Chapter Text
Everything started out so simple.
Everything had been innocent, and easy really, all things considered. And really, he should have considered all the different things, the different aspects and different ways in which everything could and should and would go to shit if he weren’t careful.
But…Izuku being Izuku, he never really did consider those things. He never really thought of what could happen to him. And then, as things usually did for Izuku, something WOULD happen.
It always happened. For Izuku it happened to upend everything, before it all turned sideways and he was left reeling, scrambling to set things right.
Scrambling and usually failing on multiple fronts.
Which made it all the worse. But this time? Well this time was extra bad.
Because Eri had asked him to help her with a project on Tuesday, after class, silently shuffling into the student’s common room when he was busily peering at his notebook, trying to make heads or tails of Mic-Sensei’s lesson for that day about complex sentences and the passive voice and when and when not use it as well as pronoun placement and descriptors. And usually Izuku was pretty good at this sort of stuff. He’d been good enough at Alderra to pass with high enough grades that they’d considered enrolling him in an honor’s course–because where else would they put someone who was only allowed to do studying instead of practice his non-existent quirk?
However, right now, everything was mushing together and the boy was having a hard time concentrating and understanding the basics of what Mic-Sensei wanted from this mess of instructions and examples.
The words jumbled together, everything seemed to say the same thing. Over and over and over again the comments repeated themselves.
And on and on and on.
All very tedious.
Really, all Izuku was doing was complaining. Silently, yes, but still complaining.
He knew he was.
He also knew it wasn’t overly hard material, but there was just a lot to cover, and the sooner he set to work on things, the sooner he could get it done and settled and finished and he wouldn’t have to worry so much. But maybe he was just too tired to think of the right answers and apply the concepts the correct way and that was why it was all muddled and globbed together in his head?
Or maybe he just…didn’t know?
Not to mention that he had his math homework to finish and then an essay due for Aizawa-Sensei about quirk-registration laws, so he’d have to review those in order to get something cobbled together before the end of the week. If he wanted to actually have some time to practice controlling One for All.
Because he couldn’t forget that there were still the trainings he had to complete with All Might. They were going over his control with AirForce and Blackwhip, trying to combine the two, learning to add more control while using more than one move at a time.
It’s proved a hard transition so far, and really, he needed all the help he could get. Maybe Kacchan would be willing to help by sparring with him? He could certainly use his Blackwhip that way and that would allow him to practice more long-range attacks as well…
“Deku?”
The boy’s eyes had snapped to attention, sliding to peer towards the diminutive face, with pinched cheeks that were tugged into an expression of worry as lips pulled downward and eyes narrowed thoughtfully, cranberry orbs swirling as the girl peered at Izuku questioningly. Waiting for his reply.
Waiting for him to respond, a flickering of hope splashed across her face as she bobbed silently from one foot to the other. Her small fingers curled around the hem of her dark dress. The boy did that too, holding the hem of his shirt when he was nervous.
The boy didn't like that Eri felt nervous.
Izuku quirked his brow at the girl in response and let a smile wash over his face at the girl’s actions, the way her pigtails sways as she shifted near his seat, nose turned upward, towards him. Briefly his own thoughts stilled in their spiraling as he concentrated on the child and her needs and her comments instead of his own worrying.
Because what would it matter if he worried about nothing so important?
I mean, it was important, yes. But, the girl, and helping the girl was more important. The most important, in fact. It was always the most important.
“Eri?” He’d inquired in reply, setting his books down, in order to give the girl more attention, shifting in his chair to face her. “What’s the matter? Is…is there something you need?”
It was like a switch flipped at his response.
The girl’s eyes lit up when Izuku spoke, her expression widening as the boy addressed her and she smiled hesitantly as she leaned in a little closer, nose twitching as she whispered towards the boy. Apparently this was an important sort of secret. Just between them.
Izuku had to admit that, for a moment, he'd felt important.
“Can…can I ask for your help?”
The hushed tones and the way her eyes had shifted made the boy shift his own expression around the room, watching the other students, who were wrapped in their own studies, or conversations, the lazy afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows as the calming, dulcet tones of chatter had filtered through the air. No one paid them any attention. No one cared about them. At least, no one cared enough to listen to what they were saying. Or, at least they had enough respect to pretend they weren't listening.
