Chapter Text
About two months in, Tenko’s new routine has finally settled in.
The first week had been pure torture, a fight just to leave the apartment to go to UA High after finishing up with Aoki, even though it’s so close by. Toshinori wasn’t around to help him out, busier now than ever with hero work, so Tenko had mostly relied on Suzuki to help with the change to his daily life. She was obviously an immense help, throwing out different coping mechanisms and strategies to help Tenko adapt. But she only came around so often.
Of all the people to help him cope, it was Shirakumo. After that first day, Shirakumo had committed to walking Tenko to and from the practice field every time he came to the high school campus, usually chattering away about his work as a teacher. The pro’s constant, steady buzz of energy was much easier to handle than Yamada’s explosive eccentricity, and Tenko found that he really liked talking to Shirakumo. The revelation had been shocking, but when he thought about it, it made sense – Shirakumo was a lot like Toshinori, always trying to make the people around him smile, and a gentle, consistent level of cheery mood was much better at making others relax than the wildly overstimulating energy level Yamada toted around like a tangible cloud.
Not to say Tenko disliked Yamada, of course. He appreciates when the expressive Voice Hero tries to make him laugh, even when it doesn’t work, and it’s hard to say that Yamada doesn’t do his best to keep Tenko’s motivation high on his bad days. And he recognizes when he needs to tone his excitable chatter back on days when Tenko’s social capacity is at his limit, something that even Izuku and Toshinori struggle with.
When he thought about the group dynamics between training sessions, like he is now, eagerly sipping on a bottle of water with Shirakumo doing the same on the bench beside him while Aizawa coaches Eri through reversing a decayed vine of ivy back to a living state, Tenko can see a lot of similarities between his three impromptu teachers and his own family. He and Aizawa are quiet, asocial, and easily qualified as shut-ins by the people who don’t know them. They’re usually coaxed out of their unsociable moods by the gentle encouragement that Toshinori or Shirakumo provide, always considerate of the draining aspect of social involvement for their respective recluse. And the bright little cheer-bomb of energy keeping everyone else moving clears the space for the people behind them that they care for so much, being Izuku and Yamada.
It's not exact, obviously – Izuku is timid in a way Present Mic isn’t, Aizawa is a lot more stubborn in his bad moods than Tenko, and so on, but the similarities are enough to be noticeable. They’re enough that Tenko can settle into this new group and not feel so…distant, for a change.
Instead of feeling like an awkward fifth installment on a perfectly functional group, Tenko feels more like he’s settled into a slot made available for him, allowed to take it or leave it as he desired. Somewhere he’s accepted and invited but not expected.
Suzuki had practically cheered when he told her about that feeling. She was beyond ecstatic that he’d managed to get so comfortable with such a wildly new social group. Tenko felt insulted at the implications, even if he can’t exactly disagree. He’s spent so long being terrified of his quirk that the idea of making friends was like a distant, childish wish that simply couldn’t happen. Yet here he is now with four of them. Maybe three of them are just bored adults that hang around to make sure he doesn’t cause any damage, but that doesn’t matter so much to Tenko.
A bright flash of light erupts from Eri, and Aizawa lifts the little clay pot to reveal the plant inside, one vine slightly droopy but otherwise happy and healthy. He gives the little girl’s back an encouraging pat. “You held back too much, but this is still great work, Eri,” Aizawa says gently. “I know why you held back,” he adds when Eri’s bright eyes start to fall, “You’re usually reversing much worse damage, so you tried to moderate your power. Right?”
Eri scrubs at her eyes and then wipes the dampness away on the overalls she’s wearing. “Right,” she responds quietly.
“That’s a good instinct. You just need to practice it until your control is more precise. So no tears, alright?” Despite the near-admonishment, Aizawa moves his hand into Eri’s hair, gently tousling the long silver strands until she looks more put together.
Shirakumo throws his hand up to wave. “Hey! Why don’t you guys take five? Zash will be back soon.”
Aizawa and Eri walk to the bench and sit together, on Shirakumo’s right while Tenko sits on his left, and they’re both passed water bottles as well. Yamada had run off shortly after Tenko arrived, babbling about picking something up from one of the other teachers that he, Aizawa, and Shirakumo mentioned frequently. Quirk training had been a little quieter than usual because of it, and Tenko quickly realized just how important Yamada’s overeager encouragements and praise were to making these training sessions so positive.
“I told him I’d take care of it,” Aizawa mutters before tipping the bottle back.
Shirakumo chuckles. “You know how he is, Sho. Besides, I thought you wanted to get it to him as soon as possible.” He inclines his head towards Tenko, who is suddenly curious about what Aizawa apparently wanted to give him.
Aizawa grunts, noncommittal. “I didn’t think one day was going to hurt anything.”
“Might hurt you, if Maijima hears about it.”
“He’ll live.”
Tenko tugs on the sleeve of Shirakumo’s aviator jacket. “Maijima is…th-that’s Power Loader, right?”
