Author's Note:

A guide to 1920s slang used in this chapter:

Coppers = police

The Great War = World War I

Child diddler = pedophile

Goon = thug, or a low-level mafia member

Old sport = a term of endearment

Chapter One:

Izuku crouched low behind a trashcan. The stench made his nose wrinkle, not that he smelled too great himself. His patchwork white shirt had been stained greyish with dirt and his brown vest stank from sweat. His breath came out in ragged pants, and his legs burned from running.

Three days ago, he'd fled the orphanage when men in black suits had come poking around for a boy matching his description. While they'd spoken to the orphanage head, he'd leapt out his bedroom window and scaled down a tree. Izuku knew mafia men when he saw them. He did not know why they were looking for him, but there were too many possible reasons—he might have pickpocketed the wrong person or stolen food from a store under protection. Regardless, he had the sense to get out of town.

Living on the streets wasn't that much different from the orphanage. The lady who ran the home had been an alcoholic who'd pocketed most of the government's money for drinking funds. Izuku had already been stealing to eat. He didn't miss her heavy hand, but he missed the bathroom facilities.

When Izuku had headed for the train station planning to train-hop out of town, a group of men in suits had spotted him and started chasing him. Izuku had ducked into this alleyway to hide. He couldn't understand why the mafia were being so persistent about chasing an orphan boy. He must have pissed someone important off.

On the street, a very tall man with curly white hair had joined the pursuit. He seemed to be ordering around the rest of the men. He wore a suit made of high quality materials that immediately pegged him as a good target to pickpocket. But Izuku was fairly certain this rich asshole had never been one of his marks.

Unfortunately, under the rich asshole's orders, the mafia were making an organized search of the street. Guards had been posted around the area to block all escape routes. They were acting unusually bold, not caring that ordinary civilians had noticed them and gotten uneasy. During the chase, Izuku could have sworn he'd heard one of them shout about "All for One." That name was only spoken in whispers in the underworld. If Izuku had drawn the boogeyman's attention then he'd best never come back to New York again.

Digging into his pocket, Izuku pulled out a dented oval locket with a gemstone heart on front. He handled it with his sleeve, not wanting his dirty fingers to touch the scratched gold. In the faded photograph, a toddler Izuku sat on the shoulders of a brown-haired man with a scar across his face. Little Izuku had reached out and grabbed the white hair of a man with green eyes. All three were smiling.

Izuku had amnesia, but he still knew these two were his parents. The knowledge remained firmly lodged in his heart where no head injury could take away it from him. He didn't care that the other kids back at the orphanage would have mocked him for having two fathers. The happiness he felt looking at the picture proved that once he'd had a good family and been loved. Even when starving, he'd never considered selling it. Izuku raised the locket to his lips and kissed the tarnished back. "Wish me luck, Dads."

Then Izuku ducked low and darted onto the street, heading for the police station. This was very much a last resort. A thief had no desire to draw attention from the coppers. But Izuku feared the authorities less than that man in the dark grey suit with the terrifyingly hungry gaze.

Staying low among the crowd of aggravated people, Izuku made it nearly a block. Then one of the men spotted him and shouted. Izuku abandoned all subtlety and ran.

The men came after him, more than willing to shove their way through the crowd. An indignant scream came from one woman rudely shoved aside. Izuku kicked a trashcan in their paths. He hopped over the railing and leapt up the steps, then shoved open the door to the police station.

Once inside, Izuku collapsed to the ground, panting. His leg muscles burned and cramped. Those men wouldn't follow him in here, he was sure of that. But the police officer sitting behind the entrance desk was giving him a puzzled look.

Standing up, Izuku slapped on his most charming smile. "Please, sir, I'm lost." He'd always been short for his age, and he widened his eyes in hopes of appearing younger. "I'm visiting my grandparents. They were supposed to pick me up at the train station, but I wandered out for a moment and now I can't find my way back." He sniffled. If he was very, very lucky, Izuku hoped to persuade the police to escort him to the train station. Then he'd give them the slip and sneak onto the train.