It had been a peaceful moment, calming and quiet, even if there was the undercurrent of stress lingering within the deadlines of homework in the horizon and the future tests waiting to be studied for. And Izuku didn't want to think about those. He wanted to focus on something else, someone else.
The familiarity of being able to focus on Eri brought with it some measure of…reassurance, in its own weird way, for Izuku and he'd enjoyed any lasting bit of stillness, knowing damn well that it never lasted long . Not for him or anyone in his class.
‘And maybe that’s your fault, knowing what you know, having the power that you have…’ that traitorous voice always hummed when his thoughts sputtered too slowly, and he lingered too long in the dark and he let himself drift into thinking when he shouldn't be.
The boy shook his head lightly bringing himself back to the present, hoping to keep his misplaced worries in check and just center his attention on the task of thinking of others for once instead of pitying himself and feeling guilty for a decision he had made and needed to pay for.
What good would pity do? What would it help? He knew it was his fault, and his doing. He needed to own up to it. And he would.
He would protect them and clean up the mess he’d made by accepting All Might’s power.
‘Was it really better than being quirkless, Izuku?’ the voice continued, ‘Having these supposed friends that don’t know that truth and are in danger because you’re too selfish to go this alone?’
Maybe it was…maybe it always was selfish.
Maybe he was selfish.
But granting a request from Eri? Helping a little girl with a 'super-secret project for Shou and 'Zashi ?' as she’d pleaded eagerly with those wide eyes and…and that small pout?
Where'd been the harm in that? Maybe that could be a good start to making things better than they were, especially after everything everyone had gone through.
Eri included.
‘Especially Eri…’
‘Because of you…because you were too slow sometimes, Izuku.’
Truthfully, there hadn't been any harm, no reason for Izuku to want to refuse the girl's request to make something for his teachers.
And because it was Eri he’d jumped at the girl’s inquiry right away, easily nodding, hurriedly agreeing to do what she'd wanted.
And then he sat and watched the way the child’s face sparked as she registered his response, and her eyes lit up as she blinked back at the boy.
'You mean it? For real life? You'll help me?'
And again Izuku nodded, easily agreeing to the child's request. It was an easy enough thing to do. And that was the end of it really as a smaller hand tucked into his own and pulled him along.
The girl smiled brightly and insisted that they both could make something for them, to which Izuku could do little to refuse, being led to the teacher’s area of Heights Alliance with relatively little protestation on his part (not that he’d ever resist a request from this kid. Who could?)
Certainly not Izuku. Not that he’d want to either.
He never wanted to see the girl cry again. He’d made a promise that he’d do whatever he could to be there for her, to ensure she smiled.
This was a small request. Really, it didn't take much from Izuku.
It was something simple.
And it…the boy swallowed back that funny feeling in chest and the way it burbled unpleasantly up his throat…it wasn’t like he also didn’t want to do something to show his appreciation for the teachers he often saw as greater than just teachers, for a lot of different reasons that he couldn't even say out loud yet and sometimes felt stupid when he thought about how much they mattered to him.
But he couldn't just ignore it completely…which was…it was…
It was almost Father’s Day…and maybe…
Maybe it was stupid to think what he was…to entertain the idea that…
“Deku?”
The boy blinked and cleared his throat, hastily slamming a lid on the wayward thoughts and the utter stupidity of them. He didn't want to hope that he could ever really be something worth more than he was...or that they would want to think of him as something more too.
Quietly Izuku leaned over towards Eri and peered down on the girl's handiwork. With a soft smile, and hummed in approval grinning towards the child.
"That's a really pretty sky you've painted, Eri!"
The girl's brows rose in surprise at the compliment, before a small smattering of rose-tint colored her cheeks as she smiled shyly in return to the boy's comment.
"You…you think so? You think that they'll like it? That...that it'll make them happy?"
Again, the boy nodded in reassurance, watching the sparkle grow in the cranberry gaze as he more firmly resisted his doubts, trying to quash the worry he felt.
Because they were stupid. They were always stupid.
And it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all.
He needed to worry about other things…
‘But maybe…’
Pulling back to the present, Izuku adjusted his hands on his paintbrush that Eri insisted he’d take, the soft spatter of green paint falling against the rim of his water cup as he’d made to clean the residue away.
