Archive of Our Own

Megumi still wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten here. 

New life, new superpower bullshit, new shitty adults. No problem. Megumi could handle it just fine. 

Sure, the muzzles hurt his jaw and left imprints in his face, but he didn’t particularly care. He had his shikigami to hold when his hands were too little and stubby to pick the locks. He wasn't fed as well as he should have been, but that was fine. He had his shadows to hide food in and his shikigami were plenty happy to steal anything he needed. 

Shinsou Hitoshi had a shitty fucking life, but he was just a small kid in a big world. Fushiguro Megumi was a tired teenager with too much power and too much trauma and he did not care. His last life had ended cut short and maybe he had the power to escape the abuse and the isolation this time around. But he died alone and begging for forgiveness from the boy he'd loved and failed and a large part of him just thought he deserved a little coldness and cruelty. 

His shikigami didn't like that. Which was weird, right? His shikigami shouldn't have opinions on things. They were mindless. Or, they should have been. He'd had to summon new ones to replace his old shikigami. Apparently shikigami didn't transfer between lifetimes. 

But they came out… different. More than two dogs, for one, with a whole pack at his beck and call. Who cuddled him every night and nearly got him caught several times because they refused to hide away when the adults came near. A horde of rabbits who liked to disobey his orders and run amuck when he brought them into being. 

He hadn't tried for anything further, yet. The divine dogs and rabbits were enough of a hassle. He needed time to get them under control, first. He hadn't meant to go for them- they'd sort of just… happened. 

He thought, perhaps, that it was because of his quirk. Something about having a mental quirk had impacted his cursed technique and changed his shikigami into something more. But he didn't know how or why. Or maybe it was entirely unrelated. 

Not like he could ask anyone. His quirk meant the adults in the orphanage never let him speak. When he was bounced between foster homes, Hitoshi was muzzled tightly to prevent his quirk from harming anyone. 

The adults directly in charge of him quickly learned to not be too afraid of him. He was a silent, dutiful child who did what he was told and never even tried to speak. The muzzle was just so the adults felt more comfortable around him. It wasn't… the worst. He could only eat in the comfort of his room, for the twenty or so minutes they let him out to eat, but it was fine because he had plenty of soft foods he could sip through a straw hidden away in his shadows. 

Every now and then he felt like himself. Felt like Megumi. Usually at school, when children did as children always did and picked on him or others. His blood sang and he swung away until he was dragged off. Something familiar. Something he missed, except there wasn't a blinding white head of hair to pick him up afterwards and take him for ice cream. No inhumanly blue eyes to scrunch up in amusement and ask him who won. 

No, now Hitoshi was locked in his room as punishment for fighting and had his meals taken away. The ache of loss in his throat tasted like too much sugar and takeout. 

Megumi didn't care, but Hitoshi did. A small part of him, the child he now was, screamed and begged for a new Papa or Mommy to take him home and take off the muzzle and tell him he wasn't evil just for existing. Megumi battered down that small child on the regular because he knew with hospital rooms and sold children how unfair life was and how this wasn't nearly as bad as it could get. He wasn't beaten until he could hardly stand, wasn't violated in ways a child didn't comprehend, so he should thank his lucky stars because so many had it worse worse worse.

Standing next to his adult, one day, Hitoshi was stronger than Megumi when they saw a hero walking the street. His eyes widened as he saw the metal encasing the man's neck. Speakers? 

Probably something voice-related, Megumi surmised with his experience and nonchalance. 

Just like me his little inner child, Hitoshi, whispered. 

Before he knew it he'd stepped away from his adult - he would get in so much trouble for that, later, but later, because she didn't even notice him leaving her side for how occupied she was with her grocery list - and Hitoshi trotted his way up to the hero with wide, wide eyes. 

The man noticed him only a moment after he'd approached, kneeling down with a grin that quickly froze and felt stiff and unwieldy. 

“Hello there, little listener!” 

And Hitoshi froze, one hand pointing to himself as if to say “me?” when the hero wasn't facing anyone else. 

“Yes, you!” The hero waved him closer and Hitoshi followed with the dull experience of being used to being moved around by the adults. Nothing but an evil doll to be moved and pointed around. 

He didn't expect the hero to pick him up, arms hooking under his chest awkwardly. He was a bit big to be picked up. Hitoshi hadn't been picked up since he was four. Megumi hadn't ever stopped being picked up, because Satoru was a giant menace with too-long arms and way too much enjoyment in messing with his dignity.  

“What's your name, little man?” The hero asked easily. “I'm Present Mic!” 

Present Mic. A hero with a voice quirk, maybe. It seemed to match the theme. 

Hitoshi sat in his arms limply, unsure what to do. His hands clenched uselessly around the edges of his muzzle. He couldn't talk in this one. It kept his jaw clenched tight. 

The hero's smile twitched strangely. Upset. Why? 

“Let's see- how old are you, then?” 

Hitoshi could answer this- he held up all ten fingers. He knew he was small. He wasn't healthy for his age, it wasn't hard to tell. 

“Ten? Wow! Here I thought you were-” The hero's jubilant tone didn't hide his concern but he was interrupted by Hitoshi's adult. 

“Hitoshi! I'm so sorry, hero-san!” The lady bowed apologetically. “He's usually very well behaved in public- I am so sorry he bothered you!” 

“Not at all!” Present Mic's beaming smile felt more like a weapon aimed at her in a familiar way that had Hitoshi blinking back blue and white flashes of color. “Hitoshi-kun and I were just chatting! For ten years old he's-” 

His adult's face paled and Hitoshi flinched. He felt hurt curdle in his stomach- Present Mic got him in trouble. Running off during errands was one thing, talking with someone was another. Even if he literally couldn't open his mouth and he was so thirsty he might not be able to talk even if he could. 

“Hitoshi! You know you aren't supposed to talk to people!” His adult scolded with white knuckles. 

She reached her hands out and Present Mic didn't seem to want to let him go, but the hero set him down on his feet anyways. 

