Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“-Sensei.”

Something was wrong. 

“Wake up!”

A rumbling sound rattled inside his head, deafening the world around him. He squeezed his eyes tighter, pinching at the blooming ache between his brows, trying to drown out the noise. 

But there was another sound. Something helpless. Something desperate. Something calling his name. 

“Sensei, please! I need you. P-please.”

He leaned towards the sound. Instincts taking over. A paternal bond telling him to go to the voice. That the voice needed him. That he needed to protect it. 

“Please wake up.”

He focused on it. Listened to the way it demanded he listen. Listened to the way it almost sang to him, the words curling inside his brain, coaxing him, luring him.

“Aizawa!”

He reached for it. Reached for the pull behind his eyes as they rolled underneath his eyelids. 

“Sensei?” The voice grew closer, hovering over him.

Pain dragged him into consciousness, and a purple blur sat above him. 

“H-toshi?” His voice was nothing more than a croak. 

Focus came slowly. Shinsou was next to him, leaning over, his face set in worry. There was blood smeared across his face. One of his bloodshot eyes was swollen, a slither of a pupil staring down at him. His nose was crooked, swelling in size, pushing into a pair of black bruises. He was pale underneath all the grime and blood, paler than he usually was, shivering, his uniform torn off one shoulder and shredded into strips. 

Guilt sat heavy in Aizawa’s stomach as he catalogued Shinsou’s injuries. Injuries he didn’t remember the kid getting. 

“…you okay?” Aizawa mumbled, his voice breaking midway. 

A shuddering sound escaped Shinsou as his eyes filled, building on his eyelashes, pooling until they fell, smudging the drying blood on his cheeks. He shook his head, his lips wobbling as he smothered a wounded sound. 

“Hitoshi.” Aizawa tried to reach for him, only to find his movement limited by cuffs around his wrists. 

Shinsou flinched at the rattle of metal, hunching over himself. 

Aizawa looked around and found himself in the dark, a flickering pass of light coming from a small window, vanishing and illuminating the room every second. If he focused, he could hear the roar of an engine. 

They were moving.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out where they were. 

“Hitoshi.”

Shinsou only cried harder, biting down on his lip to trap the sound. 

“Kid, look at me,” Aizawa said, his voice soft, barely a whisper. And yet, Shinsou heard and shook his head, a tapering whine breaking on his next breath. “Please, Hitoshi.”

Obediently, two wet eyes glanced down through damp bangs. 

“It’s not your fault.”

A vulnerable look wrinkled over the kid’s face, pushing more tears down his cheeks. 

“It’s okay,” Aizawa said. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Shinsou wheezed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Aizawa heaved himself into a sitting position, leaning against the van’s walls. His leg throbbed, the pain pulsating through his bones. 

Shinsou curled on himself, drawing his knees into his chest, and hiding his face into his shoulder. He shook with each cry. 

“Hitoshi-.”

“I fucked up!” Shinsou spat out. He heaved through his next breath, his eyes wide and lost. “I-. I didn’t-, and now-. Now-.” He gasped, struggling through his words.

The last thing they needed was Shinsou breaking down. 

“Breathe, nice and easy,” Aizawa said, watching as Shinsou’s mouth widened, dropping down as he swallowed pitiful breaths. He noticed how the kid winced at every inhale, his ribs twitching as they expanded - they were probably bruised, or at worse, broken. “I don’t blame you.”

Shinsou flinched again, and mumbled, “You should.”

“I don’t.”

Shinsou turned to him, his lips curled into a wobbly snarl. There was so much hurt in his eyes. 

“I couldn’t save you!” Shinsou snapped.

“What happened?” Aizawa asked, his voice calm, slow, like he was speaking to a victim. In truth, looking at the kid, he was. 

Shinsou took a shaky breath before sagging, deflating, all the fight leaving him just as quickly as it came. 

“There was a police officer. Like a fucking idiot, I trusted him,” Shinsou spat out, “I thought he was there to help.” The tears welled again.  

Aizawa shifted forward until their knees bumped together.

“I trusted him,” Shinsou whispered, his voice small.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, Sensei. I got us captured.” Shinsou moved away. “We were so close, but I was just so tired. I didn’t think. I just went with him.”

“Hit-.”

“Don’t,” Shinsou snapped. “They’re going to sell you. And I’ll never see you again. And-.” A sob punctured out of his lungs until Shinsou curled around himself, breaking once again. “I’m so sorry.”

Aizawa followed the kid, moving into his space, ducking his head to meet Shinsou’s eyes. 

“Do you remember what I told you before?” He asked. “When you returned to the blind?”

Shinsou stared then. His eyes searching. 

“No.”

Aizawa softened his expression, tilting until his shoulder was leaning against Shinsou’s, his head near his. 

“You’re here, alive. And that’s all that matters.”

“For how long?” Shinsou pushed his head against Aizawa’s, sniffling, trembling in the closest thing they could manage to a hug with both their arms cuffed behind their backs. “They’re going to sell us, Sensei.”

“They are,” Aizawa said, the fact clear. There was no point sugarcoating it. They would separate them, shoving them into different factors, ready to be sold to the highest bidders. They had maybe hours together. “It’s unlikely that help will come in time.”

Shinsou shook against him. 

“I need you to listen carefully.”

Shinsou nodded, hanging onto his words. 

“We only have one opportunity to escape. Once the van stops, they’ll separate us. That is our opportunity. That’s your best chance of escaping.”

“Our.” 

“Our chances of rescue increase if one of us escapes,” Aizawa pushed his forehead against Shinsou’s temple. “Don’t argue with me on this. If you get the chance, you take it. Do you understand?”

“That worked so well before,” Shinsou sneered. 

“ Hitoshi. ”

“Sensei-.”

“Do you understand?”

Shinsou hesitated before nodding.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“What if we can’t escape?” Shinsou asked. 

Aizawa leaned back. 

“It’s unlikely that we will.” He watched Shinsou’s adam’s apple bob. “It’s most likely that they’ll separate us and take us into two different locations - making it harder to be rescued or organise another escape.”

A full-body shudder encompassed Shinsou. 

“Do you know what will happen to us?” He asked, his expression open and lost, his words shaky. 

Sometimes it was hard to remember how young his students were. There was a balance that sometimes tilted in different directions. When one of his students were injured, blood covering their features, their faces screwed up in pain, it was easy to see how young they were, how big their features were, how they sounded when they asked for their parents. But when adrenaline was high, when villains fought to kill, it was hard to separate student from hero. It was hard to imagine the same student who could hold a crumbling building with one hand was the same one who struggled with their math homework. 

Looking at Shinsou now, adorned in his ruined hero outfit, injured and covered in blood, it was easy to see how old sixteen was. Easy to see how much he was looking for help. Looking at his hero with hope that wouldn’t come. 

It made explaining what came next even harder. Made him hesitate for just a second. But lying wouldn’t help the situation. 

“Not exactly, each group can act differently according to how they operate,” Aizawa explained. “Who and why they’re selling can change the entire operation.”

“They’re selling us for our quirks, right?”

“Yes, but we’ll attract different buyers.” Aizawa felt his stomach drop. “You being younger will appeal to villains looking to mould you into a weapon. They will torture you until you submit to them. They will try anything to break you.”

“I won’t break.” Shinsou’s expression darkened into something more determined. 

“It’s okay if you do. You do whatever you need to do to survive.” 

“I won’t. I haven’t before,” Shinsou admitted.

The conversation froze on a tense silence. Shinsou continued to stare with that challenging look in his eyes.

“What do you mean, Hitoshi?” Aizawa asked.

“I won’t become a villain,” Shinsou snarled instead.

“Saving yourself isn’t you becoming a villain.” Aizawa wanted to take the kid in his arms. “No one will judge you for the actions you take.”

Shinsou only glared harder.

“Your morals are the last thing you need to save. Because they will hurt you. They will do whatever it takes to make you submit. They do not care that you are a child. To them, you are a tool, and tools that won’t work will be discarded.”

Shinsou’s stance wavered. His shoulder loosening under the stiff way he had held them. 

It almost made Aizawa pause. His next set of words so barbaric that it’d haunt him forever. 

“There’s another reason people want someone your age.” Aizawa felt his stomach turn. Even with all the blood covering his face, there was no hiding how young Shinsou looked - There was still baby fat on his soft cheeks. “Someone could buy you for more than your quirk.”

“Like my brain?” Shinsou asked. “Like body parts?”

Cowardice felt heavy, and yet Aizawa knew he couldn’t hide behind it.

“For sex.”

Silence followed. Thick. Hard to breathe around. 

“I’ve never had sex before,” Shinsou blurted out, his eyes wide as he spoke. “I- don’t know-.” A blush contended with the harsh ghost white of his skin, the colour draining. “I’m barely sixteen. Sensei, I’ve never even kissed someone.” Shinsou’s voice strangled on itself as words fell from him.

“I know.” Aizawa reached for the space Shinsou had put between them and slotted himself there. Shinsou watched with quick breaths, his resolve crumbling into pieces. “I’m sorry.”

Shinsou shook his head.

“They might not, right? My quirk is powerful. They’ll want that instead.”

Aizawa couldn’t give him an answer. Not one he wanted to hear. 

Shinsou trembled and squeezed his eyes closed. 

“If it happens, I need you to stay calm,” Aizawa said.

Shinsou’s head snapped up and he began to shake it again. 

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“Don’t give them a reason to kill you. The more trouble you are, the more likely they will do something about it. Hopefully, your quirk will keep your value high and they’ll hesitate to kill you, but don’t test them. Wait, stay calm and collected, and rescue will come for you. I will come for you.”

“I don’t think I can just let it happen,” Shinsou said, his voice trembling and small. 

“You’re not.” Aizawa shifted until all Shinsou could look at was him. “You’re staying alive until help comes for you. I want you to live a long happy life, Hitoshi. I want to see the sort of hero you’ll become. So live for me. ”

Shinsou’s bottom lip wobbled as his eyes filled. 

“Okay.”

The van continued to rumble into the night. Aizawa braced himself against its wall, fighting against every jolt and every vibration that sent a flare of pain straight into the bone of his leg. 

Shinsou slept hard against him, exhaustion finally catching up with the kid. But still, he shook in his sleep, curling closer to Aizawa, his eyes flickering underneath his eyelids. There was little need to wonder what he was dreaming about.

Aizawa wanted to draw the kid in close. Keep him warm. Keep him safe. Something he was clearly failing at. 

It’d be a miracle if they happened to escape. A miracle if their rescue came on time. But Aizawa didn’t believe in leaving things to fate or chance. It was cruel to give false hope. Better to be blunt, even if they were truths no one wanted to hear. 

Though, even believing in logic and straightforwardness, it hurt to think about what lay ahead. Hurt to think what Shinsou was about to be put through. Hurt to think how unlikely Shinsou’s chances of being rescued were once they were split up. 

Statistics weren’t on their side. He didn’t even know how many hours had passed since they’d been taken. He knew it had at least been a few days since they were run off the road, and help was looking for them. Yamada was looking for them. But their time was getting shorter and shorter. 

They probably only had minutes left together. They’d been driving for hours.

Aizawa kept his eyes locked on the van doors. Waiting for the rumble of the engine to slow before stopping. It made his stomach flutter, nerves and adrenaline pumping hard inside of him. 

Sensing their impending separation, Shinsou woke quietly, with a soft breath that sounded aware. He shifted, wincing at his wounds before he tilted his head up towards Aizawa. He watched, for what Aizawa didn’t know even when he met the kid’s eye, before Shinsou turned away, his attention on the doors. 

“I’m scared,” Shinsou admitted, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Me too,” Aizawa said. 

Shinsou nodded before glancing at Aizawa from the corner of his eye.

“Have you been kidnapped before?” 

“Plenty.” Aizawa didn’t have enough fingers to count how many times he’d been abducted, or held hostage by villains. In the last six months, he’d brushed death after being taken by Chronostasis. If it hadn’t been for Suneater, he’d be dead, or worse, taken as some sort of labrat. 

“And you’ve made it out everytime, so there’s a chance for us, right?” Shinsou asked in a miserable way no child should ask. “We’re going to make it out of here, right Eraserhead?”

The battle between logic and empathy was a hard one. 

Because could he really look Shinsou in the eye and tell him that his chances of coming out of this alive were slim? That if the villains took him overseas, it would be nearly impossible to find him again? That even if they somehow found him, there was a possibility that he would never be the same again? That his dream of being a hero was almost lost? 

His earlier notions felt cruel. Maybe some truths were too painful. 

He stared at Shinsou, and stared into that hopeful look on his face. 

“I will never stop looking for you.”

Shinsou’s bottom lip trembled as his eyes welled again. An awful clarity fell over his features. 

“I’m sorry, Hitoshi.” Aizawa wanted to reach forward and take the kid into his arms. His eyes pricked as he watched Shinsou collect himself. 

“You promise?”

Aizawa blinked, before he understood. 

“I promise.”

Shinsou nodded as he cleaned his face into his shoulder. They were silent for a while, letting the situation sit heavy on them, only interrupted by Shinsou’s hiccups and sniffles.

“I must look so stupid crying,” Shinsou whined, his voice getting stuck in his throat. 

“You don’t.” Aizawa felt his own tears swell and drop when Shinsou turned with wide eyes. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you cry before,” he said, a smile wobbly on his face. 

“I’m human,” Aizawa corrected. 

“I guess so,” Shinsou said, laughing weakly. 

It stopped when they felt the van slow. 

“Sensei.” Shinsou’s head snapped towards the doors as the vehicle crawled to a stop. Silence followed, thick and eerie as the engine died. 

They waited, holding their breaths. 

“This is our best chance,” Aizawa said, getting to his feet.

“Okay.”

“Fight as hard as you can.”

Shinsou nodded, trembling as he stood up.

“If you need to leave me, you leave me.”

Shinsou said nothing.

And then the doors to the van clicked open.

Shinsou shot forward. Aizawa followed, bursting into the night, spotlighted by a single yellow streetlight in the middle of a dock. 

The villains froze. A moment of panic. They stared, stupefied, stuck to the spot as their wide eyes watched Shinsou tackle one of their own to the ground, delivering a punch to the face.

The villain’s cry broke the spell, and chaos ensued.  

They charged, quirks reacting. A bolt of lightning zipped over Aizawa’s head, his hair frizzing as if he had used his own quirk. Another zap burnt against his side, needle-like pain fusing his uniform to his skin. He leapt backwards, turning, his eyes burning as he scanned through the crowd, looking for the source of the lightning. 

There were eight villains. One was stuck pushing themselves onto their knees, only to be shoved down by a well-delivered kick by Shinsou. Another was bursting from their clothes, growing an extra foot in size and an extra pair of arms. They towered over Shinsou, reaching and grabbing at air, Shinsou being too quick to catch. 

A third grabbed the back of Aizawa’s shirt, tearing it with their claws, dragging him back. He followed their weight before twisting, throwing his head against theirs, their foreheads smacking with a sickening thunk. The villain toppled, collapsing to the floor. 

Aizawa took a step back, giving himself space to catalogue every scar, every tattoo, every mutated feature, anything that would bring him one step closer to finding Shinsou when they were separated. If they didn’t escape. 

Eight outnumbered them. And while he may have fought more at the USJ, he wasn’t injured then. There was another hero with him. The villains hadn’t been organised. There were so many factors in his favour, so many reasons he had managed to survive that day.

There was so much stacked against them here.

Aizawa closed the space between him and Shinsou. He grabbed the kid by his bicep and pulled until he stood behind him. 

“Run,” Aizawa ordered as his quirk flared to life. His hair billowed around his face, and his eyes glowed golden, stopping the villains in their tracks, a moment of confusion and appropriate fear. 

It was the second they needed.

“MindJack! Go!” Aizawa shouted over his shoulder, keeping his sight set on the villains.

He heard Shinsou hesitate. A half-formed argument on his breath. Before the sound of his boots against the pavement echoed in Aizawa’s ears. 

The villains baulked, watching as Shinsou ran. But Aizawa stepped forward, blocking their path. 

A man with crab-like claws dove, his pinschers snapping too close next to Aizawa’s head. Aizawa ducked, and kicked out, aiming for the knees. The villain fell, cursing, as another took his place. The tall one with extra arms rushed him, one arm aimed at his kidneys and another aimed at his throat. Aizawa pushed forward, invading his space and kicked for the middle. Extra arms fell, cradling himself.

Panting, Aizawa reorganised his thoughts, calculating each of the villain's moves. One tried to slip past him. He yanked at their arm and swung them back, bowling them towards another villain, knocking them both to the ground. 

A serpent looking woman shot out, her tongue flicking against his face as he caught her wrists, driving her away. But her tail lashed out, wrapping around his shin, squeezing at the wound. A yell caught in his throat as his leg crumbled underneath him. The tail pulled, dragging him across the pavement before a weight sat heavy on his back, pinning him down. 

He struggled. Bucking. Thrashing. But the weight pressed down harder, crushing his ribs. 

It was then that a familiar growl shook the air out of his lungs. He turned his head to the right and saw a pair of glowing eyes step out of the shadows, their sight set straight ahead. 

Aizawa’s blood ran cold.

Shinsou. The kid was still running. A villain behind him was lagging. Only a few meters and Shinsou would vanish from the dock. 

Gorgonops let out a snarl before he burst into a sprint, closing the gap. 

“Shinsou, run!” Aizawa cried out, fighting against the villain holding him down. 

Shinsou looked behind. He was too far away to catch his expression, but the kid picked up speed, an exhausted cry breaking out. 

But Gorgonops got closer. Even closer. His body dwarfing Shinsou’s from view.

A strangled cry and Shinsou was pinned down, Gorgonops’s towering over him, his large claws tearing up Shinsou’s back. 

Aizawa sagged in the villain’s hold, defeated. He knew their chances were slim. It was almost impossible. And yet, for a ridiculous moment, watching Shinsou run gave him hope. 

Gorgonops dropped Shinsou next to Aizawa, and another villain took his place.

“I’m sorry,” Shinsou wheezed, his face drawn back in pain and exhaustion. 

The villains dragged them both reluctantly to their feet. It was the moment Aizawa was dreading. The moment they would separate them. 

“Hey-! Let go!” Shinsou yelled as a villain hauled him away, twisting his arm behind his back and controlling him with a hand tight in his hair.

Aizawa watched helplessly as they took him away, his own struggles ignored. 

“Hitoshi!”

Shinsou snapped towards him, his eyes wide and terrified. But then they caught Aizawa’s, and there was too much to describe. Too much pain. So much sorrow. But worst, was the shame that flooded those white irises.

“Sensei.” The word shook with a tilted tone.

“H-.”

A familiar feeling took hold, and dread spread throughout every part of his body. A sense of white, an indescribable feeling took over, his thoughts clearing and mind detaching from his body. All he could do was stare at Shinsou, watching relief and fear watch him back.

Don’t you dare.

“Sensei, run and don’t stop until Present Mic finds you.”

Please, Hitoshi.

“Don’t let anyone else catch you. Don’t get hurt.”

Don’t make me do this.

“Run!”

His body moved without him. It violently kicked out, followed by the snapping of bones and a shriek of pain. He thrashed against the hands holding him too tightly, bucking wild as they struggled to hold on.

“Get him down!” A villain called out, grabbing a fistful of curls.

Aizawa twisted, his scalp burning as he clamped down on the wrist wrapped around his hair. The villain screamed, blood burning into Aizawa’s mouth, bones crunching under his teeth.

“Let go!”

Shinsou’s voice echoed inside his head, and instinctually, he turned towards the sound. A humanoid Gorgonops grabbled with the kid, wrapping his arms around his middle and lifting him off the ground.

He took a step towards him.

“No! Get out of here! Go!” Shinsou’s voice shook inside his mind, creeping down his spine and into his legs. They began to move, turning away from Shinsou.

Turn back!

Aizawa begged. Screaming at his mind, but his body kept running. Kept moving until the sound of fighting grew quieter and quieter. 

Until he had left Shinsou behind.  

Chapter Text

The world blurred, blinded by light before focusing. It took a second to find the trees growing upside down, their roots reaching for him through the glass window. 

Previous recollections of what happened escaped him. He had no clue how he was dangling upside down in a car. 

He turned slowly, his body sluggish. His heart dropped into his stomach. 

“Shinsou?”

The kid was still strapped to his seat, his arms limp and dangling in the air - his seatbelt being the only thing to keep him in place. A string of blood dangled from his chin, drooling, until it dropped, falling into a puddle on the roof of the car. 

Logic didn’t belong in a situation like this, and Aizawa hesitated, too afraid to move, too afraid to make what he saw in front of him a reality, too afraid to see his biggest achievement become his biggest failure. 

It took the length of a heartbeat to push Shinsou’s name out of his mouth.

“Hitoshi?”

Aizawa held his breath, waiting for Shinsou to take his own.

One second. Two. Three- 

Shinsou wheezed through an inhale, but it came with no relief. It was shallow. A wisp of a thing that set Aizawa’s pulse racing. 

“-Sensei?”

Bloodshot eyes looked at him, welling with unshed tears as pain flashed across Shinsou’s features. He thrashed against his seatbelt as if trying to escape the hurt, but he was locked in, strapped against his seat.

“What hurts?” Aizawa asked, his own pain searing through his leg. He couldn’t see the damage from where he was trapped under the wheel, metal encasing both legs. He could feel blood warm and wet trickling down his calf, soaking into his uniform. But he pushed it aside, focusing on Shinsou. “Hitoshi?”

“E-everything,” Shinsou whined. His ribs expanded with every quick breath, fluttering as he exhaled. He was breathing too fast. Too quickly. His mouth wide open as he panted. 

“Slow breaths, Hitoshi,” Aizawa coached, taking his own controlled breaths. 

Shinsou paled with a choked wheeze, his eyes rolling back into his head. 

“Hitoshi!”

A flash of light illuminated the car, showcasing the twisting metal and splatters of blood. Voices crawled from the dark, followed by the baying of hounds, their howls slipping through the trees. 

A memory of tears screeching and yelling popped into his head. The steering wheel hard under his stiff hand, the other flung out, gripping onto Shinsou’s uniform in a helpless attempt to shield him. 

The voices drew closer. 

“Come on, kid!!”

The light grew bright.

“Hitoshi, I need you to wake up

Hands reached into the car, curling around Shinsou, drawing him into the dark.

“Hitoshi!”

Aizawa woke to a white tiled ceiling. 

The world was quiet. Thick with something synthetic. Something medical.

He knew this feeling. Knew how cold the air could be despite the rattling radiators. Knew the squeak of shoes against shiny floors. Knew the pinch in his arm and the cold that flowed through his body. 

Underneath the fog inside his mind, he felt pain. It was dull. An old sort of wound that ached. One that meant he’d been lying in bed for days. 

Fear trickled down his spine and filled his lungs. Shame followed, heavy and large inside his gut.

“Are you awake, Aizawa?” 

He turned his head to find two beady eyes staring back at him. The sight left a pit in his stomach. He took a slow breath, stilling for the moment guilt broke his heart. 

“They have him,” he said.

He waited, his ribs squeezing his lungs. There was a reason Nedzu was at his hospital bed instead of Yamada. 

“Yes.”

“How long?” Aizawa tried to push himself up, wincing as his whole body ached. The bed slowly tilted up with a push of a button. 

“You went missing three days ago.”

His eyes burned. 

There were statistics. Hours that were counted. Hours that meant Shinsou’s chances of survival were lowered with each tick of a clock. And hours were all he really had because the second it struck twelve, the moment it became another day, there was little chance they would ever find Shinsou again. 

“Seventy-two hours,” Aizawa said. A confirmation he didn’t want. 

“A little more than eighty now.”

Aizawa squeezed his eyes together before staring up at the ceiling. There was a wet patch that darkened on the tiles. 

“Have there been any leads?”

Nedzu sighed, his whiskers twitching as he considered his answer. He didn’t know the mouse to hesitate. 

“No.”

He swung his gaze at Nedzu. 

“Nothing?” Aizawa tried to push himself out of the bed, the railings on either side shaking under his unsteady arms. 

“I would suggest you lie back down,” Nedzu said, leaning forward in his chair. 

“My student is missing-.” Aizawa started, the words nothing more than a low growl. 

“There are plans in place to rescue Shinsou.”

“He needs me.” He shoved the railings down until they laid flat. The floor swayed as he stood, his leg burning, threatening to collapse. “I can’t just sit here waiting!” He took a heavy step forward. “I’m his-.”

“Please sit down, Aizawa.”

“No-.”

“You’ve been suspended,” Nedzu said, his voice sharp, cutting through the adrenaline. 

Aizawa paused. Blinked. And turned to stare at the mouse. 

“What?”

“Please sit.” Nedzu gestured to the bed. 

Aizawa slumped backwards, catching the bed behind him. “Suspended?”

“The commission has taken away your licence under the suspicion of aiding The League of Villains.”

Aizawa’s jaw ached from how hard his teeth ground together.  

“Aiding The League?” Aizawa scoffed. “Why would I be aiding them? Especially after what they did at the USJ? After Eri? After fucking Shirakumo?” Aizawa snapped. 

“This is the second student under your watch to be taken by villains.” 

His bottom lip trembled before he bit back his control. 

“They think I’d do that to my students?” A shuddering breath escaped him. 

“They do.”

“Fuck them,” Aizawa hissed, burying his face into his hands and dragging at his skin. “Fuck.”

“Your position at the school is also under investigation. I’m suspending you until Shinsou is back under our custody.” 

“You-?” Aizawa snapped his head up at Nedzu, finding the headmaster watching him with round eyes. It was hard to read his expressions, his body language minuscule at best. But the expression didn’t look like regret or guilt. It was steady. Calm. Like he wasn’t delivering devastating news. 

“Once the press gets hold of the information that Shinsou has been abducted by a group of villains while under your supervision, they too will question both your integrity, and the school’s.”

“The school-.”

Nedzu held up a paw. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Aizawa. Your suspension from the school is not a punishment, nor is it a moment for you to wait around to be reinstated.” Nedzu smiled then, his rodent teeth flashing between round cheeks. “And it’s paid.”

It clicked. And Aizawa sunk against the bed, the quick adrenaline that spearheaded through his body leaving him shaking as he calmed down. 

“What about Eri?”

“She’s technically under U.A’s guardianship with you as her unofficial guardian. That has not changed. Your name is not on her record, therefore the commission does not know she stays under your roof specifically.”

“Good.” Aizawa didn’t know if he could handle both of his kids taken away from him, even if neither of them were technically his, even under law. “Who’s on the case?” Aizawa asked.

“Kayama is leading it.”

“Kayama doesn’t do rescues.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Kayama specialised in trafficking cases. But she dealt with one group at a time, desperately cutting off one head while another four grew in its place.

But she didn’t deal with rescue cases. She didn’t deal with finding lost children. She didn’t return the victims back to their families. She stayed in the shadows, watching as the monsters stole and sold, waiting for the head of the group to show their face. It took time, and as the hours ticked into days, people were sold and never found again. 

There were nights when Aizawa consoled her, took care of her as she broke, recalling the lost look in the children’s eyes as they watched her leave them behind. 

They were cruel missions, but ones that stopped thousands of people from being abducted in the first place. 

Not that it helped Shinsou. 

“They believe he’s gone?” Aizawa asked, his voice getting caught in his throat. 

“He is but one boy out of thousands.”

Logically, Nedzu was right. Children went missing everyday. Some had their happy endings where they were found, unharmed and alive. Others were found, and their time had run out, their bodies sent to their parents in bags. And then there were the many who were never found, who vanished in all but a name in the paper. Even then, their names never stayed long, being replaced with the next kid who had gone missing. 

“So, this rescue is what? A front? Something to tell the press?”

“Our efforts to locate Shinsou are real, but the commission does not believe Shinsou’s whereabouts are of the utmost importance, especially with The League still missing. All heroes are being directed towards preparing for the siege against them,” Nedzu said, “A siege you are required to attend.”

“Before or after my suspension?”

“They don’t want Eraser gone from the fight.”

“So, they expect me to sit back and wait for the big fight while my student is sold into villainy or worse.”

“Ideally yes.”

“Brainwashing is a dangerous quirk to lose,” AIzawa said, despite the weight of guilt saying it. It was something he would never say in front of Shinsou. The kid had enough stigma against his quirk without AIzawa adding his own two cents. 

“The potential of the quirk is.”

“What does that mean?” Aizawa growled. 

“These are not my thoughts, Aizawa, but the commission doesn’t value how powerful Shinsou’s quirk is. Right now, it is untested. They have not seen Shinsou use it to his full potential yet. All they have seen is Shinsou fail to use it against Midoriya during the Festival. Therefore, there is little worry about it falling into the wrong hands.”

“Did they conveniently forget about how the nomu’s are made?” Aizawa snapped. “If The League gets hold of the kid, there will be no stopping a nomu that can brainwash us.”

“They don’t believe that they can make another one that powerful so quickly. The one at Fukuoka was alone. So, they hypothesise that they don’t have that many at their disposal, or they would have sent more out to kill Endeavor.”

“That’s a dangerous theory to fall back on.”

“I agree, but we both know the commission’s mind is hard to change.”

And that he did. When Eri was rescued, both he and Nedzu met with the commission over the right of her custody. Technically and legally, Eri’s Grandfather still had custody over her, but while he was stuck in a coma, that responsibility was up for grabs. The idea of giving that terrified little girl over to the commission was something Aizawa would never allow, even before he had grown attached to her. 

So, he attended every single meeting about the issue. He listened and argued for Eri’s right to be a little kid while having someone watch over and train her quirk. In the end, they won. Eri belonged to U.A until she turned eighteen. But it had taken hours of back and forths. 

He doubted they would listen to him a second time. Eri was far more powerful than Shinsou, and the commission only cared about power and control. 

That much was evident in Bakugou’s rescue. The League was still green and easy to track down. The heroes still had manpower, they still had All Might. The rescue took less than a day.

And there was no doubt in his mind that Bakugou’s family had some influence over it all. From Bakugou’s file, his parents were respected in their field and had money. He was the perfect example of an up-and-coming hero (if you didn’t look too closely at his attitude). And his quirk was flashy enough, dangerous enough, to cause the commission to pause about letting the League keep him. 

Shinsou on the other hand? The boy had no family to his name. He had no influence. No money. It would be easy to let him disappear. 

“When can I get out of here?” Aizawa asked.

“Recovery Girl will be here in a few hours to heal that leg of yours, and then the doctors have said you may go.”

“And Kayama?”

“I am not too sure where the R-Rated Hero is. Once she was given the case, she hasn’t returned to U.A.” Nedzu smiled, his cheeks bunching under the warm look in his eyes “She is probably waiting for you to join her.”

“And you won’t report me to the commission for continuing hero work?”

“We all have our secrets, Aizawa. And I would like to see Shinsou under our care again.”

Aizawa woke a second time that day, a phantom feeling of the cold forest air between his lips. It only lasted a second. A relapse of memory. The pain in his leg throbbed once, twice, pulsing along with his heartbeat. The lingering chill seeped through his clothes, hollowing out his bones. He could feel Shinsou next to him, his worry loud, his presence near. 

And in the next breath, it was gone. The pain dulled so quietly that it barely ached. The cold was gone, replaced by the warmth of a cotton blanket. And Shinsou wasn’t there, the space where he was supposed to be empty. 

The room was also empty. He didn’t remember Nedzu leaving. Though, he could feel the telltale signs of Chiyo’s quirk, the echo of pain aching through his calf. He wondered if he had slept through her visit, not that it mattered. His leg didn’t cripple him into a ball of agony, enough that he felt the urge to tear at the wound, rip his leg from the bone. 

He swivelled from the bed and cautiously put weight onto the leg. He braced himself, hands holding onto the bed as he got to his feet. His leg shook, a small tremor, but it held, allowing him a hesitant step. It was a small victory. 

He found a folded pile of his uniform on one of the hospital chairs, topped with his capture weapon looking like a poor excuse of a bow. He changed, shredding his hospital gown. The capture weapon was clean, free from dirt and blood. He brought it to his nose and recognised the smell of citrus - it smelled of Yamada’s detergent. 

And as if fate followed him, the door to his room opened and Yamada stood in the frame. 

They stared at each other, words lost, unable to say a shallow ‘are you okay’. Because the answer was obvious. There was no need to ask. He wouldn’t be okay until Shinsou was safe.

But he’d be lying if Yamada didn’t fill him with warmth. His leg seized for a moment like it remembered only two nights ago when he thought he would be dead by morning. In those fuzzy hours, he thought of Shinsou, alone, fighting for both of their lives, half wondering if the kid was dead. He thought of better things, he thought of Eri tucked into her bed, a flurry of stars shining across her room glowing from the nightlight. He thought of his husband, thought of him waiting up for them, worry growing with every passing minute. 

In those hours, there were things he wished he had said. Words that belonged to Yamada, though he would never hear them.

Now, he couldn’t find those words. 

“Any news on Hitoshi?” He asked instead. 

“Nothing yet,” Yamada stepped into the room. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I shouldn’t be. Chiyo’s quirk knocked me out,” Aizawa grumbled, shoving on one boot too harshly. “I’ve wasted much time just lying around.”

“Shou, you were injured.” Yamada took the other boot out of his hands. 

“It doesn’t matter. Even if my leg was beyond repair, I should be out there looking for him.” Aizawa snatched the boot back. “It’s my job to protect him. My job to look after him. And I failed. They’re going to ruin him. They’re going to make that kid everything he’s fought against.”

“Shouta.” Yamada took the boot back out of his hands and set it down. Instead, he took his hands.

“He’s sixteen.”

“I  know.”

“I promised him he’d be a hero,” Aizawa said, remembering the wide-eyed look Shinsou had given him when he offered his tutelage. He remembered the quiet afternoon in which Shinsou told him the rumours and gossip surrounding his quirk and his character. He remembered the determined way Shisnou spoke about proving them wrong. That he would never become a villain. 

Now, the kid didn’t have a choice. 

“We’ll find him,” Yamada promised, squeezing Aizawa’s hands in his. 

“He was so scared, Hizashi.” Aizawa dropped his head, hiding behind his hair. “He was terrified, and he still made sure I got out.”

“He knows you’ll come for him, Shou. He trusts you.”

“He shouldn’t have needed to make that choice.”

“You’re right, but you had no choice in that either. You were hurt too.” Yamada sighed, gently guiding Aizawa’s foot into his boot. He began to tie the laces, taking his time to loop them. “When we found you- it was a mess. One of Tsungu’s sidekicks found you wandering the streets, bleeding out. But you wouldn’t let anyone near you. Even as injured as you were, you kept fighting. It was only when they radioed me in did we realise that you were under Shinsou’s control. Once I arrived, you passed out.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I would be surprised if you did.” Yamada finished tying the laces, playing with the aglet. “I’ve seen you beat up. I’ve seen you hanging by a thread. I don’t think I can get the image of you after the USJ out of my head. But man, you looked like you were about to die on me, Shou.”

Aizawa sat there, silent, waiting for Yamada to continue, his heart squeezing inside his chest. 

“Shinsou called me when you were out there. He told me how injured you were. Told me how you told him to leave.” Yamada sat back, looking up with watery green eyes. “I thought you sent him away so he didn’t have to watch you die. I thought you were dead.”

“I thought so too.”

“I think if Shinsou didn’t make you escape, you would be. That infection was killing you,” Yamada said, “the little listener saved your life.”

Aizawa bent over himself, the guilt pushing him down, breaking his back. He buried a wounded sound as his eyes burned. He felt arms around his head, cradling it into a warm chest. 

“Now it’s your turn to return the favour.”

Chapter Text

There were rumours surrounding Eraserhead. Fearful whispers passed from street to street. Warnings from veteran criminals with haunting tells to tell. Warnings to watch the shadows.

The man was a myth, a fairytale told to scare up-and-coming villains. 

Aizawa leaned into the legends they told about him. It kept crime on its toes, watching over its shoulder, hesitating when the corner of the room was a little too dark. 

It was enough to send her running. His target revealing herself, crossing straight into his path, unaware of him watching her from the rooftops. She was in her forties with straight black hair. There was nothing special about her. Nothing that screamed evil. And yet, Aizawa watched, waiting for the chase.

She stepped out into the street and hesitated, pausing, and looked around herself, aware that she was a target, aware that he would come for her. And then she ran.

Aizawa stalked after her, his steps quiet, sure, silent. Her own were loud and clumsy, shoes not meant for running clicking behind her. Mistakes that were easy to pursue. He could hear her quick panting, her fear making her breathing shake, her decisions rampant as she veered left, running across the road, ignoring the cars blaring as they sped past. 

Aizawa lowered himself to the streets, blending into the crowds of the city.

She turned back, looking through the mass, her eyes wild, the whites stark in the dark of the night. She knew she was being followed. She just didn’t know who. 

In a rush of desperation, she fled to the train station, barely scanning her ticket as she shoved herself through the barriers. With a flash of his hero badge, Aizawa followed her through. 

He found her pacing along the yellow line following the tracks. He stayed away from her, watching through the crowd, catching glimpses as she panicked. She unravelled as the minutes passed, clutching at her clothes, her head snapping around at the slighted sound. 

Relief came to her as the train pulled up with a clammer of noise, deafening the station and his target’s flurry. She hurried on board, swapping carriages until she buried herself at the end cart. Aizawa calmly followed suit, moving until he stood by the doors, blocking her exit. 

The lights bounced as the train departed, jerking its passengers. The woman barely had time to sit down, stumbling over herself, clinging to the overhead rail with shaky fingers. She slumped once in her seat, wiping the sweat from her brow. She sighed, deflating, her breathing returning to normal. But like a deer realising it’s being watched, she froze and snapped her attention up and towards the door. She caught Aizawa’s eye, her pupils shrinking. Aizawa watched back, his expression a brewing storm. 

There was no recognition. It was clear she didn’t know who he was. She didn’t need to. Danger didn’t need a name, she only had to run from it. But there was nowhere to go. She had already cornered herself, a trap of her own making. 

She came to realise it. Evident by the roll of sweat sliding down her temple. 

The train continued, the gentle rumble of vibrations shaking the carriage. It seemed to be the only noise between them. It was empty aside from them. A perfect ambush if he took a step forward, corralling her back into her seat 

But he stayed. Watching. Waiting. 

An hour rolled on, the pair edged with adrenaline, both stiff in their silent exchange, a prey too terrified to move and a predator poised, patient.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but it snapped closed, fear locked on her tongue. 

The train finally squealed to a stop, halting in its tracks, the lights from the station blinding through the windows.

Neither moved. The breath between them held. 

She stood up then with a pinch of courage, clutching something in her hand, as she gingerly made her way towards the doors. They kept their eyes on each other, one wide and the other narrowed. One tentative step, and then another, and she stood in his wake, looking up with fear locked in her tense jaw. 

The train doors began to close, and he watched as she swallowed, blinking back tears. 

“Sorry,” he said, stepping aside for her. She hesitated, staring at the space he previously blocked. And then she was gone, rushing past the door, squeezing through the crowd. 

It was a known fact that cats played with their food. 

Aizawa gave chase. 

She knew now. Running. Splitting directions. Scrambling to hide herself in the crowd. No one paused to look. Curiosity was pointless in a big city, there was always something to watch, always someone running from the law, or parading tricks for money. One more didn’t make a difference. He herded her away from the bustling streets. She obeyed without notice, her panic overriding logic. No sane person would run into an alley while being chased, but she listened, running until clarity took hold and she realised her mistake. 

She turned back to where Aizawa stood at the entrance, his figure shrouded in shadow. All she could see was the glow of his quirk. 

“Please!” She screamed, making one last ditch effort, bolting towards the exit.

Another figure blocked her way. 

She turned with a cry, pepper spray in hand. Aizawa stood in her path and snatched her wrist into his hand.

“Miss Shinomiya.”

She jumped in his hand. 

“Let me go!” She yelled, struggling in his grip. “I haven’t done anything!”

“How much did you sell him for?” Aizawa asked, the edges of his words thick. 

Shinomiya stared up at him like she’d been slapped, before looking over her shoulder at Mic. She turned back, eyes ablaze.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she sneered, spitting out the words. 

Aizawa tightened his grip, squeezing until the bones ground together. 

“How much?” He towered over her. She fought against him, nails tearing at skin.

“Fuck y-.” She screamed.

Aizawa slammed her against the wall. Her body bounced, her head cracking with a sickening thunk. Her shouting turned into crying, in big watery sobs. The sight made his stomach turn. 

“How much!”

“Seven million yen,” She wailed, hiccuping as Aizawa shoved her against the wall again. 

“You sold him for a year’s wage!” Aizawa yelled, seething, rage boiling that it felt like needles against his skin. His quirk continued to burn, the gold illuminating the tears on Shinomiya’s face. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Shinsou Hitoshi!” Aizawa snarled, shaking her against the wall. “The boy you were supposed to protect!”

Her tears quietened as she stared at him, eyes wide before they darkened. 

“You’re that teacher,” she gasped. “The one that filled his head with ideas.”

