Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku sniffled, pulling the hoodie tighter around his body as he shook; the plastic tube was cold around him, hiding him from the wind but cocooning the young boy in the cool air. There was frost decorating the rim, and as Izuku worked himself around the bend, puffs of air smoking in front of his face as he buried his red-tipped nose into his scarf. It smelled like apples, which had been unexpected when he'd swiped it - the man who'd neglected it momentarily had looked like he'd smell of rubbish and nappies. Hair scraggily and clothes a creased mash of black and grey. His lungs rattled as he inhaled and Izuku spluttered, a metallic taste coaxing his tongue.

That couldn't be good.

The scarf was ridiculously long, but Izuku didn't have it in him to judge as he wrapped it around his neck and shoulders with enough to spare to tangle under his head like a small pillow. Stupid but practical, which was something the boy did appreciate in this moment. It saved his face being pressed against the plastic, the fear that his skin would stick dissipating as he pulled his knees closer, jamming his legs in a way that would keep him relatively still in the child's apparatus. He was growing too large for them, his childhood hiding place now uncomfortable enough to make his body ache. And aches made running harder.

His eyes had just begun to relax when he heard a whispered shout, torches making little dots of light against the plastic. The obvious deep grunt of a man sent fearful shivers down his spine, a second making his heart throb within his chest; they were close, shoes crunching on the wooden chip floor surrounding the climbing frame. Izuku subconsciously held his breathe, trying to listen. "It says it's here - you think someone realised they'd grabbed yours by mistake and abandoned it?" Out of the two voices, Izuku found himself zoning in on the lighter one.

There was a slight ring to it, the words like silk and drawing his attention. Mesmerising the listener so, like Izuku, they didn't hear the rest of the conversation. Didn't register the words until it was too late, and a torch was shining into the tube, blinding him as it bounced around the bend. Izuku was still hidden out of sight, wedged into the curve and just out of reach. The deeper voice echoed slightly, and Izuku clenched his hands into tight fists. Nails biting into his palms. "Shit, I can't see. 'Zash, can you - what are you doing?"

There was a torch pointing directly at where Izuku was, the silky voice dropping to a whisper so low that had there been a car passing, Izuku wouldn't have heard. "There's someone inside." As Izuku moved pain streaked down his spine and he coughed, stomach aching as he struggled to inhale. His ears rung loudly as he pushed himself out, a bolt scratching his arm as he staggered out the opposite end of the tube from where the man had been, eyes widening as he flinched away from the body at the bottom of the steps - large, green, eyes watched him. Softening after a hesitant second.

"Hey kiddo, it's okay. Stay calm, we won't hurt you."

The voice was compelling, the mans hands moving to tuck blonde hair behind his ears before settling in the air. Showing the lack of anything in his palms, the torch balancing on one of the steps. He was wearing Hearing Aids, the battery pack black with a yellow streak through the middle - the hair near his hairline was slightly stiff, flecks of hairspray sticking down the straight locks as though resisting the obvious brush-out. The flecks clung to the collar of his grey hoodie, a small pile in the front pocket of his dark blue jeans. Keys.

Keys to the lone car in the car park. A shadow in front of it shuffled and Izuku snapped his gaze away temporarily, spluttering as the man from early snapped his torch back on. His black hair still had not been brushed, the purple under his hazel eyes looking worse in the minimal lighting. The same jacket he had been wearing earlier in the day was scrunched up around his neck, as though the skin felt vulnerable with the absence of the scarf currently trailing behind Izuku. Tangling around his arms and legs and falling off his shoulders.

Subconsciously he gripped it, swallowing thickly as the blonde pointed at it. "We were only looking for that - did you pick it up earlier? My friend lost it." Izuku shook his head, sniffing snot back up as it threatened to fall, cracked lips peeling as he shivered. The wind was bitter, rushing through his hair and shifting between his skin and his clothes. The tube suddenly seemed more inviting. "No, this is - this is mine. I've had it all my life." The scripted lie scraped off his tongue and the blonde raised an eyebrow, nodding. His lips slightly pursed.

"Oh, I see. It just looks very similar to my friends. Are you sure it's yours? It's a very common colour, we wouldn't ben surprised if you made a mistake." The opportunity was lined out in front of Izuku with very carefully placed treats, offering him a chance to take back the false statement and give the men back what was theirs. The truth thrashed behind Izuku's teeth and he clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He hoped they'd go away, leave him to sleep before the sun breached the sky and he had to vacate. The young boy needed at least a naps worth sleep. The man sighed.

"Kiddo, we all know that's not the truth. Why don't you give my friend his scarf back, and then we'll take you home. I'm sure it's past your curfew." Izuku flinched back, pushing to standing and feeling his legs hit the railing - he shook his head, numb fingers trembling as he gripped the scarf. He went to move his leg back, but a loop tightened around it, hindering the step. "Fuck off! I told you already, it ain- it ain't yours. Go before I scream, you creeps!" His voice was raspy, a sneeze bubbling between his eyes, and the blonde licked his lips. Grabbing something from his pocket, the card flashing against the white torch light. But it was undeniable.

