Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku was chosen for his lack of quirk. Aizawa was chosen for his quirk’s usefulness as it pertained to the mission. Both scanned and vetted meticulously, they were followed for a minimum of one month (Izuku) and a maximum of three (Aizawa; it took much longer due to his pro hero status).

Izuku’s capture was a simple thing. Not many would notice the disappearance of a quirkless child, let alone miss his presence or go looking for him. Izuku was taken on his way to school on a chilly February morning. His father had disappeared years ago, and his mother made it her life’s purpose to ignore Izuku as much as possible while avoiding the notice of child protective services. It took her two months to even notice he was gone. No missing person's report was filed.

Aizawa's was a much more... complicated case. While he didn’t have the popularity of an aboveground hero, he was a teacher at UA, and well known in the police force. He was a hard worker who never took vacations; the only sick days he’s ever taken were when he was in a coma two years ago, and that only lasted four days. People would notice his absence and would go looking for him. So, they staged his death.

An artificially made corpse, burnt to a crisp and therefore unrecognizable, was planted at the scene. His capture weapon, fireproof, in tatters around the fake body’s neck. A few pulled teeth for DNA and a clean sweep of all nearby security cameras, and Aizawa Shouta was declared dead to the world.

Taking him to the base proved more difficult than expected. Even with his quirk erased due to the implanted microchip (lodged deep in the flesh of his neck, near his collarbone), he was skilled in combat and non-reliant on his quirk to win a fight. It took four men and a mild sedative to get him into his cell. 

But getting him there was just the beginning.

Aizawa groaned as he awoke from a deep sleep, his head pounding and his body aching. Bracing his hands against the ground in an attempt to prop himself up, still trying to force his eyes open, he groggily noted that he wasn’t in his apartment. He winced at the thought of another villain encounter gone south, too exhausted to care about having been unconscious in a random alleyway in the middle of the night. Hizashi was going to be pissed .

His palms pressed into the smooth ground—

Smooth. Flat. Like… stone. Lacking any roughness, devoid of broken glass or bits of garbage.

Shooting upwards, ignoring the screaming of his muscles, Aizawa frantically began searching his surroundings, taking on the best defensive stance he could given his current condition. He assumed that he was in a random side alley of downtown Musutafu, where he had just been patrolling.

His assumption was wrong, and the unfamiliar environment around him was not a welcome sight.

He was in a cell of some sorts. Aizawa estimated it was around the size of his classroom, maybe a bit smaller. Four stone walls surrounded him, a thick metal door on the wall to his right. There were no windows; the only source of light was a dim bulb in the corner of the room, surrounded by a metal cage welded to the ceiling.

Squinting in the low light, his headache still making its presence known, Aizawa tried to make out more of his surroundings.

The room’s furniture was sparse, to say the least— a metal framed flimsy bunk bed (bolted to the floor) pushed against the far wall, a toilet (also bolted to the floor), and a sink (you guessed it; bolted to the floor). A bar of soap rested pitifully on the ledge of the sink, the only item free of any additional security. And everything smelled like… antiseptic?

Aizawa cursed silently, leaning heavily against the wall. The fog of unconsciousness was finally starting to dissipate, and things were not looking good. He could think of only two reasons why he’d be in a cell like this: either he was arrested for some reason (unlikely— and this wasn’t the Musutafu Police Station, he was sure of that), or… or he had been kidnapped.

A quick scan of his person confirmed that all of his personal items, weapons, identification, and communication devices were gone. Great.

Even his quirk was gone— well, not gone , just… faded. Suppressed. He could still feel it in his body, the presence of it in his soul, but he couldn’t actually access it. The feeling was not one he enjoyed in the slightest.

Gritting his teeth, Aizawa took a tentative step forward, stopping when his foot (bare; they took his fucking shoes? Really?) made contact with a small object. A muffled cracking sound, barely audible even in the thick silence, reached his ears. Crouching slowly, his breathing labored, Aizawa struggled to make out what he stepped on. As his eyes adjusted more to the rather horrible lighting, his heart dropped in his chest. 

"Shit," Aizawa muttered, hoping that maybe he was mistaken—

Something rustled from the corner of the room, around the area of the bunk bed. More specifically: directly from the bunk bed. 

Aizawa couldn’t breathe. His stomach churned, bile forcing its way up his throat. From the bottom bunk of the bed, more rustling, and then nothing. But even in the shadows, he could see them: wide, glinting eyes staring back at him, attached to a body covered in swaths of ratty blankets. Upon seeing Aizawa, the figure scrambled backwards, making contact with the stone wall behind them with a muffled 'thump' .

It sounded painful, but the stranger made no noise. Aizawa instinctively pressed himself closer to the wall behind him. He swallowed the acid in his mouth, trying to steady himself. He really didn’t want it to be true, wanted it to be a trick of the light or his exhaustion playing games with his mind. Aizawa looked back down at what he had stepped on.  

Crayons.

Now that his eyes were adjusted to the darkness, he picked out several pieces of paper strewn across the floor, covered in scribbles and drawings. Aizawa looked once again at the figure in front of him, the ache in his chest far outweighing the ache of his body. 

It was a kid in the bed. A child.

Wide green eyes met his across the room. After his initial shock at seeing Aizawa, the child had not moved an inch, just staring at him while clutching the worn blankets securely to his chest. Aizawa saw nothing but pure, unadulterated fear in his gaze.

After a deep inhale of breath, because fuck there was a child here, a child , Aizawa slowly raised his hands as calmly as he could, palms facing the trembling figure in front of him. “Hey, kid,” he spoke softly, maintaining eye contact and holding as still as possible to not frighten the child. He was never good with kids, that was always ‘Zashi’s thing. (At the thought of his husband, he had to take another deep breath, forcefully shoving the panic down deep into his chest. He could think about his husband later).

The kid was still staring at him, seemingly frozen. He was visibly trembling. Aizawa tried again. “My name’s Aizawa Shouta, but my hero name is Eraserhead. What’s your name?”

At that, the kid’s eyes widened even more, his mouth squeezing into a tight line. He looked Aizawa up and down silently for a moment, stopping at his raised hands for just a moment. “...Eraserhead? The… the Erasure hero?” a quiet voice spoke out, shaking and cracking and absolutely breaking Aizawa’s heart because God he sounded so scared. 

Taking another breath, he did his best to channel his inner Hizashi. “You know who I am? Geez kid, most pros don’t even know me.” Aizawa tried to make his voice lighter, tried to smile, but it came out strained.

“P-Prove it. Your capture weapon— tell me how it works.” The kid’s voice was still shaking, and the demand was less a demand and more of a question, but Aizawa admired his bravery. It was clear that he knew of Aizawa, which was impressive by itself. He wondered how the kid even ended up here. Or where 'here' was exactly.

“...Well, my capture weapon is made out of carbon fibers and a special metal alloy. The support department was able to weave my hair into the fabric so only my DNA can activate it. I’m not a quirk specialist, but something about my quirk helps me control the scarf. Honestly, I don’t know exactly what.”  Aizawa fell silent, knowing how half-assed that probably sounded. He never really looked into it; the scarf worked, and that was what mattered to him— he didn’t ask too many questions. But he wanted to prove that he was the real Eraserhead, wanted to put the child at ease, if only a little. Before the kid could respond, Aizawa piped up again. “I’m sorry I don’t know more about it. I’m not very…scientifically inclined. But I can tell you other things, if you want. I’m an underground hero, and I work mainly at night since I’m a teacher during the day. I have three cats: Cadaver, Bastard, and Sprinkles. I’d show you my hero license, but it looks like my wallet was taken when I was put here.”

All while Aizawa was nervously rambling (he didn’t know how to talk to kids, sue him), the child in front of him seemed to relax, suspicion being replaced with excitement. Which was not something Aizawa was used to seeing when talking about himself, especially from a child. 

Said child was now jumping up and down on the bed excitedly, eyes lighting up in a way that absolutely did not make Aizawa's heart melt.

“So you really are Eraserhead— um, Mr. Eraserhead! You’re one of my favorite heroes, well, maybe even my favorite!” the kid looked down at his hands, launching into a rant about Aizawa’s fighting style that was scarily accurate, even including his regional martial arts influences. “—And your quirk is so useful in combat. Not that you’re not skilled in hand to hand, uh, but it’s really cool!" He took a second to breathe, continuing the moment he got his breath back. "Although when you use it your hair floats. Is that a secondary, latent quirk? Or is your quirk really the interference of the mag-magnetic field surrounding you and others, which would explain the hair floating and your capture weapon control as well as the disturbance in quirks, since most emitter-type quirks rely on the magnetic field to operate?”

Aizawa’s mouth fell open as he went to respond— or try to, at least— but the kid kept talking, unbothered. The longer he went on, the quieter he got, until his words were mumbled and his speech incoherent, speaking a language to himself that only he understood. Aizawa could make out a few words, like “goggles,” and “hairband,” but not much else. It was clear that the kid hadn’t had anyone to talk to like this for a while. Listening as intently as he could, Aizawa shifted on his feet just a touch, his body still recovering from… well, he wasn’t quite sure what.

At the sound, the boy’s excited rant was cut off abruptly, his head snapping upwards. He backed up further into the bunk bed, eyes wide with fear. “I’m so sorry, Mr— Mr. Eraserhead. I-I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, flinching away from Aizawa as if he had been burned. His shoulders were trembling and tears were forming in his eyes, but none fell down his cheeks.

“Woah, hey, hey, kid- it’s okay , it’s fine; there's nothing to be sorry for, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise,” Aizawa managed to get out, trying to overcome his confusion at the sudden shift, slowly starting to move toward the child with his hands still up (his arms were starting to hurt at this point). The kid eyed him approaching, silent sobs wracking his small form.

Aizawa was completely and utterly out of his element, but he wanted to comfort the kid. He was panicking slightly on the inside because fuck he made him cry and he wasn’t even trying to be scary.

“Can… can I hug you?” Aizawa asked hesitantly, stopping a short distance before the shaking child, painfully aware of his incompetence when it came to calming children down.

The young boy waited a second, once again scanning the pro hero up and down, looking for something Aizawa couldn’t even begin to identify. Ever so slowly, he nodded. As carefully as he could, Aizawa gathered the kid in his arms, making sure to give him the space to push him away if he needed to. It was then that the child started crying in earnest.

“I’m so sorry-” he wept, trying to stifle his hiccups as he clutched onto Aizawa's shoulder. The pro hero just brought him closer in his arms, one arm holding the boy securely to his chest while the other buried itself in tangled green curls, carding through the child’s hair in an attempt to comfort the kid, whispering an abundance of “hey, hey, hey, it’s fine, it’s fine,” “it’s okay, you’re okay,” and “I’m right here" . The child continued to cry, nestled in the crook of Aizawa's neck and shoulder, grabbing tightly to the man’s shirt as if scared that he would leave him. 

After around 10 minutes of this, the kid’s crying started to slow and his breathing began evening out. He had fallen asleep, still curled up in Aizawa's arms.

With a sigh, Aizawa slowly and carefully picked the sleeping child up, setting him down gently on the bottom bunk of the bed in front of him, pulling the ratty blankets over his small form. The kid shifted slightly, but didn't wake. Taking a few deep breaths, trying to make sense of everything, Aizawa took a moment to really look at the kid. He had been so concerned with calming him down, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the child’s features.

He had dark bags under his eyes, stark against his pale skin. Greasy, tangled forest-green hair framed his face, long enough to touch his shoulders. Tear streaks were glistening on cheeks still round with baby fat and covered in freckles, brows furrowed and face scrunched even in sleep. 

In the dim light, Aizawa could barely pick out several markings on the child’s face and neck, all varying in size and color. Taking a closer look, Aizawa's breath caught in his throat.

The kid was covered in scars.

Some were white and starburst shaped, mapping the boy’s collarbones and disappearing under his shirt, only to be found again on his exposed arms and hands clutching the blankets. They were obviously older than the rest- at least several months, a year or two at most. His fingers were oddly scarred, markings circling each one at the joints, wrapping entirely around the skin like a warped and twisted ring of scar tissue. The other markings were more recent, the skin still red and raised, not yet done healing. These were thinner, littering pretty much anywhere Aizawa could see. A few were more purple in color, signifying that they were in the early stages of scarring. Not to mention all the bruises. The sight made Aizawa sick; whoever had taken him had gotten to the kid first, and they had obviously been torturing him for months, maybe even years .

His stomach churning and his head spinning, Aizawa returned to the side of the room he woke up in, sitting propped against the wall with both the bed and the door in clear sight. He drew his knees close to his chest, elbows resting on them as he held up his head with his hands.

He was exhausted. He was in pain. He couldn’t use his quirk, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was related to the painful, immovable lump residing in the area near his collarbone. His gear was gone, as was his communicator and the tracking device his (slightly paranoid) husband always had him wear. He ran his hands quickly through his hair, searching for the razors he kept there on occasion (yeah maybe he was a little paranoid too), but they were gone as well. Oddly enough, his wedding ring that hung on a simple leather string around his neck had not been taken. It was a small relief, at least. He couldn’t use it as a weapon or anything, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Aizawa took a second to think about his current situation. He had been taken hostage by an unknown entity. He didn't have his quirk to work with, no weapons, and no contact with the outside world. He couldn't even remember being taken. The last memory he could recall was walking down an alley after patrol and... nothing.

On top of all of that, there was another hostage in the mix. A fucking child . Aizawa thought about the kid; the young boy was obviously scarred beyond belief, both physically and mentally. He wondered what the green-haired boy had seen here. All of the nights spent alone in this cold, bare cell, just waiting for someone to save him. The thought made Aizawa's heart hurt. He knew he needed to save him, he just needed to figure out how .

Sighing, Aizawa shook his head. Now wasn't the time to scheme. He didn’t have enough information to make a proper plan anyway; with the shape he was in physically, he could barely walk in a straight line, let alone fight his way out of whatever prison he was in.

He allowed himself to bury his head in his knees, knowing that he needed to conserve as much energy as possible. As much as he hated it, that meant he needed to sleep. Shoulders slouching and eyelids drooping, Aizawa thought about Hizashi. 

He’d give anything to be home with him right now, even if it meant listening to his horrible American music ( “Shoutaaa, Britney Spears is an icon and I will NOT let you slander her like this!” “Zashi, she sounds like she’s trying to impersonate a baby shitting itself, I wouldn’t call that iconic” “SHOOOUUU!!!” ). He’d listen to Britney Spears all day if it meant he’d get to sleep in a real bed and drink some hot coffee.

A smaller part of Aizawa whispered that he missed his husband and his cats, missed the warm embrace that always greeted him even at 3am after a patrol, missed the obnoxious (adorable) singing that never failed to wake him up in the morning (afternoon). He breathed through the tightness of his chest, silencing that voice in his head. Aizawa was a hero; he couldn’t afford to get emotional right now. Besides, he was going to make it home soon enough. He was going to save the kid, hug his husband, and drink as much coffee as he wanted. 

It was all going to be okay. Everything was going to work out.

Right?

Chapter Text

Izuku woke up slowly, dragging himself reluctantly out of the warm and hazy embrace of sleep and into the harsh and unforgiving world he had grown accustomed to. This time, however, was different. Izuku had a dream last night. An actual dream, not a nightmare like usual. He dreamt that Eraserhead ( his favorite hero ) had come to save him. Eraserhead was kind and gave him a hug. He was everything that Izuku wished All Might could have been (caring, empathetic; a hero), but he quickly pushed that into the back of his mind. Thinking about All Might and the last time they met only brought up bad memories. 

It was a good dream. He wished it could have lasted longer. 

Sitting up in his small bed, Izuku rubbed his eyes tiredly as he glanced over to where he first saw Eraserhead in his dream.  He rubbed his eyes again, shaking his head aggressively. He had officially gone crazy. Or he must still be dreaming because—

Because Eraserhead was there . The man was sitting propped against the wall with his knees pulled close to his chest, head resting in his arms, seemingly asleep. 

Scared to move in case it really was a dream, Izuku just looked at the underground hero. He couldn’t see his face as it was tucked into his knees, but the man looked… smaller than he thought, all curled into himself. His hair, long and dark, lay tangled around his shoulders, a little greasy.

Izuku thought about last night. Maybe… maybe it was real. Eraserhead’s hug was warm, and his eyes were gentle. He wanted it to be real. Every fiber of his being wanted it to be real. He took a deep breath and moved to get out of bed. The second he did, the hero’s head snapped upwards, his eyes open and lined with dark bags.

“Hey, kid. Sleep okay?”

It wasn’t a dream. Izuku was still processing that this was actually happening. Too shocked to speak, he nodded. Carefully, he sat down on the ground in front of Eraser, watching him closely.

“I still never got your name. I was also hoping you could explain what’s going on here. It seems... it seems like you've been here for a bit.”

Izuku cleared his throat, fidgeting with his hands. Eraserhead was his favorite hero, but the man’s sharp and searching gaze was… intimidating, to say the least. But he was going to try his best to explain what he could. “My... my name is Midoriya Izuku, Mr. Eraserhead sir. I'd uh... I'd prefer if you called me Izuku, though.” A dark look passed over his face, passing quickly. Izuku tried to collect himself. This information was important, especially for Eraserhead. He took a deep breath, fighting off the waver in his voice. “...On February 8th, on my way to school, I was kidnapped. They, uh, took me here.” As he continued, his voice grew steadier, but he couldn’t quite meet Eraserhead’s eyes. “This is a research facility. From what I’ve gathered, they’re researching the origin of quirks… and how to erase them— permanently. You and I were targeted specifically. It, um, makes sense, given your quirk is Erasure.”

Izuku gave Eraserhead a moment to take all of that in, his eyes on his hands, picking at his fingernails. 

“Kid, last time I checked, we were halfway through June. You’ve been here for 5 months?”

There were no windows in the room, so Izuku couldn’t exactly monitor the passing of each day, but he had tried to keep track of how long he had been here. His calculations were a week off. Although, it had felt like years already.

“I… I guess so.” 

Eraserhead looked at him with sad eyes. Izuku looked away, and the room fell silent until Eraser spoke next.

“So they’re looking to research quirk erasure. I understand why they would take me, but why you? You’re what, 7? 8?”

Izuku could feel his cheeks flushing. “ What? No, I’m 10!” The second he said it, he realized that it didn’t sound much better than being 7 years old.

Eraserhead eyed the crayons on the floor, surrounded by scribbled drawings. Following his eyes, Izuku was quick to clarify. “They- they wouldn’t give me actual pencils, so they gave me crayons… I, uh, analyzed everything I could and wrote it down in my own code so they wouldn’t know what I was writing about," he said, pulling his knees close to his chest.

Looking more closely at Izuku’s code, Eraserhead raised his eyebrows, as if surprised. No one had ever really looked at his code before— Izuku found it incredibly embarrassing that the first person to do so was literally his favorite hero.

“Okay, so 10. Why would they kidnap a 10-year-old?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it. Izuku opened his mouth to say something, anything , but nothing came out. He could make something up. He could tell Eraserhead that he didn’t know why, or that he had a special quirk that… that did something. 

He picked at his nails more, trying to figure out what to say, trying to brace himself for Eraserhead’s response. He needed to tell the truth, he knew that. But that didn’t make the truth any easier to tell.

“...I’m quirkless. I’m the perfect test subject.”

Eraserhead inhaled sharply through his nose. Izuku was sure that he knew how quirkless people were treated, especially now that over 80% of the world had quirks- 96% in Japan specifically. Underground heroes are the ones answering the most calls about shoes left abandoned on rooftops, after all. But a quirkless child was a rarity nowadays, and not one readily accepted by society. Heroes included.

The room was quiet again. Izuku couldn’t bring himself to look at Eraserhead. His eyes stung and his throat tightened uncomfortably, but he wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to.  “You… you don’t have to talk to me anymore if you don’t want to. I get it. I know I’m just a Deku—” his voice broke on the insult of a nickname, shoulders shaking as he suppressed the sobs bubbling up in his chest. 

“...Useless? People called you useless?” 

Izuku didn’t respond, just waited. Waited for Eraserhead to get mad, or to curse at him, or—

“Whoever said that is a piece of shit.” His voice was stern, but not mean; it held no room for disputing. 

Head shooting up, Izuku’s face was ruddy, his eyes wide. This… was not what he had expected.

“Quirks are nothing more than glorified superpowers. They’re nice in a fight, but they mean nothing when assessing the character of a person. I don’t know you well, but I can tell that you’re resilient, and smarter than most of my students. No one is useless, regardless of whether or not they have a quirk.” 

Izuku was... speechless, to say the least. This man, his favorite hero, hadn't wavered in his kindness when everyone else in his life, even his mother, saw his quirklessness as a disease. Hell, he was diagnosed quirkless. He spoke quietly, his stomach practically flipping in his body.

“Do… do you think… someone could be a hero… without, um, without... a quirk?”

Eraserhead paused, clearly considering the question carefully. “I don’t see why not," he started slowly. "Quirks are tools. I practically fight quirkless, since my quirk isn’t combat based. It would take a lot of work and resolve, but yes, you… or someone else… could become a hero without a quirk.”

It was then that Izuku broke down completely. It felt like his whole world was turning upside down in this cold and dark cell. It was almost comical, given the circumstances. 

After a few minutes, Izuku managed out a quiet “thank you” between sniffles. Eraserhead only nodded in acknowledgement, looking just a little bit out of his element. 

Taking a deep breath, the hero began again. “So… what exactly have they been doing here since they took you?” He winced a little, before trying to rephrase. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insensitive—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Izuku assured him. “They, uh… they started with some tests. Normal stuff, at first. Blood tests, a physical examination, all my measurements and stuff. But then, um…” He trailed off, trying to find the words. “They… they experiment on me.” His voice cracked, full of emotion and pain. It was one thing to experience it, but to have to tell someone else was just—

“You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to, Izuku.”

Izuku’s head shot up, his eyes wide in surprise. Eraserhead's offer seemed... sincere. A warmth bloomed in his chest, and he sat up straighter than before, shaking his head.  “It's important, you— you need to know. They… they started cutting me open… small incisions at first. They wanted to see if my body reacted differently to trauma than a quirked person’s body… but they kept going.” Izuku’s voice shook. His small fists clenching against the blanket around his shoulders, tears returning as he unearthed memories he wished desperately to forget. “The man who does it, they call him the Doctor.” Izuku shuddered. “He has a quirk that can return someone’s physical body to a previous state as long as he’s seen it. At least, that's what I think it is. It’s... it's incredibly painful and still leaves scars. He can’t use it more than 3 times a day, sometimes less depending on how different the subject is compared to their transformed state.” 

Taking a deep breath, he removed the blanket from his shoulders to show Eraserhead what he was talking about. Izuku knew it wasn’t a pretty sight to say the least, so he didn’t watch the hero’s face as he took in Izuku’s appearance. But Izuku wasn’t done. He pointed to a large, jagged scar located on his right arm, circling his upper forearm in a band, the same type of scarring seen around his knuckles.

“Around a month and a half in, the Doctor started— started cutting off limbs.”

Eraserhead was quiet for a moment, his eyes wide. “...Why… why would they do something like that?”

“Well, um, from what I’ve gathered, it’s for a few reasons. First, they want to compare physical anatomy and reactions between quirkless people and quirked people. Second, they’re trying to understand how someone’s quirk factor works with their biology. My body is the perfect control since I, uh, don’t have a quirk. Third… they…” Izuku paused, taking a shaky breath. “They want to see if a person can forcibly gain a quirk. Either by emotional trauma… or physical.” Izuku scrubbed his eyes, puffy and red from crying. He tried to think about anything else he could tell Eraserhead, any information that would be valuable to him.

He thought of empty rooms, of tattered clothing, of crying voices, and then of silence. Izuku had theories, ideas of what this place was and what it took to get to this stage of experimentation— but they were just theories. Nothing concrete, nothing that would help Eraserhead. That’s what he told himself, at least, if only to stop thinking about it.

Hesitantly, Eraserhead stood up, slowly making his was to where Izuku was sitting, making sure to televise his every move. Izuku looked up at him, his brows furrowed. “Mr. Eraserhead?”

“You can call me Aizawa, kid. Or Shouta; whatever you're comfortable with.” He stopped in front of Izuku, kneeling slightly so he could speak to the boy face to face. “Do…” Eraserhead paused. “Do you want a hug?”

Izuku’s eyes widened, waiting only a second before nodding furiously and practically launching himself into the hero’s outstretched arms. Aaaaaand the tears were back. Izuku soaked up every second of the gentle embrace. It was… it was nice. The last time he was hugged like that was—

It was just—

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged like that. Or hugged in general, besides the hero's hug from last night. He buried his face into Eraserhead’s ( Aizawa , Izuku reminded himself, but that felt weird so he was going to stay Eraserhead in his mind) shirt, chasing the warmth it provided. Running a comforting hand through his hair, Eraserhead sighed softly, whispering to him in a low voice.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. Especially alone. But you’re not alone now. I’m going to do the best I can to get us both out of here safely.” 

However possible, Izuku hugged his hero even harder. It had been a while since he had been treated like, been spoken to like… like he mattered . Choked up to the point of not being able to speak, he simply nodded against Eraserhead’s chest. 

They stayed like that for a while. Izuku obviously needed the physical contact, having been deprived of it for far too long. But by the way that Eraserhead held him, Izuku wondered if maybe, just maybe, the hero had needed the hug too. 

Before

Izuku was strapped to a table in the Doctor’s office. Leather bands bound his limbs to the cold metal, a band around his head for good measure. He’d been there for around 30 minutes; after being brought in and… subdued, the Doctor and his henchmen had left. The initial anxiety and adrenaline had worn off, but Izuku couldn’t keep his heart from racing. The smell of antiseptic made him uneasy. Just being in the room made him uneasy; nothing good had ever come from being in this room. But this time was different; he didn’t know why, just that it was. The Doctor had been paying more attention to him lately, spending less time in other parts of the facility. 

Slow, methodical footsteps echoed throughout the office. The Doctor was coming. Izuku’s heart was racing, pounding against his chest. He wanted to vomit, wanted to scream or cry or do something —

The doors swung open, revealing the tall and gangly form of the Doctor. His short dark hair was slick with grease, his entire face obscured with a surgical mask and tinted goggles. All in all, a frightening sight made even more daunting by the lab coat hanging loosely around the man’s frame, its edges spattered with a rust-colored substance one could only hope was ketchup (it was not ketchup). The man approached Izuku slowly, stopping to pull equipment out of a nearby compartment. Setting various tools on a bedside cart (or chairside, in this case), he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. 

Now, Izuku couldn’t see what the Doctor had pulled out. But if the resounding ‘thunk’ as the tool was placed on the adjacent tray was any indication, it was much heavier than a simple scalpel. 

Izuku started pulling at the leather straps holding him down, struggling fruitlessly to gain any sort of leeway, anything that would allow him to get out . His labored breathing could be heard in the quiet room, met only with the Doctor’s bone-chilling laugh.

“Now, now, my boy, you know struggling isn’t going to help much. As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, today we’re going to be doing something new .”

Tears began forming in the corners of Izuku’s eyes, his struggling becoming more and more desperate. “P-please don’t, I-I-I’ll do an-anything P-please!” Izuku’s voice broke with a sob, his body trembling against the cold metal of the chair. He had tried so hard not to cry, had promised himself he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t contain his fear, his terror at the sight of the man, at the sound of his voice.

“My boy,” the Doctor continued with a sigh, fake pity clear in his tone, “you say you’d do anything, but this would all be over if you’d simply show us the quirk you’re hiding from us.”

“I-I swear I’m no-not h-hiding a q-uirk I don-don’t h-have one! ” Izuku cried out desperately, back arching and body shaking as he tried fervently to escape from the chair, from the doctor, from everything.

The Doctor sighed again, this time much longer and more annoyed. He moved to pick something up from the side table. “That’s what you said last time, too, my boy. Now if you’d cooperate, we wouldn’t have to hurt you. We tried going easy on you in hopes that it would encourage quirk activation, but it seems we were too gentle. Maybe this will help.”

Izuku heard a ‘click’ and a high-pitched mechanical whirring sound, almost like a drill. 

“N-NO PLEASE P-P-PLEASE DON’T—”

The whirring sound got louder; he could feel the soft wind of the tool against his face, could feel a light pressure on his arm, on his skin—

Nothing could have stopped the blood wrenching scream that was torn out of Izuku’s throat. It was pain unlike anything he had ever experienced; he could feel his skin, his muscles being torn apart by whatever tool that was, cutting through sinew and flesh and God there was so much blood . Izuku’s body felt hot and cold and tingly and like every nerve in his body was on fire, like his arm was being torn off because it was being torn off, he was sure of it. His clothes, his skin, his eyes, his mouth, all staining red as he screamed, voice raw but unable to stop.

The pain became more bearable, for just a moment. The Doctor had paused, and Izuku gasped in relief. Over, it was finally over —

The whirring returned, louder than before. If Izuku were able to think coherently, he would have known why the sudden sensation made his teeth clench and his body spasm, bile eating away at his throat and mouth as he choked on his own blood and vomit before his world turned black. He would have identified it as his body shutting down while the bone of his arm was cut into somehow, probably with a bone saw. But it was too much, far too much for his young mind to comprehend, so he screamed and cried and blacked out.

After he fell unconscious, the Doctor had stopped sawing through Izuku’s arm. When he woke up, the work continued. Izuku blacked out three more times because of the pain; each time, the Doctor stopped working, choosing to continue when Izuku was conscious. Eventually, Izuku was left with a bloody stump where his right arm once was. Once it was clear that the torture had not activated a hidden quirk, the Doctor returned Izuku’s body to the state it was in before the ‘procedure’, and Izuku had two arms again.

A scar, and the feeling of unimaginable pain, still remained.

Chapter Text

It was only a matter of time until Aizawa’s first… examination. Izuku had warned him, had told him explicitly how things usually went. He explained how the Doctor had three guards: Izuku literally just called them Guard #1, #2, and #3 since he didn’t know any of their names. They were all incredibly strong and tall, and that they didn’t need to use their quirks to inflict pain. Right before an examination, one of the guards would collect Aizawa from the cell at some random hour of the day, take him to the Doctor’s office, and then—  

Well, nothing good followed. He did his best to prepare himself for what was to come, running through scenario after scenario in his head, plotting out what he would do in each one. 

And so, when the cell door creaked open to reveal a man (easily clearing 6’4 with biceps bigger than Aizawa’s head— Guard #1, he noted vaguely, eyeing the tattoos swirling around the man’s arms ), Aizawa played nice. He nodded at the kid, ignored the guard’s grip digging into his arm, and gracefully allowed himself to be dragged to a room he presumed to be the Doctor’s ‘office,’ which he was promptly thrown into, the door shut and locked behind him. The room itself was mostly bare, with the only piece of furniture being a rusty looking operating table pushed close to the far wall (Aizawa was pointedly ignoring the heavy-duty leather straps at the head, arms, and legs of the table). Next to that was a section of built-in shelves with a little sink, but they were completely empty, as Aizawa was disappointed to find. The whole room smelled of antiseptic, its stark white walls and equally stark tiled floors illuminated brightly by the fluorescent hanging lights. For whatever reason, the ceiling was open, showcasing a variety of wires and pipes. It looked like the room had been repurposed hastily, with the ceiling left untouched.

Aizawa looked around carefully. Out of all of the scenarios he imagined, being left alone in an empty room wasn’t one of them. An intimidation tactic, maybe? Or perhaps the Doctor was running late for his torture appointment.

From his minute of poking around, Aizawa couldn’t find anything in the small room he could use as a weapon. The shelves were empty, the table was useless, and the doors were bolted shut from the outside. Aizawa looked to the heavens in frustration—

The ceiling was open. The ceiling was open .

He didn’t know how much time he had left before someone arrived, so Aizawa worked quickly. Scanning the ceiling for anything he could break off, his eyes fell on a thin metal bar loosely attached to one of the fluorescent light strips, probably to keep the whole thing from swaying. It was too high to reach on his own, but after a little maneuvering (jumping off of the operation table and swinging carefully from a nearby support rod) he was able to yank the bar free, only scraping his hands a little bit in the process.

Falling to the floor and rolling swiftly, Aizawa hefted the bar in his hands, feeling how heavy it is. It was a little lighter than he’d prefer, no longer than his forearm, but it was a weapon nonetheless, and having it in his possession lifted a weight from his chest that he didn’t know he’d been carrying. He missed his scarf so bad —

Footsteps echoed outside of the door, the lock shifting—

Aizawa quickly tucked the bar beneath his shirt and into his pants, making sure to keep his back away from the door. 

The door opened, and in walked the Doctor, flanked by the same man that had escorted Aizawa in. While the guard immediately stood at attention by the door, the Doctor busied himself around the office, carrying a bag on his shoulder filled with God-knows-what, unpacking it near the sink. Aizawa just watched, back against the wall, tucked away across the room. The Doctor was smaller than he had expected— while he was tall, he wasn’t very muscular. He had no defining features besides the lab coat, goggles, and mask, but his energy was… wrong . Aizawa thought about the bar tucked into his waistband, hidden from the two men in front of him, trying to weigh his options. If he attacked now, the Doctor would just call for backup, and Aizawa didn’t know if he could take all of them, let alone get Izuku out in the process. He didn’t know the layout of the facilities, didn’t know where the keys to their cell even were. It would be wiser to play it safe, to keep the weapon until he had more information.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eraserhead,” the Doctor called out, still messing around with various tools and equipment, not even sparing Aizawa a glance. His voice was annoying, as was everything else about him, Aizawa determined. “You can call me Doctor. Do exactly as I say and behave when you are in this office, and you and I will get along just fine.”

The Doctor finally turns to him. He had odd goggles pulled over his eyes and a surgical mask on his mouth, which he pulled down beneath his chin to grin widely at Aizawa. The sight gave Aizawa the chills, disgust bubbling in his stomach. He didn’t say anything in return, just glared at the man until he turned back around to fiddle with— a syringe? Aizawa wasn’t sure.

“Well, anyways. Enough of the formalities.” The Doctor looked to his guard. “Get him on the table. Upright. Keep him conscious, and don’t mess with his head,” he demanded, before turning back to his tools. 

Aizawa’s heart raced, trying to figure out what to do. He readied the bar behind his back, hand clenched around the metal. If they put him on that table, the bar would be found. But it was his only weapon, he couldn’t lose it. He could attack now, and keep it, or wait and have it be taken away. It was risky, incredibly risky, but there were only two of them. He could take the two down, sneak around the place, bust Izuku out, and leave. Or get to a phone somewhere, call for backup. 

The guard stalked towards Aizawa, getting just close enough— 

Springing into action, Aizawa slammed the bar against the man’s shoulder, throwing him into the wall. He had been aiming for the head, but the guard had dodged out of the way. He was faster than Aizawa had anticipated, already back on his feet and running to subdue Aizawa. The Doctor was saying something, but Aizawa was too focused on ducking under the guard’s punches, leaping over the operating table to avoid being tackled. Gripping the metal bar as tightly as he could, Aizawa ran at the wall nearest to him, jumping at it before springing off of it, using the leverage to throw himself at the guard, bar swinging at his head. It connected fiercely with his temple, and the man collapsed into a heap on the floor. 

Breathing harshly, Aizawa scanned the room for the Doctor. The man was by the door, watching Aizawa carefully, a walkie-talkie in his hands.

Shit.

Before Aizawa could attack the man, the door was thrown open, with two more guards barreling through, heading straight towards Aizawa. Ducking into a roll under one man’s punch, Aizawa sprung to his feet, roundhouse kicking him in the face before narrowly dodging the other guard’s attempt at grabbing him. With the other guard still recovering, he targeted the one closest to him, striking out at the side of his knee with the bar, gritting his teeth at the sharp ‘crack’ that followed. The man screamed, eyes wide and furious , shifting to face Aizawa before pulling a taser out of his belt. 

The Doctor was calling for something that had the unarmed guard running out the door, but his voice was muffled in Aizawa’s ears as his heartbeat pounded like a drum in his head.

Aizawa ducked under the taser, pulling his arms back to swing at the man’s head with all of the strength in his body, bare feet bracing against the ground—

The second guard dropped to the floor, unconscious, the taser clattering beside him.

Ignoring the blood on the end of the bar, Aizawa whipped around, breathing harshly, eyes locking with the Doctor. The man had since acquired a scalpel, holding it tightly with a trembling hand. Aizawa stepped over the guard’s body, snarling as he approached the Doctor.

“Wait a second, I’m sure we can figure things out—”

Aizawa swung the bar with no hesitation, clipping the side of the Doctor’s face as he flinched so hard he somehow avoided the brunt of the hit, shrieking like a wounded animal. His goggles flew off his head, his temple now dripping blood. He slashed the scalpel out in Aizawa’s direction wildly, his movements clumsy and panicked. Aizawa dodged his attempts easily, jumping back behind the operation table as the door opened again , readying the bar to face another guard—

But entirely unprepared when the third guard walked back in, pulling behind him a frightened and confused Izuku.

His stomach dropped , blood running cold at the sight of the kid, eyes meeting his and widening in fear. Jumping into action, he leapt over the table in front of him, metal bar clutched tightly in his hands, but he was too late.

The Doctor yanked Izuku from the third guard’s grip, tugging the kid in front of him and pressing him close to his chest, one arm circled around his torso while the other, still holding the scalpel, pressed against Izuku’s throat.

Aizawa froze, gaze burning with fury as he took in the Doctor’s current position.

The room became very quiet.

“Now I do believe it’s time to calm down, Eraserhead. We wouldn’t want this precious boy (with these words, the Doctor tilted Izuku’s head up so his throat was fully exposed, the blade wobbling against Izuku’s skin) getting hurt.”

Gritting his teeth so hard he could almost hear them creaking, Aizawa considered his options. The last guard was standing by the door behind the Doctor, one hand on his taser and the other on a walkie-talkie. The Doctor had Izuku in a tight grip, too far from Aizawa to be hit with one move. And Izuku— the kid was trembling, glassy eyes focused on the floor, fists clenched at his sides. Things weren’t looking good for them.

“Drop the pipe,” the Doctor demanded, voice injected with the confidence of a man confident that he has won. It made Aizawa twitch, imagining all the ways he could knock the bastard out. If he could throw the pipe to the side and ambush the Doctor while he was distracted, maybe he could get Izuku out unscathed, but that damn fucker had the kid so close it was nearly impossible—

Aizawa’s scheming was cut short by the Doctor. “I don’t think you realize the situation you’re in, Eraserhead. I said,” the Doctor put more pressure on the tip of the scalpel, the blade now cutting into Izuku’s skin, eliciting a sound of discomfort from the small boy. Scarlet beads of blood slowly began their journey down Izuku’s neck as the man continued, “Drop. The. Pipe.”

Letting the pipe fall to the floor with a clatter, Aizawa raised both his hands above his head with his palms facing out, painfully similar to how he had met Izuku not long ago.

“Let the kid go, ” Aizawa all but growled, eyes locked onto the scalpel digging into Izuku’s throat. It was easier than looking at the kid; he didn’t think he could bear to see the fear, the pain in his expression, pain and fear that he had caused, that he had roped a child into.

The Doctor didn’t let Izuku go, much to Aizawa’s indignation. Instead, his hold on him tightened. He slowly leaned down until his chin rested on Izuku’s shoulder, cheek touching his face. Izuku flinched at the contact, his shaking worsening. The Doctor smiled his twisted, ugly smile at the movement. Eyes locked with Aizawa, the man slowly, gradually, turned his head to look at Izuku, chin still propped on his shoulder. Izuku’s nose scrunched up in disgust, presumably at the smell of the man’s breath.

“It would be such a shame if something bad happened to such a bright young boy, wouldn’t you say, Eraserhead?” The Doctor faked a tone of innocence, still grinning horribly, eyes boring their way into Izuku’s cheek.

Aizawa had to bite his tongue to stop himself from ripping the man to pieces with his bare hands. “Let him the fuck go.” He could feel his blood burning beneath his skin, his body screaming at him to attack . He knew that if his quirk weren’t suppressed, it would be activated, his hair flying and eyes crimson. The only thing stopping him from beating the perverted sicko until he was unrecognizable was the scalpel, now stained red, pressed against Izuku’s throat. His poor kid was crying, tears streaming slowly down his throat as he audibly suppressed a sob.

“I want you to pick up the syringe on the counter to your left, the one with the green liquid in it.” The Doctor, choosing to ignore Aizawa’s demand, drawled out. Aizawa hesitated, but the Doctor’s patience was wearing thinner by the second. His dark eyes met Aizawa’s while his free hand reached up, painfully slow, to gently stroke Izuku’s cheek. The gesture was met with a flinch, the hitching of Izuku’s breath unbearably loud in the quiet room. The Doctor’s smile only grew, eyes alight in sick enjoyment, still locked onto Aizawa’s gaze.

Aizawa clenched his fists so hard he drew blood in his rage. But he was a hero, and Izuku needed a hero. He picked up the syringe, trying (and failing) to stifle his anger)

“Now… inject yourself with it.”

“If you think I’m going to—” Aizawa was cut off by the Doctor’s next motion.

Tilting his head slightly, the Doctor reached out and with one tortuously slow movement, licked the streaming tears off of Izuku’s cheek. Izuku immediately screwed his eyes shut, entire body freezing as he choked out a sob.

Instinctively, Aizawa took a step forward, teeth bared and eyes wild. He was going to rip that man apart—

The guard raised his taser, and Aizawa stopped moving. Izuku was crying. He looked so small .

The Doctor chuckled quietly against Izuku’s cheek, moving his gaze leisurely to meet Aizawa’s. He licked his lips provokingly, baring his teeth in the process. “I don’t recall asking, hero.”

And didn’t that sting. Not as bad as the churning of his stomach, the horror eating away at his intestines, threatening to swallow him whole; but it was enough. His kid was suffering. Taking deep breaths to stop himself from endangering Izuku further, Aizawa shoved his sleeve upwards, positioning the syringe’s needle in the crook of his elbow. He looked up, this time at Izuku. The boy's eyes were filled with tears, swimming with fear and shame and disgust and so many other emotions that stole the breath from Aizawa’s lungs. He could only nod at him, twitching the corners of his lips up slightly in what he hoped was more of a reassuring gesture than the grimace it felt like, before injecting the unknown serum into his arm.

