Chapter Text
On that fateful day, she had closed her eyes accepting the death she was sure she could not escape. Her skull had been shattered, along with various bones down below.
The first thing Nana had realized after that was the cold that immediately encased her body along with the bright light that made her eyes ache.
That was death.
The second thing she had realized after her sight had begun to clear was that she hadn’t moved from the spot she had originally been in. There was no heaven nor hell in her tango with the devils.
In fact, she was still in that place where All For One stood above her.
Above her body, anyway.
And the third thing that she had come to realize was that it wasn’t a hallucination. Even to this day she wished that it was.
Izuku was there after all, deep cuts running along his arms and legs, and Nana only stood there in what appeared to have been the inbetween. A ghost. She was dead, of course, she had known that much. But there was something after this stage; an eternal peace.
She was not in that she knew.
She loomed over her body, a couple of feet away from her arch-nemesis who took no heed to her.
But then again, she paid him no mind in that small moment, only caught up in the fact that her son was there.
“So you had a third, Shimura.”
Izuku was there huddling over her already dead body, protecting it, guarding it with his life that would soon crumble away.
Then he would join her in this cruel cycle of death, merely a ghost upon the living.
Shimura Nana watched as her son, Izuku, had draped his tiny form around the body of her own, watched as the devil brought his hand down on her son.
Her baby didn’t run, even when she saw the way he tensed, shaking with silent tears as he only hugged the body tighter. Something told Nana that he knew then, that she was dead in his arms.
Yet he still had not run.
Why.
Hadn’t.
He.
Run.
And All For One’s hand only came closer and closer to her son, and it was only then that Nana fully realized what was about to happen.
“NO!” She had screamed, lurching forward as her arm stretched out.
But of course no one spared her a glance, for she was only a ghost who could not be heard in the land of the living.
Her hand dripping with blood that never seemed to end only passed through All For One’s own, then it had passed through Izuku.
And she only stood there for what little time she could spare, looking down on her hand with disbelief, for she couldn’t bring herself to believe that she had been useless in that time of desperate need.
She whipped around and was met with a sight that would haunt her for decades more than her own life itself.
A thunderous boom shook the ground, soundwaves knocking rubble back and if she weren’t a ghost, she was sure she would have flown far across the sky from the impact.
She had seen the hand cut through her son’s side, piercing him in a lethal blow and killing him in an instant. The hand continued from the momentum and hit her own already dead body.
But she didn’t care about that small detail because her son was dead.
He was dead because of her stupid decisions and it was all her fault.
It was always her fault.
Everything was her fault.
So she waited for his ghost to arise from his own body and she was sure now that ghosts could hold their breath because hers had back then.
But Izuku’s ghost had never come, and still to this day, decades later she still wonders why.
Why did he have to die?
Why didn’t he run?
Why was she so stupid?
“I am here!” Toshinori shouted a couple feet ahead of her, scooping up injured civilians into his arms.
Nana laughed, shaking off the memory as she followed her old student who had begun to sprint to a nearby ambulance with a wide smile on his face.
“Toshi, slow your ass down and wait for me, you muscled pig!” She shouted, fully aware that he would never respond.
He only went faster.
____________________
“Well I think it’s a great idea!” Yamada said before taking a big bite out of his food. “Bring him over some time! We always have leftovers and you two,” the man waved an accusing finger, “ never eat them.”
Aizawa groaned. “Zash, you know he doesn’t fully trust me yet. As soon as I invite him over he’ll run off thinking it was a trap and then all my hard work would have been for nothing.”
Izuku scratched the back of his neck, his other hand still grasping his fork. It was about eight in the evening right now. They were all gathered at the dinner table after Yamada had called his ten year old and his husband down for food.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Papa,” he said before bringing his hand down to scratch at his nose. “H-He’s a wanted vigilante and two pro heroes are i-inviting him over for dinner? Sounds suspicious to me.”
Aizawa only nodded in agreement and Yamada pouted. “But Shichi’s different! Shou’s on his case!”
“Yeah, Zashi, all the more reason for the kid to trust the man who’s supposed to arrest him. It took me a year before he even willingly let me get near him.”