A Hero licence.

"We're going to detain you for theft of a Heroes essential tool. Come on down, we'll take you home." Fear made Izuku twitch as he jerked back, the scarf wrapping around his legs and tightening as he stumbled. The railings, pressing just under his lower back, did little to help as he collapsed back over them, crying out as he landed against something roughly - or judging by the hands securing around him, someone. He thrashed, gasping for air, and the hands lead him to the ground, hands gripping his arms. "Oi, breathe." The shadowed man and his dark voice offered sturdy commands, and Izuku found himself clinging to the arms gripping him, shaking his head as he desperately tried to inhale.

Falling short with a cough every time. Tears specked his eyes as he began to suffocate, rasping, but the man tapped his chest. "Follow me. It's okay to cough, you're still breathing. You're breathing, come on." For a while, Izuku choked, gagging on air as his lungs shuddered. But he was able to breathe, panic of the hands rubbing his back hiding behind the fear of suffocation - these fits were not uncommon, but never this bad. And never before had Izuku had someone soothe him through before.

He wasn't sure he liked it.

The kids chest heaved as he panted, the men on either side of him sharing a glance over his head. They seemed to decide something, the blonde speaking for the first time since the beginning of Izuku's fit. "Are you feeling better, kiddo? Would you like a drink? Some water?" Izuku ignored them, focussing on his breathe. No, he'd take nothing from the men. He wasn't prepared to give them anything - not even the scarf - back. He had no means of owing them - he had far too many debts he hid from already.

"Okay then, do you think you're ready to move? The heating in the car is on." Izuku jolted, trying to fling away but a hand was gripping his bicep. Tears soaked his eyes and he pinned them shut, shaking his head. His lungs seized again. His mouth opened to protest, before falling slack, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he slumped suddenly - head hitting the metal frame they sat besides.

Izuku's head was pounding like a bad hangover when he awake, lungs aching as he doubled over in an intense coughing fit. He gasped for air, not even registering the hand rubbing his back before something plastic flashed in front of his face. He jolted back, pain twisting around his wrists as the cuffs attached to the metal table pulled tight as the clear mask was pressed over his nose and mouth. The man from before, now lit brightly by white lights, scowled. "Enough, deep breathe." The words were strict, and Izuku felt a tear run down his cheek as his body followed instructions. A powder filled the air within the mask, attached to a weird looking pump, and Izuku was guided through some breathes and moments where he had to hold it, throat seemingly relaxing.

When it pulled away, the man stood from his crouch and nodded, placing it on the table. "Good - you should have known better than being out in such cold, especially being asthmatic." Izuku furrowed his eyebrows - what was asthma? Looking around anxiously as the man held a cup of water at him. Nodding. "Drink." He sipped it, swallowing thickly as he recognised the inside of an interrogation room. However, there was a pillow on the table and the chair he was sat on was padded, the seat reclined enough to where one could sleep comfortably.

He yanked on the hand cuffs - they lacked Quirk Suppressants. Which meant they knew.

"What - Let me go. I told you - that scarf was mine! This is wrong!" The man raised an eyebrow up at him, now suddenly taking a vow of silence as the door opened, a Detective walking in. There was a file in his hand, and he gave a nod to the scraggy guy before sitting opposite. "Izuku Midoriya, correct?" Izuku sniffled, the back of his throat tickling. "You're lucky that bump on the back of your head is only a bump. It has been decided no charges for stealing the scarf will be put forward - but there is an investigation into why you were sleeping in the park. Do you have anything you want to tell us?"

Coughing, softer this time, Izuku clenched his jaw and shook his head. His dry lips cracked. "I wasn't sleeping there - I - I was playing." The man sighed, opening the file and shaking his head. "I'm legally required to inform you my Quirk registers whether an individual is lying or telling the truth. I don't need to point out the obvious. How long have you been out, Izuku?" The informal use of his name and the bombshell dropped made Izuku's back straightened, eyes widening as fresh panic wormed into his gut.

"My Mum knows where I am. You need to call her - I have to have a guardian." His words were rushed, shaking slightly. The Detective took out a page and tuned it around, allowing Izuku to see. His heart sunk, nausea twisting in his stomach. "We have contacted your Mother - she made us of aware of this stolen document. You were surrendered eighteen months ago." Izuku bit his cheek, wincing as blood coaxed his tongue, and felt tears burn his eyes. This was bad.

This was really bad. "I won't - I won't go to a home. I won't. You can't make me - I won't!" The Detective rose a hand, silencing the instant rambles, and sighing again. He looked tired of the conversation. "We understand your predisposition, and your limited options. Luckily for you, Yamada and Aizawa hold a licence that allows them to foster kids with Quirk-related issues. You'll be placed with them." Izuku's eyes sprang to the man stood against the wall, face draining of colour. He shook his head.

