"I want to help you," she tells Papa. She knows that sometimes he goes out at night, and that he comes back bruised or bloodied. She knows that he can't go to school anymore because he has to watch after the shop. She knows that she costs money, and that even though he has a lot (or, at least, he says he does), she should try to help out sometimes. She's a big girl. Four entire years old, and only three more months until her fifth birthday.

"Okay, what do you want to help with?" Papa's hair is all messy (it always is), and his cheeks are flushed from the weekly house cleaning (she's not allowed to use the cleaners, so she makes everything look nice).

"I want to cook! And I want you to teach me how to make coffee! And bake! And I want to help clean, and-and-and I wanttopracticemyquirk!" She's bright red, she can feel it from her forehead to her toes, but she wants to help out! And part of helping out is being smart and safe, and it's being able to use her quirk in a way that isn't evil and bad. And Papa has been working on suppressants, so they can start small and work up until she's comfortable. She knows it.

"Alright, bug. I'd be happy to let you do more stuff around the house." Papa tips his head back and hums. "Let's see. For the cooking, you could help me with dinner, ah, three nights a week?" His head tilts to the side and she nods. "And then for the coffee and baking, you can help me in the café whenever you want, yeah?" His eyebrows raise and she nods again. Papa grins, and he looks sleepy. He was out late last night, she knows. "I don't think I want you using the chemicals to clean, so it'd probably be best if you keep making sure everything is tidy, okay?"

"Okay, Papa," Eri says. If he doesn't want her to do something, there's a reason for it and she doesn't do it. Easy-peasy.

"And for your quirk… why don't you tell me about what you wanna do, bug?" He rolls over and flops on his belly, shifting around so his chin is resting on his arms.

Eri frowns, resting her cheek on her drawn-up knees as she thinks. "I want to be able to use my quirk." She flushes, still a bit unused to conversations like this. "Um, I want to be able to control it, and I want to use it to help people. Well, um, to help you, because - because you come home sometimes and you have scrapes and bruises and I know that if I could control my quirk that I could make them go away," oh, she's running out of breath now, how does Papa do this, "and then you won't feel so achy, because sometimes you move like I did, and I thought that if you use the sur-suppresants on me, then I would be able to use my quirk just a little bit and I wouldn't be so scared and I could feel okay!" She gasps in a huge breath and wheezes, and she can feel all the red in her face. She doesn't look at Papa, almost doesn't want to see what his face looks like now that her mouth has run away from her.

She hears him shifting, moving his legs off of the sofa and making his way to where she's scrunched up on the beanbag.

"Bug, can I sit next to you?" Soft, soft, Papa,s voice is always soft. Not hard, not angry, not mean, not like His. Never loud, just soft. His voice is as soft as his heart is as soft as he is.

"Yeah," she whispers. He curls himself down next to her, sitting on the floor. He stretches his arm out behind her and leans towards her. He's big and it makes her feel safe, because Papa is safe. He's safe and he's soft and she curls up into him.

"I didn't know you were scared of your quirk. Of course I'll help you with it." He sighs and rests his head on hers. "But I don't feel comfortable using the suppressants on you, because they're meant for bad guys and you're not a bad guy." She nods. She shifts a bit and peeks up at him, and he's looking at the wall. She looks at the wall too - at the picture he took of them at the park, the one where she's sitting on the swing on his lap and he's holding his phone in front of them. The bloom of love rooted in her chest flowers just a bit more.

"How about," he says, "instead of using the suppressants, we start on small things, like plants. We'll get a feel for your quirk, and then we'll move up from there. When we both feel comfortable with you practicing on me, you can try helping me out with my bumps and scrapes.

Papa shifts and looks at her, stroking her hair. She looks back at him. His eyes are shiny. That means his feelings are big, and her's are big right now too.

Her feelings right now feel like hope.

"Does that sound okay?"

She thinks it over. She rolls a 'no' around on her tongue, and finds that it doesn't fit her lips.

"Yes," she decides. "That's okay." And it is.