Yamada huffed. “Well at least bring some food for him! What if he’s hungry?”
“I’ll do it if you pack the food.”
Yamada sighed and accepted the task. “You’re so lazy, babe.”
Aizawa hummed and the conversation turned elsewhere for the rest of dinnertime. When Izuku was done eating he gathered his empty plate along with his fathers’, who both seemed to be done as well. He placed them in the sink and began scrubbing.
Yamada came over after packing a small bento for Aizawa to give to his case and ruffled the boy’s hair as usual. “Alrighty, bedtime after you wash those dishes, little listener!”
Izuku hummed, shaking his sleeves to make them go down and raising his foot to tug at his joggers. Having his papa standing over him when he had just felt so vulnerable hours before made him feel uncomfortable, like he was exposed. “I know, Papa.”
Yamada patted the boy’s head again before walking off, muttering a soft, “I’m gonna catch up on some sleep today,” before promptly heading to his shared bedroom. Izuku got back to washing.
A chair skidded backward slightly somewhere to his left, Aizawa getting up. It was the man’s turn to go over to his son. Izuku gave the man a quick glance to acknowledge his presence before looking back to his task.
As always, just as any other parental figure had done for him, Aizawa rubbed the boy’s hair. “You good, kid? You’ve been looking a little down today.”
If Izuku had been surprised that the man had even noticed, he didn’t allow his face to show it. “I’m fine, Dad. We took a test in class today and I dunno if I did very well,” he lied.
Aizawa hummed before scratching at his chin. “I’m sure you did fine. Nedzu didn’t take an interest in you for nothing.”
The boy nodded, looking intently at the plate in his hand as he scrubbed it gently with the sponge. He said nothing else.
The man placed a hand on the boy’s head, lightly pulling it to him as he bent down and gave his son a small kiss on the head. “Anyway, gotta head to patrol, give that brat his food.” He ruffled the boy’s head again. “See you later, problem child.”
“Bye, Dad! Stay safe!” He yelled as he watched the man retreat out the door, bento box in hand. He knew the man would be waiting for a while.
A few minutes of washing and rinsing the dishes later, the boy was done. He took a pump of soap and washed his hands, not liking the feeling of microscopic grime on his hands, and dried himself on a dry towel. He quickly headed upstairs, hearing his papa’s snores from rooms adjacent to his own.
Quietly, the ten year old closed his door, flicking the switch on swiftly for he did not enjoy the pitch black that loomed in the corners. He quickly changed into his gear, though it is only really a hoodie with a few small yet efficient items strapped on. A mask with a battery-ran voice modulator sat to the side, waiting to be put on.
Elbow, shin and knee guards were velcroed onto their assigned spots, the result of a poor budget, or rather finding stuff on the streets. They worked well enough. A utility belt draped around his waist, two knives for emergencies tucked away at the sides. More things could be added in the back, though he only really puts fun things such as glitter bombs or smokescreens there. Lastly his main weapon stuck to his back - a simple, extendable bo staff.
The ten year old shoved his shoes on with a bit of a wince, having forgotten about his wounds in his hurry. He slowed down a bit, caution in his moves as he finished.
“Tohru?” He whisper-yelled, pausing as he took a look around the room. “Tohru!”
He was met with a stilled silence.
The boy huffed, pulling his hood up and slapping his mask on. He switched the flip in the mask, voice coming off to a deeper tone. It wasn’t of a man’s, though it did help in hiding the pre-pubescent tone in Izuku’s still high voice. It was more of an older teen’s pitch, hence why the police estimate the vigilante to be around his late teens to early twenties, possibly with a small mutant quirk that’d cut off quite the height.
Of course they weren’t expecting a ten year old.
“I’m leaving, Toh-kun, with or without you,” he said in a petulant tone. “I’ll be fine either way. Things like this always happen - you’re always there when I go down.”
He wondered if his friend was even listening.
He sighed, propping up some pillows under a blanket as an extra precaution before going over to the window and pulling it up. The boy paused, a foot propped up against the sill ready to take a leap for the tree. “... You coming?”
Still, no response.
Izuku tugged at the corner of his hood, shielding his face from view before taking a painful leap toward the tree next to his window. He hissed out a cry but continued to make his way down.
