Chapter Text
Growing up and dreaming of being a hero, Izuku had been the type of kid who’d taken it upon himself to investigate all areas of heroics.
And, Izuku being Izuku, he’d had a tendency to be, according to most everyone else, uncomfortably thorough with his research. Especially for someone who, at the time, shouldn’t have been old enough to understand half of what he was learning.
There was, after all, a reason why all he’d wanted for his eighth birthday, besides the new All Might Silver Age Tribute figurine, of course, had been a new filing cabinet for his bedroom.
Without things like friends or school clubs to take up any of his time, Izuku had instead spent his free time learning and flicking from one hyper fixation to another. He’d researched hero schools, had read over laws and publicly available hero protocols, had lived and breathed documentaries and true crime alongside his favorite hero-centric anime and live shows. When he’d gotten a bit older he’d taken to the streets as well, observing people’s quirks and chasing hero fights whenever possible.
Thankfully, Izuku had been blessed with a mom who had been supportive of his research habits. She’d indulge him with a loving sort of anxiety even if, at the time, she hadn’t been supportive of his ultimate end goal.
Izuku’s sure she’d been hoping he’d move fully into analysis or maybe a research position somewhere once he got older but Izuku had always known better.
Even without a quirk, even without anything but the ability to run fast and a slapped-together flexibility routine he could only do in his bedroom since no gym would take him, he’d still been determined to become a hero.
He might not have been blessed with a superpower and he might have been plain and unassuming to look at but Izuku had decided relatively early on that those were both facts that could work in his favor.
Underground Heroics often required a different skill set than Spotlight Heroics did after all.
And even if Izuku had wanted to shine and inspire people with a fearless smile, there’d been no rule saying he had to do that while the rest of the country watched him.
He’d held onto that dream and that thought process with a desperate sort of tenacity.
But then, when Izuku was at his lowest, All Might had happened.
All Might and the offer that had changed Izuku’s entire life plan.
If there’d been one area Izuku had excelled in during the beginning of his apprenticeship under All Might and his time at Gran Tornio’s mercy, it had been the more information and intelligence-based parts of heroics.
The foundations for skills like analysis, tactics, strategies, and information gathering had all already been things very firmly in Izuku’s wheelhouse.
His childhood obsessions finally paying off in ways neither of his sensei had seen coming.
Gran Torino had been particularly giddy over his analysis, frequently crowing over the fact that “at least you picked one with an actual brain Toshinori, so he should be less trouble than you were.”
But, for all of Izuku’s knowledge about the finer points of heroics and for all the law texts and policies he’d memorized early on, there had still been plenty of things about heroics for Izuku to learn.
Plenty of things that the general public and even the most dedicated of hero fans weren’t normally privy to the exact details of.
The existence and finer points of EIC forms being one of those things.
EIC, or Emergency Intimacy Contact, forms have been a long-standing if discrete tradition in heroics for decades now. Something not exactly hidden from the general public so much as just … deliberately not spoken about openly.
The EIC protocol was drafted into the official paperwork required by all heroes regardless of public standing after the villain Cupid had rained quirk-enhanced arrows down on the heroes of Tokyo a handful of decades before.
The fallout of that attack had seen the entire Hero’s Wing of Tokyo General Hospital flooded with patients and the hospital staff overwhelmed and unsure how to proceed.
The heroes, overwhelmed by Cupid’s mind-altering and libido-enhancing quirk, had been locked inside the wing in a makeshift attempt to keep them quarantined and away from the public. Meanwhile, the hospital staff, barring a few volunteers, had been evacuated while things had … run their course.
What had followed had been, essentially, a giant heroic orgy.
In the end, Cupid’s widespread attack had resulted in millions of yen worth of property damage to the Hero’s Wing, several divorces, the formation of a number of new couples and throuples, a handful of shotgun weddings, four retirements, and the birth of two sets of very very spoiled twins the following year.
The coverup of what had actually happened to Cupid’s victims as well as the revamping of hospital procedures and the introduction of EIC forms had happened in record-breaking time.
Despite there never being a repeated wide-scale attack of the same form, EIC forms had become and then remained standard practice across the profession. They’re renewed yearly, or whenever otherwise necessary, and are to be tackled with deep consideration.
