Chapter Text
“Alright, so let’s get everything clear.” Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose, one eye cracking open to glare across the table. The interrogation room, previously buzzing with VHS audio, is now silent, save for him. “Izuku goes missing in a fire. The mother is found dead, the cause of the fire is never identified, and the kid seems to have vanished into thin air.
“And then out of the blue, nine years later, he’s found shackled in a warehouse with surgically implanted wings, two Quirks he wasn’t born with, and some of the worst signs of abuse I’ve ever seen.”
Tsukauchi stares back at him. In lieu of a verbal response, he nods.
Shouta’s eye twitches. “So, with all of that in mind, you’re gonna tell me that those bastards you arrested don’t fucking know anything?”
There’s a sigh from Tsukauchi. It’s heavy and tired. “Aizawa, I wish we had more. I really do. But this is all we’ve been able to get out of them.”
The TV behind him remains paused, the arrestee on screen a perpetual irritation for Shouta. The Villain has a cocksure grin, overconfidence bleeding into their posture. It’s driving him mad. The Villain only knows enough to fill in some gaps on the kid’s treatment and, oh, do they know it.
God, Shouta wants to punch them.
He can see Hizashi’s raised eyebrow in his periphery when he snarls, “So, what, that’s it? We can’t even do anything about the ones actually responsible?”
“No, we can’t.” Tsukauchi matches his energy, unwilling to be intimidated. “I wish I could do more, I want to do more, but until we find leads on the ones actually responsible, we’ve come to a standstill.”
There’s a glance at Yagi. Completely suspiciously, Yagi pretends not to pay attention. Tsukauchi continues with, “The one person we could implicate should’ve died four years ago. There’s literally nothing for us to follow.”
Shouta knows he’s right. The logical side of him has accepted this, and yet some part of his limbic system still fires off angry, “not good enough” chemicals.
“Easy there, Shouta, you don’t want to pop a blood vessel,” Hizashi says, stopping Shouta from doing something stupid like punching the monitor. “Little Greenfinch doesn’t need you to kill an innocent detective for him.”
Shouta bristles, ire turning to his friend. “I’m not gonna kill him, Hizashi, what the hell.”
“Mmm, really?” Hizashi props his chin in his palm, grin wide and goading. “The papa-bear act gives you a unique bloodlust, it’s fascinating.”
“Oh my god, shut up-”
“For pete’s sake, you two bicker like children.” Yagi interrupts the squabble, both exasperated and amused.
Shouta stiffens and Hizashi snickers, the former shooting the latter a withering glare.
“Sorry, this whole situation is just frustrating,” Shouta says in chagrin. “It doesn’t help that some people like pushing buttons.”
Hizashi bats his eyes, taking the implication as a challenge. “Who, me? Seems like that F-Rank is the one pushing your buttons, Eraser.”
“Naomasa, you had something you wanted to discuss,” Yagi interjects loudly. It successfully stops the impending argument in its path.
“Yes. If you two are done, there is something that needs to be handled.” Tsukauchi is equal parts stern and entertained.
Shouta, sufficiently chastised, settles back in his seat, as does Hizashi. His friend, however, still looks like the cat that ate the canary, the damn bastard.
“Of course. I am sorry, Tsukauchi, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” As frustrated as he is, Shouta does feel guilty for his attitude.
Tsukauchi waves it off with a flick of his hand. “No need. I understand. This whole case has been difficult on us all.” Tsukauchi eyes a folder, the one containing all they know of Izuku Midoriya. “Since we’ve reached an impasse in this aspect, there’s a decision that needs to be made.”
Shouta lingers on the manila folder. Hastily put together the night he rescued Izuku, they hadn’t known the kid’s identity at the time, hence his legal name scrawled under the original, temporary nickname. Well, it was supposed to be temporary. While not the official case title, everyone in the room refers to it as “Mission Greenfinch”.
“You need to find somewhere for the little listener to go, don’t you?” Hizashi asks.
Tsukauchi’s nod is all the confirmation they need. “As far as we’re concerned, Izuku has no living relatives. The status of the father is unknown, but considering the fact we haven’t been able to get in contact with him, he’s been knocked out of the running. We’ve also been unable to find any will on Inko’s end, so there’s no family friends we can send him to.