The familiar cold that hovered somewhere to the high of his behind told him he wasn’t alone.
He smiled a goofy little victory smile before making his way toward his usual patrolling area, the world around him dark with the rare exceptions of the street lamps.
Those lights were the only things that kept him from acting out on the terror that crawled in his chest in the dark of night.
The cold around him felt ominous as usual, though Izuku wasn’t scared because he knew that it was his friend.
He jumped from building to building, nearly falling more times than once due to his irritating bruises and burns. He pushed through. He wasn’t doing this for fun, wasn’t doing it for himself.
Eventually he arrived at his destination, though he’d admit that it took him longer than he had wanted it to be.
“Took you long enough, Shichi,” a voice from behind him spoke. Izuku held the urge to yelp with a fierce grip.
He spun in his spot, a carefree smile hidden beneath his mask. He turned just in time to see the figure rise from the shadows of the tall building next to the one he was currently standing on.
The vigilante laughed. “Eraser!” He shouted with mirth before tutting, backing away as an instinctive response to his short size compared to the hero’s looming figure. “So nice to see you again.”
He clasped his gloved hands together. “But again, please! Call me Shimura.”
The hero only rolled his eyes and shoved a box full of food at the vigilante’s chest.
____________________
Shichi, otherwise known as Shimura, wasn’t created by the once nine year old boy for fun.
Shichi wasn’t made for Izuku’s own enjoyment, though he must admit he did love the wind that blew against his hooded face, the adrenaline rush he’d get when fighting crime.
Shichi was made because Izuku couldn’t handle things alone.
That’s why.
Simple as that.
Izuku couldn’t run around protecting his hero fathers from the sideline, couldn’t make sure they’d die and leave him, too.
Shichi could.
Izuku couldn’t find his Mama and Papa’s spirits on his own, couldn’t spread the name Shimura on his own.
Shichi could, though Izuku had already given up long ago, accepting the fact that decades was too long for a ghost as bright as his former parents to have stayed. He was glad, actually, already having accepted that his parents had almost positively found their eternal peace.
The third and last reason Shichi was created was because Izuku couldn’t seem to torture his old brother as much as he’d like to, not having the balls to go up to a man whom hasn’t seen his Izuku in years.
But guess what.
Shichi could.
Letters and notes he’d leave for the detective after beating a criminal, post it notes stuck to a villain’s head signed cheekily with a small ‘Shimura’ and a doodle at the bottom.
Izuku truly loved seeing the faces Tsukauchi Naomasa would make after reading a note.
If he’d only stayed long enough, or rather had the strength to stay long enough, he would stop.
Because only then would he see the pain that would edge its way into the man’s face, a look as if questioning why that name would pop up years later.
Izuku only left notes like that because some part of him wanted to be closer to his older family, a part of him still yearned to break the pattern they had going in their lives just so he could squeeze in.
He nearly did it one day many years ago, after searching Naomasa’s name on the internet. A successful detective, he was, working at a local police station. He had ran out of the house, running towards that address in slippers.
He had almost gone over to hug the man whom he saw beyond those glass doors, standing behind the counter with a mug in his hands.
But he saw his brother, older than he was the last time he saw him, taller too, smile.
That man smiled a smile that looked so real that Izuku hadn’t the heart to break it.
So he only stood there, outside those doors behind a bush for a while longer, watching as the man talked with a coworker.
That day, seven maybe ten year old Izuku left with an empty feeling in his chest. However, like many other times, he pushed that void down and ignored it.
For this boy was too kind to worry about his own problems. Naomasa looked happy. Who was he to change that?
If only he had been closer that day, maybe he would have seen the hollowness in that man’s eyes.
But he didn’t.
So Shichi, otherwise known as Shimura, was created because Izuku felt that his other persona could be allowed the treat of selfishness. Shichi was created because Izuku wanted to feel even just the tiniest bit to his old life.
What funner way to do that than this?
____________________
Shinsou Hitoshi had had enough.
He had been done with the load of crap he’d endure during his stay at that orphanage. Years had gone by and nearly everyone from before had gotten adopted, Akira included.
