Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was easy to brush off the kid’s nervousness at first. Shouta knew he had a bit of a reputation (one he was happy to maintain as long as it kept the brats from trying anything with him), and his gruff nature had been known to unnerve many a pro hero. Students were certainly no exception. The revelation that Shinsou had looked up to him for… quite some time only added to the list of reasons why he might be anxious.

So it was easy to excuse the way Shinsou seemed to need time to build his confidence before calling attention to himself or the way he always seemed hyper-aware, especially when other people were around. The quick obedience, the avoidance of eye contact. It all lined up with the portfolio of a shy kid - something further backed up by the description of a quiet, independent student that he had gotten from Hizashi.

At first. It didn’t take long for Shouta to start suspecting there was something more to this kid’s behavior. Something that left him very concerned. 

~~~~

“There aren’t any mats today,” Shinsou observed upon entering the gym.

“We won’t be needing them this time.” Shouta walked towards the center of the room with light footsteps following close behind.

A low “hm” sounded from behind the pro hero. The kid took his time to think before adding, “We’ll be doing something different today, then.” 

Shouta turned to face the student, eying him contemplatively, “Now that you’ve got the basics of hand-to-hand down, we’re going to start adding in quirk training.”

Shinsou froze abruptly, still a few feet away from him, a glint of… fear? breaking through the kid’s usually neutral expression. “Wha-” Shinsou clamped his mouth shut and schooled his expression, staring at Shouta for a moment. “I didn’t know we were going to do that.”

Shouta watched him, something uncomfortable brewing in his gut, “You need to be able to use everything at your disposal effectively, especially in underground heroics. Neglecting to train your quirk to its full extent puts you at a needless disadvantage, and in this field, disadvantages cost lives. Usually your own.” The kid still looked thrown off, and Shouta wondered if he had missed the mark a little bit, “Surely you don’t think there’s nowhere else you can improve your quirk.”

“No, no, of course not, I just. Ho-Um. I don’t even know how we would do that.” Shinsou stammered out, eyes drifting to the floor.

“How we would train your quirk?” Shouta clarified, more than a little bewildered at the turn of events.

Shinsou nodded, tense shoulders breaking through his nonchalant facade.

Shouta answered the question easily, hoping to assuage some of his young student’s fears, “Just like sparring; you’ll practice on me.”

Shinsou’s eyes snapped to meet his. “I’m going to do what?!” 

The exclamation was immediately followed by Shinsou taking a quick step back, eyes widening further than Shouta would have thought possible. He watched with concern as the kid’s shoulders hunched almost defensively.

“I-I mean. You- I-” Shinsou took another halting step back, suddenly slamming his mouth shut with an audible click as he gave up on trying to fix… whatever he thought was wrong.

Shouta looked over the kid with concern, not sure what had caused such a harsh reaction. Shinsou was just standing there, shoulders hiked and head hung low, like a little kid waiting to be punished. And, for the life of him, Shouta could not figure out why. What he did know, however, was that a kid had no right looking that terrified.

“Kid?” He asked cautiously, “You alright?”

Shinsou looked up at him, confusion painted plainly over his face. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to say anything. Finally, he seemed to make a decision, albeit hesitantly, “You’re not angry.” His voice was soft and doubtful, like he thought the possibility of Shouta not being angry at him was nearly unfathomable.

“No, kid. I’m not angry at you,” he reassured him, “Why would I be?”

The kid looked at him like that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard, which, really, only gave Shouta more questions. 

“And you want me to use my quirk on you.” He stated flatly, not bothering to answer what was, apparently, an unnecessary question.

“It’s the most logical option,” Shouta explained slowly, watching the kid for any hint as to what was going on, “I’ll be able to coach you better on how to keep someone under your control if I know what it’s like to be fighting against it. And it would make no sense to bring in a third person every other session just to work on your quirk when I’ll be right here.”

There was silence for a beat before Shinsou muttered, “Most people don’t like the idea of me using my quirk on them.” He turned away, whispering quietly enough that Shouta had to strain to hear, “Don’t like what I could make them do.”

And if Shouta wasn’t already concerned, the combination of that statement with the way Shinsou was acting would have definitely done the trick. There was something else going on here, and he did not like not knowing. 

Shouta leaned down to Shinsou’s eye level - admittedly not very far, doing what he could to reassure the kid in the moment. “I trust that you won’t make me do anything you aren’t supposed to,” he promised, “This will be the best way to get you the training that you need.”

Shinsou stared at him incredulously, the seconds ticking by until he finally offered a small nod.

“Good. Let’s get started.”

~~~~

Unfortunately, the more he paid attention to the kid, the more worried Shouta got. In his search for answers, he had really just found more questions; questions that burned inside of him, impossible to put aside.

Shouta stood in the gym, contemplating the issue as he waited for Shinsou. Which was strange all on its own. Despite beginning just a few minutes after classes ended, the kid always made it to the room at the same time as him, if not, somehow, before. He pulled out his phone to check the time again when Shinsou burst through the door breathlessly.

“I’m so-sorry Sensei,” he gasped out, “I- I fell asleep and I,” the kid set his bag down, taking a few deep breaths, “I won’t let it happen again.” Shouta only half-listened to the stammered excuses as he took in Shinsou’s appearance. 

To put it very simply, the kid was a mess. His hair was sticking out even more than usual, his tie was barely hanging around his neck, and he had awful, dark bags drooping under his eyes. And Shouta knew bad eyebags; he was practically an expert at this point. More importantly, however, was the way Shinsou was swaying. Shouta wasn’t sure how the kid had made it through the day like this.

Shouta stepped forward to get a better look, stopping in his tracks when Shinsou flinched. “Kid, you look dead on your feet. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Yeah, I-” Shinsou was interrupted by a huge yawn. He reached an arm to scratch at the back of his neck, and continued with a soft, hesitant voice, “-I, um, have trouble getting a lot of sleep sometimes… I promise it won’t interfere with training again, Sensei.”

Shouta hummed in contemplation, eyeing his student’s dead face and glassy eyes. Obviously, the kid wasn’t lying - those eyebags spoke for themselves, but something still felt off to him. There was something missing to the story; something to do with why this kid had flinched. 

Shinsou took another deep breath, and Shouta couldn't help but notice that the kid seemed to be having some amount of trouble taking in air. Shit, was the kid sick too?

“Alright. You can head home early and catch up on some sleep. We’ll try again tomorrow,” he decided.

“No!” Shinsou’s eyes widened with an emotion he couldn’t quite place before his face dropped into an emotionless slate. “I mean. I can still train today, Sensei.”

Shouta snorted, “Kid, I’m pretty sure a light breeze would knock you over in this state. Overworking yourself won't help anyone. Just head home, we’ll pick it up again tomorrow.” 

“Please Sensei, I know I can do this. I’m already so far behind everyone in the hero course. I can’t afford to fall further back. A- and I-” Shinsou stopped before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and continuing “I just know I can do this. Please.” 

The desperation in Shinsou’s voice really didn’t sit right with him. Today or tomorrow really wouldn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things, Shinsou should know that by now. 

And with that, Shouta had a couple of ideas what had been missing from Shinsou’s excuse earlier. He really hoped they were wrong.

With a sigh, he relented, “Okay. We can work on cementing proper form today, but I’d still like to work with you tomorrow. Try and get some sleep tonight, alright?”

Shouta didn’t miss the way his student’s shoulder’s melted in relief as he nodded fervently. “Yes, Sensei. Thank you.”

~~~~

The last straw, however, the last bit that pushed his concerns from “wait and observe” straight up to “actively investigate” were the marks he’d come in with now and again. They were small, subtle. Shouta probably would have missed them if he wasn’t already on high alert. How many times had he already missed them?

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the kid just had weird glasses that pinched the bridge of his nose the kid had perfect vision; why would he need glasses? Maybe he liked swimming and had goggles that pinched the sides of his face, right past his cheekbones those kinds of marks wouldn’t last this long. Maybe he went biking and liked to buckle his helmet just a bit too tightly against his chin the marks were too small, too far forward.  

The last piece of evidence, however, the part that made this impossible to dismiss, was that they always, always came with Shinsou’s worst days: the days where he’d jump whenever Shouta spoke, like he’d forgotten he was there. Where he clearly hadn’t slept all night and his voice came out hoarse and hesitant - if he even spoke at all. The days where Shouta, at the beginning of their arrangement, would have sent Shinsou to his house to rest and come back the next day; something he’d completely taken off the table at this point.

These days didn’t happen often, he could only count a handful throughout the few months he had been training the kid, but they shouldn’t be happening at all. 

Something was going on, and Shotua would be damned if he didn’t find what.

~~~~

“Ah, Aizawa-kun. How can I help you?” Nezu chirped happily as he let the disgruntled teacher into his office.

Shouta scowled, “I need Shinsou Hitoshi’s file.”

“Is there an issue I need to be made aware of?”

He looked into the principal’s dead, beady eyes. It was very rarely that he could tell what the rodent was thinking. Even those few times he did catch a glimpse, Shouta was sure it was purposeful on Nezu’s part. 

Right now was one of those moments, and the message he got was dangerous. 

As much as Nezu loved tormenting the students, he knew where the line was, and God help anyone who crossed that line.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Nezu hummed thoughtfully, “I trust you’ll let me know if you find anything of interest?”

“Of course.”

The grin Nezu flashed at him sent shivers down Shouta’s spine. “Excellent! I’ll send you his file immediately.”  

~~~~

Shouta dumped his gear on the small dresser they kept in the genkan and switched into his house slippers. He stretched with a groan, making his way into the apartment.

“Shou, honey,” He heard a voice call from around a corner, “Is that you?”

Shouta smiled fondly, following the noise to the kitchen. “Not sure who else it could be,” he replied, entering the room. He was met with the breathtaking sight of his husband. He was in his casual clothes, frying something over the stove. It was hardly a rare sight. In fact, it was a near-daily sight. But Shouta wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“Well,” Hizashi reasoned as Shouta wrapped his arms around him from behind, “You know how Nem can be, I certainly wouldn’t put it past her to come by unannounced.” 

Shouta hummed in agreement, resting his forehead on Hizashi’s shoulder. He smiled, worries forgotten. Hizashi tended to have that effect on people… or maybe it was just him.

“That one’s really on you, y’know. Not sure why you ever thought it was a good idea to give her a key,” he muttered into the crook of Hizashi’s neck.

“You’d already given Tensei one!” Hizashi defended as he dug through the spice drawer, forcing Shouta to lean with him.

“Tensei’s responsible; understands healthy boundaries,” he murmured, reaching from behind Hizashi to pull out the bonito flakes.

Hizashi muttered unintelligibly as he grabbed the spice out of Shouta’s hand, still digging around the drawer. He finally grabbed a few other bottles before turning back to the pan, “Isn’t she supposed to be your best friend?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Well, obviously,” Hizashi laughed, stirring the various seasonings into the dish, “but other than me.” 

“I suppose so.” 

“So she should have a key,” Hizashi took the dish off the stove, forcing Shouta to pull away with a grumble. Hizashi shook his head affectionately and reached over to turn his face, kissing him gently, “Do you want dinner or not?”

“Hm, Not as much as I want you.”

“Aw, Shouta~,” Hizashi turned, lifting a hand to his chest teasingly, “That’s so sweet! I always knew you were just a big ol’ softie under all that grumpiness.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shouta brushed him off, turning to set the table.

Hizashi set down the food and went back to grab the rice, the two working in easy harmony, “Besides, you already have me. Now and forever, Shou.”

“Look who’s the sap now.”

“Pfft,” Hizashi waved him off, sitting at the table, “That’s no surprise; everyone already knew that about me.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Shouta agreed, sitting across from him, “Itadakimasu.”

“Itadakimasu,” Hizashi echoed with a goofy grin, before digging into the food.

Shouta smiled, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Shou.”

~

“Can you pass me that pan?” Shouta asked from the sink, working on the dishes as Hizashi finished clearing off the table.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Hizashi replied, leaning to give Shouta a quick peck as he stopped by, “How do you feel about watching more of that show tonight?”

“Can’t,” Shouta answered, reminded of his earlier concerns with an unsettling feeling in his stomach, “I’ve got to look over a file. The sooner the better.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi’s. He’s in your homeroom, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, great kid,” Hizashi responded, "He's the one you're training?"

Shouta hummed in confirmation.

“Why do you need his file? He in trouble?”

“No,” Shouta answered, setting the last dish on the drying rack, “There’s just something off with the kid. I need to figure out what.”

“Off?”

“He’s too nervous, too jumpy. Even after ten weeks of me working with him,” he explained, drying his hands on a nearby towel, “The kid hardly ever looks me in the eye, won’t ask questions.”

Shouta sighed and faced his husband, leaning back against the counter, “He comes in with these marks, Hizashi…”

Hizashi turned to look at him with a concerned frown, “Marks?”

“Not bruises or anything, just these little lines,” Shouta lifted a hand to his face, tracing where he’d noticed them, “I don’t know what to make of it, but it’s always coupled with his worst days. There has to be something there.”

“Shou…” Hizashi’s eyes were wide, voice soft, “Those sound like…” Hizashi lifted a hand to his face, feeling for something that wasn’t there.

It took a moment to click, but the fury he felt once it did… 

“We need to look at those files. Now.”

Hizashi nodded solemnly, “I’ll grab our laptops.”

~~~~

Shouta watched Shinsou warming up with a careful eye. The files, if anything, had only made him more concerned. They had labeled Shinsou as a problem child, illegal quirk use, starting fights, the whole nine yards. He thought it was bullshit.

See, he had known plenty of problem children, plenty of those who tried to shape up once they got to UA. They usually weren’t very successful. Some did better than others, well enough, even, that Shouta might recognize their attempts to grow as people and not immediately expel them from UA as a whole. (Although he could count on one hand - on one finger, actually - the number of students he had let remain in the hero course after discovering a history like Shinsou’s. There had been extenuating circumstances.)

Those kids weren’t nervous like this. They weren’t jumpy or unsure. Those kids didn’t have muzzle marks.

Someone - a lot of someones, actually, had made up a lot of shit about this kid. He needed to figure out why, and he already had a pretty good idea. 

Shouta watched Shinsou wrap up his warmup and come to stand in front of him, noticeably more breathless than usual. He just raised an eyebrow, waiting for the kid to say something.

They stood there for a long minute, Shouta could practically hear the cogs turning before he finally ducked his head and spoke, “I, uh, I’m done…” He trailed off uncomfortably, clearly waiting for something from him. 

He didn’t need to check to know what the kid’s face would look like today.

“Good,” he finally answered, “We’re going to keep working on that technique from last week.”

Shinsou nodded, falling into position. 

~

Sloppy.

Shouta frowned as the kid made another attempt at the technique. He’d thought Shinsou had the basic positions down by now, but he’d been keeping everything too tight and too close all afternoon.

He walked over to adjust Shinsou’s position, setting a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. The kid stiffened as soon as Shouta touched him, though he clearly tried to force it down right after. Keyword: tried.

Shouta lifted the hand off and stepped back, changing tact, “You need to open up more,” Shouta pointed out as he demonstrated, “Like this.” 

Shinsou nodded, copying him. Shouta didn’t miss how his jaw clenched with the movement.

“Keeping your arms in like that might feel like good defense, but it limits your movement in a way that makes both offense and defense suffer,” he explained as Shinsou tried to relax into the new stance.

“Ready?”

Shinsou nodded and he engaged again, sighing when Shinsou’s stance closed back up after just a few moments. He decided to continue the spar this time, hoping that letting them run through things would show the kid why being so closed off might be a disadvantage. 

In less than a minute Shouta had knocked him down.

He watched Shinsou sigh on the floor, frustration evident. Shouta knew early on today would be a bad day, maybe he was being too hard on the kid. He could afford some leniency - as long as 1A didn’t find out.

He bent over and offered a hand to help Shinsou, but froze before he could pull the kid up. He felt that same uncomfortable feeling building up in his stomach as his worst suspicions made themselves so much more plausible.

Shouta grit his teeth, trying to keep his face impassive as he stared. Sitting there, peeking out mockingly from under Shinsou’s shirt, was an ugly, massive bruise. 

Shinsou opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, giving Shouta a puzzled expression, clearly brimming with questions. But he didn’t ask.

He never asked.

“What’s that.”

Chapter Text

“What’s that.”

Hitoshi flinched at the barely concealed anger in his teacher’s voice. His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong this time. He hadn’t spoken since that awkward moment after his warmup, so it couldn’t have been that. Or maybe it was? 

Was Aizawa disappointed in his work today? 

Of course he was, what kind of student couldn't even hold basic positions?

Hitoshi knew, okay, he fucking knew that he was doing it wrong. But his stupid body wouldn’t get with the program. No matter how often he reminded himself to open up, he always fell back to that small hunched up position.

Which was stupid. Aizawa-sensei wasn’t going to hit him. At least, not outside of training, but that was different - he’d never even so much as left a mark. Like he thought Hitoshi was fragile or something... No, Sensei wasn’t the violent type. He’d probably just expel him if he fucked things up too badly. 

Which was a significantly worse option, if you asked Hitoshi. Not that anyone ever did.

He risked a glance up at Aizawa, hoping for some sort of clue, only to realize that the teacher wasn’t even looking at his face. 

Hitoshi traced his gaze down to his stomach and… that. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

You really did it this time Hitoshi. 

“Shinsou?”

The voice spurred him into action. Hitoshi shoved his shirt down, scrambling to his feet.

“Nothing,” he blurted out frantically, shaking his head. Yeah great going, dumbass, he’s definitely going to buy that. Hitoshi cleared his throat and carefully evened out his voice, “It’s nothing.”

He felt his hands twitch, fighting to clench shut, but Hitoshi forced them to stay like they were - trying to project some semblance of nonchalance.

“That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Well it is.” he snapped without thinking. His eyes widened as his mind caught up with his mouth. His muscles tensed and his shoulders hitched as he took a step back. That’s not fair, he argued with himself, Aizawa-sensei isn’t like that. 

Nevertheless, he took another half-step back, eyes darting to the side and away from his teacher.

He itched to say more, to try and explain the bruise away, but the words caught in his throat. Probably had something to do with the soreness in his jaw and the very convincing argument that made to maybe just shut the fuck up for once.

Aizawa crouched down a couple of inches so his eyes were level with Hitoshi’s. They looked almost worried, a thought that made his stomach turn.

“Kid, you know you can talk to me, right?” He asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

...How the hell was Hitoshi even supposed to respond to that? He stared at his teacher, dumbfounded. Was this a test of some sort? It had to be; Sensei couldn’t want to listen to the problems of some dumb teenager. 

Especially not when it had been Hitoshi’s fault in the first place. 

You’d think after spending practically his entire life with the same dumb fucking rule, he’d have figured it out at some point.

Watching Aizawa’s expression, Hitoshi nodded carefully, hoping that was the answer he had been looking for. 

The teacher stared at him for a moment before offering a disappointed sigh that made Hitoshi flinch. 

“I mean that Shinsou,” He straightened back up and eyed him carefully. Hitoshi shrunk back despite his best efforts. He just didn’t understand. What did Aizawa want from him???

“C’mon,” he said, walking towards the door.

Hitoshi frowned in confusion, but, well, Aizawa was already clearly frustrated with him. And it’s not like he could ask. So he just scurried down the hallway after him. It wasn’t until they had reached the west wing of the school that Hitoshi realized what was going on. His eyes widened, mind racing.  

Oh, this was really bad.

“I-” He started, hoping he wouldn’t make things worse, “I’m really fine, Sensei. It just. It looks a lot worse than it is, that’s all,” he protested.

“Does it, now?” Aizawa asked, not even bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice as he kept walking.

“Yes,” Hitoshi insisted desperately, “I just need to… to sleep it off. I’m sure it’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” the teacher dismissed, “There’s no reason to be in pain when we have a very capable nurse, right here on campus.”

“I wouldn’t want to waste her time with something so trivial,” Hitoshi offered meekly.

“We wouldn’t be bothering her. It’s her job to deal with these kinds of things. Besides,” Aizawa stopped and looked at Hitoshi, “if it’s really just something small, then it won’t take much of her time at all, will it?”

Hitoshi hunched under the sharp gaze, fixing his eyes on the tile below them. Reluctantly, he shook his head in agreement.

Seemingly satisfied, Aizawa trekked onwards.

He wondered, idly, exactly how pissed Sensei would be if he just made a break for it.

Probably not as mad as he’d be if he found out the truth. If he found out how much trouble he was, how weak he was.

It was pointless thinking, though. He’d probably make it a grand total of five steps towards freedom before being yanked back by that capture weapon - and then Aizawa would be mad about him running and he’d still find out all of it. Worst of both worlds.

Not for the first time - not even the first time that day, Hitoshi cursed his luck. Why’d it always have to be him that these things happened to? He tried to be good, he really did, but it was so hard when the universe decided to constantly fuck him over.

Hitoshi slowed his pace as they got closer to Recovery Girl’s office until he was finally standing in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot.

“Coming in?” Aizawa asked expectantly.

“Uh, ye-” Hitoshi was cut off by the blaring of his phone. He cringed at the obnoxious ringtone his fosters had insisted on but was mostly just relieved to have an interruption. Heh, look at him, relieved to get a call from his fosters. There really was a first time for everything.

“Sorry, Gottatakethis,” he blurted out as he quickly stepped away from the teacher, barely even caring how obvious he was.

Hitoshi lifted the phone to his ear, opening his mouth to greet the caller before thinking better of it and staying silent. A move that, unfortunately, Aizawa didn’t seem to miss. 

“ Where the fuck are you you little shit?!” the voice shouted through the speaker. Hitoshi worried his lip between his teeth, hoping it wasn’t so loud that the teacher could hear. He turned away, not sure he wanted to find out.

“ I know when your school ended you fucking twerp, I’m not Goddamn idiot!”

He had asked them. Weeks ago, he had cleared the training with them, insisting a teacher wanted him to stay after school for extra work. (And so what if they'd only agreed because they'd thought it was mandatory, they'd still agreed, alright?) He was pretty sure he still had the fucking note he’d had to ask through.

“I-”

“Ohhh no you don’t. You’re not gonna fucking control me, ya little creep. You think you’re soooo smart, but I’m not falling for your fucking tricks.” His quirk didn’t even work over the phone. “I thought you’d learned your lesson after last night, but I’m always happy to go over the material again. Though... villains,” he spat the word, “never truly learn, do they?”

Hitoshi winced, hand drifting to his ribs before he realized and snapped it back down. He risked a glance back at Aizawa, hoping he had missed it, but the frown that had settled over his face did not point in Hitoshi’s favor.

“Nothing to say to that, huh?” he chuckled, self-satisfied, “You’d better be back here in the next half hour or I swear to fucking god you’ll get what’s coming to you.” The phone call ended, just as abruptly as it had started.

Half an hour? He had half an hour?? The fucking train ride was 45 minutes. Hitoshi fumbled to shove the phone back into his pocket. 

“You alright, kid?”

It really was just one thing after another, wasn’t it? 

Hitoshi opened his mouth to respond, but the words just… wouldn’t come out. He barely managed a wheeze, and, at this point, he wasn’t sure if it was his ribs or his stupid fucking brain getting in the way of things. 

I don’t want to wear th-

No. He wasn’t thinking about that right now. It’d be fine, he’d get there on time, he just had to fucking move.

“Shinsou?”

Thankfully, that seemed like the last nudge he needed to kick him into action, “I’m fine,” he managed to get out in a hoarse voice, “I just- I have to go.” He honestly wasn’t even sure Aizawa could hear him, but that wasn’t really the most important thing on his mind. He took a couple of steps backward, trying to figure out if it was worth grabbing his stuff from the gym.

He watched Aizawa take a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He’s pissed, isn’t he? Is he going to stop the training sessions? To expel me? 

Can’t even blame him. I wouldn’t want to deal with such a shit student either.

“Okay.” 

He was startled out of his thoughts by the teacher’s voice.

“Okay,” Aizawa repeated, though it seemed more for his own benefit than Hitoshi’s, “Let’s go.”

“Wha- I mean, why- um. I’m don’t…” Hitoshi stumbled over his words, not sure how to dance around the wording this time. God, open questions were always so much harder. “Let’s...” 

Hopefully, Aizawa would get the message.

The teacher scrutinized him with a frown. He wasn’t really sure what that was about either, but fuck if it didn’t unnerve him.

“I’ll drive you.”

Hitoshi knew it was a bad idea. He had no doubt in that stupid little brain of his that this was just going to go poorly. But the only other option… well, the only other option left in 5 minutes, and, sure, Hitoshi was fast, but even Ingenium wasn’t that fast.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

Aizawa turned around quickly, stalking back through the halls with Hitoshi, yet again, trailing nervously behind him.

~

One very awkward, very silent car ride later, Hitoshi was still trying to think up an excuse that he thought his teacher might buy. 

For... well. For any of it.

The bruise, the call, why he can’t go in with him when they get there, why Hitoshi can’t even defend himself against a civilian, why he’s so pathetic, why Aizawa - the extremely busy full-time teacher and professional hero Eraserhead should keep wasting what few scraps of free time he had on Shinsou fucking Hitoshi of all people.

If the teacher caught on to Hitoshi’s mood, he didn’t comment. 

“It’s the next left,” Hitoshi murmured, “You can just drop me off at the corner; I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Aizawa glanced at him for a second and sighed, “I think I need to have a talk with your… guardians.”  

Hitoshi cringed. Yeah, getting that ride really was stupid of him. 

He knew Sensei was trying to help, but this is just how things were for Hitoshi. No matter where he went, no matter how hard his social worker tried to find someone good to foster him, he’d always fuck it up. He'd realized that a long time ago.

It was why he’d stopped giving the… masks to his social worker to get rid of whenever he switched houses.

Better to have one that fit, right?

“He -er. He doesn’t really like meeting teachers.”

“Why’s that.” 

Hitoshi had spent practically a lifetime redirecting these kinds of questions, but Aizawa was good at this. The teacher saw through everything, always knew just the right questions to completely cut through Hitoshi’s explanations.

None of which was helped by the fact that lying to Aizawa, to Eraserhead just felt wrong. 

Hitoshi shrugged, hoping his panic wasn’t showing, “Dunno.”

The teacher sighed, pulling over to the corner Hitoshi had specified, but he didn’t park the car yet. Hitoshi sat there awkwardly, watching as Aizawa scrubbed a hand down his face, eventually turning to him.

“I want to help you, Shinsou, but I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” Hitoshi didn’t even want to try deciphering the look in the teacher’s eye, “Please kid, just let me help you.”

“I- I don’t need help.” (He didn’t, okay? He was fine. This was just how things were. Aizawa would figure that out. Eventually.)

Aizawa sighed heavily, “I… understand that’s how you feel right now.”

Hitoshi had no idea how to respond to that. For how insistent the teacher was on logic and rationality, he sure hadn’t made much sense today. He hadn’t made any sense at all, really.

“Can I see your phone?”

Confused, he pulled out the device, handing it to the teacher who started typing away. Thankfully he didn’t have to wonder for long as Aizawa quickly finished whatever he was doing and handed it back to him.

“That’s my number - not UA’s. Mine. If at any time you feel like you do need help Shinsou,” he stopped and looked Hitoshi dead in the eye, “Anytime, day or night. If you need me, tell me. I’ll be there.”

Hitoshi swallowed thickly, not quite sure what to say to that, and nodded, shoving the device back in his pocket. He caught a glimpse of the time, and fuck, he really needed to get going. The drive was much shorter than the train, but Hitoshi still lived about the furthest he reasonably could while still expecting to go to UA.

“I need to go.”

Aizawa nodded, moving the car into park. Hitoshi scrambled to unbuckle and open the door, catching the teacher’s eye one more time before leaving.

“If you need anything, you know how to find me. I want to help you, Shinsou.”

He nodded solemnly before stepping out into the night.

And if the car stayed there, parked by the corner, until he couldn’t see it anymore, well, Hitoshi didn’t think he minded much at all.

~

“Well, wel’ well,” a voice slurred as soon as Hitoshi snuck the door closed, “Look who Fine’ly ‘cided to show up.”

Hitoshi cringed as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, hands tightening into a death-grip on his bag.

“What? Nothin’ to say ‘bout that?” 

He grit his teeth, ignoring the taunt. 

Mr. Iwasaki burst out into roaring laughter, “We-he-hell, look who learn’d his lesson. ‘ll have to keep tha’ in mind for next time, ey?” He chuckled again before leaning in next to Hitoshi’s face, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, “ ‘Cause we both know ‘s gonna be a next time, don’ we?” 

The grip on his shoulder tightened uncomfortably and he nodded reluctantly, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Good,” the man finally moved out of Hitoshi’s space, slumping onto the couch again, “Don’ you have chores to do or some’n?”

He nodded again, slipping his shoes off.

“Fuckin’ do them then. Have to talk you through everything…” he muttered, “Stupid ass kids.”

He’s not wrong.

Hitoshi shook his head clear, softly walking into the kitchen to start on the dishes. He dumped his bag on the floor next to the sink, not wanting to waste time putting it up in the shared bedroom. 

He’d only managed to empty half of the sink before he was interrupted by a sickeningly sweet voice from behind him.

“Shinsou, sweetie,” Hitoshi stiffened, turning around to see Mrs. Iwasaki frowning at him disappointedly, “Are you just going to leave your bag right there honey?”

Hitoshi’s eyes snapped to the backpack leaning against the counter. He shook his head frantically, snagging the bag with still wet hands as he took a few quick steps towards the bedroom.

Mrs. Iwasaki gave him that laugh he hated. Like he was just some fucking toddler.

“Oh, you silly, don’t worry about it. I can take that for you.”

Hitoshi shook his head again, pressing a hand to his chest in a “Me” gesture before trying to continue to his room.

“What.” She snapped at him, “You don’t want my help anymore? You think you’re too good for me? You go to your big, fancy hero school, and now you think you’re so much better than us, don’t you?” 

His hand clenched around the bag as he took another wary step back, unable to communicate other than continuing to futilely shake his head.

“Then why, Shinsou? Why do you keep turning me away when all I’ve ever tried to be is a caring and loving parent?” She took a step closer, reaching to touch his face as he cringed away. Her eyes narrowed at the refusal. “I just want to understand you. Help me understand you Shinsou. Please.”

And maybe he had been spending too much time at school because he opened his mouth for just a split second before immediately thinking better of it and snapping his jaw shut. 

It didn’t matter. That was enough.

Iwasaki gasped, in faux surprise. “Are you… Are you trying to quirk me? Again!?” She put a waver into her voice, really playing it up this time. But the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes was hard to miss, “Ju-Junichiro! Junichiro help me!” she wailed, scrambling back, “He’s doing it! He’s doing it again, the brat.”

Hitoshi stiffened, resigning himself to his fate. After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Iwasaki huffed, “must have fallen asleep again, the lazy bastard,” and walked out of the room. Before she left the threshold, she turned to him, “You stay right there, young man,” she snapped, “you’ll have to learn eventually. This kind of behavior just isn’t acceptable, Shinsou.” 

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Iwasaki stomped back into the room. He didn’t have to look up to know what she had brought.

She sighed, walking up to him, “I really wish you didn’t keep making me do this Shinsou. Always making me be the bad guy” He flinched when she reached for him to angle his face for the muzzle they made him wear. “You know this hurts me more than it hurts you. I don’t understand why you can’t just behave.” She grabbed a fistful of hair as she finished speaking, yanking roughly down. 

Despite himself, Hitoshi let out a pitiful whine at the pull of it. “Even still! Even still you try brainwashing me! Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you keep hurting me Shinsou?” She shoved the muzzle onto his face forcefully, only letting go of his hair when she needed both hands to secure the clasp into place, to pull the straps tighter, tighter, tighter until she couldn’t get it any farther. 

He kept his head down, trying to keep himself from scratching at the thing as it dug into his nose and cheekbones, focusing instead on the bag clenched tightly in his hands.

“There. All done. Are you happy now? Are you proud of your decisions, Shinsou?”

He shook his head softly, not looking up from the floor. 

She sighed like she was disappointed in him. “Go to your room and think about what you’ve done.” Hitoshi nodded, quickly walking towards the stairs. 

“I better not see you again until you’re ready to apologize young man!”

He nodded one last time, resigning himself to a very early night. 

He curled up on his bed upon entering the room, the first kid in for the night by far. He lied there for some time, just trying to avoid thinking before he finally gave up and pulled out his phone. Hesitantly, he opened it up to stare at the new contact info there. 

He wasn’t going to do anything with it, not really. There was no way Aizawa-sensei would actually accept the call, he’d probably just felt guilty or something. He already knew Hitoshi’d been a fan of Eraserhead since he was a kid. Probably just didn’t want to crush his stupid childhood dreams. And even if Hitoshi did call, even if Aizawa did pick up, it’s not like Hitoshi’d have anything to say.

Hah. Get it?

Chapter Text

“I could be a vigilante,” Shouta mused, “I don’t need a license to do hero work.”

“There… There have to be better reasons to not murder someone than losing your hero license,” Hizashi reasoned through grit teeth.

Shouta scoffed, “Like what?”

Hizashi drummed his fingers against his leg, “You can’t help him if you’re in jail. Or,” he added before Shouta could protest, “if you’re running from the law.”

Shouta slumped onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “You didn’t see it, Hizashi… I couldn’t get him to Shuzenji, but it was bad.” Shouta ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, “You don’t get bruising like that from accidents, ‘Zashi, you don’t.”

“I know,” Hizashi murmured, taking a seat next to Shouta, “I know. We’re going to get him out of there. He’ll be okay.”

“But I left him there Hizashi. I just… let him go.”

“Shou...” Hizashi trailed off, looking at his husband with pained eyes. “Look, we both know that unless we get more evidence CPS isn’t going to do shit. The only thing we can do right now is wait until we’ve found enough ourselves or convinced Shinsou to trust us.”

They both knew it but saying it didn’t make things any easier.

He’d heard that things used to be different before quirks, before kids started to get superpowers and people started to dispute what exactly counted as abuse. After all, if you can hit a kid just as long as it “doesn’t cause injury,” just how far can you take it when that kid has a defense-type quirk? It wouldn’t be “reasonable punishment” to feed a child dog food for dinner, but does that change when the kid has a dog-type mutation quirk?

If a child could deafen you with a cry, is it reasonable to force a muzzle on him until he learns to sob silently?

All in all, quirks resulted in a system where it was nearly impossible to prove abuse without either a testimony from the child or an overwhelming amount of evidence. Frankly, it was disgusting what people could get away with now. Especially when the very simple answer to how much you should be able to hurt a child is “Not At All.”

“I’ll talk to Nezu tomorrow,” Shouta muttered, pulling Hizashi out of his spiral, “and increase my sessions with Shinsou; try and get him out of the house on weekends, maybe.” 

Hizashi nodded with a sigh, “He’ll trust us eventually, we just have to get there first.”

~~~~

Hizashi took a deep breath before entering the classroom. He had a plan, it was going to be okay. Well, it was more of a rough idea than a plan, but that’s fine. He just had to talk to Shinsou, get the kid to trust him. 

And you can’t plan out trust babey; that’s gotta come naturally.

So it was fine. He was glad that he didn’t have a plan. He’s just gotta be genuine and there for the kid, that would be enough, yeah? Of course not, but it’s all that he can do.

The morning bell rang, and Hizashi burst into the classroom, his usual smile plastered to his face, “Everybody say Hey!!”

A few students looked up from their desks before turning back to whatever they had been doing while the students who had been standing around slowly made their way to their seats. Hizashi scanned the room, spotting Shinsou in the back corner. He watched as the kid smothered a yawn, sporting eye bags that could rival Shou’s, which was immensely worrying.

“Alright!” he started, “As you all probably know, we’ve got a break coming up the week after next!” He watched Shinsou grimace out of the corner of his eye, which was… worrying, to say the least. “So we’re gonna work really hard to make sure everyone’s caught up in time for that, yeah?”

The murmuring quickly went from excited to disappointed as Hizashi pulled out his lesson plan, shaking his head fondly. Students never changed, huh? 

~

“Alright, can anyone translate this to English for me?” Hizashi asked, writing a few sentences on the board. A couple of students started murmuring to themselves as he turned to watch the room. He noticed Shinsou biting on his lip in concentration before his eyes widened in realization and he started to write something down.

Hizashi grinned, “Shinsou, you got an idea?”

Shinsou looked up at him with a shocked expression, a little apprehensive even. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something but seemed to rethink it at the last minute, looking down and shaking his head instead.

Hizashi hummed, almost letting a concerned frown find its way onto his face, “Are you sure?” 

The kid nodded, eyes fixed on the desk. Hizashi shot him a concerned look. Something wasn’t right here. Why would Shinsou lie?

“Alright,” he responded cheerily, looking for another student to call on and maybe get attention away from Shinsou, “Ueda, do you have anything?”

“Umm,” Ueda looked between the board and her notes a couple of times, “‘This is Takuya. My brother. Twenty years old…’ Right?”

Hizashi nodded enthusiastically, “That was really good!” He walked to the board and started writing the correct sentences in English, “You just forgot to say ‘He is,’” he reminded the class, underlining the words on the board. “Remember that English uses personal pronouns whenever you’re talking about a person!”

“So these sentences would be ‘This is Takuya. He is my brother. He is twenty years old,” Hizashi smiled at the class, trying to get a feel for how many people needed the reminder vs how many remembered, “You always have to clarify who or what you’re talking about in English!"

“Any questions?” Hizashi paused to give anyone who needed it space to talk before moving on.

“Alright! Can everyone please turn to page 66 for me?” He opened his own copy of the book to a continuation of the passage he had written on the board, “Your homework today is going to be translating the rest of this passage. Go ahead and work on it for the rest of the period, I’m right here if you have any questions!”

He waited for the class to get going before he started making his way around the room. He stopped when he made it to Shinsou, peeking over the kid's shoulder to see he was almost done with the work.

“Hey there listener,” he said quietly. Shinsou stiffened into an upright position, shoving his hands under the desk before he turned to Hizashi.

“Is everything alright?”

Shinsou worked his jaw contemplatively for a long minute before offering a frustrated sigh and a nod.

Hizashi fought off a frown again, glancing at the marks on the kid’s face. How had he never noticed those before?

“You know you could talk to me if anything was going on, right?”

The kid fixed him with a confused expression, shrugging. He quickly corrected it, however, with a nod.

“If you say so,” he said, eying Shinsou contemplatively.

“Do you think you could spare some time during your lunch period to stop by my office, kiddo?” He asked. At the widening eyes, he quickly added, “Nothing’s wrong! I was just hoping we could have a little chat.”

The kid did not look reassured in the slightest but still nodded in agreement.

“Great! It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” He offered a kind smile, earning himself another nod, before moving on.

~

“Hey, there little listener! Thanks for stopping by,” Hizashi greeted Shinsou, “Go ahead and sit down wherever.”

Hizashi finished straightening up some papers before turning to grin at Shinsou, faltering a little when he realized the kid was still just standing there anxiously. Hizashi recovered quickly, “Hey, no reason to be nervous,” he said, pulling a chair for Shinsou to sit in, “You’re not in trouble or anything.”

Shinsou nodded cautiously as he sat down in the offered chair, fidgeting with his hands. 

Hizashi had been planning to try warming the kid up to him before asking if everything was okay, but he was suddenly hit with a thought.

“Hey,” he blurted out, surprising both Shinsou and himself, “Do you know any JSL?” He signed the question after, in case the meaning wasn’t already obvious.

Shinsou’s eyes widened in slight awe as he watched Hizashi’s hands. He shook his head in response but chewed on his lip in contemplation. Hizashi waited patiently and was rewarded by Shinsou eventually signing ‘Want. Learn.’ with slow, clumsy movements. 

Hizashi could feel his face lighting up at the attempt. Shinsou wanted to learn! And it just so happened that Hizashi knew the perfect person to help with that.

“Do you want me to teach you?” he exclaimed, still signing along with the words and thrumming with excitement.

The kid stared at him, shocked, like he hadn’t even considered that to be a possibility. 

“I know you already have training with Eraser on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday so we could do Tuesday and Thursday, unless you’re already busy!” Hizashi’s mind was running a mile a minute, already thinking up lesson plans, trying to work out how long they should meet each day, etc. Although it came to a halt when he looked up at the kid.

Shinsou was sitting there uncomfortably, chewing on his lip again. He raised his hands hesitantly and signed, ‘Not.’ He thought for a moment longer before sighing and fingerspelling, ‘N-E-E-D.’  

“You don’t need me to teach you?” Hizashi asked disappointedly, showing Shinsou the sign for ‘need’ as he spoke, “Already found classes or something?”

The kid shook his head quickly, ‘You. Not.’ He hesitated for a moment before attempting the sign Hizashi had just shown him for ‘Need.’

“Oh,” Hizashi said, brimming with pride over Shinsou getting the sign right, “Oh! No, don’t worry about that. I’ve been trying to get Nezu to introduce JSL classes for years. I’d love to teach you kiddo!” He assured him enthusiastically.

‘You. Want.’

‘Yes!’ He signed, “As long as you want me to?”

Shinsou stared at him with that same awed look for a moment. He nodded his head hesitantly, at first, before quickly turning more enthusiastic.

Hizashi grinned, “Great! Tuesdays and Thursdays then?”

With just the barest hint of a smile on his face, Shinsou nodded again. 

“We can start today if you want, I’ve already got some free time after classes.”

Shinsou gave him an incredulous look, “Sure, I ju-” he cut himself off with a cringe, hand going up to rub the bridge of his nose. Which, really, was an innocent enough gesture.

Unless you were Hizashi.

Unless you knew.

“You okay, listener?” He asked, heart aching for the kid.

Shinsou slowly moved his hand away from his face, trying to look casual, but really not succeeding, ‘Yes.’

Hizashi tilted his head questioningly, waiting for Shinsou to continue. He watched the kid weigh his words carefully before signing, ‘Need  A-S-K.  F-O-S-T-E-R  P-A-R-E-N-T.’

Hizashi smothered a scowl at the mention of Shinsou’s guardians, instead plastering on what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “Oh, I don’t mind calling them for you. I don’t have any classes next period, so it won’t be an issue!”

Shinsou, unfortunately, looked far from reassured. He held his hands out in front of him, shaking his head. ‘You not need. I  A-S-K.  Not  P-R-O-B-L-E-M.’

“It’s really no trouble. I’ve actually wanted to talk to your… guardians for a while anyway.” Hizashi pushed, “Besides, I heard that there had been an issue with Eraser’s sessions, and thought it might be good to clear up any confusion, yeah?”

He could see, in Shinsou’s eyes, bone-weary exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that goes down to your soul; that can’t be fixed with just a good night’s sleep. The kind that no kid should ever know. He sighed, offering a resigned nod.

“Great! I’ll see you back here after classes!”

Shinsou waved gingerly before leaving to continue his lunch.

Hizashi sighed once he was sure the kid was sufficiently far away. He was not going to enjoy this phone call.

~~~~

“This is Present Mic, am I speaking with the guardian of Shinsou Hitoshi?”

An angry sigh came out from the other end of the line.

“What’d the brat do this time?”

Hizashi narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you mean by that.”

“Look,” the voice huffed, “only time anyone calls me about the little creep is when he’s been causing trouble again. Is that what this is or not?”

“Is that so?” Hizashi asked cheerily, although the way he was working his jaw would make it hard for anyone to think that was how he actually felt. Good thing Iwasaki couldn’t see him, huh? “That’s so strange. Shinsou’s never been anything but a model student in my classes.”

Iwasaki grunted angrily into the phone, “Then why, exactly, are you calling me in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday?”

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you were up to date on Shinsou’s after-school activities!” Hizashi explained, “I heard there was an… issue over his studies with another teacher.” He let his tone shift dangerously as he spoke.

“I see,” the man said sharply, “I certainly would have appreciated being informed when these activities began.”

“Of course! I’m very sorry for that, we just got a little mixed up,” Hizashi lied, “See, I thought that Aizawa-sensei would be contacting you as the teacher working with Shinsou, but he thought that I would be doing it as his homeroom teacher,” he forced a laugh, “I’m sure you know how it goes.” 

“Hm. I would have expected more from UA.” 

“Ah, but we all make mistakes, do we not? Even the best of us slip sometimes,” he weighed his words carefully before adding, “Luckily this was a simple misunderstanding. Some things aren’t quite so easy to brush off, yeah?”

The other end of the line was silent for a moment, Iwasaki no doubt considering the possible insinuations in Hizashi’s words. 

“Of course,” he said slowly, “Mistakes happen all the time. But I’m sure we can both move past this, don’t you think?”

Yeah, fat chance. If Hizashi hadn’t already wanted to beat the shit out of this asshole, that certainly would have done it. Bargaining was as good as a confession in his mind.

“Absolutely! I’m so glad you understand.” Hizashi chirped through grit teeth, confident in his ability to not let it show, “So about those activities! Shinsou’s going to be seeing me for a couple of hours after classes on Tuesdays and Thurdays and Aizawa-sensei on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I also believe I heard Aizawa-sensei talking about seeing him on weekends for a couple of hours if Shinsou’s up for it.”

“You don’t think that’s a bit much?”

“Here at UA we are committed to giving every student the resources they need to succeed. Plus Ultra am I right? Besides," Hizashi added, "I’m sure we all want what’s best for Shinsou’s future.”

“Sure do,” Iwasaki brushed off, “I’m just not sure what time this will leave Shinsou to get his homework and chores done.”