“Yeah, you remembered!” Shirakumo grins at the boy and puts his arm around his shoulders, gently pulling him closer. “Power Loader’s the head of our support track courses.”
Tenko curls his fingers into his shirt’s long sleeves, anxiously plucking at the loose threads of the hem with his nails. “W-what did Aizawa do that’ll get him hurt?”
The underground hero stretches his arms over his head with a series of short pop-pop! sounds. “Oboro’s exaggerating. The worst that’ll happen is Power Loader will be moody about it for a while and give his third years some extra assignments.” Aizawa looks across the open field, suddenly focused elsewhere.
“Maijima’s really strict with his students, especially his third years,” Shirakumo adds, “But I’ll bet he’ll be pleasantly surprised when he sees what you’ve been having them work on.”
He elbows Aizawa, who merely grunts as he takes another drink from his water bottle.
Tenko pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through his texts in the quiet. Nothing new, there rarely is, but he likes to look through the silly things his dad and his brother send him sometimes.
A few days ago, Izuku sent him a picture of a frog he’d caught during recess and said he named it Slippy after one of the old video game characters Tenko liked before letting it go free. Toshinori had sent a few texts complaining about the paperwork he had to do after catching criminals, and about a week ago, he’d mentioned that Tsukauchi wished him a belated birthday and wanted to know if it would be alright to send something along to apologize for missing the day, which wound up being a knitted scarf from him and his wife. And there’s also their group text chat. Tenko smiles as he rereads the messages they’d all sent to each other about arranging a visit to UA for Izuku to meet Present Mic and Loud Cloud and Eraserhead, and whoever else they bumped into on the way in or out. Izuku was ecstatic about the idea, half of his messages were barely legible because of how excited he must have been typing them out.
Heavy, running footsteps drag Tenko’s attention away from his phone, and he stuffs it back into his pocket quickly as Yamada slows to a stop by the bench the other four are perched on. The blond is heaving, hands on his knees, looking like he’s just returned from running a marathon.
“I…I got ‘em!” Yamada triumphantly holds aloft a nondescript black box, contrasting sharply with his heavy breathing and red face.
He passes the box to Aizawa, who turns it over in his hands a few times, studying the glossy leatherette intently. Tenko can see the high school’s logo printed in gold on one side of the box, as well as some smaller lettering beneath it that he can’t read thanks to Aizawa moving it so much.
After some unclear point, he nods decisively. Aizawa stands suddenly, dropping his half-empty water bottle onto the bench, and moves to stand in front of Tenko. He holds the strange box out to the light-haired tween. “I asked one of the third-year support track classes to design and make these for you,” he says when Tenko merely stares.
Tenko swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. He carefully takes the box from Aizawa, carefully grasping the near end with both hands so he wouldn’t accidentally brush Aizawa’s. “Wh-what are they?” Tenko asks apprehensively.
Rather than answer, Aizawa shrugs. “Find out,” is his deadpan response.
Usually Aizawa is only vague and unclear when he’s trying to make a point, or if he’s been spelling something out for a while. Tenko’s fairly certain that it’s the former in this instance. Aizawa recognized very early on that Tenko responded best to direct, concise communication, which obviously worked out incredibly well with his own no-nonsense style of teaching; this type of non-answer was something he reserved for teaching very specific, particular things.
No point trying to save and reload, Tenko thinks to himself. His shaky pale hands delicately pull the top of the box off, and he sits it beside him on the bench.
Inside the box is a velvet lining, comfortably cushioning a pair of black leather fingerless gloves. Tenko picks one up. It’s much lighter and softer than it looks, the weight barely registers in his hand. Leather’s a material that Tenko prefers to avoid, he finds it too stiff and creaky to be comfortable wearing it, but these gloves seem to not have any of those unsettling qualities that he can’t stand. Or they could just look like they’re made of leather. Either way, as he runs the pads of his fingers along the seams, they feel more like the soft brush of a young kitten’s fur, or the downy touch of satin fabric.
When he reaches the cutoff where his fingers would go, Tenko startles. Nothing seems to be there, but he can feel the barest graze of something when he runs his fingertips along where the seam would go if the gloves were fully fingered. Frankly, Tenko isn’t quite sure if he’s imagining that light touch or not.
Aizawa’s voice takes him out of his silent reverie. “Put them on, Shimura, we don’t have all day.”
“O-oh, s-s-sorry.” Tenko gingerly slips the gloves over his hands. The black glossy leather-like material shimmers in the easy spring sunlight as Tenko flexes his hands, testing the give and sensation against his knuckles. It’s more like putting on a second skin with how closely the material clings to his hands, how light they are. If he turns them just right, makes the light catch a certain way, he can see the exceptionally sheer fabric resting against his thin fingers.
