Chapter Text
The museum is a grand building, from the marble floors of the atrium to the soaring glass ceiling above, and is usually hushed with the echoing reverence you find in galleries and the like. Today, though, voices and bodies fill the large space with excitement as the crowds pour in to visit the special, limited-time “Heroes Through the Ages” exhibition.
Squeezing past an enormous, dazzlingly cheerful statue of All Might, you manage to rejoin your group where they are waiting impatiently near the cloakroom. The children have been looking forward to this trip for weeks, and their faces are wreathed in smiles as you approach, waving colourful entry tickets in your hand. Day trips are such a drain for the home's limited resources that experiences like this are rare; you have been a junior support worker at the children's home for two years now, and this is the first time you've been able to bring everyone to something so popular, so you find yourself grinning just as widely as the children.
"Alright everyone, I've got the tickets. Now, who wants to go learn about heroes?" you say, and flap the tickets wildly as the kids all clamor for your attention. You share an amused glance with your colleagues, both wearing large backpacks full of snacks and the various miscellanies that children might need. Ueno, a sturdily built, cheerful woman, and Inaba, a slender man with a laidback smile, are both older and more senior than you, but they are probably your favourite colleagues, and you are immensely pleased to be on the trip with them.
After a lot of chattering, hopping about, and one mini tantrum, swiftly quashed by Ueno’s no-nonsense attitude, you finally get the children holding hands in pairs, and you are off to explore.
The main exhibit is being held in a large, airy room, and the second you step in, you are assaulted by a whirlwind of bright costumes, holograms, and interactive displays that have the children crowing with glee. After a quick conversation, you agree to break into three smaller groups, as navigating the bustling space would be impossible all together. The others are swept away into the swirl of the crowd, and you look down at your group. You are in charge of four children, ranging from 4 to 9 years old, and despite their disparity in age and personality, they all have the same gleam in their eyes as you stand to attention in front of them.
"Okay, troops! Where to first?"
~
You pass a happy couple of hours wandering the displays and showcases, before taking a break when the smaller children start to flag. The museum has a huge inner courtyard, filled to the brim with sunlight and weary visitors, and you situate your small group along the concrete edge of the large, splashing fountain, glad to find a rare seat in the crowded area to rest your hot feet. The children chatter animatedly, recounting their favourite sights as you hand out snacks and drinks of water.
You are in the middle of sharing out some dried apricots when a shriek rips through the air, and everyone falls still.
Reacting without thought, you are on your feet in an instant, standing in front of the children and snapping at them to stay behind you. Your gaze follows several pointed fingers up to the balcony that wraps around the courtyard, and cold horror fills the pit of your stomach.
A dark figure is crouched on the balcony railing, face shrouded in a hood of dark cloth, and framed by a writhing mass of tentacles bursting from its body. The sudden silence is shattered by a malevolent laugh, and before anyone can react, several tentacles dart forward, coiling around civilians and pulling their struggling bodies into the air, where they dangle helplessly, shrieking and flailing.
The courtyard is in instant chaos as people stampede to the exits, screaming and pushing. It is barely a moment before there are fresh cries of terror from the front of the crowd as more tentacles whip forward and slam the doors shut, piling against the exit in mounds of suckers and black flesh.
Choking back your own scream, you stumble backwards, hands reaching to gather your charges behind you. Fingers clutch at the hem of your shirt, and you feel the childrens' small, warm bodies pressing against you. Other than a faint whimpering, the children are silent, frozen with the same horror that fills your throat.
"Don't bother thinking you're going anywhere." The voice is dark, hissing and scathing, and somehow fills the room, even over the noise of panic and terror. "Look at you all, crawling and scattering like ants, just disgusting."
Every face turns towards the villain, screams dying down until the courtyard is once again silent and still, except for the frightened victims still dangling from tentacles in the air. You stand frozen, captivated by your own fear. There is a woman wrapped in a tentacle not 10 feet away from you, and you can see the whites of her eyes as she thrashes her head in its fleshy constraints. One of her shoes has slipped off her foot.
