Chapter Text
Aizawa hated cases like this. He was called in for a case of domestic violence. There was loud screaming and the rattle of objects being thrown at walls in the middle of the night, until finally a neighbor called the police, which in return contacted Eraserhead.
It only took him a few minutes to make his way over to the place, jump in through an open window and bind the screaming couple with his capture weapon. Seconds later the police sirens got louder in the distance.
Both, the man and the woman who were fighting, were injured. The woman had a red handprint on her cheek that surely would give a nasty bruise later and the man had a long scratch across his forehead, probably from her long, sharp fingernails. And, really, how could you do anything with nails like that? They were long as claws! However, there were no serious injuries, so Shota decided to not call for an ambulance. They could be patched up at the police station and go see a doctor by themselves afterwards.
Finally, the police arrived and took them into custody. Eraserhead just handed the still struggling and screaming pair over to the officers and turned to leave when a sudden pang stopped him in his tracks.
“What was that?”, he asked out loud.
The husband and wife shared a look, suddenly very much on the same wavelength again, and said in unison: “Nothing.”
The pro hero rolled his eyes when he heard another pang, followed by two more. That was not a coincidence, something or somebody was clearly causing these noises. Shouta followed the pangs to an old closet in the next room – a bedroom apparently – with a suspiciously big lock on it. He heard another pang and shuffling and muffled noises.
Something was in there.
Or someone.
Eraserhead knocked gently on the door. “Here is pro hero Eraserhead. Whoever is in there, I’m going to open the door.”
The noises died down and he picked the lock as quickly as he could. When he opened the door, his heart clenched painfully. In there sat a boy, hands and feet bound with tape. He must have kicked against the sidewall to gain attention when he heard the ruckus die down outside. He was maybe twelve or thirteen years old and stared up at Shouta with wide, fearful purple eyes, the color matching his gravity defying hair. And on his face there was a muzzle.
A fucking muzzle.
Shit.
Immediately his thoughts raced back to the horror stories Hizashi had told him when he woke up from a nightmare, covered in cold sweat and heaving for breath. Stories about how his parents muzzled him at home out of fear from his quirk. How he could still feel it around his face sometimes, making it hard to even breath.
In a heartbeat, Shouta crouched down and opened the muzzle carefully. Then he cut the tape with his knife while murmuring soothing words, just like he did while trying to coax a stray cat out from under a dumpster. The boy just kept staring at him and trembling with his whole body. When the black-haired was finished, he kept his crouched posture and asked as softly as he could:
“Hello. I’m a pro hero, Eraserhead.” He showed the boy his license. “Are you injured?”
The boy shook his head after a second of hesitation. He still stared at Shouta with large eyes, but there was less fear and a hint of awe instead.
“All right, I’ll still have you checked over in the hospital. Can you tell me your name?”
The boy just stared at him. Shouta sighed.
“It’s alright if you can’t talk at the moment. I know sign language if this helps you. But if you keep silent because of your quirk or because they didn’t allow you to speak, I just want you to know that there’s no need to be afraid. You can talk if you want.”
The boy kept on staring.
“I promise, even if your quirk has something to do with your voice and you activate it by accident, I won’t be mad. And with my quirk, Erasure, I can just cancel it if it’s dangerous. You don’t have to worry.”
The boy stared a little longer, then he whispered in such a low voice that Shouta had to strain his ears to hear it: “Hitoshi Shinsou.”
“Thank you, Shinsou. Would you be up to answer a few questions?”
The purple-haired boy nodded slowly and cast his look downwards.
“How old are you?”
Twelve, the boy signed with shaky hands.
“Why did they muzzle you?” This question was not strictly necessary, but Shouta needed to know.
Quirk, the boy answered.
“Voice quirk?”
Shinsou glanced at the man before him, scrutinized him, before he slowly lifted his hands to answer:
Brainwashing. Response based activation.
“I see”, Shouta answered, pressing down on his anger that was swelling in his chest and seeping into every bone. “Just so you know: I’m not scared of you and I don’t think your quirk is villainous, what I suppose people told you. It’s absolutely not. Now, are these two your parents?”