This was really bad.

Chapter Text

'Kid's awake'

Hizashi stared at the message from his husband, worry worming in his gut as he instinctively turned the volume on the side of his phone up. The headphones thrummed over his ears, his Hearing Aids making the sound crackle slightly but he was all too aware of the tantrumming boy in the room over who was probably trying to nap after being dragged into the car all night to find the scarf, and then sitting in a Police station for a few hours while they treated to the 'criminal' and sorted through paperwork. And then sat in the car watching his parents have a 'heated discussion' by the station doors.

And then sat on the sofa with only one parent, hands clenched as he was told their family was expanding. His lips had trembled, opening to say something, before snapping shut and forcing himself into his room. Slamming the door. Hizashi had sighed, running hands through his hair and sitting with his elbows on his knees for a while. Before moving to the spare room, flicking the light off and looking into the room full of their rubbish - there was a bed frame lent against the wall, Hitoshi's old one, but to get to it he'd have to weave through stacks of boxes and bags.

And that's what he'd been doing for hours when his phone pinged, a new feeling cramping his stomach. They'd agreed no more fosters, that Hitoshi needed their attention more than anything, but Shouta had been stubborn. A different look of fear behind his eyes; the boy didn't remember him. His babysitter from long before he'd truly gained awareness of his own existence. And the man felt a responsibility now, to save the boy he hadn't known to protect.

And Hizashi knew the reality of what would happen to the boy if they didn't take him in; a surrendered Quirkless kid who already had a criminal record. He'd be dead before eighteen. And as much as he tried to reason, there was not an alternative aside from this one in which they could promise his survival. More than that, a chance at a life. So, he shoved another set of boxes out the room and towards the ladders leading to the attic and propped his hands on his hips, looking at the room. The wallpaper needed redoing, the blue faded and awful - left from the old owners - and the carpet was dusty. The corner near the back window torn.

Once the mattress had covers and they got some more furniture, it would do. But the kid would have to manage for the mean time - it would be fine. Glancing at his phone again, and the lack of more updates, Hizashi worked his bottom lip between his teeth. He was worried about what state the little listener would be in - he was skinny, mud caking his skin. Homeless and Quirkless and just a kid. Surrendered by his own mother and abandoned by his father before he was born. And ridiculously good at stealing, if it had not been for the tracker in his husbands Hero Gear they would never have found the scarf.

And he had looked so small in it, crawling out the child's playground apparatus with the scarf wrapping his body. Small shoulders shaking as tattered clothes shifted in the severe winds - it was cold, winter hitting the city in frost and snow. If the boy had been out one more night, he would have died. And that thought had weighed heavily on Hizashi's shoulders, making something sickly churn in his stomach. Press against his lungs; they'd faced death, hundreds of times, but the reality if finding him only a few hours before the harshest winter in over a decade hit had already made him throw up.

His weak, emotional, stomach.

A shudder ran through him as he began pushing the boxes into the attic, not daring to look at the webs along the rafters or the dark corners where a thousand bugs could be residing. His knees began to ache as he shuffled up one last time, quickly slamming the attic closed and shaking the grimy dust off his hands. He hated the attic - he always made Shouta do the jobs revolving around the hellish space. But his husband was predisposed and it was done now. Forcing a smile onto his face, he shrugged his headphones off and hovering outside Hitoshi's room.

If he slept all day, he wouldn't sleep this evening. And Hizashi was sure that his sons, like his own, stomach was grumbling. So, he tapped his knuckles once, hearing a muffled groan and inching the door open - Hitoshi was sat at his desk, phone placed screen-down on the top and laptop open in front, earphones being tugged out when purple eyes blinked at the Hero. He took a deep breathe, sighing. Food solved everything, that's what his Aunt always said.

"I'm hungry - want to eat?"

Hizashi grinned, wiggling his fingers at Hitoshi as the boy grimaced - flour, seasoning and sauce caked them, seeping into the creases of his hands and solidifying under his fingernails. It splattered against the counter below and Hitoshi rolled his eyes, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There were light bags under his eyes, and it made Hizashi feel the gloom push on his shoulders. They'd worked hard to remove the shadows, and they'd have to work hard once again to stop it from progressing.

But that was okay.

"How 'bout it 'To? Want a good, firm, handshake?" The boy gagged, waving his Father away as he continued to peel the potatoes. Smiling, they continued to cook, Hizashi humming to the radio softly. Hitoshi wasn't big on music, preferring podcasts, and not a fan of films. Unlike Hizashi, he wasn't a touchy person and card games were off the table. But he enjoyed to cook, and the two had bonded over potatoes and chicken. Shouta was useless, barely able to follow box meal instructions, but he was a perfectionist and setting up the table was his responsibility. A perfect harmony.