The room was deathly quiet in the moment that passed, before Aizawa’s body crumpled to the floor.

Immediately, the Doctor retracted the scalpel from its place against Izuku’s neck, standing upright and shoving Izuku away with an annoyed sigh. Izuku raced to Aizawa’s side, grabbing onto his shoulders and cradling his head in his arms after quickly checking his pulse (still steady, thank God). Sobbing freely now, Izuku sat on the cold tiled floor, Aizawa’s body pulled close against him. 

With a broken voice, he cried out for his hero. “ ERASER! God, Aizawa, ‘Zawa, p-please ‘Zawa be okay I can’t do t-this wi-without you p-p-please!”

Distantly he could hear the Doctor say something like “take them away,” but everything was muffled to Izuku. All that mattered to him was the man in front of him, the rising of his chest, the beating of his heart. He was shaking so much it was hard to hold on to Aizawa, but he managed. 

It was no surprise that he failed to notice the pinprick in the back of his neck, soon giving way to a familiar darkness. His body slumped over Aizawa’s, hand still cradling his head loosely. 

The room was quiet once more.

The Doctor waited as the line connected, tapping his fingers impatiently against the desk in front of him. As the phone clicked, he began speaking, his words rushed as if he were worried he was going to be hung up on. “Ma’am, yes, hello—”

“Why are you calling me, Doctor?”  An unknown voice responded, sounding tired. Bored, even.

Swallowing down his irratiation, the Doctor continued. “We’ve found a suitable match. Patient 13-9 from group B; his neural pathways are… strangely resilient. I believe he is the key that we’ve been waiting for, the missing piece.”

“...How certain are you of your findings? As I recall, you spouted the same nonsense months ago, and it led nowhere . I refuse to pass this along if it’s simply another dead end—”

“I am absolutely certain. I even prolonged experimentation to make sure; if everything goes to plan, his brain, his very DNA , could repave the future of our society as we know it. 19-1A has already been obtained. I need more time with him; he’s… proving more difficult than anticipated. They’ve bonded well, as expected. All that’s left to do is a deep-tissue analysis and—”

“Enough. Don’t bore me with the details, save it for tomorrow. If he agrees to visit, that is. Prepare the facilities tonight regardless. You will be contacted with further details.”

“Yes, yes… I-I look forward to it.”

The line clicked again, and the phone call ended. The Doctor was left staring at his hands, the room silent.

Change was coming. He smiled. Change was coming.

Chapter Text

Izuku awoke from his forced slumber with a start, his head pounding and his heart racing. As his awareness returned to him, spots of black dancing across his vision, he scoured his surroundings frantically. The last thing he could remember was Eraserhead passing out in the Doctor’s office—

The memory had him frozen in place, a sickening weight pressing against his chest. Izuku shook his head frantically, swallowing the bile in his throat. He couldn’t think about that right now; he had to focus .

Finally able to see clearly, Izuku scanned the unfamiliar room he was in for any sign of the Doctor or his bodyguards, any sign of a threat. Oddly enough, he wasn’t in his normal cell. In fact, he’d never been taken to this room before. 

He had been deposited on some kind of cot, a simple mattress (if it could even be called that; it was so thin he could feel the cold of the stone floor through the bed) lying on the ground in the corner of the small room. The room was what Izuku would imagine an actual jail cell to be like; it was very small, about the size of a walk-in closet, with only three stone walls. The fourth wall was made entirely of thick metal bars, a section of the bars latched and hinged in what was obviously the cell’s entrance. There was a toilet in the opposite corner from the cot, bolted to the ground, no sink accompanying it. Izuku’s eyes flitted to the ceiling once he determined that he was, in fact, alone. There were no lights in the small cell, but there was a very small rectangular window in the wall opposite the thick bars; only an inch or so away from the ceiling, it was barred and locked securely.

The sight piqued Izuku’s interest immensely. In his almost five months in the facility, he hadn’t seen a window until now.

Standing up, he cautiously peered out through the cracks between the bars into what looked like a hallway. Not seeing or hearing anything or anyone, Izuku carefully maneuvered himself onto the ledge of the toilet, stumbling only once as he regained control of his limbs. Balancing precariously on the metal ledge, he reached upwards to the small windowsill. His fingers scrambled for purchase on the stone, finding a grip that was definitely not enough to support his full body weight. Taking a deep breath, Izuku lifted his right foot to the wall, attempting to push off and up so that he could get a look outside. He struggled to hold his weak grip on the ledge, fingers straining under his weight, but he managed to pull himself up just enough to catch a glimpse of the outside world for the first time in five months.

His grip faltered and he crashed backwards with a cry of shock, first into the wall and then against the ground. Izuku sucked in a breath, his left ankle throbbing and his hands, knees, and feet all scraped from the fall. He could barely feel the pain, though.

He had seen outside.

A mixture of dread and excitement coursed through his body. Even though he only had a quick peek outside the window, he had learned several important things:

1. The facility they were in was massive. Izuku could see several large buildings branching off of the one he was currently being held in, all of them devoid of visible windows and doors.
2. Apart from the connected buildings, there was nothing else in sight. No homes, no businesses, no cars; nothing. Only grass and dirt roads.
3. Any hope of being rescued was useless. Izuku had originally assumed they were hiding in a city somewhere, most likely underground. The chances of a patrolling hero locating him there were much higher than in the middle of nowhere he was currently.

The realization that escaping or being found was near impossible was a hard one to stomach. After his first few escape attempts had backfired miserably, he had given up hope for breaking out by himself. But he would often stay awake at night, dreaming of the day he would be rescued, carried away in the arms of a hero with the facility far behind them. The first few weeks of his capture, he liked to imagine which hero would come save him. Maybe Kamui Woods, or Mt. Lady, or a new hero he’d never heard of before.

Months passed, and his hope diminished, but never truly vanished. There was still a spark, still an inkling of optimism that maybe someone was looking for him, maybe the heroes were on their way—

But they weren’t. Izuku knew that now. Heroes didn’t patrol this far out in the countryside. He didn’t even know if he was still in Japan at this point. Biting back tears, Izuku slammed his closed fist into the wall on his right, hard enough for it to hurt. It just wasn't fair . He repeated the motion again. And again, and again, until he was sobbing fully, his hand bloody and scraped.

His body ached, an empty feeling that never seemed to go away. He looked to his hand, now lying still against his knee.

Izuku wasn’t going to be saved. But he knew that already, didn’t he? He was a quirkless child— even his own family didn’t want him. Why would the heroes?

His breathing slowed, and his eyes fell shut. He wasn’t crying anymore. He took a moment to pull himself together; he didn’t have the luxury of breaking down right now.

Trying as best he could to clean himself up, Izuku scrubbed the tears from his face, attempting to wipe away the (now dry) blood on his hands and knees. He was about to try and look out the window again, when the sound of approaching footsteps stopped him.

A pang of fear hit him like a truck. There wasn’t just one set of footsteps; Izuku counted three at least, lighter than the guard’s heavy stomping. It was hard to make out over the sound of his own breathing, but Izuku could identify one pair as belonging to the Doctor: his slow, languid pace giving him away. The other two pairs of footsteps were the unfamiliar ones, both approaching at a quick pace. The unease Izuku had been feeling only grew. New people only meant new problems. He looked around the cell, looking for anything he could find to defend himself with, but found nothing. 

As the group rounded the corner and made their way into the hallway directly in front of Izuku’s cell, his assumption was proven correct. The Doctor was the first figure Izuku could see approaching the cell’s door. Behind him were two women, both dressed simply: entirely plain and easily forgettable. Neither of them looked necessarily dangerous or threatening, which was… confusing. Both of the women held their hands clasped behind their backs, walking with their heads slightly bowed. It seemed like they were some type of assistants?

Izuku was pulled out of his musings when the Doctor, now directly in front of the cell’s bars, began to speak.

“Ah, it looks like you got yourself into a bit of trouble, my boy. No matter: you’ll be cleaned up soon enough. We have a very special guest visiting shortly, and you need to be looking your best.” The Doctor brandished a sly smile as he reached into his pocket for what Izuku guessed to be the key to the cell. His throat had gone dry the moment he saw the man, memories of their previous encounter still burned into Izuku’s mind. His stomach churned restlessly, humiliation and terror eating away at his insides.

The Doctor unlocked the heavy cell door, swinging it open and making his way towards Izuku. As soon as the door opened, Izuku scrambled back onto his hands, pushing himself as far away from the approaching figure as possible. His breathing was erratic, and he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. He pressed himself into the back corner of the cell, wide eyes tracking every move the Doctor made, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Upon Izuku’s startle, the Doctor had stopped his approach. His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, still taking in the huddled figure barely a few feet away from him, cowering in the corner. Surprise soon turned to delight, a wicked smile twisting on the man’s face. He stepped towards Izuku slowly, stopping to kneel in front of the boy.

Izuku flinched, bringing his arms up and around his head in a protective measure, his eyes shut tightly. He wanted the Doctor to leave, to go away, go away go away —

The man extended his hand, reaching out his fingers to brush against Izuku’s cowering arm. Izuku flinched so hard his head hit the stone wall behind him, a sob breaking out of his throat before he could stop it. He covered his mouth tightly, eyes stinging with unshed tears, forcing himself to open his eyes to watch the Doctor, to remain vigilant. The Doctor’s dark eyes, lacking the cover of his goggles, were filled with delight .

Suddenly, the Doctor retracted his hand, still kneeling in front of Izuku, as a small chuckle escaped his lips. “Interesting,” he muttered to himself.

Izuku could only look at the man before him in confusion. He didn’t understand what was happening. The Doctor had been creepy before, but not like this, never like this. Was it a test? A new way to torture him, to rip apart his psyche? If so, it was working. It was working, and Izuku wanted it to stop .

Still chuckling quietly, the Doctor continued. “Before our little stint with Eraserhead, you had become much less reactive. I suppose it came with time. But now? Well, it's almost like your first day here. It wasn’t expected or intended, but still a nice side effect. I must say I enjoy seeing the fear in your eyes.” The Doctor grinned again, his face alight with sick satisfaction. 

Izuku’s terror lessened, replaced with a searing anger. The bastard was toying with him. Clenching his teeth, Izuku’s eyes darted from the man in front of him (so close Izuku could reach out, could hit him, could do something ) and to the women standing still outside the cell. They both had their heads down in a show of obedience.

It was a mistake.

He made up his mind in a second. Izuku knew escaping wasn’t likely, and he would never try to get away without Eraserhead, but he could do some damage right now.

The Doctor didn’t seem to notice Izuku’s eyes flashing with fury, too busy going on about whatever sick and twisted thing he was fascinated with this time. Izuku took the man’s brief moment of distraction to launch himself forward, ignoring the fear and disgust at being in such close proximity to the disgusting asshole, slamming his head as hard as he could into the Doctor’s skull.

The Doctor staggered backwards, and Izuku rushed to his feet, dashing out of the still open cell door and running down the hallway, leaving the Doctor and his assistants behind. Ignoring the hammering ache of his head and the startled yell of “GET HIM!” from the Doctor, Izuku ran as fast as he could, not bothering to look back. His bare feet slapped loudly against the stone floor and his lungs ached as he struggled to breathe, but he felt so, so free .

Izuku wasn’t a very muscular individual, but when it came to running? Oh boy, could he run. Even with an injured ankle, he was faster than most. He had lots of practice running away from Kacchan Katsuki and his lackeys between classes and after school, and this wasn’t much different. A little more life-threatening, but still similar. He could see a divide in the hallway ahead, one path going left while the other went right. Panicking slightly, Izuku chose the path to the left, feet skidding against the ground in an attempt to keep himself upright after the sharp turn. He could still hear the pounding footsteps behind him, but they sounded quieter than before. 

His heart leaping in a mixture of terror and excitement, Izuku realized that he was outrunning the Doctor— he was actually doing it. A small smile worked its way onto his face, growing wider and wider as he turned his head back, still running furiously. He didn't know where he got the confidence; maybe it was thoughts of Katski's brashness or the sheer incredulousness of the situation, but Izuku found himself shouting in the direction of the Doctor.

“EAT MY DUST YOU PEDO FUCKER!” A laugh bubbled in the back of Izuku’s throat as he turned forward again, only to slam into something solid. Or rather, someone. The figure was thrown backwards with a low 'oof’ . Izuku had been going so fast that when he ran into the mystery person, he was thrown on top of them, rolling harshly over their body, skin scraping horribly on the stone floor as his hands tried to slow his tumble. Izuku’s head smacked painfully into the ground, his vision blurring.

He tried to get up to run, barely managing a few steps before stumbling, landing on his knees. But the Doctor was getting closer and his breathing seemed to stutter, so he clambered upwards, running (more like staggering) forwards. He didn’t make it very far before a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back down onto the ground. His shoulders made hard contact with stone, and he gasped in pain. A leather boot-clad foot collided with his chest, pinning him to the ground mercilessly, knocking the air from his lungs. Izuku tried to grab the foot and throw it off of himself, but the figure held strong and wouldn’t budge. Fingers still grabbing hopelessly at the boot on his chest, Izuku looked up with hazy vision at the figure holding him down.

He was met with caramel eyes that would almost have been pretty if it weren’t for the wrath burning in their pupils. The figure— a man, Izuku idly noted, had short brown hair and the palest skin he had ever seen. The most distinguishing feature was the man’s mask; it was like the beak of a bird, colored red with golden studs running the length of the material. The man wore white leather gloves, and a dark green jacket with a purple feather boa-like neck. Almost like… Big Bird, from that old pre-quirk show Izuku had seen a few times. He was tall, lithe, and didn’t look very muscular, but had no problem keeping Izuku pinned to the ground with a single foot.

Hearing the Doctor’s thundering footsteps and wheezing breaths approaching quickly, Izuku doubled his efforts to remove the stranger's foot from his chest, resorting to slapping at the boot pitifully. The stranger responded in kind, pressing down even harder. At this point, Izuku could barely breathe. The pressure on his chest restricted the movement of his lungs; he was gasping for air, fighting a battle he couldn't win. Black dots swarmed his vision. Izuku struggled to come up with a solution, some way to get out, but couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t do anything.

It felt like forever before the Doctor and his assistants rounded the corner, stopping suddenly at the sight of Izuku being pinned to the floor. Izuku couldn’t see it, but the Doctor’s face had gone incredibly pale as he made eye contact with the mysterious stranger. Still out of breath and obviously frazzled, the Doctor tried to speak.

“A-ah, Mr. Overhaul! You’re early, s-sir. Uh, as, as you can see, there was a bit of a… of a miscalculation—”

The masked figure held up a palm, signaling the Doctor to stop his rambling. His eyes were furious, his very presence enough to stop the man in his tracks. Izuku was too tired and out of breath to be scared. A part of his brain was curious; this was the first time he had ever seen (heard, more like) the Doctor so scared. Who was this Overhaul guy? Izuku’s oxygen-deprived, barely coherent thoughts were interrupted as the man spoke. His voice was quiet and low but freezing cold, with an anger that could only be described as deadly.

“Why… is there a child running around my facilities.” It was less of a question, and more of a demand. The Doctor paled even more, if that was even possible. 

“W-well sir, we were just taking him to be cleaned up as you had asked when… when he made a run for it. This is patient 13-9B, the one I reported about.” Gulping audibly, the Doctor waited with bated breath for his superior’s response.

The man’s cold gaze seemed to pierce the Doctor for an eternity, before moving to Izuku’s still struggling form. His eyes narrowed. “We will discuss your failure at a future time. Get the subject out of my sight and scrubbed down. You have 30 minutes to get him clean and into the experiment chambers. You won’t get a second chance.”

The Doctor’s relief could be heard in his voice, obviously thankful to not have been killed right then and there. “Yes of course, Mr. Overhaul, sir. We’ll get him cleaned as you like them.”

Overhaul turned his attention once more to Izuku. He pressed his boot harder against the boy's chest, so hard Izuku couldn’t breathe at all. Choked gasps escaped his lips, his hands shaking as he clawed at his throat with one hand, while trying to force the man’s boot off with the other. Tears poured out of his eyes, the lack of oxygen making Izuku’s head pound and his body heavy. Fixing Izuku with a final glare, the man removed his foot and stepped to the side carefully, making sure to avoid Izuku’s shaking form, as he continued his path down the hallway, past the Doctor without a second glance backwards.

Izuku remained on the ground, gasping for air and coughing uncontrollably, his chest heaving. Once Overhaul’s footsteps receded, the Doctor snapped at his assistants. “Grab him and take him to the baths. I'm going to go prepare the lab— I don’t trust myself near him right now; Overhaul needs him alive and I’m very close to killing the cretin right now."

The assistants nodded silently, moving in tandem to lift and carry Izuku to wherever “the baths” were. Izuku couldn’t find the strength to fight them off; he was still recovering from almost suffocating, and his run had depleted him of much of his energy. His eyes fell shut, head and body aching as the two women carried him away.

When Izuku opened his eyes several minutes later, he was in some sort of… bathroom? The room was a fairly decent size, with tile flooring and the usual stone walls. To Izuku’s surprise, the room was warm . It was the warmest he had been since his kidnapping; steam from a nearby bath curled dreamily in the air, humid and puffy and delightful. Oddly enough, Izuku felt a sense of peace in this new and strange environment. Several showerheads adorned the far walls with privacy sheets separating them, drains embedded in the ground below. To his left, Izuku saw a large curtain from which all the steam was escaping under.

Still too weak to move very much, Izuku could only lay motionless as he was carried beyond the curtain and into the bath section of the room. A large, clear pool of water lay in this area, steaming heavily and radiating warmth that seemed to coat Izuku’s entire being. It was like an inground pool, similar to those found in most American hotels, except this one was obviously heated. It was shallow on one end, with a few stone stairs leading into the water, and deeper on the opposite end. 

The two women carrying him deposited him gently on a nearby bench (huh, he hadn’t noticed that earlier), beginning to strip him of his clothes. At this, the fog previously occupying Izuku’s brain quickly dissipated, replaced with its familiar sharpness and panic. He tried to push off their prying hands, tried to tug his shirt back around his shoulders, but his attempts were weak and shaky, and the two women were insistent and firm. Yet, for some reason, they weren’t harsh; even when Izuku scratched their arms and went to bite one of their hands (he wasn’t incredibly proud of that one), they never hit him, never went to discipline him or yell at him. Instead, they simply continued in their efforts to remove Izuku of his clothing. Eventually growing too tired to fight back and realizing that the two women meant him no harm, Izuku relaxed slightly. He was still furiously uncomfortable at being so exposed in the presence of others, but he would much rather it be the two mystery women than the Doctor. 

Once they stripped him of all his clothing, the two women— who were MUCH stronger than they looked— heaved Izuku up and began their journey to the stairs of the bath. One of the women, the taller of the two, stayed holding Izuku gently while the other went to gather supplies. Izuku fuzzily noted that the women were wearing what looked like pale beige jumpsuits, loosely fitted with the sleeves and the legs rolled up so as to not drag in the water. He looked up at the woman holding him, trying to study her face with his still blurry vision.

She looked young, probably in her early twenties, but she had dark bags under her eyes and obvious stress lines marring her face. Her eyes, a dark brown similar to the color of her hair, were warm and inviting, but refused to meet Izuku’s directly. Izuku mumbled out a question, asking for her name, but she didn’t answer. So Izuku would just call her… Kasshoku. He’d normally think of a better name, but his head was swimming and his vision was still blurry, so Kasshoku would have to do for now. He’d be able to remember it, at the very least. Kasshoku held him silently, keeping him grounded in their position on the steps of the bath as her colleague(?) made her way back with some newly acquired soap and brushes. Both women were now waist deep in the water, guiding Izuku slowly down the steps and into the shallow part of the bath. The uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability began to fade as the earlier fuzziness made its way back, the warmth of the bath lulling him into an unguarded and comfortable dozing.

The truth was, Izuku was tired. Exhausted, really. And the bath was so very warm . The tenseness of his muscles relaxed, his aching shoulders soothed. The two women lathered his body in soap, scrubbing all of the collected dirt and grime off of his skin. They weren’t harsh, but they were certainly persistent. They paid especially close attention to cleaning off the blood that had since dried on his skin, somehow doing so without overly aggravating the still fresh wounds. With the way they were scrubbing his body, Izuku was sure he’d be spotless soon.

They washed his hair with swift and firm hands, Izuku almost melting into the touch. He was like putty in their grasp, far too tired to be embarrassed and so touch-starved that having someone wash his hair was like heaven on Earth. Still in a daze, Izuku could only watch with half-lidded eyes as the two women finished washing his body and moved on to his nails. Pulling him to the edge of the bath, they lifted his hands to a wooden bin of sorts as they began trimming his nails, the clippings falling into the bin as they went. His feet experienced the same treatment, his nails scrubbed diligently with a small brush afterwards. The cleaning process continued for another few minutes as the two women checked over his body meticulously for any signs of dirt or grime. As they did this, Izuku let his mind wander lazily.

He wondered why they were being so nice to him, why he was getting cleaned so thoroughly, why the facility even had such a nice bathhouse to begin with. He wondered who that man was, and why the Doctor was so scared of him. He wondered where Eraserhead was, wondered if he was safe.

He thought about what the Doctor had called him. ‘Patient 13-9B.’ As if… as if he weren’t the only one. He didn’t like thinking about that, so he thought about something else. 

A facility this big, with a fucking bathhouse , must have cost a lot of money. Whoever had kidnapped him must be extremely wealthy. Izuku’s thoughts traveled back to the strange man from earlier. The Doctor had called him… Overhaul? Was he the one who had Izuku kidnapped? Was he the mastermind behind all of the quirk experimentation, or just a financial supporter?

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

Izuku’s train of thought was interrupted as he was gently pulled back to the steps of the bath, one of the women helping him climb the stairs as the other went to grab some towels and fresh clothes. They began drying him off, and he couldn’t help but drift into a deeper daze. The towels were so soft and fluffy and warm, and the clothes were clean and surprisingly comfortable. The shorter of the women, the one with dark red hair and a smattering of freckles, began brushing his still damp curls. He asked for her name too, although his words were slurred just a tiny bit. She didn’t respond either, so he named her Akai in his mind. Her hands were gentle and warm, and the softness of her action alone had him closing his eyes, starting to fall into a light daze. 

Unfortunately, the past twenty minutes? Thirty? (Izuku really had no idea) had been too good to last. Right as he was beginning to slip into the warm and soft embrace of sleep, the bath house door slammed open with a bang, startling Izuku and the two women. Izuku’s eyes flew open, his head snapping up to attention. Eyes wide, he looked around frantically for the source of the noise, heart thudding and brain still painfully hazy with exhaustion. He could hear footsteps pounding against the tile, coming closer and closer, and Izuku’s heart sank.

He recognized those footsteps.

Immediately, he tried to use what little strength he had left to hide somewhere, anywhere , but the hands on his arms gripped him tighter. He looked up at Kasshoku, looked into her warm eyes, pleading with her silently to let him go , but she only averted her gaze, a look of guilt and sorrow hidden from Izuku’s line of sight. 

All too soon the Doctor yanked the curtain in front of the bath open with a screech as the metal bar scraped against the curtain hangers. Izuku swallowed his feelings of betrayal as he turned his gaze from the woman on his left down to the tiled floor, refusing to look at the approaching man ahead. Of course, no one would help him here. How could he forget?

Bile stung the back of his throat, and Izuku could barely hear the Doctor’s brief exchange with the two women, but he forced himself to listen. He wasn’t safe; he needed to pay attention.

“Is he ready?” The Doctor’s low voice rang loud in the quiet room, his tone tense. He was met with a curt nod from Akai. Wasting no time, the Doctor stepped forward to yank Izuku from his assistants’ hold. Izuku stumbled slightly, still weak from his previous escapade, as the man dragged him through the room and out into the cold hallway. He was hit with a violent shiver as the warm air of the bathroom was suddenly replaced with a frigid and uncomfortable draft. The hand on his upper arm only tightened, gripping him so fiercely that Izuku was sure he would be left with a bruise. 

With a quick and impatient pace, the Doctor set off down the hallway, still pulling Izuku behind him. Izuku’s bare feet slapped against the ground, staggering every few steps, the ‘plop plop plop’ of his steps almost comically accompanying the harsh ‘clicks’ of the Doctor’s shoes meeting stone. Normally, Izuku would struggle and pull his arm to free himself, but at the moment he hardly had the energy to keep himself upright. Everything felt sluggish, his body heavy and hard to control. If it weren’t for the arm on his shoulder, Izuku would have face-planted in the hallway immediately. He tried to pay attention to the path they were taking, but after counting five right turns and an unknown number of lefts, Izuku abandoned his efforts. He could barely remember his last name in this pathetic state; trying to remember the layout of a labyrinth was hopeless.

Eventually they approached a simple metal door, its only distinguishing feature being a plaque on the right of the door frame with an “Exam #1” printed in small black lettering. Under the plaque lay a keypad, with no markings or numbers; only a series of unlabeled buttons and what looked to be a fingerprint scanner. Izuku watched as the Doctor punched in a code (hiding the order in which he pressed the buttons so Izuku couldn’t see), pressing his finger onto the scanner swiftly. The door unlocked with a resounding ‘click,’ opened by the Doctor as he dragged Izuku inside behind him.

Izuku took a second to look around him, blinking furiously at the sight. The room was full of medical looking equipment— computers, tools, tables, and so on. It was like the Doctor’s office on steroids, and far more high-tech. Everything was white: the walls, the floor, the lights. It smelled like a hospital. And at the back of the room—

His heart froze. At the back of the room was a metal chair, not unlike the one in the Doctor’s office, but positioned to be nearly standing, with thick leather straps hanging almost innocently where the arms, legs, head, and even chest would be positioned.

Izuku knew better; this chair, hell , this whole room was far from innocent. As if sensing his growing panic, the Doctor quickly pulled Izuku towards the chair, slamming his back against the metal frame, immediately moving to strap down his arms to prevent him from moving. Izuku’s breaths came in quick succession now, growing ever closer to being considered hyperventilating. The feeling of metal against his skin, of being trapped , was too much. But he didn’t have the strength to push the Doctor off of him, only able to watch as he finished tightening the restraints painfully. 

The man glared at Izuku ferociously, obviously taking pleasure in his fear. Leaning in closer, he smiled at the flinch it got him. “You thought I was bad? Overhaul is like nothing you’ve ever seen, my boy. You’ll learn never to try and run again; you’ve made him very, very angry, and trust me when I say that he’s especially vicious when he’s angry." 

Izuku could feel the Doctor’s breath on his face, could smell the gross heaviness that came from it, could see far too closely the overly satisfied gin on the man’s face. His words only made Izuku’s anxiety swell. He knew better than to try and thrash in his restraints; he’d already made the Doctor angry, and there was no use wasting that energy. So, Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to focus on calming himself down. 

He filled his thoughts with good, happy things. Like math problems, and cats, and Eraserhead. 

Eraserhead… was he okay? Were they going to torture him too? Was he hurt, or worse—

Izuku forced himself to abandon that line of thinking; it was only causing him to panic, and it wouldn’t do Eraser any good if he panicked. He needed to think rationally, needed to calm himself down . He concentrated on his breathing, timing his inhales and exhales until they were steadier than before, less shaky.

Eventually, the fuzziness in his head faded slightly, allowing him the ability to actually think coherently. 

Izuku tried to list the things he knew in his head. He knew that he was about to meet this mysterious Overhaul again, and sometime soon. He knew it would be some type of experimentation, most likely very painful. He knew that he had never been in this room before, and that this Overhaul person was someone important, someone with a lot of influence. He knew that, for whatever reason, this was different from the Doctor’s experiments. 

But there were so many things that he didn’t know.

He didn’t know why he was cleaned so thoroughly before being brought here. He didn’t know why Overhaul was only appearing now, after five months. He didn’t know Overhaul’s quirk, or what he would do to him. He didn’t know what was happening to Eraserhead. 

That last thought caused his throat to tighten, tears forming behind his eyelids. He was scared . Ever since Eraserhead had appeared, Izuku had been conflicted. On one hand, he was elated to meet his favorite hero, and beyond comforted to have another human being to interact with, one that was kind and warm and everything Izuku had needed since getting kidnapped (and well before that, too). 

On the other hand, Izuku wished that Eraserhead had never gotten dragged into this mess. He wished Eraserhead were far, far away from here, home with his family and friends and everyone that probably missed him so much right now. He was terrified that they were hurting him right now, terrified that they would experiment on him like they had with Izuku. Izuku wished with every fiber of his being that they would let Eraserhead go, or hell, that they would torture Izuku twice as much if it only meant that Eraserhead wouldn’t be hurt.

The ache of helplessness was sharp in Izuku’s chest, a pang so deep and cruel that for a second, he wondered if the experimentation had started already. 

As if hearing his thoughts, the door’s lock clicked open, the thick metal swinging inwards and clanging shut once more. Izuku opened his eyes to see none other than Overhaul, in all his stupid Big Bird glory. The man’s stoic expression seemed to cut right through Izuku, leaving him breathless and absolutely terrified. Behind him, drawing Izuku’s attention, were several individuals wearing white lab coats, all making their way to their stations and occupying themselves with some type of work. 

Izuku had never had so many people present for an examination. Usually it was just the Doctor, maybe a guard or two. But if Izuku counted correctly, there were seven people, not including the Doctor and Overhaul, milling about the room. None of them spoke, and the only noise heard was the whirring of computers, the pattering of feet, and the clicking of pens.

He brought his attention back to Overhaul, who was still staring at him. Izuku’s throat went horribly dry. The look in Overhaul’s eyes was dangerous . It filled Izuku with a strong, primal instinct to run, to flee , but he was stuck like a deer in headlights. He was frozen in fear, only able to watch as Overhaul made his way to where Izuku was strapped down. 

Careful and concise, Overhaul undid the strap on the glove of his right hand, removing each finger’s sleeve individually before pulling off the glove entirely, holding it in his free hand. He had stopped his approach around a foot in front of Izuku, and Izuku couldn't move . 

Lifting his gloveless hand, Overhaul reached out to touch Izuku’s arm, all while still maintaining suffocating eye contact with him. His fingers made contact with Izuku’s skin, and Izuku flinched, eyes shutting tightly. He was waiting for something to happen, some horrible quirk or scalpel or something , but nothing did. After a few seconds of silence, Izuku opened his eyes slowly, curiously, to meet Overhaul’s calculating gaze.

Nothing had happened. Why was nothing happening?

Overhaul’s eyes lit up, and Izuku could feel the faintest spark against his arm—

And in the span of a single second, his whole world crumbled to pieces.

Chapter Text

Chisaki Kai, also known as Overhaul, is a complicated man. He despises filth and germs and has spent years of his life devoted to finding a way to eradicate quirks, believing them to be unclean in nature and the cause of society's many detriments. He doesn’t like to be near other human beings unless absolutely necessary; it’s safe to say that he isn’t a people person. Rarely do people fascinate him enough to warrant a physical appearance.

Yet after years of studying and months of scheming, hundreds of failed experiments and a dead-end he couldn’t get over, he finds himself face to face with a human being that could be the very solution to everything he has ever desired.

Never has Overhaul deemed another human being of such importance until this moment.  It’s a strange feeling. Especially when said human was strapped to a chair in front of him, passed out after several rounds of being disassembled and reassembled with Overhaul’s quirk. 

He couldn’t help but stare. Fluffy green hair lay scattered around the young boy’s face, freckles painted across his nose and cheeks. If he were anyone else, the child would be found cute. Overhaul, however, didn’t find things ‘cute’ . No, the boy in front of him wasn’t cute. Far better, in fact. 

He was useful. He was special . 

Overhaul watched the slow rise and fall of the unconscious boy’s chest with fascination. Never before had he been so... transfixed. Something about the boy drew him in. It was due, in part, to his quirklessness, of that Overhaul was certain. He had been able to locate the part of the boy’s brain that the Doctor had talked about, and it was quite a discovery. A few more sessions and some more experimentation, and he was sure he’d be able to recreate it in a lab and finally create a cure for society to become clean again.

But that wasn’t all. No, there was something else. It was what Overhaul saw in the seconds before disassembling the boy. It was the look in his eyes when he had raised his head.

The child’s dark green eyes had been full of fear and anger and vulnerability, but underneath all of that, Overhaul could almost drown in the boy’s innocence.

In all his years of work and life, Chisaki Kai had never seen such purity in the eyes of another human. It was exhilarating . He didn’t know such people could exist. Even after being covered in blood, after passing out from the pain of being taken apart, Overhaul could still see it, could still feel it. It was like the child’s spirit was unbreakable, like his soul was a piece of Heaven that only the truly blessed could ever experience. And Overhaul wanted it. He wanted the purity, the cleanliness that the boy possessed. 

And he was going to stop at nothing to get it.

When Izuku awoke, he was back in his normal cell. It was almost surreal how grateful he felt waking up there, how thankful he was that he was somewhere he recognized, somewhere he could almost consider familiar. He lay still for several moments in his bed, eyes peering lifelessly at the bunk suspended above him. He couldn’t move, of that he was certain. Everything was… fuzzy. Except the pain. Every inch of his body screamed because of it, crying out with each breath that he was unlucky enough to take.

He could still feel Overhaul’s hand on his arm, the horrible sensation of his body being ripped apart strand by strand, his cells dying too fast to regenerate—

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing the sickening memories to disappear. He knew, if he wasn’t careful, that he would be driven insane if he let himself relive that torture. He didn’t have that luxury, right now.

Turning his head slightly, biting back a cry at the pain the movement caused, he looked around the cell. His heart skipped a beat. Sitting against the far wall with his knees tucked close to his body and his arms folded around his head was Aizawa, seemingly asleep. Izuku let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relief flooding his system. Tears streamed down his face slowly, the mere pressure of them stinging his overly-sensitive skin.

He straightened his head, gritting his teeth at the sensation before closing his eyes again, giving himself a moment to rest. He focused on breathing, waiting for his racing heart to slow in his chest. And as he did, he thought about the last few days.

Eraserhead, his favorite hero of all time, is thrown into a cell with him. He was then used as collateral against Eraser in a terrifying showdown with the Doctor. He watched him collapse, with no idea if he was dead or alive. He had been knocked out and tormented by the Doctor before running straight into the most frightening man Izuku ever had the horror of meeting. After almost dying of suffocation, he was moved to another unknown location, scrubbed raw, and tortured.

No, not tortured. Killed. Izuku had died; Overhaul had killed him. Then brought him back to life. Then killed him again. 

Izuku could feel as his skin was torn from his body, fibers of his flesh being ripped from his muscles in what felt like years but was really a matter of milliseconds. His muscles and bones followed shortly, everything tinted red, red, red. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything, but he was awake, he was still conscious. Izuku was sure that he was screaming, but he couldn’t feel his throat or hear the noise, so maybe he was wrong. His body didn’t feel like his own, didn’t act like his own— he could feel it shifting, mutating, dissolving all at once. Everything and nothing, he could feel it, could taste it, could smell it, and then it was gone, gone, gone.

The only real constant was agony. His nerve endings were being vaporized and shoved back together in quick succession, so quick he was in shock, he had to be. Yet, he was conscious, he was awake, he could feel it . If he were able to think at all, he would pray to an unanswering God, would pray to pass out, to stop, to die. But he wasn’t able to think, and so his prayers went unsaid. He was trapped in a seemingly endless cycle of death and regeneration, thrown out of the grave faster than he had been pushed into it. His body yearned for death, ached for everything to stop even if it meant he would never wake again. Especially if it meant he would never wake again. Every ounce of his being hoped that the reassembly wouldn’t happen this time, that he would remain dust. Because dust doesn’t feel pain; dust doesn’t bleed or scream or cry. Oh, how he wished—

Izuku tore himself out of the flashback, chest heaving, sweat burning against his skin. He needed to do something, anything . His whole body seared as he tried to prop himself up in his bed, arms shaking with the effort. A cry escaped past his clenched teeth, his vision darkening rapidly. He didn’t get very far before a set of strong hands wrapped around his torso, guiding him gently upwards to rest his back against the bed’s railing. After ensuring he was steady and not going to fall over, the hands released him. The pressure of their hold, although careful and light, seemed to almost tear through Izuku’s skin as if it were paper. He breathed through the pain, trying desperately not to pass out.

“I didn’t realize you were up, problem child. You need to take it easy. They… they really did a number on you.” Aizawa’s low, comforting voice was like music to Izuku’s ears. Before he could stop himself, he was crying again. Silent tears streamed steadily down his freckled cheeks. He was getting used to how they burned now.

Through his blurry vision, Izuku could make out Aizawa in his peripheral, brows furrowed and face contorted with worry. His dark hair hung limp and greasy around his darkened eyes, lined with deep bags. 

Scanning him quickly up and down, Izuku didn’t see any obvious injuries. The pit in his stomach lessened at that, if only a bit. He shifted his gaze downwards, deliberately not moving his head, taking stock of his own body—

Which was entirely covered in bandages. Every inch, from his toes to his neck, were swathed in white, disappearing under his simple cotton shirt and shorts. He blinked at the sudden flurry of dark spots in his vision, willing them to go away.

“—id. Kid? You with me?” Aizawa’s voice rung out once again, startling Izuku. The blurring at the corners of his eyes dissipated slightly as he urged himself to focus . He returned his attention to the man at his side, his head clearer than before.

The worry that Izuku had seen on the hero’s face appeared to have doubled. The man’s mouth was pinched in a tight line, and his hands were… shaking? Guilt ate away at Izuku’s insides at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make him worry, to cause such trouble, especially for his favorite hero. He opened his mouth to speak, to reassure him, but it took a few seconds for Izuku to remember how to form words properly.

“S-sorry, Eraserhead sir,” was the only thing Izuku managed to rasp out before his throat refused to work anymore, the words almost grating against his throat. 

Aizawa let out a huff of air, eyes softening. “Kid, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re… well I’m glad you’re awake.” The hero trailed off before continuing, his voice tense. “And I told you, call me Shouta or Aizawa or whatever, no need for such formality.” 

His gaze was so warm, so kind , that Izuku could only nod, too overwhelmed to try and speak again. He attempted to raise his hand to wipe the tears from his face but was unable to. Seeing his struggle, Aizawa reached an arm forward, stopping before touching Izuku’s skin. He fixed Izuku with questioning eyes, as if asking ‘is this okay?’

This only made Izuku cry harder, but he nodded regardless. Aizawa’s thumb swept the tears off his cheek softly as he shifted his body to reach the boy better. The pain was more manageable now, and Izuku let out a shaky breath, leaning into the man’s reassuring touch.

It was such a simple action, but it was warm and soft and human. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe. Sobs wracked Izuku’s frame at the feeling, forcing their way up his chest and out of his mouth. Aizawa only continued to wipe the tears from his face, reaching with his other arm to hesitantly hold Izuku’s shoulder. After ensuring that the gesture wasn’t hurting him (any more than he already was), Aizawa pulled Izuku close, moving his head to rest on his shoulder as he held the boy in his arms with a softness Izuku didn’t know existed in the world.

He petted the boy’s head carefully, carding his fingers through Izuku’s hair, stopping every now and then to pick out specks of dried blood in the dark curls.

No more words were exchanged between the two. The room was quiet, still. They sat like that for a while, listening to the other’s inhales and exhales, comforting each other with the assurance of their heartbeats.

Izuku didn’t have to ask Aizawa to stay with him. The man, after kneeling by Izuku’s side for what felt like hours, climbed into the small bed next to him, cautiously avoiding jostling Izuku as he settled beside him. Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to thank him out loud, but he squeezed his hands gently, pulling them close to his chest. Aizawa guided his head to his chest, cradling it as if he were something precious, something special. It was a nice thought.

In Aizawa’s arms, the agony of his existence didn’t bother him as much. His eyes drooped shut, and Izuku found himself drifting off to sleep without even realizing it. 

Izuku was taken from the cell three more times that week. Each session seemed to last longer and longer; the first was only an hour. The last was four. Afterwards, without fail, Izuku would be dumped back into the cell, limp and motionless, covered in bloody bandages. Every time, Aizawa would race over to the boy’s unmoving body and check frantically for a pulse before moving him gently onto his mattress. Sometime after Izuku would finally wake, twelve to twenty-four hours later, he would be whisked off to the next session and the process would repeat. 

If Aizawa had been worried before, he was borderline hysterical now. He didn’t know who was torturing him, didn’t know if it was the Doctor or someone (or something?) else, didn’t know how to stop it and didn’t know how to help . He spent every waking moment he could monitoring his kid, constantly making sure Izuku was still breathing. He tried to force Izuku to eat and drink something, attempting to clean up his wounds the best he could. The kid was asleep most of the time now anyways. When he was awake, he was practically incoherent. He wasn’t able to move much on his own, and talking with Aizawa was impossible. The cell was very, very quiet without the boy’s familiar questions and mumbling.

He didn’t realize how attached he’d gotten to the kid until… well, until now. It hadn’t taken very long, but Aizawa really cared about Izuku. He cherished every mini-rant of his, every question about his support gear, every plea for a cool pro hero story from Aizawa. Izuku was smart and kind and selfless, always caring more about Aizawa’s well-being than his own. He… he was just a kid. He didn’t deserve any of this . Aizawa wanted him to be safe, wanted him to feel safe. But he didn’t know how to actually do that.

So at night, when Izuku was sleeping fitfully, Aizawa would search the cell for anything he could use as a weapon or to escape, spending hours scheming and planning and going insane . He’d scrutinized every inch of the walls, the floors, the ceiling— nothing. There was nothing he could break off, no loose brick or sharp edge. He could throw the bar of soap at the guards, but he didn’t think that would do him much good.

Aizawa found himself talking to his husband in his mind while Izuku was unconscious, kneeling by his bed with his eyes closed and his head in his hands. It kept him occupied, helped to ease the edge of panic that threatened to overtake him in the silence of the room.

God, ‘Zashi, I wish you were here. I… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where I am, don’t know who I’m up against. Hell, I don’t even know how I ended up in the mess. But I’m here now, and Izuku— His throat tightened uncomfortably, eyes stinging— he needs help. You’re so much better with kids than I am. You’d know what to do, what to say. Please, just… just hang in there for me. I’ll be home soon. Well, as soon as I can be.

