Chapter Text
Chapter 1:
Everything seemed too bright here.
Izuku resisted the urge to wince as he shuffled down the hallway, the sunlight streaming through the impossibly large windows making everything feel even bigger than it already was, as long shadows stretched on the shined, slick hall floor.
The boy tucked into himself further and carefully curled his hands around his backpack, trying desperately to keep out of sight and out of the way or anyone’s attention as he maneuvered down the long walkway, bottle green gaze trained on the temporary pair of school shoes he’d been afforded. His mussed, green curls bounced with every step.
Didn’t matter what he did though, because Izuku stuck out like a fucking sore thumb. And that…was sort of to be expected really.
He’d known this was how it would go.
Because he wasn’t stupid.
He could keep his head down, refuse to meet anyone’s curious look–and he was sure he was getting quite a few of them–and he could make himself as small as possible and try to fade into the crowd, blend in, pretend like he was just another student here…
But Izuku knew he wasn’t just another student.
Everyone knew he wasn’t just another student.
Here at UA High, it took a rare type of power and a high test score–both in the battle arena and on the written exam–to make it into this school, with these teachers, and these classes.
To be heroes.
And Izuku?
He wasn’t cut out for that…
Not yet anyway.
This time the boy did frown as his thoughts circled around the familiar trail of thoughts as he continued to shuttle down the long walkway, heading towards the teacher’s lounge, carefully ducking through the crowd, his pace slow.
A low murmur followed him.
Being quirkless had its drawbacks, Izuku knew. Made it nearly impossible to hope to get into a place like this, to dream of being a hero.
‘Without a quirk?’ He’d recalled the curious scoff directed at him that day when he’d ventured to ask one of his idols if it were possible, if he could hope to be something more than the quirkless boy who only dreamed and analyzed and trailed after heroes and fights.
‘Do you think I could ever be someone like you?’
Someone powerful. Someone with the ability to help others.
Someone worth something.
As it was though?
He had no fucking clue if that were possible. Just…just the pipe dream that he could potentially be a hero if he trained hard enough and believed the word of one hero about inheriting power…
Inheriting his power in particular.
Which sounded fucking crazy if Izuku were being honest. Or if he’d happened to talk to anyone about it.
But he hadn’t. And he’d trusted, blindly, that this could work, that he could be something more, someone more.
Just like Aizawa and Yamada.
The two who’d taken Izuku in when he was four after his mother died in that stupid villain fight where he was left alone and…
The boy swallowed and narrowed his eyes on the pattern that spread across the linoleum tiles that scattered down the hall. His fingers twitched and tapped lightly against the straps of his backpack as he continued his slow march, the teacher’s lounge looming ever closer, the door ever larger and foreboding.
Because Izuku wasn’t supposed to be here.
Quirklessness aside.
His middle school uniform was the real giveaway.
He wasn’t old enough to be here, let alone during this time of day.
It was only around eleven and soon the classes would be breaking for lunch, and then it’d be afternoon work–training and lectures about history and whatnot.
Izuku was familiar with all of it.
That’s what happened when your guardians were teachers of the school. Damned good ones too.
But Izuku was slightly biased in that department.
And maybe a little intimidated, if he were honest. Because Yamada was more than talented when it came to the English language and though he’d been working to teach Izuku the ins and outs of its complexity for the last few years, the boy was still leagues behind the voice hero, often lost whenever the man slipped into the language when he was tired or angry.
Or both.
And then there was Aizawa.
The underground hero–Eraserhead--was intimidating in terms of his knowledge and approach to teaching. He knew, first hand, what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures–mostly about the need to tidy up his room or to stop being so reckless when they sparred together and Izuku wasn’t paying attention to his footwork and keeping his sightlines open–but the point still stood that it wasn’t always the most…pleasant experience.
And he remembered last year when the pair had come home from work, each shuffling into the apartment with a tired sort of…frustration…and silently parted ways from one another, Aizawa retreating to bedroom to get ready for patrol and Yamada making his way to the kitchen to help Izuku for dinner.
Where he then, kindly informed the boy that Aizawa had dismissed his entire class of first year students because they refused to listen to rational instruction.