“Even then, the officials I’ve been working with aren’t keen on him living with a civilian family. His case is too sensitive to bare to the general public. They think it's best if someone helping with this case fosters him, although they’re open to suggestions. I, personally, would like an actual Pro to be the one. CPS isn’t normally so lenient when it comes to foster care, but this is a special exception.”
Tsukauchi gives them each an imploring look. “If any of you know someone willing, please, now would be the time to share. I want to get him into an actual home as soon as possible. He’s been exceptionally tolerant, but a hospital is not a good place for him to be for an extended period of time. Especially considering all we know.”
Shouta almost immediately volunteers himself without a second thought. He has to physically clamp his jaw shut, pessimistic logic warring with instinct. ‘You’re a homeroom teacher at U.A,’ he tries to tell himself. ‘You work nights for your Pro career. Think about this for a second.’
The negativity loses the battle. Loses the whole damn war, in fact, because Shouta knows he has the time, and he knows he has the space.
He has a spare room he almost never touches collecting dust, and an old bed frame he’s long outgrown. Besides, Hizashi would probably leap to the moon over the chance to keep spoiling the kid.
He pretends not to, but he likes working with kids. His students have been good, all things considered, and he’s enjoyed watching them flourish. He never would’ve entered the education field if he was as cold and callous as he acts.
‘I’m about to do this, aren’t I?’ Shouta asks himself. He isn’t sure why. He’s known the answer since he’d first cradled the kid close.
His mind flashes to inquisitive green eyes, gray fabric cushioning freckled skin.
With a resigned sigh (he has appearances to keep up), Shouta opens his mouth, but finds himself beaten. Hizashi leaps to his feet and chirps, “Shouta would love to foster! Wouldn’t you, Sho?”
Shouta blanches. “Excuse me-”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Yagi praises. “I’m sure young Midoriya would love that!”
“Wha- Don’t I get a say!?” Shouta splutters.
Hizashi’s expression is nothing but terrifying acuity. “You’re a damn liar if you pretend like you aren’t itching to take him in. You’ve been in attack dog mode for two whole weeks, Shouta. He had a nickname within the first thirty minutes of you knowing him.”
“We needed something to call him-”
“I’ve known you for nearly fifteen years, and the most I’ve gotten is Zashi. Besides, little Greenfinch adores you! You practically have your own gravitational force!”
“That doesn’t-”
Hizashi crosses his arms. “If you can look me in the eye and say, with full conviction, that I’m wrong, I’ll never question you again.”
Shouta glowers with all the venom he can muster, but Hizashi is unswayed. The fact that he’s right means nothing. It’s the damn principle of the matter. He hates when Hizashi reads him to filth, especially with an audience.
“Aizawa?” Tsukauchi prompts. He sounds like he’s been enjoying the verbal beatdown.
An embarrassed flush rises to Shouta’s skin. He barrels through it with a rough, “If I qualify, I’ve got a spare room and plenty of time outside work. I’m more than capable of looking after a kid until he’s ready for a home.”
Tsukauchi, for the first time since the meeting started, smiles. “Excellent, thank you. Considering Izuku’s trust in you, plus your background in Hero work and teaching, you were my first pick.”
Something in him takes immense satisfaction in this; that same something deep within his bones.
“I’ll have your foster license done and sent by this evening.” Tsukauchi gathers his things, tape clicking from the VCR. The rage still fizzing in Shouta’s gut settles without the Villain in sight. “I just need to put some things in the system. Once that’s through, he should be ready for discharge at any time.”
Shouta resolutely ignores both Hizashi and Yagi. He can feel the twin, beaming expressions from them both, and tries to convey “Don’t say a word” through body language alone.
“I’d best be off, the F-Ranks all have preliminary hearings today.” Tsukauchi, folder under his arm and briefcase in hand, straightens. “I promise, if I get any news on the people we’re after, you three will be the first to know.”
The Pros chorus a thank you as the detective makes his leave. Tsukauchi pauses in the doorway, contemplation narrowing his eyes. After a moment, one corner of his mouth quirks upward, smile oddly ludic.
“Good work today, Team Greenfinch,” he praises. And with that, he turns on his heel and strides from the room, Hizashi’s audible delight following him out.
Izuku’s decided that he hates hospitals.
Anything beats his former room, or the cells, or Doctor’s workshop, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable.
Antiseptic burns in his nose. The near constant movement in the halls keeps him from fully relaxing when alone. Doctors, nurses, and law enforcement come and go on a much too regular basis. The food, while consistent, is too similar to what Sensei served.