Shinsou had expected the bullying to stop after that, with his main tormentor gone.
But it didn’t.
More children were dropped like garbage into this dump and the cycle started all over again.
Shinsou only ignored them this time.
The days had stretched longer and the taunting worsened. The boy had ignored them to the best of his ability, but even he had a limit.
So at the age of ten, nearly eleven, he ran away.
That was a month ago.
Shinsou was now that extra digit, having turned eleven only just a day ago. It was July 2nd now. If he were in school, summer break would already be halfway done.
The boy had managed to claim an alleyway in the vicious land of the homeless, already having been beaten up by more than one territorial being. He’d been living off of garbage he’d find in dumpsters, but there were many days he’d have to deal without food.
He lost a lot of weight over the month, but he still doesn’t regret leaving the orphanage. He’d do it all over again if he had to. The only thing he did regret, however, was not packing enough resources, like extra food. He had gotten one other outfit, though, so that was something.
Today was one of those unfortunate days where he found little food. Throughout the day, he had been running on the little adrenaline left in his body, using it to run around the area in search of food behind restaurants or nearby dumpsters.
He found nearly nothing, because the staff working at local diners were tired of the poor ravanging in their trash. Other dumpsters scattered around the city had already been raided by other unfortunate souls.
So there Shinsou lay, body worn, slumped against the wall in a narrow alleyway as his eyes scanned the darkening sky above. An apple lay in his palm, hand resting upturned against the hard floor.
He wanted to eat it right then, but his jaw was tired and the apple was dry, stripped of its freshness. He didn’t want to risk choking on it, for he was sure he wouldn’t have the energy to try and get it out. His stomach ached, feeling bruised even though he was sure it was only the hunger clawing at his insides.
Vomiting was another issue that he didn’t want to experience again on his journey, already having nothing in his stomach to throw up.
Then again, he was starving to death. His stomach grumbled loudly, bouncing off the walls of the alley and if he wasn’t currently feeling like crap, he was sure he’d have been embarrassed.
This time however, he only groaned, rolling to the side and bringing his knees to his chest, hugging it tight as if it’d make him feel better. His body leaned fully against the wall now, apple hidden in his chest along with his hand.
He needed to eat.
Shinsou brought the apple to his mouth and bit down, munching on it until he had salivated the apple enough that he could swallow without worry.
It was rotten in the middle.
“Blergh!” He spat the apple to the side, coughing and hacking as he lurched forward. He threw the apple far from him, watching as it splattered on the wall and fell to the floor, bouncing twice before it rolled to a stop. A hand went down to the floor for support, knees on the ground as his free arm pounded against his chest.
Apparently he did have the energy to do that much.
His throat burned like fire and contrary to what he told himself earlier, he questioned if he made the right decision in leaving the orphanage. He felt the acid swish in his stomach, tasted the germs crawling on his tongue and he asked himself.
“.. Was it worth it?”
And Shinsou jumped at the voice that appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a deep voice that wasn’t his own but seemed to have read his mind.
His head whipped around, eyes widening in alarm at the intruder. Shinsou stiffened, eyes expecting to meet another homeless person, crazed and looking for a place to claim just as the others had from before.
All the eleven year old saw was a hooded vigilante that had caught the attention of many news stations and the police. The vigilante stared down at him, albeit not much with his super short height, with the softest of eyes wielding some form of pity.
Shichi, they would call him.
Shinsou sucked in a breath, the answer ‘no’ on the tip of his tongue. That didn’t come out.
“What do you want?” The boy said loudly, body puffing out in an attempt at coming out more fierce, though it was clear that it didn’t work because the hooded boy took a step closer.
“I’m not here to hu-”
An answer was all he needed. The person in front of him stopped dead in their tracks, eyes glazing and body becoming slack as Shinsou’s quirk took over. A sense of pride washed over the boy, however it was quickly replaced with fear and disgust towards himself.
He let his control down with a small yip, expecting a yell or the look of undeniable fear from the vigilante, just as everyone else he’s accidentally used his quirk on had done.
All that came from the boy was a muffled yelp, this time not in the deep voice he had heard before, but a higher pitch like one he’d hear from a younger kid.