Hitoshi screamed and rattled the cage in his head and begged himself to just stay there and cling to Present Mic because his cursed energy felt safe and careful. Winded behind flesh and blood, Present Mic's quirk screamed power restrained only by the barest of threads and that was so, so familiar and it felt like home felt like Satoru felt like Yuuji- 

Megumi tiredly walked to her side when she pointedly demanded he come, knowing that protesting would only make things worse. He wasn't actually a child. He knew to take his lumps when he needed to because trying to avoid them only made punishments worse. 

His adult wished the hero well and ushered him away, hands tight on his shoulders, whispering fierce admonishments in his ears. This one wasn't too bad. She was strict but respected his self-control and even let him accompany her outside in public so long as he stayed right by her side. But he'd broken that respect with her and she was not pleased, not forgiving, was definitely not going to let him outside of his room any longer. 

Hitoshi was sent to his room without even a spanking, which was nice. He wasn't given dinner, which was less nice. He wasn't even freed from his Outside The House muzzle- the one that locked his jaw tight. So his attempts to squeeze a straw through an airhole were mostly useless, when he couldn't even squeeze the straw between his teeth to suck up applesauce. He managed maybe half a mouthful after half an hour of effort and gave up. 

Hitoshi sighed through his nose with some difficulty and flopped backwards on his bedding. This foster home gave him a cot and not much else, but it was better than nothing. He'd had some homes before that gave him a ratty blanket and a closet. At least here he could stretch from one side of the room to the other without touching. And he didn't have to share with anybody else. 

He had a light, but Hitoshi preferred to leave it off. It made it easier to summon his shikigami. He did so now- fingers twisting into the shape of a dog's head. Shadows moved and trembled around him until his bedding was replaced by rough fur and a cold nose nuzzled under his chin. 

Hitoshi rolled over, face burying into Cujo's coat. He pet the wolf behind the ears as it licked his face silly. Its tongue got caught on the muzzle a few times, whining and snuffling. Hitoshi batted at it. 

“You know I can't take it off.” Hitoshi told it in shadows and darkness where he didn't need to speak out loud. Cujo knew that this muzzle was impossible for Hitoshi to sneak off. They'd never caught him lockpicking the easier ones off in the past, but he had a feeling they knew nonetheless because they'd gotten harder and harder to get off over the years. 

Cujo just whined at him until he shushed it with a heavy sigh. The two of them curled up together in the small room, boy and shikigami, and Hitoshi listened to the howling out of the corner of his ears as the rest of Cujo's pack roamed his Innate Domain. Inside there they played and roughhoused and acted like wild animals while out here Hitoshi laid there and wondered why him, did he really deserve it? 

Megumi knew, he knew deep down that he didn't deserve this, no child did. But he was still raw and in pain and broken from loss after loss. Ten years of neglect and abuse wasn't enough to recover from fifteen years of clawing for every ounce of happiness he had only to have it systematically ripped away. 

But a tiny part of him still thought about Present Mic and why the man had a tiny scar on the side of his face, where a strap might've been too tight against the jaw and rubbed a sore into flesh. That tiny part of him wondered how the man had gotten that scar and if it really looked like it came from a muzzle and if so, how had he gone from wearing a muzzle to being a hero?

Several days later Hitoshi was brought out of his room and told to wash thoroughly. He did- just because he had bottles of hand sanitizer and baby wipes tucked away in his shadows didn't mean they cleaned him well enough. 

He hadn't been abandoned in his room the entire time. This adult was strict but still nice. She took him out to use the toilet, eat food, and drink water. But she kept him in the painful muzzle because he'd been bad and they were on summer break so he didn't have school to keep him busy. She only let him out for short periods of time. 

Now, she gathered his clothes together and fussed over him in a way he was used to. Somebody must be coming to check the house. Either for a potential adoptee or a welfare check. A little part of Hitoshi hoped. Either way, Hitoshi knew he'd still be here by next month. Nobody wanted to adopt a ten year old boy who got in fights at school and had an evil quirk on top of it. 

“Your grounding is almost over anyways.” The adult sniffed and ran a hand through his hair to check for tangles. “If you behave, you can leave your room for a few hours a day until it's up.” 

Hitoshi didn't perk up, because he wasn't that excited about it, but he nodded in understanding. She pinched her mouth tightly and looked him over. She sighed and patted his shoulder. 

“I know you've got a smart head under all that attitude, boy.” She said seriously. “You know better than to make a fuss like you did the other day.” 

Hitoshi nodded again because she was right. He knew better. 

She seemed satisfied with that and left him on the couch with the three other children who were living under her care. The two boys shoved and poked each other for a bit, eyeing the girl and ignoring him. Hitoshi was fine with that until they began to shove the girl around as well, ignoring her whines. She was too gentle and nice for the system. Hitoshi was certain she'd be adopted soon, if only because her quirk was actually well-suited to manipulation even when you knew it was coming. 

The girl turned those big, watery eyes on Hitoshi and he didn't even need her quirk to activate and fill him with forced sympathy. He stood up and she scattered to the opposite side of the couch, letting him sit back down and provide a physical buffer between the rougher boys. They glared but went back to bothering each other. 

The girl and him traded glances. She blinked in acknowledgement that he'd acted before she could compel him to feel bad for her. Hitoshi blinked back slowly in acknowledgement of the way she still kept a foot of space between them. 

All four children sat in awkward silence with stifled whispers for a long time until voices sounded from the front door maybe an hour later. Their adult came in with another two behind her, smiling and talking about how the kids she watched had difficult quirks and rough childhoods but were shaping up under her careful watch. 

Two men, one blond and one with black tangled hair, looked the children over with false eyes. Oh Hitoshi had no doubt they were here for a good reason, but they definitely weren't here to adopt. 

The blond was Present Mic. The quirk thrumming in his chest and neck were impossible to miss, even if Hitoshi couldn't detect emotion from auras like Satoru used to. The man with dark hair was tired tired tired and his cursed energy flowed from his shoulders weakly. A man who saw and felt a lot. His quirk was in his eyes and Hitoshi let himself be washed away by memories of blue blue blue eyes with impossible depths. 