Papa sags against her a bit. His cheek rests against the crown of her head, mindful of her horn.

"Okay," he says. "Thank you for telling me, bug. That was probably a bit scary."

She nods. It was a little bit scary, but he's not mad or anything like that. She can ask things and he'll listen to her. That's good.

"Yeah," she whispers. "That was kinda scary. But now I can help more, so it wasn't too scary."

Papa laughs and sits up, stretching his arms up with a groan and oh, wow, his back pops like popcorn!

"Ooh," Eri breathes out, turning to him, and she knows her eyes are glittering. "Do me, do me!"

Papa nods sagely, breaking into a grin as he hugs her and rolls his palms up her spine. Her back pops and shifts and she lets out a sigh of complete contentment, going boneless against him.

"Hmm," Papa sighs, "that was a lot of thinking and emotions. Can I call for naptime, bug?"

She hums the affirmative and Papa rises from the floor very gracefully and swings her around once before falling on the couch with a fwump. She snuggles into his chest and closes her eyes. It's easy to fall asleep when she's listening to a safe heartbeat.

It's easy to fall asleep when she's with Papa.

-

Izuku tucks Eri into bed and closes her door quietly as he steps into the hall. After that, it's only a few steps to his room, where he keeps all of his undesirables. Undressing quickly, he slips easily into his… uniform - because really, that's the only thing he can call it. Black leggings under black shorts. Midnight blue sneakers with heel lifts. Black, cropped hoodie over blue, skin tight undershirt. Black surgical mask, black gloves. All of it wonderful, but his favorite piece has to be the blue backlit goggles he managed to fashion. He checks himself in the mirror, making sure everything is nice and tidy. Happy with what he sees, Izuku opens his window.

It's time to go out.

Since he took Eri in, he's been keeping up with his training. It's not difficult to wake up before she does, and it's not difficult to go out after she's asleep. He knows she'll be safe; he's made sure of it.

The height of his window gives him the perfect spot to jump roofs. He stretches his legs out in front of him as he drops, rolling into the impact with a quiet thud. He doesn't look back as he starts toward his intended destination for tonight, mapping out the route in his mind.

It's easy, especially since it's on the way to the bar.

It doesn't take him long to get to the spot he wants, and he crouches on the edge of the building. Here is where he's going to beat the tar out of an up-and-coming villain with a minor strength-enhancing quirk, and he's… well, maybe excited isn't the word, but he's somewhere near there. It isn't often that he's challenged, isn't often that he accepts any fights, and there's a chance that this guy might pose an actual threat.

(He won't. Smarts beat speed beat strength, and he's got all three in spades. He's kept himself in shape, in case anyone gets any bright ideas about Eri. This will be easy.)

As it turns out, it's a non-issue. It's disappointingly easy to slip through McFlannel's attacks (of which he begins the second he spots Izuku), seeing as he shouts them out. Literally. He's literally shouting out what he's going to do before he does it. And then he follows through with what he says he's going to do. And so Izuk puts him out of commission quickly with a few choice hits to his soft points, and restrains him with the makeshift handcuffs he fashions out of the guy's shirt. He picks up the phone from McFlannel's back pocket and sends a quick text to the number he memorized off Detective Tsukauchi's little late-night intimidation from so long ago.

Hey, Detective! I think you've been looking for this guy - he's the one who robbed the grocery store a week ago, right? He wasn't super hard to wrap up tho, so you might want to up your game if you ever intend to find that Shie Hassaikai vigilante you keep asking around for!

Love, Harbinger

Izuku sends a location ping attached to the text, then snaps a picture of McFlannel and sends that, too.

It seems that the fight has passed by faster than Izuku anticipated, so he decides to hit up his infor hotspot: the small bar above Kitten, the local strip club. It's the place he goes when he has free time, and it helps that the people who know the name 'Harbinger' know where to go, and pay well for his services.

As he makes his way to the bar, he mulls over the fight. And then his mind drifts.

