like they could talk to her about anything, and no one, not even Mirio and All Might training together, would have questioned if she went to the gyms to train. She could have overheard conversations, seen things, and no one would have suspected her.

Izuku felt his throat seize up. His nose twitched with oncoming tears. “Please, no.”

“You really missed your chance joining the villains, Midoriya,” her tongue curled around the name like she knew how much it hurt him. “The money’s much better on this end.”

It made horrible sense, in a way. It was true that only the high-ranked heroes made good money, which was one reason there was such a struggle getting up the ranks. Uraraka had always talked about helping her parents. They had had conversations about her family’s financial struggles.

“Uraraka, please, you don’t have to-,”

She interrupted his hoarse begging with a high cackle. “Oh, shut up. Don’t try and convince me into being good, Deku. Only idiots fall for things like that. The real world is not heroes versus villains or good versus evil. It’s those that survive.”

She licked her lips.

“And those that die.”

In another life, he would have been so proud of her as she used her quirk to launch into the air. All he felt now was deep remorse and overwhelming guilt. Another friend, lost.

He tried aiming his stun gun at her, but she was much better at fighting in the air than he was. If he had One for All crackling between his fingertips, he could have destroyed her, but he was at her mercy in the air like this. Her strength had increased, a sight of determination and persistence. It would have been admirable if it was not about to kill him.

An explosion ripped through the air like fireworks and Uraraka careened to the ground. Viridian dropped from the sky as if he had an anchor tied to his shoes. He heard Aizawa shout his name. Izuku frantically thought of ways to slow his descent. It was possible that a fall from this height could kill him, but it was slim. Paralyze him, well, that was much higher.

Arms encircled him, gripping him tightly, and the sweet smell of caramel filled his nostrils. “Kachaan.”

They landed, much softer than Izuku expected. The pain from the nomu’s attack was dulled, but he was positive that was only because he was buzzing with adrenaline. He looked up into those crimson eyes. He could see the words that Katsuki was about to use to convince him to go back to the support team. Uraraka interrupted that delightful conversation.

Izuku ducked away from her pink fingers. Katsuki leaped backward, explosions bursting from his palms. The brunette screeched as the sparks landed on her stomach. With the distraction, the vigilante put a stun bullet in her leg. She collapsed, limbs spasming for several seconds before stilling.  

With the silence came the guilt. The green-haired boy gasped and clutched the fabric covering his heart. He could feel it beating faster and faster as memories clouded his fluttering vision. All the warm smiles and gentle laughter, the encouraging words, and successful sparring sessions. It was all a lie?

“You can’t wait here, nerd,” Katsuki grumbled, gently turning him to look at the torn skin of his back. “You can’t start thinking about her. She made her choice. Fuck, you need to see Recovery Girl.”

“What went wrong?” Izuku whimpered. His hands were shaking. “Was it from the beginning? Was it my fault-,”

“Stop,” the blonde grabbed his face in his sweltering palms. “Stop it. This has nothing to do with you. Round Face made her choice, Zuku. You’re gonna get distracted and when you’re distracted you make dumb decisions.”

There was a foreign emotion in that ruby gaze. It surely could not be fear. Bakugou Katsuki did not become afraid. “You have to keep your head right now. We can deal with her later.”

 “But she was so-,”

“Izuku-,” He bit off whatever he was going to say and shook his head. “You need to go back. This is too dangerous for you. That nomu almost killed you.”

Izuku froze, anger immediately coming alive inside him. He thrust off his friend’s gentle touch. “Pardon me?”

Katsuki grimaced. “Listen, Deku-,”

“Why are you so worried? You know I’m more than capable of being out here with all the other heroes!” He could not be worthless, useless Deku again, not to Bakugou. He had already been that for years and he had finally climbed out of that hellhole. He had gotten an apology, had given forgiveness, had moved forward. He would not go back to living a life where death was his only ending, where tragedy was written on every page of his life’s story. “I’ve been doing this on my own for months!”

“I know you can kick ass, you shitty nerd! It’s not about whether or not you have a quirk!” More fear, for that was what it had to be, in his crimson irises. His hands reached back to grasp the vigilante’s arms. “I know you’re strong, okay?”

“Then what is it about, Katsuki?” Izuku hated how pathetic he sounded. He sounded almost childish, the whine in his tone mixed with tears. Crybaby Midoriya.

“I can’t lose you!” the blonde shook him and Izuku paled. He was not the only one on the verge of tears.

“Kachaan-,”

“I can not lose you, okay?” he breathed, no, begged. He was begging. Izuku wanted to shake his head and make him stop. Katsuki did not beg, he did not bow for anything or anyone. Izuku’s hands shook but he lifted his trembling fingers to ghost across his strong jaw. “I won’t. You’re my best friend in the entire fucking world and I wouldn’t be able to bear it, okay, Izuku?”

“Kachaan,” Izuku murmured, placating and soft.

“No, no, I’m serious, Izuku.” Katsuki shook his head. He leaned forward, knocking his forehead against his companion’s. “You… you said something the other night about your life only being worth something if you save someone. That’s a fucking lie, a lie that that fucker All Might taught you, that running forward, moving without thinking, that all that shit is a good idea, that it’s noble, and maybe it is, but not at the expense of your life. You – you are worth so fucking much, okay? If no one else, then to me, you dumbass, and I will always want you. Need you.”

Viridian, who was famous in the underground for his sarcastic tone and sneaky one-liners, was silent. Shock had overcome him. He stared into those downcast ruby eyes, ones he knew better than his own mind, ones he could read like his favorite novel, and found himself speechless.

“We’re gonna defeat them, but we’re gonna do it together, okay?”

Izuku felt a smile break across his busted lip. He leaned even closer, kissing his friend’s forehead. “You and me, Kachaan?”

Bakugou’s eyes did not lose their fear, but the familiar blinding bravery returned. “Always.”

As soon as they broke away from one another, a nomu shrieked near them. They nodded and ran. They took down three more nomu together and helped subdue Gigantomachia. At one-point Hawks was with them, red feathers cutting through the monster’s skin like sharpened swords. He smirked at them and saluted as the second creature fell. Aizawa helped them grapple the third, capture weapon ensnaring the creature as Izuku shocked its brain while Katsuki exploded its kneecaps. The entire Bakusquad assisted with the fourth, and Izuku had the urge to kiss Kirishima after he threw himself in the way of a shock attack meant for the vigilante.

Izuku loved this. He had missed this. He had missed dancing around the battlefield with his friends, with other heroes in training. He had missed the smell of caramel explosions, of hearing Jirou’s soundwaves, of catching Iida’s blue blur in the corner of his eye. He missed Kaminari’s cackle and Aoyama’s beam of dramatic energy. He had missed feeling part of something bigger, something better.

Something that would change the world.

He felt like a storm, lightning and thunder and righteous laughter that echoed across the battlefield from one person to another. They were a force to be reckoned with, his class and their heroes.  

Nine nomu had been taken down by the time the Bakusquad, Hawks, Snipe, and Mirio subdued Gigantomachia. Izuku could still see other parts of the campus alight with fire and smoke, but his comlink was quiet. Shigaraki had yet to show himself.

“TOUYA!”

The shout made Izuku turn. His eyes found his friend. White hair floated in the breeze as he turned from where he was fighting Spinner. He turned too slowly.

The last nomu rushed through the air. Four taloned feet extended. A mouth full of poison-soaked teeth opened wide.