“And the muzzle?” Dark hair asked. 

Hitoshi came back to himself with a lazy blink. He'd missed the adults’ introductions and conversation so far. 

“He has a brainwashing quirk that requires a verbal activation.” His adult said simply, but held her hands up. “Have no fear- my quirk provides me resistance against mental quirks and he's never once tried to use it on me. He is remarkably well-mannered at home, despite his poor behavior at school.” 

Hitoshi felt an inkling of gratitude. Most other foster families tried to sell him as evil scum right off the bat, assuming that nobody would want him. This one was at least trying to give him a fair chance. 

“Then why the muzzle?” Dark hair glanced between him and the woman with dark eyes. Hitoshi might not be able to read auras the way Satoru could but he could still feel the roiling turmoil of cursed energy reaching a peak. The man didn't show a hint of that emotion. 

Present Mic didn't speak, eyes locked on Hitoshi like he was trying to say something. Hitoshi looked down. It was rude to look an adult in the eyes and made them think he was defiant. 

Present Mic's cursed energy was a lot less violent, but still busy and upset. Hitoshi wondered how he'd managed to annoy the adult without even moving an inch. Some adults were just angry at him for no reason though. Nothing he could do. 

Hitoshi just sat on the couch with his hands on his knees and did his absolute best to look like a polite little kid. 

“A precaution against his quirk being used on the others,” His adult said. “And a punishment for breaking the rules some days ago. He'll be given time without it soon for good behavior during his grounding.” 

There. Dark hair's eye twitched, just a bit. 

“Would you mind if we spoke to him without the muzzle?” 

The woman's eyebrows raised. “Sir, I couldn't possibly put you at risk like that-” 

“My quirk is Erasure.” Dark hair said bluntly. “I can cancel anybody's quirk with eye contact. It will be perfectly safe.” He seemed like he had more to say, but didn't. 

The woman relaxed. “Oh, why didn't you say so sooner! Goodness-” She stood up. She seemed genuinely excited. 

There was some fuss and words spoken that Hitoshi ignored because they weren't directed at him. His adult retrieved the tiny key that locked his muzzle and bent over him. 

“These two might actually have the ability to keep your quirk on a leash.” She whispered barely loud enough for him to hear. “This might be your only chance, Hitoshi. Don't waste it.” 

Hitoshi blinked in awareness as the muzzle loosened and she pulled it off. 

Present Mic winced at the way the straps stuck to his cheeks briefly, tacky with sweat and moisture from his shower. Hitoshi wanted to rub his jaw but he knew that made him look bad, so he stretched his jaw as subtly as he could without opening his mouth. 

“And what's your name?” Present Mic asked, smiling pleasantly in a way that didn't meet his eyes. 

Hitoshi blinked with a small twitch to his lips. He was sure she'd already introduced him when he wasn't paying attention. His adult gave him a ‘go on’ motion. 

“Shin-” His voice cracked, dry and hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Shinsou Hitoshi.” He enunciated carefully. The two adults didn't look too thrilled. 

“Hitoshi-kun!” Present Mic smiled and, really, how did his adult not realize this was the hero? Sure he looked different but he spoke the exact same way. “What do you like to do? Any hobbies?” 

Hitoshi considered that. He wasn't allowed much. He could say martial arts, but that wasn't a hobby so much as a survival mechanism he'd kept from a previous life. He only practiced in the dead of night. With multiple shikigami on guard. 

“Cartoons.” He lied. That was safe. Something a boy his age would reasonably like, that wasn't suspicious or villainous. 

“Oh good one, what's your favorite to watch?” 

Fully aware that Hitoshi was lying his ass off and didn't care to fight over the TV like the other two boys, his adult cleared her throat. “He's a very considerate boy- he lets the others pick their favorite shows.” 

“Hizashi asked Hitoshi.” Dark hair said dully. 

Present Mic - Hizashi - didn't even twitch, smiling nonstop at Hitoshi. 

Hitoshi twitched, eyes flashing to the side. He tried to stop it but he couldn't help it. His hands clenched over his knees. 

“I just- like to listen to them. While. I draw.” He stuttered out pathetically. He did. He liked to doodle on paper sometimes and the other boys fighting over the TV channel was a great backdrop to his attempts at remembering what people used to look like. 

“Oh, a little artist!” Present Mic clapped his hands excitedly and Hitoshi relaxed. Some people thought art was dumb so he didn't think it was a safe thing to bring up, at first. “What do you like to draw?” 

“...people.” People he used to know. Even if they never came out right and his hands took forever to grasp a pencil steadily enough. 

“Can I see some of your art?” Hizashi asked warmly, happily, unknowing that it made Hitoshi want to curl up and die. 

He didn't respond, looking down. 

“Most of his drawings get torn up.” His adult said delicately. “He's quite the humble boy, doesn't like anyone seeing it.” 

“You don't keep any of it?” Dark hair's eyes flashed towards her. He was judging. 

“I'll have you know, his report card goes on the fridge.” The woman responded with offense. She wasn't being cruel, she didn't take his art away and rip it up and tell him pencils were too dangerous to leave in his hands. She gave him old color pencils and pieces of copy paper when he was good and even scolded the others if they tried to take it from him. 

Hitoshi looked down at his lap, stiff, feeling like he'd messed up without even meaning to. 

“Well, I bet you draw wonderfully!” Hizashi asserted, something in his masked smile becoming a little more genuine. “How about this, next time we come over, try to save something for me to look at? I promise I won't make fun of you for it!” He held a hand to his chest solemnly with a goofy grin. 

Hitoshi nodded dumbly. He didn't know what to do with adults who didn't flinch away from him when he spoke and seemed to actually want him to speak. 

“Anything you want to ask us?” Dark hair asked. 

Hitoshi shook his head rapidly. His heart pounded. He knew better than to fall for that trap. 

“His quirk activates if you respond after he asks a question.” His adult said quickly. “He's been taught very well not to ask questions.” 

“Kids are supposed to ask questions.” Dark hair frowned at her. “What does he do in school?” Dark hair turned to look at him. “What do you do in school when you have a question?” 