Which…was terrifying, if Izuku were honest. He certainly didn’t know how he would have reacted if he’d been in that class and told he wasn’t good enough, told to leave, or that he’d never be a hero…
As it was though?
Aizawa and Yamada had never said those things, well aware of his goals, but also reminding him of the reality of his status, and the limitations he had.
‘Think practically about what you can and cannot do and work that to your advantage, kid.’
They’d only ever seen a potential in him and tried to persuade him to seek out his goals, which was somewhat heartening.
But also, a reminder to Izuku that it was a long fall if he should disappoint them and fail.
Sure, the entrance exam was a long way off. And sure, he was now working through a difficult training regimen with a few real-life heroes.
That had to count to some advantage for Izuku. The voice hero and the stealth hero? They were big pluses.
And then there was All Might. The same who saw potential in him…after doubting him initially, but still offered to train him and still offered him his power.
Still offered him the ability to gain a quirk...
Which was something that Izuku was dead set on not telling Yamada and Aizawa about.
Along with all the bullying.
Those…those were issues he could handle.
Those were things he could protect them from, especially after all they’d done for him, for the life they’d given him.
He…
He could give something small in return.
He could be something worthwhile…even in that small way.
Except…
The boy adjusted the sleeves of his uniform and tried to hide the small tear in his cuff as he hastily dusted his jacket and tucked the white shirt further out of eyesight. The dirt and bloodstains that lingered wouldn’t come out so easily, but for now he’d have to try to hide the evidence of what’d happened until he could get a proper look at the damage and scrub away the stains.
For now, he could just tuck it all away.
The boy frowned, his nose twitching as he reached the doorway, a soft hum working through his ears as he reached a shaking hand to grab the knob, not bothering to knock–It wouldn’t do any good.
They weren’t expecting him.
Not at this hour.
Not today.
Which was the entire problem.
The boy swallowed back the fear and squared his shoulders, considering his options, thinking of excuses, trying to figure out a way to work through the situation. Because how was Izuku going to explain this?
The bell started to chime, a shrill ringing that clanged and whirred overhead as a weight settled in Izuku’s stomach.
Doors started to creak as the boy turned the knob, the soft chatter of students starting to fill the air.
He needed to get inside the office.
Now.
There was a soft push, the mechanism releasing as Izuku placed his weight onto the door and stepped through, meeting a few surprised faces as they peered up from their computers in the common area.
Kayama grinned brightly at him, though her eyes flashed in questioning as she took in his appearance, which made Izuku touch a tentative hand to his cheek, wrinkling his nose as he felt the tenderness beneath his eye.
Oh yeah…
He’d forgotten about that hit. To be fair, though, the kid had jumped him from behind when he'd passed through the gates of the school grounds and struck him with one of his wings before he'd had time to even register what'd happened
But thankfully, the woman didn’t say anything, only gestured softly with her head towards the left, where Aizawa’s office was, before giving another soft smile towards the boy and returning to her work, leaving the boy to face the looming prospect of just what he was he going to do or say to help Aizawa and Yamada understand why he’d been kicked out of class.
Without letting slip the truth.
The boy sucked in another small breath and made his way towards the hall and the private offices, knowing Aizawa’s was on the very end, and that the man would be waiting inside.
This was…going to suck.
Of all the things that Shouta could have expected from today, seeing Izuku–the resident Problem Child–tentatively step into his office at ten past eleven in the morning, was not one of them.
The boy was supposed to be at school, halfway across town, and much closer to home. Not here, at U.A. of all places.
The minute that soft knock sounded and a familiar, bobbing head of wayward, green curls filtered into view, though, Shouta was on his feet, worry creasing his brow as he took stock of the slightly disheveled boy and the blossoming bruise on the kid’s cheek.
“What the hell happened?”
There was a tentative sort of grimace that wormed onto the boy’s face as he’d been tugged into the office, his freckled cheeks pinching into a look of consternation as he jutted out his bottom lip and stewed about an answer, hesitating to meet Shouta’s gaze as the man guided the kid to the familiar couch across from his desk.
Problem Child only ever made that face when he was trying to lie which, naturally, had Shouta on high alert considering that expression was coming out more and more frequently of late.