Izuku was not fast enough. He was never fast enough. He could not save himself, he could not save Uraraka, he could not save Touya.

There was a flash of fiery orange and royal blue and a roar that only came from a father. Enji Todoroki intercepted the attack with his own body. The talons meant for his older son impaled themselves into his sides and shoulders. Blood spewed forward, coating his hero suit in crimson. The monster’s gaping jaw was caught between his large hands, forced open. Endeavor released a furious bellow, and the creature went up in flames.

Shoto screamed across the battlefield. Touya looked as if he was going to cry.

A wall of ice sprouted up, catching both Spinner and what was left of the nomu in its expanse. Hawks swooped past them towards his friend, the number one’s name falling from his lips like a plea. Just like that, the world began to crumble. With the Number One Hero collapsed in a pool of his own blood, his two sons desperately trying to stop the bleeding, something changed. The air thickened.

Izuku’s gut turned. He began to run towards the family he cared about so deeply. Blood poured down his face from one of the nomu’s attacks. His back throbbed from where he had been thrown into the ground by Gigantomachia. There was no Eri to heal him every second this time, and the only reason he was still going was that the adrenaline was masking all the pain.

Katsuki and Sensei were going to kill him.

Midnight’s voice crackled to life in his ear. “Shigaraki is here! I repeat, Shigaraki has arrived!”

He froze in his step. His hands went to his pockets. The quirk erasers were still there, cold and metallic under his fingers.

Toga cackled from his left, calling out her leader’s name with a high and maniacal voice.

The vigilante turned. He came from the woods, five more nomu on his heels. His white hair, ragged and falling to his shoulders, covered one of his eyes. He only had one hand on his face. Each step he took exuded power. His gaze carried death.

Izuku felt like a lighthouse on the edge of a cliff. Gone was the strength he felt in the midst of their heroic storm. He was surrounded on all sides by an unstoppable hurricane. There was no one to help him here. There was no guiding ray, no shining light. His vision tunneled.

Shigaraki sneered with All for One’s smile as he looked at Izuku. “Well, if it isn’t the Quirkless Deku? I’ve been waiting for you.”

There was part of him that wanted to run. Shigaraki’s crazed eyes bore into his like he could read every part of his soul. The battlefield suddenly went silent at the newest and deadliest arrival. No one moved, villain or hero. The students were either on the ground or frozen in shock and fear; the criminals were waiting eagerly for their leader’s next words. He looked different, taller, larger. The threat he posed was bigger now than it had ever been before and Izuku felt it down to the very fiber in his bones. If they lost this, then there would be nothing left.

If Izuku failed, all would come to ruin and ashes.

“Why look so glum, Izuku?” his name rolled off the villain’s tongue like sickeningly sweet honey. “Our last several encounters have been ever so…eventful.”

He hoped that he was not the only one who was having trouble breathing. Preparing to fight Shigaraki was completely different than actually fighting him. He was not charismatic, not in the same way All Might was or even All For One. However, he had a tenacity that many pro heroes did not possess. It drew people towards him, revolting though it sounded. Izuku despised him, but for some disorienting reason he could not run; there was something about the white-haired murderer that compelled him to remain.

“I like the haircut.” Shigaraki continued nonchalantly. The nomus waited patiently at his side. “Very mature. Though, you of all people do not need a change in style to be mature, Izuku.”

Familiar. He was trying to be… not friendly, but his tone was the same that Sensei might use on scared kittens in a box by a wet alley. It was coaxing, a sly way to gain vulnerability. It wormed under people’s skin and before they realized it, they were giving things away they had never told, doing things they could not believe. It was manipulative and wrong. It was the tone of false love, abusers, and supervillains.

Inko talked like that sometimes.

Izuku swallowed but did not respond. His fingers tightened around the cylinders in his pocket. He had two capsules – two chances.

Shigaraki slowly reached up and removed the hand covering his face. His horrible gaze appeared in all its horror, chap lipped grin stretching across his cheeks like a spider’s deadly web. His eyes crinkled.

“Save Deku and the replacement for last. Kill the rest.”

The order was out of his mouth for half a second before the nomu were moving. Izuku shouted in protest as the beasts flew over him and sprinted past him. He turned, but not fast enough. Shigaraki was suddenly in front of him.

“You know, Izu-,”

Viridian whirled back, batons at the ready. Electricity reverberated around the sticks with a low hum. He struck, aim perfect. Shigaraki was faster. He dodged, terrifying sneer still in place. “Don’t call me that.”

“You know, I suspected something when Uraraka stopped seeing you at school and Viridian appeared only a week after.” He flexed his fingers, ducking again when Izuku sprinted forward to attack. The sparking energy whizzed past his white locks, striking a tree behind him. Flames sprouted from the darkened bark. The vigilante did not have time to worry about property damage. “I had my concerns, but I decided to let the little vigilante have his fun.”

Fun, Izuku thought, was not the word he would have used.

“But then Viridian began to lock up all my loyal followers,” the criminal’s smile crumbled to a scowl of pure hatred. “And I could not let that stand.”

A hand reached out, all five fingers poised to turn Izuku to ash. But Izuku was quick too. He flipped back, landing in a crouched position. He stashed his batons and pulled out his stun gun. He could hear the sounds of battle behind him, but he could not tear his attention away. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Shigaraki tilted his head. “Kill you?”

Izuku heard a shout that he recognized as Iida’s and it took all his willpower not to glance back to his friends. “If you stop now, maybe we can work something-,”

“Are you really trying to convince me to give up?” And then, even worse than that sickening smile, Shigaraki let out a choked sound that grated against every good thought that filled Izuku’s brain. The villain’s laughter bounced off the walls of his mind like bloody chains, poisoned cups, a cage filled with broken bones. It was the worst sound he had ever heard. It was more rattling than All Might’s voice telling him to give away his quirk, more startling than Inko’s shouts. He was going to be sick. “That’s not very plus ultra of you, Izuku Midoriya.”

All For One’s successor rolled his shoulders, eyes unblinking. “Besides, I don’t think a useless, Quirkless, unwanted child is in a position to be making demands.”

Claws sunk into both his shoulders and he screamed. He had not even heard the nomu approach. He was sucked into the air like a bird caught in a tornado. Pain spread across his back like the fires that were slowly encompassing the campus’ woods. Flaming and red, it overcame his body and made him yell even louder. The claws dug in and the monster’s bellows overtook his pained shouts without any effort. He could not move his arm to shoot the nomu or Shigaraki, who was gleefully watching the exchange.

He was right, though. Who was Izuku? Despite his hard work, his best efforts, he would never be more than that worthless Deku who could not save a single person.

The worthless Deku who could not save himself.

“You know, you could join me, Deku. You could show these heroes what happens when they abandon the broken children. You and I could rule this society like they have for years. We could make it all better, Deku. We could change it like they proclaim they will but never do. We could rid the world of all the stupid fucking fakes and sit atop the rubble as kings.”

Somehow, amidst the constant affliction and chaos, Izuku found his voice. Strangled words fell from his lips as croaked whines, but he was sure that Shigaraki heard them.

“I will never sit in a throne made from all the bodies I had to burn.”

He was not sure if Mirio had been waiting for the most dramatic moment to be useful, but the familiar cape of Lemillion’s suit flashed red and he understood for a moment how much Eri admired him. There was a comfort in knowing that the heroes had finally arrived.

“LET HIM GO!”