Hitoshi looked at him, puzzled. He looked to his adult. She looked particularly pinched but hopeful, waving him on. 

“...I… don't.” He said helplessly. This school didn't make him wear a muzzle in class, but the teachers still didn't want him speaking. 

“He has very good grades-” His adult tried to save the interaction before things got blurry and Hitoshi heard howling. 

He stopped paying attention, head ducking and hands tightly squeezed into his jeans. He focused on breathing. In and out. Calm your cursed energy. Moderate yourself. 

Eventually the howling lessened and he didn't have to worry anymore, but he was being bustled off to his room and the muzzle was being put on and the world tilted until he was falling falling falling into coarse fur and cold noses.

Miracles of all miracles, Hitoshi didn't scare them away. Several hours after they left his adult opened the door and she knelt down and told him they were interested in him. 

“You can't mess this up, boy, so next time keep your head on straight and try to act like a proper child.” She scolded.

Hitoshi nodded silently and she let him out of his room because apparently he'd been as good as could be expected from a child like him. That stung a little when he still didn't think he did anything wrong, but he didn't protest because at least he could stretch his limbs and draw at the kitchen counter while she made dinner. 

He didn't know what to draw. He had to draw something for Present Mic, though. He couldn't draw what he usually did with her hovering over his shoulder. Curses were nasty and nobody wanted a boy who drew scary monsters in intimate detail. 

So instead he drew things he saw around the kitchen and fought off the itch to draw blue eyes he could never color properly with white eyelashes he kept smudging and other people he would never see again. 

Because he hadn’t drawn anything he didn't want people to see, Hitoshi didn't mind when his adult picked the papers up and put them in a folder. He didn't have to hide these things and tear them up and shove them in the sink until they were sopping wet and the lines smeared. He just blinked and wondered if he would ever get the chance to draw curses again.

Hizashi and Shouta - that's what they said to call them - visited several times. They always wanted to talk with him and hear what he had to say, even when Hitoshi didn't have anything to say. He didn't know how to feel about it. He'd never had a family actually look into him as an option. Nobody wanted to adopt him. 

Whatever reason they initially had for visiting, Hitoshi could tell that by now they were actually trying to adopt him. His foster mother even told him that they were applying to foster him. Just him. None of the others. 

She lectured him frequently on being a good child, behaving, how he needed to cut out his bad behavior at school or risk them sending him back. Hitoshi just nodded. He didn't particularly care, so long as he ended up back with her. He didn't think they'd be much better even if Hizashi was a hero. 

Today was the first time they were allowed to take him out of the house and bond with him unsupervised. Hitoshi knew that meant testing his ability to behave in public, so he followed at Hizashi's heels all the way down the sidewalk and to the park. Shouta left to go pick them up some food. Hizashi was flipping through a folder of art Hitoshi's adult had given him and was enthusiastically praising all of it. 

He came to a pause when they reached the park, waiting to see if Hitoshi would run off and play. Hitoshi didn't bother. He stayed put and kept his hands lax at his sides. 

“You wanna go play on the swings?” Hizashi prompted, nudging him. “Or maybe the slide?” 

Hitoshi looked over to the busy playground and shook his head. Hizashi and Shouta were always very insistent on taking the muzzle off and he was certain his adult wouldn't have dared if it wasn't for Shouta's quirk. But if Shouta wasn't here, he didn't want to risk being considered a danger. 

And his face was still red where the straps left an imprint. Kids thought that was weird. And he didn't like to play with kids, because he was still a teenager in the back of his mind who didn't like to play like a little kid. 

Hizashi deflated. Feeling concerned, Hitoshi spied that the sandbox wasn't occupied and made his way over there. Cautiously. Eyeing Hizashi to see if he would call him back. 

He sat down at the edge of the sand and tried to think if ten year olds usually played in sandboxes. He should be acting like a normal kid, and normal kids played. Hizashi clearly wanted him to play. But what was he supposed to do? He thought back to years and years ago when Tsumiki had cupped his hands together and shown him how to sculpt the sand with his fingers because they didn't have any toys to use. He'd been just a little boy back then. 

Hizashi wasn't looking at him like he was in trouble. The hero had in fact sat down at a table and was just glancing at him every now and then. 

Hitoshi decided to follow his distant memories and pretend everything was fine, just for now. A ten year old could play in the sand if they damn well wanted to.

Hizashi was so concerned about the little listener. Admittedly he wasn't the best at dealing with pre-teens. His experience lied strongly in teenager territory as a high school teacher. So he wasn't sure what age exactly most kids got too mature and full of themselves to play at the playground, but he didn't think that was the issue with Hitoshi. 

Shouta came back with arms loaded with takeout by the time Hizashi really got himself worked up. 

“Sho!!” Hizashi whined, flopped across the table. “Help!!” 

Shouta, the filthy traitor, just shot a careful glance toward Hitoshi sitting by himself at the sandbox and sat the food down. “What?” 

Hizashi made a garbled sound and laid his face down on the park table, metal grates leaving an imprint on his cheek. “This kid is breaking my heart. I don't think he even wants to play, he's just trying to not make me upset.” 

Shouta winced. They were both deeply unsettled by Hitoshi's behavior. The kid just didn’t act his age in a way that was unnerving. 

“His foster mother still hasn't done anything strictly illegal.” Shouta grumbled, sliding onto the bench next to him. 

“She puts a muzzle on him, Sho.” Hizashi's voice trembled. 

“Which we can't argue as abuse given his quirk.” Shouta didn't agree with it, despite playing devil’s advocate. They'd been going back and forth for weeks about Hitoshi's case. 

Both of them knew there was more going on. They were professional heroes, they knew a traumatized child when they fucking saw one. But the system was nasty for kids with ‘difficult’ quirks and as far as foster homes went, Suzuchi ran a pretty tight ship. It was hardly warm and loving but it wasn't outright terrible as far as they could find. 

Suzuchi herself was very stern. She fostered kids with behavioral problems and mental quirks that were typically labeled as villainous. She didn't give off the vibes of a woman who abused her charges, but then most abusers were good at hiding it. 