“Aizawa-sensei and I will be happy to make sure Shinsou keeps up with his homework. And, frankly, I’m not quite sure what chores a first year could have that’d take up more than, say, thirty minutes, mabe an hour each day.”

“He’s supposed to watch the younger kids after school and then make dinner,” Iwasaki said gruffly, “Nothing difficult, of course, but pretty hard to do if he isn’t home after school, don’t you think?”

“Really?” Hizashi asked, catching Shouta’s eye as he walked into the break room, “You have a fifteen-year-old taking care of the children? That’s very interesting. I have here that your wife is a healthy, stay-at-home parent. It’s rather strange that Shinsou would have to take over for her, isn’t it?”

Shouta raised an eyebrow and made his way over to Hizashi, who raised his phone volume so they could both hear.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know this, but my wife and I specialize in dealing with… troubled children. Specifically those with dangerous quirks.” 

Hizashi and Shouta exchanged furious looks at the insinuation.

“I’m sure you can understand why she might need a small break every now and then, especially with so many children in our care.”

“Hm, that does sound very difficult,” Hizashi responded, “If you’d like, I’d be happy to contact CPS about removing some of the children from the household for you. I wouldn’t want anyone to be too overburdened.”

“I think that’d be quite difficult. See, this tends to be the last option for many of these children. They're all rather... problematic. ”

Hizashi tightened his grip on his phone, pretty sure it’d break if he pressed any harder, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I have quite a bit of sway with CPS,” he bluffed, “Besides, I'm very persuasive when I want to be.”

Iwasaki was silent for a minute, weighing Hizashi’s words before he released a loud, angry breath, “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. We’ll find a way to work around… Shinsou’s new schedule.”

“I’m happy to hear that! It’s been a real pleasure speaking with you,” Hizashi said, cheery tone back in place, “Don’t be a stranger! I’m sure Nezu or I would both be thrilled to speak with you about any scheduling issues in the future.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Have a wonderful evening,” Iwasaki all but snarled before the line went dead.

Hizashi let out a slow, angry breath before turning to Shouta.

“I am reconsidering my stance from this morning,” He said evenly, a tight-lipped smile plastered to his face.

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

He turned to rest his elbows on the desk before burying his head in his hands, “He all but confessed, but, of course, it was all insinuation so I don’t have anything solid to show CPS. And he had the fucking nerve to think that I would bargain with him about this!” Hizashi sat up, throwing his hands in the air.

He always struggled to stay in one spot when he was angry.

“As if I would ever! And he sounded so sure of himself like there was no way I wouldn’t agree with him. And if that doesn’t paint a worrying picture…” 

“You think other teachers have covered this up before?”

Hizashi snorted angrily, “You saw his file. With all the bullshit they wrote in there, I’d be surprised if they weren’t contributing to it. No wonder he doesn’t trust us!”

Shouta slumped back into his chair. “It’s like you said, Zashi, we’ll just have to show him that we’re different.”

Hizashi groaned, “I know. I know. I just wish this could be easier. I don’t want him stuck there another day, certainly not however long it takes for the kid to come to us.”

“Yeah,” Shouta sighed, “Me too.”

They were quiet for a moment, both mulling over the situation before Hizashi spoke again.

“I talked to Shinsou today, too.”

“How did that go?”

“Pretty well, I think. He wants me to teach him JSL.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Shouta didn’t say anything, probably sensing that Hizashi wasn’t done yet. The latter dragged a hand across his face before speaking again.

“I’m thinking about going without the sunglasses.”

Shouta turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, “You are?”

Hizashi nodded, “I think it might help him, knowing that he’s not alone.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Shouta said softly, “I know you don’t like people seeing them.”

“I know. They’re… Well, they’re pretty light anyway. He still might not see them,” Hizashi pointed out, “And it’d be different if he did, I think.”

“Besides,” he added, “Even if it wasn’t, I’d take a couple of hours of discomfort for the kid’s trust anyday, yeah?”

Shouta nodded understandingly, “It would probably help.”

“Yeah.”

~~~~

Hizashi stood in his office and slowly took off his sunglasses. He rubbed his thumb over the one of scars on his cheeks for a moment before finally setting the glasses on his desk. 

It was odd not wearing them at UA. Aside from impromptu visits to Shuzenji, he didn’t think he’d ever been here without them before. 

Even back when he was a student. 

Hizashi’s musings were cut off by a soft knock on the door. He put up his best grin before opening it to a nervous Shinsou.

“Hey there, listener, thanks for coming!”

“Thank you for having me, Present Mic-sensei,” Shinsou replied quietly, eyes not quite reaching Hizashi’s face.

“Oh that’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? Just call me Mic. Or Yamada, whatever you’re comfortable with!”

“Uh, sure, Mic-sensei.”

“Awesome! Do you want to learn how to sign it?”

Shinsou’s gaze flicked up to meet Hizashi’s but paused on his cheekbones. Ah, so they weren’t that faint then.

He watched as Shinsou’s eyes widened slightly, his hand raising halfway to his own face before he seemed to think better of it. 

Shinsou peeked at the bridge of Hizashi’s nose, almost as if double-checking that the scars really were what he thought they were before he finally met Hizashi’s eyes.

Hizashi smiled at him kindly, sympathetically, in the few moments before Shinsou’s gaze darted back down, fixed somewhere on the floor behind Hizashi.

“Y-yeah. That, uh, that’d be good.”

“Great! Although maybe we should move to the library before we get started, huh?”

Shinsou shrugged, still not meeting Hizashi’s eyes.

“Come on,” Hizashi said, leading him to the library, “I’ve got a lot of great stuff planned for us today.”

Chapter Text

Hitoshi made his way to the train station slowly, thinking about his meeting with Mic-sensei. Those scars, they can’t have been… can they?

Like, sure, Present Mic had a voice quirk, but he had a good one. Not anything like Hitoshi’s. Mic-sensei didn’t have a villain’s quirk.

He had to be mistaken. It was probably just some marks from his sunglasses or something. Very Strange marks from his sunglasses. Yep.

He’d still stolen another glance when they sat down. And a few more glances after. And even more after that. And… well, he had been borderline staring throughout the entire lesson.

Which was so rude. Jesus. He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable he would be if someone stared at his scars. Well, more often scabs, really. Either way, he was still uncomfortable with people just glancing at them. What kind of creep was he? 

Hitoshi’s rudeness aside, this had been… nice. Really nice. He hadn’t expected to enjoy one-on-one time with Mic-sensei quite so much. 

Not that he didn’t like the teacher. Honestly, Present Mic was the best teacher he had ever had. And, yeah, that was a pretty low bar, but Hitoshi thought he’d have the same opinion even it wasn't. He liked Mic-sensei a lot. But he was just so… loud. And energetic. Hitoshi had assumed that would be way too much for a whole, personal session with him.

But it hadn’t been. It was like a switch had flipped and the loud, energetic radio host was replaced with someone softer and, well, calming. 

Hitoshi didn’t think he’d ever found an adult to be calming before. Except for Aizawa-sensei, of course, but Eraserhead had been his childhood hero. It was different.

He was already looking forward to his next lesson on Thursday. Although, hopefully Mic-sensei wouldn’t mind shortening the lessons a little bit.

Not that Hitoshi hadn’t enjoyed it! Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed if they had gone for 6 hours instead of 3.

His foster parents though…

Hitoshi cringed. He really wasn’t looking forward to their reactions tonight. He knew Mic-sensei had called them during lunch to get permission, but he was pretty sure as soon as he got back to the house, they’d forget all about that. And then it’d be Hitoshi’s fault. 

In the end, though, it was still definitely worth it.

~

Hitoshi braced himself, standing in front of the foster home. He wondered, idly, just how bad it would be if he never went back in.

If he weren’t so sure Aizawa-sensei would sniff him out immediately, he honestly might have done it. The streets didn’t sound that bad, right?

With an increasingly tight grip on his bag, Hitoshi slowly pushed the door open and made his way into the house.

Keeping his stop in the genkan as short as humanly possible, he darted up the stairs to the room. He almost made it, too. 

He had one foot through the door when a rough voice spoke up behind him.

“I talked to your teacher today.”  

Hitoshi stiffened immediately. Slowly, he turned around to face his foster father, managing to dump his bag behind the door and shut it in one smooth movement.

“Apparently someone’s been making problems again.”

That… that’s not what happened. Mic-sense hadn’t called because he was in trouble.

“You think you can manipulate a couple teachers, play the sympathy card or some shit and I’m just gonna let you get away with it?” Iwasaki demanded, “Hell, you probably brainwashed them, didn’t you?”

Hitoshi shook his head furiously. He wouldn't. He would never use his quirk on anyone, least of all his pro hero teachers. 

Not that anyone had ever believed him about that.

“I’m not fucking stupid,” the man boomed, stomping further into his space.

Hitoshi pressed his back against the door, heart pounding. The tiny amount of distance he put betwen them was pretty useless, though. Iwasaki just yanked him forward by the collar of his shirt. The man breathed heavily into his face, and for once, it didn’t smell like alcohol. 

Hitoshi didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“Fucking villainous kids with their villainous quirks,” Iwasaki muttered before shoving Hitoshi backward, down the hallway. 

“If you’re so eager to learn, I think we might be scheduled for another little lesson of our own, eh?”

Hitoshi caught himself painfully on his elbows, breath picking up rapidly. He managed to scramble back a few measly inches, head shaking furiously

His ribs were still aching from Saturday. He couldn’t go to school with another injury. Not when he’d barely made it out last time. Not when Sensei was already regretting training him.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t let anyone find out the truth.

Once they knew who he really was.

What he really deserved…

Hitoshi was pretty sure it would kill him. If he lost the only scraps of kindness he had ever found in his entire pathetic life.

Iwasaki walked calmly towards him, pulling his foot back once he got close.

At least the Iwasakis might get in trouble too. Before… y’know, before everyone realized they were right.

“I have training with Aizawa-sensei tomorrow!” Hitoshi blurted out desperately.

It was stupid. It was easy to see that he had far more to lose here than anyone. Iwasaki- he’d probably just get a slap on the wrist, if that. Hitoshi, on the other hand… Hitoshi would lose everything.

“...What was that, brat?”

“I-I” he stuttered nervously, honestly surprised the man hadn’t kicked him as soon as he spoke, “I’m studying with Aizawa-sensei tomorrow. He’ll notice.”

“You think that no good, piece of shit teacher gives a fuck about you? ”

Hitoshi stared at his foster father’s shoes, stomach sinking. “No,” He said quietly. He wasn’t stupid after all. 

“He cares about his job though.”

Iwasaki burst out laughing at that, “Least he knows he ain’t shit, ey!?”

He crouched down low, right next to Hitoshi, prompting the boy to scramble, arms covering his head frantically. It didn’t do much to stop Iwasaki, though. A rough hand easily grabbed onto his hair, yanking him up. 

Hitoshi’s hands flew to cover Iwasaki’s, instinctually trying to loosen the grip. Iwasaki pulled him, stumbling, down the stairs. Hitoshi attempted to hang onto the railing, not sure what was going on, but desperate to avoid it.

The way Iwasaki snarled at him was enough to make him let go. 

He didn’t have any power here. He’d never had any power here. 

Eventually, they made it to the kitchen - definitely not where Hitoshi had expected to be. With a shove, Iwasaki finally let him go.

Hitoshi tumbled forward a few steps before managing to regain his footing. 

“Go do the dishes or something, brat, I don’t care,” Iwasaki seethed, “Just stay the fuck out of my way.”

Hitoshi nodded furiously, more than a little amazed at the turn of events. Did mentioning Sensei actually work? How?!

He turned to the sink, still dazed, and slowly started working on the dishes. He puzzled over it throughout the chore, but only one explanation stuck with him. It couldn’t be that, though… could it?

Was Iwasaki scared of his teachers?

~~~~~~

Hitoshi woke up to the blaring of his alarm, not bothering to smother a groan.

The muzzle did that well enough for him.

Neither Iwasaki had touched him in nearly two weeks, not since the call with Yamada-sensei. But they’d started forcing him to wear the muzzle pretty much constantly. He was only allowed to take it off to eat. And even then, only when he was completely alone. 

Which was not very often.

It had a lock on it now.

His stomach grumbled at the thought of food and he wondered, idly if either foster parent would remember to unlock it early enough for him to grab breakfast before school. They hadn’t yesterday, but at least he’d only had JSL lessons with Yamada-sensei. Today he had training with Aizawa-sensei, which would be a whole lot more difficult without much food in his stomach.

Especially since he knew Sensei thought he was weak. Now that he'd seen the bruise.

Hitoshi wasn’t surprised, he really wasn’t. He'd expected this. After all, Sensei was right. He was weak. He was just lucky that Aizawa had decided to start training with him more, rather than giving up on him completely.

Or worse, expelling him.

Honestly, Hitoshi had really gotten the best end of this deal. Sure, Aizawa-sensei’s opinion of him had worsened, but he could just work harder and get that back. Probably. And in exchange, Hitoshi got to spend even more time away from the Iwasakis and with the only adults who had ever bothered to even pretend they liked him. He was basically living the dream.

Even if he had to wear the muzzle more often now.

It was worth it.

The bruising on his stomach had finally cleared up too, which was good. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because it clearing up after 2 weeks meant the bruise didn't go all the way down to the bone. 

Also, it clearing up meant there was no more risk of Aizawa-sensei remembering to take him to Recovery Girl. He’d given Hitoshi a bruise cream to put on it when they next met up, but apparently Recovery Girl only rarely stayed after classes on Wednesdays.

After that, it had kind of just fallen through the cracks.

It gave Hitoshi hope. If he just held out long enough, Sensei’s worries about him would fall through the cracks too. 

His stomach growled again, and Hitoshi reluctantly started getting ready for his day. When it came time to eat, though, he was dismayed to find the kitchen empty - other than the younger kids, of course. 

Great.

He waited in the kitchen, hoping someone would come down eventually, but as the time ticked by, it became pretty clear that wouldn’t be happening.

Reluctantly, he made his way back upstairs to stand in front of the Iwasakis’ room awkwardly. He checked the clock on his phone again, before slowly knocking on the door.

“What do you want?” Mrs. Iwasaki’s annoyed voice called through the door. Reluctantly, Hitoshi reached up and knocked again.

He cringed at the grumbling that ensued, “You’d better have a good reason getting me up this early!” Finally, the door flung open, revealing Iwasaki’s glaring face.

“What?” she snapped.

Hitoshi stared at her. He wondered sometimes, especially at times like this, if she was fucking stupid. Eventually, he just pointed at the mask.

Iwasaki rolled her eyes and turned back into the room, digging around for the key.

Hitoshi checked his phone again, anxiously, before looking into the messy room.

What if they lost it? Would he have to stay home?

After a few minutes, though, Iwasaki returned, key in hand.

Hitoshi turned around for her immediately, eye twitching when she yanked him closer by the straps of the muzzle. As soon as it was off, he shoved it in his bag and ran out the door, hoping the train would be late today.

Luckily, he made it right before departure, huffing as he attempted to catch his breath. He flushed slightly at the stares from other passengers, but, well… it’s not like he chose to be muzzled like a fucking dog every night.

About 20 minutes into the ride, his stomach started grumbling again, prompting even more stares. He groaned softly, burying his head in his bag.

God, these people probably all thought he was a fucking mess. Which… he kind of was, but at least this wasn’t actually his fault.

He barely managed to smother a flinch as someone tapped his shoulder lightly. Looking up, he saw an elderly woman next to him smiling. Her arm was stretched out towards him, some type of bread in hand. He stared for a moment before realizing that she was offering it to him.

“Oh, you…” he said softly, always a bit nervous about speaking once he got the muzzle off, “you don’t have to do that.” 

She just pushed her arm forward again, determination glinting in her eyes.

Hitoshi really didn’t feel like getting into an argument with an old lady on the train today, so, hesitantly, he reached out and took the roll.

“...thank you.”

She nodded at him, self-satisfied, and turned back to the book she was reading.

Hitoshi took a bite of the still-warm bread and hummed appreciatively at the flavorful curry inside. He really hoped this wasn’t the old lady’s breakfast, she seemed too nice to go through her day on an empty stomach.

He was about to take another bite before realizing he was… still… on the train. Not exactly the place he should be eating. He sheepishly wrapped the bread back up in the napkin again until he got off.

He made sure to thank the old lady again before getting off of the train.

~~~~

Hitoshi sighed on the floor after his last spar with Aizawa-sensei.

It had been a good day. Yamada-sensei was still being weird in classes, shooting him concerned looks whenever he thought Hitoshi wasn’t looking, but he had yet to say anything about it, so he thought he might be in the clear. And he felt like he’d actually done really well in training today. If the normally rare praise he had been getting from Aizawa-sensei was anything to go off of, then his teacher might actually agree.

One step closer to convincing Sensei he wasn’t weak. He could take a few punches. Give a few of his own too. When that stupid fucking fear didn’t overwhelm him, at least.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today,” Aizawa said, helping Hitoshi up from the mat.

“Thank you, Sensei,” He said with a small smile.

“I’ll see you…” he trailed off suddenly. Next week was break, wasn’t it? Fuck. There’s no way Sensei wanted to waste what little vacation he got on Hitoshi.

And that. That was fine. Aizawa deserved a break. Especially from a  dangerous, problematic kid like him. Who was Hitoshi to take that away?

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aizawa responded, interrupting Hitoshi’s spiral before it could really even begin, “If you’ll still be free, that is. I know break starts next week.” He said the last part skeptically, almost as if he knew Hitoshi wasn’t going to be doing anything.

Which… was fair.

“No, I won’t be doing anything else,” he confirmed, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hitoshi’d always been pretty neutral to breaks, with school barely being better than the house. But things were different at UA. Everything was different at UA, and he’d started dreading breaks; when he’d have to go back to his foster home and stay there. No reprieve.

He looked up at Aizawa hopefully.

Maybe this one would be different?

~~~~

Hitoshi took a deep breath, still staring at the ceiling. How long had he been there? Did it even matter?  

There wasn’t much else worth doing. 

He supposed he could leave the room or something, but… well…

He couldn’t stand the way everyone’s eyes had been glazing over him for the past few days.

Like he was part of the scenery.

Or not actually there.

Not actually real.

With the way his mind was floating, barely grasping onto anything, he thought maybe they were right…

He kind of hoped they weren’t. He’d really like to learn more with Yamada-sensei. To train with Aizawa-sensei.

But if they were… Well. He figured that was probably okay too.

He was pretty sure he was hungry, though. And he didn’t think you could feel hungry if you weren’t real. But then again, he wasn’t even really sure he was feeling it.

It would probably be better if he wasn’t.

But Iwasaki had remembered him long enough to take off the mask muzzle for him to eat something yesterday so it was probably going to be fine. 

Even if she put it back on right after.

Even if she still didn't look at him

Even if Hitoshi felt like he might prefer to keep laying here, staring numbly ahead until he finally wasted away.

Would anyone even notice if he did?

~~~~

A ding from his phone drew Hitoshi’s attention. He stayed in bed, blinking slowly at the ceiling. He almost sat up to get it, but his thoughts drifted again before he remembered to actually do that.

~~~~

He was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep at some point, only to wake up again. He wasn’t totally sure, though. It was hazy.

His phone dinged again, and, with a heavy sigh, Hitoshi finally mustered up the energy to reach for it, glaring when the screen nearly blinded him. He lowered the brightness and checked the time.

Only 1:30. That wasn’t bad, he couldn’t have woken up much later than sunrise based on the lighting earlier so he wasn’t too far gone.

Oh. Wait. It was Tuesday.

So he had fallen back to sleep.

He stared at the clock in amazement… or worry? He wasn’t quite sure. 

Eventually the numbers changed, movement bringing Hitoshi back to himself for a few moments.

Right. He was doing something.

He slowly navigated to his messenger app, finding that it was Aizawa-sensei who’d texted him.

He figured he was supposed to feel something around not having answered him, but he was just so numb.

He clicked on the chat.

Apparently he had been trying to get Hitoshi’s attention since Sunday.

Oops.

| Aizawa-sensei: You missed our session today. Is everything okay

| Aizawa-sensei: I’ll still be free to train over break. Let me know

| Aizawa-sensei: Kid?

Hitoshi stared at the messages, mind fuzzy. Why had he missed training on Sunday? That wasn’t much like him… right?

He thought back, trying to remember Sunday. It was so damn long ago. 

He thinks… oh. yeah. He’d had the muzzle on. And the Iwasakis had left… with the key.

Can’t let Sensei see that, now can he?

He didn’t realize the screen had gone dark until his phone lit up with another ding. He turned the device back on, trying to figure out what the new chat said.

| Aizawa-sensei: Are you okay Shinsou

Hitoshi stared at the screen for far longer than should be necessary before slowly typing out a simple “Yeah”

He pressed the send button right as his screen went dark. Shit. He tried turning it on again, but nothing happened.

That was fair. He was pretty sure he hadn’t charged it since getting back on Saturday.

Honestly, he was surprised it lasted as long as it did.

Hitoshi slowly lowered the phone onto his chest, staring back at the ceiling.

He should really plug it back in.

He should really do a lot of things.

~~~~

He didn't know how long it was until the next time his haziness was disrupted.

“Get the fuck down here, brat!” Iwasaki hollered from the bottom of the stairs.

That’s my name, don’t wear it out.  

Hitoshi smiled bitterly to himself, brain not quite registering the fact that he needed to fucking move.

The smile dropped when he heard someone stomping up the stairs. He mustered what energy he could and pulled himself out of the bed, head swimming when he finally stood. That probably wasn’t good.

“You lazy piece of shit! You think you can just sit around all week? Wasting fucking air?”

Hitoshi tensed. He knew how to deal with this, he really did. He just couldn’t fucking remember. He was still half-gone, really.

The door finally slammed open and Iwasaki burst into the room, “So? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Hitoshi stared at him blankly. 

Y’know, for people who didn’t want him to talk like, ever, the Iwasaki's sure did ask a lot of questions.

Probably sick of waiting for Hitoshi to magically develop the ability to speak through a fucking muzzle, Iwasaki stormed forward and grabbed Hitoshi by his forearm, yanking him closer.

“I’ll teach you to ignore me, brat.”  

He stopped, pulling back against the arm. What was going on? This wasn’t how things worked anymore.

“You don’t have your fucking teachers to hide behind this week, do you?”

Hitoshi’s eyes widened in fear as he realized exactly what that meant.

He pulled harder, miraculously managing to break out of the grip and get back to his bed. Iwasaki laughed cruelly.

“The fuck do you think that’s going to do?”

Hitoshi stood there, panicked and shuffling side to side like a caged animal. He practically was one, after all.

He grabbed his phone, the one he’d never plugged in and pressed the power button, hoping with his entire being that he had been wrong about it being dead.

He wasn’t.

Iwasaki lunged forward, grabbing his arm again. He pulled Hitoshi hard enough that he stumbled forward a few steps, his shoulder flaring in pain.

“Just you and me tonight, Shinsou.” Iwasaki taunted, grinning. 

Hitoshi held onto the phone like a lifeline, pulling as hard as he could against the grip. It didn’t matter. Iwasaki was bigger and stronger and had eaten in the past 48 hours.

In his panic, he didn’t even realize where Iwasaki was draging him. Not until it was too late. Not until he let go, right as Hitoshi pulled again. With his back to the stairs. Without enough time to stop himself.

He fell back, arms flailing as he tried to catch himself against the railing. He only managed to turn himself, however, perfectly angling his fall onto his already hurt shoulder with a sickening crunch. He cried out, at least as much as he could with a muzzle on, as he tumbled down the remaining stairs.

Remembering what little he could from training, Hitoshi lifted his good arm up to protect his head. He moved just in time, elbow smacking against the hardwood and ramming his arm against the muzzle, sharp edges digging into his face.

He barely had a chance to breathe once he stopped falling, Iwasaki’s thundering footsteps following almost immediately. 

Frustratingly slowly, Hitoshi started convincing his limbs to fucking move in an attempt to pull himself up. He’d only made it to his knees by the time Iwasaki reached him. 

Large hands suddenly wrapped around his neck, pulling Hitoshi up and slamming him against a wall. The thud resounded through his head. He pulled weakly at the hand choking him, gasping for breath as best he could. 

He stared into Iwasaki’s enraged, frenzied eyes as his head started getting fuzzy. His own eyes welled with tears. Huh, can’t remember the last time that had happened.

Was he going to die here?

He kicked his legs out frantically, and finally connected with something. Iwasaki grunted, letting go of Hitoshi as he doubled over in pain. He must have hit the right spot.

“You fucking piece of shit! You’re not fucking getting away with that!” Iwasaki roared as Hitoshi took a few gasping breaths. Before the man could get back up, Hitoshi turned and sprinted to the front door. 

He stumbled around toys and furniture, struggling to navigate with the way his head was swimming. Finally, he made it out of the house and into the dark street. He didn’t stop running.

From behind him, Iwasaki screamed, “Don’t you fucking dare come back!”

Hitoshi didn’t need to be told twice.

~

He made it two blocks before the protesting in his lungs became too much to ignore. He doubled over, a hand on his knee as he tried to catch his breath. 

The other arm hurt too much when he tried to move it. He didn’t look at it. Too scared that it would be dislocated. Or something worse.

It took him longer than usual to get a handle on his breathing. Probably something to do with the muzzle still strapped to his face. He reached his good arm up to yank at the straps uselessly, hoping to at least loosen it.

Nothing.

Hitoshi took a few more minutes to gather himself before he started walking again, aimlessly.

Eventually, he found a small playground and slumped onto one of the benches without a second thought.

At least it was already night. He probably looked like shit right now, and it wasn’t like he had any way to explain it.

He could taste blood from where the muzzle had dug into his face, running down into his mouth. His head throbbed too, but he hadn’t seen any blood on his hand, even after tugging at the muzzle’s straps, so it probably wasn’t too bad.

Not that Hitoshi was a fucking doctor or anything.

He contemplated what to do from here. Most of him just wanted to sleep. To be done with today. The other part was still reeling with adrenaline and knew that wasn’t going to be a possibility for a long time.

The police, that part reminded him, were another very good reason not to fall asleep here.

He didn’t have his phone anymore, though. Must have dropped it on the stairs or something.

Not that a dead phone would have been much use.

He was pretty sure there was a payphone nearby, but Hitoshi didn’t even have 10 yen on him. He had nothing.

Who would he even call, anyway?

Sure, he had Aizawa-sensei’s phone number memorized, but… he couldn’t bother him this late at night. Not with something like this. 

Could he?

He really didn’t want to ruin things. To go far enough that Aizawa would give up on him. And he never knew where that line was. It usually wasn’t worth the risk.

But, god, he. He really just wanted to see a friendly face right now.

To finally tell that stupid, childish part of him that… that Eraserhead had saved him.

He knew it was stupid.

He knew that he was past saving.

But he was tired. And alone. And, if all else failed, he always had a convenient ol’ head injury to excuse him, yeah?

With a groan, he pulled himself off the bench, his limbs protesting the movement. Slowly, he made his way around the playground, looking for a 10 yen piece.

God, he felt pathetic. 

Eventually, once any pride he’d had left was well and truly gone, he found the change he needed and started the slow, painful walk to the payphone. 

At least it wasn’t far.

Even after the effort to find change and get there, he still faltered. What if this was the last straw? What if this was what made Aizawa-sensei realize how fucking useless he was.  

Or worse. What if… what if looking at him like this, muzzled and hurt, was what got him to realize that Hitoshi was dangerous. Villainous even.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, weighing the decision before he finally gave in and dialed the number.

He waited so long, phone ringing in his ear, that he honestly almost hung up himself. What was he even thinking? Right as he was pulling the phone away from his ear, poor quality speakers crackled with a simple “Hello?”

Chapter Text

Shouta slumped into bed next to his beautiful husband, finally done for the night. His patrol, normally ending at 1 AM, had run an hour long after he’d answered a call for backup from another underground hero.

And now his muscles were screaming and his eyes were practically dried to a crisp. All he wanted was to fall asleep and stay that way. At least until his head stopped pounding like it was New Year’s Eve and he was the temple bell. 

He snuck an arm under Hizashi’s waist, pain already easing just by virtue of being near him.

And laying down, probably.

Of course, of course, that was when his phone decided to ring.

Who the fuck would call him at 2:00 in the goddamn morning? It wasn’t even a number saved on his phone, the stupid robot voice announcing it as an “unknown caller.”

He almost let it go to voicemail. Almost.

But the longer he layed there, listening to the ringing of his phone, the deeper his gut sank.

Nobody made phone calls this late at night. Not unless something was wrong.

With a groan, he rolled over to grab the phone, wincing when Hizashi stirred at his movements. He glared at the screen for just a moment longer before finally sighing and picking up.

“Hello?”

There was no answer. Shouta narrowed his eyes. If this was someone’s idea of a fucking prank… Heads were going to roll.

“This is Aizawa Shouta, who am I currently speaking with?” He asked, more sternly this time.

The other end remained silent.

Hizashi blinked blearily at him, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘Sorry,’ he signed, ‘Prank call.’

He almost hung up. If he hadn’t paused to squint at Hizashi, trying to make out whatever he signed back in the dark, he would have missed it.

A noise on the other line. A very disturbing, muffled noise on the other line. It seemed halfway between an aborted attempt at speaking and a whine of pain.

Immediately Shouta perked up, noticing Hizashi tilt his head in confusion.

A breath came through, sounding suspiciously close to a sob, but just a little bit off. As if someone was trying to cry through a gag.

“Is someone there?” His voice was softer this time.

Another muffled noise came through and Shouta’s eyes widened. He had a really bad feeling about this.

“Can you talk?” He asked, flicking on the light behind him, “Just… tap on the phone if not.”

A moment later, a soft, hesitant tap came through.

Shouta shared a worried glance with Hizashi. His eyes lingered for just a moment on the old, faded, barely there scars on his husband’s face and an awful idea came to him.

“...Shinsou?”

He held his breath, hoping with everything in him that he was wrong.

The other person hesitated for a moment before tapping again.

Fuck.

“Okay,” He stood up, not needing to look to know that Hizashi would be doing the same, “Okay Shinsou, just… keep tapping; once for no and twice for yes. You got that?”

Two taps.

“Are you injured?”

The line was silent for a moment. Eventually, though, he was answered by two quick taps.

He moved the phone so he was pressing it against his face with his shoulder and waved to get Hizashi’s attention.

‘Shinsou. He’s hurt.’ he signed quickly.

“Okay, kid, are you in immediate danger?”

Hizashi looked at him worriedly as he stuck his hearing aids in.

Shinsou’s response was quicker this time, one tap. Shouta sighed in relief.

It was short-lived, however, when he heard a quick beeping on the other end.

“Shit, kid, are you on a payphone?”

Two taps.

“The one at the train station?”

One tap.

“Is it close to your house?”

Two.

“Okay, I’m coming to get you just stay th-” The call cut off suddenly. Shouta cursed, turning to Hizashi.

“I’m going to go pick him up, can you get things ready here?”

“Yeah, freshen up the spare room, gather medical supplies, I’ve got it.”

Shouta nodded gratefully, pecking Hizashi quickly before darting out the door. He barely stopped to throw on a coat over the ratty old T-shirt he usually slept in.

He practically ran to the car, peeling out of the driveway.

~

Shouta wasn’t a good driver, not by a long shot. If he really focused, he definitely made it to “passable” territory, but it was a rare day when that happened.

He was, however, fast. 

He made it to Shinsou’s district in a fraction of the time it had taken him before. He screeched to a stop somewhere near the spot he’d dropped the kid off last time before pulling up a GPS app and looking for nearby payphones. 

Not counting the one at the train station, there were only two in the area. Shouta quickly chose the closer of the two and started driving, a bit more careful this time.

He itched with everything in him to get to his kid as quickly as possible, but he didn’t want to scare him either.

Or hit him.

He definitely didn’t want to hit him.

So he drove carefully.

God, he knew he shouldn’t have left the kid in that house. Laws be damned, the foster system was shit and everyone knew it. 

The worst part, really, was that he’d almost just gone anyway. When Shinsou hadn’t shown up to training, hadn’t answered his messages, he’d been fully prepared to stop by on his patrol tonight. The only thing that’d stopped him was the kid sending the vaguest reply he could have and then disappearing off the face of the earth for nearly 12 hours.

He shouldn’t have let it stop him. He should have just gone to get his fucking kid and they could have avoided all of this, whatever it was.

After two excruciatingly long minutes, he finally pulled up to an official-looking building. Maybe a DMV? 

That wasn’t important. The important part was the small figure hunched up against the building, barely illuminated by the flickering streetlight nearby.

Shouta stepped out of the car as soon as he parked, not even bothering to turn the car off before jogging over to the kid.

He was sitting with his face buried in his knees, one arm around his stomach, the other hanging limply to his side.

Shouta approached carefully, crouching down in front of Shinsou before he spoke, voice careful and reassuring.

“Kid?”

Shinsou stiffened, whining softly as only one shoulder hitched. The arm hanging to his side stayed suspiciously still.

“It’s Aizawa,” he said carefully, “I’m here, kid.”

Shinsou nodded, continuing to hide his face in a way that made Shouta’s heart hurt.

“Do you think you can look at me, Shinsou?”

He could practically feel the reluctance emanating off him.

“It’s okay, kid,” he said, “I promise I won’t freak out.”

Slowly, Shinsou lifted his face up to look at him. 

True to his word, Shouta took the kid’s appearance in stride. His eyes slid over the fucking muzzle, barely catching on the dried blood along its edges. He made sure none of the absolute fury he felt was showing on his face.

“Locked?” he asked, probably unnecessarily.

Shinsou nodded anyway, looking relieved that Shouta had not, in fact, freaked out.

“I left all of my tools at home, I’m sorry. We’ll get it off as soon as we can.”

He nodded again, a shaky hand rising to his chest, signing ‘Fine. Not worry.’

“It’s not fine.” Shouta corrected firmly, shrugging off his coat, “but it will be.”

“I’m gonna put this on you, okay?” Shouta asked, more to warn the kid than actually ask him if he was okay with wearing a coat. He didn’t have a choice, not in this weather. Shinsou’s eyes widened as he moved forward slowly, but he didn’t seem scared at least. 

Shouta wrapped the coat around him carefully, too wary of the his injured arm to try making him wear it properly. 

The kid still looked shocked when he was done, almost immediately sneaking his good arm in the sleeve before reaching to keep the coat tucked closely around him.

His face disappeared slightly into the fabric. What he could still see of it turned a bright red that had Shouta a little concerned. 

“Are you bleeding anywhere other than your face?” He asked, the last thing he needed to know before they could go.

Shinsou shook his head in response then paused with a contemplative look in his eye. He gave Shouta an unsure look before shrugging his good shoulder. 

Shouta held his hands out where Shinsou could see them before slowly reaching forward to hold the coat closed for him. “Can you point to anywhere else that you think you might be bleeding?”

Shinsou pointed to the back of his head hesitantly. 

“Alright, I’ll look at that when we’ve got a bit more light.”

He nodded in agreement.

“I’m going to help you stand up now. Is that okay,” Shouta asked, holding up one finger, “or would you like me to carry you?” he lifted up another finger, moving his hand to the right a little.

Shinsou’s eyes lingered on the space where Shouta had held up two fingers for a moment before he shook his head slightly and held up one finger. Shouta nodded and wrapped an arm around the kid’s side.

“Ready?”

At his nod, Shouta stood up, easily taking the brunt of the kid’s weight.

Too easily.

“Alright, let’s get you in the car.”

Shinsou nodded again and Shouta started walking him to the vehicle, setting him gently in the passenger seat. He turned on the overhead light once Shinsou had gotten settled. In the lighting, he could see the way his eyes were rimmed with red, could see the few tear tracks running down to the muzzle.

God, this poor kid.

“Can I take a quick look at that head?”

Shinsou just turned his head, angling it so that Shouta would be able to see where he must have gotten hit.

“I need to move your hair around a bit, is that okay?”

After a slight hesitation, Shinsou quickly nodded his head. He still visibly stiffened when Shouta’s hand touched his hair.

Shouta paused, giving the kid a moment to relax or take back his permission. 

He seemed to get more comfortable after a moment, so Shouta parted his hair gently, checking for any visible head wounds.

“I’m not seeing any bleeding,” he concluded after a brief check, “but we’ll look at it a little bit better at home.”

Shinsou nodded in acknowledgment, turning back to look at Shouta.

Before he closed the door, Shouta made sure to meet Shinsou’s eyes.

“Thank you, kid,” he said, “for trusting me to help you. I’m glad you called.”

The kid stared at him with wide eyes, processing for a long moment, before he offered a cautious nod. Shouta returned the nod, shut the door, and walked around the car to drive them home.

~

Shouta pulled up to the apartment building, pretending he didn’t notice Shinsou discreetly glancing at him. Again.

“Stay there, I’ll help you out,” he said, unbuckling quickly and stepping out of the car.

He walked around to the other side and opened the door, waiting for a nod before wrapping his arm around the kid’s waist again to help him up and through the building. 

“We’re back,” he called out, opening the door to warm, soft lighting. He sat Shinsou on the small step that separated the genkan from the rest of the apartment and slipped off his own shoes before crouching down to help Shinsou… who was not wearing shoes.

Made sense; he must’ve left in a rush.

“Alright, kid,” he murmured, “We’re gonna get that thing off of you, check anywhere you got hurt, and then get you something warm to eat, that sound good?”

Shinsou nodded again, avoiding Shouta’s eyes.

“Hey there, listener,” Hizashi said quietly, walking up to join them.

Shinsou’s eyes widened almost comically at the words, turning to stare at the man he was apparently not planning to see tonight.

Hizashi smiled softly, eyes clinging to the muzzle for a moment before he could pull them away, “Did Shou forget to tell you I’d be here?”

Shinsou ducked his head, staring at his hands nervously.

“Don’t worry, he does it all the time,” Hizashi reassured him quickly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was ashamed of me!”

Shouta rolled his eyes fondly, turning back to Shinsou, “Sorry I didn’t warn you, kid. I forgot you didn’t already know.”

The kid shrugged his good shoulder, still avoiding eye contact.

“Are you okay with him being here?”

“Yeah, kiddo. I can leave if you need some time to adjust.”

Shinsou looked up, confusion glinting in his eyes, but he shook his head. 

With one hand, he clumsily signed, ‘Fine. Not worry. You…’ Shinsou hesitated, still looking down, but vaguely in Hizashi’s direction. ‘You… stay,’ he finished, hand faltering on “stay” like he wasn’t sure the request was allowed.

“Yeah, Shinsou,” Hizashi said in a hushed voice, “I can stay.”

Shouta took a deep breath, exchanging a look with Hizashi, “I’m going to help you get to the living room and sit down,” he told Shinsou, “Is it okay if Hizashi steps away to grab my lockpicks?”

Shinsou looked slightly bewildered at the question, still not meeting either adult’s gaze. After a moment, he offered a cautious nod.

“Alrighty kiddo,” Hizashi said, taking a couple of steps towards their bedroom, “I’ll be back before you even know it.”

Shouta crouched down, waiting for the kid’s nod, again, before wrapping an arm around his waist and helping him to the living room.

He sat Shinsou down on a chair and took his tools from Hizashi with a grateful look.

It didn’t take him long to open the shitty lock, not that he had expected it would. He gently pulled it away and immediately turned to get rid of it, nearly missing Hizashi’s wince upon seeing the kid’s face. He snapped a quick picture for evidence and hastily threw it away, happy to get the thing out of his hands.

Once Shouta made it back, he had to smother a wince of his own. With the pressure from the muzzle gone, Shinsou’s face was bleeding freely again. Small red streams, running over the dried mess of blood from the original cuts. It didn’t look like anything too serious, at least, but the kid’s face was a mess. 

On top of that, now that the muzzle was off, Shouta could hear a very worrying wheeze to Shinsou’s breathing. He couldn’t see the kid’s neck right now, with him still bundled up in the coat, but was willing to bet he’d been strangled. That or there was something going on with his lungs. In which case they would definitely be paying Shuzenji a very fun 3 AM visit.

There were very few moments in Shouta’s life where he could say that he well and truly hated someone, but to say that right now was one of those moments would be a massive understatement. The only thing that was stopping him from going out and putting his hero license to use was that Shinsou needed him here.

Hizashi walked back in from the kitchen, holding a small damp rag.

“Hey there, listener, do you think you could hold this to your face for me?” He asked, “Then I can start cleaning up the rest of… this. That blood’s gotta be a bit uncomfortable.”

Shinsou nodded, taking the rag wordlessly and pushing it against the cuts. Hizashi reached up slowly, clearly broadcasting his movements, and helped Shinsou adjust his position for a moment before he started cleaning off the rest of the blood.

After a couple minutes, Hizashi had finished cleaning up the kid’s face and bandaging the cuts. He took the dirty rags to the sink and started washing them, and Shouta stepped forward to take over.

“You said you thought your head might be bleeding, am I correct in assuming it got hit against something?”

Shinsou nodded in confirmation.

“I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, alright?” He asked. At Shinsou’s hesitance, he added, “You can respond in whatever way is most comfortable for you.”

Shinsou moved one hand nervously, ‘OK.’

Do you remember who I am?

‘Yes. Teacher.’  

“Good, do you know where you are?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he signed, ‘You. Home.’

“That’s right. Do you know what day it is?”

Shinsou chewed on his lip for a moment then shook his head. ‘Not. K-N-O-W   B-E-F-O-R-E,’ he added.

“That’s okay,” he reassured the kid, “It’s Tuesday night… Actually, technically Wednesday morning by now.” The responses had been a little slow, but he seemed to be recalling things okay.

“Does your head hurt at all?” He asked next.

Shinsou gave him a confused look before nodding slowly.

“Other than the site of impact,” he clarified, “like a headache.”

With a look of understanding, Shinsou nodded again.

“Hm, does nodding make it hurt at all?”

A bit sheepishly, Shinsou nodded one more time.

“Let’s go back to tapping then, one for no, two for yes. Does that sound good?”

Shinsou tapped twice.

“Do you feel dizzy at all? Or did you after the impact?”

After a moment of consideration, Shouta received two taps. There was a beat of silence and then Shinsou tapped two more times, probably trying to signal that the answer to both questions was a yes. 

That wasn’t great.

“How about your vision, does anything look blurry or doubled?”

One tap.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” Shouta asked, holding four fingers in front of Shinsou. 

He got four taps in response.

“Great job. Last question, do you feel nauseous at all?”

Shinsou tapped three times, prompting a confused look from Shouta.

‘H-U-N-G-R-Y Maybe.’

He nodded in understanding, “When was the last time you ate?”

Shinsou ducked his head, nervously spelling out, ‘S-U-N-D-A-Y.’

Shouta clenched his jaw, looking forward to the day he’d finally get to… chat with Shinsou’s foster parents, “Thank you for telling me. We’ll get you some food as soon as we’re done with this.”

He sighed and looked at the kid, “It looks like there’s a chance you have a concussion. I’m going to need you to tell me if the headache or dizziness get any worse, you think you can do that?

Still looking away nervously, Shinsou tapped twice.

“I’d like to take a look at your arm now, if that’s okay.”

Shinsou tapped twice, and Shouta helped take the coat off, noting angry red marks around the kid’s neck that definitely needed to be checked by a medical professional before looking at his shoulder.

Which was not where it was supposed to be.

Shouta sucked in a quick breath, “I’m gonna have to take this shirt off, alright?”

With the kid’s permission, he slowly started lifting the shirt, taking it over his good arm and head before slowly pulling it down the injured one. Despite his best effort, he still heard a wince of pain from Shinsou as his arm was jostled. 

“Sorry, kid.”

He stepped back to get a better look, and yep. That was definitely dislocated. He worried, for a moment, over whether or not he should take him to Recovery Girl now, but in his current state, he doubted Shinsou really had enough energy for her to do anything. 

Luckily, he’d had plenty of experience setting dislocated joints. He never thought he’d be grateful for the injuries that often came with hero work, but the first aid skills were certainly useful.

“First, did you get hurt anywhere that we haven’t checked yet?”

Shinsou tapped once.

“Good. Second, that shoulder’s definitely going to have to be set. I’ve done it before and I could do it for you, or we could go to a hospital, which would you prefer?” 

After thinking for a moment, Shinsou hesitantly held up one finger.

“Okay. Once Hizashi gets back over, I’ll go grab a few things and we can get that taken care of,” he said, not really wanting the kid to be alone right now. Thankfully, Hizashi finished up not long after that, and Shouta hurried off to get what he needed.

“Would you prefer omurice or some warm soba after this?” He heard Hizashi asking when he reentered the living room. He, unsurprisingly, didn’t hear a response, but based on Hizashi’s enthusiastic nodding, he assumed the kid had signed something.

“Great, I’ll get started on that as soon as Shou’s done with your arm."

“I’ve got a cold compress here,” Shouta said, taking over again, “I think it’ll be good for your neck. Do you want to put it on or should I?”

Shinsou chewed on his lip for a moment before reaching out his good hand. Shouta passed him the compress and the kid awkwardly wrapped it around his neck. With the whole nature of a strangulation injury, Shouta decided it would probably be better not to adjust it for him.

“Heya, listener,” Hizashi said carefully, “is it okay if we get a picture of that shoulder real quick for evidence? You can absolutely say no if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

With another half shrug, Shinsou signed a small ‘OK.’

“Thanks, kiddo,” Hizashi said, pulling out his phone. He snapped a few quick pictures before signaling to Shouta that he was good to start.

“The next part’s going to be actually setting the arm,” Shouta said, “Are you ready?”

Shinsou tapped twice and Shouta knelt down next to him, “I’m going to hold right above your shoulder and lower on your arm,” he explained, carefully grabbing on.

“This is the part that’ll hurt. I’m sorry, kid,” he said, before starting to count “Three, two,” he pushed the arm into place before one, grimacing at the kid’s hoarse cry of pain.

“There we go, the hardest part’s over. I’m just going to get you a shirt and a sling and we’ll be all done,” Shouta said, reaching for a soft button-up shirt he’d grabbed from his and Hizashi’s room.

“I’m going to go get started on some food, alright?” Hizashi asked softly, once Shouta had finished up with the kid’s arm.

Shinsou offered two taps, which got him a confused look from Hizashi until Shouta gave him a quick nod. He smiled and nodded back, making his way to the stove. 

After a couple of minutes, a heavenly smell started drifting through the room, prompting Shinsou’s stomach to grumble.

Shouta snorted softly, choosing to ignore why the kid was so hungry for now, “Hizashi’s food tends to have that effect on people. He works wonders in the kitchen.”

Shinsou nodded slowly, whispering a barely audible, “thank you.”

Shouta winced at the way the kid’s voice grated against his throat, “Of course, kid. I’m glad you felt safe enough to call me.”

Shinsou had that same confused look on his face again, but Shouta decided not to mention it. Today had been stressful enough for the kid, he didn’t need to be interrogated on top of that.

Speaking of interrogations, Shouta was very curious about what had happened here, to begin with. Some of it was pretty damn easy to extrapolate from the kid’s home life, but there were also quite a few blanks that he needed to have filled. 

Those were questions for tomorrow, though. Right now, he was just glad to have Shinsou home and safe.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi stared blankly ahead, thinking. He’d tried to go to sleep, he really had. But sometimes it just didn’t come to him.

And today… today he couldn’t stop thinking. Worrying.

He trusted Yamada and Aizawa, more than he’d ever trusted adults before. But, well. This wasn’t about them. This was about Hitoshi. Hitoshi and his amazing ability to reach the point where any and every adult eventually got sick of him.

It’d happened too many times for him to keep hoping that maybe this house would be better. Because, as it turned out, as long as Hitoshi was there, no house was better. No house was going to be better.

And, well. He’d noticed the way Yamada-sensei’s eyes had lingered over the muzzle you’d do the same if you saw a kid wearing one of these and he'd noticed Aizawa-sensei’s wince when he had spoken earlier your voice sounds like it was thrown in a blender; he still responded and he’d definitely noticed both of their reluctance to leave him alone in their home you didn’t want to be alone, you asked them to stay.

And yeah, he could rationalize it all away, and yeah, Yamada-sensei and Aizawa-sensei hadn’t seemed to have a problem with him before, but that was at school. This was their apartment. Where they were supposed to feel safe, to be safe. Obviously, the rules were going to be different; they’d have to be. Hitoshi was dangerous.

He didn’t blame them. Like he said, he trusted them. But, for obvious reasons, he didn’t trust himself. He was going to fuck it up. He knew he would. He always did. And once he did, it was better to be prepared.

After all, there was only one thing that came once he hit that point.

And Hitoshi had been forced through enough too small muzzles that dug into his face, exaggerating the scars he was already developing. He’d spent enough nights struggling to breathe through duct tape. He’d worn enough literal dog muzzles (once had been enough for that one.) He’d had enough with hoping. And enough with the consequences when hoping didn’t work out.

So. Yeah. He hated the muzzle. He hated looking at it or holding it or wearing it, and he especially hated the fucking lock that the Iwasakis had put on it. But he still found himself standing there that night. In front of the trash can. Staring at it.

Trying to find the will to pick it back up.

Better to have one that fits.

The thought that finally convinced him, the stupid, childish thought that finally pushed him to pick it up… Was that maybe, just maybe, if he. If he brought it up first, showed them that he understood...

If he chose to wear the muzzle, when he finally fucked it all up… maybe they’d let him stay.

He liked it here. It’d only been a couple hours, but Hitoshi couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a night like this: people taking care of him, feeding him, listening to him, even if it was nonverbal. 

They’d been so strange, asking his permission for all sorts of stupid things, like touching his hair or walking him to the kitchen or for Yamada to leave the room for a minute - as if Hitoshi had a say in any of those things. It… it was nice.

He knew they only meant for it to be temporary. They had their own lives, obviously, they wouldn’t want Hitoshi of all people interrupting that. But maybe if he just tried hard enough, showed them that he wouldn’t be a bother or a burden, that he could take care of himself and they’d barely even notice he was there, maybe they’d… forget to send him back?

It was a stupid idea. It didn’t even work theoretically, what with all the paperwork they’d have to fill out to keep him around. But he was still going to try. These adults were the first piece of goodness Hitoshi had ever found and he would be damned if he gave that up without a fight.

With new resolve, he grabbed the mask out of the trash, brushed off the food scraps, and snuck back to the room they’d let him stay in.