She’d wanted to make cards for them, Mic-Sensei and Aizawa-Sensei.
Cards to go with the dinner and treats that she and Shinsou were making…a special reminder on Sunday of what those two had done for Shinsou and Eri, how they’d made them feel included and…wanted.
Needed.
Valued.
A family.
And yeah, Izuku felt at least six different emotions swirling beneath the surface of his fingers as he tried to steady the paintbrush that shook between his fingers, scarred and trembling. They mimicked his thoughts as they too twisted and coiled while Izuku sat there and stewed about what to put on his card and how best to present his own thoughts and ideas.
He was making three. Three cards for three…heroes.
Because he wasn't family to them. He wasn't anything more than just a student.
Or a successor.
But not...family like the others were.
But, in truth these three heroes were more than just heroes to Izuku. They felt more...were more…more than that to him. And he just…he didn’t know how to say that without feeling somewhat…more than somewhat silly.
Stupid, rather. He felt stupid. Not silly.
Because it wasn’t like these heroes weren’t used to people fawning over them and seeing people who appreciated what they’d done for them, who they were, what they…represented. They saved people every day, helped others, ensured their welfare…
‘You’re quite the fanboy!’
Izuku bit back a wince and a bit of a bitter smile as he recalled that first conversation with All Might and the way even the Symbol of Peace had seen him.
Nothing but a fanboy. Nothing that set him apart from anyone else. Just ordinary. Just simple. Just...a bit of a nothing.
Izuku cast another small glance back towards Eri, sitting across from him, watching as the girl's lips puckered in concentration, her hands somewhat shaky as she tried to bring the soft purple across her card with the small paintbrush. She wanted, or was trying to dot her grassy scene with little dollops of lavender flowers because she and Mic-Sensei had seen a field ‘just like this’ at the park one day and he’d let her pick flowers and put some in her hair...
'And I think that purple is my favorite color, Deku! And 'Zashi said that I looked really nice in purple...'
The boy’s gaze softened as he watched Eri’s nose scrunch as she narrowed her eyes and brought the brush down, easily leaning forward across the counter as soft music played through the kitchen.
Piano music.
And that was another habit that’d grown on the girl since she’d moved in and been under the care of Aizawa-Sensei and Mic-Sensei. Eri loved listening to piano music, always letting the soft lilt and tremble of keys filter through the kitchen speakers overhead whenever she was in there. At least, they always were when Izuku was with her.
And usually the same few songs too, familiar songs that he'd come to love just as much as Eri because they were calming.
Helped him think.
The boy returned his brush to his own plate of paint and let out a soft sigh as he considered the swirl of green and blue before him, which color next to place on his card of abstract colorings, thoughts continuing to stir back to his original upset as the piano keys tripped and trilled in the background. Eri hummed happily beside him.
In truth that wasn’t a bad assessment either, to call him a fanboy. Izuku was a fan. He admired these heroes, who they were, how much they helped. From Mic-Sensei, to All Might, to Aizawa-Sensei, they were all fierce heroes who knew how to hold their own and win their fights.
It’s part of the reason why he wanted to be a hero himself. He admired how committed they were to their jobs, to doing the right thing and being the right thing, in being that hero.
But…
The boy went for blue–dark midnight blue that seeped onto his brush–as he lifted his hand and brought it to his paper, letting the color swish through the forest green as he curled the colors together into something that bore little resemblance to an actual picture and painting than the one Eri was creating.
Lately Izuku couldn’t claim that the only reason he looked up to these particular heroes was because they were merely heroes. It was another stupid thought to even think that was possible.
Just like it was impossible for Izuku to say simply that these heroes were just his teachers ...even though that alone could and should and would provoke admiration and respect form anyone, including him. To be the student of these types of heroes? Talk about lucky.
And he was lucky.
But it was something more. Always something more. And he wasn’t sure how to say it.
Or if he even should . Hell, should he even be thinking it? Would they even care?
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
The boy chewed on his bottom lip as he considered the way his chest tightened at the idea that he could speak these thoughts aloud–that he was creating these damned cards at all ...because he was admitting to something…that he’d not dared to speak.
Something that–
“I need new water for my brushes!"
