Chapter Text
Aizawa is in the middle of listening to a story Mirio is telling Eri when he hears the quiet scuff of a footstep and the click of the lock on the window. He is on his feet in seconds, hands on his capture scarf, as a person tumbles inside and closes the window behind them. They linger for a prolonged second by the window before turning around.
His capture scarf is already in the air by the time he registers that the intruder is a child - likely no older than his own students.
The kid yelps, diving to the side, eyes wide as they dart around the room. The other side of Aizawa’s capture scarf is already in motion too, the hero too used to following up his initial strike to have pulled back the second in time. The kid dodges again surprisingly well, then they are all left in stillness.
“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?” he asks, willing to hear the kid out but also not impressed by the trespass from someone who should know better. Eri is also under guard, and who knew how young Overhaul and his men recruited?
The kid’s eyes flick to the side as he answers.
“I promise,” the teen began, words careful and voice intent if still a bit nervous, “this is a misunderstanding, I didn’t mean to come in here, and I’ll leave right now if you let me.”
His eyes still won’t stay on any of the heroes for long, and Aizawa can’t tell if it’s a nervous tic or just a general distaste for eye contact with others. He can feel himself softening against his will at the awkward kid, and shifts his weight in a way that alerts his husband to that fact. Hizashi has known him long enough to read the motion correctly as him becoming potentially compromised - something they can’t allow right now, with Eri sitting in her bed only a short distance away.
“If this was a misunderstanding,” his husband steps in, “then what is the real explanation for you climbing in the third-floor window of a hospital into a little girl’s room - in particular, a girl who is in protective custody?”
Aizawa sees the way the kid stills in an instant, eyes flicking over to where Eri is propped up in bed, before his eyes dart between the three heroes watching him. He shows slight surprise behind his wariness, as if just now understanding the situation he’s suddenly found himself in.
“Shit,” he says, before alarm grows across his features as he realizes he swore in front of them. It was almost amusing that he was more embarrassed about using fairly mild bad language than breaking and entering into a hospital. “I mean - look, I really wasn’t here for her. I was visiting someone else and slipped in here so I wouldn’t get caught. This was a total accident, I swear.”
“Who were you here for?” he interjects, frowning. Visiting hours were finished several hours ago, and “And why couldn’t you visit them during normal hours?”
“I - fine,” the kid sighs, glancing around cautiously. “I… the best way to describe it is that I can - fix Quirks? That’s not really what I’m doing, but it’s the best description I have. I sneak into hospitals around the area and help people whose Quirks are hurting them or not working right. There was a kid on the fourth floor I just helped tonight whose Quirk was poisoning him every time he used it. I made it so it won’t do that anymore.”
He’s never heard of someone able to ‘fix’ Quirks. The only other time he’s ever heard that phrasing used is by people like Overhaul, who saw baseline human forms and abilities as a way forward, and Quirks as something ‘wrong’ with humanity that needed to be fixed.
“You took his Quirk?” Mirio bursts out furiously, clearly following the same train of thought. He stands up abruptly, and Aizawa notices Eri curling up a little in her bed, eyes darting between the two teenagers.
He mentally takes note of her aversion to conflict, even as he turns his attention back to the intruder. The kid immediately shakes his head, eyes wider than ever at the apparent misunderstanding, bringing his arms up to defensively wave their concerns away.
“No, no!” he exclaims, gaze flitting around the room again. This time, Aizawa notes absently that it seems to flick to the same areas, but puts that observation aside for later. “Never! Well, unless someone asked me to, but that’s never happened before. When I say fix, I mean it. The kid still has his Quirk, and it still works mostly the same - it just doesn’t poison him anymore, that part now has an off-switch so to speak.”
The statement doesn’t fully sink in, as everyone in the room stares at the kid. What he’s claiming… should be impossible. Since the dawn of Quirks, there has never been one that changes a Quirk - especially one that’s already been formed. Aizawa’s own Quirk doesn’t change other people’s Quirks, just inhibits their ability to use them. If it changed or removed them entirely, he wouldn’t be allowed to use his own Quirk in hero work, he suspects, and any time he tried to use it on a mutant Quirk he would likely cause significant harm to them.