The worst part is the procedures from the medical staff. The questions from police officers he can’t remember the names of. He often finds his heart beating faster, hands shaking despite his best efforts to keep them still.
Save for his terror of being found by the League, he sometimes considers the merit of escaping. Anything to get away from the newfound stressors.
The one thing keeping him sane is Shouta.
Izuku never anticipated him sticking around, especially after the initial rescue and check-in. Maybe occasionally stopping by if he needed something, but his job had been done. There was no other obligation to Izuku.
And yet, he hasn’t gone a single day without seeing Shouta. With school out for the month, he’s often there for hours, a book in hand and a story of his students on his tongue.
His presence now routine, Shouta’s become moral support when the officers come knocking. He voices Izuku’s concerns and anxieties over the various tests and procedures. He talks about his students, his friends, his colleagues, his Hero work; anything that seems to come to mind.
Sometimes they sit in silence, too. It’s a good silence, not tense like with Tomura. He’s never anticipating something bad with the Pro around. In all honesty, he only fully relaxes with Shouta in the room. Izuku’s fight-or-flight reflex, one honed over nine long years, shuts off with him around, granting a peace of mind he’s never felt before.
It’s a curious thing, having someone to trust. He hasn’t trusted anyone else in a very long time.
Izuku ponders his newfound guard from his perch. The hospital windows are nice and big, and the ledge of his is just wide enough for him to sit. Knees pulled to his chest, his head pressed against glass, he watches strangers to pass the time.
For ease of the medical staff, his backless gown has remained, although he has been allowed sweatpants. His left wing is fully locked away, his right folded but still at full size. One hand holds his knees, and the other remains buried in the fabric of Shouta’s capture weapon.
It’s the very same one he was handed when he was rescued. He knows this due to stitching near the middle, a mending from a previous tear. Shouta’s insisted that he keeps it, and Izuku’s not complaining. He loves the scarf, practically never takes it off. It’s quickly become a comfort item.
When he’s having a hard time, be it from the tests, or the questions, or simply remembering his own name, the scarf becomes a vital anchor.
He rubs a thumb over the fabric and frowns, eyes tracking a woman in pink. Pencil shavings and petrichor has become a staple for him. Now, the acute smell of hospital is overtaking it, and that just won’t do.
Izuku pauses his contemplation, gaze flitting from the woman below to the door. He hadn’t noticed them coming, not at first, but he quickly catches a familiar, exuberant voice. It’s followed by an opposingly exhausted tone.
He’d recognize that voice anywhere.
He doesn’t move from his spot, but he does straighten, his right wing compacting alongside the other. Muscles tense, he watches the door.
Soon enough, it’s opening with a squeak of the hinges, the usual visage of Shouta Aizawa shifting into frame. Tired eyes brighten, a small smile overtaking a previously annoyed expression.
“Afternoon, ki-”
“Little listener!”
Ah, there it is. The cause of the annoyance.
Vexation flashes across Shouta’s face when Hizashi elbows past him. To Izuku’s surprise, he also catches sight of Toshinori, the tall man giving a warm smile from overtop Shouta’s head.
Hizashi keeps his distance, positioning himself at the end of the bed, but he still spreads his arms as though anticipating a hug. The two are well aware that he’s not gonna get one, but Izuku supposes it’s the thought that counts.
“It’s been a minute, little man! How’ve you been? You holding up?” Hizashi’s as friendly and loud as ever. Izuku likes him, likes him a lot actually, but he can be incredibly overwhelming.
Izuku doesn’t respond verbally, instead giving a small, tentative nod. Anxiety prickles under his skin. To his relief, Shouta is already striding over.
“Lower your volume, Hizashi, this is a hospital,” Shouta chides. “The entire building doesn’t need to know you’re here.”
Hizashi rolls his eyes, clearly dramatizing the movement. “I’m not that loud, Shouta. Don’t be a party pooper.”
Toshinori has to slouch to avoid hitting the doorframe. Settling into a chair, he says, “I’m inclined to agree with Yamada. His volume control is excellent.”
“Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile,” Shouta counters.
Hizashi squawks in offense, but Shouta doesn’t deign him with his attention. He leans against the wall, focus on Izuku. His eyes have gone soft and attentive.
“Afternoon, kiddo. You keeping yourself busy?” He nods toward the street.
Izuku hums an affirmative sound.
