Chapter Text
Izuku’s quirk came in when he was six, late, but not alarmingly so. Bakugo and his friends (read: lackies) were beating him up on the playground at school, he’s grabbed Bakugo’s hand to try and stop him from burning him, he felt a strange tugging feeling, and next thing he knows, he’s throwing his other hand up to block the incoming explosion, and he throws Bakugo half way across the playground with a large loud explosion erupting from his hand.
And thus, the quirkless Deku turned into a villainous Deku.
…
Izuku hums to himself as he leaves the villain fight, twirling a few small rocks telekinetically over his right hand, staring down at his feet as he treks into a darkened alley. He happens upon by chance, the medium sized red feather, humming in interest, he leans over to pick it up.
Twirling it between his fingers, he looks it over. “Pretty feather.”
“Thanks.” He jumps at the voice behind him, letting go of the feather when it starts wiggling in his fingers, and whirls around, coming face to face with the number three pro hero Hawks, his hands in his pockets, he smiles as he leans back. “I try and keep’em lookin’ nice.” Izuku feels like a specimen in a petri dish when the hero’s gold eyes look him over critically. “So, what’s a scrawny little fella like you doing in a dank dark alley at this time of night, don’t you know it’s passed curfew for you little birdies?”
“Uh,” Izuku wracks his brain. “Walking home?”
“Oh cool,” the hero nods lightly, pulling his left hand out of his pocket to gesture him on, before stuffing it back in his pocket. “Lead the way, kiddo, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
“Oh, um,” he really does not want Hawks to walk him home. “You don’t have to, I’ll get there safely, its right around the block.”
“Oh no, really, I’d be glad to.” Hawks smiles and tilts his head. “It’s no trouble, honest.”
“Um, okay then.” The teen yells at himself in his head as he turns around. “This way.”
Winding through alley’s with Hawks at his side really isn’t how he imagined spending his night. They walk through the streets for maybe twenty minutes before the hero hums. “Thought you said it was right around the block, ‘cause we’ve been around at least four of them.”
He cringes. “I’m lost?”
“Uhuh.” The hero nods lightly. “You’re not really going home, are you?”
“No, no, I am….” They both come to a stop when the teenager halts and rubs at the back of his head. “It’s just, uh, not in the best part of town, not very clean, you know?”
“Hey, I get it.” Hawks raises his hands placatingly. “But, it’s no problem, I just wanna make sure you get there safely, promise not to judge, cross my heart.”
He deflates with a long exhale and drops his head. “Okay, you can take me in.”
“About time, baby bird.”
Izuku curls his fingers around the man’s forearms when he curls his arms around his chest, under his arms, and closes his eyes when the hero launches them into the air.
…
Detective Tsukauchi leaves him alone in the interrogation room with Hawks, and he can’t stop himself from turning around to face him. “So, were you born with wings or did you, like, grow them?”
The hero raises an eyebrow at the strange question but answers none the less. “Grew them in when I was around five years old, why?”
Izuku nods. “On a scale of one to ten, how painful was it?”
“Uh,” the man tilts his head. “Definitely a solid ten.”
“Great,” he exhales again. “Nice, that’s great, thanks,” he turns back around. “Awesome.”
Hawks clears his throat behind him. “Why’d you wanna know?”
“My quirk.” The teen turns back around. “It’s called mimic. I can copy quirks if I touch the individual.” The hero looks confused. “I touched your feather, which is a part of you, so—”
The man’s eyes widen. “So, you’re gonna grow wings.”
His eyes widen when the hero shoots up, wings tucked in close to his back, and crosses the room quickly, throwing the door open, and disappears around the corner. Izuku doesn’t plan on waiting around all that long, waving a finger over the cuff around his right hand, he pulls the locking mechanism free telekinetically, and carefully slips the chain out from under the bar built into the table.
Though it’s a nuisance to have the cuff around his left wrist, he can deal with it until future Izuku has to take care of it. Standing silently, he listens to the sound of hushed voices just outside the door, and carefully climbs up onto the table, reaching up to push the vent grate open, he carefully curls his fingers around the edge, and lifts himself up, he’s no Sampson The Strong Man, but he’s been on the streets long enough to gain a bit of muscle, and he lifts himself up into the vent above the interrogation room.
“Okay—Where’d he go!” Tsukauchi exclaims as him and the hero returns to the interrogation room, Izuku holds his breath, willing his heart to stop beating so the sensory enhanced winged hero doesn’t pick up on it. “He didn’t come out!”
“Nah,” his eyes widen when red feathers shoot up into the vent, snag him by the front of his shirt, and yanks him forward, he closes his eyes as he’s pulled out of the vent, preparing to hit the floor, when a pair of arms catch him. “He’s in the vent.”
