Aizawa and Izuku meet for the first time in less than ideal circumstances.

Notes:

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

-Mentions of torture

-Descriptions of scars

To clarify: the timeline of this story doesn't line up with cannon. The incident with the sludge villain, Bakugou's bullying, and meeting with All Might (minus One for All) occur when Izuku is 10 years old

Izuku was chosen for his lack of quirk. Aizawa was chosen for his quirk's usefulness as it pertained to the mission. Both scanned and vetted meticulously, they were followed for a minimum of one month (Izuku) and a maximum of three (Aizawa; it took much longer due to his pro-hero status).

Izuku's capture was a simple thing. Not many would notice the disappearance of a quirkless child, let alone miss his presence or go looking for him. Izuku was taken on his way to school on a chilly February morning. His father had left when he was young, and his mother made it her life's purpose to ignore Izuku as much as possible while avoiding the notice of child protective services.

It took her two months to even notice he was gone. No missing person's report was filed.

Aizawa's was a much more... complicated case. While he didn't have the popularity of an aboveground hero, he was a teacher at UA, and well known in the police force. He was a hard worker, and never took vacations; the only sick days he took were when he was in a coma two years ago, and that only lasted four days. People would notice his absence and would go looking for him.

So, they staged his death. An artificially made corpse, burnt to a crisp and therefore unrecognizable, was planted at the scene. His capture weapon, fireproof, in tatters around the fake body's neck. A few pulled teeth for DNA and a clean sweep of all nearby security cameras, and Shouta Aizawa was declared dead to the world. Taking him to the base proved more difficult than expected. Even with his quirk erased due to the implanted microchip (lodged deep in the flesh of his neck, near his collarbone), he was skilled in combat and non-reliant on his quirk to win a fight.

It took four men and a mild sedative to get him into his cell.

But getting him there was just the beginning.

--

Aizawa groaned, his whole body aching painfully and his head pounding sharply. He braced his hands against the ground in an attempt to prop himself up, groggily noting that he wasn't in his apartment. While that wasn't a red flag in itself, the absence of his capture scarf was.

He shot upward, ignoring the screaming of his muscles, eyes frantically searching his surroundings as he pulled himself into a defensive stance. The unfamiliar environment was not a welcome sight.

He was in a cell of some sorts. Aizawa estimated it was approximately the size of his classroom, maybe a bit smaller. Four stone walls surrounded him, a thick metal door on the wall to his right. There were no windows; the only source of light was a dim bulb in the corner of the room, surrounded by a metal cage welded to the ceiling.

The room was mostly devoid of furniture, consisting of only a metal framed flimsy bunk bed (bolted to the floor) pushed against the far wall, a toilet (also bolted to the floor), and a sink (you guessed it; bolted to the floor). A bar of soap rested pitifully on the ledge of the sink, the only item free of any additional security.

The cell, surprisingly, looked like it was mostly clean of filth. The smell of antiseptic was... confusing. Aizawa took a tentative step forward, stopping when his foot (bare; when did he lose his shoes?) made contact with a small object. A muffled cracking sound, barely audible even in the thick silence, reached his ears. Aizawa crouched slowly, breathing labored, eyes squinting to make out what he stepped on. As his eyes adjusted more to the rather horrible lighting, his heart dropped. Thick, suffocating emotions swirled inside of him, sitting heavily in his stomach.

"Shit," Aizawa muttered, gritting his teeth.

Immediately, he heard a rustling from the corner of the room, around the area of the bunk bed. Well, directly from the bunk bed. The pit in Aizawa's stomach only grew larger as wide, glinting eyes were made visible from the bottom bunk of the bed, the rest of the profile's body covered in swaths of ratty blankets. Upon seeing Aizawa, the figure scrambled backwards, making contact with the stone wall behind them with a muffled 'thump'.

It sounded painful, but the stranger made no noise. Aizawa instinctively pressed himself closer to the wall behind him. The pit in his stomach was now a black hole, his suspicions confirmed by the bed's inhabitant in front of him. Aizawa looked back at what he had stepped on.

Crayons.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he picked out several pieces of paper strewn across the floor, covered in scribbles and drawings. Aizawa looked once again at the figure in front of him, the ache in his chest far outweighing the ache of his body.

It was a kid in the bed. A child.

Wide, green eyes met his across the room. After his initial shock at seeing Aizawa, the child had not moved an inch, just staring at him while clutching the worn blankets securely to his chest. Aizawa saw nothing put pure, unadulterated fear in those eyes.

