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Midoriya Izuku has very few people he can rely on for certain things. He can rely on his former childhood friend Kacchan to make everything about himself and then take it out on him. He can rely on teachers to downplay his grievances and turn a blind eye to “roughhousing” (unless one of the other kids gets hurt of course. Then it’s somehow spun into Izuku’s fault).
He can rely on his mother to be busy. As loving and vaguely supportive as she is, she’s a single mother working to support the both of them with what paltry funds his father sends their way. While he can rely on her to put food on the table and pay the bills and smile and nod and ask questions at the right times when he tells her his latest hero analyses, he can also rely on the fact that more often than not, she won’t be home. Her schedule is always reliably full and ready to be filled with even more shifts on the whim of her colleagues.
Which of course gives Izuku plenty of time alone to take to the streets as Usagi, Musutafu’s youngest vigilante.
Which brings him to the last person he can rely on. He can rely on the pro hero Eraserhead to be there when he’s in over his head. Months ago when Izuku was just starting out, the underground hero insisted on giving Izuku a cheap burner phone to use when he was injured or needed backup. The phone, which had Eraserhead on speed dial as well as the numbers of the local police stations and several nearby pro hero agencies programmed in it, worked as a compromise since Izuku refused to stop patrolling or go to the hospital if he got hurt lest his identity is found out. “I’m just a call away if you need anything, kid. It’s illogical to do this completely alone.”
Izuku was skeptical at first, but Eraserhead had proved an essential ally time and time again. And it was for this reason that Izuku set him, as Aizawa Shouta, as his emergency contact for school when they insisted on each student having at least two contacts. Besides, since the hero was only his secondary contact after his mother, and since Aldera was decidedly slow on the uptake when it came to reporting emergencies revolving around their resident quirkless student, he figured it was highly unlikely they would ever need to call Aizawa.
Or so he thought.
Aizawa Shouta happens to be in the teacher’s workroom during one of his free periods when he gets a call from an unknown number.
“Yes?” Shouta says gruffly into the phone.
“Aizawa Shouta?” Shouta frowns. This was the line for hero matters. The vast majority of people who call him at this number don’t refer to him by his civilian identity.
“Speaking. Who is this?” he asks, setting aside the paper he’s grading. Hizashi sends him a questioning glance to which he sends a one-shoulder shrug. He figures if it’s the press, he can just hang up.
“Ah, this is Aldera Middle School.” What. “We’re calling in regards to Midoriya Izuku since you’re his emergency contact.” What.
“I’m his what?” He’s whose what? He almost considers hanging up right then and there. This has to be a prank of some sort. It has Nemuri written all over it.
“You’re listed as Midoriya Izuku’s secondary emergency contact. He wrote that you’re a… ‘family friend’?”
“Family friend,” he repeats flatly. Under normal circumstances Shouta would be much more intelligible, but, as this phone call has proven, these are decidedly not normal circumstances.
“Right. Anyways, we’re calling because we need permission to transport Midoriya to a local hospital.”
“A hospital?” Shouta exclaims, startling Hizashi once again. He doesn’t even know who this child is but damn it if he’s not already invested in his health and safety. “What the hell happened?”
“Well, Midoriya’s wrist was broken in an accident during P.E. We believe his wrist was hurt before that incident, so no students are listed at fault. So if-”
“Hold on,” Shouta says, his voice taking on a dangerous edge while his hair begins to rise on its own accord. Hizashi gave up his charade of not eavesdropping and is now openly listening in to try to figure out what’s going on. “You noticed a student come in with an injured wrist and didn’t do anything until it got worse?” Hizashi gasped dramatically, and normally Shouta would roll his eyes at such a display, but he’s preoccupied with the bullshit happening on the phone. Sure, he isn’t the nicest of teachers, but he would never ignore a student’s injury. The safety and wellness of his students was always his top priority no matter what, and the fact that this administration saw nothing wrong with this student’s now fractured wrist to the point of unabashedly telling him that it was the student’s fault makes Shouta see red.
The voice on the other side of the line starts to splutter. “Well, you see, he didn’t say anything, and the teacher who noticed didn’t think it was a big deal so-”
“What hospital is he being taken to?” Shouta butts in, convinced that if he hears anything further he might actually lose it.
