"Is this him?"
"The father".
"You have proof of identity with you, sir?"
"Yes", Hisashi said with an irritated sigh, reaching into his wallet to withdraw his residence card and driver's licence, half-dropping onto the table, and half-throwing them at the desk duty officer. He'd been living in the United States of America for well over five years now, and could honestly say that he had no intentions of ever returning to his home country for anything more than a brief visit, but he had made sure that all of his documents remained up-to-date, just in case an instance ever arose in which he needed them.
Like today, for instance.
"Okay, this all checks out sir".
"Thank you, officer", the inspector said, handing the documents back to Hisashi, who barely managed to prevent himself from snatching them out of his hands, "if you wouldn't mind coming this way sir, he's right through here".
"Finally".
Even from the back, Hisashi knew it was him, based solely on the green hair.
The exact same shade as Inko's, Izuku had had a head of hair that, in appearance, almost completely resembled his own, or at least, it did on those rare days he felt lazy enough to leave it untamed atop his brow, but unlike his relatively plain shade of brown, it was the same startling shade of green that the last four generations of the Midoriya Family had locally become known for.
"Izuku", the inspector knelt in front of the boy, drawing Hisashi's attention to the hideous bright red sneakers that adorned his feet, "it's Inspector Tsukauchi, do you remember me from the other day?"
"Naomasa?"
He smiled, "Naomasa, that's right", he said, reaching out to place a hand on the child's shoulder, "do you remember when I asked for your father's name", he waited for the child to nod, "well, we found him and he's here to take you home".
"But mom's gone".
"I know son, but-".
"Izuku", Hisashi knew his voice sounded curt, based on the inspector's reaction, but at the pace he was taking, simply explaining things to the boy could take all day, "it's me, Hisashi… your father. I'm here to take you with me. Back to America".
"Oh".
The boy still hadn't moved, staring straight ahead, past the inspector crouched in front of him, "Has he said anything about what happened?"
Tsukauchi rose back to his feet, the faintest traces of anger making his posture stiff, but shook his head, "No sir", he side-eyed the child, but when nothing happened, he continued, "he did, however, manage to help us draw up a rough sketch of the assailant-"
"The murderer", Hisashi cut in, ignoring the way his son flinched, "Inko was murdered, inspector, not assailed".
"As you said, sir", he nodded, moving his clenching fist behind his back, "young Izuku here managed to draw a very good sketch of the culprit's face. We've circulated it and put out a BOLO, but so far, we've had nothing come back".
"I see", he said, rolling his shoulders, "well then", he strode across the room, taking a seat beside the desk Izuku was sat at, "in that case, I'd like to have the release paperwork drawn up for my son", he offered them a smile that many others would have thought to call charming, but like every word the man had said, it set Tsukauchi's teeth on edge, "I'd like to get us both out of here as soon as possible".
=== === === === ===
A day later and his son was barely moving.
Inko hadn't had much in the way of possessions, able to easily store everything in her average-sized apartment. He took her bedroom for the few days he had to stay in Japan, arranging for the sale of most of her belongings, the donation of the rest and the lapse of her apartment's lease.
He had the money set to be added into the trust fund he had set up for Izuku, given that he had no use for it, and allowed the boy to pack his own belongings.
He knew from Inko's emails that the boy had a liking for heroes, but the vast array of merchandise, which included, by his count, seventeen separate posters that featured All Might grinning down at him, was still a lot to take in.
He didn't know whether or not to be impressed by the boy's dedication to his collection, or seriously freaked out.
Still… at least when he was told to start packing, the boy was finally moving, even if it was slowly.
He was quiet, speaking again, but only when spoken too. He spent all of his awake time either finishing up his packing, or watching videos of All Might and a smattering of other heroes on Yap!Tube. Aside from All Might, Hisashi couldn't say that he recognised any of them. Ever since he'd moved out of the country, he'd only ever bothered to keep track of the American heroes, and even then, besides the American Number One Hero, the Proud Hero: Standard Bearer, he'd only kept an eye on those local to him, in the state of Tennessee, where he now lived and worked.
In fact, other than All Might, the only Japanese Pro Hero Hisashi could say he knew anything of, that he was certain was still active, was the Flame Hero: Endeavor. It was a shame that Izuku didn't seem to be a fan of Endeavor, given the comparative lack of merchandise, limited to a single figurine, because he was the only Pro Hero Hisashi knew enough to talk about. Endeavor had been his favourite hero as a boy. His own similar ability to breath fire and control a small amount of it, (just enough for to wear around his neck like a scarf), had been his favourite trick when playing with the other kids growing up, never failing to draw awed gasps and smiles from the other children. He'd been able to always play as Endeavor and make it look real because of it, using his Meta Ability to mimic the man's trademark flame beard, while making sure that nobody would ever be allowed to beat him, because nobody was ever allowed to play as All Might when he was playing; after all, there had never been a problem that had required, both, the Number One and Number Two Pro Heroes to work together to stop.
