Chapter Text
Izuku ran down the sun-bleached sidewalk as fast as his poor legs could go, his backpack slapping harshly across his back, notebook clutched in a white-knuckled grip. He was so stupid ! How could he ever think he could stand up to Kacchan like that and come out unscathed? His legs had moved without his consent, his body shoving itself between Kacchan’s popping hands and the crying boy he’d just pushed off the swings.
If it hadn’t been for his quirk, he probably wouldn’t have been able to run away from that.
He could smell burning cotton from his bag, Kacchan’s attempts at getting around Energy Solid had resulted in him singing one of the straps so badly that the yellow fabric was holding on by a handful of threads as he ran.
“DEKUUUUUUUUUU..!”
Almost there! He could see his front gate! Just a little-
His ankle rolled out from under him, the uneven cement causing him to tumble ass over head into the bushes of his elderly neighbor’s yard. He screeched on the way down, barely managing to form a weak shield over himself as he rolled.
He landed harshly on his front, wind knocked out of him, and scrambled quickly onto his knees. He pressed up as close to his neighbor’s fence as he could, small body shrouded, hopefully, by the large hedge that followed closely along the property line.
“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, FUCKING DEKU. STOP HIDING LIKE A COWARD AND FIGHT ME!” Izuku could see Kacchan’s sneakers through the branches as the boy ran by, anger in every step as he pounded the sidewalk looking for his prey. Izuku stayed silent, his quivering hand covering his gasping mouth, forcing his lungs to take deeper, slower breaths through his nose.
It took several long moments, but eventually he couldn’t hear his ex-friend’s enraged shouting anymore. It took several more to extract himself from his makeshift bolt hole, leaves and twigs buried in his emerald curls.
“I’m home!” he shouted as he finally, finally , crossed the threshold into the safety of his home. He lives with both of his parents now, his dad having come back from America and moving both him and his mom into this nice two story not long after Izuku’s quirk manifested (four hundred twenty six days, seven hours, and two minutes late- but who’s counting?).
“In the living room, honey!” his mom called out to him. Izuku left his backpack on the hook by the door and switched his sneakers for slippers before heading deeper into the house.
His parents sat together on their small couch, their hands folded together on his dad’s knee. Across from them was an extremely tall man in a very fancy suit. He reminded Izuku of the American FBI agents he sometimes saw in his mom’s favorite TV show.
“This must be Izuku, then,” the man grinned at him, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. They were cold and blue, like they could see straight through to his bones.
“Izukun, this is Mr. Oboro,” his mother introduced the man across from her, gesturing with her free hand. “He’s-”
“I work for the Japanese Hero Commission,” Mr. Oboro said, cutting his mother off without even glancing at her. His eyes never left Izuku’s. “I came here to speak with you.”
“M-me?” Izuku was abruptly self conscious. He’d just crawled out of a bush after being chased for six blocks! He was sweaty and sticky, and his bird's nest hair probably looked even worse than normal. “Um…”
Mr. Oboro stood and peered down at him, his thin blonde hair brushing the ceiling with his height. Izuku couldn’t tell what he was seeing, but whatever he did, seemed to please him. He turned back to his parents.
“I’d love to run a few tests, if that’s alright,” it wasn’t a question.
“Of course!” His dad grinned, standing up as well to clap Izuku on the shoulder. “How about Izuku goes upstairs to change out of his school clothes and take a quick shower? I’ll have Inko make us some tea and we can get into it.”
“That sounds perfect.”
---
“Now, Izuku, may I call you Izuku?” Mr. Oboro sat across from him at their kitchen table, a steaming tea cup sitting untouched by his left hand. Between them were three folders each with a large ‘H.C.C.P.S’ stamped across them. “Izuku, as a member of the Hero Commission, it is my duty to scout out the greatest future heroes. Is that what you’d like to be one day, a hero?”
Izuku nodded meekly, frowning at the stack of papers that’d been unceremoniously dropped in front of him.
“Then, let’s get started.”
The tests were very strange. Izuku, being so young, had to ask a lot of questions. What did this word mean, could he have more information? It felt like the questions were missing chunks of information, or they were deliberately confusing. It made his head hurt.
It felt like he spent hours at the kitchen table with Mr. Oboro, his parents milling around quietly in the background. Occasionally, his mother raised her voice in the living room, only for his dad to quiet her down. Izuku couldn’t tell what they were talking about.