Shigaraki’s bemused expression instantly morphed into startled fury. He dodged the perfectly aimed Full Cowling attack and waved his hand. The nomu released his grasp on Izuku, and later (if there would be a later), the sixteen-year-old would berate the hero on his horrible choice of words. He plummeted toward the ground. The fall was not nearly as high as Uraraka’s had been, but he still screeched when he hit the ground. His body arched as more pain spiked through him light the green lightning around Mirio’s arms. His vision flickered and sobs unbidden tumbled from between his bloody teeth.

This hurt. This really fucking hurt. Tears stung his tightly closed eyes and he whimpered.

Izuku swallowed, cutting off another whine before it could begin. He was not allowed to hurt. He was not allowed to stop.

His vision cleared and he turned his head. Dust and blood had overtaken his sight, but he shakily reached up to wipe his eyes. He ignored the crimson now coating his fingers and searched for Shigaraki.

Mirio had backed him up to the treeline. The fire cast an eerie glow on the criminal’s snowy hair. He was part of the flame from Izuku’s perspective, raging and untamable. Destroying everything in its path and inevitable. Lemillion was good, very good, and Izuku would have felt sorry for himself if he had been less of a good person. One for All sparkled across his form like it was made for him.

But it was not working like Izuku knew it should. He knew that power like the back of his hand. He knew that it fit into one’s bones like a warm blanket on a winter’s day. It filled the bearer’s chest like a kiss to the cheek or a ruffle of the hair. It was a tumultuous hurricane and a soft sunset’s light. It filled every step with purpose, each breath with meaning. Mirio used it, but he did not own it. Even after five months of possessing it, it was not his.

Shigaraki realized it too.

Izuku ignored the pain that threatened his collapse and pushed himself to stand. He could hear Jirou sobbing Kaminari’s name. Toga’s maniacal laughter floated above the sound of Katsuki’s explosions with devastating clarity. Hawks was yelling to Tokoyami, but there was no response. Both Touya and Shoto were weeping. The fire raged around them, smoke filled his nostrils and made his eyes water.

Shigaraki extended both hands toward Mirio’s face as he rushed to deal an All Might blow.

It’s just like two and a half years ago when he ran to save Katsuki from the sludge villain. His feet moved before his brain could react. The world went white around him and all he could see was the small space between those fatal fingernails and Mirio’s bright blue eyes.

When Shigaraki’s hand made contact with Izuku’s skin, he screamed. Any pain he had been feeling before paled in comparison to the pure agony that raced into his very veins as the pads of his fingers stroked his freckles like an acidic breeze. It was like being on fire. Was this what Aizawa had felt when Shigaraki hurt him? Did his insides revolt at the sheer amount of hurt that laced his lungs? Did his heart skip at the death that was tangible on his tongue?

He heard someone roar his name but could not place the voice. The touch moved across his face to his chin, down his neck, across his blood-gushing shoulders, and to his left arm. It was never enough to crumble him to ash, never enough to lose a limb, but just enough pressure to ensure Izuku a world of pain. He could not see through the anguish that gripped him. Tears unstoppable raced down his scarred cheeks like burning rivers.

“Look at the helpless little hero.” Even as Shigaraki said it, Izuku could faintly hear Katsuki’s ear-shattering roar coming closer. So it had been his best friend then. His tone was so broken, so agonized. Was losing Izuku truly that devastating?

The white-haired villain simply waved a hand and the bellow became distant again. “You used to be my greatest adversary. Now, look at your replacement.”

He turned Izuku’s face, four fingers roughly digging into the burns covering his skin. Mirio was staring at him blearily from below one of the nomu. Blood gleamed in painted shapes across his hairline and neck. He was crying out hoarse words that Izuku could not understand.

“He’s not suitable, you know. I can tell that the quirk is resisting him even now, when there is so much at stake.” Shigaraki purred the next part, soft and cruel. “But then again, neither were you. The Quirkless boy. No one wants a worthless kid to be the next Number One Hero. All Might didn’t want you, your own mother didn’t want you. You are nothing against me. I am superior in every way, so unequal that I want to laugh. Why would any of these heroes save you now?”

Izuku choked on his own blood. His eyes rose from Mirio to the rest of the battlefield. Flames had overtaken two of the other buildings, though whether it was from the fires in the forest or other attacks he was not sure. Hawks’ wings were covered in blood and his face was set in panic. Kirishima and Sero were trying to defend Jirou and Kaminari’s fallen forms; Izuku could not tell if they were still alive. Touya and Shoto were doing the same for their father, tear tracks and blood on their faces in equal measures. Mina was working with Momo, Shoji, and Snipe to try and kill more nomu. Katsuki was back-to-back with Aizawa as they grappled with Toga and Twice. The rest of their group was out of commission. They were losing

As if feeling someone’s gaze on him, crimson eyes rose across the yard of dust and decay. Katsuki met his gaze.

He was falling again. He dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Shigaraki towered over Izuku’s tortured form like a giant. Was this what All Might felt when he fought All For One? This terror that coursed through his veins was more abundant than his own flowing blood.

Yet he could not let him win.

Cold fingers wrapped around a single quirk erasing capsule. The other was missing, dropped on the ground somewhere. One chance.

His eyes did not stray from his best friend’s. They had shared so much, the two of them. Playgrounds, baths, classrooms, fears, joys, memories and hearts. He was suddenly overwhelmed my the desire to be next to him, fighting side by side one last time. A selfish thought entered his mind. He did not want to lose Katsuki.

He did not want to lose any of them.

Izuku’s bloody thumb popped the top off of the container in his pocket. Shigaraki reached down and took hold of the front of his Viridian suit. Pain indescribable sprouted again and he used the last vestiges of strength to thrust the pointed needle into the villain’s hand. The world went white and he felt his heart stop.

“NO!”

“IZUKU!”

I’m sorry.

Suddenly, the power stopped. Shigaraki stood above the boy with an expression pf pure shock. The air shifted. Like clouds trembling with energy before a lightning strike, the battlefield held its breath.

Izuku began to glow.

Green lightning encompassed his broken body. A crack of thunder bellowed across the school grounds. A soundwave cracked, sending the villain before him careening through the air with a screech. The vigilante rose from the ground not by his feet, but by a circle of ghostly bodies.

His eyes shot open, both completely filled with electric green.

And the Hero Deku grinned.

He lifted green lightning encompassed hands. The wonderfully familiar feeling of One for All between his fingers garnered tears, beautiful and warm. Salt tinged his tongue as happy sobs bubbled up from the slowly shallowing pit in his chest. A barked chuckle turned into high laughter, sweet and lofty and full of hope.

His crackling viridian eyes turned towards Shigaraki, who gaped at him with wide eyes. He could see his carefully constructed plans crumbling in that fearful gaze. Once again, the tide turned.

He flew across the battlefield, One for All filling his body like never before. Quirks he had never experienced fell from his hands. He soared through the air like he had wings. He could taste the danger of Shigaraki’s attacks before they happened. Black tendrils formed around his body like Aizawa’s capture weapon. He used each new power as if he had been using them his entire life. Eight bodies circled him like a sphere of power, influence over decades of power. Lives he had no part in played out in a millisecond. Memories he knew were not his own flew across his eyelids like highlight reels. Names he did not know and people he had never met changed him forever.

When he opened his mouth, nine voices fell from his cracked lips. “You’re right, Shigaraki. Not all men are created equal. That was the reality I learned about society at the young age of four.”