Now, as an adult, he could simply appreciate the man's no-nonsense approach to his job and the incredibly impressive level of control he had over his extremely powerful, is somewhat temperamental, Meta Ability.
He knew from experience that controlling fire was hard work.
He was brought out of his musings, by someone banging on the front door.
"INKO! YOU BETTER OPEN UP BITCH! I SWEAR, THIS ISN'T FUNNY. PEOPLE HAVE BEEN SAYING YOU WERE DEAD! OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR, BEFORE-"
With an irritated groan, Hisashi set down his cup of coffee, (scalding hot, naturally), and crossed the floor of the small apartment, flinging the door open with enough force that it bounced off the hallway wall, the 'bang' being enough to silence the woman hounding his dead wife's door.
With her spikey, ash-blonde hair and startling red eyes, Hisashi blinked a few times, as his brain blanked out on her name, even if he remembered her face. She was a friend of Inko's from her childhood days, if he remembered correctly, which made her around thirty years old already, despite the fact that she still physically looked to be about twenty-one years old.
Glycerine, he remembered that her own unique ability was called. She naturally secreted glycerine in place of sweat, which meant her skin was constantly being moisturised, keeping it smooth and wrinkle-free.
He couldn't remember her name, or her husband's, but he did remember that the man's gift was Acid Sweat. It turned all of his sweat slightly acidic, which also had the amusing effect of allowing him to rub his hands together and create small explosions, that he used to entertain children, including Izuku, once upon a time.
Alone, they were similarly unremarkable, but together?
He ignored the woman for the moment, looking down to find a miniature version of her, in the form of her son: Katsuki Bakugo, his mind supplied, as he now recalled the family's name.
Here was a boy who had inherited a brand new Meta Ability that perfectly combined the powers of both of his parents, to form an even more powerful ability. The boy secreted nitro-glycerine from his pores, a combination of his mother's glycerine and his father's nitric acid, and if that wasn't enough, he could also detonate it from his hands at will. Explosion, was the name he had given it, and Hisashi found that just the sight of it was magnificent to behold.
It was a large part of the reason that he considered Izuku to be such a disappointment.
Between his own Blaze Breath and Inko's Minikinesis, he'd expected that Izuku's Meta Ability would either be one of theirs, or be a new mutation, possibly a variation of pyrokinesis. Perhaps he would be able to create and control fire like Endeavor, or maybe he'd be able to manipulate existing flames. If he was particularly lucky, then they would see a new mutation, but it was simply not to be.
Hisashi had proven to be particularly unlucky, and he had been subjected to a son, who had inherited none of his parents' unique abilities.
There was simply nothing unique about him at all.
Hisashi had always known that he had bad luck.
"May I help you?" He enquired through gritted teeth, his tone clipped, "Or are you going to persist in making a scene?"
The Bakugo woman blinked twice, her eyes widening, before narrowing into a snarl, "Who the hell are you?"
"Hisashi Hokisareta", he replied evenly, "and you are?"
"Mitsuki Bakugo- wait, Hisashi, like, Inko's husband?"
"Ex-husband", he corrected, "but yes, the very same", he added, while the child cocked his head to the side, eyeing him up speculatively.
"You're Deku's old man?"
"KATSUKI! WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU-"
"Deku?" He asked, taking a moment to remember enough of his classic Japanese to know that the word meant some sort of, 'wooden puppet'.
The boy smirked, showing off the slight mutation of having slightly sharpened teeth that he shared with his mother, "Yeah", the boy said, as though what he was hinting at should have been obvious, "Deku. That's what you call someone without a Quirk, who totally useless and can't do anything".
"Heh", he felt his lips twitch for a brief moment, he liked the boy's wit, for prepubescent humour at least, "anyway… what exactly can I do for you, young man?"
"You didn't hear her?"
"I heard her", he told the boy, before straightening back up to face her, "I just wanted to see if she could ask a question without howling like a banshee".
The boy snickered, he liked his sense of humour in return, it seemed, while the woman clenched her teeth, fire burning behind her red eyes, "I would like to speak with Inko, please", she added, stressing the last word, "I'm her friend".
"Do you often pound on your friends' doors like some sort of wild animal?"
She took a slow breath, attempting to reign in her anger, as her son guffawed beside her, "Is she available?"
"No".
"When will she be available?"
"Never".
She faltered at that, her eyes widening for a moment, displaying her concern, before she swallowed, "Is she alright?"