With a new addition - what would his role be? Where would be sit? Did he have allergies, what if he - "Pop? Do you want these putting on now?" Snapping his attention to Hitoshi, Hizashi quickly gathered his composure and grinned, nodding. The chicken had been covered, the pan was sizzling, and Hitoshi knew this. He'd cooked for himself almost all his life after all. "Yes! Don't overload on the chilli, you know Sho' can't take it!" Smirking, Hitoshi rolled his eyes and put the chilli powder down, both moving to cook their tasks.

And after twenty minutes, the food was done, placed onto plates and the used pots and pans stacked into the sink. But neither moved to grab one, Hizashi rubbing his eyes. He felt sick, worry ruining his appetite. "When's Dad going to be home?" Glancing at his phone, Hizashi smiled softly. "I don't know right now To', but you should eat. Were you doing homework?" The boy nodded. Hizashi ruffled his hair. "You can bring your laptop down and do it here, the food's messy." Nodding, the boy vanished, and the sound of the lock on the door snapping open made his heart drop.

Was that them?

Moving to the hallway, Hizashi watched the door open. Shouta ushered the young boy forward, a frown pulling his own lips as he gripped his bag. Izuku's jaw was clenched, the young boy obviously uncomfortable as he was pushed into the hallway. Green eyes swiped over Hizashi, eyes widening in fear before he seemed to force a scowl on his face. He shuffled, arms absently tugging at the cuffs around his wrists; Hizashi glanced at Shouta, raising and eyebrow, and the man sighed. As he stepped into the light, the bruise around his eye shone; the kid had caught him.

He inhaled deeply, forcing a grin onto his face. "Hey kiddo! You hungry? We just made some food!" Izuku, almost anxiously, shook his head and shoved himself against the wall when Shouta sighed. "Take your shoes off." The Hero snatched his wrists, taking the cuffs off before moving back. Giving the cornered teenager some space. Izuku rubbed his wrists, sniffling slightly as he shook his head. And just like that, only minutes into the house, they'd hit a wall. His knuckles were bruised, the scabs tearing as he flexed the digits.

Were they going to have another fight? Hizashi winced when the boy coughed, the sound rough, and he stepped forward. Grabbing some slippers off the rack, he dropped them towards the kids feet with a smile. It pulled into a grin - no matter how unsure he was, this kid still needed them. "If it makes you more comfortable you can take your shoes to your room with you. We just ask you don't put them on until you get to the door."

Shouta shot him a quick glance, but Hizashi refused to return it. Keeping his gaze on the boy, Izuku's own eyes tracking his face for a source of a lie; usually, shoes were not allowed further into the house. Especially not up to the bedrooms, but the Hero allowed an exception for this one. After a firm moment, an obvious conflict flickering across Izuku's face, he kicked off his shoes (they were horrendous, the red faded and the bottom taped shut) and grabbed them quickly. Eyeing Shouta as though the man would grab them before he could, and hugging them close. Hizashi refused to look at the boys feet, keeping the calm eye contact.

The child stunk, and the obvious smell of damp flooded the room.

"Pops?" Izuku's head snapped to the side so quick the adults feared he'd injure himself, and Shouta inched closer to Izuku, Hizashi turning and smiling up at Hitoshi. He gestured him to come further down the hall, shoulders tense. "Come, To'. This is Izuku, you remember our conversation?" Almost immediately there was a stand off between the two young boys, a wariness in both their postures, Hitoshi not stepping past his Pops and Izuku's grip on his shoes tightening. Idly, Hizashi wondered if those were his only belongings - if those were all the kid had.

Shouta yawned. "Do I smell food?" Hizashi nodded, finally looking Izuku up and down. The hoodie he wore was obviously the one Shouta had left in the previous evening, the sleeves rolled up and the soft fabric hanging off his body. There was still mud on his jeans, his socks bloodied and staining the slippers. "Yes, why don't you show Izuku the shower and I'll clean the kitchen up. To', can you get Izuku some of your spare clothes?" Hitoshi scowled but nodded, running off, and Shouta eyed Hizashi. Nodding when he received a warning glance.

Izuku had become scarily compliant, head down as Shouta guided him up the stairs, and Hizashi released a shaky breathe. Moving into the kitchen, he placed covers over the plates and began washing the pots and pans, forcing a soothing hum out as his eyebrows furrowed. His husband returned as he reached the final few pans, Hitoshi burrowing in his room. The kitchen door clicked shut, and Hizashi inhaled deeply. "Is he dangerous?" Shouta hesitated, and Hizashi grit his teeth. "Would be hurt Hitoshi?"

"He'll calm down." Hizashi dried his hands off slightly too roughly, spinning to look at his husband. His inner conflict sparked, making his chest tight. Shouta swept forward, arms wrapping his husband and pressing their foreheads close. The house was quiet. "I would never put you two in danger - Izuku needs someone to look out for him. But I'd never put you or Hitoshi in harms way." Hizashi nodded, closing his eyes and relaxing.