~~~~

Hitoshi stayed in the room until long after the sun had risen. He’d barely managed a few hours of sleep, on and off, but he had been able to come up with a good list of rules for himself.

Including staying in the room until they called for him. 

It was important not to invade their space; the less they noticed he was there, the better. 

He’d heard Yamada-sensei get up an hour or two ago, humming along to some music as he started cooking something. Whatever it was smelled delicious, and Hitoshi’s stomach revolted against the idea of staying in the room and missing out on more of Yamada’s cooking.

He could still taste the omurice from last night. Aizawa-sensei hadn’t been kidding about the blonde’s skill in the kitchen.

Aizawa had gotten up some time after Yamada. He could vaguely hear them mumbling in the kitchen. Probably talking about him. He itched to creep closer, to listen to what they might be saying, but eavesdropping was definitely against the rules. Not even his rules, but theirs.

He stayed in bed.

He still couldn’t quite stop himself from straining to hear what they were saying. Not that he had much luck. Aside from what he thought was his name a couple of times, he couldn’t pick up anything over the pounding in his head. It was better than last night, but it was still killing him.

Finally, when the sun was already high in the sky, someone came and knocked on the door. Hitoshi sat up immediately, waiting for them to come in. He winced at the sudden movement, his head swimming.

The person never entered though, they just knocked again, calling out his name.

After staring at the door in confusion for a moment, Hitoshi hesitantly made his way over, opening it to reveal Yamada. He kept his gaze low, not looking him in the eye.

“Hey there listener,” he said gently, “how you feelin?”

‘Fine,’ He signed with one hand. At the concerned frown he caught out of the corner of his eye, he quickly corrected himself, ‘Good.’

Yamada didn’t seem very convinced and Hitoshi cursed himself.

“Have you been up long?”

‘No.’ Hitoshi lied, ‘F-E-W  M-I-N-U-T-E-S.’

Almost unconsciously, Yamada showed him the signs for the words he’d fingerspelled. He copied to the best of his ability - which was not great with only one working arm. He glanced up just long enough to catch a small smile from the teacher before turning his gaze back down quickly.

“How do you feel about some food, kiddo?”

He was about to turn the offer down, claim he wasn’t hungry, but his traitorous stomach decided that would be the best time to start grumbling again.

Yamada laughed while Hitoshi flushed red, offering a sheepish smile.

“Come on, let’s go get you something to eat.”

Reluctantly, Hitoshi signed a small, ‘OK,’ and followed his teacher out of the room. 

He sat at the table nervously, offering Aizawa a respectful nod as greeting. 

The teacher hummed in acknowledgment before gruffly mumbling, “Morning, kid,” into the cup of coffee he was nursing, eyes half-closed.

“Don’t worry about Shou,” Yamada called out over his shoulder, “He’s not much of a morning person.”

Shinsou nodded in understanding, glancing at the clock to find that it was nearly one in the afternoon.

He heard a soft snort next to him and turned to look at Aizawa, startled to find lazy eyes focused on him and the teacher smiling good-naturedly.

“Maybe just not a waking up person then,” he said in a sleep-heavy voice.

Fuck, he was observant.

‘Sorry,’ he signed quickly, eyes darting to the table in front of him. He honestly hadn’t even meant it like that, he’d genuinely just wanted to know the time. 

But it was better to be safe than sorry.

He could practically feel the frown growing on Aizawa’s face. 

“ ‘s nothin to be sorry about, kid.”

He nodded hesitantly as Yamada asked, digging through the cabinets behind him, “How’s your throat doing, Shinsou?”

Hitoshi looked between Aizawa and Yamada's back a bit helplessly, before deciding to just walk over to him.

Aizawa spoke up as he started pushing out his chair, “You can just sign to me if you want.”

He awkwardly sat down again, looking away from the teacher, ‘L-I-T-T-L-E  S-O-R-E. Not worry.”

Aizawa scrutinized him for a minute before replying to Yamada, “He said it’s still sore. We should avoid anything that could aggravate it.”

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that,” Yamada responded, “How’s some yogurt sound then? And a warm cup of lemon tea with honey?”

Hitoshi nodded to Aizawa, ‘Thank you.’

The teacher nodded at him, “Sure, kid. What kind of fruit do you want?”

He shook his head softly, ‘Not need.’ 

Aizawa squinted at him unnervingly, “Hey, Zashi, do we still have those apples?”

“Oh, yeah, I think so! Good idea! The listener said yogurt was alright then?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, I’ll be over in just a minute.”

Hitoshi stared at the table, trying not to think about the eyes he could feel staring at him as they waited.

Confusingly, the sound of pans clanging around and then something sizzling started up behind him not long later. He glanced at Aizawa who provided no guidance other than a small smirk as he sipped at his coffee. Despite himself, Hitoshi felt his eyes sticking to the mug, mouth-watering at the smell.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at him, “You want a cup?”

Hitoshi looked away quickly, embarrassed at how easily he’d been read. After a few moments, he still felt Aizawa’s eyes on him, apparently waiting for a response.

He glanced at the man for half a second before turning back to the table and nodding hesitantly. 

“Milk and sugar?”

Hitoshi crinkled his nose, shaking his head before he realized how rude that probably was, and stiffened slightly.

Thankfully, Aizawa just chuckled to himself and stood up, heading to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, passing it to Hitoshi.

‘Thank you.’

“No problem, kid.”

He sipped at the drink, smothering the soft cringe when he tried to swallow, his throat protesting the movement and the hot liquid. Aizawa looked at him curiously, but Hitoshi didn’t acknowledge it. Eventually, the teacher just shrugged and went back to his own coffee.

Hitoshi got the feeling that he understood the need for caffeine.

A couple sips later, Yamada joined them at the table, quickly setting food in front of Hitoshi. There were cheesy scrambled eggs and a bowl of yogurt that was topped with soft, caramelized apples and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. He also set down a sweet smelling cup that must have had the lemon tea in it.

This… this was too much. Yamada had put effort into this. Hitoshi didn’t deserve that. He wasn’t supposed to be a burden, yet here he was, practically manipulating Yamada into cooking a whole meal for him. 

He should have… 

He should have played it off better, pretending that the grumbling was just from an upset stomach or something. He did vaguely remember telling Aizawa he’d been feeling a bit nauseous last night, so he probably could have gotten away with that.

But instead, he was forcing time and money and effort out of them when it was really unnecessary.  

He considered not eating the whole thing, showing that they didn’t need to do stuff like this in the future, but then he’d be wasting food which was a whole problem of its own. 

He’d just. Have to be better about it in the future. Think better on his feet. Maybe find a way to get some pocket change so he could buy a little snack for mornings - just enough that he didn’t give himself away like this.

“I know you only asked for the yogurt, but I-” Yamada’s eyes stopped on the coffee, making Hitoshi trade one spiral of panic for another.

“Shouuuu,” Yamada said, a whine in his voice, “Did you give him coffee?”

“Yes.”

“That’s gonna aggravate his throat,” he complained.

Hitoshi's shoulders hitched ever so slightly and he immediately felt two pairs of eyes on him. 

“It’s just a cup of coffee, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Yamada paused, still staring at Hitoshi. After a moment, he sighed, collapsing in the chair across from Aizawa, “Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t want him to be in any more pain.”

The eyes stayed on him as he picked up the utensils Yamada had brought over, signing a quick thank you before he started eating. 

Thankfully, Yamada started up a conversation after a few moments. Or, less a conversation and more him rambling endlessly with Aizawa offering short responses every now and then. They still glanced at him occasionally, either checking on his progress eating or expecting him to join in on whatever they were talking about.

He kept his head low and focused on the food, picking at it slowly and trying not to let on how much his throat was bothering him. Thankfully, the lemon tea and yogurt really did do wonders soothing it. By the time he finished the food, he was honestly feeling a lot better.

Even if he still held that the whole meal was extremely unnecessary. 

He didn’t touch the coffee again, as much as he wanted to.

“Hey, kiddo,” Yamada said when he was almost finished. Hitoshi glanced up to see a strange look on the teacher’s face, “You know you’re allowed to drink that, right?”

Hitoshi froze. He… hadn’t realized Yamada had noticed. He nodded in response, his head still aching a little at the movement, and nervously reached for the drink, trying to watch for signs that Yamada had been baiting him.

That strange expression on Yamada’s face seemed to deepen as Hitoshi watched him, but it didn’t seem like he was upset about the coffee? God, Hitoshi didn’t know. These two were so fucking weird. He could never tell what to expect from them. 

No one yelled at him for the coffee. He thought that was a good sign. Still, he made sure to finish it quickly, equal parts desperate for caffeine and worried someone was going to take it away. 

As soon as he finished, he started picking up the dirty dishes, wondering how he was going to clean them with only one arm. 

“What are you doing?” Yamada asked from beside him, a confused look on his face.

Hitoshi looked at him with a matching look of confusion before he simply lifted up the dishes in his hand meaningfully.

“Nope,” Aizawa said, taking the pile from him while Hitoshi was distracted, “Dishes are my job.”

He stared at the man’s back as he walked into the kitchen. Before he could even figure out what was happening, Yamada had already taken the rest of the dishes to Aizawa and was wiping off the table.

Hitoshi just… stood there. Watching them. Yamada and Aizawa worked together so fluidly, tasks sorted neatly without even having to talk.

He didn’t know where he fit in.

So instead he just sat around. Like some lazy asshole. This was supposed to be his job. Cleaning up the kitchen had always been on him. In pretty much every foster home he’d had. 

Cleaning up the house had been on him. He didn’t know what to do with this dynamic.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to prove he was worth keeping around without anything to do.

Next time, he decided, he was not letting those dishes go. 

He had a role to play here, and by god was he going to play it.

~~~~

Hitoshi stared at the door to Recovery Girl’s office, trying not to let it show how unsettled he was. He really didn’t want to be here.

Honestly, he wasn’t even really sure why they were here. Aizawa-sensei and Yamada-sensei had patched up his injuries well enough last night. He didn’t need Recovery Girl to look at them. 

He was fine.

And he really didn’t want to waste any more of everyone’s time. 

“You ready, kiddo?” Yamada-sensei asked, looking at him strangely. He’d been doing that a lot lately. 

Hitoshi nodded, taking the first step forward in a pointless attempt at convincing the teachers that he was fine. He pushed the door open, revealing Recovery Girl sitting at a computer, typing away.

She stopped what she was doing when they walked in, curiosity quickly turned to concern upon spotting Hitoshi’s sling.

“What do we have here?”

Aizawa stepped forward to explain the situation while Yamada guided Hitoshi to a cot nearby so he could sit. He tried tuning in to the conversation between Aizawa and Recovery Girl, but was quickly distracted by Yamada glancing around very obviously. 

Suspiciously. 

Especially because he knew Yamada could be more discreet than that. He wasn’t a pro hero for nothing.

Suddenly, the blonde walked in front of Hitoshi and stopped with his back turned to him. He stared, confused, until his attention was drawn to the man’s hands clasped behind him. He wiggled them oddly, revealing a small gummy in his hands. Hitoshi stared at him blankly, at a loss for what to do, but Yamada couldn’t see him. He just kept on wiggling the gummy. Eventually, Hitoshi reached forward and snagged it.

Yamada immediately walked back to stand by his side, lifting a finger to his mouth in a shushing motion. 

He stared at the teacher, not sure exactly how offended he should be about being treated like a literal child until Yamada opened up the hand he’d held up to his face and snuck a gummy of his own.

Despite himself, Hitoshi snickered softly at the display.

It was just weird. And patronizing? 

And annoying. Definitely annoying.

But… it was also kind of nice? To just have them take care of it? To hang out with Yamada while Aizawa talked about the things he didn’t even really want to think about right now?

He supposed that was the weird part, that he didn’t actually mind.

The way Yamada beamed at his tiny snicker was kind of nice too.

“Yamada Hizashi.” Recovery Girl snapped. 

The man in question’s eyes widened almost comically, ‘Eat,’ he signed at the same time as he whispered, “Cover for me.”

“You had better not be stealing my gummies again.”

“Of course not Shuzenji-sensei!” Yamada replied cheekily, winking at Hitoshi, “Shinsou here can attest to my innocence!”

“Is that so?” Recovery Girl asked, eyeing him suspiciously. There was no real malice in her voice, though, so Hitoshi just nodded his head in agreement, ignoring the fact that he was still chewing on his own gummy.

They must not have expected him to play along, because Recovery Girl and Aizawa-sensei both got a weird look on their faces when they saw him. It was a little unnerving, he almost worried that he’d made the wrong choice, but Aizawa just shrugged and turned to Recovery Girl.

“The man’s innocent.”

Recovery Girl shook her head, muttering exasperatedly, “I swear, you two are worse now than when you were students.”

She turned back to Aizawa to finish up their conversation, and for once, Hitoshi wasn’t all too worried over them talking about him.

As soon as her back was turned, Yamada looked up at the ceiling in a very poor act of nonchalance and nudged Hitoshi lightly. When he looked down, he found a hand offering him another gummy. With a small grin, he took the offered treat and popped it in his mouth.

“You did good, kid,” Yamada whispered, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder for the briefest of moments.

Hitoshi did not lean into the touch for the fraction of a second that it was there.

And he definitely did not keep his small grin in place until Aizawa and Recovery Girl finished their hushed conversation and started walking over.

The funny thing was, the gummies weren’t even good.

~~~~

Hitoshi smothered a yawn from his seat in the back of the car. Even with the gummies Recovery Girl had actually given him and the preemptive gummies he’d had and the coffee from earlier that morning, Hitoshi was exhausted. 

Dangers of going to Recovery Girl on less than three hours of sleep the day after getting the shit beat out of him, he supposed.

He was at least glad the pounding in his head was gone. Recovery Girl had focused there first to make sure he wouldn't get any complications. She’d also done a little for his throat for the same reason. 

They'd scheduled another appointment for him on Saturday and one on Monday and, barring any complications, that should be it. At least, he hoped it was.

Not only because he was looking forward to having two fully functioning arms again, but also because he really didn't want to keep wasting Yamada and Aizawa’s time. 

Not that anybody had seemed upset with him. 

But this was the kind of thing that built up, and the less that happened, the better.

He was just glad they hadn’t ended up going shopping today like he’d heard Yamada-sensei talking about. He really wasn’t up for wandering around the aisles for god-knows-how-long trying to find the cheapest items and then figuring out exactly how to ask for them and just.

Hitoshi wasn’t a fan of shopping.

He was pretty sure he’d still have to suffer through it tomorrow, but for now, he was safe.

They parked at the apartment building, and Hitoshi followed his teachers in, stifling yet another yawn.

“Hey, listener,” Yamada said, drawing his attention, “Do you maybe want to take a quick nap in your room? I can tell you when dinner’s ready.”

Hitoshi shook his head, loosely signing, ‘Fine.’

He wasn’t about to sit around and let everyone else do the work. Again. 

Ignoring the concerned glances he got from both adults, he slowly dragged himself into the kitchen, waiting to find out where all of the dishes were kept so he’d be able to take over and set the table next time.

Yamada followed not long after, asking Hitoshi what he felt like eating. He shrugged, not really caring. After scrutinizing him for a few moments, Yamada accepted that, if a little disappointedly, and started pulling out pots and pans.

Aizawa leaned against the counter beside the blonde and easy conversation started up between the two as Yamada worked on whatever he’d decided to make.

That was another weird thing about Aizawa-sensei and Yamada-sensei. He’d never seen a dynamic like theirs before. Whenever the Iwasakis hadn’t been screaming at him or one of the other kids, they’d be yelling at each other. Which was pretty par for the course for every foster home he’d been in.

Except for those who had… escalated that a bit. He didn’t like thinking about those families.

The relationship between the teachers was so strange and unexpected, he wasn’t even sure if they were together or what? It made sense, they had nicknames for each other, lived together. He was pretty sure they shared a room too, but he couldn’t be completely sure since they had shown him to bed first last night, promising to give him “the full tour” after he’d gotten some sleep.

But it was also just so far detached from anything he’d ever seen before. He… kind of hoped that they were together. That relationships could be like this. But he couldn’t be sure.

Either way, it was certainly a welcome change of pace. 

The atmosphere was comfortable, relaxed. And the smell of something delicious had started wafting through the room. Hitoshi closed his eyes for just a moment, listening to the chatter and laughter from Yamada-sensei, to Aizawa-sensei’s soft snorts and sarcastic comments.

He reveled in the warmth, wishing he could just forget about the realities of the world and stay there forever.

~

Hitoshi blearily blinked awake, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, kid,” A tired voice greeted him.

He waved sloppily, sitting up.

Since when had he been sitting down?

Hitoshi looked around, confused, trying to gather his bearings. Yamada-sensei set a pot of soup on the table, offering him a kind smile.

“You nearly fell asleep standing up,” the voice from above said, “so I brought you to the table to sit down while Hizashi finished cooking.” 

He craned his head up to look at Aizawa, wincing as his neck protested the angle.

“We would have let you sleep longer,” Yamada said, taking the seat to his left, “but we weren’t sure if you’d wake up before tomorrow and didn’t want you going to bed on an empty stomach.”

Hitoshi stared at the dishes on the table, working his jaw subtly. He opened his mouth to respond and promptly froze. Shit. He cringed further back in his seat, bracing himself for the yelling.

But it never came. The two adults just exchanged an unreadable glance above his head before both turned to him.

“You… know you’re allowed to talk here, right, listener?” Yamada asked gently.

Hitoshi almost snorted, but managed to keep it down. Sure, he was a bit tired, but he wasn’t stupid. Unwilling to flat out say no, Hitoshi just shrugged and stared at the bowl in front of him.

‘T-I-M-E…’ he signed, hoping to move the conversation to something else. He could tell that his intentions didn’t go unnoticed by the adults, but thankfully they humored him anyway and dropped the topic.

“It’s around 7 PM,” Aizawa answered, moving to the seat across from Yamada, to Hitoshi’s right.

He nodded gratefully as Yamada started serving the food.

‘Thank you,’ he signed softly upon receiving his bowl, both adults mumbling a soft “Itadakimasu” when they got their own.

~

Hitoshi frowned to himself as he smothered what felt like his millionth yawn since waking up. He didn’t get why he was still so tired. Usually, naps threw him off so much that he was on edge the rest of the day.

And he was on edge, more than a little frustrated at himself for not helping out in the kitchen again. 

But he was still so tired.

“It was probably the concussion,” Aizawa said from next to him.

Hitoshi fixed him with a confused look.

“Why you’re so tired,” he clarified, “The concussion probably kept you from getting a good night’s sleep and your brain’s trying to make up for that now.”

Hitoshi stared at him for a minute, a little lost as to how he’d guessed exactly what he’d been thinking. It’d happened with the coffee too, he realized. 

Was Aizawa-sensei really just that observant? And if that was the case… what was he going to find out now that he’d apparently focused that skill on Hitoshi.

It was unnerving.

He nodded in acknowledgment before turning back to the table and finishing off the last bits of his soup.

“Do you want seconds, kiddo?” Yamada asked from his other side.

Hitoshi quickly shook his head, not bothering to figure out if he was hungry, and started gathering up his dishes to wash. 

He’d only managed to turn on the sink before Aizawa stood up and walked over to him.

“I can take care of that,” he insisted, setting his own dishes in the sink.

Hitoshi didn’t respond, anxiety building in his chest as he ignored the adult. He rinsed off the first pan before grabbing the sponge next to the sink, chewing on his lip as he tried to figure out how to hold the plates without a second arm.

“You’re still injured,” Aizawa pointed out.

“Besides,” Yamada piped up from behind him, “Dishes have always been Shou’s job. We can’t just have him lazing about now, can we?” He tried joking.

What about me then?

Hitoshi shook his head, signing ‘Fine. Want help,’ before he set the pan down in the sink and awkwardly started to scrub.

He didn’t get far before a gentle hand rested over his own, stopping the movement. He stiffened, still not looking at Aizawa-sensei.

“I know you want to help, Shinsou, but I’d really appreciate it if you let me handle the dishes.”

Hitoshi stilled, standing under the gaze of the two men until he couldn’t take it anymore, and wordlessly stepped away from the sink.

“Thanks, kid.” 

He took a shaky breath, subtly digging a fingernail into his thumb. He’d never been told not to clean before. He… He didn’t know what to do with this.

They don’t want his help. 

No. 

Not that. 

They just don’t want him.  

What was he even thinking? Pretending he could worm his stupid little way into their lives. 

They already knew how fucking worthless he was. There was no fixing that.

“Hey!” Yamada exclaimed, jumping to his feet, “How about I show you around the rest of the apartment? Give you the grand tour?” He grinned, smile not quite meeting his eyes as he shared a look with Aizawa.

Hitoshi offered a muted nod and Yamada set his own dishes in the sink. 

“C’mon,” the blonde said, waving him forward.

He showed him around the apartment, telling him what each room was for and trying to start a light conversation. Hitoshi only responded with nods or small shakes of his head. He didn’t really think he had it in him to do anything more right now, too preoccupied trying to figure out how to fix this. Could he fix it? 

Yamada kept sending him strange glances, but Hitoshi was increasingly finding himself more and more drained. Lazy piece of-

“And this is your room!” Yamada explained, stopping in front of the last door, “But you already know that one, of course.”

Hitoshi nodded, choosing not to try and figure out what Yamada calling it “his room” was supposed to mean.

“I know you were still pretty tired during dinner and you’re free to go to bed if you’d like,” he said, “but Shou and I were going to watch a show tonight if you’d like to join us.” 

Hitoshi shook his head as politely as he could, holding up one finger. 

“Alright, kiddo,” Yamada said, smiling at him kindly, “Sleep well.”

Hitoshi nodded, waiting until the blonde left to shut the door.

He’d expected his insomnia to start acting up as soon as he reached the bed, honestly, but was happily surprised when that wasn’t the case. Mere minutes after his head hit the pillow, he drifted into unconsciousness.

~~~~

Hitoshi was floating, letting himself be enveloped by the darkness. He let go of the ever-present stress in his mind. It was nice. He kind of just wanted to stay here forever.

Suddenly, a hand broke through the void, grabbing his arm roughly. It yanked him back and he was falling, falling, falling.

He hit things as he went: hard, sharp corners from every angle. He lifted an arm up to protect his face, and it smacked into a corner, jamming the arm into his face.

He hit the ground one second and the next was being slammed against a wall, thick hands around his throat. He clawed at them, but wherever he touched just turned into a strange goo that crept back in place as soon as he let go.

“Do you think they care about you?” Iwasaki’s voice seethed in his ear, “Do you really think anyone cares about you?”

Hitoshi shook his head desperately. He kicked his legs out and connected, but the hand held tight.

A tired voice spoke up from behind him, “I’m disappointed in you, Shinsou,” he sighed, exhausted at the prospect of talking to Hitoshi even a moment longer, “You never should have wasted my time like this.”

Then Hitoshi was scrambling on the floor, trying to get away from a tall, looming figure, but no matter how quickly he moved, the figure was faster.

Desperately, he tried to call out, to apologize, anything, but his mouth wouldn’t budge. His hand flew up to his face, finding a smooth, blank surface where it was supposed to be. 

He let out a muffled scream as the figure finally reached him, pulling a foot back.

Suddenly, Aizawa was leaning over him, strong hands pulling him up from the ground. Hitoshi took a deep breath, staring into kind eyes.

The teacher’s gaze flicked down to his stomach, face twisting into a sneer when he saw the bruises there.

His voice spat out, uncharacteristically venomous,

“Weak.”

Suddenly the teacher was clad in his full hero costume, hair floating around his face as he no doubt focused his quirk on Hitoshi.

Hitoshi stared up at him. He felt wrong, like he was a little kid again. He glanced down at small, thin limbs as Eraserhead evaluated him.

When he looked up again, the hero’s voice called out to him despite his mouth remaining fixed in a stony frown.

“You didn’t deserve to be saved.”

Hitoshi woke up, gasping for breath and sweating under the heat of the blankets. He shoved them off as he sat up, trying to push tears down. His hands flew to his face, rubbing at his eyes. The injured one protested at the movement, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He worked his jaw carefully, eventually opening his mouth just to see if he could.

He knew it was a stupid thing to worry about, the whole dream was stupid, but he still let out a sigh of relief when it wasn’t sealed shut.

He rested his elbows on his knees, again ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and buried his head in his hands. He tried to focus on his breathing, keep his mind away from the dream, but he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation of hands around his neck. Of the words still echoing around his head. Of the warped, hateful look on Aizawa-sensei’s face.

The thoughts twisted in his mind, clamoring for his attention. His breath started picking up again as the sensation of thinking grew to be almost painful. Frantically, he shot out of bed and paced through the room, hands itching with energy.

Maybe… Maybe he just needed a drink of water.

Something to calm himself. Distract him. 

Can’t cry while you’re drinking water.

He stared at the door, swallowing painfully.

Was he even allowed out of the room this late? Probably not.

But would anyone be awake to find him?

Normally he wouldn’t risk it. Normally he’d shove it down and sit in the room until someone called him.

But normally he could shove it down. Normally he didn’t feel hands wrapped around his neck, promising to tighten the moment he let down his guard. He gasped in a quick breath at the thought.

He eyed the door a moment longer.

Yamada and Aizawa were on the opposite end of the hallway.

It was late enough that no one else would be awake.

He’d had years of experience creeping around houses, trying not to draw attention to himself.

He made up his mind.

Carefully, he crept forward and pushed the door open. He snuck through the hallway, pausing at every small creak and shift. Finally, he made his way around the corner, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw a figure sitting at the kitchen table. 

Fuck.

He glanced at the small clock on the microwave. Bright green numbers glared back at him: 2:37. 

Aizawa had his back to the hallway while he worked under the light of a small, dim lamp he must have moved onto the table. 

Hitoshi took a small step back, hoping the teacher hadn’t heard him yet, but luck had never been on his side before and it was stupid to hope for that to change now.

Aizawa turned in his seat, craning his head to look at him. His eyes lingered on Hitoshi’s neck and, for a minute, he wondered if the teacher could see the phantom hands wrapped around his neck before realizing that his bruises were probably just fully developed now.

He supposed, in a way, Aizawa was seeing phantom hands around his neck.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, not unkindly. 

Hitoshi nodded, fixing his gaze on the ground in front of him. He wrapped a hand around his other arm, above the sling.

Aizawa studied him for a minute before setting his pen on the table, “Why don’t you come sit down?” He gestured to the seat in front of him. 

His voice was calm and gentle, but Hitoshi still felt the cold chill of fear shiver down his spine. Reluctantly, he stepped forward and took the designated seat, staring down at the table.

He could feel the teacher’s eyes on him. Probably trying to decide exactly how much trouble Hitoshi was in.

“Nightmares?”

He nodded again, still not looking up.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hitoshi stiffened, hands beginning to shake under the table. He really didn’t. Especially not with Aizawa, not when the dream had included him. But… he couldn’t just say no. 

“It was just an offer, kid. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Hitoshi figured that probably wasn’t true, but remained silent all the same. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Do you think you’ll be able to get any more sleep tonight?” Aizawa asked out of nowhere.

He considered lying to him but eventually decided the teacher would figure him out immediately the next morning. He shook his head.

“Coffee, then?”

His brow furrowed in confusion as he shrugged.

He felt the teacher’s calculating gaze on him for a brief moment before he stood up, grabbing a clean mug from one of the cabinets. He picked up the coffee pot, apparently already filled, and poured Hitoshi a cup.

“Black again?”

Hitoshi nodded hesitantly and before long a steaming cup was placed in front of him. He breathed in deeply, savoring the scent, and sighed, some of the tension flowing out of him.

He heard the fridge door opening and closing behind him before Aizawa walked back, placing a towel and the cold compress from before next to Hitoshi.

“This should help with some of those bruises,” he said, returning to his seat.

Hitoshi stared at the compress. He… really didn’t want something wrapped around his neck right now. Even just the thought of it made his shoulders hitch. Hesitantly, he reached for the items, resting a shaky hand on top of them as he braced himself.

“Shinsou,” Aizawa said from the seat in front of him.

Hitoshi glanced up, seeing that same strange look he’d been getting all day on his teacher’s face.

“You can say no if you don’t want something.”

Hitoshi looked at him warily, trying to figure out exactly what his play was here. 

“No one’s going to get mad at you for having boundaries, kid. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable for our sake.” He held out a hand to Hitoshi, who stared for a moment before tentatively passing the rag and compress to him. Aizawa set them next to his own cup, looking back down at the paper he’d been working on.

“Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Hitoshi nodded, not quite sure what to do in this scenario. He stared until Aizawa lifted his pen up again, marking something in red, and Hitoshi fixed his gaze back on the table in front of him. He sipped on his coffee and the two fell into a somewhat comfortable silence.

It was better out here, with the coffee and soft lighting. And… the company was surprisingly nice too. Aizawa had a comforting presence, even when Hitoshi struggled to shake the image of his cruel sneer or that unfeeling stony face staring down at him- through him.

He snuck another glance at the teacher, who continued impassively grading homework. 

He still couldn’t shake all the thoughts, but he felt more settled, more stable. Like even if the memory of the dream stayed for a while, he could still be okay. 

He finished off his coffee, not sure what to do now.

“Refill?” 

Hitoshi looked up at Aizawa, who was suddenly staring up at him instead of at his papers. Had he been paying attention the whole time?

After a moment’s consideration, he stood up and walked over to the coffee maker, filling up his own cup. He set it down on the counter after and reached a hand out to Aizawa.

The teacher looked up and offered him a small half-smile before passing over his own empty cup.

“Thanks, kid.”

Hitoshi nodded, filling the mug and passing it back before he silently returned to his seat at the table.

They sat in silence for another minute before Aizawa asked, “Did you finish any of your homework for break yet?”

Hitoshi shook his head. He hadn’t even looked at it, too stuck in that weird haze.

“I have copies of Hizashi’s assignments if you want something to do,” he offered.

He nodded easily, welcoming the idea of a distraction. 

“You sure?” Aizawa double-checked, receiving a second, more hesitant nod a moment later.

“Alright,” he said, standing up from the table, “I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he wandered off, probably headed to the room Yamada had said was their office.

True to his word, Aizawa returned soon after, holding out a couple of pages. Hitoshi took them gratefully, along with a pencil.

“I’ll be able to get your stuff soon,” Aizawa told him, sitting back down, “We just have to wait for the search warrant to go through, which shouldn’t take long, now that Recovery Girl has submitted her statement.”

Hitoshi nodded carefully, trying to puzzle out the implications of that. Search warrant? Was Aizawa filing actual charges against the Iwasakis?

Sure, he’d figured that he’d be removed from their custody or something, but this was a bit unexpected. Did they really think they even had a case? 

Hitoshi remained silent, looking down at his homework. 

For once, Aizawa’s freaky mind-reading powers didn’t seem to be working, seeing as he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just frowned down at a new paper, making several red marks. Hitoshi felt a little bad for whoever this kid was as Aizawa started filling the page up with corrections.

They settled back into a comfortable silence, the soft scratches of pencil and pen on paper filling the air. Occasionally, one of them would stand and fill both mugs of coffee, although these stops got less and less frequent as the night went on.

They still managed to drain the pot with impressive speed.

It was a nice way to spend the night, Hitoshi figured, nerves calming and thoughts pushed to the side. He wondered if Aizawa felt the same way.

Chapter Text

Shouta sighed, setting down his coffee to make another mark on the paper. His hero ethics class was always a difficult one. The third years all seemed to have a good conceptual grasp on the topics, some even writing arguments that had him downright impressed, but it was always the examination of heroics laws that tripped them up. 

He figured most of it was a simple refusal to do the work necessary and actually look into these laws before writing about them. However, a lot of the issue seemed to be with the conflict between students’ previous beliefs and their new outlook on ethical dilemmas. They weren’t synthesizing the course content with real-life situations.

Like one student, whose previous essays had very strongly suggested that she thought it was a person's duty to help others whenever and wherever they could. However, on one of her essays about the actual laws, she'd said that there was absolutely no justification for vigilantism, even those who focused their efforts on helping victims instead of fighting villains. He supposed that she could hold both beliefs and could find a way to structure it that made sense with her earlier arguments, but she didn't. She hadn't even seemed to notice the contradiction.

The soft sound of a door clicking shut pulled him out of his thoughts. He spared a quick glance at the clock on the microwave, frowning at the time. Hizashi was rarely up this late. Early?

He paused at the slow, careful footsteps, the way they paused after every small creak. Not Hizashi then. His frown deepened.

Why was the kid up this late?

He waited for Shinsou to round the corner, honestly a little impressed at his ability to sneak around. 

And worried why he would have that skill. 

He heard breath hitch behind him as Shinsou realized he was still awake and debated whether or not he should say something. He made up his mind when Shinsou stepped back, not wanting his presence to stop the kid from getting what he’d needed.

He turned in his seat, pausing when he saw the dark ring of bruises around Shinsou’s neck. They left absolutely no doubt what had happened to the kid, and Shouta was furious. Just looking at them made him want to go give Iwasaki a piece of his mind.

Not wanting to make Shinsou uncomfortable, though, he quickly looked up to his face instead. 

He took in the kid’s haggard appearance, hair even messier than usual and a haunted look in his eyes. 

He made sure to keep his voice gentle when he spoke, “Can’t sleep?”

Shinsou nodded slowly, wrapping a careful arm around himself. Shouta was suddenly struck with just how young he actually was. 

He’d been through so much more than he’d ever deserved to. Than any kid deserved to.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” He asked when Shinsou didn’t return to whatever he’d come here for.

The fear that took over his face was unmistakable and left a troubled feeling in the pit of Shouta’s stomach. With clear reluctance, the kid walked over, taking a seat.

He wondered if maybe he’d made the wrong choice when he stopped the kid from returning to his room.

He kind of wished Hizashi was here instead. He was so much better at predicting people’s needs, at understanding the emotional conflicts they were dealing with and figuring out the perfect way to help them.

But he wasn’t, so Shouta would have to do.

“Nightmares?” He asked, probably unnecessarily. 

He tried channeling his husband as Shinsou nodded, wondering what Hizashi would say to the timid nod he’d received.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The kid stiffened, staring at the table below him. Unwillingness and worry rolled off of him in waves

“It was just an offer, kid. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Shinsou’s face twisted in disbelief, but he still didn’t move, apparently just that reluctant to tell Shouta about it.

“Do you think you’ll be able to get any more sleep tonight?” He asked, trying to figure out anything he could do to ease the pained look in his eyes.

Shinsou hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“Coffee, then?” 

The kid looked more than a little bewildered as he shrugged and Shouta wondered what Shinsou’d expected him to say. Probably nothing good with the way his shoulders were still hitched.

He frowned as he poured the coffee, wondering if the tension was straining his shoulder.

“Black again?”

Shinsou paused for a split second before offering a tiny nod. Shouta returned it, despite knowing the kid couldn’t see him and walked back to the table to set the cup in front of him. 

He turned around and walked to the freezer next, hoping to ease the kid’s pain a little bit. He grabbed the cold compress and a clean towel, setting them down on the table.

“This should help with some of those bruises.”

Shinsou stared at the items, discomfort clouding over his eyes. Shouta frowned, getting a couple ideas of what might have been keeping the kid up.

Alarmingly, he still reached for the items, hands shaking while he clearly tried to prepare himself for god knows what reason.

“Shinsou,” he said before he could pick them up. He waited until the kid looked up at him to continue, “You can say no if you don’t want something.”

The blatant disbelief on Shinsou’s face left him pretty sure he’d hit the nail right on its head. Which... just. God. The kid didn't even think he was allowed to say no. Not even when they were trying to do something for his benefit.

Like he was so used to not having a say in his own life.

“No one’s going to get mad at you for having boundaries, kid. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable for our sake,” he added, reaching out for the compress and towel. 

“Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Shinsou nodded, if a bit distrustfully, and Shouta turned back to his work, deciding to give the kid some time to process, both his words and the nightmare.

He noticed Shinsou glancing at him from time to time. It seemed to be more to reassure himself than out of a desire to ask him something, though, so Shouta pretended he didn’t notice. He still watched him out of the corner of his eye in case something changed.

He was relieved when Shinsou started to settle, the lost and scared look slowly melting away into something more comfortable.

They spent the night like that, both focusing on their own things while keeping the other company. He wasn’t really used to having another person around for his sleepless nights, but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

It was nice.

~

Hizashi walked out of their room a few minutes after six, like normal. He’d probably expected Shouta to be out here, having woken up alone, but looked a bit surprised to see Shinsou.

Which was fair.

‘How long have you two been awake?’ He signed, eyes lingering on the kid’s bruises for a moment. Shinsou looked up from whatever he’d started doing after finishing Hizashi’s assignments.

‘Couple hours,’ he responded as the kid frowned, probably not understanding the bulk of what they were signing, ‘Shinsou got up around 2:30.’

Shinsou's eyes widened anxiously when Shouta gestured to refer to him.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, “Hizashi doesn’t have his hearing aids in yet. He just wanted to know how long we’ve been up.”

Shinsou nodded slowly, still looking a bit unnerved. 

Hizashi turned to smile at him, ‘Good morning,’ he signed more slowly, grin growing when Shinsou tried to copy the signs, ‘Sleep hard?’ 

‘Hard?’ Shinsou repeated sloppily, looking a bit confused.

‘H-A-R-D’ Hizashi spelled out before repeating the sign.

The kid nodded in understanding, attempting the sign again. It was still a bit sloppy; he only really had one hand to work with, so that wasn’t exactly surprising. It was honestly a bit impressive that he was understandable at all.

He offered a half-shrug in response to the question, ‘Little. Have 6. Hour,” he replied as best he could, ‘Fine.’

Hizashi nodded in understanding, ‘Shouta nice?’ he asked, gesturing instead of using sign names.

Shinsou’s eyes flicked between them, confused and a little bit anxious, but seemed to calm down when Shouta just rolled his eyes fondly. Which… had some worrying implications.

‘Yes. Nice.’ He bit his lip and glanced down at the table, ‘Good. T-I-M-E’ he added, if a bit self-consciously.

Shouta smiled softly, “I’m glad, kid. I had a nice time too.”

Shinsou just stared at the table harder, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. After a moment, he seemed to realize that he needed to look at Hizashi to continue their conversation and glanced up again.

‘Happy,’ Hizashi signed, 'Morning grumpy. Sometimes mean.'

"I am not mean," Shouta said, signing as he spoke.

Hizashi just rolled his eyes before turning back to Shinsou. He pointed at his ear before signing, ‘Hearing aid.’ Shinsou nodded, repeating the sign and Hizashi added, ‘Back soon,’ then hurried to their room.

True to his word, Hizashi was back not too long after, hearing aids in.

“So, what’ll it be today, kiddo?”

Shinsou fixed him with a confused look.

“For breakfast,” he clarified.

Shaking his head, Shinsou started signing, ‘Not H-U-’

His protests were promptly cut off by his stomach growling. He blanched, eyes darting down to the table.

Shouta and Hizashi exchanged a concerned look. 

“Did you like the eggs yesterday?” Hizashi asked, probably not wanting to freak the kid out any more by confronting him.

Shinsou offered a tiny nod, still staring at the table.

“How about tamagoyaki then?” He suggested, “And a nice cucumber salad?”

Shinsou nodded again, cautiously.

“Great!” Hizashi said, “I’ll get started on that now.”

He walked over to the fridge and started grabbing out ingredients, humming softly to himself.

Shinsou risked a glance up at Shouta, who just smiled at him reassuringly. After a couple of minutes, he seemed to have calmed down, picking up his pencil to keep working on whatever he’d been doing for the past little bit.

He gave up before long, though, apparently still too distracted to really focus, and got out of his seat. Cautiously, he opened one of the cupboards, scanning its contents.

Shouta set down his own pen and joined him.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

Shinsou narrowed his eyes for half a second before nervously signing ‘P-L-A-T-E.’

“Those are just right here,” he said, opening the correct cupboard and handing the kid a plate… for whatever reason.

He shook his head, lifting up three fingers.

“You want three plates?”

Shinsou nodded.

With a confused look on his face, Shouta reached back into the cabinet and grabbed out two more plates. He was about to hand them to the kid, when he finally realized what was going on.

He shut the cabinet with a sigh, keeping the plates in his hand.

“Kid,” he said wearily, “You don’t have to set the table.”

He reached out a hand for Shinsou to give back the plate he’d already been given, but the kid just tensely shook his head and walked back to the table, setting it down. He didn’t even put it at his seat, instead setting it up for Hizashi.

Shinsou returned to Shouta immediately after, defiant glint in his eyes and hand held out for the other plates.

“Shinsou…” 

The kid shook his head, clumsily signing, ‘Want help.’

“I-” Shouta sighed in defeat. He was too tired to try figuring out Shinsou’s strange need to do household chores. “Fine. You can do the utensils, but that’s it.”

Shinsou nodded, seemingly satisfied, and Shouta showed him to the appropriate drawer.

Whatever was going on here, Shouta doubted it was very healthy. Especially not with the way he had borderline panicked last night when they didn’t let him do the dishes, but at least the kid seemed happy?

When they finished eating, Shouta was honestly just grateful Shinsou didn’t try to do the dishes again.

~

An hour or so after eating, Hizashi suggested they go on that shopping trip he had tried planning yesterday. 

Shinsou looked about as enthusiastic at the suggestion as Shouta felt, but… Hizashi did have a point. The kid needed more clothes than just one outfit. So the two resigned themselves to a long day of noise and people, their reluctance barely able to dampen Hizashi’s excitement.

The trip went about as well as he’d expected, with Hizashi too eager to offer anything he thought the kid might want and Shinsou far too nervous to accept anything other than the bare minimum. 

Although, he couldn’t say he wasn’t happy when Shinsou finally brought over a godawful purple hoodie with a cat printed on it. Even as the kid stared down at his shoes anxiously, clearly struggling to figure out a way to ask for it.

By the end of the day, Shinsou had about a week’s worth of new outfits along with new shoes, winter clothes, and a few things Hizashi’d needled him into choosing for his room. 

