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izuku hasn’t really thought about his father in years.
occasionally something will happen that makes the memories pop back up. todoroki, especially, seems to know how to draw them out of him like a doctor picking gravel delicately out of an old wound. his presence tends to disarm izuku, somehow, and makes him more prone to just… speaking.
his other friends don’t usually ask, content to let izuku ramble about his mom and ignore anything else. shinsou did once, after the war when izuku caught him vomitting in the dorm bathroom hours after curfew and the two of them ended up sitting on the floor talking about nothing. he’d asked, “you only ever talk about your mom- what about your old man? is he dead, or an asshole?”
izuku had snorted. “the second one,” he said. shinsou made a noise of understanding and let the subject drop entirely.
kacchan was really the only one who knew what his dad used to be like. he was the reason hisashi was gone, actually, after he’d run over unexpectedly, walked in on izuku’s father beating him into the ground, and started yelling so loudly three separate neighbors called the cops. his father was gone pretty fast, after that, and after izuku got to a certain age he and his mom just… stopped talking about him.
his pictures got taken down. family friends refrained from mentioning him. izuku’s mother took to being a single mom with such swiftness outsiders thought that was just how it’d always been, and she never corrected strangers who mentioned it. it wasn’t that they’d refused to process it, necessarily, but with the sudden financial struggles thanks to missed child support payments from his dad and izuku’s own social hell that came with being quirkless, his absent father’s past abuse sort of… faded into the background.
besides, his mom was so nurturing it was almost impossible for his father’s old claims of izuku being unlovable to truly take hold. she made sure time and time again that izuku knew he was no burden on her, that he knew she loved him and wanted him and would do anything to make sure he was safe.
his father- despite being izuku’s entire world until he was five- just stopped mattering after a certain point, is all.
and then all of a sudden, six months after the war ends and izuku is just starting to find himself a new normal, he starts mattering a lot.
they’re at the mall at a boba stand. shinsou and todoroki are off at a bench in a quiet corner somewhere, social batteries drained. izuku is standing in line next to uraraka, who’s loudly debating which flavor she wants to get to tsu, who doesn’t seem to care all that much. iida’s behind the three of them, interjecting with his own opinions and his insistence that “please, uraraka, we’ll come back here more than once, you don’t need a sample of every flavor-“
izuku would normally be participating, but on this specific day at this specific moment, he can’t bring himself to do much more than nod when someone asks him a yes or no question. the embers within one for all are shifting restlessly inside him, the empty crevice where his quirk once rested feeling more like a chasm with each passing moment. he has moments like this sometimes, when the absence of the vestiges and the quiet in his mind is so unbearable he can’t do much more than shut down and move where the others put him.
his friends, wonderful as they are, have learned how to adapt around these moods. they include him despite his unresponsiveness, treat him as if he’s there and participating just like any of the others, and check in every once and a while to try and ground him back to the present. izuku is endlessly thankful for their warm blanket of support.
so he stands, observes, and listens. uraraka jostles him every now and again, the prickly feeling of skin on skin contact reminding him that he’s a real person and not a ghost that dissolved alongside one for all when shigaraki died. tsu starts trying to wrangle a final order out of uraraka so she can give the cashier all of their drink orders at once. iida does his best to assist, but ultimately doesn’t help all that much. that’s when he hears it. with their group three people back in line, an older man from the crowd calls, “izuku!”
he doesn’t recognize the voice at first. he turns anyway, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you hear your name.
(he’s too out of it to notice uraraka’s hand permanently lacing with his, or iida shifting ever-so-slightly in front of him, or tsu quietly texting shinsou and todoroki for backup. he’ll remember later and thank them for it then)
a man pushes his way through the small crowd of people shuffling from store to store. he’s average height and a little stocky, and his bulk is evenly distributed throughout his body, making his features look rectangular and his corners sharp. his fashion is plain- just a pale blue button down and brown pants that are barely on the nicer side of casual. none of that rings a bell, though. it’s not until izuku looks up and sees his own jawline reflected back at him, his own curly hair- wrong color notwithstanding- bouncing lightly with each step the man takes, that it sets in.