Even if this was a clear example of illegal Quirk usage, it was still an extraordinary claim if it was true.
“Can you fix my cur- I mean, Quirk?”
Eri’s quiet voice breaks the silence, and they all turn to look at her. She shrinks back a little at having so many eyes on her, but visibly steels herself as she looks up at Aizawa determinedly. “Mine’s broken too. It’s never hurt me, but it’s hurt others and I can’t control it.”
“I can,” the teenager says slowly, warily shifting his gaze between all of them and those few spots in the room he seems to send his gaze to when he doesn’t want to look at any of them directly. It’s clear he wants to say yes, but doesn’t want to promise anything under the tense stares from the others. “It might feel a little weird, but it’s nothing I haven’t done for people before.”
“Can you bring back lost Quirks?” At Mirio’s question, Aizawa sends him a sharp look, accompanied by one from his husband. No matter how good the hero-in-training is, for a moment it’s abundantly clear he’s still just a kid, because the look on his face is something fierce and longing, almost childlike in the way he asks and stares at the newcomer with barely concealed hope. “Quirks that have been taken away for good, can you bring them back?”
“I’ve never tried before,” the teenager admits with surprising honesty. He’s meeting Mirio’s gaze directly now, sincerity spread across his features. “But I don’t see why I couldn’t, in theory? It would probably be similar to what I already do.”
“Mirio…” Aizawa says warningly, reminding his student that this kid, while a teenager, is still an unknown who has already admitted to being able to manipulate Quirks. Mirio shoots him a glare of his own - something surprising to see from the otherwise mild-mannered hero student.
“C’mon, Eraserhead,” he says, voice light but firm enough to show he’s going to fight Aizawa on this, if he has to. “It’s a way to verify what he’s telling us, and if anyone should risk it, it’s me. There isn’t much more he could do to my Quirk, so why not? Worst case scenario, nothing happens to it, best case it comes back to me.”
Aizawa doesn’t drop his gaze for a long moment, mind whirring, thinking of every possible outcome for this. It’s true that this is a boon, if the kid by the window is telling the truth. Mirio will have a hard time adapting to hero work without a Quirk, especially after how used to using it he has been - and that’s assuming he’d be able to pull it off at all, this late into his schooling. It’s far more likely for him to lose his future as a hero entirely.
However, Mirio also has a point that they should be testing this ability before letting the kid try something with Eri. While he claims to have fixed someone else’s Quirk - something that they’ll need to follow up on shortly - they have no current proof of that. They also don’t know if there are any side effects or other issues if the ability does work.
And, well, if Mirio is volunteering, knowing the potential risks…
“Fine, but the moment he starts to do anything that looks like it would be harmful, I’m stepping in and detaining him, no questions asked,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why all of his students insist on giving him headaches, he’ll never know. After a moment, he turns his attention back to the teenager by the window expectantly.
A moment of hesitation later, the kid began approaching Mirio. He was very obviously keeping his distance from everyone else in the room, and Aizawa noted with reluctant approval the way he made sure to keep his way to the window clear. His eyes flicked around the room again, and Aizawa narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, beginning to grow suspicious of the consistent but unfocused glances.
“You, er, might want to sit? This might take a while, and I have no idea if you’ll feel dizzy or something. I’ve only done this to people who are asleep, but it shouldn’t hurt you,” the child says awkwardly, gesturing towards the chair Mirio had vacated upon his arrival. Mirio blinks, but complies, sitting down in his chair as the teenager pulls out what appears to be a marker.
“What about you?” Mirio asks, seemingly more out of habit than concern as he curiously watches the teen begin writing something on his hand. Mirio’s brow creases, and he blinks hard as he examines the markings taking shape upon his skin. “And what did you write on me? My eyes don’t seem to want to read it.”
“I’m fine on the floor,” the kid says absently while Aizawa tries and fails to get a good look at whatever was written on his student. Without another word, the kid began drawing on himself too. “I just drew a sigil - your eyes just weren’t built to read it.”