Which means, of course, that hardly anyone takes it completely seriously these days.
Spouses and partners are, of course, commonly jotted down for heroes who are in committed relationships with no interest in straying. Many simply write down close and trusted friends who are also in the industry who’d be willing and able to see them through such a delicate situation. Some opt to be treated by a trained and willing medical professional if the need should arise. Others still choose to be heavily sedated to ride out whatever situation they’ve found themselves in alone if at all possible.
But, there’s also a rather large and steadily growing portion of modern heroes who use their EIC very, very differently.
These heroes all have a tendency to use their EIC forms as a sort of ‘fantasy pick’ or even as their ‘exceptions list’ if they’re in a committed relationship. They put down heroes they’ve never met or worked with based solely on how attractive they find them.
Which, given the nature of the forms themselves, would be an issue if it wasn’t for the fact that real-time, in the moment consent has to be obtained whenever an EIC has to be enacted. So, for the most part, no one really bothers to police who any particular hero puts down as a contact.
“Take it seriously,” Toshinori had warned Izuku the first time he’d had to fill out his EIC. “If you don’t choose wisely and you’re forced to activate your list … well, friendships have been ruined over less, my boy.”
There’d been a wealth of things left unsaid in that statement, things that Toshinori had never fully explained, but Izuku had been able to put the pieces together easily enough on his own.
All Might and Sir Nighteye’s fall out had been as famous as it had been sudden after all and, if anyone bothered to truly dig into past records and accounts, had clearly actually started the year before Toshinori had faced All for One and been so grievously injured.
For Izuku, the decision over who to put down as his EIC when he’d first had to file the forms hadn’t actually been all that difficult. At the time, freshly debuted as a novice pro and still pretty much alone, Izuku really hadn’t had any real options. So his decision then had been easy, no matter how unappealing the alternatives of heavy sedation and/or a trained professional stranger stepping in if necessary had seemed.
But now, years later and with the form renewals having once more come around, a part of Izuku is actually kind of thrilled that his situation has changed since then.
For the first time in his entire hero career, Izuku might actually have options.
It really is a wonder, Izuku can’t help but marvel, the kinds of things that friends can come in handy for.
Getting arrested with Hitoshi that one time and then meeting and being rather forcefully adopted by the majority of his UA class really was one of the best things to ever happen to Izuku. Well worth the humiliation of being dragged through the police station at 3 a.m. in his All Might onesie.
But still, choosing which of his friends to ask something like this from has been proving to be almost equally as stressful for Izuku as having no one to choose from at all.
Which has, of course, led him to where he is now.
Huddled in the corner of one of Momo’s luxuriously soft sofas with the majority of his friend group spread out around the room around him as they all go about renewing their personal paperwork. EIC forms included.
“Come on Zu,” Hitoshi huffs from his place sprawled out on the floor, his phone held a few inches from his face by his ever-present capture scarf, “it’s not that difficult.”
“Is too,” Izuku refuses to admit that he might be whining just a bit.
“It’s really not,” Ochako chimes in from where she’s nestled on another sofa between Tenya and Tsu.
“People with two partners don’t get to speak,” Denki chimes in then from his chaotic mess of papers, teacups, and snack wrappers near the fireplace.
“Jealous,” Ochako practically sing-songs, expression unrepentantly smug.
“Absolutely,” Denki admits freely, shooting a thumbs up in her direction that makes everyone else smile.
“It can be a tough choice,” Momo cuts in from where she’s sitting with Kyoka’s head in her lap and her expression serene. “You should choose who or whatever you’re most comfortable with, Izuku.”
“Boring,” Denki groans from where he’s now starfished out on the floor. “You should just do what the rest of us single people are doing. Put down whoever you think is the sexiest hero you wouldn’t mind getting hot and heavy with. I, for example,” Denki rolls over enough to shoot a wide grin in Hitoshi’s direction, “have put down our very own Enigma.”
“Sucks to be you,” Hitoshi shoots back, not even bothering to look away from his phone screen, “cause I put down Hawks.”
“I’m at least your second choice right?” Denki practically pleads, expression desperate.
“Zu’s my second choice,” Hitoshi immediately shoots him down again. “And before you ask, the sweet release of death is my third.”