"Filthy creatures, all of you, swarming over the city with your sycophantic hero worship. You claim that villains are evil, but look at you all, blindly following your corrupt gods, throwing money and fame at them like they mean something, while the rest of us live in the dark-"
As the villain spits its accusations, you catch a whisper of movement in the corner of your eye, and see the figure of a man creeping along the balcony towards the villain. You can't see him properly from this distance, but there is only one kind of person who would approach a villain with such determined body language - a hero. Hope bubbles up in your chest, and your mind races with possible outcomes. One of the children whimpers into your leg, feeling you tense up, and you pat blindly at a shoulder with shaky fingers, not moving your eyes from the scene above you.
Even as you watch the hero, the villain hasn't stopped talking. "You have spoiled society, ruined the world for its children, and I will punish you for it," it snarls, and you realise with a shock of panic that the monologue is over, and the hero hasn't got there yet.
Any second now, the villain will stop talking and will see that the hero is there. We just need a little more time, you think desperately, just a little more distraction. Your heartbeat hammers in your throat.
Your feet are moving before you register what you are doing. You thrust the children away from you, whisper at them to stay together and stay where they are, then you’re stepping forward, moving into the open space in front of the balcony, and glare up at the villain.
“You’re wrong,” you say, barely a hoarse whisper, and grit your teeth in an abrupt bout of indignant rage. The next time the words come out stronger. “You’re wrong!”
The villain pauses, and then that hooded face turns down to regard you, the weight of the invisible gaze making sweat prickle out on your scalp. “What did you say to me?”
“I said you’re wrong,” you say again, and your voice is firm this time, ringing out in the courtyard. Suddenly you feel strength pouring into your limbs, fuelled by adrenaline and defiance as you glare up at the villain. “How dare you come here, attack innocent people, and blame it on us. You are the one choosing to wreak havoc and fear on people who are just trying to live their lives. You say that we are ruining society by following heroes, but the only one in this room who is ruining anything right now is you!” Your hand shakes with fury and fear as you fling an arm out, motioning at the families around the room, the small huddle of your children by the fountain. “I brought children here, children who are disadvantaged in life already, fighting to have a chance at a normal, happy childhood, and you are the one ruining their small piece of joy. How dare you? If you want to fix society, try working with it, not shredding it to pieces out of spite!”
You finally run out of words, panting with the full force of your tirade. You hadn’t known that anger was in you until it spilled forth, but every word had felt right as you spat them out. Hiding your trembling fingers by clenching them into fists, you glare up at the villain, willing your feet to stay planted where they are and not flee back to the children.
Nobody in the courtyard speaks, barely even breathes, all waiting and watching as the villain stares down at you. A shudder runs through the hooded figure, then down those black tentacles, and you hear a deep inhale, but before they can say anything, there is a flash of movement, and the figure of the hero is there, arcs of green lightning flashing along his limbs. He lunges forward, fist whipping out in a neat, staccato punch, and the villain's body is crumpling, head lolling backwards.
Tentacles start to wilt and shrink, but before you have a chance to panic about the people held up in the air, the hero is darting around the courtyard, a green blur of movements too fast to track with your fear-dazed eyes. Even as the tentacles retract back into the dark body, he is laying civilians carefully on the floor, safely out of the villain's reach. Then, with a powerful burst of energy, he leaps back up to the balcony, leaning out of your range of vision as he bends over the villain.
A second passes as you stand motionless, and then the realisation comes crashing down on you - the villain has been defeated. You are safe. Letting out a choked sob of relief, you whirl and sprint back to the children, crashing to your knees and flinging your arms around the huddle of their bodies. All of you cling together, shaking and crying in the aftermath of terror. Somehow, after a moment, you find the inner strength to pull back and start reassuring them, wiping tears and speaking to them as soothingly as you can, encouraging them to hug each other for comfort.
The next hour goes in a blur. The hero stands guard on the balcony until the police arrive, flooding into the building and removing the villain’s limp body. They take your name and contact details, and a brief statement, with a promise that they will call if they need more detail. Civilians are escorted to waiting ambulances to be treated. By some miracle, you don’t think anyone was seriously hurt, but there are plenty enough bruises and minor injuries from the tentacles’ squeezing and the panicked crowd pushing to leave.
Eventually, you are able to leave the courtyard to find the rest of your group, and Ueno and Inaba squeeze you into tight hugs, worry and relief stark on their faces. The children mingle together in a mass of questions and tears, but you hear at least one small voice begin a dramatic retelling of the ordeal, and you know they will be okay; these kids are resilient.