Finally, long after Izuku’s stomach had started growling for dinner, he set his pencil down. He pushed the final folder towards Mr. Oboro, rubbing his tender wrist with his other hand.
“T-there. All done…”
“Wonderful. Thank you very much, Izuku,” Mr. Oboro gathered the folders in his spindly arms, moving his gaze to where his parents had entered the kitchen. “I’ll be bringing these back to the office with me. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from us shortly.”
“Allow me to show you out,” his dad had a massive grin on his face, smoke curling from his nostrils like a ghost. Izuku felt a hot coil of dread squeeze his ribs.
Two weeks later, the Midoriya house sat empty and vacant, a newly printed ‘For Sale by Owner’ sign hammered into the grass. Izuku watched the house shrink in the distance through the rear view mirror of a sleek, black sedan. Next to him sat Mr. Oboro.
Izuku was going to be a hero.
“Izuku, my boy,” the blonde man grinned, a wide, cold smile that made Izuku want to push himself into the corner of the car seat. “We’ll make you into somebody.”
---
The Hero Commission Training Compound was a massive complex, almost sixty stories inhabited by hundreds of around the clock caretakers and employees. Mr. Oboro walked him through the steel and concrete building explaining what each floor was and how it would relate to Izuku. He couldn’t help but notice how cold it was.
There were a few cursory pieces of decor in the appropriate locations. Abstract paintings, statues of heroes, both long retired and still active, even the occasional potted plant. Still, though, it was impersonal. Professional. More like an office building than somewhere kids would be living.
Mr. Oboro had broken it down for him in the car. Izuku had an amazing quirk with lots of uses in hero work, but that in itself wasn’t what made him special. No, he had a brilliant quirk, but he was also smart.
“A certified genius,” Mr. Oboro had stressed, looking at Izuku’s parents with a manic gleam in his cold eyes. “Paired with a quirk like this, your boy was born to be a hero. He has so much untapped potential. The Commission can make sure none of it goes to waste.”
Mom had been against it, at first anyway. She’d screamed at dad later that night, threw things, locked herself in the bedroom and refused to come out. Izuku had been scared, he didn’t really like Mr. Oboro, but… but he wanted to be a hero! This was his chance! Who knew when he would get another!
Together, he and his father managed to convince his mother that it really would be in his best interest for him to go. The Commission could teach Izuku things they never could, could give him the life he was destined for. Eventually, Inko relented.
Within a week his parents were on a one way flight to New York, and Izuku was left alone.
He was beginning to think it may have been a mistake.
“You’ll be staying here in the dorms,” Mr. Oboro said, showing him the appropriate code into the elevator panel and swiping his name badge. Izuku’s own hung from his neck. “Your room will be on hallway A, room number 4. Try not to lose your nametag, that’s your only way inside.”
The room was small and plain. A single twin bed was pushed into the far left corner, a desk on the opposite wall with an uncomfortable looking chair, a bookshelf, and a single chest of drawers. There was no window, but there was a large white panel with a light switch next to it. His few bags were already sitting atop the plain, grey comforter.
“I’ll leave you to get situated. Dabi and Hawks will be around to fetch you for lunch, they have the rooms next to yours,” Mr. Oboro checked his watch, already heading for the door. “Wake up call is at 5am. Do not be late.”
The door clicked softly shut behind him. Izuku was alone. Alone in a new place, his parents probably thousands of miles away by then, with only a few meager possessions from his old life to keep him company.
Izuku steeled himself, clenching his fists by his side and shaking his head. He could do this! He was going to be a hero! He would not let this opportunity go to waste. He turned to the first of his bags and unzipped it with shaking fingers.
It didn’t take long to unpack what little he’d brought with him. His clothes went into the dresser, his books filling only one of the three shelves, and his small collection of Analysis Notebooks sitting in a neat pile on the desk.
He sat on his bed, hands folded in his lap and he stared off into space. His mind was reeling, thoughts slamming up against the sides of his skull like a pinball.
“Hey! New kid,” someone knocked harshly against his door, startling him from his daze. He stared dumbly at the door for a moment, jumping when it began to shake again. “Hey! I know you’re in there! Let us in!”
“C-coming!” Izuku yelped, running to unlock and open the door. It swung open easily, revealing two boys several years older than Izuku. They looked, confused, at the air above Izuku’s head for a moment before looking down at him.