“izuku!” his father calls again, grinning brightly ear to ear as he reaches izuku and his friends. “son, it’s been so long-“
he reaches out for izuku.
izuku steps back.
usually, izuku is given space to emerge from his dissociation slowly. his friends talk him back down from the clouds and settle him with gentle touches and warm food and good company. maybe aizawa will bring one of his cats to the student dorm and set it atop his lap, or maybe- on very rare occasions- he’ll be dropped into his mother’s care for the day and he’ll spend an afternoon baking while he remembers how to be a person.
this is nothing like that. this is sharp and sudden, like the bursts of adrenaline danger sense would give him while he was on the run. they let him stay alert, let him win the next fight, stay alive another hour-day-week, but it was borrowed time. it feels like ice water dunked on his head, or maybe a knife digging into his skin until his body wrestles control away from his mind and forces his eyes and ears to lock onto the threat.
people are staring. hisashi was loud. everyone heard him call izuku- call japan’s savior “son.” iida has already placed himself in the distance izuku created between him and his father, and uraraka is looking between the two of them and setting her shoulders like she’s about to throw a punch.
“excuse me?” she demands, “i don’t know who you think you are, but-“
izuku cuts her off. “he’s my father,” he confirms quietly, before changing to look at the man himself. “we shouldn’t talk here. let’s go somewhere else.”
he exits the line. people are still staring, and he feels the needlepoints of their eyes all up and down his spine.
iida starts to move to go with him, uraraka too, but he glances back at them and shakes his head. “it’s okay, you guys stay and order the drinks. i won’t be gone long.”
uraraka opens her mouth to protest, but it’s actually tsu that quiets her with a hand on her shoulder. “alright, ribbit,” she says. “we’ll meet you when you’re done.”
izuku nods. he catches iida frowning as he turns to leave again, but doesn’t address it. he has a feeling this is about to get ugly, and he doesn’t really want his friends to see that.
“izuku,” his father tries again, reaching out to him as izuku passes him with barely a glance, but izuku bats his hand away.
“we’re not talking here.” it’s a declaration this time, not a suggestion. he keeps walking. the sound of new sneakers squeaking against the mall linoleum tells izuku that his father is following.
he takes them through the crowd to come out the opposite side along the edges of the shops, and then further until they reach the back wall of the mall where there’s barely anyone except the handful of people entering and leaving the nearby bathroom every few minutes. izuku only looks once to see if his father is following, and upon confirming that, yes, he is, decides that any further confirmation isn’t necessary. when he reaches the back wall he spins abruptly on his heel and faces the man who has become nothing more than a shadow monster in a few childhood nightmares.
“was that necessary?” is the first thing his father asks, annoyance cracking through the facade of parental care. “you made a scene, izuku.”
“stop making a scene,” his father hisses, shoving his hand over three-year-old izuku’s mouth when he starts sobbing. he’d cut his arm open after tripping and sliding across the asphalt, and it burned worse than anything he’d felt in his life, not to mention the amount of blood dripping down and pooling around his fingertips. “man up, brat. you’re embarrassing me.”
“i was trying to buy drinks with my friends,” izuku snaps. “you made that scene.”
hisashi glowers. izuku can hear his mask cracking, the quiet tink tink tink of glass that’s about to shatter. the scoff his father lets out knocks out a large chunk that izuku watches fall until it scatters in pieces across the ground.
“i should’ve known your mother wouldn’t be able to raise you right on her own,” he hisses. izuku tenses as the thought of mom enters his mind for the first time in this whole interaction. has hisashi been to see her yet? does he know where she lives?
has he hurt her again?
“you don’t get to talk about her,” izuku snarls, stepping forward and holding himself as tall as he can manage. “you don’t get to think about her, you bastard, keep her fucking name out of your mouth.”
hisashi snarls right back. “i’ll do as a damn well please. in case you forgot, brat, that’s my wife.”
“she hasn’t been your wife for twelve years, but she is my mom,” izuku takes a step forward and notes with frustration that hisashi doesn’t even flinch. he decides to raise his threats. “in case you haven’t realized, i’m a war veteran and an acting hero. if you even go near her-“
“you’ll what?” hisashi asks. he closes the distance between them, and despite his father being no more than 5’9, it feels as though he towers over izuku insurmountably. surprisingly, he has to resist the urge to cower. “arrest me? on what grounds?”
he takes another step forward. izuku is forced to take one back.