He floated above his greatest enemy, his quirk’s greatest adversary, and his shadow darkened Shigaraki’s prostrate form. “But that was my first and last setback.”

Izuku felt the sovereignty of centuries curl around his heart. He felt the power coursing through him with the duality of a raging fire and a gentle stream. It was the combination of smoking lungs and cool fingertips. It was the ground trembling force of an earthquake and the soft covering of the first season’s snow. It was everything he remembered and more.

Izuku raised a bloody fist. One for All pulsed at 100 percent within him.

He does not chant some move made by All Might. There is no cry of “Plus Ultra!” that echoes from his mouth. As Shigaraki meets him halfway, Izuku only smiles sadly and weeps for the broken children he could not save.

In the end, there was no challenge. As the quirk erasing experiment finally took effect, Izuku’s power overcame the villain’s without contest. His fists slammed against Shigaraki’s bare chest, propelled by so much power that the dent that his body made in the ground was deeper than his grave. The energy created a wind that shot into the sky, parting the clouds like a funnel. The nomu all raced to their master’s side, but they were no match for Izuku. One flick of his finger was a hole in each of their heads. They crashed to the ground, dying screeches never reaching their leader’s ears.

Shigaraki twitched in his hole. Deku dropped to stand on either side of his trembling body.

“You made a mistake, Shigaraki,” He murmured hoarsely. “You chose darkness when there is so much light. You chose evil when there is so much fucking good in the world. You let bitterness, hatred, and anger overtake you until that was all that was left. You let the devices of others turn you into a villain. And yet.”

Izuku sucked in a breath. “And yet I promise you this. In your next life, I will save you.”

Shigaraki’s eyes were crusted over with blood. His breathing was already too fast and choppy. He was dying. Deku could still make out the shock that filled his expression. The offer was more than he deserved, but it was never about whether or not he deserved it.

That was never the point.

“Goodbye, Shigaraki.”

The villain’s spasming chest settled and he breathed his last.

Izuku lowered to fingers and closed his eyes.

He shot out of the hole, power overwhelming him. There was no Eri to constantly rebuild his body as he used his quirk at full capacity. The effects began to show themselves.

Izuku collapsed to his knees first, the feeling in his legs fleeing. The pain that had been numbed by the power resurfaced in neon colors and aching whimpers. He fell to his back, blood spewing from his mouth like a crimson fountain. He felt salt against his lips and realized he was crying. Wounds covered his body, and he could no longer feel his fingers. The lightning died, green hues disappearing from his vigilante suit and gear.

Eight forms knelt beside him. He saw Nana’s warm smile and reached a hand toward it. Toward the morning sun, which shone beyond the wispy shadows of her hair.

“Goodbye, One for All.”

Izuku Midoriya smiled softly, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Thank you.”

He saw no more.

Shota did not often underestimate his students. He held realistic expectations depending on their skill, intelligence, and quirks.

He underestimated Izuku Midoriya. Despite the reassurances, despite the kid’s obvious skill, he had doubted his talents, his worth. It was another mistake he would regret for the rest of his life. In the end, Izuku was the best of them all.

When the dust finally settled, there was a clear winner. It was not Shigaraki. The remaining villains who remained conscious, Toga and Twice, let out screams of outrage. They were quickly dispatched and joined their companions on the ground.

The battlefield grew quiet as the wind died. Shota’s breaths came haggard and hoarse. Bakugou was on his hands and knees beside him, heaving. The pro knelt to help him to his feet. Both their gazes turned towards their savior.

Izuku shot out of the grave he had made for Shigaraki, green lightning surrounding his body like his own personal storm. His eyes, vibrant green and glowing, surveyed the yard for a moment. He looked like the perfect hero, with power and grace and soul. Shota grinned.

Then he dropped.

The vigilante toppled, collapsing onto his back as several cries of his name pierced the air. Shota did not wait for another second. He ignored his burning legs, his aching shoulders. His vision zeroed in on the fallen warrior. Frantic and searching, he dropped like an anchor was tied to his ankles beside the boy. Injury upon injury covered his body. For a fleeting moment he had Recovery Girl’s name on his lips, but she was overwhelmed by all the other dangerous wounds, and the last thing Izuku would want was his life prioritized before anyone else’s.

That did not stop the horrible agony that filled Shota’s entire being when Izuku did not wake when he shook him. He grasped the boy’s face gently, large hands cupping small cheeks. God, could he let this happen?

“Hey, Problem Child, wake up.” the underground hero traced his thumb between two darker freckles. Blood swiftly covered his finger. “Kid. Kid, wake up.”

Bakugou said that they were ready to bleed.

Izuku had two holes in his stomach. They were leaking crimson.

Ready to bleed.

There was blood coming from his hairline and nose. It was matted in his beautiful curls.

Ready to bleed.

Not like this. This was never what they wanted.

Ready to fucking bleed.

Children were not meant to fight in a man’s war.

“Izuku.” The name came out garbled and choked. He used it so rarely. Why did he waste such precious time using his given name? Why did he ever call him a problem, imply that he was a chore, when he had the amazing privilege of his personal title? “Izuku, listen to me. You need to wake up, okay? You didn’t hear me before.”

There was no movement. Dual colored eyes remained closed.

“I told you-,” his voice stopped. This was not happening. He could not lose another one. He could not lose any more people he cared about. “I told you I loved you.”

Just like that, reality hit him like a truck. He had the broken body of his kid in his arms. Bloody and bruised and beautiful and he was still and cold as death.

“Izuku. Izuku, I told you I love you.”

The repetition solved nothing. Shota shook, reaching down to try and stop the blood. His hands flitted from wound to wound, fretting over each injury. He has no idea what to do. He took Recovery Girl’s ability for granted. Now, when he needed it most, it could not be found.

His boy was dying.

He heard desperate footsteps but did not turn. Katsuki appeared on Izuku’s other side, covered in blood himself. Aizawa lifted misty eyes, immediate reaction to soothe the crease between his blonde brows. He lifted a trembling hand to wipe some blood from the corner of his mouth. His gaze shifted. Kaminari, who looked on death’s doorstep himself, was weeping openly over Jirou’s bloody body, holding her like she was a fallen star. Sero was at his side, trying to console his friend through his own cries. Kirishima was scrambling to stop Mina’s bleeding side, hectic reassurances spilling from his mouth like bloody vomit. Momo was making bandages as quickly as possible as she held Iida’s still hand. Shoji and Tokoyami were supporting a heavily injured Hawks. He watched in slow motion as Enji’s hand fell from its gentle caress on Dabi’s tear-stained cheek; Shoto was collapsed against his father’s chest.

They may have won, but this did not feel like a victory.

“Deku! Deku, you had better not be dead you shitty fucking nerd,” Katsuki yelled, frenzied touches finally settling on Izuku’s shoulders. “Wake up, Deku! Wake up!”

Midnight’s voice appeared in the device in his ear. “Eraserhead? What’s going on?”

Shota’s breath caught. “I…”

“Aizawa? What happened?”

The words taste bitter on his tongue as he stares at the expression on Kaminari’s face. “We won.”

Nemuri sighed heavily. He could hear the blood on her tongue. “What’s the situation?”

“We- we need medical. Now.”

He tore his eyes away again. As if summoned merely by mentioning the need for aid, the old woman came from the nearest building. Recovery Girl had arrived. She was surrounded by students and professionals alike who had healing abilities. A small piece of his terror chipped away.