The face of the elderly officer softened. "You've come to the right place. We'll help you find your grandparents."

A black-haired man wearing a detective uniform stepped out of an office. Izuku double-took, because this man looked of Asian-American heritage—just like himself. It was not common to see a person of color make the rank of detective. Rather cynically, Izuku wondered if the New York City police station was still understaffed, only a few years after the end of the Great War.

The detective said, "I have a report to—" He stopped and stared at Izuku. Lowering his head and tugging down his newsboy cap, Izuku hoped this detective didn't suspect him of a crime.

The police officer waved a hand in front of his coworker's face. "Earth to Naomasa? Detective Tsukauchi?"

Without looking away from Izuku's face, Detective Tsukauchi asked, "Is your name Izuku Midoriya?"

Izuku stiffened. He had no idea where that last name had come from—his first name had been all he could remember after his head injury. But he did not believe it to be a coincidence. He swallowed. "Never heard of that guy." He stepped backward.

Tsukauchi leapt between Izuku and the door. His face was friendly, but he had his hand on the knob keeping it closed. "I mean you no harm. An old friend of mine has been looking for a boy going by that name. The son of two of his closest friends went missing after their deaths."

Izuku hesitated. An old friend of his parents? It sounded way too good to be true, and Izuku didn't trust the police. This might be a trick to lure him into admitting to being a runaway orphan. "Sorry, I've got living parents." Izuku's hand crept to his locket as he remembered his dads.

His finger poked a hole in his pocket. Izuku paled. "No, no, no!" He couldn't have lost his most treasured belonging, the only memory of his parents left in his damaged head. Heedless of all else, he dropped to his knees and searched the wooden floorboards.

Tsukauchi picked up the locket off the floor. It had fallen open. His eyes widened as he saw the picture inside.

Izuku stiffened. "I didn't steal that! It's mine." His legs tensed, ready to leap forward and grab his treasure, then run.

"You really are Izuku Midoriya," Tsukauchi whispered. He handed back Izuku's locket. "My friend has been looking for you for years."

Izuku clutched the locket tightly. "Oh yeah? What does he want?"

Tsukauchi said, "Toshinori Yagi was designated guardian for his friends' sons. He wants to adopt you."

Izuku had been hustled into a room with a barren table and chair. Tsukauchi had been kind, but quite firm about not allowing Izuku to leave. Izuku did not know if he believed this wild story. If his parents had friends, then how had he ended up lying on the side of the street with his head bashed in?

A giant man entered the room, ducking low to stop from hitting his head on the doorway. He had blond hair and brilliantly blue eyes. Upon seeing Izuku, his eyes overflowed with tears. "My boy! Oh, it really is you, little Izuku."

Izuku shifted in his seat, feeling very awkward about a strange man crying at him.

The man held out his arms. Izuku leaned away. He asked, "Can I hug you?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Izuku said.

The man's face fell slightly, but he lowered his arms. "Don't you remember me, Izuku? I'm your godfather, Toshinori Yagi."

Izuku said, "I have amnesia."

Toshinori shook his head. "No wonder you never came home. We all feared the worst. Your aunt and your other uncles will be so excited to see you."

"I've got other family?" Izuku asked, still trying to figure out if he believed this.

Toshinori smiled. "Not blood relatives, but your parents had a group of six very close friends, including myself. I'm sorry you suffered alone all this time, but I promise I'll look after you. My business has done well for itself over the last couple years."

Izuku could tell this man was rich—it showed in the quality of his silk suit, his sterling silver cufflinks, and his golden pocket watch. It made Izuku suspicious. Izuku didn't believe in fairy tales. A rich man popping out of nowhere to adopt him was too good to be true. Izuku had learned on the streets that nothing came for free. What if this rich guy was a child diddler or something? Sinking down in his seat, Izuku asked, "Can you prove that you knew my parents?"

Toshinori said, "I have a copy of their will at home."