Thinking of Hizashi seemed to make things more bearable, if only a little, so as the torture continued, Aizawa talked to his husband more and more often, imagining what he would do if he were in Aizawa’s shoes.

The kid came back after two hours this time. It wasn’t as long last time. He’s so… pale. And cold. He’s been unconscious this entire time. He’s still breathing, but it’s shallower than it should be. He’s dying, I can feel it, I just— I don’t know what to do . I tried to stop the guards, but I’ve been tased three times already and they just take him and leave . His wounds are like… like he’s being ripped apart, again and again and again— Aizawa grabbed his hair and pulled on it tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face— I don’t care if it’s me. I’d rather it was. But not Izuku. Anything but him. ‘Zashi, I don’t know what to do. Please, tell me what to do. Please, please, please—

On the really bad nights, the ones where Izuku would return and wouldn’t wake up even after hours and hours, Aizawa would sing. Kneeling by his side, holding Izuku’s small hands in his own, he would warble out some old songs, usually Hizashi’s favorite, just like his husband did for him whenever he ended up in the hospital. It was desperate, Aizawa knew that. But he just wanted his kid to wake up, to be okay , to know that he was here , and he had exhausted all other options.

So, Aizawa sang. His voice was gruff and unsteady, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t pretty, like ‘Zashi’s was, but it was better than the suffocating silence that surrounded them. 

When he was done singing, the cell was quiet. Izuku still lay asleep, his chest moving slowly up and down. His face was peacefully blank, framed by limp, dark hair. Aizawa averted his gaze, the sight of his kid like that too much to bear. He swallowed thickly, staring intensely at the tiny hands still in his grasp. 

As he went to draw his hands away, he felt a twitch of movement. 

Aizawa startled, looking sharply upwards to see familiar viridian eyes staring back at him. The hand in his grasp twitched again, now holding his in a loose grip. He could only stare, a lump growing in his throat, tears streaming steadily down his face. He didn’t dare remove his hands from Izuku’s to wipe them away.

“Hey, ‘zawa,” Izuku’s broken voice could barely be understood, raspy and hoarse. “‘m back.” 

It was the first thing he’d said since the first session, and it was barely more than three words, but Aizawa could have sobbed with relief. He knew it was a little… different. Izuku had never called him by his name before, only ever calling him by his hero name, which told Aizawa that the kid was probably pretty out of it. But still— it was enough, it was more than enough.

He restrained himself from launching at the kid, instead wrapping his arms gently around Izuku, pressing his face into the crook of his neck as Izuku shuddered.

“Don’t… don’t ever scare me like that again. Fuck, kid, don’t you ever leave me like that.”

Izuku only wrapped his arms around Aizawa’s shoulders, wincing at the movement but continuing nevertheless.

“Prom…ise. S-sorry, ‘zawa, ‘m sorry.”

Aizawa just cried harder at that. He was tired. Hell, he knew they both were exhausted. So he crawled into bed next to Izuku, just like he had just days ago, pulling the kid against his chest in a protective embrace. Izuku curled his hands into Aizawa’s shirt, grabbing on as tight as the bandages would allow. Aizawa only pulled him closer, tucking his head under his chin.

After a week of no sleep, of constant worrying, of pure and unadulterated fear, Aizawa finally let himself relax with his kid in his arms. The two fell asleep together like that, safe. For now, at least.

Chapter Text

Aizawa and Izuku were, for the most part, left alone over the next few weeks. On occasion, a guard would pull Aizawa out of the cell for the occasional ‘checkup’ which consisted of simple blood tests, physical examinations, and other suspiciously normal medical practices, but that was it. No more torture. Izuku was left to heal, recovering his strength slowly, day after day, and Aizawa took care of him as best as he could. After what must have been two full weeks, Izuku was speaking again, joking around with Aizawa and questioning him relentlessly about anything hero-related. He was still mostly bed-ridden, but far more energetic than he had been after—

After Overhaul. Izuku hadn’t told Aizawa about the man, unable to form the words. Aizawa never pressed him about it, either, which almost made things worse. Izuku knew he needed to tell Aizawa, to warn him, but everytime he tried all he could think about was pain, pain, pain, and his throat would close and his heart would race and he just… he couldn’t do it.

But they were managing okay, now that they were left to their own devices. During this period of inactivity, Izuku and Aizawa found their own ways to pass the time. They drew each other pictures and played silly games, often spending hours just talking to one another.

One night, after a competitive few rounds of tic-tac-toe (Izuku had won), Izuku approached Aizawa with something that had been on his mind for a while.

“Eraser- er, I mean… Aizawa,” Izuku started hesitantly, “Do… Do you think you could train me? To fight. I think it would help us later down the line if I knew how to fight too, and you’re really good with self-defense! I mean, of course you are, you’re Eraserhead for fuck’s sake, that’s pretty much your whole brand. Not that you can’t do other things or anything—”

Aizawa cut off his ramblings with a soft chuckle. Izuku stopped, the tips of his ears feeling warmer than usual.

“Of course I’ll train you, kid. It’s going to be tough work, but we’ll take it slow. Right now, though, you need to rest. It’s illogical to try and work right now when your body is still recovering.”

Izuku’s heart soared; he’d dreamt of a pro hero training him ever since he was a little kid, but he never thought it would actually happen, let alone with Eraserhead .

“T-thank you so much, Eraserhead! Oh, um, sorry… Aizawa. I’m still trying to get used to it.”

“You don’t have to call me Aizawa. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine.”

Izuku looked at the man in surprise. Once again, he was in awe over how laid back and… kind Eraserhead— Aizawa — really was. He looked down at his hands, contemplative. After everything the hero had done for him, everything he had seen, it was only fair that he would refer to the man with some sense of familiarity. 

“When… when you were still having trouble speaking, you would call me ‘Zawa, sometimes. I figure it was easier than saying my full name. If you want, you can call me that.”

Izuku started, his cheeks blazing as he waved his hands frantically. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t really thinking, I was just so out of it and your hero name was so hard to say, oh god that’s so embarrassing…” 

Looking up at Aizawa, Izuku could see a glint of amusement in the man’s usually impassive eyes. Over the past few weeks together, Izuku had gotten better at reading the man— and right now, he was clearly playing with him. Izuku stopped his rambling, fixing the underground hero with an ‘angry’ look that was really just a pout. 

“ That’s so mean! I’m going to call you ‘Zawa now just because you were teasing me.”

That finally got a laugh out of the hero. It was quiet and short, but genuine. It surprised Izuku, but he recovered quickly, laughing with Aizawa. 

“You and my husband would get along great, he’s always on my ass about making fun of him.” Aizawa’s tone was fond, but his eyes were sad. The lighthearted mood in the room shifted, tinged with a sense of sorrow that Aizawa rarely showed. He blinked rapidly, inhaling deeply before trying to change the subject. “Anyways, why don’t we—” 

“What’s he like?” Izuku’s voice was soft, his eyes understanding. Aizawa looked at him for a moment, his eyes glossy, before glancing down, taking another deep breath.

“He… he’s my sunshine. He is my everything and so, so much more.” The hero’s usually stoic voice was thick with affection. “He’s loud and vibrant and way too energetic, especially in the morning. He’s great with kids and is the kindest person I’ve ever known. You would love him. And I know he would love you.” 

Aizawa finally glanced Izuku’s way, tears gone from his eyes as he schooled his expression. Izuku knew he was trying to be strong, trying to act like a hero, but he wished that Aizawa just… let himself hurt, let himself feel . He’d work on it with him, Izuku promised himself. 

But Aizawa had already changed topics, guiding the conversation skillfully to something Izuku couldn’t possibly ignore. 

“In fact, you probably already know of him. He’s a hero, just like me. I bet you could figure out who he is.”

Izuku’s eyes lit up. He knew it was a diversion tactic, but it was working . Just when he thought Aizawa couldn’t get any cooler, he finds out that the man is married to another pro hero. Izuku literally couldn’t think of anything that amazing. “You’re married to a pro hero? That’s so cool!”

The corners of Aizawa’s mouth twitched upwards as he nodded. Izuku thought about what Aizawa had said, searching his brain for every hero he could think of. “Okay, so he’s loud and energetic, obviously male… I’m assuming he’s an above ground hero?” Izuku’s question was met with another nod. “Well, I’m going to say it’s not All Might,” At that, Aizawa snorted, both out of humor and disgust, “So that leaves… Well, not many male pro heroes are known for having that much… exuberance, let's just say. Oh! Oh! You said he’s loud, maybe someone who works with his voice? Kind, energetic, good with kids… don’t tell me you’re married to the voice hero, Present Mic?”

“Bingo."

“ ARE YOU SERIOUS? THAT’S AWESOME, I never would have guessed! He’s just so… well, he’s like the Sun! But I guess that would make you his moon. Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re married to Present Mic. He’s one of my favorite heroes. He did a segment on quirkless discrimination on his talk show, and he was so understanding and kind! Not to mention—”

Aizawa’s eyes had gone wide, and Izuku trailed off. “Um… you okay, ‘Zawa?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just— I just never thought about it that way. You’re a real smart kid, you know that?”

The complement stole the air from Izuku’s lungs. For a moment, he thought Aizawa was joking. But with one look at the hero, Izuku knew that he wasn’t. “That’s— uh, I’m not, really, it’s not…” Izuku stumbled over his words, trying to think of something to say. Aizawa just watched, his expression unreadable. “I’m pretty… average, I think. I mean, my grades were always kinda bad, so, um, I wouldn’t call myself smart,” he mumbled, gaze falling to his hands. Smart. Aizawa had called him smart . But he wasn’t smart, he knew that he wasn’t because that’s what everyone at school told him, what his mother always reminded him of—

“Well, I think you’re pretty smart. I mean, you made your own code for fuck’s sake. That has to count for something,” Aizawa said encouragingly, his voice softer than it was before. Izuku didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, and the room was quiet for a moment.

Aizawa cleared his throat, changing the subject again. “Speaking of, kid, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Your code.”

Izuku was pulled out of his thoughts, looking up at Aizawa, his brows furrowed. “My... code? What about it?”

“Well, maybe while you’re still recovering, you could teach it to me. It allows you the time to rest, and it could prove helpful if we both could communicate without the enemy knowing.”

And that… wasn’t what Izuku had expected. No one had ever been interested in his code before, let alone expressed any interest in actually learning it. It was odd, but also strangely nice.

“Of- of course! I would love to teach you. It, uh, it might take a while, though. Not that you aren’t capable or anything, it’s just that I designed it to be pretty much unbreakable. It took me almost two years to develop and memorize.”

Aizawa paused. "Did… you make this before you were kidnapped?”

Izuku froze. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing would come out. He sat, gaping like a fish for a solid thirty seconds before finally, he found the ability to speak again. “Um, y-yeah, I made the code— well, I guess it’s a language? I made the language when I was in school. The other kids would get mad at me when I would analyze their quirks, so I had to disguise what I was writing. I was going to put everything in code anyways because it’s kind of dangerous, my analysis, but that’s uh, yeah that’s why. I, uh, had a lot of free time, too...” Izuku trailed off, wishing desperately to move onto another topic.

“Hm. We can dive into your horrible school experience later. I’m sure Nedzu would love to destroy another school.”

Startled, Izuku met Aizawa’s gaze, relaxing at his amused expression. “I keep thinking you’re serious, your poker face is really good.”

(Aizawa wasn’t joking, but Izuku didn’t need to know that right now).

Grabbing a blank piece of paper and some stray crayons lying nearby, Aizawa dumped them onto Izuku’s blanketed lap playfully. “Shall we begin?”

Izuku grinned, throwing a crayon back at Aizawa with a laugh. He was so excited. Everything was going to go great .

Well… more or less. After three hours of trying to explain the basics of his code to Aizawa, the man was about ready to quit.

“Kid, you said this was a code. This is the fucking equation for quantum mechanics,” Aizawa sighed, looking at the dozens of scribbled out characters in front of him.

“Ha, ha, very funny. I told you it was going to take some time. Besides, quantum mechanics doesn’t have one single equation, it’s an entire subfield of physics.”

“Fine, then this is every single equation for quantum mechanics.”

Izuku smiled, feeling a little sympathetic. The code— really more of a language— was definitely tricky. It was technically three separate languages (all developed by Izuku) that merged together in seemingly random (but carefully calculated) places. It was all an elaborate way to throw the reader off, to confuse them. Izuku had made it so intricate as a way to entertain himself, but it kind of… spiraled out of control. Just a little bit. 

“This may be a lost cause. That demon tongue looks like how I’d think a migraine would be written on paper.”

Laughing, Izuku shoved Aizawa’s shoulder gently. “Come on, ‘Zawa, I know you can get it. Now, let’s start at the beginning. This character means…”

As Izuku went over his code for what seemed like the 30th time, Aizawa just listened quietly, looking at him fondly (pointedly ignoring the ever-growing headache that had formed at the beginning of their lesson). He had long since given up actually learning the language, but Aizawa was just glad to see the kid so happy . It almost scared him, how quickly he had grown attached. Hizashi had always told him he was a softie, but he never really thought so until now.

His heart sank a little as he took in the reality of the situation. Izuku had a family. After they got out of this mess (which they would), he would go back to loving parents and friends, and they would part ways. 

Aizawa reprimanded himself mentally. Of course he would go back to his family. It was a good thing, it was the goal .

It’s not like Aizawa was his dad or anything, that was—

Ridiculous. 

A small voice in the back of his head cried out, reminding him that he and Hizashi had been looking to adopt a child for years now, that Izuku was everything they had ever wanted in a kid, that there was obviously something off about the kid’s home life—

No. He couldn’t think like that right now, couldn’t think like that at all . 

He looked back up at Izuku, the boy still trying to explain his code as he waved his hands around animatedly, his eyes wide and bright. It made him look so painfully young.

He was so painfully young. Aizawa nodded a few times, pretending to understand. His head hurt like a bitch, but it was worth the smile on Izuku’s face, the excitement in his voice as he talked about something he was passionate about, something he had worked incredibly hard on.

This kid would be the death of him, of that Aizawa was sure.

Chapter Text

As their time in captivity progressed, Izuku and Aizawa developed a routine. In the mornings, after eating (two trays of food and some bottles of water were slipped under their door twice a day), the two would stretch and review information. Aizawa had long since given up learning Izuku’s complex code, so they communicated through Japanese Sign Language, which Izuku had learnt before his capture in preparation for his hero career. Aizawa already knew it because his husband was Deaf, so it worked out rather well. While Aizawa hadn’t found any wires in his searches of the cell, he wanted to be absolutely sure that their plans weren’t heard by the enemy. Call him paranoid, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Aizawa and Izuku discussed the layout of the facility (the parts they had been taken, at least), ways to exploit weaknesses of the Doctor and his guards, possibly entry and exit points, etc. Izuku gave Aizawa information whenever possible, considering he had been there longer. But there were things the boy wasn’t telling him, times where Izuku would pause, his hands falling to his lap and his eyes flashing with fear. Aizawa never pushed him— he was just a kid, he didn’t deserve to relive the torture he’d already been forced to experience. He was sure that it was important and needed to be talked about eventually, but it could wait. 

After plotting and scheming, they would begin sparring. Aizawa had shown Izuku some basic moves, focusing on practicality over brute force; how to take a punch, how to fall correctly, how to block properly, and the likes. Now that Izuku was finally in better health, he was able to catch on fairly quickly. He was eager to learn, and took to fighting like a sponge to water. Aizawa knew that, if Izuku were one of his students at UA, he’d be at the top of the class without a doubt.

Aizawa also taught Izuku some stealth tactics: how to walk without being detected, how to hide one’s breathing, how to lie with a straight face. While this wasn’t what he normally taught his younger students, they were both far from the classroom now. They needed to be stealthy if they ever hoped to escape with their lives, and so, Izuku had to learn. The kid had a little more trouble with these— he could move quietly enough, but he breathed too loudly when he got nervous, and his poker face… needed work, to say the least. It took another week or two, but Izuku was making great progress. They would spend as much time training together as they could, interrupted every so often by a guard taking Aizawa (it was only ever Aizawa now) to another examination. 

He would come back bruised, battered, and slightly scarred, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Aizawa had been a pro hero for a while now— injuries were literally part of the job. Besides, it was nothing in comparison to what Izuku had been through. For whatever reason, they were going easy on Aizawa. Izuku had speculated that the Doctor had to run fewer “tests” because Aizawa had a quirk. It… wasn’t a comforting thought. 

At night, after tiring themselves out from sparring and training and scheming, the pair would eat dinner and talk. Izuku usually held most of the conversation, as he was naturally more sociable than Aizawa, but the hero would chip in when appropriate. Sometimes Aizawa would tell old stories about his early days in the field, which always had Izuku looking at him with stars in his eyes.

“And then he started driving, the ATM still strapped to the back of his car— it was so loud, I swore I could practically see colors after that.”

“Seriously?? How did you catch him? Did you use your capture weapon on the wheels, or disconnect the machine from his car, or—”

“I didn’t have to. The dumbass ran into a pole before making it down the street, knocked himself out.”

“HA! That’s SO COOL!”

Aizawa wasn’t usually one who liked to talk much in general, let alone about himself or his life, but it made the kid happy. Ever since Izuku came back about a month ago, covered in bloody bandages and without the familiar light in his eyes, Aizawa had made it his personal mission to get the kid to laugh at least once a day. It gave him something to focus on, and it ensured that Izuku didn’t get completely lost in the darkness that threatened to swallow him. Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but seeing Izuku laugh lightened the load on Aizawa's chest significantly. 

Izuku, however, seemed to have a personal mission of his own. Every night without fail, he would comb through Aizawa’s hair with his hands and put it into a braid of some sorts, chatting about heroes or some random species of bird as he did so. 

This strange act of intimacy came shortly after Izuku’s week-long torture stint. Something in the kid seemed to… break . He’d wake up every night sobbing, screaming , clutching at his chest, his arms, his neck, reaching to grab his body as if it had been ripped from him in his dreams. Aizawa would rush to his side, not knowing how to help but moved into action, cradling Izuku in his arms until the sobbing stopped and the tears slowed. Izuku would run his hands through Aizawa’s hair without realizing at first, and embarrassingly curl into a ball with his face covered when he realized what he had been doing.

Aizawa had sighed, a sad smile on his face, as he dropped the kid’s hand back on his head. “If it helps you calm down, you can touch my hair, problem child. I don’t mind.”

And that was when their tradition began. Afterwards, any time Izuku had a nightmare, Aizawa would hold him in his arms until he calmed down, and they would sit on the bottom bunk of the bed together, talking in hushed tones as Izuku braided Aizawa's hair with shaky hands. Aizawa would be lying if he said it wasn’t nice. He had never let anyone touch his hair before, besides Hizashi’s occasional tussle, and it was… odd, to say the least. Pleasantly so. It was grounding in the sense that he could feel Izuku’s fingers on his scalp, was close enough to hear the boy’s heartbeat and slightly uneven breathing. 

It was confirmation that Izuku was alive , that he was breathing . It helped quell his paranoia, his deep-rooted fear that had been planted when the kid had been dumped back into the cell, barely breathing and so unbearably cold. He didn’t like seeing Izuku in pain, but it was better than the alternative.

So that was how they spent their days. Scheming, training, talking; constantly soaking up each other’s presence, forming a bond only a fool would try to break.

It was comfortable, and almost domestic in a sense. They were still in a literal prison cell. Aizawa still desperately missed his husband, his job, and his cats (even Bastard). Izuku still struggled with his healing wounds, his unsteady mind. 

They both had days where getting out of bed seemed impossible and escaping seemed like a faraway dream. They both got quiet sometimes, pausing to think about what was happening in the outside world right now, how much they were missing, if anyone was missing them. 

Aizawa wondered sometimes, when Izuku was asleep and the room was just too quiet, if his husband was looking for him, or if Hizashi thought he was dead. The thought kept him up at night.

But when all of that was put aside, Izuku and Aizawa managed to find comfort in each other. The past month hadn’t been horrible, in Aizawa’s opinion. The torture had stopped, and he and the kid were making things work in their own messy, jumbled way of surviving.

Everything was manageable. Stable, at the very least.

It should have been a warning; there’s always calm before a storm.

When Izuku awoke, it was to sore muscles and an aching body. This wasn’t unusual, since Aizawa had been pushing him harder in training, but it wasn’t very pleasant. 

He sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position on his bed to begin the day. Looking over to his right, Izuku was ready to tease Aizawa about his inevitable bedhead—

But Aizawa wasn’t there. Izuku’s heart dropped in his chest. Something wasn’t right; Aizawa was always in the same spot when he woke up. The man had stubbornly refused to sleep on the top bunk, muttering something about ‘constant vigilance’ before moving the flimsy mattress to sit between Izuku and the metal door.

Now, though, the mattress was empty. 

Izuku scrambled out of bed, looking frantically around the room for any sign of the underground hero, but finding none. Which only meant one thing.

Aizawa was gone. Taken. 

Izuku’s breathing picked up, his heart pounding in his ears. Gone, he was gone . It felt like there was static running through his veins, as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning, the room losing focus by the second—

Squeezing his eyes shut, Izuku tried to control his breathing. In for five seconds, hold for six, out for seven. Five, six, seven. Just like Aizawa had taught him.

He repeated this process until his heart rate had finally steadied, his head clearer than it had been before. Now wasn’t the time for panicking, Izuku reminded himself, trying to get his mind in order. He needed to think .

Aizawa was gone, taken somewhere, and Izuku didn’t know where he was. That alone wasn’t completely unusual; the Doctor had been taking Aizawa for more visits lately and returning him later and later. What was unusual was when they did this. Aizawa was taken while Izuku was asleep. That had never happened before, in however many months they had been there. Questions swarmed Izuku’s head, insisting and unceasing.

Why when Izuku was asleep? How did they take him without waking Izuku up? Surely the noise would have been enough to wake him, so did they drug him to keep him asleep? Why was this time different? Did the time that they took him hold any significance, or was it just random? Was this some type of psychological torture for Izuku? Were they torturing Aizawa? 

Izuku had begun muttering while trying to sort through his thoughts, the sound filling the quiet room as he paced back and forth.

Why had the Doctor been so focused on Aizawa recently? Sure, they already had done plenty of testing on Izuku, but he hadn’t been taken for an examination since his meeting with Overhaul. There had to be a reason. Were they doing the same thing to Aizawa that they had done to Izuku? He hoped not. His mind kept drifting back to the peculiarity of the situation. Why did they take Aizawa when they did? The Doctor was seemingly always here, so it wasn’t an issue with his schedule at least. So why the odd timing?

Or the better question: who’s time were they operating on now?

The thought stopped Izuku in his tracks. Of course. He knew why. He didn’t want it to be true, but it was the only thing that made any fragment of sense in this twisted situation.

Aizawa was going to meet Overhaul. And Izuku needed to do something quick . 

When Aizawa Shouta opened his eyes, he immediately noticed that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Instead of lying on a flimsy mattress on the ground of his cell, he was strapped to a metal chair. Or, a table? It was more like a sheet of metal, almost like the planks used by knife throwers for their volunteers in those old American T.V. shows Hizashi always made him watch. His arms and legs were strapped tight against his body with thick leather bands, a similar one pinning down his waist, his torso, and his head. Whoever had taken him was being incredibly thorough.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t in the Doctor’s usual office. Looking around the shockingly all-white room, he found no one else present. There were, however, desks in neat rows across the room from him, covered in computers, scattered notes, lab equipment, and so on. The room smelled of antiseptic, like it had been cleaned recently. It was unsettlingly quiet, the only noise being the faint whirring of machinery. Aizawa tried to wiggle his arms and legs to see how tightly he was really stuck, and he barely budged an inch. Shit . He could feel the beginning of a headache coming on.

He wondered how they even got him here; he didn’t remember being taken. He would have put up a fight, especially since, if his last memory proved correct, the kid was asleep. He was never taken when the kid was sleeping. Nor would he ever leave the kid without trying to wake him up first; Aizawa wouldn’t let him wake up to an empty room. The thought alone had Aizawa shivering… he remembered the feeling of waking up and Izuku being gone, not returning for hours. It was horrible . He could only hope to be reunited with him soon, for both of their sakes.

Aizawa was pulled out of his musings by several high-pitched beeping noises followed by a resounding metallic ‘click.’ The thick metal door at the far side of the room swung open.

That alone was strange to Aizawa— why the intense security measures? What was so important that it needed to be kept under such heavy-duty locks?

As the answer to his questions walked through the door, Aizawa bit back a curse. It all made sense, now. Why Izuku had been so frightened after returning to the cell a month ago, why he was so terrified he couldn’t even talk about what they had done to him. The wounds covering his body, too thin and precise to have been made by hand; it was like he had been torn apart from the inside out with a quirk, then shoved back together again.

The reality of the situation hit Aizawa like a sack of bricks.

Because in walked Chisaki Kai, better known as Overhaul, the leader of the Eight Precepts of Death. Aizawa had been investigating the man for years because of his involvement with the Yakuza, an organized crime syndicate running rampant throughout Japan. Overhaul was actually the name of his quirk; he could disassemble anything he touches and put it back together again. He was a suspect in dozens of murder cases and had charges ranging from manslaughter to arson to serial kidnapping. Other than his quirk, a list of charges, and some witness’ descriptions, the police force had next to no information on him. But the descriptions the witnesses provided were always the same. Green jacket with purple fur, and a giant bird-beak plague mask. He was an eccentric figure; one you couldn’t mistake. 

Aizawa had never met the man before, but he knew from the second he locked eyes with him that this really was Overhaul. His eyes were those of a killer, and Aizawa's instincts were screaming at him to run far, far away. His instincts were never wrong. 

The man entered the room slowly, his gaze fixed on Aizawa. His eyes were full of… disapproval? Malice? Aizawa wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. His cold aura washed over the room like a winter chill, and Aizawa had never missed the warm comfort of his capture weapon more than he did right now. 

Hiding his fear, his panic, Aizawa returned Overhaul’s glare with one of his own, vicious and biting. He could feel himself slip into his underground mode, his vision sharpening, his walls raising. Aizawa knew how vital it was to separate his emotions from his ability to make logical decisions, to keep a cool head. He didn’t have the luxury of feeling anything right now. As much as he wanted to scream at the bastard for hurting his kid, he had to gain the upper hand in the situation, if at all possible.

“Overhaul, how shit to finally meet you. You look like even more of a scumbag than I was expecting.” Aizawa’s flat tone gave nothing away, his gaze dismissive and bored. It was a risky move, but the only thing he could think of: a smart mouth and arrogant attitude pissed villains off to no end. And the angrier someone was, the more likely they were to make a mistake. It showed that Aizawa wasn’t scared, wasn’t someone who could be controlled, even if he was absolutely terrified. Which he was definitely wasn’t. Not at all.

“Shouta Aizawa, the displeasure is all mine. I’ve been waiting to meet you for months, but sadly my schedule has been quite busy.” The man’s words were clipped, his voice low and dangerous. He looked at Aizawa as if he were a rotting animal, collecting flies on the side of the road. 

“Oh, well thank you so much for gracing me with your presence. It means the world to finally meet a sickly Victorian peasant in the flesh— it was on my bucket list, you know.”

Overhaul’s eyes darkened. “Such a filthy, disgusting mouth. Soon, this world will be clean of filth. You’re going to help me achieve that.”

“Talk as much as you want about filth; you’re no cleaner than I am.”

The villain let out a long, extended sigh. “You’re right about that. Filth is unfortunately unavoidable for quirked individuals.” He took a step forward, his shoulders straightening, a strange look overtaking his features that had Aizawa’s hair standing on end. He didn’t like where this was going.

“But those without quirks are pure. You know, I’ve met quite a few quirkless individuals in my days. Old and young, brilliant and foolish. They were all clean — beautifully, wonderfully clean. Yet their minds were delicate, and their bodies unsuitable. Like flowers, they wilted when plucked, and their purity died with them. And then young Izuku came into our world, and our prayers were finally answered.”

Aizawa grit his teeth, trying to contain his emotions. The bastard had tortured the kid to an inch of his life, and still had the audacity to talk about him like he was some sick sacrifice. He said nothing, and Overhaul continued, his voice lighter than before.

“Ah, yes, Izuku truly is the solution to all of our problems. He was so much nicer to be around than you are, that much is certain. Quieter, too. He just has an air about him— so innocent, so pure . The second I made eye contact with him, I knew he was something special.”

Rage pooled in Aizawa’s stomach, his blood burning beneath his skin. He stayed quiet, he had to stay quiet —

“The child was terrified, I know. Trembling, even. Like a deer in the headlights, frozen before disaster. His panic was bewitching. But do you know what was even better?”

Aizawa clenched his fists, tight enough to draw blood. If he weren’t tied down, he would have jumped that bastard ages ago. He wanted him to stop talking.

Overhaul took another step forward. Then another, and another, until he stopped about too feet away from Aizawa, far too close for his liking. The man’s voice was barely above a whisper now, his eyes glinting in delight.

“Even better were his screams when I ripped his body apart, over and over again. Oh, they were beautiful. Like an angel singing to me from Heaven. Even his blood was clean and pure.”

A growl escaped Aizawa’s throat as he lurched forward in his restraints, teeth snapping at Overhaul, face darkened with  anger. "Shut the fuck up.”

Overhaul laughed in his face. It was an ugly sound, almost like a shrieking pelican. It didn’t suit the man. “So, the cold-hearted Eraserhead has a soft spot for the quirkless child? How peculiar. Although, I don’t blame you. Izuku is quite fascinating. His genetic makeup is fundamentally different from you and I’s. It made putting him back together quite the challenge. How is he doing, by the way? Is he still in shock? Dying will do that to a person, especially a child. I hope I didn’t break him too badly; I need him intact for my research.”

Aizawa had to fight to keep himself from breaking down entirely. He knew what Overhaul was trying— hell, succeeding— to do. Hearing about how Izuku was tortured, how he had been killed , was tearing him apart. 

“You touch him again and I’ll rip you to shreds with my bare hands.” Aizawa’s threat, primal and dangerous, would have had any normal person shaking in their boots. Unfortunately, Overhaul was far from normal.

“And how do you plan on doing that, hm? You couldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to, Eraserhead. You’re defenseless. Weak . I’ve already injured your precious boy. I killed him. Again, and again, and again. You know, he was conscious the entire time. Since I was remaking his brain constantly, he didn’t have the ability to pass out. All he could feel was pain, I’m sure.” Overhaul leaned back for a moment, observing Aizawa with blazing eyes. “Imagine how it felt to be ripped apart like that. Every nerve made fresh, sensitive to any little touch, each cut and tear.”

With a slow and precise motion, he unbuckled the clasp on his glove.  “Well, I suppose you won’t have to imagine anything. You’ll get to know exactly how it felt.”

Aizawa struggled to breathe, his chest heavy, his pulse frantic. A feeling of suffocating helplessness washed over him like a tsunami, drowning him in depths he knew he couldn’t escape from. 

Overhaul was right. He couldn’t do anything. He could only watch, as Izuku was hurt again and again. Watch, as the light in his kid’s eyes faded with every passing day. Watch, as the Doctor performed his relentless ‘examinations’.

Watch, as Overhaul reached forward with an ungloved hand, and ripped Aizawa apart.

Taking apart a human body and putting it back together in the span of a few seconds was a delicate, yet messy business. Overhaul enjoyed inflicting pain, of course, but he quite disliked how filthy things often got in the process. Blood stained the floor, bits of flesh and bones and fat disintegrating beneath his very touch. There was screaming and crying and silence, and then more screaming and crying… it got old quickly. But Overhaul didn’t dirty his hands for nothing. By understanding, deconstructing, and reconstructing Eraserhead’s physical form, he was able to locate, segregate, and pick apart the man’s quirk factor.

Overhaul rebuilt Eraserhead again, searching for the right piece, the part of his quirk that would be transferable to his research—

The lab’s door flung open, and Overhaul’s concentration was broken. A technician staggered forward, his face red and his breathing labored.

“Sir, I-I’m sorry to disrupt you, but there’s been a… disturbance.”

Slowly, Overhaul turned away from his work to face the man that had disrupted him. The room fell deathly quiet.

“What could be so important to warrant such an interruption,” his voice rang out; it wasn’t a question— it was a demand. The scientist grew pale, his eyes wide.

“It’s— it’s 13-9B, sir,” the man stuttered. “He’s engaged in a standoff with the Doctor, code red. He’s… he’s demanding that Eraserhead is returned to the cell.”

Overhaul was quiet for a moment, considering his options. He looked to Eraserhead, now covered in blood, thin wounds swirling their way around the entirety of his body. It was a disgusting sight. It wasn’t ideal, but he supposed he’d gotten enough data already. 

Besides— he had other matters to attend to.

“Get Eraserhead cleaned and bandaged. In the meantime, I’ll pay the boy a visit myself.”

The scientist nodded furiously, too scared to speak, before leaving to find another set of hands to help with his work.

Wiping the blood from his hands, Overhaul put his glove back on, snapping the buckle into place. 

He refused to be covered in blood while in the presence of a child, after all. It was just inconsiderate.

Chapter Text

Izuku wasn’t sure what he was doing. Really, he had no idea where this plan had come from. He blamed Aizawa’s bad influence. And Katsuki. Both had instilled in him a sense of bravery and rebelliousness that he didn’t seem to have previously; Aizawa’s presence and training had given him confidence, while Izuku’s memories of Katsuki provided him with the inspiration.

Inspiration for what? Well, the inspiration to make a scene, of course. If there was one thing Katsuki had taught Izuku, it was how to get all eyes on him, whether it be for better or for worse. And so, that was how Izuku found himself in his current predicament.  

When he had woken up to an empty cell, Izuku had panicked. He knew, logically, that Aizawa was being tortured, most likely by Overhaul. He couldn’t just sit by and let that happen— he had to do something . If their attention was on him instead of Aizawa, it meant that he wouldn’t get hurt as badly. Hypothetically, at least.

So Izuku made a scene. 

First, he looked for a weapon. Something sharp or blunt, anything he could hurt himself or someone else with. Everything in the room was bolted to the floor, so that left Izuku with very few options. The only items not bolted to the floor were the ratty blankets and pillows on the bed, the bar of soap on the sink, and the paper and crayons scattered around the floor. He could always draw Overhaul a nice little picture— the man would probably stop murdering his hero and play a fun game of tic-tac-toe with Izuku instead.

Yeah, not likely. He needed something jagged, something that could actually hurt someone, but there was nothing in the room he could even break to get that—

The lightbulb flickered above him, catching his attention. Izuku took a closer look at the metal cage surrounding it; he wouldn’t be able to remove them, but they were thin and far enough apart that something could slip through. Something small and easy to throw, but heavy enough to break the bulb. Like a bar of soap, for example.

Throwing the bar of soap hard enough and accurately enough to actually break the lightbulb proved to be rather difficult, but after about a dozen failed attempts, Izuku finally succeeded. Broken glass rained down to the floor, fragments falling around him. He jumped out of the way to avoid them, picking through the pieces once everything had settled. By luck alone was he able to find a rather large shard with a sharp tip, sharp enough to do some actual damage. After sweeping the rest of the broken glass under the bed with one of the blankets (he really didn’t want to step on them and not be able to walk), he moved on to the next step of his plan.

Izuku grasped the shard tightly in his left hand, approaching the metal door of his cell with purpose. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do next.

Pulling back his right fist, he began vigorously banging his hand against the metal door, a resounding ‘THUD’ ringing out with every hit. As he did so, he screamed as loud as he could, voice echoing in the previously quiet cell. To say it was loud was an understatement; the banging on the door alone would have been enough to draw attention, but Izuku had some serious pipes. He wailed like a banshee, waiting for someone to come down to find the cause of the commotion. 

Within minutes, he could hear the rattling of the lock from the door in front of him, someone cursing on the other side of the metal. He quickly retreated to the far side of the room, still screaming, waiting for the door to swing open. It was Guard #3 who walked in next, the same one who had dragged Izuku up to Aizawa’s first examination. His bald head shone with sweat, eyes wide and dangerous.

He was pissed . 

“What the hell is going on in here?” the man practically growled, a bulging vein pulsing on his neck. 

Izuku swallowed the fear that tightened his throat, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. “Bring the Doctor down right now, or else.” His wide green eyes met the dark brown of the guard, who proceeded to snort loudly across the room, crossing his muscular arms across his chest. 

“Or what, pipsqueak? You gonna cry?”

Instead of responding, Izuku raised the glass fragment up to his throat, its sharp end resting right against his skin. He was struck with a sudden sense of deja vu, and resisted the urge to laugh.

The guard’s face fell, any previous amusement far gone. He started moving towards Izuku, stopping when the boy spoke, his free hand extended in warning.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you. Unless you want to explain to your boss why his test subject bled out under your watch,” Izuku said confidently, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. He was more grateful now than ever for Aizawa’s lessons in manipulation and deceit. 

Glaring at Izuku, his mouth pressed together in a tight line, the guard hesitated. He stood still for a moment, as if trying to assess the validity of Izuku’s threat. His eyes flitted between the glass and Izuku’s face, hand twitching towards the taser strapped to his belt—

Izuku pressed the shard into his throat harder, unflinching as beads of crimson dripped down his neck. The guard froze.

“Call your boss,” Izuku snarled, “or I slit my fucking throat. Choice is yours, but I suggest you choose quickly.” His heart was pounding against his chest, his blood almost buzzing in his veins. It had to work. It had to.

“...Okay. Okay , just don’t do anything stupid” the guard snapped, reaching carefully to the walkie-talkie on the other side of his belt, telegraphing his movements clearly. Pressing the device’s largest button, he spoke in a low, gruff voice.

“Doc, I need you down in the cell ASAP. Patient 13-9B is threatening suicide. He managed to break the lightbulb, and is armed with a piece of glass. I repeat, I need you down in the cell ASAP…”

All while the guard sent his message, Izuku only returned his angry glare, trying to keep his hand from shaking. His stomach churned with a combination of fear and exhilaration, glad that his plan was working but terrified of the fallout, the consequences of his actions. He only hoped that it would be enough to save Aizawa from Overhaul’s quirk, even for a few minutes. 

The Doctor didn’t respond through the walkie-talkie. Instead, barely two minutes after the guard had messaged him, pounding footsteps could be heard racing to the cell’s entrance. The Doctor, disheveled and breathing hard, practically flew inside the room, stopping suddenly when he saw the position Izuku was in. Anger and annoyance could be seen on his face, followed by a fleeting look of… fear? Desperation? Izuku wasn’t sure. Although he would be lying if he said that seeing the Doctor so frazzled wasn’t exhilarating. 

The man tried to take a step forward, but backed up quickly when Izuku raised his hand further, still digging into his throat. The Doctor held up his hands, his palms facing Izuku in a placating gesture. Really, Izuku had to stop ending up in these situations.

“Now, boy, we don’t want to do anything rash. Why don’t you put that down, hm?” He gave a tense smile, eyes fixated on the weapon at Izuku’s neck. Izuku could see him swallow nervously, could see his hands trembling every few seconds. It gave him confidence, quelled some of the fear weighing on his chest.

“I’m not your boy. And I’ll stop when Eraserhead is brought back.” Izuku growled, trying to replicate the tone Katsuki always used when he was mad, the one that inspired panic to anyone on its receiving end. 

At this, the Doctor paled. He lowered his hands slightly, feet shuffling forward—

“Now, Doctor, I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in.” The familiar words made the man’s eyes widen in indignation. “I said ,” Izuku’s gaze met the Doctor’s, his resolve unwavering. “Bring. Eraserhead. Back.”

The Doctor grit his teeth, his eyes falling once again to the glass shard piercing Izuku’s neck. The cell was quiet as the man thought about what to do, trying to find a way out of the situation but clearly finding none.

After a moment’s pause, he turned to Guard #3, his voice clipped and full of dread. “Notify Overhaul. Bring Eraserhead down here.”

The guard nodded, making his way quickly out of the cell to complete his orders. Izuku could have collapsed in relief. Aizawa was going to be okay. He had to be okay.

Then he thought about the implications of what he had just done. Overhaul was probably on his way down here. And he was not going to be happy, that much was sure. Izuku shuddered just thinking about the man. The last thing he wanted was to see him again. There was something about the way he had looked at Izuku; it was... unnerving. Like he was a piece of treasure, something to be cherished— similar to the way a child looks at a Christmas present, except far, far more disturbing.

Caught in his musings, Izuku almost didn’t notice the Doctor creeping slowly towards him. His head shot up, eyes blazing, as he pressed the shard of glass into his throat harder, the flow of blood down his neck that had previously slowed now picking back up.

“I don’t think Overhaul would like it if I died. Wouldn’t you agree, Doctor?” Izuku’s voice was cold and calculating. He’d analyzed both Overhaul and the Doctor’s quirks— he was 98% sure that the Doctor couldn’t revive people, and that Overhaul could undo damage he did, but not what others inflicted. Judging by the Doctor’s alarm, he had a feeling he was correct. Honestly, Izuku wasn’t sure how he was staying this calm; it seemed like his lessons with Aizawa were paying off.

And so, the two stood silently, poised in a dangerous showdown until Overhaul arrived. It was the longest 15 minutes of Izuku’s life. His arm shook with the strain of being held up for that long, so much so that he had to focus on not actually slitting his throat. The Doctor never took his eyes off of him, obviously worried that he would slip up. Izuku almost wondered why the Doctor was so panicked, but after watching his interaction with Overhaul, it made sense. If Izuku died on his watch, the Doctor would be ripped to shreds. It would not be pleasant, that much was certain. 

After waiting for what felt like hours (it was around 20 minutes), a set of footsteps could be heard approaching the cell, the slow and meticulous gait accentuated by metallic shoes clicking on the stone floor. Izuku tightened his grip on the shard of glass, his heart rate spiking. 

The footsteps drew closer and closer, until finally, Overhaul’s tall figure entered the cell. His expression unreadable, the man approached the pair, stopping next to the Doctor.

His gaze swept Izuku up and down, and Izuku fought the urge to scream under the intense focus. “Well, you’ve certainly landed yourself in quite the predicament, huh, Iz-u-ku. ” Overhaul drew out the syllables of the boy’s name almost playfully, and it made Izuku shiver in disgust.