The boy’s attention returned towards the girl and her cheerful timbre as he peered towards the flurry of movement and flash of silver hair that shifted and slipped from his view for a moment, before it bobbed back into view.
It was a somewhat comical sight and Izuku bit back a smile as he watched Eri let out a small huff and scamper onto the stool that she’d moved near the cupboard, stretching to her fullest height, smiling brightly as she made to reach for another cup, hand resting on the cupboard door. There was a flash in her eyes, a spark of determination as her bottom lip jutted out and her small hand flicked outward, fingers waving to curl around mug on the top shelf.
I t was one of Aizawa-Sensei's favorites, Izuku knew.
And Eri just couldn’t quite make the distance.
Never mind the fact that she didn't need a new mug at all since all they needed to do was rinse her other one out and refill it with fresh water. No need to go fishing for another mug.
The boy stood, setting his brush down on his plate, as he shook his head at the girl’s determination and cheer, grateful for her reminder to lighten up and simply be in the moment rather than stuck in his head all the time. Sometimes, Izuku tended to work himself up over nothing. He shouldn't worry so much and live for once.
How many times had he been told to simply let things go and stop overthinking?
There was a soft grunt as the girl strained her fingertips grazing the mug's handle as she went up on her tip-toes and strained to grasp the mug.
"Almost got it!"
But she didn't.
“Eri, let me help you,” Iuzku murmured, fingers grazing the cool marble counter as he shifted from the seat, watching as the child leaned too far forward onto the chair, pressing her weight into the swaying cabinet door, which rocked and jostled.
And that was a problem, Izuku could immediately see that. There was a tap of energy along his fingertips, green sparking as he made to stand. His heart beat against his ears.
“Eri…”
“Almost there!”
The girl’s voice pitched more determined, her face scrunching smaller, lips puckering and brows furrowing as she extended to her tiptoes even higher, as far up as she could go to bridge the gap and secure her hold on the desired cup to fill with water.
There was a soft screeching, the chair sliding as the girl's fingers curled around the mug handle and her weight shifted too far into the unstable hinged cupboard door that couldn't and wouldn't hold stability against her weight.
“Watch out!”
Another beat echoed in Izuku's ears.
Even though he wasn't far, and moved quickly, it all felt too far, and time seemed to move too slow for Izuku. Several beats of the boy's heart rattled hard against his chest as he watched Eri's grip on the cupboard door strain further, her lean tipping even more heavily as she grappled for the small green mug on the top shelf, pushing her too much to the right and off-balance.
It'd been the green mug then...not Aizawa-Sensei's...
Weird.
Not that it mattered much. Eri mattered more, he knew and understood, as Izuku leapt to his feet and was moving, hawk-like gaze zeroed in on the way the stool wobbled and rocked, skidding to the left as the girl went opposite, pulling away from the cupboard, hands waving as she tried to steady herself. A small whimper of surprise burbled from the girl's lips and echoed too loud in Izuku's ears.
'Shit!'
The boy was across the room now, and made a leap for the girl, reaching out at the last moment for Eri's arm. In a vain attempt, the boy tried to pull the girl back and to safety as she tugged the shelf of mugs askew, her other hand still on the cupboard door as Izuku pulled to get her out of the way of what he could see was coming.
Hinges creaked, the sound of metal bending unpleasantly and wood splintering hit Izuku's ears, as the pair of them toppled, Eri landing atop Izuku in a huff, the air knocked from the boy's lungs as his back smacked against the tile floor, head cracking backwards with a sound 'smack' as a flurry of green sparks snapped and sparked around him. There was only a second before the sound of ceramic clinking and rolling filled Izuku's ears as dread and shock swirled.
With another groan and a creak, the top shelf fell and the trio of mugs that'd been perched there rolled down and struck the counter.
And, double shit.
The green mug fell first, this the smallest of the three and one that Eri insisted was Izuku’s mug since it's the one he favored whenever he lurked in the teachers’ area or Eri insisted she join him for ‘tea’ (which was really just steaming mugs of cocoa or warmed cider or weaker tea that Mic-Sensei made.
In fact, it was Eri and Mic-Sensei that had picked it up while shopping one day.
But down it struck against the counter top. Izuku could only stare, arms wrapping protectively around Eri as the mug's handle smacked against the corner the corner, cracking along the handle and rim before breaking apart entirely and sending a spray of shards cascading around the kitchen.
