Hawks POV:

The kid was finally asleep.

Izuku had curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow tightly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For the first time since I'd found him, his face was peaceful. No furrowed brow, no trembling hands, no haunted look in his eyes. Just a fifteen-year-old kid who had been through hell and was now—finally—at rest.

I leaned against the doorframe, keeping my distance so I wouldn't wake him. The dim light from the kitchen cast a soft glow over the room, making everything feel quieter, safer. But inside my head? A storm was brewing.

Izuku had no idea how strong he was. That telekinesis of his—ridiculously powerful, completely untamed—was something the Hero Commission would kill for. Literally. I'd seen it firsthand. The way he stopped that villain's attacks like it was second nature, like he wasn't even thinking about it. And the way he held up under pressure? Most pros would've cracked, but not him.

I knew what the Commission would see if they got wind of him: a weapon. A tool. Something to mold, to manipulate, to use. And I knew exactly what they'd do to him if they ever got their claws in him.

The thought made my stomach churn.

I couldn't let that happen.

I crossed my arms, leaning my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts raced. The Hero Commission had been pulling strings my entire life, and I'd let them. I'd followed orders, done what they asked, played the part of their golden boy. But this? This was different. This wasn't just about me anymore. This was about him.

Izuku shifted in his sleep, his face scrunching up for a moment before settling again. He looked so small, so vulnerable, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. He'd been through so much already—too much for any kid. The last thing he needed was the Commission breathing down his neck, turning him into something he wasn't.

But how the hell was I supposed to protect him?

They'd come for him. I knew that much. The second they found out about him, they'd swoop in with their contracts and their promises, their lies wrapped up in pretty little bows. And if that didn't work, they'd use force. They always did.

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. Not this time.

I couldn't let them take him. I wouldn't.

This kid—my brother—deserved better. He deserved a life. A real one. Not one where he was shackled to the Commission, forced to do their dirty work under the guise of heroism.

I thought about Inko, about how she must have felt when she left the Commission all those years ago. She'd been smart to run, to keep Izuku away from all of this. And I hated myself for not finding her sooner, for not being there when she needed me. For not being there for Izuku.

I looked back at him, at the way his hands were curled into the pillow, his knuckles still scraped from today's fight. He'd done so much, risked so much, and he didn't even realize how incredible he was.

"You're stronger than you know, kid," I muttered under my breath, keeping my voice low. "And I'll make sure no one uses that against you."

But the question remained: how?

The Commission wasn't something you just walked away from. I knew that better than anyone. They had eyes everywhere, ears in every corner. They'd been in my life since I was a kid, and I knew what they were capable of. They didn't just let go.

But for Izuku? I'd figure it out. I had to.

I rubbed a hand over my face, exhaustion settling in, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. I had to start making a plan. Maybe Nezu could help—he was sharp, and he didn't owe the Commission the same allegiance I did. But even that was a gamble. Trusting anyone with this was a gamble.

I glanced at Izuku again, at the faint scar on his cheek, the way his green hair stuck out at odd angles. He looked younger than fifteen when he was asleep, like he hadn't been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I wanted to keep it that way.

Moving quietly, I stepped into the room and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over him. He shifted slightly, murmuring something I couldn't make out, but he didn't wake up.

"You're not gonna be their weapon," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

I stayed there for a while, watching over him, letting the weight of what I needed to do settle on my shoulders. The Commission had taken enough from me. From my family. From him.

It was time to start taking something back.