It was the first time the man had actually said his name, and Izuku hated how it sounded coming from his mouth. He grit his teeth, glaring at Overhaul, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response just yet.

Overhaul’s gaze stuck on Izuku for another moment before turning to the Doctor, his eyes blazing with fury. “And you .” 

At this, the Doctor stiffened.

“I’m still not pleased about your previous misstep. Go fetch Eraserhead with the others and bring him down here. Do it quickly and I’ll consider lessening your punishment.” Overhaul’s voice was disinterested, detached, and cold, but his presence was dangerous. 

The Doctor nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, sir,” he stuttered, before scampering outside of the cell, rushing to distance himself from the terrifying figure that was Overhaul. It was almost funny. Almost.

Now, it was just Overhaul and Izuku in the cell. The panic and fear Izuku had been ignoring previously reared its ugly head, and was burning a hole in Izuku’s stomach. With a steady hand, Overhaul unclasped the glove on his right hand, taking it off.

And he took a step forward. It took every ounce of restraint Izuku possessed to not take a step back. Instead, he tightened his grip on the shard of glass at his throat, eyes widening in warning. 

“I w-wouldn’t do that.” Izuku inwardly cringed at the break in his voice. He couldn’t help his trembling now. Overhaul only tilted his head slightly, almost curiously, at the gesture.

He took another step forward. Under his foot, something cracked, sharp and loud in the silence of the cell. Both he and Izuku froze. Slowly, Overhaul moved his boot to the side, revealing a broken crayon. The man leaned down to pick up the two halves, holding it carefully between his fingers.

As Izuku watched, the crayon seemed to almost bubble, warping horribly before it exploded into pieces— dust, really. He knew it was some type of terrible intimidation tactic, but Izuku couldn’t help but flinch.

Overhaul stepped forward again.

This time, Izuku stepped back. His shoulder blades hit the stone wall behind him, chest heaving with panic as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He steeled himself, readjusting the shard of glass until it sat right on top of his jugular vein, waiting. 

Overhaul paused at the action, seeming to think. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice uncharacteristically soft. It wasn’t warm, but it was quiet, considering. “You really would, wouldn’t you?” Overhaul’s darkened eyes bored into his soul, and Izuku’s breath faltered at the question. He fought the tears that were threatening to spill down his cheeks, gritting his teeth.

“You… were hurting him,” Izuku’s voice broke again, the confidence that had previously possessed him now gone. He was scared. Terrified . He didn’t know what else to do, he just— he had to do something . “You were hurting ‘Zawa.” Tears streamed down his face, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t look away, too scared that Overhaul would pounce in his moment of weakness.

The room fell silent as Overhaul observed him, just… watching.

Slowly, with a care that Izuku didn’t know what to do with, Overhaul knelt down in front of Izuku, eye to eye with the young boy. Izuku scrunched up his face in confusion, hand tightening around the weapon he was holding. 

Overhaul stared into his eyes for a moment, the air thick with tension, with fear. Izuku waited for Overhaul to do something, to hurt him, to get mad. Instead, he spoke.

“I wonder if you know of the power you hold.”

And that… wasn’t what Izuku was expecting. He froze, his grip on the shard of glass loosening ever so slightly as he turned the words over in his head, trying to understand. Overhaul was still looking at him with those unreadable eyes, as if he was seeing something Izuku couldn’t.

“But... I’m q-quirkless?” The words slipped out before Izuku could stop himself. For all he knew, this was just an attempt to get him to drop his guard, for Overhaul to tear him apart. But he was scared and confused and it didn’t make any sense .

The man’s face twisted, his eyes narrowing and his cheeks moving—

With a start, Izuku realized that Overhaul was smiling under the mask, his eyes alight with excitement. The sight made Izuku’s skin crawl.

“Exactly.”

Izuku didn’t like any of this, he didn’t like what Overhaul was saying or how he was looking at him or how close he was—

The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the cell, approaching them quickly. Overhaul stood back up, his face returning to the cold, emotionless mask he usually wore, and the moment was broken.

Guard #3, accompanied by the Doctor, entered the cell. In the guard’s arms was an unconscious Aizawa, covered in white bandages that were spotted with red. Izuku had never seen the man look so… small, so defenseless. It made his heart drop in his chest, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. The guard made his way over to the bed carefully, paying close attention to Izuku as he dropped Aizawa unceremoniously onto the bottom bunk.

Izuku fought the urge to rush to the hero’s side, but he relaxed slightly knowing that at least Aizawa wasn’t being hurt right now. He tried not to think about what had happened before, what he had failed to prevent— guilt ate away at his stomach as he shoved those thoughts away for another time. He wasn’t out of the clear just yet.

Overhaul returned his gaze to Izuku, any remnants of his past fondness long gone. “Consider yourself lucky, child,” he sneered, the tone enough to make Izuku’s blood run cold. Without another glance at him, Overhaul began walking out of the room. “Get this mess cleaned up,” he called out to his subordinates as he disappeared around the corner. Only when Izuku couldn’t hear the man’s receding footsteps did he allow himself to breathe, his heartbeat slowing down considerably.

The Doctor fixed his gaze on Izuku, the previous panic that had occupied his features now gone, a tired and angry look in its place. Noting the shard of glass still at the boy’s throat, the Doctor sighed deeply, reaching into a pocket of his lab coat and retrieving a small cylindrical object that Izuku didn’t recognize. Looking now at the guard, the Doctor nodded. Without a single word uttered between them, both figures turned around and walked right out of the cell, the metal door clanging shut behind them. 

Izuku stood there in shock. Looking around, bewildered, it took a few moments for Izuku to finally drop the shard of glass at his throat and rush to Aizawa’s side. He sighed in relief as he felt a strong and steady pulse from the man’s wrist. Kneeling on the ground next to the bed, ignoring the shards of glass embedding themselves in his skin, Izuku moved Aizawa into a more comfortable position, sliding the flimsy pillow underneath his head and covering the man with the other ratty blanket. The adrenaline was slowly leaving Izuku’s system, and he was left shaking like a leaf, tears now streaming steadily down his face. 

He let his head fall against the mattress, shoulders trembling as he sobbed quietly. He was so exhausted, so absorbed in his relief that Aizawa was alive and breathing and safe, that he failed to notice the small object the Doctor had been holding being slid into the room through the small compartment in the bottom of the door, emitting an odorless and colorless gas. 

Izuku could feel his eyelids grow heavier, his attempts at staying vigilant becoming more difficult by the second. He was just so glad that Aizawa was here, was safe . And he was… tired. So, so tired…

His breathing evened out, body slumping against the mattress as he fell into a dreamless sleep. The room was quiet once more, almost peaceful. The sleeping gas dissipated quickly, and soon enough, two familiar figures stepped into the cell.

The Doctor’s associates, the women that had bathed and cleaned Izuku, regarded the room with silent consideration. 

Eraserhead was unconscious on the bottom bunk’s mattress, and Izuku was collapsed against him, still kneeling on the ground, also unconscious. The floor was covered with shattered glass, haphazardly swept to the side by a discarded blanket. The two women worked in silence, sweeping up the glass, removing anything not bolted to the floor (leaving the mattresses and the blanket that wasn’t covered in glass), and eventually lugging in a fresh mattress to position next to the bottom bunk. The previous mattress had shards of broken glass in its seams and needed to be removed. Carefully, the women maneuvered Izuku into a sitting position, cleaning the wound on his neck and removing the tiny pieces of glass that had embedded themselves in the boy’s knees. 

“...He has a chance, you know. With the hero,” the younger of the two women muttered, looking at the boy carefully as she bandaged his neck.

The older woman froze for just a moment before putting new sheets on the mattress, not responding.

“Kurai, we could do something this time—”

“ Lower your voice,” she finally replied, whispering at her partner angrily. “What do you want to do? Call the heroes? Take out Overhaul? I don’t like any of this either, but I’m not naive enough to think that we could actually save this boy. You heard what they have planned for the man—”

“Which is exactly why we have to help. Just… think about it, please. I can’t— I can’t bury another one of them. Please.”

The two women looked at each other— silent, angry, scared, before turning their eyes downward. Kurai placed Izuku on the new mattress, his injuries freshly bandaged, her gaze catching on his sleeping face. He was… so tiny. So young .

No more words were spoken between them; they had said all that needed to be said. For now, at least. After the room was fully cleaned and the lightbulb replaced (covered completely this time with an unbreakable see-through shield), the two women left, with neither Izuku nor Aizawa any the wiser of their quiet visitors.

Chapter Text

When Aizawa had finally woken up after his meeting with Overhaul, Izuku broke down crying. He tried so hard not to: Aizawa needed support, not a sobbing child to take care of. But try as he might, he couldn’t hold back his tears when dull, dark eyes met his worried gaze. Like a pool of spilt ink, they were a seemingly endless chasm of pitch black, devoid of emotion, of life .

Izuku pulled Aizawa into a loose hug, wary of his injuries, after he had helped him into a sitting position. He had never seen the man like this— had never seen anyone like this. Breathing, but… lifeless. Aizawa was a shell of a person; he wasn’t responding to Izuku’s questions or touches, seemingly unaware that Izuku was even present.

As he cried, Izuku talked to Aizawa. The boy was no stranger to dissociation. He remembered, in the months before Aizawa arrived, the state of emptiness that he’d slip into after every session with the Doctor. The world would fade into the background, and everything would feel so, so far away. He’d be aware of everything going on around him, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to break out of that fuzzy state of mine. 

He figured that was what Aizawa was going through right now. Most likely, it was his brain’s way of coping with what Overhaul had put him through. So, Izuku cried. He cried, and he held his hero. He braided his hair and whispered to him about heroes and cats and his favorite segments on Present Mic’s radio show. He rambled on about anything his brain could latch onto. Unfortunately for Aizawa (who Izuku wasn’t sure could even hear him), Izuku had a plethora of knowledge on microeconomics, mechanical engineering, and foreign policy. It made for some very dry filler. Honestly, Izuku was just scared of the silence. He was worried that if he were to stop talking, Aizawa would slip deeper into the darkness and never return. 

So Izuku talked, sniffling between sentences, sitting with Aizawa in the dimly lit room, trying not to completely lose his mind.

It took almost two hours for Aizawa to break out of his state of dissociation. As Izuku was talking about Vertical Integration (he was seriously running out of things to talk about) he could feel Aizawa stir slightly beside him. Izuku stopped talking. He was still positioned next to Aizawa, having moved to share the bunk bed mattress with him so he could support his weight and make sure he didn’t strain his injuries. He moved to retract his arm from the man’s shoulders now that he seemed to be coming to, but a trembling hand stopped him in the process. 

“‘Zawa? Are… are you… can you hear me?” Izuku’s voice kept breaking, fear and worry evident in his tone. He studied Aizawa’s face closely. His eyes held more life in them than before, although he didn’t seem to be very aware of his surroundings.

“...Kid?” Aizawa’s voice was barely a croak. It wasn’t the usual gruff, stoic voice that Izuku had come to associate with the underground hero. That one word was full of vulnerability, spoken quietly and despondently, as if worried that Izuku was merely a figment of his imagination. It tore Izuku’s heart to pieces to hear the man so utterly… broken.

“I’m—I’m here, ‘Zawa,” Izuku stifled back a sob, “I’m here.” He pulled Aizawa closer, practically cradling the man in his arms as they both sat on the flimsy mattress, sorrow thick and heavy in the air.

Izuku just held his hero as Aizawa’s shoulders trembled. He didn’t say anything when he felt teardrops land on his skin, soaking into the cloth of his shirt. He didn’t say anything to discourage Aizawa’s grip on his forearm, a wavering hold that screamed don’t leave me . He didn’t ask about what had happened, or if Aizawa was okay. Instead, he sat quietly, arms circled around Aizawa in a protective embrace as the man cried. 

Aizawa had always been Izuku’s knight, his hero. But his armor had been stripped and his shield had been destroyed. He had seen war and it had shattered him; he had nothing to protect him now, no shield to brandish and no horse to ride into battle.

Izuku vowed to be his armor tonight. He promised to hold him, to protect him. 

He couldn’t rebuild the fortress that Aizawa Shouta had so carefully constructed, but he could stand guard while the man picked up the pieces.

It took a long time for Aizawa to return back to his normal state of self. Neither he nor Izuku spoke of that day while the man recovered, letting the topic rest until he was feeling better. After two weeks, it was finally brought up.

“You did what?”   Aizawa was using his teacher voice, sharp and cold— it demanded attention, respect. He’d never used it with Izuku before, but it came naturally after what Izuku had just told him. Aizawa had been wondering this entire time why Overhaul had left so suddenly, why he had been returned to the cell early. Izuku would always dodge his questions, but Aizawa didn’t let him skip out on answering this time. The kid flinched at the accusing tone, seemingly already regretting telling Aizawa what happened.

“I-I, I woke up and you were gone, ‘Zawa, and I knew that they had taken you, that it had to be Overhaul, and I was so scared and I didn’t want them to hurt you because I know what it feels like and— and it worked! They stopped , they stopped hurting you!” Izuku’s voice was shaking and his eyes were watery, but he met Aizawa’s calculating gaze, his face set and fists clenched.

Aizawa had seen the same look on the faces of his students more times than he could count; the look of a person whose reckless self-sacrifice had been praised in the past, had maybe even saved lives. But that kind of behavior got students and heroes alike killed— it was unacceptable, and Aizawa wouldn’t allow Izuku to think that it was okay.

“So you decide to draw the attention of a criminal mastermind, a literal murderer , instead? By threatening to kill yourself. Is that it? Did I get that part right?” Aizawa’s voice was still quiet, but pointed; he didn’t need to yell to get his message across.

“That’s, that’s not—” Izuku scrunched up his face, his cheeks red and his eyes puffy, his mouth opening a few times but no words coming out. “...I knew they wouldn’t kill me, they— they need me. It was the only leverage I had, ‘Zawa. I know it was risky, but it was worth it. You’re safe, and Overhaul left, and he didn’t come back!” Dark eyes peered up at Aizawa pleadingly, now spilling over with tears. Aizawa’s glare softened ever so slightly, but he relented.

“Izuku, he could have hurt you. Hell, he could have killed you . That man is unstable and incredibly quick to anger. Your life is important, kid. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

Izuku seemed to only cry harder at this, his brows furrowed in frustration. It was a startling sight. In all the time that Aizawa had known the boy, he’d never seen Izuku like this. Almost— angry.

“But, but h-how else do I stop them from hurting you? ‘Zawa, it worked! You’re right, my life is important— to them . Which means they’re not going to kill me and so—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.”

Izuku clamped his mouth shut at Aizawa’s interjection, the room falling quiet. Aizawa didn’t want to snap at the kid, but he knew it was the only way to get through to him right now. And he had to get through to him.

“Under no circumstance will you ever, ever try something like that again. Got it?” Izuku opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off once again. “No, you don’t get to refuse, Izuku. You’re still a child. I won’t have you put yourself in harm's way for my sake. I’m a hero— This is my job . I’m not going to ask again. Do you understand?”

A moment passed in silence before Izuku turned his eyes to the floor, his tears dripping onto the stone. “...Yes. I understand.” 

Aizawa closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Kid… look, I’m not mad at you.”

At that, Izuku’s head shot up. “You- you’re not?”

Sighing, Aizawa ran a hand through his hair, guilt pooling in his stomach. Maybe… maybe he had been too harsh. He just needed Izuku to be safe , that was all. He couldn’t encourage his behavior, not when it could have gotten him killed.

“No. I’m upset, but I’m not mad at you. Listen: I don’t want you hurting yourself or risking your life for me. It’s dangerous. I… I don’t want to lose you, kid.” Aizawa’s shoulders slumped, the exhaustion of the past few weeks finally catching up to him. 

Izuku looked at him for a moment, blinking, almost as if he were surprised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I just— I just wanted to help,” he sniffled, scrubbing the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. 

“I know, kid. You don’t have to apologize; it’s not your fault we’re in this mess. Just be careful , okay?” Aizawa didn’t try to cover up the break in his voice, didn’t try to hide the concern in his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could right now anyways.

Nodding, Izuku launched himself forwards into his arms, snuggling his head into the crook of Aizawa’s neck. His tiny, scarred hands wrapped around the man’s shoulders, holding onto him tightly. Aizawa just chuckled, now used to Izuku’s constant hugging. He patted the kid’s head, returning his embrace warmly. 

Aizawa waited until Izuku pulled away, his cheeks flushed, looking like he wanted to apologize (Aizawa was trying to train that habit out of him) but staying silent. If the kid needed a hug, he was going to get a hug— that, Aizawa was never going to accept an apology for. 

“Now come on, how about we train for a little?”

“ Really? Can we work on our roundhouse kicks today? I’ve been trying to get them down, but I can’t seem to get my legs to work how they should…”

As Izuku rambled, his eyes alight and his hands waving around with every few words, Aizawa thought about before. Izuku had looked surprised when he had reprimanded him, surprised that he would care — as if Aizawa was the first in his life to do so. He wanted to ask who had taught him that he was so indispensable, but he knew better than to push even further than he already had, for today at least. It was infuriating that Izuku was so quick to put himself in danger, and even more terrifying that Izuku didn’t understand why it was so wrong . Aizawa only hoped that, with time, he could instill a sense of self-worth into the kid. Being in a prison cell wasn’t helping. Neither was the torture, or the lack of human contact, or the murderer hovering over their shoulders— the list went on. He shook his head to clear it, trying to refocus on Izuku (who was still talking). He had promised to train the kid, after all.

And so, the pair trained; Izuku had since progressed from the basics and was now learning more offensive maneuvers. Honestly, Aizawa was impressed with how quickly he was able to pick up on things. When he first started instructing Izuku, about a month and a half prior, Izuku could barely last thirty seconds before being knocked flat on his ass while sparring. Now, he could last a solid few minutes against Aizawa. He was no pro, that was undeniable, but his skill wasn’t to be underestimated. 

Since Overhaul had last visited, Izuku and Aizawa were left untouched by the Doctor. The only sign that the facility hadn’t been completely abandoned was the food still being slid under their cell door twice a day during that stretch of time. It was odd, unsettling. Something was going to happen, and Aizawa wasn’t sure what. But they didn’t take the time for granted. He and Izuku used it to grow stronger, to train, and to plan.

As it was, the plan was still in its beginning stages. There were simply so many unknowns. 

Aizawa figured that if he could get past the guards and avoid Overhaul, he would be in the clear. The Doctor couldn’t really do much in a fight— his quirk wasn’t combat based, and the man was pretty scrawny. The guards, however, proved more difficult. They were almost the size of All Might, packed with muscle and built like brick walls. If he had to fight them, quirk or no, Aizawa wasn’t sure he could win. That didn’t even account for Overhaul, or the facility itself. Without a map, there was no way escaping was possible. Unless they could find a phone and call for backup, there wasn’t much that could be done. 

That didn’t stop Izuku and Aizawa from planning, though. Ideas to get more information were constantly sprung back and forth, as well as possible escape routes (vents, windows, sewers, and so on). All they needed was to bide their time wisely and hope that they weren’t killed before they could get out. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it served to be a decent motivator. 

Aizawa glanced over idly at Izuku, the boy currently doing some stretches after their sparring session. His skin shone with a thin layer of sweat, his eyes sharp and concentrated. He had seen that look in the eyes of underground heroes and villains; it was a look that could see right through you, eyes that could tear you apart in a single glance. It was never a look he had seen in the eyes of a child. Until now, that is. 

Sensing somehow that he was being observed, Izuku met Aizawa’s stare and smiled. It was bright and genuine, and it knocked the breath from Aizawa's lungs. He could only manage a nod back at the kid, who returned to his stretching.

Izuku had changed in the several months that Aizawa had come to know him. He was still small, but he had gained a little muscle from their training. He had also gained far too many scars from his ‘visits’ with Overhaul and the Doctor. His entire body was covered in them, pinkish-white lines swirling around his pale skin, depicting an almost mosaic of agony. His dark green hair was past his shoulders at this point and could be mistaken for black in the dark. His old doe-like eyes were less wide and trusting, now narrowed and darkened in constant suspicion. Freckles still painted his face, but any remnant of baby fat was long gone, replaced with a gauntness that spoke of malnourishment. Although both Izuku and Aizawa were being fed, it was far from enough to support anyone long-term, let alone a growing child. 

He was going to get the two of them out. He was a hero, for fucks sake. While he was preparing Izuku to fight, to defend himself, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Not if everything went according to the plan. The plan that was… still a work in progress. Regardless, he was going to protect him. Aizawa swore to himself that he would. But it was taking longer than expected, and honestly?

Aizawa was scared. The facility was big, uncharted territory. He didn’t know how many enemies he’d have to face to break out, didn’t know how to get the quirk suppressant out of his body, didn’t know if he’d be able to contact backup or get any weapons or beat Overhaul and—

He didn’t know if he could save Izuku in time . Izuku used to have so much hope in his eyes, and now? He was far from hopeless, but Aizawa could tell that the kid was getting tired. The light in his eyes only ever grew darker now, and his smiles came slower and less frequently. The boy’s kindness never wavered, though. No, Aizawa knew that behind the newly constructed walls of defense the kid had been building was a warm and gentle soul, still yearning to be the hero that no one had ever bothered to be for himself.

He could only pray that Izuku would make it out of this with some shred of his spirit intact.

Unfortunately for Aizawa Shouta, God seemed to have other plans in mind.

Chapter Text

Aizawa wasn’t sure how many months had passed since his kidnapping. He was kidnapped sometime in June, of that he was certain, but without any windows in the cell, he couldn’t accurately note when the days began and when they ended. It felt like he had been there for years, even if it couldn’t have been more than a matter of months.

The days were easier now than they were when he had first been taken. The aching in his chest whenever he would think about his husband and cats had lessened slightly (it never went away, truly) and the fear and helplessness that had consumed him in the beginning was more manageable. Maybe he was adjusting to his surroundings. Or maybe he was just becoming numb; it was hard to say for sure. 

Of course, that was when the experiments changed.

After Izuku and Aizawa had fully recovered from their meetings with Overhaul, they had been mainly left alone by the Doctor. There were a few ‘examinations’ every now and then, but nothing majorly debilitating or scarring. The peace was… concerning. It meant that they were working on something, preparing for— well, Aizawa didn’t know what. 

Until today, that is.

Normally, Aizawa and Izuku would wake up around the same time (Aizawa always woke up first), and around an hour later, two trays of food would be slid under the door for them to eat. This morning, however, no food came. Instead, the door opened fully, revealing the three bodyguards that seemed to always accompany the Doctor. 

Aizawa and Izuku were in the middle of signing about a plan for future combat lessons when they stopped abruptly, surprised by the sudden entrance. Aizawa stood quickly from his place on the floor, positioning himself between Izuku and the guards. His body was tense, prepared to spring into action at any moment. Izuku reacted similarly, on his feet instantly in front of the bunkbed and lowered slightly into a fighting stance. 

No one moved. The guards didn’t attack them or anything— they just waited, glaring at them impatiently. Aizawa knew that whatever they had planned was going to be bad. Really, really bad. He spared a glance at Izuku. The kid was ready to fight, ready to follow Aizawa in whatever he did, wherever he went. It didn’t make Aizawa feel better, knowing that. He… he couldn’t put Izuku at risk like this. In a fight between him and all three guards, Aizawa wasn’t sure he’d be able to win, let alone protect Izuku in the process.

Sighing, Aizawa relaxed into a less threatening position, nodding at Izuku to do the same. The guards finally approached them, one grabbing Izuku and the other two grabbing Aizawa. As they were dragged away, Izuku’s gaze met Aizawa’s; in his eyes, the hero could see fear. He could also see determination. The kid nodded at Aizawa before turning his gaze back to the hallway they were being pulled down. Somewhat startlingly, Aizawa realized that Izuku had been trying to reassure him. The thought weighed heavily in his mind and on his chest as he was escorted roughly into the Doctor’s office.

The office itself had changed since the last time Aizawa had been in it. Instead of just the one observation table, there were now two; they sat in the room menacingly, a foot’s length apart from one another. The feeling of unease in Aizawa's stomach only grew at the sight. This… wasn’t good.

Inside the room, fiddling with some equipment, was the Doctor. Donned with his goggles and surgical mask, the man stood tall in the stark white room, an air of anticipation surrounding him. Turning around upon the group’s entrance, he gestured at the tables, a smile twisting his features under his mask. 

“Ah, welcome, welcome. Please, take a seat,” the Doctor chuckled. Aizawa rolled his eyes at the man’s sick humor as the two guards holding his arms dragged him toward one of the metal tables. Izuku was taken to the table closest to the Doctor, which Aizawa instantly disliked. By the look of obvious discomfort on Izuku’s face, he didn’t like it either. But Aizawa knew that fighting would make things exponentially worse, so he didn’t struggle as a guard fastened the leather restraints around his limbs, tightened painfully to prevent any movement. Izuku was subjected to the same treatment, and the room was quiet for a moment, letting Aizawa sort through his thoughts.

Being here with Izuku was incredibly nerve-wracking. They had never tortured them together in the same place before, always taking them one at a time previously. He was trying to understand why that was— it just didn’t make any sense. Why were they together? Was this some type of psychological torture, some way to break them mentally? Maybe it was another experiment, but on what? Was Overhaul going to make an appearance?

Aizawa was pulled out of his musings as the Doctor stepped closer to him, a scalpel in his hand. He tried to move to avoid such closeness, but no matter how hard he struggled, the bindings wouldn’t give. Without any warning or preparation, the Doctor pulled the collar of Aizawa’s shirt down, pressing the scalpel against the skin where his neck and collarbone met, a sharp sting accompanying the action. Aizawa clenched his teeth, stifling a hiss. Usually, the Doctor talked much more before actually experimenting on them— What the fuck was going on? There was no evil villain monologue, no sadistic jokes or anything.

His confusion only grew when the Doctor, still eerily silent, pried the incision open with his hands . Taken by surprise, Aizawa let out a gasp of pain, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation of fingers wriggling around in his shoulder . Izuku startled beside him at the sound.

“‘Zawa! Are you okay?”

The Doctor laughed, his fingers now poking around the inside of his shoulder as if he were looking for something. Aizawa took a deep breath, trying to not let it show how much it actually hurt (it hurt like a bitch ).

“‘M fine, kid. Just—” Aizawa had to grit his teeth from crying out again as the Doctor probed deeper into his neck. He strained his body against the bindings, his brain screaming at him to get away. He could feel the Doctor’s fingers close around something embedded in his shoulder, and, ignoring the burning at the movement, finally realized why the Doctor was digging into his neck in the first place. The quirk suppressor, the one they had implanted when Aizawa had been kidnapped. He was taking it out. Aizawa’s eyes widened, his mind racing a mile a minute. He swallowed the bile forcing its way up his throat, trying to stay calm —

With a sickening noise, the Doctor finally managed to pull the quirk-suppressing device from Aizawa’s shoulder. It was a small metal lump, coated in blood and entirely unassuming, but the removal had Aizawa’s world turning upside down. All at once, he could feel his quirk returning to him, washing over his senses like a tidal wave. He gasped, too overwhelmed to even try and stifle the noise. It was… it was like he was whole again. This entire time, he had felt so unbearably empty . He could always feel his quirk in his body, but it was faded, unreachable. Every time he tried to call upon it he’d be stopped, and it was maddening . After months without it, he had grown accustomed to not being able to use it.

But now? Aizawa could feel the power of his quirk coursing through his bloodstream, Erasure alive at a single thought. Reflexively he activated his quirk; he almost wept at the sensation, his eyes burning and his hair floating around his face. He was so consumed with the feeling that he didn’t hear the Doctor’s satisfied hum, or Izuku’s worried “‘Zawa!”

Only after a solid minute of Aizawa having Erasure activated, when the stinging of his eyes finally forced him to blink, did he deactivate his quirk and tune back into his surroundings. The elation at having his quirk back was replaced with cold, gut-wrenching fear.

Because why else would the Doctor give him his quirk back if not to experiment with? 

Almost as if reading his mind, the all-too silent Doctor spoke up. “I’m sure you’re both wondering why you’re here. And why I gave dear Eraserhead his quirk back. You see, Overhaul found something very interesting when collecting data on young Izuku, something we’re finally ready to explore on this very day.”

At the mention of Overhaul, both Aizawa and Izuku stiffened. The Doctor continued, now pacing the length of the floor, footsteps echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

“Well, while Izuku is quirkless and therefore does not have a quirk factor, Overhaul detected an interesting… presence… in the boy’s brain. Determining one’s quirklessness can be done through observing the lack of an extra toe joint, yes, but deeper examinations presented a minute difference in the brain of a quirkless individual vs that of a quirked. Located in the Cerebellum is a cluster of neural pathways that are otherwise absent in the brain of a quirked individual. And in Izuku, this cluster just so happens to be incredibly resilient, stronger than any I’ve seen before.” He paused, speeding up in his tangent, becoming more audibly excited with every word. “After digging further, this group serves no apparent purpose. However, we believe them to be a sort of— how do you say... possible quirk transmitter, one that, if presented with a quirk base, could bind to said factor and act as a bridge between the body and the quirk, similarly to how a quirked individual’s brain is already wired to do so.”

The Doctor stopped his rant as well as his pacing, choosing instead to walk over to Izuku. Reaching the edge of Izuku’s metal observation table, he leant over the side, peering down at Izuku with glistening eyes behind his shining goggles. Izuku could only stare upwards at the man’s face, eyes wide in fear and anticipation as he waited for the Doctor to continue. “Simply put, my boy,” the Doctor leaned even closer, barely a few inches away from Izuku’s face. The child would have flinched away if possible.

“You have the possibility of gaining a quirk.”

For a horrifying moment, the room was quiet. Aizawa didn’t understand, couldn’t understand— his body was still adjusting to his quirk, and he was a smart man but science, especially quirk science , was never his strong suit. 

But Izuku had studied quirks for years. And everything clicked . 

“No, NO— you can’t —” Izuku was frantic, crying , and Aizawa still was trying to make it make sense but he didn’t know what was going on .

“What the hell do you mean by that?” he raised his voice, struggling against his bindings fruitlessly. He didn’t like how scared Izuku sounded, terrified in a way he’d never been before. 

The Doctor just laughed, a short and mirthless “HA” that had Aizawa almost jumping out of his skin. “I guess you’ll find out, won't you?” While the two captives couldn’t see the Doctor’s ruthless grin, they could hear it in his voice, could hear the satisfaction, the sadistic pleasure he took in their suffering practically oozing out of his tone. 

Izuku went to warn Aizawa, his voice shaking almost violently, “‘Zawa, he’s going to—”

“Now, my boy, why don’t you keep quiet, yes? I don’t want you spoiling the surprise for our dear hero. Otherwise, I can make this process more painful than it needs to be, if you’d so prefer.”

The Doctor’s threat had Izuku snapping his mouth shut, falling silent once more. Aizawa wracked his brain frantically, trying to think about what could possibly be happening. In his rant, the Doctor was talking about… neural pathways? Something something quirks, that Izuku was special— but what did that have to do with him? Honestly he hadn’t been paying much attention to the Doctor’s ramblings, too focused on the fact that his quirk was back his quirk was back his quirk was back. He knew that whatever was going to happen next wasn’t good, a fact only reinforced by the fear in Izuku’s voice. The Doctor, now with something in his hands, approached the tables.

Aizawa squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the worst. He expected the pain of a scalpel again, the dragging of a blade against his skin. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he would get through it. He had to.

But the Doctor wasn’t working on him.

Izuku let out a strangled cry of pain on his left; it was almost more like a scream, starting as a hoarse yelp and turning into a full-throated wail, filled with an agony that made Aizawa's instincts flail to go, help, save! His eyes were wide open now, desperately searching his field of vision but only able to see the horrible white ceiling and, out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor’s back, obscuring his view of Izuku. Even though he couldn’t see him, he could hear him— his kid was screaming, crying, begging . Panic filled every part of his body and he thrashed against his restraints because Izuku was being hurt, the Doctor was hurting his kid.

“‘ZUKU? IZUKU!! YOU GET YOUR GODDAMN HANDS OFF HIM YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD OR I’LL—” Aizawa’s cries of rage were cut off by a spine-chilling squelching sound, another scream, and—

The Doctor moved his hands just a bit, holding something that Aizawa couldn’t identify. He wasn’t sure he wanted to in the first place. But the screaming had stopped; the room was filled instead with the sounds of Izuku’s choked sobs, his heaving breaths for air.

Aizawa was absolutely livid. He was still struggling against the leather straps tying him to the table, growling with increasing aggravation as he made little to no progress. Without realizing, he had activated his quirk again. Tears streamed down his face but he couldn’t feel the sting— he was too consumed by his fear, by his rage.

Without even turning around, the Doctor sighed, a pleased-sounding noise that only served to fuel Aizawa’s fury. “Now, now, Eraser. I ask that you calm down. Otherwise, your commotion may cause me to slip and hurt the boy even more. We don’t want that, now do we?”

Gritting his teeth to try and steady himself, Aizawa swore he could see red— and not because of his quirk. “Kid, Izuku , can you hear me? I’m right here, okay? I know you’re hurting but we’re going to make it through this—”

“I work better in silence, Eraserhead. Be a dear and stop blabbering .”

Before Aizawa could bite back with a retort, Izuku spoke up. His voice was hoarse and broken, barely above a whisper. The kid was sniffling, still biting back sobs. “‘M fine, ‘Zawa.” 

And that absolutely tore Aizawa apart . To hear his kid mimic the words he himself had spoken just minutes ago, trying to conceal such horrible pain, was worse than any physical wound Aizawa could ever sustain.

“I believe I said,” The Doctor spoke from his position at Izuku’s side, out of Aizawa’s line of sight. Aizawa could hear something metallic clang, likely a tool being wielded by the Doctor, before Izuku cried out in pain once more. “I work better in silence .”

The room fell into a tense and anxiety-filled quiet, broken every few seconds by Izuku’s muffled whimpers. Aizawa could barely breathe, his chest too tight, his heart pounding; he had no idea what was happening to his kid or how to help. All he knew was that Izuku was being hurt, and that the only thing stopping him from beating the Doctor senseless were the leather bands tying him down.

Walking over to the side of the room farthest away from Aizawa, the Doctor carried with him a medical bowl, placing it carefully on the cluttered countertop. He studied the bowl’s contents for a moment before picking up a new set of tools.

After what seemed like hours but was really only a matter of minutes, the man returned to Aizawa’s side brandishing a familiar scalpel and metal bowl. 

And he repeated the process.

Izuku writhed in his restraints, drifting in and out of unconsciousness. 

The Doctor stood above him, scalpel in hand, lifting up Izuku’s eyelid with his fingers as he—

It was bright. White, stark, cold.

—cut the connective tissue, the muscle, the nerves surrounding the fragile organ, digging his fingers into the socket and pulling —

Screaming, who was that screaming?

He yanked it out he yanked Izuku’s eye, and it was in his hand and he could see it with the one he had left, could see the nerves dangling, still connected and the Doctor was grinning he was laughing and Izuku wretched against the table and the Doctor reached back in to scrape something against the socket and he was thrashing screaming sobbing because it hurt it hurt it hurt IT HURT IT HURT IT HURT—

Izuku snapped awake, his mouth open in a silent scream, heaving frantically for breath. His whole body was shaking, hit with an ache that he didn’t know what to do with. Everything felt charged somehow, as if his blood was made of static. Tears poured down his face, eyes stinging as he blinked at the harsh light beaming down, trying to remember where he was and what was happening—

He blinked again. And again. The world around him seemed to slow down, if just for a moment.

Izuku was blinking. Normally . Or… semi-normally. His left eye, the one the Doctor had… taken? Was not— not normal. At all. It felt weird, out of place, pulsing insistently with the beat of his heart. He didn’t feel the emptiness he had felt previously, didn’t feel the gaping spot of his eye socket exposed to open air. He could see out of both eyes . He reached up to touch it, wanting to see if it was real, if maybe everything was just a horrible nightmare, but couldn’t move his arm.

He was still in the Doctor’s office, still strapped to the observation table. But the Doctor was gone, and the room was silent, aside from the sounds of his own breathing. 

“...’Zawa? Are— are you here?” Izuku’s voice broke painfully, his throat raw from his screaming. 

No response. Panic pressed heavily on Izuku’s chest, clawing away at his insides. He tried to think back, tried to remember what happened, what the Doctor had done. The last thing he could remember was…

Was the Doctor taking his eye. His left eye. Which was back now, for some reason? He remembered Aizawa calling out to him, asking if he was okay, and then… Izuku wasn’t sure. He didn’t know. It was harder to breathe now, thoughts of an injured (or worse, his brain whispered) Aizawa racing through his head. He struggled against his restraints, feeling for any sort of leeway but finding none. Eventually abandoning his efforts, Izuku relaxed slightly against the table, inhaling and exhaling deeply like Aizawa had taught him. In for five seconds, hold for six, out for seven. 

He needed to stay calm; he needed to think . Izuku’s biggest asset was his brain— it was time to use it.

Quiet muttering filled the otherwise silent room as Izuku pieced together the day’s events. He started with the things that he knew. He knew that he and Aizawa had been taken to the Doctor’s office together. He knew that Aizawa’s quirk suppressor had been removed, and that the Doctor had talked about Izuku’s possibility of gaining a quirk— something about neural pathways in the cerebellum. He knew that the Doctor had… Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, his mumbling coming to an abrupt halt.

He could feel the pain, the consuming sensation of pure, bone chilling hysteria that took over his body at the sickening intrusion of the Doctor’s hand in his eye—

Izuku grit his teeth together, trying to focus . Now wasn’t the time to panic. He steadied his breath again before continuing.

He knew that the Doctor had removed his left eye (Izuku fought against the bile rising in his throat, pushing away the wave of intrusive thoughts). He knew that, for whatever reason, he had two eyes at the moment. He knew that he was in the Doctor’s office now, presumably having blacked out previously.

He knew that he was alone.

The thought brought tears to his eyes, which he quickly blinked away. Onto the things he didn’t know.

He didn’t know where Aizawa, or the Doctor, were located. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, or why he was still in the Doctor’s office, still strapped down. He didn’t know how he got his eye back.

A voice in his head whispered that he did know, that he never got his eye back, that it was a question of who and not how, but he pushed those thoughts down a stairwell in his brain and locked the door to keep them out. He didn’t think he could handle that right now. He couldn’t handle any of this right now. 

In the first few months of Izuku’s capture, when he was terrified and utterly alone, he’d spend hours at a time revisiting old memories, trying to gain any semblance of warmth from the embers of his past. Sometimes it helped, and sometimes it didn’t, but it was the only thing he could think of trying to get his mind off of… well, all of it. So he retreated to the safer places of his mind, away from the metal table he was strapped to, away from the cold, harsh light of the Doctor’s office. He forced himself to think about happier times, before he had been kidnapped. Before he had been diagnosed as quirkless.

He thought of his mother. When he was little, she was always so… warm. She’d play heroes with him and always was the villain, so that Izuku could be All Might. They’d run around the house laughing, Izuku tripping over his own feet as he tried to catch up to her, cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. When he managed to reach her and demand that she go to jail peacefully, she’d do her best ‘scary’ voice that had Izuku biting back giggles, trying to act serious and hero-like. He remembered when, anytime he got sick, she would make Katsudon and they would watch old hero movies on the couch together, pajamas donned and stuffed animals clutched tightly to their chests. Or her inquisitive eyes whenever he would talk about concepts few children were familiar with; the look on her face when he asked for a book about biochemical engineering for his birthday was priceless. And her hugs— she would envelop his whole body in her arms and rock him back and forth, humming softly to a tune only she knew. 

He didn’t think of the blank look in her eyes that grew ever darker after his diagnosis. How, as he grew older, she seemed to always be gone— working to pay for the house, for him, she would say. But the water was cold and the lights would shut off every few weeks, and he had to sell his hero merchandise to buy groceries when she didn’t come home for days. No, he didn’t think about that, couldn’t think about that—

He thought of Katsuki. Kacchan . His mischievous smile, his scarlet eyes. The boy was always covered in dirt or mud, unable to stay clean whenever they played outside. Whenever he’d see something cool or funny, his head would whip around, looking for ‘Zuku because look, it’s a fuzzy caterpillar! They’d spend the day together, playing and reading and exploring, and at night they would stay awake under a carefully constructed pillow fort, talking about what kind of heroes they would be, what kind of costumes they would wear. Obviously ones colored blue, yellow, and red, just like All Might. They’d be strong, fast, kind— and together. They would do it together. They pinky promised, after all.

He didn’t think about the crackling of his palms, the look in his eyes when Bakugou found out that he was quirkless, when he realized it wasn’t a joke. Izuku had never smelled burning skin before, had never even considered the type of marks that a quirk like Bakugou’s would leave on human flesh. Bakugou was passionate and relentless— qualities of a great hero. And in his world, Izuku was the villain. Because why else would he have told Izuku to take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a quirk in his next life—

Izuku was ripped out of his memories by the sound of a door closing, the heavy metallic ‘click’ echoing throughout the room. He hadn’t realized he was crying until now.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the table Izuku was strapped to, and the Doctor’s figure appeared in Izuku’s peripheral vision. “Ah, you’re awake— good, good. It looks like the eye has taken to you nicely. Even the tear ducts are working! It was quite tricky to revert such tiny nerves back to a previous state, especially when trying to connect them with a foreign eye, but everything has gone precisely as planned.” Rifling through his jacket pockets, the man pulled out a small flashlight, clicking it on and shining it directly into Izuku’s left eye. 

Izuku blinked at the sudden light, flinching at the Doctor’s uncomfortable closeness. After a second, the man clicked the light off with a satisfied hum. He pulled up a chair next to the table Izuku was on. Izuku’s whole body tensed up, fear coursing through his veins like ice. 

Taking note of his terror, the Doctor chuckled. “Now, now, I’m not going to hurt you. No, these tests will be much less… intrusive. Tell me: how does your eye feel?”

Izuku didn’t respond. He just glared up at the ceiling, scared and angry and in pain. He wanted to be with Aizawa. He didn’t care about the Doctor and his stupid tests, didn’t even care if the man hurt him for staying silent; he wished the man would shut up and leave .