After a deep inhale of breath, because Christ there was a child here, a child, Aizawa slowly raised his hands in a non-threatening manner, palms facing the trembling figure in front of him.

"Hey, kid," he spoke softly, maintaining eye contact and holding as still as possible as to not frighten the child. He was never good with kids, that was always 'Zashi's thing.

At the thought of his husband, a swell of worry crept up his throat. He swallowed thickly, forcefully shoving the panic down deep into his chest. He could think about his husband later. Right now, he needs to help this child. The kid was still staring at him, seemingly frozen. He didn't seem as on-alert as before, but he was trembling. Aizawa tried again.

"My name's Shouta Aizawa, but my hero name is Eraserhead. What's your name?"

That seemed to have an effect; the kid's eyes widened even more, a small gasp escaping his mouth. The fear in his eyes replaced with...hope? Reluctance? Aizawa wasn't sure.

"You're… you're really Mr. E-Eraserhead?" a soft voice spoke out, shaking and cracking and absolutely breaking Aizawa's heart because God he sounded so scared. Taking a breath, he did his best to channel his inner Hizashi.

"You know who I am? Geez kid, most pros don't even know me." Aizawa tried to make his voice lighter, tried to smile, but it came out strained.

The kid was still suspicious. He scanned Aizawa up and down, looking deep in his eyes for any sign of malice or hostility. Finding none, he seemed to calm slightly, but not completely.

"Prove it. What's something that only Mr. Eraserhead would know?" The kid's voice was still shaking, and the demand was less a demand and more of a question, but Aizawa admired his bravery.

"...Well, I use a capture weapon made out of carbon fibers and a special metal alloy. I'm an underground hero, and I work mainly at night since I'm a teacher during the day. I have three cats: Cadaver, Bastard, and Sprinkles. I'd show you my hero license, but it looks like my wallet was taken when I was put here."

All while Aizawa was speaking, the child in front of him seemed to relax, suspicion being replaced with excitement. Which was not something Aizawa was used to seeing when talking about himself, especially from a child. Said child now jumping up and down on the bed excitedly, eyes lighting up in a way that absolutely did not make Aizawa's heart melt.

"So you really are Mr. Eraserhead! You're one of my favorite heroes- well, maybe even my favorite! You fight quirkless and usually don't mind working with vigilantes and your fighting style is a mix of Indonesian Martial Arts, specifically Pencak Silat, and Krav Maga, all while incorporating your capture weapon! I read that you spent six years developing that alone! And your quirk is so useful in combat! Not that you're not skilled in hand to hand, uh, but it's really cool!" The kid took a second to breathe, continuing the moment he got his breath back. "Although when you use it your hair floats. Is that a secondary, latent quirk? Or is your quirk really the interference of the mag-magnetic field surrounding you and others, which would explain the hair floating and your capture weapon control as well as the disturbance in quirks, since most emitter-type quirks rely on the magnetic field to operate? It's uh, just uh just something I was thinking would make sense... Have you ever tried looking in a mirror while activating your quirk? How many seconds can you keep it activated without blinking? You really should get different goggles, too, maybe ones with built-in eyedrop misters and no gaps so nothing can get in, like dirt and debris. Not saying that your current goggles aren't good! Actually, uh, I kinda am, sorry, uh...Oh and your hair! Tying it up or braiding it would help give you the element of surprise, so no villains would know when you're using your quirk on them! And maybe you could-" The boy's excited rant was cut off abruptly as he clamped his tiny hands over his mouth. The excitement in his eyes turned back into fear, and he backed up into the bunk bed, cowering away from Aizawa, who was completely and utterly confused.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Eraserhead, I-I didn't mean to," the boy whispered out, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and fear evident in his face.

Aizawa hurried to comfort him, panicking slightly on the inside because fuck he made a kid cry and this time he wasn't even trying to be scary.

"Hey, hey, hey, kid- it's okay, it's fine; there's nothing to be sorry for, you didn't do anything wrong, I promise," Aizawa managed to get out, slowly moving toward the child with his hands still up (his arms were starting to hurt at this point). The child eyed him approaching, silent sobs wracking his small form but tears still not falling down his cheeks.

"Can… can I hug you?" Aizawa asked hesitantly, stopping a short distance before the shaking child, painfully aware of his incompetence when it came to calming children down.

The young boy waited a second, once again scanning the pro-hero for any signs of disgust or hatred. Only finding warmth and concern, he launched himself into Aizawa's arms, sobbing freely now.