“Oh, woah, you’re a tiny one, ain’t cha?” The blonde one grinned, letting himself in past Izuku. He had massive, bright red wings that trailed the ground a bit when he walked. The feathers glistened, almost like they were metallic. “They get younger every year.”
“I’ll say,” the other followed closely behind. His hair was stark white and spikey, almost… almost like Kacchan’s, but definitely more pale. His eyes were shockingly blue, but they seemed more warm and open than Mr. Oboro’s, less like they wanted to swallow him whole. “I’m Dabi, this is Hawks. We’re your neighbors on either side.”
“O-oh, okay,” Izuku frowned, looking away quickly when he accidentally made eye contact. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do you know your codename yet?” Hawks asked, poking around Izuku’s things. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the notebooks, flipping one open to a random page. “You can read?”
“Of course he can read, dumbass. He had to take the test to get here,” Dabi snapped.
“U-Usagi!” Izuku announced, quickly feeling overwhelmed. So much had changed for him in such a short amount of time. He felt like he was drowning. “I-I think it means-”
“Rabbit,” Dabi nodded, looking curiously at Izuku. “I guess you do kind of look like a scared little bunny.”
“Aw, don’t tease ‘em too hard, Dabi. You remember how stressful your first day was, and he’s still a baby!”
“A baby my ass, he’s the same age as my brother I bet. Hey, Thumper, how old are you?”
“Thumper?!”
“You know, the rabbit? From Bambi? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”
“Dude, that’s so lame.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m six,” Izuku frowned. “And that’s a bad word.”
Dabi and Hawks froze, any retorts they had dying quickly on their tongues. Abruptly, Hawks fell onto his butt with a resounding ‘ thump ’.
“Oh my god, you just got told off by a six year old,” he cackled, covering his eyes with clawed hands.
“Oooooh my god! ” Dabi groaned loudly, Izuku flinched and stepped back. Dabi straightened up quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, little dude, didn’t mean to scare you. My little brother’s your age, his name is Shoto.”
“Is he here, too?”
“Oh, hell no. Like that bastard would ever let him out of his sight. No, only I got dumped off here. I’ve only been here for a few years, but birdbrain’s been here longer than anyone. Eh, Hawks?”
“Not really something to brag about! But yeah, I have been,” Hawks gave Izuku a wide smile, ruffling his curls with one hand. “Anyways, we just came by to say ‘hi’ and introduce ourselves. You’ll probably be with us the most, since we’re in the same hall and the HC tends to keep halls grouped together.”
Izuku nodded, mostly to himself, trying not to convey how terrified he was at the thought of training with these two boys. They were huge! They towered over him in height, probably almost doubled his weight, and had awesome quirks to boot! How could he keep up? All he was good at was running and occasionally making his energy shields!
“Hey, hey, kid, Thumper, look at me, it’s okay,” Dabi crouched down to his level suddenly. His hands were warm and rough against Izuku’s elbows, his blue eyes demanding his full attention. “There we go, breathe with me. Just a little more, deep breaths… That’s good. Good job, kid.”
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Hawks sat on the floor next to him, wings spread out behind him so far they brushed the opposite wall. “We’ll show ya’ the ropes, keep ya’ safe, all that jazz. Promise.”
“And if we don’t, I’ll personally deep fry birdbrain, that way if it all goes to shit, at least we’ll get a good meal. Yeah?” Izuku snorted at Dabi’s awful excuse of a joke. He reminded him a little bit of Kacchan, if Kaccha were kind and gentle instead of loud and angry. “There we go, no more tears.”
---
“He’s six, Hawks, SIX! ” Dabi growled, his fist slapping against the leather of his punching bag. They’d just dropped Thumper at his dorm and made sure he went to bed, promising they’d be there to wake him up in the morning for role call. Anger rolled off Dabi in waves, blue flames threatening to lick up from the cracks in his skin. He’d forgotten his humectant in his rage. His handler was sure to chew him out for it tomorrow. “He’s a literal baby! Where are his parents?”
“Probably out spending that sweet, sweet Commission check,” Hawks drawled, equally as angry but much less willing to show it. One of them had to stay on the HC’s good side, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be Dabi. “He’s so small…”
“They’ll eat him alive.”
“Not if we’re with him,” Hawks looked up at his friend, determination bleeding out of every pore. “He won’t be like us. He’ll be free.”