As if sensing Izuku’s rising indignation, the Doctor shifted tactics. “I’m sure you’re wondering where your dear hero is…”

After hearing those few words, Izuku’s fear shriveled up and died, replaced with a fury that had him seeing red. “What did you do with ‘Zawa,” Izuku growled, his voice full of hatred. It wasn’t a question— it was a demand. 

The Doctor covered his surprise by shifting in the chair, clearing his throat quickly. “Don’t worry, my boy, the man is alive. Actually, he should be arriving any minute now. Along with… company.” The Doctor grinned at that, amusement evident in his tone. It only made Izuku more resentful. He opened his mouth to spit out an insult when the door opened once more. Izuku couldn’t see who walked in, but if he could, all of the blood would have drained from his face.

In walked Guard #1, carrying a limp Aizawa in his arms, flanked by none other than Chisaki Kai. 

Izuku heard the Doctor rise from his seat, the squeaking of the chair echoing in the quiet room. “Welcome, welcome. Please, set him down there.”

His eyes widening, Izuku’s heart rate picked up. “Aizawa! ‘Zawa is that you? Are you okay?” HE pulled fruitlessly against his bindings, his cracking voice frantic as he called out for the man. 

No response.

“I swear if you hurt him I’ll make you wish you were never born you bastard— ” Izuku’s outburst was cut off by a cold, eerie voice. A voice he was all too familiar with.

“What a filthy mouth you have… It seems the hero has corrupted you already. Shame.”

Izuku snapped his jaw shut so hard his teeth clanked together. A horrible blanket of cold, mind-numbing fear washed over him. It had been weeks, maybe even months, but Overhaul’s voice was able to inspire terror in him as if he had just been ripped apart yesterday. He heard him click his tongue, humming approvingly. The sound made Izuku sick.

“And yet like a dog, he can be trained. Good.”

Normally, Izuku would have been outraged by a comment like that. But all he could think about was what was going to happen next. Why they had Overhaul here of all places, with Aizawa. Why they had experimented with their eyes, why they had removed Aizawa’s quirk suppressor. Dread seemed to tear apart his insides, bile stinging the back of his throat. He just wanted to disappear . Yet some higher power seemed to love torturing Izuku, and so he regretfully remained right where he was. He could hear movement throughout the room, metallic clanging noises and the shuffling of bodies but he couldn't actually see anything other than the ceiling. 

That was, until the Doctor pressed a pedal with his foot, causing the operating table that Izuku was immobilized against to move . He didn’t even know it could do that— within seconds he was maneuvered into an upright position, finally able to see what was happening in the room. But the sights before him had Izuku wishing he could return to staring at the ceiling.

Across the room from him, strapped to an identical metal table, was Aizawa. Normally Izuku would be relieved at being able to see him, but his fear only worsened at the man’s appearance. He looked horrible . His pale skin shone in the harsh light, speckled with blood. Long, greasy hair framed his face, limp and tangled. Even unconscious, his brows were furrowed, his lips pulled taught. Deep bags lined his eyes… Well, eye . The entire left side of Aizawa’s face was covered in blood-stained bandages. Only his right eye was visible, seemingly untouched. Izuku wanted so badly to leap forward, to run and help him, hold him, to do something, but his hands were tied. Literally.

Standing next to Aizawa was Overhaul himself, in all his Muppet glory. Still in the same green jacket and bird-beak mask, the man painted an intimidating figure. Izuku refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on seeing if Aizawa had any other visible injuries (none that Izuku could see, which was good but worrying in its own right). 

After finishing up the adjustments to Izuku’s chair, the Doctor cleared his throat, ignoring the glare that Izuku sent his way. “Now, my boy, I’m sure you’ve put two and two together by now. Today, we’re going to be testing if the experiment was a success. I want you to activate Erasure.”

Izuku’s heart seemed to stop. The world around him blurred, fading in and out of his vision as he processed what the Doctor had said.

He knew that this was coming. He had avoided it and pretended that it was something different but he knew . It just didn’t make the reality any easier to accept, to actually hear from another person.

Didn’t make it any easier to bear the fact that Aizawa’s eye was in his skull.

And apparently, part of his quirk?

Izuku choked out a sob. He didn’t want any of this . He never had wanted any of this.

Distantly, the Doctor sighed. “I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way, then. You’re familiar with Mr. Overhaul’s quirk, of course?” 

The question was cruel and pointed, meant to scare Izuku into submission. Izuku was ashamed to say that it was working. He looked up at Overhaul’s silent form, flinching as golden eyes met his— he looked away quickly, wanting this to be over .

“Look, I-I don’t, I don’t know how , okay? I can’t feel a quirk or anything and I don’t have any experience with this so I can’t just use it that easily,” Izuku’s voice was shaking and cracking with every word. The static in his skin was back again, prickling uncomfortably, insistently. 

Overhaul narrowed his gaze, the room falling silent. Izuku watched with widening eyes as the man reached to unclasp his glove, tilting his head in Aizawa’s direction.

“Wait, stop! I just, I-I need time, or something, or we, w-we could wait for him to wake up to tell me how to use it!” Izuku pleaded, desperately trying to get Overhaul to step away from Aizawa. He searched frantically inside of himself for any sign of a quirk, but couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t do anything . It didn’t help that he was panicking, his heart pounding against his chest and his breathing too fast, far too fast—

One by one, Overhaul pulled his fingers out of his glove, not breaking eye contact with Izuku. Crying at this point, heaving for air, Izuku’s voice rose. “ Please , just, don’t— don’t hurt him, I can’t —”

“If you don’t want him getting hurt, my boy, then activate the quirk. It’s really that simple.” The Doctor’s tone was monotonous, cruel.

The panic rising in Izuku’s chest was suffocating. “I’m, I'm t-trying, it wont work, please I’m trying! ”

Overhaul’s glove was off now, his hand reaching towards Aizawa—

“Stop– STOP IT, GET AWAY FROM HIM, STOP!” Izuku thrashed against the leather bindings, crying out in vain, just wanting everything to go away, go away, GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY.

Something inside Izuku snapped. The static feeling in his body overwhelmed him, flooding his senses and setting his nerves ablaze. Warmth surged through his entire being, filling him with a sense of strength, of power .  He glared at Overhaul, who had his fingertips resting on Aizawa’s forehead, and screamed .

G̵̥̫̯̰̣̈́͘Ơ̷͖̟͕͊́̅̈́̏̚͠͝ ̴̨̭̣͚̯̠͎̇͒̂͗͛͠Á̶͉̍̽͌̈́͝W̸̨̩̩̉̕Ä̴̮͇́̃͐̿Ȳ̸̳̒̓͝

Overhaul snatched his hand away from Aizawa as if he had been burned, turning to stare at Izuku with eyes widened in shock.

Because Izuku had erased his quirk. 

His eyes had turned a flaming crimson, locks of hair floating around his head as if gravity could not touch it. Izuku’s teeth were clenched in anger, snarling at Overhaul; for just a moment, he swore that he saw a trace of fear in the man’s eyes. But just as soon as it appeared, it was gone. Overhaul turned to the Doctor, his face blank. 

“Prepare the training facilities for today. Run the other tests and get him cleaned up. I’ll be back tomorrow to experiment further.” 

The Doctor barely had time to nod before Overhaul was out the door, glove already back on his hand without a second glance in Izuku’s direction.

With the threat gone, Izuku blinked, and Erasure was no longer active. His eyes stung horribly, like he had just been crying for hours, and his head was pounding with a vengeance, but the pure fear and desperation had quieted down with Overhaul’s departure. Izuku let himself sag against his bindings. For now, Aizawa was safe. 

Slipping into a brief state of unconsciousness, Izuku missed when the Doctor had a guard bring Aizawa back to the cell. He missed the subtle twitch of Aizawa’s hand when he passed by the Doctor’s equipment table. He missed one of the Doctor's scalpels disappearing underneath Aizawa’s sleeve, completely unnoticed, with the grace and tact only an underground hero could possess. No, Izuku didn’t see any of that. 

And neither did the Doctor.

Chapter Text

The Doctor ran tests for the next three hours. By the end of them, Izuku was covered in blood, sweat, vomit, and tears. He was also sporting several new burns— one of the guards apparently had a fire manipulation quirk. Izuku wasn’t able to stop most of the attacks in time. He figured they wanted to test his control of Erasure, see if it really bonded to his body or not. Izuku wasn’t able to think about it much in between dodging streams of fire chasing him, unfortunately.

Finally, when Izuku was seconds away from passing out, the Doctor called in his two associates to clean Izuku up, per Overhaul’s orders. A thick metal quirk suppressing choker was clamped tightly around his neck, barely loose enough to breathe, before he was escorted to the baths. The entire process took much longer than it probably should have, but Izuku was stumbling with every step he took, and the two women had to be extra careful when cleaning his still-exposed wounds. 

Izuku was bone-tired. Everything hurt. His eyes stung horribly, his head felt like it was being smashed open with a hammer, and he could barely move out of pure exhaustion. Funnily enough, the burns didn’t hurt too badly. Bakugou’s explosions hurt much, much worse.

He didn’t even have the strength to object when the two women, the same pair that had cleaned him the first time, started to strip him of his clothing in the bath house. They had to peel off his shirt in pieces, the fabric stuck to his bloodied skin. Izuku could only watch with half-lidded eyes as they began to wash his hair, working out all of the ash and soot that had compiled with gentle yet firm hands. They scrubbed his body and cleaned his wounds, eventually toweling him down and dressing him in warm cotton clothes. Izuku’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier, his head starting to droop as darkness comforted him at last—

“You can’t sleep yet, child.”

Izuku’s eyes snapped open as he whipped his head upwards. He stared in disbelief at the two women; they had never actually spoken to him before. It was Kasshoku, the one with brown hair, who had spoken. He was too tired to think, to say anything, so he looked on silently with his brows furrowed as the taller woman knelt gently in front of him. Akai was currently wrapping his arms in bandages, listening in silence as Kasshoku continued.

“You need to leave before Overhaul gets here tomorrow. If you don’t, there’s a good chance your hero will be killed.”

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t understand why she was talking to him. The thought of Aizawa… He opened his mouth to question why, how , but Kasshoku just shook her head furiously.

“We don’t have the time. Take this— it should help.” She pressed a folded piece of paper into his hands firmly, tucking his fingers over it with care. Izuku couldn’t help but notice how warm her touch was. He had more important things to worry about, he knew that. Maybe he was concussed, or going insane, it just… it reminded him of his mother. Before everything went to shit.

He looked deep into Kasshoku’s eyes, searching. Her dark brown irises held so much sorrow— he was filled with an intense and sudden urge to reach out, to hug her, to help her . He restrained himself, instead choosing to look at the paper in his hands. After unfolding it, it took him a second to comprehend what he was seeing. On the paper were a series of crudely drawn lines, squares, and rectangles, all arranged in various places. A closer look revealed tiny labels in small, neat handwriting—

Izuku’s heart stopped as he took in the words before him.

Doctor’s Office, Bath, Main Cell, Garage, and so on.

This was a map of the facilities. 

The tiredness Izuku had previously felt was long gone, adrenaline coursing through his veins almost violently. His eyes welled up with tears as he looked up at Kasshoku and Akai in shock. They met his gaze steadily, giving him mirror looks of grim determination.

“You have to go back to your cell now. We wish you luck, little hero,” Akai spoke, her kind voice barely above a whisper. She’d been silent until now, and Izuku was surprised to see her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Izuku took a deep breath, shaking his head vigorously. This was a goodbye, but there was so much he didn’t know, so much he needed to understand. “ No , I— What about you two? What’s going to happen to you?” His voice broke with emotion as he looked back and forth between the two women, both of whom were now kneeling in front of him. 

“We’ll be okay. We’ve been meaning to leave for a long, long time now. When you escape, we’ll run. Don’t worry about us,” Kasshoku assured him, a sad smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“But I don’t— I don’t even know your names . Please, I can’t—”

Someone banged on the door to the bath house, startling all three of them.

“5 minutes to curfew,” a gruff voice called from the hallway, sounding more tired than angry. It was Guard #2, Izuku was pretty sure— he had the lowest voice of all the guards, one that always scared Izuku shitless.

“Thank you, we’ll be right out. Just finishing his bandages,” Akai responded calmly, raising her voice so the man could hear her. Izuku looked at the two women with wide eyes, his breath coming faster and faster. He wanted to stay with them in the warm bath house, wanted to learn their names and talk to them and understand who they are and why they were in a place like this to begin with, wanted to thank them and help them escape but there was no time for any of that, they didn’t have the time .

Izuku had so many things he wanted to say, so many ideas bubbling in the back of his mind, but couldn’t find the words to express a single thing.

So he reached forward, grabbing onto Akai’s right hand and Kasshoku’s left with his own, bowing deeply with his head to the floor, tucked close against his knees.

“ Thank you ,” he managed to say, broken and tearful but full of emotion, of gratitude and sorrow. It wasn’t enough and would never be enough, but Izuku could only hope that it would get his message across.

The two women just pulled him up, helping him onto his feet. Kasshoku squeezed his hand briefly before letting it go, her eyes soft and gentle. Akai tucked the map back into his hands, offering him a smile. It was small, and tinged with sadness, but it was beautiful. They fixed him with meaningful looks, of sorrow and guilt and hope and love. He nodded at them, meeting their gazes directly, a heavy acknowledgement of everything that his words would never be able to express.

His eyes flickered back to the paper clutched tightly in his hands. He folded it quickly, stuffing it into the waistband of his shorts and under the cover of his shirt. Kasshoku and Akai exchanged a look between themselves, fleeting and determined, before guiding Izuku to the entrance of the bathroom. They looked at Izuku once more, a silent question of ‘are you ready?’ floating in the air.

Izuku nodded again, taking a deep breath as Akai opened the door and alerted the guard that they were done. As he was being dragged back to his cell, he forced himself not to look backwards. But he wanted to— he really wanted to.

He thought of the map tucked away in his waistband. The stinging of his burns and the ache behind his eyes fell to the background; he could barely feel them beneath the pounding of his heart, the racing of his blood in his veins. 

This was their ticket out of here. They were going to get out. 

Izuku didn’t even feel irritated at the guard’s bruising grip on his arm, or the way he unceremoniously threw him into his cell, locking the door behind him.

Because for the first time since he had been kidnapped— hell, even long before then— Izuku felt alive .

When Aizawa heard footsteps approaching the cell and saw the body of Izuku thrown harshly to the ground in front of him, he was expecting the worst. He expected the boy to be bloody and beaten, unconscious or about to be, in the middle of a massive breakdown— the list went on.

What he did not expect, however, was the absolutely blinding smile that faced him when Izuku pulled himself off the ground almost immediately. He didn’t expect Izuku to run forward and launch himself into his arms, laughing freely and joyfully as if they were out at the park instead of in a dark prison cell. 

It was safe to say that Aizawa Shouta was very, very confused.

But he just stood there, awkwardly supporting the weight of Izuku’s body as the kid squeezed him in a vise-like grip, still laughing.

“Kid, what the hell?” Aizawa balked, searching Izuku carefully for a head injury. He was covered in bandages, some spots bloody but mostly white, but nothing that should cause behavior like this. Maybe he had been drugged, or had a concussion, or—

Izuku removed himself from Aizawa’s arms, standing in front of him as he bounced on his toes excitedly. He looked up with wide, enthusiastic eyes.

Aizawa met his gaze, ready to search his pupils for signs of trauma when he was met with… 

With his own eye staring back at him. Aizawa inhaled sharply, trying to control his expression so as to not startle Izuku. But he couldn’t hide his shock quickly enough; Izuku’s excitement dulled significantly, replaced first with confusion before darkening in realization. He looked down to the floor, face scrunched as if he were about to cry. 

It was the first time they had seen each other since the ‘operation.’ Since they had been tortured, experimented on. Since Izuku had gotten Aizawa’s eye.

They stood like that for a moment in silence. Aizawa knew he should say something, anything , but he really didn’t know where to even start. Izuku beat him to it.

“...I’m… I’m sorry, ‘Zawa. I’m so sorry. ” Izuku’s voice cracked with emotion, sorrow and guilt evident in his tone. Aizawa immediately interjected.

“Kid, it’s not your fault. Not at all. You got that?” He used his teacher's voice, the one that left no room for arguments. Izuku hesitatingly nodded, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

In all his years of being a hero, nothing had prepared him for a situation quite like this. Another awkward moment of silence permeated the room before Aizawa spoke up again. “Now, what made you so goddamn happy just a minute ago? I can’t imagine they took you out for ice cream or something.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, but the underlying concern and confusion was still there. 

Upon the shift in topic, Izuku’s face lit up (though not as brightly as before). The kid reached into the waistband of his shorts, pulling out a folded piece of paper which he quickly handed to Aizawa. The hero gave him a questioning look, but Izuku only nodded in encouragement.

With a sigh, Aizawa unfolded the paper to reveal… a map. A full, labeled map of the facilities. His mouth dropped open in surprise, a feat for the usually stoic man. 

“What… is this real? Where did you get this?” Aizawa’s eye was wide open now, hope flickering in his chest. He looked back to Izuku, questioning. 

“We should probably sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

And so, the two sat on Aizawa’s flimsy mattress on the floor and Izuku explained (through sign language, just to be cautious) what had gone on for the past few hours. He explained how Overhaul had made an appearance, and how he managed to activate Erasure. He wouldn’t meet Aizawa’s gaze when he signed about using the quirk, moving quickly onto explaining his ‘training’ with the Doctor. Aizawa had to control his rising anger carefully, gritting his teeth and breathing deeply through his nose while Izuku described what those monsters had put him through. He forced himself to sit patiently while his kid signed, eventually describing his interaction with the Doctor’s associates. When he finished, the room’s quiet seemed to grow even more tense.

Aizawa took a moment to dissect… all of that. He was still processing losing his eye (the pain was a constant reminder, aching with every beat of his heart), still processing the fact that Izuku now apparently shared Aizawa’s quirk. Or maybe—

Maybe it was gone. Maybe they had taken it from Aizawa completely and given it to Izuku. But that didn’t feel right; he could still feel his quirk in his body, it was just… muffled. It was definitely still there, but with the quirk suppressor back in his shoulder it was hard to tell if he’d still be able to use it, or if it was as strong as it had been before.

Shaking his head furiously, ignoring the dizziness that came from the action, Aizawa tried to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t dwell on his quirk right now; he had to focus on Izuku, on moving forward, on the plan. They were practically handed the key to their escape; Aizawa scrutinized the map carefully. At first, he thought it was a sick joke, some psychological torture designed to fuck with their emotions or something. But looking at the map, it matched up perfectly with the parts of the facility that Aizawa had seen so far. Plus, it wasn’t Overhaul’s style— if he wanted to torture them, he’d just use his quirk. Giving them a fake map would just be a waste of time. So if the map was real, then that meant… that meant that they had a chance .

After a few minutes of thinking, Aizawa’s calculating gaze met Izuku’s. And he grinned . Izuku’s eyes widened in shock at his smile, growing even wider as Aizawa reached into the sleeve of his shirt and pulled out the scalpel he had taken from the Doctor’s office.

Izuku’s mouth dropped open, closing briefly before opening again— the kid was like a fish out of water. He looked back and forth between the scalpel and Aizawa, blinking as if trying to understand what he was seeing.

“Looks like it’s our time to leave, kiddo.”

At those words, Izuku’s face crumbled, his eyes shining with tears, glinting with hope. He carefully removed the scalpel from Aizawa’s grip, setting it on the ground safely before launching himself into his hero’s arms for the second time that night. The pair held each other tightly, staying like that for quite some time. If tears were shed by the hero and his kid, well, no one would be any wiser.

Izuku and Aizawa, after emotionally processing everything, got to planning. They both committed the map to memory, and Aizawa taught Izuku the very basics on how to wield a knife without getting hurt. Or in this case, a scalpel. Aizawa didn’t plan on Izuku needing the skill anytime soon, but he wanted to be prepared. Once the quick lesson was out of the way and the pair had the map practically imprinted in their brains, they talked strategy.  

“I’m going to take the lead on things,” Aizawa signed, making sure that Izuku understood. “I want you to follow me and be prepared to run if things go to shit. While I know you can handle yourself, I’m not going to risk it if I don’t have to.”

Izuku nodded hesitantly, his lips pursed and his brows furrowed.

“But… but you’re in more danger than I am, after today.”

“What do you mean?”

Looking troubled, Izuku elaborated. “They needed you for your quirk. Now that I have your eye… they don’t need you anymore. If things go bad, they’re not going to kill me— only as a last resort. They still need me. If they can give me a quirk, a working quirk, and then remove it, then their experiments will be complete. I’m just scared about you, that’s all.”

Aizawa thought about that for a moment. Izuku wasn’t wrong, necessarily. Out of the two of them, Aizawa was by far more expendable in their eyes.

“Still, there are other quirkless people in the world. They won’t hesitate to kill you if it comes down to it; don’t make any stupid moves, okay?”

“‘Zawa… I think… there’s something you should know. I don’t think… I don’t think I’m the only quirkless one. I mean, I am now, but— I think I’m the only one left alive . I think there were more, before me.”

Izuku looked at Aizawa, his eyes dark and his hands shaking. If what Izuku said was true, then… No. He couldn’t get sucked into that line of thought— he had to focus.

“We’ll worry about that later. Right now, we have to make a plan. Just remember to be careful .” Aizawa gave Izuku a meaningful look, trying to get through to him. 

“...Okay. Okay.”

Trying not to think too hard about… all of that, they continued onto making the actual plan. The first obstacle standing in their way was getting out of the cell and past all of the guards. They talked for a bit about how to actually do this— they considered waiting until the Doctor needed them for another examination to play the long game, but that was too risky. Eventually, they decided it was best to get one of the guards to open their cell, knock him unconscious, and make a break for it. As for how to actually get a guard to open the door for them? That… was still being figured out.

Izuku suggested repeating what he did last time (banging on the door and screaming,) but Aizawa wasn’t sure the guards would fall for that again. Aizawa thought about it for a little, trying to isolate a weakness, something the Doctor and Overhaul wouldn’t take any chances on. He looked at Izuku, his gaze moving from the kid’s quirk suppressing collar to his mismatching eyes.

Now that… that could just work.

After ironing out the details, Izuku and Aizawa decided on having Izuku fake a medical problem— like a seizure, or heart attack. Logically, the guards should be on high-alert because they’re still looking out for any side effects from the new quirk (both of them winced at that), but it meant that they’ll rush in to make sure everything was okay. Hypothetically, at least. The guard (or guards, if they were unlucky) would open the cell door, and Aizawa would ambush them while they were distracted with Izuku. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was all they had for now.

The general escape route was easy to make with the help of the map— if they just could make it to the Garage, Aizawa was sure that they could find some sort of transportation to drive to safety. After all, a facility this big had to have vehicles to transport staff, materials, resources, etc. Izuku piped up, offering his ability to hotwire cars in case they couldn’t find any keys, which was… helpful, but a little concerning. Aizawa didn’t ask how he had learned that; he was incredibly curious, but he couldn’t afford to lose focus right now. 

They had a decent plan, but it wasn’t done yet. Aizawa decided it was time to rip the Band-Aid off and bring up the topic they both had been avoiding.

“We need to plan for Overhaul.”

Aizawa watched Izuku’s face carefully once he finished signing. The boy’s eyes darkened, and he looked to the ground, clenching and unclenching his fists tightly. The kid was smart. He knew what Aizawa was going to ask him to do. His eyes flickered over to the scalpel lying on the stone floor, only a few feet away from the pair. 

“You could cut off one of his fingers or something. He needs his hands to use his quirk, and I think it’s a five-point activation. Maybe break his arms? Or target his eyes so he can’t see to use his quirk in the first place—”

The longer Izuku went on, the more grateful Aizawa was to be on the kid’s side. He really hoped he could keep Izuku away from Nedzu because if the two ever met, he was sure they’d be able to accomplish world domination.

Aizawa took a deep breath, choosing to speak instead of signing this time, interrupting Izuku’s rant. “Kid, you know I don’t stand a chance against him without my quirk.”

Izuku seemed to curl into himself at those words, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them tightly. 

“The Doctor replaced my quirk suppressor implant. I need to get it out. I need your help with that. It’s too close to one of my carotid arteries for me to take out alone. Listen, I know it’s not ideal…”

“‘Zawa, I— I can’t —” 

Aizawa persisted, trying to calm Izuku down. “I’ll be guiding you through it the entire time. I promise you won’t be hurting me, kid. It’s scary, but—”

“ Scary? This is your life! You can’t seriously expect me to cut into your neck with a fucking scalpel, I could kill you. I’m not doing it, I won’t do it. ” Izuku’s tone was desperate, his chest heaving. Aizawa took a step forward, his hands raised, pleading. 

“Izuku, we don’t have a choice. We can’t beat Overhaul without my quirk, it has to be done.”

Izuku clutched his head in his hands, pulling at his hair as he muttered something, too quiet for Aizawa to hear. Aizawa was getting worried now, almost frantic. If Izuku wouldn’t remove the suppressor, there was no way he’d be able to win against Overhaul. He had to protect the kid, had to make sure that Izuku made it out of this alive . 

“Kid, please ,” Aizawa reached forward, putting a hand on Izuku’s shoulder when Izuku’s head snapped upwards, his eyes a blazing crimson, his hair floating around his head.

“STOP IT!”

Izuku’s teeth were bared in a snarl, his gaze wide and unfocused. He glared at Aizawa as if…

As if he were an enemy. As if he were the Doctor, or Overhaul. The thought had Aizawa struggling to breathe, recoiling his hand from Izuku’s shoulder quickly. His stomach churned with guilt; he had pushed Izuku too far, that much was clear. With his intelligence and maturity, it was too easy to treat him as if he were older, but Izuku was a child. One who had undergone too much emotional and physical torture to be fully stable. Triggers, panic attacks, PTSD, dissociation— textbook outcomes of any trauma, let alone torture like this. Aizawa should have known better, he should have seen the warning signs at the beginning of the conversation. He cursed himself, stuffing down his own emotions as he tried to focus on the situation at hand.

Aizawa moved to back away, to give the kid some space, but Izuku flinched at the motion, flinging himself against the wall behind him and slamming his fists against the stone as if trying to break through it, sobbing as he hit the wall again and again and again—

Jumping into action, Aizawa wrapped his arms around Izuku so he couldn’t hurt himself anymore, gritting his teeth as the kid clawed and scratched and tried to push Aizawa away. 

“It’s okay, kid, you’re safe, Izuku, you’re safe,” he assured Izuku through his cries, trying to contain any damage to himself rather than his kid. It took a few minutes for Izuku to tire, eventually relaxing into Aizawa’s hold as he trembled uncontrollably, now silent, still dazed and non responding. The sight had Aizawa blinking away tears. He had triggered something, had made his kid scared and angry and panicked and—

“...’Za..wa?” Izuku blinked a few times, hands squeezing Aizawa’s arms. Aizawa pulled back quickly, keeping his hands on Izuku’s shoulders as he searched the kid’s face for any fear, any anger. All he found was confusion.

Izuku looked down to Aizawa’s hands, eyes widening at the reddening scratches littering his skin, disappearing under his sleeve. Upon closer inspection, some were even on the man’s face.

“Did— did I do that?” Izuku gasped, pulling up Aizawa’s sleeves frantically to see the extent of the marks. He looked back up at Aizawa, brows furrowed and mouth agape. “Did I… did I activate Erasure?”

Aizawa hesitated for a moment, not wanting to upset Izuku any more than he had already. It was all the confirmation that Izuku needed.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I thought, I swear I- I thought— I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I’m so sorry ,” Izuku was crying now, scrambling backwards in an attempt to put distance between himself and Aizawa. The hero just pulled the shaking kid into another hug, as gently as he could manage.

“ Hey, hey, kid, it’s okay, shhhh, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was my fault, it was all my fault.” Aizawa’s voice broke slightly before he managed to get it under control, his fingers brushing through Izuku’s hair idly. 

They sat there for a while, Aizawa holding Izuku as the boy cried until his pleas of “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” died out. The kid was still trembling, but not as violently as he had been before. Aizawa promised himself to do better, to be better. He was a hero for fucks sake— he needed to act like one.

Izuku finally pulled away, giving Aizawa a serious look. “I-I’ll do it. Just… not right now. My hands, they, they aren’t steady enough.”

“...Of course. Thank you, kid.” Aizawa’s voice was heavy with gratitude and guilt. He wished it didn’t have to come to this; his kid didn’t deserve any of this . The room fell silent, thick with anxiety, with dread. Or maybe that was just Aizawa’s headspace— honestly, he couldn’t tell at this point.

“Hey, ‘Zawa?” Izuku mumbled after a moment, his expression changing suddenly. Aizawa hummed to show he was listening, gaze flickering up to Izuku’s thoughtful face.

“I... just activated Erasure. With a quirk suppressant cuff on.” Izuku’s voice was quiet, his tone level as if he wasn’t fully aware of the magnitude of that statement. It quickly caught up to him. “I just activated Erasure with a quirk suppressant cuff on! ” He turned to look at Aizawa with bright eyes, meeting the hero’s equally amazed gaze. 

They shared a look for a brief moment, processing the implications of… that . Aizawa was the first to break the silence, amusement evident in his tone.

“Well, shit.”

Izuku just grinned, obviously coming to the same conclusion as Aizawa.

Beating Overhaul without Erasure was near impossible. Even with one Erasure user, stealing the win would be hard.

But with two of them?

Overhaul was going down .

Chapter Text

Neither Aizawa nor Izuku slept that night. After finalizing their escape plan and discussing the last of the details, Izuku was eventually stable enough to remove Aizawa’s quirk suppressor. Dozens of apologies and a few breakdowns later, the suppressor was out. As Izuku wrapped Aizawa’s shoulder with a part of one of their torn blankets, hands shaking, Aizawa activated his quirk for the first time since his eye was taken.

Erasure surged through him with a warm familiarity, and the anxiety gnawing a hole in Aizawa’s chest dissipated. He was worried that without both of his eyes, his quirk function would be severely affected, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He could feel the ache of his empty eye socket whenever he used his quirk now, and he didn’t think he could use Erasure for quite as long, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was still getting used to his changed depth perception; moving and fighting proved to be rather difficult with only one eye, accompanied by random swells of dizziness and nausea, but he was making it work. He didn’t have a choice, really. 

Izuku was still learning how to actually use Erasure, which Aizawa had given him some quick tips for. It was… weird, to say the least. Neither of the two acknowledged the horrifying reality of that whole situation. They didn’t have the luxury to do that right now. Aizawa did, however, wonder how the kid was able to use Erasure with the quirk suppressing collar still tight around his neck. Izuku had mumbled something about ‘quirk factors,’ and ‘electromagnetic waves,’ but Aizawa stopped trying to understand after Izuku brought up something called a ‘Bose-Einstein Condensate.’ He could think about all of that later; he had more important things to worry about. 

More important things being Phase One of their plan.

Phase One, as Aizawa had named it, consisted of three main steps:

1. Attract the guard(s) attention - force them to enter the cell.
2. While Izuku distracts the guard(s), Aizawa jumps on them and knocks them out.
3. Leave the cell and proceed to Phase Two.

It sounded much simpler than it really was. In actuality, the number of things that could go wrong were staggering, but Izuku and Aizawa chose to ignore that little fact in favor of proceeding with the plan. 

Aizawa met Izuku’s gaze with a serious expression, standing in front of him near the cell’s door. The boy stared back, determination glinting in his eyes. The sight was both reassuring and absolutely terrifying; the Izuku before him was so very different from the child that Aizawa had met however many months prior. Aizawa realized with a start that Izuku didn’t look like a child anymore. He had seen too much, had lived too much to be considered a child. The thought made Aizawa’s chest tighten uncomfortably. He wondered when he had stopped seeing Izuku as a defenseless kid and started seeing him as a trusted ally. Over the months of intense physical training, countless torture sessions, the eternity of sleepless nights— somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Izuku had become someone Aizawa depended on, someone he trusted with his life. Someone he cared about, like… like a son.

A warm hand rested on his shoulder, and Aizawa was pulled out of his thoughts. He raised his head, once again meeting heterochromatic eyes, darkened with worry.

“...Aizawa?” Izuku’s voice was hesitant, weary of a future neither of them could guarantee. The sound of his full name was enough to bring himself back to the present. He took a deep breath; now wasn’t the time to get caught up in his thoughts. He gave Izuku the steadiest nod he could before reaching out to place his hand on the boy’s head, ruffling his hair gently.

“It’ll be okay, kid. We’ll be okay.” His voice was softer than usual, trying to convey feelings of reassurance. Aizawa wasn’t sure it worked. But his kid just nodded back at him, gaze heavy with resolve, as he moved to his position. 

Aizawa took another deep breath. It was now or never.

Hiding the stolen scalpel up his sleeve, the underground hero approached the heavy metal door of their cell. Izuku, closer to the middle of the room, lay on the stone floor, preparing for the guard’s presence. Once Aizawa was sure that Izuku was ready, he drew back his closed fist and banged harshly against the cold surface, yelling out.

“SOMEONE, COME QUICK! YOU BASTARDS FUCKED HIM UP WITH MY QUIRK, HE’S NOT FUCKING BREATHING!! I SWEAR I’LL MURDER EVERY ONE OF YOU IF MY KID DIES, I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING THROATS OUT. HE’S NOT FUCKING BREATHING--”

It didn’t take long until Aizawa’s frantic cries were cut off by the rushed clanging of locks opening. He was quick to jump to the side, narrowly avoiding the swing of the door as Guard #1 ran in, panic evident on his face. He apparently had some brain power, as he shut the cell door behind him, but his intelligence ran out when he chose to ignore Aizawa in favor of checking on Izuku.

Izuku, who was currently convulsing on the floor, clutching his throat and gasping for air. If Aizawa hadn’t already known it was fake, he would have rushed to give the kid medical attention. Tucking his appreciation for Izuku’s acting skills in the back of his mind, he lunged at the guard’s exposed neck, slamming his elbow into the man’s Adam’s apple and rendering him breathless before quickly twisting his body and delivering another blow, this time to the guard’s temple. The man hadn’t even had time to cry out before he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Aizawa was just glad it was quick— he really hadn’t wanted to use the scalpel, not in front of Izuku.

After confirming that the guard was down for the count, Aizawa quickly searched his person for anything he could use in his favor. He found a taser, a walkie-talkie, the keys to the cell, and an ID card, all secured to a utility belt strapped around the man’s waist. The lack of any type of firearm was odd, but Aizawa supposed that the guards were able to win most fights through brute strength alone. Stripping the guard of his belt and its accessories, Aizawa secured the scalpel into one of the empty pockets after tightening the belt around his own waist. He also took the man’s shoes off, ignoring the strange look that Izuku gave him as he put them on. They were a little too big to fit him properly (and they smelled like absolute shit), but they were better than nothing. He wanted to give Izuku the shoes instead, but they would have only fallen off of the kid’s feet. The thought might have been funny, if they weren’t in a life-or-death situation.

With the guard still unconscious and his possessions now added to Aizawa’s collection, they were ready to move on. Making sure that Izuku was close behind him, Aizawa cracked the door to the cell open slowly, peeking his head out to search for any unwelcome visitors. An empty hallway stretched before him, silent and looming. Aizawa beckoned to Izuku, ushering him out of the cell and locking the door behind him as quietly as possible, tucking the keys back into the belt. He met Izuku’s gaze, his pulse racing against his throat, and nodded.

It was time for Phase Two. All things considered, Phase Two was simple:

1. Make it to the garage without dying.

Izuku and Aizawa had spent hours making detailed plans on what to do for any and every roadblock they may encounter on the way, but Aizawa thought that ‘making it to the garage without dying’ captured all of those plans rather nicely. If anything were to go horribly wrong, it would be in this phase. They were essentially going in blind— they had no idea where the Doctor or Overhaul were, didn’t know if the facility had more faculty or guards that they weren’t prepared for, didn’t know the extent of the security measures taken. There were a lot of unknowns, and very few certainties. But it was their only chance, and they had to take it. If they didn’t, well… there wouldn’t be another opportunity, of that Aizawa was sure.

Keeping that pleasant thought in the back of his mind, Aizawa led Izuku down the hallway outside of the cell, keeping close to the walls and never standing still for more than a second. He had long since taught Izuku how to walk without making any noise, ( the key is to step with your toes first, then your heels ) so the pair were being rather sneaky if you ignore the fact that the hallways were illuminated with bright, luminescent lights that left them in plain sight if anyone were to come across them.

They made their way down this hallway before taking a right into the next, Aizawa mentally tracking the upcoming route. Two hallways down, four more to go. After that they would pass the Doctor’s Office, another three hallways, and hopefully reach the garage in one piece. Aizawa stuffed down the nausea swimming in his stomach, clenching his teeth as they rounded another corner. They were doing it . He was going to get Izuku the fuck out of here.

All they had to do was stay undetected. If they stayed undetected then everything was going to be okay and—

Aizawa froze in place, reaching out a hand to stop Izuku behind him. The kid looked at him, confused, but Aizawa just shook his head. The hallway was eerily silent, but just barely Aizawa could hear the telltale scuffling of…

Footsteps. Coming right towards them. Aizawa and Izuku make quick eye contact, exchanging a terse nod before getting into position. They had planned for this situation, for someone to find them while they were escaping; they couldn’t hide, since the hallway had no accessible vents or closets. So, they chose to attack first. The two had very little going for them, but they did have the element of surprise. 

The footsteps were even louder now. Aizawa’s mind raced, trying to focus on the approaching noise— Footsteps too light to be over 200lbs, too careless to be Overhaul, not frantic or rushed which means that no one had found the guard’s body yet — and as the figure turned the corner, he jumped into action. Darting forward, Aizawa swung his right leg in a sweeping arc headed towards the man’s ( the Doctor’s, Aizawa noted bitterly) head. His foot, now armed with steel-toed boots courtesy of Guard #1, slammed into the Doctor’s skull, throwing him into the wall face-first. The man cried out in pain, a ‘crack’ echoing throughout the hallway as blood began streaming from his nose. He scrambled to right himself as his eyes widened in confusion, darting from Aizawa’s steadying figure to Izuku’s.

“How did you—” the Doctor tried to ask, his voice nasally and strangled, but Izuku was already springing into action, moving in tandem with Aizawa who jumped back, just as they had practiced if Aizawa wasn’t able to knock someone out on the first try. Izuku lunged toward the man in front of him, pulling his elbow back and smashing it into his temple, a devastating blow that had the Doctor crumbling to the floor, the arm that had been reaching for a walkie-talkie now limp against the ground.

The whole exchange hadn’t lasted more than a minute. Aizawa and Izuku took a second to catch their breath, standing above the unmoving figure of the man who had tortured them without mercy for months . If Aizawa had his way, he’d gladly see the bastard rot in Tartarus for the rest of his life. But he settled on restraining the Doctor with his own bunched up lab coat, choosing not to reprimand Izuku for aiming a kick at the man’s gut. He may have even slipped in a kick of his own. Maybe even two. Who was really counting anyways? 

Aizawa had to force himself to keep moving, leaving the unconscious Doctor behind him as he steered Izuku onwards, faster than before. It was only a matter of time until someone found the Doctor’s body, and they needed to be long gone when that happened. Another right turn, down the hallway, left. Past the Doctor’s office, more hallways, right. Aizawa’s chest tightened, and he forced himself to breathe . They were getting close to the garage and the panic was starting to settle in now, the crippling fear of failure looming over his shoulders. He glanced behind him briefly, taking in Izuku’s determined expression, the beads of sweat dripping down the boy’s face. 

He grit his teeth, focusing on the path ahead of him. They were going to get out of this place. He was going to get Izuku to safety. So far, everything was actually going to plan, much to his surprise. Aizawa led Izuku past another turn, the fluorescent lights flickering above them. The facility was quiet, almost calm . He could just barely hear Izuku breathing behind him, the warmth of his body close to Aizawa’s back. It was a comforting presence, one that helped keep the hero grounded, helped to pacify his anxiety if only a little. Just a few hallways left, and then—

A screeching alarm blared throughout the building, red lights flashing on the corner of every wall. Alarmed voices cried out in the distance, the sound of pounding footsteps echoing down a nearby hallway. Aizawa swore, turning around and grabbing Izuku by the shoulders in a quick moment of reassurance, his gaze trying to convey something that he couldn’t put to words. Izuku just stared back, his eyes wide and scared, so terribly scared, but he placed his hands over Aizawa’s and held them tightly, his mouth pursed as he nodded. They had planned for this, they were going to be okay. They would make it out— they had to.

The two broke eye contact as the footsteps rounded the corner at the end of the hallway ahead of them, leaving them no chance for gaining the element of surprise this time. Both Izuku and Aizawa dropped into a fighting stance. Aizawa tried to step in front of Izuku as best as he could, but he knew it wouldn’t help much. His heart dropped at the sight ahead of him: the other two guards were racing towards them, imposing and furious, batons at the ready. If the crackling of their walkie-talkies were any indication, it sounded like there were more henchmen on their way. It wasn’t looking good, to say the least. 

That didn’t stop Aizawa and Izuku from meeting the guards head-on, however. As Izuku lured Guard #2 farther down the hallway (dodging his baton attacks like a fucking rabbit, the kid was incredible), Aizawa faced Guard #3; his plan was to incapacitate the man as quickly as possible so he could rush to Izuku’s aid. Which, unfortunately, was easier said than done. The guard was over 6”5 with the body of a pro-wrestler, and Aizawa had spent the past few months being tortured, malnourished, and without the intensive training he had grown accustomed to as an underground hero. To add to that clusterfuck, they were in a goddamn hallway, which meant that Aizawa didn’t have the room to make any mistakes. He barely had the room to dodge the wild swings of the man’s baton, for fucks sake. 

