I do not own BNHA or the characters.
Enjoy part 2 of "Shoes."
The sun was hot in the clear sky and burned against Hisashi Midoriya's shoulders, but the open air was welcome. After all, it was the first time in twelve years he had been truly free to enjoy it. Surreal was the only way to describe walking down the old streets. The neighborhood had changed so much. New stores, new parks, a parking lot where there had been an old grocery. No familiar faces. Not yet.
Those faces he did see, he caught their looks of alarm. Hisashi couldn't blame them. It was the insignia on his bag. Jakku Penitentiary, a prison for criminals - "villains" they were called more frequently - imprisoned for violent crimes committed with the use of volatile quirks. Hisashi slung the bag a bit higher, avoiding the gaze of a young mother as she moved to the far side of the sidewalk and ushered her child to her other side as she passed.
Two more blocks.
Hisashi unconsciously slowed, his hand finding the lump in his pocket where he kept the photos Inko sent him over the years. The windows into his son's life. Too few, he thought, always too few. Twelve years was a long time, too long. A lifetime.
One more block.
The house was exactly like he remembered it. Unassuming in size and color, similar to its neighbors. Laundry dried on the lines in the yard, drifting lightly in the wind.
Hisashi slowed to a stop at the gate. He reached out, fingers hovering above the painted metal. The ghost of high pitched laughter echoed across the lawn.
"Daddy! Looka me! I'm All Might!" the curly haired two year old bounded across the lawn. Hisashi stooped low to catch the boy -
"Can I help you?" A gruff voice asked.
The vision vanished, leaving an empty yard.
"Can I help you?" the gruff voice repeated.
Hisashi turned, looking the man who'd interrupted his memories up and down. He was smaller than his voice implied, but his wide throat and large jaw made up for it. The man puffed up his chest and glared up at Hisashi. Despite the man's bravado, his eyes darted from Hisashi's face to his bag and back again nervously.
"No, sorry." Hisashi said, pulling his hand away from the gate. "I just … used to live here." And then he left, heading toward the address written in pen on his palm.
It was late afternoon by the time Hisashi made it to the apartment complex. He scanned the mailboxes; Midoriya was written in green sharpie by the number 4213. Fourth floor, furthest from the stairs. Before he knew it, he was in front of the door.
Hisashi shifted awkwardly, adjusting the bag strap on his shoulder. He swallowed nervously, his throat felt drier than usual. He checked the number by the door for the third time, just to be sure. 4213, it still read.
He raised a hand to knock - The door opened away from his knuckles.
Inko froze in the doorway.
She was shorter than he remembered.
"Hisashi," Inko gasped, eyes wide. For a moment, tears threatened to gather there, and then they didn't. Her face settled, or rather shifted between set emotions. An old hurt in her frown, pity - of all things! - in her eyes, and resolution on her brow. "You're early."
"You stopped writing." Hisashi said. He could think of nothing else. The woman in front of him was a stranger. A stranger with a hauntingly familiar face. What do you say to someone like that?
"I did." Inko said with a small, sad nod. "Things have been … hectic lately."
"I heard."
What an understatement! For years, Inko wrote of Izuku. Two years into his prison sentence, Hisashi found out his son was quirkless. Then he learned of the bullying. Then the hero worship. The good and bad days. Then, the letters slowed. One a month. One every other month. Each letter shorter and more general than the last until they stopped. And then in the dining hall, on the single tv mounted on the wall behind iron bars, Hisashi saw his son for the first time outside a still picture. His son, his quirkless Izuku Midoriya, competing in the U.A. sports festival. Izuku competing and blowing the competition away with a flick of his fingers!
For weeks, Hisashi had debated calling Inko, just to know - know what? That she had lied to him? That she had made up some elaborate story that their son was quirkless? No. Inko did not have a dishonest bone in her body. So, then what? How their son somehow developed a quirk that looked not remotely related to fire breathing or object attraction? How he had been admitted into the most prestigious hero academy in the country?
"Hisashi, ain't that your son?"
"Fuckin' hero school?"
"Fuckin' heroes, man."
"He even your kid?"
I don't know. I don't know. Of course he's my kid…
The questions and jabs thrown at him in the prison halls irritated Hisashi to no end. He had no answers. So he waited. He only had months left of his sentence. What were a few months compared to the years behind him?
He kept up to date on the news, searching for any mention of a Midoriya from U.A. He read about the Stain incident in the paper and the student kidnapped by the Villain Alliance. It was soon after that when the media privileges suddenly stopped for everyone, something saved for emergencies, to keep order when something big and bad happened. News still got around. Guards talked. Rumors about All Might being taken down a notch. Rumors about All Might retiring.
Yes, "hectic" was an understatement.
"Come in," Inko backed away from the doorway and waved Hisashi in. "I was just going to run an errand but it can wait."
Hisashi walked into the small apartment. Sun shined from the window in the open living area at the end of the hall. It smelled like camomile tea, freshly laundered cotton, and some kind of faint cologne, warm and clean. Pictures lined the walls. Izuku blowing out the candles on a cake. Izuku playing in a park. Izuku in Christmas themed pajamas asleep by a small Christmas tree. Inko and Izuku at the beach. Izuku holding his acceptance letter from U.A. with a big smile and tears in his eyes.
