Chapter Text
The call came in at 10:54pm. Shouta pulled up the notification, scrolling through the sparse details around a yawn. He wasn’t even on the clock yet, but it looked like it was going to be one of those days.
Villain with a size quirk had been detained, but not before causing the collapse of an apartment block. All nearby heroes were being called in to help with the rescue effort. Shouta frowned, scanning the details. A residential collapse this time of night? Shit, that was going to be bad.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and knocked back the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the burn. This kind of thing wasn’t his strength, but all hands on deck was all hands on deck.
* * *
It was worse than he’d feared. The air was choked with dust when he arrived on scene, weaving between the hectic scramble of heroes and emergency personnel and shellshocked victims. Shouta pulled his scarf over his mouth, staring up at what was left of the building with a sinking heart. He’d hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, but the place wasn’t much better than a pile of rubble at this point.
One corner was still mostly intact. Shouta watched a piece of rubble break off from the jagged edges of concrete and rebar, tumbling to the pile of debris two stories below. The whole structure shuddered dangerously, and he might not be an expert but that wasn’t going to hold up for long. He could see arms waving from a window near the top.
Fuck.
Securing his scarf more firmly over his face, Shouta took a fortifying breath and waded into the fray. He didn’t bother to stop and ask for direction—best he could tell there was nothing resembling real organization yet—and made for the corner of the building that was still standing. He wasn’t going to help for shit digging under tons of rubble for survivors, but he might be able to get some people out of the apartments still standing before the whole damn thing came down.
He did his best to block out the chaos, the sirens and shouts and choked, soft sobs. The building wouldn’t be too hard to scale from the outside. There were plenty of handholds, but he didn’t dare use his capture weapon with the structure as unstable as it was. Shouta looked around, gaze ticking between streetlights and surrounding buildings, making note of the places he could catch himself if the thing came down. Wouldn’t do anyone much good if he added himself to the list of the casualties.
Shouta began to climb.
No answer from the first apartment, or the second. On the third he was met with the tear-stained faces of two little girls, frightened but unharmed, and their father, bleeding heavily from a head wound.
He fell into a rhythm, climbing higher with each pass, ferrying survivors to the safety of the ground and moving grimly past the dead. They’d need to be recovered too, but right now it was his job to prioritize the living. Up and down, up and down, until his lungs burned from the dust and his fingers were scraped and blood-slick.
Shouta paused before his next ascent, rotating aching shoulders and staring up at the apartment, watching the minute structural shudders with a frown. One more floor. Two apartments, maybe three, and where were the goddamn flying heroes when you needed them? Fatigue settled over him like a heavy fog, and he did his best to shake it away. Almost finished.
Up he went again, ignoring the ache in his arms, the pain as his fingers dug into cracks and crevices. He scaled the building one more time, pulling himself onto the balcony of a fifth floor apartment, freezing as the structure gave a deep metallic groan, like the call of some great, dying beast. Shouta waited one beat, two, hand on his scarf in case the building finally decided to give way.
Not just yet, it seemed. He relaxed marginally, looking up to see wide green eyes staring back at him from the other side of the glass door. It was a kid, no more than eight, wearing All Might pajamas and a startled expression, All Might plushie clutched to his chest in an iron grip.
Shouta tried the door, but it was locked. The motion seemed to galvanize the kid to action, because he unlocked the door and tugged it open. “You’re Eraserhead!” he gasped before Shouta could even open his mouth.
For one idiotic moment, Shouta forgot they were standing in a building that could give way at any moment, completely blindsided. Nobody ever recognized him, he wasn’t supposed to be recognizable, especially not by small children, what the hell. Then his brain caught up and reminded him that this was a peculiarity that could be addressed when they were no longer in mortal peril. “That’s me,” he said, kneeling down and giving the kid a quick once-over. He seemed shaken, but unhurt. “Is there anyone else in the apartment?” Unlikely or the boy wouldn’t be standing there alone, but worth a shot.