“Musutafu General,” the woman says, clearly relieved at the change in direction.
“I’ll meet him there. And don’t think for a second this is over.” He can tell that there’s more to the story. With that, Shouta hangs up and sits back, incensed.
“Who was that about?” Hizashi asks, unrepentantly invested in the story.
“I have a couple guesses,” Shouta sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Because truth be told, if his gut was to be believed, he knows exactly who this is about. And if he’s right, there’s one hell of a conversation to be had with that problem child of his.
Contrary to popular belief, Midoriya Izuku doesn’t try to get into trouble. Sure, he may be a masked vigilante at night, but that’s to stop trouble. And most of the time he doesn’t even have to look for it. Trouble just finds him.
Take last night for example. Izuku, better known as the vigilante Usagi, was just minding his business on patrol when a man ran past him holding a suspiciously overfull bag that jingled in a way that sounded reminiscent of coins and possibly jewelry. When he called out to the man, he turned his head, muttered “Shit!” and ran faster, causing a few bills to spill out of the bag. Izuku sighed and ran after him, because now he couldn’t let him get away. After a chase involving six blocks, two instances of jaywalking, and approximately 9000 yen lost to the wind ensued, he was finally able to chase the would-be robber into the path of a pro hero. Upon seeing him run into the pro, Izuku skid to a stop and ducked into a nearby alley, not wanting to be arrested himself.
Sometimes he dealt with fairly lax heroes in terms of dealing with vigilantes and in some instances was mistaken as a pro himself, but usually he didn’t like to risk it. So he stayed hidden until he heard the two leave in the opposite direction, the robber complaining loudly the whole time. Breathing a sigh of relief, Izuku stepped backwards out of the crouch he was in believing he was safe -- and promptly tripped over a beer bottle. A loud curse echoed through the alley when he landed wrong on his wrist.
When he was done lamenting his shitty luck, he examined his wrist. He could still move it a little, so it probably wasn’t broken, but it still hurt too much to ignore. After several moments of debating, he pulled out his burner phone and called Eraserhead. He’s gone to him for injuries before, but never anything as bad as a possibly fractured wrist. When the call went straight to voicemail, he sighed. Maybe it was a sign to stop bothering the underground hero. Dusting himself off, he rose from the ground and headed home, figuring he won’t be able to do any more patrolling with a hurt wrist, especially on his dominant arm.
He was home wrapping his wrist with some gauze and popsicle sticks to keep it stable when he got a call back. Answering it quickly so his mom didn’t wake from the ringer, Izuku brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Usagi?” Eraserhead’s voice said on the other side. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh,” Izuku answered, looking at his sprained wrist, popsicle sticks still visible from underneath the gauze. “Yeah. Everything was taken care of.” He doesn’t want to worry the hero, especially since the only thing the man could do for him at this point was take him to a hospital, which he definitely did not want to happen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“It’s fine, kid. I was taking part in a raid tonight, so I didn’t see your call in time. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, no worries,” Izuku said, waving his hand for emphasis. Unfortunately, it happened to be his right hand and jostling his hurt wrist made him cry out involuntarily. Quickly he disguised the noise as a cough, not wanting to alarm the underground hero. “A-anyways I’ve taken enough of your time tonight, so I uh gotta go! Bye!” Eraserhead’s quiet protest was cut off when he hung up. The boy sighed in relief when he didn’t get another call, and after tightening his gauze he headed to bed, too tired to deal with anything else.
School the next day was interesting to say the least. He was able to hide his bandages under his long sleeves for the most part. The really noticeable change was his shaky penmanship, especially when he was called to write an answer on the board. He smiled awkwardly at his unimpressed teacher before he was dismissed to his seat, his peers laughing at him in the background. But other than that, and struggling to use chopsticks with his left hand during lunch, he didn’t think it would be too big of an issue until P.E., when their teacher announced a game of dodgeball. Or as Izuku likes to call it, target the quirkless kid. It felt like the only time he was popular was when people could put him down in a public setting.
It was during the third round, when Izuku was already exhausted from a lack of sleep, that he made his mistake. Kacchan was on the opposing team and was using his quirk to boost his throws, which set Izuku on edge. They made eye contact before Kacchan gave him a feral grin and aimed directly at his head. Without thinking, Izuku raised his arms to guard his face, and the ball hit his hurt wrist. Even the usually neglectful gym teacher couldn’t ignore the sound of cracking bones as Izuku cried out and fell to his knees, cradling his right arm.