The rapid click of a camera shutter forces Tenko to tear his eyes away from the shockingly comfortable accessories. Yamada has his phone out and looks like he’s on the verge of bursting. “Ohhh, you’re so freakin’ cute, li’l Ten! No wonder Oro doesn’t share you at all!” Yamada roughly scrubs his hand through Tenko’s hair, and the boy gently rubs at the uncomfortable tingling left behind in his scalp when the hand leaves.
“Zash, delete that,” Aizawa wearily commands, “You barely know him.” For a grown man, Yamada’s pout could rival the elementary school children Tenko picks Izuku out of most days. But he does as he’s told nonetheless, and Aizawa turns back to Tenko.
He holds out his hand.
Tenko stares, unsure of what to do.
“You gonna take it?”
No, Tenko wants to say, No, no, no, no, I don’t want to hurt you, I like you, you’ve been so nice to me just like Toshi and Izuku and I don’t want to see this all over again.
He holds his hands against his chest. Aizawa hasn’t moved, but Tenko still shrinks back, worried about the potential contact. Shirakumo at his side has been a comfort ever since he started his new training, but now his presence is stifling. Suffocating.
He’s been getting better at handling his quirk. Decay has seemed so much less scary since he started working with Aizawa. Aizawa’s been a great teacher. He was so understanding about all Tenko’s weird habits and sensitivities in a way that only one other adult had ever been, and that was Toshinori. If he hurts him now…
It’s too soon. He might…no, he will still hurt Aizawa if he takes his hand. He doesn’t want to do that again. Never wants to do it again. He can’t touch anybody. As long as he doesn’t touch anybody, it won’t happen again. Just…just keep his hands close. Aizawa will have to leave soon anyway, free period will be over soon, he just can’t touch anybody until then and then he won’t have to.
“Shimura.”
The boy’s been thinking so hard that he didn’t notice Aizawa shuffle closer, one hand on his shoulder.
“Were you listening? Those gloves were made by a third-year support class here.”
“Wh-what does that h-hav-have to do with-“
“It means they were made for you. For your quirk.” Aizawa takes Tenko’s wrist and gently pulls it away from where he has it curled protectively against his chest. But he doesn’t touch the palm side of Tenko’s hand. “These gloves are classified as support gear for you, but the third years said that they can only iterate for so long before they need to be tested.”
Tenko’s trembling intensifies. “B-but i-i-if it- If it d-doesn’t w-work…” His chest seizes. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the horrible sight was burned into his eyelids years ago, inescapable even in darkness.
Aizawa squeezes his wrist, and Shirakumo carefully wraps his arm around Tenko’s shoulders. “That’s a possibility,” Aizawa says. He shifts his weight, trying to get close enough to comfort without smothering the kid. “But you aren’t going to know unless you take the risk. Besides, I told Recovery Girl that I planned to give these to you this week, and she’s ready to help if something goes wrong. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I-I… You…”
“We both know what your quirk looks like when it starts to take effect on a human, Shimura.” The tween flinches away. Yes, he’s very familiar with the effect his quirk has on other people. Unfortunately very familiar. “If something starts to go wrong, you pull away, or I’ll erase your quirk, and then I’ll deal with whatever happens.”
What if you’re wrong? Tenko thinks. What if you don’t know what it really looks like? What if you don’t know what touching me really does to you? What if it’s worse than what happened to Izuku because I’ve been using it more often? What if, what if, what if, what if…
Shirakumo rubs Tenko’s shoulder comfortingly. “Hey.” His gentle encouragement gets Tenko to finally force his eyes open to look up at him. Shirakumo smiles at the boy, pulling him closer, and gives his shoulder a tender squeeze. “Trust in Shouta, Tenko. He hasn’t done you wrong yet, has he?” Tenko shakes his head, and the motion forces a hot tear to slip down his cheek. Shirakumo wipes it away before it can drip from his chin and squeezes the tween again. “He knows what he’s doing. Trust that, if nothing else.”
Trust, huh?
Who’s going to trust him if he hurts Aizawa with his quirk now? Maybe Yamada and Shirakumo don’t understand because they’ve only seen Decay be used on plants, but they’re so close with Aizawa, there’s no way they’ll trust him around Tenko anymore if these gloves don’t work. And Eri. She’ll be crushed if she sees her dad get his arm putrefied into wet, black, bloody slop and bone fragments in broad daylight. She’ll hate him, and she’ll have every right to. She won’t come near him again. Nobody trusts him once they see his quirk.
The only reason Toshinori and Izuku do is because…well, he still can’t figure that out. But they’re used to it. Like living inside a new game plus without ever playing the base difficulty. They just don’t know any better. They can’t know any better…right?
Tenko looks down at his gloved hands. Izuku hadn’t seen Decay in action until the unfortunate incident two months ago. He’d been told about it, certainly – Mirai, Toshi, Suzuki, every adult in their life had told him, from the moment he came home five years ago, about Tenko’s horrible quirk, that it was why he couldn’t hold his brother’s hand or ever get a hug or even a pat on the back.