He knew that, but that wasn't where his worries lay. Izuku was going to be a big responsibility, and he wasn't sure they had the power to change the kids life. Nodding, he pulled back. "Have you contacted RG? He's not okay." Shouta nodded, hands slipping into pockets as he eyed the food. Stomach audibly ringing. "Yes, she's going to drop by tonight. It's the earliest she could - she's seen his file, she won't be able to use her Quirk." Hizashi nodded.

Later was the first milestone.

Chapter Text

Izuku scrambled to lock the door the moment the man let it click shut, fingers aching as he tugged the handle, testing it. They shook, the hair on his arms standing on end as his skin erupted into goosebumps, the shivers running down his spine as he backed from the door - as the adrenaline in his veins burned lower, his exterior cracked and tears welled in his eyes, the pressure in his nose overwhelming. The shower was already running, steam gently filling the room and leaving him stood in the muggy room, shoes still clutched to his chest. His feet ached, and when he moved he could feel the blood peel from his socks. Reopening old wounds. He glanced at the clothes stacked atop the counter, lip worrying between his teeth - his snapped front tooth sharp enough to leave broken skin.

His knuckles still ached, but not as much as the black eye the man had look too. After watching the door for a moment, making sure it wouldn't try to be opened, he placed his shoes behind the bin (hidden from immediate sight) and stripped of the borrowed jumper carefully, before throwing off his smelly clothes. It they could still be classed as that. The shower was scorching as he climbed in, but he was unsure on how to lower the temperature so stepped under it anyway. Shuddering as the hot water touched his skin.

It ran down the drain an horrendous shade of brown, specks of blood and matted scabs falling from under the pressure, skin tingling where the shower sprayed. He avoided looking at his feet, socks still on and soaking as he chewed his lip - he wasn't sure it would help remove them, but as he slid down the wall it definitely helped his confidence. Fingers gripping the rim. The sound of a door slamming had his hands wrenching down, a broken cry shattering his lungs as he pulled the sock off; with the pseudo bandage removed, blood bubbled around the crude lashes.

His toes shuddered, the stumps where his right pinkie toe should be quivering as the burns and stitching sealing the open wound messy and aching. He bit down on a sob as the feverishly hot skin pin pricked, the skin around the sewn string on his right foot swollen and puffy - tears scolded his cheeks as they fell, the soles of his feat screaming. His vision doubled as he looked at the state of the limbs, vomit burning his throat.

He'd neglected looking at the tortured parts since the incident, able to ignore the pain as they grew numb in the cold. But the cuts and the burns were so visible now it sent a new wave of terror through him, the mans laugh haunting his ears as he clenched his eyes shut - he shuddered, chewing his lip (he should be thankful, his mind warned him, that the man had only wished to satisfy himself by torturing the boys feet, taking his lust out on Izuku's biggest sin and being kind enough to cauterize the amputation).

The hot water wasn't soothing as it cleaned the blood on his foot, the pale skin shuddering. He felt sick, the sight of it making his stomach cramp and tie into knots. So he didn't, eyes staying closed as felt the water finally reached his scalp, hair submerged finally. For a while he sat, hunched in one himself as he let himself once again fall numb, eyebrows creased in thought - he couldn't stay with the men. With the boy who stomped and shoved in anger of Izuku being there. They knew he was Quirkless, it wouldn't be long before he became the problem.

The reason for everything bad.

And at least one was a Hero, they'd have no consequences when they killed Izuku. Just like warned, the boy would be beaten and killed and made into a punching bag for their frustrations until he died of injuries. Starved and kept from water until he was thin enough to be broken without effort - black and blue enough he'd forget there were freckles dotting his skin. Or he'd be abandoned, protected and encouraged until they got to see him break mentally as he was left in an alley like a misbehaved dog. Those yellow tinted papers offering him to the government gripped between his fingers once more. No, he had to leave.

A knock at the door had him jostling, back hitting the wall harshly in his fear, but the handle didn't jiggle. Didn't open, instead a voice speaking loud enough to be heard over the running water. "Izuku? Are you okay?" His teeth clamped on his tongue, holding his breathe, and a few minutes passed before the voice spoke again. "Izuku, if you don't reply I'll have to come in to make sure you're okay." Scrambling to move, Izuku scrunched his face up. "Don't - I'm fine!" He shouted, pushing a harshness into his voice that had protected him this long.

"Okay, kiddo. Don't hesitate to shout if you need anything!"

Izuku climbed out quickly, keeping the water running as he rushed to dry himself, shoving the new socks on and the clothes, chewing his bottom lip as they hung off him. He rolled up the waist of the joggers, folding the sleeves of the hoodie and ignoring the way water dropped off his hair and down his neck, dampening the neck of the top that rubbed the burn scar on his shoulder. The room they'd given him was just off to the side of the hallway, in view of the stairs, and Izuku gripped his old clothes and peeked out the door, waiting for it to be silent for turning the shower off and bolting through the open door, slamming it behind him.