You are standing on your own by a water fountain, taking small sips of water in a stolen moment of quiet, when you feel a presence behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you see a man standing there, hand raised as if to tap you on the shoulder. His eyes widen when he sees that you have noticed him, and he pulls his hand back swiftly with a sheepish look. He’s wearing an All Might themed hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, and seems somehow familiar to you. It’s hard to tell, but you think he is about your age, certainly in his twenties, and his cheeks are scattered with an endearing number of freckles.
“Uh, hi!” He says, and his smile is bright and warm. His green eyes look vaguely familiar to you, though you can’t place where from. “That was you, right, back in the courtyard? You were the one who spoke to Cthulhu - I mean, the villain?”
“Yes?” You say uncertainly, and then your eyes shoot wide. “You - were you the one who - the hero?”
The man beams at you with a nod, and holds his hand out to you again, this time for a handshake. “I’m Deku!”
You’re already shaking his hand before your jaw drops open as his words process through your brain. “Deku? As in, Pro Hero Deku? As in, the Symbol of Peace and All Might’s successor, Deku?!”
Deku’s warm hand squeezes yours gently before he lets go, and he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck at your sudden, starstruck reaction. “Um, yep, guilty as charged!”
You stare at him for a moment, and you know the silence is probably stretching into awkwardness, but your mind has been overloaded by the fact that you are currently talking to one of the most famous heroes in Japan, and you hadn’t even realised who he was. Granted, you‘d never really seen him out of his iconic costume, but it was still pretty embarrassing.
“Hi,” you croak eventually. You manage to gain your wits enough to give him your name, and then you drop into a small bow as you begin to thank him for saving everyone.
“Ah, no, please!” Deku says, waving his hands in front of you, and looking relieved when you straighten up. “Actually, I wanted to come and thank you. Your courage to stand up and challenge the villain in that moment gave me the perfect opening to take him out without anyone getting hurt. What made you speak out like that?”
You take a sip of water, grateful for the distraction to regain your composure. “I could see you on the balcony, and I figured that you were a hero, but I got so scared when I thought that you had run out of time, and then my feet were moving and it just kind of happened before I realised it.”
Deku’s eyes widen slightly, and then crinkle as he beams at you. Your breath actually catches at the sheer blinding force of his smile. “Spoken like a true hero!”
You laugh ruefully. “Actually, I wasn’t very heroic, I was mostly just furious. I work in a children’s home, and this is one of the only day trips we’ve made this year, and that villain was ruining it for them, and spouting all that rubbish.”
“Ah, that’s what you meant when you were referring to disadvantaged children?” Deku asks, and presses his lips together in a thin line when you nod. “No wonder you-“
He is cut off when someone calls his name, and you both turn to see a police officer waving him over, standing next to a group of what looks like the press, bristling with cameras and microphones.
“Duty calls, I guess,” Deku says with an almost inaudible sigh, and you nod, already feeling guilty for taking up so much of his time. “It was so nice to meet you, and please, be careful with yourself. Goodness knows villains need telling off sometimes, but that’s what us heroes are for, huh? Don’t get yourself in any more danger!”
“Right,” you agree with a huff of laughter. “It was so nice meeting you too, Deku. Thank you again.”
Deku shakes his head with a smile, waving your thanks away politely, and then turns to leave. He gets a couple of steps away before you see him stop, his back straightening suddenly. He rummages in one pocket, and then whirls back to face you, and you are surprised by the look of determination on his face.
Returning to you, Deku quickly takes your hand and presses something into it before you can even react. “Um, please, if you need anything, big or small, or just want to talk about today or something, whatever, please just call me. I really mean it, don’t be afraid to call, okay?” He holds your gaze intently for a moment, green eyes serious on yours, and then bobs his head and is gone, striding in the direction of the police officer and pulling his hood back to reveal a mass of curly green hair.
Struck dumb, you open your fingers to see what he had given you. It’s a stiff business card, brightly embossed with All Might artwork on the back, and neat lettering on the front. 'Deku | Midoriya Izuku', it reads, and printed underneath is a mobile number. Your breath catches in your chest, and you can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes you. Deku, the number one hero in Japan, has just given you his personal contact details.