The next few minutes blurred together in a vague haze of pain. Normally his pain tolerance was pretty high, but this was the first time Izuku broke a bone since usually his bullies were smart enough not to inflict too much damage, lest they face any real consequences.
It’s when he’s being loaded into an ambulance that he becomes alert again. His mom must be too busy at work to pick him up and instead probably gave permission for the school to transport him instead. He’s not upset by this per se, but he’d definitely prefer it if his gym didn’t have to accompany him. She keeps giving him the stink eye as if he broke his wrist via quirk-propelled dodgeball on purpose.
Once they arrive at the hospital, his teacher gives the staff the run down and they take him to a small room. He has to wait for his mom to arrive to give them permission to treat him, but in the meantime they give him some pretty powerful painkillers. Within twenty minutes of lying on the cot, he’s nearly forgotten about the pain emanating from his wrist.
He turns to his teacher who’s sort of angrily filling out paperwork. “Sorry you have to stick around, Fujiwara-sensei.” It’s kind of a risk interacting with the irritable woman, but he wants her to know he doesn’t take her presence for granted. She looks up for a second then scoffs.
“Whatever, kid. I’m just waiting for your emergency contact to arrive so I can get out of here.”
“Oh. My mom doesn’t work too far from here, so she should be here any minute now.”
“No, not your mom. She didn’t pick up when the school called. I’m talking about your second emergency contact.”
“Oh. Okay,” Izuku says, lying back. That makes sense. He closes his eyes.
Wait a second.
“Wait, what?” he exclaims, sitting up. “My second emergency contact? B-but he’s-”
“Right here,” Eraserhead says standing in the doorway in his hero costume. Izuku wishes right then and there that the sheets on his hospital bed would swallow him whole.
Not noticing anything amiss, Fujiwara mutters “Thank god,” grabs her paperwork, and heads to the door. Eraserhead has his hero license ready to show the teacher (not that she even bothered to ask for identification in the first place), who hums quietly in surprise before looking up and nodding. Eraserhead moves to the side and she departs, leaving him and the boy alone.
Izuku stares at Eraserhead who stares right back at him. It’s so awkward he wants to disappear, and not for the first time he wonders what the other man is thinking.
--
Shouta thinks this is one of the awkwardest moments he’s had recently. Eventually after a few moments of this intense staredown, he clears his throat.
“So. You’re a middle schooler after all, Usagi.” The kid flinches and looks away.
“How’d you figure out it was me?”
Truthfully, it didn’t take Aizawa long. Details and clues began to fall into place even before the phone call ended. Middle school boy, injured the day after he missed a call from the vigilante, neglectful adults present. Knew and trusted him enough to make an emergency contact. That definitely threw him for a loop, and after explaining as much to Hizashi, his partner only seemed amused.
“Can’t believe you graduated from adopting cats to kids without telling me, Shou!”
“After the call from your school, it was only a matter of recalling how many potential middle schoolers I knew who would ostensibly think to put me down in their records.”
Midoriya winces. “I’m sorry about that. Honestly, I didn’t think they would ever have to call you.”
Shouta crosses his arms. “Why did you set me as your emergency contact at all?”
“I didn’t do it as a joke or anything like that! It’s just… well you’re the only adult I know and trust besides my mom, and the school requires at least two emergency contacts for our records. I mean I guess I could’ve put Auntie Mitsuki down but I haven’t really spoken to her recently and she probably has enough to deal with raising Kacchan and all and besides…”
Shouta half listens as Midoriya’s answer devolves into familiar muttering, focusing instead on the fact that the kid trusts him. Hizashi’s words from earlier come to mind once more.
“It sounds like he must really trust you, Shouta.”
He hadn’t taken it seriously earlier, the very idea sounding near-ridiculous. Trust him? An adult Midoriya sees maybe once a week that originally tried to arrest him? It seems he didn’t even trust him enough to tell him the truth just last night. Which reminds him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you injured yourself last night?”