~~~~

“Remember you have your appointment with Recovery Girl after classes today,” Shouta reminded Shinsou on their drive to UA a few days later. 

“If you’re feeling up to it after, we can probably still fit in an hour or so of training.”

Shinsou looked up at him, expression equal parts surprised and relieved. It was the same look he’d gotten when he offered to add weekends to their training schedule. The same look he got when he told Shinsou he’d still be free over break.

A look that said he’d expected Shouta to give up on him for god-knows-what-reason and was genuinely surprised when he didn’t.

A look that said the kid’s self-worth was in the fucking gutters.

“It’ll be nice to get back to training again,” he said simply.

He’d had a lot of long talks with Hizashi in the couple of days since Shinsou had first come home. Some were about the case against the Iwasakis, some were about the fostering process. 

Most were about Shinsou. 

About how he seemed surprised whenever Hizashi asked what he wanted to eat, how he almost always tried to deny that he was hungry. They had talked about his insistence on cleaning, on staying in his room unless he was explicitly invited out of it. They had talked about his refusal to speak to them.

They had talked about that one a lot.

As they talked about their worries, they had also talked about ways that they might help. About showing him that he was wanted and cared for without encroaching on his boundaries. About listening to the kid when he expressed his wants or needs while still ensuring that he ate three meals a day. About not confronting or pressuring him when he got stressed out while still reassuring him and teaching him that their home was his as well.

They had especially, at length, discussed how they were going to bring up the idea of therapy to the kid and what they would do if he was against it.

Aside from that, it really seemed like the most they could do was give Shinsou time to adjust and reassure him whenever the opportunity arose.

Which was hard. For both of them.

As pro heroes, neither of them were really the kind to wait around for things to get better. Their literal job was to go out and face problems head on. If there were a single thing Shouta could have gone out and done that would fix everything- fix anything, he would have done it months ago. He was certain Hizashi felt the same way. But unfortunately for all three of them, that wasn’t really the way things worked.

And so they waited. And they supported. And they talked.

And above all else, they worried.

~

“Hmm,” Recovery Girl looked at Shinsou contemplatively, “Have you been getting enough sleep lately?”

Shinsou shrank back a little bit, shrugging.

“What’s the most sleep you’ve gotten this week?”

‘6 hour.’  

Recovery Girl frowned, “And the least?”

Shinsou looked down at his hands for a moment, thinking.

‘2. 3 hour. Maybe.’

“When did that last happen?”

The kid ducked his head, ‘Yesterday.’

Shouta raised an eyebrow at that. 

“Mhm,” Recovery Girl hummed, marking that down, “Is this something you’ve struggled with before?”

Shinsou nodded his head easily.

“Around how many of these nights do you usually have in a month?”

The kid reached up to scratch his head, thinking.

“How about each week,” Recovery Girl asked instead.

‘B-E-F-O-R-E  3. 4. Bad week 5.’  

“Before?” 

Shinsou looked down again, ‘Now week 2 O-N-L-Y,’ he signed before lifting a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“I’m glad to hear that, at least,” she said, writing something down. 

“On these nights do you usually have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep throughout the night, or waking up too early?”

‘U-S-U-A-L-L-Y 1, 3. Sometimes 2.’

“I see,” Recovery Girl said, making a quick note. 

“When did you start noticing these symptoms?”

‘10. 11 Maybe.’

“Ten or eleven months ago?” 

Shinsou shook his head, ‘Time I 10, 11.’

“You’ve been experiencing these symptoms since you were ten or eleven?” Recovery Girl asked, sounding more than a little surprised. Shouta couldn’t say he disagreed.

Shinsou bit his lip, looking down uncomfortably as he nodded.

“And no one ever took you to a doctor about it?”

He shook his head, ‘1 give M-E-L-A-T-O-N-I-N. Not help.’

Shouta and Recovery Girl exchanged a glance.

“I can prescribe you something a bit stronger today,” she said, already writing something down, “But I’d really recommend seeing a specialist.”

She turned to Shouta, “I’ll give you a few referrals.”

He nodded, mentally working out when they’d be able to schedule that.

Shinsou looked between them, confusion clear on his face.

“Kid, sleeping issues like this can be serious,” he said calmly, “Someone should have taken you to a doctor a long time ago.”

He wondered if they’d be able to get a proper diagnosis before the Iwasakis’ trial so he could get them pegged for their obvious medical neglect. Probably, seeing as the fucking warrant hadn’t even come through yet. 

If he didn’t have one by Friday, he was going to have to start causing problems.

Recovery Girl nodded in agreement before continuing. 

“Unfortunately, it looks like you don’t have the energy for me to completely finish your healing today like we had hoped,” she explained, “But we’ll get as close as we can and schedule you another appointment later this week, okay?”

Shinsou nodded.

“How does Thursday sound?” She asked them both.

The kid just looked at Shouta curiously.

“Thursday works. I’ll make sure Hizashi knows.”

Recovery Girl nodded, making another quick note before she stepped up to Shinsou.

“Ready?”

~~~~

They’d ended up having to cancel their training on Monday due to how exhausted Shinsou was, but they were finally getting back into things now. Shouta suspected Shinsou was as relieved about that as he was. 

“Have you thought about it?” Shouta asked.

“I… yes.” Shinsou said, “We should do it.”

He figured the fact that Shinsou was talking again had no small hand in that relief.

He was still silent at home, but barring Monday, he’d pretty much started talking again when they returned to school. It wasn’t a lot, and he often hesitated or faltered, but it was still something.

“Should and want are two different things, kid,” he replied, “Of course we should train your quirk. At some point. But do you want that point to be now?”

“You’ve had a rough week with a lot of big changes,” he continued, “and it’s important to me that you’re comfortable doing this again.”

He couldn’t help but wonder if working on this would be helpful or detrimental in getting Shinsou to feel comfortable speaking at home. On one hand, it would show that he didn’t care if the kid talked, that he didn’t even care if he used his quirk. On the other, it might strengthen the disconnect between what's okay at home and what's okay at school. 

Especially if Shinsou decided to read into things that aren't really there and didn’t communicate his worries with them. Which seemed like the kid’s go-to move. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Shinsou said softly, “I want to do this.”

He’d also worried if the kid would be more uncomfortable because it was Shouta that was working on his quirk with him. He had no doubt that Shinsou’d had many adverse reactions from past guardians around his quirk, and since Shouta is starting to take over that role in the kid’s life, he was worried he might think Shouta would start reacting the same as past guardians.

Of course, that was only a worry, whereas suggesting to invite someone else for Shinsou to practice on would be sure to set the kid off. Even if he explained his reasoning, he couldn’t imagine Shinsou taking it in any other way than Shouta being uncomfortable with his quirk.

So he’d made sure to stress the importance of Shinsou’s boundaries, and had resolved to watch the kid for any sign that they needed to stop.

“Alright,” he said, “Make sure to tell me if that changes or if you feel overwhelmed at all. We can always take a break or even stop altogether if that’s what you need.”

Shinsou nodded a bit nervously. Shouta watched him for a minute, trying to get a read on what the kid was feeling, and also giving him a chance to change his mind. Eventually, once he’d determined that this really was what Shinsou wanted, he returned the nod.

“Let’s begin.”

~~~~

Shouta turned the page of his book and took a sip of coffee. He was increasingly grateful that he’d finished his grading yesterday, finally leaving him with some free time. 

Even still, he’d cleaned up around the apartment for a bit once he’d gotten home and even managed to squeeze in a quick nap. 

He checked the time, noting that it was about three hours after school had ended. Shinsou and Hizashi should be getting home soon then. 

They’d gotten back from their JSL lesson a bit earlier on Tuesday, but today they had Shinsou’s last session with Recovery Girl after. 

Shouta looked up from the book as his phone beeped softly. He picked it up, opening a message from Hizashi.

| Zashi: Need 2 get some work done, will b late

As he was reading the first message, another two popped up below it.

| Zashi: Shinsou didnt wanna wait. He’ll b home soon

| Zashi: Lmk when he makes it

Shouta sent back a thumbs up and returned to his book while he waited for Shinsou to get home.

Around ten minutes later, he heard the door opening and Shinsou walked in. He kicked the snow off before removing his shoes in the genkan.

“Welcome home,” he called out, marking his place in the book before setting it down.

Shinsou stepped out of the genkan, covering his mouth as he yawned wide.

“Thanks,” he said in a tired voice.

He said.

They realized at the same time.

Shouta opened his mouth to respond, but Shinsou beat him to the punch.

“Shit.”

Shinsou took a step back, shoulders hunched. He fixed his gaze on the floor, and Shouta was suddenly struck with how similar he looked to that day a few months ago. Back when he’d first started worrying about the kid.

“How was your day?” He asked, trying to play it off. Trying to show that he didn’t care.

He wasn’t even sure Shinsou heard him.

‘Sorry.’ He signed, still not looking up.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, kid,” he responded immediately, “You can talk here.”

Shinsou shook his head quickly. 

His hands twitched in place for a moment before he slowly brought them up to his chest, signing, ‘Need F-I-X. How F-I-X?’

“You don’t need to fix anything, kid. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Shouta said, frowning as Shinsou only grew tenser.

‘Yes. Break rule. Need F-I-X. How F-I-X?’

Cautiously, Shouta stood from his seat on the couch, walking over to the kid. He didn’t flinch, not like Shouta had expected him to. 

But he did squeeze his eyes shut. He did tense his muscles. He did brace for a hit.

He… he didn’t even try to stop it. To protect himself. He thought he was going to be hurt and he’d just. Accepted it. 

Like he thought it was unavoidable.

Like this was him “Fixing it.”

Shouta stopped about a meter away from him, feeling sick to his stomach.

“You did not break a rule, Shinsou,” he said firmly, “You are allowed to talk. You are allowed to ask questions. You are allowed to use your quirk.”

Shinsou had slowly started opening his eyes as Shouta spoke, but they narrowed distrustfully on the last line. That might be too much for the kid to process right now.

Shinsou stared at the floor for a few more seconds before a bitter glimmer of understanding flickered through his eyes. Resolutely, he spun around and started walking to the kitchen.

Shouta, unfortunately, had no idea what the kid understood, but that certainly wasn’t the effect he was going for. He stared, bewildered, at the spot the kid had been standing in before turning to follow him. 

He found Shinsou with a wet rag in hand, already wiping the table.

Did he think this was some kind of test? That Shouta wanted him to prove that he thought it was wrong, even if he was told that it wasn’t.

“Kid,” he said a bit more sternly, “Shinsou, look at me.”

He stiffened and slowly, arduously lifted his head to look at Shouta. He still didn’t make eye contact, instead focusing on some random point on Shouta’s face as he clenched his hand on the rag.

Shouta stepped closer, keeping his hands open and in front of him where Shinsou could see them. Slowly, so as not to startle the kid, he grabbed onto the rag and carefully took it from him. 

He didn’t fight it, but it was obvious he’d wanted to. 

“You are not in trouble,” Shouta said firmly, unwaveringly. “You cannot fix this because there is nothing to fix. You are allowed to talk as much as you would like.” 

“There is not, and never will be, a rule against you talking, kid.”

Shinsou finally moved his gaze to look Shouta in the eye. He saw a lot when he looked back at Shinsou; Disbelief, confusion, fear. For just a moment, he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of hope there too, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.

“I know it’s a lot to process, kid, but we aren’t going to be like your other foster parents.” Shouta told him in the same confident tone, “The way they treated you was wrong, Shinsou. No one’s ever going to do that to you again.”

Shinsou stared at him. He looked conflicted, unsure.

“Do you believe me?”

Shinsou bit his lip nervously, eyes darting to the ground.

“It’s okay if the answer is no, Shinsou. Trust takes time, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He nodded haltingly.

“Do you want some time to think about this?”

After a moment of hesitation, Shinsou offered another tiny nod.

“Alright, kid,” he replied, fighting the urge to ruffle his hair, “I’ll be out here if you need anything, even if it’s just another person to be around.”

With a small nod, Shinsou slowly walked to his room, shutting the door with a soft click.

Shouta returned the rag to the kitchen sink before going back to his spot in the living room. He sat down with a deep sigh, picking up his phone to text Hizashi.

| Shou: Kid got home a while ago

| Shou: He’s had a bit of a rough evening. I’ll explain when you get back

| Shou: Don’t rush

He knew the last part was probably going to fly right over Hizashi’s head as soon as he read the messages, but he sent it anyway. In any case, it might be able to help ease his worry upon reading the first few texts.

With that, Shouta picked up his book again, already knowing he wasn’t going to get much more reading done. At least it gave him something to stare at while he thought.

~~Hitoshi~~ 

Hitoshi shut the door numbly, automatically walking to sit on the side of the bed. 

He… didn’t know what to think. He didn’t understand this. He never understood Aizawa.

Or Yamada, for that matter.

He felt so wildly out of his depth here. He never knew what the right move was. Everything that used to calm down his previous fosters just seemed to make Aizawa and Yamada even more upset. 

Like cleaning. They were always so adverse to him cleaning and he didn’t get it.

It’s not like he did a bad job or anything. They hadn’t even given him the opportunity to do a bad job.

Hitoshi ran a nervous hand through his hair.

He didn’t believe Aizawa. Not really.

Things were different here, but they weren’t that different. Nowhere would be that different. He knew that by now.

He. He kind of wanted it to be real, for Aizawa to really think it was fine for him to talk. He wanted to… to be safe. In a way he’d never really been before.

That was probably the most frustrating part.

He'd thought he was past this. Past wishing, past hoping.

He'd thought he was past letting himself be vulnerable like this.

He didn’t want to be hurt again.

It was always worse, he thought, when things came crashing down after he’d let himself hope. 

But… he just couldn’t figure out what Aizawa’s play was here. 

Maybe it was a test? It seemed like he did really want Hitoshi to talk though. He just couldn’t figure out why. He knew he’d been baited before. Mrs. Iwasaki was very fond of that strategy. But she also did it so she would have a reason to punish him.

Aizawa did it after he’d already fucked up.

He hadn’t needed to bait him because he’d already had a reason. 

Hell, he’d had a reason, tried to pass it by, and then objected when Hitoshi brought it up.

It just didn’t make any sense.

He rested his elbows on his knees, throwing his head into his hands. 

God, his head hurt. Not in the usual way either; the way that comes with too little sleep or food. Not the way it hurt when he got migraines.

And the longer he thought about this, the more it hurt. He just wanted to go to sleep, but he didn’t think he could until he figured out what Aizawa wanted from him.

He didn’t think Aizawa had ever lied to him before. Certainly not something as bold-faced as this. But he just couldn’t imagine a world in which that was true. A world where Hitoshi could speak freely. Could ask questions. Could use his quirk.  

That line, at least, he knew couldn’t have been true. 

And if Aizawa was willing to lie about that, then he couldn’t tell what else the teacher had lied about.

Hitoshi froze when he heard the front door open.

Yamada’s voice called out a greeting, strangely muted.

He… he was supposed to be at school still.

He said he’d be at least a couple of hours, and there was no way it had been that long since he got back.

Had he come home early?

Had he… had he come home early because of Hitoshi?

Hitoshi stared at the room’s door, mind racing.

He could only think of one reason why Yamada would be back so soon.

It. Made a lot of sense. He knew Yamada and Aizawa had a strange relationship. It made sense that they would want to talk before…

Before deciding how to punish him.

It. Well, there was still a lot missing. A lot that Hitoshi didn’t understand.

But enough of the pieces had fallen together that he had finally gotten what was happening.

He… he knew it probably wasn’t a good thing, but he was at least a little bit comforted by some semblance of normalcy. 

He crept closer to the door, trying to brush off the guilt he felt at eavesdropping.

He could hear them talking, vaguely. He couldn’t make out any words, but he could tell one thing.

They did not sound happy.

Like, yeah, they didn’t exactly sound angry either. But he figured they were more the ‘we’re disappointed’ kind of people instead of screamers. The ‘This isn’t acceptable behavior’ kind of people instead of the ‘You’ll pay for that’ kind.

They… fuck.

They were the expulsion kind of people instead of the violent kind, yeah?

That’s what he’d said before, wasn’t it?

What if.

What if they were out there.

Discussing whether or not they should get rid of him.

Hitoshi froze, heart beating loudly in his chest.

It made a lot of sense.

He already knew that his days here were numbered.

And it would explain why Aizawa had tried telling him that it was fine when he knew it wasn’t.  

He’d said there was no way for him to fix it. That there wasn’t anything to fix.

Hitoshi stepped away from the door, panic building in his throat.

There. There had to be a way. There had to be something. He couldn’t… He couldn’t go back. Not now that he knew what things could be.

Now that he knew what was out there.

He just. Had to think. There must be something.

Hitoshi slunk to the floor taking a deep breath. 

Aizawa had said that he couldn’t fix it after he’d started cleaning, right?

He, well, he knew they were weird about cleaning. So maybe it had been a test and Hitoshi had chosen the wrong option? 

They were teachers, after all. They probably wanted Hitoshi to figure things out on his own. To learn instead of doing the same thing over and over even after they had explicitly told him not to.

Like a fucking idiot.

So… So it wasn’t cleaning then. But they did want him to do something. 

He started thinking.

It probably wasn’t one of the Iwasakis’ usual choices? Aizawa wanted Hitoshi to figure this out himself, and he couldn’t exactly make them yell at him. Or ignore him. Or… or hit him.

He supposed he could decline dinner. Or, well, any meals until they felt that he’d made up for it.

But they also seemed to be weird around him eating? 

Even when he did say that he wasn’t hungry, they still made him food. And then he couldn’t just not eat it and be wasteful. 

He also really needed something to show them right now. Before they’d made up their minds. Before it was too late for him. And restricting food access had always been a multiple day's long thing.

The Sakumas had been fond of kicking him out whenever they got sick of him. Aizawa might have wanted him to leave for a couple of days and come back ‘after he had learned his lesson,’ but it didn’t really make a lot of sense?

Because he’d still have to see him at school tomorrow, yeah? And there wasn’t really any point in getting rid of him if they’d still have to fucking put up with him.

The Muranos had been fond of locking him in the basement when he got to be too much.

Or the closet if they were really pissed.

There wasn’t really a basement here, but he could probably find a closet somewhere?

Except he didn’t know if they’d think to look for him since he’d already fucked it up once. And he definitely didn’t want them to think he was hiding from them. Or avoiding punishment.

Other than that…

There was really only one option. 

Honestly, he kind of already knew this was where he’d end up. There had been a reason he decided to keep it, after all.

He still sat there for another few minutes. Trying to think of anything else. 

Of course he couldn’t.

He took a deep breath and walked over to the dresser that sat next to the bed, pulling out the first drawer.

He hadn’t tried to hide it. There wasn’t really any reason to.

But he hadn’t wanted to look at it either.

He still didn’t want to.

Even after grabbing it, after walking to the door with it burning in his hands, he tried to avoid looking at it.

He took a deep breath and left the room.

The adults stopped talking pretty immediately. And if he hadn’t already been sure of his suspicions, that would have done it.

“Hey there, little listener,” Yamada called out, “How you doing?”

Hitoshi ducked his head, walking around the corner so they could both see him.

He hesitated before signing a short ‘Fine.’

Yamada glanced at Aizawa frowning, “Are you sure, kiddo?”

He craned his head over the back of the couch, trying to get a good look at him. 

Hitoshi stepped a bit closer, nodding hesitantly.

“Hey, whatcha got in your hand there?” He asked, sounding weirdly worried.

Hitoshi tried to ignore the way his jaw was trembling and stepped forward slowly.

He heard Yamada inhale sharply when he got closer but didn’t want to see the expression on his face. He finally looked at it, the muzzle in his hands, when he got close enough to hold it out to them.

The room was silent.

Chapter Text

“Shinsou,” Hizashi whispered, for once unsure of what to say, “Where… where did you get that?”

‘Trash,’ Shinsou signed, still not looking at him, ‘First night.’

Hizashi held a hand up to his mouth, trying to stop the sea of emotion building up inside of him from breaking out.

“Why?” he asked, not quite able to keep his voice steady.

Shinsou flinched, staring down at his hands, at the muzzle in them. He kept tapping his foot on and off like he was trying and failing to keep it still. He lifted his hands halfway to his chest, faltering before he could sign anything.

Shouta shot Hizashi a concerned look, “No one’s angry at you, kid. You’re not in trouble,” he said, more successful than Hizashi was at keeping the emotion out of his voice, “We’re just a little confused why you would hold onto it, that’s all.”

Shinsou furrowed his brow like there was some giant puzzle here that he was struggling to solve. Falteringly, he lifted his hand again and signed, ‘F-I-T-S.’

“Did you think we were going to make you wear that?” Shouta asked gently, “Or another… mask if it was gone?”

Shinsou nodded slowly, hands shaking, ‘Please,’ he signed, ‘Please, I… I want. Want stay.’ 

Hizashi and Shouta exchanged a horrified look as the kid’s shoulders started shaking, his breath picking up speed.

‘Please. Will wear. Will wear mask. Fine. Fine. I,’

Shouta regained his composure first, slowly making his way forward, “Woah, hey, kid,” he said, leaving a bit of space, “No one’s going to make you wear that, Shinsou, you’re safe here.”

‘Want stay. Please. I good. Future. Good. Wear okay,’ Shinsou kept signing, words making less and less sense as he grew more frantic.

Hizashi felt sick to his stomach, watching the kid panic. Watching him offer to wear that… that thing. In the same breath as he promised to be good. In the same breath as he begged to stay.

He knew he should say something, do something, but he couldn’t get his mouth to move, couldn’t get his mind to think up a response. All he could do was stare at the muzzle in the kid’s hands as the sickening feeling grew.

“Shinsou, hey, it’s okay,” Shouta said, trying to calm him, “Can you just look at me, kid? I’m right here, you’re alright.” 

He shot a worried glance at Hizashi, who just kept staring.

Shinsou thought that they were going to muzzle him.

Shinsou was so sure that they were going to muzzle him that he snuck out of his room the night after being brutally assaulted to take the one his past abusers had used on him out of the trash because at least it fit.

Shinsou sucked in a sharp gasp, shaking his head. ‘Want stay,’ he signed with one hand, starting to lift the muzzle with the other, ‘Fine. Fine. Fine…’ His chest rose and fell quickly as he started really hyperventilating. 

Hizashi finally snapped into action when Shinsou’s other hand wrapped around the thing, lifting it towards his face. Oh, Fuck.

He stepped forward carefully and crouched down in front of Shinsou, trying to ignore the strange lightness in his limbs. Cautiously, so as not to startle the kid too badly, he placed a gentle hand on the muzzle. Shinsou still let out a full-body flinch at the interruption, looking down at Hizashi with wide, fearful eyes.

“Hey there listener,” he choked out, far less smoothly than he would have liked. He slowly pulled the muzzle out of Shinsou’s hands, thanking everything holy that the kid didn’t try to fight him.

“Can you try breathing with me?” He asked, starting to take loud, deep breaths while Shinsou shook his head frantically.

“It’s alright if it’s hard, kiddo, we just need you to breathe, okay? Can you try?” He asked softly, muzzle burning in his hands. He inhaled again, Shinsou trying to follow him with faltering, hitching breath. “There you go, that’s good,” he reassured. 

“I’d like to touch your hand, Shinsou, is that okay?”

The kid nodded haltingly, still trying and failing to match Hizashi’s breathing while he tried desperately to blink away the tears rising up. Carefully, making sure Shinsou could see what he was doing, he lifted a hand up to his chest, resting it there so the kid could feel it rise and fall with his breaths.

He hoped the rapid thrumming of his own heart wouldn’t set the listener off too badly.

“You’re doing great. We’re just going to try and keep breathing, okay?” He asked, taking another deep breath, “In… and out… Good job, Shinsou, let’s just try that one more time.”

He glanced at Shouta, who quietly crept closer, taking the muzzle from Hizashi’s hands before rushing off to get rid of it. And to make sure it stayed gone, this time. He figured he’d also be grabbing blankets and tea before returning, along with anything else he thought would comfort Shinsou.

“Can we go sit down, kiddo? I think it’ll help you breathe, yeah?”

Shinsou nodded, slowly making his way to the couch and sitting down. Hizashi walked with him the whole way, keeping the hand pressed to his chest even as Shinsou’s breath began to even out.

Hizashi had only just managed to sit down next to the kid when the tears finally started spilling over. Shinsou froze when the first one fell, his free hand flying up to wipe it away quickly. As they kept falling, the wiping turned to desperate scrubbing and the kid turned to look up at him, fear in his eyes.

Hizashi did not like the implications of that.

“I’m sorry,” Shinsou whispered, voice cracking around the words. He pulled his hand back and tucked his legs up, cringing into himself. “I- I. I’m sorry I’m sorryI’msorryimsorryimsorry…”

Lowering his head.

Protecting his stomach.

Hizashi… stared. For a minute. Horrified at the turn of events. Of Shinsou, a kid, acting like this. 

Like he was going to be hurt. 

For crying.  

Shinsou took a quick, desperate gasp of air, tears still streaming down his face as he continued frantically rubbing at them.

His voice came out rough and gravelly, “I just. I can’t- I can’t stop. I’m not. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m not. I just can’t stop.”

“Woah, hey, I know that kiddo,” Hizashi said, holding his hands in front of him, where they were easily visible, “You’re not in trouble, I’m not mad at you. It’s okay, Shinsou.”

The kid shook his head, still struggling to breathe as he curled in on himself even tighter.

Hizashi swallowed thickly, watching him. Maybe it wasn’t the best course of action, he should definitely try saying more, try calming the kid down a little first. But there was really only one thing stuck on his mind right now.

“I- I’d really like to give you a hug right now, Shinsou, is that okay?”

He stared at Hizashi, still shaking with sobs he couldn’t stop and catching breath, still tucked into himself and scrubbing at his tears and terrified.  

And he nodded, hesitant at first before picking up speed, croaking out a soft, desperate, “yes.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hizashi slipped his arms around Shinsou, pulled him onto his lap, and wrapped him in the warmest hug he could. He tucked Shinsou’s head under his chin, letting his shirt soak up the tears.

“Yeah, that’s good, just let it out,” he murmured, leaving one gentle hand on Shinsou’s head while the other just wound up to the small of his back. 

Hizashi ran that hand up and down, whispering to him softly through near-silent sobs. After a while, he felt hesitant, trembling hands creep up his back, pausing doubtfully every couple centimeters until they were wrapped fully around him, squeezing tightly. 

He brought his hand to a stop so that he could tighten his own arms.

And he held his kid.

“It’s gonna be okay, Shinsou. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Hizashi whispering small reassurances as Shinsou cried in his arms. Promising that they would never hurt him, that they’d never make him wear something like that. Promising him that he would be okay. 

That he could talk and no one was ever going to get mad at him for that again.

He let himself quiet down a few minutes after the soft shaking of sobs stopped, but kept running a gentle hand up and down Shinsou’s back.

Eventually, a tiny, hesitant voice spoke up, almost completely muffled with the way Shinsou’s head was buried in his chest.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Hizashi could practically feel his heart breaking in two. “Oh, kid,” He murmured quietly, tightening his hold so he was practically crushing him, “Come here.”

“I care about you,” Hizashi said sincerely, “We both do, Shou and I. You’re a good kid, Shinsou, and even if you weren’t, you’d still be deserving of basic human decency. I don’t need a reason to be nice to you.”

Hizashi took a deep breath before loosening his hold a little bit. Everything in him just wanted to hold his kid tight and never let go. But, well, smothering him probably wasn’t going to help anyone.

“I’m so, so sorry that anyone ever told you otherwise. You have never deserved to go through a single moment of what they’ve done to you.”

“Oh,” Shinsou whispered, sounding more than a little bit overwhelmed.

“I know it might be a lot to take in, kiddo, and I know it might take some time to fully believe,” Hizashi continued tenderly, “But if you ever need a reminder. Of anything. That- That you matter, that Shouta and I care about you, that no one will ever hurt you like that again, you just come to one of us and I promise we’ll be there for you, okay?”

“I- Thank you,” He whispered, “I don’t. I don’t know how to repay you.” Then, in a small, scared voice he added, “I don’t know if I can.”

“It’s not something you have to be grateful for, little listener,” Hizashi told him, “You don’t have to earn it and you don’t have to repay it.” He paused, pulling away just enough to see the kid’s face. 

Carefully, he wiped away the remaining tears there, and ever so gently added, “It’s freely given, Shinsou, and you deserve it. You have always deserved it.”

He waited for the kid’s hesitant nod before slowly wrapping him back up in the hug, although less suffocatingly this time.

A few minutes later, Shouta returned, wrapping a warm, soft blanket around the two and setting a couple mugs of tea on the coffee table. He smelled vaguely of smoke and Hizashi found himself very confident that they would not be seeing the muzzle again.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly. Shinsou looked up at him blearily and Shouta asked, “Do you like cats?” Hizashi couldn’t hold back a fond smile at his husband’s antics.

Shinsou gave him a confused look and slowly nodded his head. Almost immediately, Shouta was dumping their small, grey tabby onto the kid.

“Wha- u- huh?” Shinsou very gracefully responded. Shouta smiled, sitting down next to them, near Shinsou’s feet so he could still see him.

“That’s Blanket. He’ll sit pretty much wherever you put him.” 

Shinsou nodded, still looking confused as he reached up a hand to pet the cat. Blanket, on his part, immediately started purring, pushing his head up into the touch.

“This,” Shouta said, holding up their more active black cat, “Is Jelly. She will not sit still anywhere she did not choose and will not move from her spot until she is ready.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know you had cats,” he said, looking down at Blanket almost in awe.

Hizashi smiled wider. God, this was cute. He wished he’d had his phone on him to take a picture. “We didn’t know if you liked them or were allergic or something,” he explained, “and we didn’t want to overwhelm you too much when you were first moving in, so they’ve been staying with a neighbor for the past few days.”

Jelly meowed loudly in Shouta’s lap, almost as if protesting their cruel abandonment over the past few days.

Shouta rolled his eyes affectionately, “Oh calm down,” he told the cat, “It’s barely been a week.”

Hizashi laughed quietly, reaching over to pet her, “We were planning on two weeks, but it looks like we might be all set to keep ‘em here tonight.

Shinsou nodded eagerly, and it took everything in Hizashi not to laugh at how adorable it was. He really wondered how bothered Shinsou would be if he did shift them just enough to grab his phone out of his pocket. 

He never wanted to forget the soft, easy smile on his face, nor the way he stared at the cats like they were the most miraculous thing he’d ever seen. Honestly, Hizashi regretted having them stay with Kono-san at all.

But, he eventually decided, it wasn’t worth ruining the moment over. He’d just have to do the best he could to commit it to memory.

Over the course of the night, they’d slowly dimmed the light and turned on the tv, resuming that dumb hero documentary he’d been watching with Shou lately so they’d have something to fall asleep to. 

Unfortunately for their sleep schedules, this episode of the documentary had been focused on Tensei and was trying to peg him as this secretly dark sadomasochist. Their main points of “evidence” were several images showing that he was friends with Nem… Or something more, if the documentary was to be trusted. (It absolutely was not).

Honestly, it was a riot on its own just to laugh at how ridiculous their claims were, but even worse was the fact that Hizashi and Shou were in the background of some of the pictures, taken sloppily at old bars throughout the ages. Thankfully, he was always in his civilian getup, and practically unrecognizable, while Shou was underground enough that they wouldn’t even think to look for him.

But it was still embarrassing as hell. He’d had to hastily cover Shinsou’s eyes when one of the pictures had them making out in the back of a bar. Honestly, it was nothing too bad, but he didn’t want Shinsou seeing that. 

Thankfully, the image had only been pulled up for a moment, so it was already gone by the time Shinsou got over his shock and pulled Hizashi’s hands away.

They’d been about to finally go to sleep after the episode had ended when they’d realized that the next one was about him.

And, well, they couldn’t just pass on that. 

So, Shouta had gotten up to grab them some popcorn and make everyone more tea while Shinsou had stepped away for a bathroom break. He’d faltered a little bit, glancing at him nervously, until Hizashi’d realized what the kid wanted and opened up his arms with a genuine grin.

Shinsou had smiled back and come to sit next to him, back against his side while Hizashi wrapped an arm around his shoulders. When Shouta came back, he’d taken the seat to Shinsou’s other side easily and they’d started the episode.

It’d been a riot right off the bat, when they’d decided to claim he was some debonair playboy, using his Present Mic charm to intentionally break women’s hearts. Which was very hard to prove as, aside from the fact that he’d been married for nearly 8 years now, they did not have a single photo of him being romantically involved with anyone. Aside from the pictures they’d unknowingly put into Tensei’s episode, but they didn’t need to know that.

Once they’d recycled the same arguments there several times, it’d moved on to speculate that he was secretly deaf. Which was… an interesting theory. 

Especially considering he was openly deaf, and it was one of the easiest pieces of “trivia” to find about him. He was pretty sure it was within the first few sentences of his herowiki profile.

They’d chosen the weirdest fucking evidence to “prove” it too, like a time when he’d been clearly wearing hearing aids (which they did not mention), and was very intentionally ignoring a crowd of pushy reporters.

It honestly reached a point where Hizashi had started to wonder if the documentary had been intended as satire. With Shinsou at his side instead of on him, he was finally free to pull out his phone and look it up, finding several interviews where the crew had fervently defended their claims on the show.

And then he’d had to pull up one of the clips of an interview to judge for himself whether this was all some elaborate prank (he’d eventually determined that it was not, and the entire crew was simply insane), which had led him down a weird HeroTube rabbit hole until he’d finally heard soft snores next to him and turned to find Shinsou and Shouta both fully passed out.

Shinsou had spread his legs out throughout the course of the night to be laying across Shou, with both Blanket and Jelly curled up on top of them. Luckily, Hizashi finally had his phone in hand and was able to take far more pictures than any reasonable person would have, but far fewer pictures than he had wanted. 

After a few minutes of that, he’d finally set an alarm for tomorrow, shut off his phone, and gotten comfortable for the night. 

He’d never say he was grateful for any of Shinsou’s panic earlier, but this maybe, almost made up for it. Because sitting here, with Shinsou carefully snuggled in between Shou and him, Hizashi couldn’t think of a single goddamn thing he’d leave it for.

And with that thought, in the tender warmth of the room, Hizashi fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi slowly started to wake up, blanketed in a comfortable warmth. He couldn’t remember why, and didn’t care to wake up enough to change that, but he felt weird.

Content. That was it. He felt content.

With a sigh, he let himself sink deeper into the warmth behind him. He thought he heard a soft chuckle, but the warmth and remaining sleepy fuzz were much too nice for him to care.

Before he could drift back to sleep, however, a hand found its way onto his head. He stiffened, waiting for the grip to tighten and pull, but the hand just rested there. After a moment, it started to slowly run its way along his scalp. 

The touch was surprisingly gentle, and he felt himself leaning into it.

Of course, before long, he realized that he ought to figure out exactly who had their hand in his hair. That certainly wasn’t something that happened enough for him to just go along with it. It wasn’t something that happened at all.

Begrudgingly, he blinked his eyes open, taking in his situation. It took a moment for his vision to focus enough for him to spot a dark-haired figure that he was… laying across? Was that Aizawa-sensei?

“Hey there, little listener,” a voice said from behind him. Yamada, his mind helpfully supplied. “How’d you sleep?” 

He craned his head back to look at the blonde, the hand on his head still softly running through his hair. He froze when he realized that his teacher must have been the warmth he’d cuddled up again.

He signed ‘Good,’ and quickly turned his head to face forward again. He hoped he was fast enough that Yamada couldn’t catch how his cheeks had started to flush with embarrassment.

Apparently not so much embarrassment that he’d leave the warm embrace, though. He remained firmly in his seat, pressed against Yamada’s side.

He felt Yamada shift uncomfortably behind him, the hand on his head coming to a stop. Hitoshi worried that maybe he should just move, that the teacher hadn’t expected him to stay where he was after waking up, but he spoke again before Hitoshi could make the decision to leave.

“You… You remember that you can talk here, right kiddo?”

Ah. That. Hitoshi hunched his shoulders slightly as the memories from last night started to come back to him.

“I, um. Yeah,” he said in a small, hesitant voice, “I slept well.”

He felt Yamada release a breath he hadn’t even realized the man had been holding as he spoke.

As more and more came back to him, Hitoshi found himself even more conflicted about whether he wanted to move from his spot. Had he, fuck, had he cried?

No, not just that, he’d been full-on sobbing on top of his teacher.

He decided to stay put, if for no other reason than the fact that Yamada wouldn’t be able to see the absolute mortification on his face. He suppressed a distressed groan. He couldn’t believe he did that.

“I’m glad to hear that, listener,” Yamada responded. The fingers on his scalp started up their gentle stroking again.

As humiliated as he felt, Hitoshi still had to fight the urge to sigh contentedly when Yamada managed to scratch just the right spot.

Honestly, he thought, of all the strange, confusing, wonderful things his teachers had done since he’d started staying with them, this was quickly turning out to be the strangest.

And maybe the best.

He’d never had someone touch him like this before. So warmly, tenderly.

Like… Like he was something to be treasured. Not just dealt with or tolerated. Or punished.

It was fucking weird.

Almost as weird as the warmth building up in his chest, almost like anxiety, but… nice?

He cleared his throat quickly, dismissing his thoughts.

“I, uh,” he swallowed thickly, “I don’t know what time it is.” 

Talking here was definitely going to be a weird thing to get used to. Even after the entire mess that was last night, some small part of his brain still warned against him it.

They said it was okay. They’d never done anything to imply that it wasn’t, not really. But he still just couldn’t shake the feeling of danger. 

He felt Yamada’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he asked his non-question, but he didn’t change it. 

“Mm,” the man intoned thoughtfully, “It’s a bit past nine.”

Hitoshi felt his brow crinkle in confusion, “It’s Friday.”

“Mhm.”

“School starts at seven.”

“It does.”

Hitoshi frowned, slightly frustrated. Was he really going to make him ask?

They were both silent for a while before Hitoshi finally relented and hesitantly opened his mouth… only for no words to come out.

Of course.

He hated when this happened. He hated it so much. It felt like even his own mind thought he was too dangerous to speak. 

Although, he supposed, of anyone to feel that way, he was probably the most justified in it. After all, he was really the only one who ever got hurt when he spoke.

It was a little bit funny, honestly. In that weird not-funny-at-all kind of way.

He knew it was pointless, but he still opened his mouth a couple more times to try asking. 

Nothing. 

With a frustrated sigh, he quickly signed, ‘Why?’ 

He could practically feel Yamada’s frown, but he didn’t say anything about it. Even as the hand on his head, disappointingly, stopped moving again. He tried not to think about the strange relief he felt when it just rested on his head instead of pulling away.

Eventually, the teacher sighed and answered him.

“When the deaf member of your family is the only one who wakes up to the morning alarm, it generally means it’s a good day for a break,” he said, “Especially when the other two are known insomniacs.”

Hitoshi hummed thoughtfully, trying to ignore the warm feeling he got at the implication that he was part of their family. He didn’t mean it like that, he had to remind himself, This is temporary.

His thoughts were interrupted by the black cat he’d met last night (Jelly, he thought her name was) hopping onto his lap. She meowed loudly, starting to knead on his thigh.

“Aww,” Yamada cooed as she pushed her head into Hitoshi's hand when he started petting her.

“Did someone forget to feed you kitties?”

Yamada reached the hand that wasn’t on Hitoshi’s head around his side to pet the cat.

Hitoshi tried not to think about the almost hug he was in as Yamada scratched her chin. 

He was pretty sure he’d received more physical contact in the past 12 hours than he’d had in his entire life.

Well, good physical contact, at least.

The other cat, (Blanket? Who named these cats?) wandered over to join in the meowing, prompting a sigh from Yamada.

“Alright, alright,” he said, “I’m coming.”

Hitoshi’s eyes widened as Yamada squeezed him into a real hug before sneaking his way off the couch, Jelly hopping off eagerly to follow. He stared as the blonde stretched his arms over his head with a sigh. He turned back to Hitoshi with a grin.

“You want to come with or stay here?”

Hitoshi thought for a moment before he slowly crept his legs off of Aizawa’s and stood up, taking a moment to stretch himself. He felt strangely nice. Especially considering he'd slept sitting up on the couch all night.

The two walked into the kitchen, stopping at the end of the counter. Yamada reached down to the cupboard, pulling out a can of wet food and a large bag of kibble. 

The cats started meowing in earnest when they saw the food.

Yamada looked at him consideringly before holding out the can and a spoon with a smile, “Do you wanna give it to them?”

Hitoshi nodded eagerly, taking the items from him.

“Just put half in each bowl,” Yamada instructed, pointing to two food bowls that were not there yesterday.

He didn’t dwell on it, though. He just turned to the bowls and did as instructed, grinning when the cats both clambered onto him, meowing insistently.

A moment later, Yamada rolled a strange plastic ball over to the cats. Hitoshi looked down at it curiously as the teacher grabbed a larger water bowl to refill.

He glanced back at Hitoshi while the sink was running.

“That’s a puzzle feeder,” he called out, “It helps them with enrichment.”

Hitoshi nodded in understanding. He was pretty sure he’d heard of those before.

Yamada set down the water, pausing to pet both cats, and looked back to Hitoshi.

“Now what do you want for breakfast, little listener?”

Hitoshi glanced back down to the puzzle feeder, shrugging nervously.

Yamada hummed thoughtfully for a moment, unphased by the tension, “How about taiyaki?”

He nodded his agreement and Yamada smiled, standing up to wash his hands. Hitoshi followed him to do the same, but paused, hands still in the sink, when Yamada started pulling out flour and sugar.

He hadn’t realized he was going to make them from scratch. He thought he’d just pull out microwaveable ones or something.

Hitoshi nervously finished washing his hands. He tried, pointlessly, to figure out some way to insist on something lower effort as Yamada finished pulling out ingredients.

The blonde looked at him contemplatively before asking, “Do you want to help?”

Hitoshi raised his eyebrows, surprised at the offer, but quickly nodded his head. 

“And not because you feel like you have to, yeah?” Yamada turned around as he spoke, not giving him the time to nod.

He eyed the teacher’s back, wondering if that was intentional.

He cleared his throat softly, “...Yeah.”

To be honest, he wasn’t completely sure that was true, but it did sound like cooking could be fun. It definitely wasn’t a total lie, at least.

Yamada faced him again, giving him a scrutinizing look that was weirdly reminiscent of Aizawa-sensei. Another point for the “they’re together” theory, he thought. That and the fact that Yamada had definitely meant to include Aizawa in his earlier statement about family.

Before long, the blonde cracked an easy smile.

“Come on,” he said happily, waving Hitoshi over to the counter.

~

Yamada squeezed Hitoshi’s shoulder again, looking at the somewhat deformed taiyaki with an unfittingly proud grin.

Hitoshi Did Not lean into the touch.

Just like he didn’t lean into any of the small touches before it either. 

Just like he absolutely Was Not craving more as soon as the hand was lifted off.

Because that would be stupid.

Hitoshi had gone… Well. He wasn’t sure how long, really, but he had made it at least ten years without this kind of contact. He hadn’t needed it then and he certainly didn’t need it now.

He also Absolutely Did Not feel that same warm feeling from before bubbling up in his chest when Yamada pulled out his phone to take pictures of the barely fish-shaped taiyaki.

“If you want to take those to the table, I can go wake up Shou,” Yamada suggested.

Hitoshi nodded, picking up the plate of food as Yamada walked off. He set it in the middle of the already set table and stood nervously at his usual seat. Would it be rude to sit before they got back?

Before he had the chance to resolve that question on his own, Yamada was walking back in with a sluggish Aizawa-sensei stumbling after him.

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose with an exhausted sigh, nodding to Hitoshi as he made his way to the coffee maker.

Yamada snickered, taking a seat at the table. He placed a few taiyaki on his plate, offering a quick “Itadakimasu.”

Hitoshi followed his lead, giving the food a much more skeptical look.

Yamada took a bite, but Hitoshi found himself too distracted by the smell of coffee slowly permeating the air to pay attention to his reaction. He looked up curiously as Aizawa shuffled over to the table, two mugs in hand. 

He wordlessly set one of them in front of Hitoshi before taking his own seat.

