Chapter Text
It starts with a phone call.
Aizawa is in the middle of a staff meeting when Hizashi’s phone starts ringing, discussing potential changes to the school curriculum with All Might as a teacher in the spring. The blond apologizes and silences the device, but Nezu doesn’t start the conversation up again. His gaze drifts to Aizawa, and he smiles, offering a break. He barely finishes the words when Aizawa’s phone vibrates on his belt. Damn that rat and his high specs.
The erasure hero steps into the hall, watching the rain pour down outside. It wasn’t terribly long ago Aizawa met Katsuki in a new light under similar weather.
“The Quirk Suppression skeleton key all pro heroes have, where do you keep it?” Katsuki says the moment Aizawa puts the phone to his ear. He can hear drawers being yanked open and slammed closed in the background.
“What?” Aizawa asks. How does he know about the skeleton key? Why is the key even necessary? What mess did he and Izuku get into? Weren’t they supposed to go shopping for clothes today?
Katsuki sighs, irritation lacing every word. “Fine. Hi, Aizawa-san. Sorry to bother you, and I’d ask you how you are, but Deku and I found this kid who’s being forced to wear a quirk suppression muzzle. We can’t cut it off, and no way in hell am I blasting his face, so where is the damn skeleton key?”
“Did you say muzzle?” Aizawa is already turning, ducking briefly inside the meeting room to signal he’s leaving to Hizashi.
“I thought only Present Mic and I were the only ones hard of hearing.” The explosive teen scoffs.
“Katsuki,” He scolds, but he’s already running. “We don’t; we don’t keep those things out in the open. I have one on me. I’m leaving now. Can you wait until I get home?”
The blond scoffs in Aizawa’s ear, “Do we have a choice?”
Aizawa is soaked by the time he makes it home. The front door is slightly ajar, and he would be remiss as a hero to not proceed with caution. He nudges the door open, slipping in with care and taking note of three pairs of wet shoes. He hovers in the entryway, listening for movement. Upstairs is silent, and Izuku’s voice floats through the air with a protective calm.
“See?” Katsuki cuts through, lacking his usual bite. “The damn cat likes you. Hates me, though.”
“Jelly doesn’t know how to make sense of you,” Izuku calls from the direction of the kitchen. “Did you know cats can’t taste sweet things? He’s probably just confused because the smell of nitroglycerin doesn’t match the taste.”
“That’s disgusting, Deku. Where do you even keep that sh*t information anyway?”
Safe. His kids are safe. They just recklessly left the door open and are asking to be kidnapped, burglared, or worse, but they are safe.
Aizawa removes his boots, locks the door, and pads into the house.
“Aizawa-san should be here soon, he’s helped us, and I’m sure he can help you.” Izuku crosses from the kitchen to the living room, setting down cups of tea on the coffee table in front of Katsuki and a figure in the yellow armchair.
A teen, no older than his charges, with purple hair and dark bags beneath his eyes, keeps his gaze down at his lap where Jelly is sprawled, preening at the teen’s ministrations.
“I’m home,” Aizawa feels breathless. This teen, as Katsuki mentioned, is wearing a muzzle. It’s silver and dented, lighting up blue and small black panels on the upper portion for solar power. Aizawa drifts across the living room, unsure how he’s moving. “Let’s get this off you.”
“Welcome back!” Izuku steps in his path, cheerful voice tight with warning. “Do you mind if Kacchan and I handle this?” His green eyes implore. Aizawa looks at Izuku, then at Katsuki, who has moved to stand in front of the teen. Finally, his gaze lands on the purple teen who’s stiffening so much Jelly no longer wants to sit on his lap. “You’re soaked. Why don’t you let us have the key, and you change? I promise everything will be fine.”
Izuku promising anything is a warning sign, and Aizawa doubts he has little choice but to believe in it.
Nothing explodes when Aizawa changes, he’ll count that as a win.
When he returns in fresh warm clothes and an evidence bag, the kids are in the kitchen. Katsuki is cooking, making precise movements like a professional chef, and Izuku and the teen are at the kitchen table. The oversized medkit is open, treating the spots on the purple teen’s face where the muzzle rubbed skin raw.
Aizawa takes a moment to pocket the skeleton key and picks up the muzzle sitting on the coffee table beside a cold cup of tea. There are several levels of quirk suppression items; children-grade is often the most robust since they have more variation and unchecked power. Next are public services for special needs, then police-grade, and military. The one in Aizawa’s hand is an outdated model designed for public services. The solar panels imply extended use and limited access to funding or resources. It’s dented and scuffed in a few places; the locking mechanism at the jaw looks like various keys and gadgets have been forced inside to release it. Most of the irregular marks are old, though some gleam white and angry over the dull metal.
He turns the muzzle over in his hand, noting the face cushioning has been stripped away, vague glue indications hint that the padding has been missing for some time. There’s loose paneling on the interior, and when Aizawa lifts the panel, wires spill out, some barely connected and others tightly taped. Somebody once cared about maintaining it.
Turning the object over again, Aizawa takes a picture of the serial number, sending it to a few detectives and a handful of pros for identification. He places the muzzle inside the evidence bag, seals it, and writes what information he knows on the plastic with a marker.
By the time he finishes, a savory smell fills the air, causing Jelly to meow for food as he rubs against Aizawa’s legs. He turns to the kitchen and sees the purple teen’s eyes on him. The kid’s gaze is wary, almost fearful – no different than Izuku at his middle school.
Come to think of it, summer is almost over. Should Aizawa look into transferring his charges into different schools? Why was that not a concern earlier?
Aizawa joins Katsuki at the counter, giving the purple kid wide berth as Izuku chatters for the four of them. Izuku, the socially awkward green bean of a person, is the most competent of filling the silence. Aizawa can’t decide if he’s proud of that or not.
“So, of course, I’ve been dragging Kacchan to the beach all summer,” Izuku beams brightly, his sunshine smile keeping the downpour outside at bay. He pulls dishware from the cabinets, handing them with care to the purple-haired kid to set the table. Every time the tired teen is given something new, they seem surprised to be trusted and relieved to have something to do. When their hands are empty, a sense of hollow loss creeps into their features.
Does Izuku notice this? Could the green teen put words to what he’s doing? Hound Dog would call Izuku an empath for detecting such minute emotions and addressing them as easily as breathing. Even Izuku’s monologue, which is slower and more annunciated than his analysis mutterings, acknowledges how tense the room is. Katsuki is fuming, taking his aggression on Hizashi’s cutting boards. The purple teen is wary and must be easily spooked, and Aizawa is not yet on the point of permission Izuku and Katsuki have to help.
If Aizawa is going to get anywhere with this kid, he’ll need to be perceived as non-threatening and trustworthy as possible. He can do trustworthy but isn’t sure he can come off as non-threatening. He’s an underground hero who strikes fear into villains on purpose. He designed his hero persona to be a threat.
Then again, he supposes, all heroes do.
“Fair warning,” Izuku says, passing a bowl from Katsuki to the teen, “Kacchan likes making food spicy. Doesn’t matter what kind of food it is, so long as it’s spicy. If it’s too hot, let me know. I’m not a good cook, but I’m sure I can run out and get something that’s easier on the stomach.”