He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. “Mrs. Saito’s been sick, so my mom went to check on her, but then…” he trailed off, turning wide eyes back on Shouta. “Was it a villain attack?”
Shouta didn’t see any reason to lie. “Yeah.” He held out a hand. “C’mon kid, let’s get you to safety.”
The kid took his hand without a lick of hesitation, with that complete trust in heroes Shouta usually found troubling, but had to admit was occasionally useful. He picked the boy up, settling him against his hip and used his scarf to secure the kid to his chest so that he wouldn’t wind up taking a five story fall.
The kid, for his part, seemed to be having the time of his life. “I can’t believe I’m being rescued by a real life hero, nobody is going to believe this,” he said with obvious glee, fingering the edge of the scarf with bright-eyed curiosity as Shouta got him settled.
It was clear he didn’t understand the scale of what was happening, and that was for the best. Trying to climb down a building with a panicky child wasn’t ideal under any circumstances. “Hold on tight, and don’t look. I’ll have you on the ground before you know it.”
“Okay!” the kid chirped, clutching at Shouta’s shirt and hiding his face against his shoulder. Shouta did a quick double check to make sure the kid was secure and then he swung over the edge of the balcony.
Climbing down was always trickier than going up, especially with a lead weight strapped to his chest, but Shouta managed well enough. They were just passing the fourth floor when the building shuddered again and did not stop, vibration rattling his bones. There was a slow, metallic shriek, a distant crash of broken glass, and Shouta realized that this was it.
The building was coming down.
They were too high to simply drop, and being too close to the building was a bad idea besides, so Shouta wedged himself in the divot between balcony and wall, legs braced to free up his hands. He hooked one arm securely around the kid and took the loose end of his scarf in the other, and then with all the strength he could muster he sprang away from the building into open air.
A deafening roar swallowed the shouts from the ground, and Shouta’s scarf shot out, catching the top of the streetlight below. Their momentum carried them in an arc, Shouta’s shoulder wrenching as the scarf pulled taut, jerking them backwards with a snap. He grimaced against the pain, twisting to shield the kid as they slammed into the pole hard enough to make his teeth rattle. A flick of the wrist and his scarf released, and Shouta curled over the boy protectively as they landed, shielding him from debris as the world fell down around their ears.
* * *
A few minutes passed, the roar of raining debris abated, and Shouta was pleased to note that they were not buried under sixteen tons of rubble. He uncurled cautiously, small chunks of concrete clattering from his back, wincing as his battered body screamed protest. They might have avoided the worst of it, but Shouta had still taken a few hits he could already tell were going to bruise deep.
“We jumped off a building,” the kid said against his shoulder, the words cutting off on a choking cough. Shouta bit back a grimace, freeing the boy from the clutches of his scarf. The stunt had been less than ideal, but a little childhood trauma was preferable to getting crushed by a falling building. The kid would get over it.
Shouta almost set him down before he realized the boy was barefoot and the ground was a minefield of concrete shards and broken glass. Instead, he settled him against his hip, ignoring the pain, giving the kid a once-over for injuries and realizing as soon as he saw his face that he had absolutely misjudged.
The kid was staring at him like he’d just seen the face of God. “We jumped off a building,” he repeated, glee threading the words and eyes shining. They stared at each other for a beat and then the kid shot off a question like a bullet from a gun.
“Everyone thinks your quirk is negating other quirks somehow, is that true?”
“Yes,” Shouta said, suddenly very tired as he wound his scarf around the kid’s head so he wouldn’t choke to death on the dust.
It did not slow him down, the next question slightly muffled. “Is the scarf related to your quirk?”
“No.”
“How were you able to jump off a building like that without a physical quirk?”
“Practice.”
“Practice,” the kid repeated, like Shouta had just confided the secrets of the universe. The boy rambled on, Shouta fielding the questions as best he could (“How much practice?” “How long have you been a hero?” “How many people have you saved?”) and he had never been more relieved to arrive at the makeshift triage station.