Specifically concerning a particular training regimen that the boy had insisted he start early in the mornings while Shouta was still on patrol and ‘Zashi was already leaving for the radio station.
But that didn’t matter now.
What mattered was…
“Ah…there was…a…misunderstanding…” The boy mumbled quietly, his voice hesitant as he flicked his gaze up to meet the darker, coal ones that peered back at him. Those emerald pools shone with a measure of indecision as the boy searched for his words, trying to figure out a way to explain the situation to his guardian in the least incriminating way possible.
Though Shouta suspected there may be more to it than simply that.
“A misunderstanding?” His tone dipped lower as he raised a brow at the boy, watching as those childlike orbs widened lightly and a flash of worry flared brighter, the flickering of guilt growing and mixing as well.
“Is that all?”
Izuku’s nose twitched as he shuffled his feet lightly and pressed his fingers into his knees as the man knelt before him, carefully inspecting the tender flesh beneath the boy’s eye.
‘It looks like he got…hit.’ he hummed silently, his fingers ghosting over the injury as the boy flinched back out of habit.
A habit that Shouta hated.
Hated because he didn’t know the cause of it and he damn well wanted to, but the boy wouldn’t ever talk.
He wouldn’t talk about the bruises, and the torn and scuffed clothing and shoes…the way he flinched at the loud noises when something dropped or when ‘Zashi got just a little too loud sometimes…
Things that Izuku thought he was hiding well, but he wasn’t so good at keeping secret from Shouta.
But things that Shouta hadn’t quite figured out how to fix just yet. Not when he didn’t know the cause.
And now this…
“There was…a fight but I–”
“A fight?” The man straightened, eyes narrowing, a warning bell sounding in the back of mind as he took stock of his charge. Suspicion ignited in a way that made an uncomfortable weight settled on his chest and he wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was trending.
Nor the fact that it was something that was becoming more and more common of late.
“On school grounds?”
Izuku also straightened and widened his eyes and hastily shook his head with a soft laugh. “N-no, no! It was…it was just a misunderstanding…just…” He swallowed and gave a halfhearted grin towards Shouta, in an attempt to ease the man’s fears.
It did not, in fact, ease said fears. Only amplified them.
‘The school…’
The man’s frown only deepened as the boy continued to sputter through his explanation.
“I was just…I…I was just at…in the wrong place at the wrong…at the wrong time, ya know and then the principal just…he, he asked all the parties involved to just…to just…” The boy hung his head and gestured towards his backpack gently as the man maneuvered towards the zipper to ease it open.
“I…I have to get the slip signed before…they’ll…” the boy trailed off averting his gaze and staring at the carpet as he hummed softly, hands returning to their position on his knees as he sniffed lightly and bowed his head.
“I…I’m…I’m…sorry.”
There was a pause as the man let his hand pause on the form glaring back within the confines of the boy’s backpack, hearing the tremble of worry trickling through the tired voice on the couch.
And it gave Shouta cause to consider all the small clues and unanswered questions that he’d not had a chance to provoke further.
The suspicions that he’d been unable to pursue further because the boy had remained too silent, unwilling to open up about the issue–and an issue it was.
Most certainly. Without a doubt was it an issue. And Shouta was certain that it revolved around the boy’s school–a fucking mandated obligation for the boy to attend if he had hopes of getting into U.A.
To be a hero.
A dream the kid had since he was a child, spoken the first time they’d met while Shouta was on patrol…
When he’d first met the boy, who’d huddled at the crime scene as a four year old with his All Might plush and those fucking hero pajamas and those curls that stuck out in every which way as he’d stared up at Shouta and analyzed him and his capture weapon and asked a dozen and half questions as the man had made to distract the boy from the reality that was crashing around him, the reason he was alone.
The reason his mother was gone.
And well…
It was a lost cause once Hizashi had gotten to know the boy, to see that face, those freckles, that smile.
To know who Izuku was…
And the rest was history really.
A rocky history, of seeing the struggles of child who’d had everything taken from them; a child who was quirkless and ridiculed for what society perceived them to lack.