“Ha? You calling my cooking sh*t, Deku?” Katsuki growls, sliding a filled bowl of soup towards Aizawa, turning in Izuku’s direction. Aizawa catches only a glimpse of Katsuki’s burned side, which is as healed as it’s going to get. There’s a small scar under his left eye and another darker line across the bridge of his nose. The upper shell of his ear is slightly deformed, with a divet at the very top. Two-finger stripes of skin stand out stark against the growing blond fuzz after the acid burned away the follicle pores. They are stark reminders Aizawa could have been too late if not for Izuku.
Aizawa recalls his conversation with Hizashi and Nemuri from months ago, long before he had the right to call these kids his children or proudly claim to be a homeowner. This kid is going to save a lot of people. He just needs to be given the chance.
Katsuki would not be here if not for Izuku, and neither would this purple teen, who’s tearing up from the spice but eating without complaint. Aizawa would not have this home or the glimpses into family life without the green teen. How was Aizawa supposed to know saving a jumper would change his life so much?
When Aizawa thinks the purple teen is finally going to relax, Hizashi bursts through the front door in a hurricane of noise and movement. Aizawa jumps in his seat while Katsuki immediately stands, hand curling to create a blast.
“This rainy season is really sticking this year, isn’t it?” Hizashi booms, flapping sounds coming from the hallway. Aizawa can imagine his husband trying to close his decrepit old umbrella with marginal success. “Nezu called an early end to the meeting, I think he’s plotting something, so I snuck away to hang out with my favorite listeners!”
Aizawa glances once at the table of teens, each in a different level of rigid alert, before moving to greet his husband. It seems the point of permission is going to be harder to reach than what Aizawa initially imagined.
“Inside voices, Hizashi.” Aizawa pads into the living room to see Hizashi shaking out his leather jacket, his typically gelled hair plastered against his back.
“Eh? You know I hate that term, Shouta. Any voice used indoors is an inside voice, ya dig?”
“We have a guest,” He tries again, taking the jacket and folding it over his arm. “C’mon. Let’s get you in dry and presentable clothes.”
Aizawa is not jealous. He’s not.
It’s not like he rushed home to help or waited for hours at the counter, trying to be as trustworthy as possible or anything. Yet the purple teen welcomes Hizashi into his inner circle with Izuku in minutes and freezes any time Aizawa gets too close.
“It’s ’cause he’s kind of an idiot,” Katsuki says from Aizawa’s shoulder, drying the dishes that the pro hero washes.
“What?” Aizawa wants to take offense for Hizashi’s sake. It takes a certain level of brainpower to master English and various sign languages. Sure, as students, the blond hero rarely ranked high during exams, but the hero is good at what he does.
“He’s friendly and dumb, like Deku. They couldn’t hide malicious intent even if they tried. But you and I can, and that’s why Purple Hair doesn’t like us as much.”
“Purple Hair?”
“Haven’t gotten a name out of him yet,” Katsuki shrugs, stacking the last plate before moving the pile into the cupboard. “In case you haven’t noticed, he hasn’t made a peep. He’s just damn lucky Deku can speak for all of us in any given moment.”
“I think Hizashi could give him a run for his money.”
Laughter pulls Aizawa’s attention to the living room where Hizashi has an arm around the purple teen, the other arm waving wild to exaggerate a story. Knowing his husband, it’s probably one where he manages to catch a villain using his personality instead of his quirk. The laughter is a mix of noise. Aizawa can pick out Izuku’s voice layered on top of a deeper and rougher rasp. He can only assume it comes from the purple teen’s parted lips.
The sound seems to startle the teen because he immediately stiffens, pinching his mouth tight.
“f*ck, this is going to be a long road,” Katsuki grumbles. Aizawa can’t help but agree.
The purple teen is tucked securely in Hizashi’s arms when the doorbell rings. The blond makes a move to get up, but Aizawa offers a staying hand at the sight of the teen half asleep. Izuku and Katsuki follow behind, nosy as ever, peeking around the corner when Aizawa opens the door. He leans against the door frame, partially to block the teen’s view of the outside and the other part to let the visitors know they’re not allowed in the safe haven Aizawa has painstakingly built.
“We’re here about the quirk suppression item you inquired about,” A detective with a plain face says, showing his badge with a flash. Aizawa raises a brow in response. What about the child attached to the item? A woman bows in a frayed lavender gray suit, showing her badge as an employee for the Office for Child Safety Services.
“I’m here about Shinsou Hitoshi.” An Honest Heart, is that really the kid’s name? Aizawa thinks back to the frightened eyes firm lockout and wonders who’s preventing the kid from feeling as honest as his name.
“What about?”
“Did you remove the item?” The woman looks panicked. “You know he’s dangerous. Have you seen his record? His quirk, it’s villainous.”
Dangerous? All Aizawa has seen is a scared kid in need of support. He already has two of them, and it’s not difficult to recognize a third.
“I have seen no such inclination,” Aizawa replies flatly. “Any quirk can be used for villainy. It’s a matter of intention. The only intention I’ve seen is a desire to be safe.”
“Eraserhead, we appreciate your service to the community, but we should ensure the safety of the surrounding area and keep the child contained.” The detective says.
“I inquired about the ownership of the quirk suppression item, who it belonged to, what facility used it, and the reasoning behind the use.” Aizawa states, sharp and succinct. He knows a thing or two about villain quirks. He’s fought plenty of villains with near identical quirks as top-charting heroes. It’s not about the type of quirk; it’s how it’s used. But that doesn’t change the fact that people are easily scared of what they don’t understand. Growing up, kids thought Aizawa’s erasure quirk was evil, but that was a perception. People are afraid of losing their quirks. They fear a loss of control.
“Shinsou Hitoshi was not included in my inquiry, he is not part of this discussion, and I am not leaving him in your care. Now,” Aizawa pushes off the doorframe to stand in the very center, hopefully still blocking the kids from view. “If you have any information concerning the quirk suppression item and my inquiry, I would appreciate you leaving it in my possession. If there is no information about the item, I must ask you to leave. One of my charges insists on an early bedtime, and it would be illogical to deny such a sane action.”
After some arguing from the detective and protests from the OCSS employee, where Aizawa refuses to budge on anything Shinsou related, they finally leave. The pro hero closes the front door with a pile of folders under his arm for review. The thickness of the folders is worrisome, but Aizawa is unfortunately familiar with sleepless nights.
“Aizawa-san is so cool,” Izuku whispers before ducking around the stairs.
“I heard you.” He grumbles, biting back a smile.
“What’s this I hear about you starting a home for wayward teens?” Nemuri asks as she joins Aizawa in the school cafeteria for lunch. He likes to take up the large quiet room instead of the cramped faculty office during the summer. The file folders from the night before are spread out over the large table; he sighs as he flips through each page.
“Just a home Nemuri,” Aizawa stares at the photograph of Shinsou, comparing it against his memory of the kid last night. Picture Shinsou maintains the same tired bags beneath his eyes, the same almost frown, and same wild hair. Picture Shinsou looks fuller, cheeks more rounded with subtle notions that imply care from a loving home. Memory Shinsou is all hard angles with chasms of mistrust in his dark purple eyes. Memory Shinsou presses on something Hound Dog said.