Hitoshi gave him a surprised look, grabbing the mug quickly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“No problem, kid,” Aizawa responded, taking a few taiyaki, “Itadakimasu.”

Hitoshi looked down in embarrassment when he realized Aizawa was examining the misshapen food curiously.

“Shinsou helped me make those,” Yamada offered as Aizawa took his first bite, “Aren’t they great?”

Aizawa hummed appreciatively, looking over at Hitoshi, “Good job, kid.”

Hitoshi Was Not excited that Eraserhead liked the food he helped make. Because that would be stupid and childish.

But some small, tiny part of him was proud that Aizawa liked it. A very small part.

Hitoshi looked back at the table and finally took a bite of his own taiyaki. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted much better than it looked. 

“Whatcha doin?” Yamada asked suddenly, prompting Hitoshi to look up a bit worriedly. 

Was he not supposed to eat yet?

That concern was quickly dismissed, though, when he realized the question hadn’t even been directed at him. He followed Yamada’s gaze to Aizawa, who was typing something on his phone with a frustrated frown.

“I’m texting Nezu,” he answered.

“Shouta, no one’s going to die if you’re gone for one day," Yamada told him, “You can afford to take a break.”

Aizawa pocketed the phone with an exhausted sigh, “It’s not about that.”

Yamada fixed him with a disbelieving look.

“Mostly not about that.”

The blonde tilted his head curiously, but Aizawa just responded with a vague gesture that, if he had to guess, probably meant they’d talk about it later.

Away from Hitoshi.

He tried not to let it get to him. They were adults, teachers, and Pro Heroes. They had plenty of reasons to keep secrets.

Although, for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this secret, in particular, was about him.

“Shinsou,” Aizawa said, bringing his attention back to the room, “Would you like to go to the gym with me later today?”

Hitoshi looked at him, a bit surprised at the offer. He knew Fridays were normally training days, but had kind of expected Aizawa “taking a break” would include that.

Not letting himself overthink it, he offered a simple, “Sure.”

Aizawa studied him, the same way he’d been doing after any question he’d answered lately, “You’re sure? I’d understand if you were still tired after last night.”

Hitoshi nodded confidently. It’d been close to two weeks since he’d last been able to do any physical training and he missed it a lot more than he’d expected to. Even outside of the knowledge that he was falling further behind the hero students.

He’d just missed being active.

It was weird.

Aizawa kept watching him just long enough that he started to get nervous about his answer before he finally returned the nod.

“Good.”

~~~~

Hitoshi let Aizawa-sensei help guide the barbell into place after his latest set.

He regretted Everything. He hated being active. He hated exercising.

This was awful and he never wanted to do it again.

“You okay, Shinsou?” Aizawa asked, concerned face hovering over him as he continued to lie on the bench. 

Hitoshi nodded slowly and painstakingly pushed himself into a sitting position with the jello that’d taken place of his arms. 

Aizawa eyed him for a moment. “Go get some water,” he instructed, “I’ll take care of the weights.”

Hitoshi nodded again and, with a deep breath, pushed himself onto his feet. He made his way to where they’d stored their water bottles, taking a long drink. 

He was glad they’d come during the middle of the day. There were far fewer people around to see just how pathetically Hitoshi was doing. Especially compared to Aizawa’s, frankly, ridiculous physical ability. 

Obviously, he didn’t expect to be anywhere near the teacher in terms of strength, but it’d still felt more than a little awkward to watch Aizawa bench a solid 150kg, back pressed nearly flat against the bench, only for Hitoshi to struggle with… Well, numbers aren’t all that important, he decided, but it was significantly less weight.

He was extra glad that they’d ended up at a gym outside of UA, even if it was a bit strange. He’d commented on Aizawa-sensei having a membership here, but had only gotten a muttered response he’d barely caught in return. Something about a “nosy rat.”

Hitoshi hadn’t pressed it. He didn’t exactly want to work out at school when he was missing all of his classes to do it.

After about a minute, Aizawa was making his way over to join Hitoshi, glaring angrily at his phone again. He’d been doing that all day, getting progressively more frustrated as time went on.

Hitoshi wouldn’t deny that he was curious, but not nearly enough that he’d risk that anger being turned onto him.

Aizawa took a long drink of his own water before speaking.

“I have to make a phone call,” he said, “Finish your water break and then start running laps, alright? I’ll meet you at the track when I’m done.”

He waited until Hitoshi nodded to head out of the room.

For the briefest of moments, Hitoshi considered sneaking after the teacher to figure out what this was all about, but he quickly shook off the idea. He had to trust that Aizawa wasn’t telling him about this for a reason.

Also, he would've definitely been noticed in approximately 30 seconds flat.

Hitoshi headed to the track that wrapped around the gym and started up a good jog.

It didn’t take long for his mind to wander, and he found himself thinking about the weird way his skin had been tingling all day.

It’d faded to the back of his mind as he’d been working out with Aizawa but quickly reappeared as he started thinking about it again.

He didn’t know what it was, but it ran all the way down his back and across his scalp. Exactly the places he’d been touching Yamada that morning.

It wasn’t a connection he’d normally make, but the tingling grew stronger every time either adult got close to touching him. Like his skin was reaching out, begging for the contact he’d experienced that morning.

He ran a hand through his hair and couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.

Could you get addicted to physical touch?

Hitoshi shook his head, trying to dislodge the crazy thoughts, and ran faster. 

He finished his first kilometer in a bit over four minutes and his second in less.

As he kept running, his mind started to drift back to last night.

Specifically, he couldn't stop thinking about Yamada's voice when he'd offered them... offered them the muzzle.

He'd never heard Yamada sound that disturbed before. That unsure.

He wasn't sure why that was what'd done it, though.

Maybe... maybe those scars were what he'd originally assumed. He supposed it might be a possibility. The muzzles were certainly easy enough to find, if the speed at which foster parents acquired them was anything to go off of. It made sense that he wasn't the only person to ever experience this.

Hitoshi tried to figure out how he'd respond if someone gave him a muzzle. Even if they thought it'd be used on themself and not him.

He didn't think he'd be able to tear his eyes off the thing. To think.

Even when he'd accidentally seen the one he'd had while he was keeping it in the room, it'd been hard to look away. Hard to shake off the memories it brought up.

He... really hoped he hadn't done that to Yamada.

He hadn't really been paying enough attention to anything outside of his own overwhelming emotions, though, to remember how Yamada had reacted. Other than his voice, of course.

Hitoshi tried to swallow down his guilt as he finished his third kilometer.

He wondered what the two teachers thought of him now. If they knew how broken he was. How pathetic.

He felt bad. He'd always known this would be a temporary thing. He really shouldn't have made such a big deal about it last night. Practically begging them to let him stay...

He didn't want the two to pity him when he finally had to leave. 

He didn't want them to know how much he was going to wish he could have stayed. 

Especially when they kept seeing him at lessons.

If they kept seeing him at lessons. 

He wondered if they'd bother to keep doing those once he was gone.

Either way, he supposed, he'd still be seeing at least one of them as a homeroom teacher.

Maybe they just wouldn't care anymore. When he wasn't their responsibility.

He thought that would probably be better than the pity. Or sympathy.

But... it didn't really feel that way.

Aizawa didn’t make it back until he was well into his fifth kilometer, a solid 20 minutes after he'd started running.

He ran one more lap, progressively slowing down his pace until he came to a stop in front of the teacher.

“How far did you get?” Aizawa asked after Hitoshi’d had time to catch his breath.

“Somewhere over four kilometers,” he answered, still a little breathless. 

That dumb, childish part of himself preened at the approving nod he got in response.

“Your call went well,” Hitoshi inquired in another non-question.

Aizawa looked at him contemplatively but didn’t press it. Neither he nor Yamada had since Hitoshi’d gotten stuck that morning. He figured Yamada had said something about it.

He hoped it would stay that way, but something told him they weren’t going to leave it alone for long.

When he looked up at Aizawa, the man was grinning dangerously.

“I got the warrant.”

~~~~

Hitoshi didn’t talk as they walked back to the apartment.

That, on its own, really wasn’t too unusual, but he really hadn’t been responsive in general, not signing or nodding in addition to his silence.

He really wasn’t looking forward to tonight.

He'd known this day was coming. Ever since that night he’d spent up with Aizawa-sensei. He’d been trying to get ready for it, but… 

As loath as he was to admit it, he was scared. 

He wasn’t going to say anything, he understood that this was important. But he still really wished there was some way for this to get done without him having to see the Iwasakis again.

At least Aizawa would be there with him. He knew the teacher wouldn’t let Iwasaki hurt him. Even when he eventually found out Hitoshi had kicked him. He was pretty sure that, at least, was justifiable self-defense.

It still did little to ease the panic slowly building inside of him.

Maybe it would be better if he could figure out how to make his brain all floaty again. Not all the way to where time and thoughts flowed through his mind without pause. Just enough that his body felt blank and his emotions would have to fight to get through.

That would be good.

Hitoshi saw a hand reaching towards him out of the corner of his eye and stiffened, shoulders hunching, before he even had a moment to process it. 

He looked up at Aizawa-sensei, who had a worried look on his face. Hitoshi quickly relaxed his posture, but the concern never left his teacher's face. 

The hand did pull away, though.

He tried not to let himself be disappointed at that. It had been his fault, after all.

He felt eyes on him for the rest of the walk back, but whenever he looked at Aizawa to double-check, the man was somehow already looking away.

It was honestly a little infuriating. He didn't know why Aizawa would try and hide the fact that he was watching Hitoshi. Especially when he could feel it.

And it wasn't like Hitoshi would be able to stop him if he wanted to. 

He also, really, didn't care all that much about the staring. It was being unable to prove it, being unable to see it and try to guess what Aizawa was thinking when he looked at Hitoshi that really bothered him.

They finally reached the apartment building and Hitoshi made his way in with a frustrated sigh, immediately feeling eyes on him. Again.

He ignored it as well as he could until they reached the apartment. When they entered, he greeted Yamada with a low hum, leaving the more traditional greeting to Aizawa, and immediately accepted the offer to shower first.

He knew he should be making more of an effort to seem fine, but he also knew that Aizawa would see right through it even if he did. So, Hitoshi just went straight into the room Yamada and Aizawa were letting him stay in and tried to prepare for that night.

Chapter Text

Aizawa Shouta absolutely hated CPS. Honestly. The only other agency that was this bad at protecting the people they were meant to was the fucking Hero Commission.

With such a clear case of abuse, there was absolutely no justification for taking a week to get him a warrant. Even if they were to ignore that this was looking more and more like a prolonged case; the events of Wednesday alone should have been enough.

He almost hadn't felt bad for setting Nezu on them.

Actually, scratch that, he definitely hadn't felt bad about that.

He should have done that days ago. The rat could be a pain in the ass, but he certainly got results.

Shouta had been so relieved to finally get somewhere with this that he hadn’t even stopped to wonder if it was a good idea to update Shinsou on the case. Now… he wished he had.

He’d honestly thought the kid would be at least a little relieved to know that action was being taken against his abusers, that people weren’t going to get away with hurting him, but he’d seemed almost scared.

Of course, he could always be wrong. He was getting better at reading Shinsou, but there was plenty of room for error. Like with the muzzle last night. He had definitely never suspected that would happen.

So, sure, he’d looked scared, he’d been acting scared, but Shouta still wasn't sure if he was scared. Especially since he had no idea what Shinsou would be scared of.

He supposed the kid might be worried about the Iwasakis coming after him again, but Shinsou should know that Hizashi and he would protect him. Even if the Iwasakis did, somehow, find a way to get close to him.

Shouta definitely didn’t think the kid was worried about his safety. Not when Shinsou had been paying attention to his hero persona for years.

He sighed heavily, slumping down on the couch after Shinsou had practically sprinted off to take a shower.

“Everything alright with the listener?” Hizashi asked next to him.

“I’m… not sure,” he answered, “I’m worried I shouldn’t have been so open with him about the investigation.”

Hizashi raised a curious eyebrow.

“Mm, I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet,” he remembered, “I finally got the warrant.”

Hizashi perked up a little, but stayed focused, “And you told the listener?”

“Mhm.”

“And he’s been acting like this since?”

“Mhm.” He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “He seems like he’s frightened of something, but I can’t figure out what.”

Hizashi made a thoughtful noise, “Well… we don’t really know the extent of what the kiddo’s been put through, but it’s pretty safe to assume it was a lot, yeah?” He pointed out, “It might’ve just triggered some bad memories for him.”

Shouta had worried about that. It seemed like the most logical assumption, but it didn’t ring quite right to him. He just couldn’t put his finger on why.

“You think we should avoid talking about the investigation with him, then?”

Hizashi sighed next to him, “Maybe just unless he asks? I wouldn’t want to intentionally withhold it from him.”

Shouta hummed in agreement.

Unless he got more information, he’d just have to work with what they’ve got. And this certainly didn’t seem like a stretch.

They sat in silence for a moment until Hizashi turned to look at him again.

“So CPS finally got that warrant to you?”

Shouta rolled his eyes, frustration from earlier coming back to him, “Not willingly. I had to get Nezu involved.”

“This morning?”

He nodded.

Hizashi looked almost impressed. In a disbelieving ‘what the fuck is wrong with them’ kind of way at least.

“They held out that long?”

“It’s a shitty fucking system.”

Hizashi snorted, “You can say that again.” He shook his head resentfully.

“When are you leaving?”

“Sometime around six, it sounds like.”

Hizashi nodded. “Only fight them if they start it, yeah?” He reminded him, “We can’t have them getting off on a technicality.”

Shouta snorted, equal parts bemused and angry, “I know.”

Hizashi set a hand on his cheek, turning his face to look at him. He smiled, although it didn’t quite meet his eyes, “It’ll be over soon.”

Shouta leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

“I know,” he said, letting the exhaustion filter into his voice.

Hizashi kissed him quickly before tapping the hand against his cheek, “You’re gross, go shower.”

Shouta snorted, standing with a dismissive hand wave. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

~

“Hey, Shinsou,” Shouta called as he was getting ready to leave, “Can you come out here for just a minute?”

The kid only took a moment, coming quickly to talk with him.

To Shouta’s surprise, though, he started putting on his own coat when he reached the door.

“What are you doing?”

Shinsou turned to him, confused look taking over his face, “...getting ready to go.”

…Where the fuck had he gotten that idea?

“Shinsou, you’re not coming,” he said firmly. 

The kid shot him a questioning look.

Shit. Was this what he’d been so nervous about? He’d thought Shouta was just… going to take him to the Iwasakis?

“Kid, even outside of the fact that this is an official investigation, there’s no way I’m letting you near that house or those people ever again,” Shouta clarified, “I’m certainly not taking you there myself.”

“But… my stuff,” Shinsou prompted, “And I need to show you around.”

“That’s what I called you out for,” Shouta replied, slipping his shoes on, “If you tell me where your things are, then I can grab them for you. And you can tell me about anywhere you think I should check out.”

“I don’t know where everything is.”

Shouta’d almost think Shinsou was trying to come along if it weren’t for the genuine confusion he still had painted across his face. That and the fact that the kid’s body language had calmed down a lot since Shouta had clarified that he would not, in fact, be taking any traumatized children into the homes of their abusers.

“Just tell me what you need and I’ll find it for you. I’ll already be searching the whole place anyway.”

“Oh.”

Oh indeed.

Shouta pulled out his phone to take a note, “What do you need me to get?”

~

Shouta walked up to the house, taking a deep breath. He'd taken the train here, which was always an uncomfortable experience in his hero getup. Of course, it was somehow even weirder to drive like that.

From the look of it, he was the last one there. 

He walked up to Shinsou’s social worker, a short dark-skinned woman.

“Hello, Shiro-san,” he greeted politely. 

She smiled at him, “Hello, Eraserhead-san.”

He couldn’t help thinking, as she introduced him to the representative from CPS, Nakajima, that Shiro seemed far less jaded than anyone else he’d met in her field.

Not that she wasn’t treating the event with the seriousness that it required. It was just the way she carried herself. The look in her eye.

Nakajima was a stark contrast. Her face was pulled into a tight frown as she looked Shouta over.

He figured she was disappointed with what she saw. People like her usually were; they always looked for the wrong things.

He gave a quick briefing to the two women and Nakajima offered one of her own, from the CPS perspective. Apparently, this was just a preliminary visit - one to determine whether or not the rest of the children had to be removed from the home during the rest of the investigation. It shouldn't be more than a handful of minutes. Before long,  they were making their way up to the door.

Shouta turned on a small recording device before knocking harshly.

There was no answer.

He only waited a few seconds before knocking again. Harder, this time.

Right as he was about to call out, he finally heard loud footsteps making their way to the door.

“No solicitors!” A deep voice growled out on the other side.

Shouta figured he could explain, but he wasn’t exactly in a chatty mood. Not to Iwasaki.

He banged on the door again, “Open up!”

He heard a loud click before the door swung open, revealing a large, angry man. He looked every bit as mean and miserable as Shouta had expected.

“What?” Iwasaki snapped, surveying the small group.

His eyes locked on Shiro when he saw her, “Ah, you’re here to return my brat to me, huh?”

Shouta felt his eye twitch angrily.

“Excuse me?”

Iwasaki met his eyes, apparently not too stupid to hear the dangerous tone in his voice.

He was, however, too stupid to listen to it.

“Shinsou Hiroshi,” Iwasaki said, like Shouta was the idiot here, “Brainwashing quirk, problematic kid.”

Shouta narrowed his eyes warningly.

“I assume you’re here to return him to me. Where’s the brat hiding?” Iwasaki looked over his shoulder like Shinsou was going to magically appear on the lawn.

“Shinsou Hitoshi is not here,” Shouta said coldly, “And he will not be returning to your custody again.” 

He made sure to say the words very clearly.

“We are here to investigate probable child abuse and neglect.”

Iwasaki looked slightly taken aback before his eyes narrowed into a glare. Shouta was pretty sure his own glare had him beat. Nevertheless, he let more of the rage filter onto his face, a glimmer of satisfaction rising up when the man took a small step back.

Civility be damned. Shouta wanted this fucker to know exactly how much danger he was in. Make him feel scared for a change.

“Come back with a warrant,” Iwasaki said simply, moving to slam the door shut.

Shouta caught it easily.

“We have one,” he said, forcing it open further. He wasn't quite entering the building but making it clear that he would soon.

Iwasaki looked unsettled for half a second before his face devolved into a scowl. Seeming to realize how limited his options were here, he turned around and stalked into the building.

He didn’t bother to offer a formal invitation and Shouta didn’t bother to take off his shoes. He was glad that they at least had a mutual understanding of the animosity here.

The two social workers took their shoes off, both shooting him a look. He pretended not to notice as he got his first impression of the house.

It was about what he’d expected. The floor was littered with toys and random bits of trash, there was an odd smell throughout the entryway, and it seemed that some of the paint on the walls was peeling

It wasn’t a bad area of town and the exterior of the house was nice enough to match the neighbors. This wasn’t the kind of mess and disrepair that comes from a lack of means, but rather a lack of care.

He snapped a couple of pictures, noticing as Shiro and Nakajima started taking notes.

Shiro spoke up first. 

“Would it be alright if I spoke to some of the children here for a moment?” She asked.

Iwasaki looked her over distastefully.

“Be my guest,” he bit out, “Should all be upstairs.”

“Wonderful!” She said, unphased by his hostile tone as she headed up.

“While she speaks with the children,” Nakajima said, “would you like to sit down with me and have Eraserhead-san look around, or would you like to come with us and talk as we go?”

Iwasaki sneered at Shouta, “I’ll come with.”

He muttered something extra under his breath, but Shouta didn’t bother listening to it. Nothing Iwasaki could say was worth his time.

Nakajima nodded to him, and Shouta started to make his way through the building.

“To begin with,” Nakajima said, “Can you tell us a little about the children who live here?”

Shouta entered the living room first, quickly noting a number of discarded beer cans littering the floor. Iwasaki followed closely behind him, very clearly tracking his movements, as he started listing the names and quirks of each child.

He noticed Nakajima frowning to herself as she wrote the information down, and he wondered if the man got any other names wrong.

She hummed contemplatively, “How about their health; are all of their vaccinations up to date?”

“Should be,” Iwasaki huffed, “My wife takes care of that.”

Nakajima hummed thoughtfully, “And where is she right now?”

“Out.”

Iwasaki didn’t elaborate and Nakajima didn’t press it. 

“When was the last time one of the children got sick?” She asked instead as Shouta lead them into the kitchen.

The mess was immediately noticeable. The dishes and trash were both overflowing, the counters and tabletops were scattered with bits of food, and he’d be surprised if the room had been swept, nevermind mopped, in a while. He wondered if anyone had cleaned in there since Shinsou had come to Hizashi and him.

Iwasaki eyed him suspiciously as he made his way through the room.

“Sometime last week. With so many kids here, they get sick often.”

Shouta started opening cupboards and the fridge, noting a worrying lack of food. There were a couple of things here and there, but certainly not enough to feed several children and two adults. 

“Do you remember the date?”

“Like I said,” Iwasaki answered, more than a little condescendingly, “My wife deals with that kind of thing.”

Shouta snapped a few pictures of the bare, yet messy room before he walked out to the hallway. He took note of a very noticeable dent in the wall directly across from the base of the stairs. It was nearly as high as his head. He frowned, wondering what could have hit it there.

Iwasaki narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Shouta looked at the dent. He took a picture just in case. 

“How about Shinsou,” Nakajima continued, unaffected by the tension in the room, “When was the last time he was sick?”

6 weeks ago, Shouta’s mind automatically supplied. He thought back to that day, before he'd fully started to investigate the kid's life. He remembered how resistant Shinsou had been to coming back here.

He understood why that was, now. 

He wouldn't have wanted the kid to come back here either, if he'd known the whole situation.

They'd tried going over basic form for a couple of minutes until it became pretty clear that the kid shouldn't have even, really, been standing. Shouta had made the decision to take him to the teachers’ break room for a nap and some tea. The kid fought it for a while, but he’d given up once the exhaustion won over and it was just too much work for him to even stay awake anymore. 

He wondered if Hito- if Shinsou even remembered that. The kid had been pretty out of it.

Iwasaki made an annoyed noise, “Last winter he got the flu. We had to figure out someplace to put him away from the other kids.”

Shouta worked his jaw angrily. The kid hadn’t even been discreetly sick. He’d barely made it through the day. For Iwasaki to not notice… 

Shinsou had been living with these people for nearly two years.

“Let’s get back to the kids,” Nakajima decided as Shouta started opening a closet door to look through, “Can you tell us a little bit about their personalities? Likes, dislikes, etc.”

Iwasaki snorted, “They’re all just as problematic as when they got here if that’s what you're asking. Quirk use, fighting, we get stuck with all of it.”

Shouta tightened his grip on the doorknob.

“That must be very difficult,” Nakajima empathized.

Shouta’d had enough experience with CPS to know that that kind of response was part of the training; that making people feel understood and listened to was key in getting them to share what social workers needed to find out.

It still made his blood boil to leave the statement unchallenged.

“How do you handle those kinds of situations?” Nakajima asked.

Iwasaki eyed them suspiciously, actually thinking through the question for once, “I give ‘em chores,” he finally offered, “send them to their room.”

Shouta made his way to the top of the stairs as Nakajima continued.

“Do you or your wi-”

“That,” Iwasaki interrupted angrily as Shouta moved to open another door, “Is my wife’s and my bedroom. The children don’t go in there.”

Shouta considered going in anyway. The warrant was under his name and included the entire house; he was well within his right to do so. 

But Nakajima was shaking her head, and Shouta knew better than to let his emotions take precedence over the investigation.

He moved on to the bathroom next door. Messy, just like everything else in the house.

“As I was saying, Nakajima continued, brushing off the interruption with a deftness that impressed Shouta. He probably would have snapped at the man already.

Although he couldn’t stop thinking of Shinsou in his car, wearing that fucking muzzle, eyes rimmed with red and tear streaks across his face.

Couldn't stop wondering what had happened to put him in that situation. What Iwasaki had done to him.

Nakajima didn’t have that.

“Do you or your wife ever physically discipline the children?”

“Occasionally,” Iwasaki admitted nonchalantly. Like that was just some normal, fine thing they did. Like they didn’t see a single fucking issue with it, “With children this resistant, there isn’t much else that works.”

Shouta scowled, looking at the last door upstairs. This had to be the children’s room.

“Can you tell me what that usually looks like?” Nakajima asked as Shouta entered the room, quickly closing the door behind him. He doubted he could remain calm if he heard Iwasaki try to detail that one. Try to explain it away; to justify it.

Shiro was sitting on one of the small beds that lined the room with a boy who couldn’t have been older than seven next to her. There were two other children in the room right then, both of whom looked up at him nervously when he entered the room. He wondered where the other kids were right now. He knew Shinsou was the oldest by quite a bit and it was starting to get dark out.

He wondered if there was a single way in which the Iwasakis weren't failing these kids.

He took a deep breath, trying to shove down the anger bubbling up inside of him.

“Leaving soon?” Shiro asked.

“Probably,” he answered gruffly, “This is the only room I haven’t checked yet.”

She nodded, “I’m nearly done, myself.”

Shouta returned the nod. 

“Which bed is Shinsou’s?” He asked.

She gestured to a small bed next to a window as the seven-year-old stood up on the bed to whisper something into her ear.

Shouta started looking around the space for everything Shinsou had specified, pausing for a moment when he noticed the pictures.

They were old and torn images of his hero persona. Probably taken from shitty surveillance cameras and printed at a library, if the black and white on regular printer paper was anything to go by. They had been taped in the corner made by the bed frame and nearby nightstand. 

He leaned closer to get a good look at them and noticed another piece of paper, almost fully tucked behind the nightstand.

Shouta moved the piece of furniture to reveal one more image, this one a crayon drawing instead of a printed photo.

He was there, more a mass of black clothes and hair than anything else, standing next to a small image of Shinsou. At least, he assumed it was Shinsou from the purple hair. The kid had given himself a capture weapon in the picture and his little stick-figure arm was stretched out to touch the face of another nondescript figure with "POW" written on the top in shaky crayon letters.

How young had Shinsou been when he drew this?

It certainly looked old. Had Hitoshi really looked up to him for that long?

He couldn't imagine what he'd done to get his admiration, certainly not at such a young age. He didn't even know how the kid had first heard of him.

He remembered Hizashi had mentioned to him once that, before his moms finally got him, he'd sometimes sit and think about heroes taking him away from the homes he'd been in.

Had... had Hitoshi felt that way about him?

Shouta cleared his throat and looked away. 

This felt like something he wasn't supposed to see.

Trying not to let himself dwell on it, he started digging through the nightstand. Thankfully, everything Shinsou had mentioned was right there. Even the phone he had nervously said he "dropped."

While looking away and not meeting Shouta's eyes.

They really would need a full report of the incident soon. He wondered if tomorrow would be better since the kid had already stressed out for quite a while after the gym or if it would be better to just get it over with.

He hesitated, with everything packed up, looking back at the pictures. Shinsou hadn't mentioned them at all, but he didn't know if the kid just didn't want them or if he'd been embarrassed. He knew he didn't have many momentos and, from the look of it, these pictures had been with him for a long time. Especially the crayon drawing.

He wouldn't want Shinsou to lose that just because he'd been worried about being judged.

He knelt back down and carefully took the pictures off the wall, trying not to look at them for too long. He placed them gently inside the kid's old backpack and finally turned to nod at Shiro.

She returned it and he opened the door to Iwasaki and Nakajima still talking.

“-fell down the stairs. He’s always been clumsy,” Iwasaki claimed, “With all his other behavioral issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if the br- if Shinsou was doing it for attention.”

Shouta stared for a moment, grip tightening on the bag. Shinsou absolutely was not clumsy. The kid had more spatial awareness than pretty much any other student in Shouta's classes. 

He wasn't an attention seeker and didn't have behavioral issues. Not like Iwasaki had been implying all evening. The only 'behavioral issues' he had, if you could even call them that, were acting like an abused fucking child. Because he was one.

And, he knew, of course Iwasaki wasn't going to say that, but. God. Shinsou had been with this family for so long. In this environment for so long. And... he'd "always been clumsy?"

He sharply turned and walked down the stairs… The same ones Shinsou had ‘fallen’ on. He had to leave before he did something he’d regret to this man. 

Not that he hadn't been itching to fucking deck him the entire night, but because Iwasaki could argue to the courts that it was unjust and try to leverage himself a lower sentence.

Which Shouta was absolutely not having.

He was a professional. He was completely and fully capable of doing his job and not getting emotionally involved.

Except for this time.

Except for when it was his kid who had been hurt.

“Hey!” Iwasaki yelled after him, evidently lacking even a single modicum of common sense, “What the fuck did you take?!”

Shouta kept walking; he didn't owe Iwasaki anything. And he was pretty sure if he spent another minute near this man he was going to lose his composure.

He heard footsteps storming down after him, “You can’t just take those!”

A hand landed on his shoulder.

He knew Iwasaki wasn’t planning to attack him, not really. The man wasn’t quite that stupid.

Shouta didn’t care.

This man had already hurt Hitoshi. He’d beaten and abused and muzzled his kid. 

Shouta had been waiting for a justifiable excuse all night, and Iwasaki had finally given him one.

Without a second thought, he whipped around, quirk activated, hair floating, darkest glower on his face. He barely managed to catch Iwasaki’s expression shifting from anger to surprise to fear as Shouta’s fist connected with his face with a resounding crack.

Iwasaki was by no means a small man. But Shouta was by no means a weak one, and the satisfaction he felt when he knocked Iwasaki to the ground in one hit was palpable.

He thought of the night Shinsou had called them, bloody and beaten. Of last night, when he’d thought they were going to hurt him for speaking, thought the only way he could stay with Hizashi and him was if he was being muzzled. He thought of all the ways this fucking bastard must have hurt his kid.

In the shocked silence of the room, he had to physically force himself to turn away.

“Stay the fuck away from my kid,” he bit out, voice as harsh as he could make it. And with that, he left.

Iwasaki stayed down. 

Shouta figured he was probably getting booted from this investigation. But, if the sharp grin that crept over his face was anything to go off of, it was worth it.

Chapter Text

After a quick debrief where Shouta was, in fact, removed from the investigation, he headed home.

It had likely been one of the least professional moments of his career as a hero, but Shouta couldn’t bring himself to regret hitting that man. 

He had worked in this industry for a very long time. Over a decade, in fact. In that time, he’d had the pleasure of fighting many people who undoubtedly deserved the pain that he brought onto them. People who had committed heinous, despicable acts.

But, he thought, punching Iwasaki - the man who had hurt his kid, was probably the most satisfying blow of his career.

Even now, he could feel the impact on his fist, could remember exactly what it had been like to knock the fucker to the ground. Shouta let a feral grin creep its way over his face.

Several people scurried out of his way as he boarded the train, shooting him wary looks.

It wouldn’t have been good for the investigation, and Shouta knew that, but some part of him still wished he’d been able to get in more than one hit. 

The things he’d done… The clear neglect of all of those children - food, sickness, basic emotional needs; all of it made him furious. And that wasn’t even mentioning the physical abuse.

Muzzling Hitoshi, pushing him down the stairs - and Shouta knew he’d been pushed. The kid sure as hell hadn’t tripped. He’d also found out from Shiro that several of the other children mentioned restrictive, abusive items they had to use whenever their quirks “got out of control.”

Which, of course, had to be shorthand for “whenever the Iwasakis decided to take their frustrations out on literal children.”

It made him furious. No kid deserved to be treated like that. 

He made a mental note to check up on them some time in the future, to make sure their next homes would be better than this one. 

Part of him, the part that sounded suspiciously like Hizashi, wished that they could take all of them in. 

Of course, that would be illogical. They didn’t have the time or space for seven children.

He also suspected that it would be important for Shinsou to be the only child in the home for once. Especially with what Hizashi had heard during his call with Iwasaki all those weeks ago.

He wondered how much Shinsou had been forced into the role of a caretaker over his own childhood.

He wondered if Shinsou had ever had a chance to be the one being taken care of.

Probably not.

He and Hizashi, he resolved, were going to do their damnedest to change that.

To show Hitoshi that he mattered. That he was cared for and safe and that he deserved kindness.

It was just getting the kid to believe them that was the hard part. He still didn’t fully understand how they’d gotten to the whole mess that was last night.

Shinsou had certainly seemed stressed when he went to his room, but he’d also seemed stable. Like he just needed time to process. Shouta wondered if he should have tried to keep the kid out in the living room with him instead of giving him space.

Or had he said something triggering? Had he not said something important?

With a tired sigh, Shouta opened up his messaging app to see if Inui had responded to his text from that morning. He was happily surprised to see a reply waiting for him.

The first part was pretty much what he’d expected, recommending that he and Hizashi get Shinsou to start seeing him or another therapist and that, after a few sessions, said therapist would be much better equipped to guide them.

The second part, though, was what interested him. Inui had sent him links to a number of articles about healthy communication skills.

After sending a quick message of thanks, Shouta opened the first link and got to reading. He spent the rest of his train ride looking through the information.

~

“I’m home,” Shouta called out, stepping into the genkan.

“Welcome back,” Hizashi replied, voice meeting him at the same time as a heavenly smell from the kitchen.

He stepped around the corner to see Hizashi and Shinsou in the kitchen, working on dinner together.

“I know you told us not to wait for you," Hizashi said, "but we decided that we’d prefer a later family dinner than one earlier with just the two of us.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, not missing the way Shinsou ducked his head at the word ‘family.’

“Smells good.”

Shinsou subtly perked up at that, prompting a grin from Hizashi.

“I’ve got your stuff here, kid,” he added, lifting the bag, “I can just take it to-”

Shinsou looked up at him, alarmed and shaking his head before Shouta could finish his sentence.

He grew a bit more sheepish once his mind seemed to catch up with his reaction.

"Sorry. I just... I can take it," he said, drying his hands and walking over to grab his bag.

Shouta passed it off without issue, sharing a confused glance with Hizashi as the kid left the room.

‘How did it go?’ Hizashi signed, slight frown on his face.

Shouta made a so-so gesture as he walked forward and kissed his husband. He pulled out a few plates to start setting the table.

‘Did you hit the bastard?’

Shouta nodded as he set the dishes down, ‘Legally justified, too,' he added once his hands were clear.

‘Good.’

‘How were things here?’ He asked before pulling out cups to fill with water.

Hizashi stirred whatever he’d been frying on the stove before responding, ‘Okay. He’s been stressed.’

He gestured in Shinsou’s general direction rather than using a sign name. Knowing his husband, one was certainly in the works, though. The blonde was probably just waiting until he found the “perfect” combination for the kid.

They didn’t have time to talk more than that before Shinsou re-entered the room, eyes quickly flicking up to Shouta. He paused, face slowly flushing as he seemed to shrink in on himself. After a few moments, he ducked his head and looked away.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, voice sounding strained.

Shouta frowned, confused.

“No problem, kid.”

“Sorry, uh…” Shinsou cleared his throat, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “Sorry about the… pictures.”

Ah, so that was it.

“Don’t be,” he brushed off before remembering what the articles had mentioned about validation, “It was flattering, kid.”

Hizashi looked at him curiously, but Shouta shook his head, figuring that Shinsou wouldn’t appreciate him sharing what he’d found.

His husband pouted, but was quickly distracted by a timer on the oven beeping loudly. He gave the food another good stir before pulling it off of the heat.

Shouta moved out of his way, going behind him to turn off the stove and grab the utensils so he could finish setting the table. 

Hizashi served everyone food and Shouta managed to get everyone utensils in time to murmur a soft 'itadakimasu,' with the other two.

“Shinsou,” he prompted, a few minutes into the meal.

The kid looked up at him, immediately nervous and Shouta replayed the memory of hitting Iwasaki in his mind.

“How do you feel about going to the station tomorrow so we can get your official statement.”

Shinsou looked back down, chewing on the inside of his lip. After a moment, he nodded his agreement.

“I’ll set something up with Tsukauchi then,” he said, “It’ll probably be sometime in the afternoon.”