Inko gestured to the door on the right.
"You can put your bag in here. I've set it up as a guest room," she said, then pointed to the door on the left, "The bathroom is here." Inko continued into the living area while Hisashi opened the guest room door.
The room was small and bare with faded shapes on the walls where pictures or posters had hung. Plain sheets lay folded on the bed and the closet was half open and empty excluding a few stray hangers. Hisashi placed his bag on the bare desk. Spaces in the dust left ghost impressions of things no longer there. He ran his hand across the surface, an unnamed feeling settling in his gut. Then it hit him.
Hisashi had only seen two bedroom doors. Why was the only other bedroom empty?
"Hisashi?" Inko was at the door. She spoke softly, the way she used to but different.
"Where's Izuku?" Hisashi asked.
"Why don't you set up your things-"
"Inko," Hisashi turned.
The small woman - she looked so different and so familiar - stood her ground.
Hisashi frowned, "I just want to see my son."
Silence answered, then a sigh.
Students of Class 1-A were scattered across the dorm's shared living area, lounging on the couches, doing homework, animatedly talking about their hero courses, and trading ideas for signature move names.
"What do you think of Taser Punch?" Kaminari asked, punching the air in front of him, electricity dancing across his skin.
"It's cool. What about Zap Jab?" Sero supplied helpfully. "Has a punchy ring to it."
"Hmm," Kaminari nodded thoughtfully. "It does."
Aoyama snuck in from the side and struck a dramatic pose, "Super Sparkling Shining-"
"Acid Rain!" Mina Ashido exclaimed, jumping between the boys and wiggling her pink fingers playfully.
"Nice one! I was thinking something like Riot Guard!" Kirishima said, striking a defensive pose with a toothy grin.
"But can it counter the Sugar Rush!?" Satou shouted, suddenly jumping off the couch and tackling a startled Kirishima to the ground eliciting laughter from the heroes in training around them.
"No roughhousing or sparring outside of designated areas!" Iida scolded them, shooting up from his study spot and gesturing stiffly and earnestly.
"Aw, come on!" Hagakure laughed, clapping her gloved hands together, "This is too fun!"
Izuku smiled awkwardly from his seat beside Uraraka and Iida, his open notebook filled with his own ideas for signature moves. Uraraka had already spotted and read his pages of All Might inspired moves: Ohio Smash! Chicago Smash! New York Jam! And then there were the moves more recently inspired: Full Cowl Flight, Gran Domino Effect, among others. Uraraka had given him a few of her own ideas: Deku Decks You, Mean Green Swing, Punch Rocket, Deku Devastation, The Frightful Flick. She had been so earnest! Izuku, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, couldn't help but add them in the notebook.
"Fucking pipe down will you!" Katsuki grumbled loudly from his spot by the quieter study group. "Can't hardly hear myself fucking think, shitheads!"
"You're just mad you haven't thought of any good names, Mr. Lord King Baron of Explod-i-kills," Kirishima sneered playfully from the floor.
"What'd you say fuckmunch?!" Katsuki roared, twisting and slamming smoking fists against the back of the couch while Jirou and Tokoyami leaned away from his outburst.
Before Katsuki's rage could escalate into a tantrum, a soft tone rang out through the dorm, silencing the students. A speaker buzzed a moment before a robotic voice spoke.
"Attempted intrusion at Front Gate. Faculty Team A is on route to intercept. All students please calmly return to and remain in your assigned dorm buildings. Updates will be broadcast as they come. Thank you."
The students relaxed, some turning to the large tv mounted on the wall. They'd already become accustomed to the new security protocols. Soft tones and clear announcements prevented unnecessary panic. A video feed in each dorm added to the feeling of security, usually because the attempted intruders were nosy reporters and the occasional drunk.
When the video feed snapped into focus, the students stiffened.
"That's definitely not a reporter, ribbit." Tsuyu croaked nervously.
An irate man struggled in the iron grasp of the security bots. Fire spilled from between bared teeth, but he made no move to direct his fiery rage at the bots holding his arms in place. He glared up at the camera, his brown hair a short, unruly mess of curls and his plain white shirt torn at the shoulder.
"Deku? Deku, are you okay?" Uraraka whispered to Izuku.
"Can someone turn on the sound?" Ojiro asked.
"I got it," Kaminari said, popping up from the couch and grabbing the remote.
" - me go damn it! My son is in there! I have a right to see my son! Izuku Midoriya! He's my son!" The man continued ranting but no one in Dorm 1-A was paying the video feed anymore attention. Their collective gazes were fixed on their freckled classmate.
"Deku?" Uraraka asked, concern etched on her round face.
Izuku stared wide-eyed at the screen, at the man he only remembered in stories and saw in old family photos. He didn't realize he was clutching at his shirt above his heart until Uraraka placed her hand on his.
"Hey!" Kaminari exclaimed, getting a faceful of Katsuki's palm as the brutish boy yanked the remote away and hit mute.
"Deku?" Uraraka leaned toward him, "Is he -"
Izuku suddenly stood, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, forcing a laugh.
"I - uh - I'm fine. I'm j-just need to run to my room." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, not looking at any of his staring classmates. "Left … left my phone up there."
With that, the boy gathered his things in silence and rushed out of the lounge.
To be continued.