The fight or flight instinct isn’t absolute. It is conditional and misses a crucial variable in trauma: collapse.
Shinsou is a teen collapsing into himself, like Izuku so many months ago.
“Hizashi is with them today,” He offers before Nemuri can ask a follow-up question. “We were concerned the police would return and cause problems.”
“Oh,” Nemuri smirks. “So your latest little one likes Present Mic more.” Aizawa frowns. “That’s really something. Hizashi was so jealous the other two were going to take you away.”
“That’s illogical.”
“The heart does what it wants.” She shrugs. Aizawa’s heart wants a cup of coffee or a warm sleeping bag. His heart wants problems to solve themselves magically and the rainy season to end. Most of all, his heart wants to be home with his husband and kids, where he can drown in the chaos of family instead of paperwork.
“When do I get to meet your little ones?”
Aizawa looks at his high school friend with a raised brow. “You do know they’re not actually little kids, right?”
“I also know they’ve been through some pretty nasty stuff, so you know why I haven’t pressed to meet them.” Nemuri smiles in an almost motherly fashion, but her hero outfit changes the expression into something strange. “Tell me about them, or tell me about this,” She gestures to the spread papers. “I want to learn about the Aizawa Shouta who goes home to cook dinner, the one who goes undercover and cleans up parks for a kid. The one who’s pouring over a case of a different kid that’s afraid of him, so that he can make sure that child doesn’t have to worry.”
“Nothing’s changed, Midnight. I’m still the same hero I’ve always been.”
Nemuri leans forward, her eyes searching Aizawa’s for something. What, he doesn’t know. She flops back into her seat with a sigh. “Something has, otherwise you’d have adopted a gaggle of youth by now. Maybe you’re getting soft.”
“That’s unlikely,” Aizawa flips another piece of paper.
“Maybe you want to settle down.” She offers.
“I’ve been married for years.”
“After many more of Hizashi tripping over his feet to finally get you to say yes.” Nemuri rolls her eyes, picking up her fork to push the food around her plate. She eats while Aizawa works; it’s a companionable silence consisting of utensils scraping across dishware, turning pages, and heavy sighs.
Sometime later, Snipe calls Midnight for a meeting with the other fine arts faculty. She responds with something cheeky and gathers her dishes. “Maybe,” Nemuri says, standing to pull Aizawa’s attention from the files, “you finally think you’re enough to protect the ones you care about.”
It was an eventuality Aizawa would be left at home with Shinsou Hitoshi. Between Hizashi taking too many personal days, Aizawa’s constant pushback at the OCSS, and Izuku and Katsuki settling the teen in – people were bound to lose track of who was home and when.
Shinsou is still wary of Aizawa, like a stray cat with mistrusting eyes. The teen has been why Aizawa’s bed has been oddly cold for the past few nights, Hizashi staying with the boys to encourage comfort for everyone involved. The purple teen has grown strangely fond of Katsuki, silent laughter spilling from their lips when Katsuki bickers with Izuku.
Tonight, Hizashi’s voice filters through the radio, cheering to guest callers and announcing artists on the rise. Izuku and Katsuki are at the Bakugou’s, the first in nearly a week, which leaves Aizawa to sit awkwardly in the yellow armchair, while Shinsou is just as awkward on the dark gray couch across the coffee table. Jelly curls up next to him, books pile the coffee table, including one of Izuku’s quirk analysis books. And yet the purple-haired kid sits staring at his lap, knees pressed against one another, hands clasped tightly.
He’s afraid to move, though Aizawa doesn’t understand why. Aizawa has never stopped the kid, has even kept his distance for the kid’s comfort, and yet he acts as if the erasure hero is his jailer.
Aizawa lets the sound of the radio fill the space between them, waiting for Shinsou to realize and acknowledge Aizawa won’t do anything against the kid. But three songs pass, a commercial break, and Hizashi drags through a dating advice segment, and the kid remains as tightly wound as ever.
Hizashi signs off for yet another commercial break when Shinsou finally speaks.
“Just tell me what I’m allowed to do.”
The voice is far deeper than anything Aizawa expects. There’s grit and anger in the words, but the anger is unlike Katsuki’s. Where Katsuki’s stems from too much praise and imposter syndrome, Shinsou’s is a bravado that hides weakness in a much different way. The kid is afraid to prove others right.
Aizawa lowers his book Survivor Bias in an All Might Society. Allowed? Is the kid afraid to ask for permission? Is that why he hasn’t touched a single thing and remained stationary on that couch? Does Shinsou need permission to so much as move?
That can’t be right. Aizawa has seen the kid pick up Jelly to cuddle, reach for books and make notes in Izuku’s drawings under Hizashi’s presence. Aizawa has seen Shinsou wander away for a snack without prompting and offer assistance when cooking.
“You’ll need to elaborate on that for me,” Aizawa measures his words carefully. It is not a reprimand or an encouragement. Maybe this will give Shinsou the allowance to speak.
He watches the kid’s hands tighten into fists, wild purple hair flops over furrowed brows, and lips press thin. “I just,” Shinsou croaks, “I just need to know what I’m allowed to do. Can-can,” he stumbles, whole body shaking. He is a mirror of Izuku on the night of his jump. “Can I leave? Is it okay I get up? Is, is it okay to do something? What – what do you want me to do? What do you e-expect me to do?”
“If that something is setting the house on fire with Katsuki again, the answer is no.” Aizawa closes the book, realizing this conversation will take much longer than he anticipated. Shinsou’s lips tick upward briefly in some semblance of a slight smile. “Kid, the only expectation I have about you here is of me, and that’s keeping you safe.”
Shinsou lifts his head sharply, violet eyes bright and jagged as amethyst. Aizawa said something wrong. What did he say? He was honest, wasn’t he? Sure, he wanted Hizashi beside him at night, but if Shinsou needs his husband more, then so be it. The kid was wearing a muzzle the first time Aizawa saw him. He deserves all the comfort he wants.
“B-but, how do I know you won’t get m-mad o-or what if I accidentally control someone? Or – Or what if people get scared? You heard them,” The kid gestures towards the door, where a detective and OCSS dropped by again the evening before. “They’re scared.”
“Well,” Aizawa breathes, “what about you?” When Shinsou looks confused, Aizawa tries again. “Are you scared?”
The kid stiffens and scoffs, turning his head towards the radio where Hizashi is speaking once again. “What does that matter? I’m a villain.”
“There’s no record of that.” Aizawa hums, watching as Shinsou reaches out to bury a hand into Jelly’s fur. “Quirks are not inherently villainous or heroic, and people are irrationally quick to assign categories. It is unfortunate, but society isn’t built to be all understanding. People will be irrational, people will be scared of what or who they don’t understand, and those feelings are okay. Everyone is allowed to feel what they feel.” The kid flinches. “What’s not okay is what they do in the face of fear. I can’t take back everything they did, but Hizashi and I are doing our best to keep it from happening again.