Shinsou didn’t question it, already lost in his own head.
The vigilante cleared his throat, blinking the shock out of his eyes before turning to Shinsou. “W-Was that your q-quirk?” The high voice spoke, timid and lacking the confidence it had before.
Shinsou glanced up at the hooded boy before dropping his gaze back to the floor with a glare. “What, you scared? A big bad vigilante like you is scared of a villain in the making like me?” He taunted, though it was at himself more than anything.
“A-A villain?” The vigilante said, making his way towards Shinsou and stopping a few feet away.
Shinsou shifted uncomfortably. “That’s what they say ‘cause of this stupid fuckin’ quirk I’ve got.”
“W-What?!” The boy, Shinsou concluded, said, a dark sky above their heads. “You think a quirk can be s-stupid? I’m sure you can do a lot with yours! All quirks can be used to help others! I didn’t think such a useless quirk like mine could help people, b-but l’m where I am now! W-What’s your quirk?” Shichi rambled, tone higher with its excitement.
Shinsou tsked, turning his head away from the stranger in rejection. He wouldn’t answer that question.
But the vigilante seemed to have other plans, because he only crouched down beside the boy, waiting quietly with patience.
Shinsou thought that was hella awkward. And creepy, to say the least.
“... Brainwashing,” he muttered.
“What w-was that?” The boy cocked his head to the side.
Shinsou groaned, losing the last bit of stiffness in his posture as it was replaced with annoyance. He let his guard down, the vigilante seeming safe enough. “I said Brainwashing, you dolt, check your ears!” He snapped, head whizzing to meet the stranger.
Silence engulfed the two and Shinsou rubbed his palms together as he waited for that familiar look of disgust to take over the vigilante’s blank face. “You gonna run like the rest o-?”
“Brainwashing?! THAT’S SO COOL! M-Mister, you could do so much with that! Hostage situations would be so easy, imagine all the people you could save!” He paused, looking at the shell shocked expression on the other’s face before looking hellward with a shy expression. “T-That is i-if y-you wanted to- OH CRAP, MY VOICE!”
Shinsou thought it was bull that the boy had only now realized his malfunction, but it was definitely fun to watch as he struggled with his mask. He laughed a laugh that he hadn’t used in years and it came as a shock to him that it was unlocked with such a person that sounded so intimidating when talked about on television.
“What are you, five?” Shinsou chuckled as Shichi seemed to pout behind his mask.
“I am much older than that, thank you.” He retorted, voice deep once again.
Just like that, all the tension in the alley was sucked out as both of them chuckled.
“Mhm, sure,” Shinsou grinned with this person that seemed nicer than all the people he’d met in his life combined. He was going to add more, another snarky remark, but his stomach seemed to have other plans.
Another loud growl came from down below and the boy groaned at the emptiness in his stomach. It jabbed him from the inside and he had to wonder, though it was probably completely unrelated, how women managed to go nine months with a baby pounding against their walls.
Shichi stopped his laughter, a solemn face taking over his covered features once again. “... Are you a runaway?”
Shinsou gripped at the dirty shirt he had on, grabbing onto some of his stomach with it. He hummed a short yes.
That brought up the question that started the whole conversation once again.
“Was it worth it?” Shichi questioned in a low voice, quiet and barely audible. All playfulness in his tone was gone and Shinsou had to question why.
After a few moments, Shinsou responded, the race in his stomach subsiding. “I got away from my bullies, so yeah.”
“Why didn’t you just move schools then? Tell your parents or something and leave?”
Shinsou looked at the boy in the eyes before speaking in a monotone voice. “I don’t have parents. They left me. I lived in an orphanage ever since I got my quirk.” He scratched at his leg. “I lived with my bullies.”
“Oh.” Was all he said.
A brief quiet stayed between the two before the vigilante broke it with the sudden rustle of his movements. He pulled a post-it note and a pen from his belt before writing on it on his knee. Shinsou, the eleven year old hungry and bruised from his journey alone, watched in silent curiosity.
Shichi pulled the post-it from its stack, sticking his two items back into his utilities before thrusting the paper onto Shinsou’s forehead. The latter grabbed it and turned it towards his eyes.
An address, he presumed.