…
Izuku lays in bed, a new bed, in a new bedroom, in a new apartment, under the number three hero’s supervision, finding himself unable to sleep. Why, might you ask, because of the excruciating pain in his back, closer to his shoulders, he can feel his anatomy moving around, something growing under the skin, his quirk takes little time to copy others, grinding his teeth, he pulls his hands up onto the pillow, they hurt too, his fingernails changing form, sharpening, talons, he supposes.
This is the last time he copies a physical mutation quirk.
That’s not all though, no, he’s got cravings, for what you much ask, for raw meat, something fresh, bloody, something he can tear into like the predator he’d copied from.
Ignoring the ache in his back, shoulders, and fingers, he pushes the blankets back, deciding he can’t ignore his cravings, and creeps across his bedroom, there’s no light from under the door, so no one’s in the living room, and he cracks his door open, peering out the small crack to make sure he’s not going to be seen, he pulls his door open completely and creeps out into the living room.
Eyes long since adjusted to the darkness, he creeps through the living room for the kitchen, Keigo has a raptor quirk, raptor’s are predators, surely he’s got to have something raw and savory in supply.
Creeping into the kitchen, he looks around silently, and carefully opens the fridge, looking for anything to satisfy his appetite. Ignoring the pain in his fingers, when he finds the thing of raw chicken drumsticks, his mouth salivates, and he reaches out, tearing into it silently with one of his growing talons, and carefully pulls a rather nice looking drumstick out.
“Hungry?”
“What th—” Stumbling back, over his own feet, he yelps when he falls back onto his ass, drumstick clutched into his hands, back searing with pain, and looks up to meet the man’s amused eyes. “What the fuck man! You scared the shit outta me!”
“Well,” Keigo steps forward, topless, showing off his toned muscular upper half, and leans into the fridge for his own drumstick before closing the door and straightening up. “Consider it revenge for raiding my fridge after bedtime.”
“It’s not even midnight!” That was something Izuku was not pleased with, a bedtime, he was fourteen, he didn’t need a bedtime. “Why do I have to go to bed so early!”
The hero bites into his raw chicken. “Because I said so and you live in my apartment, I’m legally your guardian, I’m the adult, there’s so many more reasons I could give you if you’d like me to continue on.”
Tearing into his chicken angrily, he huffs indignantly, and looks away from the hero. “Asshole.”
“You look super uncomfortable.” Keigo decides he’s going to ignore the insult. “How far along are you?”
“I’m about fourteen years now, still a growing bouncing baby boy though.”
“Okay, smartass.” The man takes a bite from his drumstick and steps forward. “You know what I meant.” Izuku leans forward, biting into his savory raw chicken, and bows his head as the hero pulls the back of his shirt up. “You’re coming along nicely, nestling, shouldn’t be too much longer now.”
“I get the feeling,” Izuku drawls. “That you’re enjoying this so much more than I am.”
“Of course, you’ll enjoy it too once you get to do all the fun stuff, like flying, that’s literally the best part.” Keigo brushes his curls back soothingly. “But the fun parts mainly for me, I get to groom and pet and scratch and tickle little baby bird wings, and once your big boy feathers come in, I get to teach you how to fly.”
“T—You’re not gonna tickle my wings.” The teen glares up at the hero when he smiles an amused ‘try and stop me’ smile. “I will cut off your hands if you even try.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d need my hands.” The hero helps him up to his feet. “And, oh, you’re going to be tortured all the time, I’m a monster, and you’re my new unfortunate victim.” They throw their chicken bones away and the man guides him forward with a hand pressed to the small of his back. “Come on, heat helps with the pain, I got a heating pad you can use.”
…
Keigo knows it’s time, at approximately five thirty in the morning, when an echoing agonized scream reverberates around the apartment, and he couldn’t help but find himself filling with a sense of elation at the notion that he’s about to have himself a baby bird on his hands. It’s been so lonely, being the only winged individual he knows, no one to keep up with him, no one to go flying with, no one to play flight games with, it was lonely.
But now he’s got a little baby bird that he can enjoy all the avian lifestyle fun with.
Jogging across the living room to the guest room, he throws the door open, seeing the boy thrashing on the bed, blood soaking the sheets under him. “Come on, come on nestling.” Rushing into the room, he helps pull the teen up, scooping him up off his feet when his legs nearly give out. “Let’s go to the bathroom, I got our spot already set up, been waitin’ for this since you came home.”
…
He can’t help but smile, sitting in the large jacuzzi tub, jets going on the lowest setting, peering down at the sleepy little hatchling resting against his chest, in his lap, his new wings hanging limply in the water, feathers ruffling with the movement of the jets, the gashes where the new appendages broke through stitched closed, stroking his fingers through the kid’s new feathers.
The things this kid had screamed during the whole experience were something.
This hurts like a butt cheek on a stick!
This is gonna be a good time.