"She's dead", he told her simply.
She recoiled, eyes tightening in pain, as she took a shuddering breath, "And Izuku?"
"My son is in his room, packing".
"Packing?"
"Yes".
"What's Deku need to pack for?"
"He'll be coming back to America, with me", he tells the boy, ignoring the way the mother's mouth open and closes like a goldfish, "once Inko is laid to rest beside her family, he will be returning to Memphis with me, as early as I can manage".
"You can't do that!"
He rolled his eyes at the woman's outburst, she was starting to get on his last few nerves, "Yes, I can. Our flight has already been arranged".
"Izuku, are you in there!"
The tension in his neck tightened, as he slipped his hand into his pocket, curled up into a fist. The nerve of this woman, to first attempt to break into his own home, question him about that which she had no business knowing and then try and see his son without his permission.
"Now look here-"
"Aunt Mitsuki?"
Izuku's voice was quiet, barely there, but the boy chose that moment to appear in the hallway. Hisashi felt he had to fight back to the urge the audibly groan. This was their second day together in Japan and the boy would choose now of all moments to come out of his room for something other than the bathroom.
"Izuku!"
Mitsuki pushed past Hisashi without a care, showing a level of physical strength that surprised him, as she ignored his attempts to keep her out of his apartment, reaching out for a boy she'd known as a nephew, ever since the day he'd been born. She fell to her knees, pulling him into a hug as she reached him.
"Oh, sweetie, are you okay?"
Izuku's response was to sniffle, before falling into tears.
"Oi, Deku! Are you finally leaving?"
"Hi Kacchan", Izuku answered Bakugo's energetic tone with his own, dull voice, barely looking at him over his mother's shoulder.
"Answer me Deku!"
"Katsuki!" His mother barked, "Shut the fuck up!"
"Don't tell me what to do hag!"
"You little shit-"
"If you are all done making a scene", Hisashi said blandly, "you've seen the boy. He is fine. I'd like you to leave now".
Mitsuki ignored him, continuing to hug his son, before she pulled back and attempted to smooth down his unruly hair, completely unsuccessfully, "You just remember sweetie, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask, okay? Me and your Uncle Masaru, we'll always be here to help. Okay?"
Izuku half-nodded, half-shrugged, "Okay", he murmured.
"We're always going to be here for you, okay, whenever and for whatever you need".
Hisashi watched on, half-amused, as her son scoffed, "Yeah, until he fucking leaves next week. Then he's gone for good".
"Katsuki Bakugo, if you don't shut up and mind your language, you're going to find yourself grounded until you're dead of old age".
"Tch", he shrugged off her threat, "whatever, let's just go. Leave Deku and his old man to get on with their shit".
"Yes", Hisashi said, speaking directly at the woman, "listen to your son and leave".
Once again, he found himself ignored, as she continued to smooth down Izuku's hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, the same way his mother often did, "Promise me, Izuku, that if you ever need anything, you'll call".
The boy nodded slowly, shakily, but for the first time since he had been told what had happened, he managed a small smile.
"I promise".
=== === === === ===
The day Inko Midoriya was laid to rest, it was bright and sunny, with nary a cloud in the sky. The temperature was pleasant, not too hot, nor too cold. It was a perfect springtime day, all that Izuku could find missing was his mom.
She'd never get to see the sun again.
His father had held the tsuya wake, two days after Aunt Mitsuki and Kacchan had come to see him. He'd had to wear a suit, black for the funeral, instead of the brown ones his mom had always got him, with a crisp white shirt and matching black tie. His father had worn the same, though it had a collar made of a fireproof Nomex-weave, because of his Quirk.
His mom hadn't had many close friends, but she had worked as a part-time nurse, so the turnout was good, or so his father had said. He'd had to greet everyone at the door, so that he could welcome them and accept their condolence envelopes. He hadn't known what the black and silver envelopes were for, but was tempted to refuse the bushūgibukuro they were all offering him - both envelopes from Aunt Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru held 30,000 yen alone.
It was traditional, but it still made him uncomfortable.
The priest read out the prayers that were considered the standard, given that his mother had left no explicit wishes for her funeral rites, and then Izuku had stood up to offer incense, three times, to the incense urn in front of his mother. He was aware that people were shuffling about behind him, likely doing the same, behind him, while the prayers were finished. The funerary had arranged for small gifts for the guests to take as they departed, leaving Izuku behind to keep vigil for the night, kneeling in front of his mother one last time.
His father had told him that the gesture wasn't needed, and they could come back later.
Izuku didn't move once, the entire night.