“Hitoshi!” Izuku sputters just a bit, hands flapping just a bit over how flustered he abruptly feels. “Hawks I can understand, but why would you choose me?”
“Zu,” Hitoshi rolls his head enough to look up at him with an expression that’s almost pitying, “broccoli boy, the sunshine of my dark life. If you’re not on the list of at least half the people in this room and a good seventy-five percent of everyone else we all know combined I will literally eat my capture scarf.”
There are suddenly a whole lot of people very pointedly not looking in Izuku’s direction.
Except for Kyoka who chooses then to finally join the conversation.
“You’re mine and Momo’s third choice,” she tells him nonchalantly. “You’d be second if you’d agree to wear a skirt more often.”
Izuku turns wide, shocked eyes in Momo’s direction.
“You’re very sweet and respectful and we’d both feel safe with you,” Momo tells him calmly. Then her expression goes slightly wistful, “And your thighs are … very pleasing.”
There are a number of agreeing noises from around the room, and Izuku abruptly can’t help but wish he’d taken an extra patrol shift like Shouto had.
If only to have escaped this conversation before it ever happened.
“Seriously though,” Hitoshi continues after a few seconds. “Just pick something and stop stressing. Pick a friend or, like Denki said, pick someone unrealistic but hot that you wouldn’t mind getting railed by. You’re the one who told me that those kinds of quirks don’t show up often, especially not as villains. So it’s not like it’s going to actually matter.”
Teeth chewing at his bottom lip, Izuku bobs his head in acknowledgment and turns his attention back towards his paperwork.
Hitoshi isn't exactly wrong. While there still tends to be a stigma surrounding the majority of quirks that remove or influence others' bodily autonomy, quirks that would fall under the EIC guidelines specifically are actually pretty rare.
They’re also pretty highly sought after these days for a lot of reasons and in a lot of different fields. The last quirk of that nature that Izuku had seen come to light belonged to a woman whose singing voice could induce deep arousal in whoever heard it for up to an hour.
Last he’d heard she now has a very lucrative business somewhere in one of the more luxurious districts of Tokyo despite growing up in one of the poorer rural districts. She’s supposedly booked solid for the next two decades at least.
So yeah, seeing someone with a quirk like that turn to outright villainy, or even just wandering around unprotected in the general populace, has become exceedingly rare.
So the odds of Izuku himself running afoul of one while on the job is actually pretty slim.
Still, Izuku also has Toshinori’s advice still ringing in his ears and he doesn’t really have it in him to outright dismiss it.
In the end, Izuku decides to compromise between his mentor’s sound advice, his newfound ability to have actual people to choose from, and the more modern outlook on EIC forms that so many heroes tend to take.
He ends up filling the three blanks that have been provided on the form out backward. His third contact slot is taken by Shouto and his second by Hitoshi. They’re two of his closest friends these days and, more importantly to Izuku, neither of them is in a relationship like most of the others are.
No matter how hard Denki keeps trying to change that where Hitoshi is concerned.
All that leaves left to fill in is the number one spot on Izuku’s list.
He finds himself hesitating over that for longer than he thought he would because he suddenly can’t get the finer points of Denki and Hitoshi’s suggestions out of his head.
Someone hot. Someone sexy but generally, and probably most important of all, unrealistic.
A complete and total fantasy pick for him to giggle and sigh over to himself even as he knows it’ll never actually happen.
The only real issue is the fact that when Izuku thinks about getting absolutely railed as Hitoshi put it, there’s one name that immediately comes to mind before all other possibilities.
One other hero that fits that slot perfectly.
Izuku only hesitates for a few more seconds before he finally breaks and quickly fills in the final blank. Cheeks burning red and heart pounding, Izuku quickly shuffles his things together once he’s done, hiding his EIC form in the middle of his other papers.
Hopefully, the occasion will never come up where Izuku has to explain to his entire friend group that his fantasy pick is the infamous Demon-sensei that still haunts the majority of their nightmares.
The same mentor whose text messages can have Hitoshi turning completely white, grinning like an actual nightmare, or looking around like he’s about to be hunted for sport in turn. Or, on particularly interesting days, all of the above all at once.