There was a person with her.

Yagi’s blue eyes latched onto Izuku’s fallen form like a laser. Suddenly, all Aizawa could see was those desperate eyes in that underground bunker. Grey and green, scar running down his cheek, freckles multiplied and dusted with red. He heard ‘Quirkless’ and ‘unwanted’ and suddenly all Aizawa wanted to do was rip out Yagi Toshinori’s spinal cord.

The retired number one was running towards the trio. He was going to try and touch Izuku.

Shota would die before that happened.

He shot to his feet like a bullet, letting Bakugou hold the body of his fallen friend. “You bastard.”

Yagi slowed but did not spare Aizawa the attention he desired. “How is he-,”

“You don’t get to be concerned,” the ebony-haired man seethed. He wished he had Enji’s quirk. He wished he could burn Yagi to a crisp in front of him. He wished Shigaraki was still alive so that he could ask him to disintegrate All Might and toss him away to let the breeze carry his ashes down to hell. He wished that he was a villain for a fleeting moment just so that he could kill Yagi without anyone batting an eye. “You don’t get to act like you care about him.”

“I do care-,”

“Go worry about Mirio, All Might. Go worry about the kid who was good enough for you. I don’t want you anywhere near Izuku for the rest of your pathetic life.” He was hissing, all venom and spit and hatred boiling on his tongue like the vilest potion imaginable. He wished he could force it down the older man’s throat. He could hear Bakugou calling his best friend’s name and more poison welled up within him.

“You don’t get to decide that.” Yagi’s frown deepened and he tried to get around Shota’s stalwart form.

Mistake. Shota whipped his capture weapon off his shoulders faster than he could blink and threw it around All Might’s neck. He immediately choked, eyes bulging. “Yes I do. I’m his guardian.”

Yagi reached up and ripped the scarf. Even in his shrunken form, he was still strong. “Stop this, Aizawa. I want to make sure Young Midoriya is-,”

“His name is not Midoriya!” Shota suddenly screamed. “You idiot! You don’t listen to anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Shota, stop-,”

“LOOK!” Aizawa gestured behind him. “LOOK WHAT YOU DID! THIS IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT!”

Just shouting it was not enough. Shota needed blood. He needed to watch Yagi bleed.

He launched himself at the taller man, fist already poised to strike. The first blow broke his nose. The second bruised his jaw. The third was strong enough to almost dislocate his shoulder. The fourth sent the blonde to the ground. Shota did not stop. He knelt beside him and continued his assault as Yagi tried to defend himself. However, he had no quirk, no power.

He was just like Izuku at this moment.

Except Izuku was so much more.

“All that talk of nobility!” Whack.

“All the speeches about sacrifice!” thud.

“All the shit about heroism meaning running without thinking, about risking it all just for one smile! That was all you!” hit, hit, hit.

Shota ferociously gripped the front of Yagi’s shirt with his bloody hand and pulled him up so that they were eye to eye. His nose was busted and his eye swollen. With horrible malice, Shota realized he matched Izuku. Horrible hatred, a think that he had never felt before, roared to life in his stomach. Every injury on his kid’s body needed to be repeated on this traitor, this coward, this villain, until there was finally justice.

The words came from deep within him and he screamed. “YOU KILLED MY BOY!”

Bakugou was sobbing, grabbing at Izuku and pulling him into his warms. Shota wanted to tell him to stop, tell him that he would upset his already dislocated shoulder, that he was hurting himself, but the vigilante looked so peaceful tucked into the crook of his neck, eyes closed. He looked like he was sleeping.

Shota felt a tear slip down his cheek. His eyes met Yagi’s. There were tears in his too.

“I’m sorry,” the man begged.

Aizawa’s gaze darkened. “You don’t get to be sorry.”

“I never meant-,” more pleas, more attempts at forgiveness. Shota was no Izuku; he would hear none of it. Forgiveness did not run through his veins like the blood that now covered the ground around them. He did not bleed love like crimson, honeyed words did not fall from smiling lips like sunlit rain.

“Don’t you understand?” but how could he? How could this man, who had thrown Izuku to the side like last week’s garbage, ever comprehend the true value of his life?

“You killed my son.”

Once the declaration was past his lips he choked. He had denied it up until this point. The lack of pulse, the cold skin, the pale cheeks. All of that could be dismissed if he just had hope. But now he had said it. He had spoken those damning words into existence and now it was real.

Shota’s shoulders hitched as his eyes frantically moved from side to side. He released Yagi as if his hands were burning and stumbled back. No, no, no.

“Izu? IZU!”

Shota turned just in time to watch Izuku jerk in Katsuki’s hold. His shoulders lurched and his forehead knocked into his best friend’s chin. A whimper escaped his tightly clamped lips.

It was the most beautiful sound Shota had ever heard.

He was alive.

Shota sprinted back to his kids’ sides. He collapsed to his knees, drawing Bakugou into his embrace and Izuku with him. He kissed both their foreheads chastely. The blonde did not seem to notice the action which would normally send him into an angry frenzy. He was too busy burying his nose into Izuku’s forest green curls and sobbing his name.

Izuku’s eyes opened slowly. He blinked furiously, wincing in the now bright light of the mid-morning sun.

“…’chaan?”

The teenager in question scrambled, pulling away to stare into the younger boy’s eyes. “Hey, nerd. Hey. I’m here. I’m right here.”

It was soft, so incredibly soft and sweet that Shota would have never believed the tone came from Bakugou. However, the love was obvious. Gloved fingers ran through rambunctious and bloody curls with practiced tenderness. Crimson eyes filled with tears held an exhausted pair of green and grey with adoration.

“Are you going to leave me?” Izuku breathed, broken and hoarse and so wonderfully alive.

“No, you fucking idiot,” Katsuki wept, bloody hand reaching up to cup his freckled cheek. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Izuku winced, opening his mouth, but Shota placed a trembling hand in his hair to stop him. The other he raised to frantically wave over Recovery Girl. “Don’t talk, Problem Child. You need to save your energy.”

“Dad?” and Shota really should reprimand him for directly disobeying a command, but the way that precious voice wrapped around the title like eastern silk made him crumble.

He sobbed quietly, fingers rubbing his son’s scalp. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m here. Dad’s here.”

“Did good?”

Shota choked, leaning down to kiss his hair. “So good, Izuku. You did the best.”

Katsuki resumed his earlier position, gently nuzzling his friend’s curled locks.

“Finished?” Izuku asked, eyelids fluttering.

The villains were gone. Shigaraki was dead. It was over.

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s done. You did it.”

“We did it,” the young hero managed softly, lips twitching. “Together.”

Bakugou laughed wetly. “Yeah, nerd. Together.”

Izuku took a dangerously shaky breath. “Rest now?”

Shota closed his eyes tightly against the childish want in his son’s voice. Was that all Izuku had ever wanted? This child had lived through hell. He had been ignored, neglected, bullied, and abused. He had been thrust into a world of power and potential with almost no training. He had been groomed for a suicide mission by a man who dropped him at the turn of the tide. He had been used, unwanted, and abandoned by those he trusted to keep him safe. Sixteen years of pain had culminated into this young man, but he was not bitter or angry.

He was good.

And he wanted to rest.

“Yeah, buddy.” Shota had no idea his own voice could be so tender, so kind. “You can rest now.”

Finally given permission, perhaps that he had been waiting his whole life for, Izuku’s eyes closed, and he finally let himself rest.