That would require Izuku to go home with this weirdo, but he didn't see a way out of that. Clearly the coppers would force him. The first time anyone tried to touch him funny, he'd jump out the window.

The door flung open so hard that it nearly busted off its hinges. The white-haired mafia man ran into the room and threw his arms around Izuku. "My nephew, I've finally found you." There were real tears in his eyes and a distinctly possessive emphasis on the word "my." He gripped Izuku's face and breathed, "You have my dear little brother's eyes."

Toshinori growled and yanked the man off. "Don't you dare touch him, Hisashi."

Hisashi whirled around, his hands clenching into fists. "Don't you go near my only remaining family member, you oaf."

Up close, Hisashi did look a lot like Izuku's white-haired father. Glaring at Toshinori, Izuku cried, "Hey, you just told me that I didn't have any blood uncles." He'd been suspicious of Toshinori from the beginning, and this felt like confirmation that the story had been full of lies.

Toshinori said, "I only meant that our group of eight friends weren't related—and Hisashi is no true family of yours! Your parents hated him. Yoichi, your father and his brother, begged me not to let Hisashi raise you if the worst happened."

"Lies!" Hisashi cried. "I had a very loving relationship with my little brother. Don't try to poison my nephew's mind against me. Izuku, come with me. We're going home."

"He's not going anywhere with you," Toshinori growled. "Yoichi and Kaiji designated me as his guardian in their will."

Even in the confusing situation, Izuku felt a thrill of happiness to finally know his parents' names. Yoichi and Kaiji. Yoichi must be the man with white hair and green eyes, so Kaiji was the man with a scar across his face.

Hisashi snarled, "That will is fake. You tricked my brother out of his money and used it to start your business. Now you even want to steal his son!"

"Yoichi gave me a loan! I owe him a lot. I'm going to use that money to give Izuku a better life. Please, Izuku, don't listen to him." Toshinori turned his gaze on Izuku pleadingly.

Hisashi crossed his arms. "I'm your only family member. He's merely a scam artist who feels a bit guilty after deceiving your late father. And he justly feels responsible for Yoichi's death."

Toshinori bristled. "How dare you say that? You know full well that Yoichi and Kaiji got targeted because of your illicit business!"

"What happened to my parents?" Izuku cried. Tears prickled behind his eyes. He desperately wanted to know. He'd sat up late so many nights, wondering why he didn't have a family.

Detective Tsukauchi stepped through the open door. "I've found a judge who can see you at once. Toshinori, I think this is the best way."

The judge was an elderly man with skin so dry it looked like it might flake off his mostly bald head. He sat behind the podium in his black robes as Toshinori and Hisashi argued. Eventually, the judge raised his hand. "It sounds like I need to see this will."

Hisashi said, "The will is almost certainly fake, and furthermore, my little brother was not of sound mind at the end of his life."

Toshinori cried, "Which is it, is the will fake or invalid? Your Honor, this man has criminal ties. I suspect he might kidnap Izuku."

Hisashi sneered. "I'm a reputable businessman. Do you want to be sued for slander?"

"Yoichi and Kaiji died because of your suspicious connections!" Toshinori glared.

Hisashi's hands formed fists. A vein stood out on his neck. "How dare you? My brother died because of you and your gang of miscreants! I'm sure Yoichi regretted associating with you on his deathbed. For my love for him, I'll make sure his child gets every luxury and protection."

Toshinori growled, "Yoichi vowed you'd never come near his son."

The judge tapped the podium. "Yes, yes, you'll both have your say in court. However, it will take a while to prepare the court case and allow you two to find lawyers. In the meantime, the boy needs to live somewhere. He's old enough to have a say in his custody. Izuku Midoriya, please step forward." The judge struggled a little to pronounce the foreign name.

Izuku stepped up. "Thank you, Your Honor." An older friend had told him to always be very polite to judges because they could decide if you got tried as a minor or an adult.