“Ahh, yes, afternoon, young Midoriya!” Toshinori says, all warm smiles and kind eyes. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Izuku waves. He’s getting better at talking around them, it’s just difficult without a script.
Shouta taps the wall, fingers brushing over painted fish. Izuku looks back at him immediately.
“See anything interesting today?” Shouta asks.
It’s not a question he has to respond to. With Shouta, he can be as engaged as he wants, which in turn makes conversation easier.
Izuku’s hesitant and quiet when he says, “There was a guide dog earlier. Labrador, I think.”
An inquisitive hum. “Guide dog, huh? Don’t see too many of those.”
Shouta stares out the window, eyes on the street below.
“It was black,” Izuku adds.
Shouta’s mouth curves upward. “Good color,” he muses.
Izuku nods in agreement, thumb brushing over gray fabric. He hears a soft sound, a fascinated noise, and glances to his right, finding Hizashi’s eyes on him. His expression isn’t negative, but it is odd. It’s somehow both tender and impish.
“How’s the capture weapon treating you, little listener?” Hizashi asks. It’s a sincere question, but there must be something hidden that Izuku doesn’t notice, for Shouta stiffens.
“Oh, um..” Izuku’s fingers worry the scarf. He isn’t quite sure how to answer. “..good?”
“Just good?” Toshinori questions.
Izuku’s gaze has drifted to the floor. He faintly shrugs and hears Shouta shift his weight, but keeps his focus locked on an old blemish.
“It. Hospital.” He knows they aren’t trying to interrogate him, they’re just making casual conversation, but his nerves don’t seem to understand. To try and convey the issue, he makes a vague gesture toward his nose.
He hears Toshinori open his mouth, but Shouta’s the one to respond. “We can wash it tomorrow. If you want, I have some others you can borrow in the meantime.”
“N-No, I-” Izuku pauses. He blinks, words registering, his brows ticking downward. “Tomorrow?”
The boy looks over his shoulder. Shouta’s shifted forward, his posture making him look like a posted guard. Despite a clear vigilance in his body language, his eyes remain gentle.
“You remember Detective Tsukauchi?” At Izuku’s nod, he continues. “Well, he’s been looking for someone to foster you while your case is active.”
Izuku’s heart rate kicks into high gear, wings involuntarily spasming. “Oh. With-With who?” he asks, his voice pitching upward.
He watches emotions flicker in Shouta’s eyes, too quick for him to decipher. Movements careful and deliberate, the man lifts a hand. When Izuku doesn’t flinch, calloused fingers gently ruffle his hair.
The boy blinks several times. Huh.
“Don’t stress it, Greenfinch,” Shouta soothes. “You’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future. We wouldn’t be so stupid to send you off with a stranger.”
It’s said in jest, but not maliciously. Izuku knows that he’s just trying to make him feel better. And hey, it works; his cortisol calms and green eyes brighten.
“Oh. That’s okay, then,” he replies. Living with Shouta for a bit sounds nice. Peaceful. His facial muscles haven’t been used for smiling in years, otherwise he’s sure he’d be beaming.
“We’re busting you outta here, little man!” Hizashi’s crow is sudden. It causes both Izuku and Shouta to jolt, the boy letting out a startled squeak. He’d forgotten about the other two.
Izuku immediately turns to the Pro, and finds him positively glowing with enthusiasm. Yellow-green eyes are as warm as ever, although they’re also wickedly sharp when he looks at Shouta.
“What a gravitational moment, don’t you think?” Hizashi comments.
Hizashi definitely isn’t using that word right, but that doesn’t seem to matter, for Shouta’s face floods with color. Puffing up like a feral cat, he stalks toward his friend with a snarl on his tongue. Hizashi, wholly unintimidated, responds playfully in kind.
Izuku’s eyes widen at the display. He looks to Toshinori, unsure on how to proceed, and finds the man watching them in amusement. Sensing eyes on him, he sends Izuku a reassuring smile.
‘It’s not a real argument,’ he tells himself, tension bleeding from his muscles. ‘This is okay.’ There’s a lack of genuine anger from Shouta. If anything, he really just seems embarrassed.
‘Wonder why.’
Face nestled into the capture weapon, he mimics Toshinori and settles back to watch. It’s faint, but nestled deep into the fabric fibers, he can still detect cedarwood post-rainfall.
Izuku’s officially released into Shouta’s care the very next day. Both anticipate a learning curve, of which there is, but it’s far shallower than either expected.