He relaxed slightly, looking at the space. The blonde had told him they would spend some time sooner than later decorating it, and that if the mattress thrown on the bed was too uncomfortable to let them know, but Izuku could only stare at the window. It let light flood the room, the sun not yet beginning to descend into the afternoon sky. Shoving the old clothes under the bed, as far towards the back corner as he could reach, Izuku moved to stand on the bed under the window and press his hands on the sill, licking his dry lips.

Although they were only on the second story, it was still high. The an extension too far to the right and no wooden plant-climbers for Izuku to cling too. And, when he tried the window, it was limited to no more than a few inches. The garden backed onto a field, a thick barrier of the nettles separating the fence and grass. Any escape through the back garden or the window were not viable, and it made his anxiety curdle - a cough ached his throat, knees weakening as he fell into a fit. He smothered the sound of them under his hand, eyeing the door in his moment of weakness.

There wasn't a sound. Relaxing slightly, Izuku pushed himself off the bed, shuffling towards the door and once again falling to sit against it, resting his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He was tired, exhaustion seeping through his limited muscles, and as he sat there (the room warm and his body clean) his eyelids drooped.

=--=

Shouta could see Izuku's shadow under the door, the small gap of light interrupted. It wasn't unexpected, for the kid to be against the door, and the Hero gently rasped his knuckles against the wood. Watching the shadow and listening; but there was no response. Not a sharp inhale or a slight jolt, which was odd as the kid was skittish. He lashed out and, within a new environment, Shouta had expected to hear things break. Had expected to find the bathroom broken and shattered. But, aside from steam and water in the shower, the space looked untouched.

Knocking again, Shouta waited only a few more minutes before announcing his entrance, pushing the door slowly. There was a weight against it, and Shouta squeezed through the small gap he'd given himself, looking down at the boy slumped back. He was breathing, the wheezing in his inhalation more prominent as he slept. He still looked pale, shivering as though the hot shower had yet to warm him through - which was strange, as Shouta began to feel sweat stick to his back from the heat in the room. With the borrowed clothes, Izuku once again looked so small, the scratches and bruises on his exposed skin looked uncomfortable.

It was a miracle the boy looked as healthy as he did.

Crouching a foot away, Shouta cleared his throat, and hesitated. Gaze travelling to one outstretched leg; the sock had originally been grey, like its matching pair, but it was now a sickly shade of brown and red. Spreading across the fabric from one soaked spot just below his toes, the fabric loose at the corner. "Shit," he muttered, grabbing his phone to shoot his husband a message before laying it on the ground, snapping his fingers loudly. He poked the sleeping boy in a few places, pinching skin lightly and awaiting a reaction passed a wrinkled nose, and when he received none, gently took the edge of the sock.

And acted with all his Hero training, pulling it off without shaking the kids foot too much, and withheld a gag. The foot was mangled, the pinkie toe missing at the joint, crudely sewn slashes around his ankle puffy and infected. There were burns and incisions so precise it made Shouta's own foot ache, and the whole limb looked savaged.

Painful.

A knock at the door had him look up, an old women shuffling in quietly, and Shouta grit his teeth. Shaking his head at her - they communicated silently, testing he boys awareness before coming to the conclusion his body had shut down to focus on resting, and moved him to lie on the bed. Hizashi waited by the door, a first aid kit in his hands as he awkwardly hovered. Chiyo sighed, looking at the boy in his entirety before casting the couple a glance. "He needs a hospital." Shouta frowned, mouth opening to say something, but Hizashi was already nodding. Filling the silence. "We don't have any insurance to cover him." Shouta's eyebrows furrowed, and Hizashi shrugged. "I checked, it's written into the fine print it will not cover 'Individuals with GQRS'." Still confused, Shouta looked to Chiyo, who sighed in disappointment. "Genetic Quirk Recessive Syndrome. Most insurances are void to such, but go anyway. I will recommend one, they will treat him anyway. When you sign the paperwork, scribble the insurance, and change it tomorrow. They will call in a few days, and you will clarify the mistake. Understood?"

They nodded under the strict instruction, Hizashi vanishing to tell Hitoshi, and Recovery set her annoyed eyes on Shouta. The man abandoned by his husband under her wrath. "This foster was your idea?" He nodded. "And there was not a Doctor on call at the Police Station for a quick check over?" He nodded again, and she raised her eyebrows, Izuku's breathe whistling only making her scorn worse. He sighed. "He was checked over, but the Doctor told us the breathing was due to his asthma. And we were not aware of the state of his feet until now." She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She'd not long come from another job, and Shouta felt bad for drawing her out in the evening only for her to tell them to go to a hospital.

"The wounds on his feet are fresh, maybe a few months old at most. Stressed and infected, the winter will have been the only thing keeping them from being agonising. You will open an investigation, do you hear me? This was a Hate Crime." Shouta nodded, shoulders sagging, and she climbed off the stool, coming to stand besides him. "Call me, I will do my research. I will make sure this boy receives the help he will need."