Without explaining that statement any further, the kid sits on the ground, closes his eyes, and sinks almost immediately into something resembling a meditative state. He goes so still that if it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Aizawa would almost be concerned.
However, the stillness gives him a chance to study the kid further. His clothes are worn but clean, if a size too big in a few cases. His curly hair is a little too long for the style it’s cut in, and that style itself is slightly choppy in a way that makes him suspect the kid did it himself. His hoodie hides the bulk of his frame, but from looking at his face, Aizawa thinks he is slightly underweight.
The green-haired teenager is also clearly tense, even when meditating - or whatever it is that he’s doing. He’s kept his backpack on him this entire time, and kept his escape route open. He wouldn’t get past three heroes, but it’s certainly a good sign for his own self-preservation instincts.
Especially because he suspects the kid might be completely alone.
No child looks that tense or wary if they are used to being able to rely on adults. They also don’t look so… ragged, if they have a safe home to return to at the end of the day. A glance at Hizashi shows his husband has clearly noticed the same.
Abruptly, the kid grimaces slightly, a soft huff of air passing through his lips as everyone’s attention snaps back to him. His hands flex a little, and a moment later a quiet sound of exertion escapes him. Then, the faintest hint of a whimper as the teenager’s body begins to slightly vibrate.
Aizawa is about to step in and put a stop to this when the strange kid jolts with a gasp and opens his eyes. He is panting now, and flops back onto the floor with his eyes closed, clearly worn out from whatever it was that he’d done. He frowns, preparing to move forward and see if the kid needs help.
“Kid, what happened?” he asks. The kid throws an arm over his eyes and waves his other hand at him dismissively, continuing to pant for breath. Aizawa’s frown deepens, and he’s about to demand more answers, when his attention is abruptly yanked away.
“Sensei…”
Mirio’s arm is partially see-through now, and he sticks it through the hospital bed Eri is laying on. An incredulous smile is growing on the young hero’s face, even as Aizawa’s eyes widen in shock. That’s impossible. Aizawa has never heard of an ability like this before, and he sits up with his eyes flaring on instinct.
His student’s arm becomes solid again and pops out of the bed immediately. The abrupt loss of the Quirk he’d only just seemingly regained pulls a distressed noise from Mirio, and Aizawa drops his ability immediately, a little guilty at his misstep. Usually he’s better at managing his reactions, especially with his students. Mirio’s arm goes intangible again in the blink of an eye, and he watches the teenager begin sticking his arm in things again almost immediately.
It’s a bit of a silly display - exaggerated for Eri’s sake, no doubt, who Aizawa has noticed watching the proceedings carefully - but the genuine relief hiding in his student’s eyes shows how much this is also a reassurance for him, that this part of him hadn’t been lost for good, and that all of his efforts until now haven’t been for nothing.
A glance to the kid on the floor shows him watching the scene from the gap between his elbow and his eyes, and Aizawa can just make out the flash of satisfaction in them before his arm presses more firmly across his face, hiding his expression from view again. Now that he’s looking closer, there is the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow, showing how hard… whatever he’d done truly was.
Aizawa takes a few steps towards him, only for the kid to immediately tense and sit up. He looks at Aizawa first, before his gaze goes over his shoulder once more - by all appearances looking at something hovering just behind the hero for a long moment, except there is nothing there. He is leaning towards his theory about it truly being a nervous tic, by now, given that the kid does keep meeting his eyes before getting distracted.
“I asked before, kid, and you didn’t answer,” the hero states simply, pausing as he meets viridian, wary eyes. The kid has good instincts, even if they aren’t needed here. He studies his features, watching for any signs of increased tension underneath the wary distrust. “You okay?”
The kid’s eyes shift over his shoulder again at the question, before returning to Aizawa’s own gaze, confusion now overtaking the wariness.
“Er, yeah?” He blinks up at them all with a frown, and eyes darting between all three heroes with him. To the spaces between them, too, Aizawa notes again. “I’ll be fine, I’m just tired. Why would that matter…? Oh! This is about her Quirk!”