Aizawa ducked under the guard’s baton, darting around and behind him before kicking out his knee, forcing him to the ground. Before he could get back up, Aizawa jumped on his back, wrapping his elbow around the man’s throat and holding on tight— it was a move he would never use on the field, but Aizawa was getting desperate. All he wanted to do was knock the bitch out; he wasn’t going to kill him, not if he didn’t have to. But even as the guard gasped for air, the baton clattering to the floor, the man was strong . He grabbed at Aizawa’s elbow, trying to force it to unclasp, before reaching up to the hero’s wrist and squeezing .

He could feel his wrist shatter before hearing the crack , gritting his teeth to stop himself from crying out. Aizawa pressed down harder on the man’s throat but his grip was weaker now, unstable. Panic surged through his body as he wracked his brain for something, anything —

With his left hand he scrambled to grab the scalpel out of the utility belt, bracing himself as he drew back his arm and plunged the blade into the guard’s left eye, drops of blood splattering on his hand, his wrist. The man screamed, releasing his hold on Aizawa in favor of clutching his face, his eye. Aizawa didn’t take the moment for granted— he jumped off of the guard’s back and rolled into a dismount, putting what little distance he could between them. His wrist ached, deep and intense, and his vision blurred for just a moment as he reached back into the belt around his waist. The taser. He could use the taser. Aizawa pulled the weapon out, ready to electrocute the half-blind piece of shit (still on the ground, consumed with agony) when the hallway grew brighter, hotter . 

An absolutely gut-wrenching scream tore through the air behind him. Aizawa whipped around, only to see a stream of churning fire right where Izuku had been fighting. Izuku had told him, had warned him about the guard with the fire manipulation quirk, but he had been so panicked that he had forgotten and now— Aizawa activated his quirk on instinct, his hair flying around his face as he howled.

“IZUKU!” 

The flames died out and Aizawa saw his kid, trying to maintain a fighting stance but stumbling, dropping to one knee, now covered in burns. Aizawa could hear the guard behind him stir, but Guard #2 was still approaching Izuku and the kid had no way to fight back, nothing to attack him with—

He needed to save his kid. He was going to save his kid.

Aizawa rushed forwards, throwing himself between Izuku and the guard, tasing the bastard while Erasure was still active so he couldn’t use his quirk. The man fell to the ground in a heap, convulsing as electricity surged through his body. Aizawa’s eyes burned and his wrist was screaming at him but he didn’t have time to rest because the guard he had stabbed in the eye was back on his feet, running in his direction with blood pouring down his face—

In his panic to help Izuku, Aizawa had left himself completely open. Something hit his abdomen, sharp and stinging, followed quickly by a crushing blow to his leg. He let out a strangled cry of pain, taken aback by the sudden procession of attacks. His head swam, bile tearing its way up his throat. He had to get it together, he had to get it together . The guard was rearing up to attack again, his gaze wild and his mouth open in a snarl, and Aizawa swept out his left leg (the one that hadn’t been hit) as high as he could, desperate to just get the man away from him, away from Izuku. 

By some miracle, Aizawa’s foot slammed against the guard’s head on the same side as the injury he had previously inflicted, clipping the open wound while his ear took the brunt of the hit. The guard stumbled backwards, falling onto his back with a cry of pain, writhing on the ground. Before he could even try to get back up, Aizawa staggered forwards, drawing back his elbow and bashing it into the guard’s temple. Only when the man’s massive figure stopped moving (still breathing, Aizawa reassured himself) did the hero allow himself a moment to breathe. 

He took a shuddering breath, his lungs straining with the action. Blinking a few times, Aizawa tried to rid his vision of the black dots surrounding his peripheral.

“‘Zawa?” Izuku called out from the other end of the hallway, tripping as he tried to get to Aizawa. He was alive. Aizawa slumped in relief. His kid was alive. As Izuku approached, his face seemed to twist in horror, eyes locking on Aizawa’s stomach.

Aizawa furrowed his brows, looking down at—

At the handle of the scalpel sticking out of his gut. The one he had left in the man’s eye. 

Aizawa’s world seemed to tilt, his head spinning as he tried to make sense of everything. The guard must have ripped it out of his own eye to use as a weapon. He managed to slash Aizawa pretty deeply before jamming the blade into Aizawa’s exposed frame— his shirt was soaked with blood, dripping off of him and onto the stone floor.  

Too much blood. He was losing too much blood. Izuku was saying something, but Aizawa couldn’t hear. Everything was getting darker, his eyes closing against his command.

Falling. He was falling—

It was Izuku’s fault. He shouldn’t have let his guard down, shouldn’t have distracted Aizawa. One second, he was dodging Guard #2’s baton and the next the man had pulled out a lighter and Izuku froze , he froze for just a second too long. He should have used Erasure, should have taken the guard out before it got to this point, but he didn’t and Aizawa had to save him and it was all his fault. After Aizawa tased Guard #2, Izuku had taken the man’s belt containing his baton, lighter, and walkie-talkie, trying not to pass out from the pain of his injuries. Aizawa had knocked out the other guard (thank god), and Izuku dragged himself towards his hero, his legs buckling with every step when he saw it. 

The blade. Aizawa’s broken wrist, his mangled leg. All the blood, so much blood —

Izuku barely had the time to process what he was seeing before he was lurching forward, running the short distance between them to catch Aizawa as he collapsed to the ground. The man turned his head weakly to look at Izuku; his gaze was cloudy, unfocused.

“‘Zawa! Damnit, ‘Zawa!” 

His voice could barely be heard over the alarms that were still blaring. He couldn’t breathe, his throat closing in panic, his heart pounding against his chest. Izuku’s eyes stung, and he couldn’t tell if it was from quirk use or crying.

“...Le–ave… Run ,” Aizawa coughed, his speech slurred. He tried to push Izuku away, tried to remove Izuku’s hands from his shoulders, but Izuku just held on tighter.

“ FUCK , just— shut up, don’t you fucking dare. I’m not leaving you. ” Izuku grit his teeth, taking as deep of a breath as he could before jumping into action. He wasn’t going to let it end like this. Not like this . Izuku tried to remember all of the HeroTube videos he’d watched on first-aid growing up, all of the times he had to bandage his own wounds or dress his own burns. He could do this. He had to do this. Setting Aizawa gently down on the ground, Izuku rushed over to the guard that Aizawa had stabbed. He wrestled the jacket that the man had been wearing off of his huge figure, quick to rip the light material into manageable strips. Moving swiftly back over to Aizawa, Izuku worked with shaking hands to remove the scalpel from the wound and tie the jacket strips around the man’s stomach in large sheaths. He knew that pulling the scalpel out wasn’t ideal— in every medical textbook he’d ever read, the general consensus was to NOT PULL OUT THE OBJECT WHEN STABBED, but he couldn’t carry Aizawa like that, couldn’t risk the scalpel damaging his organs even more. So this was the next best solution (he hoped). Izuku pulled the makeshift bandage taught, drawing a wince out of the semi-conscious Aizawa. He bit back an apology— now wasn’t the time. 

After ensuring that the wound was dressed as well as it could be given the current circumstances, Izuku turned his attention to Aizawa himself. The man’s eye was lidded and hazy, but still open. Good. He moved Aizawa into a sitting position, face to face with him now.

“‘Zawa, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?” Izuku fought to keep the tremble out of his voice. It was a losing battle.

Aizawa grunted as a response, his fingers twitching against Izuku’s shirt. It was good enough. It had to be good enough.

“Okay, okay, um, I’m- I’m going to help you stand now, okay? We’re going to the garage and we’re going to make it out, okay?”

Another grunt.

Desperation made itself known in the twisting of Izuku’s stomach, the pounding of his heart echoing through the burns on his figure. Reinforcements were sure to be sweeping the building right now; it was only a matter of time before they caught them. He needed to move, and fast .

Mustering up the strength he had left, Izuku heaved Aizawa upwards, stumbling to support the weight of the man. Luckily, Aizawa wasn’t very heavy; otherwise, this would have been impossible. 

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and focus his racing mind, Izuku wrapped one hand carefully around the hero’s waist, avoiding the wound as best as possible, and used his other hand to support Aizawa’s shoulder. Aizawa was leaning against Izuku’s left side now, practically being carried by him as they began their slow journey down the hall. Even in his injured state, Aizawa tried to drag himself forward, his feet scraping against the ground. 

Izuku carried on, shouldering Aizawa’s weight and half-shuffled, half-walked down the hall. Slowly, far too slowly, the pair made their way into the direction of the garage. Several times, Izuku could hear the sound of pounding footsteps somewhere in the facility, terror eating away at his insides as he ducked against a wall, praying that they would pass, please just pass —

And by some miracle, they did. Sweat and blood were caked against Izuku’s skin, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he practically dragged Aizawa forward as fast as he could possibly move. It seemed like an eternity later when Izuku and Aizawa finally made it to their destination, both on the verge of collapsing.

The garage was, well, a garage. A big one, at that. Concrete walls and floors that echoed every sound made, full of various tools and trinkets. It was surprisingly normal for such a messed up facility. Inside the garage sat several armored jeeps, illuminated faintly by the dim glow of the overhead lights. The sight of actual vehicles made Izuku’s heart soar. He was quick to maneuver Aizawa and himself into the garage, letting the door separating them from the facilities fall closed with a quiet ‘click’ . The alarm blaring in the facility was quieter out here, muffled and almost inaudible. But they weren’t out of the woods yet— he still had to get Aizawa to safety.

Izuku’s eyes searched the room for anything he could use to hotwire one of the cars. He’d never officially hotwired a car before, but he’d read lots of books and watched dozens of videos on the subject; he was confident he could make it work. As he looked around, his eyes stopped on the wall to his left.

Hanging on hooks were several sets of car keys, each numbered and neatly placed. Izuku swallowed his shock, hope blooming in his chest at the sight. He shuffled over to the key wall, still supporting Aizawa, and grabbed the key ring with the number 1 on it. Upon closer inspection, the smooth concrete floor was marked with white paint where each car sat, corresponding numbers labeling the vehicles. It was… oddly well-organized, but Izuku wasn’t going to dwell on that.

Car #1 was closest to the pair, and gave a little chirp when Izuku clicked the ‘unlock’ button on the key ring. Izuku and Aizawa made their way over to the back doors of the car, which Izuku opened quickly before helping Aizawa lay down on the leather-clad seats, his heart clenching as the man groaned in pain. He needed to get him help. He was going to get him help. Shutting the door firmly, Izuku was about to hop into the driver’s seat when something caught his eye.

Sitting on the floor in the corner of the garage were several gallons of gasoline, glinting innocently under the overhead lights. The guard’s lighter was still in the too-big belt hanging loosely around his waist. Izuku made a split-second decision. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it. 

Driving furiously away from the facility at a breakneck speed, barely able to reach the gas pedal because the seat was so far back, Izuku could hear the faint ‘BOOM’s of cars exploding in the distance. He was terrified. He was tired. His body hurt so horribly, and he was scared for Aizawa, still heavily wounded in the backseat. Izuku couldn’t stop the tremor of his hands or the pounding of his head, and he didn’t know where he was going or if he was out of the clear yet.

But as he watched the facility rise up in flames, growing ever smaller in the rearview mirror, he couldn’t stop the feral grin that spread across his face at the sight. 

“What do you mean, gone? ” Overhaul gripped the phone tightly, ignoring the hairline fractures that were beginning to appear on the screen. He couldn't contain his fury even if he tried to, at this point.

“U-uh, well, sir, t-they, they seemed to have… escaped. It l-looks like—” a faint explosion could be heard on the line, followed by unintelligible screaming. The phone call ended.

Overhaul let his eyes fall shut. He took a deep breath in.

Out.

In.

Out.

He opened his eyes, fury only temporarily sated.

He had a child to find, after all.

Chapter Text

After being on the road for about an hour, Izuku could confidently say that he was getting the hang of the whole ‘driving’ thing. As intelligent as he was, Izuku was technically still a child— he didn’t exactly have his driver’s license. Now, he knew enough about driving to get the car moving: turn the key, shift gears, and slam on the gas. Luckily for Izuku, that was about as much as he needed to know at the moment. The facility he was currently speeding away from was in the middle of nowhere, with the only other inhabitants on the abandoned dirt roads being the occasional snake or two. There were no stoplights to stop at or cars to squeeze around, so Izuku was able to speed as much as he wanted to. And speed he did; currently, the boy was racing at about 115 miles per hour, dust flying up under the wheels in a whirlwind behind the fast-moving vehicle. 

He would go faster, if he could. But the gas pedal wouldn’t go any further down, no matter how hard he tried to push it. So Izuku just pressed on, racing underneath the afternoon sun with Aizawa in the backseat behind him. Every few seconds he would glance in the rearview mirror, trying to reassure himself that no one was following them. That, along with his frequent (bordering obsessive) scrutinization of Aizawa’s breathing, kept him quite preoccupied. The car hummed around him, bumping and jostling Izuku as he hit rocks and uneven patches of dirt; with every jolt he grit his teeth, trying not to focus on Aizawa’s groans of pain, on his unmoving form. He hated causing the man such agony, but he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t afford to stop right now. It was going to hurt like a bitch, but they had to keep going —

The engine spluttered. Once, twice, three times. Izuku looked around frantically, trying to identify the problem, his heart pounding in his chest. There was no one behind them, no one in front of them. All the tires seemed fine, the road was relatively even, and the fuel gauge…

The fuel gauge’s red pointer was moving closer and closer to EMPTY. He had been so concerned with checking behind him, with making sure that Aizawa was still breathing in the back, that he hadn’t even been paying attention to the fucking fuel gauge.

Izuku couldn’t breathe. This— this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening .

The vehicle lurched forward, shuddering, slowing down more with every second that passed. Izuku tried to press down on the gas pedal, tried to will the car to just move , to speed up, but it was no use. The car had stopped completely, the hum of the engine shutting off and leaving Izuku to sit in silence, only the sound of Aizawa’s uneven breathing reaching his ears. A dirty haze surrounded the car in clouds, kicked up from the tires, blocking the sun’s rays from reaching through the windows. 

“You— you’re kidding me. This is a sick fucking joke, or—” Izuku grabbed his head in his hands, pulling until strands of his hair came loose beneath his fingers. “This isn’t FUCKING POSSIBLE —” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Again, again, again, again . Izuku let out a growl, which turned into a full-throated scream. His eyes stung with tears, the burns covering his body aching with a vengeance. He was shaking so hard that the world around him seemed to move, trembling as if the earth was opening up beneath him.

They had escaped the facility. They had beaten the guards, stolen this goddamn car, lit the place on fire. After over a year of being tortured and beaten and killed and stuffed back together again, Izuku was out, he was finally out , and yet—

Here he was. Stopped, in the middle of nowhere, just waiting to be found by Overhaul and dragged back into that nightmare. And it wasn’t because he wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough.

It was because their escape car ran out of fucking gas.

The thought made Izuku chuckle humorlessly. Which turned into a hysterical laugh. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was sure that he looked absolutely insane right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Aizawa was passed out in the backseat, losing far too much blood. Their car was out of gas, and they were stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Izuku was alone. 

He laughed even harder, voice cracking and throat burning at the action. He felt something inside of him, whatever hope or bullshit he had been so foolish to believe in, snap .

So, he laughed. He cried. He screamed. He cursed, and hit the steering wheel, and wished to be dead. Izuku felt so useless . For a moment, he thought of Bakugou. If Bakugou had been in his situation, he would have used his quirk on the guards, and Aizawa wouldn’t be hurt, and then they wouldn’t be stuck—

But Bakugou wasn’t here. It was just Izuku.

Maybe he was a Deku. Maybe… maybe he should just end it. Here and now, at his own hands. It would be better than Overhaul finding and killing him, right? He— he would be free. He would finally be free .

Aizawa let out a groan from the backseat, still unconscious but not dead, not yet.

Izuku rubbed his face harshly, trying to clear his head. He felt sick, his stomach churning and bile forcing its way up his throat. He couldn’t— he couldn’t leave Aizawa like that. Alone, and in pain— he just couldn’t .

He thought of the first time he met the underground hero. The feeling in his chest when the man talked about his husband, his students, his cats. The warm presence of Aizawa’s body next to his as Izuku braided his hair with shaking hands. How, after every single nightmare of Izuku’s, Aizawa would pull him into a gentle embrace, his low voice soothing and kind—

Izuku made up his mind. He didn’t care if he died. Really, he didn’t. But he would fight with every last breath he had to make sure that Aizawa made it back to his family safely. He owed the hero that much, at least.

Uncurling his fingers from the steering wheel with a wince, Izuku took a deep breath. He scrubbed the tears from his face and shook his head fervently to reorient himself. He ignored the pain, the burns, the aching; it meant nothing to him right now. He was going to find a way out, somehow. Even if it was the last thing he did.

Once he was calmer, he started searching the car for anything he could use— he didn’t really know how much good it would do, but it was the only thing he could think of. The center console of the car had nothing of value, so he moved on to the glovebox, located in front of the passenger seat. Inside were neat bundles of wires, some electrical tape, and a small pair of pliers. Nodding to himself, he continued his search.

The middle of the car yielded no significant findings other than some bottled water, which Izuku immediately forced down Aizawa’s throat. Once finished, Izuku made his way to the car’s trunk, loose dirt and gravel embedding itself into Izuku’s already bruised and cut feet. He stumbled forward, ignoring the discomfort. Upon opening the trunk with a small click of the latch, he was met with a series of supplies, stacked neatly one on top of the other. Izuku surveyed everything, silently rejoicing over the discovery of a small first-aid kit which he tucked quickly under his arm. Besides the first-aid kit, there were some jumper cables, a small generator, and a toolbox, all of which he removed from the car and placed gently onto the dirt road.

Once he had cleared the trunk of its contents, he moved to shut the latch when his eyes caught on a small lip of the trunk’s interior lining. Curious, he ran his fingers over the odd shape, moving closer to inspect what looked like a secret compartment. He digged farther, trying to find a way to unlock it—

The panel opened up with a quiet ‘click,’ revealing a cushioned built-in with several things stored carefully inside: a stack of hundred-dollar bills, a pistol, and a flip phone. 

Izuku’s brain froze. He stood still for a moment, the heat of the sun warming his back, cool wind carding through his hair.

A phone. There was a phone.

The hope in his chest exploded once more, and he grabbed the small flip phone as fast as he could. Whipping it open, he dialed the number that Aizawa had him memorize when they had first begun planning without a second thought. It was only when the line began ringing that he regained some rational thinking skills. What was he even going to say? Would he even answer the phone? What if he hangs up on him? No one had believed him when he asked for help before, why would anyone now? What about—- Izuku’s anxious thoughts were cut short when the line clicked, and a voice spoke.

“Nemuri, I swear if this is you calling to prank me again I’ll dump glitter in your bed and you won’t be able to get it out for weeks.”

The voice was brash and audibly annoyed, but not angry. No, it held an undertone of humor, one used with close friends and trusted companions. It was a tone Aizawa often used when joking with Izuku, although this voice was much higher in pitch and carried a lightness that Aizawa’s didn’t possess.

Izuku was silent. He swallowed thickly. He tried opening up his mouth to speak, to say anything, but nothing would come out.

After a moment, the voice spoke again.

“Uhh, helloooo? Anyone there?”

It was now or never. Izuku willed himself to vocalize something, anything . His voice cracked and he probably sounded like he was 5 years old, but he spoke.

“Um, you’re— ‘Z– Aizawa says… He says I can trust you.” Izuku heard a sharp inhale from the other line, the crackling of the noise loud in his ear. Before the man could respond, Izuku continued.

“I need your help.”

Hizashi Yamada was not having the best of days. His morning started out fairly well: he woke up on time, ate breakfast, got dressed for work, and was on his way out the door with time to spare. That was before he stepped in a pile of cat puke. After cleaning up the mess on the floor and his hero costume’s boots, he was running ten minutes late to work. When he finally got to UA, just as he was walking into the building, a bird shit on his hair. Yes, actual bird shit. It took him the better part of an hour to clean the bird poop out of his intricate hairdo, and it forced him to miss the staff meeting that Nedzu had called earlier that morning. Fantastic. Then, he had to teach English to a bunch of high school students. Now, don’t get him wrong, he loves his job. He doesn’t, however, love it when one of his students goes on a rampage and destroys half his classroom when he found out he failed the most recent English test. 

It was safe to say that Hizashi was not in the best of moods. He was tired, pissed, and his carefully constructed hairdo had been ruined . So, when he sat down on his lunch break, he planned to relax, maybe read a little, and eat some sushi. 

He did not plan on receiving a phone call from a random number. Hearing his phone— his personal phone — scream Britney Spears’ “Toxic” had never made him so annoyed. He picked up, sighing, giving his lunch a longing glance.

“Nemuri, I swear if this is you calling to prank me again I’ll dump glitter in your bed and you won’t be able to get it out for weeks.”

Silence. He really didn’t have time for this. She did this every now and then, usually to try and cheer him up when he was having a bad day, but he really just wanted to eat his lunch in peace for once.

“Uhh, helloooo? Anyone there?”

More silence. Hizashi was about to hang up when finally, someone spoke. It was not Nemuri.

“Um, you’re— ‘Z– Aizawa says… He says I can trust you.”

Hizashi’s breath caught in his throat. This— this was not what he was expecting. He was about to demand an explanation for what the hell was going on when the voice (it sounded like… a child?) spoke again.

“I need your help.”

Hizashi Yamada had not been having a good day. It was about to get much, much worse.

As Izuku carded through the first-aid kit, looking for a needle and surgical thread, snippets of the recent phone call echoed through his mind.

“Who is this? What the hell do you know about my husband?” The man’s voice was commanding, almost threatening if not for the slight tremor.

“My... My name is Midoriya Izuku. I’m 10… er, 11 now, I guess. I was, um, I was kidnapped by Overhaul a while ago. A couple months later, ‘Zawa was kidnapped too. Listen, I know you probably have a lot of questions and you probably don’t believe me but I swear I’m telling the truth—

“Is he alive.” It wasn’t a question. No, it seemed like the man was too scared to actually ask.

“...What?”

“My husband. Shouta. Is… is he alive.”  

Izuku paused at that. He could hear Aizawa’s wheezing, uneven breathing from the backseat of the Jeep. He held back a wince in favor of responding. “...Barely.”

“Tell me what I can do to help you.”

After finding the supplies he had been looking for, Izuku opened the back door of the car to reveal an unconscious Aizawa, drenched in blood and sweat, his breathing shallow. The sight… wasn’t pleasant. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Izuku took a deep breath before sliding his hands under Aizawa’s limp form, grunting as he heaved the man up in his arms. The position they were in was far from optimal— Izuku had to maneuver himself awkwardly to fit into the car at that angle, squeezing against the seats to get Aizawa out of the Jeep safely.

After a solid few minutes of fumbling, shuffling, and finagling, Izuku had managed to remove Aizawa from the backseat, placing him as gently as he could onto the dirt ground. It wasn’t sanitary or comfortable by any means, but Izuku was desperate. He needed to stop the bleeding.

Kneeling on the ground next to Aizawa with the small first-aid kit open and ready at his side, Izuku took a second to breathe. He shook out his trembling hands, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. Izuku picked up the kit’s miniature set of scissors. Once he started, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop until everything was stitched and bandaged. He took another deep breath. It was now or never.

He cut through Aizawa’s shirt and the makeshift bandage until the wound was exposed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the sight. It wasn’t a pretty thing; the man’s abdomen had been slashed open unevenly, with the wound about a foot lengthwise and uneven in depth. Aizawa’s shirt, his stomach, Izuku’s hands— everything was stained crimson. The skin surrounding the gash had been torn away when Izuku had removed Aizawa’s shirt, causing fresh blood to mix with dried blood and clumps of peeling skin. Izuku took another deep breath. It was just blood. He had seen blood before, he knew what it was made of and how it worked. He tried to pretend that this was just medical training for hero students. It helped… a little.

Working as quickly as he could, he uncapped the bottle of rubbing alcohol that had been in the kit and poured its contents over Aizawa’s wound, as well as over his own hands in an attempt to sanitize them. He opened the small pack that the hooked needle came in (already threaded, thank fuck), carefully pulling it out with a pair of forceps. Lining up the needle to the edges of the wound, saying a quick prayer to a god he didn’t believe in, Izuku began the tedious and painstaking process of stitching Aizawa’s injury closed. 

Now, Izuku was no medical professional. He had read plenty of health textbooks and watched dozens of videos on first-aid, as well as how to stitch up a wound, but that was almost two years ago, and his memory was fuzzy at best. After the longest 25 minutes of his life, Izuku was left with some relatively uneven, sloppily tied sutures (and a severe case of heartburn). But the wound was closed, and Izuku could finally breathe again. He poured the remaining rubbing alcohol over the stitched-up gash, wrapping Aizawa’s abdomen carefully in the single roll of bandages the first-aid kit had contained. Only when Izuku had ensured that the injury was completely covered did he relax slightly; the sight of Aizawa’s rising and falling chest helped to soothe his anxiety immensely. 

But he wasn’t done yet. His thoughts returned to his talk with Present Mic, to what was still left to do.

Izuku explained the situation to the best of his abilities (stuttering and terrified) while on speaker phone; Hizashi had moved to Nedzu’s office, gathering Midnight and the principal while Izuku spoke. Nedzu, listening carefully to Izuku and Aizawa’s predicament, was quick to track the location of Izuku’s phone while he was talking. Unfortunately, Nedzu wasn’t able to track the pair’s exact location. Apparently, the signal was too weak to do so, which made matters a little more complicated. He was, however, able to locate the general area of the call. While it wasn’t perfect, it was a good start. Immediately the mammal arranged a team of pro heroes to search the newfound area, consisting of Mirko and Fatgum (the closest heroes who were available and qualified), along with Midnight and Present Mic, were to be sent to the general location to search for Izuku and Aizawa. He had also requested Recovery Girl’s services for emergency medical support on the go.

It was Nedzu who had asked Izuku, still on speaker phone, for a small favor. Well, maybe not small, exactly.

“Izuku, yes? I was able to identify your general location, but not your exact coordinates. That’s where you come in. I understand you have a vehicle at your disposal, hm? Would you, perhaps, be able to create some sort of explosion for us to be able to find you and Eraserhead more easily? I, of course, am more than willing to walk you through how to make a bomb out of car parts—”

The principle was cut off by Izuku’s surprisingly calm sounding voice. “Oh, that’s easy. I can do that. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

The line fell silent for a moment as the heroes looked at each other in surprise. Nedzu quickly continued, making a note of it for later.

“Wonderful. We’ll begin our journey to your location as soon as possible. It seems like you’re about three hours away by car. If we take my personal jet, however, we’ll be there much sooner. Izuku, please detonate the bomb in approximately 35 minutes. We will be ending the phone call now to preserve your phone’s battery life. If anything goes wrong, immediately call us again; I presume you have this number memorized?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good. Any questions?”

Izuku paused. When he spoke next, his voice was heavy with vulnerability. “This… this isn’t a joke, right? You’re… you’re actually coming to save us?”

Another moment of silence. The heroes didn’t know what to think, what to say.

“...Little Listener, this isn’t a joke. We’re coming to help, I promise. Just hold on tight for us, okay? You’re being so brave. Thank you for staying with Sho. You… you’re going to be okay.” Hizashi’s voice broke. Izuku didn’t know if it was due to emotion or distance.

“...Thank you.”

The call ended. The heroes jumped into action.

Exactly 35 minutes after the phone call had ended, and approximately 10 minutes after Izuku had finished stitching up Aizawa’s wound and promptly dragging him far, far away from the Jeep, Izuku set off the car bomb with a resounding ‘BOOM’ .

Rigging the bomb was surprisingly easy. The car itself was already pretty flammable, even if it wasn’t full of gas. With the extra wires from the glovebox and the parts of the engine accessible through the popped hood, Izuku was able to make a simple, yet effective, explosion. He had all those hero support item books to thank for the knowledge. Bakugou had laughed at him, telling him that he would never use that shit in the future. Look who’s laughing now, Kacchan .

Izuku stood several yards away from the burning car, next to still unconscious Aizawa. On the ground by his feet lay the half-empty first-aid kit, the stolen pistol, baton, and the flip phone. As he watched the roaring inferno ahead of him, eyes wide and tear-filled, he didn’t try to stifle the hope rising in his chest.

It was time to leave. It was actually time to leave. He let out a laugh, holding his head in his hands. He’d pinch himself to make sure it was real, but he didn’t want to aggravate any of his burns. 

He didn’t even know how long he had been trapped there. Or what he would do when he finally returned to the normal world. He knew he wanted to read as many books as possible, and catch up on all of the new heroes. Izuku wondered who was in the top ten now, if he would even recognize any of the names. He thought of his mom, and if—

If she would even want him home. 

The thought seemed to cut through him like a knife, dulling the happiness that had permeated his being. He was excited to leave, he was, it was just…

No. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. He’d start somewhere fresh if he had to, live on the streets, anything. Anything would be better than how he’d been living ( surviving, not living ) for the past however long. He would be okay. It… it was all going to be okay.

In the distance Izuku could see an enormous cloud of dust moving closer and closer to where he was, darkening the sky as it grew— at first, he thought it was a dust storm. And then he heard the noise.

The sound of a helicopter. Izuku’s heart soared as he scanned the horizon. There, in the clouds, was a helicopter speeding towards him and Aizawa.

Izuku grinned, his heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He jumped up and down, waving his arms wildly in the direction of the approaching aircraft. It was slightly childish, but he didn’t care. He laughed, the sound drowned out in the deafening roar of the helicopter’s blades. 

After what felt like an eternity later, the helicopter landed a few miles away from Izuku and Aizawa. Izuku’s hair was whipping around his face from the wind, and he couldn’t fight the smile that was etched on his face now. The fans of the propellers quickly put out the remaining flames of the car bomb before the slow whir of the engine died out, the sound of the spinning blades quiet now. Izuku blinked the sand and smoke out of his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hand. He fought the urge to run towards the helicopter, but ultimately deemed it safer to stay put and wait for the heroes to approach him instead. Waiting anxiously, he bounced on the toes of his feet with excitement as the door to the helicopter opened. A figure stepped out and hopped gracefully to the ground, making their way slowly in Izuku and Aizawa’s direction. 

Dust now hung heavy in the air from the wind disturbance, so Izuku couldn’t quite see who was approaching, especially from that distance. He could tell it was only one person, though, which was a little odd. He thought they were sending a few heroes, not just one? Or maybe it was a scout, to make sure the environment was safe. Izuku had heard of that before, he supposed.

As the figure got closer, Izuku’s excitement faded as seeds of doubt planted themselves in his mind. Something felt… off . He thought back to the phone call— hadn’t Nedzu said he was arriving in a jet? That was a helicopter, not a jet. Plus, it seemed too early for them to be here already… and why was the man walking so slowly? He’d think that Present Mic would be quick to rush to help his husband… right?

Unease grew in Izuku’s gut. The figure took another step forward.

Slowly, Izuku leaned down and picked up the pistol on the ground by his feet. He unclicked the safety.

The dust cleared slightly, and Izuku strained to see the man who was now only a few yards away.

The man with a purple feather collar and a bird-beak plague mask.

The man who had kidnapped, tortured, and murdered Izuku over and over again.

The man walking towards Izuku with fury in his eyes and no gloves on his hands.

Otherwise known as Chisaki Kai, or Overhaul.

Yeah, that one.

Because Izuku had forgotten one very important thing.

The fire from the car was a signal to heroes, yes.

But there was nothing stopping it from signaling to villains.

Chapter Text

When Izuku identified the approaching figure as Overhaul, it was like the world around him had frozen. The wind had stopped, flakes of dust suspended in the air— like a dream. Maybe it was all just a dream. A godforsaken nightmare that just kept going .

But Overhaul took another step forward, and Izuku remembered that he didn’t have to be asleep to be trapped in a nightmare.

A few months ago, Izuku would have panicked. He probably would have tried to distract Overhaul from Aizawa’s unmoving form, tried to coax a villain monologue out of the man until the heroes came to save him. The mere sight of Overhaul would have sent Izuku into a panicked frenzy, unable to move , to act . But Izuku wasn’t the same innocent little kid that Overhaul had kidnapped. No, Overhaul had torn that boy apart before piecing him back together into something different, something unnatural, something dangerous .

Izuku was tired. He was in pain. He couldn’t walk in a straight line and his entire body ached . He had fought and cried and screamed and he was done .

As Izuku met Overhaul’s gaze, he didn’t feel scared. He just felt angry .

So, as Overhaul made his slow approach towards him, Izuku made an executive decision. He raised the gun in his hands, steadying his aim before shooting Overhaul right in the foot. And boy , did that feel good.

Overhaul screamed, dropping to his knees, looking at Izuku with shock etched into his features as if he didn’t actually expect him to pull the trigger. 

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Izuku spat, cocking the gun and aiming at Overhaul’s chest. He was still several yards away, but he wasn’t going to drop his guard, wasn’t going to let him get the upper hand. He didn’t really know what he was doing, just that he was trying to buy time, trying to keep the bastard away from Aizawa—

Slowly, Overhaul reached up to remove his mask, letting it fall into the sand and dirt next to him. The sight of the man’s full face was startling, so much so that Izuku’s grip on the gun almost faltered. Almost.

“Do it then. Kill me.” Overhaul’s voice traveled clear across the distance between them, stealing the air from Izuku’s lungs. He didn’t look away, couldn’t look away. He— he needed to take the shot. Overhaul was vulnerable, Izuku had the advantage. He blinked a few times, trying to remember to breathe . If he killed Overhaul, Aizawa would be safe. He needed to, he needed to protect Aizawa. 

But could he take another person’s life? Could he watch as the spirit drained from the eyes of a man, even one as evil as Overhaul? Could he live with his blood on his hands, his limp body in his nightmares every day, every night? He would be a murderer. 

If he took the shot… would he be any better than Overhaul? Than the Doctor?

Izuku could hear Aizawa’s rasping breaths behind him, and he made up his mind.

He could live with nightmares. He could become the monster. Whatever it took, so long as Aizawa made it back to his family safely.

He pulled the trigger, gritting his teeth and turning away his head—

As nothing happened. The click of the weapon rang empty. No bullet left the chamber.

For a moment, everything was quiet. And then it wasn’t. Overhaul launched himself forwards with a laugh as Izuku’s heart shattered into a million pieces. His eyes widened in horror as he tried to brace himself, to remember Aizawa’s training, but Overhaul had already closed the distance between them, tackling Izuku to the ground. The wind was knocked out of his chest as the man threw him into the unforgiving ground, his wounds screaming at the contact, the gun flying out of his hands. 

“When facing an opponent stronger than you, bigger than you, whatever, you have to play to your strengths. Fight dirty, claw their eyes, bite them— avoid getting pinned down. Got it?”

Aizawa’s words echoed through Izuku’s mind as he tried to roll out of Overhaul’s grip, dirt and rocks embedding themselves into the exposed burns on his limbs. He screamed, grabbing a handful of earth and flinging it at Overhaul’s face, scrambling away from the man frantically. It bought him a few seconds, but Overhaul just growled, hands latching around Izuku’s ankle, nails digging into the skin—

Izuku kicked at his hand, trying to dislodge the hold, to break a finger, anything —

Overhaul just grabbed on with another hand before he yanked Izuku backwards, dragging him against the ground, skin and burns catching on the uneven terrain.

Izuku’s vision blurred, bile choking his throat. His whole body spasmed, and he tried to keep kicking, to do something , but for a terrifying moment he couldn’t move and Overhaul was getting back up and he couldn’t move and Overhaul was reaching for his wrists—

It couldn’t end like this. It won’t end like this.

He heaved a shuddering breath, the wave of paralyzing agony passing over him momentarily. Overhaul latched onto one of his arms in an iron hold but Izuku thrashed in his grip, screaming and scratching and biting, feeling feral, acting feral. He spit at Overhaul, hoping for some sort of reaction, for some sense of relief. 

Overhaul backhanded him across the face, his head hitting the ground from the blow, and Izuku saw stars. Not the reaction he was looking for.

“You… will learn… never to run… from me again,” Overhaul rasped in between breaths, jerking Izuku’s wrists until they were forced against the ground above his head. 

Izuku tried to struggle more, but his movements were sluggish, slow. 

“F-Fuck… you,” Izuku slurred, blinking as he was hit with a wall of nausea. He shook his head weakly as Overhaul switched his grip, restraining Izuku with only one hand as his other slammed into the earth beside him. The ground shook violently, groaning at the contact. Izuku didn’t know what was happening; he was too panicked and dizzy, still trying to regain his breath and stile the fear exploding in his chest.

He barely had the time to cry out before the ground shaped into cuffs around his wrists, still pinned together above his head. The same was happening to his feet when he regained the ability to think properly. Immediately, he activated Erasure, and the moving of the earth ceased, falling quiet once more.

Izuku hadn’t even considered Overhaul’s quirk working on non-living things. In all of the adrenaline and chaos of their escape, it had never come up before. The thought of such a quirk, one so powerful that it could reshape not only man but the earth too, was terrifying. His head was clearing slower than he had hoped it would, but it was clearing, thank fuck.

Overhaul staggered upwards to stand by Izuku’s side, scrutinizing his handiwork. The ground underneath Izuku was sunken slightly, having been moved and reformed to bind his wrists. The sharp gravel dug tightly into Izuku’s skin; he couldn’t move his hands an inch. But he could kick his legs— he shifted his body at the waist, sweeping out his legs with as much force as he could manage. He hit one of Overhaul’s legs, making him lose his balance (he could do this, he could do this), trying to sweep out his legs again when Overhaul’s boot slammed into his leg, pinning it down.

Without giving Izuku the time to recover, Overhaul stomped on his ankle once. Twice. Again and again and again until Izuku was screaming, a loud 'crack' tearing through the air.

Izuku’s legs fell limp against the ground, his left leg pulsing with a red-hot pain that could only mean a broken ankle. Izuku tried to stop the tears from falling down his face, but it was no use. 

The pressure building behind his eyes was growing and he was in pain and he didn’t know what to do and Overhaul was glaring at him with a fury that Izuku had never seen before and he was reaching down to touch Izuku again, to hurt him —

“ Wait , stop, please ,” Izuku cried out, voice breaking pitifully. 

Overhaul stopped for a moment, eyes boring into Izuku’s. 

“Now, child ,” he spat out the word like a curse, “You aren’t in any position to be making demands. You seem to have forgotten who you belong to.”

He was leaning down now, close enough that Izuku could see himself in the man’s pupils, twisted and warped. He wanted to blink so badly but he resisted, tears blurring his vision as he stared right back at Overhaul, fear paralyzing him in place. 

“I— I’ll go with you. Please, just— just leave Aizawa. I’ll come with you. Please .” Izuku was sobbing now, finally succumbing to the urge to blink. The static of Erasure faded to the background, his hair falling limp around his face. His entire body was shaking, devoid of the energy to fight back any more.

He just wanted to save Aizawa. If he could save Aizawa, that was all that mattered. Please, please, please, just spare Aizawa—

For a moment, Izuku was sure that Overhaul would refuse. Was sure that he would kill him right then and there to save himself the effort.

That was before the man reached down to Izuku’s right foot and touched exposed skin.

Izuku let out a blood-curdling scream, thrashing in his bounds because it hurt it hurt it hurt IT HURT IT HURT—

The pain stopped abruptly. Izuku had, unknowingly, activated Erasure for a second time. His eyes strained and burned with the effort, but it was nothing compared to the blinding agony of his foot, now a mess of muscle and flesh and God, there was so much blood.

The earth around his hands shifted once more, eventually dissolving back into the earth from where they came. Izuku’s wrists were bloody and bruised, but he could move them now. It didn’t make much of a difference, though. His left ankle was broken, and his right foot was disassembled. He wouldn’t be able to get away now.

He… he was trapped. Again. 

The thought had Izuku crying even harder. 

Overhaul, satisfied that Izuku wouldn’t be able to run anymore, slid his hands under Izuku’s arms and heaved him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Izuku just hung limply. Overhaul was surprisingly strong, seeming to lift Izuku with little to no struggle— but Izuku got a little satisfaction seeing the man limp slightly because of the bullet wound in his foot.

As Overhaul made his way back to the helicopter, Izuku’s arms swinging uselessly in the air, he watched Aizawa’s unmoving figure grow further away, lying motionless in the dirt. 

He would miss him. So, so much. 

But he would be safe. And that was enough.

Right?

He thought of warm hugs and laughter and cats, of late night movies and hero training and braided hair. Of help with homework and inside jokes and He pictured a future that he had never been allowed to even hope for, one that he was being carried away from as he watched it crumble, disappearing before his very eyes. He… he wanted it. He wanted to feel warm, to feel loved.

Izuku wanted to go home.

He wanted to have a home.

It was those thoughts, that tiny voice in Izuku’s head, that prompted his next actions.

Because on the ground lay the discarded baton, forgotten by Overhaul. It was now or never; Izuku felt the life returning to his body and he writhed in Overhaul’s grip, just enough to dislodge himself. He fell to the ground in a heap, gasping in pain, but was already reaching out to grab the baton.

Overhaul whirled around in indignation, ready to use his quirk on the boy once more, but was instead met with a baton knocking out his kneecap. He crumpled to the ground, choking on a scream.

There, lying on the dirt, was Izuku. He had propped himself up so he was in a sitting position and, having grabbed the baton in a two-handed grip, swung as hard as he could at Overhaul’s knee. Overhaul fell to the ground but Izuku didn’t stop his assault; this time, he swung at the man’s head. The metal baton collided with Overhaul’s temple with a sickening thud. Izuku swears he heard a cracking sound, but he wasn’t sure. 

The blow had thrown Overhaul to the ground face-first. The man looked absolutely horrible. His face was bloody and covered in dirt, his knee mangled, facing the wrong way. Izuku could see veins bulging in his neck and forehead, rage burning in his eyes. Somehow, he was still conscious, even after the hit to the head.

Izuku pulled back his arms to strike again when the ground exploded into a barrage of spikes, surging towards Izuku, who was quick to activate Erasure. The spikes stopped suddenly, crumbling to the ground now that Overhaul’s quirk had been erased, but the damage had been done.

One of the spikes had pierced Izuku’s body, leaving a gaping hole in his stomach. It didn’t go all the way through his back, but it was too deep, far too deep. Izuku could barely feel the pain. He was too focused on moving forward, on erasing Overhaul’s quirk, on striking.