Chapter Text

There was something hard digging into Izuku's cheeks, and when his eyes opened, he could see clear plastic over the bridge of his nose. A fuzziness behind his eyes keeping him from truly understanding what was covering his lower face. He groaned, the bed uncomfortable under his aching back, the slightly raised position making the space between his shoulder blades knot, and went to move, arm tangling in wires as he raised it. His gaze slugged to it, the pinching in the back of his hand making more sense when he saw the tube stuck below gauze, and felt his stomach squeeze at the sight of numerous wires running around his arm and into the sleeve of his top, the sticky pouches on his chest suddenly pulling taunt. He didn't like it, other hand reaching up to try and pull them free, but it was swatted down. The touch light but burning his skin.

The mask nudged as he twisted to see a boy leaning for ward in his chair, ready to bat Izuku's hand again, with purple eyes swirling in clear irritation. His jaw was tense, a twitch in his cheek sending alarm bells down Izuku's spine, and the boy felt the urge to move shuffle under his skin, ants biting. Somehow, he was in this kids spot, and he would rather not fight whilst his fingertips tingled. So, he wiggled his toes, stars dancing in his vision as he fought the numbness in the soles of his feet. His legs were uncooperative, arms shaking as he tried to shuffle to the end of the bed, but when he looked again to make sure he was moving quick enough, the boy was gone. A hoodie left hanging over the back of the chair, the blue plastic sharp against the white room; he had yet to question such, his brain not recognising the space.

A horrible retching sound burned his voice as he began to cough, the muffled swirling in his chest growing tight as he struggled to catch his breathe, Something slimy was sitting on his tongue, splattering against the plastic when he managed to expel it, and his hand thumped his chest as the cough persisted, the room splitting into two dancing pictures. He closed his eyes, the vision making him dizzy, and didn't the door opening past the cotton stabbing his eardrums, arching when a hand gently pushed his body back to the pillows. He kept his eyes shut at the nightmare, crying out as someone grabbed his legs, screaming as he felt the knife slice through his toe. It sawed through, whip-extended fingers striking against the skin before a thumb prodded them. He felt his Mama's fingers soothe through his hair and a heavy blanket was lay over him, the pain in his feet vanishing as he heard her whisper.

She asked him to sleep, promising to tear the papers as she hugged him. Waving the Police at the door away as she chuckled, shaking her head as his breathe rattled, singing away the lingering cold. She pulled the blanket to his chin, tucking it around him in the suffocating way she did when he was little and wouldn't stop crying. Fingers dancing across the freckles on his nose, trailing them like constellations as he slipped to sleep.

Hitoshi stood outside the room as his Dad helped the Nurses and Doctors hold down the limbs of the boy, biting his tongue harshly as he lent against the wall. He hadn't expected his skin to be so warm when he'd pushed the hand clawing his chest down, his icy cold fingers still tingling from the heat that seemed to flood off his body - his Pops was warm, just like that, but from the pale boy it was different. He sighed out his nose, looking up when his Pops walked out and clicked the door shut behind him, smiling tightly at him. The same hesitant look of worry that had plagued him since they'd found that boy in the playground etching wrinkles onto his face. "Why don't we go home?" Hitoshi shrugged, blinking away the image of the frail figure on the bed.

Bandages and gauze wrapping his feet.

"What about Dad?" Hizashi looked back at the room. "He's going to stay for a bit, make sure Izuku is okay. We can stop by somewhere on the way? I have a sweet craving." Hitoshi nodded as they began down the halls, agitating having him gnawing his tongue, and shuddered when they stepped outside, the cold air hitting him as wind funnelled down his hair and down the back of his hoodie. Idly, he wondered if the boy would have survived this night, the morning breaking the sky and showing the ice sticking to windows. He glanced back at the hospital, it much larger than the one closer to home they had stayed loyal to, and he sighed, the air under his nose steaming. "Why here?"

He tried as they reached the car, finger sticking to the handle slightly as he tugged the door open and crawled inside, grabbing a blanket off the back seat and huddling under it as his Pops rushed to start the ignition and turn the heating on. The cold air blasting before slowly warming, waiting for the windshield to defrost. "We needed to go somewhere where our details weren't on file. We need to change insurances." They'd long found it beneficial to tell Hitoshi the grown up truth, the young teen not handling the childish white lies well, and he nodded, looking at the hospital once again. He wondered which room they were in from here. "Because he's GQRS?" Hizashi tensed, hands tightening around the wheel as they began to move, suddenly affecting by the term he'd said that very night.