It was empty at the moment as there’d been less and less survivors to process as the night went on. The girl who’d been handling most of his hand-offs spotted them immediately, gaze flicking to the kid in his arms with a concerned frown. It wasn’t the first kid he’d brought in tonight, but it was the first one without an adult.
He deposited the kid in one of the chairs and slumped down beside him, exhausted. Hell of a night.
The paramedic crouched in front of the kid, pasting on the kind of kid-friendly face Shouta had never been able to manage. “Hi! My name is Mizuki, what’s yours?”
The kid looked to Shouta, and it took his tired brain a minute to realize he was looking for permission. Apparently Shouta had been designated the role of ‘safe adult’. “Answer her questions, kid. She’ll get you sorted.”
“Izuku Midoriya,” the kid said obediently, and the Mizuki scribbled something on her clipboard.
“Nice to meet you, Izuku. I’ve got a few quick questions for you,” she said, pulling on a pair of blue gloves. “But first, are you hurt anywhere?”
Mizuki gave Izuku a quick exam, but the kid was right as rain. Covered in a fine layer of gray dust, but he’d managed to get out of everything without so much as a scratch. She took down as many personal details as she could get, and then set her sights on Shouta. “Okay mister Hero, your turn.”
“I’m fine,” he said, waving her off. He was a little banged up, but nothing that required medical attention.
Mizuki did not seem impressed. “You’re bleeding,” she said. “Heroes aren’t immune to falling buildings, you know.” A pause. “Most of them, anyway. It’ll take two minutes, don’t be a baby.”
He caught Izuku looking at him, big green eyes round and concerned, and relented. “Fine, fine. Just make it quick.”
“What?” she asked, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. “You got somewhere to be? No offense, but you look pretty tapped out.”
She wasn’t wrong. He was exhausted, and at this point he’d mostly just be underfoot if he tried to help. It was time to leave the rest of the rescue effort to heroes better suited.
The girl was, thankfully, quick and professional. The nicks and scrapes on his hands were cleaned, and after some painful poking and prodding along his his back she declared that nothing seemed broken. “They’ve been shuttling the victims to the hospital and getting them sorted there,” she said, making a few scribbles on her clipboard before jabbing her pen towards the west side of the parking lot.
Right. He stood, muscles already protesting, and he was definitely going to be feeling it tomorrow. “C’mon Izuku, let’s get you out of here.”
Izuku hopped out of his chair, sliding his small hand into Shouta’s, his All Might plushie still clutched in his other hand. Shouta paused, surprised, although he supposed he shouldn’t be. He led the boy past the triage station towards the cluster of vans and ambulances Mizuki had pointed out, but was quickly drawn up short when Izuku sucked in a soft breath and stopped.
Shouta looked back, following the Izuku’s gaze to the ruins of the apartment, and it struck him that the kid probably hadn’t realized until just now what had happened. He waited, but Izuku seemed stuck, like he’d been frozen solid. “C’mon, kid,” he said, giving his hand a gentle tug, and Izuku gasped like he’d been doused in cold water, but did not move.
Shouta sighed, dropping the kid’s hand and picking him up again. Izuku went without struggle, gaze glued to the ruins of his home as he fisted a tiny hand in Shouta’s shirt. God help him, but he was shit with this kind of thing. Dealing with traumatized grade-schoolers was not a skill in his arsenal, but Shouta turned, doing his best to put himself between Izuku and the worst of it. Last thing the kid needed was to see was a hero dragging the corpse of a neighbor out of the rubble. Or god forbid, his mother.
Like he’d somehow read the thought, Izuku buried his head in Shouta’s shoulder and asked, very softly, “Is my mom dead?”
Fucking hell, he was not cut out for this. “I don’t know,” Shouta said, because that was the truth. “I hope not.”
A soft sniffle and the small grip in his shirt tightened. “Me too.”
* * *
Shouta hadn’t intended to accompany Izuku to the hospital, but he felt responsible for him, somehow. Passing a small, sad child into the hands of a paramedic had felt like a crime. After everything the kid had been through, the least Shouta could do was keep him company.