He found it after returning home from arresting Inko Midoriya.

“I wanted to kill her,” Naomasa admitted as they neared Shota’s home away from Yuuei.

Shota scowled. “I would not have stopped you.”

“She won’t get out, Eraser. From what you learned from Izu, and from what she openly admitted to us today, she’ll be away for a long time.”

He could still see her face, bewildered that someone would care so much about her troubled son. He admitted that was partly society’s fault; the prejudices and bitterness towards Quirkless people had shaped her own view of Izuku to the point where he was nothing more than the nuisance that everyone from his childhood labeled him as. However, much like Bakugou, she was responsible for her own damn actions. There were consequences for the treatment that Izuku had experienced, and Inko was just the first in a long line to suffer Aizawa’s wrath.

“She deserves to rot in hell.”

“Yeah, well, someone we both love would probably say that ‘it’s not about what she deserves’.”

Shota huffed. “He was excited you stopped by.”

Naomasa grinned. It was very Izuku-like. “I was glad I could make it. I hate seeing him hurt, but he smiles like none of it matters. Like he’s on cloud nine.”

The pro nodded. “He has always been good at finding the light, and if he can’t find it, he’ll make it. He’s blinding.”

Perhaps it was meant to sound annoyed, but the detective saw right through his friend’s façade. He did not comment on it. Instead, as he turned the corner down Aizawa’s street, he muttered, quite cheerfully, “So, I hear that Nezu has been demoted.”

Shota could not contain his malicious grin as he glanced towards the detective. “Indeed. We’ve been able to put together a substantial case against him. Unfortunately, he has enough sway left to remain at Yuuei, just not as principal.”

“Who’s taking the job” Naomasa raised a brow.

The underground hero shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving my class in someone else’s hands. Not me. Nemuri, maybe. She’s more than qualified. More importantly, she’s kind. Mic wants to as well, so it might be a joint leadership. We’ll see what happens. Not really my priority right now.”

His companion hummed, nodding. “And All Might?”

Just the mention of the scumbag’s name was enough to get Shota’s gut churning. “He is no longer a teacher.”

“That is a … disappointingly small punishment.”

“Izuku spoke for him.”

Naomasa’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. “Did he?”

Shota frowned. “From his fucking hospital bed. He was quite adamant. He understands that some form of retribution is required, but unfortunately, he also made some logical points in the bastard’s defense.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The kid doesn’t realize how much he’s been wronged. I get that his past influences his perception of reality, but sometimes I wish he would just scream at people, attack them. God knows he’s earned it.”

“Mirio?”

They pulled up beside Shota’s home. Eri waved at him from her reading perch in the breakfast nook window.

“Besides being shunned? Nothing.” Shota growled, remembering all the horribly accepting gazes that appeared in his kid’s eyes. “Legally, we’re empty-handed with those two. Nezu’s different. Technically, he coerced Izuku into dropping. Izuku gave Mirio the quirk. I know, I know, he was influenced by All Might, I get that. But on paper, that doesn’t hold up. Mirio thought what he was doing would save lives, same with Yagi.”

He took a deep breath, forcing his rampaging heart to slow. Anger helped no one now. “That’s what I teach my students to do; it’s what heroes are supposed to do. They make tough decisions to save lives. Yagi truly believed he was keeping Izuku safe.”

“Don’t tell me you’re forgiving him?”

Shota’s lip curled. “You won’t even be able to pry forgiveness from my cold, dead hands.”

Naomasa nodded. It was as good as they were getting. “Tell him I said hi. Katsuki too.”

He agreed, holding out a hand. “Thanks, Masa.”

The detective lit up at the endearing nickname and clasped his fingers. “Anytime, Sho.”

The other man rolled his eyes but allowed it. He exited the car.

“Sho!” Eri cried as she pulled the door open. Immediately, she latched onto his legs. He smiled softly and ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re home!”

Momo stuck her head around the corner. “Sensei!”

“We’re outside of school, Momo,” He replied to the babysitter. “You can call me Aizawa.”

“Sorry, Sensei,” she blushed.

“No need. Thank you for watching Eri while I dealt with official business.”

“She’s delightful.” The girl answered with a soft smile. Shota was inclined to agree.

He paid her and she hugged Eri before going on her way back to the dorms.

“Let me grab a few things and then we’ll go over to the hospital,” he explained gently, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “You can visit Mirio.”

“Yay!” she clapped her hands and nuzzled into her dad’s embrace. “Can I see Deku!”

“If he’s up for a visit,” Shota hummed. “The new treatment makes him really tired, Eri.”

“Okay,” the white-haired girl nodded in understanding even as she frowned. Man, he lucked out, didn’t he?

“Get your bag together. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Shota left her to collect her things as he retrieved some papers from his office. He had not been in here since before the battle, and it showed. Everything was still in disarray from his sleepless nights waiting for his Problem Child to return from his nocturnal adventuring.

Had it really only been two weeks since that fateful Wednesday? It felt like decades.

Shota ran a weary hand over his face and sighed. Seeing all of his hell class in the hospital for any amount of time frayed his nerves. Half of them had stayed for at least a week due to serious injury. Many of the pros involved in the battle were there as well. Villains who had been detained were treated and then sent to jail. It was odd, how jovial the specific wing of the hospital had become in their stay. Most of his class was out by now, however. They would need physical therapy for a while, especially Jirou and Iida, but they would be alright.

They would be amazing.

Izuku was the only one left who was still confined to his bed. After receiving One for All again and charging it to 100 percent, he had been left spent. Shota had yet to gain a full night’s sleep with the loud blare of him flatlining going off in his mind. And yet, he would survive.

Izuku was good at that.

Shota smiled fondly and turned back to the task at hand. When his file remained elusive, he ventured to his bedroom. Perhaps he left it…

There was an envelope on his dresser. The handwriting on the back alone almost made him cry.

He gently pried the letter open.

Sensei, should you be reading this, I can only assume the worst has happened, and I’m sorry.

Shota really wanted to shake the kid until he understood that everything was not his fault. He wished he could make Izuku understand just how wonderful he was, how adored. How his mother, how All Might, how all those idiots from his childhood were so mistaken. He wished he could make him see how many people loved him.

Izuku had left another letter. Shota could bet good money that it was another goodbye.

I wanted to write something in case I never got the courage to say things to you. I promise this won’t be as long as my last letter, assuming you read that one too. I promise I hold nothing against you if you didn’t. My handwriting can be hard to decipher.

Aizawa scoffed wetly. As if the letters on the page weren’t perfect. As if Izuku did not have a different writing style for his notebooks and his sweet notes. As if the words on the paper were more befitting of ancient poetry than a farewell.

It has been a long time since I have truly wanted to live, but you helped me find that desire again, and for that I can never be thankful enough. That’s why I’m hoping you never read this. I want to survive this, Sensei. I want to come home with you. I want to be a hero. More than that, though, I think I want to be a kid. I never really got to be one after I was diagnosed as Quirkless. I had forgotten what ice cream tasted like until I moved into the dorms. I had no idea how to play things like dodgeball and video games. I did not get to play catch with my dad.

I want those things now, Sensei.

I want them with you.

Call me selfish, that’s okay. Maybe I am. Perhaps it is selfish to crave a happily ever after, but I guess I’ll make that sacrifice. I want to be happy. I haven’t wanted that in a long time. And that, in part, is thanks to you. You took me in and cared about me despite my shortcomings and failures. You believed me when few else did, believed in me. It means more than you’ll ever know.