“I’m holding you to that, birdbrain,” Dabi grinned, wide and feral, before igniting the punching bag in a wave of heat. It boiled as it melted, the sickly scent of burning plastic and charred leather stinging their noses. “Come on, I don’t wanna get clocked for being out past curfew again.”
---
Izuku’s time as Usagi quickly began to blur together at the HCTC. Dabi and Hawks, who were soon dubbed Touchan and Keichan when they each shared their real names six months into his stay, kept their word. No one bothered Izuku. They always trained together, the two older boys helping Izuku advance quickly and efficiently through the training ranks.
Soon, the nervous, frail six year old that’d been too scared to do more than curl in on himself and hide had turned into a stubborn, snarky master of hand-to-hand and stealth training. Izuku frequently beat out their handler’s simulations, forcing their hands in making newer, harder versions far beyond the timeline they had been prepared for. He excelled in strategy, to no one's surprise, and could hold his own against his two pseudo-older brothers with ease by the time he was eight.
Mr. Oboro still reigned over most of his training, officially becoming his handler not long after he began to leave his shell. He provided Izuku with a menagerie of weaponry, both to train and learn from. Izuku learned what he liked to use, what felt natural in his hands and his quirk. It didn’t take long for him to learn Energy Solid wasn’t a shield, it was manipulation.
Izuku could manifest his own energy in a physical form and use it to create an assortment of weapons and tools for his own use. Staves, knives, swords, hammers, if he’d used it, he could make it. He took to staves and single handed swords the quickest, making them his most usual form of weaponry, but he also taught himself to make a large, glass-like bow. The arrows were tricky, however, as whenever he tried to expel the energy from himself it sapped him. The first time he’d shot one at Hawks during aerial practice, he’d passed out for sixteen hours and had to spend a couple days in the infirmary for quirk exhaustion. Oboro had been furious.
The HCSD, or Hero Commission Support Division, quickly made him a variety of ‘batteries’ to store excess energy in when he had it, easing the strain of his quirk on his body. Batteries quickly became an integral part of his hero costume, alongside a multitude of adrenaline injectors and caffeine tablets.
Izuku had developed a devastating caffeine addiction once he realized how much it helped his quirk. Dabi and Hawks wouldn’t speak to him before he’d had his coffee with breakfast anymore.
Now, at only ten years old, Dabi and Hawks both having recently ‘graduated’ to a real hero license, Usasgi had taken over training the younger kids in the basics. He did for them what Keicchan and Toucchan had done for him. He protected them, nursed their bruises, taught them how to roll with the punches.
Usasgi would be the next Hawks, he’d heard Oboro bragging one night. He’d stayed up late to run a few extra drills with his staff, Oboro was supposed to be watching from the Box. The man was loudly talking on his phone, his eyes glued to Izuku as he fluidly demolished a robot with his weapons.
“Usagi has shown more promise in the last four years than any of the assets have shown in the last twenty,” the now-bald giant had cawed. “Do I know how to pick them, or do I know how to pick them? He’s got the total package; the brain, the brawn, the quirk. He’s near perfectly obedient, almost docile. He’s the perfect war machine.”
That had opened his eyes, or started to, at least. The HC didn’t even consider Usasgi a human, he was a machine. If Usasgi was a machine, what did that make Izuku? Was there an Izuku anymore?
Keicchan had told him, once, in the quiet dark of a mock stake-out when before he left, that the HC hid their real identities from the public even after they became real heroes.
“Sure, they’ll set us up all pretty like,” Hawks sneered, the ugly expression was unsettling on his face. Hawks was made for goofy smiles and dumb jokes, Dabi was supposed to be the angry one. He’d been gone by then, the first of their trio to graduate. “But it’s all a sham. They foot the bill for everything, so as soon as you step a toe out of line, you’re outta there.” He’d ruffled Izuku’s hair, then, before getting ready to fly off again. “No one tells you that, though, when you’re six and scared and desperately wanting to help people.”
---
Dabi’s interview came out on a Tuesday.
Izuku wouldn’t have known if the Commission hadn’t had an absolute melt down over it, actually. He wasn’t allowed to watch TV, have a personal phone, or use a computer outside of sanctioned training, so he had no way of getting outside news unless someone told him.
That, or, Oboro ordered a total lockdown of his entire floor out of the blue twenty minutes into lunch.
