Chapter Text
The ground is slick with rainwater in the night, moonlight wavering weakly in pockets that dot the alleyway. Stumbling through the cool darkness, the Villain curses quietly through the puddles, each step crushing each reflection of the moon into millions of shards of light.
He follows the Villain easily, molding his body to the shadows as has become second nature to him through a lifetime (lifetimes) of practice. Despite the water on the ground, his movements are completely silent, and as he catches up with the Villain he tucks himself deeper into the blackness, standing utterly still, muscles tensed and ready to move at just the right moment.
He’s capable of remaining like this for hours (has done it a million times on stakeouts, ambushes, assassinations, as part of a military that never was, that exists only in his memories of an age long gone) but the Villain reaches into a dark corner and triumphantly slings a bag of stolen government equipment over his shoulder—and that’s all the evidence he needs to strike.
Aizawa Shouta makes no sound as he collides with the Villain, eyes blazing as he activates his Quirk (not chakra or jutsu, he reminds himself, a Quirk). The Villain doesn’t stand a chance, honestly. Shouta’s fist catches him square in the solar plexus, knocking the breath from the man as his capture tool winds around his legs, before he jabs two fingers into the Villain’s neck, who slumps before he can even cry out in alarm.
As Shouta bends down to retrieve the bag the Villain dropped, he catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the rainwater—his eyes glow red from his Quirk, and for a moment he thinks he sees three tomoe swirling lazily in his left eye, a scar across his eyelid and cheek, before he blinks and his eyes are dark again.
Picking up the bag, with the Villain wrapped securely in his capture tool, he tucks his face deeper into the cloth winding around his neck, and he sets off in the direction of the nearest police station.
He doesn’t look back.
———
When Hatake Kakashi closed his eyes for what he thought was the last time, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. See his father and his sensei, maybe, or maybe his long-lost teammates and everyone else he’d ever lost. He wasn’t expecting to open them again to a blurry world of overwhelming sound and colors, held by enormous beings while he uncontrollably wailed his lungs out.
Rebirth, he deduced, ever the genius, as he was placed against a warm chest and was lulled to sleep by the unintelligible babble around him.
———
His new name was Aizawa Shouta. He was a startlingly quiet child, constantly observing the world around him. His new parents were initially worried by his odd behavior, but after trips to a child psychologist and plenty of assurances that Shouta was actually developing faster than average (as usual), they learn to quell their worries.
(He... appreciates them. Even though they both worked, trying to support their modest little family, they were both there for him ((he sometimes caught himself marveling at the kind of world he lived in now, that even with his luck he could finally grow up with a family)).)
———
Shouta’s three and sitting at the dinner table, his mother humming and cooking, when he first activates his Quirk.
“Are you excited for dinner, Shou-chan?” His mother asks, stirring something that smells delicious.
“Mmm.”
“I made your favorite!” She continues, unbothered by his monotone response. “Eggplant and miso soup!”
“Mmm.”
His mother turns to smile at him, just as his father rounds the corner to the kitchen. The aroma of sizzling eggplant fills the air, and Shouta is filled with a sudden feeling of...something, a foreign lightness in his heart he wants to cherish (alongside memories of loud-mouthed blonds and perpetually-happy team senseis and ridiculous competitions against a blur of green and—)
On instinct, he reaches somewhere inside himself, summoning energy to his left eye to record this moment forever even though it had been three years since he’d last felt that energy in his body, except—
There’s a familiar tingling in his eyes. His parents both gasp.
“Shou-chan! Your eyes!” His mother scrambles to his side, gently cupping his cheeks and examining him intently. Shouta blinks in confusion, and the tingling is gone.
His eyes.
He can’t decide whether or not Fate has a sense of humor.
———
It takes much longer to discover what Shouta’s Quirk actually does, through a series of accidents involving his mother’s minor levitation Quirk, porcelain plates, and Shouta watching her cook while trying to activate his Quirk again. They eat using only paper plates for a period of time.
(He’s still adjusting to the fact that this time, this power is entirely his own—not gifted to him through tragedy.)
———
Shouta learns to read (it’s much easier when you’ve learned it once before), and then he discovers the Heroes.
They’re everywhere—the news, billboards, toys in fast food kids’ meals, and so on. The other children at Shouta’s preschool always play Heroes and Villains, and even though he never joins in, Shouta can see how deeply ingrained Pro-Heroes are in this world’s culture. All the children want to be Heroes when they grow up.
It’s almost like Konoha all over again—where shinobi were the most prominent members of the village and the children fought over who got to be the Shinobi and who had to be the Theives—except there’s much less of a military presence in this world. Pro-Heroes aren’t soldiers. They’re defenders of the common people. They get to decide their own battles. They get to become heroes of their own choosing.
———
Hatake Kakashi has always wanted to do what was right, so Aizawa Shouta resolves to be a Hero.