“neither of you have a restraining order against me,” his father continues flippantly, like none of this even matters. “part of the divorce agreement i made with you mother was that she wouldn’t pursue any criminal charges. and besides-“ another step forward, another step back- “look what country you’re in, kiddo. you think there’s a court in the land that isn’t going to side with the misunderstood father who wants to reconnect with the son who almost died on international television?”
izuku is regretting positioning to them so close to a wall. he didn’t want to have to think about guarding his back while all his focus was on maintaining his front, but now he just feels cornered, and there’s no one else in the area anymore to provide the security of witnesses.
his mother finds him once after he’s gone, curled up on the floor in the corner of his closet. he’s in a tight ball, shaking, terrified of the nightmares that linger in every corner of his room.
when she turns the light on, she sees for the first time the nail gouges on the inside of his closet door with a lock on the outside of it.
they remove the lock together and repaint the whole room the next day.
izuku says nothing. he finds, terrifyingly, that he can’t. ha. somehow this insignificant man feels like a larger threat than shigaraki. than the demon lord himself.
what a joke. all that training, all that fighting, and he’s still just a pathetic, quirkless, weakling.
hisashi grins, taking his silence to mean obedience. “see? you get it, kiddo.” he sets a hand on izuku’s shoulder, and he flinches but doesn’t try to pull away. he knows how easily that grip can turn crushing, how quick it can turn from a fatherly gesture of affection to a restraint meant to hold him in place while hisashi’s quirk sears his skin.
(he still has scars, swaths of burnt flesh across his sternum and shoulders and back. izuku just doesn’t think about them because they’re indistinguishable from the starbursts kacchan gave him and the collection of patchwork pieces his body has become since receiving one for all)
his father leans closer to him, looms like every villain izuku’s ever known. “i suggest you be a good little boy now, and listen to your father if you really want to keep your mother safe.”
this is familiar, izuku realizes.
this is how hisashi got away with his abuse the first time. he threatened izuku that if he told his mother, then he’d hurt her, too, that if izuku was just quiet and obedient and good then she’d be safe. then, he turned around and told his mother the opposite, only hitting her behind closed doors and izuku when his mother was at work. it was flawless until kacchan, could’ve kept going for years if his childhood friend hadn’t barged in unwelcome that day.
liar, izuku hisses inside his mind. liar liar liar-
“i’m a national hero,” izuku grits out, fists clenched and shaking at his sides. “if you think people will believe you over me-“
that hand tightens. izuku freezes.
“i do,” hisashi drawls, words accented with just a bit of mocking laughter. he loosens his grip again. “because of that. you’re traumatized, probably have ptsd or whatever the fuck. makes you weak”
the last word is spat. bile rises in izuku’s throat, and the sting of it makes his focus snap back into place. like a knife in your ribs, he thinks, just slide the knife into your ribs. he tightens his fists until he feels his nails drawing blood. it hurts, but it keeps him grounded.
he tries to duck out of hisashi’s hold and take another step back. it doesn’t work. his father’s hand tightens enough to bruise and he just comes with, pushing izuku back further and further, and izuku feels the wall creep up behind him.
“let me go,” izuku snaps, but it comes out shaky.
hisashi ignores him and brings his other hand up to cup izuku’s cheek, then grip his chin when he tries to pull away. “poor little izuku, you’ve gone through so much.” the tone is sickly- izuku feels it cling to the walls of his throat and curdle in his chest. god, why did he tell uraraka and iida not to come? why couldn’t he just swallow his pride and ask for help- why did he say he wanted to do this alone?
“stop,” he tries. it’s barely a whisper.
“scared kids make up the damndest things, don’t they?” hisashi purrs. “you’ll mistake anything for a villain like this, even your father who just wants to make sure you’re safe and happy.”
izuku can’t breathe.
his father cuts the act.
“here’s how this is going to go, brat,” he hisses, right in his ear. “you’re going to do what i say, unless you wanna wake up one day to your mother’s obituary on the news, got it?” he tilts his head as izuku’s blood freezes, like this is some fascinating experiment, like he didn’t just threaten to kill izuku’s mom-
he doesn’t respond right away, too caught up in his head, too afraid to stab that knife into his gut.
his father- he’s going to-
hisashi gets impatient. “izuku,” he snaps, “you will answer me when i-“
“let him go,” snarls a new voice. a familiar voice. todoroki. it soaks into his skin, settles around his face like an oxygen mask.
hisashi practically leaps off of him with an awkward, forced laugh. the distance isn’t enough- izuku doesn’t think it ever can be enough, not anymore- and rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “ah, boys,” he says, which is how izuku realizes that shinsou’s here, too. “this is all just a misunderstanding-“
“he’s sixteen, you creep,” shinsou snaps.
“oh- oh no, really, it’s not like that-“ hisashi stutters, “this is my son.” he glances at izuku out of the corner of his eye, and izuku sees the embers kindling in the gaze, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice. a threat. “tell them, izuku. we were just talking, right?”
shinsou’s pupils glow faintly for a split second like they do every time he primes his quirk. the temperature in their corner of the mall drops rapidly as todoroki’s glare deepens.