Shinsou, still looking shocked at the revelation that there was a human being that didn’t think he was a villain in the making just because of his quirk, shook his head no. Shouta had expected this, they didn’t look anything like the boy.
“Foster parents?”
He got a nod on that.
“Okay. I promise you, you don’t have to return to them ever again. I’ll make sure that you get to live in a safe home.”
At the skeptical look the boy gave him, the pro hero continued: “I can guess that you saw a lot of shit in the system and you probably were in a few bad homes before. But I won’t let that happen again. I know a place where you’ll be safe.”
Shinsou couldn’t help the tiny little spark of hope flickering in his chest. It sounded too good to be true, but this was a pro hero – and not even any hero, but the Eraserhead, the best underground hero out there and his absolute idol – and he wanted to trust him. So he just nodded and when the hero took his hand to help him up, he didn’t let his hand go again.
A few hours later the sun rose just as the boy and the hero left the police station. Shinsou had given his statement (in sign while Eraserhead translated for him) and was checked over by a doctor. He didn’t have any physical injuries except for a few scrapes and bruises, so there was no need to go to the hospital. Then they had called his social worker and when the woman stormed into the station and marched right up to the purple boy to lecture him because really, Hitoshi, another home?, Eraserhead was quick to step in. She visibly wilted under his steady glare and his harsh words and when the hero told her that he already had a better placement for the boy, she didn’t object.
And if her boss got a written complaint about her behavior the next day, well, who could blame Aizawa for that? It was the logical thing to do. And the right one.
The boy and the hero took the train and walked for a few minutes until they reached an apartment building. The took the elevator to the third floor and Shouta knocked on the fifth door.
A short, green-haired woman opened just seconds later. A woman that looked familiar.
“Shouta! It’s so nice to see you! I was hoping Zashi and you would have time in the near future to come over for dinner. And you must be Hitoshi Shinsou, right? Please, come in!”
In an instant, they were ushered inside and onto a comfortable couch in a homely-looking living room.
“Inko”, the tired hero greeted back in a deadpan voice, while he accepted a mug of strong, black coffee. The woman – Inko – handed a cup of tea to the boy and sat down with another cup for herself.
“Alright”, she started, “I assume that Eraser over here”, she sent him a mock-glare, “didn’t tell you much about me. He’s just too grumpy to speak much. But”, she smiled back at Hitoshi, “we already met before, so it’s not a big deal. However, I’m not sure if you remember me, you were never one of my emergency cases after all…” She looked like she was lost in thought for a second and her smile dimmed, just to brighten once again. “Nevermind, I’ll just introduce myself again. I’m Inko Midoriya and I’ll be your new foster mother. And before you start to wonder: I already know about your quirk and it’s totally fine with me. You can talk all you want. This is your home now and I want you to feel comfortable. And, as you know, I work at the Byodo Daycare Center, so you really can believe me when I tell you that.”
Shinsou felt a little overwhelmed at that enthusiasm, but when he heard about her place of work, he remembered why she seemed so familiar. He had been at the center only a few times in the past, his former foster parents never liked when he didn’t came home right after school. But two or three times when he was there he had indeed seen the green-haired woman. From what he could tell, she was always smiling and very kind to the children there, at least that was what the others had told him. As far as he knew, she was actually some kind of manager, but she insisted on spending some time with the children and help them with homework or whatever. He himself never had much contact to here besides a polite greeting.
Her working for the center was at least a good sign for him, and when he met her steady, emerald-green gaze, he couldn’t doubt her sincerity in what she said before. He blushed and that tiny spark of hope got a little bigger. Still, there was a chance that she just acted all kind in front of the hero and would completely change her behavior the second he left. Even though she was working with kids like him, that didn’t mean anything. His social worker was also meant to be nice to every child in her care, but her demeanor changed rapidly whenever no other people were around. Inko could be the same. She could be working in the center just to look like a good person but be completely different behind closed doors. Hitoshi wouldn’t fall for that. He would be cautious.
