AN: beta'd as of 3/12/20

The kid couldn't have been older than fourteen, if his burnt middle school uniform was to be any indication.

Fourteen and the world had already abandoned him. It wasn't fair. Not that anything in life was. But to see a child, because that's what he was, so defeated and tormented wasn't something that should have happened in the first place.

He was unconscious now, having passed out after Shouta negated his quirk. The negation itself wasn't the cause; it had probably just been a catalyst.

In the kid's panic though his quirk had flared up, blue flames eating away at his hands and what was left of his coat. He probably hadn't even noticed he was doing it. Shouta rationalized that forcibly turning it off was better than making the kid do it himself.

Having a panic attack while also dealing with a destructive quirk like fire? It was never a good combination.

But now he had an unconscious middle schooler with amnesia to deal with. One that refused to be taken to a hospital. Of course, Shouta could always just take him anyway, since he was in no position to protest, but that didn't sit right with him.

He still needed an expert's opinion on what to do about the burns and amnesia, but maybe he could arrange a house call. It completely went against all his training but…

If he woke up in a hospital after that… he thought to himself. It would do more harm than good.

Making up his mind, Shouta scooped the kid up in his arms and prepared for the long walk back to his agency.

The kid was so light...

What happened to you?

It was nearing three in the morning when he finally got back to the building, kid in tow. He performed basic first aid after shooting a quick call to (a very annoyed) Recovery Girl. If he couldn't take the kid to a hospital he'd just bring the hospital here.

Besides, Chiyo did alumni house calls, didn't she?

He'd layed the kid down on a couch in his office. After washing all the soot and blood off, Shouta found pale skin and unruly red hair beneath the grime. The burns were bad, but not untreatable. The kid would be out of it for a while, and have a shit ton of scaring, but hopefully there wouldn't be any nerve damage. And even if Chiyo couldn't fix his amnesia it might be fixable another way. He wasn't sure. The mind was a complicated thing.

He just needed to help this kid as best he could for as long as he could. That was his duty.

It was almost an hour before Recovery Girl arrived with a nurse at her side, both looking exhausted. They also looked like they were carrying a hospital with them, given all the equipment they brought.

"I want you to know I wouldn't have done this if anybody else had called," Chiyo grouched upon entering the office. "You'd only call if it were a true emergency afterall." He would have given the old lady an eye roll at the comment but now wasn't the time. Besides, it wasn't logical to waste the time and resources of medical personnel with things he could treat on his own

"I found him unconscious in an alley a few hours ago. He woke up briefly before passing out again. He has a strong fire quirk, which might have been the cause of the burns," he supplied evenly. Most quirks didn't hurt the person they belonged to. Not like that anyway.

Chiyo tsk'd sadly before getting to work, ordering the nurse around and pulling out medical equipment from the many bags they'd brought.

"I'm assuming there's a reason you didn't take him to a hospital," she mused. It wasn't a question despite being phrased as one. Shouta answered regardless.

"When I mentioned a hospital, he started panicking and tried to escape. If I'd brought him to one it might have done more harm than good, considering his quirks response to his fear."

"It flared up?" She guessed. Shouta nodded.

"I had to disarm it for both our safety."

Chiyo hummed thoughtfully but said nothing else on the matter, instead getting to work. With the help of her nurse, the two managed to bandage up the teen and get rid of the destroyed tissue. It wasn't a pretty sight. But neither were a lot of things in Hero life.

Only when they were wrapping up did Shouta speak up again. "He also has amnesia."

Chiyo and the nurse both looked up, startled.

"I'm not sure if it's due to a quirk or other causes," he went on to say. "But he doesn't know his name."

"Well that could be due to many things," the old hero mused. "Physical factors, psychological factors, quirk factors, you name it. We live in strange times after all."

Shouta only hummed in agreement.

"Does he have enough stamina to be healed?" He asked, finally getting to the main point of her visit.

"He should," she sighed. "But it will take a lot out of him, what with all those nasty burns."

"How long?" He asked.

"At least a full day. If not two," she supplied. "I could leave my assistant here for the duration to help if need be," she offered, gesturing to the nurse. "Do you have somewhere better than an office couch to keep him?"

"My apartment," Shouta said. "There's a guest room." It didn't have a bed, but Shouta could sleep on the couch.

"Then we'll transfer him there after I heal him," Chiyo decided. "Now let's get this over with."

The old hero placed a kiss on the kids forehead, and instantly the burns started fading away. Underneath was a round, soft young face of a boy who shouldn't have gone through any of this. The pained expression he'd still worn in unconsciousness faded away as his body stitched itself together. Without it, he looked so much younger. Painfully young.

"He'll have scars," Chiyo said, breaking up Shouta's thoughts. "Lots of them."

"He'll have skin," Shouta corrected. Scars were better than necrotic tissue in his book.

"You always were one to look on the bright side," Chiyo sighed, tone heavy with sarcasm. "He should be fine now. Sadly though we won't know anything about his amnesia until he wakes up. I'll have my assistant help you bring him to your place then check in every few hours."

Shouta nodded. That sounded agreeable.

Now he just had to wait for the kid to wake up. However long that would take.

He could tell before he even opened his eyes that he was in trouble. His body ached horribly, like he'd ran a marathon. His throat was drier than a desert, and he was hungry. He felt as though the aching wasn't something new, but the other things were.