Aizawa stares with the slightest hint of a frown as the kid grins a little, relaxing. That… was not a normal reaction to have to an adult asking if a child was alright. Just who, exactly, has been in charge of this child so far? Regardless of what happens after tonight, he’ll be looking into that as best he can.
“No worries! I should be able to help you too, still!” he tells Eri, turning to her in an instant. A moment later, he flinches a little, rubbing the back of his neck with a now awkward tilt to his grin as he huffs a slight laugh, sounding sheepish. “Well, I can, just maybe not right now? I’ve already helped with a Quirk once tonight, and then tried out that new thing just now, so I’m pretty drained. Once I’ve taken a nap though, I should be good to help! Er, that is, if you still want me to?”
Eri looks to them all first, followed a moment later by the kid when he realizes what she’s doing. Aizawa watches them both closely. Eri’s energy had already been dragging for a while before the kid entered the room, and the kid himself had admitted that doing whatever he was doing twice tonight already had worn him out. Based on those two facts alone, it probably wasn’t the best idea to encourage this.
“Tomorrow, we can discuss the whole process more,” he finally says, arms crossed as he sinks into his capture scarf he sees the way both children deflate a little at the news. Problem children, all of them. “For now, it’s late and everyone needs some sleep.”
“Right.” The kid stands and starts to shuffle his way over to the window slowly, as if that will keep them all from noticing him leaving. “I guess I’ll come back tomorrow then?”
“What are you doing?” Hizashi asks, sounding confused as the kid slides the window open. He turns back to them and blinks in confusion. His eyes dart between them all again, trying to read the room.
“...Leaving?” he says, voice cautious. He is clearly trying to figure out whether he had misstepped somewhere, and if so, where. Aizawa grunts a quiet disagreement at that, eyes scanning his worn clothing and thin frame - evident even through the bagginess of his oversized hoodie.
“You have somewhere to stay, kid?” he asks, and the kid’s demeanor instantly changes despite his posture staying the same. His eyes flick to Mirio and Hizashi again too, no doubt noticing that Aizawa wasn’t the only one wondering, even if he was the only one to say something about it out loud.
“Obviously.” The kid’s voice is carefully casual - his true emotions handled and disguised well before they might have made themselves visible in his frame or noticeable in his words. It’s an impressive demonstration of self-control that Aizawa wishes he could show to his Hell Class. Still, Aizawa has been in this business long enough to tell that the kid is going to get defensive with him if he keeps pressing, so he glances to his husband for backup.
“It’s late, kid,” his husband says, taking a step forward, expression warm and careful smile somehow still open. “You can stay here if you want, in one of the other beds, or we can call someone to take you home instead. It wouldn’t feel right to let a kid wander the streets at this hour.”
The kid’s weight shifts away from them both, and Aizawa is the one now needing to control his body language. They can’t force him to stay - any attempt to will lose what little trust they’ve already started to build. But seeing him shift back towards the window, where he could disappear into the night is starting to spike his blood pressure.
“Look, I appreciate the thought, but I’ve been doing this for years,” the kid says decisively, green eyes watching them all carefully, not even hiding that he’s waiting for them to try and stop him physically. “I know how to get home without being noticed - and on the off chance I am, I know how to get away. I’ll be fine.”
“Kid,” Aizawa says equally as firm, sending him a pointed look over the top of his capture scarf. He’s hoping the kid can read the way it’s a terrible idea through that look alone. That just because he can be fine heading out at this time of night doesn’t mean he should. That he’s being offered a room with three heroes watching over it for the night, and that they’re safe.
The kid wavers for a long moment, head tilted and eyes drifting around the room once more as if lost in his own world, despite being very aware of his current circumstances. Eventually, he sighs.
“Fine, you win,” he says, making no effort to hide his unhappiness with the decision. “I’ll stay here tonight, try to do something about her Quirk in the morning, then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Alright!” Mirio interjects, before Aizawa or Hizashi can even attempt to respond to that. He’s the one closest in age to the kid though, so both of the older heroes reluctantly yield to the force of his personality, hoping it helps convince the kid further where they perhaps can’t as adults. “You can go ahead and take the other bed - we’re all going to be dozing in shifts until morning, so we won’t need it.”