But he hasn’t acted any differently since feeling Decay firsthand. Tenko expected Toshinori to force them away from each other, to shut him up in his room like the diseased creature so many people say he is while Izuku was taken care of. Instead, Toshinori was more worried about him, about how he was feeling after the fact, even though Izuku was the one who’d had a huge swath of his arm rotted off. And Izuku was much the same, worried about how Tenko felt more than his own injury. If anything, Izuku was much more clingy than usual after that day, though also much more cautious about where he grasped his older brother.
He glances at where Aizawa holds his wrist, eyes flicking between Aizawa’s pale fingers wrapped around his thin, vein-webbed hand. Aizawa doesn’t seem the least bit afraid. Why would he be? He’s his own super hidden lore boss, after all.
Is that why Toshi and Izuku aren’t scared of him? Why they won’t get rid of him, no matter how much they should?
Then…maybe…
Tenko hesitantly turns his hand, and the fingers around his wrist loosen to allow the movement. He can’t help but twitch away when Aizawa shifts, but it’s just to shift his weight since he’s been standing for so long. Eventually, he settles, and his palm rests flat against Aizawa’s. The fabric of the glove is the only thing separating their hands.
Any moment now, it would get eaten away, though. That was always what happened when he was much younger and Toshi had tried to help him find a way around his deadly quirk. The gloves they’d tried back then had practically melted right off his hands, and they just stopped after blazing through a few dozen pairs.
These gloves…there’s an odd, subtle, waving sensation to the fabric. Almost like a snake was sliding around his hand, gently squeezing and moving on, eternally undulating.
They’re fully intact several seconds later. Tenko still expects them to abruptly disintegrate, but it never happens. Aizawa pulls his hand away and holds it out for Tenko to inspect. There isn’t so much as a flake of dead skin to be seen.
Tenko looks down at his gloved hands, shocked into silence.
“Look at that!” Yamada announces, suddenly breaking the permeating silence. “Those support track kids know their stuff!”
“The lining of the gloves has a colony of special microscopic machines threaded into the material,” Aizawa explains to an awestruck Tenko, “They’re constantly making more of that fabric to counteract your quirk when you’re not consciously directing it.” He walks around Yamada to collapse back onto the bench, eyes falling closed, looking much more exhausted than he seemed to a moment ago. “The material is also completely inorganic. If you’re in danger, you can chew through it with your quirk, but unless you’re focusing, you won’t be able to accidentally hurt anyone.”
Tenko blinks several times. No friendly fire anymore…? How? And…even more than that… “Why?” He asks in a flat tone, too overwhelmed with questions and emotions to manage any more than that.
Aizawa sighs heavily. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.” His response gets Aizawa to open one eye and stare at him. Tenko stares back. “Why?” he repeats.
For a long moment, his teacher is silent. It seems like he may not answer, which is fine really – Tenko will hate it, but he knows very well that he’s not owed an explanation – until Aizawa leans back to show Eri, quietly observing the entire exchange from his right side.
Aizawa looks down at the little girl, and when she turns her scarlet eyes to his face, he gently combs his fingers through her hair. “You were dealt a bad hand,” he mutters, barely audible, even in the open air of the training field.
Huh, Tenko thinks, rubbing his neck absently, Toshi says that a lot too, doesn’t he? Whenever he has to talk about…back then. Must be a dad thing, like bad jokes and overprotective tendencies.
With a heavy sigh, Aizawa stands, and Eri follows quickly. “Classes are resuming in ten minutes, so we’re done for today.” He turns to Tenko next. “You should get home, and let Yagi know if anything goes wrong with those gloves. He can message me about whatever issues crop up and I’ll talk to the support track about it.” Aizawa stoops to scoop Eri up, holding her securely against his hip as he walks back towards the main building.
Eri leans over his shoulder and gives a small wave. “Bye, Tenko! See you tomorrow!”
Tenko stands from the bench as well, slowly, and waves back, oblivious to how Shirakumo hovers just behind him. “Uh…Zash, could you-“
“Yeah, yeah, Oro, I’ll cover for ya. But it’s gonna cost you, buddy!”
Shirakumo flashes a grin and a thumbs-up. “Deal! Let’s get out of here,” he says to Tenko, gently guiding the tween along the same path they always take between the gates and the practice field.
Strangely, he’s not as talkative as he usually is when he’s escorting Tenko through the campus grounds. Tenko doesn’t notice for a while, too absorbed in studying his new support gear – because how wild is that? An armor upgrade he never knew he needed. By the time they reach the massive doors for the main building, though, Tenko realizes that he’s missing the comfortable cushion of Shirakumo’s usual chattering.
Also strange is that Shirakumo follows Tenko down the steps and across the brick path to the arching front gates. Usually he would stop at the bottom of the stairs and send Tenko on his way with a friendly wave.