Just a mug, he knew. Just a mug that wasn't so important.
Still, Izuku pulled Eri closer as the next mug fell, this the larger black mug that Aizawa-Sensei favored on the daily. It was his go-to mug that Izuku often saw him tote to class when he didn’t bring his thermos. It was also the one that sported a rather sleek black cat’s face curled around a blue backdrop, head reaching outward, glossy nose striking against the floor as it too fell from the cupboard and hit the tile.
Black and blue blasted apart in a spray shower of ceramic and shipped paint,, chunks of ceramic striking near Izuku’s eye as he winced at the third mug that rolled down and through the air, the speed of its descent too fast, but too slow all at once.
This one was different than the others, a shorter mug, one that he knew that Aizawa-Sensei never used, never drew from the cupboard, but always… always rested a hand on briefly before reaching for his reliable mug for his coffee.
It was important to Izuku’s teacher, something special.
Something important .
Shorter, with a thicker body than the others, more rugged in structure, with dimpled and handcrafted texture, the dark blue mug with gold rip and small handle tipped, the glint of stars and wisps of cloud flashing in Izuku’s vision before the heavy object landed on its side on the counter.
The collision forced the ceramic to chip and a good-sized piece to come flying off before the rest of the undamaged portion of the cup bounce and rolled, flipping and striking–hard–against the tiled floor, where other debris lay, other pieces of ceramic.
And just as the other two, the mug–the mug that’d never been used–broke apart, large, jagged edges splintering and separating as they flew apart, the hand cracking in half as the bottom separated entirely from the rest of the mug and collided with the stool that stood nearby, breaking further–splintering into two more pieces.
The rest of the mug collapsed among the other rubble.
And Izuku sat for a moment, stunned, blinking briefly at the mess as the cupboard door creaked, half off its hinge, softly beating against the wall as the upper cabinet shelf finally stilled and silence dropped in place of the ceramic shattering.
But it only lasted so long, the stillness–eerily soft and vibrant and deafening–soon replaced by the sound of hurried footsteps down the hall echoing against the back of his mind, humming in his ear as he tried to register what had just happened and how it'd just happened to him right now.
The boy swallowed, fingers twitching as he blinked again, slowly letting out a breath as he stared at the mess, gaze drifting between the floor and the cabinet. Soft swirls of dust fluttered around them, the remnants of broken ceramics, wafting into the air.
There was a crunching, the soft striking of boots against ceramic and tile as black came into Izuku’s view.
He recognized those boots.
‘Oh god.’
The boy blinked again as he caught sight of a dark gaze and a thin, tired frown.
It wasn’t every day that Shouta heard the unmistakable sound of dishes breaking in the kitchen.
Granted that he and ‘Zashi had their fair share of mishaps every now and then, dropping a plate or two or a cup or a bowl or what have you.
Well, Hizashi was more prone to misplacing things and having them slip from his grip when he wasn’t paying attention, usually caught up in his own thoughts or some song or another and rather unaware of his surroundings (especially if he thought he was home alone).
Shouta rarely dropped a dish.
But the underground hero knew that Hizashi wasn’t home, at the station working on a new set for an upcoming recording special and wasn’t due back until that evening.
Naturally that meant that the only other options to have caused the uproar were Shinsou…or Eri.
And given the sheer volume of the crash itself? The man wasn’t as concerned about the who as he was about the potential harm they’d come to in the process.
There’d been a crack. Horrendously loud, followed by a screeching of the stool sliding across the floor, before a slam resounded and the unmistakable shattering of ceramic against title filled his ears.
So, he’d taken off, footfalls firm and fast–not bothering to remove his boots at this point since he’d just come in through the back entrance–and he hastened to kitchen, gaze sweeping the area, searching for the injured party and the chaos.
He found a half-broken cupboard door swinging off its hinge, the top shelf tilted and dropped down on one side.
‘The hell…?’
The man tensed, hands coming up, fingers curling around his capture weapon as he maneuvered slowly forward, listening to the soft shuffling and clattering on the other side of the counter.
Paint on the counter–bottles of varying colors lined neatly-with paintbrushes and two trays of colors lay on the countertop.