“You all know the drill,” Izuku addressed his squad mates, giving them all the signal to pack it up and go. “Up you go, squirt. Atta boy.” He helped the youngest of them, a boy codenamed Squall, toss his unfinished lunch into the trash and join the group in their relaxed evacuation.
It was only a level 2 lockdown. They’d each go to their respective dorms until given the all clear. It could take minutes, it could take days. It really depended on the upper brass. Usagi knew better than to question it.
So, Usagi waited. His squad were all safely in their rooms, ID locks engaged, patiently awaiting further command. Izuku himself reclined on his bed, a book written entirely in Russian perched on his knees. He’d already read it twice, but given he didn’t get new reading materials as often as he got through them, it was worth the reread. He wouldn’t move from that spot until Oboro or higher called for Usagi.
The call came three days later. Oboro paged directly into Izuku’s room, interrupting his snack of caffeine tablets and orange slices.
“Usagi, report to Commissioner Ibazza’s office.”
“Right away, sir,” Usagi replied curtly, abandoning his snack on his desk and immediately making his way to the upper levels.
Commissioner Ibazza was high level brass, upper echelon from what Izuku could gather. Damn near the top of the chain of command, anyway. He wondered what one of the brass wanted with him, of all people. Sure, he was high in the ranking for assets, but he by far wasn’t the highest, or the oldest, for that matter.
Usagi arrived at Commissioner Ibazza’s office in just shy of five minutes, his ID badge allowing him entrance into the steel-doored room. He fell into a parade rest, his arms folded politely behind his back, eyes downcast but attentive.
“Usagi, present, sir.”
“Ah, Usagi, just who I was waiting on,” the commissioner was a short, fat man with a homely looking blue comb-over and a flat nose. His face seemed kind, polite in the politician kind of way that set Izuku’s teeth on edge. His sincerity never met his eyes. “I have a proposition for you following an… unfortunate interview.”
“Unfortunate, sir?” Izuku feigned a polite indifference. Don’t show too much interest in the goings on above your station, don’t show too much initiative. Help, but don’t be helpful. Don’t excel.
“It seems… Your former squad mate, Dabi, has… decided to turn over a new leaf, so to speak, and thrown around some rather wild accusations.”
Izuku couldn’t help it, Usagi’s persona falling just slightly. No one ever brought up Dabi. If they spoke of anyone, it was always Hawks. Perfect, obedient Hawks. The golden child. Never Dabi, never Dabi.
“What’s Dabi done, sir?”
“That ungrateful brat went and accused both Endeavor and the Commission of participating in quirk trafficking!” Oboro seethed, his usual cool and confident demeanor falling into what Izuku knew was his true self. “After all we did for him! After what we made him! That-”
“Is quite enough, Lee. I’m sure Usagi understands perfectly fine,” Ibazza turned his thin lipped smile to Oboro before returning his gaze to Izuku.
“Pardon, but what does this have to do with me, sir? I haven’t had contact with any of my former squad in years, now. It’s not in my contract.”
“Ah, yes, well…” Ibazza seemed uncomfortable under Usagi’s steady gaze, green eyes weighing him down. “The Commission is at risk of taking quite a hit, you see. So, we’ve decided to start a new initiative. A few selective assets, yourself included, will be sent to various hero schools across the country. You’ll train there, make friends there, show the country we’ve raised you to be healthy, adjusted humans. Not war machines.”
Izuku chose to politely ignore the irony of calling him both an asset, a human, and a war machine in the same go.
“Of course, sir. Where will my assignment be?”
“As the head of our level A squads, you’ll be going to the very best!” Ibazza’s demeanor shifted immediately, an excited gleam in his rat-like eyes. “Starting this next school year, All Might will be joining the UA staff. What better way to show you off then have you learn under the number one himself?”
“Flawless plan, sir.”
“I knew you’d see it that way,” Ibazza grinned, clapping to himself. “You’ve always been a smart boy.”
Izuku internally rolled his eyes, he hated sucking up to pigs like him.
“When will I be moving out?”
“Immediately.”
“Sir?”
“Oboro here has already arranged for your transfer. You’ll be settled in as a ward of UA under the care of two of its esteemed teachers. Pro heroes, of course,” the commissioner stood from his desk, one meaty hand falling onto Oboro’s boney shoulder. “Usagi, please go retrieve all your personal belongings and report to the loading bay. Our contact will be taking you to Mustafu, where your temporary guardians will take possession of you. Do the Commission proud, my boy, the peace, neigh, the nation is depending on you.”