Hizashi sighed as he shuffled through the folder of Hitoshi's art. The kid was honestly prodigiously good at art. They were all still lifes. Shots of the house Hizashi recognized from their visits. Even a few portraits of Suzuchi. Nothing of cartoons or anything a typical kid might draw. 

He paused, seeing a familiar swoop. He grinned. Hizashi pulled out a sheet of cheap copy paper with Present Mic carefully sketched across it. In the drawing he was crouched down, hand held out, just like he was the day Hizashi first saw Hitoshi tiny and wide eyed around that horrid muzzle. 

“Oh.” Shouta's eyebrows were raised. “Kid's really good. Huh. He even got your stupid mustache.” 

“My mustache is cool and a part of my style!” Hizashi squawked. 

“Right.” Shouta deadpanned. “Hitoshi! Wanna come eat lunch?” 

He hardly raised his voice at all, but Hitoshi's little head popped up and looked over to them in an instant. He abandoned whatever he'd been making in the sand and hustled over. 

The boy stood there, hands awkwardly covered in sand, watching them with eyes that were far too wary for a kid. 

“You need some napkins?” Hizashi teased, grabbing a bundle out of the takeout bags. 

Hitoshi nodded politely and took a few, careful to not get sand on the table. He sat down cautiously, eyes flicking to the bags but hands kept firmly in his lap. 

“Anything you want? Sho grabbed a bunch of stuff so we could all try some!” Hizashi pulled boxes out and spread them around. Hitoshi's eyes kept flickering to the food and back to him unsteadily. 

Shouta sighed and shook his head. “Look, kid, we just wanted to ask you some stuff.” 

Hitoshi blinked slowly. Hizashi tried to not overreact as he patted at Shouta's shoulder to get him to shut the hell up. 

“Hitoshi's not stupid.” Shouta said simply. “Most kids aren't as stupid as they seem. And I'm sure he knows something’s up.” 

Hizashi wilted, hand going up to his forehead. Damnit. Sho had a point but he didn't have to act like they were doing the whole fostering process just to get info out of the kid. 

Hitoshi opened his mouth. He paused and then watched their reactions - read: nothing - before he spoke. “You're Present Mic.” He said in that rough little voice that made Hizashi irrationally angry. It had gotten less hoarse over the past few weeks, like he was getting used to speaking. 

“I sure am! Not surprised you recognized me, since you seem to have a pretty good memory!” He tapped the drawing of his hero persona with a smile. 

“We just want to make sure you're okay.” Shouta said simply. 

“You should foster-” Hitoshi paused, as if unsure. “The girl. She's too nice for the system. If you want to take a kid at all, I mean.” He looked down at his lap with a blank expression. 

“Hana?” Shouta's eyebrow quirked. “She's a good kid, but she's tried to use her quirk on me three times in the three times I've talked to her.” 

Wasn't that a doozy. Suddenly being filled with an artificial sense of pity and wanting to do everything in his power to take that sad look off her face. Hizashi was still reeling by the time Shouta'd activated his quirk and Hana had been taken away to a fierce scolding by Suzuchi. 

“She's scared.” Hitoshi shrugged. “My- our adult, is nice. But not everyone is.” 

Finally. Something. 

“Were some of the homes you've been to in the past not nice to you?” Shouta asked outright, as if commenting on the weather. 

Hitoshi looked at them as if judging them. 

“We're just trying to help, if we can.” Hizashi smiled weakly. “We can't always fix things, but if they're doing more than legally allowed - which honestly, a muzzle shouldn't be allowed - well we want to know. My husband's a hero too! We can help.” 

Hitoshi frowned. His hands clenched and unclenched in his lap as if searching for something. 

“No.” The boy lied, looking down at his lap instead of at them. 

Hizashi took a deep breath in and let it out. They couldn't help Hitoshi if he didn't let them. 

But he let it slide. The kid didn't get out in the sun much and they had greasy takeout to get in him because he was far too thin. They'd try again another day.

Megumi didn't trust adults. He didn't trust any of them no matter what. Hitoshi wanted to trust them, though. He wanted to be able to put faith in the heroes. 

He reached a compromise with himself by summoning Cujo and his pack and sending them on the hunt. When had Cujo become a he? When did he begin to actually believe his shikigami could think and feel? 

Irrelevant. Hitoshi gave them a job and they still did it, even if they did it with the sort of free will and awareness they shouldn't have been able to use. He summoned his divine dogs and he told them to follow Hizashi and Shouta and keep an eye on them and tell him everything they did. 

His shikigami still struggled a bit. Curses were still a secret. But they were much less common than Megumi remembered. And the shikigami- well there was a reason Megumi couldn't use them freely. People could see them, faintly. Slightly. Just barely. A howl in the back of their minds. A chill up their spines. A shadowy outline at the edge of their vision. 

He hadn't met any real sorcerers, but most people with quirks had a faint awareness of curses. And so he had to be careful to not get caught with his shikigami or things could go bad. People only had one quirk. Shinsou Hitoshi was already registered as having Brainwashing. He didn't know what would happen if people found out about his cursed technique but he didn't care to find out. 

Megumi had one lifetime of being sold like cattle for his technique and adults using him. He didn't feel like doing it again. 

At least all his time locked in his room meant he could doze and pay attention to his shikigami. Could use their eyes and feel their limbs and experience things he never had as Megumi. Hitoshi found out he could do a lot of things through his shikigami. 

Including spying on the hero duo who were trying to use him for info and see if they were full of shit or not. 

To his curiosity, they both had a higher sensitivity to curses than other people. They both were frequently jumpy and on edge for no reason when his shikigami followed them. It made it harder to stalk them without being revealed. 

Despite their paranoia, he still learned a lot about them.

“Do you actually want to adopt me?” Hitoshi asked, softly, like he wasn't allowed to. 

Given that this was the first time Hitoshi had ever spoken without prompting and definitely the first time he'd asked them something, both Hizashi and Shouta looked up at the boy in surprise. 