The same teacher who Denki has more than once woken up in the dead of night from nightmares about only to start spouting off half-slurred pleas to not be expelled from life before falling back into a dead sleep a few seconds later.
The same teacher who Izuku had mourned never getting a chance to learn under once he had found out he’d been teaching at UA during the time that Izuku would have attended if the path he and All Might had chosen for his education had been different.
The same hero Izuku had worked exactly one case with a few years back and had barely been able to make eye contact with for a number of reasons. Although that hadn’t stopped him from quietly almost vibrating out of his hero costume the entire time in a way that had Detective Tsukauchi looking at him funny. It also hadn’t stopped him from pouring out all of his thoughts and observations and even a few more detailed sketches into one of his journals as soon as he got home again.
All of that added to the fact that Izuku’s heard so many stories about the infamous Aizawa-sensei. Hitoshi specifically has more than once spent an afternoon with Izuku moaning about his sadistic logical ruses, nightmarish training regimes, and stern but caring handling of basically any and everything.
He’s always sounded so interesting to Izuku even before circumstances had found them working that one case together with a handful of other heroes. After Izuku had finally been able to see him work up close and personal, so sharply intelligent and bluntly logical and unafraid or ashamed of being either, he’d only gotten more interesting instead of less so.
At this point Izuku honestly doesn’t think it’s his fault that he has a sort of crush on a fellow hero he’s only ever technically met once.
He’s single and, on what seems to be a surprising number of different levels, exactly Izuku’s type.
Still, all of that aside, that’s not a conversation that Izuku’s looking to have with any of his friends any time soon.
Thankfully, like Hitoshi said before, it’s not something he’ll more than likely ever have to actually worry about.
Besides, it’s not like the Eraserhead would ever actually agree to help Izuku out if he ever did have to have someone on his EIC called in, no matter how much Izuku might dream about it.
So really, what’s the harm?
~~~
Six months later Izuku will look back on this exact moment and laugh.
~~~
He’s out on a routine patrol when it happens, one of his most and yet also least favorite parts of being a hero.
Least favorite because he’s never been the best with crowds and the press is, as always, an absolute menace to deal with. Toshinori had tried to warn him about that kind of thing when he was younger but even though he’d always taken every bit of advice the man gave him to heart, nothing had prepared Izuku for being on the other side of the camera. For the reality of being the one reported on instead of just another audience member.
But the crowds and the press are worth dealing with in exchange for everything else about going on a routine patrol.
Izuku loves to walk the city, loves to move down sidewalks or over rooftops or through the open air in his hero costume. Loves the way little kids light up every single time they see him. Loves finally being able to do all of the saving and smiling and good he’d dreamed about growing up.
And, above all else, he loves being in the right place at the right time to stop others from being hurt in the first place.
Case in point the robbery in progress he’d just interrupted and swiftly resolved. Izuku has been on the scene for roughly five minutes and the criminal, because Izuku has met real villains and this guy who’s not even trying to hide how hard he’s crying doesn’t seem that level of unhinged or diabolical so far, is already restrained on the asphalt at Izuku’s feet.
The cafe he’d tried to rob wasn't actually damaged at all during the short altercation. The owner herself had even scuttled outside and pressed a free coffee into Izuku’s hands despite all of his protests.
So, overall, the entire thing has been a success in Izuku’s opinion.
All Izuku has to do now is calm his captive down, get the full story out of the guy to see if he can help out somehow, and wait for the police to arrive.
“Hey,” Izuku crouches down beside the sobbing man, setting his coffee down on the pavement beside him, and reaches out to put a gentle hand on one rounded shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? I just need you to talk to me.”
“I’m going to prison,” the guy wails, small white wings fluttering wildly on his back as he sobs into his cuffed hands.
“Hey, hey, calm down,” Izuku does his best to soothe. “What’s your name?”
“A-Aika,” the man, Aika, stutters out between sobs.
“Aika-san then,” Izuku pats lightly at his shoulder. “You know who I am right?”
“D-Dekiru,” Aika sobs loudly.