Aizawa watches the kid consider that for a moment before seemingly agreeing. Though, as he made his way to the bed, it was clear he was keeping them all in eyesight. Good instincts, Aizawa had to admit, but ones that usually didn’t show up in his students until their third year, or late into their second.
The kid curls around his backpack and doesn’t even get under the covers. It speaks to a history of needing to defend himself and his things - of needing to wake up quickly and move. Exchanging a glance with Hizashi tells Aizawa that his husband has picked up on that too. It’s getting more and more likely that the kid is actually homeless, as those are common signs they see in the small population.
Eventually, the kid closes his eyes, angling his neck in a way that looks a little odd but is not visibly uncomfortable. His breathing slowed quickly, but all three heroes in the room knew that he was likely not asleep yet, and waited a while longer before saying anything else.
“Mirio, go ahead and rest too,” Hizashi says eventually, keeping his voice low and watching to see if the kid reacts at all to the sound of his voice. When the kid doesn’t even twitch, Aizawa feels himself relax a little. “We’ll keep an eye on Eri and the kid.”
At the lack of a name, Aizawa abruptly realizes they forgot to even ask the kid his name before inviting him to sleep in the room. It’s a wonder he even agreed to stay at all - not only are they strangers, but they’re strangers who don’t even know a single thing about him.
“We forgot to get the kid’s name,” he grumbles, in explanation to the curious looks the other two send him. He watches dismayed realization dawn in their own expressions as they all turn to look at the kid too. “He fixed Mirio’s Quirk, was clearly nervous around us, and we didn’t even thank him or ask his name.”
“We can ask in the morning,” Mirio says simply, determination lighting in his eyes as he looks at the nameless kid. “I’m more concerned about the fact that he didn’t text anyone to say he’d be out all night. Either that means nobody will notice for whatever reason, or that his guardians know he’s out all night and don’t care. I don’t like the implications of either of those explanations.”
“In the morning.” Hizashi puts his foot down, leaning forward and looking reassuringly at Mirio. His eyes flick to Eri, who has by now nodded off while watching the kid across the way. “All of this can be dealt with in the morning. For now, sleep.”
Mirio keeps his gaze upon them for a long moment, before sighing quietly and giving in. He leans back and closes his eyes, arms crossed across his chest, and settling in for a night of broken sleep. Aizawa watches all three of the children in the room for a long while, eyes flicking between them all every few seconds.
At some point, he sees the nameless kid begin to tense, before quietly sighing and sinking deeper into sleep. His rest is clearly shallow, but it’s better than nothing, and not something liable to be changed in a single night among strangers, even if those strangers are heroes.
You’re getting soft, Eraserhead, his husband teases, hands moving through the signs easily. Should I be looking for a new face in Class 1-A soon?
He’s using his Quirk illegally, Aizawa responds, ignoring the question. He should have run from us when he noticed us. I’m more concerned with what kept him here.
The little listener doesn’t like eye contact much either, huh? Hizashi muses, glancing over at him again. Nervous or a behavioral trait?
Neither, but closer to nerves, Aizawa says, frowning a little at the lack of his own understanding of it. Too consistent to be nerves alone, not avoidant enough to be a natural trait. Learned, pointed. There’s something to it that we don’t know yet.
Quirk-related?
Uncertain. We’ll keep an eye on it with everything else, he promises. Glancing over at the tired visage of his husband, Aizawa continues. Sleep, I’ll take first watch.
If you’re sure. Wake me up in two, his husband agrees after studying him carefully for a moment. Then, he follows Mirio’s example and closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair.
Like this, his husband’s energy is muted enough that even with his uniform on, it would be hard for someone to attach him to the lively hero persona he used while awake in the daytime. He still looks the part, of course, but there’s more to being a hero than a uniform alone.
Aizawa himself settles in as well, sinking into the alert but almost meditative state every underground hero learns early on - the kind used for stakeouts. He waits for the hours to pass, keeping watch over his husband and the, unexpected, three children in their care.