He didn't look up at them. He didn't move, frozen and waiting to get in trouble. 

Nobody has let him ask a question in six years, Shouta remembered, and realized how important this must be if Hitoshi was breaking the rules he followed so strictly. 

Then the question registered and Shouta felt a bit sick. Hizashi had torn into him about making Hitoshi think they didn't want to adopt him- but he hadn't thought the boy would actually think that. 

“Yes.” Shouta said after a moment of shock. “We do.” 

“We wanna make sure you and the other kids with you aren't being abused,” Hizashi followed up. “And yes, adopting you in the meantime? An absolute perk.” 

Hitoshi looked up at them, wary. Several emotions filtered across his face before settling on determination. 

He opened his mouth and he talked until his voice was a hoarse whisper and they were concerned he might lose his voice. He kept on talking until they convinced him to write it down and proved he was a very well-written ten year old. He kept on writing until their visitation hours were almost up and he had to stop and they had to argue whether or not sending him back to a house that withheld food was safe or not. He sat while Hizashi and Shouta figured things out between them and he fell asleep, carried to the police station in Shouta's arms because they didn't trust anyone to not try to silence the kid and Hizashi would rather give up his license entirely before seeing him muzzled again.

Hitoshi wasn't sure what was happening, but he had anything he actually cared about stored in his shadows so it didn't matter. Shouta and Hizashi took him to a police station to sit and wait while they ‘figured things out’. 

He just sipped tea and sat still in his chair and tried to ignore how much his throat stung when adults kept asking him questions. He knew from Cujo's work that Hizashi and Shouta were good. They were genuine. They were trying. 

If they hadn't told him they were fostering him through this, Hitoshi might have just cut his losses and run. He was ten years old. He could live on the streets. 

But he had a weird feeling that it was going to be… okay.

His new foster home was an apartment near Yuuei high school. Because both of his new foster fathers were teachers there. Which was a little crazy. 

His room was an actual full sized room with a real bed and curtains he could draw shut to keep the sunlight out. They didn't care if he kept the lights off and they made sure he never had to wear a muzzle. That was the weirdest part for Hitoshi. 

Honestly, this was the sort of fairytale new beginning he'd wished for once, when it wasn't just him. When Tsumiki squeezed his hands and told him siblings don't usually get adopted together and they lived alone, in an empty apartment, pretending everything was fine when school called. Back when the worst of his concern was if the bastard was going to come back. Back before Gojo showed up and told him that his dad had sold him. 

Once, Megumi had dreamed that someone would come find him and Tsumiki and adopt the both of them. Tsumiki would have a new Mom to take care of her and Megumi would get a Dad who didn't clean weapons covered with blood in the living room and then vanish and leave them. 

Now, Hitoshi knew just how great it was to have actually decent human beings as foster parents and it hurt because why didn't they get this? But it was fine. 

Hizashi and Shouta didn't muzzle him or tell him not to speak and while they were concerned he didn't talk a lot, they relaxed when he eventually told them he just didn't have much to say. They weren’t lovey dovey like some dream couple but they were soft and careful with him and each other. 

That was more, more than enough.

The first time he got in a fight at school, it was Shouta who picked him up. He nodded and listened to the teacher who was watching over Hitoshi and then looked to Hitoshi. 

“Why'd you punch a kid in the kidneys?” Shouta asked, dry but serious. 

Hitoshi looked down. 

“Genuine question. Why'd you get in a fight?” Shouta ignored the teacher to crouch in front of Hitoshi's chair. 

“...he was putting thumbtacks in other kids’ shoes.” Hitoshi said slowly, eyes lowering even further so he didn't have to look Shouta in the eyes. “He wouldn't stop. I told him to stop, but he didn't listen-” He shut his mouth. 

He missed Satoru. He missed days suspended from school and going with Satoru on missions, left at cafes eating whatever he wanted while Satoru exorcized whatever he was sent to deal with and hurried back. He missed ice cream and head pats and laughter. 

‘Don't let society tell you what to do, Gumi.’ 

Fuck, Satoru was a horrible role model and an awful guardian and Megumi missed him so much. 

“While I'm glad to see you standing up for others,” A hand laid on his head gently and Hitoshi inhaled loudly. “Violence isn't the answer. Not for schoolyard bullying.” 

Hitoshi sat there, confused, as tears welled up in his eyes. 

“You'll get detention for getting in a fight, but I'll make sure the bullies don't get off clean either, okay?” Shouta was ignoring the teacher's befuddled protests. “Hitoshi?” 

Hitoshi nodded his head, not trusting his voice to speak right now. 

“Good.” Shouta's hand ruffled his hair and he stood up. Hitoshi watched his boots leave his line of sight. 

He held in his sniffles like a champ until the door closed so the adults could talk privately. 

When Shouta came out to take him home for his suspension, he was visibly concerned to see Hitoshi with red eyes. 

They ended up getting takeout on the way home. It wasn't ice cream, but then, Shouta definitely wasn't Satoru.

Hitoshi was careful with his shikigami. He'd spent almost a full year living with Hizashi and Shouta and he was not going to ruin a good thing. They were pro heroes. They noticed things. If he ever, ever used his cursed energy for something, he did it when he was well and sure they weren't around. 

Heroes could be oblivious to curses or they could be extra sensitive, he'd discovered, so keeping his shikigami away from them was paramount. 

That didn't mean much when one day a man with tired eyes and restrained cursed energy jolted in public and Hitoshi realized he just saw Cujo eat the flyhead that was bothering the people across the aisle. Hitoshi tried to be casual, acting like he wasn't suspicious, but he knew sorcerers could sense other sorcerers and it wasn't even hard to detect Megumi's massive stores of energy circulating under his skin. 

He backed away and got off at the next station and hopped on the next train he saw. Time spiraled in endless circles that Hitoshi spent riding public transport until his phone rang and numbly picked it up. 

Grumpy Cat calling… 

The name made him blink and realize what time it was. Hitoshi winced. Had he really spent all day running around in a panic? 