Midoriya startles and looks down, his face reddening. “I didn’t want to bother you, especially since you were at a raid. Besides, I was already at home, and I couldn’t think of anything you could do outside of taking me to a hospital.”
Shouta sighs. “I could’ve taken you to a hero clinic. They could’ve wrapped your wrist and given you a referral if you needed any more work done.” Midoriya looks back up at him, as if the notion never occurred to him. Shouta supposes this was at least partly his fault. He mostly helped with scrapes and cuts with his own supplies he carried with him, so Midoriya had no way of knowing there were alternatives other than a hospital. But something else in that statement bothered him. “You nearly broke your wrist, and the main thing you worried about was ‘bothering’ me?”
Midoriya winces. “Yeah well. I’ve always been a bother to adults and my peers. I didn’t want to drive anyone else away with my useless pestering.” He laughs humorlessly and Shouta’s eyebrow twitches.
“Midoriya,” he says, crossing the room in a few steps and squatting down to the teen’s level. “You have never been a bother to me.” Midoriya looks skeptical. “Even as a vigilante, you’re not a pest. As illegal as your activities are, you have helped in numerous cases and made the area a safer place. I am only ever worried about your safety.”
The vigilante looks near tears and cautiously hopeful, as if too afraid to believe Shouta’s words. “But everyone tells me I’m annoying and useless. My teachers have told me themselves that I’m too much of a bother.” Shouta’s heart clenches and his resolve to investigate Aldera Middle School strengthens.
“Anyone who tells you you’re a bother just for being yourself, that’s their problem. That’s not on you. I’m sorry you’ve dealt with this on your own for so long, kid. And for the record, I call you ‘Problem Child’ because you always seem to find trouble and resolve it. Your tenacity is a strength. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
This opens the floodgates. Midoriya sobs and sort of shrinks into himself. Shouta’s not really good at dealing with tears, but he does his best and pats the teen on the head. To his credit, Midoriya leans into the touch, which just makes Shouta do it more.
As important as he can tell this moment is, there’s still something pressing he has to address. When Midoriya’s tears subside and he looks more open to conversation, Shouta pulls up a chair and clears his throat.
“There’s something we have to discuss. Now that I know your civilian identity, I can’t let your vigilantism slide. Before, I had in writing that you refused to tell me who you were and since you had no noticeable illegal quirk use going on and usually acted in self-defense, I didn’t have to take you in. But now since I know for a fact that you’re a minor, I can’t let you continue being a vigilante without at least attempting to bring you in.” Midoriya’s face falls as Shouta lets that sink in. Then he continues.
“That being said. I also can’t ignore the amount of potential you have as a future hero.”
Midoriya looks startled. “What?”
“As long as you agree to discontinue your vigilantism, I’m willing to start training you for a hero course. That is, if you’re interested in attending one.”
Midoriya’s nodding before he even finishes his sentence, disbelief warring with starry-eyed hope. “Of course! Being a hero is all I’ve ever wanted! But…” He looks away for a moment, conflicted. “I’m quirkless,” he finishes, face scrunched up and body tensed as if ready for backlash. Shouta frowns. This explains so much, he thinks. But to him, it’s just another reason to work harder.
“My offer still stands,” he says. Midoriya’s head whips back to face him, shock written all over his features. “As long as you’re willing to put in the work, and I have no doubt that you are, then I’m willing to train you regardless.”
Midoriya’s eyes well up and his mouth opens and closes as if struggling to find words. Finally he says, “I don’t know how to thank you enough, Eraserhead.”
Shouta gives him a small smile. “Start by calling me Aizawa-sensei. I am going to be your new teacher, after all.”
Tears begin falling anew from the boy’s bright green eyes, and as Shouta offers more comfort in the form of hair ruffles, he thinks about his next steps. He’ll need to explain the situation to the boy’s mother whenever she arrives. Then he’ll have to talk to Nezu, and refuse to back down about changing the biased entrance exam. And he’ll have to open an investigation into Aldera Middle School about possible quirkless discrimination (he’ll probably discuss this with Nezu as well. After all, the principal has never backed down from the chance to tear down a man-made institution with his own two hands).
But for now, Shouta comforts a joyfully crying Midoriya Izuku, and considers how grateful he is to have been trusted enough to be this boy’s - this future hero’s - emergency contact.