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Izuku has always known that he was going to end up in jail someday.
When he was younger Izuku was always sure it would be because he’d ended up on some sort of government watchlist thanks to one of his many research binges.
Or maybe because of that time he’d been threatened with a domestic terrorism charge for repeatedly sending Representative Asano spiders in the mail. It was a decision that Izuku still stands by all these years later since the man had championed a set of disgustingly anti-mutant and anti-quirkless bills on the Diet floor.
But even at nine years old Izuku had known those threatened charges were inflated and would never actually stick. Especially against a minor, quirkless or not.
Izuku had read the Intelli Hero Nedzu’s first, and most quickly banned, book “The New Art Of War” cover to cover multiple times by then and he’d readily absorbed the lesson that knowing one’s local and national laws was important.
Also, Asano had been convicted of corruption when Izuku was eleven, and he’d finally been able to put that portion of his allowance to better use.
Or maybe his eventual downfall would be from some form of vigilante charge for one or two of the more … questionable hobbies he’s picked up over the years. But, again, Izuku knows his laws and, most importantly of all, how to skirt around them.
Still, getting arrested because he’s too pathetic to tell his crush the truth has never been on Izuku’s list of possibilities.
Although, with his relationship track record it probably should have been.
Honestly, situations like this, and the fact that the one and only time he’d tried to date someone in the past they’d turned out to be a villain, are why the sum total of Izuku’s social life tends to be made up of various otome games instead of actual interpersonal relationships.
No amount of heart-shaped, scorched-edged handwritten letters from Tartarus, or awkwardly delivered bouquets from Todoroki Shōto, are ever going to be enough to convince Izuku to give Tōya another chance. Especially since, pending good behavior, he’s slated to be released from prison roughly never.
Besides, Izuku’s exceptionally good at picking the correct responses to unlock various routes in games. Digital love interests adore him and his pattern recognition and predictive skills.
So it’s perfectly understandable that when Eraserhead, clutching an obviously bleeding side wound with one hand and supporting a dazed-looking Present Mic with the other, turns to Izuku with a set of car keys clutched in one bloody hand, Izuku was always going to have the same answer.
“Can you drive?” Eraserhead asks, swaying slightly as he roughly adjusts his hold on Present Mic.
“Of course,” Izuku says instantly.
You know, like the loophole/technicality-loving liar that he is.
It doesn’t matter though, not when he’s already stepping forward to take the keys and to help shuffle the two men toward the back of the car Eraserhead had been fumbling with when Izuku had turned the corner.
A powder blue compact isn’t the type of car Izuku would have expected Eraserhead to own but he’s seen stranger things over the years.
Together they manage to get Present Mic settled carefully into the small backseat, his obviously broken leg and sluggishly bleeding head wound making anxiety itch at the back of Izuku’s brain.
“Midoriya, right?” Eraserhead asks once he’s folded himself down into the front passenger seat and Izuku has climbed behind the wheel.
Izuku can’t help the wide-eyed stare he turns on the hero.
Yes, he might be the analyst who works on most of Eraserhead’s cases but they’ve never actually met and Izuku rarely ever leaves his matchbox of an office in the station’s depth.
Eraserhead probably shouldn’t even know Izuku exists, not to mention somehow know his actual name.
“Tsukauchi has pointed you out a few times,” Eraserhead clarifies. “You do good work.”
“T-thanks,” Izuku turns his eyes back to the car's console and keeps them there as he fumbles to get the key into the ignition.
If Izuku looks at Eraserhead right now he might do something really embarrassing like cry or ask him for an autograph.
Or a date.
Izuku shakes that particular train of thought off. There are more important, and realistic, things to worry about at the moment.
“Musutafu General’s only fifteen or so minutes from here,” Izuku says as he turns the engine over. “We’ll get you two loo-”
“No hospital,” Eraserhead cuts him off roughly. “Get us to UA, Recovery Girl’s expecting us.”
Hand hovering over the gearshift, Izuku looks back at Eraserhead, his concern momentarily overriding his embarrassment.
Unlike Musutafu General, UA is a good forty-minute drive from the precinct and that’s if the traffic is good.
Which it never is at this time of evening.
And neither man looks well.
The way Eraserhead grimaces and presses his hand tighter to his obviously bleeding side makes Izuku’s mind up for him.
He turns enough in his seat to lean over Eraserhead and grab the dangling seat belt so he can strap the man into place with one decisive jerk.
“UA it is,” Izuku agrees as he settles back into the driver’s seat, his own belt in place and his hands gripping the wheel.
~~~
“You’re going to get us killed!” Present Mic screeches, good leg braced against one car door and both hands gripping the handle of the other.
“I’m a good driver,” Izuku can’t help but protest as his hands slide across the wheel smoothly, sending the car into a tight spin that he straightens with a jerk just in time to avoid the truck that’s barreling toward them. He can’t help but take a quick second to mourn not having his gloves on him.