“Hitoshi, why did your school just call to say you never showed up?” Shouta's voice was dry and rough, proving he'd probably just woken up from his after work nap. Night shift and school shifts. Not an easy combo. 

“I didn't… realize I was out so long.” Hitoshi said, lips tingling. 

“What's wrong?” Something in his voice must have tipped Shouta off. There was rustling over the phone. “Where are you? I'm coming to get you.” 

Hitoshi's vague protest died in his mouth. “I'm… I'm not sure..?” He looked around. He was on a train, at least. 

The speakers crackled with the name of the upcoming station. 

“Are you on the train right now? What stop? I'm taking the car.” 

Hitoshi numbly repeated the name echoed over the loudspeaker and things got a bit blurry. 

He realized he was getting off the train after someone bumped into him and Cujo howled in his ear. 

“I'm on the way. Everything's going to be alright. Just breathe.” Shouta repeated over the phone, somehow still clenched up to his ear. 

“Sho..?” Hitoshi mumbled. 

“Yes, it's me. Hitoshi, can you find somewhere off the train to sit so I can come get you?” Shouta's voice sounded rushed and worried. 

“...yeah. I'm- I'll sit down. Um. At the station.” Hitoshi found a bench and sat down, backpack held against his chest, Cujo hunched underneath his legs and ready to attack anything that approached. The shikigami’s presence was enough to subtly deter anyone else from approaching. 

Shouta only hung up when Hitoshi promised him he wouldn't move and that he would stay exactly where he was and send him his location just in case. Hitoshi stayed there in silence, ears not hearing the crowds of public transport but instead the howling of Cujo's pack demanding blood. 

Cujo clawed at his ankle and Hitoshi jumped, hissing in pain. His shikigami disappeared and Hitoshi was briefly left wondering what the hell had just happened when Shouta's hands landed on his shoulders. 

“Hitoshi, Hitoshi look at me. Are you okay?” Shouta looked worried and Hitoshi wasn't sure what to do about it. 

“I… I'm fine…” He mumbled, static in his ears as the howling receded. 

“What happened?” Shouta sat down next to him, cautious. 

Hitoshi's mouth opened and closed a few times. Words escaped him. They did that frequently, nowadays. Hizashi taught him JSL for several reasons. Partially so they could talk when the hero didn't want to wear his hearing aids, partially so Hitoshi could talk when he didn't want to speak. 

“There was a man,” Hitoshi signed distantly. “On the way to school.” 

“Did he follow you?” Shouta's head immediately ducked and his eyes hid behind his hair, searching the station for anyone suspicious. 

Hitoshi shook his head. “No..? I don't think so.” He stopped signing and looked down at his hands. 

“Did the man do anything?” 

Hitoshi trembled and shook his head weakly, realizing how absolutely fucking weird this was. He didn't have a reason for ditching school and hiding on public transport for hours and hours. He didn't know what to say to explain himself and Shouta seemed to grasp that. 

He sighed and mumbled something under his breath before raising his head and squeezing Hitoshi's shoulders. “Come on, kid, let's head home.” 

Hitoshi was gently dragged up until he hissed and had to sit back down, hand clutching at his ankle. 

“What happened?” Shouta crouched down and then cursed. 

The cuff of his jeans hid it pretty well, but Shouta pulled his pant leg up to reveal a nasty set of scratches that was bleeding into his sock and shoe. 

Hitoshi stared blankly. Cujo had done that to pull him out of the dissociation fog he'd slid into before Shouta arrived. Cujo had done that. 

Shikigami couldn't hurt their sorcerers. 

…but then, Cujo was already different than the usual shikigami, wasn't he? 

Shouta tried to ask him what happened, but Hitoshi just shook his head silently. He didn't know how to even begin explaining. Shouta wrapped his ankle firmly and helped him limp outside and to the car. 

From there, he insisted on taking him to the hospital and Hitoshi couldn't really find it in himself to protest. He couldn't exactly tell Aizawa that Cujo definitely didn't have any illnesses or diseases so getting a rabies shot wasn't necessary. 

He didn't really care much what was happening anyways, so long as Shouta stayed nearby.

He tuned back in sometime later when he was in a small ER room, ankle wrapped and elevated as a nurse examined it with a puzzled face. 

“I'm not sure what exactly got him, could be a dog maybe? Strange for them to scratch rather than bite though. Good thing you brought him in so we can get him some shots and make sure it doesn't give him anything nasty.” The nurse patted his leg with a smile. “Shouldn't need stitches!” He left to go fetch his needles.

Hitoshi looked at the scratches beginning to slightly scab after being thoroughly cleaned. That had stung a bit. He heard Shouta's phone ring. 

“Yeah, Zashi, I'm with him at the ER.”

“No it's not that serious. I would've treated it at home except we don't exactly have vaccines.” 

“I don't know. He's been dissociated pretty hard the whole time. You know it's his defense mechanism-” Shouta glanced up at him. “Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker.” He sat the phone next to Hitoshi. “How are you feeling?” 

“Toshi!! You doing okay, squirt?” Mic's voice was anxious. He should be at the studio right now shouldn't he? 

Hitoshi opened his mouth and closed it once or twice. “...I'm fine. I think.” 

“That's great to hear!!” 

“Do you know what happened to trigger you like that?” Shouta asked, blunt but cautious. 

“I saw-” Hitoshi's eyes wandered out of the room and out the open door. His words froze in his throat. 

The man from the train spoke to a nurse, showing him a badge. Who then turned and pointed right to Hitoshi's room. His mouth went dry. 

The man turned and met his eyes. He looked surprised but then took a few steps towards him and Hitoshi gasped for air, realizing he hadn't breathed for a minute. 

Shouta was at his side, hands wrapped around his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Hizashi was making soothing noises over the phone. Hitoshi watched the man - the sorcerer - move closer and knock on the doorframe. 

“Hello? I'm sorry to bother you, but-” 

In a heartbeat Shouta's eyes processed Hitoshi's blank horror directed towards the approaching stranger. He stood in front of Hitoshi protectively. 

“Who are you?” Eraserhead demanded. “Why are you following my son?” 