“That’s right,” Izuku agrees. “I’m Dekiru, the Can Do Hero, and that means I’m gonna do my best to help you, okay? I can’t promise you won’t get in trouble, because what you tried to do was bad, but if you just talk to me, walk me through what happened and why you did it, I might be able to help you out some.”
The man’s sobs finally calm down a notch.
“Y-You really mean that? You’d h-help me too?” Aika sniffles the question out as he stares up at Izuku with watery, bloodshot, pink eyes. The man’s heart-shaped pupils capture Izuku’s attention for a split second before he forces himself back on task. He can always nerd out about the man’s quirk later, once the proper reports have all been filed.
“Of course,” Izuku smiles. “Hero’s are supposed to try and help everyone they can.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You’re a good hero, Dekiru,” Aika says then, voice surprisingly even. “I almost feel bad about this.”
“Wh-” Izuku’s question is cut off as Aika’s curled up form abruptly explodes in a shower of pink, heart-shaped glitter that rushes right at Izuku’s face instead of outwards across the area.
The shocked breath Izuku sucks and the way he throws his arms up in front of his face are both reflexive moves even as he finds himself abruptly tilting backward.
Izuku lands on his ass on the pavement as the temporary cuffs he’d had on Aika drop empty to the ground in front of him.
When he breathes out a wheezing, hacking cough a plume of pink smoke wisps out of his mouth instead, forming a small heart shape in the air in front of him before it drifts away in the slight breeze.
Dazed, Izuku finds that his entire world has abruptly narrowed down to a pinprick. He isn’t really aware of the passage of time or what’s going on around him. The noise from the crowd that had gathered earlier to watch him work has faded to a dull roar.
All Izuku does know is that his skin feels tight, his body achy and abruptly hot. His clothes feel absolutely sweltering and even thinking about them makes his hands start scrambling for his zippers, desperate to get them off.
A hand catches his own and the abrupt skin-to-skin contact makes Izuku keen.
It feels so good.
So good that Izuku just wants more of it.
Wants all of it.
Wants to be touched anywhere and everywhere again and again and …
“Dekiru,” a familiar voice comes to him as if through a fog, “Izuku, come on kid, talk to me. What happened?”
Izuku shakes his head sharply and the brief flash of clarity it brings allows him to realize that there’s a familiar cat face hovering over his own.
A familiar cat face with soft-looking fur and beautiful eyes. Sansa’s always been kind to Izuku, even when he was younger and trailing along behind Toshinori. He’s always been sweet and smart and caring.
Izuku wouldn’t mind if he touched him just a bit more.
He bets that fur would feel really go-
“Sansa,” Izuku manages to rasp, mind abruptly rejecting the direction that his thoughts had just tried to turn in. Sansa is happily married and, everything else aside, Izuku would never even consider stepping on that. But at least having Sansa’s hands on him is helping Izuku focus just a bit. “Something’s wrong, I-I th-think I need a hospital. Now. We have to g-go now.”
“Shit, kid,” Sansa hisses just a bit, worry obvious in his voice, as he shifts his free hand to Izuku’s elbow and hoists him roughly up onto his feet. “Godsdamn it all how are you so heavy? Just hold on, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here, so just bear with me.”
“Hurry,” Izuku pants even as he hunches forward, his freehand fisting in the fabric of his jumpsuit to keep himself from giving in to the urge to claw it off. One for All writhes in his chest, jade lightning sparking off of his skin in uncontrolled arcs like it hasn’t in years even as all of his attention zeros in on keeping Blackwhip under control and his feet actually on the ground.
But Izuku can feel his grasp on his quirk, on everything, steadily slipping from his grasp.
“Cuffs,” Izuku manages to moan as he stumbles across the pavement at Sansa’s side towards one of the police cars, “S-Sansa q-quirk cuffs. Now.”
“No,” Sansa immediately denies, reluctant as everyone else Izuku has ever met to separate anyone not a criminal from their quirk. Especially a hero. “You got this, kid. Just hold on.”
Izuku’s always taken a bitter sort of amusement from that inborn horror so many people have about this sort of thing but that’s not actually what’s important right now.
“Now!” Izuku snarls, his hand moving from his jumpsuit to fist in Sansa’s shirt just beneath his bell collar. “You need to do it now before I lose control.”