“And I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘but what about you?’ The truth is, you’re allowed to feel scared too. You’re allowed to react in any way to protect yourself from getting hurt. You’re allowed to hesitate to reach out for help because of everything you’ve experienced and everything you haven’t. I’m not going to stop you from doing anything here – except things like self-harm or extreme destruction of property – because first and foremost, you are allowed.”
Shinsou squirms in his seat. “But am I allowed to –”
“Yes,”
“But I didn’t even get to say –”
“Yes.”
“But what if,”
“Yes.”
“Tsukauchi, I’ll need a favor,” Aizawa calls over the phone, waving as Hizashi takes the boys to the beach.
“Is it similar to the other favor you called in a few months ago?” The detective sounds amused as Aizawa’s gaze falls on Izuku, who’s chatting amicably at Shinsou. The pro hero is unclear if the purple-haired teen has spoken to the others, but that looks to be the least of their concerns. “How is that Midoriya kid anyway? You didn’t wind up filing anything on him.”
“I’m looking after him while his parents are overseas,” Aizawa replies, nodding when Izuku waves from the street. “He’s a great kid. He’ll be an even greater hero or detective, whatever he chooses.”
“That’s good; we could use more great people on the force,” Tsukauchi says with a hum. “Not that I don’t love our idle chats, but what’s this favor you need, and how much paperwork is it for me?” Aizawa closes the door, walking towards the bedroom to pull files from a lockbox.
“I’m trying to make sense of this kid who’s grown attached to Hizashi. His file doesn’t match everything I’ve seen, nor does it match against his squeaky clean record a few months ago.”
“You think people are lying?”
“I think people are scared and made mistakes that really hurt the kid.” The pro hero spreads out Shinsou’s file on his bed, frowning at the abnormally thick file for something six months old.
“So, lying. Well, you know what they say, there is no greater illusion than fear.”
“People do illogical things when they’re scared, Tsukauchi. You know that better than anyone.” Seven homes in six months where foster kids and parents alike are afraid to be around the teen. “I need the truth. The kid does too.”
Tsukauchi sighs over the phone. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is going to be to clean up someone’s record?”
“Yeah,” Aizawa knows. Correcting a single file in someone’s record takes three times more effort than putting information in the first place. “But the kid is worth it.”
The detective hums, a pen clicking on the other side of the line. “I’m sure he is, so let’s get started.”
“So, Kacchan and I decided we’ll clean up the beach even during the school year!” Izuku cheers as Aizawa stirs the curry pot. “That way, we’re strength training after school, and our, um, other classmates won’t uh –”
“Have time to be sh*tty,” Katsuki says, passing side dishes to Shinsou. The purple-haired teen sets the table, looking more at ease at the moment than Aizawa’s seen all week.
Hizashi left some hours ago in preparation for an impromptu meet and greet. Some hero dropped out, and Present Mic filled in, traveling to Hokkaido. Aizawa wishes he could have dragged the whole household to be with Hizashi, but OCSS made it clear that Shinsou must remain in pro hero custody the entire time and cannot leave Musutafu or else Hizashi and Aizawa will lose all jurisdiction to protect the kid. Not to mention, Tsukauchi will be dropping by every evening to pass on interview tapes of every filing and discuss next steps.
Good heavens, Aizawa wants to sleep.
“Shinsou wrote that he’d join us if he can; he wants to go to U.A. too!” Izuku beams.
“I can see why,” Aizawa nods, ladling out curry onto a plate of rice. He passes the plate to Katsuki and lifts a new dish to pour another ladle full. “Each of you have the potential to be great heroes. Strength will help you in U.A.’s practical exam. It’s no secret the school’s exam is biased towards those with heavy hitter quirks, but it’s not impossible to get in without those types. It’s a good idea but don’t forget, skill is just as important.”
Katsuki moves towards the table, placing one plate of curry in front of Izuku and the other on his dedicated space. Aizawa follows with another for Shinsou and the last at his spot at the head of the table. “I didn’t pass the hero course practical exam. I started in general education and fought my way to be part of the hero curriculum.”
Shinsou’s eyes grow impossibly wide as Izuku pulls out a notebook and pencil from who knows where. “That can happen?” Izuku asks. “How does that work, anyway? Do I have to apply for general education and the hero course, or is it that I apply for the hero course, and if I don’t make it, U.A. accepts general education by test scores? Do I get disqualified if I apply for all the different sections of U.A.? Is there a track record for support or business moving into the hero’s course –”
Izuku drifts into mumbling endless questions, something Katsuki would usually interrupt by now, but the blond remains uncharacteristically silent. Aizawa glances at the teen, who looks between Izuku and Shinsou with a mildly irritated expression. It’s the closest thing the pro hero has seen to fondness. Is Katsuki trying to be cognizant of Shinsou’s elected muteness? Has Shinsou brought up the topic of allowances? Has Izuku?
“So, um, yeah. What’s the best chance of getting into U.A.?” Izuku seems to realize he’s been rambling.
“And,” Shinsou croaks, “do you think I can make it to the hero course?”
Both Katsuki and Izuku turn their undivided attention to Shinsou. Has the kid ever spoken to them before? Aizawa expects not, based on their reactions.
Shinsou shifts uncomfortably in his seat, pushing curry around his plate. “And, um, c-can you train me too?”
Relieved laughter bursts from Izuku’s lips, and Shinsou smiles tentatively.
Progress, Aizawa warms, there’s finally progress.
“They’re all lies,” Tsukauchi says, tapping a pile of transcripts on the table near the end of the second week Shinsou is in Aizawa’s custody. “Just people being scared of what they don’t understand. Then lying to feel safer about a situation.”
“That’s not comforting,” Aizawa writes through a form and hands it to the detective, who thumbs through the printed transcripts and clips it to the correctly labeled conversation. “Thank you for doing this so quickly.”
“I’d say it was my pleasure but Aizawa – pardon my language – that was a sh*t show. Kid didn’t even get to mourn his parents, and they tossed him into a foster family that was too afraid of his quirk to look at him.”
Aizawa’s pen stills. “What?”
“You’ve read the file,” Tsukauchi presses on. “Kid’s thrown into foster care within hours of waking up from the accident. The day before the funeral, he’s shipped off to another city after being falsely accused of quirk misuse. Kid hasn’t had time,” Tsukauchi stares down at his half-empty coffee mug on the table. “He’s been thrown this way and that for half a year. He probably doesn’t know up from down anymore.”
Aizawa thinks back on the night Shinsou first spoke to him. “He probably doesn’t think he’s allowed.” He mumbles. Just tell me what I’m allowed to do.
“Allowed what?”
“I think,” Aizawa heaves a sigh. “That’s the question. What all has Shinsou Hitoshi been denied under foster care? What support has he received in the past, and what support does he need now?”
“That’s a question for Shinsou, isn’t it?” The detective leans back in his seat, sipping from his mug before grimacing at the cold liquid inside.
It is, but to ask requires a point of permission, and that’s something Aizawa just doesn’t have.
“Alright, little listeners!” Hizashi shouts, setting a mug of coffee into Aizawa’s waiting hands. “How’s about we head to U.A. to train today? Eraserhead and I have alternating meetings, but we can give you a rocking good tour of campus, and you can test your quirks to the limits!”