Shota wanted to gasp out that Izuku owed him nothing, that it was the least he could do. He wanted to tell him how much he deserved a good life, a family, friends who celebrated birthdays with him and hugged him with everything they had. He deserved that and so, so much more.

Thank you for everything. For letting me feel happy for a little while. I hope you are happy too. I think your happiness is one of the things I’ve wanted more than anything else in my entire life.

            Take care of Katsuki for me. He’s going to be an amazing hero.

            I never had a Dad, really, but I think you’re going to be a great one.

I love you, Dad Sensei.

Shota swallowed. A tear dropped right under the ‘d’ of the honored title. He slipped the letter back into its envelope and left it on the dresser.

Eri called his name from downstairs and he shook himself out of his stupor. Right. Papers.

…

Hospitals were the worst. Shota’s experience in the horrible buildings of pain and death were less than favorable. However, this visit was less depressing because he already knew the outcome of each person in one of the wretched beds.

The heroes won.

“Sho?”

He glanced down at the little girl whose hand was intertwined with his. “Yes, Eri?”

She hummed thoughtfully, skipping in step beside him. “Where are we going?”

The pro tiredly rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re visiting Todoroki.”

The half-and-half boy was one of her favorites among Aizawa’s class, as shown by her excited reaction. Eri jumped with joy and began talking animatedly about the one time Shoto had used himself as a stove to cook her bacon. She thought he was very cool. He also let her braid his hair, which earned him large favors.

Shota let her talk. The pros that were minimally wounded had returned to hero work, but not without all stopping by to pay respects to the warrior children. Izuku had asked for autographs from all of them.

The Todoroki’s room was on the third floor. Rei, Natsuo, and Fuyumi had already visited and returned home. From what Tsuyu had told him, the reunion was very emotional. When they reached the door, Shota stopped. He could hear voices on the other side, all three hushed and shattered.

“I don’t deserve it, Touya. I never will. You never have to forgive me, my boy. But I want you to know that I am so sorry. For all of it. For every single thing.”

Enji Todoroki spoke with the tone of a broken man. Shota knew some of the history of the Todoroki family. From talks with the youngest son to Izuku’s letter, he could put the pieces together. The puzzle revealed a shattered family. However, even shattered glass could make beautiful art, and forgiveness filled in the cracks with gold.

Dabi, Touya, replied softly, voice trembling. “Somebody taught me it’s not about what you deserve, Dad.”

That phrase seemed to be the winning one of the day. Shota sighed and knocked on the door. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew the person who had taught the kid that lesson.

Enji Todoroki was sitting up in his hospital bed. Bandages wrapped around his chest. Bionic prosthetics were already in the works to replace the leg he had lost. The scarred side of his face was covered by more gauze. Compared to when Shota had first seen him, unconscious and hooked up to more wires than Mic’s old computer, he looked fit as a fiddle.

Dabi, or Touya, as Aizawa was beginning to call him, was in the chair to his father’s right. His hands were wrapped from quirk exhaustion. Shoto leaned against the window on his father’s left, looking happy to just bask in the presence of his brother and father. His left arm was in a sling and his chest was covered in white dressings.

A broken lot, the Todorokis, but even shattered bones can find their mending. They would do the same.

“Eraser,” Enji and Touya called at the same time Shoto smiled, “Sensei.”

“How is Izuku?” the youngest continued.

“Stir crazy,” the guardian replied honestly. “He hasn’t been able to leave his bed yet. It’s wearing him down, but it’s good for him. He needs the rest.”

“We owe him our lives,” the patriarch did not smile, but his eyes did. “I’ve been wanting to visit him but…”

“He’s had plenty of company,” Shota assured. He led Eri over to the trio. The little girl looked at them quietly, smiling sweetly when her gaze met Shoto’s.

She took one look at Touya and her young eyes grew wide. He cracked a side smile.

“That ugly, huh kid?”

She did not reply immediately. Her flat shoes made small pats against the floor as she walked closer to his father’s hospital bed. Enji and Shoto watched closely. Her small hands hesitantly reached up to hold his face.

Touya flinched. “Ah, kid, don’t.”

“Why?” her innocence sometimes made Shota want to cry.

“Pretty things like you shouldn’t touch monsters.”

Eri shook her head, adorably understanding smile squishing her cheeks. “You’re not a monster. You’re just a little broken. But don’t worry – I can fix it.”

Shota could not stop the fond expression that overtook his face. His kids really were going to be incredible heroes. Eri placed her small palms against his scarred cheeks. He shuddered and lowered his head into her warm touch, tilting into her hands and focusing half-lidded cerulean eyes on her crimson ones.

Aizawa wondered when the last time was that someone had held Touya like he mattered. Like he was precious. Like he deserved to be saved.

Eri’s horn glowed. The reformed villain gasped as her quirk activated. Several long seconds passed and the light died. Touya’s scars went with it.

Enji burst into tears. Shoto soon followed, grabbing his father’s hand.

Touya, and fuck, he looked so young like that, leaned deeper into the little girl’s hands. Just another child who had been left behind to pick up the shattered pieces of themselves, abandoned to rescue themselves from the demons that threatened to overcome them. His skin, fresh and clear and healthy, turned pink under Eri’s fingertips.

“Thank you,” he croaked. “Thank you.”

“No need,” she answered, just as soft. Shota was so damn proud. “It’s what heroes do.”

They left the Todoroki’s in a tangled mess of shaking limbs and wet cheeks. Eri linked her hand back through Shota’s and leaned into his side. He forced himself not to cry.

Hado met him outside Mirio’s door. She and Tamaki were pros in their own right now. They had rarely left their friend’s side since he had been admitted to the hospital, but they were always willing to let Eri join them as they sat with the golden-haired boy. Eri jumped into her arms just like so many times before and Shota kissed her forehead before returning to the elevator. He did spare Yagi, who had been watching him from inside Mirio’s room, even a glance.

The elevator was far too slow for his liking, but he reached the fifth floor without trouble. Most of his students had been in these rooms, to begin with, but they were vacant now. All save one.

He could hear Izuku’s laughter from the end of the hall.

“...nd did you see Kiri’s face when he talked about Mina kissing him?”

“Of course I did, nerd. He got as red as his dumb hair.”

“His hair is not dumb, Kachaan.”

“Yes it is, shut up. What would you know about hairstyle anyway? You look like a piece of broccoli.”

“And you look like you stuck your finger in an open socket as a child, Kachaan, so don’t start with me.”

Shota grinned. The pair had been inseparable. Katsuki had been released fairly early after the battle. He did not stray far. He had asked for a cot to sleep in beside Izuku’s bed until he woke up, and even then, he did not leave unless it was to see the rest of the class or his parents. Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou had been very present in Izuku’s recovery as well. Shota was pleased to learn that they loved Izuku as much as he did.

Problem Child was adored by so many. He had no idea how many people would risk their lives for him without a second thought.

He had done the same for them on the battlefield. Izuku had enough injuries to kill a regular person twice over, but One for All did not let its bearer succumb to his wounds. Even though he had flatlined, twice, he had pulled through. With the help of many medical professionals, including Recovery Girl, he healed quickly. However, One for All had taken more from him than ever before. By all accounts, he should have been able to return to the dorms several days ago, but his power was still draining him after being used at such a high percentage without any Eri-shaped assistance.