“What’s this for?”
“Drugs.”
“Wha?”
The vigilante dragged his palm over his face. “Agh, no, that’s not what I meant. Uh, go to that address. I know this probably sounds sketchy coming from someone like me, but the people there are... nice. They can help you.”
Shinsou raised an eyebrow and realized the situation he was in. He was talking to a wanted person. An infamous, wanted vigilante. The talk of the news for nearly a year, an escape artist that has managed to dodge heroes for so long. “Why should I trust you?”
Shichi shook his head, raising his hands in the air casually before dropping them back down to rest on his knees in his crouching position. “You shouldn’t! But tell me, purple,” The boy swayed on his feet, “ever heard of Eraserhead?”
____________________
It didn’t take much to convince the boy to leave the alley in search of the address. He was a hungry, growing child who had gone through the dirt and grime of the runaway life. If the building looked sketchy when he’d arrive, he’d just turn right back and crawl to his alley. No harm done.
The sky was nearly pitch black now and the time was probably around midnight. Shinsou had felt the eyes of the vigilante on his back nearly half way through his trek before he watched the faint silhouette of the boy run over buildings and disappear into the distance ahead.
He wondered where the boy was headed.
Shinsou turned many corners and glanced at many street signs in frustration. His stomach ached in loss and his legs felt like sticks that would snap in half if he took even one more step forward.
They didn’t though, so he kept at it.
His sense of direction was poor in the dark of night, but it was polished trumensely over the past month.
When he made it to the door nearly an hour of searching later, his mind was too weak and his body was too tired to question the stupidity of walking into a quote unquote hero’s house blindly on the words of a criminal.
He crawled - like, almost literally crawled - up the stairs to the opening of the house and pretty much collapsed on the door, body hunched over in a curl. The child skidded to the floor with a thud, and it was a wonder how important food had become to the boy nowadays.
A muffled shout came from inside the house, Shinsou barely hearing it through the door. “Papa! S-Someone’s at the door!” A young, bright voice shouted from the inside at this time of nearly one in the morning. Heavy stomps on wood followed, one pair of feet slowly becoming two.
Shinsou, body sore and jabbing, moaned lightly, wiggling uncomfortably in his spot on the floor of the porch.
The door quickly opened from the inside, making Shinsou who had been leaning on it for support crumble at the side, upper body intruding the household. Light shone in his eyes from above, his own that had adjusted to the darkness of the outside throbbing with the sudden change. He squinted them.
Two gasps came from above, a squawk coming from a high pitched tone . “Papa!”
Shinsou heard another pair of footsteps making its way down the stairs, his hand crumbling the post-it note in his palm.
In an annoyed tone, scratchy from sleep, another man spoke out. “What the hell is going on down here.” A pause. “Oh shit.”
A set of arms grabbed him from his underpits and gently lifted him off the ground. A small sized, green haired boy bounced along behind him, Shinsou facing him in the arms of a blonde stranger.
Next thing he knew, he was on a couch with a family of three - one he had recognized as his favorite hero, Eraserhead, just as the vigilante had said - tending to him with no small amount of care.
Shinsou Hitoshi ended up passing out from exhaustion after taking a sip of water from the green headed child.
____________________
“Was it worth it?” Tohru said from the side of Izuku, who sat on the flight of stairs, watching as his parents quietly tended to the passed out boy on the couch. The question had become used that day more than twice, ever since Izuku had ran into the runaway by chance.
Izuku hummed quietly, yawning before slumping his head on the palm of his hand. He glanced at the ghost. “It’s always worth the trouble if you’re helping someone,” he whispered. “He ran from the orphanage. I did that too, once upon a time.”
Tohru lifted an eyebrow, squatting down in an attempt to sit next to Izuku. His butt passed through the floor.
Izuku blinked tiredly. “He reminded me of myself. I was just curious.” He turned his head very subtly towards his friend. “I hated myself for running. Things could have turned out different. I could have been with my siblings still. It wasn’t… I should have stayed.”
Mama could have been alive still.
The boy exhaled from his nose before leaning against the railing of the stairs. “I was just curious,” he said again.
Izuku closed his eyes. “Was it different for him?”