“so you’re the asshole, then,” shinsou drawls without izuku having to say anything at all. he cocks a fist and grins that aizawa-esque grin he gets when he’s about to kick someone’s ass. “good to know.”
hisashi stumbles back a step in surprise. he’s out of arm’s reach, now. izuku feels it like a physical weight off his chest.
todoroki doesn’t do anything outwardly threatening, but he does give hisashi a once over, obviously sizing him for the possibility of combat. “i suggest you leave now,” he says. “we called the police, and they’ll be here any moment.”
“you can’t do that,” hisashi says too quickly, expression just a touch frantic. “i haven’t done anything wrong. you don’t have anything on me, and even if you did, you can’t prove it.”
shinsou shrugs, that grin still firmly planted. “meh, maybe we didn’t see shit, but you can’t prove that we weren’t here the whole time, now, can you? your back was turned.” he shakes his head with a little laugh. “pretty rookie mistake, if you ask me.”
“There’s also security cameras,” todoroki adds, gesturing to them.
“really, you’re the one with pretty fucked odds here.”
todoroki nods. “i would take our advice and run now. you have about five minutes before the police arrive.”
hisashi stays frozen for a moment, mouth slightly open. izuku watches his father debate with himself for several heartbeats before finally, finally beginning to properly back away. they exchange one last set of glances- hisashi as menacing as he can make his (“remember what we talked about, brat,” he hissed, as three-year-old izuku cried and cried and cried), izuku’s as carefully blank as possible- and then hisashi runs, metaphorical tail between his legs as he slips out the back entrance of the mall and the door shuts loudly behind him.
izuku is still for all of a second before he begins frantically fumbling with his pocket, fingers closing clumsily around his phone and taking a screenshot in the process. he ignores it and swipes left to his emergency caller’s list and slams his thumb on his mother’s contact.
it rings, rings, rings-
“izuku?”
“mom,” izuku exhales, overwhelmed with relief at hearing her okay. “mom, where are you?”
“baby, what’s going on? what’s wrong?”
somewhere, distantly, he feels a warm hand set itself on his shoulder and a different one with longer fingers press into the small of his back until they start walking towards a bench just beside the exit.
“mom please,” izuku begs, “please, where are you?”
there’s a slight hesitation, and izuku almost starts begging again. just before he can, his mother answers, “i’m just about to leave work, hun. i’m grabbing all my stuff from the break room.” she takes a breath and then asks, “sweetheart, please, what’s wrong?”
izuku doesn’t answer right away. his next exhale ends up as a sob that he catches behind his teeth and chokes on instead.
“you can’t leave work,” he pleads. “it’s- dad. hisashi, he found me, a- and-“
“What?” his mother shouts, “What? Izuku, are you okay? did he hurt you?”
“n- no, he-“
he can’t stifle the next sob. it comes out involuntarily, scraping painfully against his throat and prying its way past his lips with claws dug into his skin. todoroki takes his phone from his suddenly slack fingers. shinsou sits next to him on the bench he ended up on and pulls him into a fierce hug, one arm slung around his back and one pulling his face into the crook of his neck.
between one beat and the next shinsou’s brainwashed him and begun to talk him down from his panic attack. breathe, he commands, the words slithering through his head and commandeering his body. it’s always so kind, so gentle, just a pair of soft hands guiding him to sit on the floor while they take the controls instead. deep breaths, golden boy, in for four, there you go-
when he’s released, he doesn’t know how much time has passed. he’s far more settled though, acutely aware of the salt staining his cheeks and his trembling hands and his now throbbing shoulder.
“they’re over here!” someone- uraraka- shouts. izuku looks up to see the rest of his friends guiding a few police officers and aizawa over to the three of them. their sensei gets to them first, jogging the rest of the way until he’s crouching in front of izuku with open concern in his one eye.
“problem child,” he starts as he gives izuku a once over, “you are never allowed to come to this mall ever again.”
izuku snorts, which turns out to have been a bad idea because the snot in his nose makes him choke. shinsou pats him on the back a few times and aizawa waits until he’s done coughing before asking, “are you hurt?”