Aizawa readjusted his hold on her coat, teeth bared. 

“You encouraged him to use that quirk.”

“I encouraged his dream.”

“He used that evil quirk on me! He got bold. Angry after you started teaching him. And he used it on me!” Shinomiya shrieked, her eyes popping out of her sockets. 

Aizawa remembered that day. Remembered the kid turning up on his doorstep, pale and shaking. He remembered the split on his lip and the blood crusted in his hair. A frying pan. She had hit him with a frying pan. He’d only used his quirk to escape. To run to the only safe place he knew. 

“You sold him for that?”

“I did him a favour. It was selling him, or the correctional home. He begged not to go there. Kids like him don’t last more than a day.”

The hair around Aizawa’s shoulders rose, curling around his ears. His quirk burned bright behind his dark eyes. He’d seen that fear, seen those white pupils shrink at the thought, seen the tears and trembling shoulders. 

“I should kill you for what you’ve done,” Aizawa snarled, his own hands quaking against her coat, the knuckles white. 

Her face turned white.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Give me one reason?” 

“You’re supposed to be a hero.”

“And you’re supposed to be his mother.” He drew a fist back without even thinking.

“Help!” She bawled, her head snapping to the side, blood flying from her lips.

“You want help?” Aizawa growled, throwing her to the floor. Something snapped. But Aizawa stood over her, a boot to her stomach as he flipped her over. “You send villains after a child, and you want help?” 

She clutched at her nose, blood seeping through her fingers as she withered on the ground. He stepped forward, fist curled. 

“Eraser.” Yamada slipped between them, pulling back at Aizawa’s arm. “Don’t.”

Aizawa glowered down at Shinomiya, hatred so thick in his chest he could hardly breathe.

“She sold him,” he argued through gritted teeth. 

“I know,” Yamada said, drawing him away. “But this wasn’t the plan. You’re not a murderer.”

Aizawa almost threw himself away from Yamada, his touch burning. 

“I wasn’t-.” He shook his head. He turned to look at Shinomiya, who cowered below him. He stepped around Yamada and swung his capture out. It snapped around Shinomiya’s ankle, and with a hard tug, he dragged her under him. 

“P-please,” she whimpered, the fight done and replaced with a measly coward.

“You don’t get to beg,” he said, yanking at the capture weapon, throwing her onto her stomach. “Hitoshi begged, and no one saved him. So, the same applies to you.”

“I’m sorry!” She blubbered. And Aizawa paused, his instincts, his training telling him to loosen the binds, that every villain deserved some humanity. But Shinsou’s face appears in his mind’s eye, bloodied and scared, and any sympathy withered into nothing. 

“I don’t care about your apology, but if you want to make a start, where is he?” Aizawa asked. 

“I don’t know! I swear! I didn’t know any of the details,” she whined, her jaws creaking under the stress. “I swear.”

It made sense. She was simply a means for what they really wanted. 

“Then who did you make contact with?” Yamada stepped in. 

She shook her head.

“It was a social worker. I wanted to give Shinsou back to the system, but we made a deal.”

“A social worker?” Yamada asked. Aizawa’s blood ran cold. How many children were under that man’s gaze? How many times did he see Shinsou before he decided that was the quirk, the kid, he wanted.

“I’d never seen him before. I didn’t know him. I just-. I couldn’t handle that freak anymore. He promised to get rid of him. I just needed to tell him when Shinsou was out of the school.”

“What was his name?” Aizawa asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“I’d hop on to it. I don’t think I can stop him twice,” Yamada said, shrugging like her life wasn’t on the line. 

“P-please!”

Aizawa quirk flared. Shinomiya screamed, thrashing in her binds.

“I don’t know! I-. It began with a H! Something H. Oh my god, please!”

“Horiuchi…” Yamada said, drawing Aizawa’s attention. 

“Do you know him?” Aizawa asked. The name meant nothing to him. 

“Shinsou called me when you both were out there. A man interrupted us, told the kid his name, tried to talk Hitoshi into giving up,” Yamada said, his teeth gritted tight. “He talked to me on the phone while torturing Hitoshi.”

A full-body tremble took over Yamada as the creases in his frown deepened. But Aizawa turned away, there was no time to coddle, no time to assure his husband that there wasn’t anything he could have done. They both knew.

Instead, he focused on Shinomiya. 

“Is there anything else you should tell us?” Aizawa asked, leaning into her space, ignoring how she scrambled to get away. 

“I don’t know anything,” she begged. 

Aizawa reached for the coils of his weapon, tightening how it wrapped around her body.

“I’ve been suspended from my hero duties,” Aizawa told her, grabbing one of the strips and dragging her to her feet. “You have one last chance before I drop you from a roof.”

Mic took Shinomiya to the station while Aizawa retreated to Kayama’s apartment with the information he had gathered. It was something, a lead Kayama could follow, and yet Aizawa felt as though they had found nothing but heartbreak. A name was hardly a start. 

Aizawa buried his face into his hands, retiring himself to the spare room. The drugs the hospital had given him had worn off, leaving every part of his body aching, and his leg shooting pain straight through the bone. 

He wondered, as he pushed his palms into his eyes, if Shinsou was okay. It was a silly thought. Of course, he wasn’t okay. But he hoped that Shinsou knew he was coming for him. Knew that he just had to hold on for a little bit longer. That he wouldn’t abandon him again. 

“Shou?” Yamada stepped into the room, flicking on the lights. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but Yamada return meant it had been hours. Hours without a breakthrough.

Aizawa barely lifted his head as Yamada sat next to him. 

“Tsukauchi said he’ll interrogate her to see if she has anymore information, and he’ll let me know in the morning.” 

Aizawa nodded into his hands. 

“Hey,” Yamada said, his voice gentle as he took Aizawa’s hand away from his face. He held one tight, squeezing it with calluosed fingers. 

“Don’t,” Aizawa hissed, snatching his hand back. 

“You need to stop pitying yourself,” Yamada said, the gentleness all gone and replaced with hot words. “Moping about it ain’t gonna save Hitoshi.”

“I know!” Aizawa snapped, words bared through clenched teeth. But the sight of Yamada’s smile, his warmth shown through with big eyes melted away the hate inside his chest just as quickly as it came. Instead, he slumped forward and pushed his head into Yamada’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

“We’re cool,” Yamada said, cradling Aizawa’s head in his hands. “But I’m right. You can’t sit here feeling guilty. One, it ain’t your fault, and two, we don’t got the time to do that. Hitoshi needs you, so buck up.”

Aizawa sighed into Yamada’s jacket. 

“Such wise words,” he mumbled into the leather. 

“I got them sometimes, but seriously, Shou. It’s not your fault, we’ve been over this.”

Aizawa shook his head, pulling back from Yamada’s embrace. His husband kept his hands on his face, smoothing out his thumb over the scar. 

“I saw what that woman was doing everyday to that kid, and I did nothing,” Aizawa barked, tears burning. “He came here asking for help and I sent him straight backt to her.”

Yamada’s face crumbled before it hardened into a frown. 

“That kid came here asking for help, and you held his hand the entire way. You can’t just break the law and kidnap him. We did what we could without risking Hitoshi. I know you sent reports to his social worke-.”

“I sent those files straight to the fucker that took him.”

“Shou, shut up!” Yamada grabbed Aizawa’s shoulders and shook them. “I wish you could see yourself how that kid sees you. You did everything you could for that kid, and you’re going to do everything you can to bring him back. Right?” Yamada shook him again.

“You don’t need to shake me.”

“Apparently, I do because you’re an idiot.”

Aizawa choked on a chuckle before he took Yamada’s hands from his shoulder.

“I just don’t know what I’ll do if I fail him again,” Aizawa said, his voice so quiet Yamada’s hearing aids couldn’t pick it up.

“Hey! No whispering. I can’t hear ya,” Yamada complained, adjusting his aids.

“Don’t-” Aizawa said, only to jump when the door slammed open to Kayama standing there. They both stared, Yamada’s hand over his heart. 

And then Kayama moved, storming into the room, laptop in hand, her eyes bright. Aizawa stood, prepared for a fight that wasn’t there. 

“Nem-?”

She turned her laptop screen around. 

“I’ve found him.”

Chapter Text

Aizawa felt the base of the music thump inside his chest from outside the club. Lights burst against the large windows of the old repurposed warehouse. Pink. Blue. Green. It was blinding as it flashed in time with the song. The music shook the building, barely masking the loud chorus of party-goers, drunken words rumbling through the masses. 

A neon sign sat high on the building, the name ‘ Daisy’s ’ glowing in large pink letters. 

There was a chance Shinsou was in there. There was a possibility that he could save Shinsou before he was lost to a world of villainy. Before anything happened to him. 

But patience was needed. Storming in would do nothing but give the traffickers time to move Shinsou. And then they’d be back at the beginning with no leads, no clue, nothing to help rescue their student. 

But waiting was tearing at Aizawa’s restraint. 

“Calm down,” Kayama hissed, “or you’ll tip them off.”

Aizawa ground his teeth, his resolve waning, before an image of Shinsou scared and bloodied in the back of that van flashed in his mind’s eye. He took a calming breath through the nose, leaning against Kayama’s side. 

“We’ll get him back,” she said, knocking her head into his shoulder.  She was dressed in a black top that sparkled when she moved, skin-tight leather trousers and heels that made his feet hurt. He wore one of Yamada’s flashier shirts, his hair pulled out of his face and into a bun, curls flicking out of the tie. His capture weapon lay branded around his body like vines around an old tree, under his clothes.

It felt unnatural. Alien. Naked.

“Time to move,” she said, keeping her eyes locked on the bouncer guarding the door to the club. The line into the club moved forward, and the bouncer turned his frown to them, eying Aizawa as he slipped his arm around Kayama’s waist, his own stare pointed back. 

“ID’s,” he said, shoving his hand out. Kayama smiled before slowly reaching between her cleavage, popping their new fake ID’s out from between her breasts. The bouncer stared. 

It was enough to get them in. 

Like oil, Kayama slipped around the bouncer, hand in hand with Aizawa, pulling him into the club. 

Inside was a chaos of noise and music. People were squashed together, dancing, bodies rubbing against bodies, skin against sweaty skin. Lights bounced across the floor, flashing against them, turning their clothes into a spectre of colour. The DJ stood above the rest, controlling the music, making the beat slam against their ribs. 

It looked like a normal club. Somewhere to let loose and dance. Somewhere Yamada and Kayama would easily drag him to after a hard week at work. It didn’t look like a place where they trafficked children. 

Aizawa hopelessly scanned the floor, looking for a shock of purple, as if Shinsou would be right in front of him. As if it would be that easy. 

Kayama squeezed his hand, her eyes soft and determined. He squeezed back before she led him to the bar. She slid up onto a stool and patted the back of his hand, shooing him from her game. He didn’t go far, standing at the opposite side, leaning against a wall that stuck to his shirt. 

As expected, it didn’t take long for someone to crawl into the space next to Kayama’s stool. A woman who mirrored Kayama’s beauty. She has short black hair and sharp blue scales that followed the shape of her cheeks and jaws, decorating her shoulders in a shine of sapphire. 

He watched, keeping a close eye on them as the women leaned in close, whispering something into Kayama’s ear. The pair laughed before ordering drinks. 

Aizawa waited as the night crawled on, waiting for a sign that Kayama had found something. 

It didn’t come. He could tell by the way Kayama’s jaw tensed and the line of her lips straightened. She excused herself, clicking away in her heels, disappearing into the crowd. 

One by one, she danced, swapping partners, laughing, teasing each new target, coaxing out information by the flutter of her eyelashes and the plumpness of her red lips. Aizawa lingered in the corner, almost invisible to the drunken eye. 

Several songs that made Aizawa’s head thud passed before Kayama surfaced from the dance floor. She pressed herself against his chest, almost as if to kiss his cheek, her lips against his ear. 

“There’s a basement,” she said, “the password is ‘Orthrus’.” She pulled back and adjusted Aizawa’s shirt collar. “It’s men only.”

It meant going alone. It meant being easily outnumbered when the first punch was laid. 

“Coms on.” He pressed a small communicator into his ear, checking the mic and receiver. Kayama did the same. 

“Bring him back, Shouta.”

Aizawa nodded, grateful for her confidence that they’d find Shinsou. 

“I’ll text Mic to pull the car around,” Kayama said. “We’ll be ready to pull you both out.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek before skirting around the crowd, searching for that basement door. He found it tucked away at the back of the club, an elevator guarded by a woman with an extra pair of arms and the head of a dog. 

She looked him up and down, one pair of arms folding over her chest, the other on her hips. Her dog-like ears pulled forward, lips bared around white fangs. 

“Move along, pretty boy,” she barked.

Aizawa stood before her, dwarfed by her size. The itch of his capture weapon against his skin had him fidgeting, ready to dive into the fray of a fight. 

“I’m expected downstairs,” he said.

A snarl ripped through the woman, her teeth bared as she towered over him. 

“By who?” 

One bite and she would tear him in two. He just had to hope that Kayama’s intel was right. 

He moved into her space. 

“‘Orthrus.”

She stared down at him, as though even with the password Aizawa didn’t look like he belonged in a place like this. Like she knew that he was wearing borrowed clothes.

Sweat rolled down the back of his neck. 

But with a gruffed sigh, she stepped aside and pressed the elevator door open for him. He stepped in, letting the doors close, hiding him from view. Lights flickered on, bathing the space in red. 

As it descended, Aizawa unravelled his capture weapon that was curled around his body, wrapping it around his shoulders. He could feel his body shaking, his hands trembling as they worked with the harsh material. Adrenaline, fear, apprehension, it was wired in his body, melding into his bones 

The elevator shuddered as it reached the bottom floor, opening with a piercing ding. He took a step outside before he was met with a ring of guards standing with their guns trained on him. The woman had squealed. 

Aizawa raised his hands, palms facing out. 

He counted eight guards. A number he was confident against. But it withered, doubt raising its ugly head when he thought of Shinsou. There was no knowing the state the kid would be in. If he was unconscious or drugged, the likelihood of him getting out alive was slim. 

Not that Aizawa had a choice. If Shinsou was here, then this was the only chance they had. If he missed this opportunity, if he left without Shinsou, then the hunt was over. As soon as Shinsou became a problem, as soon as they knew someone was coming for him, then they’d sell him faster than Aizawa could track him down. Or worse, they’d kill the kid, selling him for parts. 

It was now, or never.

“Let him in,” a voice said over the wall of guards. Obediently, the guards stepped aside, parting, guiding Aizawa to where their boss was. 

The room was alive with people lounging over sofas, making out, curled up against each other, empty drinks abandoned on the tables. Too many innocent people if a fight broke out. The weight of his capture weapon felt heavy against his shoulders. 

A man sat draped over a long sofa, busied with a drink in his hand and someone warm on his side. He was well dressed, sporting a silver silk shirt that almost glistened in the pulsing lights. His hair was pushed back, oiled so the blonde locks looked darker. 

Aizawa’s attention snapped to the barely healed claw marks on his wrists like someone had raked nails over his skin, like someone had fought to escape his grip. 

There was a young boy sat next to him, dressed far older than he looked. Aizawa couldn’t help but think of his students when those large green eyes turned to him. He turned to look at his fingers, the nails clean and polished. He looked clean, his clothes expensive despite the lack thereof. His face was free from scars or bruises, the only detail was the smudged makeup around his eyes. Like he’d been crying.

The man coughed when his attention lingered. 

Their gazes found each other, one primed with bright entertainment, the other dark, loathing, heavy with hate. 

“Horiuchi.”

Horiuchi snorted, amused, the breath light. 

“His teacher, I presume?” The man asked. 

“Eraserhead.”

“Ah, not the one I talked to, the one I meant to kill.” The man looked around. “You came alone?”

“No.”

“Upstairs then,” the man said, wrapping an arm around the boy’s waist, his fingers tight enough to bruise. 

The wisps of Aizawa’s hair rose, curling around the tie. 

“How many?”

“One.”

Horiuchi raised a brow. 

“Your other hero friends busy with The League?” Horiuchi scoffed. “Business has been booming since they’ve stolen the spotlight. No one’s looking for lost little kiddies when there are bigger ones throwing tantrums.” Horiuchi reached for his drink and drank slowly, the alcohol bobbing down his throat. He smacked his lips when done, licking at the flavour. 

“Like the boy?” Aizawa asked. 

Horiuchi stroked along the boy’s stomach, grinning when the muscle twitched and he began to shake.

“You’re not looking for this one, though.” The boy squeezed his eyes closed, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Where is he?” Aizawa growled, his eyes burned. 

Aizawa stepped forward. The guns clicked, the safety being turned off. 

“You may have come here for your student.” Horiuchi grabbed the boy’s throat and dragged him into his lap. “But you won’t let this one get hurt in the process.” 

The boy was crying now, snot running down his face as he stared wide-eyed at Aizawa.  His heart twisted at the sight, flashes of Eri’s rescue ripe in his mind. He pushed it down. Pushed it all down until he felt nothing. 

“Where is he?” 

Horiuchi snorted, a smile twisted on his face. 

“Repeating your question doesn’t mean I will tell you,” he said. “Though, I am a businessman. I am willing to trade.”

“Trade?”

“Information. How did you find me? I don’t advertise myself here. This whole floor is full of my people. They don’t leave unless I tell them to. And none of them would squeal.” Horiuchi frowned at this, it was the only time his smile dipped. “Tell me.”

“You left a loose end.”

Horiuchi’s grip tightened on the boy.

“His foster mother.” He tutted. “I suppose those I trade with would barter with a hero. And one of you had the connections to weasel your way into my club.”

“We do.” Frustration leaked into his voice. “Where is Hitoshi?”

“You really are desperate.” Horiuchi stood, dragging the boy to his bare feet. Aizawa raised a hand to the coil of his weapon. The pair paused, eyes locked onto each other. Horiuchi’s smile returned before he pushed the boy forward.

Aizawa caught him, twisting as he ducked, bullets flying overhead. 

“Hold on,” Aizawa ordered, wrapping an arm around the boy’s waist. He moved, slipping between the guards, his back turned, hunched over the kid. 

He danced around the guards, keeping the boy in his arms. Pain nipped across his left arm, biting into his bicep. Another clawed against his thigh, the pain hot and burning over his skin. He felt a bullet whiz past his ear, hitting the wall next to him, cracking the plaster. 

He turned. Guns aimed in his direction. The boy was crying. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Horiuchi make his escape, running down a corridor. It’d be easy to leap over the guards, kicking one on the way and make chase. But the trembling kid in his arms would be killed the second he tossed him aside. 

The guns fired. The sound loud. Echoing inside his skull. 

He pushed the boy, letting him stumble out of the shot. A guard threw up his aim, the barrel hot against Aziawa’s head. He sidestepped, snatching the gun out of his grip. He pointed it down and fired. The guard collapses, roaring in pain, clutching his bleeding foot.

Another took his place from the left. A second on his right. A third ran towards the kid. 

Aizawa threw out his weapon, the coils burning against his fingers. It tightened around the boy, swinging him around the knife inches from his back. He leapt over the first guard, landing a solid kick behind his head. He landed, sliding across the floor on his knees. The second guard whipped their gun towards him, their finger on the trigger. 

They fired. The bullet launched into his shoulder, almost wrenching him onto his back. Aizawa bit through the pain, jumping back into his feet, bulldozing straight for the guard. They fired again. And missed. Panic crossed their face. They tried to back up. He followed. 

“W-wait!”

Aizawa threw his fist back before punching them across their jaw. They fell. Aizawa kicked out his knee, smashing it against the side of their head. With a cry, they collapsed to the floor. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. A chill across his skin. He turned around.

Static filled the room. A guard had their arms outstretched, their fingers pointed at him. Flashes of electricity sparked across their body. 

Taking a short breath, Aizawa rushed towards them. 

“Step down!” The guard yelled. Confident. Aizawa shot towards him. “Step down! Now!” The confidence was lost in seconds. 

Aizawa filled the guard’s space. Electricity shocked through his system, the voltage sharp. His consciousness flickered back. Failing him, rendering him unconscious. It lasted a second. Aizawa woke, a gasp on his lips before he swung his head forward, colliding with the electricity user. They fell. 

He rounded on the rest of the guards, his body twitching, jerking. 

There were five left. 

His chest burned with every breath. His vision blurred, struggling to focus for more than a couple of seconds. His fingers clenched, tightening on his weapon before loosening. His hold shaky with the voltage still running through his muscles. 

He felt himself becoming weak. Pain starting to make itself known in his shoulder. He could feel blood trickling down his chest, ruining Yamada’s shirt. 

The fight needed to end before the blood loss got to his head. Before he passed out and missed his chance to go after Horiuchi. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he found the kid pressed against the wall, his eyes wide and thick with tears, his expression terrified. 

One of the guards turned.

“Hey!” Aizawa yelled, grabbing their attention. “Your fight is with me!”

The guard fired. His gun clicking empty. Aizawa tossed a coil, wrapping it around the guard’s neck before pulling. Hard. 

The man flew forward, his head colliding with the floor. Outcold in seconds. 

The last remaining four kept their distance. But they still had fight in them. Still had to do their jobs. 

Aizawa felt his body turn cold, shivers raking through his body. He shook his head clear. His vision dipping.

And then smelt the sweet smell of lavender. 

“What’s-?” One of the guards yelled, terror, crossing his face. The room turned to what he was pointing at. 

Purple smoke crept from under the elevator doors. The guards gasped, making their first mistake. One by one they fell, collapsing under Kayama’s quirk.

Aizawa fought against the swell, his head swaying on his neck. He had built up a restraint against her quirk over the years, but he wasn’t immune. It still tried to put him under. 

Instincts kicked in and he pulled his rebreather out from his pouch. But hesitated, watching as the boy whined, backing away from Aizawa. 

He battled with his hero side, almost shoving the rebreather on the kid’s face. It was something that he’d done a hundred times, sacrificing himself to save a child. But Horiuchi was getting away. Shinsou could still be in the building. 

The kid turned to him, eyes wet. 

He put the rebreather over his own face, latching the straps around his head. Guilt stirred in his stomach. 

“Midnight, I need you down here.”

Her voice crackled inside his ear.

“Do you have him?”

Aizawa ignored her, unable to voice the truth. Instead, he stepped towards the boy and took his face into his hands. Panic was bright in the kid’s eyes as he flailed, tossing his head away. 

“Hey!” Aizawa yelled, his teacher voice strict in his tone. The boy froze, tears welling. “Listen to me.” 

The boy shook his head, his breathing too quick. 

“Yes. Listen to me. My friend is a hero. Have you heard of Midnight?”

His face instantly flushed red. It brought a quirk to Aizawa’s lips.

“Good. She’s going to save you, okay? She’ll be here any second.”

“The gas?” The boy whispered, his voice shaking as the purple gas lingered around his ankles, crawling up his legs.

“It’s safe. It’s her quirk. You’ll fall asleep, and when you wake up you’ll be safe.”

The boy stared at him, his entire body shaking. Disbelief hung heavy over his features. 

“I promise.”

The boy’s breath hitched before he rubbed at his eyes. 

“Did you tell him that?” He asked.

“Who?”

“The boy you came to save.”

Aizawa’s heart twisted. He took the boy’s hands and squeezed them. 

“I did. And I will bring him home.”

The boy stared again, his eyes huge, making him look younger. They began to droop. 

“Okay,” he mumbled before yawning. The gas surrounded them, casting the room in purple smog. 

“Sleep, kid. It’ll all be better when you wake up.”

Aizawa wrapped his arms around the boy, keeping him tucked against his shoulder until he felt his body sag, collapsing into him. He took a moment to mourn how light he was in his arms before he hoisted them up, and ran towards the elevator.

It opened, revealing Midnight with her whip in hand. Her expression was hardened under the smudge of her makeup. There was a bruise forming over her cheek. Her form softened at the sight of the child in Aizawa’s arms. 

“Who?”

“I’m not sure, but get him out of here.” He gave Kayama the boy, sliding him into her arms. She held him tight.

“Hitoshi?” She asked. 

“I don’t know.” He admitted, dread thick in his stomach. “But Horiuchi couldn’t have gone far.”

Kayama’s eyes narrowed before she nodded. It looked like it took everything not to follow him. But the kid stirred in her arms. 

“Be safe.”

He nodded back, tightening the wraps around his shoulders. He didn’t wait for the elevator to return above ground, for Kayama and the kid to return to safety, and instead ran towards the direction he saw Horiuchi run. 

The room, despite its size only had two exists. The elevator, and a fire door towards the back of the place. It had to be Horiuchi’s escape route. 

Down into a corridor, and down into the stairway, Aizawa followed Horiuchi’s path into the underground, deep under the club. Silence encompassed him. He didn’t hear the shouts of angry guards chasing after him. He could no longer hear the club music echoing through the walls. 

It was quiet. Erie. Silent aside from his own footfalls. 

Doubt rang inside his head. Aizawa slowed. This had to be the way Horiuchi escaped, but with all the money he assumed the man had, a hideaway wouldn’t be out of the question. He almost turned back, his gut telling him he’d gone the wrong way. 

It wasted seconds. Seconds Horiuchi could use to slip from him. 

He pressed forward, entering into a small parking lot. It was empty aside from a single car. Its engine revved, its desperate growls echoing inside the space. 

Aizawa charged. 

The engine roared to life. The car’s lights blinding. 

Aizawa kept running. 

With a squeal, the cars lurched forward, tyres burning against the asphalt. It turned towards him, lights focused on him like a homing missile. 

Aizawa leaned back into his legs, his muscles tightening. The car raced towards him, Horiuchi’s attention locked onto him with frowned features through the windshield. 

He lept, landing onto the bonnet. His boots absorbed most of the shock, but still, the pain ran through his calves, into his thighs where it spread into his hips. The car swerved, trying to dislodge him. But Aizawa kept his balance, pulling out his knife from its sheath. He brought it up before plunging it into the front window. 

Glass shattered, exploding around them. He felt sharpness across his hands and white pain across his cheek.  Gritting his teeth, he reached into the car and took hold of the steering wheel. Horiuchi swore, wrestling against him. 

Aizawa twirled the knife in his other hand before bringing it down on Horicuhi’s hand. Horiuchi screamed, a guttural noise as he pulled his hand away, his fingers dangling in bloody pieces. 

Aizawa took control of the steering wheel, sharpling tugging it to the side. He turned behind himself, finding a wall in their path. 

“What-!” Horiuchi yelled, painfully trying to reach for the wheel. Aizawa jammed his knife between the console and the steering wheel, electronics sparking as he tore it from its port. “You’re crazy!” Horiuchi’s eyes were wild with pain and fear, almost bulging out from their sockets. 

Aizawa stared back, his hair breaking free from his tie, whipping around his face. 

“You’re going to kill us!” Horiuchi screamed.

“Not likely,” Aizawa said before flipping up and over the car. 

He heard the awful crunch of metal behind him as he landed. 

The smell of petrol leaking hit his nose before he even turned around. The front of the car was a jumbled mess of metal and glass. It brought memories of that night, the night this began. He heard Shinsou’s panicked voice in his ear, his blood warm in his hands. 

Aizawa found Horiuchi slumped over the wheel, blood trickling from his hairline. 

He pressed his fingers up against Horiuchi’s throat. His pulse pushed back, though it was slow. A mixed feeling filled Aizawa as it continued to thump. He needed Horiuchi alive, and as a hero it was his job to protect. That extended to villains. They were never meant to kill. Only to save. Only to capture. 

But protecting his students was also his job. Deep down he wanted Horiuchi dead. 

Aizawa yanked Horiuchi out from the car before dragging him across the parking lot and into the shadows. 

Chapter Text

Aizawa drove a knife into the meat of Horiuchi’s leg. 

“ Wake up .”

Horiuchi woke screaming, bucking against his restraints. The chair, he was tied to, rocked back on its legs with a screech, before slamming down, the wood splintering. His head spun on his neck, eyes wild as he took in the room. 

They were in a warehouse Aizawa found a few months prior. He had set it up for Shinsou’s training. A touch of the real world outside of cushy landing mats. 

He’d never bring Shinsou here now. Not with the blood staining the concrete.

“F-fuck,” Horiuchi gasped, the breath stuttering at the knife protruding out of his thigh. He drew his attention away, his expression tightening at the sight of Aizawa. “Hero. ” Horiuchi laughed, his voice rough. “Or should I even call that?” He gestured with the nod of his chin to the ropes around his arms. 

“You got me suspended.” The threat was easy to hear, even to his own ears. 

“Oh, my bad.” Horiuchi snorted. “So, what now? No law to stop you kidnapping people?”

“Something like that,” Aizawa said, before yanking the knife out of Horiuchi’s leg. This time, Horiuchi controlled himself, a punched-out groan slipping between clenched teeth. It was all he could do before Aizawa plunged the blade back in. 

“Where is he?” Aizawa growled. 

“I don’t keep tabs on all the children I take.” 

Guilt sat heavy in Aizawa’s stomach before rage curled up his spine. How many children had vanished under Horiuchi’s hand? How many were still alive today? How many could he save?

And could he save them and Shinsou at the same time?

“What sort of business doesn’t keep track of their merchandise?” Aizawa asked.

“Our shrinkage can be very high.”

It was like a hand taking hold of the breath in his lungs and dragging it out. Aizawa swung, leaving his knuckles bruised and Horiuchi’s cheek swollen and red.

“ Which means ?” He knew exactly what it meant. He knew how these operations worked. How many lives were cut short by man with far too much greed.

The corner of Horiuchi’s eyes crinkled. Amused.  

Aizawa swung again, fist connecting with Horiuchi’s jaw. There was a moment where Aizawa stood, heaving with laboured breaths, his hand throbbing, and his wrist twinging in pain. He blinked, and his hair fell into his face in sweaty strands. Horiuchi sat hunched over in his chair, blood dangling from his lips. 

With a shaky hand, Aizawa swept his hair out of his face, before activating his quirk again, his already dry eyes burning with overuse. But still, he turned his golden gaze back to his prisoner.

“ Answer me.”  

Horiuchi pulled himself up into a sitting position, his lip split. Blood coated his teeth when he smiled. 

“Sometimes we have to cut our losses, or we need to make something disappear. Especially if there’s too much heat.” Grey eyes stared into black ones. The implication clear. 

“Try that again,” Aizawa growled.

“He’s one in a couple thousand. I don’t know if he’s been sold, or whether with you chasing us down we got rid of the problem.” Horiuchi shrugged with a dramatic sigh. As if he was sorry. As if the children he sold were worth something other than money. He flashed Aizawa a smirk. “A body still sells, you know that, Mr Underground.”

A hot surge prickled up the line of his neck and burned across his face. In a rush, he reached for the knife and ripped it out of Horiuchi’s leg. Mid- screaming, Aizawa plunged the knife into the other thigh. 

“You take pleasure in this. Messing with grieving families. If he was dead, it’d be the first thing you’d tell me.” Aizawa twisted the knife in his grip, the muscles staining before snapping, blood squirting beneath the blade. 

Horiuchi screamed, backing away in the chair with nowhere to go. 

“I just collect them. I don’t do the sales! I don’t know where he is.”

“You had a boy with you at Daisy’s.”

“I don’t always hand over the merch if I want to try them first.”

Aizawa sneered as he screwed the knife, ripping skin in strips. 

“Then who does?”

Horiuchi sucked in a shaky breath, grinning with too white teeth. Aizawa wanted to ram the knife between that smile.

“There’s so many heads working this operation. Too many for you to take down one by one.” 

“Do you know which one has Shinsou?”

“Why? He’s probably long gone. Tied to some old man’s bed, or locked inside a dark room until he’s useful,” Horiuchi snickered.

Aizawa drew his fist back and felt the crunch of teeth against his knuckles. 

“Which one fucks up his chances of being a hero? I’m betting on being some old man’s bitch.”

Aizawa didn’t feel anything the second time he hit him. Or the third. Or fourth. By the time he drew his hand back, his knuckles were swollen, blood painting the grooves in his skin. A hot trail of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His eyes stung, watering before he had to blink. Pressing his fingers into the sockets did nothing to quell the burn.

Next to him, it was only the sound of Horiuchi’s laboured breaths that told him that the man was alive. Blood, in slow long drips, fell from his face, taping against the ground with each heavy exhale.

“You know where he is,” Aizawa said, ragged, wincing as his quirk flared back to life.

That mocking laugh broke from Horiuchi as he sat up, the sound gargled, like breath trying to squeeze through shredded glass. 

“I’ve been in this operation for years. You think I remember every little boy I take?” Horiuchi shook his head and pulled back against the seat, his misshapen face on display. A series of dark bruises painted his pale skin, marking each swollen bone and swelling muscle. One of his eyes was pinched shut, blood trickling from the corner like grotesque tears. When he smiled, there was a gap where one of his front teeth should have been. 

“You knew who I was. You knew I would come for him,” Aizawa said, bending, resting his body weight with one hand on Horiuchi’s knee. Blood soaked through the man’s trousers and between Aizawa’s fngers. 

“He’s not special,” Horiuchi scoffed. 

“Special enough to hunt us down.” Aizawa ground his hand into Horiuchi’s thigh. “There are millions of children in Japan. Enough for you to grab one on the streets. But you singled Hitoshi out. You planned this.”

Horiuchi snorted, tilting his head to the side. 

“A poacher can spend days trekking the jungle for its trophy,” Horiuchi explained. “This was no different.”

“It is.” 

Aizawa stepped back towards the table, picking up a cloth and a canister of water. He dropped it by the chair’s side with a thundering shock of noise. Horiuchi flinched at the sound, unable to control his actions under the face of this new promise.

“It’s different because I’m going to get him back. I’m going to ruin everything you’ve built and tear it all down.” 

“He’s just some kid! You’re going to fuck up your career for some orphan no one cares about?” Horiuchi barked, his facade breaking. 

Aizawa closed the space between them and laid the cloth over Horiuchi’s face, covering the fear swimming in his eyes.

“Last chance.”

Trembling, Horiuchi kept his silence. 

And Aizawa began to pour. 

Instinctually, Horiuchi thrashed against his restraints. His back arched against the chair, choking, hands stuck in a clawed expression. A sick pit in Aizawa’s stomach couldn’t look away - the pouring water did nothing to douse the flare of hate that burned inside him. 

Twenty seconds, and Aizawa pulled the canister away, setting it on the floor. Horiuchi withered, coughing and spluttering as the cloth was pulled back. It took a second to react, a second to realise Aizawa still held the cloth in his hand. 

“Hitoshi. Where is he?”

Horiuchi wheezed, squinting with his good eye, exhaustion dragging down his features, aging him. 

“I hope your boy is fucked so hard he’ll kill himself before you find him.”

Aizawa lunged forward, ripping Horiuchi’s head back by the root of his hair. No words broke through his gritted teeth. His temper coiled around his tongue, keeping it stuck to the roof of his mouth. All that squeezed past was a pained noise he didn’t know he could make. 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Horiuchi sneered, his grin cruel. “I’ll make sure every pervert gets-.”

The chair clattered to the floor, one of the legs snapping clean, flying across the room. Horichin fell with it, sprawled onto his side, laughing. 

“I-.”

Aizawa dragged him up by the soaked collar of his shirt, flipping him onto his back. He didn’t wait for another word. Instead, he slapped the cloth over Horiuchi’s face again. It hit with a wet slapping sound.

“I said that was your last chance,” Aizawa growled, picking up the canister.

Horiuchi screamed, something twisted between a manic scream and a gargled laugh.

Water soaked Aizawa’s sleeves as he tipped the canister, water splashing on Horiuchi’s face.

Ten seconds passed. 

Horiuchi curved on the floor, a guttural noise breaking as their chest spasmed.

Twenty. 

Aizawa watched, his eyes burning, blood vessels bursting in a blossom of red. 

Thirty. 

A spiral of metal curled slowly out of Horiuchi’s skin. His quirk fighting, evolving, surviving. 

Forty. 

Aizawa pulled the canister away, dropping it empty. He didn’t wait for Horiuchi’s stuttering breaths, or any answer he was finally willing to give. Instead, he reached for a second canister. 

“Wait!” Horiuchi blubbered, fingers rigid in a desperate attempt as he tried to free his hands. “Wait!”

Aizawa unscrewed the lid.

“There’s an apartment!” Horiuchi screeched, his voice torn. Aizawa barely paused, dropping the lid onto the floor, letting it roll to the other side of the room. 

“I said that was your last chance,” he said, tipping the canister. 

“They’ll know where your boy is!” Horiuchi shrieked. “They might still have him if you get there on time. If not, there’ll be documents. Shipments. Everything!”

“Where?” He took the cloth, dropping into Horiuchi’s lap. His quirk flickered until dark eyes replaced gold. 

“In the east, near the coast.”

“Out of the city?” He asked. Not that it was much of a surprise. Child traffickers used the entire country. But transporting Shinsou that far was a risk. The kid was training to be a pro-hero, and his quirk was quick. It would only take one mistake and he’d be home free. Keeping him inside the city would make the sale easier. “Where? I need specifics.”

“In Hutta. It’s where we send children who are highly marked. Somewhere to keep them out of the police’s radar.”

Aizawa went cold.

“That’s a tourist town.”

Horiuchi whimpered.

“I didn’t send him to Tokyo. Tokyo is worst. He’d be ruined already if I sent him there. But I didn’t. Please.”

Aizawa stepped back and ran a hand across his jaw. 

“Do you conduct business there?”

Horiuchi hesitated. 

Aizawa’s quirk gleamed. 

Horiuchi blanched under the glare.

“Yes. We sell from there, but we also…”

A pause. A moment of apprehension. A moment where life balanced on the answer. 

“You prostitute them.” Aizawa filled in the blank. 

“Yes.”

Aizawa drew in a shaky breath.

“For their quirks?” Aizawa asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Anything the customer wants.”

Aizawa hung his head, drawing his arms around himself. 

“They’re children,” he snapped. “Children.”

“Exactly.”

A sick feeling curled in Aizawa’s stomach. 

“You better hope that Hitoshi is there,” Aizawa growled.

Horiuchi nodded, his face wet, blood pooling on his bottom lip. Aizawa reeled his fist back and punched him in the face, knocking his head to the side. He waited, his hand pulsing, until he was sure Horiuchi was out. Only then did he leave the room, slamming the door behind him. 

He paced, three steps in each direction, his chest growing tighter and tighter with each turn. It had been hours since they were at Daisy’s, days since Shinsou had been taken, and time was not on their side. Despite Japan’s population, the island was small, it would take less than two days to reach the other side of the coast. 

And there was doubt. Doubt that Horiuchi really knew Shinsou’s location. That he was telling the truth. 

He paused, shoving his palms against his eyes and dragged at the eyebags there. The pain did little to calm his racing thoughts. Instead, he pressed his forehead up against the cold concrete wall before fishing out his phone. 

It was smashed. When? He didn’t know. He followed one of the larger cracks, his breath wobbling as the glass spit in two, splintering through the child standing next to him in his background image. The photo was taken on New Year's. Yamada had one arm wrapped around his waist, the other holding a cheering Eri - how she had made it to midnight was a miracle. Shinsou was the other side of him, his expression bright and his smile wide and childish. 

When he had first flicked through the photos of the night, smiling at all the secret candid ones Eri had taken and laughing at the silly ones she and Shinsou had taken together, he found this one. It left him warm. Eyes growing moist at the idea it grew. 

Eri’s delight always made him happy, but he had never seen Shinsou smile like that before. The kid was a guarded secret, but in that one-second frame, he allowed himself to act his age, allowed himself to smile like he was supposed to. 

It was an easy decision to make his phone’s background image. 

Aizawa pressed the tip of his phone to his chin and closed his eyes, praying to rid the thoughts that haunted him. He pressed the number belonging to the only person he wanted to hear. 

“Shou?” Yamada’s voice filled his head, driving the guilt further down his throat, lodging inside his lungs. 

“It’s me.”

“Where the hell are you? You ditched Nem at the club. I didn’t see you leave-.”

“Mic.” Aizawa cut through. 

Silence hung between them. 

“Shou, where are you?” Yamada asked, his voice almost pleading. 

Aizawa dropped his head into his hands. He felt sweat run down his cheeks, curling under his fingers. His eyes burned. 

“I have an address” He mumbled, his voice raw. 

“Where?”

He repeated the address, a small little town in the Chiba Prefecture. 

“Tell Nem I’ll meet her there.”

“Shou-.”

Aizawa hung up, not able to listen to his husband’s voice, not after today, not with the blood on his hands. 

Chapter Text

The building was nondescript. Something anyone would see everyday. A series of six flats, three across and three above. It sat alone with a small car park out front, a lone truck parked over two spaces. 

They were in Hutta, somewhere in the Chiba Prefecture, close to the coast, far too close to the attractions, far too close to where tourists flocked to see the wonders Japan held in tanks. 

People walked past the building as if it wasn’t there. Laughter followed the tourist, all oblivious to what was happening just behind the wall. 

It made Aizawa’s stomach roll. 