The judge peered over his spectacles. "Both of these men want to become your legal guardian. I'm going to decide on an emergency custody order before the court case. Who would you rather live with?"

Two pairs of eyes stared at Izuku, red eyes hungry and blue eyes pleading.

Hisashi said, "Izuku, I'm the wealthiest man in New York. You'll never go hungry again with me. I can send you to most expensive schools. I'll shower you with toys."

Toshinori said, "I have almost as much money, and legally made! More importantly, your uncles and aunt long to see you again. We all love you very much."

Looking down, Izuku shifted from foot to foot. He didn't trust either of these two. Hisashi was involved with the mafia, but Toshinori was connected to the police who were about as bad in Izuku's eyes. Hisashi gave off creepy vibes and had hugged Izuku against his will, but Toshinori had lied about Izuku having living relatives. No one had given Izuku a good explanation for why his parents had died and he'd been left nearly dead. Until he learned the truth, he had to stay on his guard. Besides, Izuku saw no advantage to picking either man with the custody case still undecided. The one who didn't get picked might retaliate against him later if he got custody. "Honestly, Your Honor, I don't know either of this assho—men. I don't particularly want to go with either of them."

Hisashi hissed. Toshinori looked very close to crying again.

"Do you want to return to your orphanage while awaiting the custody battle?" the judge asked.

Izuku shuddered. "No." He'd be in for such a beating for running away.

The judge asked, "Then how about we split custody? You can spend a week with each of your two possible guardians before the hearing. Then you can tell me who you prefer. I can't guarantee exactly how the court case will play out based on the controversy about the legitimacy of the will, but I promise the court will take your opinion into account."

Not many adults in Izuku's life (that he could remember) had granted him a choice. Izuku straightened. "Thank you, Your Honor. Let's try that."

Despite his suspicions, Izuku had to admit that both of these men seemed to want to adopt him rather than punish him. Maybe one of them would be a better option than the orphanage or the streets. Even more importantly, Izuku had to know the truth about what happened to his parents. These two fishy characters had possible answers.

"We'll let chance decide who gets the first week." The judge took out a coin. "Call it."

"Heads," Hisashi said quickly, his eyes fixed on the coin and his tongue darting over his lips.

The coin soared through the air, landing on heads and sealing Izuku's fate.

Toshinori groaned in disappointment. He quickly leaned down and whispered, "Izuku, please, you can't trust anything Hisashi says. Don't let him take you out of the country—throw a fit if he takes you to an airport. I know you don't remember me, but I swear on your father's life that I'm telling you this to protect you."

Hisashi grabbed Izuku's arm and pulled him away. "Stay away from my nephew, Yagi. We're going home."

A satisfied smile on his lips, Hisashi led Izuku into a limousine waiting outside. He said, "Oboro, take us back to the mansion as quickly as possible."

The white-haired driver flashed a cheerful smile. "Yes, sir!" Then he took off at a breakneck speed, weaving around other cars. Izuku clung to the car door and gazed outside with fascination. He'd never been inside a car. At least, not in the last few years of his life where his memories started.

Buildings zipped by. Skyscrapers were being constructed all over New York City, the current big thing. Hisashi nudged Izuku and pointed out several buildings that he owned. Izuku felt a little impressed in spite of himself. Unless Hisashi was a braggart, he must be rich.

The limousine drove up a grassy hill to a circular loop with a fountain in the middle. At the top of the hill sat a brick mansion. The windows had green shutters. A chimney rose off the right side. Two balconies jutted from either end of the mansion. Four white pillars in Greco-Roman style framed the doorway. The pillars supported a white triangular gable, with scrolled appliqués designed to look like a yawning tiger's head.

Izuku inhaled sharply. "I'm going to live here?" Both of his potential guardians had boasted about being rich, but Izuku hadn't quite believed it. That had seemed like another thing too good to be true.

Hisashi placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's right. You'll live a life of safety and comfort. Everything I wanted to provide for my brother—" He shook his head, as if shaking off a bad thought. "I'll ensure that you want for nothing."