Papers, with pictures being painted, haphazardly left unfinished, the glossy, wet paint still shining under the overhead light.
Someone had been working on a project.
Two someones.
A familiar sight he’d seen several times before.
And as he stepped further into the kitchen, just beyond the island, he could see the remnants of broken mugs cluttered about the socked feet of two wary individuals, silver and verdant hair coiling together in a heap as Izuku Midoriya cradled Eri close, protectively, eyes blown wide, a spark of lightning tingling across his knuckles.
Eri.
And Problem Child.
Both wore matching expressions of horror and shock, the smaller of the pair turning her face upward to peer at her teenage friend silently inquiring of the other who stared dazedly, almost lost in thought, and unaware of his surroundings.
Which was a problem.
Neither one seemed aware he'd stepped into the kitchen just yet.
Which was another concern.
Had they been injured? Hit their heads?
What had happened ?
Shouta took in the shards and remnants of mugs surrounding the pair, a mixture of black and green and blue crushed together on the floor, large and small bits overlapping, debris scattered every which way as he swept over the scene, memorizing the spot where the small ceramic cat face lay, just near the dishwasher.
The tail of his favorite mug–which had been the handle, actually-lay nearby that, large bits of brilliant, glossy green squished near the blue and black, adding a contrast and break to the muted colors of the other.
It'd been a gift from Hizashi, something he'd claimed as a joke, with the black part as part of a matching set.
'One for each of us!' He'd teased lightly, though…
Knowing him, it hadn't been a complete joke after all.
The man was sentimental enough.
Thoughtful enough.
Shouta took another cautious step forward angling to reach for the pair still frozen on the floor, their faces slack, still in shock. Midoriya had his arms bracing to hold Eri still, obviously trying to protect her from the fall and spattering of ceramics that'd fallen.
'Had she fallen?'
The man's boot crunched atop a piece of broken mug, making Shouta pause and peer down near his shoe, already disappointed that the mess was greater than he realized.
With a delicate sidestep, the man shifted his footfalls, raising his feet so as to avoid stepping into the mire as he spied a familiar oceanic blue and swirl of star and cloud beneath his foot.
The man’s eyes narrowed as he swallowed back the sudden heaviness that was lodged in his throat.
‘Hey Shou! I have something for you!’
Shouta’s breathing slowed as a soft ‘whooshing’ filled his ears as he tilted his head to stare at the piece carefully, a whirring growing in his ears.
‘Now don’t get all sentimental on me!’
It took a moment to register what he was seeing as he bent down, fingers grazing along the jagged edge of the broken piece.
‘Nothing fancy or anything. I’m not so stuck up, but it’s a gift. To celebrate your birthday.’
He felt a prick across his finger, blood seeping from a surface cut as he swallowed, the flash of a smile in his mind’s eye as he stared down at the broken piece.
‘Oh, come on! It’s what friends do, Shou. Lighten up a little.’
Cats and clouds, the soft wisping of shapes that’d misted and mixed through the golden and blue ceramic mug that’d once sat center atop that top shelf.
The top shelf that now lay skew, tilted and broken, having sent everything falling down.
Breaking and crashing around the pair of children on the floor, cracked and flaking, spidering into a dozen different pieces on the floor.
Images that’d once been whole, now torn apart by the collision with the floor.
Shouta ran a hand through the mess as he snapped attention back to the pair on the floor, spying the soft trickle of crimson on either of their cheeks.
'Fuck.'
Hesitant bottle green orbs traveled from his shoes to his face before meeting Shouta's gaze. Dazed, dilated questioning shifted to recognition and then worry as the boy registered the issues, and stiffened slowly straightening as he peered between the mess and his Sensei.
'You'll have to take good care of it, Shou! No breaking it, now.'
The man blinked slowly towards the boy as he gripped the shard of Oboro's mug, feeling the warm trickle of blood mix with the dusty remnants of ceramic. His whole hand started to ache.
Blue hair floated upward in his mind's eye, a cheerful smile dimpling around youthful cheeks as bright eyes danced in amusement.
'It's a gift, Shou.'
Shouta's fingers shook lightly as the broken cupboard door creaked again.
"What the hell happened, kid?" The man's voice dipped low.
'Don't go breaking it now!'