Is it bad of him to think that Kacchan taught him to fight? It's true. Izuku sighs as little flashes of Deku! and useless run circles in his head, and he can't help but agree with them. He is a Deku. He was useless. The only thing that's changed is that he has someone to be a Deku for. He has someone to and for whom he isn't useless. Eri has truly saved him. A rush of affection for her shakes him out of his little rut and he does a flip as he jumps a roof, just for her.

He arrives at the bar quickly. He slides through the open window quietly and gracefully, going through his breathing exercise once he's through. Nobody notices him. The plan tonight is to just get a glass of water, sit down in his spot, and maybe tell his very well-paying clientele how to beat the tar out of Endeavor.

And then a small wrench is thrown in his plan in the form of underground hero Aizawa Shouta, alias Eraserhead, arguably the best coffee customer ever, who's sitting in Izuku's - Harbinger's - corner booth. The booth he secured through months of posturing and valuable information exchange. The booth that is absolutely, undeniably his. Well. Tonight is going to be fun.

The bar is a neutral space, meaning information flows unimpeded. Group to group, person to person, hero to villain, villain to hero. No lies, no snitches, no consequences, no issues, end of story.

It also means that whatever he overhears is fair game, and Izuku overhears a lot. He connects dots, he sees patterns, he analyzes quirks. It's what makes him so damn useful in the little spot of grey in the world - which is most likely why Eraser is here, tonight, and why he's sitting in Izuku's booth.

And so he falls into the persona he uses here, and makes his way slowly up to the bar. Where he walks, conversations stutter and halt, and eyes fall upon him - some wary, most interested, all calculating.

"Hello, darling," he drawls to the bartender. Dabi, who's employed under Izuku, is what he would consider an absolute sweetheart. Terrible scars kiss up his throat, crawling onto his jaw and resting under the skin of his eyes. It's the markings of an assault perpetrated by a pro hero - information Izuku had to twist and wring out of the man. It's why he hates Endeavor. It's why he keeps an eye on the Todoroki family. Dabi tilts his head and grins.

"Hey there, hotstuff. Your usual?"

"Oh, darling, you know me so well." Izuku leans against the counter, completely relaxed. His elbows rest against the polished wood and his palms support his chin as his eyes follow the path of Dabi's hands; a cathartic little habit of his. And a way to keep Eraserhead waiting, seeing as he sat down in Izuku's spot without asking first.

Dabi sets Izuku's water down on the bar and leans forward enough to brush his hair against the small vigilante's hood. His right hand lifts up and falls onto Izuku's covered cheek, warm and firm.

"He's been here for about two hours. I don't know why, but I did tell him about waiting for you until he sat down. Careful over there, flower. He's a wicked little thorn."

Izuku pats Dabi's hand and pulls back, grabbing his water as he makes his way towards Eraser. Sliding into the seat opposite him - the seat facing the bar - Izuku tilts his head and stirs the iced water with his straw. It's time to see what he can do to help his favorite hero. His eyes sweep the pro up and down, catching on the little things - the things he doesn't get to see regularly. The flash of red between yellow goggles, erasing a quirk Izuku doesn't have. The slight lift on hair that really shouldn't be defying gravity right now. The scarf that Izuku wants to sink his claws into.

"Well, won't you come into my parlor?" he drawls, grinning a grin that Eraser can't see. "Please, when you leave, think about tying up your hair. It's an awfully obvious tell."

Aizawa Shouta blinks and his hair falls. Hopefully he's impressed.

Hopefully he's wary.

"I've heard that you know things you probably shouldn't," he says. Izuku hums a non-answer, pulling the straw up under his mask to take a sip. "You're not especially hard to find, for someone who supposedly knows too much."

Izuku almost chokes on a laugh. He leans back and folds his hands in his lap, under the table. "If I was hard to find, how would I be able to help out the good people of Musutafu? Information needs a space to flow freely, dear. That's how my business works."

Eraser nods slowly. Izuku stares unblinkingly through his own goggles, picking apart the man in front of him. Insomniac. Married. Overworked, but not underpaid. He's got cats. He's preparing for a sidekick. Interesting, but nothing he doesn't already know.