He nodded. "Yes. Do you have more questions about Izuku? Before he comes home." The words stuck Hitoshi, stomach queasy, and he stared out the window for a while. The radio playing very low in the background, almost unhearable against the tires and tarmac. "I don't want him. You don't want him. Why did Dad get his way?" Hizashi glanced at him, shaking his head very quickly, as they pulled into the carpark. "I was apprehensive, but nothing happens in our house that me and Your Dad don't agree on. Izuku deserves the same chances as you, don't you think?" Hitoshi nodded, eyebrows furrowed. "Well yeah, but why not anywhere else?" Yellow eyes softened as the car parked, turning to him with a pinched expression. "Izuku is more like you than you think, this is his only chance at the minute. In a few months we'll review, okay? Me and your Dad agreed, if in a couple of months this really isn't working out we'll try. But if there was another option right now, we'll have explored it. Okay?"

Hitoshi shook his head, obviously not satisfied. "Why can't he just go home? What's so special about him? He's just throwing a tantrum!" His voice strained as he spoke, jaw set as he stared out the window. Hizashi swallowed the lump in his throat, sitting back in his seat and tilting his head to the side. "I have two questions, that's all. Okay?" His head jerked in a small, almost unnoticeable, nod. "Do you think we'll replace you with Izuku now?" There was a tense second, and Hizashi saw the shudder in Hitoshi's shoulders, nose flaring as he held back tears. But he waited, someone walking past and paying them no attention, until Hitoshi nodded again. Voice even in the enticing way it did when he activated his Quirk, masking the shakiness and emotion. "Two teenagers with problems are difficult - you won't have the time to help me as much. We won't be a family, we'll be a project." Hizashi sighed, leaning to rub his sons arm soothingly.

"Don't be daft," he spoke low, "you are my son. Hitoshi, you are always going to be my son and we are always going to be family. Have I ever made you feel differently?" He shook his head. "And I never will. The moment you feel like we are replacing you, you come to me. Okay Kiddo? You need me, I'm going to be there." Hitoshi nodded, and after a second, looked back. "You have two questions." Hizashi nodded. "Who told you Izuku was throwing an tantrum?" The fierceness reappearing, the boy squared his shoulders as though he was delivering Hizashi news. The Hero waited with baited breathe, unsure on how to teach a boy who'd suffered discrimination that his words were lumping him with them.

He wished Shouta was here.

"One of the Nurses said so." Hizashi waited for him to continue. "She said he ran away because he's Akquirkan." The radio clicked off, the idle engine timing out, and purple eyes slid towards Hizashi's, the Hero taking a minute to think. Trying to formulate the words that knotted in his chest. So, he kept the gaze, ears ringing in phantom pain. "Your Social Worker told us the same, when Shouta found you that first night." The words were the harshest thing he'd ever said to his beloved child, and he felt his husband supporting the sentence as it rolled off his tongue. Hitoshi had always been difficult, he appreciated the truth. This would be the only way to reach to him.

But the look in his eyes, the way his bottom lip wobbled, made Hizashi's heart ache and he reached forward. Fingers weaving through his hair to tuck it behind his ear. "Akquirkan is a new term, Listener, and it isn't a nice one. 'To, Izuku needs us to treat him kindly, even if he lashes out. He doesn't know who to trust, and we took him from what he wanted. He didn't ask for help, not like you, he doesn't know who to ask it from. Can you do that for me? And I promise that if you need some time just us, we'll make sure you get that."

This nod was weaker, and Hizashi thanked him, soothing his hair and looking to the desert place. "Now, let's get some sweet treats! I'm craving caramel, what about you?" The door rung a small bell as they walked in, Hitoshi's hands dug into his pockets as he looked over the counter. The worker behind, a young girl who shook sugar over donuts on the counter to the side, smiled brightly at them. "Welcome! What can we get for you?!" They ordered over two big boxes of cakes and donuts, the crates heavy in Hizashi's hand and making his wallet lighter. Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he fished the keys from his Pops pocket, holding the back door open as the boxes were buckled in, before the blonde grinned at him. Winking, as he held the final small box.

"I won't tell Dad if you don't."

Hitoshi knew that was a lie, but nonetheless, red dye from the icing staining the pads of his fingers as he ate the cupcake outside the car, leaning on the bonnet as crumbs dropped onto his lap. It was cold, a vent besides them puffing out hot air, but neither minded as they wordlessly ate, Hizashi humming in delight after every other bite. Screaming in a muffled cheer when he took a bit into the middle and jam squeezed onto his cheeks. The boy crinkled his nose in mock disgust, looking at the clump of chocolate in the centre of is, and stared for a second. Despite what his Pops had said, the idea of the other boy plagued his mind, acid rumbling in his gut. He sighed. "Am I going to have to move school?" His Quirked burned under the question, but Hizashi shook his head fearlessly, not even batting an eye at the question.

"Not if you don't want to. Small steps first though, okay kiddo? He'll probably be tutored, To begin with. So he can catch up." Each sentence tagged on, like an extra thought. "School later though. Speaking of, why don't you invite Denki around later? I want his Grandma's cookie recipe!" Hitoshi rolled his eyes but nodded, phone heavy in his pocket.