Izuku wet his lips, feeling nervous about even stepping foot in this place when he was grimy and smelled like trash.

Hisashi took off his hat at the doorway. In the foyer, a chandelier hung over two curving stairwells. Half a dozen maids bowed and chorused in unison, "Welcome back, master." They glanced at the filthy child standing next to their employer with burning curiosity.

Putting a hand on Izuku's back, Hisashi said, "This is Izuku Shigaraki, my nephew. He'll be living here from now on. I expect you to treat him with the respect you would give to me."

Izuku shifted under the shocked stares. "Wait, wasn't my last name Midoriya?"

Hisashi frowned. "No, your last name is Shigaraki. Midoriya is a fake name that my brother used."

"My family was involved in something shady?" Izuku asked hesitantly.

"I'll tell you more later. First, we should get you a bath." Hisashi inclined his head at a maid. "Start the hot water running." She nodded and departed.

"Probably a good idea," Izuku admitted. He shuffled a step away from a painted vase. If he knocked that over, he wouldn't be able to pay for it if he worked his entire life.

Hisashi shook his head. "I feel terrible about my own beloved nephew living in poverty all this time. If only I'd found you sooner. Speaking of which, did you have a reason for running away from the orphanage? If they didn't treat you well, then I can handle it."

Izuku hesitated. Exactly what did that mean? He had nothing but bad memories of the orphanage, but he didn't want his mafia uncle to put out a hit on anyone. Looking down, Izuku mumbled, "I was avoiding the goons you sent after me."

Hisashi did not press the point. He ushered Izuku up the stairs to a beautiful bathroom with marble counters and a jacuzzi-tub. Running water pattered in the background. The tub was mostly full, so Hisashi leaned over and turned the water off. "This is your bathroom."

Izuku blinked. "What, I own it now?" he joked.

Hisashi said, "I mean this bathroom will be reserved for your personal use."

Izuku got…a whole bathroom? All to himself? He gulped. Whoa, indoor plumbing! Only rich people had that. Izuku was used to taking ice-cold baths only when he absolutely had to.

"I've been prepared clothing for you since I first found you. Here's your outfit for dinner." Hisashi gestured at the suit hanging from a hook on the door. "Let me know if you need any help changing, old sport." He left, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was alone, Izuku turned the sink faucet just to see if hot water would come out. It did! That was so cool. This whole room smelled sweet, like lavender. Izuku had only experienced bathrooms that smelled like ass. He could get used to this.

Izuku discarded his clothes in a hamper left for that purpose. Carefully, he tucked away his precious locket in a towel left within easy reach of the tub. Then he soaked in the hot water until his fingers turned pruny. The solitude gave him time to think. Apparently this was not a dream or a trap. He really did have a rich uncle, and possibly a rich godfather too. Maybe he had a shot at a better life than dipping his hands into pockets. Izuku would be willing to pay any reasonable price to get off the streets—and he knew there would be a price. There was always a price.

After drying himself off, Izuku puzzled over the suit. He'd been annoyed at Hisashi's implication that he might need help to get dressed, but the man might have had a point. The outfit came with a white shirt, tan checkered pants, and a matching vest and coat. Izuku was fairly certain the vest went under the coat. Why did rich people need so many buttons? He struggled to fasten the maroon tie.

Knocking on the door, Hisashi called, "Dinner is ready."

Izuku admitted, "I've gotten everything on except the tie."

Hisashi opened the door. "I never could figure out how to fasten ties either. I'll call my butler to help."

Izuku laughed. The admission of a flaw made him like Hisashi more.

The butler was a handsome young man named Atsuhiro Sako. He fastened the tie, chuckling as he said he did it for the master all the time. Then he pulled a coin out of Izuku's ear, winked, and departed.

Noticing the locket hanging from Izuku's neck, Hisashi asked, "May I see?"

Although Izuku felt a little reluctant, he didn't have a good excuse, so he said, "Of course." He opened the locket to show the photograph inside.