Life had been cruel to Izuku Midoriya and Hizashi had been protective, both he and the voice hero quick to reinforce some semblance of normalcy when and where they could.
But it didn’t shelter the boy from everything.
No amount of training, of sparring, of reinforcing the truth to the kid about the reality of his situation but the hope that he could be something–anything–that he wished to be, could protect him from the cruelty of the world.
A cruelty that the boy, himself, seemed hesitant to share with ‘Zashi and Shouta.
And that…
That confused Shouta as much as it frustrated him.
Because he’d hoped that Izuku could trust the man enough to help him through these problems, to want to seek him out for protection from the obvious injustices that the world had thrown out at him.
He deserved that much.
And yet…
The man sighed softly and rested a hand on his kid’s shoulder, watching as tired green eyes lifted, a question lingering in the boy’s gaze.
‘Maybe he felt he didn’t deserve to.’
The man bit back a grimace as he shook his head and left the backpack alone for the time being, turning his attention towards the boy, his thoughts brewing with a thought of how to help his kid.
The bell sounded again, signaling lunch was under way, the muffled ringing still permeating the quiet office space that Shouta had carefully crafted as an escape from the rigors of the school day and the hell class that he’d acquired this year.
The man sighed again and gently squeezed Izuku’s shoulder before moving to ruffle the kid’s hair, shaking his head.
“You look like shit” He murmured softly, earning a choked squawk of surprise of the child as he fidgeted beneath the man’s attentive gaze, and the small grin that was leveled at him. “You will have to explain to Chiyo why you’re here this time.”
The boy balked at the comment, a smattering of pink prickling across his cheeks at the missive and the implication that the recovery hero wouldn’t be pleased that her favorite patient–the accident prone and reckless boy that he was–would be visiting for the fifth time that month.
“I-I-I’m…I’m fine, and I don’t really need to–”
“No, that’s quite enough,” The man lifted his hand to silence the boy, slowly rising with a stretch as his knees gave a small pop and he groaned tiredly, casting a sidelong glance towards his desk.
A stack of essays still lay in wait for him to grade.
“You can’t bypass this, Problem Child,” The man remarked evenly, resigning himself to bringing the essays home that evening, as he turned and reached for his phone, gesturing for Izuku to rise. “Any more than I can bypass you coming to my afternoon class.”
The man flashed a look back to the startled boy, each of them sharing a silent stare–a mixture of trepidation and concern, though probably for different reasons, Shouta was certain.
That didn't make the man feel any better.
Because this was going to all go to shit wasn’t it…
But…
Shouta supposed it may be a good distraction for the boy.
Even if it was going to cost Shouta a headache.
‘Just another to add to my list of worries…’ he groused silently, determined to get to the root of the problem later, when he could think through things properly, give the boy the time and attention he needed.
And deserved.
Hizashi Yamada was not a vain man.
Not really.
He merely preferred to look the part of someone who cared about how they looked and how they felt, because he did. Not because he sought to impress anyone…well not everyone really.
No, Hizashi didn’t give a damn what others thought of him. Didn’t care if they liked or hated him or his looks or quirk or personality…and some very well did.
They usually didn’t have any qualms about articulating that displeasure either, believing that Hizashi was simply too good natured not to do anything about it.
And that was a fucking funny thing to note as he was eagerly fighting his way through a crowded bar, on a mission, the beat of a favorite tune blaring in his ear as he sidestepped and pressed a fist into someone’s jaw…
But ah…
That didn’t really help the current situation, did it?
Because Hizashi Yamada wasn’t a vain man, but he also wasn’t quite sure what to make of this…judgment as he sat in class and listened to the absolute drivel his students conjured up as they waited for the bell to chime to signal the start of the lesson after lunch.
Consequently the man, who wasn’t normally invested in the conversations that his students engaged in had perked at the sound of Shou’s name being thrown around in hushed and humming tumbles throughout the room, the percolation of inquiry moving back and forth as they speculated about the boy that was seen trailing after the underground hero, heading towards the cafeteria, after leaving the nurse’s office.
His boy.