"I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, hiccupping and crying almost hysterically into Aizawa's shoulder. The pro-hero just brought him closer in his arms, one arm holding the boy securely to his chest while the other buried itself in tangled green curls, carding through the child's hair in an attempt to comfort the kid, whispering an abundance of "hey, hey, hey, it's fine, it's fine," "it's okay, you're okay," and "I'm right here". The child continued to cry, nestled in the crook of Aizawa's neck and shoulder, grabbing tightly to the man's shirt as if scared that he would leave him. After around 10 minutes of this, the kid's crying started to slow and his breathing began evening out. He had fallen asleep, still curled up in Aizawa's arms.

With a sigh, Aizawa slowly and carefully picked the sleeping child up, depositing him gently on the bottom bunk of the bed in front of him, pulling the ratty blankets over his small form. The kid shifted slightly, but didn't wake.

Aizawa took a second to really look at the kid.

He had dark bags under his eyes, stark against his pale skin. Greasy, tangled forest-green hair framed his face, long enough to touch his shoulders. Tear streaks were glistening on cheeks still round with baby fat and covered in freckles, brows furrowed and face scrunched even in sleep. In the dim light, Aizawa could barely pick out several markings on the child's face and neck, all varying in size and color. Taking a closer look, Aizawa's breath caught in his throat.

The kid was covered in scars.

Some were white and starburst shaped, mapping the boy's collarbones and disappearing under his shirt, only to be found again on his exposed arms and hands clutching the blankets. They were obviously older than the rest- at least several months, a year or two at most. His fingers were oddly scarred, markings circling each one at the joints, wrapping entirely around the skin like a warped and twisted ring of scar tissue. The other markings were more recent, the skin still red and raised, not yet done healing. These were thinner, littering pretty much anywhere Aizawa could see. A few were more purple in color, signifying that they were in the early stages of scarring. Not to mention all the bruises. The sight made Aizawa sick; whoever had taken him had gotten to the kid first, and they had obviously been torturing him for months, maybe even more.

Eyes clouded and head spinning, Aizawa returned to the side of the room he woke up in, sitting propped against the wall, with both the bunkbed and the door in clear sight. He drew his knees close to his chest, elbows resting on them as he held up his head with his hands.

He was exhausted. He was in pain. He couldn't use his quirk, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was related to the painful, immovable lump residing in the area near his collarbone. His shoes, capture weapon, utility belt, goggles, knives, and bracelet (equipped with GPS courtesy of Nedzu and his paranoid husband) were all gone. He ran his hands quickly through his hair, searching for the hidden razors (yeah maybe he was a little paranoid too), but they were gone as well. Oddly enough, his wedding ring that hung on a simple leather string around his neck was still there. He sighed in relief. He couldn't use it as a weapon or anything, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Aizawa took a second to think about his current situation.

He was taken hostage. He didn't have his quirk to work with, no gear, and no contact with the outside world. He couldn't even remember being taken. The last memory he could recall was walking down an alley after patrol and... nothing.

On top of all of that, there's another hostage in the mix. A fucking child. Aizawa thought about the kid; the young boy was obviously scarred beyond belief, both physically and mentally, but still managed to light up when a hero was brought up. It was... strange. His mind drifting, Aizawa wondered what else the green-haired boy had seen here. All of the nights spent alone in this cold, bare cell, just waiting for someone to save him. Just the thought made Aizawa's heart ache. He knew he needed to save him. He just needed to figure out how.

Aizawa sighed, shaking his head. Now wasn't the time to scheme. With the shape his body was in, he wouldn't be able to fight to his full abilities.

He allowed himself to bury his head in his knees, knowing that he'd wake up at the smallest noise- he was a very light sleeper. Right now, he needed to conserve as much energy as possible in order to properly deal with the situation. As much as he hated it, that meant he needed to sleep. Shoulders slouching and eyelids drooping, Aizawa thought about Hizashi. He'd give anything to be home with him, even if it meant listening to his horrible American music ("Shoutaaa, Britney Spears is an icon and I will NOT let you slander her like this!" "Zashi, she sounds like she's trying to impersonate a baby shitting itself, I wouldn't call that iconic" "SHOOOUUU!!!"). He'd listen to Britney Spears all day if it meant he'd get to sleep in a real bed and drink some hot coffee.

A smaller part of Aizawa whispered that he missed his husband and his cats, missed the warm embrace that always greeted him even at 3am after a patrol, missed the obnoxious (adorable) singing that never failed to wake him up in the morning (afternoon). That part was quickly silenced. Aizawa was a hero; he couldn't afford to get emotional right now. Besides, he'd get to go home soon enough, right?

Right?