A reverent look on his face, Hisashi closely examined the picture of his younger brother. "Yoichi looks so happy in your picture. I don't have that one. We should tuck this picture away with the rest of my collection."

Izuku stiffened. "I prefer to wear my locket." It wasn't even guaranteed that he would stay with Hisashi—what if he lost his only picture of his parents forever?

Hisashi wheedled, "But it's dangerous to leave that precious picture in a battered locket. The hinges look weak. I'd keep it very safe with the rest of my collection. I could even let you have a couple copies of other photographs in exchange."

Izuku clutched his locket in a clenched fist. "I wear this picture everywhere. It's my good luck charm." He wanted to be obliging, but he would not budge on this point.

A slightly strained or maybe hungry look in his eyes, Hisashi brought out a kodak camera. "May I take a picture of your picture then, to preserve it?"

"Sure." Izuku had no reason to argue with that, even if the request was a little odd.

Hisashi snapped a picture of the locket, then several more of Izuku. The more pictures he took, the more his mood seemed to improve. "What a handsome young man you'll become! Just like your father; I daresay everyone who met him carried a torch for him."

Izuku's stomach growled, and Hisashi reluctantly put away the camera. "I promised you good food. The chef has already prepared the meal."

The dining room had wide windows with three panes of glass and a semicircle on top, framed by white curtains. The round table with a green tiled top and seated four. The room wasn't as intimidatingly extravagant as Izuku had feared, though the brass octopus chandelier overhead looked expensive. The chef placed down a huge platter. The dark-haired young man had scars all over his face and hands.

"Thank you for the meal," Izuku said.

Dismissively, Hisashi said, "Yes, thank you, you can leave now, Dabi."

Dabi grunted and departed. Hisashi whispered, "His manners leave a lot to be desired, but he's an amazing cook. He has a gift for searing meat."

A traditional Japanese feast spread out across the table, with katsudon, tempura, sushi, and edamame. An eggy scent drifted off the hot pork cutlet. Izuku's eyes overflowed with tears. He'd never eaten katsudon in his limited memories, but he knew that it was his favorite food in the same way that he knew his dads had loved him.

Hisashi offered a handkerchief.

"Sorry, sir." Izuku blew his nose.

"Please, call me Uncle Hisashi." Hisashi smiled. "Your father was an easy crier too, so you come by it from my side of the family."

"Do you cry easily?" Izuku asked as a joke. He could tell this man did not show weakness to anyone.

Hisashi sighed. "I haven't cried since your father died."

There was real grief in his eyes, such that Izuku couldn't help but be moved that someone else had mourned his dad, too. Izuku patted Hisashi on the back. This got Izuku dragged into another hug. Damn, he wouldn't have guessed a man from the mob would be so touchy-feely either.

Izuku sat down and tore into the food. He hadn't eaten well in a long time. He was too hungry to talk over dinner. Finally, he sat back with a satiated sigh. It hadn't been possible to finish off the whole giant feast, but he'd tried. As a maid arrived to remove the leftovers, Izuku was very tempted to take some back to his room. He'd gone hungry enough that he always liked to have some food squirreled away. But Izuku was too embarrassed to ask, and the moment passed. He told himself it would have been foolish.

Afterward, Dabi brought out red bean jelly for dessert. Izuku discovered he had just enough room left for the light, barely substantial dessert. He stopped before his stomach threatened to explode.

Wiping his mouth, Izuku asked, "What were my dads like?"

Hisashi raised an eyebrow. "Don't you remember?"

Izuku looked away. "I lost my memories after I hit my head a couple years back. When they died." He did not want to beg, but his hands shook from how badly he longed for more information about his parents. For too long, he'd only had a single picture in a locket.

Hisashi smiled slightly. Izuku blinked, puzzled by that reaction. Hisashi seemed to notice. He said, "I'm just so very happy that you're alive, Izuku. I believed you dead after I couldn't find you."

That made sense. Izuku asked, "You looked for me?"