“Fuck,” Sansa yelps out, stumbling and bumping into the door of the car as Izuku shakes him just a bit. “Okay! Okay, here! Just stay here for a moment okay?”
There’s a bit of shuffling as Sansa’s hands guide Izuku to lean against the side of the car before they pull off of Izuku for a few seconds. Distantly that analytical part of Izuku’s brain that never shuts off tracks Sansa’s movements as he practically throws himself at the trunk of the car, slapping a hand on the lock panel and wrenching it open to dig through the supplies inside.
Things haze out for a moment, Blackwhips writhes beneath his skin, desperate to reach out, and for a split second Izuku feels himself begin to leave the ground. Teeth gritted, Izuku scrambles for control, all of his willpower turned towards keeping himself in check and in place.
The next thing Izuku feels is the cold bite of heavy-duty quirk cuffs closing around his wrists.
The churning chaos that’s been steadily growing in Izuku’s chest and sparking across his skin abruptly dies down. He sags against the side of the car in relief at no longer having to fight so hard against something that’s been such a large part of him for years now.
The last thing Izuku hears is the way that Sansa practically whines, “Nao is gonna be so pissed about this.”
And then, all Izuku knows is heat.
~~~
The EIC is a longstanding precautionary measure in the heroics industry and Shōta is, above most everything else, a logical man at his core.
He understands the history, understands the necessity of the entire thing, understands the logic behind having a safety net in place not only for any civilian bystanders but for pro-heroes themselves.
He makes sure that his third years all have a firm grasp on all of the above facts and that they, to a one, take it as seriously as he can make them while they’re in his classroom.
But understanding the logic behind the entire thing doesn’t make Shōta loathe it any less.
Especially since his first choice of “shoot me directly in the face” kept getting flagged as “inappropriate” no matter how many times he’d resubmitted the paperwork while completing his own third-year exit packets.
Shōta had only finally filled the thing out properly after Nedzu had threatened to add himself as Shōta’s primary EIC. For life.
Shōta still wakes up in a cold sweat sometimes from memories of the way Nedzu, teacup in hand, had smiled and joyfully proclaimed, “Oh I’m sure there’s a number of non-sexual, and only mildly psychologically scaring methods I could use to snap you out of whatever quirk induced delirium you might find yourself in, Shōta-kun.”
Shōta had turned in his completed forms roughly fifteen minutes later.
He had, of course, opted to be deeply sedated and then treated by a trained professional only if there was no other choice. Mainly because he already didn’t get much in the way of sleep and a medically induced coma sounded all kinds of relaxing. Almost like a mini-vacation of sorts.
Well, that and the fact that even the thought of the nightmares that would surely haunt him if he ever had to get up close and personal with any of the goon squad that called itself his social circle’s genitalia just didn’t seem worth it.
Nemuri and Hizashi had both pouted dramatically about not being his first choice. Tensei had taken it in stride and then outright refused to admit who his first choice was no matter how much the other two badgered him.
It had taken a particularly unhinged weekend a few years later that the four of them had spent drinking together for that particular secret to get out. Shōta only knows the details of the entire thing because Nemuri had filmed most of it, including the way that Tensei, drink in hand, had stood on Hizashi’s table and declared that his first choice was Gang Orca because, and Shōta is quoting here, “Killer Whale Daddy would treat me right”.
For her part, Nemuri tended to change her list depending on her current whims. Although at least one of the three of them was always on it and her agency had very very strict protocols where her safety in particular in such a situation was concerned.
Hizashi, the idiot that he is, had made the mistake of listing Shōta as his first choice.
Something that Shōta had gleefully made Hizashi regret when he had been unfortunate enough to be one of the rare heroes to run across a quirk that required a legitimate EIC activation.
It had been in the early years of their careers and Hizashi had been hit by a particularly nasty paralysis quirk that could only be lifted, ridiculously enough, through prolonged deep kissing.
Shōta had gotten the call, had confirmed his identity, and then been informed as to Hizashi’s situation before he’d accepted his activation as Present Mic’s primary EIC.
He’d shuffled his way out of his apartment and, after making a quick detour, had practically slinked his way into Hizashi’s hospital room some thirty minutes later.