“Don’t you have to go teach your class?” Tenko asks.
Shirakumo shrugs and puts his hands in the pockets of his aviator jacket. “They’ll be fine with Zash for a while. I want to walk you all the way home today, since you seemed like you had a lot going through your head when Sho handed you those gloves.”
That makes sense; Tenko’s usually adept at avoiding being driven to a full panic, and Shirakumo and Yamada haven’t seen him dive into his head like that before the way Aizawa has. Most people find that reaction unsettling. Tenko doesn’t consider it all that often because he makes a point to stay away from things and situations that prompt it, and if he does, it’s almost always around Suzuki or Toshinori. Apparently it’s not normal to do that, regardless of how Suzuki assures otherwise.
Tenko slips his phone out of his pocket to check the time. UA’s free period starts around eleven-thirty and lasts for roughly ninety minutes, and as expected, the clock at the top of his screen reads twelve-fifty-six PM.
Although it’s almost the same time as he leaves UA every other day, Tenko feels exhausted. Suzuki always says that it’s normal for him to be tired after normal things during the day, but it still sucks. A stamina upgrade would be nice. According to Suzuki and Toshinori, he’s been getting better endurance as the years go by, though.
Toshi… He’ll want to hear about the support gear, won’t he? And Aizawa said to tell him about any issues with them. But he’s probably still working. It’s rare for him to get home before seven. Winters get lonely because of how late he’s always gone.
Tenko flicks through his meager list of contacts to Toshinori’s and taps the call button. It rings once, and he hangs up. Mirai’s always gotten mad when he tries to call Toshinori during work, so this way, Toshi will know he wants to talk without getting bothered if he’s in the middle of something.
The late spring weather is mild and calm, all soft colors and gentle cloud cover rolling across the clear blue sky. Shirakumo seems to revel in it, breathing deeply to take in all the relaxing signs of the season. Lots of people seem to like the springtime, Tenko’s noticed. Suzuki and Aoki would talk about its approach frequently when winter was coming to its end. It’s also a strange subject of smalltalk, something strangers would try to prod him about all the time before they decided they were creeped out by his appearance. Oh, hi there, what’s your favorite season? The least you could do is get a name to put over that text box first.
Tenko decided a long time ago that it was strange and hasn’t found any reason to change his opinion since. Spring is just a time of year, after all, no different than summer or autumn or winter. Some of the things that happen during spring are nice – flowers blooming, weather warming up, lots of new little bugs and birds flitting around – but the season itself? Weird.
Shirakumo suddenly whips his head back, looking startled, and Tenko follows his gaze up into the atmosphere. The day looks more or less normal. Clouds are parting around a very peculiar shape in the sky, but it’s probably just a jet or something. Except it’s…getting closer?
That can’t be right. Or, if it is, that’s not very good. But if it was some kind of jet or aircraft falling from the sky, it should be making more noise.
A raging whirlwind crashes to Earth in a wild rush of air. Tenko braces himself against it, and Shirakumo throws his arms around the boy’s shoulders to steady him against the powerful gusts.
Tenko is still curled into Shirakumo’s chest when he hears the pro’s voice, pitched at least an octave higher than usual. “A-All Might?!” The exclamation forces him to look up, wedging his head between Shirakumo’s arms to get a better look.
All Might is, indeed, standing before them, in his easily recognizable hero suit, exuding the same carefree energy as always. He waves at the startled pair with an exaggerated arc of his thickly muscled arm. “Hello there, young ones! Apologies for the surprise landing, but I was in a bit of a rush!” Tenko winces at the projected volume. He’s never liked how loud All Might is, always making his head throb with the energetic persona the public loves so much.
Shirakumo laughs uneasily, slowly easing away from Tenko. Even as he straightens, he keeps Tenko tucked against his side. “No worries,” he says, combing his fingers through his flowing light hair. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here? Last time I checked, Musutafu isn’t really known for having Number One-worthy disasters.”
“A-ah, is that right? I could’ve sworn there was some trouble reported around here…” All Might rubs the back of his neck as he trails off. It’s one of Toshi’s nervous habits, one that Izu’s picked up sometime in the past few years.
He’s glancing at Tenko every few seconds. Oh, wait – he must have come here because of the call. Toshinori wouldn’t just blast over for no reason, and Shirakumo was right, there weren’t any major crime issues in Musutafu to the same extent as Tokyo, where All Might did most of his hero work.
But with Shirakumo here, he can’t just tell Toshinori about the support gear outright, like he’d planned. Aizawa had never given the impression that he knew Toshi and All Might were the same person, and neither did Shirakumo or Yamada, and with the annoying frequency Toshinori asked him if he wanted to ditch his quirk training since that first day, it’s doubly doubtful that he told any of them.
All Might came all the way here just to check on him, though, so maybe there’s a way to tell him without letting Shirakumo know…?
Tenko walks forward, catching the attention of the two pros. “Shimura? You alright?” Shirakumo asks softly.