Hisashi said, "I've poured a fortune into the search. You don't know how many fakes with green wigs I had to sort through. My reward drew in every grifter in the state, and then I only found you because your picture made the newspaper."

"Ohhhhhh, that." Izuku had won a spelling bee at school.

Hisashi chuckled. "You might have gotten your looks from Yoichi, but you got your brains from me. Follow me, I'll show you the old photo album."

Izuku stood up eagerly.

Hisashi led Izuku to a teenager's bedroom with pale green walls. The big flat bed had Spiderman sheets, and more superhero posters hung from the walls. Two bookshelves had been filled with comic books. The desk was stocked with art supplies, including ink for comic drawing. Hisashi sat down in a navy blue armchair next to the end table holding a vase of fresh flowers. A melancholy look on his face, he said, "This was Yoichi's old room. I come here often to think about him."

Izuku supposed that explained why the black-eyed Susans in the vase looked so unwilted. But what about the crisp and recently changed sheets? This room had been lovingly preserved as a snapshot to the past. It felt a bit odd that his uncle had kept his dad's sheets fresh as if prepared for him to return any day now, but Izuku had no doubt that Hisashi had loved Yoichi very much. Although Izuku did wonder why Hisashi had chosen to keep this place looking like a child's room, even though Yoichi had been a grown man when he'd died.

As Hisashi opened up the photo album sitting on the ebony end table, Izuku pulled over the desk chair to sit next to him. "I don't have many pictures of Yoichi as a child. We came over to this country as a pair of poor orphans. This picture, I brought with me from Japan." Hisashi flipped to a black-and-white photo of a curly-haired boy holding a little baby wrapped in a blanket. The boy wore a traditional Japanese yukata.

"That's you?" Izuku asked. "How old were you?" It looked like there had been a substantial age gap between the brothers.

Hisashi said, "I was nine years old then, and your father was one. We were born into a wealthy samurai family, but our father died and certain circumstances forced us to flee Japan not long after. We lost our mother soon after we came to this country." He did not sound broken up about this loss, or at least nothing compared to the clear grief that filled his voice every time he said Yoichi's name. He flipped the page. "After that, we could not afford a camera. This is the very first picture I have of the two of us in America. I still remember the successful job that made enough money for me to afford a family picture." The portrait took a full page, clearly taken in a studio. Yoichi, who looked like a young teenager, sat in a chair. Hisashi, now a young man dressed in a suit with a fedora, stood behind the chair with his hands on his little brother's shoulders. Yoichi looked a bit fidgety in formal wear, but he smiled brilliantly at the camera.

"He looks happy," Izuku murmured. Seeing his father a little younger than himself, the familial resemblance became even more obvious. Izuku stared at the picture hungrily, hoping it would jog a memory.

Hisashi said, "I came up in the world after that. I was able to afford a camera a year later." He slowly flipped through pictures of Yoichi reading comics, climbing trees, and studying. There were countless pictures now, documenting every bit of Yoichi's life. Izuku respected that Hisashi had clearly grown up poor but had made his way up in the world. Possibly through criminal means, but Izuku was in no position to judge there.

Later baby Izuku started to pop up in the pictures, often being held by Yoichi. Curiously Hisashi did not appear in any of those photos, but Izuku assumed Hisashi had been taking the photographs. The last picture showed a younger Izuku blowing out candles on his birthday cake. Yoichi clapped in the background, smiling brilliantly.

"Do you have any pictures of my father—of Kaiji, I mean?" Izuku asked. Instinctively, he remembered that Yoichi had been called Dad and Kaiji had been called Father. Maybe the photographs had jogged a few memories.

Hisashi snorted. His fingers clenched on the album. "Why would I waste valuable film on that wretched brother thief—"

"Hey," Izuku said coldly. "That's my father you're talking about."

Hisashi exhaled, the tension going out of his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I shouldn't have insulted him in front of you. Needless to say, when your fathers had an unplanned teenage pregnancy I was not exactly thrilled. Ah—you said you have amnesia, are you aware…how that happened?"