~
You hold onto the business card closely for a few days, carrying it in your pocket, in your bag, even tucked into your phone case. You can't count the number of times you have pulled it out, stared at the simple writing, and then put it away again. The card begins to look a little ragged, dog-eared on the corners, but that doesn't stop you from holding it, flipping it between your fingers thoughtlessly.
There is no reason for you to contact Deku - you don't need his help, and realistically you'd barely even had a full conversation with him; he probably wouldn't even remember you out of the countless civilians he must meet every day. Yet you can't deny the lure of it, knowing that you held a direct line to one of the most powerful heroes in Japan in your hands. It doesn't help that he'd seemed so kind that day, so warm and approachable.
There is a small voice in your head that says maybe he wants you to call - why else would he have given you his personal number? He has no obligation to you, and surely anything related to the villain could be directed through his agency. You smush the voice down mercilessly every time it speaks, but it always comes back to niggle at you.
Eventually, it is the children who make a decision for you. It’s five days after the museum trip, and you’re working an evening shift at the home. Most of the children are already asleep, and you busy yourself with tidying up the playroom while it is empty, the other staff taking care of paperwork and chores elsewhere. You're halfway through scraping some playdough out of the carpet when a plaintive wail sounds from one of the bedrooms. Wiping your hands haphazardly on your cleaning apron, you hurry upstairs, following the sound of muffled crying.
Finding the source of the cries, you knock gently on the bedroom door before pushing it open. The room is dark, but light spills in from the hallway behind you, and you see a small, quivering bundle of covers on the bed.
"Yuki?” You call softly, picking your way across a minefield of action figures and Legos to approach the bed. “It's just me, petal. What’s wrong?”
The bundle on the bed trembles anew, and a small face peeps through a gap in the covers. Yuki’s chubby cheeks are flushed and damp with tears, and your heart squeezes convulsively. Yuki is a tow-headed boy of four, who normally rampages around the home like an energetic whirlwind. He’s a fearless child, and it’s rare for him to have nightmares, so seeing him this upset is somewhat of a shock. Schooling your face into calmness, you promptly sit on the bed and haul the whole bundle of child-and-bed-clothes into your lap, wrapping your arms around the warm mass.
“There we go,” you murmur, and then let out a soft ‘oof’ as Yuki’s head suddenly rams into your chest, pushing his tear-stained face into you with another little sob. “Was it a bad dream?” You feel the jerky nod more than see it, and rub Yuki’s back in response. “It’s alright now, you’re awake and I’m here. The nightmare is all gone, now. You’re such a brave boy.”
You continue to murmur soft, meaningless words until Yuki’s hitched breaths seem to calm, and he isn’t pressing against you quite so violently. Eventually he pulls back a little, peering up at you with bleary eyes, and you smile down at him through the darkness of the room.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, making sure to keep your reassuring hold on him so he doesn’t slip away - it isn’t unusual for Yuki to deny himself the comfort of an adult when he needs it. He’s such a stubborn, brave little thing.
Yuki bites his lip a little before he whispers, “It was the bad guy.”
“The bad guy?” You keep your voice light and neutral, but your heart sinks; you think you know where this is going.
“Mhm, the bad guy, y’know, with the octopus legs? He came back.” Yuki says, the corners of his mouth pulling down, and your fears are realised - he’s had a nightmare about the villain from the museum.
You’d been plagued by some nightmares yourself, waking shivering in the night with the image of a dark hooded figure fixed in your mind, and cold sweat soaking your sheets, but you had hoped that the children had escaped mostly unscathed. They talked about the day at the museum a lot, and their voices were always excited with the drama of the retelling, but clearly your hopes that they remembered it as just an exciting adventure were unfounded. A sigh escapes you before you can hold it back, and Yuki looks up at you questioningly.
“Yeah, he was scary, wasn’t he?” You say, and Yuki nods fervently. “But you remember something else from that day, don’t you Yuki?”
Yuki frowns. “‘Member what?”
Taking his little face in your hands and rubbing at the tear tracks with your thumbs, you lean in conspiratorially. “Remember that we were saved by Deku, of course! Wasn’t he super cool?” Yuki’s eyes light up, and you grin at him. “With all that cool green lightning around his body, and he was so fast, right?”