And then Shōta had stared Hizashi directly in his paralyzed but fully aware face as he ate an entire clove of garlic, two slices of raw onion, and half a wasabi packet.
The sheer panic in Hizashi’s eyes when Shōta had closed in on him with a grin had been more than worth it.
Once Hizashi had finished gagging and crying and using up an entire tube of hospital toothpaste he’d immediately filed to have his forms changed, officially shuffling Shōta to last place in case there was literally no one else available.
So, outside of those three, there’s no one else Shōta can think of who would be stupid enough to want him of all people as one of their registered EIC.
Which is why he’s so surprised to find himself staring down the barrel of a phone call from Musutafu General Hospital’s Hero’s Wing.
“There’s some mistake,” Shōta finds himself saying as if from a distance, vaguely aware of how the others in the staff room have all turned their attention in his direction.
“This is, Aizawa Shōta, Pro Hero Eraserhead, 003506 is it not?” The nurse asks, repeating the confirmation information that Shōta himself had given at the beginning of the call.
“Yes.”
“Then there’s no mistake,” she tells him crisply. “You’re being called in as an EIC for a hero whose identity we cannot and will not share over a possibly unsecured line. Please make your way to Musutafu General as soon as possible or take this opportunity to officially decline to service so that we may contact the next name on the list.”
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes,” Shōta says before he hangs up.
Shōta finds himself just staring at his desktop, brows furrowed and mind blank, for a long moment.
“Uh? Sho?” Hizashi pokes him in the shoulder. “You okay there, buddy?”
Shōta blinks, lifts his head enough to track his eyes over Hizashi and then behind him to where Nemuri is also watching him with her brows arched high in concern.
That’s two of his idiots both well and accounted for.
Tensei is, Shōta knows, currently safe in Kyoto for an event. He’d spammed the group chat with pictures of him t-posing in his formal kimono outside of Kinkaku-ji with his brother looking characteristically scandalized in the background not even half an hour before.
So really that’s idiots one, two, and three all well and accounted for and not hospitalized thirty minutes away from where Shōta is currently sitting.
Which, logically, leaves only one possible option.
“Get Nedzu,” Shōta says instead as he pushes himself up from his seat. “I’m going to Musutafu General and I’m pretty sure someone’s about to try and kill me.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then the room erupts into noise.
“Woah!” Hizashi practically yelps as he throws himself forward to block Shōta’s determined stride forward towards the door. “Gonna need a little more context than that, Sho. Who’s trying to kill you and why in the hell would they do it at a hospital?”
“Don’t know but I’m going to find out,” Shōta shrugs as he steps to the side, eyes narrowing when Hizashi just mirrors him. “Also I’m taking your car.”
“You don’t have a driver’s license,” Hizashi points out automatically.
“I can drive,” Shōta can’t help but roll his eyes at the familiar argument.
“Debatable,” more than one voice pipes up.
“Sho,” Hizashi brings Shōta’s attention back to him, “I love you man, you know that, but there’s no way in any level of all the Hells I’d ever give you my car keys.”
“Good thing I already have them then,” Shōta reaches a hand into his jumpsuit and pulls out Hizashi’s keys, complete with the annoying little disco ball keychain he’s had for years.
“What the fuck?” Hizashi yelps in English as he pats frantically at his own pockets. “Where the hell did you get those?”
“Same place I got your wallet,” Shōta reaches back into his jumpsuit and pulls that out as well, “from your pocket.”
“Did you, did you pickpocket me?” Hizashi sputters incredulously.
“Have been every morning for almost a decade now,” Shōta admits with a shrug. “I return them before we leave every afternoon. Honestly, I thought you would have picked up on that by now.”
“Give me those,” Hizashi hisses, hand snapping out to snatch back his belongings.
“That’s fine,” Shōta shrugs as he reaches back into his jumpsuit for a third time, “I’ll just take Vlad’s car instead.”
A keyring with a cutesy little corgi keychain hanging from it dangles from Shōta’s finger.
Somewhere behind Shōta Vlad lets out a garbled scream and starts frantically patting at his pockets and digging through his desk drawers.
“Okay! Everyone just shut up for a minute,” Nemuri pipes up as she slides into view beside Hizashi. “I feel like we’re missing the most important question here.”