In fact, falling into a routine together is the easiest part of it all.
Izuku is exceptionally quiet. There’s a silence to every movement that’s unusual for someone his age. Shouta’s used to teenagers blundering about, loud in volume and physicality, but the boy in his home is the opposite. After the first few times he nearly jumps out of his skin, Shouta learns to anticipate sudden appearances.
Chatter, something the Pro had begun to coax out of Izuku in the hospital, eventually begins to show itself, but their early mornings remain quiet. There may be some conversation, but an easy silence comes to be their norm.
Mid mornings and afternoons are left free, save for Izuku’s therapy and doctor appointments. He finds himself catching up on the world, and on all the Heroes he’s missed. Sensei had been selective with his teachings. Shouta, in the meantime, will plan lessons for his students, or read a book, or catch up on sleep.
Conversation comes easy with lunch. Izuku finds himself bursting with new information, and unlike with Tomura or Sensei, he’s allowed to speak it aloud. Come mid afternoon, Hizashi’s a usual guest, although Toshinori stops by on one occasion. Sometimes Hizashi stays for dinner, but he’s always gone before nine.
Izuku uses his evenings to log all he’s learned in brand new journals. By the time the first week is over, he begins mumbling when he writes.
Once Izuku’s in bed, Shouta’s off on Hero work. He plans to stick close to the apartment for the first couple months, and comes to be grateful for this decision. With the boy’s consent, an audio monitor is set up in Izuku’s room, allowing Shouta to know if he’s needed.
Izuku’s nightmare’s aren’t often audible. When they are, Shouta finds himself at his bedside for hours. He tends to fall asleep in his chair, which his spine comes to loathe, but Shouta can’t find it in himself to care.
Shouta asks, once, if Izuku has anyone he wants him to contact. Izuku’s response, after a long, long minute of contemplation, is eventually, but not now. The topic is left alone after that.
There isn’t much talk of trauma or triggers unless necessary, and Shouta’s rules are simple and few. Conversation is easy, the quiet even easier, and learning how to live together is an alarmingly quick process.
They don’t discuss the routine they fall into. It’s just something they do.
In mid August, the routine changes. Twelve days after his release, Izuku’s bundled into the car under the guise of a doctor’s appointment, a too-large hoodie nearly drowning him in place of his capture weapon. He doesn’t question it at first, focusing his attention on the scenery flickering by, but he soon notices that none of it’s familiar.
They’ve taken the route to the hospital a couple times now, and the memory of being discharged is still fresh. Forehead creasing, Izuku glances Shouta. Now that he looks closely, there’s an air of anticipation to the man’s posture, a restlessness as he drums two fingers against the steering wheel.
“This isn’t the way to the hospital,” Izuku observes. He’s long past beating around the bush with Shouta.
There’s a brief glance at him. “Right on.”
Izuku squints. He’s not worried, but he is suspicious. “I thought you were taking me to a doctor’s appointment.”
“Oh, I am,” Shouta assures. “The person you’re meeting doesn’t work at the hospital, though.”
“..Where else would they work?”
Shouta grins. It’s his mischievous, “I’ve got the upperhand” smile, a rarity without Hizashi around.
“Should-Should I be worried?” Izuku can’t help the concern, the muscles where skin meets steel twitching involuntarily.
“Of course not. You’re gonna like where we’re going, I promise.”
“Alright…” Izuku isn’t convinced, but by this point he trusts that Shouta wouldn’t take him anywhere bad. While he itches to ask more questions, to try and wheedle whatever surprise his guardian has stewing out of him, he turns back to the window and lets his thoughts wander.
Ten minutes later, they arrive at U.A.
Izuku stares as they pull up. He keeps staring as Shouta parks, and as he shuts off the car, and as he rounds the front to open Izuku’s door.
Expression laced in smug, smug pride, Shouta smiles broadly. “Cat got your tongue?”
Izuku gapes at the building, and then at Shouta, and then at the building again. He blinks several times, but the school still stands strong. He hasn’t moved an inch since he first caught sight of it.
“..You’re taking me into U.A!?”
Somehow, Shouta’s smile gets wider. “Damn right,” he says cheerfully. “C’mon now, we’ve got a bit of a walk.”
Izuku’s seldom moved quicker, not without threat of bodily harm. Eyes wide, he presses close to Shouta, and the two make their way up the front entrance and into the building.