Shinsou nodded again and Shouta looked over at his husband, letting him take over the conversation.

~~~~

Hizashi hummed along to the music he had picked out while him and Shouta sat together in the living room the next morning, grading papers.

Shouta looked up at the hallway contemplatively. He’d been trying to decide if they should invite Shinsou out to work with them.

It would be an easy decision if he weren’t so worried that the kid would take it as an order instead of an offer.

He glanced down for half a second to make several marks on Kaminari’s paper (Was the kid forgetting his meds again?) before looking back up, surprised to see Shinsou standing there nervously.

He nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to his work, not wanting to freak the kid out by calling too much attention to him.

Shinsou had barely left his room since they first brought him here. Hopefully, after Thursday night, they’d be able to get him feeling more comfortable in the space.

Of course, it could just be Shinsou acting like a regular teenger and wanting space, but, with the way he was fidgeting as he approached them, Shouta figured that was a less likely explanation.

Slowly, Shinsou made his way into the room, stopping in front of Hizashi.

The blonde looked up with one of his softer smiles.

“Hey, there, Little Listener,” he greeted, “How are you?”

‘Fine,’ Shinsou signed automatically before clearing his throat loudly, “I, um, had an English question…”

Hizashi looked surprised for a moment, but pleased nonetheless. He set down his pen, turning to give Shinsou his full attention.

“What’s the problem?”

Shinsou timidly showed Hizashi something on his paper, “I, um, I thought this word was supposed to be about time, but… that doesn’t work in the context of the sentence.”

Hizashi took the paper from him to examine, gesturing with his other hand for Shinsou to sit down. The kid looked between him and Shouta a couple of times before gingerly taking a seat on the couch. He still looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, though.

“Your writing’s really good, Shinsou,” Hizashi exclaimed.

The kid turned to look at him again, surprise taking over his face.

“How long have you been learning?”

“Just a few years,” he said sheepishly. Hizashi hummed in acknowledgement as he kept reading.

“I see,” he added after a few moments, “you mixed up these two words.”

He wrote something down in the margins.

“This one,” he pointed to the top word, “Is a version of the verb,” Hizashi said some English word that Shouta didn’t know.

Languages had never been his strong suit.

“This word,” he continued, pointing at the lower one, “Is probably what you were thinking of. It means ‘past.’”

Shinsou nodded, still looking confused. He turned the paper over, pointing at another word, “But here it’s used like a location.”

Hizashi nodded contemplatively, thinking for a moment before he launched into another explanation, this one using several English examples that Shouta didn’t even try to follow.

He pulled out his phone instead, skimming through another one of the articles.

“By the way,” Hizashi asked, once Shinsou seemed to have a good grasp of the concept, “Where did you even get this? I don’t think I’ve ever assigned it… Certainly not to first-years.”

Shinsou froze, cringing back into his spot on the couch.

“...I printed it in the school library,” he said reluctantly.

“Is the first-year course too easy for you?” Hizashi asked. At Shinsou’s quickly panicking expression, he added, “Because we can see about getting you moved into a harder course, Listener.”

Shinsou looked surprised at the response, thinking for a moment before he meekly admitted, “A little…”

Hizashi didn’t seem shocked to hear that as he kept reading the paper, “I’ll talk to Nezu about that tomorrow, then,” he said, “sorry we didn’t catch that earlier, kiddo.”

“...it’s alright.”

Shouta read a few more sentences before shutting off the device.

“Shinsou,” he said, keeping his tone light and curious, “You seemed nervous earlier, when Hizashi asked about the paper. How did you think he was going to respond?”

Shinsou froze like a deer caught in the headlights while Hizashi shot him a curious look.

Shouta just waited, giving the kid time to figure out a response.

“I don’t know,” he said evasively.

“Are you sure?” Shouta pressed, “I promise neither of us are going to be upset.”

“Yeah, Little Listener,” Hizashi added, “This is a safe space.”

Shinsou seemed to shrink into himself now thay he had both of their attention, “I guess... I don't know," he said, voice strained, "I guess, I thought he, um, might be mad?”

“What about that would make him mad?”

Hitoshi chewed on the inside of his lip nervously, “Because, um…”

“Take your time,” Shouta said gently.

“Because he might think," Shinsou lifted a nervous hand up to rub at the back of his head, "he might think that I was calling him a bad teacher?”

Shouta nodded, even though the kid wasn’t looking at him.

“Aw, I wouldn’t think that, kiddo,” Hizashi said, reaching out to squeeze Shinsou’s shoulder comfortingly. The kid stiffened and Hizashi removed his hand just as Shinsou started relaxing into the touch.

Shinsou frowned, seemingly disappointed.

“And I definitely wouldn’t be mad about it,” Hizashi added with a matching frown, “I just want to make sure you’re getting what you need.”

“Thanks for telling us that, kid,” Shouta said, turning back to his work.

With a confused look, Shinsou nodded. When neither adult tried to push him for anymore information, he slowly turned back to his own paper and started writing down the corrections Hizashi had suggested.

Shouta was more than a little surprised that had worked out so well. He’d have to get Inui a thank-you gift or something. 

~

‘I can send you the articles,’ Shouta signed before reaching for the coffee pot again. Despite having woken up hours ago - having eaten and been productive and done everything he was supposed to do, he was still exhausted.

He hated these days. 

Hizashi nodded, signing a quick thanks. He had his hearing aids in, but they’d realized it might be better to start having conversations about the kid in JSL when he was around to make sure he didn’t overhear anything out of context.

‘How are we goi-’ Hizashi cut off at a strange noise coming from Shinsou’s room. A noise, Shouta thought, that was eerily familiar.

His eyes widened when the sound stopped, tired brain finally connecting the weeks old memory.

That was Shinsou’s ringtone.

Shouta rushed to the kid’s room, confused husband following after him. Carefully, trying not to startle the kid, he knocked on the door.

There was no answer, but Shouta could hear a voice even from the hall.

It wasn’t Hitoshi’s voice.

He knocked again, “Kid?” He asked, concerned, “can I come in?”

After another long moment, he heard two sharp knocks from inside the room. 

Shouta raised an eyebrow, but didn’t waste any time opening the door.

Shinsou was standing in front of the nightstand, phone raised halfway to his face while a feminine voice shouted on the other end.

He turned halfway to Shouta and Hizashi, eyes wide and starting to glaze over. Quickly, Shouta pulled out his own phone and set it to record as he walked over to the kid.

Shinsou loosely tracked his movements, shoulders hitching ever-so-slightly as he got close.

Shouta stopped about half a meter away.

“Hey,” he said softly. Shinsou’s eyes moved up to meet his own, but the kid still looked like he might not be totally there.

“Do you mind if I take that, Shinsou?” He asked.

The kid nodded slowly, but didn’t move. Shouta reached out his hand in a silent request and Shinsou slowly lowered his own hand, passing over the device.

“Thanks, kid,” he murmured, bringing his own phone closer to ensure he caught the audio.

Hizashi stepped forward, taking Shinsou’s attention as Shouta left the room to deal with the situation.

“-elfish brat,” he heard once he lifted the phone to his ear, “Do you even know how much trouble you’ve caused?!”

Shouta narrowed his eyes, deciding to step out into the hall. He figured his tone when he finally spoke would not be very comforting to the kid.

“After all we’ve done for you, all we’ve put up with taking care of a disgusting, villainous kid like you,” Mrs. Iwasaki ranted, “this is how you repay us?!”

Shouta grit his teeth angrily, biting back a response. He wanted to make sure he got enough recorded before interrupting.

“Goddamn Junichiro should have finished what he started!” The voice declared. 

Shouta narrowed his eyes. Did she mean what he thought she did by that? 

She fucking better not have.

“When you get back here,” Iwasaki continued, voice dropping into what he assumed was meant to be a threatening tone, “And mark my words, Hitoshi, you will be coming back here,”

Shouta scowled at the use of Hitoshi’s given name. At the way this woman acted like she had a right to any semblance of closeness after what they’d done to him.

“When you come back here, Hitoshi, you will get what is coming to you.”

“What,” Shouta snapped, deciding that threat was more than enough for the recording, “exactly, is that.”

The other line went silent other than loud, angry breathing.

“Who is this?” Mrs. Iwasaki asked eventually.

“I’m more interested in the answer to my question, Iwasaki,” he spat out the name, “What does Shinsou ‘have coming to him?’”

“Listen,” Iwasaki bit out, “I don’t know what that little shi-”

“No you listen to me,” he snarled, turning of the recording, “And you listen very clo-”

“He's a villain,” Iwasaki interrupted.

“What?”

“He’s got a brainwashing quirk,” she added, sounding so goddamn full of herself for pointing that out.

As if that changed anything. As if a child’s quirk was justification for hurting them.

"And that makes him a villain?" Shouta asked, seething.

"What?" Mrs. Iwasaki asked, sounding genuinely shocked. Which just fucking pissed him off more, "He's dangerous. Don't you see what he could do wi-"

"I don't care." Shouta interrupted.

Iwasaki paused for a moment before laughing, "Of course you do! How could you not?!"

Shouta wasn’t normally the type to raise his voice, but it seemed that this goddamned couple was making him do a lot of things that he didn’t normally do.

“I don’t care what his quirk is," Shouta snapped, "He is a child. He is a child, and it was your job to take care of him.”

“We did take care of him!” Iwasaki stupidly defended, “He had a roof over his head, didn’t he? Clothes to wear? A bed to sleep on?”

“And food?” Shouta demanded, “Water? Cleanliness? A space where he could feel safe?”

“W-”

“I’m not done,” Shouta snapped.

“In no world,” he continued, “does hurting and muzzling a child constitute taking care of them.”

"He's dangerous," Mrs. Iwasaki argued. Shouta fumed. The words were pissing him off, sure, but even worse was the way Iwasaki was saying them. 

She genuinely believed this.

"He's not," Shouta snarled, "He's not dangerous or villainous or anything you tried to make him."

"He. Is. A. Child. And he deserved to be loved and protected and safe. Just like every other fucking child out there," Shouta continued, "Hitoshi is going to be a hero. He will not be a villain. But if he did become one, it wouldn't be because his fucking quirk made him one. It would be because you did."

Iwasaki was silent for a moment, just long enough for Shouta to wonder if maybe something, anything he'd said had gotten through to her.

Of course, things weren't that easy. People don't just change their minds about things because of one conversation. The kind of people who hurt children don't listen to reason. 

"I'm not sorry." Mrs. Iwasaki said firmly.

“You will be,” Shouta promised.

"What?"

"You fucking heard me," he snapped, "You're not sorry yet, but I swear on everything holy that I will make you sorry."

"You can't ju-"

“And if you ever so much as look at my fucking kid again,” he continued loudly, ignoring her attempts to interrupt, “There is not a force on this goddamn planet – not All Might, not the hero commission, not the gods themselves that could stop me from finding you and your fucking husband and tearing you apart. Piece by goddamn piece,” he threatened, meaning every single word of it.

“Do you understand me?”

Shouta heard a sharp, shaky breath on the other line and decided that was answer enough.

“Do not call this number again,” he snapped before hanging up.

Shouta breathed in deeply, holding for a few seconds before he breathed out. He repeated the action a few more times as he blocked the Iwasakis' numbers on the kid’s phone and looked into Hizashi's and his cellphone plan, trying to regain his composure.

Once he felt calm enough to interact with his family without freaking Hitoshi out, Shouta opened the door…

Revealing two stunned figures sitting in the living room.

The walls had always been too thin in this apartment.

Shouta met Hizashi’s gaze first, worry coloring his husband’s face. He wondered when the last time Hizashi saw him this angry was.

The answer didn’t come to him easily.

It took a lot for Shouta to lose his cool.

He looked at Shinsou next and was met with a shocked, almost overwhelmed expression.

The kid opened and shut his mouth a few times, but didn’t say anything.

Carefully, trying not to startle him, Shouta crept forward and crouched in front of Shinsou. He held out the phone to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, “We should have thought to prevent that sooner. We’ll get you on our phone plan by tomorrow at the latest and they’ll be blocked until then."

The kid looked at him in amazement. And confusion and hope and a million other things that Shouta couldn’t read.

“You…”

Shouta nodded, “You’re safe here, Shinsou, you will never be going back there again.”

“Oh.”

Shinsou ducked his head, his arms twitching strangely.

Shouta looked at him, confused, until he saw Hizashi fingerspelling something out of the corner of his eye. His confusion quickly turned into surprise, but he trusted his husband. Slowly, he opened his arms up in an invitation.

Shinsou’s head snapped up, eyes widening in shock.

He only hesitated for a moment, though, before creeping forward and into Shouta’s hold.

Shouta wrapped himself tightly around Hitoshi, swearing to himself that he would protect his kid at any cost.

“We’ve got you, kid. You’re safe now.”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure about this, Shinsou?” Aizawa asked for what had to have been the hundredth time that day, “We can reschedule if you want to. I know Tsukauchi wouldn’t mind.”

Hitoshi nodded, staring out of the car window at the near empty parking lot, rather than at the hero. 

As long as he didn’t look at him, he figured, then what happened that afternoon was just not real.

Not… Not that it had been a bad thing, really. He just. He had no idea what it meant.

Or how to deal with it.

So, he'd decided, he was simply Not Going To.

There was no way Eraserhead– no way Aizawa had yel-

Hitoshi cut his thoughts off with a furtive shake of his head.

He wasn’t thinking about it.

“Kid?” Aizawa asked, and Hitoshi realized what that must have looked like.

“Sorry,” he corrected quickly, “I, um, I want to go.”

He felt eyes scrutinizing him but just kept staring out the car window.

“Why?” Aizawa asked eventually.

Now that was a new one.

Usually, the two teachers just stared at him until they’d managed to read through his soul or something, and then they’d all move on. They didn’t usually have him explain himself.

“Why?” He repeated, caught off guard.

He realized a moment later, interrupting his own question before Aizawa could answer, “Er… You, um, want to know why I want to go today?”

He felt Aizawa’s scrutiny intensify and cringed into himself a little bit. Thankfully, the teacher didn’t mention it.

Probably that same crap about ‘not wanting to overburden him,’ he guessed.

Which was stupid.

He was fine.

Mostly fine.

Fine until he started thin-

Hitoshi cut off the thought with a bit more difficulty than usual, trying to keep his head still. He settled for digging his thumbnail into his forefinger on the hand opposite from Aizawa.

“I do,” Aizawa confirmed.

Hitoshi fought the urge to look at him. The urge to try and figure out what he was really asking for.

“I…” he paused, a bit reluctant to say it, “I-uh. I really. Want it to be over,” he said quietly.

“I just. Want to be done thinking about it.”

Aizawa was silent for a moment, only the sound of the idling car lingering through the air. Hitoshi pressed his thumb harder.

“I understand that,” he said finally, “Thank you for telling me.”

Not sure what else to do, Hitoshi nodded.

It was always so awkward when they thanked him like that. It’s not like it was a big deal.

Like, he maybe, a little bit, struggled to say things like that. Or to call Aizawa before. Or to tell them about the English thing… But that was just Hitoshi being broken.  

It wasn’t like he was doing them a favor by making them deal with his stupid fucking problems all the time.

Aizawa turned off the car, drawing Hitoshi’s attention.

“Ready?”

Hitoshi nodded, opening his door at the same time as the teacher and stepping out into the frigid air. Soon, the two were making their way, side-by-side into the precinct.

“Hey, Eraser,” one of the officers greeted once they made it in, “How you doin?”

Right.

That was the other reason Hitoshi wasn’t looking at Aizawa right now.

He was in his hero costume.

Hitoshi was currently being escorted through a police precinct by Eraserhead.

Take out the police part and it had practically been Hitoshi’s greatest wish when he was a kid.

Funny duality, but with the police part, it had also been his greatest fear.

This wasn’t like that, of course. But it was still kind of funny (weird? depressing?) to think about.

He'd also obviously seen Aizawa as Eraserhead before. Had trained with him for months even.

But… after this afternoon, it felt different.

‘If you ever look at my fucking kid agai-’

You know, if someone had told Hitoshi even four months ago that this was what his life would become; that he would be living with Eraserhead and his (probably) partner while the two pressed charges against his foster parents and threatened the people who'd hurt him...

Hitoshi would have probably punched that person in the face, thinking it was some mean joke.

Even now, he wouldn’t believe them about all of it.

Like the last part.

Because he Had Not looked at Aizawa yet, and so that Was Not Real.

Again, it wasn’t really a bad thing. (it was more like the thing he’d sit and imagine for hours as a kid; when the mask was strapped to his face and all the other kids refused to play with him.) He just… He just didn’t know what to do with it.

He didn’t know how to have heard that without some small, stupid, young part of him deciding to hope.

And he couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t have everything he’d ever wanted be so, so close – close enough to almost believe in, just for him to inevitably lose it all.

But that was just how things went for Hitoshi.

And he was old enough to know that now.

So he wasn’t going to look at Aizawa. And that afternoon wasn’t going to be real.

A hand landed on Hitoshi’s shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts violently enough that he almost immediately failed his resolution.

Almost.

The hand pulled back quickly at Hitoshi’s flinch and the boy raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, staring at the floor sheepishly.

“How you feeling, kid?”

Hitoshi took a deep breath, trying to ignore the undercurrent of concern he could hear in Aizawa’s voice.

The same concern that’d been in his voice since Hitoshi had decided his best course of action was to avoid looking at the hero as much as humanly possible.

“I’m ready,” he answered.

“Are you certain?” Aizawa asked. Again. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I know,” he said softly, “I want to do this.”

Aizawa sighed, “Alright. Tsukauchi’s office is this way.”

Hitoshi frowned at the floor in confusion while they walked.

“Not the interrogation room,” he very intentionally did not ask.

“It’s not an interrogation,” Aizawa answered simply.

“Oh.”

“Do you want it to be in the interrogation room?”

“Not, um, not really…”

Aizawa hummed in acknowledgement. Hitoshi couldn’t see, but he’d bet good money that Aizawa was nodding.

Only a few turns later, they were standing in front of the door.

Hitoshi took a deep breath in and pushed it open to reveal, rather anticlimactically, an extremely ordinary-looking man talking with... his social worker?

Right. That made sense.

Shiro turned to smile at him once she heard the door open.

“Shinsou,” She greeted, “How are you?”

Hitoshi looked away with a shrug. He’d never really known how to act around her.

Not that she’d ever been mean to him or anything. In fact, she was probably the only person to be consistently kind to him since he’d entered the system.

So, for most of his life.

But it, really, had only made him feel worse whenever he had to be moved. Especially those few times it’d been because he requested it instead of his fosters.

She'd always tried so hard to find good homes for him. And he'd always felt bad about making it so hard for her. It wasn’t her fault Hitoshi was cursed.

Or maybe just broken.

“Eraserhead, Shinsou, thanks for coming.” Detective Tsukauchi greeted, tidying up a few papers on his desk.

"Thanks for making the time," Aizawa replied before turning to Hitoshi.

“I’ll just be in the hallway if you need anything.”

“You! Um…” Hitoshi blurted out without thinking, suddenly finding himself very embarrassed.

“You could stay,” he said quietly, “If you, uh, wanted to. Of course.”

Hitoshi felt several pairs of eyes on him and very strongly wished that his quirk could have been invisibility instead.

Or the ability to just sink through the carpet and into the floor.

Shiro, thankfully, spoke up after just a moment, “I don’t see any problem with that.”

Tsukauchi nodded, looking away from Hitoshi.

“Alright,” Aizawa said simply, mercifully having left his ‘Whys’ in the car, it seemed. He took one of the chairs in front of Tsukauchi’s desk and, trying to hide his relief, Hitoshi sat down next to him.

"Before we begin," Tsukauchi said, "Do you consent to being recorded?"

Hitoshi nodded.

"Great," Tsukauchi said, pulling out a small device and turning it on.

"Can you verify your name and birth date for me?"

Hitoshi answered easily, glad to have a few easy questions before they really got into it.

"And your quirk?"

He cringed, "Brainwashing."

The detective didn't mention it, just continued to the next question, “Do you know why we’re here today?”

Hitoshi nodded, “To get my statement about the Iwasakis.”

“That’s right,” Tsukauchi confirmed, “Finally, I have to inform you that I have a truth-detecting quirk, do you understand what that means?”

He nodded a third time.

“Alright,” Tsukauchi said, tapping the device to start recording. He stated some details like the case number and date before finally looked back up at Hitoshi.

“To begin with, what can you tell us about the incident?”

“Um… I don’t,” Hitoshi said nervously, “I’m not really sure what you want to know…”

“That’s alright,” Tsukauchi said easily, “We can ask something more specific.”

He pulled a paper out of the messy stack on his desk. 

“Let’s start a few days earlier, then,” he decided, “Reports state that you missed a standing appointment the Sunday before the incident and that you weren’t responding to messages. What was going on?”

Hitoshi wondered if maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have had Aizawa stay in the room.

He wondered how badly his answers to these questions would hurt his reputation with the hero.

“I, um. My foster parents left unexpectedly,” he explained tensely.

“Mhm?”

“And they, uh, took the key with them…” 

Tsukauchi gave him a curious look, “Key?”

“To the mask,” he clarified

“I see,” he said, tone professional, but not unkind, “This is the same mask that Eraserhead found you in on Wednesday?”

Hitoshi nodded, “I didn’t, um, I didn’t really… want anyone to see me in it,” he added quietly, “So I... didn’t go to training.”

“And the messages?” The detective prompted.

“That, uh, wasn’t really the Iwasakis’ fault,” he said, not really sure how to explain how he got all hazy sometimes.

Tsukauchi hummed thoughtfully, making a note on the report.

“Can you elaborate?”

“Um…” Hitoshi trailed off, thinking. 

“I… sometimes get into this. Weird headspace,” he said after a few moments, “It, um, it gets really hard to, like, think? Or focus? Things just kind of feel… Distant.”

He looked down, embarrassed. It had never really been something he’d wanted people to know about.

“Like dissociation?” Tsukauchi asked.

“...What?” Hitoshi asked, too caught off guard to think that through. His shoulders hitched anxiously, but no one got mad at him.

“It’s a coping mechanism,” Aizawa explained next to him, “and a fairly common trauma response.”

Hitoshi frowned at the desk. 

He wasn’t traumatized.

Sure, his foster parents weren’t always the nicest, but… Hitoshi was dangerous. They’d only done what they’d had to. ‘I don’t understand why you can’t just behave.’

He wasn’t traumatized, he was just broken.

You can’t be traumatized if you deserved it.

Except… Yamada and Aizawa hadn’t had to hurt him yet.

Even after he’d started talking.

They’d even seemed upset that he’d expected them to hurt him.

‘In no world does hurting and muzzling a child constitute taking care of them.’

Hitoshi shook his head clear. This was neither the time nor the place.

“Kid?” Aizawa asked.

Hitoshi directed his response to Tsukauchi.

“I, um… yeah. It might be like that,” he said noncommittally, “I don’t know.”

The detective made another thoughtful noise, writing something else down.

“What about after the dissociation?” He asked

“That, um, that was Wednesday…”

Hitoshi tried not to feel weird about the looks that Tsukauchi and Shiro were both giving him. He’d probably bet Aizawa was doing the same, but he wasn’t really sure what he’d said wrong.

“Was there anything in particular that triggered this episode?”

“Not really?” Hitoshi responded, not sure why they were even still talking about this. It wasn’t like it was related to the Iwasakis.

It was just Hitoshi’s fucked up mind.

“They weren’t even, really, talking to me those days,” he explained, “I almost thought I wasn’t, um, wasn’t actually there…” he said with a nervous laugh.

“They didn’t acknowledge you at all?”

“Well, um, Mrs. Iwasaki took the mask off once so I could eat,” he said nervously, “On Sunday.”

“You were wearing the, er… mask the whole time?”

“...Yeah?”

Hitoshi really wasn’t sure what was so confusing about this. They couldn’t think he was lying to them, the detective had a truth quirk.

Maybe he was lying on accident though? If it was, like, an objective truth quirk instead of just a subjective lie detection? Maybe Hitoshi had gotten the time frame wrong or forgotten something… He hadn’t really been totally there.

“Alright,” the detective said, thankfully not pushing it any further.

“Let’s move on to Wednesday, then,” he decided, “How did the incident start?”

Hitoshi stared down at the desk, trying to remember.

“Mr. Iwasaki was calling me downstairs,” he said eventually, “He was already pretty angry, I think.”

“Do you remember what he said?”

Hitoshi shrugged, “Just that I was being lazy. And wasting space.”

“Or air, actually,” he corrected, “I think it was air.”

As far as insults went, it was pretty tame for Hitoshi. He wasn’t even sure if it was really an insult at all so much as… well.

There was probably some truth behind it. He had been in his bed for a really long time.

So he wasn’t really sure why he could see Aizawa bristling out of the corner of his eye.

“What happened next?” Tsukauchi prompted.

“Um, he came upstairs and into the room,” Hitoshi answered, unintentionally shrinking down at the memory.

“And then?”

“He… I think he asked me a question or yelled at me or something. Maybe both.”

“Mhm?”

“Yeah, um. And then he,” Hitoshi shifted in his seat uncomfortably, “He grabbed my arm and. Um…”

He trailed off awkwardly.

“Take your time, Shinsou,” Shiro said softly.

Hitoshi nodded slowly, taking a moment before he continued.

“He started pulling me out of the room,” he said softly, “And, um, he was threatening me?”

“What did he say?”

Hitoshi ducked his head, awkwardly mumbling an answer.

“Can you repeat that, please?”

He took another deep breath, resolutely staring down at the floor.

“He said that I, um, I couldn’t hide behind my teachers that week…” he clarified, “It was break.”

“What did he mean by hiding behind your teachers?”

“Ah, um. Yamada-sensei had called him a few weeks before,” he explained, “I don’t really know what he said, but… They only used the mask after that.”

“Only used the mask?”

Hitoshi nodded, still staring at the floor. He decided that it would be better to avoid looking at anyone right then. Not just Aizawa.

His voice was barely a whisper when it came out, “They, um, they didn’t, like… hurt me. Or anything.”

The adults were all silent for a moment before, more gently, Tsukauchi asked, “Did they hurt you often before that?”

Hitoshi shrunk in on himself even more than before, shoulders hitching noticeably. 

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he said evasively, “Sometimes? Not… Not as much as other families have?”

Hitoshi heard Aizawa take in a slow, measured breath next to him. He wrapped one of his arms around his stomach.

Weakweakweakweakwea-

"What do you mean by that?" Tsukauchi asked quietly.

“They, um. Only when I broke a rule they did…” he said, voice rising in pitch slightly as he spoke, “It just. Was discipline? Not… Not, um… Yeah. Just discipline.”

“Kid…” Aizawa said carefully.

Hitoshi fought the urge to curl in on himself even more.

“That’s not discipline,” he continued, “That’s abuse.”

Hitoshi’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke again, “But I broke the rules.” 

He dug his thumbnail into his forefinger. He really didn’t want to talk about this.

“That’s no excuse.”

There was no hesitation. No doubt. Aizawa spoke firmly and confidently and earnestly.

And... Hitoshi didn't know what to do with that.

“...What?” He asked, almost not even caring that it was a question.

Hitoshi knew why they were worried about Wednesday – why they would be mad when he hadn't done anything. But he hadn't expected them to care about this.

He... He was difficult. They. They needed to. To make sure he listened.

Surely a teacher would understand that.

So he finally, finally looked up at Aizawa, searching for the understanding that was supposed to be there.

All he found was something akin to sadness in his eyes. Not an emotion he’d ever seen before on him.

Kind of like the anger of that afternoon.

“Putting aside the fact that those rules were borderline abusive themselves, H-Shinsou,” he said gently, “There are better ways to deal with misbehavior. Ways that don't include hurting children."

And some part of him, some deep, bitter, unhelpful part of him agreed with that. It was the part that agreed with most of what Aizawa said. The part that Hitoshi had buried a long time ago because it was the part that always made things worse. 

That was the part that was troublesome, dangerous. That couldn't be the part of him that was right. That would... Hitoshi wasn't even sure what that would mean for him. For his childhood.

"I'm difficult," he defended, a fact that he had tried for so long to get Aizawa to ignore. But he just needed him to understand. 

"You aren't." Aizawa said, so firmly, so sincerely that Hitoshi almost believed it.

"And even if you were," the hero continued, "it still wouldn't be right to hurt you."

“But, um that’s your job,” Hitoshi said, "Hurting people who break the rules."

And, you know what, maybe he was being evasive. And maybe he knew that. But he didn’t know what else to say. What else to do.

He didn't know how to deal with a challenge to the entire way he’d been raised.

He was pretty sure if it was anyone other than Aizawa who’d said it he would have just brushed them off. 

But he trusted Aizawa. Trusted his judgement and trusted him to tell the truth. And Hitoshi couldn't just disregard something he said.

Not when he said it with so much conviction. Not when he defended it.

“There’s a lot that we could talk about there, kid,” Aizawa said, “But they aren’t pro heroes. And you are not a villain.”

Hitoshi felt his eyes widen.

‘Hitoshi is going to be a hero.’

“You never have been,” Aizawa continued, “You are a child. And there has never been any justification for hurting you.”

"Then why did they do it?" He asked, not sure if he was deperate for the answer or scared of it.

"I... wish I had an answer for that, kid," Aizawa said, looking genuinely regretful, "I'm not even sure there is one."

Hitoshi looked back down at the floor, kind of wishing he hadn't asked.

After a few awkward moments, Tsukauchi cleared his throat.

“How about we take a quick break?”

“I- I’m fine,” Hitoshi protested, even as Aizawa and Shiro nodded, “We can keep going.”

“A break will be good, kid,” Aizawa said, standing up with a stretch, “Besides, I need coffee.”

Reluctantly, Hitoshi nodded and followed him out of the room.

~

After a short search, the two found themselves in front of a coffee maker. An old coffee maker.

And for once, Hitoshi decided he’d rather have a green tea than coffee – it was unrelated to the age of the machine.

He just wanted something that would calm him as much as the caffeine would rile him up.

Not that he really needed to be calmed down. He was fine.

It just… would be nice.

Aizawa fiddled with the old machine for a little bit before turning around, satisfied, as it started making loud, suspicious noises. Now, Hitoshi decided, the choice was a little related to the machine.

“What are you feeling right now, kid?” The hero asked.

“I’m fine,” Hitoshi said. For, probably, the thousandth time.

“Fine is a state of being,” Aizawa said, “I want to know what emotions you’re feeling.”

That made Hitoshi pause. What emotions he was feeling?

“I don’t know,” he muttered into his mug.

“Think about it,” Aizawa urged.

Uncomfortable as the request was, Hitoshi was never really one to say no.

Especially not to Eraserhead.

Especially not to Aizawa.

He closed his eyes, reluctantly, and tried to think about it.

He felt confused, for one. Mostly about this whole 'feelings' thing they were doing.

But also kind of about the things Aizawa had been saying lately. Like in the room. And over the phone earlier.

It… It almost sounded like he actually cared.

Well, no. It really sounded like he actually cared.

And that was terrifying. 

Terrifying to have everything that he had wished and wished for. To have everything he’d wanted so, so badly throughout his entire childhood.

Terrifying to know that he’d have to give it all up. Soon, probably.

It made him feel small. And lost. And confused and sad and- 

Hitoshi slammed down those thoughts quickly, forcing his posture back to something more relaxed.

Less readable.

He didn’t know what Aizawa was trying to get out of this, but whatever he was looking for, it wasn’t there. His feelings were fucking stupid. He didn’t want them.

“Kid?”

“I’m fine,” Hitoshi said, only a few steps away from snapping.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow and Hitoshi forced himself to tone it down a little bit.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not feeling anything.”

He couldn't quite get his voice any calmer than 'defensive' and he was certain Aizawa didn't believe him.

True to his suspicions, the hero looked like he really wanted to press the issue further, but the coffee maker beeped behind him before he could say anything.

With a sigh that Hitoshi tried not to take personally, the hero turned around and poured himself a cup.

“Ready to go back in?” He asked.

Hitoshi nodded and the two made their way back into the room.

Chapter Text

“We’re leaving,” Shouta announced, opening the front door.

“Stay safe,” Hizashi called back with a grin and a wave. 

Shinsou offered a small wave of his own and, with that Hizashi was alone.

He waited for a beat. And another. And then one more.

He waited just long to be sure they were fully gone before he slumped down onto the couch, letting his smile fall with a heavy sigh. 

Last night had been… a lot.

Enough that he only felt slightly guilty about being this grateful for some alone time. Time to process.

Hizashi had done therapy. He had done therapy for years. Even now, he still met with his therapist on occasion – maybe once or twice a year.

And, barring that first night Shinsou had come to Shou and him, Hizashi hadn’t even been near a muzzle like that in almost two decades. Before therapy had ever even been a suggestion. Before Hizashi met his moms.

He was healed. He was better. Hizashi was happy and healthy and as loud as he goddamn wanted to be.

But, well. That kind of thing never really went away. Not fully. No matter how healed someone was.

With time and work, they stopped dictating your experiences – the ways that you engaged with other people, with yourself, the ways you thought and acted and even fucking breathed.

Eventually, they faded away until the only traces that remained were memories.

But, man were they some bad ones. 

So, yes. Hizashi was better. But being better doesn’t stop someone from being affected by things. And nothing stops people from needing time to process those things that affected them.

So even if he felt just a little bit guilty about it, Hizashi was very glad that Shouta had decided on his impromptu gym day. And he had a feeling that his husband knew that.

Hizashi took out his phone, pulling up the short, little meditation he usually used to work through things. Or at least kick it off. He settled down into the couch and started it up.

It took less than a minute, though, to realize that this just wasn’t going to click today.

Hizashi just had too many fucking thoughts rushing through his head.

Thoughts of how small and scared and hurt Shinsou had looked. About how he’d tried to put the muzzle on himself, how, no matter how clear it was that the kid hated the thing as much as Hizashi did, he’d been so willing to willing to wear it when he’d thought he and Shou expected him to.

He thought about the huge, daunting implication that held. That Shinsou had reached a point in his life where being muzzled like that was the better option.

Hizashi didn’t want to think about what the worse one was.

That poor kiddo. He’d been through so much, and all while he’d been so young. He was still so young.

It was almost unbelievable.

Not that he’d actually been through it, of course. Hizashi wasn’t out here trying to invalidate anyone’s trauma. He absolutely did not doubt what little information that the kiddo had told them. Did not doubt that the full story would be so much worse.

No, the fact that it’d happened at all was depressingly unsurprising.

The unbelievable part was that Shinsou had managed to stay so good through all of it.

Hizashi’d only ever really been labeled “dangerous.” Annoying, too, most of the time. He’d never been called evil or villainous or creepy. Just loud. Threatening. Unsafe. 

There was really only so much crossover between his and Shinsou’s experiences and he knew that he’d never really understand what the kiddo had been through.

But he did know that, for him, it had always been so hard to not believe all the shit that people had said about him. The shit that they’d said to him. So hard, in fact, that he had believed it. For a while.

Had believed that his quirk was a hazard. That restraining him like that, isolating him, was the necessary course of action rather than just. Teaching him how to use his quirk.

Shinsou hadn’t just been told that he was dangerous. He’d been called so much worse.

Hizashi was by no means an expert, but in one particularly long-lived burst of interest, he’d taken a class or two on theories of villainy. There were a lot of things that Hizashi had learned from those classes, but there was one point that he just couldn’t shake out of his head right then. 

That point being exactly how many villains had only taken up that mantle simply because it was all that anyone had ever expected him. 

You’d be surprised, really, how many villains had first wanted to be heroes. How many of them had only turned down that darker road because they’d been told so many times that it was the only thing out there for them. Because it was the only thing they really knew how to do at that point.

Turns out, the more you tell a kid that they’re some unredeemable monster, the more they start to believe it.

Villains weren’t born. They were made.

It had, honestly, brought a new perspective to Hizashi’s job that he still wasn’t really sure what to do with. But that was a conversation for another time.

The point was, the way that Shinsou had been raised was exactly the way that convinced people that there was nothing left for them in society. And the fact that the little listener had been through all of that and had held on so tightly to that hope – to that desire to help people…

It was nothing short of a miracle. And one that he was damn grateful for.

If Shinsou had been just a tiny bit less resilient, just a tiny bit less driven and determined and desperate to get to where he was now, Hizashi and Shouta would have never been able to meet him. Not in the same context that they had, at least.

Which would have been a tragedy. Man did he love having that kid around.

Hizashi’s attention was drawn by the bright notification light on his phone. He sighed, picking the device up.

Maybe he should just schedule a session with Kodama, his therapist, and talk things out with her. 

Honestly, it’d probably be a good idea to talk to her about the rest of this situation too; about all the changes that they’d made and would continue to be making as they created a space for Shinsou in their lives.

Don’t get him wrong, Hizashi had wanted to foster with Shou for ages. They’d gotten their licenses years ago, even. It’d just never really seemed like the right time for them. 

Until now, at least.

But no matter how much he wanted to keep Shinsou around, it was never a good idea to bring a child into your household without giving that decision the time and thought that it deserved. His moms had done a pretty good job of nailing that lesson into his head. 

And he’d discussed with Shouta plenty, but it would probably still be nice to talk some things out with an uninvolved third party. 

Not bothering to check that notification just yet, Hizashi pulled up Kodama’s office number and dialed.

~~~~

Hizashi pulled the food he’d just finished off of the stove, barely managing to set it down on the table when he heard the door unlocking.

“We’re home,” Shouta called as he and Shinsou made their way into the apartment.

“Welcome back.”

With how much Shinsou had seemed to be enjoying helping him out with the cooking, Hizashi had spent more than a little time wondering if he should just wait for the listener to get home before starting. Eventually, though, he’d decided that the listener would be pretty worn out after giving his statement and, looking at him now, it was pretty clear that Hizashi’d been right.

“How’d it go?” He asked as Shinsou made his way into the kitchen.

“Fine,” he answered in a small, tired voice.

“Yeah?”

Shinsou just nodded, avoiding eye contact.

Hizashi looked up at his husband with a concerned frown.

‘Stressful,’ Shouta signed behind him, ‘He’s been talking less.’

“Why don’t you take a seat, kiddo,” Hizashi suggested, shooting the kid a contemplative glance.

With a simple nod, Shinsou pulled out his usual chair and sat down, not bothering to say anything.

Hizashi was about to turn back to the stove so he could grab the rice when Shouta caught his attention again.

‘You submitted the fostering paperwork, right?’ He asked, looking troubled.

Hizashi nodded slowly. He vividly remembered putting it all in that Friday after classes. He still had it on his calendar and everything.

Shouta let out a tired sigh, nodding back at Hizashi. It seemed like that was the answer he’d been expecting to hear but he didn’t look any less troubled for it.

Instead of elaborating, though, Shouta just took a seat at the table. 

Following his lead, Hizashi finally grabbed the rice and joined them.

He’d ask about it later.

~

Hizashi’d been worried, but not really surprised, when Shinsou had jumped at the first opportunity he could to leave the room.

While he’d been plenty responsive, the kid had stuck almost exclusively with non-verbal cues; nodding, shaking his head, etc, etc. He’d done pretty much everything short of just using JSL.

Even those few times a question had needed a verbal answer, he’d used the fewest words possible and still looked almost pained by the effort of it.

Hizashi wasn’t really sure what to do. And, from the look of it, neither was Shou.

Would pushing him to talk make him more or less comfortable in the long run? Would taking the initiative to switch into JSL stress or soothe him?

It’d looked like Shouta had wanted to directly ask what was going on – try using some of those communication skills they'd been reading up on, but something seemed to have been holding him back.

Probably that same worry Hizashi’d had about pushing him to talk versus leaving him be.

‘Did everything go alright?’ Hizashi asked once the listener had excused himself from the room.

Shouta sighed heavily, resting his head on one of his hands. He lifted the other, waving it in a so-so gesture.

Hizashi silently moved into the chair next to his husband, taking his free hand with a comforting squeeze. 

They sat there, for a moment, giving Shouta some time to work through his thoughts. Honestly, the sadness and anger and exhaustion emanating off of his husband had him just a little concerned.

No matter what crazy theories the hero students liked to think up, Shouta did, in fact, have feelings. Of course he did. He just usually didn’t feel those emotions outwardly. 

Hizashi had always been able to tell what his husband had been feeling – even before he was "his husband." But more often than not, he was the only one who could tell. Nem and Tensei tried, of course, but they just didn’t know him like Hizashi did.

Right now, though, Hizashi was pretty sure everything that Shouta had been feeling was painted on him in neon fucking colors. No wonder he’d waited for the kid to leave before talking about it.

Eventually, Shouta took a deep breath and looked back up at him. Hizashi let go of his hand, giving him a chance to sign.

‘We should talk about it later,’ Shouta decided, eyes flicking in the direction that the listener had gone.

‘Okay,’ Hizashi responded, not really surprised. 

As amazing as Shou he been about learning and using JSL; as much as he had put in the time and effort necessary, languages had never really been his husband’s strong suit. And, while it was a pretty good bet that they could have that conversation in JSL, some things were better to do in a language that both people were fully fluent in.

They stayed there for a while until Jelly padded up between their chairs, meowing loudly for attention.

“Aww, hey kitty,” he cooed, moving his arms to make room on his lap for her.

Jelly, of course, barely even spared him a glance before she turned to Shouta and meowed insistetly.

Blatant favoritism.

‘Why’d you ask about the paperwork earlier?’ Hizashi asked, wanting to talk about it before Shouta’s attention was entirely absorbed by the tiny demon sitting on his lap.

Shouta scratched Jelly’s head absently, that same troubled frown from before making its way onto his face.

‘It still hasn’t processed,’ he answered, ‘I think there might be more to it than Shiro let on. She wants us to try sending it in again.'

‘Weird,’ Hizashi signed, reaching over to give Jelly the briefest of pets, but she still attacked his hand. 

He wondered where Blanket, their cat that actually liked him, had wandered off to.

Shouta nodded in agreement.

‘I sent in that background check a couple of days ago, but I'll keep digging around.'

Hizashi nodded. He had a bit of a soft spot for social workers with it being the chosen profession of both of his mothers. But, soft spot or no, he knew social workers were just as capable as anyone else at being shitty.

Hell, his own social worker had been a nightmare right up until he'd been adopted.

Of course, his moms had put a very quick end to that asshole's career.

Actually, maybe it would be good to give the two of them a call. Honestly, he probably should have told his moms, like, immediately upon deciding he was going to adopt this kid. 

He'd just had so much on his plate, had so much more to worry about with Shinsou. They'd understand that, wouldn't they?

Hizashi groaned loudly. God, he was going to get so much shit for this.

~~~~

“Hey, kiddo,” Hizashi said carefully, “Do you feel up to a little chat?”

He knew Shinsou well enough, by now, to expect the little hints of fear that crept over the kid’s face. The nervousness too.

What he didn’t expect, though, was the way the kid’s shoulders slumped, the resignation in his voice.

“Sure,” he mumbled, not looking up from his plate. 

“It’s nothing bad,” Hizashi tried to reassure, “We just wanted to hear your thoughts on something.”

Shinsou nodded, picking at his food.

“You’ve just been here for a couple of weeks now,” he started, worry only growing as Shinsou braced himself for... something, “And since you’ve gotten a bit more settled in, we thought it might be a good time to ask how you might feel about therapy.”

The listener’s eyes widened in surprise before his face settled into a more confused expression.

“...Therapy,” he repeated, giving Hizashi a questioning look.

Hizashi nodded.

Shinsou shrunk in on himself a little, turning back to his food, “You, uh, think I should go to therapy,” he said, the barest hints of a question in his tone.

“We think you should do what feels right for you, kiddo,” Hizashi responded. 

“Right…” Shinsou said doubtfully, “I, um. Yeah. I could probably do that.”

Hizashi shared a look with Shouta. After a moment, his husband turned to Shinsou with a calculating gaze.

“What are you thinking?” He eventually asked.

Shinsou pushed around the food on his plate again for half a second before freezing and setting his chopsticks to the side and moving his hands under the table.

He shrugged with a worried frown.

“You know we’re not looking for a specific response here, right, listener?” Hizashi asked, “It’s okay if you don’t want to do it.”

Shouta nodded his agreement, “There’s no wrong answer, Shinsou.”

Shinsou swallowed thickly. 

“I… I don’t know,” he muttered, “I just. I don’t…”

“Heroes don’t need therapy,” he said, voice small, “I don’t- I…”

He interrupted himself with a small shake of his head, “I. It’s stupid,” he sighed, still looking down, “I’ll just go.”

“It's not stupid,” Shouta said gently, “But, kid, heroes are just people," he continued, "We need the same support as everyone else.”

“Yeah, listener,” Hizashi added, “I did therapy for years. Still see my therapist sometimes, actually.”

Shinsou turned to him, surprised, “You did?”

“Ever since I got out of the system,” he confirmed, “It might not be for everyone, but it helped me out a lot.”

Shinsou had moved his head just slightly towards Shouta, like he was planning to ask him the same question, but snapped fully back to Hizashi as he spoke.

“Since you got out of the system,” he repeated flatly.

Shit, had they never mentioned that?

“I was a foster kid too,” Hizashi clarified, “but my moms adopted me when I was 10.”

Shinsou’s eyes widened, drifting to the small scars on Hizashi’s face. He didn’t ask, but Hizashi nodded in confirmation anyway.

Shinsou snapped his gaze back down to his plate, more than a little shocked.

“Most pros do therapy at one point or another, kid,” Shouta said, returning to their original conversation, “It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“...Okay,” Shinsou told them, sounding a bit more confident this time.

“Okay?”

“I, um, I could try,” he clarified after a moment, “That… It sounds okay.”

“I’ll schedule an appointment, then,” Shouta told him, “Does Hound Dog sound alright or would you like to go off of campus?”

“Um. Hound Dog is fine.”

Shouta nodded in acknowledgement, “Alright kid. Just let us know if you change your mind.”

Chapter Text

“Just… Just stay right here, Hitoshi.”

Hitoshi’s mommy was crouched in front of him. He knew it was supposed to be okay because she was smiling. And good boys felt better when their mommies smiled at them. Heroes didn’t ever get even more scared when their mommies smiled. And Hitoshi really wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to be a hero even more! But… but this smile always made Hitoshi’s tummy feel all turney and weird and he really, really didn’t like it. Even if he knew that he was supposed to.

“Mommy will be right back, Hitoshi. You need to let go, now.”

Hitoshi shook his head really fast. He squeezed his eyes shut super hard so that he didn’t have to see her bad smile anymore and closed his hands even tighter so that she couldn’t leave. 

Even though he knew good boys were supposed to listen to their mommies.

“Hitoshi,” she said again. In her angry voice this time. 

“You need to let go of Mommy.”

His tummy started to feel even worse because Hitoshi hated it when his mommy used her angry voice. And he hated it when she used her bad smile. He knew that he was supposed to let go. He knew that good boys listened to their mommies. And he knew that she was going to be even angrier if he didn’t listen again.

But Hitoshi still shook his head again, hands holding shakily onto his mommy’s shirt, because he was more scared of his mommy leaving than he was of her angry voice.

Big hands wrapped around Hitoshi’s and he hoped so big that that meant he could go with her. He hoped it meant that she would hold his hand like she used to and they could go for a walk like they used to and Hitoshi could even talk like he used to.

“Let go, Hitoshi.”

As soon as he wasn’t holding onto his mommy’s shirt anymore, the big hands dropped his, letting them fall down to his sides. 

Hitoshi almost kept squeezing his eyes closed so that he could play pretend that his mommy was still waiting for him and smiling her good smile again. But then the dark started to get really big and scary and Hitoshi felt really, really alone, and that was almost even scarier than only being around strangers. So Hitoshi opened his eyes as wide as he could make them.

His mommy wasn’t next to him anymore and Hitoshi whipped his head all around until he finally stopped on purple hair that looked just like his. 

Hitoshi watched her walk away. 

He really wanted to follow her. 

But she told him to stay there and good boys listened to their mommies. And they didn’t get scared when their mommies walked away and they didn’t try to follow their mommies everywhere, especially if they knew it was bad.

And heroes were even better. They were never scared of anything. And they didn’t break any rules at all. 

A hero would never try to chase after their mommy when they were told not to. And a hero wouldn’t be even scareder than they were before when they felt like their feet were glued to the ground and like their body was all stiff and stuck and they couldn’t go anywhere.

Hitoshi stayed there, rooted firmly to the ground, until he couldn’t see any purple at all.

He knew that heroes weren’t supposed to be scared of anything. And Hitoshi wanted to be a hero, so he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be scared, either. But… But Hitoshi really wished that his mommy was still here because he was scared. And mommies were supposed to make everything okay, he thought.

That’s what the other kids always told him and they were all really smart and good, so they couldn’t be wrong. 

Not like Hitoshi. He was wrong a whole lot. 

And Hitoshi was never good. Even when he tried his very best to follow all the rules and always be nice to everyone, the teachers still got mad at him and his mommy still only gave him her bad smiles. 

Hitoshi felt his eyes get all wet, but he still tried really hard not to cry because heroes never cried. Never, ever. Even when their tummies started to hurt really, really, really bad. Even when they felt their chests get all shaky and like they couldn’t really breathe and their mommies were gone and they were all alone at the zoo and- and-

And Hitoshi didn’t think he was a hero, just like all the other kids said. Because he was already crying. And he didn’t think he knew how to breathe anymore, but he was still trying super hard not to be loud because Tagawa-sensei always got mad when he was loud and made him cry even more, but it was really hard, and-

“Oh no, oh honey, what’s wrong?”

Hitoshi rubbed his eyes, trying even harder not to cry, but his breath kept catching and he was being quiet, but he knew she was still going to be mad at hi-

“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” the lady said softly, “Let’s just take a deep breath, okay?”

He knew that he was supposed to say yes, but it wasn’t okay, because Hitoshi couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know how to tell the lady that so he just started shaking his head really fast. 

Before long, though, a warm, soft hand was resting on his back and another one on his shoulder. And it felt so, so nice that Hitoshi finally took a deep breath.

They were so nice and made him feel all tingly where the hands were resting and Hitoshi wondered if maybe that was the lady’s quirk, or if touching people was just like that. He didn’t think it really mattered why, though, because everything felt just a little bit easier while the lady’s hands were there. 

Hitoshi kept taking deep breaths, even if he didn’t really understand what was happening. 

“There you go,” the lady whispered, “It’s okay.”

Hitoshi sniffled and he wasn’t really sure if he believed her. But then he blinked away all of his tears so that he could look at her and he saw that she was smiling. She was smiling a good smile, and Hitoshi thought that maybe it really was okay.

“Where’s your mom, sweetheart?”

Hitoshi sniffled again. “I don- I don’t know.”

His eyes widened when he remembered that he was supposed to be quiet now that he had his quirk, but the lady didn’t get mad at all.

And she still had a good smile, too. Maybe… Maybe he was allowed to talk right now? Even though he didn’t really understand why?

“Oh no!”

She sounded like she was worried and Hitoshi didn’t think that was very good at all. But she also said it to him and that made Hitoshi feel really happy. No one ever said things to Hitoshi after he talked. Even if his quirk only worked when he asked a question. 

“That must be really scary, huh?”

Hitoshi nodded because it was scary, even though he knew heroes weren’t supposed to be scared of anything.

The lady ran a hand through his hair before pulling away so that she could through her bag. 

Hitoshi tried really hard not to feel bad that the hand was gone. He already felt colder and he didn’t like it at all. But he only had to wait a little bit before the nice lady was pulling out a tissue and wiping Hitoshi’s face, and that was kind of good too.

She smiled at him again when she was done and Hitoshi almost felt as warm as when she was holding him with both hands.

“How about we go look for her, okay?”

Hitoshi really wanted to say yes. Because she was so nice and warm and perfect and because good boys didn’t tell grown-ups no, but… 

“She said to stay here,” he whispered, looking back down at the ground. 

“Well, you know what?” She told him, “I think you’re a really good kid for listening so well.”

Hitoshi looked up at her with huge eyes because no one ever said that he was a good kid. And his chest started to feel all warm and nice inside, too! Not even just on the outside! 

“But what if she got lost?” the nice lady pointed out.

Hitoshi frowned, looking down at the ground. He hadn’t even thought about that. And he had been waiting for a really long time.

“Do you remember what people are supposed to do if they get lost?”

He nodded, excited that he did remember that one, “They’re supposed to go to the lost children center!”

“That’s right!” The nice lady said, “You’re really smart!”

Hitoshi smiled super big at her because no one ever called him smart either. 

He was still a little bit scared, but she was super nice and Hitoshi felt a whole lot better talking to her. He wished that he could talk to people like her all the time.

“How about we go to the lost children center and see if your mom is there?”

Hitoshi almost nodded but he wasn’t really sure. His mommy said to stay here and heroes listened to their mommies. What if she wasn’t lost and she came back and she knew that Hitoshi didn’t listen to her?

“You’re worried your mom will come back and you won’t be here?” The nice lady asked.

Hitoshi felt his eyes go all big again. Maybe she had a mind reading quirk!

That sounded like it would be a really cool quirk to have! Hitoshi kind of wished that maybe they could trade.

“How about this,” she said, waving to another lady.

“This is my wife,” she told Hitoshi as the other lady walked closer. A kid that looked like he was definitely bigger than Hitoshi was holding her hand. “What if she waits here for your mom instead? Then she can tell her where we are in case she wasn’t lost.”

Hitoshi thought about it for a long time, looking at the nice lady’s wife. Finally, he nodded once.

If his mommy was lost, then she was probably really scared right now. And Hitoshi hated being scared, so she probably would too. If Hitoshi found her again, then he didn’t think she would be scared anymore, and that would kind of make him like a hero!

The nice lady held out her hand and Hitoshi grabbed it, happily. He even got to hold hands with her while they walked!

Maybe that meant that Hitoshi could ask questions like he used to! He liked it a whole lot when he got to ask questions!

“Do you have a mind reading quirk?” He asked excitedly. Because he still thought it was super cool that she knew why he was worried before!

The lady laughed, but it didn’t sound the same as when his classmates laughed at him, so Hitoshi thought that it was probably a good laugh. Just like how she had a good smile.

“No,” she told him with another smile. “All I can do is change my hair color.”

“To any color?!”

“Yep!” She nodded. “Look.”

Hitoshi watched as her hair shifted from a bright orange into a really pretty pink before it finally stopped at purple.

“Woah!” He said, “You’re purple like me, now!”

“I am,” she agreed, laughing again. “Just like you.”

“Can… Can I touch it?” He asked shyly.

“Of course,” she told him. They stopped walking for a little bit so that she could crouch down to Hitoshi’s height.

Hitoshi carefully ran his hand through her hair, gasping in amazement when it turned from purple to blue, then green, and yellow, and the whole rainbow before it stopped at purple again.

“How about you?” She asked while Hitoshi was playing with her hair. “What’s your quirk?”

Hitoshi frowned. His quirk wasn’t cool at all. Tagawa-sensei said that it was a villain’s quirk, even.

But heroes didn’t lie, so Hitoshi whispered, “Brainwashing.”

“O-Oh. Really?”

“Mhm,” Hitoshi responded with a frown. Her voice sounded kind of weird, now, but he wasn’t scared like he was when Tagawa-sensei’s voice got weird. This lady was super nice, so he knew that she wasn’t going to be mean to him.

He just patted her shoulder softly, because sometimes his words got a little bit stuck, too, and he didn’t really like it when that happened.

“How does that work?” She asked, standing back up. She didn’t grab his hand again, though, so Hitoshi knew they weren’t leaving yet.

“Sometimes I ask questions and people get really quiet,” he told her, “And then they listen when I ask them to do things.”

“I- I see.”

“My teacher said that it’s a bad quirk,” he whispered, looking down at the ground.

He didn’t think the nice lady heard him, though, because she didn’t say anything. She just held out her hand again and Hitoshi grabbed on.

He wanted to ask her if she thought it was a bad quirk, too. And so he walked a little bit faster and looked up at her face. 

It was really hard for Hitoshi to keep walking when he saw that her smile was different.

It looked a lot more like his mom’s bad smile, now.

He wasn’t supposed to talk when his mom got her bad smile, so he thought that maybe it was time to be quiet again.

“Have you ever heard of the silent game before?”

Hitoshi nodded. Grown-ups really liked that game, but Hitoshi thought it was really boring.

“How about we play right now? It’s super fun!” Her voice sounded weird. 

She smiled at him with another bad smile so Hitoshi nodded, even though he didn’t really feel like playing right now.

“Great! I’ll count down for us,” she said. “3… 2… 1… Go!”

Hitoshi didn’t do anything because he was already being quiet, but the lady stopped talking too, now.

His tummy felt kind of weird again. He didn’t really know why, but he didn’t like it very much.

Hitoshi stayed quiet when they reached the lost children center, even though one of the helpers there tried talking to him. The nice lady left him with them so that she could go talk to the other grown-ups.

“Do you see your mommy anywhere?” The helper asked. 

Hitoshi looked around and shook his head. Maybe she didn’t get lost after all.

Another helper came over and whispered to the one that was sitting with Hitoshi and they both got bad smiles one their faces.

“Hmm,” they said, “Let’s just wait right here, then, and she’ll come find you.”

Hitoshi thought that he wanted to go back with the nice lady to wait for his mommy instead, but he looked around some more and couldn’t see her, either. 

He nodded because he didn’t really know how to get back to where his mommy wanted him to wait anymore.

Hitoshi thought that maybe he was lost now.

“Great!” The helper said with another wrong smile that made Hitoshi’s tummy feel all turney.

“I heard from that nice lady that you’re really good at the silent game,” they said, “do you want to keep playing?”

Hitoshi shrugged. He didn’t really like the silent game at all.

~

Hitoshi waited there for a really long time, even after it got dark and the lost children center started to close.

His mommy never found him.

Hitoshi thought it was probably the longest he ever played the silent game in his whole life before another lady with really pretty dark skin and long, thick white hair came to talk to him.

She told him that he couldn’t stay at the lost children center all night and that Hitoshi had to go somewhere else with her. Hitoshi felt kind of scared about that, but he didn’t say anything. The lady didn’t have a bad smile, but Hitoshi thought that maybe he was supposed to be quiet anyway.

She promised that she’d leave her phone number at the lost children center, so that if his mommy came looking for him tomorrow, she’d be able to find him.

Hitoshi didn’t think that it was going to work.

He nodded anyway and wondered if maybe his mommy was angry because Hitoshi didn’t stay where she told him to.

She didn’t call the next day or the day after that or even the day after that one.

She never called. And Hitoshi never really stopped wondering.