Shōta just stares at her.
“Who was on the phone, Shōta?” Nemuri snaps her fingers in his direction. “Come on now, tell us, don’t leave out the details.”
“A nurse,” Shōta tells them. “Supposedly.”
“It’s like pulling teeth,” Nemuri grits. “And what did they say?”
Shōta understands that saying of course but he’s never agreed with it. Pulling teeth isn’t actually all that hard. Especially if you apply enough blunt force.
“Did you take my fucking wallet too?” Vlad screeches somewhere off to the side but Shōta ignores him.
“I’m being called in as someone’s EIC,” Shōta says. “Which is obviously a trap since you two are here and Tensei’s in Kyoto.”
The entire staff room goes abruptly silent, everyone else freezing as they stare.
For a moment Hizashi and Nemuri both just gape at him, mouths actually hanging wide open, before they abruptly turn towards each other.
“It’s happening,” Hizashi hisses, more than a bit wild-eyed. “I told you it was only a matter of time.”
“Dibs,” Nemuri hisses back. “I’m not missing this for anything.”
“Fuck you,” Hizashi snarls, slicked-back hair somehow bristling. “I called dibs years ago and I’ve earned it.”
“We could both go,” Nemuri finally relents.
“Our classes,” Hizashi counters.
There’s a pause.
“Ectoplasm,” they both abruptly announce together, turning abruptly towards the man in question, completely in sync like something out of a horror movie.
Shōta’s pretty sure Ectoplasm makes the sign of the cross in their direction as he backs away from them, which is amusing on a number of levels.
Shōta takes the opportunity to slip out of the staff room, ignoring the way that Vlad is still screeching after him.
~~~
“Sho! Wait!” Hizashi’s voice rings out across the parking lot just as Shōta’s about to unlock Vlad’s shitty compact car.
When he turns to look behind him Hizashi and Nemuri are both racing across the parking lot in his direction.
Shōta moves to shove the key into the door as fast as possible.
The hair rising on the back of his neck has Shōta instinctively leaping straight up into the air. He lands on the roof of Vlad’s car, just missing the tackle that Hizashi had aimed in his direction.
Hizashi only stops himself from slamming into the side of Vlad’s car and then the pavement with some quick footwork that most people don’t think he’s capable of.
“We’re going with you,” Nemuri declares, hands planted on her hips.
“Nedzu send you?” Shōta asks from where he’s still crouched on top of Vlad’s car. He’s probably leaving dents but, really, it’d be an improvement.
“Well,” Hizashi cuts in, “he hasn’t stopped us. Yet.”
Which, as they all know, Nedzu absolutely could, would, and will if he wants to. So the fact that he hasn’t stopped them is basically permission.
“Backup makes sense,” Shōta huffs just a bit as he grinds the toe of his boot into the car top and then hops down to stand beside Hizashi and Nemuri.
“You know it’s more than likely not an actual death threat right?” Hizashi peers at him over the top of his shades.
“Well,” Nemuri drawls then, “I wouldn’t say that.”
Shōta arches a brow in her direction.
“Someone might be trying to give Shōta-chan a, as the French say,” Nemuri does a ridiculous little shimmy, “little death.”
Hizashi snorts out a laugh, shoulders shaking just a bit.
Shōta turns around, intent once again on finally getting into Vlad’s car and getting on his way.
“Come on,” Hizashi grabs him by the elbow and tugs just a bit. “Leave Vlad’s shitty compact alone, I’ll drive. Just leave his keys somewhere he can find them.”
Shōta turns and flings the keys in the direction of the tree line before turning to head towards Hizashi’s car instead.
“Just out of curiosity,” Nemuri says as they all pile into the car together, Shōta in the back seat because he likes the space, “why do you hate Vlad again?”
“Hate requires an emotional investment he’s not worth,” Shōta points out. “Also he insulted my capture scarf.”
“When?” Nemuri twists enough to look back at him over the seat.
“2:45 p.m. on March 9th of our second year,” Shōta says as he sprawls out. “I told him then I’d make him regret it. I keep my promises.”
The sound of Hizashi and Nemuri’s hysterical laughter trails them all the way out of the parking lot and past the barrier.
Idiots, the both of them.