He’d thought the warehouse and the hospital had been big, but U.A is a whole different beast. The halls are as tall as they are wide, and they seem to stretch on for miles, even when Izuku’s acute vision finds the end. The two pass more doors than he can count, entryways almost cartoonishly tall. Even as he maps their route in his head, he finds the sheer magnitude of it all astounding.
Unlike the warehouse, or the hospital, the halls aren’t suffocating or cramped. They’re well lit, spacious, and with ceiling-to-floor windows when applicable. The lavender floors and white walls only help to brighten the space.
To Izuku’s relief, and also slight disappointment, there don’t seem to be many staff members around. He catches an occasional humanoid shape behind doors or down distant halls, but Shouta leads him in opposite directions.
They only encounter one person as they make for the nurse’s office.
A woman in an oversized red sweater rounds a corner at the end of the hall, purple hair so dark it looks black. She has a no-nonsense expression, posture confident and tall, and the only acknowledgement she gives Shouta is a small dip of her chin.
Izuku doesn’t miss the way Shouta picks up his pace; even when he, too, nods a greeting. The boy doesn’t question it, quickening his own stride to stay close, but he’s unable to keep from looking back at her when she fully stops in her tracks.
He watches her back peddle, eyebrows shooting to her hairline as she surveys the pair like a hawk. Unnerved, Izuku’s fingers find purchase in the hem of Shouta’s shirt. She immediately zeroes in on the movement.
The distance between them is growing, but Izuku still catches a whip-smart glint in her blue eyes. She must notice Izuku’s unease, for she gives him a friendly smile, but her stare becomes sharp again as she watches Shouta retreat.
Shouta doesn’t look back even once as they round the corner, although from his expression he definitely knows she’s staring.
“Don’t pay her any mind. She’s nosy,” Shouta mutters to Izuku.
Izuku’s steered toward a door before he can even think of any follow up questions. Immediately, he takes notice of the placard, and green eyes shine.
“Recovery Girl?” he whispers with half-concealed delight.
“Is it really that surprising? I thought it would’ve been obvious by now,” Shouta teases.
“I-I didn’t think of it.” His knowledge of and admiration toward Recovery Girl was not born under Sensei’s critical eye. The memory itself is fuzzy, but he knows it’s from Before.
With Izuku’s fingers still hooked in his shirt, Shouta knocks. There’s muffled conversation that halts at the sound; one voice old and feminine, the other a higher pitched masculine. Izuku half shuffles behind Shouta, and as the door opens, the two step inside.
The interior is bright and cozy, with a series of beds lining one wall, various equipment along the other. A small desk sits to the left, various informational posters tacked to the wall above it. Immediately, though, Izuku’s drawn to the two occupants, his caution making way for intrigue.
The desk chair is occupied by Recovery Girl, the closest bed by a creature he can only describe as a mouse. Or are they a bear? The small, clothed creature appears to be an amalgamation of animals, although they do seem primarily rodent, with white fur and a striking scar over their right eye.
Sat primly at the edge of the bed, they fix an extremely intelligent stare onto Izuku, eyes black and beady. Alarmed, the boy shifts just a bit further behind his guardian.
“Ahh, Aizawa, good morning!” the animal chirps brightly. “I reckon this is Midoriya, is it not?”
Shouta’s reply is gruff. Izuku gets the feeling that he hadn’t been expecting an extra pair of eyes. “This is. Izuku, this is Recovery Girl and Principal Nedzu.”
Like a jolt of lightning, clarity arcs through Izuku. There hadn’t been a lot on Nedzu for him to learn with Sensei, but what was available had been drilled into his head. Although, it has been several years. Now, as he avoids eye contact with the principal, he’s surprised he didn’t recognize him immediately.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Midoriya.” Recovery Girl is delightfully warm, with a friendly demeanor that immediately puts Izuku more at ease. “Nedzu here was just finishing up. It’ll only be me and Aizawa watching today.”
’Huh?’
“W-Watching…?” His stuttered question is only just loud enough to be heard.
“Yes, I’m sure Aizawa’s already told you, but I’d like to see your wings in motion after my examination. It’s a bit tricky to judge your fitness without seeing them work.” She says it offhandedly, clearly expecting that Izuku’s been informed.
Izuku looks at Shouta, confusion twisting his nervous expression. “I- um- I don’t-“
To his growing alarm, Recovery Girl scowls at Shouta. The man shifts, and Izuku can immediately tell that he, too, is uneasy.