At this, Katsuki grins while Izuku and Shinsou shy away. Izuku the quirkless and Shinsou the quirk damned. It's probably not the best choice of words; it’s not one of Hizashi’s best moments when it comes to phrasing.
“It’ll be good,” Aizawa says over the mug, closing his eyes briefly when Hizashi plants a kiss on his temple. “We can drop by the Support department to get you all fitted with the proper equipment, then drop by the infirmary since Recovery Girl wants to see how you’re healing, Katsuki.”
The blond frowns and sighs, resignation on his features.
“Shinsou, it’s going to be so cool,” Izuku says, tugging on the purple teen’s hand. “We can even test out your quirk if you want. The best way to control your quirk is to test the upper and lower bound limits.” When Shinsou jerks away, lips pulling tight, his slow healing muzzle marks tugging with the movement. “Or, we can get a jump start on training for the entrance exam. I’m sure we can get you a support item like me when it’s time.”
“I got you your closed environment conditions,” Hizashi says in Gym Gamma as Cementoss sets up a terrain. Izuku asks the cement hero questions, scribbling at an impressive rate in his notebook, while Katsuki leads Shinsou through some basic stretches. “What are you hoping to find?”
“I want to see his quirk in action,” Aizawa admits. “He’s clearly afraid of using it in an informal setting. I hope he’ll feel secure enough to test it in this facility. Is it the quirk people are afraid of, or is it the idea of it?”
“It’s the idea,” Hizashi hums. “It’s always the idea. Reality rarely lives up to our imaginations.”
“Poetic. Song?”
“Shoes to Fill by the emerging band Vel De Seas!” He grins. “One of these days, I’ll get you with a lyric you don’t know.”
“Unlikely.”
Shinsou has no fighting experience.
Even Izuku, who came into Aizawa’s fold without enough upper body strength to bench press a textbook, had some sort of scrappy underdog fighting experience. Though, that may have come from dodging and fleeing Katsuki’s bullying throughout the school year.
Aizawa frowns. A responsible adult would not let Katsuki and Izuku near each other with that background, and yet they live on opposite ends of the hall from one another.
One issue at a time, Shouta.
Shinsou fights like he’s been loved all his life.
The purple teen did not have a need to fight. His fingers have the dexterity of a surgeon, eager to separate as if one finger has the power of four. His fists are ill-made, falling apart in the follow-through. When he takes a hit, he goes down hard, unsure of what to protect and ultimately bruising himself further. It is a fighting style of a child who doesn’t want to cause harm and has not known harm for most of his life.
And yet, scars are forming around his face from a muzzle he never deserved.
But, Aizawa observes, there is a hardness in the child now. Jagged amethyst glares at Izuku and Katsuki with every hit he can’t dodge and every missed opportunity. The training is filled with stops and starts, his wards taking the time to teach the proper way to take a fall, throw a punch, redirect a blow. Those purple eyes take it all, desperate and ravenous to prove that he is so much more than the villain life has carved him out to be. If the teen succeeds, will he use his quirk?
Hizashi switches out in time for lunch, herding the teens away to get checked out by Recovery Girl, chatting non-stop about the school. Aizawa sits in on far too many meetings about next year’s hero curriculum. While typically headed by one hero, next year will be taught by a mix of heroes until All Might can gain his footing. The erasure hero tries not to feel bitter about the extra work. Does All Might even have a teaching license? Or is he sliding by on the laurels of being the number one hero?
Who is Aizawa kidding, when doesn’t that show-off reap benefits when he can?
Shinsou is talking and has been talking for a while, from the looks of it. He sits on the sideline, deep voice rough and running commentary while Izuku writes in his notebook and Hizashi and Katsuki fight around the gym. There’s a slope in his shoulders and a pleased look on his face that resembles a flower reaching towards the sun.
It occurs to Aizawa that he’s never seen the kid look safe before. Shinsou isn’t waiting for a shoe to drop, for someone to take him away. He looks like any troubles have been forbidden to pass U.A.’s gates, and he is allowed to have this fractional moment of happiness.
“Present Mic barely manages to dodge Bakugou’s swipe to the legs. It’s a miracle anyone can move that fast in leather pants,” Shinsou says, and Izuku laughs. “Careful Bakugou, Mic’s hair is so gelled, it’s a certified weapon and can poke someone’s eye out.”
“Actually, I was looking into that, I saw someone who could control their hair with their quirk, and I wondered if they braided their hair with metal, could it be considered a lethal weapon?”
“Midoriya asking the real dark questions here.” Shinsou grins. “Anyone? Metal braided hair. Certifiable weapon? Yes or no?”
“That would fall under the category of ultimate moves, would it not?” Aizawa asks, entering the gym fully. He watches Shinsou shutter and tense, immediately regretting his intrusion. “Certified Support Items don’t need to be registered unless they’re lethal and are designed for universal use.”
“Is the capture scarf considered a Certified Support Item?” Izuku asks, glancing Shinsou’s way. “It’s designed for universal use, regardless of anyone’s quirk.”
“But it’s not lethal,” Shinsou mumbles a protest.
“Anything is lethal if you use it in a specific way,” Aizawa says. “It’s like quirks; there is no such thing as a good or evil support item. How the item is used can change its legality very quickly. But no, my scarf is not registered since there’s a misconception around non-projectile items. People are less threatened by the idea that it’s a scarf, so they don’t imagine the damage it can do.”
“Deku couldn’t harm a fly,” Katsuki says, peeling himself from the ground as Hizashi stands tall and triumphant.
“Izuku dislocated your shoulder the other week in training. I’d beg to differ, little listener.” Hizashi smiles. Shinsou turns his gaze to Izuku, eyes appraising the green teen. “You don’t necessarily need to have a quirk to make a difference. It’s what you do with the power you have that matters.”
“Eraserhead, please. I just want to know Shinsou is safe.” The OCSS woman is back at the front door. She wears a faded blue suit this time, still as harried as her previous visits. The bag slung across her body digs into her shoulder, files threatening to burst out of her cinched bag.
Aizawa is no stranger to caseworkers. They are often overworked and underpaid, often the subject of news reports in not doing enough. In the time Aizawa has been a pro hero, the call for reform of child welfare has happened twice. The first led to a sixty percent increase in jobs with only a ten percent increase in funding, followed by a seventy percent layoff. The second followed similarly.
And when people are overworked and underpaid, they tend to look for the quickest and easiest solutions in an attempt to manage everything. But anyone involved in child welfare should know nothing is ever easy, especially if the child must be put in their care to begin with.
Here, at his doorstep, is another victim of the situation: a woman who could not look at the charges she’s trying to protect per the rules laid before her. She knows how to juggle, and maybe that’s the greatest flaw of all. More and more kids are added to her caseload, more and more glass balls to juggle in the air. How many has she dropped like Shinsou? How many are cracked and broken on the floor, and she doesn’t even know – can’t afford to know?
Maybe, she thought the muzzle was a way to keep Shinsou and the other kids in the air. A terrible decision but the best made under the circ*mstances. Aizawa wants to fault her for the action, but if he only had Shinsou’s record to go on – filled with lies and misinformation, would he have done the same? Would he have suppressed Shinsou’s quirk until he had time to assess? How long would that have taken?