Which was how he’d wound up sitting beside Izuku on an uncomfortable hospital chair, his body making its displeasure known as the adrenaline faded. He was doing his best to keep the kid distracted, which wasn’t as hard as it might have been. Sometime on the ride over, Izuku had bounced back from his melancholy with the envious resiliency of the young.
Izuku’s rambling account of his recent school field trip to the aquarium was interrupted as another batch of survivors came in. Shouta watched Izuku perk up, only to deflate a moment later when he didn’t see his mother among them. He went solemn and quiet, which Shouta had quickly learned was not his default state, and fumbling for a topic to get him going again, landed on, “So, you like All Might?”
It did the trick. Izuku lit up like Shouta had just offered to introduce him to the man himself. “Yeah! He’s my favorite hero! Did you know that he saved seventy people when that villain destroyed a subway track last month? And—” If Shouta was a better person, and less exhausted, he might have felt bad for tuning him out. He didn’t blame the kid for getting sucked up into the All Might marketing vortex, and the man did do a lot of good, but Shouta had very little patience for any of it.
Izuku rambled happily on, and Shouta interjected the occasional ‘mhm’ at what he hoped were the right intervals, fighting a losing battle against sleep when, “—I don’t understand why nobody talks about the damage heroes do, though.”
The contemplative statement cut through Shouta’s impending doze like a knife. “What?” he asked, sitting up straighter, trying to recall what the kid had been talking about and coming up blank.
Izuku blinked at Shouta’s sudden interest, and shrank a bit when he seemed to realize that he was criticizing heroes to a hero. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine,” Shouta said, cutting off his retreat before the kid could backpedal entirely. “You’re right, people don’t talk about it enough, I just wanted to hear your thoughts.” There were complaints, of course, but they were usually drowned out by the hero propaganda machine. It was just a weird observation to hear from kid in All Might pajamas.
“You do? Izuku asked, perking up. The kid looked as tired as Shouta felt, but that did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm over an adult who seemed interested in his opinion. “I love heroes,” Izuku said, like he had to open with that to soften the incoming blow to Shouta’s pride. He resisted the urge to smile. “But it just seems more complicated to me than everyone makes it sound? Heroes save people and keep us safe, but they also cause problems sometimes?” The kid’s words got faster and faster as he wound up, and Shouta wondered if he was always like this or if he’d had this one on deck for a while.
“Last week Maverick took out a highway trying to capture a villain and it wasn’t really on the news anywhere. And I thought that was weird, because in the footage clips they were showing you could see it happen, so I went online and—” his face screwed up in a frown. “I found a lot more examples when I went looking for them. And it makes sense that it would happen, right? The stronger the heroes and villains, the higher the chance that you’re going to have collateral damage but—”
Collateral damage Shouta mouthed to himself. What the hell. The kid was raising issues that most pros were guilty of turning a blind eye to.
“—it seems to me that heroes should be responsible, you know? When I do something bad, even if it was an accident, I still did it. If heroes never get in trouble for damage they cause, aren’t they going to be less careful?” Here Izuku stopped, looking up at Shouta, and this question wasn’t rhetorical.
“Yeah,” he said, still a bit stunned at hearing some of his own criticisms of the system mirrored by a fucking toddler. “You’re right. It’s a problem with hero society that isn’t being addressed. You’re one smart kid, you know that?” Izuku absolutely beamed at the small praise, but Shouta meant it. “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’m eight!” Izuku declared proudly, and okay maybe he wasn’t a toddler but he also wasn’t far off.
Maybe he had some sort of intelligence quirk? Shouta wasn’t exactly experienced with kids, but even grown adults generally didn’t have the critical thinking skills to realize that hero society wasn’t as perfect as the system would have you believe. “What’s your quirk?”
Shouta wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone go from pleased to miserable so quickly. Izuku shrunk in on himself, shoulders hunched and expression clouded, staring down at his feet. “I’m quirkless,” he said, so soft it was less voice and more breath.