Shouta had taken the time to message him about the situation, and Izuku’s injury before the voice hero had made his way to his classroom to prep for class. Naturally the man had been worried but assured by his partner that all was well–relatively–and that they’d handle the details (and the fallout) at home later.
But Izuku was to go with Shouta to the afternoon classes in the meantime.
‘Perhaps a precursor to things to come.’ Hizashi thought somewhat brightly, as he pulled out his markers and adjusted his opened his file folder with his lesson plan about tenses and verb choice.
“A middle school student.”
“Did you see his hair?”
“Green, right?”
“Is that his kid?”
“How could that be his kid? They look nothing alike though do they.”
“Where would he get green hair then? His mother?”
“Or father.”
“I didn’t realize the man was married.”
“Yeah, the man didn’t seem the marrying type really. Kind of a loner.”
“Maybe a bit scary.”
At that Hizashi had to bite back a grin as the second bell rang and he cleared his throat and pressed his glasses more firmly on his nose as his class continued to chatter.
“Now now, listeners,” He intoned cheerfully, “Let’s get started, eh? No more speculating about teacher’s love lives.”
There was a soft sort of snort from a boy in the back, a second year with a hardening quirk. The kid raised a dark brow, his slicked back hair catching the light as he leaned forward to grin at Hizashi.
“But it just doesn’t seem like Eraserhead of all people would be married,” the boy continued. “I mean that’s more of a you thing isn’t it?”
At that question Hizashi stilled and raised a brow, the presumptuous question throwing Hizashi as he peered at the boy.
“Not that it matters,” He remarked evenly, after a moment, his smile never waning “But yes, I am married, quite happily. Ten years now. With a son.”
The irony of his reply was the kicker considering just who he was married to.
And who their son was.
Their son.
Izuku. The boy who’d lost his mother at four, who’d had his life turned upside down, but who was every inch their son now.
Their son.
This earned a soft sort of giggled from his class, the girls nodding knowingly, as though they’d expected this, while some began to turn their speculation towards Hizashi now.
“But then who is your partner?” The boy–Asahi–continued, “If Aizawa-Sensei can have a partner, then who is yours?”
Again, the man bit back a grin and shook his head at the somewhat intrusive questioning. They weren’t overtly condescending comments or questions. He adored his class, but sometimes these kids knew how to speak their mind in too blunt a fashion.
“That’s not really important right now–”
“Ohhh I wonder if it’s someone we know!” A girl, Kiku, remarked, as her hair floated about her head (a byproduct of her quirk flaring), “Is it another hero?”
She turned her lavender gaze on the man who only nodded in reply, “It is but that–”
“I wonder if it’s someone at the school!” Another girl, Rika, chimed in, as she tapped her claws on the table and turned to Kiku, “Do you think it’s anyone here?”
“Anyone here?” Kiku repeated softly, “Like another teacher? Hmmm,”
The class pitched in their murmurs the speculations starting to fly.
“Oh, I wonder if it’s Vlad?”
“Oh god, no. That’s not a match at all. They don’t even look like a couple.”
“OH, but what about Midnight?”
“Nah, they’re nothing but friends. I’ve seen how those two act together. Plus, I’m pretty sure Midnight doesn’t date.”
“Now class I don’t think this is the best conversation to have–” the man tried to interject, raising his hands to still his students, a soft hum rumbling in his chest as a warm spread across the back of his neck. “We have a lesson to start.”
“Ecto?”
“No, I don’t think he’s the right fit.”
“Don’t tell me it’s Aizawa then…” There was a pause as the class stilled and peered towards Hizashi silently for a moment, each of them assessing their teacher carefully, searching the blonde’s face for something…
“Nah, I don’t think they fit well together. I mean you’re smart and all Yamada-Sensei, but Aizawa-Sensei is…scary smart. It’s almost…weird how he does what he does. It’s like he can read minds and stuff and you…”
The boy, Asahi, trailed off as another, Kiku, nodded her head in agreement. “I don’t think you and he are a good fit, ya know? Too different.”
The man blinked in surprise at the judgment, and the dismissal, a funny sort of jolt working through him at the refusal of the possibility they he and Shou could be together, married or otherwise.
‘A good fit?’
They weren’t a good fit?