Because it would be so easy to not see. There were no signs of the children. No outward post displaying what happened there. Nothing to show what evils went on behind the concrete. 

How often did he slink home, slipping between sketchy businesses, ignorant to what they sold? How many people did he fail to save everyday? 

“Shouta,” Kayama said next to him, arm linked with his. If she could feel him trembling, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she led them towards the address, leaning against him, laughing like he said something funny. Just like those tourists. 

A man stepped out of the building, a gun on his hip. He smiled, his act casual as he waved them over. 

“You guys here for any reason? This is private property.”

“We heard they were selling geckos here,” Aizawa said, remembering the passcode given to them. 

“Ah.” The man smiled. “You must be the Itos,” he said with a short bow. He was foreign, his accent thick and hard, making it almost impossible to understand. 

They bowed back, before Kayama was dragging him forward.

“I’m Nao, we talked on the phone?” Kayama said. 

“Ah, yes. Pleasure to be doing business,” he said with a smile, the corners of his lips held tight. “I apologise for the delay in your visit. We have a new asset that’s a little high profile. Very exciting. And with that, we had to be more thorough with our background checks. Can never be too careful.” 

Their background, at least to the traffickers, told the story of a couple who lived domestic life in Hosian. Nothing particularly exciting about their lives. A few white lies depicting an internet history of illegal materials. Just enough to sour any illusions of a perfect life. 

“A problem?” Kayama asked, quirking a brow.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, leading them towards the building. 

“Sorry,” she laughed, “I’m just-.” She beamed at them both, her entire body trembling. 

It took everything to remember that Kayama was acting. They weren’t actually here to shop for children. He’d been undercover before. The stakes were always the same. It was all pretend. An act.

His lungs tightened under his ribs. He had to stop himself looking back and searching for the police hiding in unmarked cars and vans, waiting for their mark to burst onto the scene. He wondered if Yamada was watching through the secret camera sewn as a button on their shirts.

“You’ll have to excuse our enthusiasm, mr…?” Aizawa asked.

“Jared.” He held the door open for the pair of them, locking it behind with a twist of a sliding lock. Enough to keep people out. Fear kept people in. “In here.” Jared led them into a little room with a pair of sofas, each facing each other. “Can I get you guys anything? Coffee? Beer? Water?”

“A cup of tea?” Kayama asked as she sat down, squeezing next to Aizawa as he took his seat. Jared popped his head out of the room, words exchanging before settling down on the opposite sofa. 

“Before we start,” he said, hand held out. 

Aizawa fished for the envelope, passing over a wad of yen. 

“Two million yen as discussed,” Aizawa said. 

Jared flicked through the cash, his smile growing. “This is non-refundable, even if you don’t pick someone out today. You understand, right?”

It was hush money. To keep their mouths shut even without purchasing anything. It was enough to land them both behind bars, if they weren’t pro-heroes. Jared would be behind them by the end of the day. 

Aizawa nodded, linking his hand with Kayama’s. 

“Whatever you need,” he said, piling on the false nerves, like a man really willing to risk life in jail over sex. 

Jared’s smile grew sharp, eyes filled with greed. As though he had found the perfect pair of suckers he could rinse dry. 

“There are a few rules I need you folks to follow. When you’re browsing, you can touch, but only above the clothing. And we ask you to keep your own on until the purchase has been dealt with. Then we will take you into a private room.”

Aizawa felt his stomach turn.

“Once inside the rooms, don’t maim, kill or injure the products. Make sure you use protection. And we limit five items at a time. Too many quirks in one room, ya know? Gives them ideas.”

“Can we use our quirks?” Kayama asked. 

“As long as they follow those rules, sure. Do whatever ya want.”

“If we like one of them, what is the rate?” Aizawa asked.

“Depends on the child and their quirk. We try to take children that have something to offer, a quirk that is just as exciting as they are. Sometimes their looks outway their quirks and we’ll take one purely based on age and their looks. But most of them have quirks I’m sure you’ll be excited to use. So the cost can vary from child to child.”

“What ages do you have?” Aizawa asked, the words heavy on his tongue. 

“Anywhere from seven to eighteen,” Jared said, shifting his hand side to side. “The children don’t stay long here. Think of it as a boarding house. They stay for a few weeks before we cycle through and get a new lot.”

“What happens to the others?”

“Depends. Some get sent to the auction house. Others have already been sold. Some go to the studio.”

“Studio?” Aizawa asked with a furrow in his brow. 

“Where they become little movie stars,” Jared said, smiling. “We keep a collection here if you’d like to buy any. We keep them on tapes, so they’re less likely to be corrupted or hacked.”

Aizawa’s heart sank knowing that those tapes would be watched by the officers on the case with them. He couldn’t imagine watching hundreds of hours of that sort of filth, watching as lives were broken down and sold for parts. 

“How many do you have here? Children, I mean,” Aizawa asked. 

“Around twenty-five, though they come and go every couple nights,” Jared said as though he was talking like a shop assistant and they were simply looking for their right shoe size. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I want someone cute,” Kayama said.

“I don’t want someone too young. I have enough of that at work,” Aizawa chipped in, trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat. 

“Heard you were a teacher?” Jared asked, eying Aizawa like it was some sort of dirty secret. 

“Preschool,” Aizawa said, just like he had done over the phone. 

Jared laughed, the sound going straight through Aizawa’s gut.

“Can’t get them there, so gotta get your own?” Jared asked with a wink. 

Aizawa let his cheek grow hot as he ducked his head, hiding behind the glasses he wore. Kayama patted his arm. 

“We’ve been trying for years,” Kayama said, “but no luck. And I want someone in the house when he’s at work. I get pretty lonely.”

Despite Kayama’s oversized jumper, bare face, and her hair pulled back into a messy bun, Jared looked her up and down as if he knew who she was, knew what she usually wore during patrol.

“I bet you do.”

Kayama laughed, a bright thing that had no place for such a comment. But it came naturally. Aizawa struggled to smile, his skin hot and prickly under the way Jared leered at her. 

But Kayama was like a chameleon. She knew how to change her look. Knew how to walk among the masses with her face up on a billboard without anyone knowing it was her. If Jared knew who she was, they wouldn’t have made it this far. They would’ve been shot the moment the front door closed behind them. 

“Before we go up. We don’t allow any phones past this room. You will need to hand everything over to Pete.”

As if timed to a perfected script, a large man stepped into the room, holding a tea cup in one hand and a small plastic box in the other. He passed the cup to Kayama and held out the box expectantly. They surrendered their new decoys phones. 

“Great. Thank you. If you want photos taken, we can give you cameras that you can use once we do a full screening of the footage.”

Aizawa felt his stomach twist. The idea of watching that. The idea of selling it. He fought to keep his breakfast down. 

“Any weapons or items that can be used to harm the children?” Jared asked. “If you would.” He gestured for them to stand. 

Every pocket was searched and their coats turned over. Aizawa’s skin burned as Pete checked him over, the urge to smash his head against a wall growing harder and harder to ignore as his hand wandered. A deliberate brush of the inside of his leg had Aizawa shaking, his temper hot under his skin.

“They’re good,” Pete said, squeezing the meat of Aizawa’s leg. He flinched, but kept himself still, keeping the look of disgust off his face. 

“Amazing,” Jared said and led them towards a door that opened to a set of stairs. “Are we ready to meet the children?”

“We are,” Kayama said, linking her arm with Aizawa’s. 

Jared nodded as he guided them to the second story. 

“Sorry about Paul, just gotta make sure you guys aren’t bringing anything that could hurt the children, or let them hurt themselves.”

Or any secret cameras or recording devices. 

“Of course, I would never want to hurt them,” Kayama said, and Aizawa almost tripped on the next step. “Babe, you okay?”

“Yeah, just-.” He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “Nervous.”

Disgusted. Horrified. Heartbroken. 

How many times had monsters prowled that staircase, spouting bullshit about not wanting to hurt the children they were inevitably hurt. How many wanted to hurt those kids. How many had already hurt them. 

He wondered if Shinsou had been hurt by them already. 

“Okay, here’s the first batch,” Jared said, fishing out a key and unlocking the door. 

The room they were held in could hardly fit four beds, the frames pushed up against each other. The walls were stained with washed off mold, the wall paper damp with black scarring. There was a mass of toys thrown about the room, something to keep the little ones quiet and busy. 

Terrified eyes baulked up at them. 

“And this is group A,” Jared explained, gesturing his hand to the four children who ran into a line. 

They were of varying ages; the smallest who couldn’t have been older than six, and the oldest who was bordering on thirteen.

They were dressed in probably what they were kidnapped in. The oldest was in an oversized hoodie, sporty shorts and trainers, like she was going home from football practice and was snatched before she could make it to her front door. 

A boy, who looked around nine, wore ‘All Might’ Pyjamas, as if the retired hero would come to save him - if Toshinori saw, it would break his heart. 

“Line up,” Jared barked, even though the kids were already standing shoulder to shoulder, obedience trained into them. 

Aizawa resisted the urge to take a deep breath. Instead, he took stock. He catalogued every bruise, every bump of bone against skin. Physically, they were fine aside from a few cuts and scrapes. Probably a little skinnier than when they were picked up. But they were washed, their hair kept neat and tidy. 

It was the look in their eyes. A sad haunted look. One that belonged to pro-heroes and soldiers. Not children. Not someone as young as they all were. 

“Look at them,” Kayama squealed, she took Aizawa’s hand in hers, squeezing. “How are we supposed to pick?”

The children flinched, the oldest’s hands subconsciously reached for the two either side of her. 

“This is merely the first room. We have many more options if none of them are to your liking,” Jared said casually. 

“Maybe we could have a little party room, see who we get along with?” Kayama asked, eyes bright with the idea. “May I?” She asked, taking a step towards the children. 

Jared gestured to her with a wave of his hand. 

Kayama smiled before walking over to the children with careful steps, and crouched down until she was eye level with them. If they found any comfort in her presence, they didn’t show it. One began to tear up, their big eyes welling. Aizawa had to look away, his thoughts going to Eri and the day they rescued her. And the day after when she was all alone in that hospital bed. And every nightmares after that.  

“Any take your fancy?” Jared asked, sliding up next to them like they were friends at the bar. “I think they’re pretty special. I say that about all own products, but this lot, boy, just look at them.”

Aizawa studied the lot, staring at their hopeless faces.They were focused on Kayama, watching her with wary eyes. Aside from one. The oldest was glaring at him, her expression hardened and a flash of defiance in her dark brown eyes. 

“You.” Aizawa said, pointing to the oldest girl. He curled his finger in a ‘here’ motion. She hesitated, her legs stone before she took one step forward, and another until she was staring up at Aizawa. “What’s your name?”

“Kako.” Her frown deepened as she spat out her name. 

“Kako, kiddo, be polite to Mr. Ito,” Jared ground out, his warning loud enough for everyone to hear. Kako only glared harder, her fists shaking by her sides. 

“It’s okay,” Aizawa smiled at Jared. “Kids will be kids. And this must be new and scary for her. She doesn’t know me yet.” 

“Would you like some privacy with her? Get that ball rolling.” Jared asked.

Aizawa blanched at the thought. He knelt down to Kako’s height and offered her his hand. She, of course, did not take it. 

“I think we could be friends,” Aizawa said, every word sounding like ash on his tongue. But he needed a way to get this child alone. If Shinsou was here, if there was a chance that these two met, he needed to know. 

“I don’t want to be friends with you,” Kako hissed, tears building on her eyelashes. “I want to go home.”

Aizawa’s heart cracked, the sound so loud inside his head, that he feared their cover would be blown. It took everything not to reveal who he really was. That when they left, when he and Kayama dragged themselves away, the police would arrive to take the children home. That this was the last few hours they would spend in this room. 

“How about you tell me about your quirk?” Aizawa said instead, smiling gently, encouraging her. It was a known fact that children with quirks loved expressing their power, showing off their unique abilities. 

But Kako hesitated again, shaking her head. 

“Go ahead, show him, sweetheart,” Jared said, placing a hand on her shoulder, squeezing hard. 

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, you can show me later, okay?” Aizawa said.

“You can’t coddle them, Mr. Ito. She’ll walk all over you if you allow that.” Jared shook his head dramatically, as if this was jovial. Like Kako was nothing more than a dog that bared its teeth.  “Kako, you know what happens when you don’t listen.”

Kako’s eyes widened, tears spilling free. 

“Sorry,” she whined. 

“It’s okay,” Aizawa whispered, his voice breaking, struggling to keep his own eyes dry. 

Kako’s watery gaze found his, her eyes boring into him. Her body started to shake, almost vibrating then, the edges of her figure blurring, growing fuzzy. Aizawa watched, dread growing in his stomach as a clone of herself stepped out from her body. 

A shiver ran up his spine at the sight. 

Twice .

Kako reminded him of Twice. 

Jared smiled, his eyes bright as he strode over to the girl. 

“Isn’t she amazing? Obviously, she isn’t cheap.” Jared was grinning, ear to ear. It was the first real smile he had given them. “She’s one of our most wanted items.”

Aizawa stood back up, crowding Kako until her copy stumbled back into her original form, the two becoming one once again. How did this group grab a girl so powerful? Why didn’t anyone know about a quirk like this? How did a girl with a quirk like this go undetected? It was a miracle that she hadn’t been taken before. 

Flashes of Kurogiri blackened Aizawa’s mind. 

How hadn’t All For One, or that doctor, found and taken this quirk for their own twisted gain?

“How many can you make?” Aizawa asked, heart pounding in his chest. 

“Two.”

“And just of yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She can probably be taught how to make more. You’re a teacher, right?”

“I teach shapes and numbers,” Aizawa corrected. “I wouldn’t know how to hone this girl’s quirk.”

Jared stared at him, his eyes narrowed as if he just remembered something. Aizawa took a step in front of Kako. 

“What school did you teach at again?” Jared asked. 

“Hosian Elementary.” Aizawa tucked Kako behind him, tucking a hand behind her head to keep her place. She didn’t move, and trembled against him. 

“How long have you taught there?” 

“Four years.”

Jared’s gaze flickered from Aizawa to Kako, his brow deepening as the second ticked passed slowly. Aizawa refused to lower his chin, turning until his body completely hid Kako from view. 

“Are you boys done over there?” Kayama called over, breaking through. “I think I found one I like.” She coed, like she had found a puppy she wanted to take home. 

At the sound of potential money, Jared turned, the lure too much not to bite. 

Kayama was knelt in front of a child, gently holding his hand. He was the youngest, young enough to still have all their baby teeth. They were crying quietly, hiccuping so hard their entire body spasmed. 

“Isn’t he cute?” Jared sauntered over to them, kneeling next to Kayama. “His quirk isn’t anything too flashy, a simple plan based quirk. Mostly weeds, so he’d be good in the garden.” He laughed. “But he’s barely eight, so he’s fresh.”

“Fresh?” Kayama asked, though she knew the answer. 

“Untouched. Still a virgin. Though, he does have a few people interested in him,” Jared explained. “Probably will be sold in the next few days.”

“So, we better decide quick?” Kayama said, glancing over at Aizawa.

“You don’t want to miss out on these offers,” Jared said. “Eight year olds stay in the news longer than older children.”

Aizawa smoothed a thumb over the crown of Kako’s head, hoping that his comfort wasn’t mistaken for sick pleasure. 

“I’d like to still look around. Though, if we could have an hour with Kako before our visit ends?” Aizawa asked, flinching at the way Kako stilled under his hand. 

“Of course!” Jared stood up straight, dusting off his knees. “Though, these are our top merchandise. You won’t get better than them.”

“I’m still thinking of someone older,” Aizawa explained. “Adolescent.”

“He wants someone to spoil,” Kayama said. “I just want someone to keep me company, and make him a little jealous.”

Kayama rattled off a popular teen show, her excitement loud and boisterous. 

“The main actor! Someone like him.”

“A teen heartthrob?” Jared asked.

“Someone mysterious and cool,” Kayama said. “I know that’s something he likes. I never get to watch my shows now.”

Aizawa nodded, the words lost behind gritted teeth. The very idea of describing Shinsou like that made his stomach turn. 

Jared's eyes brightened. 

“I can see you guys are looking for something different. Something special,” Jared said, stepping between them. He clapped his hands together. “We di d get a new shipment a couple nights ago. I’m not supposed to show anyone. Top secret.”

“And?” Aizawa struggled to keep his hope squashed. 

“We’re all friends here, right?” Jared led them out of the room, barely glancing back at the children. Kayama followed, her steps sure, while Aizawa hesitated. The children watched with terrified wet eyes, their own hope bright, waiting for Aizawa to leave. Kako slowly moved to the other children, clasping their hands in hers, and stood defiant, her chin held high. 

It reminded him of the way some first years would stand with squared shoulders in his presence. It was endearing, if he was honest with himself. He found those students reaching for high places. Unafraid to show how they really felt. It wasn’t too different to how Shinsou first came to him; full of false bravado, but ready to do what it took to achieve his dream. 

He left them and followed Jared as he led them through the building. They passed through a door into the next flat. 

“He’s been causing some trouble,” Jared explained. “It’s why we had to separate him from the other children.”

“Trouble?”

“Nothing dangerous. I wouldn’t risk your safety like that.” Jared continued to guide them to the end of the corridor. “He's a bad influence on the others. They started fighting back. Kako used to be a good girl until he arrived. She bit someone the other day.”

“Bit someone?”  

“Ah, not hard.” Jared laughed, covering his mistake. “An accident, really. He influenced her to act out.”

“What’s he like?” Aizawa asked. “Other than the bad behaviour.”

Kayama laughed. 

“We all like a naughty boy, though.”

“His behaviour isn’t a deterrent?”

“I like a challenge,” Kayama said. “I think we’d both like someone to keep us on our toes.”

“Well, he’s sixteen, seventeen, somewhere around there. Tall. Lanky kid. But people like that sort of thing,” Jared said. 

Shinsou. 

Hope bloomed unchecked in Aizawa’s chest. He couldn’t help it. Not when he was this close.

“And you had him a couple days ago?” Aizawa asked quickly in a rush of eagerness. Jared paid it no attention as he stopped by a locked door. He riffled through a set of keys. Something he didn’t do with the younger children. Fear kept them locked behind their door.

“He’s some high profile kid. So, we’ve kept him out here until the heat has cooled down.” Jared flicked a silver key into the doorhole. “He’ll have to stay here for a few weeks, which is why he isn’t quite on sale yet. But once no one is looking for him, I’ll make sure your names are on the top of his list.”

Aizawa held his breath as the door opened. His heart pounded inside his chest.

And sank. 

Piercing silver eyes narrowed as they entered the room. The boy was handcuffed to the radiator. Black hair fell in front of his face, curling at the bottom. His entire body tightened into a hunch position as he tucked his legs underneath himself, ready to pounce despite his hands behind bound. 

It wasn’t Shinsou. 

Aizawa gritted his teeth as he tried to hold back his disappointment. It was cruel. And bitter. How could he feel such a thing when a child was suffering in front of him?

“They haven’t told us his name, due to all the confidentiality. Can’t have someone hearing his name and come looking!”

“What will happen to him if someone does come looking?” Aizawa asked. 

Jared paused, his expression fake and too tight.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Jared patted Aizawa’s bicep. “Now, what do we think?”

“What’s so special about him?” Kayama asked, laughing. 

Jared stared between them both, eyes narrowed, his hand lingering where his gun was tucked into his jeans. Aizawa felt his quirk burn behind his eyes, and Kayama casually rolled up her sleeves, her own quirk at the surface of her skin. 

“How much?” Aizawa filled in the silence. The kid snarled at them through the gag tied around his head. 

“Can’t say a price yet, but you’re looking at twenty million yen, plus.” 

Kayama laughed, a nervous thing that made Jared’s shoulders drop. 

“That’s way out of our price range,” Kayama said. “The children are more reasonable?”

“Around seven to nine million.”

Kayama tugged at Aizawa’s arm. 

“Honey, let's go back to the other children.”

Aizawa barely felt himself nod, his eyes glued to the teen. He couldn’t imagine Shinsou, his stubborn student, in such a vulnerable position. It was hard to think of. Hard to think of Shinsou as a victim. But deep down, he knew Shinsou was probably tied up somewhere, hidden away until he was sold.

If he hadn’t been sold already.

“Okay,” he said. 

“You guys lead the way.” Jared opened the door for them. 

The hairs on Aizawa’s neck rose as he led Kayama through, walking side by side with her. Jared followed behind. 

He tapped Kayama’s hand, but she already knew, shoving one sleeve up around her elbow.

The click of a gun was loud in his ears. He felt Kayama react next to him. A miniscule movement. A tense of her muscles. 

Jared fired.

In sync, they ducked, the bullet flying overhead. 

The gun fired again, the bullet ripping through the air. Kayama’s quirk hissed to life before exploding into a shroom of purple. Aizawa held his breath, throwing himself backward, away from the gas. 

Jared shot again. And again. His aim frenzied and uncontrolled.

“You fuckers!” He screamed, unloading another clip, a bullet chipping the wall where Aizawa stood. “I knew you two were sniffing for trouble!”

The door behind them slammed open. Pete stood in its wake. 

Kayama pressed her back to Aizawa’s, her quirk fading, lingering on the tips of her fingers. 

“You take Jared. I’ll take him,” Aizawa said. 

“Easy.”

Kayama burst into action, her heel cutting through the air with a high kick. Jared cursed, stumbling back, struggling to reload. 

Pete, like a bulldozing bull, charged down the corridor. There wasn’t space to jump out of the way, the walls hugging them trapped. But Aizawa was known to survive encounters that left others dead. 

He lept upwards, his boots catching the wall as Pete ran underneath him. And dropped, landing on the brute’s back. He wrapped an arm around his throat, holding tight. Pete roared, reaching back with thick fingers, nails clawing at Aizawa’s arms. 

But he held steady, feeling the throat bobbed under him, struggling not to collapse. 

A bullet whizzed past, cutting the bugle of Pete’s cheek, blood slapping Aizawa across the face. Another flew by, lodging into the wall next to them. Aizawa kept his hold, tightening his arm. 

“Eraser!” Kayama stood in front of them, Jared’s prone form limp on the floor. Purple smoke followed the directory of her arms, flowing from her fingertips. 

“Time to sleep,” Aizawa growled, holding his breath. He planted his feet on Pete’s back and kicked. The man stumbled into the growing cloud of purple. It enveloped him whole, swallowing him until he was out of sight. 

Aizawa shoved his shirt up and over his mouth and nose, and took a step back away from the quirk. It tingled in the back of his brain, smoothing over his mind and tugging at his eyelids. But after fifteen years and the flash of his quirk, Kayama’s quirk did little to affect him. 

The smoke cleared, revealing Pete’s unconscious body over Jared, the two out. 

“Well, that was close,” Kayama said, pushing her sleeves back down. “How long until their backup arrives?”

“Not before ours does.” Aizawa pulled out his phone, pressing the emergency button. It wouldn’t be long before Present Mic and an entourage of police arrived. 

A minute and thirty seconds, police crashed into the apartment, flooding the rooms with guns and armour. Aizawa stood back, letting them pass as they secured the area. Memories of Eri’s rescue flashed in his mind again. He wondered if he looked just as intimidating, he wondered if Eri saw the heroes fighting for her and feared them.

Did she even know they were there for her?

“Eraser.” 

A familiar tired face stepped into the building.

“Detective.” Aizawa gave a curt bow. 

“Heard you were suspended?” Tsukauchi asked, running a hand down his face, dragging at the thick stubble darkening his jaw.  “You being here would’ve been useful information.”

“This is strictly a police matter. The HPSC doesn't know that I’m here,” Aizawa explained shortly. His patience waned. He could feel his right eye twitching, and the scar under it began to ache and itch. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s not that simple, and you of all people know that. If they find out, or the criminals, it could ruin the entire operation. It would make any evidence we collect here today inadmissible in court.”

“Inadmissible? There’s twenty five children here being sold for sex-.” Aizawa stepped into Tsukauchi’s space.

“Aizawa.” Kayama grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “You know how the law works.”

He ground his teeth, stopping himself from saying the words that were sour on his tongue. It would be pointless. They were sharp and bitter. But still useless in the grand scheme. Picking fights with the law enforcements wasn’t worth the battle. 

“Cut me from the record,” Aizawa sneered. “But I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. Hitoshi is still out there. He’s not fucking here-.”

Tsukauchi shook his head, the bruised circles under his eyes seeming dark with each second. 

“I’m not here to stop you. I know you won’t listen to me,” he said. “But if The HPSC finds out, they will.”

Aizawa would love to see them try. 

“This will come back to bite you, Eraser,” Tsukauchi said. “You risk being fired and having your licence taken away from you permanently. Your student’s case is in our hands, Eraser. I’ve fast tracked it as a favour to you, but if the higher ups know that you’re involved, breaking the law, then there’s nothing I can do if they move me away from the case.”

Aizawa shook, his fists tightening until nails bit into the rough skin of his palm. 

“He’s my student, Tsukauchi.”

“I know-.”

“You don’t.”

Tsukauchi levelled him with a look.

“I’m willing to turn a blind eye, Eraser. But I can’t stop the HPSC. And whatever punishment they decide, if I have to arrest you I will.”

“Then find my student.”

“Eras-.”

The sound of screaming children snapped the coiled tension between them. And in an instant, the pair were running down the corridor and into a room where police stood wide eyed and clueless to a wall of terrified children.

One of the officers crouched down and flipped up his visor, offering kind words. It did nothing to calm down the hysterics. 

“Everyone out,” Aizawa barked. 

“But-.”

“Look at them,” he hissed. 

The children were all but clawing at the back wall, screaming, crying, desperate to get away. The fact that there were police officers waiting to rescue them meant nothing. Not in the face of all they had been through.

The police officers hesitated, unsure, miserable by what they saw, what they were unable to solve and fix. Aizawa doubted he could help. Dressed as he was, dressed in civvies that didn’t scream hero. He was no one the kids could look to. 

And like an angel with bad hair, Present Mic stepped into the room. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s with all the noise?” Mic asked, ducking under the doorway, the tip of his hair bending under the frame. He stood tall, his banana style hairdo making him stand a foot taller. He didn’t crouch to their level, didn’t bend under their fear. Instead, he looked every part hero, like ones printed on posters - proud and ready to save you. 

It was like a switch. One second the children were wailing, shoved against the back wall, clawing to escape. And the next, they fell silent, their tears drying on their cheeks. Eight shocked faces stared back, almost unblinking. 

“Now you’ve all gone shy on me,” Mic joked, hands cupped behind his ears. “I thought I heard a party going on in here? And none of you invited me! Yo! That’s not cool!”

The children stared, and stared, and Aizawa wondered for a second whether they would begin to cry again. 

But-.

“You’re Present Mic,” one of the boys said with stars in his eyes. 

“Got it in one, Little Listener!” Mic threw them a pair of finger guns and a wink that was lost behind his sunglasses. 

The boy looked back at his peers, realisation dawned on their little faces. 

“Is it cool if-.”

And then they were running to him, crying again, and in a rush of little hands, they threw themselves at Mic, wrapping their arms around him. 

“Whoa, crowd control,” Mic said, his voice choked as he gathered the kids close, slotting himself down onto the floor. They piled on him, some sliding into his lap, others clinging to his jacket. All eight of the children held onto him, weeping into his leather. “Hey, hey, shh. It's all cool, kiddos. I’ve got you. Mic-.” Yamada took a shaky breath and blinked hard behind his glasses. “I’ve got you.”

The rest of the room watched in broken awe before one by one the officers left, leaving just Aizawa hovering over Mic and the kids.

No one rushed them, despite the time crunch, despite the urge to rush them to hospital. Not even Mic, who stayed on the floor, his legs probably dead by the weight of eight traumatised children. 

It was only when one pulled away did the peace slowly break. 

“You okay, Listener?” Yamada asked, trying for a smile that only wobbled. 

“I’m hungry,” she complained. She couldn’t have been older than seven. 

Several voices agreed, pulling back as if Yamada somehow could produce food out of no where. 

“Some hungry tummies in here, yeah? Oh boy,” Yamada joked, rubbing his own stomach in union. “How about we get some grub at the hospital? My treat. You can all get whatever you want.”

“Ice cream?”

“Ice cream? Ice cream!” Yamada shrieked playfully. “It’s only twelve, and you want ice cream?”

The kids all burst into delighted giggles. 

“Okay, okay, who votes for ice cream?”

Every hand went up. 

“And who votes for green beans?”

A series of grossed out ‘ews’ and ‘nos’ filled the room. 

Yamada laughed before getting to his feet. He offered his hands to the nearest children, who clung to him like if they didn’t hold tight, they’d have to stay in the room. 

“Ice cream it is!” Yamada cheered. “A pitstop to the hospital and then it’s ice cream on Mic!”

The children were gathered into one room, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Some were crying, heaving great sobs. Others sat in eerie silence, eyes wide, staring at their bare feet. A group were sat entertained by Present Mic, eyes enraptured by a real life pro-hero. 

Aizawa spotted Kako standing over the children she was roomed with, her expression tight with distrust of any adult that walked past her. 

She froze when she spotted Aizawa, her frown deepening as realisation took over. He waved the officer he was talking to away, and made his way to Kako, crouching in front of her. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier,” Aizawa said. 

“I wasn’t scared,” she pouted, the small tremble in her hands contradicting her. 

Aizawa smiled softly, his being feeling warm at the tears welling in Kako’s eyes. 

“Do we get to go home now?” Kako asked. 

“You’ll all be taken to the hospital first. Once you’ve all been checked over, your parents will come for you.”

Fat tears rolled down Kako’s cheek. She quickly wiped them away with her sleeve. 

“I don’t have to go home with you?” Kako asked. 

“No. You don’t.” Aizawa’s heart melted and he wanted nothing more than to hold her, comfort her like he did with Eri. But Kako stood back, her face buried into her hands as she cried. “I have too many cats. You wouldn’t like it.”

Kako laughed, a weak tiny thing. 

“I have a rabbit,” she whimpered.

“Yeah? What’s their name?” 

“Rabbit.” 

“Rabbit the rabbit?” He asked, smiling. 

She nodded, giggling and crying at the same time. And in a brave movement he didn’t see coming, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him. 

“Thank you,” she whined. 

“You’re welcome.” 

He held her, rubbing a hand up and down her back, trying his best to blink back the tears. Eri crossed his mind again, and Aizawa failed to stop the way his eyes burned. 

With a snotty sniffle, Kako pulled back and watched as Aizawa wiped his own tears away.

“Why are you crying?” She asked, bewildered. 

“Something in my eye,” he said.

“My dad says the same thing when he cries too.”

“Must be a dad thing,” Aizawa said, his smile weak and wobbly. 

Kako looked Aizawa up and down with a critical eye. 

“You have kids?”

“A six year old girl,” Aizawa explained, the words flowing without hesitation. There was no legality to his relationship with Eri. He was simply a guardian at U.A. The most logical choice. Eri still belonged to her grandfather. If he ever woke up, he could lose her. But she was his and Yamada’s for as long as they could keep her. Saying guardian, protector or anything other than parent felt fake. “She’s a chatterbox when you get her going.”

And then Aizawa felt a hole in his chest. A space left empty.

“And I have another. He’s not my son, not yet, not really. But he’s special to me too,” Aizawa explained. “It’s who I’m looking for.”

“Here?” Kako asked, looking around as if Shinsou would appear next to her.

“I was hoping he’d be here. He’s older than you, lanky with purple hair. His name is Hitoshi.”

Kako tilted her head to the side as she thought before shaking her head.

“I only saw that other older boy. The one with hair in his eyes.” She mimicked hair in front of her eyes with her fingers. “He shouted at the traffickers.”

Hope at this point was something Aizawa should’ve known not to cling to. 

“All the rest of us are younger. I didn’t see any high schoolers.”

Aizawa nodded, unable in that second to use his voice. Another dead end. Except, looking at Kako, watching those kids swamp Yamada earlier, it was impossible not to feel somewhat grateful that they were here. Light in a dark situation. 

“Oh, that’s him,” Kako said, pointing to the other side of the room. 

The teenager from earlier was brought out with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, followed by an escort of four police officers.

“Excuse me, Kako. I’ll be back.” Aizawa stood, patting her on the head, before making his way to the boy. An officer stepped into his path. Aizawa stepped around, only to have the officer grab his arm. 

“Hey-!” The officer snapped.

“It’s okay. I want to talk to him,” the boy said, peeking around the wall of police, who did not share his sentiment. But reluctantly, they pulled away, allowing Aizawa through. 

Out of the room, the boy looked younger. The harsh lines on his face smoothed. There was dirt on his face, and purple bruising on his cheeks and under his eyes. Twin white bandages sat wrapped around his wrists. 

“You’re a hero?” The boy asked, quickly running Aizawa up and down, his expression unimpressed despite how hard he tried to mask it. 

“Eraserhead.” Aizawa offered the kid his hand.

“Arai Takehiko.” He took it with a weak trembling grip. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Aizawa said softly, using the same voice he reserved for Eri. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Arai let out a breathy laugh, his eyes blinking quickly. 

“You got us out, right?” He asked.

And the words caught on Aizawa’s tongue. If not for Shinsou’s absence, then Kako, Arai and the others would’ve been sold, stuck in their doomed fate. He would’ve continued his life without knowing those he didn’t know needed saving. 

It left a sour taste in his mouth. 

Whatever expression he failed to cover, Arai saw, his eyes growing sad. 

“You looked disappointed when you saw me in that room.”

Aizawa’s heart squeezed in his chest. The kid wasn’t Shinsou. That much was obvious. But somehow, the pair shared similarities. Their mannerisms an imitation without trying. The way his eyes shifted, not quite looking Aizawa in the eye. The stiff way they held themselves under his watch. How their brow furrowed, leaving an indent between their eyebrows. Aizawa had to fight to smooth it away. 

But they weren’t Shinsou. 

They were both simply lonely kids with self-doubt that weighed on their cowed spines. That was easy to see. Aizawa had taught enough children to realise that.

“You’re looking for someone else?” Arai asked.

“My student was kidnapped by the same people who took you.”

“You’re one hell of a teacher to do all this,” the boy gestured to the room full of heroes and police officers. “I doubt my father is even looking for me.”

Aizawa gave him a soft sad smile. 

“You had the traffickers hiding you away. Seems like someone was looking for you.”

Arai looked up at him with hopeful eyes before ducking under the attention. 

“Maybe.” He rubbed at his arms, casting a look among the faces around him, searching for one in particular. “Did you find your student?” He asked. 

“No.” Aizawa followed his gaze, hoping for that shock of purple hair. “The other children didn’t know, but before they put you in that room, was there another boy your age?”

“It’s all a little hazy,” he said, shivering. “They drugged me, and there were so many people crying. It was all, I don’t know, too much? I didn’t know what was going on.”

Aizawa’s hope sank. 

“But there was another boy,” he said, “he wasn’t crying. I-.” He frowned as if trying to remember. “He was helping us.”

“Helping?” Aizawa asked, that same hope growing warm in his chest. 

“Yeah. He wasn’t scared like the rest of us.” Ari shook his head. “He was calm. It was kinda scary. But he was nice. Made sure those men didn’t touch us.” Tears fell, rolling down Arai’s cheeks.

Aizawa’s breath felt cold in his lungs.

“What did he look like?” 

“My age. He had wild purple hair. Tall. I don’t know. I couldn’t really think.” Arai tugged the blanket tighter together. “But he was kind to me. Told me he was a hero-in-training. Even showed me his crumbled licence.”

Aizawa’s eyes burned. 

“ Hitoshi. ”

“Is that who you’re looking for?” Arai asked. 

“He’s not here,” Aizawa said, rubbing at the aching skin around his eyes, blinking hard. 

“They took him this morning.”

Nausea rolled in Aizawa’s stomach, dropping so his feet weighed like lead.

“This morning?” 

“He said not to worry,” Arai said, his voice a whisper with realisation, “his teacher would come for him soon.”

His lungs twisted in his chest, oxygen filling his belly instead. He pressed a hand to his mouth, his fingers grinding into his jaw. 

If he had gotten there soon. Six hours earlier. Five. Four. However many hours earlier-.

He ground his teeth until he was sure he heard one crack. 

“Eraserhead, Sir?” Arai asked, his own eyes wide and unsure. 

Aizawa took a long breath through the nose. 

“Sorry,” he croaked, his voice lost, pushed back with his grief. He had been so close to finding Shinsou. So close to finally keeping his promise. And yet, he stood empty handed, Shinsou still out of reach. 

Had he really been so close? 

“He wasn’t scared when they took him,” Arai said. “He was so confident you were coming for him, and he was right.”

Despite Arai’s attempt to cheer him, it did nothing but sink the stone in his stomach. Because he’d trained Shinsou. Knew that he had taught Shinsou that a hero could be scared in the face of something dangerous, but to the people they were saving, to the world, nothing could scare them. It was the essence of being a hero. Reassuring everyone around them despite how they truly felt. 

And when a generation grew up with All Might smiling on their tv screens, then the lesson rang true. 

“Do you know where they were taking him?” Aizawa asked, his voice rough. 

“I’m not sure, but they did talk about the auction house. I don’t know where that is, but they were talking about…” Arai blushed, his face turning a shade of humiliated red. “They were placing bets on how much his, uh- how much he’d sell for.”

Aizawa closed his eyes as he took a long breath in. 

“You’re sure?” Aizawa thought of the other locations Jared had talked about - the studio and the auction house. He didn’t know which one filled him with more dread. 

Arai nodded. 

“Said he’s a big ticket.” Arai squeezed his lip between his teeth. “Said he was lucky not to go to the studio. They-. They were talking really loud about what they wanted, sir.” Arai’s eyes filled.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me,” Aizawa reached out and squeezed Arai’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Arai whimpered. “He helped me when they were-, and I want to help him.”

“You’ve helped plenty.”

Arai nodded, his words lost behind his muffled cries. Aizawa stayed with him, despite how desperate he was to ranksack the place and find the location of the auction house. But it felt impossible to simply walk away now. 

“When you find him, can you tell him thank you?” Arai asked when the tears slowed. 

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Aizawa couldn’t help but laugh at the starry-eyed look on Shinsou’s face. It made him wonder if love at first sight did exist. 

“You have a motorbike?” Shinsou asked in awe. He traced a hand across the throttles, grinning under the feel of the grip.

“Mic has the car,” Aizawa explained, his own smile tugging at the corners, the kid’s enthusiasm infectious. It was a present for his twenty-seventh birthday. Sometimes he would take Yamada to the beach with it, the two of them riding along the coast. Sometimes it worked well when a mission called for him outside of the city limits and Present Mic was needed elsewhere. 

But with how the year had played out; the USJ; the camping trip; Eri, the bike sat collecting dust in their garage, unused and unloved as Yamada would say. “I don’t ride all that often.”

“But you have a bike!” Shinsou exclaimed bugged eyed and bright. 

“I do.”

“I thought you walked everywhere. I don’t think I’ve seen you drive.”

“I drove you home last weekend,” Aizawa drawled. 

Distracted, Shinsou didn’t reply and instead inspected the wheels, dropping down into a crouch. Whether he knew what he was looking for was unknown to Aizawa. He knew the kid loved his bike, he’d spot him riding along the school grounds. But whether that love transferred over to Motorbikes was something he wasn’t sure on. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know too much about Shinsou. Other than what was in his file and what the kid did and didn’t allow him to see. 

“Do you need a lift home?” Aizawa asked, the words slipping through without thought. 

Shinsou jumped up and whipped around to face him, jaw dragging on the floor. 

“Serious?”

“Serious,” Aizawa mimicked, “let me grab a spare helmet.”

“Not like we can make it worse,” Aizawa said, shaking Shinsou’s head side to side, making sure the helmet was secure. “Your hair already looks like a preschool’s art project.”

“Hey!” Shinsou shoved at him, laughing, the sound delighted. His eyes scrunched from behind the visor. 

Aizawa shoved Shinsou back by one hard push against his helmet, laughing when Shinsou almost toppled, unsure with the new weight on his head. 

He looked different dressed in Yamada’s spare leathers. It suited him. Made him look almost entirely grown. Mature. A flash of a future that was to come. 

It made something inside him melt with pride. 

“Before we get on, ground rules.” Aizawa put up a finger. “No messing around. Don’t let go and show off. You hold onto me. Tight.” 

“Yes, Sensei. I promise.” Shinsou was almost buzzing with excitement, his body shaking like a dog getting ready for its five o’clock walk. 

“Okay,” Aizawa said, knowing that Shinsou was a good kid, that showing off wasn’t truly who he was. A kid with a big bark, sure, but his bite only came when provoked. “If you need me to stop, tap my arm and I’ll pull over.”

“I’ll be fine!” Shinsou laughed, pushing Aizawa towards the bike. 

Aizawa rolled his eyes as he swung a leg up and over the bike, and settled into his seat. He scooted forward for Shinsou to slot in behind him. 