He comes to a stop an arm’s length away from All Might. The massive hero forces out a laugh. “Hello there, young man! I don’t suppose you’ve spotted any wrongdoing today for me to stop, have you?” Tenko looks up. Toshi’s trying really hard not to let his worry show, but Tenko can recognize it quite clearly. He didn’t expect his little call to concern his father so much.
Tenko puts his arms out and leans forward, gloved palms pressing into Toshi’s leg. The ridiculously bulging muscles tense up, but don’t jerk away. There’s a long moment of stunned silence from the three of them, only interrupted by the soft rustling of leaves.
All Might clears his throat awkwardly, then stoops into a crouch, forearms resting on his knees, and Tenko flinches back when the overwhelmingly bright grin is put so close to his face. Even crouching, though, All Might is towering over him. “A fan, then? I’m sure I can spare some time before I’m needed somewhere.” He’s a lot quieter now that he’s crouched so close to Tenko. The volume is still way too loud to be comfortable, but it's better.
His red eyes dart down to Toshi’s hand as it’s extended to him. Like they don’t know each other. Like he did…then. It was years ago, now, but Tenko remembers how Toshinori had looked when he refused to let the blond near him. How sad he always seemed, despite the smile he wore in a desperate attempt to cheer up the shivering little boy he'd picked up from some nondescript concrete box in the middle of a dirty warehouse. Almost like seeing Tenko pull away from the gentle attempts at affection made him physically hurt.
Tenko wraps his thin fingers around All Might’s wrist – they can’t even reach all the way around the thick limb. He can only stare at the way they’re touching. Maybe there’s still a layer between them with the gloves but the material’s so thin that it’s barely there.
They’re touching. He can hold Toshi’s hand. He can hold Toshi’s hand without hurting him. He doesn’t have to hold his hands against his chest or grab his own clothes to avoid accidentally rotting away someone’s arm or leg or abdomen or…whatever else.
Tears spring into his eyes. Tenko’s vision is blurry and distorted by the heavy flow of hot, wet tears, but he hardly notices.
“Shimura? What’s wrong, kid?” Shirakumo is beside him in an instant, rubbing his back in soothing circles.
Tenko forces himself to pull his hands away again, wiping furiously at the uncomfortable hot, sticky trails left behind on his cheeks. He sniffles, and then a giant hand is suddenly carding gently through his hair. “I-I’m… I’m fine. Because All M-Might’s here,” he adds, knowing that hearing his catchphrase thrown out will comfort Toshinori long enough to focus on his work again.
Predictably, All Might throws his head back and laughs boisterously. “That’s a good man!” Several blocks away, something rumbles through the earth, and a massive plume of smoke and dust erupts into the atmosphere. All Might stands abruptly, and Tenko stumbles away, steadied by Shirakumo’s hand on his back. “There’s that trouble! Well, work doesn’t wait! Good day, you two!” He gives the two a jaunty wave, leans forward on his toes, and shoots off towards the debris in a blur of navy blue, red, white, and yellow.
Green leaves and pastel flower petals twirl violently through the wind left behind in the pro’s wake. In the gentle midday sunlight, it’s almost ethereal. The pollen is still making his eyes itch and water, but it’s a little more worth it to tolerate now. A little.
The boy rubs his eyes and continues towards home. He pulls his phone out to check the time again – one-thirteen PM – and starts thinking about what he’ll do to pass the time until Izu needs to be picked up from school. Tenko jerks when he finally notices Shirakumo walking beside him. “…Shirakumo?”
“Yeah?” He’s so unbothered now, you wouldn’t have a clue that Loud Cloud had been stunned into near-silence by the sudden appearance of All Might a few minutes ago.
Tenko doubts himself for a moment until he shakes it away. “A-aren’t you gonna go help with that?” He nods toward the dark smoky plume wafting into the air.
Shirakumo shrugs. “I mean, if All Might’s on it, I don’t think there’s much to worry about. Speaking of…” He playfully knocks his hip into Tenko’s side and grins when the kid turns his face up to him. “I didn’t know you were a big fan of All Might!”
Not really, Tenko thinks but doesn’t say. He’s never been a fan of All Might, reminded too much of the man that is little more than a voice in his addled memories. But he loves Toshinori, more than he can ever really tell him, and All Might is obviously included in that package. Izuku’s the real All Might fanboy, and he never questions why Toshinori is able to get him all the merchandise he could ask for before it even shows up on a store shelf.
“I-it’s just rubbed off from I-Izu, I guess.” It’s not a convincing lie, Tenko’s never been good at it. Shirakumo seems content to brush it off, though, sensing the tween’s discomfort, and turns to more everyday chatter.
The rest of the trip to the apartment is uneventful. Tenko is brave enough to feel some of the plants in the outdoor flower beds some of their neighbors maintain around the blocks surrounding the apartment complex and nearly cries all over again. Thankfully, Shirakumo is only ever supportive, with an arm around his shoulders or a gentle hand on his back to ground him until he can settle his emotions again.