“Shinsou is safe,” Aizawa says as a peace offering, as he leans against the doorway, “in every sense of the word.”
The woman startles, her expression open-faced shock. “I’m,” She stammers, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Eraserhead.”
“He is in a safe environment, and he poses no threat with his quirk to my family or the surrounding area.”
“Have you seen his file?” She demands, eyes widening in concern.
“Have you?” Aizawa straightens. “Because I’ve looked. Good heavens, I’ve looked, and I have a string of inaccuracies and some illogical desire to blame him as a scapegoat because it is easy to blame the misunderstood. He’s a good kid, and if you just looked to see the kid instead of some shoddy pieces of paper, you’d –”
“Shouta?” Aizawa snaps his head up past the social worker to Hizashi at the gate, arm laden with grocery bags and Shinsou half-hidden behind the hero’s form.
Aizawa takes a deep breath. It’s easy to lose his temper against this woman, another victim of a system. He can’t afford to make the same mistakes and create scapegoats. He bows to the woman briefly. “I apologize. I should not have lost my temper. This is not the type of conversation to be held at the door of my home. Please contact me through official channels to discuss this matter further. We can arrange a meeting at the school and can go into greater detail at that time.”
That night, Hizashi sets up a small indoor fire on the coffee table to roast marshmallows. Chocolate and marshmallow smears find their way to the couch and armchairs, while Aizawa and Shinsou play the harrowing game of ‘prevent Jelly from batting the fire.’ The results are mixed, as a few marshmallows wind up aflame and a few of Aizawa’s fingertips get burned. Katsuki, the resident burn expert, has gel and bandages at the ready, muttering something about expecting Izuku to injure himself first.
Hizashi tells stories around the fire, tales from their time as students in U.A., some less classified missions as pros, and embarrassing moments that utterly shatter any respect a person will have for the pro lifestyle.
“Being a pro is going to be awesome,” Katsuki grins, snapping graham crackers between his fingers. “We can do anything.”
“Oh, not anything.” Hizashi laughs. “There are a lot of rules to being a professional hero that most civilians never consider.”
“I mean, sure, you have to follow the laws like normal citizens, but what’s a rule most people don’t worry about?” Izuku hands Shinsou a neatly made smore.
Aizawa squishes a marshmallow between his fingers, soft and breakable – like Izuku in the beginning. “The one that comes to mind for me isn’t always taught anymore. It’s quite possibly the hardest rule you’ll ever have to follow.” A chill shivers down his spine, words as solemn and haunting as a ghost story. “We are not allowed to invalidate someone’s feelings.”
Izuku frowns, sticking a new marshmallow on a skewer. “I don’t think I understand.”
“It’s hard; that’s true.” Hizashi agrees. “It’s especially difficult for someone like Eraserhead who doesn’t like illogical things. Invalidating feelings can cause unknown negative repercussions, and they are always negative. There are no two ways about it. And it doesn’t matter if the feeling is irrational or true or absurd; it is important to give everyone the same validation. You see, one time, Eraserhead was helping a civilian, and they thought they were being turned into a vampire.”
Katsuki barks out a laugh, and Shinsou scoffs.
“Illogical, I know,” Aizawa nods. “The civilian panicked, so I brought them to a hospital, and the doctor dismissed their fears with the explanation that they were hallucinating and walked away. I knew that, but I stayed and talked with them. I helped check for nonexistent vampire bites, and I stayed until they felt safe.
“I have no right to say whether what you feel is true or false because they are your feelings. I am required to make the best decisions based on maintaining your welfare. Any hero that does otherwise is not worth their license.”
Izuku drops his head suddenly, actively curling into himself. “Deku?” Katsuki pulls the skewer in Izuku’s hand away from the fire and nudges his shoulder.
Izuku sniffs loudly, gaze still on his lap. “So, uh,” He heaves, “If someone, if – if I told a pro that I wanted to be a hero – t-that, like, it was the only dream I-I desperately wanted to come true – and asked if it was possible and they told me it w-was impossible,” Katsuki catches the skewer as Izuku moves to grip his knees. “Even though I r-really looked up to them, are you saying they’re not a good hero?”
The air is knocked out of Aizawa’s lungs.
His memory flashes back to a dark rooftop: a kid who exhausted all his options and death was the only solution. A kid bullied for being quirkless and told he’d never accomplish his dreams, a kid who would disappear under society’s unbearable expectations. In his mind, Izuku’s arms are open wide and asking to be seen.
Aizawa drops his marshmallow – not caring Jelly snatches it before it hits the ground – stepping around the coffee table to kneel before Izuku. He looks up into the teen’s tear-stained face, slipping his hands beneath Izuku’s, cupping them gently, and rubbing small circles into the back of the kid’s hands.
“Kid, there’s no easy answer,” Aizawa says quietly, moving one hand to run through green curls. Izuku lurches, throwing his arms around Aizawa. The force knocks him back into the coffee table, and the fire container clatters, making Hizashi and Katsuki jump from their seats. The coffee table is pushed farther back while the fire is extinguished. “I want to say yes. Like I said, your feelings are valid and no one – especially heroes – have the right to tell you otherwise. But I also don’t know who said it and the situation. Maybe they said it in hopes of keeping you safe; that would have been maintaining your welfare.”
Aizawa shifts until his back is against the sofa, one hand on Izuku’s back and the other in the kid’s curls. He holds him tightly, letting the teen soak his shirt with tears. “But I wholeheartedly believe they wronged you in the worst possible way. As much as I don’t know them, they didn’t know you, and they made a mistake hurting you like this.”
“Y-you didn’t hurt me.” Izuku sobs, gripping tight to Aizawa’s shirt.
“That’s because I was looking at the very beginning. I saw you and knew I couldn’t look away.” Aizawa rests his chin on Izuku’s head, looking out to where Hizashi is gathering chocolates and marshmallows from the coffee table. Katsuki stares on with an unreadable expression before he’s startled into moving when a box of graham crackers is shoved into his arms. Aizawa thinks he hears Hizashi call Shinsou away, leading the two teens to the kitchen.
All the while, Aizawa holds on to Izuku.
“What happened with Midoriya?” Shinsou asks tentatively the second time he and Aizawa are left alone together. He’s standing behind the couch, clearly using it as a buffer from the pro hero.
“It’s not my story to tell.” Aizawa bookmarks the page and sets his book on the coffee table, ignoring the scorch mark sitting off-center.
“You keep secrets?”
“Within reason.”
“Oh.” The purple teen paces the length twice. “Why?” He stops, puzzled.
“We are all entitled to safe spaces.” When Shinsou looks even more confused, Aizawa adds, “And yes, that means you too.”
“Why?” The teen resumes pacing. “I mean, it’s not like it was an affordance before.”
Big words coming from a kid who was essentially mute a few days ago.
“Why not? It’s an affordance now.”
The teen huffs, confusion morphing into a caged and irritated expression.
“I’m not getting my hopes up,” Shinsou glares with such ferocity, Aizawa suspects he learned it from Katsuki. “What happens after you, after all this?” He grips the back of the couch tightly. “You think they’re going to treat me like you do? Like my parents did? How long until that thing gets put on my face because other people’s feelings are more important than mine?” His shoulders shake as he drops his head.