And strike he did. He lunged forward, kicking off with his broken ankle ( screaming, screaming ) before slamming the baton into Overhaul’s temple again, again, again, until the man was limp on the ground, unmoving.

Izuku’s breathing was ragged as he let the baton fall from his tight grip to the earth. He could hear a wheezing, wet noise coming from somewhere. As he stumbled to his knees, he realized that it must be coming from himself. Huh . He glanced down at his abdomen, and the gaping hole in his flesh glared back, a mass of torn skin and muscle, pouring out blood. His vision was darkening at the edges, head spinning. His back hit the ground, lungs aching at the chore that was breathing.

Weakly, he looked over to where Aizawa was lying several yards away, safe from Overhaul. Safe. Izuku could see his chest rising and falling, shallow though it was. Relief surged through his body.

At least Aizawa got to go home. 

Izuku felt tears still streaming down his face, could feel the warm sun and the cool earth on his body. He stared up at the sky, gasping for air. It was a beautiful blue, full of fluffy clouds and flying birds. It was so… pretty . Shivers wracked his body suddenly, a chill overcoming him.

He blinked a few times, slowly. He was tired. So, so tired.

This… this was death. Izuku was dying.

He wasn’t exactly surprised. He had known from the start that the chances of making it out alive were slim. Oddly enough, he was pretty calm. Maybe it was the bloodloss. Knowing that Aizawa would be okay helped a lot. 

Izuku thought of his mom. He ached to be held in her arms one last time, rocked gently to sleep to the tune of her humming. His heart clenched at the thought. He really didn’t know why he even wanted that. His mom hadn’t hugged him for years, and she wasn’t that woman anymore. 

But he couldn’t stop himself from wishing. It was a deep burning that burrowed itself in his chest. 

He was… he was sad. Not because he was dying, just—

Because he was dying alone. He was tired of being alone. So, so tired.

He wondered if anyone would miss him. If he would even get a funeral. He doubted it. 

Izuku thought about Aizawa. His husband, and his cats. He had heard so much about them, it was heartbreaking that he would never be able to meet them. To say hello, let alone goodbye. He wanted to say goodbye to Aizawa. He never wanted to say goodbye to Aizawa.

He thought about his dreams of being a hero. Lying on the ground, staring up at the sky as black spots dotted his vision, he mourned the loss of the person he could have been. The hero he could have been if people had believed in him. If he continued his training with Aizawa. If All Might hadn't told him to 'be more realistic'.

Tears continued to stream down his face. He could hear something in the distance. It might have been yelling, but he wasn’t sure. Everything was getting fuzzy. Izuku felt cold. He hated feeling cold. He really wanted to go to sleep. Izuku was just so tired. 

Maybe… maybe in death he could finally rest. Maybe he would finally be free.

It was a comforting thought. The sky was pretty. It was a comforting thought.

His eyelids were heavy, so… so heavy…

And then there was nothing. 

When Aizawa Shouta stumbled into consciousness, he was… confused, to say the least. Before even opening his eye, he knew that he was in a bed of sorts, his entire body stiff and aching. He could feel a light blanket draped over his body, the beeping of a heart monitor sounding somewhere to his left. The smell of antiseptic was heavy in the air.

His eye flew open and he launched upwards into a sitting position, ignoring how his body protested the action. Aizawa scanned the room he was in with growing panic— it was some sort of experimentation room, or something. The room wasn’t huge; there was the bed that Shouta was currently in, and a chair beside it. There were no windows; the only light came from the stark white fluorescent strip in the ceiling. He realized with a start that he wasn’t bound to the bed. 

Nor had they replaced his quirk suppressor. Big mistake.

Pushing himself out of the bed, he reached first to turn off the heart monitor before removing the IV from his arm. He tried to think, tried to figure out where he could possibly be. 

He remembered escaping with Izuku. They fought the guards and he got stabbed. They found a car, and— he remembered fire? An explosion? He couldn’t recall anything else.

For a horrifying moment, he faced the thought that he had been avoiding ever since awakening. The thought that maybe… maybe their plan didn’t work. Maybe they had been recaptured and moved to a new facility. Maybe— maybe they had even been separated.

Fear and guilt suffocated him, clawing at his throat. It was his fault. It was all his fault. If he had been more careful, if he hadn’t gotten stabbed, then they would have made it out. Then Izuku would have been safe and—

He… he needed to find his kid. He would save him. He would make things right.

Pushing down any and all intrusive thoughts regarding Izuku, Aizawa took another look around the room he was in. He gained his footing carefully— his leg, the one mangled by the guard, seemed to have been healed (probably the Doctor’s work) but was still a little unsteady. The wound on his stomach felt much better than it did, however it wasn’t fully restored; with every step he took, he could feel the injury shifting, stinging, screaming. He ignored it in favor of walking over to a nearby cabinet, rooting through the drawers quickly.  He was able to find several disposable scalpel blades, which he promptly unwrapped and held tightly, one in both of his hands. He would have stuffed more in his pockets, but the weird gown they had put him in didn’t have any.

A quick glance over the room revealed nothing more that Aizawa could use; he didn’t have the time to search very thoroughly, though. He needed to find Izuku. They could be doing anything to him right now. He needed to get his kid and get out.

Aizawa approached the door to the room he was being held in. He was still disoriented, still trying to wake up fully, but he knew he didn’t have any other choice. Taking a deep breath, he tried the handle. To his immense surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t know whether to be uneasy or ecstatic; really, did they think he was in a coma or something? (Had… had he been in a coma? It was almost too easy).

He opened the door slowly, peeking his head outside to observe a hallway. Bright, clean tile floors shone in the white lights from the ceiling, and the creme colored walls were a stark contrast from the usual concrete that Aizawa was used to seeing in the facilities. So they had been transferred to a different location— which wasn’t good. At all . 

Upon seeing no unwanted visitors and hearing no approaching footsteps, Aizawa began his journey into the unknown. He went left down the hallway, sticking to the wall while mentally noting the route he was taking. Two doors to the right, numbered in the hundreds… just how big was this new facility? Aizawa wasn’t sure he truly wanted to know.

After only a minute of walking he was interrupted by the clicking of shoes against tile, quickly approaching his location. His heart pounded against his chest, head hurting so bad he could barely walk in a straight line, but he advanced nevertheless; he needed to take the element of surprise, to jump the figure before they could gain their bearings. As seamlessly as he could manage, he grabbed the stranger right when they rounded the corner, pinning them to the nearest wall with a snarl on his face, holding one of the disposable scalpels against their throat.

The figure turned out to be a woman, dressed in light blue scrubs and holding a clipboard. Her eyes widened in shock, and she opened her mouth to speak but Aizawa didn’t give her the chance.

“Scream and I’ll slit your throat,” He threatened, never taking his gaze off of her. Now, Aizawa wouldn’t actually slit her throat, even if she did scream, but she didn’t need to know that. The woman just nodded as much as she could with a scalpel pressed against her neck, her eyes wide and fearful.

“Good. Now, where is Izuku?”

The woman swallowed thickly, confusion etched into her features. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I’m sure I can help you—”

As the woman rambled nervously, her voice shaking, Aizawa considered his options. He had been an underground hero for almost ten years, and a teacher for most of that time. He knew when people were lying. She was telling the truth, Aizawa was sure. But how could she not know who Izuku was? He was their ‘cure,’ right? And she had scrubs on, so she was likely apart of some medical team to torture them / heal them in between torture sessions. If Izuku were here, she would know about him. Maybe he was in a different facility? Unless—

Unless he didn’t make it. That would explain why Aizawa was still alive; they would only withhold from killing him if they needed him, needed his quirk.

The thought had Aizawa sick to his stomach, the world spinning around him. More footsteps echoed down the hall, approaching his direction. He… he had to go. He had to find Izuku.

Aizawa stepped back from the woman, quickly turning to the opposite direction of the hall before sprinting , staggering every few steps from the pain of moving at all. He ignored the shouts behind him, the crackling of radios signaling for backup, choosing to focus on his path ahead. He could barely see straight, his vision blurring at random, and he would blame it on an injury if his cheeks weren’t wet, his very own teardrops forming a path for his captors to follow

Please be okay, kid, please fuck just be alive, just be alive, just be alive—

Footsteps pounded against the tile, racing after him. The lights above him were white, cold.

I’m on my way, Izuku. Please, God, anyone , let me save my kid, please—

Aizawa rounded a corner, gritting his teeth at the pain the action caused, only to slam directly into someone, knocking both of them to the ground in a pile of twisted limbs.

The figure made a noise of surprise, but Aizawa was already scrambling to his feet, trying to regain his breath as he stumbled forward. Before he even made it down the hallway, the stranger he had just barrelled into pounced on him, sending them both to the floor again.

Struggling to free himself from the man’s grip, trying not to scream because his stomach was killing him , Aizawa jabbed an elbow backwards as hard as he could. He could hear his opponent wheeze for breath, his hold on Aizawa loosening. Wasting no time, Aizawa switched their positions, ending up on top of the man with one hand pinning down his arms, the other holding a scalpel at his throat. 

Aizawa searched the man’s face, ready to demand Izuku’s location, to find any hint of a lie, when he stopped.

Light greenish-yellow eyes met his, wide in surprise and full of emotion. 

He knew those eyes, had dreamt of them every night since he had been captured, but they had never looked at him like that—

Strands of dirty blonde hair had been pulled out of a messy bun, wild and greasy around his face.

He remembers tucking that hair softly back into place, remembers pushing it out of his face in the morning before the sun rose, warm and gentle and peaceful—

Aizawa froze in place, too shocked to move. The man he was sitting on seemed to be in a similar state of disbelief.

It was a dream. It had to be because he would wake up and it would be gone and he couldn’t afford to believe it was real, couldn’t handle it.

The silence was broken when the man spoke, his voice heavy and shaky but hopeful, full of so much love; it was everything that Aizawa had been missing, everything he would wake up chasing, everything he latched onto to keep himself sane, to keep himself human.

“Sho?”

It was the voice of his husband. And it was real , it was perfectly undoubtedly real .

Aizawa blinked, his heart ready to explode out of his chest. Then blinked again. He looked more closely at his surroundings. Posted on the walls were informational signs about lung cancer and physical therapy, surrounded by pictures of smiling children and doctors. He hadn’t noticed the signs hanging on the ceiling, pointing in different directions and labeled with things like “Hero Ward”, and “Cafe”. In his frantic attempt to escape and find Izuku, he hadn’t noticed the plastic wristband hanging on his wrist, with the words “Musutafu General Hospital” printed neatly on the side.

He looked down at his hand, the one currently holding a scalpel to his husband’s throat. The reality of the situation dawned on him.

“...’Zashi?”

Chapter Text

Hizashi didn’t know what to expect when he arrived with the assembled group of heroes to the place they had tracked Izuku’s location to. He knew it wasn’t going to be pretty— from what Izuku had described on the phone, Shouta was in bad shape. He was expecting that, at least. He was even preparing himself for some type of conflict, just in case the two had been followed. But finding Izuku bleeding out in the dirt, covered in burns ranging from first to third degrees in severity, sporting a broken ankle and the gory remains of his other foot, with a gaping wound in his stomach?

That was not expected. Not in the slightest.

Nor was the unconscious body of Overhaul, lying only a few feet away from Izuku, beaten and bloody. Or the fucking helicopter .

It was a mess, to say the least. The heroes got to work immediately; considering the severity of both Shouta and Izuku’s injuries, it was unsafe to even move them to the jet. Recovery Girl and Mirdo operated emergency first aid on Izuku and Shouta first, while Fatgum secured Overhaul in the jet. Normally, Recovery Girl would be able to use her quirk to heal their injuries immediately, but she was scared that the strain would kill them in the process. Hizashi had rushed over to his husband’s side the moment that he could, ready to lift him onto a stretcher, to carry him to safety, and he—

He froze. He couldn’t breathe, his heart seeming to stutter in his chest. He laid eyes on his husband for the first time in seven months since his disappearance, and he couldn’t even move.

Hizashi would never forget the day that Aizawa Shouta was declared dead to the world.

Detective Tsukauchi, along with two police officers, showed up to his house on an early Monday morning. Hizashi had been getting ready for work when the doorbell rang. With a scoff, he hurried to open it, expecting to see a frazzled Shouta coming back from his shift, having lost his keys in a fight for the umpteenth time that month. He was fully prepared to tease him about it mercilessly before hugging him gently and shooing the tired man off to bed.

He wasn’t prepared for the grim faces of the detective and his subordinates, carrying the tattered and frayed remains of Shouta’s capture scarf in their arms. 

Hizashi looked at the scarf, and back at the detective’s face. The man’s eyes were dark, the bags under them were much more pronounced than usual. The soft grin Hizashi had been wearing was long gone. A black hole of emotion swirled in his chest. Everything was fuzzy. He invited them inside for something to drink, his voice distant, his heart pounding. He didn’t end up making them anything to drink, but they did sit down in the living room together, stiff-shouldered and blank-faced.

Deep down, Hizashi knew what was coming. Hell, he had been on the other side of this conversation more times than he could count in his hero career. He knew that it was a possibility; it always kept him up at night, wondering if his husband was okay.

Like in a dream, the Detective handed him the capture scarf. A few parting words and a pass of some paperwork. A heavy hand on his shoulder, an offer to call if he ever needed anything. Then, they were gone.

And Hizashi was alone, staring at the only thing left of his husband. 

Mirko was bandaging Shouta’s various wounds, checking his vitals as Recovery Girl tended to Izuku. But Hizashi couldn’t move. He could just watch. Watch, as his husband lay on the ground before him, barely breathing, his skin pale and his body trembling. He looked like he was dying. Probably because he was dying. His shoulder and stomach were covered in crimson-stained bandages, along with his left eye. Long and greasy hair, far past his shoulders, fell around his face in tangles. He was covered in blood and sweat and dirt and he wasn’t moving and for a horrifying moment Hizashi’s mind flashed to a wooden coffin lowering into the ground on a rainy July evening because he couldn’t do that again, not again — 

“Yamada. I understand that this must be jarring for you. But we need you here with us.”

Nedzu’s voice broke him out of his stupor. The mammal was standing by his side, peering upwards at Hizashi with knowing eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath before nodding at Nedzu, scrubbing his face furiously. There was a time and a place for a breakdown, and this wasn’t it. He approached Mirko, helping her transfer Shouta’s limp body to a stretcher, carrying him over to the jet as carefully as they could. Inside the jet, while the rest of the heroes (sans Recovery Girl, who was still tending to Izuku) cleared the surrounding area, Hizashi turned to Overhaul.

The unconscious man was handcuffed and quirk-suppressed, restrained in the backseat of the plane. Hizashi studied his face carefully. He wasn’t going to do anything to him right now, no matter how much he wanted to. Killing the bastard before he could spend an eternity in Tartarus would be showing him mercy, giving him the easy way out.

But Hizashi knew his face. And he was certain that he wouldn’t forget it. He was going to make sure that, by the government or from his own hands, Overhaul would pay for what he did.

Yamada Hizashi has seen and experienced plenty in his days as a pro hero. He’s faced death head on and won every time; he’s been burned and stabbed and thrown into buildings. Getting hurt is literally a part of his job description. 

Yet being tackled to the ground with a scalpel to his throat, held by his very own husband, has got to be the most painful thing Hizashi has ever experienced. It didn’t physically hurt very much, no. The scalpel never even pierced his skin, and he was left with only a few bruises from the tumble. 

But staring into the eye of the only man he had ever truly loved and being met with… nothing. Fear and anger and a feral glint, yeah, but no recognition of any kind. 

That was true pain. He had felt it in the months when Shouta was gone, in the months he spent looking for any indication that his husband might still be alive. He never truly gave up hope.

For a brief moment while pinned to the floor, however, his resolve wavered. 

Hizashi wondered if he had lost his husband. 

“...’Zashi?”

A look of horrified realization made its way onto Shouta’s face. He threw the scalpel to the ground, scrambling backwards in a panic, but Hizashi stopped him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and cradling his head in his hands.

His husband didn’t cry often. Not in public, at least. But as Shouta’s tears seeped into the fabric of Hizashi’s sweatshirt, he just held him. He held his trembling shoulders, carding his fingers through unkempt hair, not bothering to wipe away his own tears. 

No further words were exchanged. How could they be? No mere words would ever be enough to describe the heartbreak and desperation and hopelessness of being alone for so long. The feeling of being abandoned. The fact that, every night without fail, Aizawa fell into a fitful sleep wishing to be comforted by familiar early-morning singing and cheesy grins and earnest eyes pointed in his direction. The fact that Hizashi had cried himself to sleep most nights missing a warm body next to his and sarcastic one-liners and a monotonous tone that always seemed to soften whenever the two were alone. There were no words to describe the days that felt endless and the gut-wrenching feeling of coming home to an empty house. The indescribable sensation of seeing something funny and turning to relay the joke and remembering that he was gone . The guilt and shame and self-hatred that felt suffocating because I should have been there, should have been strong enough to save him . The crushing loneliness that always resurfaced whenever the kid needed help because if only he were here, he would know what to do . 

There were no words that would ever be enough for the two of them at that very moment.

So, they just held each other. In an abandoned hallway of a hospital, on the floor. With shaking shoulders and running noses and broken hearts that had been apart for too long. 

It wasn’t enough to convey all of the hurt, the suffering, the pain. It would never be enough, nothing would be. 

But they had time to figure it out. 

It took over an hour for Aizawa and Hizashi to calm down enough to finally get up from the floor of the hallway and make their way back to Aizawa’s abandoned hospital room. Hospital security tried to get them to move well before then, but having two pro hero licenses seemed to be effective in combating their efforts. That, along with a little help from a certain principle working behind the scenes, and the two were mainly left alone.

Only when Aizawa was back in his hospital bed and reconnected to a heart monitor by a displeased nurse did he grill Hizashi for information.

It took a while to explain that yes, Izuku was safe, no, you can’t see him yet, he still needs to rest and hasn’t woken up from surgery. Yes, Overhaul was taken care of. No, nothing was left of the facility except a pile of rubble. No, we didn’t find anyone other than Overhaul. For the second time, you can’t visit Izuku yet. Yes, he’s going to be okay. No, you can’t drink any coffee, the doctors would literally kill me if I let you. Yes, Nemuri is safe, she’s coming to visit later today. 

“‘Zashi, I still don’t see why I can’t visit the kid. It’s not that big of a deal, we could slide another bed in—”

Hizashi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed; he was just so relieved and happy to have his husband back. But he had been awake for the past 48 hours straight, and was running on pure adrenaline alone. He didn’t know how much more he could explain before collapsing into a heap on the floor.

“Sho, the little listener was really banged up when we found him. He was in surgery for almost a day straight. Almost all of his internal organs were failing, he was covered in burns, he had a broken ankle and a concussion, and his foot might need to be amputated. Not to mention the mental trauma—”

Aizawa shot upwards in bed, his eye widening in shock. “He what? You didn’t tell me that before. What the fuck happened while I was unconscious?”

Hizashi paused for a moment, taken aback. Shouta was rarely this… well, he wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve. For him to be so animated was a surprise. 

“We… we don’t really know. All we know is that Izuku is the reason why you’re alive right now. If he hadn’t stitched you up when he did and fought Overhaul off until we made it—”

“He FOUGHT OVERHAUL?” Aizawa was already moving to turn off his heart monitor again, scrambling to get out of bed. “Take me to his room before I threaten to kill another nurse.” He stared Hizashi down, as if daring him to argue. 

Hizashi just balked at his husband. He stood motionless for a moment in the hospital room, mouth opening and closing rapidly like a fish out of water. After managing to process… all of that, he quickly pulled Aizawa back from approaching the door.

“Sho, you really shouldn’t—” Hizashi tried to say, before Aizawa interrupted.

“‘Zashi, I am going to see my kid even if it means fighting everyone in this goddamn hospital. Nothing you say or do is going to stop me. Please, just— just come with me.”

Hizashi met Aizawa’s gaze, and his resolve crumbled. His hands were shaking, eye wide with fear . It made Hizashi wonder with a heavy heart what despicable things the two had gone through together to warrant such protectiveness. Regardless, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. 

“Fine. I’ll take you to his room,” Hizashi sighed, placing a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder. “But you need to go in a wheelchair.” 

Aizawa looked like he was about to protest, but Hizashi just raised his eyebrows. Scoffing, Aizawa nodded, his shoulders sagging. Hizashi wasn’t sure if it was in relief or exasperation, but he would take it. It was only after Aizawa was situated in the wheelchair that Hizashi processed what he had said.

“So… when were you going to tell me that you adopted a kid?”

The room fell quiet for a moment as Aizawa turned to look at Hizashi, his gaze warm, a small smile on his face. 

“...Surprise?”  

Hizashi couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips, loud and bright and full of love. He should have known that his husband would get kidnapped only to come back with a kid. He leaned down to press his forehead against Shouta’s, holding his head with both hands as he laughed, and then as he cried, smiling harder than he had in months. Shouta chuckled with him, his breath warm against his chin, hands tangled in Hizashi’s hair.

He— he was going to be a father. They were going to be fathers. 

“You really know how to keep a man on his toes,” Hizashi said, pulling away from Aizawa after he regained his composure. He swept his thumb across his husband’s cheek gently, chasing the warmth they had shared. “C’mon, our kid’s waiting.” 

“How much can I pay you to book it down the hallway?” Aizawa muttered as Hizashi started pushing him to Izuku’s hospital room. Hizashi just laughed— if Shouta were in better shape, he might have even considered it. But the walk to Izuku’s hospital room wasn’t far, no matter how anxious Aizawa was to get there.

Upon arriving at the kid’s room in only a few short minutes, both Hizashi and Aizawa were surprised to see that Izuku had a visitor. Sitting in one of the uncomfortable side chairs in the corner of the room was none other than the principal of UA high school, Nedzu. The mammal didn’t seem surprised in the slightest to see the pair sneaking into the room, and greeted them warmly.

“Ah, Shouta! I must say, I’m glad to see you again. I assume you’re here to visit young Izuku, yes?”

Aizawa nodded in confirmation, taking over his wheelchair to get closer to Izuku’s bedside. Hizashi watched as his face dropped, worry eating away at his insides. He couldn’t begin to imagine how seeing the kid like that would feel. Izuku… wasn’t looking great, to say the least. He seemed so small in the hospital bed, connected to machines that Hizashi couldn’t begin to recognize. He was strikingly pale, with bags under his eyes that were dark enough to pass as bruises. Actually, they might have been bruises— Hizashi wasn’t sure. Practically every inch of the kid’s body was covered in bandages, his two feet heavily casted and propped up with pillows.

Hizashi put a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder, noting how quiet the room had gotten. Aizawa met his gaze, his eye cloudy and unfocused. 

It was another minute before Aizawa spoke, turning his chair back around to face Nedzu.

“Why… are you here?”

Hizashi winced at his tone, knowing that he was just trying to protect the kid. They weren’t exactly friends with the principal, more like colleagues, so his presence was less reassuring and more worrying to Shouta, he was sure. “Relax, Sho. Nedzu was the one who tracked you two down. We flew out on his jet— we wouldn’t have gotten there in time without his help.”

Aizawa appraised Nedzu carefully, seemingly unsatisfied with Hizashi’s answer. “Thank you for your help, Nedzu. Now why are you here? What’s wrong?”

“As diligent as ever, Shouta!” The principal chuckled quietly, holding up his paws in a placating gesture. “I promise that I mean no harm being here. I merely wanted to gather more information on the child so I could better understand the situation. You two seem very close. Tell me, did he ever speak to you about his biological family?”

“...Not often. From what I gathered, I figured he had run away, or was living in some type of group home. He never mentioned a father, and only ever mentioned his mother once or twice, but it didn’t sound like a good relationship. Some of his scars are too old to have been caused by the Doctor or Overhaul, even before I got there. ”

The mood in the room sobered dramatically. Nedzu just nodded, his face dark.

“How long, exactly, had young Izuku been in captivity before you arrived?”

“Five months.” Aizawa clipped out, his voice tense. Hizashi stifled a gasp, eyes widening in shock. Nedzu’s whiskers twitched, his paws held tightly together in his lap.

“Understood. You see, I only ask because as of five months ago, Midoriya Izuku was still living with his mother, Midoriya Inko, according to all school and tax records. No missing persons report was filed, before or after the kidnapping. Luckily for us, Detective Tsukauchi will be visiting shortly to collect your statement. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind dropping by Ms. Inko’s residence to look further into the matter. After all, we have more than enough proof to arrest her on grounds of child negligence and tax fraud.”

Nedzu flashed a manic grin, one that Aizawa returned in kind. Hizashi was sure he could feel the temperature of the room drop by several degrees.

The moment of chaos was interrupted by a knock on the door. All heads turned in the direction of the doorway as a lone man walked in, tired eyes widening at the audience facing him.

“Ah, speak of the devil. Detective Tsukauchi, thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Detective Tsukauchi bowed politely, approaching the trio of assembled heroes. “Of course, Nedzu. It’s no problem at all.” Tsukauchi responded, his words genuine if a bit tired. He turned his gaze to Aizawa, a sad yet warm look making its way onto his face.

“Shouta, it’s good to see you again. You really had everyone thinking you were dead. Next time, come back quicker, okay? It’d save me the paperwork.” The detective smiled at Aizawa softly, offering his hand to shake. Aizawa took it with a nod, looking Tsukauchi up and down. 

“Must have been a hell of a lot of paperwork, detective. You look like shit.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not out of the woods yet. I still need to take your statement, if you’re ready now—” Tsukauchi’s gaze flipped between Aizawa and Hizashi, trying to gauge the mood of the room, “—but if you need more time, by all means, it’s yours.”

“I’m fine. Let’s get this over with quickly. I want to be here when my kid wakes up.”

Tsukauchi raised his eyebrows, looking from Izuku still lying in bed, to Aizawa, in his wheelchair. Then, at Hizashi, who simply shrugged with a cheesy smile. The detective just rubbed his temple, holding his head in his hands for a few seconds. Hizashi felt a little bad for him. He’d be the one handling the adoption paperwork, after all. 

“Right. You can fill me in on that later— for right now, there’s an empty room a few doors down that the staff here have cleared for us to use.”

Both Hizashi and Aizawa hesitated, falling quiet. Tsukauchi gave them a knowing smile. 

“Hizashi, you’re welcome to join us if Aizawa consents. The policy is one guest, according to department rules.” Aizawa furrowed his brows, his face darkening. Tsukauchi cleared his throat. “I’ll… just be down the hall whenever you’re ready. Room 304E.” The detective bowed politely to the room’s occupants before making his way out the door. Nedzu, excusing himself elsewhere, followed Tsukauchi into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. 

Which just left Hizashi and Aizawa alone with Izuku. 

“Look, I know it’s not ideal—” Aizawa started, pausing at the look on Hizashi’s face, the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. He immediately reached out, and held the man’s face gently in his hands, wiping the few tears that had begun to fall. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’ll be down the hall, I just…”

“‘Zashi, I promise I’m coming back.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Hizashi’s ear tenderly, his gaze soft. “I’m coming back. I’ll always come back.”

Hizashi squeezed his eyes shut, nodding slowly. He knew it was true, he knew it. But that didn’t make it any easier. He took a deep breath, collecting himself. 

“How about this— how about you watch over the kid for me. If he wakes up when I’m not here, you’ll be able to calm him down. I’ve already told him everything about you.”

Opening his eyes, Hizashi looked at Shouta, at the love of his life. His love, now covered in scars and missing an eye and barely able to walk by himself. His love, who had just been kidnapped and tortured and was the one comforting him . He wanted to laugh at the irony. Instead, he took another deep breath, hugging Shouta gently.

Before he let him go, he leaned in closer with a glint in his eyes. “Don’t you mean our kid, Sho?”

The whispered words caused a small flush to rise to Shouta’s cheeks, the man promptly rolling his eyes.

“I’ll watch over him for you. You better come back.” Hizashi’s tone was joking, but his words were serious. Aizawa nodded firmly, his gaze never leaving his husband’s. 

Hizashi watched as Aizawa wheeled himself out of the room and down the hall, ignoring the stifling fear in his chest, the panic in his blood. He trusted Tsukauchi; Shouta and the man had worked together for years, and he was a good person. 

With a sigh, he turned back to Izuku, plopping gracelessly into the uncomfortable chair next to the kid’s bed. Hizashi didn’t really know what to think about the small child lying in the hospital bed in front of him. He was incredibly grateful that Shouta hadn’t been alone during his seven months of captivity, but horrified and angry that a child had to experience whatever horrors Izuku must have gone through. He… he was also a little scared, he was just now realizing. He and Shouta had been talking about adopting for years, but this was real , and he was so happy and excited, but—

But what if Izuku didn’t like him? What if he didn’t want him as a parent? What if he wasn’t good enough? He just didn’t know how to prepare, didn’t know how to proceed . 

So when Izuku’s eyes shot open with a start and the boy began to hyperventilate and rip the IV out of his arm , well, it was safe to say that Hizashi was taken by surprise. 

Jumping up, Hizashi rushed to Izuku’s side, scrambling to calm him down and stop the damage. The boy’s eyes were wide and feral, his entire body was shaking uncontrollably. Upon seeing Hizashi, Izuku froze. There was fear in his eyes, pure, unadulterated fear. Hizashi swallowed the lump in his throat, ready to use some grounding exercises when fear turned to anger, ruthless and cold—

Without warning, Izuku launched himself forward, throwing himself onto Hizashi. The two tumbled to the floor, Hizashi trying to shield Izuku from the brunt of the impact. Before Hizashi could stop him from moving any further, Izuku stumbled off of Hizashi, pulling himself upwards to sprint to the door, but the second his foot touched the ground he collapsed onto his knees with a pained cry. 

“Shit, hang on kid! You’re hurt, please stay still—”

Hizashi immediately ran to block Izuku’s exit, positioning himself between Izuku and the door. Inwardly he swore because of course this happens while Shouta is talking with the detective, of course. Breathing heavily, he knelt down in front of the boy, extending his arms to help him up when Izuku growled, yes growled at him, lashing out with his arms at Hizashi and scrambling back as best as he could without the use of his feet. 

Panic welled up in Hizashi’s chest because the kid was hurting himself, he was in pain . He pulled his arms back, showing Izuku the palms of his hands— they were scratched and dotted with blood but he didn’t even notice, too focused on the terror in Izukuk’s eyes, how his small frame shook violently and his face was twisted in agony, how one of his eyes was emerald green and the other was black, a black that he knew —

“Hey hey hey, little listener. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. You’re in Musutafu General Hospital right now. My name is Hizashi Yamada. We talked on the phone, remember?”

Izuku cradled his leg in his hands, his chest heaving and his eyes darting around the room wildly. His gaze swept over the infographics on the walls, the visitor’s chairs, the pile of Hizashi’s belongings stuffed haphazardly in the corner. And ever so slowly, he looked back to Hizashi.

“Hiz…ashi?” Izuku’s voice was broken and hoarse and it made Hizashi want to cry but he just smiled, nodding in confirmation.

“Yup, that’s me! And you’re Izuku, right?”

The boy nodded hesitantly, as if worried he was answering a trick question. “Where… Where’s ‘Zawa?” His eyes flashed with panic, looking around Hizashi to the door like he was about to bolt. Before he could, Hizashi was quick to jump in.

“Woah, take a breath there little listener. Shouta is doing just fine. He’s gonna come back in a little bit, I promise. He’s talking with a detective right now to file a report against the people who did this.”

Izuku relaxed slightly, but not completely. The darkness in his eyes made Hizashi shiver. “Overhaul,” he croaked out. “What happened… What happened to him?”

Hizashi’s grin fell from his face as he met Izuku’s gaze head-on. “Tartarus. His crimes have him serving a lifetime sentence.” He stifled his own emotions on the matter, his voice softening.  “You’re safe , kiddo.”

For a moment, the room was quiet. Izuku was searching Hizashi’s face, looking for any sign of a trick, any indication that this wasn’t real. It reminded Hizashi of Shouta. And didn’t that just hurt? This was a child, a kid . He… he shouldn’t have that look on his face, those scars on his body. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t okay .

“Am I… really out? This- this isn’t some type of joke, right?” Izuku’s voice cracked pitifully. He looked so vulnerable, curled up on the floor, covered in bandages, his small body shaking like a leaf. Something inside Hizashi’s chest broke.

“You’re really out, little listener. I promise.” 

Izuku seemed to consider his words, blinking a few times as if trying to understand. He looked happy, then sad, then confused. Tears sprung to the corners of his eyes, and the shaking of his body worsened. He raised a hand hesitantly towards Hizashi.

“...Can… c-can I maybe…” 

Hizashi just opened his arms wide, his eyes soft with understanding. Izuku crawled forward into Hizashi’s embrace, not touching the tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t sob or make much noises— he was quiet, trembling, crying. It… it almost scared Hizashi more than if he were sobbing, screaming, wailing. But he just wrapped his arms around the shaking child tightly, rocking him back and forth. He ran his hand through Izuku’s tangled hair gently, whispering little comforts into the air. Izuku tucked his head into the crook of Hizash’s neck, his hands gripping the back of the man’s shirt with white knuckles. He didn’t want to let go. And he didn’t need to.

The two of them sat like that for a few minutes until Izuku’s tears had dried, until he could finally manage to pull away from the warmth that Hizashi offered. He shifted slightly in the hero’s grip, too tired to be bashful. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracking and his eyes pointedly fixed to the ground. 

Hizashi just smiled, a sense of peace reaching his heart. It would be okay. It was going to be okay.

“Anytime. Anytime.” He swept his thumb along Izuku’s cheek, wiping away what was left of his tears. Up this close, he could see tiny little freckles that he hadn’t been able to see before, all over the kid’s face, his nose, his forehead. Like little constellations, like millions of stars. The sight had Hizashi tearing up himself.

He was still worried about being a parent. He was still terrified that he would make the wrong move, that he would fuck something up, that he would get hurt on the job or something even worse. Hell, he wasn’t even sure Izuku knew he was being adopted.

But looking at the kid in his arms— his kid — Hizashi knew. No wonder Shouta was so protective of him.

Because Hizashi would walk through hell and back for the child in his embrace, no hesitation whatsoever. A child who had seen far too much for a single lifetime, who was strong and smart and brave and so incredibly kind. A child who was torn apart by everyone else around him and left to build himself back up alone. 

A child who desperately needed support and love and care— a family.

And Hizashi was determined to give him just that.

Aizawa had no reason to expect Izuku’s hospital room to be any different after only two hours of being gone, but it seems he had underestimated both his kid and his husband.

Opening the door slowly, Aizawa began wheeling himself into the room, stopping suddenly when he noticed the state it was in. For a second, his blood froze. All he saw was an empty bed and an IV that had been ripped out and blood , god there was blood , and for a horrifying moment he thought that Izuku had been taken again, and there was no staying calm or rational because his kid, Izuku was —

On the floor. He was sitting on the floor. In Hizashi’s arms. Both of whom hadn’t noticed his presence yet.

Aizawa took a deep breath. Then another one. Once his heart had stopped trying to escape from his chest, he called out.

“... Kid?” His voice held desperation and fear and sorrow but it also held love, so much love and Izuku whipped his head upwards and his eyes widened and he detached himself from Hizashi’s arms as fast as he could to scramble to Aizawa, still on his knees because the poor thing couldn’t walk . 

Before Izuku could injure himself any further, Aizawa had already dragged himself out of his wheelchair, pulling Izuku into his arms as they sat on the floor together. The pain in his stomach, the aching of his limbs— it didn’t matter, none of it mattered because Izuku was here, buried in his shaking embrace, and he was safe he was safe he was safe.

His shoulders shook and he was crying out of the only eye he could, pulling back to hold Izuku’s face in his hands to make sure that it was real, and it was , thank fuck it was .

He… he had been so scared. Because he failed . He left Izuku to fight alone, when he was the hero— he should have been the one carrying Izuku to safety. He was the reason the kid had to fight Overhaul, the reason why he was so hurt, and it pained him more than anything in the world to know that if he had only been smarter, faster, stronger, then he could have actually helped . 

It was all just too much to process. Aizawa could barely hear what Izuku was muttering incoherently—

“‘Zawa I was so scared, so scared,”

“He was going to take me back and you weren’t getting up and you were barely breathing and there was so much blood, too much blood and your skin was really hot and I couldn’t do anything I couldn’t do anything I couldn’t do anything,”

“I woke up and I thought I was back and my feet hurt and you weren’t here and I thought you were gone, gone, I thought you were gone—”

—over the sound of his own voice, broken and aching and pained—

“Kid, I’m right here, I promise I’m right here, I’m not leaving you, I’m so sorry,”

“You did such a good job, I’m so, so proud of you,”

“We’re okay, we’re going to be okay, everything is going to be okay, I promise, I promise, I promise.”

It took the better part of an hour until both Izuku and Aizawa had calmed down, Hizashi sitting on the floor with them and guiding them all through some breathing exercises after the teary reunion. Once everyone was stable enough to function, it was time to clean up the room.

Aizawa looked at the smeared blood on the floor, seeping through the bandages on Izuku’s right foot. He removed his arms from Izuku’s shoulders, looking into Izuku’s tired, sunken eyes, still bloodshot from crying; one emerald, one black.

He didn’t need to ask what had happened. He knew what had happened. He took a deep breath, eyes still fixed on Izuku. Waiting.

Izuku met his gaze, his mouth opening once, then closing. Then opening again. No words came out. 

They both knew that he needed medical attention. They knew he needed a doctor. But even the word was enough to inspire fear, deep and piercing—

But Aizawa was here, along with Hizashi. And they would fight anything or anyone to protect Izuku, would make sure that if Izuku didn’t want to be touched by a doctor, then they would make something work. 

Izuku knew this. And for once, it did make things easier. So he nodded at Aizawa, slow and certain. 

Aizawa immediately asked Hizashi to find a doctor to help Izuku, whispering a few things in his ear, fighting back his feelings of unease at the request. Hizashi was quick to jump into action, leaving Izuku in Aizawa’s care as he practically ran out of the room to get some help.

The pair looked at each other, scared but okay, breathing and alive . Even when lying on the floor of a hospital with debilitating injuries and messed up quirks and far too many scars for any person to have, they knew they would be alright. Because they were together— safe, in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

Finding a doctor to help Izuku wasn’t difficult. Actually, Nedzu had already paged a doctor (nobody knows how he got a pager, or how he knew that Izuku needed a doctor) when Izuku had agreed to the checkup. Nedzu was also the only reason why a swarm of nurses hadn’t stormed the room after their patient had disconnected himself from his heart monitor. 

The actual checkup with the doctor… Well, all things considered, the checkup went fairly well. After Izuku was carried back to his hospital bed by Hizashi, Aizawa took up residence in one of the nearby visitor chairs with his husband by his side, anxiously awaiting the medical professional. And he didn’t have to wait long— mere minutes after Izuku’s meltdown, the doctor, an older woman with short brassy hair, knocked firmly on the door before entering. 

Izuku immediately let out the breath he had been holding; the woman’s face was wrinkled and kind looking, and she wasn’t anything like Overhaul’s Doctor. Her name was Dr. Kikuchi, and she was short and stout but carried with her an authority that Izuku respected a lot. It still didn’t do much for his general fear, considering he flinched whenever she would touch him or move unexpectedly, nor did it quell his panic upon seeing her stark white lab coat moving towards him, but… he managed. The pain that arose whenever she poked or prodded his injuries was barely even noticeable, and the examination ended fairly quickly.

Straightening from her slouched position, Dr. Kikuchi’s gaze swept from Izuku to the two pro heroes, her eyes dark and her brows furrowed.

“As of right now, Izuku is in relatively stable condition physically. Our team of doctors included a man with an organ restoration quirk, so the wounds to his abdomen are healing nicely. The severity of his burns was lessened with the help of a tissue de-aging quirk, but some are still expected to scar. Unfortunately, there are two major issues that we weren’t able to fix with any quirks.”

Izuku stiffened, clutching the thin white sheets of his bed tightly. He didn’t look at the doctor, didn’t look at Aizawa or Hizashi. Honestly, he didn’t think he could. So he just stared at his bandaged hands, eyes fixed on a tiny spot of red amidst the sea of white as he tried to focus on her words without slipping away into his own mind.

“The first is his right foot. We weren’t able to salvage enough of it to restore the limb completely. With your permission, we’ll amputate what’s still remaining of it. We can connect you with some engineers that specialize in prosthetics, if you so choose.”

That was… bad news. Like… pretty bad. Izuku bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood, fighting down the nausea swelling in his chest. He— he didn’t have the money for the amputation, let alone a prosthetic. He was covered by his mother’s insurance, but there was no way she was going to approve that; he bet that she wouldn’t even pick up the hospital’s phone calls. He had been planning to live on his own, survive in a shelter or something, but this? If he couldn’t walk then he couldn’t work, and if couldn’t work then—

Dr. Kikuchi cleared her throat gently, and Izuku’s head snapped upwards. The room was quiet, all of its occupants staring expectantly at Izuku. He realized with a start that everyone had been waiting on him, waiting for him to respond. 

“...S-sorry, um— what else?” Izuku managed to croak out, cringing at how pitiful he sounded. He dug his fingernails into his palm, urging himself to stay focused, to pay attention.

“Right. Well, under your… unique—” the woman paused at this, the word sounding hollow and strange, “—circumstances, we have been informed that your quirk was… how should I say… transferred to you in both a mentally and physically traumatic exchange—”

Izuku clenched his teeth at the phrasing. It wasn’t his quirk. It was Aizawa’s . He didn’t ask for this. He never wanted this.

Fingers digging into his skull, reaching and pulling as he screamed and thrashed and sobbed—

“—We can transfer the eye back to you, Mr. Aizawa, but doing so is… risky, to say the least.”

Izuku blinked away the memory, his heart pounding against his throat. He stayed silent as Aizawa spoke up, his voice hoarse and his gaze tired. 

“What do you mean, risky? ” 

“For one, Izuku would be left completely blind in his left eye. Simply put, his optic nerve is already fragile. If we were to perform this procedure, it would become too damaged to transmit visual information to the brain, even with another donor eye or the help of any technology.”