“I'm sorry to cause such a fuss, I'm-” 

Words were fuzzy and blurring and Hitoshi just heard the word jujutsu and panicked. He scrambled backward, falling off the edge of the bed. He scrambled to find darkness, find shadows in the bright bright hospital lighting, but there was nothing dark enough to summon anything out of without a sign. 

He had to summon something but his hands shook too hard to form the hound. He panicked and panicked as Shouta rounded the bed except it wasn't Shouta all he saw was red eyes and hands reaching for him and Megumi needed to reach for the shadows if they weren't already there. 

He reached and the shadows embraced him and coiled around him until he was buried in their cold limbs and he wanted to go home. 

Home didn't exist anymore. Home wasn't real. He didn't have Satoru’s apartment or Yuuji’s dorm to come back to anymore. His shadows found the next best thing. 

Megumi found himself in darkness and cramped quarters, surrounded by blankets and divine dogs and he let himself cry. 

Months and months ago, Hizashi kept finding him curled up in the back of his closet. Instead of being weird about it they'd just made a family trip to the store and Hitoshi got to pick out a bunch of pillows and blankets to make a nest in his closet. Somewhere he could feel safe and comfortable, where they wouldn't bother him if he was hiding there. 

The fact that he slept there more often than his bed was ignored; they just made sure he changed the bedding enough to avoid it getting smelly. Neither of his foster fathers ever pushed him to explain why he was so determined to scrunch his rapidly growing limbs into a tiny closet with zero lights. 

Now, Hitoshi found himself coming down from a panic attack curled up with Cujo and a few other wolves that had managed to squeeze their way in. He couldn't even move, he was so cramped. It was calming. 

He didn't know how long it was. He'd definitely napped on and off. His ankle hurt and he realized the nurse hadn't gotten a chance to wrap it at the hospital before he-

What? What did he do? 

Hitoshi pondered that for a long time. He had no memory of getting from the hospital to home. He just remembered reaching for shadows and falling until Cujo caught him and- 

The man. The sorcerer from the train. Hitoshi couldn't move, but if he could he would curl up even tighter. A dog he hadn't yet named licked his face with a whine. 

Had he… teleported himself through the shadows and back home? That wasn't anything he could do as Megumi. The Ten Shadows could never do something like that, before. Provide little pocket spaces, sure. Hide in a shadow and then come back out later. But never something he could actually physically travel through. 

Shouta and Hizashi must be worried sick. If Shouta hadn't tried to beat the crap out of the sorcerer once Hitoshi disappeared, anyways. 

Fuck he was tired. Activating a brand new technique in the middle of a series of panic attacks was fucking exhausting. 

Instead of acknowledging the world, Hitoshi closed his eyes and let his shikigami’s embrace lull him back to sleep.

A knock woke him up. Then the creak of his bedroom door, muffled from the closet. 

“Hitoshi?” Hizashi's tentative voice. “Woah. Spooky.” 

“Be careful, there's a lot of cursed energy coming from-” A voice he didn't know. 

Cujo phased out of his grasp and through the door and snarled at the stranger in his home. 

“Holy fuck-!” 

“Get back-” 

Hitoshi clutched his hands over his ears and wished for the world to go away so he could go back to his life where things weren't complicated again. 

There was the sound of a scuffle and Cujo's vicious growls as he defended the room. Hitoshi just asked him to please not hurt Hizashi and Shouta because they didn't deserve it. 

“...I- fuck, hold on-” 

“...get back, it's not attacking the two of us.” Shouta said carefully. “You can understand me, right?” Cujo barked and rumbled threateningly. “I bet you're protecting Hitoshi. I remember that week before he came to live with us- I swear I heard howling. I saw dogs out on the street that weren't there. That was you, wasn't it?” 

“You've seen them?” The strange voice, further away, followed up by Cujo growling at him. 

“Well- not really? Just out of the corner of our eyes and stuff. It stopped after Hitoshi came to live with us.” Hizashi said wonderingly. “We- we both thought we were just losing it, or we'd gotten hit with a weird quirk or something.” 

“Fascinating. I think this is a type of shikigami- a tamed curse, so to speak. But how..?” 

“Easy.” Shouta soothed Cujo as his footsteps thudded across the carpet. “We just want to know where Hitoshi is, if he's safe.” 

Cujo huffed loudly and Hitoshi's closet was a lot less crowded, the rest of the pack hiding in the shadows. Cujo bolted through the door and curled up around him with a growl. 

“Stay in the living room.” Shouta ordered before his feet thudded closer and closer to stop outside the closet door. “Hitoshi? Are you in there?” 

Hitoshi didn't respond, but Cujo licked the dried tears off his face with a gentle whuff. 

Hizashi's lighter footsteps followed. The sounds of the men both choosing to sit on the floor scuffled outside the door, because they'd promised to never go inside if Hitoshi was hiding. 

“Oh kiddo, I bet you're scared something awful.” Hizashi murmured. 

“We talked to some people who explained some things, after I beat in the one asshole's face for stalking you like an idiot.” Shouta growled. “They told us about curses and- and how you can probably see them.” 

“Gave us a weird pair of glasses to try out too, to see for ourselves. That was fucking terrifying. I can't imagine seeing it all the time!” Hizashi sounded shaky. “Is that what's going on, for you? You see those monsters everywhere?” Hitoshi couldn't put together words, but he croaked out an affirmative sound. “Oh Toshi…” 

“It's okay. We're here for you, Hitoshi.” Shouta rapped his knuckles against the door gently. “Can you come out? So we can talk about it?” 

Cujo growled deeply. 

“You can come too, Mister Growly Pants.” 

Hitoshi choked on his laughter and Cujo actually looked at him as if offended. 

With creaking limbs and stuff joints, Hitoshi got up on his knees to reach the doorknob. He opened the door with dry eyes. 

Hizashi and Shouta sat there, cautious, relaxed. 

“Hey little listener.” Hizashi smiled at him, teary eyed. 

Hitoshi shuffled forward on his knees right into their waiting arms.