~~~~

Heavily, in the way that required years of sleepless nights in order to really pull off, Hitoshi sighed. He blinked for the first time in at least a couple of minutes before resuming his staring at the white ceiling above him.

He didn’t know why he was thinking about this.

Or, like, he did know. Kind of.

He knew why he’d started thinking about it. He just wasn’t really sure why he was still thinking about it. He usually shut these things down pretty quickly.

But ever since Aizawa had taken that stupid fucking call… Hitoshi couldn’t stop thinking. 

Obviously not about that exact moment, just. About a lot. A lot of the things that had happened to him. A lot of the memories that physically hurt to remember. Even thought, in most of them, no one had even touched him.

It was kind of funny, the memories where no one had even hurt him always tended to become the memories that hurt the most, later on.

But, he supposed, that was beside the point. The point was that he was still thinking about stupid, insignificant moments in his life, and he didn’t even know why.

If he had to guess, he might say that he was looking for clarity. Or something along those lines.

It was a pretty weak answer, though. Because Hitoshi was pretty sure he was only becoming more conflicted the longer he kept thinking like this.

‘He deserved to be loved and protected and safe.’

Hitoshi took a deep breath.

He just-

He just didn’t know anymore.

‘I don’t care what his quirk is!’

Was it really…

‘I’m difficult.’ ‘You aren’t.’

Was it really never his fault?

‘And even if you were, it still wouldn’t be right to hurt you.’

Hitoshi ran a shaky hand through his hair, not getting up from the bed.

“Fuck.”

That, like. That wasn’t the right way to put it; ‘his fault.’ He knew it wasn’t his fault. 

Or. More like he knew that ‘fault’ was the wrong word?

Just like deserve was the wrong word. He didn’t… he didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Or, not all the time, at least.

But… But he didn’t, like, deserve something else.

You know?

It wasn’t his fault. Not really. But it wasn’t not his fault.

If he just shut up a little better. Or if he remembered to do his chores all the time, or got the kids at school to stop pinning things on him or if he’d hidden better or, or,

Or if he had a different quirk.

…

Right.

Because he’d tried all of that; tried everything he could think of. And it hadn’t worked. It had never even mattered. Because no matter what, Shinsou Hitoshi was Shinsou Hitoshi. And Brainwashing was still Brainwashing.

So it wasn’t his fault. 

But… it wasn’t really theirs, either?

They were just scared.

Brainwashing was scary. Hitoshi was scary.

‘He’s not dangerous or villainous or anything you tried to make him.’

People… People did shitty things when they were scared, sometimes.

Hitoshi could understand that.

He’d been scared a lot in his life.

Maybe that was a bad way to put it. Made him sound like a coward.

Kind of.

Kind of not, though.

Kind of made him wonder if he actually understood. Because Hitoshi had been scared, like, his whole life. But he’d still never hurt anyone like they had hurt him.

Whatever.

That wasn’t the point.

The point was that they were scared. And Hitoshi was difficult.

‘You aren’t.’

And just. They had to.

They had to.

He didn’t deserve it. But it wasn’t wrong for them to do it.

‘There are better ways to deal with misbehavior.’

Hitoshi clenched the hand on his head into a fist, tugging on his hair. Hoping it would get rid of all the stupid fucking voices.

He didn’t want to think about this anymore.

He didn’t want to think about the fact that even after hours of replaying his memories, Hitoshi couldn’t figure out how to keep rationalizing it away. 

He really didn’t want to think about the fact that it was all unwarranted. 

‘There has never been any justification for hurting you.’

Because then why did it happen?

Hitoshi refused to believe that there just. Wasn’t a reason.

That his whole, fucking life, all the ways he suffered and was miserable and just. Just all of it. That it was all meaningless.

It was discipline. Or self-defense. Or something.

It wasn’t abuse.

He didn’t- His life wasn’t-

It couldn’t just be useless, needless suffering.

Hitoshi pulled a little harder and fuck. Fuck.

He let go quickly, gasping in a breath when his hand started to feel bigger and familiar and too much toomuchtoomuch.

Shit. Just. Fucking.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know what to do with all of it. All the meaningless pain and unnecessary lessons.

All the little things he’d had to do to protect himself. All the skills he shouldn’t have had to learn. 

Was it all just worthless? Pointless?

He thought… well. He was beginning to think that maybe it had to be.

Because it was morning now. And Hitoshi had been thinking about this all fucking night. He’d been thinking about it all of yesterday, too. And he still couldn’t come up with a single way to keep justifying it all. He couldn’t think of a single moment that could make it okay.

No matter how far back he went. 

~~~~

Shiro walked into the room, wearing the same smile she always did. The one that wasn’t good or bad. The one that was just tired.

But kind, too.

“It’s nice to see you again, Shinsou.”

Hitoshi nodded, forcing a smile of his own up.

“How have you been this last month?”

He shrugged before remembering that Shiro would know to look for that — for his silence. 

“I’ve been good,” he said, pretending that he didn’t hear the slight rasp in his voice.

There wasn’t much to be done about that. He didn’t think he’d spoken at all since moving to the Iwasakis’.

Which was kind of a bit overboard, in Hitoshi’s opinion. 

Obviously he’d never expected to be allowed to ask questions, but he could usually talk a little. Just enough to communicate, to make himself understood.

But… Hitoshi wasn’t all that surprised, either.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Shiro said, her eyes growing just a bit more hopeful.

Which really just solidified what he had to do.

“And the Iwasakis?” She asked, “How are they?”

“They’re fine,” Hitoshi lied smoothly, “I think things might actually work out this time.”

He wondered if saying it out loud might help make it true. If it might help make the bruises that his shirt sleeves barely covered disappear. Or make his voice stop scratching at his throat so painfully.

Whether it helped or not, though, Hitoshi was still going with it.

Because he’d realized something, after his last foster family.

It happened every once in a while.

At six, he’d realized that his mom was never coming back for him. (And, really, it shouldn’t have even taken him that long.)

At eight he’d realized that it was a choice. That she wasn’t coming back because she didn’t want to. And for no other reason.

At ten he’d realized that things just weren’t going to get better.

And now, at thirteen and a half, Hitoshi had realized that the problem was him.

He was surprised it’d taken so long.

But maybe, he thought, it really hadn’t. Maybe he’d known it all along.

He’d known it since his mom left, when he’d been wondering if the reason she never came back was because he’d left when she had told him to stay.

He’d known it at eight, when he was finally big enough to fit into a muzzle.

He’d known it at ten, when he met the first family who didn’t just hurt him because he broke the rules — when he met the first family who did it for fun.

Honestly, he hadn’t even hoped that things would get better for a long time. But he hadn’t really accepted why that was until now.

Shinsou Hitoshi was broken. Beyond repair.

Creepy. Dangerous. Unloveable.

Things weren’t going to get better. And it wasn’t because the world was fucked up or broken or evil, it was because Hitoshi was.

“Shinsou?”

Hitoshi looked up, realizing that Shiro must have been saying something else to him.

“Ah, sorry,” he apologized, sheepishly lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Mrs. Iwasaki was helping me with my math yesterday and I just realized that I forgot how to do it again…”

Shiro beamed, eating it right up.

He knew she would.

She was still just as desperate to find Hitoshi a good home as he’d been a few years ago. Before he’d realized that it was just flat-out impossible.

Hitoshi didn’t want her to know that he was wasting all of her hard work. Again.

He kind of wished that she’d just give up on him, already. She was kind of the only one left holding on, and Hitoshi was starting to get tired of it.

Maybe… Maybe if she gave up, Hitoshi could finally just be done with it all.

Fuck. No. He didn’t… He didn’t want that. He didn’t even know what that meant, ‘done with it all.”

He was just so tired. He was always. So. Tired.

Hitoshi smiled up at Shiro again, brushing off the thoughts as best he could and expertly hiding them away within his mind. Expertly making sure that no one would ever know he’d thought them.

It was fine. Everything… everything was fine. Manageable.

The Iwasakis weren’t really that bad.

They weren’t like the Kannos. They didn’t hurt him when he didn’t deserve it. They didn’t just do it for fun.

The only reason he even had bruises at all right now was because he hadn’t realized that their “no talking” rule was supposed to apply at school, too. And now he did. Hitoshi wouldn’t break the rule again and everything would be fine.

Chapter Text

Sloppy.

Shouta frowned as Shinsou pushed himself up into a sitting position on the mat.

He was missing things that he’d gotten down months ago.

Shouta’s frown deepened when he remembered the last time that Hitoshi had been off like this. When things had finally gotten so bad that Shouta couldn’t brush it off anymore.

He sighed softly and crouched down so that he wouldn’t be towering over the kid. 

“What’s wrong?”

Shinsou turned his head away, glaring down at the ground. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow in blatant disbelief.

Shinsou shifted slightly but didn’t say anything.

“You’re distracted,” Shouta pushed

Shinsou looked over at him, calculating for a moment before something seemed to shift in his face and he looked down again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, still avoiding the actual problem. “I’ll do better.”

Shouta wondered if he should maybe just drop it. He didn’t want to push Shinsou too far and make him uncomfortable.

But he also knew, rather intimately, that emotions were uncomfortable sometimes. Especially when you’d spent the majority of your life ignoring and avoiding them. Discomfort didn’t always mean that something was bad. Sometimes it just means that something is new.

“That’s not what I meant, kid.”

Shinsou grimaced, moving his legs a little bit closer to himself. “It’s not important,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“It seems like it’s pretty important to you,” Shouta pointed out. 

Shinsou stiffened for a short moment, just long enough for Shouta to wonder if he’d made a mistake. Not long after, though, Shinsou sighed heavily, letting his shoulders slump down with a thick wave of exhaustion. He nodded slightly.

“Something doesn’t have to be world-ending in order to matter, kid. Not to me and not to you,” Shouta said after a moment of consideration. “I’m not going to make you tell me anything that you don’t want to, but I’m here to talk if you do.”

Shinsou eyed him again and Shouta took advantage of the moment to fully sit down and make himself comfortable. He waited for Shinsou to make the next move, giving him full control over the conversation.

Eventually, his patience was met with a low, guarded statement. “I’ve used my quirk on you.”

Shouta fought the urge to raise an eyebrow, nodding calmly instead. “You have.”

“And you wanted me to.”

Shouta nodded again. “I did.”

Hitoshi waited as if expecting something more. Shouta wasn’t sure what.

“You’re like…” he continued eventually, voice sounding strained, “You’re just… fine with it.”

Shouta considered for a moment before replying, truthfully, “It never occurred to me not to be.”

Shinsou looked about half a second away from scoffing and turning away. He looked like a kid who had been defined by and mistreated for his quirk his entire life. He looked like his quirk had been the start and end of any relationship for him for so long that he didn’t believe there was any other way to be.

None of this was really news to him, but Shouta still hated seeing that look so plainly across his face.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, rather than saying any of that to Shinsou.

“Why wouldn’t you be??” Hitoshi sputtered incredulously.

Shouta nodded, shifting back so that he was supporting himself with his hands.

“It- It’s brainwashing,” Shinsou said, like he wasn’t sure if he should be bewildered or frustrated.

“And?”

“And-” Hitoshi cut himself off, hesitating. He looked at Shouta carefully, like he wasn’t sure if this was something he should be saying. Like he was suddenly worried that the only reason Shouta hadn’t mistreated him for his quirk was that he hadn’t realized that it was “dangerous” or some other bullshit, yet. He looked at Shouta like he suddenly thought the teacher was only a few short words away from completely flipping on the kid.

Shouta decided he hated that look, too.

“And I could make you do anything,” Shinsou whispered after a moment, his shoulders hiked uncomfortably.

Shouta was quiet for a moment, waiting until Hitoshi met his eyes. He needed the kid to understand this. Understand that it was not a threat, but that he was saying this with kindness and trust and basic human decency. 

After a few long seconds of steadily rising tension, Hitoshi finally looked up to meet his eyes.

“That doesn’t matter,” Shouta said simply, “You won’t.”

Something unreadable filled Shinsou’s eyes as his head turned slightly. Like he wanted to turn away, to avoid the sincerity with which Shouta was speaking, but something kept him there.

“But I could,” he argued weakly, voice barely a whisper.

“And Bakugou could blow my entire head off with one misplaced blast,” Shouta pointed out. “Midoriya, too. Todoroki could freeze me in a chunk of ice a meter thick and Uraraka could float me out to space.

“All quirks could be dangerous. All quirks could be misused,” he said resolutely, “‘Could’ means nothing.”

“I-” Hitoshi cut himself off, fists tightening on his pants, “But you can stop them.”

“And I can’t stop you?”

“No! Not that. I just mean…” Hitoshi stammered, “Midoriya’s the only person who’s ever broken out on their own and-”

“Shinsou,” Shouta interrupted gently, “I trust you. I’ve trusted you since we started here. It doesn’t matter what you could do, because I trust that you wouldn’t. And you have never given me a reason to question that trust.”

Shouta could practically feel the effort it took for Hitoshi to not look away. But despite it all, he kept looking. Kept searching Shouta’s eyes for something. Some glimmer of dishonesty, of something cruel and scheming.

Like he wanted to believe it just as much as Shouta wanted him to, but wasn’t quite sure how.

“You’re a good kid, H- Shinsou,” Shouta said. “What your quirk is doesn’t matter. And it never should have. You still deserve kindness. You have always deserved kindness.”

Hitoshi stayed there for a moment, frozen. Finally, with a thick swallow, he offered a single, tiny nod. “Okay.”

Shouta nodded back.

They sat there for a while, in comfortable silence, until Shouta’s back was aching a bit too much to ignore any longer. With a deep breath in and an extremely satisfying stretch, Shouta turned back to Shinsou.

“Let’s wrap up and head out,” he decided, “I think Hizashi wanted us all to do something together if you feel up to it.”

With a stretch of his own, Shinsou stood up. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before nodding again.

“That…” he said softly, “That sounds fun.”

~~~~

Shouta had started to stay late on Tuesdays, after classes were done. They used to be Hizashi’s day off and the two of them were never unhappy to take advantage of whatever increasingly rare alone time they got. It was the only day that they consistently had together, and Shouta knew they both treasured that.

And then Hitoshi happened and making sure he was safe was so incredibly important to the both of them that neither had hesitated to give up their Tuesdays together.

There was no part of Shouta that regretted that decision, and he knew Hizashi felt the same.

But Hizashi’s presence was always so overbearing, in such a wonderfully familiar way, that Shouta found himself feeling oddly lonely whenever he found himself in an empty apartment. Even with the cats, there was just some part of Shouta that could never forget that Hizashi wasn’t there.

So he’d started to stay late at UA.

It was actually a rather pleasant arrangement. He had a chance to get caught up on work without any loud blondes distracting him, and none of the other teachers were ever behind enough on a Tuesday to stay late with him and get on his nerves.

It was a nice enough environment, and he had started to enjoy the new routine.

Today, however, he headed home as soon as his last class let out for the day.

Shouta also tended to do the vast majority of his work out in the living room. Hizashi did, too. The apartment was their own, and it rarely made sense to have an entire room dedicated to work when they could just do it wherever the fuck they wanted. 

More than that, though, Hizashi liked working in the light. He liked working with music playing or a show running. And he liked working near the kitchen to help avoid getting so sucked into a project that he forgot to eat or drink all day. Shouta, regardless of his complaining, just liked being near Hizashi. He was a sap. He could admit it.

Today, however, he went straight into the office, hardly even pausing to throw his keys on the hook and his shoes in the genkan.

Today, Shouta was in a hurry. And today, Shouta needed privacy.

It might have been a bit silly. There was really no guarantee that this would reveal anything to him. And even less of a guarantee that it would be anything he needed to keep private.

But he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Shouta clicked the lock to the room and stood there for a moment, staring at the envelope on his desk.

A background check. 

He’d ordered it a week or two ago on the first Thursday Hitoshi had spent with them. By all means, it was not a long wait for a background check, but he’d only become more and more impatient over time.

Without any real hesitation or delicacy, Shouta sat down and ripped the envelope open.

The first page just introduced the company and gave a run-down of what kind of information they searched for, how they got it, the disclaimer that their company was only for professional use, etc, etc. All things that Shouta had known before deciding to use their service. He barely skimmed through it before moving on to the second page.

With Shiro Ntsika printed neatly on top, the report began.

~

Shouta sighed, reading through the papers for, maybe, the fourth time that evening. 

Shiro was clean. Not even clean in the suspicious ‘this is boring to read about’ way; not the ‘this can’t possibly be a real person’ way. 

No, Shiro Ntsika was clean in the ‘this is a genuinely good person’ kind of way.

At 32, she was barely older than Shouta. Born on January 7th in Kakegawa. She’d moved to Musutafu nearly a decade ago which, if his estimates about Shinsou’s time in the system were correct, was about a year before he’d been assigned to her.

Her mom had immigrated from Bindura, a town in northwestern Zimbabwe, about 15 years before she had been born, but Shiro had never even lived outside of the Shizuoka prefecture. 

She’d gone to a reputable college, had never been fired or “let go,” and, from what Shouta could tell, was genuinely passionate about her work.

She donated an impressive amount of her monthly earnings to a few mutual aid funds and one or two quirk discrimination focused non-profits.

She even volunteered with her wife at a soup kitchen near their apartment each week. 

She was as good on paper as she had seemed in person. 

By all means, it was good news. Shouta was glad the kid had been able to have some positive influence in his life. 

But it just begged the question: why had Hitoshi been placed with the Iwasakis in the first place?

Shiro was a good person. She, seemingly, understood quirk discrimination and the special considerations that would need to be taken into account before placing Shinsou anywhere. She was kind and determined and good at her job.

So why had Hitoshi ever been in that situation; or others like it? How had things gotten this bad?

In the beginning, Shouta had, frankly, just chalked it up to simple incompetence. 

He’d read Shinsou’s school file. He’d known that it would probably be hard to find a good family for him in the disgusting, prejudiced world they lived in. And he’d assumed that Shiro just wasn’t informed enough on these issues to know what to look for.

But that’s the thing. Shiro wasn’t incompetent. Not by a long shot. She got promotions and raises and shining recommendations from supervisors. She always checked in on the kids assigned to her and, from what a few pieces of paper could tell him, seemed to genuinely care about them.

So how did this happen? How did things ever get this bad?

Something just wasn’t adding up.

Something that had to do with why Shiro had requested a second copy of their fostering paperwork.

Something that Shouta was starting to think was a bit bigger than just Shiro or just him. Or even just Hitoshi.

Because Shiro was kind. And competent. And she wasn’t afraid to move Hitoshi as soon as she knew things were bad. 

There had to be some third factor he was forgetting. Some reason why a kind and skilled person still wouldn’t be able to find a good home for Hitoshi. 

He just didn’t know what.

It was infuriating.

