Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shouta’s neighbors rarely bother him. Almost never, in fact. The last time someone knocked on his door was maybe a year and a half ago, and that was more Hizashi’s fault than his. 

All of this, however, means he’s awfully paranoid when someone knocks on his door at one in the morning right after his patrol. He throws his capture weapon back around his shoulder, clips the belt with a knife around his waist, and carefully looks out the peephole in his door. 

His breath catches in his throat. 

It is not a nosy neighbor at his door. It is not a mailman, it is not his landlord complaining about something or another, it is not food delivery, it is not any of his friends popping by unannounced again. No, standing in front of Shouta’s door is not anything he usually expects to see when looking out onto his doorstep. 

Izuku Midoriya, Shouta’s number one problem student, stands in front of his door covered in bruises and dripping blood. He wastes no time in ripping the door open, and nearly off of the hinges, to get a better look at his student. 

Midoriya has bruises littering his face and his arms, a few small cuts likely from glass on his arm, a crooked nose with dried blood underneath it, a split lip and he’s clearly favoring one leg over the other. The kid looks beat to hell and back, and Shouta has a horrible feeling in his chest. 

See, Midoriya has always raised a lot of red flags. Flinches away from loud noises, throws himself into battle without a second thought, freezes when someone yells at him outside of battle, and deliberately avoids mentions of his past or home at school. Shouta’d chalked it up to anxiety or a past incident, but clearly, that was a severe mistake on his part. 

“Midoriya?” He manages to rasp once the lock on his jaw loosens. The problem child in front of him squints his eyes and stares at Shouta- clearly, his vision is impaired enough that he’s having trouble making shapes and such out. 

“M-Mr. Aizawa,” Midoriya stammers. The kid squints down at his phone clutched in his hand, opened to some sort of map if Shouta isn’t mistaken, and frowns. “S-sorry. This is- I meant t-to, um, go t-to someone else's house. You’re- um, you’re not who I meant t-to bother. Sorry.” 

Shouta bites his lip. Fuck . 

“Hey, no, it’s okay kid,” He says as softly as he can. “Let’s get you bandaged up inside, then we can talk about what happened.” Midoriya flinches at that, mouth twisting into even more of a severe frown. 

“That’s, um, that’s alright, sir. I uh- I’ll just, just go t-to my friends, um, my friend's house. They can- um, they can help me,” Midoriya says, voice just barely above a whisper. 

“You’re an injured child, I would be a pretty horrible hero and teacher to make you limp to a friend's house,” He says firmly. Midoriya stares up at him, eyes still squinted, for a few moments before slumping in defeat. 

“Okay,” Problem child responds. 

Shouta carefully herds Midoriya into the apartment, ignoring the bile threatening to come up. Fuck, how could he miss this? Midoriya immediately wanted to go to a friend's house instead of his home or the hospital, which means that this was a domestic dispute. A domestic dispute that’s likely been going on for years and Shouta fucking missed it.

He gets the kid settled on the couch, grabs the first aid kit, and starts to treat the wounds on the kid's arms. They’re the worst ones that’ll be the most painless to treat for now, fixing the crooked nose can come later. After he bandages the kid up he’ll have to take him to Recovery Girl- as good as Shouta is he isn’t a medical professional by any means. 

They pass a few moments in awkward silence before Shouta finally breaks it. “Midoriya… can I ask what happened?” He asks carefully. He has a pretty strong suspicion, but it’s better to see if Midoriya is willing to talk about it first. 

The kid immediately moves to naw on his lip before flinching when he bites it. Instead, Midoriya fidgets with the hand that Shouta isn’t in the process of cleaning and bandaging. “I uh- It was just an argument,” Midoriya says, “Nothing serious. It’s just- I have a hard time, um, working out when I’m injured like this. My, um, my friend has access t-to a healing quirk. I wanted- I, um, I wanted to get healed so I could t-train. It’s not- it’s not serious or anything.” 