“No, you’re not!” Present Mic warbles, knuckles white around the handle, and complexion faintly green around the edges. “Who gave you your fucking license!?”
Izuku doesn’t answer, too busy mentally mapping out the rest of the path he plans to take.
Besides, it’s not like either man really needs to know that Izuku does not and never has had a valid driver’s license.
What he does have, however, is about three hundred or so hours in the VR simulator version of Musutafu Madness. Which is, in Izuku’s opinion, roughly the same thing as actual experience on the physical road if you remove the traps and weapons bundles.
Or not, depending on what villains are active at any given time.
Honestly, between Izuku’s own work, his CCTV camera hopping hobby, and how realistic that game is, he probably knows the streets and back alleys of Musutafu better than anyone outside of the actual urban development office or Eraserhead himself.
“Hold on!” Izuku says instead, “There’s an alleyway up ahead that connects to the next block over. It should shave a good two or three minutes off.”
“How do you know that?” Eraserhead asks above Present Mic’s wailing.
“I use that shortcut in the game all the time,” Izuku answers without really thinking about it, already slamming his foot down on the gas as they take a turn so sharp the car lifts up briefly on one side. “Always gets my lap time down.”
A beat.
“We’re all gonna dieeee!” Mic screeches, one hand moving from his death grip on the door handle to slap at the window control instead.
“Well,” Izuku huffs as he skids them over the sidewalk and into the alleyway, “at least we’ve got a siren now?”
In the passenger seat, Eraserhead tilts his head back and laughs.
~~~
UA’s massive gate has just barely begun to open when Izuku hits the open road in front of the school, tires squealing on the pavement.
“Slow down,” Present Mic begs at borderline deafening volume. “We’re not gonna make it!”
They will.
Izuku knows they will.
Losing the driver’s side mirror is really a small price to pay as they scrape through the still opening gate.
Besides, Izuku thinks as the car tears across the brick path and hurtles closer to the massive entrance staircase, this is the complicated part.
Izuku shifts one hand to grip the wheel underhanded and the other to grab the emergency brake.
The timing is going to have to be perfect but Izuku’s confident.
He holds the record for distance and lack of damage down at the Mighty Arcade after all.
“Midoriya,” Eraserhead says, a hint of trepidation in his voice for the first time.
“I got this,” Izuku reassures him, mentally counting down.
Three.
Two.
Now!
Izuku jerks the steering wheel to the side and then the emergency brake up with only seconds to spare, giving the car just a bit more gas as they fall into the drift.
Against all rules of sound Present Mic’s screams somehow get louder.
It’s only when he pauses to take a breath that he seems to realize that they’ve actually stopped, Izuku having drifted them perfectly into place in front of UA’s main entrance.
There’s a moment of silence.
“Get me out of this car before I throw up,” Present Mic commands with a startling sort of calm for a man who has spent the last twenty-two minutes screaming almost nonstop.
Izuku scrambles to cut the engine off and undo his belt, practically throwing himself out of the car as he makes his way around to help the hero.
“I hate you so much,” Present Mic moans as Izuku pulls his door open.
“He doesn’t,” Eraserhead says from where he’s managed to get himself out of the car. “He’s just dramatic.”
“My leg might be broken but I can still kick your ass,” Present Mic threatens, leaning against the side of the car.
“He’s also a liar,” Eraserhead turns to Izuku, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a bit.
Izuku can hear sirens approaching from the direction of UA’s gate and can see what looks like a small troop of robots coming toward them from the top of the stairs.
“I’m ah,” Izuku reaches up to scratch at his cheek, unable to help feeling a little bashful, “probably going to get arrested now but it was really nice to meet you, Eraserhead.”
“You gotta be shitting me,” Present Mic mutters from beside them.
“Don’t worry about it,” Eraserhead flicks a rude gesture in the other hero’s direction with one bloody hand. “Nedzu will handle things so you don’t get into any kind of trouble.”
“O-Oh,” Izuku blinks, tension sliding from his shoulders. “That’s a relief.”
The robots have cleared the doorway and are busy loading up Present Mic onto a stretcher.
“You know,” Eraserhead says as a set of bots head in their direction, “you could stick around if you’d like.”
Izuku blinks.
“Once the old woman has patched me up,” Eraserhead continues, “we could go to one of the unbooked race tracks and you could show me some more of your driving skills. Then later I could show you a few of mine.”
“Absolutely,” Izuku heart answers before his mind really registers what Eraserhead is saying.
“It’s a date then,” Eraserhead grins, wide and toothy, as he finally allows the bots to bully him down onto the stretcher.
“What the fuck did you do to my car!?” Vlad King screeches from the top of the stairs.
Izuku’s too busy trying to calm down his racing heart to really pay him too much attention.
Because, somehow, he has a date with Eraserhead.