It was a couple days before he made it "home" in time to get in. As soon as he walked in the door his wrist was grabbed and he was dragged into the dining room. A rough hand on his shoulder forced him down into a chair at the table.
"My wife and I are not interested in housing runaways," the officer snarled at him, his voice as cruel as his face appeared.
Not sure which part of that to react to, Izuku stared at the man. The words came out before he thought about them, despite the supposed rule not to speak. "You d-didn't w-want to take me in anyw-way," he stuttered.
Despite the truth of the statement the muscular police officer glared at him. "You know the rules! How dare you talk back to me." The anger in his voice gave the words a dark edge.
Izuku struggled, trying to decide how to answer. Defiance had not been a specialty of his before, but he had never had to sleep on the streets before either. He was tired, in the same clothes he had been wearing for days, a shirt too small for him and shorts that really did not belong in polite company, and scared of the streets he did not yet understand. Somehow he had not gotten in trouble at school for it yet, but he also knew his teachers knew something had happened so they probably figured he was adjusting. Right now, the only thing Izuku was adjusting to was the fact he did not have a safe place to sleep.
Lost in his thoughts he apparently took too long to respond. He felt the tight grip on his face before his eyes refocused on the man. The fingers gripping his jaw drew a whimper from Izuku, but the man did not care. "We are taking you back to the station tonight, and they will figure out what to do with you."
The pressure on his jaw was released, and Izuku was fighting back tears. This man, this officer, was showing Izuku a harsh truth of the world: even the people whose job it was to protect people could not be trusted. The little bit of hope he had that things would get better died when he rubbed his jaw to soothe the ache.
A hand around his arm unceremoniously dragged him out of the chair and towards the front door. "We're not letting a runaway stay, and you can explain why you are making things even worse for yourself."
"I didn't run away," he protested, knowing it would not matter.
He was proven correct almost immediately as he was thrown into the backseat of the car he had been in mere days before. "I told you the first day, boy, no one will believe you over me."
The officer was right. All of Izuku's protests and arguments once they got to the police station fell on deaf ears. Not knowing what else to do with the boy that had a propensity to run away for the night, they decided to lock him in a cell by himself. It was cold, no better than the closet floor, and while there was nothing he could knock over to get himself in trouble Izuku sort of preferred his little place between the dumpsters. No one treated him like a criminal there.
They brought him food and a blanket for the cot while trying to figure out what to do next. It was hard enough finding a home for a quirkless kid, most people did not want to deal with that, it was just too stigmatic. Most people, also, did not want to care for runaways. Foster kids had enough issues, taking one it that you could not keep track of because they refused to stay in the home they had been placed in was not anyone's idea of a good time. A quirkless runaway? Nigh impossible. And to keep him from running from them as well he was kept locked away until a decision could be made.
By the end of that night, nearly twenty-four hours since Izuku had been locked up, they finally assigned him a case-worker from social services. The emergency situation forced them to find someone to take him. He was the social worker's problem now. And a problem he became.
When she found out he owned nothing, she took him shopping with a small stipend from the government that she was given with every new case. Three shirts, two pairs of pants, a pair of shorts, socks, underwear and a new pair of shoes later, he was ready to be housed.
The first house she dropped him off at, the day after she was assigned to him, seemed to be an okay situation at first glance. She introduced them as Mister and Miss Tanaka. They smiled, and shook her hand, and patted Izuku on the head, friendly the entire time Yuki, his social worker, was there.
It was when she left that Izuku realized he was in for hell. Again. The instant she was out the door and the deadbolt was latched the two people that he hoped would be taking care of him turned, their smiles gone as they looked at him.
"You will be home by 6pm, or the door will be locked," Mr. Tanaka started immediately, and Izuku realized how familiar that was. He wondered if this was a common occurrence. Before he could really contemplate that, the man continued. "You may be here, and we may be required to offer you a place to sleep, but when you are here you will be doing chores. Do not expect us to give you time for personal frivolities, quirkless children need more strict rules, as do runaways." He stared at Izuku with meaning, a cruel look in his eyes. "You will be abiding by them."
With a silent nod Izuku made a mental note that he needed to make sure he had his homework done before six, and to be back by then. So far, so good? Maybe his first impression wasn't as bad as he thought. At least out seemed better than going back to the dumpster.
"You will be sleeping here," Mr. Tanaka told him, moving from the living room to a small room down the hall. Inside was a bed, a nightstand that looked like it was meant to be a dresser from its placement, and a single basket. Izuku stared, he got his own room? An actual bed? He decided right then that he would work as hard as he needed to to make this work if this is what he got as a reward.
"This room is yours, we are not letting you sleep with any of the other children in this house with your track record, but we are not willing to lose our foster license over an ill tempered runaway."
Signing, Izuku had to acknowledge that what that officer had done to him was going to haunt him, and he had to prove he would not do it again, he would do anything to clear that smear from his name. Runaway…
"If clothes are anywhere other than the dresser or the hamper, there will be consequences." The tall, intimidating man longed back at the green haired child, waiting to make sure he understood the warning, and Izuku did. The look in his new guardians eyes told him consequences were to be avoided at all costs. Nodding, Izuku knew he would do whatever was required of him to avoid them.
With a curt nod the man continued with a question. "Do you have any original belongings?"