Despite his earlier excitement, Shinsou gingerly slid on, wrapping his arms around Aizawa’s waist. Aizawa grabbed Shinsou’s wrists and yanked at them, bracing himself as Shinsou jerked forward into his back. 

“Tighter, or I’ll be explaining to Principal Nedzu how my student became road kill.”

With a tempered snort, Shinsou squeezed his arms around Aizawa’s ribs, punching out all the air inside his lungs.

“Smart ass,” Aizawa grumbled before twisting the engine into life. The bike purred, vibrating. “Ready?”

Shinsou nodded. 

And Aizawa slowly pulled out, wondering if this was how parents felt sharing a memory with their kids. 

Aizawa pulled up to a hotel far outside his pay bracket. A valet driver waited for him, their outfit smartly pressed and hair slicked back. He killed the engine and passed them his keys, tossing his helmet over the handlebars. 

It was effortless. He was dressed the part. An expensive suit. A clean shaven face, and his hair tied back. 

It helped that he came with the car that roared behind him, the street trembling with the purr of its engine. It was an audacious yellow, bright and loud - the same colour as his goggles. It did its job and every camera sparked to life, flashing, blinding him, as journalists desperately tried to win their shot. 

He was all but shoved aside when the scissor doors to the Lamborghini slid open. A woman with beautiful curly hair, plaited with flowers, sat in the driver's seat, perched on someone’s lap. Pro-Hero Flower Girl. Her quirk, her ability to make flowers that squirted water like a cartoon clown. 

From the opposite side, a man with sharp defined features stepped out, his outfit a dark purple velvet. Pro-Hero Wiggles. He had the ability to stretch his entire body, including his bones.

The pair were from Ms Joke’s agency. Sidekicks who had yet to make a name for themselves. Nobodies in the big world of celebrities. But perfect for undercover work. Pretty distractions, and eyes and ears on the ground while they worked. 

Wiggles offered Flower Girl his hand, helping her to her feet, revealing the true journalist’s prize. 

Present Mic. 

The crowd went wild. And Yamada soaked it all up with a dazzling smile and a wink behind his orange sunglasses. It didn’t matter that it was approaching ten at night. The sky was lit with the thousands of lights from the hotel, a mimic of the stars they hid behind their pollution. Present Mic was always with his sunglasses. 

“Present Mic!” Journalists yelled, trying to draw his attention. Yamada climbed out of his car, spreading his arms in a welcomed gesture before wrapping them around the waists of the man and woman he came with. His dates. 

Because Present Mic wasn’t a married man. Present Mic was a swinging bachelor. And Aizawa wasn’t there as Eraserhead. Wasn’t there as a teacher looking for his student. He was a no named bodyguard tasked to follow silently and vigilantly. 

A journalist crept closer, pushing on the rope keeping them corralled back. 

Aizawa stepped in his way with a hand to his chest. The journalist snapped his attention to him, but baulked under Aizawa’s ire glare. 

“Move back,” Aizawa grumbled before leading Yamada and his two dates inside the hotel. 

The doors opened to a grand reception where staff waited, ready to take coats and guide the way into the main party room. Inside, hundreds of celebrities crowded the hall, the noise deafening. 

Yamada melted into the bodies, laughing and chatting as he walked through. Aizawa followed behind at a distance, using all his hero training to bypass the mass of faceless faces. 

Music swelled, passing through Aizawa’s ribs. He didn’t recognise it, nor the singer on stage. A woman, young, beautiful, and covered in glitter. Despite her peacocking, no one glanced at her, their eyes glued on the people they were talking to, smiles fake and champagne full. 

He spotted a few Pro-Heroes, ones not big enough to be in the top twenty Hero Chart, but large enough to be popular, to be rich enough to be involved in such an event. He didn’t think he would ever catch Endeavour at a place like this. But the heroes there fitted in with lavished gowns and suits, sipping on expensive drinks, laughing politely.

Among the heroes, there were singers he knew from Yamada’s radio show; movie stars his students had shown him during their Friday night movie marathons; models he’d seen on billboards during his patrol. 

Every person there was someone. 

Someone willing to turn a blind eye. 

“You’re frowning.” Yamada slipped in next to him, mouth against his ear.

“How many times have you been here before?” Aizawa asked without looking away from the crowd. 

“Three times.”

“Three times,” Aizawa said, the words ground between his teeth.

“You know it’s part of my job,” Yamada snipped. 

“And it isn’t theirs?” 

“It’s different, and you know it.”

“It looks-.”

“Mic!” A voice interrupted, and Aizawa felt Yamada stiffen behind him. 

“Hagino!” Yamada stepped around Aizawa and kissed her on the cheek, taking her hands in his. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, dear!” Aizawa didn’t recognise her. She was tall, almost rivalling Yamada’s height. Though, his hair had her beat. Her own was cut short and gelled back, making it look slick and clean. “Where’s your entourage? Not like you to be so lonely.”

Yamada laughed and slid his hand around Aizawa’s waist, his long fingers lingering on his hips, playing with his shirt, slowly untucking it. Aizawa’s stomach shuddered at the cold touch of Yamada’s rings. 

“I found something better,” Yamada said in a conspiratorial tone. 

“Your bodyguard?” Hagino asked, chortling. “That’s pretty low, even for you!”

Thankfully, he never attended events with Yamada. He mostly took Kayama, the two giggling the night away with gossip and alcohol. No one knew they were married. No one would recognise him. 

Yamada laughed along with her, and Aizawa forgot for a moment that his husband was undercover. That Present Mic was Yamada, and at the same time wasn’t. A persona that fitted neatly into the pocket world of celebrities. It was a world Aizawa knew very little about. The instinct to push Yamada’s touchy hands away was hard to squash. 

“Look at him.” Yamada took his chin into his fingers. Aizawa didn’t have to act embarrassed. He felt the heat on his cheeks burn even hotter. “You know this is a proud sort of man. Someone who says no.”

The woman laughed and moved as though to touch him. Yamada quickly stepped back, taking Aizawa with him in one graceful move, tapping his cheek like he was an obedient dog. 

“I know you, Hagino. If I let you have him, I’ll never get him back.”

The woman laughed, the lines on her face not stretching or moving. 

“Oh Mic, I’ve only ever stolen one of your dates. It wasn’t my fault she found me more entertaining.”

Yamada huffed, keeping a tighter hold on Aizawa’s waist. 

“Talking of entertainment.” Yamada gestured with his other arm. “Dead tonight. Would love to be somewhere more fun.”

The woman laughed again, and it went straight through Aizawa’s head. 

“You’re so funny,” she said.

Yamada’s smile turned cold. 

“And how's that?” He asked. “You know something I don’t.” 

“Maybe.” She turned into the crowd, and they followed, parting through the wine and pleasantries. She led them into a winding corridor, down a set of stairs and into a small empty room. 

Aizawa kept his guard up, waiting for an attack. Yamada’s shoulders were loose, his posture slouched, like he knew something he didn’t. 

Hagino riffled through her purse, producing a single golden ticket. 

“Here.” She slipped the golden ticket into Yamada’s breastpocket. “Keep this on you at all times.”

“What is it?” Yamada asked.

“Your ticket to The Auction House.”

Aizawa’s heart turned cold inside his chest. 

“Won’t they know we don’t own it?” Yamada asked. “I’d hate to be shot before I could explain that you gave it to me.”

“They only send twenty-one of these out every three months. They can be passed around, swapped, sold. It doesn’t matter who has them because even if you sell them out, they’re complicit. You fuck them over-.”

“They fuck us over,” Aizawa said. 

“Eraserhead, right?”

“Any louder.”

She scoffed before grinning at Yamada. 

“Happy isn’t he?”

“Our student is down there,” Yamada explained. 

“Joke and Tsukauchi told me everything.”

“Do you know if he’s down there? Hitoshi?”

She shook her head.

“The shipment has been heavily guarded.” She looked Aizawa up and down. “Probably your doing.”

“Shipment?” Aizawa ground out. “That’s our student-.”

“Shou.” Yamada got between them, moving Aizawa back. 

Hagino watched them, eyes flicking back and forth. 

“Look, I know you must think I’m a villain, but someone’s gotta do the dirty work here.” Her ire glare landed on Aizawa. “Heard you might know something about that. Something to do with some of the hunters.”

“Horiuchi.”

“Man went missing and turned up bloody at the police station.”

“Shouta?” Yamada turned to him.

Aizawa bit back his retort. 

“You didn’t know?” Hagino said, realisation dawning. 

“No. I didn’t,” Yamada said, his voice tight. “But our student comes first.”

Hagino nodded and led them to the elevator. 

“Pressed the bell button. It’ll take you to the secret floor.”

“Won’t they start questioning why Present Mic is down there?” Aizawa asked. 

“Hardly. The most recognisable names come down here all the time.”

“Who?”

Hagino smiled like a predator watching its prey. 

“I may not be a villain, nor one of you hero lot, but I don’t go making enemies if I can help it.”

“Seems like you’ll have the entire Auction coming for you after this.”

“Anyone could’ve given you those tickets. Not my fault people have sticky fingers.” She pressed the button for the elevator doors to open. “And I’ll have a hero’s favour to cash in, right Hizashi?”

Yamada nodded, stepping into the lift. Aizawa followed, watching as the doors closed on Hagino. 

The elevator bounced before it began its descent. Cheerful music filled the space, turning inside Aizawa’s stomach as they dropped. 

“You know her well?” Aizawa said under his breath. 

“Hagino? I’ve worked with her a few times. She’s a go-between, ya know. We don’t bust her and she gives us information,” Yamada said. “You’ve worked with people like that before.”

“Not ones selling children.”

“Are we really going to argue about this? 

“I don’t understand how you can just act like them all the time. I did it for one day and I felt sick to my stomach. But you’ve come here before. You’re friends with them.” Aizawa took a shaky breath. “Did you know about The Auction House?”

“No,” Yamada said, hurt flashing across his face. “You think I’d let them sell children?”

Aizawa shook his head, burying his face into his hands before dragging them down his skin. 

“I don’t. You just fit in, and I-.”

“Shou.” Yamada took Aizawa’s hands. “It’s undercover work. I play Present Mic, get close to the operations, the drugs, the weapons, and sell the people in charge out to the police.”

Aizawa knew this. He knew Present Mic was a facade. A play Yamada performed. It was the same with Midnight. Himself. 

Except, he had tortured a man to get them that far. That wasn’t pretend. That wasn’t a fake part of him made for show. That was deep. Real. Ugly. 

As if Yamada could read his mind, and after knowing the man for the better part of fifteen years, he almost believed he could, Yamada said, “You never told me what happened with Horiuchi.”

“I tortured him,” Aizawa admitted, guilt sitting fat in his stomach. “I needed to know where they were keeping Hitoshi.”

“Shou.”

“He deserved it,” Aizawa spat. “ He taunted me using Hitoshi. Said things that could be true. Things that will kill me if they are. I lost it.”

“Does anyone else know?” Yamada asked. 

“I don’t care if they do. They can keep my license if it means I get Hitoshi back.”

“We will get him back.”

“I know.”

Yamada kissed him then. Slow. Kind. Real. 

The elevator doors opened with a ding. A man in a waiter’s uniform stood waiting for them. He didn’t blink at the kiss. Didn’t hesitate when Aizawa quickly pulled himself away. 

“Welcome Present Mic and friend.”

They were led to a room with a single black leather sofa. The room was dimly lit, just enough for Aizawa to see in front of him. There were two wine glasses placed delicately on a small table and an assortment of nuts to pick from. 

“This looks nice,” Yamada said, sliding up and wrapping an arm around Aizawa’s waist. “What do you think, darling?” 

“Yeah,” Aizawa said, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“A man of many words,” Yamada jested with the waiter before settling down into his seat. He patted his lap, and barely gave Aizawa enough time before he was pulling him into his lap, tucking one hand around his thigh, squeezing the meat of his leg. “Say, is this a private room?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” The waiter stammered, his face brightening red when Yamada’s hand reached for Aizawa’s zipper. “We don’t have cameras inside the auction rooms. Uh, the customers want to remain anonymous as much as possible.”

“Then shut the door and forget our faces, ‘kay sunshine?” Yamada hissed, his smile turning sharp. 

The waiter bowed before almost running into the door in his effort to flee. 

“Laying it on a bit thick, Hizashi,” Aizawa said under his breath, his own face burning. 

“They like me horny and blonde,” Yamada said, zipping Aizawa back up. 

Aizawa moved off Yamada’s lap and into the seat next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Aizawa said.

“No point us getting riled up before the job’s finished,” Yamada said. “Keep it, and you can apologise to me when we have our kid back.”

Aizawa nodded before the room beyond the mirror flashed to life, blinding them momentarily. 

“Welcome to The Auction,” an automated female voice said through the speakers. “We thank you for spending your night with us and hope you enjoy the merchandise we bring you.”

A door opened and a child was led into the room. They couldn’t have been older than sixteen. They startled at the lights and the mirrors facing them in every direction, hesitating on wobbly feet. Their eyes were blown wide, mouth hanging open like they couldn’t remember to close it. 

They were Drugged. Pumped full of something to keep them docile. Quiet. Easy to control. 

It made Aizawa’s stomach roll. 

A guard grabbed their elbow and led them to the middle of the room on a small raised podium. They were dressed in a simple black vest and shorts, and left bare foot. They trembled on the spot, not quite able to hide away the fear despite the drugs in their system. 

“First item,” the automated voice said. 

Aizawa shook, and Yamada squeezed his leg again, though it was less predatory. Less Present Mic, and more his husband. Aizawa wanted nothing more than to leave and bury himself in Yamada’s hold.

But he continued to watch as the child on stage struggled to hold up their own head. 

“The item is fifteen; quirk - body modifications - allows the user to change parts of their body into any non-organic matter. Certified fresh.”

Aizawa bowed his head, wishing he could hide behind his hair. Wishing he never had to hear those words again. 

“We’ll save them all,” Yamada whispered into his ear. “Every last one of them.”

Aizawa knew a pretty lie when he heard one. He also knew Yamada believed in those words. But the truth - they couldn’t save them all. The handful they’d rescue today would only be the tinniest fraction. A splinter. 

And he knew playing that sort of game was dangerous. It was something he would snip out of his students the second they thought of such an idea. No one could save everyone. Not even All Might. People fell between the cracks. Despite the overabundance of heroes in Japan, there were far more criminals lurking in the shadows, hoping that the dark would hide them. 

But goddamn, would he try. Even if it was saving them one at a time. 

Even if it meant allowing them to suffer in the moment. 

He watched as the bidding button in front of them flashed white, ready to be pressed. He resisted. 

“The starting bid is set to ten million yen,” the robotic voice said. 

A buzzer rang.

“Ten million yen,” it said again. 

“Elven million.”

“Elven and a half.”

The price rose. And rose. Until he sold for more than both of their teacher salaries. 

“Sold for sixteen million. Thank you for your purchase.”

The lights went dim, and Aizawa could barely make out the boy being escorted out of the room. It took everything not to get up and follow, find where he was being taken, find who was taking him. But he stayed put, rooted to the spot. Because he left now, if he saved this boy instead, the chances of Shinsou making it out were next to zero. 

“It’s fucking sick,” Yamada spat under his breath. “How could- they’re the same age as our students.”

Aizawa didn’t want to remind him that one of their students was currently here, waiting to be sold. 

The lights flashed back to life.

A girl was brought in next. Whatever they had fed her wasn’t enough. Unlike the boy before, her eyes were wide and alert. She shook. Trembling so hard she was almost carried to the podium. 

“The item is seventeen. Quirk: Telekinis. Is able to lift a minimum of one tonne. Certified fresh.”

The bids continued. The number growing. The girl’s breathing quickened with each rising digit until Aizawa thought she was about to faint. 

“Sold.”

The girl stiffened. Eyes bright with tears. The guard reached for her, but the moment his fingers touched her arm, she screamed, yanking herself free. She ran into a wall, pressing herself up against the glass. 

Aizawa saw the fear in her eyes. Wild. Unkept. Child-like. 

“Oh god,” Yamada said under his breath. 

She continued to wail, thrashing as two more guards joined the room and began dragging her out. 

“No! Please! Mom!”

Aizawa sucked in a weak breath, his hand searching for Yamada’s. He found him trembling and interlinked their fingers together. 

The room was left in the wake of her screaming, the sound echoing. 

“There’s heroes here,” Aizawa said. 

“Not all of them know,” Yamada said without conviction. “I didn’t know.”

Aizawa squeezed Yamada’s hand, fighting the urge to vomit. A room full of adults, Pro-Heroes, were only a floor away from this, blissfully ignorant to what was happening below them, to the lives that were being cut short only metres away from them. And nothing was being done. No one was being saved. 

“I’m going to ruin this place,” Aizawa growled. “I’m going to run it to the ground.”

Yamada pressed his forehead to Aizawa’s temple, his jaw tight. 

The next victim was brought in. 

They were slow, bumbling, worse than the others. A guard held onto both elbows, guiding them over to the podium. When they let go, the kid stumbled before drawing their shoulders back, their neck tipping as their eyes rolled inside their sockets, struggling to focus. 

“Item nine.”

Aizawa sat up. 

They had shaved his hair. His usual styled mop of curls was gone, replaced by a military-like cut. They were almost unrecognisable. Exactly the point of their quick disguise. 

The boy was turned around, their back to them, and was slowly guided into a slow circle. Mottled bruises ran up his pale skin, painting him in sickly yellows and dark purples. There were bandages wrapped around his hands, and several others were tied around his legs, as if he had been shot multiple times. All injuries Aizawa had attended to days ago.

Finally, he managed to face them, his head balancing precariously on his neck, his eyes unseeing as he stared straight into the one-way mirror. Violet eyes that looked right at Aizawa. 

Hitoshi. 

He bolted out of his seat. Turned to the door. But Yamada stood in his way, fists tight in his jacket, holding him back. He pushed, but Yamada held steady, keeping his hold. 

“They’ll kill him before you even reach him.”

“He’s right there,” Aizawa growled.

“You don’t think they have guards waiting by those doors. How many can you fight while they drag the kid away?”

Aizawa dug his nails into his palm. 

“He’s right there.”

“I know.”

“He doesn’t know we’re here.”

“He will.”

“Hizashi. Look at him-.”

“We play the game.” Yamada let go slowly and gestured back to the sofa. “And we get our boy.”

Yamada pushed gently. 

“Shouta. We need to bid on him.”

His eyes burned as he turned back to watch Shinsou stand alone on that podium. 

“Okay.”

“We’ll get him back. I promise.” Yamada took his hand and led him back over to the sofa. Though, he couldn’t sit. Couldn’t sit back and relax while Shinsou was paraded like an animal at market. Instead, he stood by the one-way mirror, next to the button that would press to place their bid on the kid. 

“The item is Fifteen-.”

“He’s sixteen,” Aizawa said, knowing exactly why they changed his age. What sort of person would want a fifteen year old. 

“Quirk: Brainwashing. If a person verbally responds to him, he can take them under his control. Certified fresh.”

Relief felt sick between his teeth. As if Shinsou hadn’t had all his agency stripped from him already. As if they hadn’t plucked him clean. 

“The starting bid is set to twenty million yen,” the robotic voice said. 

Aizawa pressed the button. 

“Twenty million.”

Shinsou frowned, his eyebrows knitted together like he was trying to swim through the drugs. 

“Twenty One million,” the voice said. 

Aizawa pressed it again. His hands shook. 

The number climbed, growing extortionate. 

“Thirty six million.”

“Fucking stop bidding,” Yamada cursed, snapping when the voice sounded again, a bid from another booth coming through. 

“Brainwash is a valuable quirk,” Aizawa said, his voice lifeless. “And he’s young. He’ll be easy to train.” Easy to break. 

Aizawa pressed the button again. 

“It won’t come to that.”

Shinsou stumbled forward on two clumsy feet, only managing not to fall on his face by a guard who was watching too closely and caught them by their arm. He set them upright again, and stepped back, waiting to see if Shinsou could keep his feet under him. 

Somehow he did, the muscles in his legs trembling. 

“What if it has?” Aizawa said, staring at those vacant eyes. 

“He’s your protege. He won’t give up.” 

The conversation in the van crossed his mind. One where he told Shinsou to do whatever it took to survive. Even if that meant giving up, to sacrifice everything just so he could live. To give him enough time to find him. 

He wondered if he took too long.

“Thirty nine million.”

The room went quiet. A pregnant pause. Yamada turned to him, but Aizawa didn’t tear his eyes away from Shinsou. 

Ten seconds passed. 

Twenty seconds.

“Forty million.”

“Fuck off!” Yamada swore, kicking at the wall in front of him before reaching for the button again. “Do we know who wants him?”

“Forty one million.”

Aizawa shook his head. Shinsou was frowning again. His forehead began to shine with sweat.

“Come on,” Yamada said. “That’s enough.”

Aizawa silently sent a prayer to whoever was listening. 

“Item nine: Sold.”

All the air in his lungs left him. They had him. 

The guard put their hands on Shinsou. But the kid paused, putting weight into his legs. The room waited, turned to the new distraction. 

“Don’t fight, kid. We’re coming,” Aizawa said under his breath, knowing that Shinsou couldn’t hear him. 

Shinsou tried to pull his arm back, his face screwed up, mouth falling open like he was trying to speak.

A stabbing pain hit behind Aizawa’s eyes. A pinprick that went straight into his brain. A mental touch he knew. 

“Was that-?” Yamada asked with a wince, rubbing the spot as if he could smooth out the pain. 

“Hitoshi.” Trying to use his quirk. Trying to push its limits. Trying to fight. 

The guard yanked Shinsou forward, causing him to lose balance and fall forward. He hit the floor on his knees, sliding into the guard’s legs. He barely got his feet under him before he was being dragged by the neckline of his shirt.

Yamada gripped Aizawa’s hand. 

“Don’t.”

Aizawa waited, despite how every part of him wanted to race after Hitoshi. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, they were led to a room at the end of the corridor. Aizawa was shaking, his entire body on edge.

“Do you have arrangements for taking your item home?” The man asked.

“I’m having the spare Volvo brought around. My bodyguard here is going to take him home while I rejoin my dates upstairs,” Yamada said, grinning. “I don’t want to miss it when the party gets messy.”

The man looked Yamada up and down before turning a critical eye to Aizawa, no doubt having read the many articles of Present Mic’s wild adventures.

“Do you require any assistance during the transfer?” He asked instead.

“They’re drugged up, right? Probably nothing we can’t handle.”

The man nodded before opening the door, leaving Yamada and Aizawa alone. It took everything not to rush in. The room itself was large, decorated with two plush sofas facing each other over a glass coffee table. A king sized bed was pushed against the wall, illuminated by a low golden light. 

And there, sat on the edge was Shinsou.

“Hitoshi.”

Shinsou’s head rolled towards the sound of his name, the whites of his pupils overtaking the violet, his gaze drunk. Wilting. Lifeless. He stared, a wrinkle between his brow.

He didn’t move to greet them. Like he didn’t understand who stood in front of him. Of what it meant. Too pumped full with god knows what drugs in his system.

But he watched, eyelids fluttering, fighting not to let his eyes roll backwards into his skull. 

Aizawa crouched down in front of him, desperate to grab him and go. But Shinsou’s hands clung to the bedsheets, gripped with iron fingers that quivered. Like if he held onto them tight enough it’d keep him safe. 

“Hey kid,” Aizawa croaked, his voice twisted and broken. He swallowed the feeling of his heart too large in his throat. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

Shinsou blinked. His gaze lost on him. But his jaw tensed, his shoulders pulled inwards like he didn’t know how to react, his mind and body fighting for control. 

“You’re a bit of a mess right now, huh?” Aizawa tried joking, easing a smile onto his face, but his lips pulled taut, strained over the fear across Shinsou’s face. The fear directed at him. One he was currently causing. 

If there was time, he would have proceeded with caution. Let Shinsou direct how he acted. Let him decide how fast they moved. But time was something they didn’t have. 

“We need to leave.” Aizawa reached for those trembling hands, wincing as Shinsou’s grip tightened. “I’m sorry.” His hands dwarfed Shinsou’s as he took them into his own. They were cold to the touch. Freezing. “It’s okay. It’s just me, ‘Toshi.” 

Shinsou clung to the blanket, a low pained noise coming from the back of his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Aizawa said again as he uncurled his hands from their clawed position, slowly plucking them free from the sheets. “It’s okay.” He freed one hand and kept it between his own, filling the warmth back into it. He squeezed Shinsou’s fingers, his heart breaking when they quivered like a downed sparrow.

Tears crawled down Shinsou’s cheeks.

“D-don’t,” Shinsou pleaded, his words slurred and quiet, like he couldn’t remember how to speak. 

Aizawa paused, Shinsou shaking in his palms. He squeezed them gently, pressing all his warmth and love into Shinsou. 

“It’s me, Hitoshi. It’s Aizawa.”

“Pl–.” Shinsou sucked in a harsh breath. “P-please.”

Aizawa’s eyes burned.

“Okay. I won’t. I promise.”

Shinsou’s chest heaved, his ribs bursting as his breathing shuddered, making small wounded sounds with every exhale. 

“You’re going home, Hitoshi. Back to U.A.”

The door behind them opened, and Shinsou froze, his eyes widening to the sound of a second person. Aizawa let go of his hands and took hold of his elbows, guiding him forward, almost pulling him into a hug. But held back- the last thing he wanted was the kid freaking out on him, more so than he already had done. 

“Shou.” Yamada popped his head into the room. He paused at the way Shinsou was curled against him, weak and pliant, words that didn’t suit him. “Time to go.”

“Okay,” Aizawa said, turning back to Shinsou who was looking down, away from him. “We need to leave, kid.”

Shinsou shook his head. His breathing quickened until he was all but wheezing. “ N-no .”

“Calm down. Deep breaths.” Aizawa soothed, running a thumb back and forth on his arm. 

“What did they even give him?” Yamada hissed, closing the door behind him with a click. Shinsou jumped at the noise, sucking in a desperate breath between his teeth.

“He doesn’t know who I am,” Aizawa explained. “He hasn’t stopped shaking.”

Yamada glanced around the room. Aizawa watched out of the corner of his eye, his focus on Shinsou. He could hear him rummage around until he was handed a bottle of water. 

“It’ll help flush out whatever he’s been given,” Yamada said, keeping his voice low like he was speaking around a baby he didn’t want to wake. It reminded Aizawa of when Eri first came to live with them, how they would whisper into the night, afraid to disturb her when she managed to find sleep. 

Aizawa unscrewed the cap before lifting it up into Shinsou’s view. 

“Can you drink this for us?” Aizawa asked, holding it to Shinsou’s lips. The kid jolted, water spilling down his chin before instincts took over, and he took a small sip. He turned away, dribbling. “A little more,” Aizawa encouraged. 

There was a strange sense of calm as Shinsou drank. Aizawa helped as Shinsou tried to hold the bottle with both hands, his fingers struggling to find enough grip strength. It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, both of them watching as colour began to return to Shinsou’s cheeks. 

“Okay, tim-.”

Yamada moved. Too quick. A flash of movement. And like the startling of birds, Shinsou shot to his bare feet. It was clumsy as he stumbled over himself, crashing into the wall opposite them. His knees wobbled as he clung to the plaster, cornering himself. He turned, balancing on his hips, adjusting his stance as if ready to fight. 

“Shit.” Yamada cursed as he took a slow step back, palms raised. “Sorry, listener, didn’t mean to scare you.”

A flash of pain struck again, right at the front of Aizawa’s skull. It was pitiful. A minor headache that did nothing to waive his ability to fight. 

“Is that him again?” Yamada asked. 

“Yeah,” Aizawa confirmed. Shinsou’s quirk was almost as familiar as his own after the months of training they’d spent together. Where it has once brought a sense of wonder and caution, it now felt like a hand reaching out for his - something warmth and inviting. 

Shinsou once described it like a series of strings he was able to pull. That when he was a kid, he’d yank tight, almost snapping it before he could even control it. But with time, he learnt to weave them between his fingers like spider’s silk. 

Something to be gentle with.

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa said softly, raising his palms up. “It’s Aizawa. It’s me, kid.”

Shinsou blinked at him, head dipping before tilting. He swayed, bumping into the wall, using it as a crutch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Aizawa promised, mimicking the same tone of voice he spoke with when Eri was too tired and upset to know it was him after a nightmare. 

“S-stop.”

“I’m here to take you home.” Aizawa moved slowly, inching closer and closer to Shinsou, despite how hard it was not to grab him and run. “Hi-.”

He felt it before he knew what was happening. A moment stuck inside his own head. An echo of his freewill taunting him while he had no power to change it. 

And then it was over. 

Shinsou was on the floor, collapsed onto his knees, hunched over himself. Aizawa dropped to his own knees beside him. 

“Hitoshi?” He pulled him up by his shoulders, hands coming up to cup his face. “Hitoshi?”

There was blood on his upper lip. Blood trickling from his nose. 

“Is he okay?” He heard Yamada’s voice behind him. 

Aizawa held onto Shinsou, watching as those eyes watched him back. He hoped. Waited. And hoped again for a flicker of recognition. 

“You with me, Hitoshi?” Aizawa asked, leaning closer, hanging onto one little nod of recognition. 

Shinsou ran his tongue over chapped lips. He paused, his head tilting into Aizawa’s hands. 

“I’m cold,” he said, his teeth beginning to chatter. “‘Mcold, S-sensei,”

“Here.” A rush of relief took his words until they were barely more than a puff of air. Whispered and hopeful as he sipped free of his jacket and manhandled Shinsou into it, draping it across his shoulders. He drowned in it, and Aizawa had to button it up to stop it sliding down his arms. “Better?”

Shinsou nodded, eyes slipping closed like he couldn’t concentrate on Aizawa, not with him being so close. He took Shinsou’s face into his hands, and Shinsou surrendered the weight of his head to him with an audible sigh. 

Aizawa wanted to promise him the world. He wanted to reassure that when he woke up, everything would be okay. But he couldn’t. Not when it wasn’t true. They still had to escape. The nightmare wouldn’t end there. Not in a hospital bed. Not with the scars this place would leave on him.

“I’m so sorry,” Aizawa whispered, brushing a thumb across Shinsou’s too prominent cheekbone. Up close, he could see the darkened bruises under Shinsou’s eyes concealed by makeup. His lip was slightly swollen, a scab already dry and healing there. 

He looked older. His features sharp and hollow. 

Aizawa smoothed his hands over Shinsou’s downy-feathers like hair, a smile curing at the way Shinsou sighed at the attention. He mumbled something under his breath. 

“I didn’t hear that,” Aizawa said, leaning closer, pulling Shinsou into his chest. 

“I-I knew you’d come,” Shinsou said, a smile curling.

“I’m sorry you had to wait.”

Shinsou nodded, entirely limp against him, the drugs and use of his quirk draining him faster than the water could help. Aizawa pressed his fingers into the crook of his neck and jaw, finding his pulse weak and thready. He needed a hospital. 

“I’m going to carry you,” Aizawa said, but Shinsou was already out.

“ Shou . We really need to go.”

He tucked an arm under Shinsou’s long legs and bundled him against his chest, lifting him off his feet. 

Shinsou already didn’t weigh anything. But now, he felt like hollow bones. 

“What did they do to you?” Aizawa asked, not expecting an answer, wishing there didn’t need to be one.

Yamada held the door open, his expression wrecked behind his glasses. 

Aizawa bundled Shinsou close as they began making their way down the corridor. A guard passed them, her lingering eyes on Shinsou. It made Aizawa want to run, run before they could take Shinsou from him. But Yamada’s hand was on the small of his back, fingers tight against his shirt, keeping him steady. 

A low tired sound broke from Shinsou, his eyebrows tightening before smoothing out.

Worry gnawed inside Aizawa’s chest.

“Is he okay?” Yamada whispered. 

“The sooner we get out of here, the better I’d feel about him.”

Yamada nodded, giving Shinsou a long, concerned look. 

“Don’t worry, listener. We’ll get you the best suite. First class. All the jello you can-.” They picked up the pace. Almost jogging to reach the elevators. 

Only to come face to face with six guns aimed at them.

Aizawa skidded to a stop, his legs bunching, ready to fight. Six against two weren’t bad odds. He’d fought more and come out with only a few bumps and bruises. He didn’t even know how many people he battled against during the USJ incident - all he could remember was the need to protect. 

He held Shinsou tighter. 

But he couldn’t risk it. Not with Shinsou unconscious.

Yamada stepped in front of them, waving his arms at the guards that stood in their way. 

“Yo, what’s the hold up people?”

The guards didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Their guns fixed on them. 

“This is bad customer service, ya hear? I gotta make a complaint, or something. We paid for the little thing and now you’re holding us up?” Yamada asked, every word popping out of his mouth, his accent twisting with a twanging sound. 

“I apologise for the upset. We here at The Auction strive for the best.” A man in an expensive suit stood at the front of the guards. He was foreign, his accent landing him across to the states. His smile was filled with too many white teeth. His face had been smoothed out with fillers, giving him an alien-like face, his features too sharp to be natural. “The last thing we want is our guests to experience any shortcomings.”

“Then let us go on our merry way,” Yamada said. 

“I’m afraid we can’t allow that. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I paid for the kid with my own pockets. And he weren’t cheap. So, before I make a big fuss, you better let us through.”

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Mr Mills.” 

“I don't give a squat who you are.” Yamada folded his arms over his chest. “My money not good enough for you? Do you know who I am?”

“I do, Present Mic. I also know your friend there is Eraserhead.”

The room shook with the sound of a low grumble. 

Aizawa took a step back with nowhere to go. The hairs on the back of his neck stood. Moments of the forest and too many teeth flashed inside his brain. 

“ Shit. ”

Yamada followed suit, instincts matching, even if he didn’t know what they were backing away from. 

“I believe the pair of you have met,” Mr Mills said. 

A jaw full of sharp teeth pushed through the guards, parting them with its bulk of muscle. 

“What the fuck is that thing?” 

Gorgonops stood between the guards, his body almost taking up the entire corridor. Aizawa held Shinsou tighter, wishing he could hide him within his chest, shield him from the monster that almost killed him. 

“We paid for him, just like any other of the sick fucks here, and you set your freaky dog on us!” Yamada snapped. 

“Except you plan to bring us down. To stop our little operation.” Mr Mills tutted. “Now that would be extremely bad for business. There’s already word that you’ve shut down one of our houses.”

“Sorry for making you close shop,” Yamada scoffed. 

“Do you have any idea how much money you’ve cost us?” He asked, his eyes wide, imploring, like he was talking to misbehaving students. 

“They’re children,” Aizawa growled. “You’re selling children and you expect us to step aside.” 

“Plenty of heroes do, but I suppose there are some who believe every word they spout.” Mr Mills smiled close lipped, his eyes scrunching in fake sincerity. 

“Then they aren’t heroes,” Aizawa snarled. 

“Oh? Now that sounds a bit hypocritical of you, Mr Eraserhead. I heard you broke a few laws to find out where we are. It would be a shame if the Hero Commission heard of your little rogue adventure.”

“I don’t care about them.”

“You are right. There’s little need to worry about them. Not when you won’t be leaving.” Mr Mills raised his hand and clicked his fingers together. 

Gorgonops lunged, jaws opening impossibly wide. 

“Mic!” 

“I know!” Yamada yelled before drawing in a big breath. “It’s about to get loud.”

Aizawa ducked against a wall, shielding Shinsou, putting his hands against the kid’s ears. 

Yamada screamed. 

Pain erupted inside Aizawa’s head, splitting his skull. He pressed Shinsou tighter against him and the wall, digging his hands against his ears. His own burned like they were on fire. He counted five seconds, and added another five to be sure before he pulled away, dragging Shinsou with him.

Nausea stirred inside his stomach as he steadied himself, the room tilting. His vision blinking. Wavering. He felt someone shaking his shoulder. Pulling at his protective hunch. 

“-ou!” Clipped voices like a broken radio echoed around him. Yells. Screaming. Gunfire. “Shouta!” 

The someone from before reached for Shinsou, separating them. 

“Don’t.” Aizawa snatched their wrist. 

“Then get up!” 

Aizawa turned, quirk flashing to life, gold finding black leather and orange shades. 

“Move!”

Awareness bled back slow and painful. His head felt full. Static inside his skull. But he stood, pulling Shinsou up with him, cradling him like he was too long to be held, his limbs dangingling. 

“Pass him to me.”

Shinsou slipped. 

“Shouta.”

Aizawa took a step forward, clutching at Shinsou’s shirt, feeling like they were made of water. He couldn’t keep hold. 

“I got him.”

The person before took him. Held him safely before reaching back for him. They took his arm. They walked. Marched. Ran. 

“Keep up!”

A low growl shook inside his head. Like music too loud. Like they were close. Breathing down his neck. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

The floor vibrated under their shoes. The sound growing louder. The ground shaking. Closer. Closer. Cl-.

“Shouta!”

Awareness snapped back. A whiplash of too many colours and sensations before he turned and saw Gorgonops running for them. 

Aizawa’s quirk flared to life. Gorgonops slipped, his form rippling before he was left stumbling, naked and human. It wouldn’t last. The second he looked away, he would transform again. 

“Go!” 

“Not without you,” Yamada ordered, dragging him backwards and past a fire escape door. “Up or down?”

“The carpark should be right under us!”

They descended down the stairs. A hail of gunfire followed them, bullets lodged into the walls around them. They slammed into the next pair of doors, revealing a hundred parked cars. Expensive and sleek. Black and silver, all tailored for a night of tuxedos and champagne. 

The bright yellow of Yamada’s car was easy to spot. 

They raced to it. Yamada barely managed to unlock it before Aizawa threw himself into the driver’s seat. Yamada jumped in behind, sliding into the backseat and lay on top of Shinsou. 

“Start the car!” 

Aizawa twisted the keys. The engine roared to life, the car lights flashing, illuminating the guards with their guns fixed on them, and the beast galloping towards them. 

A bullet smashed through the window. Yamada yelled, ducking, covering Shinsou. 

Aizawa swung the wheel, swerving the corner as another bullet struck, the window shattering into a million pieces. 

He didn’t have time to think as the third stuck through the car door. Pain exploded in his side. Instincts made him reach for the wound, his hand leaving the wheel. The car spun, the tyres screeching as he struggled for control. 

“Did you get hit?”

Yamada yelled behind him, his voice a thousand miles away and right behind him all at once. He could see him watching him through the car mirror. Shinsou was under him, held tight by his arms, glass in his hair. 

Another gunshot struck. The car jerked, wrestling with the wheel. One of the tyres blown.

“Shouta!”

He had a second to watch Yamada scream his name before the car hit the wall. A second to watch Yamada hit the back of his seat. A second to feel his ribs break against the car wheel. 

It took longer to gain consciousness. To realise the gun in his face. That he was no longer in the car. That there was a hand on the back of his neck, keeping him pinned to the ground. 

Yamada was dropped next to him. There was blood in his hair. 

“Shoot them and dump them into the harbour,” Mr Mills said, his accent curling around the words, the sound grating. 

“And the boy?”

Aizawa snapped his attention upwards. Shinsou was being carried by one of the guards. He was still unconscious. Unaware that freedom was being ripped away from him. 

“Give him to the second bidder. Call it a gesture of our goodwill.” Mr Mills waved the guard away and Aizawa could do nothing as they walked away, Shinsou in hand. 

“Hitoshi!”

Chapter Text

Even with a gun pointed at his head, Aizawa didn’t look away as they shoved Shinsou into the back of a car. 

He felt the muzzle dig into his forehead, the metal warm against his skin. 

“It’s unfortunate that it had to end this way, Present Mic,” Mr Mills said, his voice full of false remorse. 

“Don’t you think it’s gonna look a little fishy when I turn up dead at one of your parties?” Yamada sneered.

“Celebrities tend to get a little too drunk at these sorts of things. Very easy to fall and crack your head. Or drown in the nearby river walking home.” Mr Mills clicked his fingers. 

Yamada was dragged to his feet, shouting and yelling, struggling against the hands that bound his wrists behind his back. It was followed by a grunt of pain.

Aizawa listened, his heart torn, but he didn’t take his eyes off the car as the engine rumbled to life, the lights blinding. He felt the click of the trigger shift against his forehead. Instincts shot through him, his hair curling around his head, eyes burning underneath his quirk. But Erasure couldn’t stop a bullet. 

“Take him out to the docks first. Make sure he drowns,” Mr Mills said, “and shoot Eraserhead.”

The words washed over him. The jeep containing Shinsou started to pull out, and Aizawa once again could do nothing but watch Shinsou be taken a second time. 

Aizawa whipped his attention to the barrel. He bucked against the hands keeping him down, his quirk ablaze. It did nothing as the guard’s finger pressed down on the trigger. 

He braced. Eyes wide open. If he was going to die, then he was going to see it happen. 

And in a flash of colours, flowers exploded all around them, pushing the gun upwards, the bullet flying overhead. 

“We need backup!” A guard called into his radio. “We’ve got heroes do-.” 