“What does it matter,” The teen’s voice grows thick, sniffling with unshed tears, “when you’re all going to leave me?”
Is that what has the kid worried?
“Well,” Aizawa measures a breath, “first of all, we’re not going to leave you. Have you met Izuku? When he makes a friend, he makes them for life.” Shinsou releases a sniffling laugh. “Katsuki, well, I don’t know about his friendships, but I do know he’ll tolerate anyone that’s friends with Izuku. Hizashi and I are doing all we can to ensure you’ll have a safe space wherever you go.”
“I don’t want to go back there.”
“Then you don’t have to.”
“Why can’t I stay here?”
Why can’t Shinsou stay here? Honestly, Aizawa hasn’t given it much thought, which is strange considering he wanted to take Izuku home the day he met the green teen and Katsuki shortly after. Those kids have families to return to; they’re not really his. But Shinsou doesn’t have anyone. He is in genuine need of a protective adult figure.
You can’t keep adopting strays, Ectoplasm teased the other day.
What’s this I hear about you starting a home for wayward teens? Nemuri asked.
In the three and a half months Aizawa has known Izuku, he’s had full custody for nearly two and partial custody of Katsuki for half as long. At this rate, he will be starting a home for wayward teens. How long until he’s like the OCSS staff, dropping every kid he means to save? He has to draw the line somewhere. Is it Katsuki or Shinsou?
What if these three kids are a fluke, and they’re the only ones that will share his life with Hizashi? What if they’re only the beginning?
Even if it isn’t an issue of capacity, since Shinsou is slotting well into the family, Aizawa doesn’t know if he would be allowed to take custody of another kid. In custody forms, being a hero is as much a positive as it is negative. The higher a hero is on the charts, the better publicity for foster foundations, but also poses a higher risk to the child’s safety. It was struggle enough with the Bakugou’s consent for partial custody of Katsuki; Aizawa can’t imagine the battle to keep Shinsou.
As Aizawa stares at Shinsou’s shaking form, he’s reminded of Izuku on the night they met and the desperation not to break a glass ball. Only this time, the ball is in the shape of a purple-haired teen.
“I think we’d like you to stay,” Aizawa admits. Shinsou is an excellent buffer between Izuku and Katsuki; he is clever and snarky and has the best interactions with Hizashi. The kid needs someone like Izuku, who can help heal from quirk discrimination. He needs someone like Katsuki to build his confidence and strength. He needs someone like Hizashi, who was once afraid to use his quirk much like Shinsou does currently, and needs someone like Aizawa to keep the bad things from entering the home.
“So why can’t I?”
For this, Aizawa has no answer.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Hizashi says, tiptoeing into the bedroom in early morning, knowing Aizawa would still be wide awake.
“I do,” Aizawa agrees, turning the page to his book, “every day, even.” He lifts his head in greeting when Hizashi leans down for a kiss. “But what about this time?”
“I think we should adopt Shinsou.” Hizashi sheds his hero persona, exchanging the leather clothes and music equipment for blue and gray pajamas. “We have the room.” He tosses a hairbrush at Aizawa before sitting at the foot of the bed.
Aizawa sighs, setting aside his book and moving forward to brush out the blond’s updo. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”
“He needs us,” Hizashi argues.
“I know.”
“He’s not safe with the OCSS.”
“I know.”
“We could train him to be ready for U.A.”
“I know.” Aizawa sets aside the brush, laying his head against Hizashi’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his husband’s middle.
“So what’s the problem, listener?” Hizashi’s hands lay across his. His voice is gentle and soothing; it could lull Aizawa to sleep if this weren’t an important conversation.
“We were lucky to get Izuku,” Aizawa presses a kiss to Hizashi’s shoulder. “Luckier still to have Katsuki. Both times we had parental consent. What if, what if we can’t get Shinsou? What if they take one look at us and decide enough is enough? That we were too greedy, and then they all get taken away?”
“Shouta, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’s illogical.”
“They put a kid in a muzzle, Hizashi, and the government said it was okay. I doubt anyone thinks rationally when it comes to this.”
“Well,” Hizashi leans back, and Aizawa is forced to do the same to cuddle his husband properly. “We can try. We’ll lay out all the facts; you’re good at that. We’ll appeal to their humanity, and I’m good at that. And if that fails, we’ll run away to an island, start our own country and build a hero agency there.” Aizawa chokes out a laugh. “Hey, I-Island came into being somehow.”
“Alright,” Aizawa whispers, pressing a kiss to Hizashi’s hairline. “We’ll try.”
Aizawa is out on the beach with the boys when he gets an alert about a kidnapping. It’s supposed to be his day off, but crime has never considered work-life balance.
“Stay here,” He orders, pulling his capture scarf from Izuku’s grasp, turning to run towards the beach entrance where a car is squealing in the distance alongside sharp sirens. The sound gets louder the more he runs.
As Aizawa makes it to the top of the steps, he swings out his capture scarf for the nearest light pole, seeing a beige car careening out of control. He pulls himself up, feet barely grazing the hood of the vehicle as it speeds into his previous spot. The car slams into the median, car horn cutting through the air.
He swings down as a man stumbles from the vehicle, dragging a bleeding child behind him, down the steps and to the beach. Aizawa snaps out his scarf, the fabric wrapping around the man’s arm before yanking it back, grip loosening enough for the kid to drop, looking dazedly at nothing as they fall to their knees. The capture scarf loosens when the smaller figure is no longer in the kidnapper’s possession. Aizawa sinks into the sand beside the child, no more than seven, scanning first for injuries. A mangled arm and blood soaking through the shirt are the only visible wounds. But there is a chance for a concussion or spinal injury, Aizawa is hesitant to move them. He moves carefully, using his knife to cut away the shirt to reveal a deep gash on the kid’s side. He presses the cloth against the aggressively bleeding wound, holding firm as the sirens draw closer.
A cry snaps Aizawa’s attention up and away from the barely conscious child to see the man pull Izuku from the trash pile, explosions sparking in Katsuki’s hands. Izuku is teary eyes, and Katsuki is yelling, the man holding a knife to Izuku’s throat.
No.
Aizawa’s world narrows, all sounds snuffed out to life without Izuku’s laughter. There is the kid he saved from the rooftop in danger of losing his life once again. The pro hero is too far to help, his hand sticky with warm blood that won’t stop coming.
Then he sees it.
The world widens just as suddenly to push air back into Aizawa’s lungs. A blank look crosses the man’s features, his arms mechanically loosening around Izuku, one hand clumsily pushing the kid into Katsuki’s arms.
A medic nudges Aizawa aside. He doesn’t see how they take over, only feels his hand removed under the guiding hands encased in latex. He’s up and running, fear still clawing at his lungs because Shinsou used his quirk illegally, and unseen people will take him away if they find out. They are the monsters under the bed Aizawa’s dreaded for days, and if he’s honest – weeks if he includes the time Shinsou’s stepped foot inside the Aizawa Yamada household. They are OCSS and detectives and heroes and police who don’t understand how important it is Shinsou stays with Aizawa, sandwiched between Izuku and Katsuki. They’ll take Shinsou, faceless and impersonal, and it will be Aizawa’s fault the light dies in the kid’s eye for a second time.