Shaking his head Izuku bit his lip, feeling a little sad about the answer. He honestly had nothing left bar what his social worker had bought him that morning, none of which counted as personal. He didn't know what had happened to the All Might figures and posters on the wall of a room here was sure now he would never see again. Whatever had once been his has been lost when his mom was taken away.
"Good," the man said, "then I'll say it for the sake of being able to say it was mentioned, no personal belongings out. Should you acquire anything freon here on out," he paused again for emphasis, "and anything you do acquire had better be done legally, will stay hidden. If this room is cluttered, dirty, changed or decorated any way other than it is right now… consequences. This is your room, your first chore, keep it pristine. Then there will be the rest of the house."
Mrs. Tanaka, who up to this point had been quietly walking beside her husband, cuddled in his arm, took over when he stopped speaking. "You are not our only foster child," she told him, trying to keep her voice calm and sweet. Something about it set Izuku on edge, but he listened quietly anyway. She didn't bother to glance back at him as she toured him through the rest of the house, continuing her thought once they reached the kitchen. "You are, however, the only runaway we have taken in and we do not need you polluting the minds of either our other two fosters, or our two children. Therefore, do not speak to them. In fact, do not speak at all."
She paused then, to see how the child would react, but Izuku was not stupid. He kept his mouth shut, merely nodding his understanding as he had been doing all along. If his ability to follow instructions mattered one way or the other to the woman she did not show it, but the tension in the room seemed to grow.
When no response was imminent she continued to speak. "Your other chores begin with the families dishes from dinner. As I've mentioned there are seven of us, my husband and I, our two children, who will not be assisting with chores, and three foster children now that you're here. One of them cooks breakfast and dinner, the other will do breakfast dishes. You are not to touch the food in any way until it is time to eat." She paused again.
Izuku opened his mouth to acknowledge his understanding before quickly snapping it closed again as her warning ran through his mind. Instead he nodded silently, not missing the disappointed look she shot him. This place was dangerous.
"You will also be trading off vacuuming the house and dusting with the male foster while dinner is being made. Dinner is always at seven, and you will finish after if you did not finish before. Lights out at nine, or when you finish your chores. Weekends will have more chores, but as it is Wednesday we will cover those on Saturday morning." She seemed to rush through the rest of her spiel when she did not get a rise out of him, and Izuku had to admit he did not mind.
Mr. Tanaka took over again, telling him he could begin his afternoon chores tomorrow and to go settle in his room until dinner. Izuku went straight to his room at that, taking the dismissal for what it was and using it as an excuse to get away from the adults of the house. He knew his natural drive to be polite, drilled into him from near infancy, was going to get him into trouble at some point as not responding was a struggle when he was addressed. For now, while he could, he would stay away from them, away from the temptation and problems they provided, and he would sit quietly in his room. Besides, he was exhausted. With school looming on the horizon the next morning and the luxury of having an actual bed for the first time in a week, Izuku decided to relax while he could. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
His peace was shattered a few hours later when a loud pounding on his door woke him up in a startled panic.
"Dinner," Mr. Tanaka snapped through the closed door. The word took a moment to register in Izuku's sleep addled brain, but when it did he was out of bed with a smile, practically running out of his room. He was getting real food!
By the time he was seated at the table, at one end beside another male (probably the other male foster child) to his left and an empty chair at the head of the long, wooden table to his right, Izuku was trying to control his excitement. He had not had a real meal since before he met the tall, nice man with dark hair that night nearly a week ago. When the plate was set in front of him Izuku promptly lowered his head and mumbled, "Itadakimasu."
Looking back up Izuku realized he had made a mistake when he caught the glint in Mrs. Tanaka's eyes before she stood up to rummage through a cabinet in the kitchen. Only then did he remember her warning about speaking. An icy cold dread crept up his spine as she pushed items aside, clearly searching for something specific, and when she turn back towards the table a cold pit opened in his stomach at the sight of the muzzle in her hands.
Izuku tried to fight back the tears when the cold metal touched his cheeks and cupped under his chin, forcing his jaw closed. He was less successful at keeping the tears at bay when he heard a latch snap and a little click as he assumed a lock slid into place, but he did his best. It was when Mr.s Tanaka sat down again in her seat, a satisfied grin on her face, and hear heard her announce to the rest of the table, "He won't be eating tonight," that he could no longer stop the flow.
The three people across the table from him, Mrs. Tanaka and who he presumed were her biological children, joked and laughed, talking all through dinner with Mr. Tanaka, at the opposite head of the table from where Izuku sat, while he cried, unable to stop the little sobs made in his throat even as his jaw remained tightly closed. Next to him the two kids, both older than him, glanced at him sympathetically, but neither did anything to help, nor did they say a word in his defense. It hurt, but Izuku did not expect much else. After all, it would only bring punishment down on them as well.
So he sat. He watched. He cried. He waited. He had no other choice. Once everyone else had finished eating, both of the adults in the room looked towards him, reminding him silently that dishes after dinner were his job, the one job he was still expected to do tonight. With a sniffle he gathered the plates.
Izuku slept poorly that night. They did not remove the muzzle before sending him to bed, and he could not get comfortable with the device locked to his face and around the back of his head. He was also hungry, and his tears seemingly would not stop as his stomach twinged its displeasure throughout the night. What little sleep he did manage was fitful and useless, much like him it seemed.
By the time the sun was up he was even more exhausted than the night before, his face was puffy and red, and he had no more tears to cry.