A human fist stretched over the space of the car park, knocking him to the ground. A head followed the line of their arm before the rest of their body ran caught up only seconds behind. 

“I thought this was supposed to go smoothly?” Wiggles asked, throwing an elongated right hook at another guard. 

Flower Girl materialised from inside a blooming flower. Vines with sharp thrones shot out around her like poised snakes, ready to strike. One lashed out, snaring one of the guards by her ankle and threw her into a nearby car. 

Aizawa kicked out, catching his own guard in the face. He leapt to his feet, and turned to find Yamada throwing Mr Mills to the ground, a knee pressed between his shoulder blades. 

“I’ll throw you into a fucking river,” Yamada panted, his hair dishevelled, blood dripping from the tips. He looked up as Aizawa approached, his expression turning from confusion to urgency. 

“Go, go, go. I’m fine!” Yamada yelled. “Go! I’ll catch up!”

Aizawa spared him one last glance before nodding. And then he was sprinting through the garage. A gun fired after him, the bullet flying wildly. He heard Yamada yell, his quirk shaking the ground underneath his dress shoes. But he didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back. Not when the car was pulling out of the garage. 

A familiar black bike sat within reach. Aizawa raced for it, throwing himself onto it. He shoved his helmet over his head, and spun into action, the wheels screeching as he sped after the car. 

The bike soared out of the garage, skidding onto the street. Car horns blared as he weaved between them, eyes peeled for the particular one containing Shinsou. 

For a terrifying moment, with the bright lights of the city and the dark, he feared he’d lost the jeep. He sped up, heart racing as he ran through a red light. 

“Come on, where are you?” He said under his breath, panic strangling his voice. “Please.”

And then out of the corner of his vision, he saw it. The jeep turning onto the main street.  

Aizawa gave chase.

He split between cars, vanishing from sight and reappearing closer and closer to his target. A man leaned out of the window of the jeep, a gun in hand. Aizawa accelerated, the sound of his engine cutting through the traffic. 

The man fired, bullets spraying. The crowd screamed, scrambling to safety. Cars screeched to a halt, swerving to avoid the fight. Aizawa veered sharply, barely avoiding crashing into them, jumping up onto the street. He dodged around a lamppost, curving back onto the road, sliding up alongside the jeep. 

It cut left, slamming into him. The bike wobbled. Aizawa struggled to counter it, the wheel squealing as he fought to stay on.

“ Shit. ”

He braked, slowing down, the jeep speeding past. 

Headlights flashed behind him. He looked behind his shoulder and spotted three motorbikes racing after him. 

Aizawa reached to the side of his bike, feeling along the edges of its frame. Something clicked under his hand, and a compartment opened under his fingers, sliding with a mechanical whirling sound, revealing a knife hidden beneath. 

A driver lined up next to him, their gun pointed at him. He kicked out. They spun, the bike sputtering. He chased them, and drove his knife into the tyre. Air rushed with a loud pop. This time they spiraled out of control, slipping onto their side, spinning out of sight. 

Aizawa twisted the handlebars sharply to the left, crashing into another bike. The riders screamed as the bikes rolled, rolling widely with a sickening crunching sound. Aizawa didn’t look back to see if they were alive. He yanked the throttle hard, racing to catch up with the car. 

It was faint under the roar of the engines, under the noise of the city, but he could hear it. The sound of fighting. Someone struggling. Someone screaming. Flashes of figures fighting in the rear window. 

He doubted the traffickers were fighting with themselves.

A gunshot shook the car. The window smashed into pieces. Aizawa’s heart dropped into his stomach. 

The backdoor slammed open. A figure leaned forward, almost dangling from it. Shinsou. He sat poised on the edge of his seat, gripping onto the grab handle. His head swung towards Aizawa. And in an awful second, he understood.

He was going to jump.

Aizawa rushed to intercept.

Whether Shinsou didn’t understand with the drugs in his system, or whether desperation was making him act rash, jumping would only get him killed. 

The kid stared at the passing road, his eyes wide as if trying to calculate the timing. Aizawa climbed up the road, inching closer, praying. 

Fifty metres. Thirty. Ten. 

Aizawa rode alongside the jeep. Shinsou looked up, terrified, relief absent on his face. He shifted back, almost crawling over an unconscious guard. Aizawa checked again, lingering on the guard and the blood on Shinsou’s face. 

God, he hoped Shinsou was too confused to realise what he had done. 

Shinsou raised the gun in his hands, his aim shaky. 

“Put it down,” he yelled, but his helmet and the incoming traffic and wind drowned him out. 

A bullet whipped overhead. The gun jumped out of Shinsou’s hands, the recoil too much. Shinsou turned for it, twisting, leaning too far out of the car. 

If he didn’t jump, then he was going to fall. 

Aizawa braced himself, scooping one leg over the saddle of his bike. He needed to get inside the car. He needed to get control. He moved ahead of the car, just slightly, and braced. If he missed, then he’d be dead and Shinsou would be lost forever. 

He lept. 

Shinsou screamed as he landed on him, tackling him down onto the backseats. 

“It’s me! Calm down!” Aizawa shouted, pinning Shinsou down, keeping his reaching hands away from the gun next to his head. 

“G-get off!” Shinsou wailed, his eyes wild, unseening, darting in every direction. “Get off!” He shoved the gun in Aizawa’s face. Aizawa braced, diving to cover Shinsou as the bullet fired. It bounced off the helmet, lodging itself into the front seat. Aizawa heard the grunt of the driver, and the car veered side to side as they fought for control. 

Aizawa pinned Shinsou down.

“Hitoshi!” Aizawa twisted the gun out of Shinsou’s grip.

“Hey!” 

Aizawa spun to face the driver, who twisted in his seat, waving a gun in a shaky hand. 

“I’ll shoot you both!” He screamed. 

Aizawa froze. But Shinsou burst into action, scrambling underneath him, snatching the gun. 

Aizawa watched as the driver panicked.

He knocked the gun out of Shinsou’s hand, and lunged, leaping over the console and into the front of the jeep. The driver yelled, firing, shots going wild. Aizawa yanked the gun up towards the roof of the car before punching the driver in the throat. They choked. Gagging. But they didn’t let go of the gun. 

“We’re going to crash,” Aizawa explained, his voice rough and dark. The driver swallowed painfully, one hand still clinging to the steering wheel. “Let go.”

“They’ll kill me if I let you take him.”

Aizawa moved into their space. 

“And I won’t?” 

The driver shook, eyes wide with realisation before something caught the corner of his eye. 

“Kid, wait-.”

Aizawa turned to see Shinsou with the gun pointed at them. 

The first bullet split between him and the driver. 

Aizawa grabbed a fistful of the driver’s hair and slammed their head down, striking it against the steering wheel. 

Once. Twice. Thrice. 

The driver slumped in his seat. Aizawa shoved them into the passenger seat, sliding behind the wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shinsou’s reflection in the mirror ready another shot. 

“Sorry, kid.”

Aizawa slammed down on the brakes.

Shinsou smashed into the back of his seat. Aizawa felt the blow, his head whipping forward, the steering wheel cutting into his chest. 

The sound of wheezing and broken breaths filled the car. Aizawa reached out blindly for the keys, turning the engine off. 

“Hitoshi?” He choked, his voice awful. “‘toshi?”

He turned around in his seat before climbing into the back. He found Shinsou in between the seats, sobbing, his entire body trembling.

“Hitoshi?” Aizawa bent down to scoop him up, but hesitated, hands hovering, worried for injuries he couldn’t see. “Are you hurt?”

Shinsou only cried, curling into himself. 

Aizawa paused. If he moved him and his spine was damaged…

“P-please,” Shinsou blubbered, his voice hitching, cracking. “I-.” His stricken face flashed in the reflection of his helmet. Aizawa ripped it off, the air cool around his sweaty face. He dropped it behind him, letting it clunk between the seats by Shinsou’s feet.

“It’s just me.” Aizawa reached for him. “Just-.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Just tell me if it hurts, okay?”

He gently pulled Shinsou up from the space, his hand around the back of his neck, supporting it. 

“L-let me go,” Shinsou whimpered. “P-please.”

“Shhh. Shh. Shh.” Aizawa whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Shinsou whined as Aizawa scooped him up into his lap. There was blood rolling from his nose. His lip was split again, swollen and huge against his face. There were cuts against his face, the mark of nails against his skin, of glass embedded in his soft cheeks.

“Oh my god.” The words fell from him as he held Shinsou close. “I have you, kid. It’s okay. I’m-.”

He dropped his forehead against the crown of Shinsou’s head. 

“You’re going to be okay.”

The sound of sirens cut through the street. Aizawa sagged against the back seat, dragging Shinsou with him. 

“N-no. No.” Shinsou bucked, fingers clawing at his arms, eyes wide as the flash of police lights flooded the car. 

“It’s okay. Shh.”

Shinsou sobbed, his breaths coming too quick, too panicked. 

“Shhh. Hitoshi. Shh.”

He rubbed at the kid’s chest, feeling his heart hammering under his palm.

“I promise. Okay, I promise.”

Shinsou whined, his fingers clinging on tight, desperate. 

“Come out with your hands up!” 

Aizawa sat up, pulling Shinsou further into his lap, the kid’s head rolling. There were several police cars surrounding them, officers hiding behind the car doors. 

“Come out! Now!” An officer ordered. He spotted their guns trained on them. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, scooting across the seat. “It’s going to be okay.”

Flashing red lights blinded him as he stepped out of the car.

“Drop the kid!” A police officer ordered, his gun trained on them. 

Aizawa squeezed Shinsou close. 

“I’m Pro-Hero Eraser-.”

“Now!” The officer screamed. “I won’t ask again!”

Suddenly, like it was a switch, he felt every pain and ache in his body. There was blood seeping through his clothes, the heat travelling from his side and down his pant leg. He hadn’t checked if the bullet was still lodged there. Up until that moment he had forgotten it was there. 

A lightheaded feeling made him spin. If he didn’t put Shinsou down, he’d surely drop him. He looked down at his slacken face, his cheeks ruddy with tears, his skin mark with glass, cuts slowly bleeding. 

“Okay.” He lowered him onto the street and stood vigilante over him, bracing himself on the car behind him. 

Shinsou’s eyes squeezed open, watching as Aizawa stood.

“Turn around!”

Aizawa hesitated. 

“We both need an ambulance,” he called out. 

The officer glanced at the other officers before stepping forwards.

“Hands up!”

Aizawa raised them, almost stumbling without the support of the car. His stomach turned, nausea bubbling in his throat. 

The officer grabbed his arms, yanking them behind his back. The cold touch of metal clasped tightly around wrists. They pinched, and Aizawa instinctively tried to roll them, but the handcuffs were cutting into his skin. 

“Listen. I’m Pro-Hero Eraserhead. The boy is my student from U.A Highschool. His name is Shinsou Hitoshi. He was taken by traffickers-.”

“You are under arrest for dangerous driving, endangering the general public, kidnapping-.”

“Kidnapping?” Aizawa pulled back, but the officer snatched his arm, slamming him back against the jeep. 

“I will tase you!”

Something stirred in his gut. He twisted his head to find another officer picking Shinsou up from the ground. The flash of an ambulance announced their arrival and paramedics rushed to intervene. They placed Shinsou on a stretcher, the paramedic talking over each other, slipping an oxygen mask over his face. 

Shinsou was crying again, weakly trying to fight the paramedics. 

“What hospital are they taking him to?” Aizawa asked as he was dragged towards a police car. 

“You should worry about yourself, buddy.” 

Aizawa planted his boots down hard, causing the officer to stumble. 

“No. I need to go with him.”

“You need to listen and obey. We’re scraping bodies off the pavement because of you.” They wrestled against him, but Aizawa stood firm. 

“I’m a Pro-Hero, god dammit!” 

“And that gives you the excuse to kill people?”

Aizawa kicked out, catching the officer by the knee. He tripped over his feet, catching his palm against the street, pain stinging against his skin. He made it two steps before he crashed to his knee. The world tilted, and he was forced to breathe through his mouth, panting as he fought to stay conscious. 

Something snagged against him. He had a second before electricity raced up his entire body. He pushed himself up onto his feet. Fighting against himself, the way his joints stiffened, and how his eyes rolled inside his skull. 

He felt another bolt run through him. He gasped, before collapsing, smacking his face against the road. 

A new weight pressed into the middle of his back. 

“Stay down!”

“W-wait.” He gasped. 

He vomited. His body lurching. 

“We need medics down here now.” A voice cried above him. “Villain down.”

Villain…

The sound of sirens rang inside his ears, and the flash of police car lights made his eyes burn. It went straight to his head. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. 

“There’s two dead in the jeep, ma’am.”

Aizawa twisted his head towards the jeep. 

Something wasn’t right. 

The driver was alive. He hadn’t killed him. He was just unconscious. 

Right?

But the two white sheets they pulled out said otherwise. 

“He had a kid with him. Fifteen, sixteen. Ma’am.” Aizawa blinked, and he was watching as Shinsou was bundled into the back of an ambulance. “Ma’am? No. Medics are on scene.”

The doors to the ambulance snapped shut.

“Three minutes out?”

The ambulance’s siren blared, cutting straight through his head. 

“They’re already on scene, ma’am. I’m watching them drive away right now.”

Aizawa felt bile drip from his mouth as he tried to cry out. 

Another ambulance rolled onto the scene as the other, the one with Shinsou inside, pulled out. The medics stepped out, only to pause as at the scene in front of them. 

“No, ma’am. I didn’t check…”

Aizawa struggled, the blood loss weighing him down more than the officer on his back.

“Do something,” he wheezed. The other officers lowered their guns, confusion rippling through their rank. “Mic!”

Chapter Text

Yamada stood behind the bars of his cell. There was blood marred on his jaw and dyed into his hair. His glasses were crooked, one of the lenses cracked. A bruise sat on his cheek, the bone and muscle there swollen and red.

None of that mattered when he saw the look on his face.

He stood up from the bench and wobbled to the front of the cell, his ribs aching, and side burning. A medic had already tended to his wounds with a minor healing quirk, but it still hurt.

“Mic.” He pressed his head against the cold bar.

“I’m sorry, Shouta.”

Aizawa squeezed his eyes closed, his jaw clenched hard as he tried to swallow what he already knew. He knew the moment he put Shinsou down and the flash of ambulance lights flickered across his terrified face.

“Do we know anything?” Aizawa asked between gritted teeth. “Something.”

Yamada’s hand slipped through the jail and squeezed his. Aizawa wanted nothing more than to rip it away, the touch burning.

“Tell me we know something. Anything.”

They couldn’t be back to square one. Not with all their leads already rinsed. Not with all Shinsou had lost already.

“There’s a BOLO on the ambulance, but it’s come up empty.” It would be almost impossible to track it in the thick of the city. With a switch of their lights, they could speed through the streets, bypassing traffic and no one would batter an eyelash. Just another ambulance in the city. Another medical emergency out of thousands.

No one would expect a kidnapping happening right under their nose.

“I tried to assist with the search, but they said they’d arrest me for interfering." Yamada took his glasses off and pushed his fingers into his eyes, pinching at the stress there. “But Present Mic is currently off the air and suspended until further notice.”

“You’re under investigation?”

“Yep. For aiding a hero with a suspended license."

“Sorry.”

Yamada shrugged, though it had no life to it. Exhaustion hung on his every move. It brought a pause. A moment of realisation that sat ugly in Aizawa’s stomach.

“Hizashi?”

Something twisted in Yamada’s expression. Something bitter, but too tired to react.

“Nedzu has paid your bail,” he said instead, waving a hand. Aizawa waited, watching his husband in the low light, and saw the dark bruises under his eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the tightness in his face.

“When do I get out of here?” Aizawa asked tentatively.

“Now. But if you try looking for him, they’ll send your ass right back.”

Aizawa bit his tongue, his instinctual reaction burning inside him. By morning, he’d be out there looking for Shinsou, whether the HSPC locked him up or not. He wouldn’t-couldn’t stand by and let others look for Shinsou. Couldn’t just wait.

“What are they pinning on me?” He croaked.

“Pinning? Shouta, you endangered civilian's lives. There were four collisions, not including the villain’s cars. Two of which are dead.”

“I didn’t kil-.” Aizawa snapped his jaw closed.

But Yamada caught it, his eyes narrowing as realisation hit.

“Hitoshi.”

“He was drugged up to his eyeball,” Aizawa said defensively, “he didn’t even realise.”

Yamada cursed under his breath.

“It was self-defence, right? They can’t hold that against him,” Yamada argued. “He’s just a kid.”

“I’m not worried about the HSPC.” Aizawa’s molars began to ache due to the tension in his jaw. “I’m worried that the traffickers are going to think he’s too much trouble.”

“It’s a bit late for that, Shouta. We fucked that up for him. We put him in more danger.”

“I know,” he snapped, a sharp pain ballooning in his chest, expanding until there was no room to breathe.

“If we had waited and not rushed. If we waited for the police-.”

“Then someone would’ve raped that kid last night.”

Yamada stared at him like he’d been slapped. His skin growing pale, the horror dark in his eyes. Aizawa felt his stomach turn at the idea. His thoughts wandered, darkly, if it had already happened. If he was sitting behind these bars while Shinsou was hurt.

“And what now?” Yamada asked. “We didn’t get him out.”

Aizawa let out a shuddering sigh, nausea thick in his gut, building in his throat.

“Just get me out of here.”

The drive home was made in complete silence. The radio, something that always played, the noise thumping through the mustang, was snapped off as soon as Yamada turned the engine key. Yamada’s temper was red hot next to him, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. There was a pinch to his brow and a shake to his knee.

And yet, Aizawa said nothing. He sank into his seat, the belt digging into his throat and chin. The car rumbled around him, his head bouncing against the car door, vibrating inside his head.

They pulled up to the apartment in silence, and Aizawa followed behind Yamada as he unlocked the front door. It’d been days since he last came home. The last couple weeks had been spent sleeping on Kayama’s couch, waiting for any lead on the case, ready to jump into action.

“We’re home,” Yamada called out, keeping his voice low. It was nearing eleven at night.

And there, dumbfounded, stood Midoriya, shuffling on his feet, his arms pin straight at his side as he fidgeted.

“Mic-Seseni! Aizawa-Sensei!” Midoriya hopped as they shouted. And then those big round eyes found their injuries, growing increasingly wider and wetter. “You’re injured?”

“Nothing to worry about.” Aizawa waved him off. He didn’t know the kid was on babysitting duty. Hadn’t been home in days to even think about who Yamada had tasked to look after their ward.

Guilt and shame stirred in his stomach.

“How was your night, listener?” Yamada said, throwing up a disarming smile as if nothing was wrong, as if they weren’t covered in blood.

Midoriya hesitated, eyes darting between the both of them, lip drawn between his teeth.

“Don’t be nosy, Mirodiya. Mic asked you a question.”

“Right!” Midoriya yelped. “Uh, Eri is asleep. I read her a story, but she was asking where you were, and I didn’t know. I didn’t want to lie, but she kept asking all day, and I felt bad, and she was getting upset and I didn’t really know what to say. I told her you were both on an important hero mission and you’d be back in the morning. I don’t know any details, so I was sort of lying to her. But I didn’t want her to worry!” Midoriya barely drew a breath.

“I stripped the bedsheets, but I didn’t know how you liked to wash your bedsheets, so I rang my mom and she said to wait, so I wanted to wait-. Thank you for letting me stay the night-.”

“Whoa, kiddo, slow your beans. It’s fine,” Yamada said, chuckling softly as he gripped Midoriya’s shoulder. “You did us a solid! We know asking you to look after Eri overnight is a big task. It’s us who should be thanking you.”

Midoriya deflated under Yamada’s hands before his eyes flickered up to meet Aizawa’s.

“You can go home now.”

“Of course!” His spine shot up straight before he went stumbling over himself, almost tripping on the loops of his yellow backpack.

Aizawa sighed, wondering if another hospital visit was needed soon, and not for himself, as he watched Midoriya detangle himself from his bag, shoving lord knows how many All Might books, and homework, into it.

“I’ll, uh, be going!” Midoriya said, racing to shove his feet into his shoes. “Let Eri know I said good morning!”

“Here, before you go.” Aizawa took his wallet from the kitchen bowl and plucked out twenty thousand yen. “Thank you for watching her.”

Midoriya eyed the money with terrified eyes. He hadn’t looked like that since the first day of class. He must’ve looked worse than he felt.

“Take it.”

“I only watched tv with her. And I know you’re busy right now. And-.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes before grabbing Midoriya by the shoulders, and turned him around. He found a smaller pocket on the bag and slipped the money inside, zipping it shut sharply, ignoring how Midoriya squeaked at the handling.

“Time to go,” he said, guiding Midoriya out the front door, and before the kid could even make another sound, he locked it behind him. From the peep hole, he could see Midoriya hesitate, almost stupefied by what happened. And then with one backwards glance, he was gone.

“You have such a way with kids,” Yamada drawled.

Aizawa ignored him and slumped onto the sofa, burying his face into his hands.

He felt the weight next to him shift. Neither of them said anything. What was there to say? It was a miracle he wasn’t sitting in some jailcell. If Nedzu hadn’t worked his magic, then he would be.

And Shinsou was still missing. God knew where. If they hadn’t killed him yet.

He looked down at the blood under his finger nails.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Aizawa asked, the words too loud in the silence of their living room.

Yamada sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth.

Aizawa swallowed hard, the truth hard to digest. Statistics didn’t lie. The likelihood of any child making it out was almost zero. Most were killed before their first month, others lasted longer simply by the greed of their buyer - the ‘asset’ too valuable to let die.

Others became too hot. He knew cases like that. Had listened to Kayama as she cried to him over a bottle of beer, spilling secrets he wasn’t supposed to know. How they slaughtered a child belonging to some high-profile person when it became too much hassle to keep them alive.

It was easier to kill the kid and be done with the police on their trail. And with the police and Eraserhead chasing after Shinsou….

“I think we got him killed tonight,” Aizawa croaked, clasping a hand around his mouth, pinching his mouth shut, fighting the sick feeling in his throat.

“You don’t know that,” Yamada hissed, his voice wobbling. “That Mr Mills said he wanted to give Shinsou to the next buyer. There’s a chance.”

“Would you risk it?”

Yamada’s jaw snapped shut. He dropped his head into his hands.

“No.”

Aizawa struggled against the sob in his chest, a pained noise breaking through his fingers. He knew that was the answer, understood Shinsou’s chances, and yet hearing it-. The idea of finding the kid’s body floating in a river, or dumped into a ditch made him want to vomit.

“I can’t sit here.” Aizawa stood up, his knees cracking as he did. “I need to go find him. I don’t-. Hizashi, I can’t wait for them to find his body. I don’t-. I couldn’t live with myself. I need to bring him home.”

Yamada didn’t move.

“You do that, they’ll never let you see him again.”

“Who? The HSPC? I don’t give a-.”

“You should!”

“Hizashi, I can’t sit here and do nothing. I need to go look for him.”

“And what? Find him through sheer determination?” Yamada sneered. “We have no leads. No idea where they could have taken him.”

“Someone knows. There are always rumours. Someone knows” Aizawa ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots, the sting across his scalp not enough.

Yamada got up and slid his hands into his, untangling them from his curls, drawing him in close until their foreheads touched.

“Shouta, please-.”

“Someone has to know something. I’ll find them and then I’ll go get our boy.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Yamada pleaded.

Aizawa shook his head and desperately tried to pull away. Yamada held him tight.

“You can’t rush this. We shouldn’t have rushed it. We shouldn’t have even been involved. We’re too close.”

“I had to. I promised him.”

Flashes of a street filled with debris filled his head. There was blood splattered across the concrete.

“We let it cloud our judgement, Shouta. You could lose your licence.”

“I don’t care about my licence,” Aizawa muttered. “I don’t care what they do to me.”

“What about the people in your life, Shouta? The people who need you.”

“Wha-.”

“Don’t be dense,” Yamada snapped. “Did you forget about Eri?”

“That’s not fair-.”

“No. It’s not. But you need to listen because where does she go if you’re rotting in prison? If they take away your licence?” Yamada took his shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle. “She still can’t control her quirk. They’d take her away from us. All that progress, all the little successes she’s had-. I can’t allow you to do that to her. She’s a baby. Our baby.”

Aizawa felt like he’d been slapped. His face burned with embarrassment. Shame hot on his cheeks.

He couldn’t swap one child for another. Wouldn’t. Not even with a gun against his head.

He choked back a miserable sound.

“I’m sorry.”

Yamada nodded, pulling him against him. He felt something warm and wet slip across his nose, and found Yamada crying. It made his own vision waiver. Shinsou meant something to Yamada too. The idea of them always brought out a smile from him. Watching Shinsou help Yamada in the kitchen, his tongue sticking out in concentration, Yamada’s gentle hands ruffling that mob of violet hair. Listening to them talk, their voices low over the strum of guitar strings, Yamada’s lessons calm in the wake of Shinsou’s nervousness. Yamada sorely losing against Shinsou’s at some game Aizawa couldn’t even name, the pair loud and obnoxious, Shinsou grinning in a way he didn’t smile at school.

“What do we do, Hizashi?” Aizawa asked.

“We let Kayama work the case. She won’t keep us out of the loop if we stay quiet. We just wait and keep our ear to the ground.”

The words were a gut punch. How could he not help? How could he sit back and let others rescue his kid?

“I need something. I can’t-.”

“Shouta. Hitoshi needs you to let Kayama work. He needs you to wait. He needs you to be there when we get him back. Your guilt can come later,” Yamada hissed, pulling back. “I can’t keep doing this with you.”

“Doing what?”

“This. Your guilt will get you killed. You did the same when Obo-.”

“Don’t.”

“No. You need to hear it. You can’t just do what you want. You’re not twenty anymore. You have responsibilities. You have students depending on you. You have Eri, who hasn’t seen you in weeks. You have me, and I need you to sit back on this.”

An ugly feeling buzzed across his skin, burning, prickling. He felt it run through his scalp like a sharp razor cutting into his skin.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Yamada sighed, stepping away.

“If you walk out that door, if you disappear on me again, leaving me to clean up-.”

“You told me to go get Hitoshi.”

“Not that!” Yamada spat. “You vanished after Daisy’s. Kayama said you went after Horiuchi, and then you disappeared. I prayed that you weren’t dead. Instead, you were torturing a villain.”

Aizawa’s teeth clicked together, his jaw snapping shut. He thought of the training session where Shinsou had asked him about whether justice ever called for a villain’s death. Did a hero's life outweigh a villain's. Was one life worth more than another?

As a teacher, he let Shinsou question, let the kid sit and pondered with his thoughts. There was no definite answer he could give. All heroes had to make those sorts of choices and live or die with the consequences.

But as a mentor, a guardian, a father, whatever he was to Shinsou - would his answer be the same? In the safety of a classroom, it was easy to pretend, easy to sit with logic. But watching Shinsou so full of drugs he could barely stand, watching as he cried as they took him away, he didn’t know if he would follow his own advice.

Because deep down, he would kill for his children.

The thought wasn’t even something that shocked him. It settled deep inside him. Like breathing. He knew he could pull the trigger if someone threatened those he loved.

He’d pull the trigger on himself if it meant saving Shinsou.

“I won’t excuse what I’ve done, but you didn’t see what I saw, Hizashi. The way he talked about Hitoshi.”

“So you decided to torture him? I trusted you. I trusted you to not lose your head, but you-.” Yamada’s bottom lip wobbled. “You hurt people going after Hitoshi.”

“I-.”

“Don’t. We’re heroes. What example are you setting right now? How does Hitoshi recover, knowing you’re in prison because you tortured someone to save him? You know that will destroy him.” Yamada threw his hands up. “If anyone finds out, if Horiuchi squeals, then he’s scot free. Then what? He comes for Hitoshi again? Comes after another one of your students? Eri?”

“I wouldn’t let him.”

“You already have!”

It was a slip. He knew that. But the sting still burned.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that, Shouta.”

“No. You’re right. Hitoshi being kidnapped is my fault.”

Yamada stepped back and scrubbed at his face.

“I think-.” Yamada took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to stay with Emi for the night. I need out of U.A.”

Aizawa nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He watched as something cracked over Yamada’s features, his eyes growing shiny under the low orange glow of their lamp. He watched as Yamada grabbed one of their to-go bags, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Remember you have a six year old before you go running off,” Yamada said, his voice brittle, but lacking true bite to it. He sounded exhausted. Pulled too thin.

Aizawa could only nod. Again.

Yamada didn’t slam the door, too aware of Eri who was asleep in her own bed, but it was a near thing.

Aizawa buried his head into his hands, pressing his palm into his eye sockets, watching colours bleed into his vision. He slumped down on the sofa, bringing his forehead down against his knees.

“Sensei?”

Aizawa jumped, his head snapping to the timid voice. Eri stood in the doorway to the living room, her current favourite plush toy clutched hard into her tiny hands. She was dressed in her nightie, her hair falling out of twin braids.

“Hey Eri,” Aizawa said, his voice rough from disuse. He coughed, clearing his throat, wondering how many hours had passed, how long ago did Yamada leave. “You okay?”

The pout that adorned her face at the question tugged at his already bruised heartstring.

“You’re the one who’s upset,” she said, stomping into the room. She didn’t wait for an invitation to climb up into his lap, and settled there, leaning against him tucking her guitar plush to her chest. “You haven’t been home.”

“Sorry.”

Eri made a thoughtful noise, one thick with disapprovement. It almost made him laugh. It was reminiscent of Yamada, clearly something she had heard from him a hundred times. No doubt pointed at him.

“Are you staying home now?” Eri asked, plucking one of the fake strings on her guitar.

“For tonight.”

Eri huffed, leaning further into him, almost burying himself between his side and arm. He wrapped it around her, tucking her in safely against him. He could feel her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest.

He held her a little tighter.

“Is it because of Shinsou?” Eri asked.

“How do you know about Shinsou?” Aizawa asked, sure that Yamada or any of the other teachers wouldn’t have told her.

“Deku told me.”

Aizawa snorted, unable to keep his amusement away. His class was a nosy bunch.

“How does Midoriya know?”

“Kachan overheard the teachers talking.”

“Nosy little brats,” Aizawa grumbled under an exaggerated breath, oddly impressed by Bakugou’s knack for eavesdropping. It wasn’t the first time Bakugou was privy to information he shouldn’t have known.

“It’s something bad, right?” Eri asked, looking up with huge eyes.

“Yeah.”

Eri paused, her words hesitant as she chewed on them.

“Is that why Mr Mustache is gone?” She asked carefully. “I heard you both.”

Aizawa considered lying. There was no need to worry her about it. There was nothing to gain from her knowing. Nothing that he could say would soothe her. And yet, she was already worried. Already put into the situation against her will. The fall out involved her, whether he wanted it to or not.

“Come here,” he said, plucking her from where she had buried herself into him, and shifted so she was sat facing him. “What I’m going to tell you might sound a little scary.”

She nodded. Her trust in him too great. It made his eyes burn.

“Shinsou was taken by some very bad people. He’s probably really scared right now, and-.” Aizawa took a shaky breath. “And I’m really scared about it too.”

“You said it’s okay to be scared,” Eri said, unsure and quiet like maybe he had changed his mind.

“I did.” His voice twisted.

“Then why are you upset?”

“I did something naughty, so I can’t help in the way I want to.”

“You’re grounded?”

The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was involuntary. They didn’t ground Eri. There was no need. Clearly someone from 1A had told her of their own grounding, and the lesson had stuck. His bet was either Kaminari or Ashido, he couldn’t count how many times he heard them lamenting in his class.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Hmm.”

Aizawa squeezed her fingers as she sorted through her thoughts.

“Did you say sorry?”

He nodded, his words getting caught in his throat. How could he explain to her that sorry didn’t cover anything that he had done? How sorry wouldn’t matter if he got Shinsou killed. How it didn’t matter to the eyes of the law. How sorry wouldn’t help Shinsou.

But Eri, in ways that she shouldn’t be able to understand at seven, understood.

“Oh. It’s big trouble.”

“Yeah.”

Eri nodded, like she could somehow rectify everything. Like she could take all his problems in her tiny hands and fix them.

He took her face into his hands, cupping her cheeks. Large eyes found his, full of curiosity.

“But you should be asleep. This isn’t for tired girls to help with,” Aizawa said

Eri pouted, her bottom lip jutting out and her brow hardening - an expression that mirrored his own annoyed features.

“I want to.”

Aizawa sighed fondly.

Yamada was right. He’d be risking everything, the life they’d built, the lives in theirs, Eri. He knew, deep down, that Shinsou wouldn’t want that. Wouldn’t want him to throw away everything just so he could come back to nothing. He’d need somewhere safe to come back to. He’d need him.

“You already have.” He bent forward and placed a kiss on her brow.

Eri’s pout grew larger.

“But I didn’t do anything.”

Aizawa pulled her in close and tucked her against his chest, standing up. He took them both to her room and settled her into it. Obediently, she climbed in, throwing her sheet up to her chin, her plush held to her side.

She yawned, eyes growing sleepy.

“Will you be here in the morning?” She asked. Her nightlight, a million stars, slowly drifted across her face.

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

She turned onto her side and snuggled into her pillow. Aizawa stayed as she tried to fall back asleep, her breathing slowing and her eyelids drooping.

“Sensei?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Eri-.”

She turned to look up at him with big tearful eyes. And Aizawa was only human.

“Scootch up.” He climbed on top of the covers and laid down. Eri turned until she faced him, placing her foot on his bent knees, gripping at his trousers with her little monkey feet as Yamada called them. The sheets would have to be cleaned in the morning, but for the first time in weeks, Aizawa felt himself relax. “I’m sorry I’ve been busy.”

Eri stared as she usually did when caught off guard. She brought her toy up to her chest, clutching onto it.

“I hope you save Shinsou,” she said instead.

“Me too, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

Two Months After Jakku

Japan was on fire. Heroes were stretched too thin - injured, missing, dead, too busy to stop at every cry for help. The streets were riddled with criminals, scurrying like plague infested rats, infecting every home, every shop and school until the people had no choice but to flee. And like an infection left to fester, it grew and grew, bringing its host to its knees. Bringing Japan to her knees. 

The HSPC was in shambles with the loss of its leader. Heroes were struggling with the weight of Japan on their shoulders. Civilians were hungry for any scrap of hope and anger they could grab. 

The age of heroes was over. The people had decided that. Faith had been brittle since All Might’s retirement, chipping like old paint. Now it was all but crumbled. 

And Shinsou was still missing. 

“You’re supposed to be resting that eye.”

Aizawa didn’t look up from his laptop. The keyboard seemed to shift under his fingertips, his depth perception warped since losing his eye. It didn’t help sitting in the dark, his remaining eye burning with strain, like it was ready to roll out of its socket. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Yamada said, slumping into his chair by his bedside. It was only due to him being his only visitor. Kayama was dead. 

“I’m already hurt,” Aizawa grumbled, shutting down another dead end, closing down a tab that led nowhere. With the villains running rampant, the dark web was booming with sales. Weapons, goods, food, goons for hire. Anything people could grab a hold of. 

And with the black market almost public, there was some part of him that hoped that a sign of Shinsou would show up. But that hope was beginning to wither as the days passed on. 

“You’re a barrel of laughs, you know that,” Yamada sneered, though it lacked any true bite to it. They were both too tired to argue now. 

“Mmh.” Aizawa made a noncommittal noise.

“Any luck?” Yamada nodded towards the laptop. 

“Would I be here if-.”

“ Shou .”

Aizawa took a deep breath before turning his laptop screen around, showing Yamada his latest finds. Yamada scootched closer, squinting. 

“Missing children?” Yamada asked. 

There were several taps open, all with missing children posters. 

Some he knew were from Gigantomachia and Shigiraki’s devastation on Jakku city. Thousands were missing, adults and children alike, caught up in Shigiraki’s quirk, turning into tiny dust particles. Nothing to find. Nothing to bury. And Gigantomachi trampled everything in his path, buildings reduced to rubble, people reduced to parts. 

Others were swept up in criminal activity, rebelling against heroes, finding vigour with the wrong sort of crowds. Runaways with so much justice in their hearts, they turned into the things they blamed heroes for creating. 

And some, a minority vanished into dark alleys and into the back of white vans. They were easy pickings amongst the chaos. 

It was expected. Those who’d been through disasters before knew how criminals worked, knew the ins and outs of how they preyed on those vulnerable. How they preyed on the vulnerable when they were at their lowest.

Except-.

“How many are there?”

“Too many to count. Most are from Jakku.”

 Yamada squeezed Aizawa’s good knee. There were tears in his eyes. 

“What about the rest?”

“I’ve counted over two hundred. Way above average, but with villains running wild-.” Aizawa took another deep breath. “I’m not interested in the ones we know are statistically dead.”

Yamada winced at his words.

“This is what I’m interested in.” Aizawa clicked onto a map, highlighting the areas where the children went missing. One city was bathed in red pointers. “There’s been an uptick of missing children in Tokyo.”

“How many?”

“Thirty three.”

“In one city?”

“In two months. With no eye witnesses. Nothing reported. They just vanished.”

Yamada’s eyes met his.

“It’s too far from Jakku and Deika to be included with the statistics. And that’s too many for local gangs and traffickers to take, especially with no one seeing.”

“I thought the same thing. What sort of parent lets their child walk alone at night with a nationwide curfew?”

“Neglectful ones, sure, but Thirty three? I’m not buying that.”

“Sixteen of them went missing during the day. And Tokyo only started evacuating last week, the cities are still packed. No one saw anything, Hizashi. Those children simply walked away and vanished.”

“Those kiddos could’ve gotten split up from their parents during evac, Shou. We don’t know.”

“And no one reported seeing a lost child? Some of these kids are fifteen, fourteen, thirteen year olds. Kids who know what to do when lost. And who would ignore a three year old on their own?” Aizawa flicked to a tab where a gap-toothed toddler grinned towards the camera. 

“We have no proof.”

“ This is proof.”

“This is you looking for evidence where there might not be any.”

Aizawa slammed the laptop closed. 

“Thirty-Three children just up and walked themselves to the kidnappers, and that doesn’t strike you as odd?”

Yamada paused, his eyes boring into his.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Aizawa felt his heart twist in his chest. 

“You think he’s dead.”

Yamada let out a shaky breath as he shook his head. 

“I don’t want us to fight. Not after everything.” He leaned forward and took his hands in his. “You’re still injured. I don’t want us racing after ghost stories.”

Aizawa marvelled down at their joined hands and watched Yamada’s fingers tremble. 

“Why are you here, Hizashi?” He asked, his voice brittle.

It was nearing three in the morning. Visitor hours were over. And it had been almost two months since he’d landed himself in hospital. His students were all back at U.A - there was no need to travel back to Tokyo. And Present Mic was a busy hero, regardless of the end of the world. Spending time during his recovery was at the bottom of his to-do list (even if Yamada visited far more than he should). 

Yamada wouldn’t be here without reason.

“Hizashi?”

“Horiuchi is here,” Yamada said, his voice dulled, devoid of its usual vibrancy. 

“Here?”

“Room 103.”

Aizawa stared at Yamada. There were dark circles under his eyes. 

“He tried to escape during one of the jailbreaks. Got injured doing so. Sent his ass here. Guess your little torturing stint wasn’t on file or they would’ve kept him away from you.” Yamada let out a sharp chuckle. 

Aizawa continued to stare. His heart loud in his chest.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Security won’t stop two pros in the middle of the night. Not after everything on TV. They’ll let us in.” Yamada took off his glasses and wiped them in his shirt. It didn’t seem to clean any stains, the shirt already smelling like it was three days past needing a wash. 

“You’ll come with me?” Aizawa asked. 

“There’s no HSCP to stop us,” Yamada said. “Kayama is dead. The case is nothing in the grand scheme of things. All this One for All shit, Shigaraki, Shirakumo-. It could all end tomorrow. We could all die, and where will Hitoshi be then?”

Aizawa waited as Yamada took a deep shuddering breath. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do, Shouta. About any of this. Who knows if we’ll still be heroes by the end of the day. But by god, if I can do one last good thing, then it’ll be rescuing that kid.” 

“Then help me up,” Aizawa said, shifting until he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. Yamada carefully guided him into a wheelchair, forgoing the prosthetic. What was left of his leg was still healing, and Aizawa, despite himself, didn’t push past his limits. If he wanted to help his students, if he wanted to save Shirakumo, if he wanted to rescue Hitoshi, he needed to take things slow. 

The hospital was quiet, like a hushed breath waiting to take another. There was a sort of thick tension weaved into its walls. The nurses tried to smile through it, but Aizawa saw how they stretched at the skin, the eyes tight, hands shaking. It was only a matter of time before the villains caught wind of what sat in Tokyo hospital.

Who , Aizawa reminded himself. 

Yamada took him down to the basement. Three officers stood in front of the wing doors, shadowed by a hero in brightly coloured spandex. Aizawa didn’t recognise her, and by the lack of ‘Mic Style’ greeting, neither did Yamada. 