Shouta bites back a sigh. “Problem child,” Midoriya flinches, “Midoriya,” He amends. The kid shifts slightly and stares off to the side, deliberately away from Shouta. “This isn’t just an argument. You’re- this is the kind of injuries that would but you out for a few days as a pro on the field.” 

At that analogy, Midoriya’s breath catches. The kid's fingers drum against his leg as he seems to ponder something. Shouta lets it lie and focuses back on the arm. The arm which is very lucky not to need stitches. Or Recovery Girl to dig glass out of it. 

“It’s not-” Midoriya starts but stops. “I know. I know it’s not okay. I’ve never really thought that it was, um, okay or anything like that. It’s just- I um, it’s better, y’know?” Shouta does not, in fact, ‘know’. He directs raised eyebrows at the problem child and he awkwardly smiles. “I mean- if I had left, if I had, um, tried to report it or anything, it wouldn’t have- um, it wouldn’t have gone through. I mean- no, um, judge would’ve passed my case. I don’t think any lawyers would’ve, um, taken it either. And even if it did, um, somehow go through and I was moved, then it would- I would be moved, um, I would be moved somewhere worse, probably.” 

Shouta purses his lips and ponders for a moment. From what he can gather Midoriya is in an abusive relationship with one of his parents, he realizes that it’s abusive, but he can’t leave out of fear that he’ll end up somewhere worse or laughed out of a courtroom. A valid concern, he supposes. His own relationship with the foster system is less than stellar. But a heroic quirk, high intelligence, and overall kind nature? Midoriya is practically cat nip to people who want to foster for the kids and not the money or fame. But Midoriya is smart, so he must’ve realized this. Which means… 

“Is there a reason you don’t think any lawyers would take your case? Or that a judge wouldn’t let it pass?” He asks carefully, watching for Midoriya’s reaction. The kid flinches again and goes to bite his lip- another wince when teeth connect to the sore. Several more moments of silence pass where the kid seems to contemplate something. Most likely what he should and shouldn’t share with Shouta. 

“Before, um, before the entrance exams my- um, my quirk wasn’t…” The kid pauses again, “My quirk wasn’t- it had specific, uh, activation requirements. The, um, the doctor said that I need, I needed enough muscle or my- or my quirk wouldn’t, um, activate. Er- it was like, like a built-in safety measure. Before I exercised if my quirk, um, activated then it would’ve exploded my limbs. My quirk didn’t, um, come in until the day of the entrance exams.” 

Midoriya’s quirk didn’t come in until the day of the entrance exams. 

Midoriya’s quirk didn’t come in until the day of the fucking entrance exams.

No wonder Midoriya’s quirk shatters his bones like he’s four and just got his quirk, he did just get his quirk. No wonder Midoriya flinches when people come near him too quickly like he’s lived a life of fear, he probably has . Quirkless people don’t have good lives- Shouta knows this, knows this better than most because of his profession. He deals with the results of discrimination in abuse cases that get thrown out of the police station, trafficking rings that barely even get looked at, and shoes lined up on the rooftop with a note. 

Quirkless. Quirkless is not something anyone in this society can be and hope to live beyond the age of twenty. Quirkless people don’t get accepted into jobs, quirkless people don’t get into high school, quirkless people are abused so fucking much that their life expectancy is sixteen . 

And Midoriya used to be quirkless. 

Shouta steadies his breathing. Freaking out now will only make Midoriya even more afraid than he already is, and Shouta can’t have that. He needs to calm down and he needs to think. 

“It’s okay,” He says first. “That’s… I have an emergency foster license. Tonight you’ll stay with me. Tomorrow we’ll figure it out.” 

And Midoriya looks up with wide, shining eyes. Shouta knows that this is very likely because Midoriya has not received the kindness he deserves, and it twists his stomach into a knot. But that’s okay. 

“You’re okay kid. We’ll figure this out.” 

Midoriya, predictably, cries.