At the foot of the familiar metal staircase, Shirakumo gives Tenko one last head pat. “Think you can manage the rest?” he jokingly asks. Tenko nods anyway, and it makes the pro giggle. “Alright, then. See you tomorrow, kid.” Shirakumo begins to pull away but hesitates after taking a few steps back. Tenko stares, unsure of why he doesn’t jet off immediately. It’s been long enough that someone at UA is bound to be wondering where he is, and based off what he said to Yamada, it’s probably not okay for a teacher to run off like this without a good reason.
Shirakumo steps closer again and wraps his arm around Tenko’s shoulders and pulls him close, squeezing just hard enough to be felt. “I’m proud of you, Shimura. And I’m glad you can get all these experiences you’ve been missing out on. So. Hug your old man for me, okay?”
Tenko nods. If it’s for Shirakumo – a man who’s been far kinder to him than he had any right to be – then he can manage another hug for Toshinori. More than he was going to in the first place, that is.
“Thanks, kid. Now go on-“ Shirakumo playfully pushes Tenko towards the stairs, “Get home already, troublemaker.” Tenko laughs at the tender roughhousing and waves over his shoulder. He watches as Shirakumo gathers a thick cloud under his feet, then leaps through the air on the waving puffs, not unlike how All Might had left them a while ago.
-
“Hey, Ten?”
Tenko bites his lip as he mashes a tough combination of buttons to dodge another blast from the big boss. He’s been chipping away at the boss rush for an age, progress hampered by his daily training sessions at UA. This is only the third time he’s managed to get to the big bad at the end of the marathon. “What is it, Izu?”
From the dining room table, Izuku calls back, “Can you help me with homework?” With a shriek from the TV and deep rumble of sound effects, Tenko slumps into the couch cushions. Dead again. But at least it happened at a convenient time. When Tenko gets up to carefully place his controller on the TV stand, he sees Izuku shrink into his seat. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to distract you!”
“It’s okay, Izu, I probably wasn’t going to beat it anyway.” Maybe. Maybe he could’ve dodged left instead of right since that would’ve gotten far enough away from the boss to avoid triggering the hitbox, rather than making a risky move to get some extra damage in. Regardless, it’s not Izuku’s fault, he just hasn’t gotten as much practice fighting the last boss as all the ones before it. He walks around the sofa and drops into the chair next to Izuku at the table. “What do you need help with?”
“Math and English. They’re really hard.”
Tenko picks up his chair to move it closer to Izuku’s so he can study the collection of papers spread out over the table. A few are already filled out: one guiding out the writing of different kanji, another with colored-in flowers and trees with some shakily written numbers in boxes beneath, and a third with a box of words and columns beneath headed by the words nouns and verbs.
The ones that are nearly empty aside from the smear of poorly erased pencil are, as Izuku said, focused on math and English. The math sheet is fairly simple, just a list of basic subtraction and addition with small numbers, written in both kanji and numerals. At the end of each equation is a little notation asking for the answer in either kanji or numeral form. That’s probably a little tough for Izu, who struggles a lot with switching between them, but not too hard.
On the other hand, the English worksheet is definitely designed to be challenging, with two columns of phrases and sentences on the paper with accompanying pictures to make it a little easier to understand. The sentences are missing random chunks between phrases, substituted by empty lines waiting to be filled in. Tenko reads through the first few and quickly realizes that the two columns are saying the same things, one in Japanese and the other in English, and the idea is for the kid to find and write the equivalent that’s missing in each blank space.
The problem is that he can’t just do all the work for Izuku, he has to try to do what Aoki does when he runs into a problem with a subject and try to help Izuku figure it out for himself.
“Which one do you want to try doing first?” Tenko asks to stall for time. He doesn’t know how to teach, really, and he’s having a hard time trying to figure out how he’s going to help without messing it up.
Izuku looks between the two worksheets, eventually pulling the English one closer. “I think English. I…it should be easy. I mean, Dad says stuff in English all the time, right?”
Yeah, he curses in English a lot, but I don’t think any primary school teacher’s gonna appreciate that kind of language lesson, Tenko thinks. Although the idea that a bunch of random English cursing would be acceptable to turn in on a first-grade homework assignment is a little funny. “He does,” Tenko says, hiding a smirk behind his hands, “But the words Toshi says in English aren’t really gonna help.”
“Aww…”
“Don’t worry, Izu, I think I can help you finish it.” All he has to do is get into tutorial mode, right? Just be a helpful little fairy for his little brother.
Obviously, it’s rough going. The English is not easy for Izu to get a hold of, and Tenko is constantly struggling against his own frustration. He’s not mad at Izuku – of course not, his little brother is six, he’s literally learning all of this for the first time – but not knowing much about teaching grates on his nerves whenever he misses the mark and makes Izuku more confused.