Aizawa casts out his scarf, farther than his known limits, and thankfully the scarf obeys. It wraps around the man, slamming him into a washer several feet away from his kids. He whips it out again, this time securing the criminal to the machine.
With no scarf left to grasp, the pro hero skids to his kids where Katsuki is holding tight to Izuku, a thin line of red on the green teen’s neck. Shinsou seems to be in shock, eyes latched onto the man tied to the washer.
“Kid,” Aizawa breathes, wrapping Shinsou in the tightest hug he can muster. “Kid, thank you. Are you alright?”
“F-Fine.” Shinsou chokes out. “I did it.”
“Yes,” Aizawa smooths the wild purple hair, feeling the teen tentatively hold back. “I’m so proud, thank you. Thank you for protecting our family.”
“Our?” Shinsou squeaks out, holding onto the pro just a little bit tighter.
“Eraserhead!” An officer yells, jogging from the beach entrance. “What happened?”
“Yes,” Aizawa gives the purple teen another tight squeeze. “Now, let me protect you.”
“OCSS is coming,” Aizawa announces as he opens the bedroom door without preamble. Hizashi startles awake, hair reminiscent of a bird’s nest.
“What?” Hizashi sits up, rubbing his eye. The blond sits up, brows furrowing with incomprehension. “Shouta, I got home like four,” He squints at the clock at the bedside table for confirmation, “Five hours ago. What happened?”
“We got wrapped up in a kidnapping, the kid involved got hurt, and now OCSS is coming.”
Hizashi is alert, taking in the blood on Aizawa’s hand and smeared on the capture scarf. “Whose blood is it? Izuku? Shinsou? Katsuki? What hospital are they at?” He leaps to his feet, grasping Aizawa’s shoulders. “Why are we waiting for OCSS when we need to be with them?”
“Hizashi,” Aizawa states firmly, resting his hands on his husband’s hips. “Our kids are fine. They’re all a little shaken, Izuku is scratched, but it’s superficial. What we need to do is make sure that no one takes them away. Okay?”
The blond hero stares at Aizawa with a steady gaze, yellow-green eyes reading all the erasure hero doesn’t say. “Okay,” Hizashi breathes, pressing a kiss to Aizawa’s brow. “Get cleaned up. I’ll take care of everything.”
When Aizawa emerges from the shower, Izuku is sitting on the floor, back propped by the couch as he holds up an analysis notebook in the air for Katsuki to read through as the blond teen stretches out on the sofa, one hand resting in green curls. Izuku asks both Katsuki and Shinsou questions, something about a former speed hero known as O’Clock.
Shinsou makes no sound other than a hum of agreement or dissent, hands resting on Jelly’s fur with constant glances to the door. His purple hair is damp with a fresh shower, likely Aizawa’s doing when he went to comfort the teen, hand still covered in blood.
Hizashi is pure noise in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge, chopping on cutting boards, and water rushing into the sink. Aizawa pads his way over, hands moving to take the neatly made plates of sandwiches back out to the kids. Izuku offers muted thanks before the pro hero returns to the kitchen.
“Almost time,” Hizashi notes, eyes darting to the analog clock that’s ticking faster than it should. He hands Aizawa a mug of coffee, which he takes and sips gratefully.
“Just about,” Aizawa agrees.
A knock on the door silences all but the ticking clock in the home.
“We said we’d try,” Hizashi reaches out, squeezing Aizawa’s forearm.
“And we will.”
It’s strange to see three kids off to school for the fall semester when he’d never done it before. Three teens stand in crisp black uniforms, buttons stamped with the insignia of Aldera, much to Aizawa’s annoyance.
There hadn’t been time to search for a new school in the last dredges of the short summer. OCSS agreed to extend Hizashi’s temporary full-time custody of Shinsou upon hearing he hasn’t once used his quirk without a muzzle. It’s a lie, since Shinsou used it on the beach to protect Izuku, but it’s a lie Aizawa is more than willing to take to his grave. The OCSS case manager – a person Aizawa should really learn the name of – thinks it’s possible to adopt Shinsou without issue so long as Hizashi files and a longer review process to determine the heroes can handle three teens on top of their duties to the public.
“You take care of one another,” Hizashi sniffs at the teens, already dressed in his hero persona, to head to U.A. Katsuki scoffs, Izuku looks nervous, and Shinsou appears half a step from shutting himself back in the house.
“We mean it,” Aizawa stares hard at Katsuki. “I don’t want a repeat of last semester.” The blond squirms a little under the hero’s gaze. “If any of you have issues, you tell us the day it happens. We can’t help you unless you tell us. You’re with us because we want to protect you, so let us do that, alright?”
“That,” Hizashi beams, “is likely the closest you’ll get to grumpy old Eraserhead to tell you he loves you. And we do, ya dig?”
Aizawa checks his phone once every few minutes on the first day of school, completely missing anything said in the hero course meetings.
“Hey,” Shinsou asks one afternoon, several weeks into the fall semester, freshly changed from his school uniform. “Do you know how to bake a cake?”
Aizawa checks the time; he still has a few hours before he needs to depart for a night patrol. “I wouldn’t say I’m particularly great at it, but yes. There’s a family recipe.”
“Uh,” The teen looks embarrassed. “Can you teach me?”
Frankly, Aizawa doesn’t know why he’s here. It’s clear the kid knows his way around the kitchen. He knows how to read directions and almost doesn’t need them but insists he needs Aizawa’s assistance. The pro winds up half covered in flour while Shinsou remains immaculate.
It’s baffling, to say the least.
The result is a decently sized strawberry and vanilla cake carefully covered in Ermine icing and fresh fruits. If Aizawa didn’t know any better, he’d suspect it was purchased from a bakery.
“Is there a special occasion?” Aizawa asks after wracking his head for birthdays, and none seem to line up. Hizashi’s birthday had passed quietly when only one teen inhabited the house, and the only upcoming date was his own in November.
“Yeah,” Shinsou says so quietly, Aizawa nearly misses it as he sets the last pan to dry. The kid places a few candles on the top and lights them. “My mom and dad shared a birthday.”
Oh.
This is the first time Shinsou’s mentioned his parents to Aizawa, and possibly Hizashi – if he remembers correctly.
“Would you,” Aizawa stops and wets his lips as he contemplates next steps. “Would you like to tell me about them?”
The kid turns to look, violet eyes large and wide and endless. They’re filled with hope and a pain so unguarded, Aizawa fights the urge to encase the kid in bubble wrap forever.
He no longer cares if he misses patrol, Shinsou finally feels safe enough to share about his parents. Aizawa will be there every step of the way as the kid finally allows himself to mourn.
Shinsou sits at the table, and Aizawa follows, waiting on the teen to gather his words. The candles are half-burned when he finally takes a deep breath. “We used to go cycling…”
The process of adopting drags and drags, but neither Aizawa and Hizashi lose hope. They know Shinsou is as much theirs as they are his. They know – this place filled with an explosive teen, an inquisitive child, and a pair of pro heroes – is somewhere Shinsou can call home.