=== === === === ===
The first part of the funeral took place on the next day. The kokubetsu-shiki, as it was called in classic Japanese, wasn't all that much different from the wake. They offered incense in front of the priest, who had more prayers to recite. Izuku couldn't remember a word that was said, only remembering himself placing a crown of flowers around his mom's head when it was done.
He'd laid purple primroses and her head, like the flower chains he'd given her on trips to the park, with two blue irises - her favourites - nestled at the edges, one sitting beside each of her temples. His father had called them an, 'unusual choice', but Izuku had chosen to ignore him, not letting him make the decisions, in the same way he made the priests wait to take her away until he was done.
He was vaguely aware of his father lingering behind him, but didn't pay him any mind, simply choosing instead to remain and stand witness, as they slid his mother's casket into the cremation chamber. Years later, he was still certain that if they hadn't been asked to leave so that a second ceremony was able to take place that day, then he would've simply stood there for the entire day, holding vigil, waiting for her, until they were told that the cremation was finished.
Once they were done, then came the hardest part of the day: the kotsuage.
He could've asked for help, Uncle Masaru even offered to help him do it, to pick out the remaining pieces and hand them to him, but Izuku said no the moment he offered.
It was his job.
He hadn't looked after his mom properly the first time, but he definitely wouldn't fail to do so now.
Never again, he had decided.
He cried the entire time, mostly silent tears, but a constant stream ran down his face, needing him to pause constantly to swipe at his eyes and wipe them away.
A few of the guests returned, some of them having needed to leave. Aunt Mitsuki had taken Kacchan home, letting him stay with one of his grandparents, while she and Uncle Masaru returned to escort his mom to her final rest. He could feel most of them twitching, awkward and uncomfortable, as he insisted on collecting his mom's bone fragments by himself, without any of their assistance.
He started with the bones of what had once been her feet, using the overly large metal chopsticks to pick up what hadn't been turned to ash. From there, he'd gone up the body, slowly picking out the pieces, until reaching the bones of her head, making sure to stack them carefully, so that she wouldn't be upside down, before the ashes were added around her.
There was already a plot picked out for her, in the same cemetery that her own parents had been laid to rest in, so that she could be kept near her other family. Izuku let go of her urn just long enough for it to be sealed, but then took it immediately back, all-but snatching it out of their hands.
From the crematorium, they walked to the cemetery together in one group, the sun still shining down upon them, and as Izuku looked up at the clear blue skies through blurred eyes, Izuku thought that maybe his mother might've liked the day.
Wherever she was, he hoped she did.
When they arrived at her plot, Izuku knelt down and placed the urn in the ground with all the care his eight-year-old self could muster, making sure that it stood upright at the front of her headstone. He remained there while they covered it, his body protesting, as the lack of recent motion seemed to finally catch up with him at once, as his muscles screamed at him for the complete lack of motion he had been allowing them, but he didn't care.
Today was about his mom.
His pain could wait for later.
=== === === === ===
Everything else after the funeral was largely a blur.
His and his mom's home was slowly stripped bare, as he boxed away his things and his father saw to his mom's. Some of it was boxed up to be taken with them to America, so that it could be given to Izuku, while the majority of it was prepared to be given up for sale or donated to charity.
His room was slowly peeled away, poster by poster and action figure by action figure, until all that remained was empty furniture and a few loose items of clothing he kept out.
Eventually they were all packed too.
His last memory of his old apartment was of it looking unlived in; vacant, cold and empty. He lingered upstairs after his father went to check on the car he'd hired to take them to the airport, claiming that he'd left a bag in his room, having purposefully left one there, just in case Hisashi had decided to check.
"I'm going to be back one day Mom", he said, speaking to the ghosts living in the walls, his face screwed up with all of the intensity that a boy of eight could muster, "and when I do, I'm going to make sure that what happened to you, never happens to anyone else ever again…".
Knowing that it was likely the last time he would ever stand where he was, he reached up beside him, a flicked the lights off with a sense of finality.
"I promise".
=== === === === ===
Author's Notes:
Hisashi's surname in this story, 'Hokisareta', comes from the same Japanese phrase, which can be written as:
放棄された
This use of the word means 'abandoned', which ties in with his leaving Japan for America, thus abandoning Inko and Izuku. The phrase also contains the kanji, '棄', which is used to help make up the phrases, 'dispose of', and 'to wane', the latter of which is intended to mean 'to decrease', or 'to become weaker'.
Wane is also obviously a homophone for Wayne, the surname of the DC Comics Superhero, Bruce Wayne/Batman, of whom some parts of this story will be based upon.
The name Wayne is primarily a male name of English origin that means 'Wagon Builder' or 'Wagon Driver', which is what led to the idea of Hisashi's job being in goods transport.