She studied them as they wheeled out of the elevators, her eyes narrowing at the sight of them. 

“This is off-limits,” she said, though her voice lacked authority. It sounded tired. They all sounded tired. 

“There’s an inmate we need to talk to,” Yamada said, his usual Present Mic act all but gone. 

“And who exactly are we?” She asked, once again giving them an once over. 

“Present Mic.”

“Eraserhead.”

The hero’s brow furrowed like she was trying to picture them in their uniforms. Probably something she wasn’t able to do with one missing eye, one missing leg and a hospital gown. 

“Still off-limits, sorry.” She crossed her arms over her chest. It reminded him of his students, all defiant and young. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. A side-kick shoved into a position well above her experience. There were criminals in the rooms behind her. Rapists, serial killers, gang leaders, villains. People who would kill her if they had the chance. 

But with heroes stretched line, those with experience were either dead, retired, or fighting as they spoke. She was just the unlucky soul they plucked right out of school. 

“P-please,” Aizawa said, his voice a deep rumble of exhaustion. He couldn't remember the last time he had eight hours of sleep. “I’m a teacher from U.A,” he explained. “One of my students was kidnapped almost three months ago. One of the convicts there might know where he is.”

He could see it on her face. Sympathy and grief. Three months was a long time. And with criminals running through the street and entire cities flattened into nothing but dust, the death toll was rising everyday. Shinsou was probably one of those numbers. 

“I ain’t supposed to let anyone in,” she said. “Strict orders.”

“I know, and it’s unfair of us to ask you to step aside.” Yamada stepped in. “But please, you can stand outside the door. We need fifteen minutes.”

She turned to the police officers next to her, rookies fresh out of the academy. They were staring with big worried eyes and tense jaws, unsure how to proceed, unsure how to turn a pro-hero away. 

It was unfair. But Aizawa continued to press.

“He’s sixteen. I’ve been training him since the end of last year, and he’s one hell of a kid. Smart, funny, and entirely too busy thinking about every mistake he makes. But he’s going to be a hero. A great one. I’ve seen it.” Aizawa leaned forward. “I won’t let his dream die over some orders.”

She stared at him, her eyes filling, frustration easy to read on her face. And then she sighed, scrubbing at her face with two hands. 

“Ten minutes,” she said, looking at them both between her fingers. “I can’t believe Present Mic and…I forgot your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She shook her head and blinked back tears. 

“Bullies, the both of you.”

“We’re sorry,” Yamada said.

She laughed, a pitiful thing. 

“Just don’t get me fired. Even if the world is ending, I still need to pay rent.”

Aizawa snorted, surprised she drew a smile from him. She really did remind him of his students. 

“Thank you?” He asked

“Monin”

“Monin” He bowed deeply in his chair.

Slipping a key card from one of the officers, she unlocked the door to the wing, and held out the keycard. 

“Which door?”

“103.”

If she knew who was in the room, she didn’t show it. 

“Ten minutes,” she said instead as Mic took the keycard. 

Yamada wheeled him down the corridor, the pair silent as they counted down the doors. 

Aizawa could feel himself shaking. His hands trembling in his lap. The last time he saw Horiuchi, the man was a bloody mess he dropped off at the police station. He didn’t look back to see if he was alive. Didn’t care if he was or not. All that mattered was getting Shinsou. 

And he failed. 

And there was no way to get the same sort of answers out of him now. There was no way Yamada would allow that. There was enough blood on Aizawa’s hands already.

“You ready?”

His lungs felt like they were filled with boiling water. He couldn’t breathe. 

“No.”

Yamada reached over the chair, and took his hand and squeezed it hard. 

Aizawa squeezed it back before they pushed the door open. 

It was your standard hospital room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not at first. But there were details. Small things until they slapped you in the face. There were no windows. The room was bare aside from the bed and medical equipment, there was nothing a criminal could use to escape or harm someone.

The person in the bed was handcuffed to it. Padded handcuffs strapped to the handrails. They woke, eyes snapping open at the sound of the door lock clicking shut. He stared eyes wide in the low light before he started laughing.

Hate curled in Aizawa’s stomach.

There were bandages wrapped around his head, dried blood browning just above his eyebrow like someone had forgotten to change it recently. He knew it was due to the sheer amount of people needing hospitalisation and not enough nurses, but satisfaction came in a twisted form of justice.

“We finally meet Present Mic,” Horiuchi said. “I remember you being quite impolite the last time we talked.”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?” Yamada sneered.

“I’ve been told.” Horiuchi shrugged. “Now what I’m really interested to know is why you’re both here. I told Eraserhead here everything I know.”

“Your boss no longer likes to talk now that he’s behind bars,” 

“So, you’ve come to me instead looking for more answers I don’t have.”

Aizawa stared at the man who took Shinsou. His eye itched and the ends of his hair curled pathetically. 

Horiuchi grinned down at him. 

“You’re looking worse for wear, Eraserhead.” Horiuchi snorted, amused. “I saw you on the news a while back. Fighting for your life against those League of Villain folk. I thought I watched you die, and yet here you are. Alive. Barely,” he lamented. “You must be desperate to come begging me for information.”

“I am.”

Horiuchi’s grin turned hungry. The look in his eyes brightened with that sick sort of satisfaction. 

“Was he not at the apartment in Hutta? I’m sure that’s where I left him. Tied up with a pretty bow. Just waiting for you.”

Aizawa knew how much Horiuchi liked to play with his food. But the sour feeling in his stomach, the hate that boiled it, made every nerve, every part of him want to rip Horiuchi apart.

“By your expression, I guess he wasn’t there.”

“No.”

“Well, if Mr Mills is locked away, you got as far as The Auction House.” Horiuchi pursed his lips as if in thought before that grin turned sharp like a fox in the face of a coop of defenceless chicks. “Did you bet on your boy? Did you put money on his virginity?”

Aizawa ground his teeth together, his jaw aching. 

“Someone else has him. Who would be interested in Hitoshi?” Yamada stepped in. 

“Interested?” Horiuchi laughed, eyes dancing between the both of them. “Who isn’t interested in your sweet little baby boy?”

“Tell me exactly who.”

“What do I get out of this?” Horiuchi asked. “You want me to give you intel, but once they’re also behind bars I’ll be dead by the end of the day.”

Aizawa knew this song and dance. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a deal with a criminal for information. But the idea of giving anything to Horiuchi-. It made his stomach twist. 

“What do you want?” Aizawa growled. 

“I don’t need your help getting out of here, you’ve already provided that with your little abduction stint,” Horiuchi said. “And I’m guessing your little tour of the prison wing is unscheduled. What could you possibly offer that you haven’t already given?” 

“You think any of this shit matters anymore?” Yamada asked. “You saw the news. There’s no law out there that can protect you.”

“So, what? This is round two? You’re here to finish what your little husband started?”

“No,” Yamada said. “There’s no law. No HSPC. But we’re still heroes, despite how much I wanna turn your guts into jelly.”

“He doesn’t know?” Horiuchi turned to Aizawa. “Did you tell him about our time together?”

“He knows.”

Horiuchi’s smile dipped a little. 

“And you’re okay-.”

Yamada stepped around Aizawa’s chair, and Horiuchi visibly flinched. 

“For better, for worse,” Yamada said, leaning over Horiuchi on the bed. “Everyone always thinks my husband is the mean one. Thinks he’s scary and cold. They always say I’m the happy go-lucky one, but that ain’t exactly true. Well, maybe for Present Mic and Eraserhead, but you know better than anyone the act of having a facade.” Yamada tugged at Horiuchi’s handcuff. “They made these nice and tight.”

“There are heroes down the hall,” Horiuchi said, his voice strained. 

“And yet they let us in here.” Yamada stared down at the villain. 

Horiuchi’s breathing grew quicker. 

“Your boy really means that much to you?” Horiuchi asked, his face curling in disgust. 

“He seems to mean a lot to you. Why isn’t he dead?” Aizawa asked. It was something he warned Shinsou about. If he was too much trouble, the traffickers wouldn't hesitate to cut their losses and kill him. There was always something to gain from a cold or warm body. It didn’t really matter which. One was just more reusable than the other. 

“Must be pretty enough.” Horiuchi swallowed loudly. 

“Cut the crap. Mr Mills said something about giving Hitoshi to the second bidder. A gesture of goodwill,” Yamada said. “Any clues who that could be?”

Horiuchi went pale.

“It could be anyone.”

“Not everyone. I’m sure All Might doesn’t condone these sorts of games you play,” Yamada jeered. “Narrow it down.”

“We paid forty one million yen for Hitoshi.” Aizawa cut in. “That’s a lot of money to give away. Who would Mr Mills want in his pocket?”

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Horiuchi’s face as he muttered through a list of names. There were too many for Aizawa’s liking. 

“Malloc. He’s not picky about age or race, he picks by how good of a kill they’d be. And your boy fights like a cornered cat.”

“And where would we find this Malloc?”

“Deika city.”

“Then it’s not him.”

“Anyone in Tokyo?” Aizawa asked. 

“Too many in Tokyo. You have brothel houses. Creeps with kinks. Collectors. You’ll be looking for years if you searched every pervert’s basement.”

Aizawa thought back to the missing children. Thirty-three children all but vanished. A small number was easy to mark down as those who had died during the raids, died due to increasing crime activity, or ran away during the chaos. But some, even if the amount was small, were victims of Shinsou’s quirk.

He was sure of it. 

“Any that strike you as someone who’d go after Hitoshi and his quirk?”

“Brainwash? It’s every trafficker’s dream. Who wouldn’t want someone who makes everyone around them their slave?”

“But Hitoshi is a hero-in-training. He knows how to fight. How to use his quirk against people more powerful than him. Who would be able to handle him?” Aizawa growled. 

“You’re casting a large net. Too many fish.”

Aizawa cursed under his breath. He didn’t need to catch the whole ocean. He just needed to throw one line. He needed the right bait. 

Those thirty-three children kept running on loop inside his head.

There were thirty-three. 

Sixteen went missing when the sun was still up. When there were more people to report an incident. Sixteen who followed Shinsou like a Judas goat leading lambs to slaughter. 

Out of the sixteen, ten of them were over the age of twelve. Similar to Shinsou’s age. And out of those twelve, eleven of them were boys. 

Five missing girls versus eleven missing boys. 

“Anyone with a preference for adolescent boys?” Aizawa asked. 

“You’re asking if there are people out there who prefer young boys?” Horiuchi laughed. “Eraserhead, please.”

“Someone who would want eleven of them in a short span of time? Someone who could hold that many kids in one location, and has the power to control Hitoshi?”

Horiuchi sighed, letting his head thump against a pillow before he paused, his shoulders tightening. 

“I heard Miss Adams likes them young and sweet. Not quite men. Not quite boys.” Horiuchi said. “Her quirk allows her to tie someone to herself. It’s a mental one. You can’t see it. But if she has you boy on her leash, no matter how hard he tries, he’s not getting himself free. Not unless he gets her under his quirk.”

Which pumped full of drugs might make it impossible. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m tied to a hospital bed, so no, but she’s my best bet.”

“Where can we find her?”

“That’s anyone’s guess. She’s not fixed to one location, she doesn’t need to with her quirk. She’s all about online goods.”

A terrible silence fell over the room.

“What does she sell?” Yamada asked.

“Videos.” Horiuchi eyed them both. “She likes to record them f-.”

“Stop.” Aizawa snapped. 

Horiuchi’s lips wobbled as he fought back an appeased smile. His words from months before echoed inside Aizawa’s head.

“I didn’t send him to Tokyo. Tokyo is the worst. He’d be ruined already if I sent him there. But I didn’t.”

After six hours of searching, Aizawa found Miss Adam’s website. Horiuchi had reluctantly given them the name of it, but it was buried deep, plastered with fake goods that Aizawa almost browsed past it. 

It didn’t match anything he thought he’d expect - a rundown simple website with children labelled as shoes or furniture. Or something with just file numbers, blanks meant to throw people off, codes that only sellers and buyers would know. 

Miss Adam’s website was quaint. The background was the image of a lake that looked A.I. The lettering was cursive and flowery, painting the website a sort of elegant look. It matched what they were selling. 

It almost made Aizawa laugh in shock. Disgust. Disbelief. He couldn’t really name it. Only stare with a sick feeling in his stomach.

She was selling animals. Livestock. Horses. 

He stared at one of the items for sale. On it was a photo of a horse. Under it, it read: 16 hands colt, all rounder. Even when he clicked on the sale, it led him to a page that he was sure any true equestrian would be happy with. 

It was only when he flicked through the photos of the animals did he spot what he was looking for. A link was embedded on the last image. A paywall opened up when he clicked it, and without hesitation he entered details Nedzu had provided him. 

The video that loaded had him heaving into a trash can. 

“You were right,” Hizashi whispered next to him on the bed, his hand over his mouth, his eyes wet with shed tears. 

There were twelve unsold colts on Miss Adam’s website. 

One of those links had Shinsou on them. 

Chapter Text

Aizawa had learnt how to detach himself from his work years ago. He couldn’t pinpoint when. Maybe it was his first day at U.A. Maybe it was when he moved to Tokyo as a young up-and-coming underground hero. Maybe it was when he watched that concrete slab slam into Shirakumo. 

He didn’t really know. 

He wasn’t numb to it. He’d tried that and almost let himself spiral into a state of depression. Instead, he compartmentalised it. Kept it locked away until he could reach in and take it apart piece by piece, breaking it down into manageable parts. 

An officer, a rookie at the time, who went green in the face at his first crime scene called it scary. Scary how he could walk into a room of horrors without flinching. Could step over a body as if it was gum on the side of the street, but treated the victim with the utmost care and sympathy. 

He felt like that officer now, green in all ways possible as he clicked each video one at a time. 

Shinsou’s image loaded up on the thirteenth page. 

Underneath the video, several more were lined up underneath a link that read, ‘ For more of Hitoshi. ’ He clicked it and six pages worth of Shinsou showed up. Several were dated before Jakku. Before Aizawa was bedridden. Before he couldn’t walk. Before he couldn’t do anything to help. 

He went back to the first page, ignoring every other video until he found the latest one. It read today’s date, and before he could stop himself, he clicked play. 

The room was dark lit, barely illuminating white plaster walls. The floor was carpeted, a muddish beige from too many dirty feet. There were no windows or doors in frame, just a blank room with a single mattress in the middle. 

And there, sat on it, was Shinsou. 

Bones. That’s how Aizawa would describe him. Bones wearing the skin of his student. Every part of him looked sharp and pointed, hollowed out and gutted. Like a fish peeled back and flayed open. 

The kid kept his eyes downcast. His hair had started to grow in, the dank and limp curls just long enough to lay flat on his head. 

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat. There was tape residual sticky around his wrists, the hair was short and patchy, ripped out in clumps. Red and inflamed marks dotted his arms, looking angry and sore - he wondered how often they drugged him? Did he really know what was about to happen? Or did it all blend into one hellish nightmare?

He didn’t know what was worse. Knowing and being unable to stop it, or finding out afterwards.  

“Hitoshi, dear, why don’t we try something fun today?” A sweet voice spoke off-camera. Shinsou visibly flinched, his entire body jerking at the sound. He dragged his eyes up, and Aizawa felt his heart shatter when he saw how tiny his pupils were, pinpricks in the light of danger. 

Aizawa paused the video and took a deep breath. A part of him wished he never sent Yamada home. Eri was fine with Nedzu and the Pussycats. U.A was the safest place in Japan right now, and as long as she was there, surrounded by heroes, her heroes, then she’d be okay. 

But the idea of Yamada watching this with him. It made his stomach turn. He couldn’t imagine looking his husband in the eye after watching his biggest failure video after video. 

And while he couldn’t protect Shinsou, had been too late to protect him, he’d do anything to spare his dignity as much as possible. Even if that meant watching the videos alone, searching for any scrap of hope, any clue that would lead him to Shinsou. 

Aizawa stared at the video, stared at the wide terrified look paused on Shinsou’s expression. It was taken mere hours ago. His best clue was sitting right in front of him, and all he had to do was press play. 

Instead, he reached for his phone and called. 

“Hey.” Yamada’s voice lacked its usual lustrous volume and charm. 

“Are you home yet?” Aizawa asked.

“Not yet. Another hour or so.” He could hear the sound of the window wipers sloshing against the windshield, the rain hammering against the roof of his mustang. “Do you want me to turn around?”

“No.” Aizawa closed the laptop lid and squeezed his eyes shut. “I haven’t seen any of her videos of him yet.”

“You found him?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice twisted. “She has him.”

He heard Yamada curse under his breath, his voice muffled by the speaker. 

“And the other missing boys?”

“Yeah. All eleven."

“Oh, Hitoshi.”

Aizawa tightened the grip on his phone, his hand shaking. 

“He’s in Tokyo. He’s here, Hizashi.”

“I know you don’t want me there, Shouta, but if Hitoshi is in Tokyo, we both should be there. I should be there with you.”

He could hear the indicators clicking in the background.

“She’s hurting him, and he’s so close. I just don’t know where, but the videos-. There’s pages of him.”

“She won’t have him for long. We’ll find him. You promised him that, right? You gonna break it just when you’re about to save him?”

Aizawa shook his head, leaning back against bed, even if Yamada couldn’t see it. Tokyo was a big city. And if Miss Adams kept the boys moving, then where would he be tomorrow? Would she risk moving him when All for One attacked? Or would she stay put and wait for the smoke to blow over, wait for the heroes to let down their guard? 

“Are there any clues to where she’s keeping them?” Yamada asked in the lull. 

“Somewhere cheap. It’s hard to tell.” Aizawa ran a hand down his face, chasing the aching feeling behind his eye and in his jaw. He flipped open his laptop and braced himself. “I’m hoping Hitoshi will give us a clue. A sign. Something for us to go on. He knows he’s being recorded. If he’s kept his head-.” 

But what sixteen year old could keep it together in a situation like that? To act like a hero while being raped?

“I’ll let you know if I find something,” Aizawa said instead, his next breath catching.

“I’ll be there soon,” Yamada replied. “I love you.”

“I-I love you too.”

“Lie down, Hitoshi.”

Shinsou didn’t hesitate. He folded gently onto his back, his shoulders against the edge of the mattress so that his head was against the floor, baring his neck. He took a long deep breath and let his shoulders relax despite how tight he held the rest of his body. 

Another boy, one that couldn’t have been older than those in his class, stepped into frame. Aizawa recognised him from the missing posters - Matsui Ryo - a bright-eyed student who never came home after going to the shop for his mother. What was once a fifteen minute errand turned out to be Matsui’s worst nightmare. 

“Now, Ryo, don’t be shy. It’s only Hitoshi.”

Matsui knelt on the mattress, tears building. He was trembling between Shinsou’s own shaking legs, arms incredibly stiff by his side. He began to cry, quiet and pliant. 

Shinsou reached for his hands, taking them into his own. His lips moved, mumbling something too quiet for the camera to pick up, his eyes incredibly soft and scared all at the same time. Ryo nodded, hiccuping between breaths. 

Maybe he was wrong. Despite it all, despite every horror Shinsou was going through, despite how terrified he was, Shinsou was a hero through and through, even when he had every right not to be. 

A sense of pride came and went. It spoiled and turned into sorrow as Shinsou tried to smile up at the other boy, his chin wobbly and lips strained into a grin seen a million times on tv. 

I am here.

The camera zoomed in on where they held onto each other before panning up the length of Shinsou’s torso, narrowing down on his face. Sweat rolled down his temple and into his hairline, the curls damp with perspiration. The camera focused on the flutter of Shinsou’s eyelashes, the way they were wet with tears, and lingered on his lips, where they were bitten through and cracked with dried blood. 

“Make a wish, Hitoshi.” Miss Adams said off screen, her voice velvet. 

Shinsou stared up at Matsui, who whispered a single plea , “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, ” Shinsou mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Hitoshi, dear, the camera is rolling.”

“P-please.” Matsui tried to tug back his hands, but Shinsou held on tight, his fingers turning white. 

“Ryo?” Shinsou’s smile waned, despite how hard he tried to hold it up.

“Hito-.”

Matsui’s expression dropped, his eyes glazing over. He stopped struggling.

But Shinsou’s grip didn’t waver. His breathing quickened, ribs rising and falling in a broken pattern of panicked breaths like a rabbit too scared to move under the spotlight of a flashlight. 

“Hitoshi .” Miss Adams snapped, the words clipped and short. 

“S-sorry. Sorry.” Shinsou’s words warbled. “Ryo?”

Matsui looked down, his dead expression locked onto Shinsou.

“I want you to have sex with me,” he said.

Like a ghost, Ryo moved, undressing them both, but all Aizawa could focus on was the way Shinsou squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed the words, ‘don’t fight back.’

Aizawa lunged for the trashcan. The sound of his retching was too loud in his ears. His stomach twisted as he lurched forward, barely catching himself from falling off the bed. 

“Shit.” A stabbing sensation shot through what was left of his leg, burning as he tried to breathe around the rock in his throat. His leg felt as though it was on fire, and the room began to smell of sick.“Fuck.” He spat into the can, and reached back with one hand to hold onto his stump. It felt hard under his touch, like the muscles were straining. 

He could hear the video continue to play in the background, the laptop now discarded on the floor. The sound of crying crackled through the speakers.

Something ugly broke from him as he stared down at the remnants of his pathetic dinner. He felt his entire body shudder as he pulled the trashcan closer, almost cradling it as his vision blurred. He cried, stifling the sound. It made his empty socket sting, the tears salty against the new wound still barely healed. 

Shinsou’s voice hissed through the laptop.

“P-please. ”

His stomach lurched, entirely empty. He reached for the laptop, slamming the lid closed. The sound cut off, leaving Shinsou’s plea ringing in the silence. Guilt sat heavy in his chest. 

Aizawa grabbed his crutch and lowered himself off the bed. His stump protested the movement, aching where the flesh was crudely tucked into itself. It felt heavy like the damn thing was ready to fall off. He hobbled to the adjacent bathroom, his mismatch stride taking him longer than it should to reach it. He flicked on the lights and found his haggard expression staring back at him. 

Two months and he barely recognised himself. He’d lost weight, his cheek bones more hollowed out than he remembered. His skin was grey, the colour leached from his face. Black bags sat underneath his eyes, one bulging under the weight of his new eyepatch. 

He hadn’t shaved recently, his jaw rough with a beard he hadn’t bothered trimming. His hair was a tangled mess, his signature curls lost in knots and strangled waves. 

What sort of hero looked like this? 

He shoved his hands under the cold tap and splashed water in his face, scrubbing hard, his blunt nails scratching against the facial hair. He pulled back and watched as the droplets followed the shape of his jaw, trickling over the tip of his nose. 

He’d never taken much stock in his appearance before. He was okay with the way he looked, the way his features sat on his face. Yamada liked them, and that’d do him fine. But looking at himself now, all he could think was how Shinsou would react seeing him look like this. He’d probably laugh, make some ill-humoured joke at his expense. But underneath the bravado jokes, he knew the kid would worry himself into a stupor. Would feed himself every negative thought about himself, would drown in his guilt before Aizawa could pull him up for air. 

He splashed more water in his face before finding where Yamada had stored his things. He found a set of clean clothes, a simple t-shirt and sweats that felt loose around his hips now.

The grey of his capture weapon poked out from the travel-bag Yamada had brought. He could barely look at it before, covered in dirt and blood. Yamada had clearly had it cleaned, ready for when he was ready to bear its weight. 

It felt familiar as he wrapped it around his shoulders, tucking his chin into its loops. It made him feel like a real person again. Someone capable of saving Shinsou. Someone who would save Shinsou.

Aizawa gathered himself and spent the next hour watching Shinsou’s videos, skimming through the horrors, watching every move Shinsou did and didn’t make, looking for a sign. He detached himself, looking on as though this person being brutally taken apart wasn’t his student, wasn’t the child he wished he had protected. 

It did little to truly help. 

Every cry, every tear, every plea struck through him, cutting him up inside. But he watched it all. If Shinsou could live through it, fight to stay alive, and do everything he could to do so, then he could watch, even if it hurt, even if it left him with scars he didn’t think would ever heal. 

Because his words back in the van all those months ago had stuck with Shinsou. The kid didn’t struggle. He didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. He silently laid down every time, tears streaming down his cheeks, and obediently did as he was told. 

Wait. Stay calm and collected. He would come for him. Live for him. 

Those words may have kept Shinsou alive, but they would haunt Aizawa for the rest of his life.

He turned to the clock on his laptop. Yamada was set to arrive soon. He paused the current video he had been surveying and was about to close the tab when a dinging noise alerted him to a pop-up. A simple message that showed the icon of a camcorder and a glowing red button. 

It read:

[LIVE RIGHT NOW 📹. CLICK HERE]. 

He didn’t hesitate.

The screen flickered, jumping from one tab and opening another. A buffering wheel spun and Aizawa’s reflection stared back, desperate and haggard. 

The video flashed to life, and Aizawa’s face was replaced by a woman. She was someone you could pass in the streets of Tokyo and never think twice about. Not beautiful, nor was she ugly. Her make up tried to highlight her features with bold contacts and bright colours, but it did little to make her stand out. Like so many business women, her hair was practical, a short bob that cropped at her chin. She was older than he was, someone on the edge of their prime, but hadn’t quite left it behind. She was poised onto a mattress on the floor, her worksmart clothes a stark contrast to the dirty mattress. 

But none of that mattered. Not in that second. 

Because sat in her lap was Shinsou. 

A prompt for a username appeared and Aizawa typed the only thing he knew Shinsou would understand. 

“We have another viewer. You’re popular tonight, Hitoshi.” Miss Adams ran her manicured fingernails through Shinsou’s hair - it reminded Aizawa of a hawk when they grabbed hold of a rabbit, its talons cutting into fur. “Let’s see. Oh, it’s someone new. You’re bringing in the big crowds, Hitoshi.”

Shinsou nodded, the movement minute. Quiet and controlled. There were twenty three people watching, waiting for Shinsou to be raped.

“We’re always excited for new people to join us. Welcome to our show, Mindjack.”

He saw Shinsou react and then fight against it. But he was sixteen. Helpless and sixteen. His bottom lip began to tremble, eyes welling as he sucked in a warbling noisy breath. He slowly wrapped his arms around himself, his fingers shaking as he clung to the thin t-shirt they gave him. 

“Don’t be shy, Hitoshi.” Miss Adams laughed, ripping Shinsou’s arms from around himself. “Everyone has paid to see you.”

Shinsou’s attention darted to the camera, realisation clicking into place. Aizawa was able to see what was happening to him. He was going to watch him be taken apart. His face burned a harsh pink, shame dragged at features. 

Mindjack: I wish I could see him in person. 

Shinsou shook his head and began to curl inwards, hunching over himself making a low keening sound. 

“Hitoshi,” She hissed. 

Like a withering flower desperate for sunlight, Shinsou slowly unfurled himself, his body shuddering as he tried to suppress the quiet sobs that rocked through him. 

“He’s feeling overwhelmed with all the attention.” She smiled, laughing at the camera, skimming through the comments.

Aizawa watched as the chatroom flooded with lurkers, their usernames popping up in bold lettering. Those brave or sick enough to message filled the chat with lude comments, texts about what they wanted from Shinsou, what they would do to him, how they would ruin him. Shinsou’s miserable disposition did nothing to deter them. Instead, they fed from it, eagerly pointing out how they loved how Shinsou’s cheeks had turned ruddy and the wet touch on his eyelashes. 

“Wow. Look at the response.” Miss Adams’ took Shinsou’s chin in her long fingers and directed his head towards a screen off camera. “Look how much they love you.”

Shinsou shook his head, hands desperately wiping at his eyes. 

“I don’t-. I can’t read it.”  

The chat exploded as Shinsou tried and failed to stop his tears. 

“Oh hunny.” She cooed, taking Shinsou’s face and holding him to her chest, stroking along the new growth of hair on his head. “You guys don’t understand how special Hitoshi is to me. How important he is to our channel.”

Shinsou shuddered in her grasp. 

“I only got him recently. A gift from a dear friend of mine. Do any of you remember his first live? He was such a mess. I thought he was going to pass out.”

HackX12: I wish I was there to see him lose his virginity.

ZzzzzRated: Best wank I’ve ever had

Aizawa felt vomit creep up his throat.

“He’s come such a long way,” Miss Adams said, “He’s so much better. I think he deserves a treat.”

“I don’t deserve one,” Shinsou whined. “P-please.”

“Don’t be silly. You love our games.” She said, her smile too white and crooked. “You’d make me very proud if you behaved.” Her hold on him tightened, her sharp nails pinching Shinsou’s skin pink.

“I want to make you proud,” he said, eyes closed in submission. In grief of something he couldn’t stop. “I’ll behave.”

“Good boy.” She said, “Very good.”

Shinsou turned to the sound of the chatroom. He swallowed hard, his adams apple bobbing, his chin wobbling. A series of comments followed suit, the perverts clambering over each other, throwing suggestions of what they wanted from Shinsou. 

Mindjack: I don’t want him to behave. I want to see him act out. I want him to show me his wild side.

“You guys,” Miss Adams giggled, the sound entirely fake. “Don’t encourage my boys to be naughty. They’re always so good for me.” She took Shinsou by the chin again and snapped his face to hers. “Isn’t that right, Hitoshi?”

Out of the corner of his eye he looked at the camera. Even after all that time, he stared at him with all the trust in the world. 

“Hitoshi .” Miss Adams barked. “ Do you need me to get John ?”

Utter terror filled Shinsou’s eyes, resignation making his breathing quick and panicked. 

“P-promise?” He whispered, teeth chattering. 

Mindjack: I’m keeping it.

Tears fell down past his cheeks. 

“Excuse us everyone, I think Hit-.”

Shinsou lashed out. The hit landed square on Miss Adam’s jaw, knocking her backwards, failing over her own limbs. 

Seconds. Shinsou stared at her, and she lay crumbled before sitting up, eyes set on him. The chat stayed silent. Aizawa watched, breath held as he prayed for Shinsou to escape. 

“You made a mistake, Hitoshi.” Miss Adams snarled. 

“F-fuck you,” Shinsou bit back, drawing himself up onto his bare feet.

“You better sit down. Now.”

“Or what?”

“Or-.”

Miss Adams face slackened and the look in her eyes went blank. And for a second, Shinsou froze, fear overriding everything he ever taught him. He turned to the camera, making high panicked noises, struggling to draw enough air. 

“Sensei…”

Mindjack: Run. Get out and find help.

Shinsou burst into action, fleeing out of sight of the lens. He heard the slap of his feet against the floor until the sound waned so quickly Aizawa had to turn up the volume. Hope grew, despite how foolish and naive it was. 

There wasn’t anything he could do. Not sitting here. Not even if he was ripping through the streets of Tokyo, waiting for a miracle, praying fate would reunite him with his kid. 

The sound of a door crashing against a wall reverbated through the speakers, followed by the drumming of boots.

Shinsou’s screams filled the room. Wild and utterly animal. 

“Stop!”

Aizawa leaned forward as though could see past where the camera was filming. Shinsou fled past the frame, fleeing back from where he came, corralling himself against the far corner, hands plastered helplessly against the wall. He slipped into a fighting pose, hands shaking as he held them up, panting, frantic in his fear.

Four men stepped into Shinsou’s space. Men far larger than Shinsou’s malnourished body. 

He didn’t stand a chance.

“No!” Shinsou buckled, leg flying out as two of them managed to wrestle him to the floor. One had him by his hair, slamming his face hard against the floor, his cheek bruising instantly. The other twisted Shinsou’s arms behind his back, his knee heavy between Shinsou’s shoulders. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Aizawa saw the chat flood with excited, sick chatter. 

HackX12: His screaming. 

ZzzzzRated: I’d love to be the one to make the kid struggle. 

ManX14: I hope they break his arm while they fuck him. 

Rage had never felt so hot under his skin before.

“G-get away from me!” Shinsou bucked, bunching his legs into his chests before striking out. It gave him a second of freedom. He spun around, striking the man holding his air in the throat. 

The assailant went down with a gurgling choking noise. 

The other rushed to pin him down, but Shinsou snapped his teeth around those reaching fingers. He didn’t let go. 

The man shrieked, thrashing to free himself. He only did so when Shinsou’s teeth peeled back a layer of skin. The man fell, holding his hand to his chest, watching as Shinsou stumbled to his feet and slipped, one of his knees buckling. He caught himself, clawed fingers dragging himself back up. 

“Stay down, Hitoshi!” One of the four men ordered. 

“Make me.” Shinsou spat. 

“You-.” Eyes turned milky and white.

Shinsou ensnared him in his quirk. 

“Fight the others.”

The man moved robotically, intercepting the other, knocking him to the floor.

“Hank, what the-.” 

Shinsou only managed to limp a single step before a hand snatched at his curls, yanking his head back. 

“You’re not going anywhere!”

Shinsou grunted and reared his head into the man, blood bursting from his nose, plastering the back of Shinsou’s hair red. But his grip held. 

“John, grab him!”

Hands grabbed at Shinsou’s ankles, lifting him off the ground. Shinsou’s foot connected with the camera, sending it toppling. It spun, the feedback flickering before the room stood still once more. The view was tilted on its side, broadcasting the city skyline, away from Shinsou’s struggle.

“Get off me!” Shinsou yelled.

“Hold him down.” A man’s voice yelled.

“I am. He’s a strong fucker!” Another snapped. “What’s wrong with her?”

“His quirk-. Ow you little bitch!” Aizawa recognised the sound of a man’s wounded pride. 

Shinsou screamed, shrill and piercing, sobbing in great choked off sounds. 

Regret. Aizawa blinked back tears as he listened to Shinsou fight for his life. He should’ve told him to wait. He shouldn’t have told him to fight. He killed him. He was killing-. 

Horrifying realisation crawled over his skin. He couldn’t help but bring a quivering hand to his mouth as he stared at the video. Stared at the city in its background. And the white hospital building standing only a few blocks away. 

He turned to look outside. The storm ragged now, rain hailing down on the windows, wind loud and deafening in its wake. A crack of lightning illuminated his room, and the thunder that followed crackled through the speakers. 

Aizawa raced out of bed and ran to the window. He scanned across rooftops. An office building stood only a block away, its lights a beacon in the storm. 

“SENSEI!”

Aizawa slid the knife out of the compartment in his leg, and held it up against the window. And with all his might, he threw his weight against it. The glass cracked, spider-web patterns splintering up its length. He tried again, and again, pain shot through his shoulder. 

“Come on!” He screamed. He stepped back and kicked at the crack. 

The window shattered. The wind howled around him as he stood at the lip of the edge. The drop would kill him. 

He wrapped the end of his capture weapon around the tips of his fingers. 

Aizawa braced, his new mechanical muscles in his leg clicking into place. 

“I’m coming, Hitoshi.”

Chapter Text

Racing over rooftops should have felt like breathing. But Aizawa couldn’t catch his breath. Instead, it felt like dying.

The air that normally lifted him, now dragged at his clothes, threatening to drop him straight to the curb below. Though it was impossible, he swore he used to cut through the rain, his speed, his dexterity too quick to allow even a single drop to touch him. Now it blinded him, stinging against his eyes as he fought to see the next rooftop. His new leg was tight where flesh met metal, where wire met nerve. It was heavier than he was used to, despite the weight loss, despite the muscle he’d let wither away from weeks of bed rest. Every step felt like it’d give way, the prosthetic snapping with one wrong move. 

His body wasn’t ready for this. 

He wasn’t ready for this. 

He leapt across to the next rooftop. 

Pain shot up through his missing shin and straight into his knee. It throbbed. Pulsing with hot heat. He stumbled, barely able to keep on his feet. It was foreign. Tripping. He felt fifteen again. Fifteen, and unable to stop that building from coming down.

He felt warm tears against the harsh bite of the rain on his face.  

A curt vibration buzzed against his leg. Hizashi. Aizawa put the phone up to his ear, and jumped across the next rooftop. 

“I’m fifteen minutes away. I know you don’t want me h-.”

“Hizashi. He’s here. He was here the entire time.”

“What do-.”

“He’s three blocks from the hospital. I saw it.”

“You’re going after him,” Yamada said. It was a fact. Simple and plain. 

“They’re going to kill him. They’re going to-. I told him to fight. He’s going to die.”

“Turn on your location.” Aizawa could hear the squealing of breaks and the roar of an engine. “I’ll find you.”

Aizawa squeezed the phone tight in his hand until his fingers turned white. His heartbeat hammered inside his head. 

“Hizashi-.

“I’ll find you. Go. Go get him!”

Aizawa hung up and leapt across the next rooftop. It was mistimed. There wasn’t enough power in his jump. He didn’t draw in a big enough breath. He barely managed to catch the lip of the rooftop by the tip of his toe. 

“Damn!” 

He skidded, almost tumbling to his knees, his foot tearing across the rough concrete. Sparks flew from his prosthetic. 

The edge of the rooftop loomed underneath as he halted to a stop. He could feel blood pooling between his toes. He looked down and found his foot covered in it. He shouldn’t have rushed. He should’ve waited for Hizashi. He should’ve put on his damn boots. 

But Shinsou was waiting for him. Shinsou who was within reaching distance. Shinsou who was fighting for his life in one of the buildings ahead. He scanned through the city, following the direction of the hospital behind him. From this distance they all looked the same. They all looked like they could be the place he saw on the live stream. If he picked the wrong one, then Shinsou was as good as dead. 

They were all office buildings, abandoned when villains took the streets. Tokyo was one of the last cities to be evacuated, but that didn’t stop criminals from taking root in every unoccupied building. The last thing he needed was to find himself in the wrong fight. 

Only three buildings were tall enough to see over the expanse of the city. Two of those were able to see the hospital. Only two had their lights on.

Aizawa’s heart thundered in his ears. The decision gnawing. He leaned into his gut instinct, one he’d curated over the years into something that kept him alive through every fight. Something he could trust. It defied every bit of logic, and yet he found himself hurrying down the fire escape and crossing towards the nearest building. 

There were no guards. No one to stop him walking through the front doors. He doubted if the villains had the CCTV up and running, but there was a chance they were watching. Not for him. Not for someone to come rescue the kids. But watching to see if one of them would try to make a run for it. Waiting for the kids to become desperate enough to flee at the first chance, only to snatch it from them before they even made it to the reception desk. 

Instead, he slipped into the alley surrounding the office until a fire exit lit his way inside. He pulled his knife from his belt and slotted it against the lock, and with one hard yank, it popped open with a clankering sound. 

But no one came running to investigate.

He easily snuck inside, closing the door behind him. The lobby area was devoid of life. Quiet. There was nothing to indicate that someone had been there since the workers all evacuated. Just another abandoned building.

Except Shinsou wasn’t on the ground floor. Judging from the height of the hospital, the kid was on the higher floors, probably around thirty levels up. It was a sure way to slow anyone trying to escape. It was probably there that Miss Adams had stationed all her men. She didn’t seem to have the same man-power as Mr Mills, or even Horiuchi. Limited to a few intimating men, and the breaking of children’s spirits to keep them in control. 

He made his way to the stairs and quickly started his ascent. 

He was panting by the eighth floor, sweat rolling down the back of his neck. The two months of bed rest ruined his body more than cutting off his own leg. He was unpractised. Unfit compared to his previous self. Climbing another level took the wind out of his lungs, and he had to wipe his forehead with the back of his sleeve. But still, he continued to crawl up another story, and tried to control his breathing. The silence made it almost impossible. 

The sound of a commotion echoed above him, and a door slammed somewhere. Muffled voices came loud and abrupt, mocking and scathing. He hurried up the stairs, keeping himself tight against the wall, leaning on the padding on the bottom of his metal toes. 

The struggle grew louder, a woman’s voice shrill and strict cutting through it all. 

“Hold him down!”

He recognised the tilt of her accent from the stream. That fake happy tone was gone now.

”John, do something, you idiot!”

”I’m trying! Fuck this-!”

An enormous bang vibrated loud inside his chest. He stilled, freezing into place. It took a second to recognise it. And dread sunk in his stomach.

The room quietened, slow and thick like heavy fog. 

It took everything not to race ahead, not to barrel straight into the office. He took a steady breath and hoped. It was all he could do. Hope and pray that Shinsou was alive. 

He gently pried the door open and peeked inside. 

Shinsou was on the floor, pinned down by two men. One had his wrists held above his head in one meaty fist while the other yanked at his hair, pulling his head back so his neck was bared. The other was kneeling over Shinsou’s waist, his massive frame curled over him. There was a gun in his hand, the barrel pointed straight at Shinsou’s forehead. 

Miss Adams stood above them all. 

Aizawa froze. There was nothing he could do if the man pulled the trigger. No matter how quick he was with his capture weapon, a bullet was quicker. There were five men in total, plus Miss Adams. Six against one were easy odds. Or they would’ve been months ago when his new leg didn’t put him off kilter. He was out of practice. If he stormed in now, there was a chance Shinsou wouldn’t make it out of the room alive. 