In an attempt to hide the mistrust probably showing in his eyes, he turned his head away and his sight fell on a picture in a shelf. He recognized Inko and in her arms was a green-haired boy with a bright, happy grin. He looked so similar to her that he must be her son. But where was he know? It was a weekend, so shouldn’t he be home? Didn’t he want a foster kid in his home? Would he mind Hitoshi talking? Would he be angry and mean and…
Before he could fall into a panic attack, Hitoshi turned to Eraserhead, the only adult he felt like he could trust in a long time, and signed: Where’s her son?
Aizawa’s face fell a little and he looked at the picture with something akin to sadness in his eyes. Inko, who had seen him sign, answered: “That’s Izuku. He died about a year and a half ago.”
Hitoshi’s eyes widened and his heart clenched when he saw the tears glistening in the kind woman’s eyes. That’s absolutely not what he expected.
“He was quirkless”, she stated, “and one day his bullies went to far… You may even have heard about the trials against his principal and teachers. Present Mic used it as an opportunity to do an anti-discrimination week on his radio show.”
Yeah, Hitoshi remembered that. He had listened to as much of the talks as he could on his phone and later on, he had searched for everything he missed in the media library of Put Your Hands Up Radio. Especially the part on so-called villainous quirks and All Might’s speech for the quirkless impressed him a lot. He didn’t particularly like All Might – he was just too flashy – but he really found a new respect for the man when he heard him talk about how the quirkless should be treated better and how the quirk didn’t make the hero.
“Izu wanted to be a hero, more than anything.” Inko’s eyes were glazed over and her look far away, a sad little smile playing on her lips. “He wanted to help other people so they wouldn’t have to suffer the way he had to. He was the most kindhearted child you can imagine.”
“I want to be a hero, too”, Shinsou whispered without meaning to, clasping his hand over his mouth the moment the words had left his lips. He didn’t know where that came from. Well, no, that wasn’t true, he did know. Usually, it would take a lot longer for him to feel comfortable enough to speak, but he just felt that he could trust Inko. First she worked in the Byodo Center and now she had a quirkless son… it became less and less likely that she was a quirkist. And Eraserhead trusted her, too, so that had to count for something.
Inko turned her head back to him curiously. “You do?”
The boy nodded, still not daring to speak again.
His new foster mother smiled and a determined glint sparked up in her deep green eyes. “Well, then we’ll make sure that happens. Eraser, how much time do you have between your patrols, school and your gorgeous husband?”, she asked half-serious, half-teasing.
Shouta blushed a little at the mention of Hizashi and the curious look Hitoshi sent him but answered: “Enough to give this kid the chance he deserves.”
“Well then, Hitoshi, it looks like you got a pro hero to train you, if you want.”
Once again, the purple-haired boy felt overwhelmed, but in a good way. He couldn’t believe it. Eraserhead, of all people, was going to train him. He wouldn’t say something like that without going through with it, would he? No, not Eraserhead. He was too much of a non-nonsense type for that. And Inko… Would she really want to help him? Even with his quirk? Nobody ever had… They never…
“Hitoshi”, Inko called his name and he looked over to her, saw the determination in her eyes and her whole posture, “I couldn’t protect my own son from the cruelties of the world. The only thing I could do for him is give him justice after he died. But I will never let this happen again. I will not allow anybody to put you through the same hell as Izuku. I will support you every step of the way to becoming a hero. I will make sure that you can live your dream. Because you can be a hero!”
And for the first time since forever, Shinsou let his tears fall freely, as an unknown weight lifted from his heart. He longed to hear these words for so many years and finally… finally someone believed in him.
Yes, he swore to himself and glanced at the picture of that happy boy that no longer lived because society was cruel and unjust. Because it favored the strong and reduced the others to nothing. Because he had had no hero to save him.
But Hitoshi did.
And one day there might be another kid with a bright smile struggling against hatred and discrimination and then Hitoshi would be there for them.
I’m going to be a hero.