“Shouta Aizawa, you better have told this boy what we planned.”
He can’t see Shouta’s expression, but Izuku just knows he’s wincing. “He knows about the exam, I just thought-“
Shouta cuts himself off with a yelp, Recovery Girl’s cane meeting the top of his head with a short thwack.
“You still have the mindset of one of your students, you and Yamada both!” Recovery Girl scolds. “The fact you two haven’t driven me into an early grave is a miracle!”
Her whole attitude shifts back to grandmotherly when she smiles at Izuku. Any initial trepidation has quickly melted away, astonishment overtaking anything else.
“I’m terribly sorry, Midoriya. That guardian of yours isn’t always the brightest,” Recovery Girl sighs.
“That guardian of his takes offense to that,” Shouta grouches.
There’s a light hum of laughter, Izuku’s gaze darting back to Nedzu. Paws clasped, he’s continued his staring, a twinkle of interest alight in his eyes.
Finally looking away from Izuku, Nedzu says, “I’d best leave you three to it, then! Seems like you’re going to be quite busy. Thank you for your time, Chiyo, it’s always a delight to talk to you.”
Beady eyes focus on Shouta. “A pleasure as always to see you, Aizawa. I do hope you’ll have time to chat soon. And it was wonderful to meet you, Midoriya. Until next time.”
With one last brilliant little smile, an expression that still carries a deep acuity, Nedzu hops off the bed and scurries away.
Shouta and Recovery Girl re-engage each other in conversation, but Izuku catches none of it as he stares after the principal with wide eyed astonishment. He only tunes back in when directly spoken to.
“Now Midoriya,” Recovery Girl begins. “I understand if you’d rather wait for some other time on account of being unprepared, but if you’re up to it, I’d like to see you in flight today.”
Izuku blinks. Hope and delight fizzles in his chest, a bright shock of electricity that makes his skin tingle.
“Oh, um. I-I mean, it’s been a few weeks, but, um, I don’t-I don’t mind.” His face flushes as he stutters, but he still barrels on.
“Perfect.” Recovery Girl quickly whirls into motion, patting the now empty bed as she makes for her supply cabinet. “Have a seat now, please, and remove that hoodie and any shirts. I’d like a close look at those wings of yours.”
Izuku swallows around his caution. Briefly tightening his grip on Shouta, he receives a reassuring smile from his guardian.
“It’ll only take a couple minutes,” the man reassures softly.
Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Izuku squares his shoulders and steps toward the bed.
The exam, as promised, doesn’t take longer than ten minutes. Recovery Girl is almost frighteningly quick, and equally skilled as she jots down notes and gently presses where the mounts connect to his shoulders. Unlike the other doctors and nurses he’s met, Izuku quickly finds himself at ease in her presence.
Soon enough, the exam is over, and the trio makes their way to the gym.
The smell of concrete is intimately familiar, but that’s where the similarities to his former training rooms end. There’s no equipment of any kind, just a massive, empty concrete room. The windows help keep it bright and welcoming despite its sheer size, and the distinct lack of a long-dried blood smell is reassuring.
Izuku marvels at the vaulted ceiling. “You’re gonna let me fly here?”
He hears the warmth in Shouta’s voice when he says, “Of course. It’s not like it’s getting used for anything else right now.”
Izuku hums a long note of wonder, one finger hooked in the collar of his hoodie.
Recovery Girl leans against her cane. “Midoriya, whenever you’re ready, I’d like you to take a short flight around the room. No need for anything longer than a minute or two.”
Izuku nods and, like he had in her office, pulls his hoodie off in one swift motion. His wings quickly shift to full size, and he ruffles them as he hands the hoodie to Shouta.
“Do you, um…” Izuku picks at the pad of his thumb with a fingernail. “..Do you need me to do anything specific?”
“No, sonny, you can fly however you’d like.” Recovery Girl smiles kindly at him. She hasn’t reacted once to his scars, which only strengthens his growing affection for her.
Turning away from the two, Izuku flexes his wings, a sigh of contentment leaving him as he stretches one and then the other.
It’s been around a month since he’s last flown. Izuku doesn’t anticipate perfection, but hey, neither do the other two. Here, there’s no Tomura, and there’s especially no Sensei.