He opened the door right as Katsuki continued, scowl on his face, “- but it was nothing next to how red Dunce Face got when Earphones held his hand. God, I wish you could have seen it.”

Izuku smiled softly from his bed, head tilted toward his friend, who was seated in the bed with him. Their shadows were intertwined on the opposite wall, golden light mixing to make their eyes sparkle. “Me too.”

Neither boy noticed him enter, too absorbed with the other. Bakugou heard the solemn tone in his friend’s voice and turned back to him. “Hey, Deku, stop that. You’ll be out of here soon enough. Don’t worry. Sensei isn’t gonna let you wallow for much longer.”

“No, I am not,” Shota agreed loudly, making both boys jump. He would berate them for their lack of awareness, but he supposed he could excuse it. Hospitals were not meant for fear and suspicion. They were meant for healing.

Izuku needed to do a lot of healing.

“Hey, Dad,” Izuku hummed tenderly as Shota rubbed his knuckles across those many freckles.

Shota would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry like a wailing baby at the title that this beautiful kid had graciously bestowed on him. “Hey, Green Bean. Feel better?”

He shrugged, not moving the hand that was intertwined with Bakugou’s. “Tired.”

“I’m shocked,” the pro drawled, pulling up a chair and seating himself. “Your mom was arrested this afternoon.”

Both boys stiffened and the vigilante’s head dropped. He stared at his lap. “Was… did she struggle?”

“Yes,” Shota answered honestly. “But not in the beginning. Only when we told her how long she’d get.”

Izuku licked his lips. “And how long is that?”

“If I get my way, the rest of her life,” Aizawa fought to keep the snarl out of his voice but failed. His hand fisted where it lay on his kid’s blanket. “But that doesn’t matter. If she gets out, you’ll be long gone. She won’t even recognize you.”

Izuku’s expression betrayed his thoughts. He did not know whether or not that was a good thing.

“I’ll kill her if she ever comes near you again,” Katsuki offered. “If that helps.”

The other teenager did not seem to appreciate the attempt at levity, but Shota did not expect him to be happy about the news concerning his mother. Izuku felt deeply, perhaps deeper than anyone else Shota had ever met. Even though his mother had mistreated him, practically abandoned him, and disowned him, he still loved her. He still had sweet memories of playing with her, of dancing in their living room, of holding her hand in the grocery store aisles. He remembered Inko when she was still good.

And perhaps there was a redemption she could try for.

Secretly, horribly, Shota wished she never gained it.

“Uraraka?” Izuku’s small voice surfaced.

Shota winced. Just another betrayal in his long, long lineup, it seemed. He would admit that the revelation of his sweet student’s treachery garnered several tears. He had cried for the loss of her innocence, the loss of her future filled with light and goodness and triumph. She was only sixteen. Too young to know so much evil, too young to crave it.

“She is being sent to a juvenile prison for now.”

The two students nodded, taking the information as well as could be expected. Neither was happy about it, but they understood.

“Was it…”

The unspoken question twisted Shota’s heart. “No, Problem Child. It had nothing to do with you. I believe that Uraraka was lost long before we reached her.”

Izuku nodded sorrowfully. He took a deep breath and wiped his damp eyes. “Did the doctors tell you when I can get out of here?”

Shota did not acknowledge the extreme change in conversation. The kid had earned the right to avoid certain topics like the plague. “If everything checks out, this weekend.”

Both boys brightened like shooting stars.

“Yes!” Bakugou cried, thrusting a fist into the air.

Izuku preened, practically vibrating with excitement. “The dorms?”

The pro nodded. “You’ll be re-enrolled in two weeks. We’re giving you all a break from academics for a little while. We need time to rebuild the campus and your teachers need to deal with the paperwork and the press.”

He did not mention that it was really because the kids deserved a break, all of them. He did not tell them that he had ordered the recess after seeing Kaminari’s shaking hands try and finish math homework due Monday, after watching Koda try to finish a hero ethics essay with a broken arm.

His hell class had seen hell, and they deserved a few quiet days. He could not give them heaven, but he would try.

“Hear that, Kachaan? I’m about to kick your ass again and it’ll be on record.”

“Best of luck, shitty nerd,” his best friend replied with ease, leaning back into the bed again, hand still tightly in Izuku’s. “You’ll have to train pretty hard to surpass me.”

“One more thing, Problem Child.”

Izuku hummed, leaning into Katsuku’s side. His eyelids fluttered. Shota forced his expression to remain neutral. God, his son was adorable.

“Sign this.”

The green-haired boy nudged his friend, who replied in kind, and sat up a little straighter to take his teacher’s pen. “Katsu, do you think you could get Kami to bring his Switch when he visits next time? I want to play Breath of the Wild.”

“I’ll buy you one,” Shota interrupted before Bakugou could reply. The blonde glanced down at the papers and smirked. His best friend did not seem to have the same realization.

Izuku tilted his head in surprise, cheeks darkening. “What? Why would you buy me a Nintendo Switch?”

Shota could not keep the fond smile off his lips, exasperated though it was. Problem Child could be so unaware. “Call it a present for all the birthdays I wasn’t around for.”

The poor boy seemed to only grow more confused. Not once had he looked down at the papers he had just signed. The complete trust that this kid had in his teacher was frightening. Shota would have called him out on it if he had not been so focused on keeping his tears in his throat. “Sensei, you don’t buy birthday presents for your students. And – and why would you need to make up for my birthdays?”

Bakugou lifted a fist to his mouth to stifle a snort. Shota leaned forward, ebony eyes meeting grey and green. “You’re right, Problem Child. I don’t buy presents for my students. However, I do buy presents for my son.”

And finally, finally, Izuku’s gaze dropped to the small stack in his lap.

“These… these are adoption papers.”

“Very observant,” Shota agreed, but it was far softer and gentler than he had intended. God, what were these kids doing to him?

“Izuku…” the kid read out his name slowly, trying it out on his tongue. “Izuku… Aizawa?”

“If you want,” His guardian stuttered.

Izuku looked up at him and Shota felt that he could have put the stars in the sky to deserve such an expression. “You want to adopt me?”

“I feel like it has been mentioned before, Problem Child,” Aizawa chuckled. “But yes.”

More than anything in the entire world.

“You – you’re going to be my dad?”

As if Shota could want anything more. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I want you,” He gasped, eyes misting. “I’m just – it’s all – I don’t…”

“Take a breath, Izu,” Bakugou huffed affectionately.

Izuku scoffed in disbelief, tears falling down his cheeks like glistening clockwork. “I – I don’t deserve this.”

“It’s not about what you deserve, idiot,” Katsuki leaned over and knocked the green-haired boy’s forehead with his own. “And if it was, this is nothing compared to all you have earned. So shut up and let us take care of you.”

“It’s a bothersome job,” Izuku whispered, but he curled into the embrace, the touch, the love.

Shota lifted a hand to place against his son’s cheek. “Not to us.”

Katsuki buried his nose in Izuku’s curls. “Not if it’s you.”

Izuku, who had been abused his entire life, who had been left behind and forgotten, betrayed and abandoned. Izuku, who had been told by everyone, including his idol, that he did not have what it took to be a hero. Izuku, who fought tooth and nail, bloody lips and broken bones. Izuku, whose smile put the sunshine to shame and whose freckles dotted his cheeks like the twinkles of starlight.

Izuku finally fell into the waiting arms of those who loved him, and there he would stay.

The prodigal son returned, safe and sound.