“Did you hurt him?” She asked, though there wasn’t any concern in her voice. 

“He’ll live.” The man pressed the muzzle between Shinsou’s eyes. “If he behaves.”

Shinsou’s eyes screwed shut, pain etched across his features, his jaw tense. His shirt was wet with blood. 

“Good.” Miss Adams inched closer, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. She raised her fist and brought it down against the back of John’s head. The man whipped around, face set in anger before she slapped him. “Now how am I supposed to film him tomorrow with a bullet hole in his shoulder?” She snapped. 

“He’s looked worse before.”

”People love bites and bruises, not bleeding out.”

”There’s a kink for everything.”

Shinsou made a pained wheezing sound, tears running down the side of his temples. He was trembling. Whether it was from the shock of being shot, or the growing dread of what was still happening to him, Aizawa didn’t know. 

“Now.” Miss Adams reached Shinsou’s side and placed the tip of her heeled toe to Shinsou’s shoulder. The kid cried out, back arching as desperately fingers clawed around the heel. “Who got you so excited in the chatroom, Hitoshi?”

Shinsou looked up at her, eyes tight with pain. 

“I didn’t-.” He dragged in a shaky breath. “No one.”

“Don’t lie to me, Hitoshi.” Miss Adams sneered, pushing down on the wound. Blood squelched around the pressure. Shinsou screamed, sobs breaking from him as tried to lift her foot. She pressed down harder. 

“I’m not! P-please. I’m sorry!” 

“Last chance.”

Shinsou bawled, hiccuping between each strangled breath. The sound would haunt Aizawa for the rest of his life. 

“Okay. Fine. Bring that small freckled boy in. He’s not bringing in the views I hoped for. Maybe shooting him will-.”

“No!” Shinsou shook his head. “P-please, don’t. I-.” He blinked back tears. “My teacher. My teacher was in the chat.”

Miss Adams lingered, staring down at Shinsou with calculating eyes. 

“I didn’t want him to watch me.”

Fained pity melted on Miss Adams’ face. 

“Were you embarrassed?” She asked mockingly. “Do you have a crush on one of your teachers?”

Shinsou gaped up at her, horror filling his features. And then it was gone. 

“Yes.”

Shinsou always was smarter than people gave him credit for. 

“Oh, Hitoshi.” Miss Adams took a step back, wiping the tip of her shoe against the mattress beside her. “That’s too precious of you.”

The men around them jeered, mumbling about how lucky teachers were to have teenagers begging at their feet. A harsh blush found Shinsou’s cheeks. He turned away from them, pulling on his arms as if to hide behind his hands. 

“Regardless of your little crush, you did disobey me, baby,” Miss Adams said.

“I’m sorry,” Shinsou whined. 

“I know you are.” She looked down her nose at Shinsou before turning to the man holding the gun. “John, get him patched up and presentable. And then lock him in the stalls. I don’t want to see his face until I’m ready to forgive him. I think a few days without dinner should put his priorities in order.”

The men moved, hauling Shinsou up onto unsteady feet. He hung there, his chin dropping to his chest. Blood soaked through his shirt, trickling down into his shorts and running down his legs. The implication, even if it wasn’t true, made his stomach churn. 

Miss Adams cupped Shinsou’s face, her nails cutting into his cheeks. 

“Next time you think you can fight against me, I will kill one of those little kiddies you’re so fond of.” She smiled sweetly when Shinsou’s bottom lip trembled. “Okay, sweetheart?”

Shinsou nodded. 

“What was that?” Her grip tightened, blood welling from where her nails scratched at his skin. 

“Yes, Miss Adams.”

”Good boy.” And in a horrifying moment, she leaned forward and kissed him. Shinsou didn’t fight back. He stayed still, his face pale as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. “My good boy.”

“Your good boy,” Shinsou whimpered. 

A bristling rage crawled through Aizawa’s skin. He wanted nothing more than to rip every person in that room apart. But he kept where he was, waiting for a moment to grab Shinsou and run. 

Miss Adams smiled triumphantly at Shinsou before patting John’s arm. 

“Spend a few hours with him, won’t you? I think Hitoshi needs reminding that he’s not a person anymore. He’s my little charmer, and the only place he belongs is between someone’s legs.”

Shinsou balked, stumbling backwards away from John. The guard chased after him in unhurried strides, grabbing Shinsou by the arm like one would grab the collar of a misbehaving dog.

“I’ll have him begging to be filming with you.”

“Just don’t break him completely.” Miss Adams waived them off. “Ryan, tell Kitan to stop patrols outside. I want him here.”

Aizawa crept away from the door and lingered on the lower level of the steps. He waited until he heard the door open and close again, and the sound of someone being half dragged. 

“Move it.”

“I’m trying.”

John didn’t reply, but Aizawa heard him shake Shinsou, the kid crying out before being yanked up the next story of stairs. 

Aizawa followed. 

He led Shinsou down through a corridor until they passed a row of smaller offices before coming up to the lavatory. Locking him in the stalls made sense now. 

“In you go.” John slapped Shinsou hard on the ass, all but shoving him into the room. He disappeared after him, unaware that Aizawa was prowling in his shadow, keeping out of sight.

Shinsou fled to the furthest wall, plastering himself against it. He swayed, fingers bunching against where he’d been shot. 

“Don’t be so dramatic. I barely grazed you. Now strip.”

Shinsou hesitated before lifting up his shirt, wincing as he raised his arms. He tried to cover himself as he stood vulnerable in just his shorts. He was practically bones. 

“All of it.” John twirled his finger with one hand, the other resting on the gun at his hip.

“You shot me in the shoulder,” Shinsou argued between a panicked breath. 

“The shorts, Hitoshi.”

Shinsou’s expression wobbled before he obediently reached for his shorts. 

“Good. Bend over the sink.”

Aizawa crept out from behind the half wall, leaving the depth of the shadows, his capture weapon pulled taut between his fingers. His hair half curled around his head, one eye burning.

Shinsou reacted first. The hero instincts in him squashed under utter terror. He froze like a rabbit spotted under a hunter’s flashlight, watching the whimpering glow of his quirk in his reflection.

John didn’t notice. Instead, he pushed up against Shinsou, his hand crushing the long expanse of Shinsou’s neck and shoved him over the sink. Shinsou sucked in a whimpered breath, knees knocking against the countertops, straining his head over his shoulder, trying to find the thing that moved in the dark. 

“I hope you continue acting out, Hitoshi.” John followed a hand down Shinsou’s spine. Shinsou desperately clawed at the sink, eyes wide in the mirror, watching as Aizawa advanced. “I guess I should thank that teacher of yours for getting you all excited.” He tucked a hand under Shinsou’s knee and lifted. He bent over Shinsou, his entire body eclipsing the kid’s, and brought his lips to his ear, their gaze meeting in the mirror “Think of him as I fuck you.”

And then those beady eyes met Aizawa’s. They stared. A second of mystified horror and bewilderment.

“What the-.”

Aizawa exploded into action. John tried to stand up, reaching for his gun. Aizawa shoved a knee into the small of his back, using the momentum to tower over him, sliding up to balance on his shoulders. And in one quick motion, he snapped the coils of his weapon around the man’s throat. 

John choked, momentarily forgetting the gun and began clawing at the cloth crushing his windpipe. Aizawa twisted it around his palms, pulling it tighter and tighter, his hands shaking from the pressure.

Face turning red, John spasmed, bucking back and forth to dislodge him. He stumbled, head curling backwards, mouth reaching wide as he tried to shove air down his lungs. Finding one last burst of strength, John ran towards the wall, bulldozing into the tiles. They cracked against Aizawa’s back, splintering, cutting into his skin. But he did not let go. 

“G-Get-.” John gurgled, making short gasping sounds as he tried to get his fingers underneath the cloth. His eyes began to roll backwards into his skull. 

Pass out. Pass out.

But in an animal-like desperation, John reached for his discarded gun. Aizawa tried to rein him back, but his arms shook, unable to wield the strength it took to control such a large man. John turned the gun towards Shinsou, who had sunken to the floor, curled in on himself. 

“No!” Aizawa lassoed another coil around his throat, and yanked hard. 

The snap of his neck cut through the room. 

John’s body dropped, and a ringing silence followed. Aizawa stood over him, panting, his hands bleeding from where his weapon cut into his palms. He wiped the sweat from his brow, smudging blood across his forehead, the warmth curling across his eyebrows and down his temples. 

A terrified whimper broke him from his stupor. Shinsou had shoved himself into the corner, wedged underneath a sink. Wide fearful eyes stared unseeingly at him, at the body he towered over. 

He stepped over John and tried to crouch into a squat, but the joint where his flesh met his new leg twinged, sending a flare of pins and needles through his thigh. He eased himself gingerly onto the floor, instead, sitting directly in Shinsou’s line of sight. 

“Hitoshi.” 

The kid was worse in person. There was hardly anything to him. Just pale and bruised skin over jutting bones. His trademark eyebags were rings of black, swollen like he couldn’t stop rubbing his eyes. Like he tried to stop the tears too many times. 

Aizawa took a deep breath, smothering the feeling of shame and pity. It wasn’t what Shinsou needed right now. 

“We need to go,” Aizawa said, careful as he inched towards him. 

“‘Zawa?” His trembled name cut through his chest, hollowing it out. That tired gaze found him, welling with unshed tears.

“I’m here.” Aizawa offered out his hand. Shinsou hesitated, and he tried not to feel the stab of hurt from that suspicion. He had no room for that. Not when Shinsou had every right to be wary. They both knew now what punishment looked like. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

With a shaky hand, Shinsou slipped his fingers into Aizawa’s palm. They were cold to the touch. He gently pulled Shinsou out from underneath the sink. The kid cried out before he bit down on his chewed lip. 

“Let me look at your shoulder.” The wound was shallow, despite the bleeding. Aizawa didn’t have his usual first kit on him. He gathered toilet paper against the wound and pressed. Shinsou squeezed his eyes closed tight, silent tears ran down his cheeks. “Sorry,” Aizawa said pathetically as he began to wrap the wound with his capture weapon. “You’ll need stitches once we get you to a hospital.”

Shinsou nodded.

Aizawa ached to hold him safe. 

Instead he asked, “are you hurt anywhere else?”

A shameful blush burned across Shinsou’s face.

“No,” he croaked. 

“Hitoshi, if you’re hurt, let me help. I’ve seen it all before-.” 

“I said no!” Shinsou snapped, eyes wild with hate, his nostrils flaring. 

“Sorry.” Regret at his wording sat lamely in his chest. “I-.”

Shinsou deflated before burying his face into his palms. Aizawa didn’t know if he should pretend not to hear him crying. 

He thought of Eri. How scared she was when they first rescued her. How she would cower from him, even when she sought his comfort. How safety and fear tangled together until Eri was so terrified she didn’t know what she wanted. 

In a handful of months, Aizawa learned how to soothe her through her tears. 

Shinsou was an enigma to him. 

And he didn’t have time to unravel all that hurt.

“Hitoshi, we need to go.” Aizawa gathered Shinsou’s clothes and offered them to him. Shinsou peeked through his fingers, tears streaming down his cheeks. His bottom lip trembled before he gingerly took them into his fingers. Aizawa turned around to give him privacy.

He heard Shinsou move, wincing as he struggled to put on the clothes. 

“S-sensei?” 

Aizawa looked back and saw Shinsou holding out his bloody shirt. 

“C-can-.” Shinsou swallowed, his words shaking. “Can you help me?”

Worldlessly, Aizawa took the shirt from Shinsou and gently helped put his injured shoulder through the armhole. Shinsou clamped his jaw shut tight as he breathed sharply through his nose. 

“Almost there,” Aizawa coaxed, pulling down the ruined shirt. Shinsou wrapped one arm around his stomach as if the shirt didn’t cover him enough. Aizawa wanted to donate the kid his shirt, but it was rain soaked, dripping onto the bathroom tiles. He didn’t even have his boots to put on Shinsou’s feet. 

He wondered how Shinsou saw him. Did he live up to his hope of being rescued? Did it matter when he’d failed at every other attempt? Did he believe Aizawa would save him?”

“Hitoshi?” 

Shinsou looked up with large, childlike eyes. 

“I’m going to get you out.” Aizawa took his face into his hands. “I promise.”

His teary gaze jumped back and forth between Aizawa’s eye and patch, looking for any hint of the truth, for any doubt. Aizawa didn’t have any. They were going to escape. 

“I need you to stick-.”

“There are others,” Shinsou interrupted, pulling out of Aizawa’s hold.

“Back up is com-.”

“No. I won’t go without them. They’ll kill them. They’ll kill them all. Sensei, please-.”

Aizawa squeezed Shinsou’s good shoulder

“I’m not leaving them,” he stated. “I’m getting you all out.”

“She has them on the next floor up.” Shinsou said, his voice more clear, concise. 

“How many?”

“There’s twel-. There’s eleven of us.” 

“How many men does Miss Adams have?” 

“There’s six….five.” Desperately, he saw him fight against the urge to look down at John’s body. 

“Let’s go. You stick by my side.” Aizawa jutted his chin for Shinsou to follow, and despite the months apart, the kid fell right back into position, lingering in Aizawa’s shadow just like he did during their training patrols. It felt natural. Second nature. It held hope that Shinsou would continue his dream. 

“It’s the door on the fair end,” Shinsou supplied as they climbed the stairs. 

“Any guards?”

“They don’t need them. We-.” Shinsou hesitated. “We-. The kids are too scared, and I tried before and-.” Shinsou stumbled over his feet. Aizawa quickly caught him and found him shaking again. “They raped me, and I-. And I couldn’t walk. It was enough to scare the others. It’s easier not to fight back.”

“I’m sorry.” Aizawa took his hands off Shinsou. 

Shinsou blinked hard.

“Just get us home, Sensei.”

Aizawa nodded, before letting Shinsou take the lead again. They came to a long, dark corridor. At the end of it stood a door. 

“It won’t be locked,” Shinsou said, not looking at him. There was no need. Eleven helpless children were nothing against six adults who held all the power. 

Aizawa peeled the door open and peeked inside. Ten pairs of terrified eyes snapped at him. Someone started crying. Without a bright colourful costume, he lacked the appeal of what other heroes easily had. He wasn’t All Might. He wasn’t Present Mic. He wasn’t someone they could look up to. All they saw was another adult waiting to use them. 

“Shh. Shh.” Shinsou slipped past him and into the room, hands raised. It did little to comfort the children. “It’s okay. He’s my teacher,” Shinsou said, voice calm and collected, a stark contrast to his shaking hands. “He’s here to help.”

The others backed away, all but shoving themselves into a corner. 

Shinsou crouched into a squat, tucking his hands into his lap. It was docile. Comfortable. A simple pose that mirrored a normal teenage boy. I’m not a threat.

Aizawa loathed to know why Shinsou would show his underbelly. And then he remembered the video, and what Shinsou was forced to do. 

Matsui Ryo was one of the children tucked into the corner. He wasn’t watching him like the others. No, instead he was watching Shinsou. Whatever trust Shinsou had tried to win with promises of rescue had been lost the second Miss Adams commanded Shinsou use his quirk on them. 

“I’m here to get you home,” Aizawa said, following Shinsou’s suit and bending to a squat. 

It did nothing to draw the children closer. And for a moment, Aizawa truly did wonder how he would get them all out if they didn’t trust him. There was no way to drag them all out, kicking and screaming, without the criminals noticing. 

“Sensei, do you have your phone?” Shinsou asked, holding out his hand. Without question, he handed it over. Shinsou scrolled through the phone until he found what he was looking for and showed it to the rest. “Look.”

Curious, the children peered closer, trying to stretch their necks as far as they could reach. Whatever they saw had them erupting into excited whispers. 

Shinsou flashed him his phone. And there on the screen was All Might with his big stupid grin and flashy outfit. Aizawa saw himself standing next to him with a slightly annoyed expression. Several of 1-A were squished against them, their smiles just as big as All Might’s. Ashido had taken the selfie, cramming as many of the class into frame with their two teachers. Why he had allowed her his phone he couldn’t remember, but 1-A were notorious for acting without permission. They no longer feared him. 

And against his better judgement he had kept the photo. And added it to his favourites.

“Mic must have saved it,” Aizawa jested lightly. 

Shinsou didn’t smile and instead swiped to the next photo. 

It was of the pair of them after a particularly hard training session. Shinsou was shiny with sweat, his hair flopped over forehead. He looked exhausted, but was beaming at the camera, riding that adrenaline high. Aizawa was smiling too. 

“I saved that one,” Aizawa said. 

Shinsou’s eyes filled before he quickly handed the phone back. 

Slowly, the children peeled away from the wall and surrounded Aizawa and Shinsou. 

“Do you really know All Might?” One asked, expression bright like he’d found out the best secret in the world. 

“Unfortunately.”

“Sensei.”

“Yes. I know All Might.”

More excited chitter. 

“Is All Might coming to rescue us too?”

“No. He’s not All Might anymore, stupid.” Another kid snapped. 

“Hey.” Aizawa split the two up. “All Might isn’t here, but we need to work together to get out, okay?”

Reluctantly, they nodded, pouts adorned on both their faces. It reminded him of another pair of children. 

“He came. Just like you said,” a boy said in disbelief, holding onto Shinsou’s arm, that initial fear gone in the face of hope. 

“He did.” Shinsou gave him a stained shy smile. 

The shame made it impossible to smile back. Instead, he nodded before turning to the eleven hopeful faces staring at him. 

“We need to be extra quiet. No one makes a sound, even if things get scary.” That earlier joy was gone in the seriousness of the moment. “We go in a single line, holding onto the person in front of us. Hitoshi will take the rear.”

Shinsou nodded, stern and ready. 

“If we get spotted. You run for the exit. Don’t turn back.”

This time Shinsou hesitated, his expression torn. 

“Hitoshi.”

“Yes, Sensei. Understood.”

Aizawa took the hand of the first children. One by one the children linked hands. 

“Everyone ready?” He asked. A series of nods and yesses followed. 

Quietly, Aizawa poked his head out into the corridor. It was clear. 

“Let’s go.” 

Obediently, the children followed, tiptoeing down into the stairwell. 

The hand in his held on tighter. He squeezed back, keeping his wits as they slowly made their way past the lower level. 

And another level. And another. 

His palms began to sweat.

No one had stopped them yet. It couldn’t be this easy. How had he failed time after time only to walk out now? He turned to look behind him, Shinsou was still at the rear with a determined look on his face. But just like him, there was a cautious worry set in the deepening of his brow and the tightness in his jaw. 

It was a miracle they hadn’t been spotted.

Getting in was easy. He knew how to keep his footfall quiet, how to melt into the shadows, how to keep his breathing steady. With the exception of Shinsou, the children weren’t heroes. They were noisy without meaning to be. They stumbled over their own feet, and even if they tried to stifle their crying, it was still too loud. 

Something was wrong. 

“Mindjack,” he ordered.

Shinsou slipped up the line until he was by his side. Matsui Ryo took his spot. 

“Something’s wrong,” Shinsou said quietly, not to cause a panic among the children. “Do you think they found John?”

It was a possibility. They did nothing to conceal his body. He should have hidden him in one of the stalls, even if it only delayed finding him by minutes. 

Aizawa unravelled his capture weapon and wrapped it around Shinsou’s shoulders. Shinsou brought his hands up to the cloth, marvelling at its weight and its rough texture. 

“Go ahead. Find out if the path is clear.”

Shinsou nodded before jumping up onto the rails of the stairs, and descended downwards. It took every bit of trust in the kid not to follow him. 

“Where is Hitoshi going?” The child holding onto his hand whispered, nerves trembling in their voice. It rippled through the line. 

“Shh.” Aizawa put a finger to his lips. “He’s finding out if the coast is clear.”

It didn’t dissipate the anxiety coursing through the children. Despite the fear and loathing they held towards Shinsou and his quirk, his calm and sure confidence held some rank. His leaving caused a hole in their safety. 

“It’s okay,” Aizawa said. “He’ll be okay.”

Aizawa kept them waiting on this level, in spite of how much he wanted to race down the stairs. He backed them up against the furthest wall, bunched together until the smallest of them was hidden by the older ones. Only when Shinsou returned would he lead them back out. 

But doubt began to creep back into his veins as the minutes ticked by. 

He’d been gone too long. 

And the impatience of it all began to make the children squirm once again. It started with quiet sniffles that slowly broke into crying. Some of the others tried to shush them, but it only made them grow louder until Aizawa had several wailing children. 

“Okay. Change of plans.” Aizawa took the hand of the nearest child. “Everyone hold hands again. We need to hide.” 

With no other choice, they did as they were told, huddled together until they moved as one. He led them through the door into another set of offices. Thankfully, it was empty. He found a private office that had no windows, and corralled them into the room. 

“Stay quiet,” he instructed, counting heads, making sure no one was left behind. 

“Mr. Eraserhead, sir?” Ryo hesitated before going in. “Are we-. I don’t want to die here.”

“You won’t.”

“They’ll kill us all if they find us here.”

“I will get you all out,” he said, “but Hitoshi-.”

Hate flashed across Ryo’s face, his nose scrunching and his shoulders tensing. 

“It’s always Hitoshi.” Ryo let out a bitter laugh. “It’s always about Hitoshi. They won’t kill him. He’s too special.” Silent tears ran down his cheeks. “They’ll shoot us all but they’ll let him live.”

“Hit-.”

“They killed a boy when Hitoshi tried to refuse before. We didn’t even know his name.” Ryo wiped at his face. “They shot him dead.”

“I won’t try to change your mind on Hitoshi,” Aizawa said, “but Hitoshi wouldn’t abandon you all. Something is stopping him from reporting back, and I won’t risk taking you all down there without knowing why.”

“You’re leaving us too?” Ryo asked, whimpering before he screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“I’m going to get Hitoshi, and I’ll be right back.”

Ryo shook his head. 

“You’re in charge while I’m gone.” Aizawa took the kid by his shoulder and guided him into the room. 

“What if you don’t come back?” Ryo asked. 

“Then you run.” He levelled himself with Ryo. “You’re right. They will kill you if they find you. So, if I don’t come for you, you run and don’t look back.”

Fresh tears ran down Ryo’s cheeks. 

“But I am coming back. I made a promise, and I’m making one to you. You’re going home today.”

“O-okay,” Ryo whispered, sounding younger than he looked. 

Aizawa patted the kid’s head and shut the door behind him before breaking into a run. Without his capture scarf, he couldn’t follow Shinsou straight down the stairs, but instead had to go down each one and hope for a sign of him. 

After searching four floors, he found Shinsou plastered in the corner of the stairwell, hand clawed over his mouth. The capture weapon was clenched in the other hand like a toddler with their comfort blanket. The front of his shirt was soaked with sweat and blood.

His heart almost stopped at the sight. 

“Hitoshi?” Aizawa crept into his space. “Are you hurt?”

Shinsou shook his head, despite the blood. Aizawa pulled at the collar of his shirt. His shoulder was bleeding through the bandages. Propelling down a stairwell probably tore it. But finding him without further injuries didn’t come as a relief. 

Something had made Shinsou tuck himself into a corner. Something had rendered him back into a helpless child. 

“What’s wrong?” Aizawa asked. 

“He’s here,” Shinsou said weakly. 

At first, Horiuchi came to mind. But the bastard was locked up. There was no way for him to escape the hospital unnoticed. His quirk wasn’t powerful enough to take out the heroes stationed outside his room, even if they were rookies. And the hospital would be locked down after he smashed the window. 

“Who?”

“ He’s down there. He-.” Shinsou shuddered. “He wasn’t here before. Why is he here now? Sensei-.”

“Hitoshi, breathe. Who’s down there?”

“He’s-. He’s-.” Shinsou blabbered, shoving himself further into the corner, fingers clawing at the concrete like he could escape into it. “S-sensei. Please. He’s there. Help me!”

“Shh.” Aizawa slapped a hand over Shinsou’s mouth. The reaction was instant. Shinsou froze, eyes wide with fear as they locked onto him. A terrified groan pushed against his palm. “You need to be quiet.”

Shinsou nodded too quickly, tears willing. 

Aizawa removed his hand, only to realise it was shaking. He felt like a monster. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, and began to unravel the capture weapon from around Shinsou’s shoulders. “I need you to go join the others. They’re on the same floor as before. There’s an office-.”

Shinsou gasped and latched onto the capture weapon. 

“No.”

“Hitoshi-.”

“No.”

Aizawa continued to take the cloth from Shinsou.

“Sensei, wait.” Shinsou snatched at it. 

“Stop it, Hitoshi,” Aizawa snapped. “If you can’t fight, then you need to go hide with the others.”

Shinsou pulled at the weapon, but Aizawa held on tight. 

“You’re shaking,” Aizawa said impatiently. 

Shinsou looked down at himself as if only now realising how hard he was trembling. He turned back to Aizawa, his mouth wide as he gasped. Hyperventilating.

They didn’t have time for a panic attack, and yet-.

“Breathe. Slow.” Aizawa took an exaggerated breath. He dropped the capture weapon and took Shinsou’s hands. “Up.” He stood and dragged Shinsou to his own feet. Shinsou almost tumbled into him, his knees knocking together. 

“Sensei-.” He choked, gagging as he choked on a breath that wouldn’t come. 

“We can’t stay. Move.” 

“I can’t-.” Shinsou’s throat bobbed. 

“You can. Breathe.” Aizawa coached, almost dragging Shinsou up the stairs. It wasn’t what he was trained to do. He needed to calm Shinsou down, coax him into slowing down, to breathe, but they couldn’t sit and wait for the villains to find them. 

He latched onto Shinsou’s wrist and pressed his fingers to his pulse. His heart was racing.

“Good job,” Aizawa said, despite how Shinsou was trying and failing to inhale. Tiny wheeze-like noises broke from him instead. They sounded pained. “Keep going.”

He managed to shepherd Shinsou up another flight of stairs, when the hairs on his arms stood. Shinsou froze, halting them to a stop. 

“No. We keep moving,” Aizawa hissed into Shinsou’s ear, but Shinsou stood ramrod straight, his pulse hammering against Aizawa’s fingers. 

The sound of something sharp cutting into concrete reverberated below them. 

“Move. Now.” Aizawa grabbed him by the capture weapon and half dragged him up the stairs. “Hitoshi.”

Shinsou yelped, struggling against him, nails clawing at Aizawa’s wrists. 

A low growl crawled up the stairs. 

Aizawa yanked at Shinsou and threw him over his shoulder. Shinsou squealed, kicking against him, tearing at his back. 

“No. Put me down. Sensei. He’s coming. Put me down. P-please.” Shinsou pleaded. “He-.god-.Sensei.”

Aizawa shambled up the stairs, his leg complaining with every step. Shinsou’s struggles slowed him down, almost toppling them both. 

“Hitoshi. Stop.” Aizawa grunted and missed the next step, throwing them both to the ground. Shinsou rolled away from him, scrambling to his hands and knees before he froze, eyes focused behind him.

“S-sensei.”

Aizawa turned to look, and found white glowing eyes staring at them from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Move it!” Aizawa ordered, shoving Shinsou forward as they jumped to their feet. “Go!”

Shinsou sprinted ahead, and despite knowing it wouldn’t stop him, Aizawa slammed the door behind them. Gorgonops’ tremendous size shook the floor as he bounded up the stairs. Aizawa turned and chased after Shinsou.

There was nowhere to go. The room looped on itself with private offices sitting in the middle, surrounded by rows and rows of desks. Shinsou smacked into the furthest wall, hands pressed against it like he could melt through the concrete and escape.

“No, no, no,” he sobbed, slapping his palm against the wall. 

Aizawa made a beeline straight to him and wrapped an arm around his middle, hauling him away and towards the desks. This time Shinsou didn’t fight him, and instead he went limp, his weight almost dragging them down. 

“Get under.” Aizawa pushed Shinsou’s head under the desk. “Stay.”

“He’s going to find us. He-,” Shinsou babbled. 

Aizawa took his face in his hands.

“Hitoshi.” He shook it slightly before cupping him harder. Shinsou startled, gasping before watching Aizawa in alarm. “I’m going to lead him away. The kids are on the next floor up. Go to them and get out. Do you understand?”

Shinsou only gaped at him, making child-like pitiful noises. 

A hot flush of anger flashed through his body. He’d seen Shinsou panic before when they were first in the forest,  saw how fear took over every inch of him leaving no room for his hero training. He understood then. Shinsou was a child with no hero experience outside of gym mats and school lessons. He was hurt and confused, thrust straight into a battle he wasn’t prepared for. 

But this? 

He’d seen what they did to him. He watched every single one of those clips, and yet he somehow hoped Shinsou had held onto himself. It felt cruel to hold him to that standard.

“I’ll be back, okay?” Aizawa stood.

He was going to kill every single one of those bastards.

The door to the office exploded into splinters and Gorgonops burst into the room. Aizawa slowly moved away from where Shinsou was hiding, taking calculated steps in front of the beast. He reached for the knife inside his prosthetic, his capture weapon still wrapped around Shinsou’s shoulders. Gorgonops growled, the sound rumbling inside his chest. 

Aizawa backed away, pulling the knife into a defensive position. Those white glowing eyes followed before they lost interest, darting across the room, looking for its prey. It took a large breath, lips curling around yellow fangs half the size of Aizawa’s forearms. 

It knew Shinsou was still in the room. 

It opened its jaws and made a crackled groan that vaguely resembled Shinsou’s name.

A muffled cry came from under the desk. 

Gorgonops advanced with the snap of an animalistic snarl. 

“Hey!” Aizawa yelled, his voice booming, putting himself between it and Shinsou. 

Gongonops jerked, teeth gnashing together as it locked eyes with Aizawa. He was hardly a match for it. It stood eye level with him, but its size dwarfed him. He looked ridiculous standing in front of it with just a knife. The last time they fought, Aizawa was knocked unconscious. He lost with a simple swipe of its monstrous claws.

Somehow Shinsou had fought against this thing, twice, and won. 

Aizawa shifted his balance, ready to pounce. There was no way he was letting it get Shinsou now. 

Gorgonops took a prowling step forward, drool dripping from its mouth.

“Over my dead body,” Aizawa spat. 

The beast lunged, its tremendous weight shaking the floor. Aizawa stood his ground, and with a flash of golden brilliance his quirk came alive. The transformation was instant. The beast vanished and instead stood a man. 

Without giving it time to recalculate, Aizawa moved. He brought the knife down, but Gorgonops caught his wrist, twisting. Aizawa followed the motion, gritting teeth as the bones grinded together. He flipped the knife into his left hand and sliced across Gorgonops’ stomach.

The man grunted, a mixture of something both human and animal. It brought a hand to its wound, coating its fingers in blood. 

Aizawa pulled the knife back and aimed for where its kidneys sat, but it reached forward, smearing its hand over Aizawa’s face. Blinded, Aizawa reared his head back and kicked out, putting distance between the two of them. His eyes watered, stinging as he tried to blink the foreign bodily fluid away. 

All he saw was red, and the bulging of Gorgonops’ muscles. 

Fuck. 

Aizawa wiped at his eyes, desperate to clear his vision. He took three steps back, creating space between them. Gorgonops followed in lumbered steps, its form contorting, breaking until its skin peeled back, revealing the beast. 

Aizawa dove, and then ducked, shoving the knife upwards. It pierced Gorgonops’ muzzle, slicing through its tongue. It roared, tossing its head side from side. Aizawa followed, drawing the knife out, blood soaking his arms before diving it back into its neck. 

It drew back, shaking its head, hot air blowing out of its nostrils. It growled, low and deep, its eyes flicking between Aizawa and to where Shinsou was hiding. It opened its jaws again, its raspy voice echoing back Shinsou’s name.

Trying to spook its quarry into running. 

“Your fight is with me,” Aizawa seethed, blocking its path.  

Enraged, Gorgnops chomped massive jaws at him. Aizawa pranced back, kicking out, knocking its muzzle shut with a satisfying snap. 

Gorgonops swiped a claw. Aizawa drew the knife up, catching razor blade talons. It tried again, aiming for his leg. Keratin met metal. His prosthetic absorbed the shock of the punch, but his leg was still healing. He could feel blood oozing from where his flesh ended and his new leg began. 

He barely managed to create a gap between them, throwing himself out of the way of claws that were five inches long. Sweat rolled down the back of Aizawa’s neck. He was panting, desperately trying to square his breathing. But he was two months out of practice. He shoved his hair out of his sweaty face. 

He needed to end this. Now. 

He moved- only for his leg to buckle underneath him. Something clicked out of place. The gears whirring.

“Shit.”

Seizing its chance, Gorgonops charged. The strength of it knocked him to the ground. Gorgonops dove, its jaws snapping. Aizawa raised his arm just in time to stop those fang snapping his neck in two. A thousand pounds of teeth and pressure clamped around his forearm. He didn’t have time to scream as Gorgonops tossed its head aside, shaking Aizawa like it was a frenzied dog with a rabbit. 

He was thrown to one side, and back. His head rag dolling with the movement. 

Aizawa twisted, plunging his knife into its chest. Its thigh. Its stomach. Over. And over. And over. 

Gorgonops let go, blood oozing from its muzzle. Aizawa rolled onto his back and kicked out, hitting it square in the face. He threw himself onto his good foot, but it launched forward, slamming him back to the ground. He aimed for its eye, only to miss as those jaws came down.

Instead, it ripped into his shoulder and began to tear him apart. 

Something popped. The sound echoing into his head. Something tore. The hot spill of blood on his back. Something punctured. The taste of vomit curled in his throat. 

Claws thrashed over his body, the weight digging into his chest, bending his ribs. He was yelling. Animalistic. Feral. Desperate.The irony not lost on him as the beast above him was silent, a single focused look on its face as it tore flesh from his body. 

Abandoning the knife, he grabbed at its face, desperately trying to push it back, but his strength meant nothing to it.

I’m going to die.

The thought hit him like whiplash, the feeling cold in his chest. He turned towards Shinsou’s hiding spot. 

“R-run,” he croaked. “Hi-.”

The space under the desk was empty. Shinsou was gone. The kid had made a dash for it. 

Pain snapped his attention back to the fight. Blinding agony pierced through his arm as Gorgonops peeled the skin on his shoulder back, strips of it caught between its teeth. He shrieked, back arching as he kicked out, feet scrambled underneath its weight. His vision pulsed, red, black, gold, his quirk fighting for his life. It flickered before he couldn’t hold it any longer. It died with a single glare of gold before the colour dimmed. 

Knowing it was the end, it pressed its muzzle into his chest, sniffing, tasting Aizawa’s final moment. It licked its jowls with a black tongue before raising one of its giant paws and pressed down on his chest. 

Aizawa howled. 

The weight lifted, the respite not coming as any relief as Gorgonops towered over him.

And then something shifted behind it. Too quick. Aizawa’s eyes rolled to follow it. 

Shinsou appeared on its back and brought the knife down, straight into Gorgonops’ eye. It reared back, roaring, jaws snapping blinding at where Shinsou had been seconds ago. 

Aizawa rolled, throwing himself behind one of the desks. His leg clicked, the metal joint of his ankle rolled, turning until something slotted into place. The nerves stung as they reconnected, but it was nothing compared to the wounds bleeding sluggishly across his entire body. 

The fight continued around him. Shinsou flew across the room, the capture weapon tight between his fits, a feral look in his eyes. Fear pushing every muscle in his body forward. 

Gorgonops bucked, swinging his hulking form to catch Shinsou. 

It grabbed Shinsou mid-air, crushing him in its grip before launching him across the room. Shinsou smacked against the window and dropped as the pane cracked. Shinsou shoved his hands over his head as the glass shattered. 

The wind ripped into the room, howling over Aizawa’s cries.

Seizing the opportunity, Gorgonops ploughed through the desks, heading straight for Shinsou. 

The kid dragged himself onto his knees, wheezing as rain and wind whipped at his clothing, strips of the capture weapon soaring above his head. 

“Hitoshi! Move!” Aizawa yelled. He ran toward them. He wouldn’t make it. 

Shinsou looked pale-faced. Frozen in place.  

Gorgonops was almost on top of him. 

And in a split second, Shinsou threw the capture weapon out straight towards Aizawa. Instinctually, he caught it and yanked with everything he had. Shinsou slid underneath Gorgonops, slipping just under its claws and instead went straight into Aizawa’s arms. The force sent them both tumbling, Aizawa making his hold tight and secure. 

Realising its mistake did nothing to save it. Gorgonops shrieked, clawing against the floor, but its speed was too much. It went straight over the edge. 

The pair couldn’t move, and could only cling to each other, watching the rain hail through the window. They couldn’t hear over its downpour. Would they hear a body fall from thirty stories? Would they hear as it hit the ground below? 

Neither of them dared look over the edge. 

They waited, panting, trying to catch their breath.

But Gorgonops never climbed back through. 

It was gone. 

And the relief hit hard. 

“Don’t do that again,” Aizawa scolded, finally drawing Shinsou away, scanning him over. 

Shinsou gave him a wobbly grin before dropping his head to his chest. He started laughing, quiet and breathy.

“I feel sick,” he mumbled.

You almost died, Aizawa almost said, but he couldn’t make his lips say those words. The very idea sent chills through his entire soul. He almost lost him again. 

“You’re okay.” Aizawa rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades. “It’s the adrenaline."

Shinsou nodded into his sternum. When he pulled back, there was blood on his forehead. Aizawa brought a hand to his shoulder, finding his shirt soaked with blood. His skin flopped uselessly over his muscle in ribbons. 

“That looks bad.”

Aizawa only grunted, the pain making his entire arm tremble.

“Let’s-.”

“You killed Kitan.”

Their heads snapped towards the door. Miss Adams stood between their only exit. Her remaining men flooded the room around her. 

Shinsou helplessly clutched at Aizawa’s sleeve.

“Can you fight?” He whispered, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. 

Aizawa pushed himself up onto unsteady feet. His shoulder muscle twinged, blood seeping down his bicep, trickling between his fingers. His vision dimmed, the corners ruddy and enveloping.

“I’m taking him home,” Aizawa said. 

“And who are you?” Miss Adams asked, sweet and honey toned. “A fan?”

Hot thick rage curled up his spine. 

“His father?” She laughed like the idea somehow amused her. Afterall, how many fathers actually came for their children? How many came this close to saving them? How many vowed to rescue their child only for those words to become empty?

How many funerals were had with empty caskets?

Miss Adams took and took, leaving nothing behind. 

Aizawa would not wear black because of her. 

“Hitoshi.” Aizawa called him to stand, and the kid stood, blank and lifeless, forlorn in the face.

Aizawa resisted the urge to push him behind his back. To hide him from her. As if she hadn’t already sunken her nails beneath Shinsou’s skin.

“Oh.” Delighted surprise gleamed on her face. “I know who you are,” she sang. “Hitoshi, is this your teacher?”

“Move out of our way,” Aizawa said, calm and without fanfare. 

“You know, I always thought Hitoshi was a bit too good of a gift. A brainwashing quirk all for me?” she said. “I didn’t even pay a penny for him. Mr Mills gifted him to me. And his pet. A gesture of his kindness and my loyalty, he called it.” Bitterness curled the corner of her smile. “He gave me his baggage.”

“I got him arrested.”

“I did hear. There were rumours of a teacher tearing about the country looking for his lost little student. Though, in the two months I had Hitoshi, there wasn’t a peep. Not a word about you. I thought maybe my luck had turned around, and you, like so many of your type, died when the League attacked. 

I saw it on Hitoshi's face when we heard the news report. He looked so devastated. Like all his hope was ripped from his hands. And then you appeared on our little home video.” Her smile sharpened. “Did you enjoy it? Did you watch the rest of his performances?”

Shinsou stiffened next to him. 

“No,” he lied.

“That’s a pity. He puts on a good show.”

Aizawa ground his teeth together. He knew her game. If he lost his temper and attacked, it’d leave Shinsou wide open. 

“You know I won’t leave without him,” Aizawa said. 

“Oh honey, Hitoshi can’t leave.” She pointed a polished nail at Shinsou. “We’re connected, isn’t that right, baby?”

Shinsou let out a miserable warbled noise. He clung to Aizawa’s sleeve like Eri did when she was nervous. 

“That’s not a problem,” Aizawa said. 

Miss Adams' perfectly poised expression faltered. 

“Why’s that?” She asked, the shift in her demeanour clipped. 

Aizawa flashed his quirk, his one eye blaring gold, his hair curling pitifully around his head. It wasn’t as powerful as it used to be, but he didn’t need it to be. He just needed a second to erase her hold on Shinsou. 

He heard Shinsou take a shuddering gasp next to him, and Miss Adams’ clutched at her chest with a painful wheeze. He wondered if the children on the next floor knew what had happened, could they feel it too? 

“Oh.” She chuckled, half bent over herself. “Now that’s a cheating little trick.”

Aizawa kept his quirk burning on her for another second before it flickered and his eye began to sting. It faded without him even blinking. Shinsou stared at him, his mouth hanging open in pure horror. Aizawa ignored it. 