“my shoulder,” izuku answers dutifully, “but i don’t think it’s that bad.”
shinsou gently cups his cheek and turns his head sideways. “you have bruises on your jaw,” he says, swiping his thumb lightly across them and frowning.
oh. he does? he doesn’t remember getting those, but now that they’ve been pointed out he can feel them pulsing slightly with his heartbeat.
aizawa nods. “you don’t need an ambulance,” he declares, just as todoroki walks back over to them with izuku’s phone in hand. izuku blinks. he hadn’t noticed todoroki walking off, either, although he might’ve been brainwashed by then.
he’s missed so much, feels so fragmented. is he even here, in the mall right now?
is he even him?
“midoriya’s mother would like to talk to you,” todoroki says, holding the phone out to aizawa, who takes it as he stands. izuku only catches him say, “your son is safe, ma’am, i can assure you. he was right to tell you to stay-“ before aizawa’s out of earshot and izuku’s being overwhelmed by his other friends.
“oh gosh, i’m so glad you’re safe,” uraraka says.
“we were very worried when todoroki sent out the s.o.s!” iida agrees, just as todoroki sits on izuku’s other side and throws an arm around him, too. “i knew we shouldn’t have let you go alone.”
“iida, ribbit, don’t reprimand him,” tsu says. she turns to izuku. “we’re just glad you’re okay. was that actually your dad, ribbit?”
“yeah,” izuku mutters, thinking of rice digging into his knees and locked closets and fire breath bursting across his back. he reaches up with trembling fingers and tugs at one of his curls. “biologically, at least.”
grim silence falls across them all. todoroki looks at him for a long moment, right thumb rubbing circles on his shoulder, before abruptly saying, “shinsou, switch with me.”
izuku blinks. the world shifts suddenly into clearer focus for just a moment, confusion jarring it back on course. it only lasts long enough for shinsou and todoroki to switch sides- and it must say something, that not even shinsou protests being bossed around- and todoroki to then settle with his left side- his cold side pressing against izuku.
he sinks into it instantly. the chill that settles into his bones staves off the hot ache in his heart and the memories of fire blasting against his skin. todoroki must’ve known, somehow, that izuku could feel his skin melting, that this was the right thing to do to seal it back onto his body.
“thanks,” he whispers. todoroki just nods.
one of the police officers clears her throat. izuku doesn’t recognize her despite the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s met every officer in this district, though he thinks he can be forgiven. most police officers he met were during the month or two after the war, when they were at the height of restoration efforts and spending their days uncovering bodies and consoling grieving families. he wasn’t really there for that. most people he knows weren’t, either.
this one has a mutation quirk. she has antlers sprouting from her head and patches of chestnut fur along her neck, though the rest of her features seem to be of human origin.
“i need a statement,” she says, and though her words are blunt her tone is kind. izuku nods, though, that’s when aizawa comes back.
“let’s take him to a station first,” he says, depositing izuku’s phone back into his hands. “we’ll get everyone at once, and that’s where i’ll direct the hero retrieving midoriya’s mother to meet us.”
the moose officer nods and gestures for her colleagues to make for the exit. aizawa reaches out and ruffles izuku’s hair. izuku’s relieved when the instinct to flinch doesn’t crop up.
“you okay with that, kid?” he asks.
izuku begins to agree, before a thought occurs to him and he hesitates. “will i have to talk to the officers alone?”
the question seems silly. childish after the sheer amount of shit he’s faced and come out okay from. he ducks his head, but he can’t take the question back now.
“we all have to go to the station first, right?” uraraka asks. “we can go together, can’t we?”
aizawa nods. “and i can be in the room when you give your statement, or your mother. it’s your pick.”
the confirmation makes his shoulders slump. “okay,” he agrees, “this is fine, then.”
“midoriya,” aizawa says, leaving his hand resting in izuku’s hair. “you’re okay now. your dad isn’t going to hurt you again, and he’s not going to hurt your mother. we’ve got you.”
“okay,” he whispers, small and scared and four-years-old again. no one says a word.
the others begin walking after the officers waiting next to the exit. shinsou links his arm with izuku’s and yanks him to his feet abruptly enough to have his head spinning, but the change of pace actually kind of feels nice.
“up and at ‘em, golden boy,” shinsou declares, marching him (and by extension todoroki, who got with the program instantly and has latched onto izuku’s other arm) towards the exit, too. “how does an all might movie marathon sound after this?”
izuku smiles, just a little. “good,” he says. “i’d like that.”
shinsou smirks, soft and private, like he only ever does around the two of them. todoroki lets out a long-suffering sigh, faux annoyance in his voice as he agrees to make popcorn.
in the privacy of his own head, he shudders at the thought of what might’ve happened if his friends hadn’t come to save him.
luckily, he thinks right after, i’ll never have to find that out.