Aizawa shifted in his seat, hands gripping the armrests of the chair he was in. Hizashi put his hand on Aizawa’s shoulder, ignoring the way it shook. Dr. Kikuchi continued.

“That’s on Izuku’s end. If we were to transfer the eye back to Mr. Aizawa, it is possible that your quirk factor could become strained due to the stress of the operation. However, if you do decide to transfer, the chances of regaining full vision are promising.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Dr. Kikuchi waited for someone to say something, but no one did. She pursed her lips knowingly, her eyes filled with sadness. 

“That is all. If you have any questions or concerns, I am more than welcome to answer them. This is, of course, your choice. I’ll prepare the necessary paperwork and drop it off as soon as I can. Until then, I wish you all the best.”

She bowed politely before gathering her equipment and leaving the room. Even after the door clicked shut behind her, no one spoke. After a few minutes of quiet, Hizashi stood from his chair, gently removing his hand from his husband’s shoulder.

“I think you two have some things to talk about. I’ll… I’ll be outside if either of you need anything.” Hizashi’s voice was lower than usual, lacking the usual dramatic emphasis that he used often as Present Mic. He spared one last worried look at Aizawa and Izuku before excusing himself from the room quietly.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Aizawa stared at the floor, unmoving. Izuku tried not to lose himself in the past. It was a tense silence.

“You should take—”

“I’m not going to—”

The two spoke at the same time, stopping abruptly upon hearing the other’s voice. Surprised, their gazes met. Aizawa nodded encouragingly at Izuku, prompting him to continue. He did so hesitantly, trying to steady his breathing as he picked at the bandages on his hands, fingers catching on the uneven strips of fabric.

“You… you  should take your eye back. I can’t— It’s not—” His voice cracked, and he tried to continue but found himself unable to. 

Aizawa’s empty gaze softened into something more sad, more tired. He ran a hand through his hair, his face downcast. 

“...Kid, it’s better than you being blind in one eye. It’s the logical thing to do. Your quirk—”

Izuku turned to Aizawa, the words bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. “It’s not my quirk,” he spat out. “It’s yours and you need to take it back. You’re a hero, ‘Zawa. You’re Eraserhead , for fuck’s sake.”

He didn’t want to be having this conversation. They shouldn’t be having this conversation.

“I can still use my quirk just fine,” Aizawa interjected, his eyebrows furrowed. “Sure, it’s going to take more time to get used to, but that’s nothing compared to the alternative.”

Izuku scoffed in disbelief, pulling at his hair to stop himself from screaming. “It’s your eye, ‘Zawa! I’m not keeping it—”

“What is so horrible about having my eye that you would rather be blind for? I know that the quirk is weird and different, and I know it’s a lot to handle right now, but—”

“You don’t know anything , Aizawa.”

Aizawa clamped his mouth shut, staring at Izuku in a mixture of disbelief and hurt. Izuku stared right back, tears now streaming steadily down his face, his chest heaving. He ignored the twinge of guilt he felt, too caught up in the argument to stop now. 

“If I keep your eye, I’ll be reminded every day that I’m the reason why they took your eye. I’m the reason why they tortured you, why you’re covered in scars, why you were separated from your family. I don’t need a reminder for something that I already know .” Izuku’s voice cracked but he kept going, choking out a humorless laugh. “Hell, the look on Hizashi’s face when he realized that I’m the reason why his husband is half-blind was more than enough for me. And to top it all off, I have your. fucking. quirk. Do— do you know how much I wanted to have a quirk like yours growing up? Any quirk really, I just wanted a quirk, and now I have one but every time I use it all I can think about is Overhaul’s hand at your throat, ready to rip you apart because of me . ”

Izuku could barely breathe, vision blurring from his tears, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He stifled a sob, gritting his teeth angrily. He was tired of crying, tired of feeling like this, like—

“You think… that all of this happened because of you ? That this was your fault?” Aizawa’s voice was quiet, broken. The sound of it had Izuku glancing up, startled. The hero was staring at him with a strange look on his face, somehow more defeated than Izuku had ever seen him look before. He looked like Izuku had just ripped out his heart, and Izuku wished that he had just kept his mouth shut because he hurt Aizawa again , as if it were the only thing he could do properly.

He didn’t respond, couldn’t force the lump out of his throat to form the words. Because of course it was his fault. It was always his fault, and he wished so desperately that it wasn’t , but he didn’t know how to break the cycle, didn’t know how to stop hurting everything and everyone around him. 

Izuku was just… he was just one of those people that no one was happy to see. He knew that. When he would join conversations, they would stop, or get ugly. When he would try to make things better, he only ever made them worse. So he isolated. He left people to be happy in his absence, happy because of his absence. 

But then he was kidnapped. And Aizawa came along, and he knew he shouldn’t have gotten attached but he got attached anyways, and Overhaul used that to his advantage and now Aizawa was half-blind because of it—

Aizawa stood up from the uncomfortable visitor’s chair, making his way over to Izuku’s hospital bed. He stopped when he reached the bed’s railing, close enough that Izuku could see the tremor in his hand, could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Kid. Look at me, please.” His voice was low and gentle, almost begging. Izuku scrunched up his face, eyes still fixed on his bandages. He… he couldn’t. He had raised his voice, and now Aizawa was probably mad at him, or ready to leave now that he had realized that Izuku was the reason why he had gotten so hurt—

Aizawa put his hand on top of Izuku’s. “Izuku,” he pleaded, his voice breaking painfully.

Izuku braced himself internally before darting his gaze upwards to meet Aizawa’s. He expected to find anger, annoyance, maybe even hatred. Instead, he was faced with deep, pure sorrow.

The sight had him crying even harder. Aizawa was quick to wrap his arms around Izuku’s shoulders, pulling him close as he cried. Izuku sunk into the familiar embrace on instinct, burying his head into the man’s neck with a sob. Aizawa just held him, one arm wrapped around Izuku while the other stroked his hair comfortingly. A moment passed before he pulled back, face to face with Izuku.

“Kid, none of that was your fault. None of it. You and I were both hurt because of Overhaul. Because of the Doctor. You had nothing to do with it— nothing .”

Part of Izuku wanted to believe Aizawa. But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. He stared at the man, trying to get him to understand, trying to convey his guilt, his sorrow. “‘Zawa, the only reason why you were even kidnapped was because of me , because I was there. I was collateral for you, and I didn’t mean to make it so hard for you, I just…” Izuku trailed off, covering his head in his hands. “If I had managed to die before you got kidnapped, none of this would have happened,” he muttered to himself under his breath, the words coming out before he could really even think about them.

Aizawa inhaled sharply, the sound of it loud in the quiet room. Izuku’s stomach sunk— he… he didn’t think that Aizawa would be able to hear that. He shouldn’t have said it in the first place; it was stupid, so stupid —

“What do you mean… managed to die? ”

Izuku let his hands fall to his lap, trying to think of something to say, some way to explain the mess that he had gotten himself into. Nothing came to mind.

“Izuku, what did you mean by that?” Aizawa asked again, his gaze worried and scared and Izuku wished he had an answer but he felt like he was suffocating and falling at the same time and all he wanted was for Aizawa to forget everything he had just said. But deep down a voice inside Izuku screamed to tell him, to tell anyone , to just be honest for once . So he took a breath, and started talking.

“I...I was alone. F-For a while. Before you came. Everything was too dark. Too quiet. I was tired of being alone .” His eyes stung and his hands were starting to hurt because of how hard he was clenching them. “They were doing bad things because of me and I didn’t want that to happen anymore so I stopped eating and it almost worked, I was so, so close , but the Doctor noticed and he made me eat and he threatened to kill my mom if I didn’t so I did but if I had just kept going for a little bit longer—”

Izuku’s frustrated rant was cut off once again by Aizawa pulling him back into a strong embrace. The boy was surprised this time to feel tiny, wet droplets falling onto his hospital gown, the tears not coming from him. He hadn’t noticed that Aizawa was trembling, or how quickly the man was breathing, until now.

“I—I’m so glad you’re here, kid. Never, ever forget that. You mean so much to me, Izuku. I— I want to help you with this. Please, just let me help you with this. ” The words were muffled by the hug, but it didn’t bother Izuku.

Because for the first time in his life, it didn’t matter that Izuku was quirkless. It didn’t matter if he was strong or weak, didn’t matter if he was slow or fast, smart or not. 

He didn’t need to prove his worth to Aizawa. Didn’t need to clean the house or pay the bills to receive such kindness. 

Izuku just… was . He existed. Even when he was loud and angry and rude, Aizawa was… nice to him. He— he still loved him.

He was happy that Izuku was alive and around him, and he wanted to keep it that way.

The thought was too much for Izuku to comprehend. But he had time.

“If… If you really don’t want your eye back… then I’ll keep it.” The words were spoken before he really had a chance to think things through, but it felt… right, somehow. Buried in Aizawa’s arms, stuck in a hospital bed, Izuku had never felt so loved . He was still conflicted about the eye, not to mention the baggage he had to work through regarding having a quirk now. But maybe, just maybe , it didn’t have to be a sign of his own weakness anymore. He hoped that one day, it could be a reminder of this moment. Of warmth and compassion and kind words that no one had ever bothered to tell him before. 

Maybe one day.

Once all of the paperwork was officially filled out, Izuku’s right foot (what remained of it) was amputated. The surgery took several hours, but was successful. He didn’t ask about the cost— honestly, he didn’t want to know. He figured he’d be in debt for the next few years; it was worth it, as long as it meant he could walk. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

He still had six more days left in the hospital for extra monitoring, which meant a lot of sleeping, gazing longingly outside the window, and spending time with Aizawa and Hizashi. Aizawa was still in the hospital for another two days, so the heroes were around Izuku quite a bit. Izuku didn’t want to think about what it would be like when they left, so he chose not to. His mom still hadn’t shown up, which wasn’t surprising to Izuku. He didn’t ask if the doctors had tried to contact her, if her number was even the same, if her insurance went through—it wasn’t something he wanted to draw any attention to, especially not in front of Aizawa or Hizashi.

While Aizawa spent some time in physical therapy or in individual meetings with a doctor, Hizashi would often wait with Izuku in the boy’s hospital room, talking with him about heroes or fun birds or really anything that popped into his head. Izuku had grown to appreciate Hizashi’s company immensely; while he adored Aizawa, the man was more quiet, reassuring. Hizashi, on the other hand, was like energy personified. Any semblance of a thought that Izuku had was immediately picked up and ran away with, bright and loud and friendly. After getting over his fear of new people, coupled with his anxiety about talking to one of his favorite heroes in the flesh, Izuku loved spending time with Hizashi.

It was surprising, really, how quick Izuku was to warm up to Hizashi. His closeness to Aizawa helped Izuku trust him more easily, but Izuku thinks Hizashi is just that nice of a person. Aizawa had talked about Hizashi like he was a walking ball of sunshine, but Izuku hadn’t actually seen it in action until recently. The day after Izuku’s surgery, when Izuku was confined to his bed and bored out of his mind, Hizashi had entered his hospital room carrying a cloth bag, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey little listener! How are you feeling?”

“Oh, um— I’m, I’m good, Mr. Present Mic. Uh, ho–how are you?”

Hizashi laughed fondly, plopping down into a nearby chair. “I’m doing just fine, kid. Y’know, you don’t have to call me my hero name when I’m not working. You can call me Yamada, or Hizashi if you want. Sho calls me ‘Zashi, you could call me that too!”

Izuku’s cheeks felt warm as he nodded, feeling a little awkward. He was never good with new people, especially after being in captivity for so long. It was like all his social skills just flew out the window the second he tried to open his mouth. But Hizashi never pressed him, never made him feel bad about it. It was… nice. It was really nice.

“Oh! Almost forgot—” Hizashi reached into the bag on his shoulder, pulling out a few things and handing them over to Izuku. “I figured you’d be pretty bored just sitting here all day, so I brought you some stuff to keep you occupied. I didn’t really know what you liked, but Sho said as long as you can write you’d be good. So I got some notebooks and pencils, but that seemed a little boring so I also got a coloring book and markers…”

As Hizashi rambled on, his eyes bright and his hands waving with every word, Izuku looked at the small pile of things on his hospital bed. The sight had Izuku blinking back tears. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had bought him something. Something picked out especially for him, with his interests in mind, simply to make sure that he wasn’t bored. Two notebooks, a pack of mechanical and colored pencils, a hero-themed coloring book, a case of markers and—

His gaze stopped at a little package of crayons, colorful and unassuming. 

Overhaul held the crayon in between his fingers, and Izuku watched as the paper covering bubbled, merging with the wax beneath it as the whole thing warped, unholy and unnatural—

Izuku took a deep breath, looking back at Hizashi. The man stopped talking, his excitement replaced with worry, eyes wide with panic.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you, I told Nemuri to get a few coloring books just in case you didn’t like that one but she said that one would be fine so I went with it but I can totally get you a different one—”

“No, I—” Izuku’s voice cracked. He realized he was crying, but made no move to wipe the tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s perfect . It’s more than perfect. Thank you, Pre— Hizashi . Thank you.” He tried his best to convey his gratitude, how much this meant to him, meant for him, but he didn’t know how, didn’t know where to start. “Thank you,” he said again, tears still falling down his face as his hands shook, holding the package of crayons that Hizashi had picked out for him, had bought for him, had given him—

Hizashi’s worry melted away as he gave Izuku a small smile. It was sad, and it was knowing.

“Of course, Izuku. Of course.”

The two sat together comfortably, just enjoying the other’s presence. Hizashi would make funny faces at Izuku every now and then to try and cheer him up, which Izuku would obviously reciprocate. By the time that Aizawa returned from physical therapy, the pair were laughing together about silly dad jokes. 

Izuku didn’t want it to end. He really, really didn’t want it to end.

--

The days passed faster than Izuku had wanted them to, and soon enough it was Izuku’s last day in the hospital. As ironic as it may seem, it was the best week of Izuku’s life. He spent so much time with Aizawa and Hizashi— they had decided to stay in the hospital with Izuku until he got discharged, only ever leaving occasionally to get new clothes or toiletries. Izuku didn’t know why they wanted to stay with him, but he wasn’t complaining (and was too scared to ask, lest he scare them off). But they played games together and drew weird pictures and laughed about nothing and everything. They even practiced sign language together since Hizashi was deaf, although he communicated verbally as well. Izuku had asked about it, after the three had finished a game of go-fish.

“Present Mic— er, Mr. Hizashi… sir?”

“We’ll work on that,” The man said with a smile. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, right. Sorry. Hizashi. I was wondering… you said something about your hearing being permanently damaged because of your quirk. But you and I are talking right now, not signing. So… you can still hear?”

“Yup! Growing up, my quirk did a real number on my inner ear. I’m Deaf, but was able to get a cochlear implant,” at this, the man turned his head, dragging a section of his hair back to reveal a circular device embedded in his head with a cord connecting to what looked like a singular hearing aid on the shell of his ear, “before I lost my hearing completely. Without it, I can’t hear a thing. Even with it, some noises are hard to make out; it’s not perfect, but I make it work. I still sign a lot with Sho, and I try to stay involved in the community. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, thank you Hizashi, sir!”

Hizashi spared an exasperated look to his husband. “Shouta, where did you find this kid?”

“I think it’s the other way around. The kid found me.” The corner of Aizawa’s mouth curled upwards, his tone playful. 

Izuku smiled, cleaning up the playing cards and putting them back in the case. Hizashi stood up with a sigh, kissing Aizawa on the forehead as he made his way over to the door. “Okay, I’m going to go check on the discharge paperwork. Should be about ready— and then you’ll be all set kiddo!” He left the room with a smile, quiet falling in his absence. 

Panic struck Izuku like a truck, a crushing weight against his chest. He had prepared for this. He knew that this was coming, knew that he would be on his own but it didn’t make any of it easier because he loved them, he really did and if they forced him to go back to his mom’s house she would just kick him out the second they turned their backs and he would never see them again and—

Aizawa tapped his forehead lightly, eyebrows furrowed. Izuku’s head snapped up, blinking a few times as he tried to school his expression, cursing himself for getting lost in his own fear.

“S-sorry, I, uh, I zoned out. What’s going on?”

“Right…” Aizawa surveyed Izuku closely before continuing. “I just asked if you were excited to finally leave this place, kid.”

It was a valid question. Normal, given the circumstances. But it didn’t help to quell the bile creeping up Izuku’s throat, the almost-painful static inching its way from Izuku’s fingers to his hands to his wrists.

After his mom would kick him out, he had to find work, food, shelter. But he still didn’t have a right foot. Maybe he could build his own prosthetic? He remembered an abandoned beach filled with trash; maybe he could find some materials there, and make somewhere to sleep out of an old car or something. He hadn’t even considered what school would look like, but he assumed that he’d continue his education at a public library if possible—

“Kid, what’s the problem? Talk to me.” Aizawa’s tone was soft, barely able to be heard even from his position at Izuku’s bedside in one of those awful visitor chairs. Izuku looked up quickly, not realizing how long he had been lost in thought for. Rushing to cover up his pained silence, he tried to reassure the man.

“Oh, sorry! N-Nothing’s wrong, I’m excited. Definitely.” Izuku cringed internally at how suspicious that sounded. Based on the look Aizawa was giving him, he didn’t buy it either.

“You want to tell me what’s actually wrong or am I going to find out when something blows up in a few hours?”

Izuku flushed at having been caught in his lie. It was embarrassing. He blamed the pain meds for messing up his ability to lie, but it was probably just because he was a bad liar. He tried to pick out something he could tell Aizawa that wouldn’t have the hero worrying or result in him being sent to an orphanage, something true but not the whole truth.

“...I guess I’m upset that I won't get to see you,” he started slowly, gaze fixated on a loose thread from the thin hospital blanket. He didn’t think he could look at Aizawa without crying. “I mean, I know that I shouldn’t be, and I-I’m happy that you get to live with Hizashi and your cats and I’m sure that I can build myself a phone to text you with sometimes—”

While Izuku rambled, Aizawa sat in silence, realizing that out of all of the people he had already told, all of the preparations he had made to clean out the spare bedroom and get the paperwork filled out, there was still one thing he had forgotten to do.

One tiny, little detail—

“—and I know you work at UA so I can always stop by for a visit, o-or not if you don’t want that, which is totally fine—”

“ Shit .”

Izuku’s head whipped up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Aizawa’s sudden outburst. “Is… is  everything okay, ‘Zawa?”

Aizawa just stared at his kid for a moment, trying to find the right words. Something like “Hey so I kinda maybe adopted you and arrested your mom, sorry I forgot to tell you!” didn’t feel like the right thing to say at the moment. 

“...’Zawa?”

“Kid, how would you feel about…” Aizawa paused, taking a deep breath. “About coming home with ‘Zashi and I?”

Izuku sat, motionless. His face was blank. The words didn’t make sense to him. “...What?”

“What I meant was that I— both Hizashi and I— want… want to adopt you. As our kid.”

Izuku’s confused expression turned into one of shock. His mouth dropped open.

“You don’t have to agree, I just thought it would… I mean, from what you told me about your mom and how she abused you and… shit, I just assumed you would be coming home with me after all we’ve been through together and I should have asked earlier, I wasn’t thinking—” Aizawa’s uncharacteristic ramble was cut short when Izuku started crying, choking out a sob. The hero froze, trying to figure out what to say. “Fuck, kid, I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything, I didn’t mean to upset you, shit—”

“You want to adopt me?” Izuku’s broken voice seemed to echo throughout the tiny hospital room. He didn’t know what to think, what to say. Aizawa’s eye widened in realization.

“...Izuku, I planned on adopting you practically seven months ago. I’m sorry it took so long to ask.”

This… this wasn’t what Izuku had planned for. It didn’t make sense in his brain, didn’t compute that they wanted to be around him, wanted to stay around him. “I don’t, I don’t u-understand, ” Izuku’s voice kept cutting out, his throat too tight to form the words but desperate to ask, to know, to understand . 

Aizawa just pulled Izuku into his arms, wrapping the boy in a tight embrace. “I… I want to help you understand, if you’ll let me. Does… does that sound okay?”

For a moment, a single moment, Izuku was able to breathe. That was all he ever wanted, was for someone to help him understand. To help him understand why he ruined things, why people didn’t like him, why everyone always got hurt because of him or hurt him because he deserved it and—

And Aizawa wanted to help him understand… why they wanted to adopt him .

Izuku nodded against Aizawa’s shoulder. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t force the words out of his mouth, but Aizawa knew. He knew.

They would work through it together. As a family.

 --

The trip to Hizashi and Aizawa’s apartment was quick and comfortable. After being discharged from the hospital with several packets of aftercare instructions and information on mechanics and prosthetic workers in the area (as well as a hearty supply of pain medication), Izuku, Hizashi, and Aizawa made their way to the car parked in the hospital parking garage. Izuku was still getting used to the whole ‘family’ thing, and was surprised when Hizashi had offered to push his wheelchair so he didn’t overexert himself. Upon reaching the car and struggling fruitlessly to pull himself into the backseat, Izuku was extremely embarrassed when Hizashi had picked him up, hiding his face in his hands as the hero laughed. Aizawa had just watched with a grin on his face, looking like a pirate now that he had temporarily covered his missing eye with an eyepatch.

But Izuku’s lingering feelings of embarrassment couldn’t stop Izuku’s wonder as he saw the outside world for the first time in far, far too long. Aizawa and Izuku both gawked openly at the people, the buildings, the sun, the grass. The car ride was relatively quiet as they took in their surroundings, familiar but distant, like seeing a friend from childhood after being apart for years.

Aizawa and Hizashi’s actual apartment complex was tucked nicely between what looked like an office building and a small, family-owned grocery store. The building itself was plain and unassuming, but the inside was sleek and modern, armed with high-tech security systems and a secretary in the lobby at all times. It was definitely fancier than Izuku was used to, and he felt entirely out of place wearing his matching neon yellow Present Mic sweatshirt and sweatpants (it was what Hizashi had on hand, and Izuku had insisted that he shouldn’t spend money on him). But Hizashi and Aizawa were both in sweats with their hair messy and tangled, and the secretary didn’t look at them weird so Izuku stuffed down his anxiety and just focused on analyzing the new environment, which was really incredibly cool.

One elevator ride later, the three all stood (or sat, in Izuku’s case) in front of the apartment door.  Izuku tried to ignore the way his stomach flopped, hands trembling against the arm rests of his wheelchair. Aizawa rested a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, as Hizashi unlocked the door, revealing a cozy, yet bigger-than-expected living room. Slowly, Aizawa wheeled Izuku into the threshold. His pulse was racing, heart pounding against his chest—

“ Meeoooowwwwww ,” a fluffy creature ran up to them, followed closely by two others. The three cats were practically screaming, stepping all over each other in an attempt to get closer to the humans. Izuku’s panic was swiftly interrupted as his eyes went wide because they were so fucking cute.

Hizashi and Aizawa both chuckled as Hizashi picked up one of the cats, showing him to a surprised Izuku. The cat’s fur was black and brown, and he had a chunk missing from one ear and a good bit of pudge hanging from his stomach.

“This is Cadaver! Cadaver, meet Izuku. He’s going to be living with us now!” Hizashi moved the cat’s arm in a waving motion, eliciting a grin from Izuku and a ‘meow’ from Cadaver, who quickly jumped out of Hizashi’s arms to sniff Izuku’s wheelchair.

Aizawa pointed to the next cat, a fluffy white one with bright blue eyes and chubby paws. “That one’s Sprinkles. Don’t let her charm deceive you, she can be a real pain in the ass when she wants to be.” Izuku snorted, covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes sparkling. Aizawa ruffled his hair in response, a fond look on his face.

“And thisssss —” Hizashi picked up the last cat and by far the largest of the three with a wide smile, plopping him down gently in Izuku’s lab, “—is Bastard.”

The cat immediately made itself comfortable in Izuku's lab, curling up closely against his torso. Izuku hesitantly began petting Bastard’s head, looking up in surprise and delight at Hizashi and Aizawa when a loud purring could be heard. Hizashi made sure to take plenty of photos, to commemorate the occasion of course.

Moving farther into the house, Hizashi and Aizawa showed Izuku the living room: an open area filled with two comfortable-looking couches, a simple coffee table, a flat screen TV, and shelves lining the walls, full of various knick-knacks, books, and other random collectables. Right off of the living room was the kitchen, a small but neat area armed with plenty of counter space and a little breakfast nook overlooking the city below. The tour continued down to a hallway off of the kitchen, leading to the master bedroom, bathroom, and an office.

All the while, Izuku took everything in like a sponge. Little glimpses at photos and merchandise and cat toys made his heart swell with an unfamiliar feeling. The whole house felt so… cozy. And warm. It was a sharp contrast to the cold and uninviting space that he used to share with his mother. 

Izuku shook his head to rid himself of the unpleasant thought. They had reached a new room, a small bedroom with a wide, bright window. The room had a wood-framed twin bed and a matching dresser, as well as a desk and chair pushed up against the far wall. Various hero posters lined the walls, ranging from Midnight to Death Arms, and even including a vintage Present Mic poster (SO COOL!!). 

Noticing that Hizashi had fallen quiet, Izuku turned his head to gaze at the man inquisitively. Hizashi was looking at Izuku with kind eyes, a small, shy smile on his face. “This is your room. I hope you like it; I didn’t really have a lot of time to put everything together. Nem helped a lot, and I know you like hero stuff and I had plenty of posters just sitting around—”

As Hizashi rambled, Izuku turned his eyes back to the room in front of him. His room. He turned to look at Aizawa, the man greeting him with a sly grin and shining gaze.

Izuku thought back to the cold, dark cell he had spent over a year of his life trapped in. He remembered all of the lonely nights where, no matter how hard he cried or screamed or begged, no one came to save him.

All of the pain and hurt and fear he had felt. The Doctor’s sick grin, Overhaul’s terrifying presence.

He thought of his life before getting kidnapped. Of his mom, and Bakugou. Of all of the burns and scathing words. The fridge that was always empty, the house that only ever seemed cold.

Now, looking at the room in front of him, Izuku didn’t feel cold. He wasn’t alone.

Izuku barely felt the tears rolling down his cheeks, could barely feel Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder or Bastard snuggling into his lap. 

All Izuku could feel was… warm. 

He felt loved, in a way that he never believed was possible before.

“It’s perfect.”

Chapter Text

(Approximately) Four Years Later

Aizawa Shouta loved rainy days. When the sky turned a dark, stormy gray, and everyone stayed inside because they didn’t want to get soaked? Beautiful. So it was no surprise that, if you were to ask those close to him where Aizawa could be found on such a day, they would say his favorite place.

Where was that, exactly?

His grave.

It was only a few weeks after he and Izuku were discharged from the hospital that he first visited the site. Hizashi was actually the one to give him the idea, although unintentionally.

“There’s an ice cream place by the old cemetery if you all want to go, we could—”

Aizawa’s head whipped up, his gaze widening in realization. “‘Zashi?”

Hizashi stopped his ice cream tangent, looking at his spouse with furrowed brows. “Uhh, yeah, Sho? We don’t have to get ice cream, it was just a suggestion.”

“No no, not about the ice cream. The cemetery.”

The look of confusion never left Hizashi’s face.

“Do I have a grave there?”

The room fell silent. Izuku, who had taken up residence in the breakfast nook, stared between the two adults, searching. The pleasant look on Hizashi’s face had since dropped into a darker, more somber expression. Aizawa seemed like his usual stoic self, but the tension in his shoulders and clenching of his fists told a different story. 

“...Yeah. You do. Well, you did. The one in the cemetery was removed when we found you.”

Hizashi’s voice held a seriousness that told of darker times. He busied himself with rearranging something on the kitchen counter, obviously uneasy at where the conversation had turned.

“The one in the cemetery? Is there another one?”

His hands stopped for a moment before continuing their busywork. Aizawa didn’t miss how they trembled.

“I… It was just a spot for me to go, really. Nem visited sometimes. I knew from the start that something didn’t feel right about your ‘death’. I never stopped looking for clues or more information, but I couldn’t find much. Even with Nedzu’s help, the only solid information we got was that you had been taken somewhere. So, it’s not… I mean, I put a little something to remind me of you there, but not a tombstone or anything like that.”

Something twisted in Aizawa’s chest when he thought about leaving his husband alone for such a long time, but he pushed it down.

“Where is it?”

Hizashi’s eyes widened in surprise before meeting Aizawa’s gaze. His expression of guilt and sadness softened into one of understanding, of warmth. “Remember where you proposed to me?”

Aizawa didn’t expect the emotion in his chest, the tightness in his throat at those words. He turned towards Izuku, who had been watching their conversation quietly, sinking slowly down in his seat as if wanting to give them more privacy.

“Can we go? Together?”

The room was quiet for a moment before Hizashi laughed, a bright sound that seemed to fill up the whole kitchen. His eyes were sad, but the type of sad that time would surely heal.

“Of course, Sho. Of course.”

On such a day as today, where the rain poured and the sky grumbled, that was where Aizawa found himself. In a secluded spot a good distance from the city, tucked away in a small, grassy clearing. It was a truly beautiful place, especially in the rain. The clearing held a little pond and a few abandoned benches, moss creeping up their legs. Sprawling trees shrouded the area from any stray eyes; not that there were any, though. It wasn’t a very busy spot, nor was it one you could wander upon by accident. Because of its sheltered nature, not many knew the place even existed. 

Which, in Aizawa’s book, was an absolute win.

Sat at the base of a magnificent maple tree was his grave. The dirt ground was muddy from the rain and fallen leaves covered most of the area, but Aizawa could still pick out the arrangement of stones Hizashi had carefully placed in the tree’s shade. 

It was simple and nondescript, easily looked over without a second glance, but it carried a heavy importance to Aizawa. It was his own grave, after all.

Soaking wet and exhausted from a finished patrol, Aizawa sat on one of the creaky benches, propped his legs up, closed his eyes, and breathed. 

In .

Even after four years, there was rarely a night that passed where he didn’t wake up in a pool of his own sweat, crying out silently at the twisted memories that haunted him. When he closed his eyes to dream it was Overhaul that met his gaze, standing over the crumbling body of his son. He could never run fast enough before Izuku was gone, carried away by the win. Hizashi would hold him, would wake him up when he would thrash in his sleep, but it never seemed to chase away the chill that followed.

Out .

Last week, Izuku had broken down when he saw someone that looked like the Doctor in public. It wasn’t actually him; the man just had similar features, but still. The panic in his eyes wasn’t what hurt the most. No, it was the look of angry determination, how he had already located all of the exits and potential weapons he could use to defend himself and those around him with. It was the way he had to be held back from pouncing on the man to ensure that no one else would ever have to suffer at his hands again. It was the hours afterwards, convincing him that he was safe and that no one was following them, trying to get him to let go of the broken pipe he had hurriedly grabbed to defend himself with, not even noticing how it sliced his hands open. Cleaning his bloodied hands afterwards and holding the boy as he sobbed because he was so sure it was him, he was so sure. Knowing that there was nothing that could be said or done to undo any of it, to make existing any easier for the child that had lived through too much. That was what hurt the most.

In . 

Sometimes, on the nights where sleep avoided Aizawa’s capture, he would keep watch outside Izuku’s door. Logically, he knew that they were safe. That didn’t stop the twisted feeling in his chest that screamed at him to protect, to guard. When Izuku found him doing this, he would invite the man into his room. They would sit together, Izuku on his bed and Aizawa on the floor, like they used to. Izuku would braid Aizawa’s hair, and talk about what he had been learning in school or the hero fights he had been watching that day. They would watch the sunrise together and begin their day like nothing had happened. 

Out .

Whenever Aizawa was gone for too long without a text or call, Hizashi would frantically check his location to make sure the tiny dot on his phone screen was still moving, still blinking. Before, Aizawa had a bad habit of not responding to messages until hours after they were sent. Now, he responded in minutes. 

In .

Aizawa opened his eyes. The rain was still pouring, but the sun was just beginning to peek through the clouds. He stood up from his seat on the bench and made his way back home, not glancing back at the stones that marked his grave. He had a family to say good morning to, after all. He didn’t have time for dawdling.

Since his addition to the family, Izuku had started up a handful of traditions. He greatly enjoyed holiday baking with Hizashi, as well as the annual Battle of Champions With Water Guns (don’t ask), but his favorite tradition was helping Aizawa and Hizashi set up their classrooms at UA.

A few weeks before the school year began, Izuku and his two dads would arrive at UA in varying states of excitement, looking to make the necessary preparations for the upcoming students. Hizashi always loved putting up posters and decorating his classroom. Aizawa… well, Aizawa enjoyed napping while his husband did that. Izuku would normally help Hizashi with his room and pay a visit to Nedzu, who had been his tutor for the past few years. Apparently, Izuku’s knowledge on how to build a bomb and survive mass murderers was impressive enough that Nedzu insisted on teaching the young boy, much to Aizawa and Hizashi’s horror. Not that they didn’t like Nedzu, no. Just that, after every lesson with the mammal, Izuku would come home and talk about what he had learned that day. It was fair to assume that no other pre-teen was learning how to hack into government databases, or the fundamental steps of world domination. They got used to it… eventually.

This year, after stopping by Nedzu’s office while his parents were still working on their lesson plans and such, Izuku made his way to UA’s library. It was a place he was well acquainted with after spending so much time in the school, and one he never got bored of. How could he, when he was surrounded by thousands of books? It was literally his dream come true. 

He burrowed into a corner between some of the shelves with a stack of books at his side and got to reading. Usually he read up on whatever looked interesting, but today… well, today he was reading about quirk theory. Specifically, the science involved in removing or gaining a quirk.

See, he had done a lot of research after he escaped from Overhaul. He wanted to understand the experiments better, wanted to know exactly what Overhaul planned to achieve and how he actually managed to do it. Because according to all quirk science, it’s impossible to transfer a quirk to an otherwise quirkless person.

But Overhaul did. He did it, and Izuku… Izuku didn’t know how . It never failed to keep him up at night, the ramifications of his experiments facing Izuku every single day, every time he looked in the mirror. Erasure buzzed beneath his skin, static and alive and there, yet—

Yet it shouldn’t be possible. Overhaul had failed, time and time again; Tsukauchi had looked more into quirkless disappearances after they had been rescued, and he found dozens of missing children in the area within the past two years, all quirkless, all presumed dead. Upon returning with a team to Overhaul’s burned-down facility, Tsukauchi found the bodies buried behind the buildings. Or, what was left of them. 

Izuku thought of them often. He thought of the two women, Akai and Kasshoku, who had saved his life; their bodies weren’t found in the wreckage of the building. He thought of the Doctor, who was still at large. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he had a peaceful night’s sleep. But he was okay with being tired. The burning of his eyes was a familiar feeling, almost comforting now. Looking back at the half-finished book in his lap and the notes strewn around him, he knew he should probably get back to his parents. Hizashi had wanted help decorating name tags, and Aizawa always drew dicks on the backs of them. ‘Preventatively,’ he always said. It was hilarious in Izuku’s opinion, but Hizashi didn’t think so. 

Sighing, Izuku collected his things and left the library, waving goodbye to the librarian with a smile. As he made his way down one of the school’s insufferably long hallways, a figure carrying a stack of documents collided with Izuku’s shoulder in a hurry. The papers flew everywhere, and Izuku would have been knocked to the ground were it not for his years of balance training with Aizawa. The figure, a tall and lanky man with blond hair sporting an ill fitting suit, was not so lucky. Izuku turned to make sure the man was okay, and was reaching down to help him up when he noticed the familiar two-pronged, antennae-like bangs hanging limply in front of his face. 

Eyes wide, Izuku stumbled backwards, tripping over himself and landing on the floor painfully. The man looked upwards at Izuku, his blue eyes painfully apologetic and flitting around the sprawled papers with an air of panic.

“I’m so sorry, my boy, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

Izuku was frozen to the spot, unable to move. 

“My boy, this is only going to hurt if you don’t cooperate.”

“You should be more realistic. There’s always the police force—”

The Doctor’s hands were reaching towards him and Izuku wanted to move, he tried to move but he couldn’t and they were getting closer and all he could smell was antiseptic because he was back there, he was back and his hands were on him now—

“IZUKU!”  

Izuku snapped out of his panic when he heard Aizawa’s voice yell his name from down the hall, running the short distance until he had Izuku in his arms. Aizawa gave the man a scathing look, his hair flying up around him as his good eye blazed crimson. “What the hell did you do to my kid?” He growled, the threat obvious in his tone.

The man jumped backwards in surprise, holding his hands up in a non-threatening position. His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. “Aizawa! I-I didn’t expect to see you here! I, well, I was in a hurry and I accidentally knocked into him and when I reached out to see if he was okay, he just froze!”

Aizawa scowled, Erasure still activated. He held Izuku tighter in his arms, and looked about ready to tear the man apart before Izuku spoke up. 

“I’m-’m fine, really. Just triggered a memory. I’m okay, ‘Zawa.” His words were mumbled because of how Aizawa was holding him, but it seemed to do the trick, as Aizawa’s hair fell back around his face and his eye returned its usual inky black.

Frantically approaching footsteps caused the two men to turn their heads, Izuku’s still buried against Aizawa’s chest, to reveal a panicked Hizashi barreling towards the trio.

“SHO, ‘ZUKU! Is everything alright? Is anyone hurt? Should I call Recovery Girl? Do you—”

Hizashi’s distressed ramblings were cut off by a stone-faced Aizawa, still glaring daggers at the man who ran into Izuku.

“We’re fine. We are also leaving.”

Seeing Izuku in Shouta’s arms, Hizashi asked no further questions. Instead, he nodded, and helped the pair stand up in the sea of papers. The three quickly moved towards the nearest exit, but were interrupted by the man calling after them.

“Truly, I am so sorry, my boy!”

Both Izuku and Aizawa stiffened. Aizawa whipped around towards the man, ready to absolutely destroy him, when he was stopped by Izuku’s hand on his arm. Ignoring the fear creeping up his throat and the rapid pounding of his heart, Izuku looked at the man head on, now at the other end of the hallway, and grinned .

“It’s fine, All Might.” Taking a moment to savor the shocked look on the number one hero’s face, Izuku turned around and walked away, flanked by his two dads, leaving All Might dumbfounded in a literal pile of paperwork. 

Once they were out of the building, Izuku let the tears he had been holding back spill down his cheeks. Aizawa and Hizashi immediately pulled him into a hug so tight he could barely breathe, but it helped distract him from the pain in his chest and the pit in his stomach. He took a moment to collect himself, breathing deeply as he worked to separate the present from the past.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he pulled himself out of his parent’s embrace, rubbing his face with his hands. He wiggled his feet in his shoes, one metal and one flesh. He felt the afternoon sun on his face, warm and gentle. He looked behind him, at UA’s tall and mighty presence. Izuku didn’t think he’d ever get over the view of the school, the joy that he felt just looking at it. It helped calm him down, his pulse slowing more by the minute.

“Are you okay, kid?” Aizawa asked, his gaze heavy with understanding. Hizashi just watched with sad eyes, a firm and comforting hand on Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku considered the question. He spared a look at his arms, covered in thin, white scars. He eyed the bit of metal peeking out beneath his pant leg from his sneaker. He felt the wind in his hair, so similar to a day only a few years ago on a rooftop too high up with a hero who didn’t think things through. 

He looked back to his parents. To Aizawa, covered in matching scars and wearing a determined, searching expression— an offer to go beat up All Might, if Izuku asked him to. He looked to Hizashi, who’s soft, gentle gaze promised to protect and hold him (and to beat up All Might if that’s what he wanted). He remembered how they both recommended him into the hero course, how they all celebrated with Katsudon and goofy movies when he received his acceptance letter. He thought of all of the tender hugs they shared, all of the times they had almost pissed themselves laughing together (or chuckling, in Aizawa’s case), all of the embarrassing photos taken of Aizawa in his bright yellow sleeping bag with a cat on his head. He thought about Hizashi’s early morning solo concerts for the cats because “They like music! It makes them happy, see! Bastard is totally smiling!”

He looked at his family, at his school. And he smiled. It was crooked and it might not have reached his eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

As the three walked back to the car, Izuku spared another glance at UA. The golden sky painted a beautiful silhouette, one he was excited to see every day in the coming year. 

Leaving the school, he didn’t feel sad. He knew he had plenty more sunsets and sunrises over UA to witness, an abundance of memories just waiting to be made beyond those doors. 

After all, this was his Hero Academia.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone! I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve updated a story that was completed over two years ago, and this chapter is to help ease some of that confusion. As of 8/8/23, “Your Presence is a Dream in this Godforsaken Nightmare” has officially been rewritten! Now, what does that mean exactly, and why did it happen?

Well, I chose to rewrite this story for a few reasons. My writing style has changed over the past two years, and this fanfiction has always been something close to my heart. I wanted it to be better, both for my sake and for my reader’s sake, which is the main reason for the rewrite. I also am still working on the sequel, and wanted the style of writing to match for both.

This rewrite mainly included the standardization of POV (to the best of my abilities), deeper characterization, description, and foreshadowing, as well as the addition of some new scenes/minor plot details. While the main plot has stayed the same, as well as the overall sequence of events, I wanted to flesh out everything just a little bit more, both to improve this story and to set some things up more effectively for the sequel. If you liked the original version of this story, I highly recommend reading the rewrite. It’s the same story, but does contain a lot of new elements (as well as an additional chapter!) that the original did not contain. 

I hope you all enjoy; I am so so so grateful for the overwhelming support of this fanfiction, and am excited to keep working on the sequel. I’m going to do some further editing and updating on the sequel in the coming months, but nothing as major as this. This rewrite isn’t perfect by any means (I don’t have a beta reader and I’m still a novice writer at best), but I am a lot happier with it now than I was with the original. In the following few days I will be adjusting the end notes, formatting, checking spelling, and so on. Please bear with me while I do so; if comments don't make sense for the chapter, or something like that, know that this is because of the rewrite and it's unfortunately not something I can really fix at the moment.

Thank you for reading, 

–CB

Also, if anyone is interested, here are the stats for the original vs. rewrite

Original stats:

Word count - 61,018

Chapter count - 17

Start/end - 5/7/21-6/22/21 

Rewrite stats:

Word count - 71,273

Chapter count - 18

Start/end - 6/20/23-8/8/23