Oh, great. Shouta was an asshole. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said, but it was an empty platitude and he knew it. There should be nothing wrong with it, but the reality was that the world wasn’t kind to people without quirks. He stared down at messy green curls with an uncomfortable pit in his gut. There was a damn good chance the kid had been orphaned tonight, and if the world wasn’t kind to the quirkless, and it wasn’t kind to children with no family, how cruel would it be to someone who was both?
Shouta couldn’t do much about society’s ills, but he could try to pull his foot out of his goddamn mouth. “How’d you know who I was, anyway?” Not the best distraction, maybe, but he was curious. “I’m not used to being recognized.”
“Oh.” Izuku uncurled a bit, bouncing back faster than Shouta would have expected. “Underground heroes have a following too! There’s forums out there where people collect footage, witness accounts, that sort of thing! It’s a lot of fun,” the smile was back, like Shouta hadn’t trampled his feelings two minutes ago. “It’s like a hero mystery! There isn’t much about you, just two videos and one is super bad quality, but there’s a few stories from people you’ve saved. I wasn’t sure, but you had the scarf, so.”
Well. That was… something. Shouta wasn’t sure how he felt about having some sort of weird cult following, but being underground still beat the alternative. It might not pay well but he did enjoy being able to buy groceries without getting mobbed.
Izuku lapsed into silence with a wide yawn. It was nearly three in the morning, and it seemed like the kid’s endless font of chatter had been trumped by fatigue. His eyelids drooped, and within minutes he had curled against Shouta, fast asleep. With a sigh, Shouta moved his arm, letting the kid settle more comfortably against his side, and, after a beat of hesitation, wrapping his arm around small shoulders. The hospital waiting room wasn’t exactly warm.
He sat in silence, Izuku a small, warm presence against his side, and Shouta couldn’t help but circle back to his earlier worries. He was a sweet kid, and the world was very unkind to those who did not conform. The idea of handing a quirkless child off to social services sat uncomfortably. Orphans were an unfortunate reality of the world, and his job meant that this wasn’t the first time he’d saved a kid who’d suddenly found themselves alone in the world. It wouldn’t be the last either, and if Shouta let it get to him every time he’d go crazy, but. He sighed, taking in the kid’s unruly hair, the dusting of freckles across round cheeks. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Maybe the kid’s mother was alive, and none of this would wind up being a problem.
He hoped so, for Izuku’s sake.
* * *
“Eraserhead?” The question startled him awake, and Shouta blinked blearily up at the tired looking woman with a clipboard standing over him. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry for waking you. My name is Yumi Matsuda, I’m with social services. I’m here for Izuku,” she said nodding towards the kid still dead to the world at Shouta’s side.
Shouta dragged a hand down his face, scrubbing tiredly at his cheek. “Right. Yeah.” He knew someone was coming eventually, it was what they’d been waiting for. “What’s going to happen to him?” he asked, reluctant to just hand the kid over and call it a day.
“We’ll take him to a group home for now, until we get news of his parents or can determine if he has any extended family. If so, he’ll be released to their custody, and if not we’ll look into finding him a longer term fostering solution.” She mustered a reassuring smile. “Most kids do have some family, even if they lose their parents.” He looked down at Izuku again, and knew that probably wasn’t the case, because Shouta had already asked about family on the ride over.
He was exhausted and in pain, he should cut the kid loose and go get some sleep. “Can I take him?” Shouta asked instead, the question impulsive, stupid, and out of his mouth before the thought had fully formed. Yumi blinked, taken aback, and instead of backpedaling like he should, Shouta said, “For now, I mean. Until you guys figure out something permanent for him.”
“Well,” she said, gaze ticking between Izuku and Shouta. “It’s unorthodox, but.” She clicked her tongue. “Given the circumstances, and the fact that you’re a hero, it should be okay.”
After that it was just a quick scribble on a form, and Izuku was released to his custody. Poor decision making solidified with good old fashioned bureaucracy.