The lack of a critical audience bolsters his confidence. His wings half unfurl, eyes surveying the space before him. After a careful moment of calculation, he bends his knees, curves his wings upward, and takes off with a boost from his legs and a mighty flap of steel.
It’s pure muscle and strength that carries him skyward. He’s never had the aid of an updraft, meaning that all exercise had to take newfound flight skills into consideration. Tricky and exhausting at first, it’s become second nature.
In fact, settling back into the sky is as easy as breathing.
It’s the most vertical and horizontal space he’s ever had, and Izuku immediately makes the most of it. Powerful downbeats propel him toward the curved roof. He skirts the wall and ceiling, tipping downward just enough to settle into a soar. He’s never had enough space to soar properly, and yet, settling his wings into a wide, solid plane is exceptionally simple.
His heart stutters, but for once, it’s not from nerves. Elation courses through him; an exhilarating burst of adrenaline that kickstarts his thrill-seeking. Body alight with euphoria, he angles into a dive, wings tucking in and eyes squinting against the air.
Distantly, Shouta and Recovery Girl have been chatting to one another, but the man’s voice stutters as Izuku rockets downward. He thinks Shouta tries to say something to him, but he isn’t paying a lick of attention.
Twisting his body into a twirl, wings unfold and he peels away from the rapidly approaching ground, a shrill sound of glee akin to a bird’s call escaping him. Down on the ground, Recovery Girl snickers.
‘I never wanna leave.’ While the circumstances around acquiring his wings were less than ideal, Izuku loves the air. Tomura and Sensei may have ruled the ground, but the sky is his domain.
Here, he makes the rules, and his instincts are screaming for speed.
Izuku’s lapped the room several times over when Recovery Girl calls for him to land. He tips one wing to the side, heavy flapping turning into short, gentle motions, and angles for the Pros.
Recovery Girl’s as languid as before, but Shouta’s stiff, his spine straight as an arrow. Curious and confused about the change, Izuku soars into a landing, tilting his body to touch down back where he’d started.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, wide eyes settle on the older Pro. In what seems to be her natural state, she smiles and says, “Thank you, Midoriya, that was just what I needed.”
She looks like she wants to say more, but she doesn’t continue, for Shouta takes an abrupt step toward Izuku. Too many emotions flicker across Shouta’s face for him to catch them all, but he does notice relief, agitation, pride, and fear.
For the first time since the hospital, Shouta-related worry jabs at Izuku’s insides. ‘Did I mess up?’ Hesitantly, he murmurs an apprehensive, “Was-Was it bad..?”
Almost instantly, Shouta’s expression clears. There’s a brief flash of regret in his eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it came, making way for that soft expression he reserves for Izuku. His free hand spasms at his side as though he wants to reach out, but the man instead offers the hoodie.
“Of course not, kiddo,” Shouta reassures. “You obviously know what you’re doing. You were excellent, in fact.”
The unease lifts, and Izuku’s eyes brighten. ‘Not mad. Just.. concerned.’ He takes the hoodie back. “Sorry for worrying you.”
Izuku pulls the hoodie on to the sound of Shouta huffing, “You’re gonna give me gray hairs in my thirties.”
Back into the easy pattern they fall. Shouta flicks a hair out of Izuku’s face, and the boy warbles a wordless sound in response, hand batting away his guardian’s. The man’s mouth threatens to pull into a smirk.
Recovery Girl shifts. She’s finished writing, posture straightening as she tucks her clipboard under one arm.
“I’d like to take one last look at you in my office before you head out, Midoriya,” she informs. “Aizawa’s right, your flying is excellent. You seem to have exceptional control and energy efficiency. I’d just like to get one last post-exercising exam in.”
Izuku acquiesces, but he hesitates to follow Recovery Girl as she makes for the door. Looking up at his guardian, he implores, “We’ll come back here?”
Surprised laughter bursts from Shouta, eyes glimmering. “Yeah, Izuku. We will,” he says around a grin.
Pleased, Izuku matches the man’s stride. He’s met with a friendly hair ruffle, and he blinks green eyes up at him.
“Seriously, kid, you’ve got a talent for flying. Nice work up there.”
Something affectionate and happy warms Izuku to the core. He doesn’t smile, but he does knock his shoulder against Shouta’s arm.
“Thanks, Sho,” he chirps.
Izuku doesn’t catch it, his attention focused solely on Shouta, but up ahead, Recovery Girl watches them with a warm, gratified smile.