"Ask me your question, friend. But first," Izuku pulls his pen and notepad from where they're stowed under the table, "can you give this," he scribbles down some notes, "a look?" Izuku tears the paper away from the notebook and passes it to the Eraser. It's notes on how he could improve the way he uses his quirk, the improvements he could make on his gear, and the address of the minute-mart where Izuku buys all of his hairbands for Eri.

Eraser looks up. "Just so we're clear, this isn't what I came here for. I'm not paying you for this."

Izuku nods. "I know, don't worry. I don't want money for that. All I ask is that you seriously consider what I've put down on that paper. I think it'll help just in general. Now you can ask what you wanted to ask."

Eraser folds the paper and tucks it into his scarf. "I wanted to ask about the Shie Hassaikai murders, but from what I've heard, you won't answer any of those questions?"

Izuku shakes his head, smiling sweetly under his mask. "Nope," he chirps. "I'm emotionally invested in Detective Tsukauchi solving that one without me. Sorry. But anything else, I can get you. I mean," and he leans forward and flattens his voice, "for the right price, of course."

"Okay. What can you tell me about the League of Villains? It's a name I've heard popping up all over the underground, and I need to know if they're a real threat." Eraser leans forward a bit as he talks, and Izuku leans forward in turn.

"I could tell you a lot of things about the league, Eraser," he drawls. "I could tell you, for instance, about how they're performing genetic experiments on at least three missing persons, twisting them all up into one big terrible mess." Eraser's eyes widen behind his goggles. "I could tell you about the member with an unregistered warp quirk that can transport as many people as he wants to." Izuku begins to lean forward more now, letting his excitement take the reins. "I could tell you about the figurehead of the group, a little boy with a disintegration quirk he's terrified of." Izuku's hands are bracing him now, holding him up as he lifts off his seat to get closer to Eraser, who is as still as a statue. "I could tell you about the man who picked him up off the street and played around in his head until he was a good little puppet, the best little puppet."

Izuku's pelvic bone is crying out in discomfort, braced on the edge of the table as Izuku leans forward the rest of the way. Eraserhead isn't breathing as Izuku's mask brushes his ear.

"I could tell you about the man who's called All for One, the way they call him Sensei," he whispers, relishing the way that the quiet chatter around them falls away to the silence of the underground hero.

He pulls back suddenly and sits back down, pulling on the straw of his water to take another sip. He pointedly does not look at Eraser, instead letting his eyes rove the full tables around him.

"Of course, my price for that kind of information would be high," Izuku hums. "I'd need a large sum of money for so much. Or maybe a favor. I'd like a favor. Or something I don't already know." His head falls to the side. "I'd like to learn something tonight." By now, Eraser has had more than enough time to school his features back to something resembling professional, so Izuku turns back to him.

He's right. Eraser is expressionless and his breathing is back to normal.

"So how would you like to pay?"

Eraser's head tilts forward, and he looks at Izuku with wonderfully calculating eyes.

"I doubt I know anything you don't, and I don't think I have enough money to pay for the kind of information you're talking about, so I guess I'll have to owe you a favor. Call it in when you like."

Izuku shivers and grins, not that Eraser can see it.

"Wonderful," he purrs. He twirls his pen and jots down an address, one he knows like the back of his hand. "I'll have a folder waiting for you here, with everything a sweet city boy like you could ever want. Pick it up in two days, at your usual time." He relishes the way Eraserhead stiffens. "The owner will know it's yours."

Izuku is finished for tonight. The man nearest the bar has been going on about his endeavors with a woman who is very much not his wife, and Izuku doesn't want to hear about any more of that. He's the only one talking about something new, so Izuku can't very well tune him out, which is a shame and a headache.

He tears the paper out of his notebook and sets it in front of Eraser, written-on side down, and gets up to leave. He allows himself a glance, and he's probably a bit too smug at the shaken look on the pro's face.

On the paper is the address of the café Aizawa frequents, a little no-name place run by a teenager and his ward.

Izuku leaves the bar with a wave to Dabi, and goes home to Eri.