Teaching shouldn’t be hard, right? Aoki does it all the time, nearly every day, and Aizawa makes it seem so easy despite how wildly differently he approaches it. Teaching is second nature to Eraserhead, and that’s with kids he doesn’t know nearly as well as Tenko knows Izuku.
The thought of Aizawa’s peculiar method of teaching encourages Tenko to try some of his own teacher’s techniques, mostly the direct and concise instruction that he appreciates so much. Somehow, that’s a great change, because Izuku is suddenly flying through his homework like he’d never struggled with it at all.
Once the English worksheet was done, the math sheet was getting chewed through like nobody’s business! Izu still has some issues with switching between the kanji and numerals, but Tenko just encourages him through it. This is what school’s for, after all, isn’t it? He has plenty of time to work through that particular struggle.
Six equations in, and Tenko doesn’t have to help Izuku with translating the numeral to the kanji at all. He’s surprised, and proud of his little brother, and says as much. “Good job, Izu!” Just like Shirakumo when they’re training at UA. And, also just like Shirakumo, Tenko puts his hand on Izuku’s head, gently ruffling his frizzy dark green hair.
Izuku blinks up at him suddenly, small smile morphing into a wildly massive grin. Tenko told him about the new support gear already, but he hadn’t tried to touch Izuku yet, insistent worries in the back of his head yapping about how they’ll surely fail the moment he tries. But he’s so happy seeing his little brother succeed that he forgot those anxieties instantly.
Suddenly the front door flies open, revealing a heaving Toshinori, choking on his own breaths as he stumbles in wearing the same dark suit he’d left in that morning. He’s holding his phone against his ear, but clearly on the verge of throwing the thing away. “I don’t care! You’re the one who always whines about priorities to me, so quit fussing when I act on them!” Someone’s angry, tinny voice cries out indistinctly from the speaker as Toshinori yanks the device away and jams his thumb into the disconnect button.
He scowls for a half second before recognizing the scene before him. Tenko and Izuku stare for a long while, shocked into silence by the sudden appearance of their dad.
It’s not quite four PM, long before Toshinori should be home. He’s a self-admitted workaholic, constantly trying to compensate for his long hours of hero work by spending all his waking hours outside of it with his sons. To see him back home so early is…strange.
Toshinori steps into the apartment and halfheartedly kicks the door shut behind him. He quickly walks around the table, focusing intently on Izuku, which Tenko expects, until he notices that it’s not Izuku – it’s his hand on Izuku. Instinctively, Tenko pulls his hand back as quickly as he can, but he’s stopped before he can draw his hand against his chest. Toshinori grabs his hand faster than Tenko can pull it away, and gently guides it back onto Izuku’s head.
His bright blue eyes waver with unshed tears. Tenko blinks up at him while Izuku takes on a worried look. “Dad?” He asks, small and shy, “Are you okay?”
“…Yeah. I’m…I’m great, Izuku.” He hurriedly wipes his eyes clean. Then he seems to finally notice the papers spread across the table, and manages a wet chuckle. “Guess you don’t need my help tonight, huh?”
Izuku’s worry vanishes, replaced by giddy excitement, shaking his head vigorously enough to make Tenko retract his hand. “Nope! Tenko helped me do all my homework!”
“Good…good. Ten?” Tenko looks up at the much taller blond. Toshinori cocks his head. “How about you?”
“I never have homework.”
Toshinori huffs and slaps his hand over his face with a groan. Tenko giggles. He slips off the chair and grabs Toshinori’s free hand and merely holds it, marveling at the simple contact he hasn’t been able to have for so long. It’s not quite the religious experience he’d had when All Might appeared in front of him and Shirakumo earlier, but it’s rather close, even after all the time he’s spent testing the reliability of his new support gear.
Now he can just hold his dad’s hand. Except Toshinori looks like he’s about to tear up again. Tenko leans his head against Toshinori’s side, tucking himself under his arm just so, and lifts his other arm up to wrap limply around the blond’s waist, careful to avoid pushing on the old injury on his side.
Izuku quickly jumps out of his seat and throws his arms around Tenko and Toshinori’s legs. Of course he would, he’s an affectionate little brat. But, for all Tenko would like to let go of their dad to include his little brother, he wants to be selfish about this.
You were dealt a bad hand. Aizawa and Toshinori had both said that. Doesn’t he deserve to be a little greedy now that he can just…have this?
Toshinori cradles the back of Tenko’s head and pulls him closer. Like he had that day. Like little Shimura Tenko was a precious little creature in need of protecting, just like everyone else he saved. Like this scrawny little kid was worth saving, worth holding so gently, worth all the time and effort and pain in the neck long after the fact.
...Yeah. Yeah, he can be a little greedy, a little selfish. Just this once. Just for now. Just long enough to commit it to memory, and replace some of those old, ugly ones.