But Shouta had never been one to give up. And he wasn’t about to start now.

~~~~

Shouta had no idea how it could take someone an entire twenty minutes to decide on music for the night, but Hizashi always managed to surprise him. He was drying off the last dish by the time Hizashi finally set down his chosen record on the player.

Shouta set the plate down as an achingly familiar song started to filter through the room. He rolled his eyes fondly, a small smile making its way onto his lips.

He turned around in time to see his husband bouncing his way back into the kitchen, a goofy grin taking over his face.

God, Shouta loved him.

Hizashi finally reached him, extending a hand in invitation.

Shouta lost the fight to keep a smirk down as he lowered his eyebrows in faux confusion.

“May I have this dance?” Hizashi asked softly, undeterred. And, god, he was using that same soft, gentle voice he always did when he was trying to be ‘romantic.’

Shouta refused to admit that he liked it.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said instead.

While also taking Hizashi’s hand, of course.

Hizashi stepped closer, wrapping his free arm around Shouta’s waist.

“You love it,” he teased, dancing them towards the living room.

Shouta rolled his eyes, again, but he didn’t deny the accusation.

He let Hizashi guide him around the room for the remainder of the song but cut him off with a quick kiss before the next one could start.

“I have work to do.”

Hizashi pouted but didn’t object when Shouta started walking back to the couch. He just followed after, flopping dramatically onto the couch behind him and draping his arms over Shouta’s shoulders (annoying). 

Shouta snagged the top paper from the pile of homework that he’d been grading earlier and settled more comfortably into the couch. 

Hizashi, ever the distraction, started to sing along with the music playing, voice soft in rough in a way that Shouta was not going to think about because he had goddamn work to do.

For someone who loved the silence as much as Shouta did, Hizashi’s singing had never actually bothered him.

One might even go so far as to say he loved it.

They’d be insane, of course, but they’d say it nonetheless.

The two stayed like that, in comfortable companionship, long enough for Shouta to work through about half of his remaining work. All things come to an end, though, good or bad. And soon enough, Hizashi’s singing filtered off into silence.

Shouta raised his eyebrows, finishing the paper he had been working on before sitting back against his husband. 

Hizashi shutting up only ever meant a handful of things, and all of them meant that Shouta would not be getting any more work done that night.

Soft music filled the room until Hizashi finally spoke up.

“So. The precinct.”

Shouta took a deep breath in. This conversation had been a long time coming. 

“The precinct,” he repeated, an invitation for Hizashi to ask what was on his mind.

“What happened, exactly?”

Shouta sighed. “It was… bad.”

“How so?”

Shouta took his time answering, trying to figure out the right way to phrase it. “The Iwasakis were about what we’d assumed,” he explained, “and that was the less concerning part.”

He felt Hizashi stiffen behind him, “It was?”

Shouta leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “He didn’t think it was abuse, Hizashi.”

“...He didn’t?”

“He called it discipline,” Shouta recounted, “Tried to defend it. He… fuck, Hizashi. When they asked how often the Iwasakis hurt him he said ‘Not as much as other families have.’”

Hizashi inhaled sharply behind him.

“I just… I don’t know what to do with that,” Shouta continued, “I talked to him about it, a little, but I don’t know if I got through to him.”

The last song on the record came to a stop as he was speaking, leaving the two in a heavy silence.

Hizashi’s voice was quiet and unsure when he finally spoke again. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing here?”

Shouta didn’t answer right away, giving himself time to really consider it.

“I don’t know,” he decided, “But… I don’t think we’re doing the wrong thing, either.”

“Yeah?”

Shouta nodded, trying to figure out how to explain it.

He got the feeling that Hizashi was on the same page already, but this was important to talk about nonetheless.

Hizashi’s mothers would kill the both of them if they found out Shouta and Hizashi had fostered a kid without really discussing it beforehand.

“He doesn’t have any other options, Zashi,” Shouta said, “And I know that’s not a good reason, but…”

“But we care about him,” Hizashi finished.

Shouta nodded. “We aren’t perfect, far from it. But he needs to be safe; to be loved and taken care of, for once. And we can do that.”

Hizashi made a noise of agreement and the two sat there for a moment longer, thinking in the silence.

Eventually, Hizashi stood up to flip the disc and start the record player up again. 

Shouta grabbed the next paper off of his pile but was quickly interrupted by the sound of the front door opening up again. He shared a look with Hizashi before setting his pen down again.

He was still trying to figure out just the right balance between “willing to engage” and “not expecting engagement” when Shinsou stepped into the genkan.

“Heya, listener,” Hizashi called out, “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” Hitoshi brushed off, a distracted look in his eyes.

“You sure?”

Hitoshi nodded, his gaze slowly falling onto Shouta. After a moment, he took a deep breath and seemed to ready himself for something.

Shouta tilted his head curiously, trying to make himself seem open but not demanding.

With determined steps, Hitoshi made his way forward, stopping on the other side of the coffee table from him. He spoke firmly and quickly. “I have a question.”

Shouta tried not to let the surprise show on his face as he nodded. “What is it?”

Hitoshi, it seemed, was quickly losing his nerve as he sat down across from Shouta. He eyed the distance between them in a way that made Shouta wish he’d been able to hit Iwasaki more than the one time.

“How…” Hitoshi started, watching Shouta closely, “How did you learn to use your capture weapon?”

Shouta wasn’t really sure what he’d expected, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t it.

Still, he answered without hesitation, “I taught myself.”

Hitoshi nodded tentatively, still watching him. Shouta wondered if Hitoshi might’ve asked more for the sake of asking anything than out of a real need for an answer. Testing the limits.

“Took him six years,” Hizashi chimed in as he took a seat between the two of them. “I have got to show you the pictures sometime. He was awful at it when he was your age.”

Shouta hummed in begrudging agreement, “You’re already much better than I was at this point. I’m certain it won’t take you nearly as long.”

It was hard to tell if Hitoshi was flattered or uncomfortable from the slight widening of his eyes. “I… I am?” He asked.

Shouta nodded, figuring it was unnecessary to point out that he actually had a teacher for it.

“Oh.”

Hitoshi looked down at the table like he wasn’t really sure what else to add, but something in his posture seemed just a little bit lighter. More comfortable.

Maybe he was just reading into things, but the fact that Shinsou was still out here rather than escaping away to his room had to mean something.

Shouta shared another look with Hizashi. They weren’t perfect. Both of them knew that.

But, Shouta thought, they were enough. They would be enough

“You wanna watch something, kiddo?” Hizashi asked, “I think the next episode of that documentary is about Nemuri.”

Chapter Text

Hitoshi took a deep breath and slowly, reluctantly, sat up in bed. 

Sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

He’d figured that out a while ago. Should have figured it out sooner. Should have expected it from the start, honestly.

The memories were still just so pressing. Overwhelming. Omnipresent and torturous. 

Memories of when he was a kid and feeling so… alone. Memories of foster homes and muzzles. Of playing the fucking “silent game” all the time. Of always being treated like the villain and of wondering, in lonely silences and dark rooms, if they were right.

Sometimes he still wondered. 

It just made sense, you know? It just made sense that everyone else was right, that they treated him like that for a reason. It just made sense that the problem was Hitoshi and not the entire fucking world. 

Or, at least, he'd thought it did. 

Hitoshi took another deep breath in, trying to center himself.

He was just so tired of all of this. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. God, he just wished that he had someone to talk this out with.

Maybe… 

Hitoshi looked at the door, considering.

Maybe he would…

He shook his head. It was a stupid idea. He’d figure something else out. Some way to get through this alone. 

Like water.

Hitoshi wanted water.

And he definitely didn’t just want an excuse to go out to the kitchen.

He definitely didn’t want anyone to be out there again. Because it was, like, nice and whatever last time, but that had been a one time thing. 

Aizawa obviously didn’t want to spend his nights staying up late with Hitoshi of all people. And sure, maybe he was willing to, but it was really in Hitoshi’s best interest not to bother him. Especially not with stupid things like this.

Besides, Aizawa had already done more than enough for Hitoshi. It would be greedy to ask for more.

Or maybe not greedy. More like needy. It would make him seem too pitiable. Too vulnerable. Too dependent on something they all knew was temporary. 

It wasn’t like being around other people even really helped him, anyways. It generally made things worse.

And nevermind the fact that Aizawa-sensei wasn’t like that. And nevermind the fact that being around him had helped after that nightmare when he’d first come here…

Hitoshi had never needed comfort before. And he still didn’t. He didn’t even want it. 

Just water.

Because he was thirsty.

And going to get water would distract him.

With tense steps, Hitoshi slowly made his way to the door. It locked from the inside (a feature that he’d never even consider using), but he still held his breath as he reached for the knob. Was still relieved when it turned.

He kind of hated that relief.

Hitoshi crept the door open and poked his head out. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, but he looked all the same. He waited until he couldn’t hear the blood rushing in his ears anymore — until he knew the way was clear, before finally stepping out of the room. Silent as ever, Hitoshi started to creep down the hallway.

This was all ridiculous. He hadn’t gotten in trouble last time. And neither Aizawa nor Yamada had ever been angry at him for not being able to sleep, or for spending too much time outside of the room. In fact, they almost seemed disappointed that he was giving them so much space.

So, really, he had no reason to be this tense.

No reason other than years and years of history. No reason other than so sincerely and genuinely and frustratingly not understanding why this house was different. No reason other than the simple knowledge that nothing was permanent and that it never would be.

Hitoshi paused before the last corner. The one that would reveal the kitchen. He strained his ears trying to listen, every muscle in his body tense.

A second passed. And then two. He was… he was pretty sure, if he listened very intently, that he could hear faint noises coming from the other room. A tap or two here and there.

He couldn’t figure out if he was relieved or even more tense. 

Eventually he decided on neither. Because Hitoshi actually didn’t care if there was anyone else in there. He was just going to get his water and leave.

And sure, if he was, like, invited to sit down for a minute, then he probably would. But it would be rude not to, is all. It wasn’t like he wanted anyone to be in there. If anything, he wanted it to be empty, so he could stop feeling so tense about all of this.

With a deep breath in, Hitoshi stepped around the corner into an empty kitchen. He looked around, a confused (and only confused) frown making its way onto his face. He heard another tap and whipped his head around only to be met with nothing more than a leaky faucet.

Well.

That was fine. 

Good, actually. This way Hitoshi knew he wouldn’t have to answer any questions. No one would be intruding on his thoughts. 

No one would be sitting there, just. Existing with him. Maybe… maybe helping him feel a little less alone right now.

But Hitoshi hadn’t wanted that anyway, so it was fine.

With out a small sigh, Hitoshi started sneaking his way through the kitchen. He stopped in front of the cabinets, lightly chewing on his lip. He still wasn’t quite sure where everything was.

Hesitantly, Hitoshi reached out for the cabinet he thought had the cups in it, but a noise from the hallway stopped him.

His head snapped around and he yanked his hand back to his chest. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to calm the stupid beating of his heart, to just be fucking normal for once as he watched a figure step around the corner. 

Aizawa’s eyes met his own, the teacher’s surprise barely visible in the dim lighting.

Hitoshi braced himself for… something — some cutting comment? A punishment? Or maybe it was the opposite, like the answer to all of his crowding, unavoidable questions.

None of that happened. Aizawa just broke his gaze and started walking forward again. 

Hitoshi tensed as he got closer, but Aizawa stopped a few feet away at the kitchen table. He set something down on it and then… bent over?

Hitoshi watched, frozen in place, until Aizawa stood back up and flicked on the dim lamp he must have plugged in.

They stared at each other for a few more seconds.

Aizawa eventually walked forwards, coming just close enough to Hitoshi that he could open a cabinet door and pull out a bag of coffee grounds.

“Bad night?” He asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Hitoshi shrugged. He watched Aizawa’s eyes flick to the coffee maker behind him and stepped back nervously, trying to flatten himself against the counter before… fuck, he didn’t know? Before Aizawa shoved him out of the way or something else crazy? 

He knew Aizawa wasn’t like that. He’d known for months. So why was he still acting like this? Why was he still so scared?

God. Just- fuck.  

Unsurprisingly, Aizawa didn’t push him or yell at him or do anything else completely out of character. He didn’t even politely ask Hitoshi to move or try to squeeze past him. He just hummed in acknowledgement and then walked around the table to get to the coffee maker.

Not like Hitoshi was an inconvenience or in the way or any of that. Just like he fucking knew what unrealistic, irrational scenarios Hitoshi had spun up in his mind and like it was more important to make him comfortable than it was for Aizawa to get around his own goddamn apartment with ease.

Hitoshi didn’t get it.

He still didn’t get it.

It’d been fucking weeks and he was no closer to understanding what the fucking difference was here. 

Was it him? Had he changed? Were all those stupid, idiotic strategies and rules and fucking bullshit he came up finally working?

Why did the idea of that make him feel worse?

Hitoshi watched silently as Aizawa poured water into the machine, struggling to shove the bubbling thoughts back down. Struggling to understand the deep unease suddenly building in his gut.

“Need help with anything?” Aizawa asked, still fidgeting with the coffee maker.

Hitoshi was halfway through shaking his head before he remembered the whole reason he’d come out here in the first place. He cleared his throat nervously. “Just, uh…”

Hitoshi paused, wincing at the strained tone of his voice. “Just some water, I think.”

“...Please.”

Aizawa nodded with astounding ease as he pressed a final button on the machine. He turned around, opening a cabinet to reveal the cups — right where Hitoshi had been about to look.

Hitoshi waited for him to move out of the way, but froze when Aizawa pulled out a cup for himself and then… closed the cabinet door? 

Was this some sort of power play? But that didn’t make any sense. It was- It was so off brand.

A moment later, before Hitoshi could even get over his confusion, Aizawa was back, holding out a full glass of water to him. Ice and everything.

And the worst part- the fucking worst part was how goddamn nonchalant he seemed about the whole thing. How casually he held out the cup for him. Like he’d just done a completely normal thing, like it wasn’t strange at all for him to just… do things for Hitoshi and for Hitoshi to do nothing in return.

A warm feeling bubbled up in his throat at the same time as a frustrated scream.

Hitoshi swallowed both down and accepted the water.

“...Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Hitoshi sipped his water as the smell of coffee started to permeate through the air. 

After a minute or two, Aizawa opened another cabinet, grabbing a coffee mug. 

“Want any?”

Hitoshi barely thought about it before nodding. He wondered if this was the beginning of an addiction or if he actually thought the coffee would help any. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to say no.

Aizawa poured two mugs of coffee and carried them to the table.

Hitoshi followed after, sitting in the same seat he had last time. 

Bringing his face closer to the mug, Hitoshi took a deep breath. He savored the warm, rich scent, letting it wrap around him like a familiar blanket; letting it whisk away just a bit of the weight on his shoulder. It didn’t hurt that Aizawa made the absolute best coffee Hitoshi had ever tasted in his goddamn life.

He wondered if it was expensive.

Hitoshi looked down into the mug, as if he could tell just from looking at it. He really hoped it wasn’t expensive. He didn’t want to be taking too much from them. Which was already a lost fucking cause, but he didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t know how else to be. So he kept trying to be less of a fucked up, worthless burden and he kept feeling like shit whenever he failed.

Maybe he really just was that greedy. After all, the only thing he ever did here was take and take and take. Time and food and space and the expensive goddamn coffee and no wonder everyone thought he was a fucking villai-

Aizawa cleared his throat softly and Hitoshi’s eyes darted up towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice still gravelly and tired, “we weren’t able to get an appointment at the sleep clinic until September.”

Hitoshi’s breath hitched. September. Over a month away. Almost two, actually.

“...September,” he repeated numbly, confused gaze still fixed on Aizawa.

“They had a long waitlist,” he explained, which really answered none of the questions floating around in Hitoshi’s head. “We can talk to Recovery Girl about trying different sleep meds if you don’t think the ones she prescribed before will be enough until then.”

Hitoshi stared at the teacher for longer than could have possibly been normal.

They thought he would still be there in September???

“...What?” he breathed out, swallowing back the apologies building on his tongue once he realized what he’d said.

“The sleeping medication Recovery Girl prescribed you when we visited before,” Aizawa tried to clarify, “How has it been working for you?”

Hitoshi thought of the untouched bottle of pills sitting on a dresser in a room he was just staying in.

September.

“I- uh,” Hitoshi stumbled over his words, “No, I just. I don’t know how I’d get there.”

Aizawa gave him a strange look.

“In September,” Hitoshi tacked on helpfully.

Aizawa set down his coffee, still looking at Hitoshi like he’d said something odd. “Hizashi or I will drive you.”

He said it like it was obvious. Like it was a given that they would do that for him.

Like it would be odd for them to not still be in his life, still helping him out.

In September.

Hitoshi wasn’t quite sure what to say.

He looked away from the Aizawa, setting his own mug on the table. “I won’t be able to pay for it.”

Aizawa was silent for a moment. Hitoshi could feel eyes on him. Could feel them dissecting him.

Eventually he picked his mug up again. “Of course we’ll be able to.”

‘We,’ Hitoshi’s mind echoed.

“Hizashi and I have five jobs between the two of us. A doctor’s appointment is nothing to be worried about.”

Hitoshi opened his mouth to clarify, to explain that he didn’t have money, not that they didn’t. But he stopped when he saw the look on Aizawa’s face.

He knew. He knew exactly what Hitoshi had meant.

“...You don’t have to do that.”

Aizawa took a sip of his drink. “I don’t do things if I don’t want to.”

Hitoshi nodded, picking his own drink back up. He smelled it again, something warm and hopeful and terrifying brewing in his gut. He didn’t know what any of this meant.  

Why were they so goddamn nice to him all the time?

No, not why. How? How were they so nice to him? How did they make it seem so easy? So… so obvious. ‘Oh, of course we’re nice to you, Hitoshi’ and ‘I don’t need a reason to be nice to you,’ and- and- FUCK.

Had he changed? 

Had he fixed it? 

Whatever goddamn thing was wrong with him? 

He just- He hadn’t, though. 

He felt exactly the same. 

He still felt exactly as scared and greedy and worthless and villainous as he always had. As he always had.

What was different, then, if it wasn’t him?

“Shinsou?”

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t just be Aizawa and Yamada. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Because that would mean that it was always possible for him to have this. That it was always possible for people to be kind to him. To- To not fucking- just. FUCK.

Always possible. It was always possible. Always- alwaysalwaysalwa-

Hitoshi tightened his hold on the mug, his hand starting to shake slightly. Not that he would have noticed if he hadn’t been staring right fucking into it.

“Shinsou?”

Why? Why?! Why did they do it? Why did- Why would they- Just. Everyone. Everyone always hurt him and- and there was no reason. They just chose to.

That couldn’t be true. He didn’t want that to be true. There was something he could have done, something he could have changed. There had to be. 

There had to be. 

There- fucking- therehadtobethere had tobe-

Hitoshi’s jaw started to tense and he suddenly noticed that his lungs were so tight. So so tight and he couldn’t breathe and he wasn’t sure why becausehedidn’tknowwhyanythinghappened- he neverknewandhedidn’tunderstandand-

“Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi’s hand unclenched, the mug tumbling out of it and smashing against the floor. He finally gasped in a breath of air at the sound, finally taking in a shaky breath.

He set his elbows down on the table, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, you’re okay,” a gentle voice said off to his right. “You’re okay, it’s safe. Just breathe, kid, it’s alright.”

Hitoshi was stuck between nodding and shaking his head because he was trying to breathe but he couldn’t and it fucking wasn’t alright. And he honestly wasn’t sure if it had ever been alright. That was the whole goddamn problem.

If he hadn’t deserved it, if he hadn’t caused it, then how the fuck was he supposed to avoid it? If he just knew why if fucking happened then he could stop it. He could change something about himself or avoid a certain action or- or- something. Anything.

He could have just kept doing the same shit he’d always been doing and that would be fine. Because Hitoshi had no idea how to change anything, had no idea how to be safe or loveable or fucking any of that. But at least he’d always known there was some answer out there. That there was some core thing that made him so… so him and as soon as he figured that out then he could stop and his life would be fine.

And then he didn’t figure it out.

And things got better anyway.

And what if there wasn’t a thing?

As much as Hitoshi hated feeling so unloveable, as much as he hated being villainous and creepy and whatever other shitty adjectives you could add to that, the idea that he wasn’t any of it was so much worse.

Because- Because then it was out of his control. It was always out of his control and it always would be.

That was fucking terrifying.

How was he ever supposed to feel safe or secure or- or anything?

If it just came and went so unpredictably? If there was no way for Hitoshi to make things be okay? 

How was he ever supposed to be sure that they really were alright if he couldn’t make sure they stayed that way?

“No.” Hitoshi choked out, “No. No, it’s not okay.”

Shaky and deep, he took in another breath. “Nothing’s okay.” 

“Everything’s broken and I don’t know how to fix it.” Hitoshi felt an unbearably strong urge to pull his legs up and curl around them, but he couldn’t even feel his legs anymore and Aizawa was still there and- 

And he settled for hunching over more. Curling in on himself. Trying to fill the pain breaking out in his chest.

“I- I’m broken. And I don’t think I can ever fix that.”

Aizawa took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

Hitoshi felt his shoulders hitch.

“Not,” Aizawa was quick to add, “about being broken. You are not broken. But about it not being okay. It isn’t okay. And I doubt things have been okay for you for a very long time.” 

Hitoshi… Hitoshi didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t- He didn’t want to be right. About any of it.  

But it was also kind of nice to hear someone say he was? Just, fuck, to feel like there was a reason he was like this?

“But, Hitoshi,” Aizawa added. He paused for a moment, though, not continuing. Hitoshi pressed his palms harder into his eyes for one second. And then two. And one more before he finally pulled them away and turned his head just enough to peek at the teacher out of the corner of his eye.

Aizawa caught his gaze and held it. “Things will get better. And you do not have to fix them alone. Let me help you. Let us help you.”

Hitoshi paused. And he didn’t breathe. And he couldn’t breathe. Because- because what the fuck was that?

He turned his head back, pressing his palms into his eyes even harder than before. Trying to get rid of some of the tension. Any of the tension. 

This was worse.

This was so much worse and he didn’t know why.  

Because wasn’t this what he’d been asking for? His whole life… Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?

And. And it was. And he knew that. And there was a part of him that warmed and tingled and felt better at those words, but the rest of him was terrified.

What if it didn’t work?

What if he got everything he’d thought he needed to be happy and he still wasn’t?

Or worse. What if it did work and- and-

Fuck.

What if it did work and then…

And then he left?

What then?

Hitoshi could feel his lungs empty, could feel the struggle to take in breath. He couldn’t talk. He could never talk.

But he still, somehow, forced out a strangled, “No.”

“Don- Don’t say that. Don’t say that.”

And for the first time in his entire fucking life, talking must have helped. Because Hitoshi finally managed to take in another breath.

“You can’t- you can’t just say that to me!”

Hitoshi’s breath hitched as his voice raised but he didn’t feel in control anymore. He wasn’t in control anymore. He couldn’t- he couldn’t stop. The words just kept tumbling out.

“You can’t just say that it’ll get better! You can’t just do things for me. Or, or say you’ll help me or be- fuck, be here like this!”

Hitoshi forced a few more shaky breaths in. And then out. And in. And out. Just focusing on the sensation. On the repetitive motion. In and out.

He didn’t think about the fact that he’d just yelled at an adult. Or at a teacher or a hero. He didn’t. He just focused on breathing. In and out. In and out inandout inandoutinandoutina-

Hitoshi didn’t know how long it took to get a reply, but it felt like years. 

Was probably just a few seconds. 

Got hard to tell time when all he could think of was ‘in and out.’

Eventually, though, Aizawa took advantage of the silence and responded. His voice was calm and caring and genuine and everything it wasn’t supposed to be.

“Why not?”

“Why not?”  

“Why can’t I be here for you, Hitoshi?” Aizawa asked. “Why can’t things get better?”

“Be- Because-” Hitoshi sputtered, “I don’t-”

He stopped. I don’t what?

I don’t deserve it.

I don’t want to lose it.

He backtracked. “You just. You shouldn’t!” He said instead of the answers ringing through his mind.

You shouldn’t waste your time on me.

“I- I don’t understand why you want to.”

Hitoshi worried, from the silence following, that maybe Aizawa knew what he’d been about to say.

That maybe he’d heard it all, despite it being left unsaid.

As time ticked on, he wondered if maybe he agreed. Or- Or if he thought Hitoshi meant that he didn’t want him to be there. That he was asking for him to leave.

And he knew how it would seem like that but he didn’t. He really, really didn’t and please don’t leave m-

“Can I touch you?” Aizawa asked eventually.

“What? I- Fuck. Yes. No. I- I don’t know,” Hitoshi answered, the words flooding out of him before he could even think about them. “I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t understand, I- fuck. Fuck.”

Hitoshi snapped his mouth shut, feeling his shoulders creeping up until they were held tensely up next to his ears.

No contact came and he didn’t- he didn’t want that. He just wanted to feel better. He just wanted to stop feeling so awful all the time and he didn’t know how.  

And the more time that passed, the more seconds that ticked by, the glaring absence of contact grew stronger and he’d never needed comfort before, especially not like this and now- and now he didn’t think he could go another minute without it.

“Okay,” Aizawa said calmly, “You don’t have to know. Just focus on brea-”

“Yes,” Hitoshi interrupted with a strangled voice, “Yes. It’s fine. Yes. I- I just-” Hitoshi cut himself off before he could choke out a pathetic ‘Please.’ Before he could reveal how needy and childish he was. Before he could start rambling about how much he needed this.  

Aizawa was silent for a moment.

And then a moment more and another and- fuck. He should have just said no. This was stupid and he would know. Aizawa would know how pathetic and vulnerable Hitoshi was and what the fuck had he even been-

A hand touched down on Hitoshi’s shoulder and he couldn’t even think before he stiffened with halted breath. The hand started to move away and Hitoshi barely managed to swallow down the pathetic whine building up at the loss of contact. He forced himself to take a deep, painful breath in. 

He shook his head. Nodded, too. And leaned into the hand and please don’t take this away from me.

Please let the contact stay.

Hitoshi forced himself to keep breathing as he waited. In and out. He just- he just needed to breathe in and then out. He could do that.

Eventually, Aizawa must have made a decision because the grip became sturdier and- and steady and grounding and warm.

And then it became so much more, because Aizawa had leaned closer and gently, so gently that Hitoshi didn’t even startle- that Hitoshi didn’t startle, he wrapped another arm around him.

And before he even realized it, Hitoshi was surrounded by a strong and tender and- and almost loving hug.

He nearly cried.

Or… Or maybe not nearly, he realized, feeling an unfamiliar trickle running down his cheek.

And, fuck, Aizawa already knew. He already knew how miserable and broken (or, or shattered, instead?) Hitoshi was. And Hitoshi was way too tired for this.

So he turned into the hug and sobbed.

And Aizawa held him.

Through all of it.

A hand wound up to his head and it didn’t grab his hair or pull, it just rested there.

And the other arm around him tightened and it didn’t crush or hurt, it just felt safe.

And- And maybe things might be okay after all. 

Someday.

Hitoshi cried until he couldn’t cry anymore and even then Aizawa held him. Even when he sniffled like a child (like a gross child). And even when Hitoshi’s voice broke through again, tiny and pinched and barely audible.

“I don’t understand.”

For the first time since coming here, he thought that maybe he actually did. But he kind of just needed to hear it anyway.

Aizawa didn’t respond immediately and Hitoshi figured it was purely exhaustion that stopped him from leaping into another panicked spiral. 

“Hitoshi,” he said eventually, his grip on tightening. Not in a way that was painful — not by a long shot. But in a way that was insistent and serious and real.

Hitoshi sniffed again, ducking his head to rest heavier against Aizawa.

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa said again, no less serious and genuine than the first time, “You are easy to love.”

Hitoshi barely registered it when his jaw started to tremble, barely felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes again. And he’d thought he was done crying, but he couldn’t even think about that now because he was just trying to process what the fuck Aizawa had said to him.

“You are easy to love. It’s not work, it’s not just possible, it’s easy.” Aizawa continued as Hitoshi scrambled to keep up. “So easy that I didn’t even realize it was happening in the beginning.” 

“Your fosters? And the ones before them? Everyone who has failed you? The deficit was in them.”

“You are easy to love,” he said for the third time.

Hitoshi wasn’t sure he could bear it, but he still loosened his grip. And he started to pull away because there was no way this was real. Maybe he had fallen asleep. Or maybe he was so tired that he’d started hallucinating or something because…

Because Hitoshi falling apart? That he could believe. He’d been close for days. But this? This was something else entirely.

And so when Aizawa’s grip eased and his arms moved to rest on Hitoshi’s shoulders instead, the boy stared into his eyes. Searching, scrambling for anything. For any hint of insincerity, any trace of deceit. Anything that would save him from having to feel the entirety of that statement.

And he didn’t find any of it.

He found hands holding onto him, grounding him here, and eyes that reflected the emotion that had just been expressed. 

(And he couldn’t say love. Even if that was what it had to be. Because love was such an unfamiliar concept. And Hitoshi couldn’t possibly identify it. He couldn’t possibly believe in it. 

But that was the only emotion there. Genuinely and overwhelmingly.)

Hitoshi couldn’t discount it. 

And he wanted it to be true. So badly he wanted it to be true.

But he didn’t know how to believe it.

“Why- why, then?” He demanded, “Why? W-Why did all of them…” his voice cracked as he spoke. He tried to blink the tears away, but only succeeded in making them fall. Even after the crying he’d already done, the tears were thick and wet and carried years of grief.

Hitoshi took a deep breath in. He finally looked away, trying to shove the well of emotion back down. 

Because he’d already given up too much vulnerability. Shown too much weakness. And he couldn’t let go of one more thing.

Couldn’t let anyone know that Hitoshi was unlovable.

And so his voice was colder when he spoke again, more detached. And he wasn’t sure if it fooled anyone, but he at least felt less small when he said it. More empty, instead.

“It’s just statistics,” he argued. “Mathematically proven. I… I’m not.”

Aizawa sighed, deep and tired. But it didn’t really feel like he was tired of Hitoshi, so maybe it was okay.

He shifted slightly and Hitoshi thought about that while he waited for a response instead of really focusing on the moment.

He didn’t think he had the energy to feel this anymore.

“That’s not really how statistics work,” Aizawa replied. And Hitoshi liked this response because it was easy to keep not feeling.  

“The people you get on that side of the system,” Aizawa continued, “Well. They’re hardly a representative sample.”

Aizawa shook his head slightly and cleared his throat, “But that’s beside the point. Kid… Hizashi and I, Nemuri… we love you. And we aren’t the only people. I promise. Hell, Tensei already loves you and he hasn’t even met you yet.”

Hitoshi didn’t like that answer quite so much.

But he didn’t hate it either.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought that maybe he did like that answer. Maybe… Maybe he could just know that Aizawa was telling the truth. And Hitoshi didn’t have to feel like it was true. He could still feel as broken and undeserving and unlovable as he always did. But maybe part of him would know that it was anyways.

And maybe that would be enough.

Hitoshi wiped his eyes again before smiling weakly at him. “Hell?”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than anything. “That’s your takeaway from this?”

Hitoshi shrugged before turning to look back at the floor. He shook his head softly. “No.”

“I…” he swallowed thickly, letting the words linger in his head. The idea that he was… loved. What a strong word. It almost didn’t even feel real, honestly. 

There was just something too surreal, too detached about the idea. 

But he’d never known Aizawa to lie.

So he didn’t say anything at all.

Carefully, arms wrapped him up again and for a time, Hitoshi just allowed himself to be held. 

It was good. And probably more calming than it had to be.

And eventually it had to end, so Hitoshi sniffled one more time and whispered a soft “Thank you.”

Aizawa shook his head dismissively. “Thank you for talking to me, kid.”

“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi added. “For making you deal with this.”

“Don’t be.” Aizawa replied, voice softening, “You’re not making me do anything.”

A warm feeling ran down his spine, forcing Hitoshi to shudder. He’d spent a lifetime being accused of taking away people’s autonomy; of using his quirk and forcing them to do all kinds of things that he would have never even wanted. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined someone would say something like that to him.

It wasn’t perfect. He still had so much to reexamine, so many questions that still hadn’t been answered. But it felt so much less pressing and painful than it had before. And Hitoshi thought that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

He yawned blearily, shuffling deeper into the arms that had not quite let him go.

“You want to stay up or head back to bed?” Aizawa asked softly.

Hitoshi shrugged. “ ‘m kinda tired.”

Aizawa nodded. And without saying anything, he shifted his embrace just enough so that when he stood, he lifted Hitoshi up with him.

Hitoshi considered objecting. He was way too old to be carried to bed and had absolutely no doubt that he’d be embarrassed about it in the morning. But he was also just so goddamn tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep and breakdown/panic attack/whatever had taken pretty much all he’d had left.

Deciding not to overthink it too much, Hitoshi just leaned further into the embrace and let himself be carried.

He was already drifting away when he was finally set down. When he felt blankets lift up and drape over him, felt a careful hand run through his hair and wipe the last tears off of his face.

Hitoshi tried to remember the last time he’d been tucked in like this and fell asleep before he could figure out an answer. It wasn’t important either way. He was just glad to have it now.

Chapter Text

~~ Hizashi ~~

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Hizashi promised for the millionth time since they’d left the house.

At this point, he was pretty sure it was more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

“I know,” Shinsou said, giving him a weird look.

That was probably fair. He knew he’d been making this into a bigger deal than it really was – they were just running a few errands, it was nothing to go crazy over.

But… Man. He just wanted the listener to be safe.

Not that he didn’t trust Nemuri. Mostly. He just worried.

“You’ll text Shou or me if you need anything, yeah?” He quadruple-checked, “Anything at all?”

Shinsou was a bit slower with this question. “...Yeah.”

Hizashi sighed, “Alright, kiddo.”

He squeezed Shinsou’s shoulder one more time before straightening up and going to join Nemuri and Shouta at the front door.

“You’ll let us know if anything happens?”

“Shouta, I’ve been teaching for years. I can handle one teenager for a couple of hours.”

Normally Hizashi would interrupt the two and start ushering his husband out the door, but, well, he was worried.

“Nemuri,” Shouta said warningly.

Maybe they should just bring the kid with them? 

But, no, they’d been over that. If they were just signing the paperwork and coming back then they probably would have, but both of them needed to check in with their respective agencies to work out their new patrol schedules, and Nezu had, for some goddamn reason, asked to meet with them, and the kiddo would either be bored out of his mind or just flat-out not allowed throughout it all.

“Fine, fine,” Nemuri responded, making a shooing motion with her hands, “I’ll let you know if anything happens. Now get out of here!”

She opened the door to her apartment, starting to herd Shou and him out of it. “I’m sure you two have lots of 'business' to get up to,” she added with a wink.

“That’s not-”

“Save it for someone who’ll believe you,” Nemuri interrupted, practically pushing him out the door at thus point.

With a groan Hizashi finally walked out of the apartment, almost missing the surprised look Shinsou was giving them.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to ask Te-

The door shut firmly in Hizashi’s face before he even had the chance to finish that thought. 

He sighed, looking over at Shouta, who had an equally doubtful look on his face.

“It’ll be fine,” he said with next to no conviction, “They’ll tell us if anything goes wrong.”

~~ Nemuri ~~

“Save it for someone who’ll believe you,” Nemuri interrupted, smirking. 

To be frank, those two had reached a level of boring where they probably really were just going to sign paperwork and run errands, and Nemuri knew that. 

But she was, in fact, honor bound as their friend to make fun of them anyways. So she did.

And, lucky her, with the way those two had been acting, she was willing to bet she’d have another thing to tease them about soon. 

Cause, man, did they have the ‘worried, overprotective parent’ act down.

Probably because it wasn’t an act.

Which did make it a little more offensive – she took care of kids Shinsou’s age for a living; she could certainly handle one kid for one night. 

But seeing the two idiots she’d spent half her life drinking and doing the stupidest shit imaginable with suddenly up and pretend to be trustworthy, responsible adults was honestly funny enough to excuse it. 

For now. 

She still narrowed her eyes at the look on Hizashi’s face, when he was obviously re-thinking this whole thing, and rushed to shut the door, firmly and without so much as a goodbye.

She’d show them. She was about to be the best fucking babysitter the world had ever seen!

With a quickly growing grin, Nemuri spun around to face Shinsou.

The kid quickly tried to smother the surprised expression on his face, looking at her blankly.

“Ah, shit,” she said, realizing he’d, uh, probably heard them…

“Sorry, kid,” she apologized, “Probably weird for me to talk about them like that, huh?”

She watched Shinsou’s face quickly jump from surprised, again, to contemplative to a disturbed cringe, like he’d only just, now, fully considered the implication in her words. He smoothed his face back out, offering a vague, very Shouta-like shrug in lieu of any real answer.

So probably not that then. 

She wondered what the real issue was, cocking her head and mentally running through the like five minutes the kid had even been there. (Technically anything that happened before the door shut was before she started babysitting, so this Did Not interfere with her being the best, in case anyone was wondering).

But she couldn’t think of anything. Except, maybe… no. Hizashi and Shouta could get a little caught up in their shit sometimes, sure, but they weren’t that stupid.

Actually…

Yeah, they really, definitely were.

“They,” Nemuri checked slowly, “told you that they were together… right?”

Shinsou grimaced in embarrassment, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

‘S-U-S-P-E-'

“Ooh,” Nemuri winced, cutting him off, “I don’t know JSL.”

Which was a lie, of course. Honestly, with how long she’d been friends with Zashi, it’d be more than a little rude if she didn’t at least know how to fingerspell by now.

Shinsou, it seemed, agreed. At least, she assumed he did, what, with the confused look he shot at the door they’d just left through.

But he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t say anything at all, actually, instead just nodding in acknowledgement.

Nemuri narrowed her eyes contemplatively and after a moment, decided she’d just wait. They had time.

Hopefully, the kid had gotten Hizashi’s burning discomfort with a silent room rather than Shouta’s constant craving for one.

(Yes, she knew Shinsou wasn’t biologically their kid. Or, even legally, yet. She also did not care.)

Eventually, the kid looked up at her, confused.

She kept waiting.

“I, uh,” he said cautiously, watching her closely, “...suspected.”

Ah, rightrightrightright, their actual conversation. 

About her two stupid, stupid friends. 

If they hadn’t even told him they were together, she kinda wondered what they had told him.

And, yeah, they were kind of obvious with their… just their whole vibe. But it was still common sense to clarify these things.

“Those two…” she sighed. Honestly, sometimes she swore she and Tensei had the only braincells of their entire group.

Which was saying a lot, cause, well, it was her and Tensei.

Shinsou looked down sheepishly.

“It’s not your fault kid,” she said, “They’re just idiots.”

The kid’s eyebrows raised high enough that she was worried they might pop right off of his head.

“I love them, from the bottom of my heart I do,” she added, “but they are the stupidest smart people that I have ever met. And, trust me, I have met a lot of stupid people. Not to mention the assumptions those two make. I swear…”

And maybe Nemuri should try not to ruin the kid’s opinion of his new guardians, but, well. Where's the fun in that? Also, just, the kid deserved to know he was going to be raised by idiots.

She loved those two, she did, but man were they infuriating sometimes.

“Just, all the time. All the time,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Like Shouta: freakishly observant sometimes, right?” She asked, not really looking for an answer, “And so, so good at guessing physical needs. Like you just glance at a cup and suddenly he knows not only that you want a drink, but also what kind of drink. Honestly, kinda creepy.”

She looked at Shinsou expectantly, ignoring how thrown off he seemed and just taking his nod to run with.

“Right, But this boy!” Nemuri clapped her hands together exasperatedly.

And fondly, of course.

“This boy has the emotional intelligence of a shriveled up sea slug, I swear,” she very kindly informed Shinsou, “He has no idea how emotions work and, honestly, I’m pretty sure he forgets they even matter, like, half the time.”

“Now, Hizashi,” she rolled on, not bothering to give Shinsou a chance to respond, “He’s great at that emotional stuff. He picks up really easily on how people are doing and what they need, like, emotionally.”

“But!” She interjected, “He doesn’t trust what he’s picking up on nearly enough, and he jumps to crazy conclusions that he trusts way too much.”

“Those two have been in love with each other since their second year at UA,” she told the kid, grinning when he perked up with interest.

“Well, second year for Shouta, at least,” she corrected, “He beat Hizashi’s ass during their first-year sports festival and I’m pretty sure Hizashi was just like. Immediately." She snapped for emphasis, "Gone."

"Shouta on the other hand, he, well," she started before realizing that she was getting just a smidge sidetracked.

“That's another story,” she decided, waving her hands in front of her like she was physically pushing the topic to the side, “What’s important here is that despite having mutual feelings for each other since they were sixteen, those two did not start dating until they were nearly twenty.”

“And even then, it took so much work from Tensei and me to make that happen,” Nemuri sighed.

Which was a whole fucking story of its own, honestly. She’d have to make sure she and Tensei told the kid someday. God knows Hizashi and Shouta weren’t going to do it.

Cause they hadn’t even told the kid they were together.

“But, anyways,” Nemuri said, refocusing for, like, the third time, maybe? “Shouta, right?”

Shinsou nodded, looking like he was following the conversation, but wasn’t really sure if he was. Which was kind of the look people usually gave Nemuri when she got into whatever they were talking about, so she just went with it.

“Shouta knows Hizashi’s good with this emotional stuff; he’s always known,” she explained, “And with his emotional intelligence of, like, 3, he didn’t realize it was mutual. So he just assumed Hizashi knew and didn’t like him.”

“Meanwhile, Hizashi could feel all these emotions, right? But he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t know the root of things." She shook her head tiredly. "And so he just assumed that he was, like, projecting or something whenever he hung out with Shouta. For five years.”

“It took those two half a decade to get together,” she summarized once the kid seemed to have, at least a little bit, figured out what was going on, “because both of them made assumptions, jumped to conclusion, and never, in five years, thought that, just maybe, they should double-check with the other.”

She glanced at Shinsou, getting a very ‘I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-this-information’ kind of look. 

“They both have questions about other people,” she finally said, “but instead of asking, they both always just assume that they have the answer. And the real kicker here, right, is that you have questions too, don’t you?”

Shinsou nodded slowly, still looking like he was a fun mix between confused, surprised, and overwhelmed.

“Well, they are also just going to assume that you know the answer,” she said seriously, “So you need to ask. Because they’re never going to take the initiative to tell you.”

The kid grimaced which, based off of the information she'd been able to wheedle out of those two, wasn’t that surprising. She narrowed her eyes contemplatively, trying to decide what to say.

“What’s the holdback?” She asked, eventually.

Shinsou shrugged noncommittally, but Nemuri just sat there, waiting for a real answer.

“I, like,” the kid finally said, clearly reluctant, “I didn’t need to know, though.”

Nemuri hummed contemplatively, “Are you sure?”

Shinsou gave her a weird look, “Uh, yeah?” He answered, not sounding very sure at all.

“I think it depends," she told him, "Why did you want to know?”

Shinsou frowned, taking a moment to think about it.

“I… I don’t know,” he said cautiously, looking at her like she was gonna bite or something, “I... was curious.”

“Were you just curious,” Nemuri questioned, “or would you have felt safer if you’d understood the dynamic in the house?”

Shinsou opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, really looking like he wanted to deny the guess. Eventually, though, he just glared down at the floor.

“...maybe,” he admitted reluctantly.

“So it was your business,” she said definitively, “because it’s important that you feel safe, kid.”

Shinsou didn’t even try to hide the disbelieving look he was giving the floor and Nemuri sighed, deciding to switch tactics.

“Alright, look,” she said, “Even if they don’t want to answer your questions, realistically, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“Not the worst that could happen,” she reminded him, already seeing the kid leaping for worst-case scenarios, “The most likely.”

Shinsou was silent for a long time, looking conflicted.

“I. I don’t know,” he finally decided, seeming more than a little disturbed by that realization.

Which, of course, made sense. How was the kid supposed to feel safe if he didn’t know how people were going to respond to his mistakes? Especially when, with a history like his, Shinsou’s assumptions probably ran everywhere from yelling to abandoning him to whatever the fuck the Iwasakis had done.

“Well, that seems like a good first thing to try asking them,” she suggested, “In general, at least. I can tell you about the questions.”

Shinsou looked up at her curiously.

“It’s real simple,” she told him, “If you ask them a question that they don’t want to answer, they’ll tell you that they don’t feel comfortable answering it and then move on.”

He waited, expectantly, for her to continue.

“That’s it, kiddo,” she clarified, “If the question’s really important to you, you can ask why they don’t want to answer and they may or may not tell you, but that’ll be it. No one’s going to yell at you or get mad at you or any of that.”

Shinsou didn’t really look like he believed that, either, but it at least seemed less determined than when she'd said he deserved to feel safe.

Which was fucking sad.

“Here, let’s practice,” she decided.

“...Practice,” Shinsou repeated skeptically.

“Let’s see,” she said, thinking of a question, "Ask me… Oh! Ask me how long I’ve known Shouta and Hizashi.”

“You… want me to ask you questions,” Shinsou clarified, sounding unnerved.

“Yep!”

“Um.” Shinsou looked at her uncomfortably, “I…”

“I don’t know how long you’ve known each other,” he stated flatly.

“Mhm,” Nemuri responded, watching him expectantly.

Shinsou narrowed his eyes, just a smidgeon too nervous for it to be a glare. He raised his hands, probably to try signing something before he realized she’d said she didn’t know JSL.

It’d been a split-second decision, but she sure was glad she’d made it.

“How, um,” Shinsou finally whispered, sounding pained, “long, then?”

“Fifteen years,” she answered easily, “Ever since my second year at UA.”

Shinsou nodded, not really looking any more comfortable.

“How did that feel?” 

“Uh, fine. I guess.”

“Alright,” Nemuri said, not questioning it, “Now ask me… What I had for breakfast.”

Shinsou grimaced at the request and Nemuri wondered if she was maybe pushing it a little bit.

“What did…” he started, sounding just as pained as last time, “What did you have for, uh, for breakfast?”

“I’d rather not talk about that,” she said simply.

Shinsou nodded quickly, looking down at the floor.

“It’ll get easier with time,” she reassured him, not really sure what to do when the kid’s frown only grew deeper.

“...Okay.”

Nemuri sighed quietly. She kind of wanted to dig deeper into that, but she was also pretty sure that Shinsou had had enough for one day. She didn’t want to overload him.

“Come on,” she decided, walking towards the couch, “Time is limited and I have so many embarrassing pictures to show you.”

~~ Shiro ~~

Shiro Ntsika was tired. She’d been tired ever since this whole thing with the Iwasakis had come to light. Honestly, she’d been tired for a long time before that, too. 

She refreshed her computer again, frustrated but not surprised to see no change. 

No matter how tired she was, of course, she was still glad Shinsou was out of that home.

The poor kid…

She didn’t know why she couldn’t just find good people to foster him.

She had tried. She had connected with other social workers to consider placements in different prefectures, she’d delayed the kid’s placements for months, hoping that something good would pop up, she’d reached out to supervisors, she’d tried anything and everything she could think of. 

But no matter what she’d tried, she could never find anything.  

And she couldn’t just hold onto the kid forever. So she’d always been forced to choose the best family available and hope they were better in person than they were on paper.

But hoping had started to get old. And Ntsika didn’t know what to do.

She was pretty sure Shinsou had picked up on that, too. It was probably why he'd never reached out. Even with all the Iwasakis had done, even with all the times Ntsika had tried reassuring the kid that she didn’t care how small it was, if something was going wrong, she wanted him to call her.

But he had lost his faith in her.

Honestly, she preferred it. Because the only other option was that Shinsou had lost faith in a whole lot more than just her. That he just didn’t believe things could get better.

Ntsika had failed this kid – the world had failed this kid.

But she finally had a chance. Something to fix this whole mess. She had good people, good people who were determined to take care of Shinsou. And there was no way in fucking Hell that Ntsika was going to let them go. 

She refreshed the computer again. Still nothing. 

Why wasn’t this paperwork going through?

She’d filed it herself, she knew she’d done it right, knew it had already been approved because she had approved it.

Sure, CPS was pretty notorious for being slow, but the days-long waits were more due to personnel issues. The system, while still pretty shitty, should have updated by now. Yamada and Aizawa had left hours ago. 

She frowned at the screen, playing with an idea she’d had a few days ago. 

Slowly, trying not to overthink it, Ntsika closed out Shinsou’s file and pulled up another kid that she knew was looking for placement in the area. She wasn’t assigned to her and Ntsika really wasn’t supposed to look at other kids’ files, but this felt important.

She glanced around, making sure she was alone, before switching to the list of nearby fosters.

And, lo and behold, there it was. Yamada-Aizawa. Listed as available.

She opened the file, skimming through it. 

All the information she’d gotten from the two was exactly as they’d put it, even with their explicit mentions of Shinsou, but the system’s side had no mention of the request for Shinsou. 

Ntsika glared at the program, switching from the file to her home screen. Not even a notification. 

She’d added Shinsou’s information, she’d added her own information… So why hadn’t she been officially notified?

She pulled up Shinsou’s file again, refreshing it.

Still no Yamada-Aizawa. No Aizawa-Yamada. No Yamada, no Aizawa, no nothing.

She looked at the other kid’s options.

And at Shinsou’s.

And the other kid’s.

There were more differences than just that one file. A lot more.

Picking randomly, she pulled up a potential foster for that kid and one for Shinsou. Ntsika searched through them, evaluating them both.

One of those homes was suspiciously better than the other.

It wasn’t the family available to Shinsou.

Ntsika stayed there long into the night, pulling up files of different kids and fosters in the area, skimming most, really reading some, and noticing very disturbing patterns.

There was something going on here and Ntsika didn’t like it one bit.

Chapter Text

Hitoshi looked down at the picture in front of him, thoughtfully. 

Specifically, he looked at the young, blue-haired boy in it. He’d been in a lot of the pictures so far, and Hitoshi still wasn’t really sure who he was.

He recognized Kayama-sensei, of course. And Yamada and Aizawa. Ingenium wasn’t hard to figure out with how similar he looked to the Iida in Hitoshi’s year.

But he couldn’t think of a single hero who looked at all like this last kid.

He was only in their first-year photos, too. Which didn’t make a lot of sense. The whole group had seemed really close in all of the pictures Kayama had shown him.

“Ohhhh my god!” Kayama exclaimed happily, “I haven’t even gotten started on Halloween yet!”

She grinned at Hitoshi mischievously, handing him a glass of water, “Hizashi’s wheedled Shouta into doing couples costumes with him ever since we graduated. He hates them all. It’s amazing.”

Hitoshi nodded slowly, trying to decide if it was worth bringing up. Normally, it’d be an obvious ‘No,’ but with the whole conversation they’d had earlier – well, less conversation and more… lecture? Rant? Something like that. Midnight was, honestly, kind of weird.

That was beside the point. 

With their first interaction, Hitoshi started to wonder if maybe it would be okay for him to ask.

Or maybe not ask. But point it out, at least.

He cleared his throat softly, looking back at the photo, “I, um, I don’t know who this is…”

Kayama hummed thoughtfully, sitting down next to him, but she didn't answer the unspoken question. She just sat there, watching him. Waiting.

Hitoshi should have expected that.

He really hoped this wasn’t going to become a trend. First Yamada a few days ago, now Kayama-sensei…

At least with Kayama, it was different. He wasn’t staying with her or anything. She didn’t have enough time to really get sick of him. Maybe just a little annoyed.

And her power was limited, too. They had however long it took for Yamada and Aizawa to get back, he supposed, but it wasn’t like she could send him away or anything. That wasn’t her decision to make.

It was Aizawa and Yamada’s. 

And it’d probably be soon, he figured, now that Aizawa had taken him to the precinct. They didn’t need anything else from him.

He looked back up at Kayama, realizing she was still waiting for him to ask the question. 

“Who… um,” he said softly, wincing, “Who is he?’

“Well, thank you for asking so politely,” Kayama said gently, “But I’d rather not talk about that right now. It’s not a very fun story.”

Hitoshi nodded, trying valiantly to ignore the string popping up between them. It’d fallen away sometime after his first questions, something he was never ungrateful for. 

It was exhausting, sometimes, trying to resist that pull. Trying to hold a conversation with someone and pretend it wasn’t even there. When his quirk cried out to be used, for him to just grab the thread and yank.

As much as he didn’t want to, it was what he’d been designed to do.

He’d read about quirk disuse a while ago, had it be described as sort of like an unused muscle. The stagnancy just fucking itches. Just for a quick little stretch; to be used once in a while. 

Hitoshi was, unfortunately, very familiar with that itch.

It usually wasn't too demanding, though. Not unless he asked a quesiton. Not unless he got an answer.

Which, of course, everyone seemed determined to make him do lately.

And, yeah, he'd been practicing with Aizawa-sensei lately; been actually using his quirk every now and then. But sometimes he felt like that made it worse... Not always, of course, but sometimes it felt kind of like scratching at a mosquito bite. Or taking one rock away from a leaky dam and all of a sudden the whole thing comes flooding down.

Hitoshi took a sip of his water, trying not to let Kayama-sensei on to his struggle. 

“So!” She said, clapping her hands energetically, “Halloween!”

Hitoshi nodded, leaning over to see the pictures she was pulling up.

They’d been at it for a long time, and Hitoshi still couldn’t decide if it was funny or just really fucking weird to see his teachers like this. Like, obviously he knew they’d been his age at some point. And he knew they had whole lives outside of school. 

But knowing it and seeing it were two different things.

Not to mention the fact that Hitoshi really wasn’t sure what to do with the realization that Yamada- No, that Aizawa, even, had been a troublemaker.

Never, in a million years, would Hitoshi have expected that. He probably wouldn't have even believed it if not for all the fucking pictures.

He looked at the screen, barely managing to spot Aizawa's glaring face before Kayama-sensei’s phone started ringing, a call screen covering up the picture.

Kayama glared for a few rings before sighing, “I’ve gotta take this.”

Standing up from the couch, she answered the call with a flat greeting, “Nezu.”

She took a sip of water as the principal responded. 

“You already know I’m busy. Ask someone else.”

“So they can fill me in later. I’m busy,” She repeated, rolling her eyes. With an apologetic look to Hitoshi, she stepped out of the room to keep talking.

Hitoshi sat alone in the living room, not really sure what to do other than keep looking at the photo album that’d been left out. 

He wondered what’d happened to the other student.

A few minutes later, Kayama came back in with a sigh, phone put away.

“Alright, kid, I’m really sorry about this,” she said, “but, apparently, I have to go somewhere and, for whatever goddamn reason, I can’t bring you with me.”

Hitoshi nodded in acknowledgement.

“I can get Tensei to come over here if you want,” she offered, “Or, honestly, I could just take you home. You’re a good kid, I’m sure you won’t accidentally kill yourself in the, like, hour it’ll take for this to get wrapped up.”

“The apartment’s fine.”

Kayama nodded, “You have a key yet?”

He shook his head and Kayama started digging through an unnecessarily large bag near the door. Following her lead, he stood up, putting his shoes on.

“Here,” she said eventually, holding out a key to him, “I can drive you there, but you’ll need this.”

Hitoshi looked between her and the key uncertainly. Should he even have that? It wasn’t like it was his apartment.

Kayama just rolled her eyes, “You live there, yeah?”

Hitoshi nodded reluctantly. For now.

“So you should have a key,” she said decisively, “Honestly, you can just keep that. I have, like, five more copies lying around here.”

“Just don’t tell Shouta about that last part,” she added with a mischievous grin and a wink.

Hitoshi wasn’t really sure how to respond, but he apparently didn’t have to because Kayama was already walking out the door.

~

“I really am sorry about this, kiddo,” Kayama said again, stopping in front of the increasingly familiar building, “You remember the apartment number?”

“It’s fine,” Hitoshi said, stepping out of the car, “And 307.”

Kayama nodded.

“Do me a favor and text Hizashi when you get in,” she requested, “Or those two genuinely might kill me.”

Hitoshi nodded, shutting the door with a wave goodbye.

After that, it was just a short walk up the stairs and there he was, opening the door to an empty apartment.

Not totally empty he remembered, just in time to slam the door shut, stopping Jelly from streaking out of it. 

She mostly managed to slow down in time, but Hitoshi still felt more than a little bit guilty when she bumped into the door.

“Sorry,” he apologized softly, crouching down to pet her.

Based on the way she started purring pretty much immediately and pushing her head into his hand, he didn’t think she blamed him.

He managed to slip his shoes off and send a quick message to Yamada before Blanket finally made his way over to them, his own purr rumbling out.

Hitoshi still couldn’t believe he got to live with cats. For however long he was here, at least. 

As much as he loved them, though, they probably weren’t going to be what he missed the most about this place.

With a sigh, Hitoshi brushed off those thoughts. There was really no use dwelling in them. It wasn’t like thinking about it would delay the inevitable. 

He walked further into the apartment, relying on the sunlight streaming in through the windows rather than turning on any lights. 

It was honestly kind of unnerving being here alone. Something about how comfortable and familiar he was starting to feel in the space while still fundamentally feeling like he didn’t really belong. 

None of it was his.

Obviously. He’d never expected it to be. 

But that kind of made it weirder. That he could be comfortable and feel at home in a space that so clearly wasn’t made for him. Like maybe he did belong and the fact that it wasn’t his didn’t change that. Like he could find a place in someone else’s space instead of changing it to be his own.

Sort of. But not really.

Because that would mean, like, some sort of acceptance of it; some recognition of the apartment as a home. 

And that wasn’t going to happen. Shinsou Hitoshi didn’t get a home. He’d stayed in all sorts of houses and apartments, but in the end, that was all they were. Just places that he’d stayed.

He took a deep breath, sitting down on the kitchen floor.

That was definitely another thing he'd miss. The fucking cleanliness of it all. Hitoshi could just... sit on the floor.

And not care.

Because the fucking apartment was clean.

It was a small thing. He'd really never thought it bothered him so much. Houses were dirty, that was just the way things were. But, man. Just being able to walk into a room. And not be overwhelmed by how messy everything was... It'd provided a kind of comfort that Hitoshi hadn't even known existed before now. 

He didn't know how he was going to go back to what things had been like before.

Whatever.

He wasn't thinking about it.

What he was thinking about, he decided, was just how nice it was to be alone again.

Which may seem counter-intuitive with how much Hitoshi had been going on about not wanting Aizawa and Yamada to leave him. Like some whiny baby. 

But Hitoshi was, at his core, an introvert. And he hadn't been alone for more than, like, fifteen minutes ever since he'd come here. 

Well, other than sleeping or being in the room they were letting him borrow. But that wasn't really the same. Because they were never more than a door or two away. 

It wasn't nearly enough privacy to recharge. Definitely not enough to just... let go.

To not feel like he had to watch everything he did. To just unabashedly exist. 

Jelly walked up to him again, meowing loudly.

“Hey, kitty,” he murmured softly, reaching out to pet her. He eyed the cupboard that he knew held the cat food, wondering if maybe there were treats in there too.

Out of curiosity, he reached over to open it. Not that he was planning to steal from them or anything. Just curiousity.

Except Jelly and Blanket both seemed to know what that cabinet meant because they started meowing demandingly as soon as his hand was on the cupboard door and, well, he couldn’t just not give them a treat after that.

It was just a little treat, anyways. Probably no one would notice.

He found the small package pretty easily, giving both cats a few pieces before putting it away and shutting the door. He pet them gently while they ate, a soft unrestrained grin making its way onto his face. 

Yeah.

It was nice to be alone sometimes.

Hitoshi looked up at the rest of the cupboards, realizing he still didn’t really know what was in most of them. 

Of course, he probably wasn’t supposed to know. Yamada and Aizawa would have told him if it was important.

Or, well. He thought they would.

But he also remembered what Kayama had said earlier that day…

Would they have told him?

To be totally honest, the likelihood that he really needed to know what was in any of the cupboards was astronomically low. There really wasn’t much point in looking.

Except that he just. Wanted to know. 

He’d always felt more comfortable knowing his way around a house. And, while he might not be here much longer, it would still be nice to have that little bit of added comfort.

No matter what Kayama had said earlier, it wasn’t really a good reason.

But that was another benefit of being alone, yeah? Not everything he did had to have some perfectly prepared justification to it. He could just do something.

Hitoshi opened one next to the cat food, revealing a bunch of cleaning supplies. 

Typical cupboard stuff.

The next one had trash bags, saved plastic bags, reusable grocery bags, etc.

Above it, there were two whole cupboards filled with coffee mugs. 

Next to them were plates and bowls.

He found utensils and mason jars and a separate drawer with just the lids. Pots and pans and tupperware and not a single thing that he really needed to know the location of.

But he still felt a weird weight lifting off of his shoulders when he could step back to look at the contents of each little nook and cranny. 

He just liked knowing where things were.

Hitoshi went around closing all of the doors and moved to explore the living room.

He skimmed through titles on the bookshelves and he found where movies were kept. There was a smaller shelf he hadn’t really noticed before completely stuffed with vinyl records and CDs, topped with a small record player. 

He considered trying to play one but figured just snooping like this was already more than he should really be doing. Messing with their stuff would be a whole other level that Hitoshi was not willing to approach.

He did pull a few out, just partially, to look at. Most of them were from artists he’d never even heard of, which was honestly kind of surprising to him. Yamada ran one of Japan’s most popular radio shows, maybe the most popular now. He’d figured his taste in music would be more streamlined than this.

He pushed the records back into place, moving on to the old and worn armchair. That, along with two couches in similar condition, was set up around the coffee table that sat in front of the TV. He tried them out for, like, the fourth time since he'd come here and, despite their obvious age, they were all still plenty comfortable.

He spent the next however long just searching through the apartment, seeing what it had to offer. He left Yamada and Aizawa’s room alone, as well as their office. But he looked around the laundry room and the bathroom, and, for the first time, really looked around the room they were letting him stay in.

He didn’t find a single useful thing. Well, he found like, cleaning supplies and food and stuff, but he didn’t find anything that really felt important. 

Still, when he made his way back to the kitchen, Hitoshi found himself feeling strangely relieved. Like that feeling of not belonging from before had faded just a little.

He sat down on the floor again, petting Blanket. He smiled down at the cat but felt a twinge of sadness taking over.

He really didn’t want to leave here.

He knew it had to happen. Because things were good here. And nothing good ever lasted. Not for Hitoshi.

But, man, he wished.

Wished that he could just keep staying here. Wished that Yamada and Aizawa had invited him in, to begin with, because they had wanted to and not because they'd felt obligated. That they actually liked having him around. He wished he could keep receiving those soft, gentle touches and wished that he had that time Kayama had been talking about – the time it would take for things to get easier.

It wasn’t a lot, he didn’t think. But it still just felt so far away. And he didn’t really know what to do about that. 

There wasn’t really anything to do. Even if he could find a way to make Yamada and Aizawa let him stay, it wouldn’t be fair to them.

And what a shitty way that would be to repay them for their kindness. Burdening them even more…

Honestly, he’d really rather just not think about it – his go to move with any tricky situation like this. (What could he say, it’d served him well.) This time, though, Hitoshi couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because he’d been trying not to think about it all day.

And everything just kept fucking reminding him of it. 

Which wasn’t fair. None of it was.

Why did some kids get perfectly fine families? Why did some kids get perfect quirks and loving parents? Why did some kids just not? Where was the justice in that?

Just. Whatever. It was whatever.

The world wasn’t fair, right?

So Hitoshi should probably just shut up about it.

Who gave a shit about his own little struggles with fairness. 

He still had food to eat. Usually.

And even if the people were shitty, he still had a roof over his head. Usually.

There were kids with worse lives out there, so why the fuck was Hitoshi complaining?

Except remembering that didn’t really make him feel any better. It mostly just made him feel worse. 

Hitoshi was pulled out of his contemplation by the sound of the door unlocking, stiffening immediately.

Which was really unnecessary. He didn’t know why he always acted so nervous around them.

He was comfortable around them. He trusted them. Really.

Except… except he was also kind of scared still. Which didn’t really make sense. Like at all. How can you be comfortable around someone if you’re scared of them? How can you be frightened of someone that you trust? They seemed like mutually exclusive ideas.

If you wanted answers to those questions, though, you shouldn't have fucking asked Hitoshi 'cause he had no idea.

Maybe he was just that fucked up. Maybe he was scared of being comfortable or comfortable with being scared. 

“We’re home!” Yamada called out cheerily, shoes already halfway off.

“Welcome back,” Hitoshi greeted, only realizing that he was still on the floor when Yamada’s gaze flicked through the rest of the kitchen before finally landing on him. 

He was about to take Blanket off of his lap and stand up, but Yamada just smiled and walked over to join him.

“No lights kind of day?” He asked, reaching over to pet the cat.

“Oh, uh. Yeah. I guess.”

“Man, I feel that,” Yamada responded as Aizawa walked over. 

He seemed to consider for a moment longer than Yamada had but still ended up sitting down on the floor next to the blonde.

Of course, as soon as he sat down, Jelly reappeared out of nowhere, running out to greet her favorite human. (Hitoshi was Not insulted.)

“How was your day?” Aizawa asked, reaching behind him to the cat food cupboard.

“It, uh, it was fine,” Hitoshi responded nervously, wondering if he should tell them that he had already given the cats treats today.

It was probably alright, he decided as Jelly and Blanket both started meowing excitedly.

“Spoiled little gremlins,” Yamada huffed, shaking his head fondly.

Aizawa glared, but there was no real bite to it.

“It’s only spoiling if they don’t deserve it,” he retorted disdainfully.

Yamada rolled his eyes with a sigh, “Whatever you say, Shou.”

Hitoshi smiled softly. He really did like it here.

Aizawa nodded firmly before turning back to Hitoshi.

“Fine?” He repeated questioningly.

Hitoshi shrugged, not really sure what else to say.

“Ohh,” Yamada interjected, “How ‘bout we do 'worst part, best part?'”

Aizawa and Hitoshi both looked at him curiously.

Yamada shrugged, “You just share the worst part and the best part of your day. My moms did it all the time when they’d just barely started fostering me.”

Hitoshi felt his expression grow a little more skeptical.

“Oh, come on,” Yamada pouted, “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I can even go first.”

Aizawa shrugged noncommittally, which Yamada seemed to take as a green light.

“Okay, okay, okay! Let’s see…” he said, tapping a finger against his chin, “Worst part… has to be talking to my manager at the station.”

He crinkled his nose in displeasure, “Worst part of any day. She is not a pleasant woman.”

Aizawa nodded. He didn’t say anything, but even Hitoshi could see that he strongly agreed.

“And best part…” Yamada said thoughtfully, “Hmm, probably in about five minutes when I start making dinner.”

He winked at Hitoshi who Did Not think about the fact that they had been cooking together recently. Because that definitely hadn’t been what Yamada meant. He just liked cooking, probably.

“You can’t do that,” Aizawa argued, “That hasn’t even happened yet.”

Yamada stuck out his tongue childishly, “My game, my rules.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes but didn’t push it.

“Alright!” Yamada said, “Your turn!”

Aizawa sighed heavily, “Paperwork.”

“For the worst part,” he added at Yamada’s expectant look.

“Of course,” the blonde commented.

“And in three hours when I win ten million yen for the best part.”

“Shouta,” Yamada pouted, “just play the game.”

Aizawa smirked playfully, “Right now, then.”

Yamada snorted, “Sap.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aizawa responded, rolling his eyes.

And suddenly both adults were looking at him. 

“Um,” Hitoshi very eloquently started, “I guess waking up this morning. For the worst part.”

Aizawa nodded in agreement, “I might have to change my answer, actually.”

“You don’t get to choose waking up as your worst part,” Yamada dismissed.

“And why is that?” Aizawa challenged.

“You’d never choose anything else.”

“Fair.”

Hitoshi watched them interact, fighting off some of that same pleasant warmth he’d felt after his first session with Recovery Girl.

But he paused.

Why fight it?

He knew why he’d started. It was the only way to soften the blow when everything went away.

But, honestly, Hitoshi had reached a point where it was going to hurt like hell no matter what he did. 

This was probably, definitely the best home Hitoshi was ever going to be in. Maybe… Maybe he should just savor it while he had the chance. At least then he’d be able to keep the memories.

He could deal with the consequences later.

“And the best thing?” Yamada prompted, pulling Hitoshi back.

He looked down nervously, “Probably, uh. Probably right now, too.”

The two were silent for a moment and Hitoshi looked up nervously, only to be met with a wide beam on Yamada’s face.

“I’m glad,” Aizawa said simply.

Hitoshi nodded before turning back to Yamada.

“We can start dinner?” He offered, not quite a question.

“Absolutely!”

Hitoshi smiled, soft and nervous, almost forced, but not quite.

He was savoring it.