Izuku nodded. "Yeah, I still remember some facts, just not the details of events." Izuku remembered that one of his dads had been born biologically female. It hadn't mattered to him. His dads were his dads. He hated that he could not remember any specific memories with them, but he still got a warm protective sense of comfort from their pictures.

Hisashi said, "I was concerned about my little brother's future, having a child at such a young age. I blamed Kaiji. I think a lot of parents would have felt the same way in my place. I'd been like a parent to Yoichi, and also a protective older brother. Naturally, I stepped in to help look after you since your fathers were so young. I've always been like a third father to you, and I hope you'll think of me as such. I gave Kaiji a hard time at first, but we came to get along for Yoichi's sake. It eventually became an inside joke between us."

Izuku smiled, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah, I get it. Protective big brothers are like that." Even more than the explanation, Izuku felt reassured by Hisashi using proper pronouns for both of his fathers. Not many people would have done that. Whatever objections Hisashi seemed to have had about his brother's relationship, he hadn't even mentioned the genders involved as an issue. Izuku had been aware for some time that he was attracted to both boys and girls. Since Hisashi was so understanding about his dads, surely he would accept Izuku too. That was a lot more than Izuku had dared to hope for in a guardian. He felt so touched he nearly wanted to cry again. To hide his emotions, he ducked his head and rubbed his eyes.

Hisashi said, "You look tired. Would you like to go to bed?"

"That would be nice," Izuku admitted. It had been a long day. He started to stand up.

Hisashi said, "I thought you could stay in your father's old room. I've already added pajamas and other clothing in your size."

Surely this giant mansion wasn't short on rooms. Izuku blinked. "Are you sure you don't mind? It's just, you've clearly left this room the way my dad left it—what if I mess it up living here?"

Hisashi clasped his shoulder. "Please treat this room as your own. It used to belong to your father, so now it ought to belong to you. We can add any new books or toys that you desire."

Huh, Izuku supposed this explained the fresh sheets. He wouldn't complain when he was living in such a nice mansion. "Thank you, Uncle Hisashi."

Hisashi showed Izuku his new pajamas (green, stripped, and made of very soft cotton) and toiletries, then hugged him one last time.

In the plush bed, Izuku had thought he might have trouble sleeping. But his exhaustion overcame him, and he easily drifted off.

OMAKE TIME!

Omake: Press X to Doubt

Hisashi: I had a very loving relationship with my little brother.

Izuku: I have no current reason to doubt that, but if you can't think of a single nice thing to say about my other father, then we're going to have problems.

Hisashi: Um, Kaiji was…persistent. He definitely stuck to Yoichi very closely. In fact, a massive bribe, half a dozen prostitutes trying to seduce him, and two dozen hitmen couldn't get rid of him.

Author's Note: This fic's title comes from a quote in The Great Gatsby: "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." ― F. Scott Fitzgerald. I consider this fic very, very loosely inspired by reading The Great Gatsby in high school. There's no connection to the plot and characters, but I took inspiration from the setting.

Izuku is the biological son of Yoichi and the Second One for All user. Second's name is Kaiji in this fic. The word trans didn't exist in the 1920s, but I hope I conveyed that either Yoichi or Second was a trans man. I'm deliberately leaving it ambiguous who. You readers can insert your own headcanons.

This world has no quirks, but I'm keeping everyone's unusual hair colors because it would be difficult to identify people without them. Let's just say this is an AU where green hair is normal but there are no superpowers. Then I can cover up any historical inconsistencies about 1920s New York by shouting "alternate universe!" For example, are you wondering why the mafia is full of Japanese-Americans instead of Italian-Americans? Alternate universe!

This fic will update once a week on Mondays.

Possiblycringe (tumblr) / BucketOfMud (Ao3) / Popsicles (discord) drew the amazing cover art for this fic. You can find the full sized picture by deleting the spaces:
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