“Now let us walk out of here,” he said. 

“Hitoshi doesn’t want to leave, do you, baby?” Miss Adams coed. “You want to stay, right?”

Shinsou pressed his head against Aizawa’s arm, fighting to breathe. 

“Hitoshi.” Miss Adams snapped her fingers together. 

The kid flinched, eyes widening like a dog conditioned to the sound of a clicker. Aizawa feared for a moment he’d go crawling to her, belly up. But-.

“No,” Shinsou gasped.

“What was that?” She seethed. 

“No. No. No.” Shinsou buried his face into Aizawa’s side, blood smearing across his features. 

“Do you really want to test me, Hioshi?”

Shinsou remained by Aizawa’s side. 

“Fine. Ryan, go find the other kiddies. I’m sure Hitoshi has stashed them somewhere. Shoot them all.”

 “No!” Shinsou lunged forward, snapping the capture weapon around Ryan’s ankles and pulled. The guard went down hard. The others lifted their guns, all of them aimed at Shinsou. 

His knife was too heavy to be a throwing knife, but Aizawa drew it back and threw anyway. It cut through the air before lodging into one of the guard’s shoulders. His gun rang out, the bullet clipped right above Shinsou’s head. 

Shinsou ducked, tearing the cloth free before whipping it into action, snatching one of the guards around his wrists. With a twist, Shinsou yanked him forward and closed the space between them, driving his knee into the man’s nose.

“Fucking shoot them!” Miss Adams screeched. 

“But-.” 

Ryo’s words rang inside Aizawa’s head. Shinsou was special. Valuable to their line of work. They could snatch any kid from the street, but that took time, effort and planning. With a simple question, Shinsou could draw him as many children as they wanted. 

To risk shooting him-. Aizawa’s stomach dropped. 

“For christ sake.” Miss Adams snatched the gun from the nearest guard and pointed it at Shinsou. The kid didn’t flinch. 

“Shoot me,” he said, darkly. 

Miss Adams sneered.

“They won’t let you play hero after all you’ve done. Not after making all those children rape you.”

Shinsou’s eyes welled. 

“I’d rather die than go back with you.”

He watched the moment she realised the threat of Shinsou's life wasn’t enough. The tension in her jaw, the dip of her brow, the twitch under her eye. 

“Hitoshi! You listen to me. Right now!” She screamed. “Or-.”

Miss Adams swung the gun in his direction, searching for new leverage. It was her first mistake. Without the gun being trained on his student, Aizawa rushed forward. She fired. The bullet tore past him. She fired again. Missing the tip of his ear. He launched himself at her, spinning through the air before his metal foot collided with her face.

She twisted, back bending as she fell, smacking into the nearest wall. Aizawa followed through. He grabbed her by the collar of her ruined white shirt. Blood splatters lined the collar from where her nose had begun to bleed. 

“Drop her!” Ryan ordered, gun fixed on Aizawa. The rest of the guards divided their attention between Shinsou and himself. 

“Shoot him!” Miss Adams yelled. “Do it!”

Aizawa threw her, flipping backwards towards Shinsou, pushing him down behind the desk. Gunfire followed them. 

“S-Sorry, she got to me. Sorry.” Shinsou rambled, one hand coming up to his bloodied wound that was once again seeping through his shirt. 

Aizawa shoved Shinsou’s head further down as a bullet flew overhead. 

“Let’s get out alive, then we can apologise to each other.” 

Shinsou gave a wobbly thumbs up.

Aizawa burst out from their concealment, just as a bullet pierced right where they had been hiding. It drew the guards’ attention, giving Shinsou time to loop around them. He leapt up onto a desk, using the weight to slam down on an unexpecting guard. He yelled, folding under Shinsou’s weight. 

Another spun, his hands stretching, growing until they were ten times their normal size. He swatted at Shinsou like he was a fly, but Shinsou threw himself back, the capture weapon slingshotting him across the room at such speed he bowled through the villains, knocking them to the ground. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a gush of glue-like substance squirted towards him, splattering across the floor just where he had been standing. A series of fireballs chased after him, exploding into small puffs of fire and ash upon impact with anything they touched. 

“You useless-.” Miss Adams screamed. 

Aizawa set his quirk on her, a promise that he was coming for her next. 

She stumbled back, the gun dipping in her shaking hands. 

“No. No. No!” She fired, her shot going wide. “I won’t-.” She snapped towards the nearest guard. “Bring it down.”

“It’ll kill the others. And we don’t know where the other children are. You’ll lose everything!”

Miss Adams drew her gun on him.

“Do it.”

“Fucking crazy!” Ryan lifted his foot and stomped it hard against the ground. Like the aftershock of an earthquake, the room lurched forward. The windows shook in the frames, the glass shattering. 

“Hitoshi, cover me!” Aizawa called out, ducking as Large Hands tried to grab him. 

“Yes, sir!” Shinsou flipped over a lump of glue, before skidding across the floor on his knees as fire burned above him. With a flick of his wrist, the capture weapon snagged around the fire wielder and glue guard. Shinsou followed the trajectory before switching directions, the line going taut as he looped around them, tying the two together. 

The room shuddered again. 

Aizawa cursed as he made a beeline towards Ryan. His eye was burning now. It’d been months since he had used it for longer than a couple minutes. But he fixed his gaze on Ryan and let it burn. 

Ryan collapsed to one knee like gravity slammed into him. The building made a wailing noise before falling silent. 

A bullet tore across his thigh. He blinked.

“Don’t stop!” Miss Adams ordered. “Drop them!”

Ryan brought his entire weight down. 

The floor shuddered violently. The metal framework groaned, buckling as the concrete cracked, jutting out in jagged edges. 

“Shit.” Aizawa pressed himself up against one of the support beams as the part of the floor he’d been standing on exploded upwards, colliding like two tectonic plates clashing together. He searched for Shinsou, finding him holding himself in place with his capture weapon. 

The floor beneath the criminals shifted. A crack split wide around them like a predator circling its prey. And then it collapsed, dropping them to their deaths. They didn’t even have time to scream. 

“Sensei! The kids!” Shinsou yelled over the sound of falling debris. 

“Can you get to them?” 

Shinsou threaded the capture scarf through his fingers before lassoing a support beam near the exit. He backed up, stumbling as the room tried to uproot him. The cloth stretched, tension along the line. He propelled forward like a slingshot.

“You’re not leaving!” Miss Adams yelled.

A bullet cut the line, throwing Shinsou to the ground. He rolled, hands coming up to protect his head. Another shot fired, and Shinsou scrambled behind a desk, a bullet slamming into the drawer next to him. 

Weaponless, Aizawa picked up a chunk of concrete the size of his fist and threw it straight at Miss Adams. It struck her across her jaw, blood splattering up the wall as she collapsed against it. But she didn’t go down. She stood back up, blood pooling from her mouth, her sneer missing several teeth. 

Aizawa picked up another chunk, readying his arm, but the floor split between his legs. He jumped to one side, clinging onto whatever he could find to maintain his balance. 

“SHOUTA!” A familiar voice shook through the building, displacing rubble. 

Why did the idiot have to be so loud? Did he not see the building falling around them?

“Is that…?” Shinsou beamed at the sound of his teacher. 

A single red feather shot through the room. It hovered as if it was surveying the scene before it filtered back out the room, zipping up the stairwell. 

Help had arrived. 

The structure groaned. Concrete shifted. 

It wouldn’t matter if backup had arrived if an entire building was dropped on them. 

With all his strength, Aizawa picked his way across the office. His quirk burned. Even if it couldn’t stop him, maybe, hopefully it could dampen the blow. 

“Miss Adams, I-.” Ryan argued, panic stricken across his face. 

“I will shoot you!” She pressed the muzzle of the gun against his head. “Fucking kil-!”

White pain shot through Aizawa’s head. And for a second, there was nothing. A sense of bliss, even though he knew something was wrong. 

And then the floor slid out from underneath him, his head hitting the ground, awareness snapping back. He knew this feeling. Knew its touch and confines so well it was almost welcoming. He turned to Shinsou. There was blood running from his nose and a sheen of sweat across his forehead. 

Miss Adams and Ryan stood with blank eyes. 

But still, the room swayed, listing to one side. They were too late.

His metal foot sparked as the concrete dipped, sending him fighting for his grip, the metal tendons in his leg screeching as he scrambled for purchase. The desks groaned, tilting before they slid towards the open windows.

The building was going to fall. 

“Hitoshi!”

He spun around, catching his student’s eye. Shinsou was already making his way to him, skidding across the floor on bloodied feet. 

The ground split between them with a horrifying crack. It dipped, sinking below the part Aizawa was standing on. Shinsou tumbled, his knees smacking against the floor. He struggled back up, wheezing, blinking dust out of his vision. 

“Hitoshi!” Aizawa yelled.

Shinsou looked up, and took a step towards him.

“Jump!” 

Shinsou braced, strangling the capture weapon in his grip. They had one chance. Aizawa reached out his hand. 

And the floor gave way. 

Shinsou’s terrified expression was the last thing he saw before he vanished under a hail of debris and rubble. 

His body moved on its own, leaping after Shinsou. 

They were free falling, hurtling towards the ground from thirty stories.

Shinsou wrestled with his capture weapon, the coil tight in his grasp. He looked wild, frantic as he searched for an anchor. There was nothing but debris to latch onto. 

“Hitoshi!” Aizawa yelled, knowing it was useless with the wind howling around them. But Shinsou looked up, surprise caught on his features as Aizawa fell after him. 

Instincts took over, and Shinsou yanked at the capture scarf around his shoulders and with all his might threw it towards Aizawa. He spun, looping a coil around his forearm and middle before launching it straight towards where a support beam was exposed. 

It flew. Stretching into the dark. Impossibly missing every slab. Hope flared in his chest.

Aizawa braced for the whiplash. 

They continued to fall. 

He’d cut it to wrap Shinsou’s wound. It was shorter than it needed to be. Too short to reach. 

Too short to save them. 

A thousand regrets flooded his mind. Things he never said. Things he would never get to say. A promise he couldn’t keep.

I’m sorry. 

And then a familiar crackle of electricity cut through the wind, followed by an illuminated blackened shape that shot towards him before it split in two, the other racing past him. He twisted, helpless as it reached Shinsou. It wrapped around him and went taut. He could do nothing but watch Shinsou’s body snap to a halt. 

“No!” Aizawa screamed as the shape tightened around him, jerking him to a stop. He cried out as it crushed him, tightening its hold. He clung to it, trying to breathe as pain spread throughout his body, tingling down his spine and into his aching neck. Rain hailed down him as he blinked through the dark, trying to see what had caught him. 

Terrifying glowing eyes stared down at him from within the dust and dark. The creature above him was haggard, its clothing torn and covered in blood and grime. Aizawa flinched, but there was nothing he could do as it held him in its grip. It loosened its hold, careful like it suddenly realised it had been squeezing him too tight. 

Lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating the monster poised above him. 

Only it wasn’t a monster.

“Sensei! Are you okay?” Midoriya yelled down. 

Relief came and went. Dread replaced it. 

“Midoriya! Put us down!” Aizawa ordered. “Hitoshi’s-!” He couldn’t say it. 

The kid was dangling in Blackwhip’s grip, his arms spread out lame around him, his head tipped back, limp. The ground was only inches away. Close enough that Shinsou could’ve touched it if he reached out. 

“Midoriya!”

Midoriya’s illuminating eyes jumped between them, widening at the sight of Shinsou’s unresponsive body. Blackwhip extended itself like spider’s legs and in short, jerky movements absailed down the side of the half collapsed building. 

“Hitoshi!” Aizawa cried out as Blackwhip gently laid him down first. Shinsou’s head lolled to the side. 

He bucked against Midoriya’s hold. He was close enough to the ground. He’d be fine. But Shinsou-.

Once his feet touched the ground, Blackwhip released him and he crawled towards Shinsou’s prone shape. Without thinking, he cupped Shinsou’s face into his hands. 

“Hitoshi?”

He waited. Breath held. 

Oh god. Please, no. 

Not after everything it took to get him back. Not when he was so close. 

“Don’t make me break my promise, Hitoshi,” he begged. “Don’t you dare.”

“Sensei?” Midoriya’s quiet voice called out behind him. 

But Aizawa didn’t look away from Shinsou’s pale face. 

“Please,” he prayed. 

He pulled Hitoshi close to him, pressing his trembling lips to his hairline. A blubbering noise erupted from his chest as he squeezed Shinsou tight, his fingers shaking. 

“Ow. You’re hurting me.”

Aizawa pulled Shinsou back just in time to watch those violet eyes flutter open. Slowly, focus came and they danced in a panicked state before landing on him. He saw relief come and soften in recognition.

“You’re still hurting me,” Shinsou croaked, wincing as Aizawa shifted him in his grip. Aizawa opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come and instead lodged in his throat. Shinsou blinked up at him, his own mouth twisting. “You’re creeping me out.”

And like everything came crashing down, Aizawa sobbed, pulling Shinsou back into his arms. He didn’t know where it came from. Didn’t know how he could feel so much. Didn’t know how to stop it now it had started. 

He felt weak fingers clutch onto his shirt and a wet face bury into his neck. 

Aizawa clung to him, desperate and wild, scrambling for purchase like if he let go, for even a second, Shinsou would vanish from his grasp. 

“You came for me,” Shinsou wept. “You came.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

“Sensei,” Shinsou wailed. “Sensei.”

“I’m sorry.”

He held onto Shinsou for what felt like eternity, and even then, he wasn’t willing to let go. 

He turned to the quiet sniffling to his left and found Midoriya standing there, his hood now pulled back as he wiped at his falling tears. Shinsou followed his line of sight, eyes blinking back his own tears as he realised his future classmate stood over them.

“Are you okay?” Midoriya asked cautiously. 

“Yeah,” Shinsou nodded lamely, a feeling of childlike shyness laced in his voice.

“Thank you, Midoriya,” Aizawa said, bowing his head, unable to properly show his gratitude with Shinsou half in his lap. 

He watched in real time as Midoriya gathered himself, covering his own emotions with a shoddy smile that looked nothing like his student’s usual brightness. 

“I should-. Uh, I need to go.” The kid pulled his hood back over his face. “It’s not safe. Sorry.”

“Midoriya.” Aizawa called, short and stern. Instinctively, Midoriya paused, turning with big, imploring eyes. “I expect you back in class when we get back.”

Midoriya glanced back between the both of them before nodding. And in a puff of purple smoke, he vanished. 

“Why is he always involved?” Shinsou asked, relaxing in Aizawa’s hold. 

Aizawa chuckled, sweeping a hand up and down Shinsou’s back. 

A series of flashing red lights and the wailing of sirens interrupted them as police cars and ambulances pulled up. Shinsou flinched, growing tense as he fisted Aizawa’s shirt in his grip. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Aizawa said into his ear over the cry of sirens. 

Police climbed out of their cars, guns at the ready despite the threat already being over. The paramedics followed in orderly fashion. They turned to Aizawa and Shinsou as if to question their being there before their professionalism kicked in. 

“Hey guys. I’m Hasegawa. You okay?” The first paramedic asked as they knelt by their side.

Shinsou struggled, pushing himself further into Aizawa. 

“Don’t,” Shinsou whined. 

The paramedic stopped and raised his hands.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay?”

“They’re here to help. I promise.” Aizawa shifted, guiding Shinsou to sit in front of him. “I’m right here.” His quirk tittered on the edge of his control, just in case.

Reluctantly, he allowed the paramedic to work with a death grip on Aizawa’s hand, and Aizawa provided everything he could give, watching intently as they helped Shinsou. They only paused when commotion broke behind them. Police and Paramedics rushed over.

“Hey! Over here!” Yamada yelled, his quirk making the ground vibrate as he raced to meet the paramedics, tripping over his own feet. There was soot and dust caked over his skin. One of the lenses of his signature glasses were cracked and the other missing. But none of that mattered, not when Aizawa spotted the trail of children that trailed behind him. 

What followed them though came as a surprise. Endeavour, in all his previous glory and imitation, stood with a child in each arm. Next to him was a battered Hawks, his small wings patchy and missing several of their feathers. Several children floated above him, held up like clothes on a washline, his feathers carrying them into the arms of awaiting medics.

Best Jeanest oversaw to the police, his long legs gliding through the gaggle of children who watched him with gawking eyes.

And overrun with children was All Might. Even in his depilated form, they flocked to him, holding his overly large hands in their smaller ones. 

Aizawa counted all ten victims, alive and well. They were dust covered and looking a little lost in the sea of heroes and police, but they were alive. They were gathered and corralled next to the ambulances as the paramedics got to work. 

One of the younger children spotted Aizawa and Shinsou, eyes widening before he stomped over.

“You lied,” he said, his nose curled in smugness. “All Might did come.”

Aizawa snorted with a roll of his eyes.

“I guess he did.”

Shinsou sagged in his lap, letting Aizawa hold his weight. He cradled him close, resisting the urge to rock him as he did with Eri. 

“They made it,” he whispered.

“Thanks to you,” Aizawa said into his hair. 

Shinsou shook his head, eyes welling with tears again.

“Goodjob, Mindjack.”

One by one they were taken in police cars and ambulances alike. He watched until the last ambulance was waiting on them. 

“You ready to go home?” Aizawa asked, taking Shinsou’s hand in his.

“Yeah,” Shinsou said, smiling through the tears.

“Take me home, Sensei.”

Chapter Text

The ambulance doors slammed shut behind them. The paramedics got to work, shifting around Aizawa as he refused to budge from Shinsou's side. Not that the kid would let him. Shinsou’s grip on his hand was iron tight. And if Aizawa was being truthful, he didn’t want Shinsou to let go either. He needed to hold him, needed to feel those trembling fingers holding onto him. Just to know Shinsou was still there.

That he was finally safe. 

“I’ve got you, kid. I’ve got you,” he repeated, softly, his voice wrecked. 

Shinsou gave him a wobbly grin, blinking back pain as the adrenaline rush started to fade. 

One of the paramedics, Hagesawa, reached over and slipped an oxygen mask over Shinsou’s face. 

“I’m going to give you something for the pain, okay?” They said, careful and factual, leaving little room for emotion. They grabbed a cotton swab and dabbed it over the back of Shinsou’s hand. The kid watched with eagle-eye focus. “It’ll just be a little pinch.” Hagesawa grabbed a needle and held Shinsou’s hand. Aizawa held onto the other one. 

Shinsou held still, his entire body growing stiff. 

“Easy,” Aizawa said softly, smoothing Shinsou’s sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. 

The needle barely touched Shinsou’s hand before the kid flinched back, pushing himself up onto his elbows, making low wounded noises. His arms buckled underneath him, sending him flat onto his back, panting hard from the simple exertion. 

“No,” Shinsou whined, ripping his hand back and began scratching at the inflamed marks on his arm, clawing at himself, old scabs breaking from his skin, bleeding sluggishly. 

Hagesawa moved back as Aizawa got to his feet, snatching Shinsou’s other hand and holding them next to his chest. Shinsou struggled against him, bucking against the gurney. 

“Hey. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I don’t want it,” Shinsou bubblered, eyes tracking Hagesawa, who thankfully didn’t move closer. 

“You’re in pain.” 

Shinsou hiccuped, blinking hard, fighting against the pain riding through his body.

“Hitoshi.”

Shinsou's entire face crumbled, tears tracking into his hair line as he cried. 

“They won’t hurt you,” Aizawa said, but Shinsou shook his head, his breathing shuddering under the mask. He couldn’t help but linger on the needle marks on Shinsou’s arms. It brought an image he didn’t want to imagine. Shinsou being pinned down, arms bent to reveal the inner crooks of his elbow, drugs forced into his system.

Only to be raped right after. 

His stomach churned at the thought. 

“P-please. I’ll be good. Please.”

Aizawa took a slow, evened breath as his heart shattered. 

“Kid, look at me.” He took Shinsou’s chin and turned his head until those terrified eyes found his. “I’m here.”

“‘Zawa,” Shinsou begged. “Please. I don’t-.” Shinsou whined, his face crumbling. “I won’t fight.”

“No one will touch you.”

Shinsou choked on a sob, hacking and spluttering, snot running from his nose. His breathing quickened, frightfully so in terrible, great gasps. 

“Hitoshi, you’re hurting yourself.” Aizawa squeezed his hands. 

“I’m so tired. I can’t-.”

“Shh. I know. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Shinsou sniffled, panting into his oxygen mask. 

“You’ll feel better once you have some painkillers you in, but we won’t do anything without your permission,” Hagesawa said, careful with a bright smile. “Okay, buddy?”

Shinsou glanced between them both, trembling hard before slumping back into the gurney. It was too much for his exhausted body. Aizawa sat back down and guided Shinsou until he was no longer looking at Hagesawa. 

“Just focus on me.”

Shinsou shook, eyes watching with childlike hope and fear. 

“Can we help you?” Hagesawa asked, slowly gathering their equipment again. 

Shinsou nodded with a trembling gasp as the needle punctured skin. He clung to Aizawa’s hand, squeezing so hard that it hurt. But Aizawa didn’t pull away.

“Don’t let them take me,” Shinsou whispered as if the paramedics couldn’t hear him. 

“Never again.” 

He watched in real time as the drugs flooded Shinsou’s bloodstream. His eyes grew hazy, struggling to focus, dancing across every inch of his face as if looking for an answer he didn’t really know the question too. Aizawa leaned in close. 

“You’re okay, you hear me?” 

“Y-yeah.”

Aizawa ran his fingers through Shinsou’s short hair, gently untangling where it had become knotted. The moment didn’t feel real. After months of hunting, he’d finally gotten the kid back. There was a sense of peace, as out of body as it felt, but it began to ebb, his own adrenaline dropping as if his body understood that Shinsou was safe and he didn’t need to fight. 

His head swam and he had to focus on not letting it roll off his neck. 

It didn’t go unnoticed by the paramedics around him.

“Hero?” Hagesawa inched closer, eyes drawn to the blood soaking through his shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

Aizawa grunted in affirmation. He could feel its warmth trickle down his arm and under his shirt. It had clearly been bleeding the entire time, but only now he noticed it. He took a second to marvel at the human body before it betrayed him and he couldn’t help but hunch over, pain searing through his shoulder. 

“Can I take a look?” 

He gave another grunt, and awkwardly shifted, not letting go of Shinsou’s hand, and faced the paramedic. 

“I’m going to cut this open, okay?”

“You don’t have to talk to me like a victim,” Aizawa said, but allowed them to cut his shirt open. Hagesawa rolled their eyes, no doubt used to heroes and their tough-act personalities. Blood trickled down his chest, the wound worse than he remembered it being. The skin had folded over itself into strips. 

“You’re going to need a skin graft,” they said, his eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t know how you’re not passed out right now.”

“I can’t,” Aizawa answered. “Not until he’s safe.”

Hasegawa glanced at the both of them, understanding dawning on his face.

“Is he your son?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shinsou looked over with curiosity and dread, his focus struggling under the influence of drugs. Aizawa tried not to read too much into it, but his heart twinged at the question and he clutched onto Shinsou’s hand, holding on even tighter.

“I’m his teacher,” he said, taking the coward's way out. 

Shinsou watched him for a few seconds longer with a crease between his eyebrows before he let his eyes close with an exhausted sigh. 

Aizawa squeezed his hand again. Shinsou squeezed back. 

Aizawa jerked awake, a dull sense of pain riding through his entire left arm. 

“You should be in your own bed.” Yamada’s voice drifted next to him, a hand resting on his good shoulder. “You’ll kill your back.”

Aizawa blinked hard, trying to rid the floating feeling inside his head. Clearly he was high on pain relief, everything felt slow and thick.

“W-where?” He asked, sitting up, his fingers digging into his injured arm. The room was pitch black, aside from a sliver of a street lamp cutting through the gap in the curtains. There were the faint outlines of cartoon heroes lined across the white walls. All Might’s luminous grin stared back at him. 

“The pediatric ward since Hitoshi’s still a minor.” Yamada nodded to his own bed next to Shinsou’s. “You wouldn’t leave him, kicked up a right fuss when they tried. So, you’re here too.”

Aizawa stretched in the hospital chair, his back aching and his asscheeks numb. Everything popped and clicked. He tried to suppress a groan and failed if Yamada’s tired chuckle meant anything. 

He didn’t remember coming to the hospital. Not really. A flash of shouting. The smell of blood and a sterile environment. A hand clasped in his. 

All he did remember was knowing he was never leaving Shinsou’s side. Not even if it killed him. 

The kid was asleep, his expression peaceful, no doubt also pumped full of pain killers and anti-biotics. There were scrapes across his face, and bruises mottled his jaw and neck. He’d been changed out of those bloody pyjamas the traffickers had them in and placed into a hospital gown. There were small All Might’s printed on the material. 

It made him look small. Tiny in his hospital bed. 

“He’s okay,” Yamada said softly. “He woke up for a bit while you were sleeping.”

“Did he say anything?” Aizawa took Shinsou’s hand, wincing at how cold his fingers were. He tucked them under the blanket. 

“No. He freaked out a little before he spotted you. He fell asleep right after.”

Aizawa smoothed out a wrinkle on the blanket.

“Come on, you need rest.” Yamada rubbed at his back. 

“I need to watch over him,” Aizawa croaked. 

“I’m here. Watching over you both.” Yamada took Aizawa’s hand and guided him up out of the chair. He allowed Yamada to coddle him, helping him into his cot and throwing the blanket over him. His touch was soft as he brushed his fringe out of his face. It made Aizawa’s eyes sting. “Oh, Shou.”

“They were all so scared.” Aizawa blinked hard. 

“They’re all safe.”

He brought his fist to his mouth, trying to smother the pained sounds he couldn’t seem to stop. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yamada hopped up on the bed. 

Aizawa shook his head, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt. He jumped when Yamada's fingers massaged the area, softening the tight muscles. 

“None of it was your fault.”

Aizawa ducked his head away. 

“Hizashi. Don’t.”

Yamada took his face into his hands, his thumb running across the scar on his cheekbone. 

“I love you.”

He stared, confused. 

“I love you too,” he said instinctually, meaning every word. 

Yamada hummed with a smile before he pressed a kiss against his forehead.

“Sleep. You can be all melancholy tomorrow.”

Aizawa shoved at him, wincing as it aggravated his shoulder. Yamada stifled a laugh before hopping off the bed. 

“I’ll be-.”

“No.” Aizawa shifted across the bed, making sure he was closer to Shinsou’s side. “Lie with me.”

“There’s not really room.”

Aizawa let his bottom lip jut out.

“You’re a thirty-one year old man, Shouta. Don’t pout.”

His pout only grew.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Yamada twinged at his nose before chucking off his boots. He climbed in and snuggled against Aizawa, looping his hand across his waist. Aizawa held it tight, his eyes locked onto Shinsou across the room, watching his chest rise and fall. 

“He’s safe,” Yamada whispered into his ear. “Go to sleep.”

It was late in the morning when Shinsou woke. Yamada had already left, busy settling business with the other rescued children, calming them down, and contacting their parents. All the stuff Aizawa should have been helping with. 

But he made a promise to Shinsou and stuck by his side. 

Shinsou’s brows furrowed as if he was being pulled back from a deep and hardened sleep. He was exhausted, Aizawa’s mind supplied. The kid was exhausted and hurt. But still, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing before he turned, looking around the room until those tired eyes found his.

The sun shone behind Shinsou, bright and warm against his back, haloing the tips of his hair. Aizawa waited, dread filling his lungs now that the threat was over. Fear of being rejected. Hope that Shinsou would still want him in his life. Shame that he wished for that.

“You look like a pirate,” Shinsou said in the lull of the moment, slurring slightly, barely awake.

Aizawa felt his chin tremble before he gritted his teeth together. 

“Yeah?” He asked weakly, something stuck in his throat. 

“It’s the eyepatch.” Shinsou pointed at his own eye. “Jakku?”

“Yeah, Shigaraki tore it out,” Aizawa explained lamely. “Got hit with a quirk erasing bullet and cut off my leg too.”

Instinctively, Shinsou looked down at Aizawa’s legs, and he tugged up his pant leg to reveal the prosthetic. 

“I saw the attack on the news,” Shinsou said, and Aizawa remembered Miss Adam’s saying so. “It looked like hell. I thought you were dead.”

“I made you a promise.”

Shinsou let out a weak, blubbering laugh. 

“I know. I waited for you, even when I thought you were dead.” Shinsou grinned, full of longing and sorrow. “I kept thinking, if anyone could survive that, it’d be you. Like a cat with too many lives.”

“Probably used most of them,” Aizawa joked, though it was flat. Hollow.

Shinsou swallowed down a pitiful sound and replaced it with a weak chuckle. They sat in a silence that felt too thick. Shinsou fiddled with the thin blanket, picking at where the corners met. He knew what Shinsou was doing. Avoiding the harsh reality, tip-toeing around what happened to him. A part of him wanted to give the kid more time. But after years of being a hero, he knew seeing the terrors of the world did things to you. Changed you. And Shinsou didn’t just see them, but lived through them. Suffered through things only rumoured about in dark alleys. 

So, Aizawa let him.

Because, in reality, he didn’t know what to say. He owed him an apology from the deepest part of his soul. And yet, the words wouldn’t come. Shame too thick to speak around. 

Because how could Shinsou ever forgive him? What could he even say that would be worth his forgiveness? He didn’t protect him. He didn’t save him before they took him apart, stripped him of his innocence, and flayed him alive in ways no child should ever know. 

He had every right to break down into pieces and not let Aizawa help put him back together.

But selfishly, Aizawa didn’t want a life without Shinsou in it. He didn’t deserve it. But even if Shinsou was forever changed, even if he didn’t want to continue his hero training, even if he hated him, Aizawa wanted to be there for every second of his life. 

“Are the other kids safe?” Shinsou asked in the lull. 

“They are. Mic is contacting their parents.”

Shinsou nodded, eyes looking bright in the hospital lights. 

“Are the…Miss Adams? And the others?” Shinsou turned to look out the window, but Aizawa saw his shoulders tremble. 

“They’re dead.”

Shinsou nodded again, the movement short and jerky.

Aizawa let him sit with the information. The silence stretched and Shinsou didn’t move. The sun continued to shine down on him, highlighting the gauntness of his cheeks and the paleness of his skin, painting a timeline of how long he was at the mercy of villains. 

“Is it bad?” Shinsou finally said.

“Mmh?”

“That I’m glad they’re dead.” Shinsou’s voice warped, growing thick like he was about to cry.

Aizawa took a deep breath and got up to sit on the edge of Shinsou’s bed. The kid watched with wide, curious eyes with a hint of apprehension. It was an expression he had missed so much. That little furrow with one cocked eyebrow, the way his lips curved to the side and his jaw tensed. Guarded, but willing to hear him out, playing disinterested and aloof while eagerly waiting, ready to throw up his wall if it went south, hoping Aizawa knocked it down. 

“I-.” Aizawa's voice caught in his throat, choking. 

Shinsou’s eyes welled. 

“I'm sorry you even have to ask me something like that. I’m sorry for everything.” He raised his hand when Shinsou tried to interrupt. “I know. I know, kid. I know what you’ll say, but you are my responsibility. I took you on as my protege, meaning I was meant to protect you. But every time you needed me, I found myself being saved by you.”

“You trained me to, Sensei,” Shinsou said desperately. 

Aizawa studied the wounds and bruises on Shinsou’s face. 

“I know,” Aizawa said, “and you’ve acted every bit of the hero I know you are. You should be proud of yourself. Because I’m so immensely proud of you.”

Shinsou’s lips trembled. 

“But you don’t have to be a hero, right now.” He offered Shinsou his hand, and without hesitation Shinsou gave it to him, squeezing hard. “You’re allowed to be hurt. You’re allowed to be angry.”

Tears spilled over Shinsou’s cheeks. 

“You can stop now.”

“Are you sure?” Shinsou asked quietly and scared. 

“I can take over.”

And like he couldn’t contain himself anymore, Shinsou hunched over himself and cried. Cried like a child finally allowed to be that. A child.  

The sound would haunt Aizawa forever. The pain was too much to listen to. 

And yet, he stayed, holding Shinsou’s hand as he shuddered and shook.

“Hitoshi?” Aizawa hesitated, wanting to give the kid his entire soul. “Can I-.”

Shinsou reached out, fingers wavering until he blindly found Aizawa’s shirt and dragged him forward. And Aizawa wasted no time pulling Shinsou into his chest, wrapping his arms around him, letting the kid collapse into him. 

After months of searching, he finally had the kid safe in his arms. He squeezed, desperate to pour all the words he didn’t know how to say into that one hug. His own eyes stung as he listened to Shinsou break.

Shinsou heaved, gasping around the sobbing sounds he made. He was cold to the touch, the meat on his bones not enough to keep his body warm. He dreaded to think how many nights Shinsou went to bed hungry? Were there nights he didn't even realise his stomach was grumbling while people used every inch of him? Did that starving feeling hurt anymore?

Aizawa reached for the blanket on his bed and draped it over Shinsou’s shoulders, tucking it around him tightly, folding him into his own body.

Shinsou whimpered, burying himself into Aizawa’s neck, his tears burning against his skin, inching closer. Aizawa held a warm hand against his back, rubbing life back into his tired soul, while fighting the lump in his throat.

“I’ve got you,” Aizawa said. 

He brought a hand up and ran it through the baby hairs on the back of Shinsou’s head. And back down his arms, around his back, touching his face, not able to keep himself still, like he didn’t know where he could hold and wanting to hold all of him all at once. 

Shinsou didn’t flinch away. Didn’t shy away from him. And instead, let himself be held. 

He’d almost lost this. Lost someone he didn’t really know he cared so much for until they were taken from him. 

“I was wrong in the ambulance,” Aizawa said, the words coming without meaning to. His body moving before his mind.

“Oh.” Shinsou sat back and stared at him, his look calculating, worried. Aizawa pulled him closer until he was tucked under his chin. 

“You mean more to me than just one of my students,” Aizawa said into his hair. “So much more. And it may be unfair for me to lay this on you, but I need you to know how much you mean to me. How much I see you as my boy.”

Shinsou shuddered before burying a wailing sound into Aizawa’s chest. 

“I’m sorry for not saying it before. And for saying it now,” he said, his voice rough as he blinked back the tears that came anyway. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Shinsou shook his head, eyes clenched tight, crying so hard that Aizawa worried about him opening his stitches. But he didn’t stop him. Instead, he held him even tighter, letting Shinsou hide within his body. 

“I’m sorry, Hitoshi.”

Chapter Text

Five Years Later

Aizawa braced himself as he ducked under the police tape. Several police cars and ambulances lined the street, their lights highlighting the faces of terrified children as they were led out from a worn down house. A hero he didn’t recognise corralled them into a small tight group, tucking the blankets around their shoulders. She crouched down to their level, their brightly coloured costume almost glowing against the backdrop of emergency lights, speaking in a soft voice that was meant to soothe and comfort. 

From experience, Aizawa knew it was lost on the children. No smile could shield them from the horrors they’d be subjected to. There was no solace in a hero that came when the damage was already done. 

But he wasn’t there for them. 

He searched over the heads of police and paramedics, only stopping when he spotted a haggard Tsukauchi standing vigilant. His eyes were heavy and black ringed, and his face was several days unshaven. It was a look those involved in the war wore, no matter how many years had passed. It was hard to shed the weight of that battle.

His own reflection barely looked like himself anymore. 

Sensing Aizawa’s studying, Tsukauchi looked up and beckoned him over with an exaggerated sigh. Like Aizawa was the last person he wanted to deal with. 

The feeling was mutual. 

“Where is he?” Aizawa asked.

Tsukauchi didn’t baulk at his lack of greeting, but his left eye twitched and the muscles in his jaw tightened. Looking closer, he could see the beginning of a bruise darkening his cheek. It was fresh, the skin red and swollen. Like someone had recently brought the detective down in one solid punch. 

“He’s in the back of my car.”

Aizawa felt his temper boil and then simmer before growing cold. It had taken months for Shinsou not to flinch at the flash of a police car. Years for the courage to sit in the back of one. The very idea of him sitting under the flash of blue lights made him sick to his stomach. 

But he was no longer sixteen. No longer a child terrified of a world that chewed and spat him back out. At least on most days.

“What happened?” Aizawa asked instead, although he already knew. The little patter of children's feet as they were led to the row of ambulances waiting gave way to memories he wished he didn’t have. 

“It was supposed to be a simple drug bust.” Tsukauchi nodded towards an ambulance where a hero was getting looked over by paramedics. There was blood smeared across her face, and one of her eyes was swollen shut. Her left boot was missing, and she clung to her uniform, the material torn straight down the middle of her chest. She couldn’t have been older than Shinsou. “It turned sour.”

“How is she?” He could see the way she trembled, hunched over herself. He adverted his gaze.

“Shaken. Your boy did a number on the traffickers.” Tsukauchi ran a hand down his face. “But he saved her life.”

“How did he even end up here?” Aizawa grumbled, his temper compacted in the tightness in his jaw. “I told you I didn’t want him involved in shit like this.”

“Neither of us can stop him from nights like this. Not in our line of work,” Tsukauchi said, his brows furrowed. “You can’t protect him from the ugly side of his job.”

“I asked you as an old friend-.”

“Eraser, she activated her emergency beacon. It alerted every hero within a three mile radius. Including Mindjack. He came.”

“He wouldn’t have known what he was getting into. If he did-.” Aizawa bit down on his words, on the lies he was prepared to say. Because Shinsou would’ve come to the hero’s aid, even if he knew that he was walking into his worst nightmare. He was a hero, even if it was detrimental to himself. 

“What’s the verdict?” Aizawa asked instead. “Are you arresting him?”

“No.” Tsukauchi rubbed the developing bruise on his jaw. Aizawa wondered if Shinsou had put it there. Whether in his rage, he struck out at anyone who tried to stop him. “He’ll need to come down to the station tomorrow, but I think it’s for everyone’s best interest if he goes home for the night. Under a hero’s supervision.”

Guilt sat heavy in Aizawa’s stomach.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, knowing that Tsukauchi could have made Shinsou spend the night behind bars, or placed him with a hero he didn’t know. One that couldn’t understand the horrors the kid had been through. It’d only make Shinsou more volatile. 

“He’s lucky if he only gets suspended,” Tsukauchi said. “I can’t cover for him if his behaviour continues.”

“He just saved all those children.”

“Eraser, he almost killed one of the criminals.”

Aizawa took a deep breath. Heroes weren’t judges, nor executioners. They stopped villains, but what came next was decided by more important people. His own mistakes haunted him, especially after Shinsou’s rescue. In the years that followed, there were court dates where Aizawa spent days under scrutiny for his treatment of Horiuchi and his actions towards finding Shinsou. It almost cost him Shinsou. Almost cost him Eri, and the life he’d built around his family. 

He didn’t want to watch Shinsou make the same mistakes. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Aizawa said. 

Tsukauchi sighed, long and drawn out. 

“Look, I don’t want the kid under the HSPC’s watch anymore than he already is.” Tsukauchi looked towards the car where Shinsou was taking refuge. “But is this worth it?”

“Meaning?”

“I know he wants to be a hero, but after everything he’s gone through-.”

“Thank you for your help, but his therapist has cleared him for hero work.”

“Sorry. It’s not my place-.”

“It’s not.”

Aizawa turned around and marched towards the police car, trying and failing to contain his temper. 

In truth, he had given thought to Shinsou’s career. Whether it was the right course of action for the kid. Sometimes it happened in the late quiet nights. Sometimes it was when Shinsou froze under a training exercise, hyperventilating when a touch became too much. 

Sometimes it came when Shinsou smiled so brightly, Aizawa hated the idea of it ever being in jeopardy. 

The idea sat thick and heavy in his chest for months while Shinsou was still in school. He didn’t even know how to approach the topic. How could he suggest Shinsou hang up the cape before he could even put it on?

After months of deliberating, and a training exercise gone wrong, he mentioned the idea of not graduating the hero course, of pursuing something else. The kid broke down into a panic attack so fierce Aizawa called Yamada from work. 

It only spiraled into arguments from there. 

He graduated with the rest of his class and became a hero. It didn’t matter what Tsukauchi thought. It didn’t matter what he thought. Only Shinsou could decide what path he took. And how he took it. 

Even if Aizawa thought he was wrong. 

Bracing himself for a fight, Aizawa opened the police car door. 

In the low light and flashing of police sirens, Shinsou looked half dead with an expression Aizawa hadn’t seen in years. He looked utterly exhausted with no hope of shifting. Like a storm hovering with darkening clouds, looming over a dinghy in the middle of the ocean. That next wave would drown him. 

His gloves were missing, and there was blood in the cracks of his knuckles. His vocal chord device sat heavy around his neck, drawing his gaze to his lap, his greasy outgrown hair falling into his face. His capture weapon was tangled around his throat, pinching the skin, the material wet with blood. There was a nasty gash above his eyebrow, the blood smeared across his temple like he attempted to clean himself before giving up.

The kid was a mess.