Felt? Wait, why didn't he-

Oh.

"Fuck," he muttered.

He'd been in that alleyway, that pro had been there, he'd asked him his name and he didn't know. After that things got blurry but he assumes he must have passed out like a weakling. Because he wasn't strong enough. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Maybe the fact he had amnesia should worry him more but he was honestly too exhausted to care. He felt like he'd slept for a week but could still sleep for another. God, what happened to him? Maybe he was a junkie. That would explain the dirty alley. Maybe the amnesia was a side effect of it.

But, no, that didn't quite feel right.

If he weren't so tired he would be frustrated.

Sighing heavily he finally decided to open his eyes. It was a feat in itself. They felt laden with sand bags, begging him to fall back into the sweet comfort of sleep. It was tempting, but he had questions that needed answers.

Finally he cracked them open and looked around.

The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't in a hospital like he would have thought. Instead he was in a decent sized bedroom. Sparsely decorated save for a cat tree in the corner and a (possible dead) plant on the window sill. He himself was laying on a futon. The cheap kind though, probably bought recently given the smell.

Turned his head over he saw a tube coming out from under the blankets. Lazily his eyes followed it up to a half empty IV bag hanging on a rod above him. Twitching his arm, he felt the connection point where he needle stuck in on the inside of his elbow. He hadn't even noticed it before.

The sudden meow next to his ear startled him from his thoughts.

"Mrow."

He blinked.

Next to him was a very fluffy, very fat looking cat.

"Mroooow." It batted his nose.

"Cut it out," he grumbled, weekly pushing the paw away. "You fat fuck."

"Don't bully my cat."

The sudden voice above him startled the boy so much that he almost hit his head on the wall sitting up so fast. "Holy shit!" He cried. "Could you not sneak up on me!"

Above him was the man from last night (was it last night? Who knew), except now he was wearing what was probably supposed to be pajamas. His hair was in a messy bun and the scarf was gone. And in his hands he held a tray of, well, he couldn't see since it was above him but he could guess it was food.

"You're awake." Eraserhead noted.

"Um… yeah?" What else was he supposed to say to that? Instead of responding, the pro just hummed and sat down, setting the tray next to him on the floor before picking the cat up.

"You were out for two days," the pro supplied. "I had a friend patch you up. You're at my apartment right now."

He… didn't really know what to say to that. He didn't remember anything before waking up in that alley, so he had no idea what to ask. Did they find out who he was? What had happened to him? Why was he there?

Luckily the decision was made for him. "Do you remember your name?"

A lump formed in his throat. "No," he admitted.

" What can I call you?"

Ummmmm. "I… don't know." Well, there was something, but it was really dark. A snort escaped him before he could cover it up.

"What?" Eraserhead asked.

"I uh, just." He coughed awkwardly. "WhataboutDabi?"

The pro blinked. "Come again?"

"Dabi?" He tried again. "'Cuz um. Like. I felt kinda, like I'd burned. To. Death." The explanation was stuttered and awkward as all hell, but the empty stare the pro gave him was worse than the judgemental one he was expecting.

Then, "Alright."

Dabi blinked. Just like that? No mocking? Nothing? Wait, why did he expect mocking? He'd save that thought for later.

"Um, is there something I can call you?" Dabi asked. "Aside from Eraserhead?" It sounded kind of stupid to say in his head.

"Aizawa," the pro offered. Ok. Aizawa it was.

"Did you find out anything? About me?" Dabi asked, changing the topic. Aizawa's expression remained neutral but Dabi swore he could see a bit of disappointment in his hooded eyes.

"No. There are no missing persons reports matching your description. And the uniform you were wearing was too damaged to identify."

Dabi flushed red in embarrassment, only now realizing someone must have changed his clothes.

"What about the quirk registry?" He asked.

Aizawa shook his head. "We didn't have enough information to go off of to look. And fire quirks are incredibly common. I'm sorry."

Dabi felt something inside him shrink in defeat. Logically he understood it would be hard to track someone down with such little information, but, a part of him had hoped. That maybe… Well. It didn't really matter anymore, he supposed.

Aizawa must have seen his expression and known what he was thinking because he said, "There's a chance, now that you're awake, that we can do something about your amnesia."

Dabi hated the feeling of hope that spring up in his chest. He didn't want to be let down again. He didn't want the disappointment. But…

But.

"We could take you to someone tomorrow when you're more rested," the older man said, somehow able to tell Dabi was still exhausted to his bones. "It doesn't have to be a hospital. We can bring them here."

"How'd you know I hated hospitals?" Dabi breathed. HE barely knew he hated hospitals. The only indication being the hot panic that welled in his stomach at the thought.

A grimace flashed across Aizawa's face that Dabi decided he didn't want to decipher. It never meant anything good when an adult wore that expression.

"Eat up," the pro said instead, moving the grey of food towards him. "Then get some rest. We'll talk more when you wake up."

He shifted and got up from his kneeling position next to Dabi. He moved to leave but was stopped by a sudden voice.

"Thank you," Dabi mumbled.

Aizawa stopped, hand on the doorway. "It's my job." Was all he said. Then, right before leaving, "And don't be mean to Cheeseball."

Next to him the cat meowed.

AN: Until next time!