“Yeah! Like nyoom, kachow!” Yuki crows, pumping his little fist, and you know you’ve brought him back from the edge of fear.
The two of you talk some more about what a cool hero Deku is, and all the while you stroke Yuki’s tufty dark hair until you see his eyes growing heavy, and his words are alternated with yawns. You tuck him back into bed with promises to leave a nightlight on, and creep out of the room.
As soon as you get downstairs, you are moving purposefully, all indecision shattered by Yuki’s fear. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you rummage in your bag until you pull out Deku’s tattered business card. You don’t stop to stare at it this time, and type the digits of his number into your phone without hesitation. If the children are still being scared by that villain, then you will stop at nothing to make them feel safe again.
You figure it is probably too late to politely make a phone call, so instead you sit in the kitchen, listening to the soft rumbling of the dishwasher, and draft up a text. The words get deleted and rewritten several times over, and you can feel your face pinching into a frown, but eventually you settle on a message and hit send before you can think about it any further.
You [8:15pm]
Hello Deku, I hope you don’t mind me contacting you - you gave me your business card at the museum, and said I could call if I needed help? This is a lot to ask, but I was wondering if you could visit the children’s home I work at? Some of the kids are still scared, and meeting a hero would do a lot to reassure them. Please ignore this if you are too busy, I don’t want to pressure you. And… Thank you again for saving us that day.
You reread the sent message and cringe at how stilted you sound. It was hard to get a balance between formal and friendly, and the result was a weird, rambling message that was more like an awkward email. Groaning, you chuck the phone away from you, letting it slide facedown across the kitchen table, and decide to make yourself a conciliatory cup of tea.
Knowing your colleagues will somehow sense the water being boiled, you end up making a full pot, and take it through to the office, where you are greeted with effusive gratitude. Not wanting to disturb their work - there is a horrible amount of paperwork involved in children’s care - you make your escape and settle into a slightly saggy armchair in the living room. Despite its usual clutter of worn furniture, toys, and crayon drawings adorning the walls, the living room is always oddly peaceful at night, when there are no children bouncing around, and you sigh gratefully as you inhale the fragrant steam of your tea and sip in silence.
When your phone buzzes in your pocket, it startles you so badly that tea slops over your fingers, and you shake it off with a muttered curse. Heart beating wildly, you pull your phone out, prepared to be disappointed by a junk email, but sure enough, Deku’s name greets you on the notification screen. Your fingers tremble a little as you unlock your phone and read breathlessly.
Deku [8:23pm]
Hasnalefd89W
You frown, but before you can react further, another message pops up.
Deku [8:23pm]
OH my gosh, I’m so sorry, I dropped my phone!
Deku [8:23pm]
I’m so glad you messaged me, I was hoping you were okay. Yes, I would be honoured to come and visit! I don’t know what I can do to help the kids, but I will do my best!
Your breath catches in a huff of laughter - Deku is just as earnest and warm via text as he is in person, it seems. It melts some of the nervousness that had crept up in your chest, and you don’t hesitate to reply.
You [8:24pm]
If you’re sure you don’t mind, then that would be awesome. When are you available?
Deku [8:24pm]
Any time!!
Deku [8:25pm]
Ok well maybe not any time, my agency would disagree with that haha, but really I am quite flexible. How about this Sunday?
A bloom of pleased surprise washes over you at how willing Deku is to come to the home. It’s Friday night now, so it really is very short notice, and you can’t help but feel gratified at his enthusiasm.
You [8:26pm]
Wow, Sunday would be great! If you come at 12pm you can have lunch with everyone, if you like? I hope we’re not too far for you…
You include the address and full contact details of the home in your message, and Deku’s response is immediate.
Deku [8:26pm]
That’s no problem at all!!
Deku [8:27pm]
So, I’ll be there at 12pm on Sunday! Lunch sounds great, as long as I’m not intruding!
You [8:27pm]
Haha no, you will be the best surprise ever. Thank you so much, Deku, really. See you on Sunday!
Deku [8:28pm]
Ah, it’s my pleasure! Goodnight! :)
You give a little hum of excitement as you put your phone away. The kids really would be beside themselves with joy to meet Deku in person, and you can’t lie to yourself - you are looking forward to it, too.